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blasphemecel · 5 months

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Michael Kaiser — Mean

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 6.4k TYPE: Fake dating, This is not fluff or angst but a secret third thing (with a cheerful ending) WARNING(S): Depersonalization/identity issues

The first time you meet Michael Kaiser, you get a bad impression.

Yeah, sure, he doesn’t have the most stellar reputation, anyway. You’ve met all sorts of unpleasant people in your life and he manages to disappoint even when the bar is so low, the only way to go lower is through digging.

You don’t exchange a word with him, but rather you have the misfortune of having to listen to him talk throughout the entire meeting. He starts countless arguments, some valid to an extent. You can tell he’s just doing this because he’s addicted to the sound of his voice and speaking to people like they’re unimportant specks of dust all while commanding their attention. There’s no point to his fussing either because he ends up signing the same contract you do.

Waste of your goddamn time — he might as well have not signed it and saved you the trouble, since the ordeal ends up lasting three hours because of him.

Maybe you should’ve not signed it yourself, but your PR manager was salivating at the idea of fake dating as a publicity stunt, especially with Kaiser who’ll be posing with you for a photoshoot in a few months, so you said ‘whatever’ and here you are. In this predicament with an insufferable man you imagine you won’t get along with, which already predisposes you to never giving him a chance.

___

The first time you speak to Michael Kaiser, you unsettle him.

It’s unlike him to feel disturbed, let alone at the slightest thing. He’s met all sorts of sickos, so he considers himself unflinching in the face of anyone who has anything off about them.

But he’s fifteen minutes late to the ‘date’ you’re supposed to use as a tool to subtly launch your fake relationship and he’s expecting a scolding. Kaiser spots you and heads in your direction, taking the seat in front with a shitty smirk and an ingenuine, half-assed apology on his lips.

What he gets in response is a blank look — almost… unimpressed, which naturally someone like Kaiser takes as a challenge and already sets the tone for the rest of the conversation — and it’s as if you’re staring into his soul. Then in an instant your expression flips to convincing joy, your warm smile contrasting his snide one, and you say, “Let’s act like we’re really stoked.”

A chill runs down his spine. On a logical level Kaiser knows you’re faking it, but it looks real, and that’s what he finds freaky. Also, the speed.

“Let’s not,” he says. “You’re weird,” he adds after you don’t respond.

You don’t react to this information either and settle for maintaining your smile.

The barista decides to spare him from having to look at you while you don’t say anything. He’s pretty sure you’re doing this deliberately, to torture him. When you attempt to order something, he talks over you and asks, “Can you give us one of those shitty milkshakes with two straws in them?”

She stares at him in bewilderment. “We don’t sell those,” she says eventually.

“Can you make one?”

“No…”

“You’re scum,” you tell him, dropping the happy facade. Again, the quickness strikes Kaiser as disturbing. Then you give her a valid order, and he asks for water since they offer that everywhere and he can’t be bothered to read the menu. After the barista leaves, you say, “I could have lactose intolerance.”

“You could. I could be trying to kill you.”

“I don’t know if a milkshake would be enough to kill me.”

“Maybe I was trying to give you a stomach ache,” he concurs.

You don’t dignify that with a reply either.

Kaiser tries to speak with you again, “I really fucking hate milk.”

“Then why’d you do that?”

“To embarrass you, of course,” he says, like he’s revealed to you the natural order of things.

“Hm.” You consider this new information. “I’ll definitely think of a way to get back at you.”

The lukewarm threat seems to amuse him more than anything.

Then you proceed to have a hostile few hours together in public as instructed. You end up throwing napkins at his face.

Kaiser isn’t good at pretending to be in love. The only such image he seems capable of projecting is one of a middle schooler who’s failing to find a balance between playful and mean. Though it also doesn’t matter to you because you mostly teeter on the edge of mean, slightly left of apathetic. Nothing really matters to you.

___

For your second court-ordered date with Michael Kaiser, your manager tells you to get caught holding hands with him at a park after the cafe meeting doesn’t spark much controversy. The notion itself has you scrunching your face, but you don’t complain about it or voice your opinion.

Again, he’s late picking you up by a not negligent amount of time, leaving you to stand in front of your building, motionless and impatient.

Instead of announcing his presence in a more acceptable manner, Kaiser blares the car horn until you realize it’s him. After you crawl inside the passenger seat, you turn to look at him and see that he looks very pleased with himself. It’s obnoxious.

“I hope we die in a car crash,” you greet.

“We won’t.” You don’t know why, but his brain interprets this as an opportunity to brag. “I’m an excellent driver.”

He’s not. Somehow you make it to the park without getting into a catastrophe — which, as established, you wouldn’t have minded.

You exit at the same time and Kaiser frowns at you by the time he circles his way around to you. You don’t care enough about what’s bothering him to raise a questioning eyebrow let alone ask, but he tells you, “I was going to open the door for you and then offer to help you up. You ruined everything!”

You roll your eyes. “How gallant.”

“Get back in,” Kaiser says, pointing (as if the gesture will be enough to convince you to play along). “Let’s redo it.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I have a vision for these kinds of things, that’s all.”

“Your vision is trashy and uninspired,” you reject promptly.

Kaiser seems to be the first person in the world who finds your attitude funny rather than objectionable because he grins at your response. But he’s more so looking at you like you’re a bug he finds fascinating in comparison to the rest, without any real respect or acknowledgement.

“I admit maybe it was a bit cliche,” he says. “Would’ve made me look good, though, if someone caught it on camera.”

You smile that ghoulish smile again and grab his hand like you were told. His fingers are cold and yours even more so, making the grasp clammy and uncomfortable while you begin your stroll. You don’t even know what you’re supposed to talk about with him. Soon enough, you scowl, both the silence and the sensation of getting touched proving too much for you to hide your displeasure, even though Kaiser seems content with letting the silence fester.

“Oh? Why’d you stop? I’ve started enjoying your creepy masquerading.”

“I’m disgusted,” you say.

“Disgusted,” he repeats. “By what? Me?”

“It’s making me sick. Who knows where your hand’s been or what you’ve done.”

Albeit visibly offended for the first time if the lack of an annoying smirk is anything to draw judgments from, Kaiser drops it first. Your arm hangs by your side again, limp.

“Let go, then. Or do I need to do everything myself?” That’s quite a dramatic sentiment coming from a man who has done nothing all day besides a short drive and taking a few steps.

“But my manager said-”

“Who cares? I think my manager’s lucky I agreed to this bullshit in the first place,” Kaiser says. “By the way, my hands haven’t been in any sewers or anything to warrant this reaction, thank you very much.” He must be the type of person who only ever says thank you as if being grateful is some big joke.

“I’m not being literal. I know who you are and what people say about you. My disgust is conceptual.”

“Flattering.” Kaiser’s pleased again with the mention of this tidbit, like the mental image he’s getting of you searching him up gives him immeasurable amounts of satisfaction. One thing you’ve come to notice about him since your last outing is that he’s shameless. “You’re not special, though. Lots of people know who I am.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re scum.”

“Do you usually talk to people you barely know in this way or is it preferential treatment? I’d love preferential treatment, but the other option is amusing too.”

“Usually,” you say in a monotone. “That’s why I don’t speak much. More so supposed to be looked at rather than heard, and so on.” You finish off your explanation with a flippant gesture. That’s what it’s like for you — ‘shut your trap, it ruins your appeal.’

“Well, I-” there’s an emphasis on the word ‘I’ because Kaiser always thinks his opinion matters, “-think your worldview is pathetic and embarrassing. What’s the point of being looked at if no one will listen to you? How can you be fine with that?”

Fair point. You concede in your head, but don’t commit to agreeing with him out loud. “You’re not special either. Most people gross me out.”

“You hurt me this time.” He’s sneering, though.

After a while of walking, you find yourself sitting on a bench next to him. A few pigeons strut around near your feet, bobbing their heads back and forth, almost catching a groove. “If I had any bread, I’d feed them.”

“I’m not surprised you’d feel interested in such a commoner’s activity,” Kaiser says, as if he is somehow superior to you for not wanting to participate in this.

“Vile,” you say, voice still neutral. You’re not looking at him either, attention glued to the birds.

He doesn’t know which part of it you find dismaying — was it the class shaming or what? “So you like pigeons, but you hate humanity. You’re one of those.”

“I don’t hate humanity,” you say. “But nature is repulsive by default. It’s not amoral. When we’re cruel and ugly, that’s a conscious and opportunistic decision. Every day CEOs throw their employees and workers under the bus for more profits. Someone’s getting murdered as we speak. We’re faking a relationship to attract brand deals. I’m getting sick just thinking about it.”

“Get a hobby instead of thinking about stupid shit like that. Caring about how ugly and bleak everything is won’t get you anywhere,” Kaiser… advises.

“Look at the pigeons.” You’re watching the one with the missing claws, wobbling and struggling to get around. “Humans domesticated them and then abandoned them. I love flora and fauna. They’re interesting and exist much more differently than we do.”

“Does that mean you like my tattoo then?”

“Not everything needs to be about you. It’s not like people will forget you exist when you don’t force yourself to be at the center of conversation.”

This stings him the tiniest bit. Either you’re probing into an insecurity or he’s reading too deep into what you’re gathering from your conversations with him. “If I wanted to have a pseudointellectual conversation, I wouldn’t ask a vapid model to psychoanalyze me.”

“Your opinions are unoriginal and stereotyped just like your ideas about romance,” you say, finally turning around to face him again with those haunted eyes. He’s unamused now, clenching his jaw and all. “A stupid athlete wouldn’t be my first choice for a ‘pseudointellectual conversation’ either.”

“You look down on others and judge them, so what makes you so different from all those ‘scum’ you hate? How are you exempt from your own standards?”

Do you realize you’re displaying similar behaviors to those you’re scolding him over?

“Well, there’s a simple explanation for that,” you say. Kaiser is expecting an argument or something, but you kind of floor him with your follow-up. “It’s called hypocrisy. I’m probably just as disgusting as the average person.”

“Your life must be miserable if you look at everything through this lens. What was the phrase, rose colored glasses? Yours must have shit smeared over them.”

You shrug then make a 50/50 motion with your hand. “My life’s neither good nor bad. I’m indifferent on the subject.”

“Uh huh.” Kaiser considers this, then his lips twitch up, and then his smile broadens — it’s snide and smug again, and you come to the realization that he probably doesn’t know how to smile in any other way — before he inches a little closer to you. Not enough to brush against you, but enough to count as an attempted provocation. “I think people like you shouldn’t be considered alive. Legally speaking. And if we’re being figurative, you’re obviously already dead.”

You frown at him, since he’s kind of right. The fact that Michael Kaiser has the capability to discern truths you don’t want to hear rubs you the wrong way.

“Speaking of birds,” you start, deciding to change the topic, “you remind me of a peacock.”

“Wrong.” He’s pouty now. You find the expression cute, but when you catch the thought you throw up in your mouth a bit, so you ignore it. “I’m clearly a swan.”

“The fact that you have a preference when it comes to what animal you’re considered is sad.”

“And you’re entertaining. Let’s hang out again soon even if those sorry fucks don’t suggest it.”

You find it bewildering how he calls his PR manager’s input a ‘suggestion’ and seems to think he can do whatever he wants. Which, maybe he does, seeing the way he conducts himself. You’re also tempted to tell him to make up his mind on whether he enjoys your company or not, but there are more important matters right now. “We’re not supposed to do that, I don’t think.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Why this desire all of a sudden?”

“It’s what I want.” What impeccable reasoning. “I think I can make you enjoy yourself,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong. Not for your merit or anything stupid.” Kaiser offers what you’d describe as a flamboyant hand wave in the air, demeanor laced with complacency. “I think it’d make me feel really charitable and generous if I can manage to add something to your depressing life. Give me a chance to try.”

“Word of advice,” you scoot away from him to the point the edge of the bench is digging into your ass and it honestly hurts, “you’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude. How you phrased it disgusted me again.”

Kaiser finds your favored terms interesting. Everything is sickening and disgusting and vile and scummy from your perspective. Deep down for reasons he doesn’t want to ponder, he can relate.

“Great. You’ll come around soon,” he promises, with the confidence of someone who thinks this is a game he has a high chance of winning.

___

Kaiser makes it a point to inflict his presence onto you as much as he can afford to with your schedules, even though there’s no need for it. Not that you refuse him either. He’s kind of interesting to keep around, in his own Kaiser-ish way.

Earlier today he invited himself over to your house. He’d decided you need to come up with a story about your ‘relationship,’ but didn’t wanna discuss it through text messages. Apparently he has an interview coming up and wants to be prepared in case they ask him about you.

“How did we meet?” you ask, sitting on the other side of the couch and leaning against the armrest, away from him.

The answer is immediate: “I saved you from a burning church.”

You question what other fantasies this man could probably have because that’s the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard. Your voice somehow remains flat despite the bewilderment when you ask, “Why?”

“Because it’s flashy and dramatic.”

“But if anyone searches it up, they’ll see there haven’t been any… burned churches?”

“You’re such a killjoy.” Kaiser sighs. “It makes it sound mystical.”

“No it doesn’t,” you say, rather flippant about the entire thing. “It makes you sound like a pathological liar.”

“I like your sense of humor.”

“Thanks, but I’m not kidding about this.”

“Then what do you think it should be?” Kaiser asks. Obviously the purpose of this inquiry is to criticize your choice of scenario — even you can anticipate such a predictable move.

You roll your eyes and then look away from him in contemplation. You hadn’t really thought about it, since you don’t do interviews, and therefore you don’t need to concern yourself with hypotheticals on the matter. “Some kind of party, maybe. Post-match celebration?”

“Makes sense,” says Kaiser. “Doesn’t compel me, though. Boring.”

With a hum, you try to imagine what would both appeal to Kaiser and sound realistic. Though he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’s swayed by practicality. “I went with someone else, but you swept me off my feet so hard, you stole me away from them.”

“I guess it sounds plausible enough while still having an element of fantasy.”

“Is the idea of me liking you the ‘element of fantasy’?”

“Yeah… That’s why I want it.”

You didn’t expect such a response. It has you looking at him weird. You do so often anyway, but now you do it for longer as if trying to glean something. In response Kaiser tells you to take a picture since it’ll last longer. The reply seems extraneous and distracting, and that only makes you feel more suspicious of him, which is weird since you’re not sure what you’re even inferring.

___

Officially it’s your fifth date with Kaiser, unofficially it’s the tenth. This time you’re holding up a frog in your open hands.

He doesn’t know what the point of all the nature-themed outings is — maybe to make him seem down to Earth in the public eye since he’s become notorious for how insufferable he is? Either way he doesn’t care, and he’s not the type to wander at landscapes, but your affinity for ugly animals is kind of cute.

The frog isn’t some special one either. No crazy colors or anything, just a regular green tree frog (according to your expertise). You let it jump onto your palms, since apparently touching their skin is bad for them or something. Kaiser scrutinizes it in distaste, staring down into its big eyes while it croaks. “So you can handle a disgusting amphibian, but you can’t hold hands with me.”

“I see you’re still thinking about that.”

“Well, it was insulting. And besides, it’s never happened to me before.”

“You’re not so bad. I don’t think I’d vomit if we brushed against each other anymore.”

Kaiser seems curious but nonetheless pleased with this development. “Why the change of heart?”

“Because you listen to what I say,” you tell him.

He somehow resists the urge to piss himself laughing at the sound of that. “Your standards are so low. It’s so sad that it’s funny,” he says. Maybe he would’ve dedicated some more time to teasing you over it, but he comes to a realization which immediately lifts his mood. This must mean he’s in your good graces somewhat, and not many people seem to fit there, so that makes Kaiser special to a degree. Right?

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

“Who would’ve thought someone who looks the way you do would come out like this?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think you were one of those kids who, like, shoved sticks and leaves in mud and called it a potion.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean now?”

Kaiser lets out an annoyed sound, tired of elaborating. “It means I think you’re strange.”

“Hmm, I bet you do,” you say. “There’s a quote I like: ‘It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.’”

“Yeah, and I bet that’s the kind of message you love. What’s it from?”

“Interesting story,” you say. “This is Jiddu Krishnamurti’s most famous quote, but it doesn’t appear in any of his books. Allegedly he said it to some other guy.”

Kaiser blinks and nods, maybe trying to keep a pretense of having the slightest concept of what you’re on about. “Whatever, got it. I can’t remember the last time I read a book. Maybe I’ll check him out.”

“You don’t seem like you’d be interested in that type of thing,” you say, staring at him as if you’re trying to figure him out.

“Actually, I am. Can you stop taking every chance to insult me?”

“I’m not. At least not on purpose… So, what are your hobbies, anyway? You never told me.”

“I practice. What do you take me for?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. “That’s it?”

Kaiser opens his mouth to justify himself even though there’s no need to be defensive — maybe it’s that he feels like he’s lacking in some department after you bring your attention to it with your little response and generally Kaiser hates to be insufficient. But before he can argue and try and talk himself out of whatever perception you have of him now, an interruption happens.

The frog, which had been lazy and content with merely existing in your grasp, springs without any warning. It leaps out of your fingers and lands on top of Kaiser’s head.

Today you learn Michael Kaiser screams at an ear-shattering frequency when he’s startled. Soap opera level of shock and overreaction.

___

It is when you’re eating at a trashy place for lunch that Kaiser’s looking at his phone, which you find rude since you’re supposed to be spending time together and whatnot. He eats like a pig, too, not graceful at all — you wonder what his fans would think if they saw him with crumbs over his mouth and sauce on his chin. Good material for a public embarrassment campaign, you think.

But it’s in that moment that he finally wipes himself with a tissue and reaches out to all but shove his phone in your face. “Look, we’re so hot!”

You grace the picture with a dismissive glance before looking back down at your meal, disinterested. You already know enough about Kaiser to assume he’d get a kick out of power couple fantasies. And other power fantasies. Really, you find it pathetic.

It was something out of the photoshoot he was showing you, his favorite you presume. Even someone like Kaiser, who has conventional features, isn’t perfect when it comes to these unreasonable standards. He’d been way too stiff next to you while he posed and though his face is symmetrical, his expressions tend to stray to one side, and obviously it’d been corrected.

There’s a mismatch between you on the covers and your image in the mirror. Maybe your brain is exaggerating the disconnect, but every time you see them, it’s like staring into an airbrushed, distorted amalgamation. In other words, you prefer avoiding both the edited products and your reflection whenever you can.

“We don’t look like that,” you say, offhand about his enthusiasm as you are with most things.

Kaiser scoffs and then very blatantly tries to compare between whatever version of you he has on his phone and the you in front of him. There’s not a single good thing you can say about his decision — it’s making your skin crawl just knowing it’s what he’s doing.

“Close enough,” he deems after careful examination.

“I don’t think it’s me.”

“It’s quite literally you.”

“I don’t think anything is me. Like I’m just what I see. My perspective, my point of view. You get what I’m saying?”

“No?” Kaiser says, laughing at you and your apparently strange affliction.

“Well if not that, you have to admit things captured on camera aren’t real.”

“What are you talking about,” Kaiser asks in a flat tone, which leaves it as something less than a question. A few more snickers escape him and he’s grinning at you like a bastard — if at first he regarded you as a slightly more fascinating bug than the rest, by now you must be his favorite, the rarest… A tree lobster. “You make no sense.”

“It totally makes sense. Imagine we’re having sex-”

“What kind of stupid come-on is that?”

“It’s not a come-on, I’m explaining. So, imagine we’re having sex-”

“In what position?”

“Whatever you want as long as it works for the scenario. Anyway, imagine we’re having sex-”

Kaiser laughs harder and then attempts some seductive sort of expression which doesn’t land with you. “I’m imagining it,” he informs.

“Shut up and let me get to the point. Imagine we’re having sex and I’m recording it-”

“Wow, I didn’t take you for such a pervert? Not that I hate it.”

“-so I’m looking at you through the camera lens. The phone’s between us. I’m not, like, in the moment with you. My mind’s absent, it’s all digital. So if you think about it we’re not even really having sex.”

“... You’re losing me even more,” Kaiser says after some contemplation, finding the fantasy unpleasant all of a sudden with this new spin to it. A moment passes during which he takes another big, possibly exaggerated bite, but he at least has enough decency to chew and swallow before adding, “I think you just have a problem.”

You roll your eyes, wondering if he even entertained the thought, but shrug since it doesn’t matter in the end. “Why are we always talking about how I’m weird? If anything, you're eccentric, not me.”

Kaiser wrinkles his nose in offense at the notion and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture in the air. “No. I’ve turned out totally normal. Don’t put me at your level.”

A lot of curiosities spin around your head concerning Kaiser’s behavior whenever you meet and you’re yet to find an answer. What does he want? Clearly he’s comfortable with and used to wanting, but what is it? Attention? Money? Fame? Status? All, none? Will it ever be enough? Is it even the kind of hunger which can be satiated?

Who is he when he’s not playing this ridiculous character?

“I can’t get a read on you,” you tell him.

“Well, you’re socially inept. I doubt you can get a read on anyone.”

“So are you.”

Kaiser feigns hurt over this. He does that a lot. Maybe he finds it hilarious, maybe the performance is all for shits and giggles — who knows.

“I want to dissect your head,” you say after a while of silence.

“Really? That’s what you wanna do with me?”

“Mhm. With a scalpel. I’d make an incision around your temple maybe.”

“My beautiful and demented angel, is that your way of saying you wanna get closer to me?” The sentence comes out mocking with a paper thin smile, but there’s a sense of admiration in it. What for? You raise an eyebrow in visible confusion at the… nickname, but Kaiser doesn’t elaborate. To take away from the tension(?), he announces, “You’ve got something stuck between your teeth,” pointing at your mouth all amused.

___

Kaiser had an ulterior motive in accepting that deal. Though wording it this way makes it sound like some calculated, opportunistic, sinister scheme, when in reality it’s nothing beyond immature and a little humiliating.

Of course, in true Kaiser fashion, when looking to meet someone, he goes straight for the most convoluted option. So when the stupid idea came up, he agreed, even if he put on a bit of a show at first and acted irritating. Confessing to wanting friends is so embarrassing. He’d rather shoot himself at point blank or perhaps commit an act of auto-defenestration than admit the real reason for participating, much less in front of you.

Despite the jabs, you’re also not bad at all. Calm and uninvolved in anything that upsets him and without any expectations towards him.

At first he found your indifference derogatory, but as the months have passed by, there’s a sort of comfort in knowing that he could’ve been some random guy off the street and you would’ve probably treated him the same. In front of you he is neither on a pedestal nor someone to be knocked down on his knees. More Michael than he is Kaiser.

Things have been teetering on a dangerous edge lately. His mind is wandering off towards you again, more and more often each day. Like maybe he’s excited for the next time he sees you or something else repulsive in a similar vein, a giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach. Is this what it would’ve been like to be a little boy with a crush?

Generally he prefers not to socialize with background characters. So he doesn’t know why it’s while he’s having some benign daydream about you that some newbie he hadn’t bothered remembering the name of decides to interrupt him. Besides, it’s inconvenient, he was supposed to be leaving and this guy is blocking the changing room door.

“I heard you’re banging a model,” he says, as if they’re good pals or some shit. Kaiser is also mostly immune to annoying locker room talk since all the other psychotic men he knows are too busy being as fanatical as him to waste time on something as useless as objectifying someone to pass the time, yet here this lowlife is.

Kaiser regards him with a judgmental side eye — for a second too long, almost television-style — and tries to move and sidestep him. “Why do you care? Pathetic cuck.”

“Woah, don’t be like that. I just thought it was funny. I’ve heard about that person before, would’ve thought it would be more of a hit it and quit it type thing. Yet here you are, still together.”

The emotion that zaps him is almost disorienting. Kaiser bruises easily, but it’s all about him. There’s never been much room for anyone else in his mentality of suffocating self-absorption, a depressing way to try and compensate for anyone who’s ever wronged him. Right now, though, he’s feeling anger on someone else’s behalf. A borderline exotic situation.

“So I was curious if that thing about loonies being the best at fucking was true? I’m assuming it is ‘cause I don’t know why else you’d stay with a schizoid.”

In the heat of the moment, when he’s pissed off, Kaiser is not the most poetic wordsmith. Thankfully politeness and civility are sensibilities which elude him. Without a second thought or any regret, he makes use of his water bottle still in his hand and dumps the entire contents of it over his head before elbowing him out of the way while he’s still confused.

___

You really don’t want to be having this conversation.

For fuck’s sake, you’re on break. And isn’t that supposed to mean relaxation? Yet the other model for the shoot today has been bugging you with unpleasant questions, putting you on the spot.

“Isn’t he a narcissist, though?” she asks, refusing to let go of the topic no matter how unresponsive you’ve been.

“I guess? Maybe. In a way…”

“You’re sooo… I don’t know. Like, you don’t even sound sure about what you’re telling me.” She narrows her eyes at you, leaning in a bit closer. “Aren’t you scared of him? Or is it ‘cause you’re so sheltered, you don’t know not to mess around with guys like Kaiser?”

Scared of him? It sounds ludicrous. At worst he’s whiny.

“He’s harmless,” you say. “Just a little rude and preoccupied with himself, that’s all. Actually, he’s an interesting and attentive person.”

She covers her mouth and lets out a sound of amusement, apparently now finding you more convincing and therefore dropping her worries. “He was saying you guys are suuuuuuuper in love with an interview.”

Not too engaged with the topic — since it’s about whatever lies Kaiser told the interviewer to entertain himself — you ask, “Is that what he was saying?”

“Yep. Didn’t you watch?”

“No.”

“Fine. Maybe he’s ‘interesting and attentive.’ I mean, I don’t believe it, but whatever. What about you, though? Do you like him, let alone love him? Can you even like anyone? I mean, shit, you know how you are. So, like, can you? Are you suuuuuuuper in love?”

You avert your eyes. “Yes,” you say. It’s true. You do like Kaiser well enough, probably more than you should. “And stop making assumptions about him and me.”

“What if I don’t stop? What are you gonna do?”

That’s… A very good question because there’s nothing you can do at the moment. Seems like a good opportunity to weaponize your reputation of being a deranged serial killer. “I’ll lick your eyebrows.”

You don’t know if your delivery is persuasive or not, but the idea you’d do such a thing must come off as believable enough because she makes a strange face before backing off.

___

You despise being in situations. And making decisions.

There’s a stupid PR meeting again. Your manager, who you think should move onto writing trashy novellas instead of administering poison to your career just because his imagination is overactive, proposed a new stunt. With the fake relationship running its course, you were discussing ways to publicize the ‘break up’ and he suggested a cheating scandal. Not to mention his great idea had you as the cheater — you swear he’s praying on your downfall at this point.

Maybe because you’ve been treated as some kind of fucked up creature incapable of thought and trustworthy decisions, something insentient, you would’ve went along with it like always. Even though you know you’d look bad, the point is to make noise, and it would be a scandalous story if not anything else. Another indignity doesn’t matter much on an endless list.

Then Kaiser in true Kaiser fashion declared that he wants to keep the relationship going. To you, such an act of flippant defiance is unthinkable.

But obviously this forces you into a position where you need to pick between your options. They’re all staring at you, waiting. Kaiser is smiling at you from across his seat like you’re in on a joke with him. Anxious, you say, “I’ll think about it,” and stand up to leave.

You’re sweating because somewhere within you wanna announce ‘Yeah, I wanna keep seeing Michael Kaiser,’ but it’s so preposterous.

Kaiser doesn’t chase after you (though it’d be his style to do such a thing solely for the drama), but he catches up to you by the time you make it outside of the building, approaching the parking lot.

“Hey. Hey! Hey, stop ignoring me. Heeeeeeey.”

God he is such an annoying pest sometimes. You turn around to face him, snapping, “What?! What was that about anyway?”

“No, what’s with you? What is there to think about? You don’t want to look like a clown in front of the world, do you?”

You’re looking at Kaiser again like you’re trying to figure out a mystery. He always wants things, but what does he want from you? There has to be a reason for this. Otherwise, he should’ve been fine with the separation instead of trying to prolong it.

“Listen,” says Kaiser, a little apprehensive at your silence and expressionless gaze, “I can tell you barely tolerate your shitty job and that you probably don’t like the moronic idea your anthropomorphized cyst of a manager came up with, so why aren’t you protesting it?”

Those are objective enough observations. However, “Anthropomorphized cyst…?”

“You’re changing the subject,” Kaiser huffs, irked. “And by the way the fake meek act isn’t cute at all. They’re making money off of you. Tell them to fuck off and die and stop acting like a hostage.”

“This is very inspirational and all, Kaiser, but how about you tell me why you wanna keep the fake relationship going?”

“Doesn’t matter. If you don’t want that either, you can say we’ll settle for ending it instead of-”

You cross your arms. “Again, your attempts at a pep talk are adorable and appreciated, but you’re changing the subject now.”

“They’re not adorable. I’m right. Say I’m right.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” you relent with a roll of your eyes.

Kaiser smiles snidely and clasps his hands behind his back. “Thanks,” he says in a sarcastic tone. Then you expect him to entertain your question, but he doesn’t, leaving you in an uncomfortable staredown against him and his stupid ‘beautiful glowing blue orbs’ ass eyes.

“Answer me,” you demand.

“Your unpleasant personality and reclusive ways have bewitched me.”

…

“… What?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Kaiser says with too much attitude considering the situation. Like, he just spoke out one of the most absurd sentences you’ve ever heard.

“Do you have a brain tumor?”

The outrageous suggestion makes him scoff. “Really? You think I need a brain tumor to like you?”

“Maybe,” you say. “Should’ve let me operate on you when I offered.”

“You’re mentally disturbed,” he replies like the fact turns him on or something.

“So were you asking me out or what?”

“Yes? No? Yes. Yeah, fine, I am.”

“Do you search up ‘personality�� on porn sites?”

“Come on, be serious. I mean what I’m saying and I want to give things between us a try. Do you?”

You cringe as if admitting your feelings or overall being in touch with them in the first place is a physically painful sensation, but in your defense you think you might throw up. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, I’ll tell him tomorrow. My manager, I mean.”

Kaiser swings an arm around your shoulders, visibly pleased with the way this is all going. He sings, “That’s the spirit.”

What had he wanted from you? Affection and care, apparently. You think back on when you’d called him ‘disgusting’ and a foreign guilt overcomes you since you don’t usually lament the remarks you make during your misanthropic hissy fits.

Is it fine for someone such as yourself to also indulge in wanting? Hesitant, with shaky arms, you embrace him around the middle, the gentlest of hugs. Kaiser freezes for a moment as if he’s unsure what to do when he’s not the one initiating things, but eventually returns the gesture. Melts into it, even. Two existences brushing against one another, at first glance contrary yet perhaps similar in many ways.

When you finally pull away from each other little by little, Kaiser says, “Let’s elope now.”

You sigh. “You sure have a way of making everything sound way more exciting than it is.”

(He drives you back to your place, but still sucks at driving. Chivalrously, he avoids crashing the car, though.)

___

Yall I was drinking light yellow tap water for a few daysdo you think somethings gonna happen to me ?

Btw I hate this but it's finally finished after like around a month so whatever lol I' M FREE

#michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #michael kaiser x you

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lenaellsi · 11 months

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I've never understood what people mean when they say that Crowley is hiding the truth of Heaven and God's cruelty from Aziraphale to protect him or spare his feelings. That's like...the complete opposite of what Crowley does.

Crowley spends all 6000 years of their time on Earth together making snarky comments about Heaven and God at every opportunity. It's his opening line in Eden, and even before Eden, he meets Aziraphale and two minutes later goes on a rant about how unfair it is to end the world before it’s really started. "What's the point of making an infinite universe if you're only going to let it run for a few thousand years?" He's been forcing Aziraphale to grapple with God's plan literally since the moment they met. Those moments make up like half of the S1E3 intro, and it happens again in every single S2 minisode. "Same God that wants me to whack the kids?" "Tell her that poverty is ineffably wonderful and life is worth living. Go on!" "That's the trouble with you lot. You tend to see things in black and white." Like. Crowley's not trying to hide anything! He thinks Heaven sucks! He thinks God is playing a fucked up game! He tells Aziraphale that all the time!

Crowley sharing or not sharing the minute details of Aziraphale's failed execution is, honestly, a nonissue, and it's kind of frustrating to see it constantly brought up. We don't even know for sure that Crowley never told Aziraphale exactly what was said. Crowley says Aziraphale "doesn't remember it either," when he's talking to Jim--not that he doesn't know, just that he doesn't remember, because he wasn't physically there. But regardless of whether Aziraphale knows the exact words, he absolutely knows that Gabriel "tried very hard to cast [him] into Hellfire and destroy [him]." And he already knows Gabriel is an asshole. That's not news.

And I'm unconvinced that Crowley wouldn't have shared what he learned in Heaven about the Second Coming and Gabriel's trial over breakfast at the Ritz if things hadn't gone completely to shit. Here's my hot take: in the fifteen minutes he and Aziraphale had alone after he got back, he had other things on his mind. Would it have been helpful for Aziraphale to know? Eh, maybe. But honestly, Aziraphale is already aware that Heaven 1) is fully on board with the end of the world, and 2) has no problem punishing angels who try to stop the end of the world. Because, you know. They tried to kill him about it last time. And regardless, I don't think this is an issue of Crowley hiding things--I think he genuinely just forgot, because he was busy getting broken up with. If he'd thought about it, you bet he would have weaponized that to get Aziraphale to stay. And he kind of did! "When Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it."

And then there's the Fall, and yeah, fair enough. Crowley probably hasn't shared what the Fall looked like for him, and I think that's information Aziraphale could benefit from. Aziraphale clearly doesn't understand it--if he did, I can't imagine that he would have asked Crowley back to Heaven.

But that's still not Crowley trying to hide the truth about Heaven to protect Aziraphale's feelings, or whatever. He just doesn't want to talk about it! Because it fucking sucked! Crowley's communication problems stem entirely from his reluctance to grapple with his own emotions, and his reluctance to be vulnerable. Bitching about Heaven doesn't make him vulnerable; talking about his Fall really, really does.

Crowley has never once shied away from telling Aziraphale exactly what he thinks about Heaven, or the archangels, or God. He's constantly challenging him, forcing him to consider the people hurt by policy decisions like the Flood, the Crucifixion, Job's trials, or the "virtues of poverty." That's a huge part of their dynamic. Sure, he sucks at telling Aziraphale about himself--he doesn't communicate why he wants holy water, or that he's been living in his car, or anything at all about the Fall (as far as we know)--but when it comes to God? He is painfully honest. That's why Aziraphale is so unsettled by him. Crowley is generally very good to Aziraphale and conscious of his happiness, yes, but he's also not afraid to push him. It's baffling to me that people think that all he does is coddle him when we spend about half the show watching them bicker over this exact issue on screen.

#good omens #good omens meta #???#anyway this has been bugging me sorry #gos2 spoilers #crowley #Aziraphale #long post #good omens 2

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scoonsaliciousupdates · 4 months

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5.3 Lily

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

Word Count: 500

Previously On...: Bucky got a call from Lily, wanting to know where he was. He lied to her, of course. That definitely won't come back to bite him in the ass.

A/N: Sorry this is so late going up! Had a last-minute Mother's Day dinner with the family, and then some quality time with @cazellen, and when you add on an hour+ drive each way, it ended up eating my entire evening. But! I wouldn't leave you hanging, so here is today's update, just... six hours late :(

Also, PLEASE NOTE: There is one more section of Chapter 5 to go up tomorrow, and then I will be taking a one-week break from posting so I can focus on writing. So, Chapter 6 will start on Sunday, May 19th. I probably will not be as active on here as I normally am, so if you send me a message and I don't respond right away, it's because I'm busy making more content for you!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Lily clutched her phone to her chest, shocked. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He had lied to her. She couldn’t believe it. Her best friend had lied to her about what he was doing and who he was with.

She hadn’t planned on coming to the Compound that night– she’d realized she’d forgotten some files in her office that she needed to look over before she went back to work on Monday, and had just stopped in to pick them up. She figured, since she was there, she might as well go see what Bucky and Sam were up to. She didn’t want to crash their boys’ night, per se, but if they happened to invite her to join them? Well, how could she refuse such an invitation?

That’s why it came as such a shock when she rounded the corner to the rec room and saw Sam and Steve, in front of the large television, watching football together, and Bucky nowhere in sight. She hung back for a few moments, giving him the benefit of the doubt, that maybe he’d been in the bathroom, or in the kitchen grabbing snacks. But when fifteen minutes went by, then thirty, and Bucky still hadn’t shown himself, she began to worry.

She was about to barge into the room and demand answers from Sam and Steve, when she heard them talking during a commercial break.

“So, how do you think the date’s going?” Steve asked Sam.

“Knowing Tin Man, I’d usually say ‘terribly,’” Sam said with a laugh, “but this girl seems to actually like him, so who the hell knows? I guess it depends on what time he comes home tonight… or tomorrow morning, doesn’t it?”

Lily brought a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp as she backed away from the entrance to the rec room.

No. No, no, no, no, no, she thought. He wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t just start seeing someone without telling her, warning her, would he?

So, she’d called him.

“I promised Sam we’d do guys’ night,” he’d told her at brunch, the lie coming so smoothly off his lips. But she’d heard a woman’s voice on the line with him.

Lies.

And then, he’d snapped “I already told you what I was doing… You don’t have to keep checking up on me.” He’d never used that exasperated tone with her before. Never. And to just hang up on her, without even a proper goodbye?

She felt hurt. She felt betrayed. In their years of friendship, Bucky had never lied to her before, had he? And why? Why now? Who was this girl, and what was so fucking special about her that Bucky felt the need to lie to his best friend about her?

Lily felt like she was going to be sick.

She needed to find out who this mystery woman was, immediately. And she needed to do everything in her power to make sure Bucky never saw her again.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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xylomane · 1 year

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𝙎𝙤... 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚...

Ft. Diluc Ragnvindr Context: You're bored after he left for work and he called you somewhere at night to ask if you want anything from the malls since he just so happened to stop by one. Teasingly and craving for naught, you ask him to buy you a lingerie. You wonder just what kind he'll pick. Does he even know those...?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Ｄｉｌｕｃ

"Huh? what's wrong? It's just a lingerie, you're the one with a problem not me." You say nonchalantly through the phone. "B-but listen, okay? I'm not good at this and even if I am-" You dropped the call, not even motivated to listen to anymore of his stammers. He's cute but still. It's been fifteen minutes since you requested him for a lingerie and he's still not convinced to agree? How will you know his favorites now?You can't wait another day. You needed to know his preferences.

Diluc knew to himself that he really didn't mean to disappoint. He just... never saw himself suitable for these kinds of things. He is a gentleman of course, with a name and a status to protect. He can't just show up in a lingerie store and attract some attention, his sex life would be questioned if somebody were to recognize him. (Diluc is famously known as the son of the founder of the most successful wine company in the entire world)

Diluc, knowing himself as a pleaser, didn't want to disappoint you any further so he sends you a text to assure you that he'll make it happen: "I'm sorry darling, I promise I'll get you one. I hope it is to your liking." The moment he hits the 'send' button, he rubs his face and sighs.

Diluc goes straight back inside his black car to drive to one of his most trusted tailors. He has given them many commisions regarding clothing before, and they always come out stunning. He let himself relax over the cushioned seat of his car, picturing whatever kind of reaction you'll have on your face until he arrived at the pavement before the tailor's building.

Diluc tried. He really did. He declined the offer for a designer because he wanted the lingerie designed only by him. If he were to still get a designer for it, it might take a day or two before it gets finished. Plus... it's a little... embarrassing. Diluc gets uneasy just by thinking about it.

Diluc needed it done by midnight and it's currently 10:00pm. He knew he needed to hurry but now that he himself, being known to always have a phrase ready on any occasion, had been explaining for about half an hour to a tailor that felt like he was suddenly speaking gibberish, there's no doubt that the chances of making the lingerie might be delayed.

Finally, the tailor sighed at him, exasperated with all the mind work to understand his stammers. She simply told him, "Paper and pencil. Show me when ready." And she hands him two objects that made Diluc's confidence stutter.

Diluc stares at the paper and he feels his cheeks burn with shame. It felt like his confidence just depleted. He knows full well she's just as stressed as he is because, hearing himself, the conversation did not make any sense. But was it really that bad...? Where the tailor even needed visual aid FROM HIM because he sucked at explaining what he wanted? Diluc isn't one to drown himself in shame anymore, so to save face for himself, he actually got to work.

The tailor had been observing the young man behind the rims of her eyeglasses and goodness- she can tell this man is holding back. At some point, as she stuck different pins on a gown of her own design, she contemplated whether she'd rather ask him what he would like to see on a woman in bed or why he wants to see that on a woman in bed. In the end, she waves the thoughts way. None of her business.

Diluc started drawing, straps and laces here and there... rose patterns? Not bad. Is the crotch area too thin? He asks himself then resorts to erasing the entire sketch of the bottom garment away. Is the fabric transparent? Diluc's eyebrows point down. But... that's a little too... he felt his hands reach to cuddle his length, goodness how is he supposed to-

Diluc really wanted something, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable so he kept holding himself back and doubting each design. Even when Diluc's head spiraled with ideas, he didn't know which one of these ideas intrigue you the most.

At this point, Diluc doesn't really know where to begin with anymore, his tried everything and it's almost been an hour. He didn't want to delay the lingerie any longer so he just followed his heart in the process. Ok... ribbons. Ribbons? Is that too weird on a lingerie? Surely not. Red lace ribbons? There? Yes, his mind liked those. Attached on what color though? Maybe something baby pink or peach. He needed them in two pieces of course.

Finally, he folded the paper unequally to four, stuffed it in his pocket, and then reached for the tailor to whom he finally said the design to. He didn't hold himself back this time and openly told her of how he wanted the lingerie to look. He wasn't planning to show it, but ended up showing it anyway.

"Good thing you got it done..." The tailor told him, letting out a sigh of relief as she placed measurements on a mannequin. "You sure have grown Master Diluc."

Diluc froze at that phrase. She's not lying nor is she wrong. All Diluc really wanted to feel was the lust in the look of you... breedable and inexperienced before him but of course he can't say that so he realized that after all these thoughts, he cannot talk back. He can't. Like, really. It made him feel so awkward that he had to think of an excuse to get out of the establishment. "I'll wait by the car." He excuses, "Just call me when it's ready. Make sure it's done before midnight." And they assure him that it is to be done quickly for the fabrics have already been chosen for the lingerie.

The tailor throws him one last curious stare behind her eyeglasses and then brings her hand to sew and get back to work while musing the unexpected request. (Last Christmas, Diluc asked the tailor to make a dress for you so she already knows your size)

When Diluc got into his car, he brought both his gloved hands to his face. What. A. Night. He didn't know it was THAT hard to think of a lingerie for you. All those thinking of how you would look on those or how it might terrify you really took a toll on him. He can't disappoint you. He mustn't.

Five minutes of breathing exercises and he would soon realize how less embarassing it actually is. Now that he thinks about it, you probably asked him to buy you a lingerie to see what he wants... if that's the case... then he didn't regret his final design. So long as the lingerie compliments your body and keeps you confident in bed he can just-

Diluc felt himself slightly aroused on his seat. He needed to get home. He opened his phone screen and it greets him with the current time: 11:17pm. Suddenly, there was a knock on his car window. Fortunately, it was the tailor's assistant, telling him to go see the finished product inside. He follows the man towards the establishment and when he does see it, he calmly accepts it.

Diluc got home at around 11:40pm and you were already laying asleep on the bed. Laughingly though, your fingers are way too close to your undergarments and Diluc can't help but muster a chuckle upon seeing you so innocently sleeping after maybe, pleasuring yourself. When he wakes you up, you realize you had accidentally fallen asleep after-

You tried to explain to him, throwing lies upon another lie, until Diluc shows you the custom-made lingerie he prepared for you. Your face burned red as he threw them on your hands. "Wear it." He tells you, "See for yourself." His voice is slightly gruff and yet it is calm and soft. You put it on inside the bathroom and... it had you speechless. The theme is cute but so... revealing. Is Diluc really... into this? The good boy, easily flustered, reserved Diluc you know? Shyly and awkwardly, you walk out of the bathroom.

"Everything is see through..." You mumble and Diluc trails his lips just on your neck to whisper, "You asked for my preferences, didn't you?" His voice was rough with warm heavy breaths tickling your skin. His hands reach to touch the back of your waist and pull you closer.

That night, Diluc was rough but aftercare was still done on both of you. (am legit blushing like a slut here lmfaooo)

Kazuha ver. here

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc imagines #genshin impact diluc #diluc x fem!reader #diluc headcanons #diluc au #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc x y/n

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taeghi · 1 year

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kim sunoo : the soulmate trope

"can i help you with something? or are you just stalking me?" "i- uh, i- you're my soulmate!"

summary : in a world where everyone is given a necklace that connects to their soulmates, you’re getting fed up with not finding yours, until you are forced to take another bus route for once and bump into a pink-haired stranger who just so happens to have a necklace that is similar to yours. if only he would wear his necklace outside of his sweater you’d be able to confirm.

word count : 9,000 :)

genre : very short/mild smut! fluff!

☆read the other volumes?

if you had a dollar for every time that you felt like an outcast in life, you'd be a billionaire.

throughout your entire life, you have always been different. to the point where it was pretty noticeable to everyone around you- to everyone that saw you even for the first time.

your school years have always been difficult due to your unfortunate outcastedness. but part of you expected it to be. if you weren't like everyone else in a social setting then of course you would stick out- whether that be in a positive or negative way.

you could handle being the 'misfit' at school. sure, it annoyed you on certain days- like when you were younger and everyone in your class continued to tell you that they would 'play with you tomorrow' at recess- but when it became tomorrow, they would say the same thing to you.

in your high school years, it got a little worse when actual attraction started to set into your puberty minds, and the male vs female gaze started to partake in the majority of everyone's self decisions.

it got a little exasperating when you felt isolated while being with your own family, especially in the world you live in.

when a child is born into your special world, they're immediately taken to the head counsel to be christened. they're prayed over for multiple minutes as president catiana speaks to the emperors above, her hand becoming possessed by them as she draws out the form that they have deemed as their destined shape that connects them to their soulmate.

the shape, whatever that may be, is immediately taken to the lapidarist to create the shape into a rock form before welding it onto a chain necklace for the new child to wear for their entire life. at some point in that child's life, they will find another person that bears the other half of the shape of their necklace- meaning that they have found their soulmate.

no one except for president catiana knows who or what the emperors are and why they have given everyone in your world a present that connects them to their soulmate, but no one really questions it. the tradition of soulmate necklaces is an ancient tradition that runs as far as anyone has looked back on.

you've heard multiple soulmate stories- from in history class, some from your friends, and some from your parents. you've heard that sometimes a person never finds their soulmate- leaving them to hopefully find another person who hasn't found theirs to date or marry- or to die alone; unloved.

your parents had found their soulmates- each other- when they were fifteen during their first year of high school. they've been inseparable since and have given you a valuable, role model-like relationship to look up to as you grew up.

when you were younger you had hoped to find your soulmate around the same age as your parents did. you remember being excited on your first day of high school- hoping to find your soulmate as quickly as your parents did in their first years.

when your first year of high school ended and you were still single- alone- you were a bit disappointed but told yourself to not give up as you still had three more years of high school left to find your soulmate at a young age.

during your second year of high school, multiple students in your school had found their soulmates- linking their necklaces for fun in front of everyone in the cafeteria to show off. the rounds of gasps and awes that took place your second year because of the number of soulmate couples being completed were cute at first- but as they continued into your third year of high school you couldn't help but feel annoyed and frustrated- jealous even.

soon, now in your last year of high school, when you have started to accept that you were an outcast and still had no sign of your soulmate- you were pissed off.

it seemed like you couldn't catch a break from all the happy, soulmate couples.

at school, they were filling the cafeteria, couples basically sitting on top of each other in pure love and happiness making out and laughing while you sat alone in the corner with your disgusting cafeteria food.

then, when you went home, your parents were constantly openly loving each other, holding hands, kissing, years old inside jokes that they only understood- something that you once found cute was now just pure exhausting to watch and listen to.

you didn't like your necklace when you were younger- the despise feeling you have for it following you along as you got into your teenage years.

your necklace's main component was a gold circle with a simple face on it that seemed to be smiling from ear to ear- if it had ears. on the right side of the circle were around ten triangles that seemed like spikes at first when you were first given it when you were six years old.

you remember holding the necklace in your hand when your parents gifted it to you on your birthday. you couldn't help but feel so attached to the necklace, not expecting yours to look so abstract and cheery looking.

"this is mine?" you asked your parents who were looking at you so anxiously, excited to see your first reaction to being a step closer to finding your soulmate.

your parents nodded, "do you want me to help put it on?" your mother asked, standing up when you agreed. you watched your parents' excited expressions in the mirror reflection as your mom fastened the chain around your neck. "there." your mother stood back.

your small fingers brushed against the necklace for the first time on your neck, "what even is it?" you asked with a tilt of your head, still not believing that it was your necklace.

"we think it's a sun." your dad spoke with a smile, making eye contact with you in the mirror. "or- at least half of a sun."

"your soulmate probably has the other side of the spikes, y/n!" your mother clapped cheerily. you quirked an eyebrow at your mom's theory, not believing that someone is just walking around with a string of ugly spikes around their neck- you felt kinda bad for them if they were.

you thought that as you grew older maybe you would grow more of a connection with your necklace- but you didn't. in fact, you believe the opposite happened.

you realized early on in your life that you hated the way gold jewelry looked on you- the ugly sun around your necklace contrasted so awful against your skin- no matter what anyone else had told you. your earrings, rings, and bracelets were always silver. you felt prettier with the paler colour of your jewelry.

you also quickly learned that you were not a morning or overall day person. you preferred late nights and everyone close to you referred to you as a night owl. you loved staying up into late hours of the night- when it was quiet and you felt like it was only you in the world for once. it was only you awake late at night so you wouldn't feel like an outcast for at least a few hours.

you could tell that your parents were getting slightly disappointed the more you aged that you hadn't found your soulmate around the same age that they had. of course, there was no 'set age' that you had to find your soulmate, but it seemed like they wanted you to fall in love as young as they did so that you could cherish your soulmate for as long as possible.

you've begun to feel so much pressure to find your soulmate, whether it was on purpose or not, that you feel like you could care less if you found yours or not. you didn't see the big deal anymore, not with watching all the 'love' around you at all times.

"have a good day at school, y/n!" your mother called from the kitchen, poking her head around the corner in time to see you open the front door.

"i'll try." you groaned, not wanting to leave the house anyway.

"don't forget to smile, y/n! your soulmate could be just around the corner!" your mother pointed to her own pretty smile.

you forced an overexcited, sarcastic smile on your face in response, making your mom laugh in response as you left your house.

you grumbled to yourself as her constant reminders that you need to find your soulmate, or that your soulmate could be lurking anywhere. you were getting tired of all this soulmate talk that you wanted to rip your hair out. you even mentally cursed your soulmate for taking so damn long to find you.

you kicked a stone that was on the sidewalk as you made your way to the bus stop, needing to let go of some of your frustration in at least the smallest way possible. you watched the small rock fly and hit the bus stop post against the sidewalk. looking up at the familiar sign that you've stood beside for the past four years, you realized that there was a paper taped against it.

as you got close enough to read it, you realized that it was a letter explaining that the city was getting rid of the bus you had taken every single day away and that the people who used the bus would have to take another one.

"oh my god," you grumbled, kicking another stone in frustration and pulling out your phone to find another bus route to school. "my luck is just awful, isn't it?"

luckily, another bus stop wasn't too far from your now old one. still, you'd have to walk farther than usual, but at least you'd still be able to be at school on time.

your wait for the new bus wasn't long as you made it there just in time for when the bus pulled up. unlike your old bus stop, where it was just you that got on at your stop, there seemed to be a lineup of students your age waiting to get on the bus.

the new bus was a lot more crowded, and you struggled to find an empty spot to sit in. there seemed to be half of the students that went to your school on this bus. you had to push yourself through people (who all gave you a dirty look) to get to the back of the bus.

as you reach the stairs at the back of the bus, there’s a boy standing there blocking your entrance to it. he’s wearing all black that matches his black hair- and even with the crowded bus- you practically falling all over the place as the bus driver starts to speed off- you still think to yourself how much the colour black doesn’t suit him.

his face is rounder with pretty high cheekbones and his light rose coloured lips are pulled into a scowl as he stares out the bus window. his wired headphones are tangled down his chest as you have to look up at him to see his face completely.

the bus makes a harder turn and it sends you flying forward- hitting the shoulder of the boy that you were just examining. you manage to catch yourself on the railing of the stairs before you full-on face planted onto the dirty bus floor. you turn around to apologize to the boy that you had rammed your shoulder into- but quickly get intimidated when his scowl is already staring directly at you.

you mumble an apology to him quickly, turning around to move to the empty spot you found. your eyes land on him again once you’re sat- his eyes are boring into yours as he watches you sit down finally.

you shrug your shoulders at him when he doesn’t turn around- almost asking what is it that he wants and you mouth the words “i’m sorry” to him again. the boy only shrugs in return and looks away from you towards the window again, watching as the bus continues to drive almost crazily around the city.

you feel uncomfortable for the rest of the bus ride. you felt like you weren’t able to take your eyes off of the boy with the mean scowl, every few seconds you felt the urge to look over at him again.

with each look you would notice more and more about him: like the few freckles that were scattered over his face, the pretty gold earrings in his ears and the way his fingers would tap against his thigh to the beat of the music he was listening to with his headphones. if it weren’t for the frown on his rosy lips and his eyebrows furrowed together underneath his black bangs then you would’ve thought he was quite the happy guy.

the thought of how much the black hair cascading around his face doesn’t suit him crosses your mind. neither does the frown- and you briskly wish to see what his facial features looked like when he smiled- thinking that it would probably brighten up the fatigued and tired bus that you were on.

the boy got off at the bus stop before the stop at the school, making you wonder if he went to your school or not. you had never seen him before- but had a backpack on and looked around your age. you watched him walk on the sidewalk- the scowl never leaving his face- until the bus started driving again and he was out of sight.

as you walked to your first class of the day you couldn’t get this weird feeling off of your chest and the thoughts of the mean boy from this morning out of your mind. you didn’t know if the two symptoms you were having were connected or not- but they were annoying and you wanted them to stop. you hoped that your class would make you stop feeling this way as you sat down in your usual seat.

“what’s up with you?” yuna’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. you’ve been friends with yuna since your freshman year and she’s always been very blunt since you’ve known her.

“what?” you question, taking in how her small figure was turned backwards in her seat in front of you so she could look at you.

with her eyebrow quirked up, “i said hi to you and you ignored me and you’ve basically just been staring off into the distance zoning out for the past five minutes.”

“oh.” you realize that you have been thinking about the encounter with the mean bus boy again- thinking about how you’ve never been so intrigued with someone before.

“yeah, ‘oh’, what’s wrong?” yuna tilted her head, knowing you like the back of her own hand since you’ve grown so attached to one another during your highschool days.

“nothing really,” you feel like you respond honestly, because the mean boy on the bus this morning was truly nothing (at least it was at the moment). yuna gives you the look that she always gives you when she knows that there is more to the story than what you are saying.

“morning, everyone!” your teacher interpts your conversation, making yuna give you one more suspicious look before shes turning in her seat again to fast the front of the class. “so today, we will be going over the basics of the history of soulmates- a quick soulmates 101 if you will.”

you tapped your pen against your notebook for majority of the class as your teacher went over things that you felt like you’ve known since you were a child. soulmates were such an important and big aspect in your society that you’re sure everyone knew about the topics and facts that the teacher was going over. for a second you questioned yourself as to why you even took this class- but remembered that it was because it was an easy A.

“now, does anyone know what exactly happens when you meet your soulmate?” your teacher asked the class, when no one raised their hand he continued with a soft smile on his older face, “great things happen,” he nods finally. he turns to the board and writes on it ‘what happens?’ “when you meet your soulmate you may feel as if you have known them for much longer than you have- as if you’ve known them your entire life.” the topic peaks your interest as you actually listened, wanting to know more for when and if the time ever happens for you, “divine timing might start to take place- as in everything else in your life will start to come together for you.” :

“and in some cases you’ll even find that telepathy can occur if you are truly meant to be together- they’ve figured that this specifically happens when you’ve spent multiple past lives with your soulmate.” :

yuna turns around to look at you, her usual big eyes are in squints as she stares directly into your own.

“what are you doing?” you ask her quietly to not disturb the class.

“are you getting any specific words in your head right now?” yuna asks, her eyes continuing to be closed in sharp slits.

“um, no?” you tilted your head confused.

“damn, i wanted to see if you were my soulmate.” yuna’s eyes returned to normal and her lips formed a pout.

you laughed at her, “maybe in another life, yun.” your friend winked at you and turned back to her notebook, scribbling the words the teacher had written on the board into her notebook.

“you could possibly feel like time is never ending when you first talk to your soulmate- and that you have everything in common with them- like they truly are your other half.” you teacher drones on about what happens when you meet your soulmate for a little while longer- making you think if you have ever had any feeling like the ones he was mentioning.

of course you drew a blank when you tried to apply them to any interactions you’ve ever had- plus you were pretty sure that i fyou ever meetyour soulmate you would know the second you’re standing right in front of them.

even when your soulmate class finishes, you find yourself thinking about the mean bus boy and about what happens when you meet your soulmate. you couldn’t get the stupid boy out of your head- but you figured that it was because you had left a bad impression on him, not meaning to upset him by literally being thrown into him on the bus- but then you wondered why you even cared about the impression you had left on him, it’s not like you’d ever see him again…

he was standing on the bus the next day.

as soon as you started walking down the aisle of the bus you could feel that he was close- you scanned the bus for him at the same time as you were scanning the bus for an empty seat to sit at.

you almost didn’t recognize the boy today as he no longer had black hair covering his forehead- but pink hair instead.

you sat down in the spot directly behind him. you weren’t sure if he even noticed you today as he was staring down at his phone- the scowl still sprawled on his face as he looked the screen.

with his new pink hair, you thought about how much more it suited him. he looked prettier than ever and you felt more drawn to him.

you felt your hands start to get clammy as you realized how close you were sitting to him and how you were staring at him like a possible maniac.

you got the same feeling that you had felt the day before- like you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. you had to keep forcing yourself to look away from him.

it didn’t take long of your obvious staring for him to catch on. from his standing position he turned his head to the right slightly, looking right at you with the same scowl on his face that he seemed to always have. direct eye contact with him seemed to get you out of the weird trance you were in and turned to look out the window again- feeling your cheeks turn warm at the thought of being caught.

when you glanced at him in the corner of your eye again after what felt like a minute (a very long minute) he was turned back to his phone again, not paying any attention to you, making you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

the now pink haired boy pulled the wire to request for the bus to stop at the next bus stop- which was the same stop as the day before- the one that was just before all the other students got off to go to school.

and maybe your constant urge to stare at the boy did some good for both of you and the universe because you caught the way he dropped his wired head phones on the bus floor as he was about to step off of the bus.

without even really realizing you jumped up, letting out a rushed ‘hey!” to him, you bent down to pick up the headphones when another pale hand reached down with you. your fingers laced in the wires and brushed against the warm hand at the same time. as you looked up you realized that the boy was picking them up with you.

you saw his pink bangs first as they covered his forehead and eyes again, and then when he moved his head upwards you made eye contact and realized how retty his eyes actually were- also hwo close your faces had suddenly become.

you stood up before him, looking away from his face and lower to his hoodie. as he stood up a few seconds after you, a silver jewelry caught your attention in his hoodie. it was hard to see but you could recognize the spikes from anywhere.

they were the ugly spikes that were also on your own necklace.

you couldn’t have been more sure of it if you tried- they were the same spikes that you’ve never seen on anyone’s soulmate necklace before.

but his was silver as yours was gold.

a heavy feeling settled in your chest at the recollection of what your own looked like- as if you had somehow been able to forget the jewelry that you wear everyday. you hadn’t realized you were still holding onto the other side of his headphones as you both stood in front of each other.

“uh, thanks?” the boy spoke to you, a disturbed expression on his face when you wouldn’t let go of his headphones.

“oh- sorry- uh- you’re welcome.” you almost stuttered out, letting your fingers drop the side of his headphones that you were holding.

the boy nodded with a tight lipped smile and turned on his heel to exit the bus completely. you stood in shock at how soft his voice sounded- so different than how his usual facial expression would have made him sound like.

you stood in the same spot, staring at where the boy once stood as long as it took for him to step off, the bus doors to close and for the bus to keep driving with the boy nowhere in sight.

the boy’s voice played in your head for the entire day- it blocked out every other noise and it was all you could think about.

the mean bus boy’s voice was pretty- just like everything else about him.

you didn’t see him again for a while.

everyday you took the bus that week you were getting more and more upset each time you stepped on the bus and he wasn’t there. everytime it got to the bus stop before the schools’ you got upset that no one was requesting the stop and getting off.

there was no mean bus boy with pink that had an awful scowl on his face and twisted headphones that he blasted music and tapped his fingers on his thighs to.

there was no boy that potentially, possibly, might have been your soulmate.

you cursed yourself for not doing something when you noticed his necklace- for not asking if you could even see it clearer.

and if you weren’t giving yourself enough shit for not doing anything when your possible soulmate was standing right in front of you- yuna was definitely giving you shit- cursing at you in the middle of the hallways making all the other students glare at you two for being too loud.

yuna asked you to describe the boy to her- hoping that maybe she knew him. but she only gave you a disappointed face when she couldn’t think of anyone that matched that description.

so not only did you not know the boy's name or age- you didn’t even know what school he went to.

by friday- a full week of not seeing your potential soulmate, you had given up all hope on him and yourself.

the weekend was dreadful. the days went by fast as you slept through them- but the nights were restless.

you usually liked staying up throughout the hours of the night- where it was silent and peaceful and it was only you awake in the house. the neighbourhood fell into a peaceful slumber while you stayed awake with your thoughts racing.

your heart felt like there was a hole in it and you couldn’t describe the feeling in any other way besides that.

on monday you felt like shit. your sleeping schedule was even more out of whack than it usually was. you didn’t bother showering from the amount of sleepiness in your body that had taken over. you went to school in the same sweatpants that you had slept in all weekend.

the wave of uneasiness that started to smother your entire being was a nuisance to you and to everyone else around you- yet you had no idea as to what had specifically caused it.

you trudged your way onto the bus on monday mourning, your own headphones wrapped your fingers this morning as you sat down on the bus listening to music- trying to distract yourself from how tired you were.

your heartbeat started to pick up pace as you sat down. it felt like sheer panic was coming over your body as you simply just sat on the bus with no one directly around that morning. your hand covered your heart, trying to calm it as you took a deep breath.

in the corner of your eye you saw a shade of pink that look all too familiar to you.

in a millisecond you whipped your head to the side to see it clearly.

there, across the aisle from you, sat the boy- the mean boy with the scowl that you couldn’t get out of your head for the past week and a half. and he was already looking at you.

it was somehow silent on the bus as you both stared at each other- different songs playing through both your headphones. you couldn’t tell if the bus was moving or not as you didn’t dare break eye contact with him- thinking that if this is truly your last time seeing this boy then you wanted to remember each hazel flake that was beautifully set in his eyes.

you don’t know how long you both stared at each other- but you cursed yourself again for not realizing he was beside you when you sat down.

when he reached his arm up to pull the wire to request the bus to stop, your heart sank as your eyes pulled apart. you watched him as he made sure his headphones were wrapped around his fingers today as he got up- obviously not wanting to drop them again as he got off.

the sheer panic you felt minutes before had returned and you didn’t know what to do. you couldn’t let this boy disappear from you again- especially not after all the shit you had gotten from yuna the week before.

before you could process your thought process- you jumped up and stepped off the bus at the boys’ usual bus stop- the one before the school.

you mentally damned the school as you wanted to know if the pink-haired boy in front of you was your soulmate or not. you watched him walk to the right- away from your school- for a second, wanting to create some distance between you guys. you were sure that the boy was not expecting you to jump off the bus after him as he didn’t turn around once- his eyes glued to his phone again.

you sigh but watch his figure wander down the sidewalk toward your school. until he stops at the store right outside the school gates. he walks inside, and the bell on the door jingles as he enters. you rush to the window, wanting to catch a glimpse of him inside.

he's the only customer in the store as you watch him scan the drink aisle. you wonder for a second if he'll pick his favourite drink and let you in on his preferences.

you see him close the fridge door, a drink in hand as he starts to walk up to the cashier. you struggle to see what he has picked until he places it on the counter for the worker to scan.

and of course, it's the absolute worst drink you have ever tried.

the lemon-flavoured juice that everyone raved over that you hated. the bottle was wrapped in yellow paper with cartoon pictures of limes, suns and bees.

the boy smiles at the cashier as he finishes paying and grabs his rink to leave. you see that his smile pulls at his cheeks and eyes, making his eyes turn to slits. there's a pull at your chest when you see his smile- like his smile can suddenly drag you into him and pull you around.

The bell at the door makes you realize that you're still on your tiptoes, perching against the window to look inside. you quickly turn on your heel, so you're body is faced away from the door, and you make it look like you've been leaning against the store's wall for some time. like it's a natural thing for you to do.

you turn around again when you think he's walked further enough to not notice you. you can see his pink hair walking in the direction towards your school, his yellow drink swaying by his side as he holds it in his hand. you can see his white head phones looping up to his ears as he looks down at his phone as he walks. you muse yourself and wonder if his music taste is just as bad as his drink preference.

you start walking to school after him, lost in your own thoughts about him as you stare at the back of his pink-haired head.

suddenly, the boy stops and spins on his heel, a glare on his face as he stares at you.

you didn't realize how close you had gotten to him from walking almost absentmindedly. so now, you were only a meter apart from one another. his glare against your sheepish smile.

"can i help you with something? or are you just stalking me?" his voice rings out so melodically that it almost makes you forget that you need to respond. when you don't answer his eyebrow quirks up, "i mean you followed me off of the bus, waited for me outside the store, and is now following me to school."

"right! i- uh," you shake your head, trying to get your thoughts together, "you're my soulmate!" not exactly the way you wanted to tell him, but you can't go back now.

the boy's face drops slightly as he takes in your own surprised appearance. there's no longer a glare on his face, but hesitance and curiosity. he pulls out his headphones in one tug, and lets them tangle in his hand as he speaks. "what do you mean?"

"i mean," you start to reach into your shirt, pulling out the gold necklace you've always hated. "i think ours match."

the boy examines your necklace, not moving an inch closer than the meter you were standing at. you could see his mocha eyes swirl over the spikes with a hint of recognition, before darkening to a glare again.

"i don't think so, mine's silver." he shakes his head in disagreement.

"well, let me see yours." you speak quickly, scared that he'll somehow disappear in a second. you see him hesitate, before he reaching into his hoodie and pulling out his own necklace.

you step forward, wanting a clear sighting of the necklace instead of the small glimpses you've caught on the bus. when you step closer you instantly smell his perfume and you wonder if he can smell yours.

the silver charm hangs in front of your face, now that you're up close you can see that the awful spikes you've always thought were distasteful are one-hundred percent identical on his. you reach out and grab it so it stops swaying. the boy takes a small step back at your movement, but allows you to hold his charm. "let's just check anyways." you tell him and he doesn't respond, only watches in silence as you bring your charm to his.

in an instant, your gold sun and his silver half-moon click together. the top and bottom spike fit each other perfectly, despite being different metals.

a small gasp leaves your mouth as the charms become one. not taking your eyes off it as they hang together in the air, successfully holding you and the boy together.

you're unable to read the boys face as he examines your connect charms. his mocha eyes are almost glazed over as he stares.

as you two stand there, connected by metal, it's like both of you are waiting for something, anything, to happen. a sign of some sort to finalize that you are soulmates. but instead, it's just some girl and some boy, standing on the sidewalk, probably late to school.

in an instant, the boy is removing his charm from yours. your necklace falls flat against your chest now that it's not being confined with his.

"what do you think?" you ask him quietly, hopeful.

"i guess we're soulmates."

"it was so awkward, yuna!" you cry as you put your face in your hands.

"why? what exactly happened?" your best friend asks you as you sit in class, supposed to be working but are too consumed with the events of earlier this morning.

you lift your head slightly as you speak so she can hear you, "it was just so- so awkward! and silent! nothing like what i've heard it's suppose to be!"

"like what?"

"like, like magical! there was certainly no magic, no sparks, no- no, nothing!"

"well that's weird." you groan at your friends words, putting your face in your hands again. "so what are you going to do?"

"i don't know, yuna!" you wish you could disappear, all of this soulmate business almost too much for you. "i told him i'd see him on the bus tomorrow and then ran off."

"you ran and left your soulmate on the sidewalk alone?" yuna exclaims, amusement in her voice. it only makes you groan again, not caring if your classmates were glaring at you for the noise.

"i don't know if he's my soulmate!"

"well you thought he was your soulmate before, and you said he thinks your soulmates! isn't this all you ever wanted, y/n?" yuna asks you, rubbing your back.

"no it's not!" you sit up, "when i found my soulmate i wanted it to be a undoubtedly, love filled moment! like in all the soulmate-finding stories i've heard! not, whatever happened this morning."

"was it really that bad?" yuna grimaces as she asks.

"he asked me if i was stalking him!"

"oh."

you groan and put your head down onto your desk, closing your eyes. you hope that when you open them again you would wake up from this awkward nightmare.

"what's his name, anyways?"

"oh my god," you close your eyes tighter, "i didn't even ask my soulmate his name!" yuna's laugh echos in your ears, and you can't help but compare it to how soft his voice filled your ears earlier.

the next door, you dread stepping onto the bus. you make your way to your usual spot, keeping your hood up and eyes locked on the floor. with every stop getting closer to his, you feel your heartbeat pick up. even though you tell yourself to calm down, you feel more and more adrenaline fill your body. when the bus stops at the designated stop, you refuse to look anywhere but your lap, no longer wanting, hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy with pink hair.

a body sits next to you, their thighs almost brushing against yours. it's then that you smell a perfume so similar that it draws you to slowly pull your head to the person beside you. you gulp when you lock eyes with the mocha ones you seem to so desperately fall into.

without a word, his hand reaches out to you. you glance down and see the white headphone he's offering you. your eyes following the wire that leads to the other one, placed into his own ear.

you take his headphone offer, popping it into your ear and are instantly listening to music.

it only takes a second of you realizing shawn mendes is singing in your ear to make you groan out in disgust.

"what?" the boy's voice asks you.

"just, shawn mendes? really?" you crinkle your nose up.

"what's wrong with that?" he defends himself and shawn.

"i just hate pop music."

the boy tilts his head to the side, "then what music do you like?"

you shrug, "rock music. like the who, queen or even ac/dc."

now it was the pink-haired boy's turn to crinkle his nose up in disgust. "really?" he takes the headphone out of your ear when you nod and pops it into his other ear, blocking you out.

you huff, crossing your arms over your chest and looking out the window, watching how the city moves when the bus drives by. you start to think to yourself about how could the boy beside your be your soulmate.

it was awkward between you two. you seemed to have nothing in common. there was nothing magical that happened when your charms connected. you were struggling to comprehend what you two could even have a conversation about.

when the bus made its final stop at the school and there was not another word spoken between you two you thought that this would probably be the last time he even sat with you on the bus.

but then, the pink haired boy turns and says almost slyly over his shoulder, "my name's sunoo, by the way."

if your ears didn't seem to cut out all the other noise and voices on the bus, you would've missed it.

"i'm y/n."

the pink-haired boy, sunoo, gives you one last look before he's stepping off the bus, getting lost in the herd of students and the noise returns to your ears and you wish it wouldn't. you wish you could only hear his voice for the rest of your life.

you want to question why he's sitting beside you the next day on the bus. but instead you question him as to why he's handing you his phone.

similar to the day before, he's sitting down beside you without a word and handing you something. you furrow your brows together, looking between his phone and him.

"your number." he speaks impatiently. your lips form an 'O' as you nod and enter your number, double checking that you put in the right number before you're passing his phone back to him. you watch in the corner of your eye as he adds your name to the contact. he presses on the emoji keyboard, his fingers hover over them, before he ultimately saves it as it is and locks his phone.

you wonder all day if sunoo is going to text you today, or tomorrow, or never. but, your pondering stops when you get a text during last period.

unknown : meet me outside by the front gate when school's over?

me : sure

it's not hard to find sunoo after school. his pink hair standing out in the large crowd of students going home. you smile at him once you're standing in front of him.

"do you like ice cream?" he asks you, your ears sound like they're popping and only his voice can be heard.

"yes."

"let's go." he turns on his heel, starting to walk down the street towards downtown, where all the shops and markets are located. you struggle to keep up with him at first, as he so easily glides through all the students.

when he finally stops, you see a giant sign "Kim's Sweet Shop" and you know exactly where you are.

"oh! i've been here before!" you say to him, a grin on your face full of recognition.

"really?" sunoo asks you, turning to look at you, "my parents own this shop."

"no way! i use to come here all the time when i was younger!"

"hm," sunoo hums, "maybe that's where i've seen you before."

"what do you mean?"

"well, when i first saw you on the bus, i thought you looked so familiar but i couldn't put my finger on where i've seen you before."

"oh, i didn't think you even noticed me on the bus."

sunoo shrugs, "of course i did." when you narrow your eyes at him he speaks, "you're beautiful." when you feel your cheeks light up a colour that matches his hair, you're glad he continues, "c'mon let's get some ice cream. and you better not like some gross flavour like pistachio."

"hey! pistachio is good!"

sunoo only groans in response.

when your ice creams are finished, and you both argue about who's favourite flavour is grosser, you let sunoo walk you to a park down the street. all the kids have gone home for dinner, so you and sunoo are alone at top the jungle gym. your mouths are full of sugar as you look out onto your small town, settling down for the friday night.

"i listened to a queen album last night." sunoo breaks the silence between you.

"did you?" you sit up at the news. "and what did you think of it?"

sunoo smiles gently, "it was alright."

you try to hide the happiness that fills your stomach alongside the pistachio ice cream you finished. "well, i can tell you now that i'm not listening to a shawn mendes album for you!"

"hey! what's your problem with shawn?"

"my problem is that he sounds like every other pop singer!"

sunoo gasps, placing his hand on his chest, "i can not believe you just said that!"

you roll your eyes, "well send me some more pop albums besides shawn's and i'll try not to hate them."

when the fall wind picks up, you let sunoo walk to you home.

the walk is full of laughter and teasing as both of you struggle to walk more than a meter without nudging the other for 'walking weird'. you cheeks hurt from grinning when you step onto your street and you realize your afternoon with sunoo is over. it went by so fast.

it's silent when you step onto your porch step. the porch light shining over both of you so you're not left in complete darkness. you twiddle with your hands in front of you, wondering how your night will end now that sunoo is going home.

"so what do you think?" the pink-haired boy asks you.

"about what?"

"about us being soulmates. do you really think we are?"

his question lingers all around you. you can't deny that it's been something you've been debating for weeks now. you feel like you can still find ways to argue if you are not. but after this afternoon, you find it hard to.

"i think we are."

even though he tries to hide it, sunoo's smile takes up his face as he looks down at the pavement, kicking nothing with his shoe. "me too."

there's happiness around you as you bid each other a good night. you watch him walk down your street until he turns and he's out of sight. your ears feel like they're popping when he's gone. your parents don't ask questions when you walk inside, only saying good night as you happily drag your body upstairs to your bedroom.

your body feels lighter when you lay in bed, but you know you still won't be able to sleep for hours. your insomnia mixed with love is a better feeling than your insomnia mixing with anxiety. you smile to yourself when you catch yourself saying the 'L' word.

you roll over onto your stomach, not caring about the time when you text sunoo saying how much fun you had tonight, and to thank him for the ice cream. as soon as you press send, your body collapses into a deep sleep.

the first thing you see on your phone when you wake up at noon is a text from sunoo from hours earlier:

sunoo : you really need to fix your sleeping schedule. sunoo : wanna hang out later?

you realize that you texted him the night before at three in the morning before passing out. and then you realize that you need to get ready to hang out with sunoo later.

the next weeks are filled with things you could only have imagined before. sunoo and you started by showing each other your favourite places around town. which seemed to be very different from each others.

you took him to the museum where you frequented. showing him your favourite paintings that you have basically memorized. you told him how you wanted one of your art works to be in this museum one day. he didn't seem to understand your love for this museum in particular, but he didn't say anything and just let you pull him around for hours until he was sure he's seen even every nook and cranny of the building.

he took you to his favourite cafe that was probably the busiest building in your whole town. you always tried to avoid this place, but sunoo assured you that it was the best. you didn't like all the noise in the place, but every time sunoo spoke it made it better since it only seemed like you and him in the cafe. you sat the table while sunoo bought every snack that he deemed to be the most delicious thing on the earth. and even when you only took a bite of it since you didn't like it, sunoo didn't seem to care. he only laughed at the ridiculous face you made while tasting it.

you started meeting up in the halls at school during class hours, laying around on the stairs together until you heard someone coming. you sat closer and closer to each other on the bus every morning, annoying the others who were still half asleep with your laughing. sometimes sunoo would surprise you on a saturday morning with a pistachio ice cream cone from his parent's shop, urging you to eat it before it would melt.

when sunoo told you he wanted to take you somewhere special, you thought it would be another cafe. but it turned out to be the roof of his parent's shop.

you were scared at first, but when sunoo reached his hand out to help you up, it didn't seem too bad after all.

sunoo sat beside you, his pink hair fading into the sunset above you. he looked beautiful. his tan skin milking the sky of it's golden and pink hues. his mocha eyes contrasting so perfectly. and his gorgeous smile, taking up his whole face every time you made him laugh.

when you decided to lay down on the rooftop, sunoo followed you. the gentle wind would surround your bodies, making you closer together for some warmth. when sunoo's hand circled yours, you didn't shy away from the heat it provided.

on either sides of you was the sun and the moon. the sun ready for the sleep, and the moon ready to take charge for the night, watching over everyone as they slept. you turn your head to the side to look at sunoo, giggling when your noses touched from how close you were.

"i'm glad you're my soulmate," sunoo's voice speaks, and the rest of the world goes blank.

"why?"

sunoo rolls his eyes at you but responds, "because you're funny, caring, understanding. everything that's perfect."

you smile, "understanding? i'm not sure i understand your love for shawn mendes though." you laugh when sunoo nudges your shoulder with his own, "but thank you. i'm glad you're my soulmate, too."

suddenly, you feel a burning on your chest, right where your charm lays. and you know sunoo feels it too from the way his hand not connected with yours lands on his chest. your eyes meet his mocha ones and you can't seem to look away. the charm burns your skin more intensely until your face is right in front of sunoo's. and you give in.

as soon as your lips touch the burning stops and you feel yourself being tugged closer together. your charm interlinks with sunoo's as you kiss so you're connected in more ways than one. you feel perfect like this. the way you can taste, hear and feel sunoo. even with your eyes closed you can see him flawlessly, the way he always is.

when you both pull away, you gasp as your eyes meet your connected charms.

"oh my god," sunoo says, taking his charm from yours to look at it. your charm hits your chest before you grab it. "it- they,"

"they changed." you finish for him. examining the once gold, sun charm now turn into a silver sun. the ugly spikes you hated are softer as they surround the sun's face.

you glance towards sunoo's whose face is just as confused as your own. his silver moon is now gold, and his spikes too are softer, more round as sunoo's fingers trace them.

sunoo lets out a sigh, "thank god, because i really hate silver."

"i really hate gold." you smile at him, laughing when sunoo pulls you in for another, one of many, kisses.

from that day on, sunoo and you don't shy away from anything, despite your differences. sure, each other's parents are confused on how both of you are soulmates since you are so different, and maybe sometimes you are, too. but you don't let it bother you.

the love you have for each other is something that you know only the two of you have in this large world. you're lucky enough to find your soulmate in the small town you grew up in. there seems to be no worries with sunoo, time, pace or future is something you know you can handle as long as sunoo is beside you. he's someone you know that will never judge you, even your hatred for shawn mendes.

so when sunoo's hand slips into his sweatpants he let you borrow, you don't shy away from him. you place your hand over his boner that's so noticeable under his sweats. sunoo groans, surging towards your body and resting his head in your shoulder as he continues to circle your clit.

"fuck," sunoo pants in a small whimper.

you're sharking your head, your other hand coming up to cup his face. "feels so good, already." your lips start to move against each other, getting lost in the pleasure both of you are feeling.

both of your movements speed up, trying to get the other one to feel just as good as the other. a low whine escapes your lips as your fingers dig into his pink hair that you love so much.

sunoo grunts, using all of his power to continue to circle your tiny, swollen clit. "you're mine, right, y/n?" you feel too good to answer with words, your hips moving in sync with his fingers, so he takes your nod as an answer.

both of you can feel your orgasms approaching. neither of you stop, or want to stop. focusing on the other reaching their high.

"fuck, sunoo!" you gasp out, a small squeal falls from your lips as you feel your body tense. the charm on your neck burning the skin under it as you feel a fire take over your body. you feel your cheeks burn to match sunoo's hair as you feel the coil building in your stomach snap.

"shit, baby, i-," sunoo lets out, biting onto his lower lip before he feels his cock twitch and empty into his boxer. your hand doesn't stop jerking his cock over his clothes until he moves his hips away, retracting his hand from your panties at the same time.

you both catch your breaths, the heat from your charms cooling as you come back to your senses. you both laugh as you make eye contact, out of breath but so, so happy. because everything with sunoo is happy.

and even though you and sunoo don't have everything in common. and your soulmate love story isn't like everyone else's, kim sunoo is still your soulmate, you are his.

and you wouldn't want it any other way.

taglist : @asyleums @wonrkive @fluerz @bitchychildmiracle @gyulune

@ taeghi, 2023. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

stay safe everyone :)x

#enhypen #sunoo #sunoo enhypen #smut #enhypen smut #fluff #angst #soulmate #soulmate au #the classics #enhypen sunoo #series #pwp #fanfic #au

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suzukiblu · 10 months

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Day fifteen of fic NaNoWriMo; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Kon grins wider, then holds his cup out to him. Specifically, he tilts it so Tim can take a sip instead of just giving it to him.

Bastard. Bastard-coated bastard with bastard-flavored nougat-y filling and a bastardly ganache coating and bastard sprinkles on top.

Bastard.

Tim thinks several more accusing things, then leans over and tries the smoothie. It does taste pretty good, though it’s a little too sweet for him to want to drink the whole cup. Blackberry is definitely more his thing.

“Not bad,” he says anyway, because it’s not and also goddammit, Kon is still grinning at him. Because again: bastard. Absolute full and complete and entire bastard.

“Yeah, for the East Coast, at least,” Kon replies with an easy shrug, reclaiming his cup for another sip. Tim does not think about indirect kissing or anything that ridiculously juvenile and middle-school. Not at all. Not even slightly, in fact. “I dunno, the whole thing just reminds me, um . . . like, I didn’t really do the whole ‘childhood’ thing, obviously, but you know that thing where people talk about extra-liking stuff they used to eat when they were kids? Tropical flavors kinda make me feel like that. Comfort food or whatever. I mean, it’s not Loco Moco or musubi, obviously, but . . .”

Tim blinks, makes a few mental notes, and wonders if there’s a single actually authentic Hawaiian restaurant in Gotham. Maybe? There’s got to be at least a decent food truck or two around, if nothing else. There’s always a food truck.

He could probably bribe one to come into the city for a day or two, if it comes to it.

“That makes sense,” he says, since technically Kon’s childhood pretty much was in Hawaii. He refuses to count the stupid fucking cloning tube, because counting the stupid fucking cloning tube is literally too depressing a thought to even contemplate. Fuck the stupid fucking cloning tube. Fuck it sideways.

Maybe Tim can just bribe a Hawaiian food truck to set up in Kon’s future cul-de-sac once a week or something, once he's conned him into moving into it. Just include it in their usual schedule or something, he doesn’t know. Or at least drop off a regular lunch order for him, maybe.

Whatever, he’ll work something out. He’s going to be working a lot of things out, at this point; hooking Kon up with a regular supply of his childhood comfort foods is not even an imposition. He doesn’t even know what either Loco Moco or musubi is, but he’ll put them on the list and do his damn research. He'll go to Hawaii and hire a personal chef straight from the source if he has to, at this point.

“Can I try yours?” Kon asks, grin going sly again. Tim’s head immediately empties out all over again, and he mutely holds his cup out. Kon’s grin widens.

He leans in and ducks his head and Tim has to deal with how long his eyelashes are and just how pretty his stupid face is and, worse, how pretty his stupid mouth is.

Fuck’s sake, this is just not fair at all. He knows Kon’s a flirt, obviously, but does he have to actually be good at it? Because Tim is not used to him being good at it, actually! Usually he’s being overbearing and too-eager and weird about it, in fact!

Tim has the unfortunate thought that maybe Kon always flirts like this and he’s just not seeing it as overbearing or too-eager or weird because it’s focused on him for once, then immediately dismisses said thought as a thought he absolutely cannot allow himself to ever have again. Just–ever. Not for anything.

Jesus, what is his fucking life right now?

Kon leans back; licks his lips. Tim dies, kind of. Like, just a little bit.

Alright, maybe more than a little bit.

“I like it,” Kon says, grinning at him. Tim tries not to think about how intimately he now knows how Kon’s mouth would taste right now, sharply sweet-sour with blackberry and tropical fruit and all warm and soft and wet and–never mind.

“Want a pretzel too?” he offers in a hopefully normal voice, tipping his head towards the stand.

“Sure,” Kon says, glancing towards it. “Sounds good, man.”

“Cool,” Tim says, incredibly awkwardly, and they head over. He orders a regular pretzel because he doesn't know Caroline Hill's pretzel order anymore than he knows her smoothie order, but “regular” isn't going to be interesting enough for Kon to make a note of either way. Possibly he should just be ordering things Tim Drake would, but the flaw in that plan is that Tim Drake isn't thinking very clearly right now and it is currently much, much easier to be in mission-mode than anything else.

Kon orders a cinnamon-sugar pretzel. Tim wishes the bastard would stop eating things that taste good, but also recognizes that it’s his fault that the bastard's been eating things that taste good. He’s literally the one both suggesting and buying said things for him.

So Kon’s mouth is about to taste like cinnamon sugar right now because of Tim, which is actually making the fact that Kon’s mouth is about to taste like cinnamon sugar right now infinitely worse.

Tim pays. They get the pretzels. Kon immediately tears off a bite of his and Tim wishes he had a cover identity that didn't like cinnamon, or at least was allergic to it or diabetic or gluten-intolerant or something. He could use a cover identity like that to fall back on right now.

“Wanna bite?” Kon offers.

“I'm good,” Tim says, because he will literally die if he takes him up on that offer right now. Or possibly go criminally insane like fifteen years ahead of schedule, which would be its own problem. He doesn't have enough kryptonite for that yet. “You like it?”

He doesn’t know why he asked that. Apparently he’s just a glutton for punishment.

“Yeah,” Kon says, licking sugar off his lips. “It’s good.”

“Good,” Tim says, then desperately flails for a subject that doesn’t involve the way anything currently in Kon’s mouth tastes. “Do you have a personal phone or just a work one?”

“Just work, technically. And then, like, I get issued communicators when I need them,” Kon replies, looking puzzled. “Why?”

Because Cadmus could very easily track and tap and block whatever numbers they wanted on that, Tim doesn’t say.

“I’m trying to get your number and I don’t want to call you on your work phone,” he says. “That seems weird.”

“You a little on the shy side, pretty boy?” Kon asks teasingly, flashing him a smirk. Tim does not examine anything about that statement or his own feelings about it. He also does not think about what Kon’s mouth tastes like, though Kon makes that incredibly difficult by immediately taking another bite of pretzel.

Has Tim mentioned what a bastard he is yet? Because he is a bastard.

“I’m buying you a phone,” he says, deciding if he just acts like it’s a foregone conclusion and some small little thing, Kon’s likelier to not reject the offer. “I cannot mentally deal with the idea of your boss seeing what I text you about on some random weekly report.”

“You can’t, huh,” Kon says, biting his lip around a grin and shifting in a little bit closer. “Why, Tim? What are you gonna text me about?”

Tim realizes how that might’ve sounded much too late, but by then it’s too late to rephrase or backtrack, so fuck it: time to commit.

“Depends on what you text back, I guess,” he says. Kon laughs, then grins at him again. His face is a little red again too. Tim is resigned to having to survive the experience.

“Well, I guess you’d have my number if you got me a phone, huh,” Kon says.

“I would, yes,” Tim says. He’s going to have to resist asking Kon to turn on “find my phone”, probably. Or adding any trackers or bugs to it. It’s the Bat instinct, but it’d probably creep Kon out if he caught a “civilian” doing anything like that. And also definitely concern him, what with the “supervillain creep” concerns he was already having. And Tim would have a really hard time paying for Kon’s entire life if Kon decided he was a supervillain before he’s even become a supervillain, so he’d prefer to avoid that outcome.

He guesses Caroline Hill could give it a shot if Tim Drake can’t pull it off, though. She’d still probably have better chances than him anyway, given Kon’s usual taste in people.

They eat their pretzels on the way to the electronics store and Tim tries to plot how to convince Kon to let him get him the best possible phone but is incredibly, incredibly distracted by watching him lick cinnamon sugar off his fingers. Tim actually hasn’t seen Kon with his gloves off too many times, come to think of it. Or possibly, like . . . ever. Like, he might’ve actually never seen him with his gloves off before.

Alright, well, that’s a thing that he hadn’t yet realized and is now going to be completely normal about.

Definitely normal. Very, very normal. So normal.

They toss out their empty pretzel wrappers outside the store and Kon licks a little more sugar off the pad of his thumb. Tim wonders if he has any callouses. Probably not, considering the TTK, but who knows. Maybe he trains with it down? Or maybe TTK just doesn’t protect his skin quite that thoroughly. Tim’s never actually seen him get cut or scratched or even bruised, though, so . . . maybe?

He really has no idea, at this point.

He supposes he could ask. Tim Drake’s already said he knew about tactile telekinesis and that he did some research, so . . .

“Does TTK protect you from callouses?” he asks, gesturing at Kon’s hands with his smoothie and a little too curious to repress the question. Kon tilts his head and smirks at him again.

“You tell me,” he says, then casually reaches over and catches Tim’s free hand in his own.

Tim had thoughts in his head at some point today, he’s pretty sure, but hell if he knows what any of them were.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon #long post

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bullet-prooflove · 3 months

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Listen: Dean Archer x Reader (feat: Sean Archer)

Tagging: @kmc1989@helsinkibaby@hufflepuffgirl@mimi-8793

When Dean sees his son Sean for the first time in fifteen years, he’s dressed in a beige prison XL prison uniform and there’s a pane of glass between the two of them with fingerprints streaked across the surface.

Surely he thinks, they should be able to do better especially after COVID. They could at least wipe the damn thing down or something. His hands are shaking when he picks up the phone but he masks it by gripping the receiver so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

It’s been a couple of weeks since Sean called him from Cook County, that’s how long it’s taken him to get visitation. He hadn’t realised it was such a process. In the meantime he’s been in contact with Sean’s lawyer, an over encumbered public defender in an attempt to understand the charges against him. The woman had barely even remembered his name.

He tries to explain the detriment of this to Sean as he sits across from him but it starts a fight. All hell breaks loose between the two of them because Dean, he’s never really understood Sean, not since he hit fourteen and came home from Sea Cadets that summer a withdrawn, sullen teenager. It’s six moths later when his grades started to drop that they found the weed and the pills.

Sean ends up hanging up the phone and terminating the visit and Dean is left with this weird feeling of purgatory because he’s back where he was fifteen years ago, with a son that doesn’t want to talk to him.

“I don’t know how to get through to him.” Dean tells you later that night when you’re cooking dinner together. He’s tired, overwhelmed, exasperated. He wants to fix this, truly he does, he just doesn’t know how to. “I don’t know why there’s such a disconnect.”

“Have you tried listening to him?” You ask as you chop peppers on the cutting board for the salad. “I mean actually sitting down and hearing what he has to say.”

“Of course…” He replies with an edge of annoyance and you give him that look, the one that tells him he’s being an ass. He falls silent after that, mulling it over in his head as he cooks steak on the stove.

Dean has always parented the way his father parented him. His father was an admiral, he had a strict military upbringing, bouncing around from base to base, never sticking around long enough to make too many friends. It’s the reason he’s found it hard to make connections in the past, if you build a barrier between you and the rest of the world it’s less likely you’ll get hurt when it’s time to move on. He carried that into his first marriage and into every job he’s ever worked.

His father had always insisted on things being tidy, ordered and Dean he’s lived with that mantra his entire life. He thinks that’s why he was so hard on Sean, he’s used to a chain of command, a hierarchy. He was the parent and Sean was the kid. It should have been as simple as that but the truth is people are messy. It’s only through his therapy sessions with Daniel that he’s realising how much his father’s version of parenting affected him. He was always distant, emotionally cold. When he was present it was about earning his time, not enjoying it. He wonders if he brought that to the table with Sean, if he taught him that love was conditional, dependant on good behaviour.

“I think you’re right.” He tells you when the two of you settle into bed that night. You’re curled up against his side, your head resting through on his chest as his fingers comb through your hair. “Maybe I haven’t been listening.”

He’s lucky that Sean agrees to see him the second time, he could refuse, he could take him off the visitor’s list but he doesn’t. Dean thinks that means there’s hope for the two of them, that he’s committed to mending fences, after all it was Sean that reached out, Sean that called Dean wanting nothing more than to talk to his dad.

“My wife…” Dean as he sits down across from his son. “She says I’ve got a tendency to override everything but the sound of my own voice and she’s right. I just… if there’s anything you want to say to me after all this time I’ll try my best to listen.”

“You got remarried?” Sean says finally, his elbow resting on the ledge as he leans forward. “I thought the way things ended with you and mom would have put you off.”

Dean doesn’t look back on that time fondly, they’d tried to shield Sean away from the majority of it but there were nights when Leanne’s addiction was out of control and his patience had stretched to breaking point. He’s not proud of the way he handled things back then, his first marriage left him mistrustful and with a sense of worthlessness, that he still feels to this very day.

“It did.” Dean admits as he cups the phone under his chin. “I was alone for a long time before I met Isobel…”

He trails off then because he’s not sure if this is the kind of thing that Sean wants to hear. The life he has now is so different from the one he had before. He’s happy these days, relaxed. He understands that things aren’t so black and white, they don’t fit neatly into little boxes the way that he was taught they should.

It occurs to him that Sean doesn’t know this version of him. Dean preached a lot of tough love back then and not a whole lot of empathy, he had been taught addiction and mental health were character flaws, a sign of weakness. He knows different these days, from his own experiences, from yours. He’s not the same person he was fifteen years ago, he’s much more free with heart, more understanding, more compassionate. He hopes he can show Sean that in the future, that he’s changed, that he’s willing to rebuild this relationship.

“Does she know about me?” Sean asks him quietly, his voice a little rough. “Your wife Isobel? Did you tell her about me?”

There’s a slight pinkness in his cheeks and his gaze slips down the chipped table, his thumb running over a deep indentation. It takes Dean a second to realise what he’s seeing in his son and it feels like a knife plunging straight into his chest.

Shame.

Sean thinks that Dean’s ashamed of him. That he’s hidden his son away like he’s some horrible secret. He’s never wanted to reach out so badly before, he wishes the glass wasn’t there, that he could touch Sean, hug him but he can’t no matter how much he wants to.

“She does.” He tells his son, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile. “She wants to meet you when you’re ready.”

“We should probably wait until I’m out.” Sean says gesturing at their surroundings. “I don’t think prison’s the best place to meet my dad’s new wife. I’d prefer to put my best foot forward and all that.”

“She’s an M.E.” Dean laughs as he looks around the room. “She’s worked out of far worse surroundings than this.”

Sean smiles then and something in Dean’s chest just lifts.

“It’s not your fault you know?” Sean says suddenly, surprising Dean. “That I’m fucked up. I know you blame yourself but it was nothing you did or didn’t do. I just… I need you to know that.”

There’s an ache in Dean’s chest, it feels so visceral, like someone’s reached in and torn his heart right out of his rib cage.

“Don’t do that.” Dean tells him, his voice breaking. “Don’t let me off the hook that easy. I messed up I know I did…”

“And so did I.” Sean tells him, his eyes burning with sincerity. “I just want you to know that I’m trying to own the shit I did, to making amends for it.”

“Sean…” Dean begins but Sean shakes his head cutting him off.

“Dad.” Sean reminds him gently. “You promised to listen.”

“I did.” Dean concedes as he adjusts the handset under his chin. “Alright son, I’m listening.”

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#dean archer #dean archer x reader #sean archer #chicago med #one chicago

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of-many-aus · 7 months

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Coffee

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You were stumbling around the apartment like a blind bat, bumping into every surface imaginable. From the wall, to the doorframe, to the corner of the table (that one was painful).

Never in your entire life could you confidently say that you had been this late for anything before.

Normally, you’d call yourself a pretty punctual person, the latest you ever arrived at a function was ten minutes past the starting time.

Right now, though, an hour and a half into your econ lecture, you were yet to be out the door.

Your shirt was thrown askew against your body and your backpack was swinging on a single strap against your shoulder, papers haphazardly shoved in during your struggle this morning.

Somehow, you had slept through not just one, not just two, but four of your alarm clocks this morning before finally being awoken by a pounding on your bedroom door, the muffled voice of your sleep-deprived roommate filling your ears enough to jolt you awake.

Jake was by no means a morning person, never up before eleven, save for early baseball practices. So seeing him standing in your shared kitchen right now at 9:30 was a rarity.

“Gotta go, gotta go.” You mumbled, mostly to yourself, as you hobbled around on one foot while trying to shove your shoe onto the other.

Seresin was standing there, coffee mug in hand, amusement swirling in his green eyes.

“Need a hand there, Angel?” He asked lightly, voice teasing.

“Late, late, late.” You muttered like a broken record, looking more like a crazed woman than anything as your wide eyes feverishly scanned the kitchen counter for any signs of whatever you could use to scrounge up some quick coffee to hopefully wake your senses up.

“Here.”

The last thing you had expected in that moment was to be blinking down at Jake's outstretched arm, travel coffee mug in hand.

“I made it just the way you like.” He promised with a lopsided smile.

You faltered, stilling for the first time since throwing yourself out of bed fifteen minutes prior, “You made-“

“Two sugars and a splash of cream.” He took your hand in his and guided it to close around the mug, not letting go until he was sure you were holding onto it, “Now, come on, you've gotta go.” He repeated your earlier words, gently trying to steer you out of the room.

“U-um,” You mouth opened and closed like an idiot for a moment before you swallowed thickly, “Thanks.”

Jake smiled dazzlingly down at you, “Don’t mention it, Angel.” He glanced down at his watch, “The bus will be outside in three minutes, I suggest you hurry if you have to trek down all those stairs.”

Your heart leapt to your throat, he had not only had gotten up early, made your coffee just the way you liked- a fact you hadn’t even realized he was aware of- but he also looked up the bus schedule to make sure you didn’t miss it.

“Have fun in class, Angel.” Jake threw one last wink your way when you exited the apartment.

“J-Jake.” You halted his movements as he turned back to you with curious eyes, “Thank you, seriously.”

The man smiled softly, “No need to thank me.”

With that, he quickly shooed you down the stairs, your racing thoughts making it so you nearly missed the bus. But you didn’t. Thanks to Jake.

Series Taglist: @djs8891 @pono-pura-vida @shanimallina87 @melllinaa @callsignbirdy @fogle97 @randomfandomgirl97 @averyhotchner @blueoorchid @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @misconceptionmistress @ravenclawaddict5285 @j-brielmalfoy @waywardhunter95 @classyunknownlover @whoreforfictionalmen18 @clancycucumber230 @celestialeviereads @h-ngm-ns @desert-fern @lostinheavensworld @whatislovevavy @emma8895eb

#take me out to the ball game series #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin au #top gun au #top gun x reader #top gun x y/n #top gun x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #jake seresin

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morganas-pendragons · 2 years

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Haven’t We Given Enough? | Joel Miller

Okay, so hear me out. I've known about this game for years but have been exclusively an Xbox kid since like 2004 so I've never had the opportunity to play it. I heard Pedro was cast as Joel and I was shocked that I actually knew the actors playing Joel and Ellie. Saw the trailer, watched the entire first game gameplay, and now I'm here.

Whoops.

I will say this though: I'm really bothered that I could find like nothing but hardcore smut in the tag for this character. I aim to change that. Enjoy some hurt/comfort!

@ironmandeficiency

This is meant for a fem!reader. There are themes of past pregnancy in this that may come back into play later (reader had and lost a child) so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, read at your own risk.

***

It’s remarkable how similar he is to the very thing you’ve thought him to be since you met. While Ellie is like a summer fire burning across empty, barren fields, Joel is the vengeful, unrelenting snow storm that threatens to pull you apart.

He becomes increasingly good at it the longer you know him. Those dexterous, strong fingers wrap around the rungs of your ribs and pull them apart until the fragile beating thing you call a heart is exposed.

That fragile beating thing has simply endured too much. It’s endured heartbreak, and loss, and pain, and it’s somehow still keeping you alive despite having lived through the beginning of the Outbreak and twenty years into it.

Sheer determination has kept you alive. Not love, not your little sister, just a culmination of all the things you’ve endured that have turned into anger.

It’s not like his anger though. Yours is calm. Methodical. Purposeful.

Joel Miller’s anger is exactly like him: Vengeful, unrelenting, terrifying. It’s only once you meet that your anger begins to temper down into something he has never quite known. Not in this life anyway.

Gentless. Compassion.

Peace.

And well, Joel Miller finds that the longer he knows you, the more he aches to learn what that really means.

It’s weird. You know it’s a weird habit, but you’ve been doing it since you were a little girl and have a difficult time not falling back into old habits. People have often accused you of being aloof. Bashful.

At the very least, people-watching is resourceful and educational. It really teaches you about what to expect from the ones you don’t quite know yet.

People watching was how you found yourself drawn to Joel Miller.

It started whenever Marlene sent Tess and Joel to smuggle the two of you out of the city. You were Ellie’s older sister - born before the Outbreak, almost fifteen years her senior - and her solely remaining blood family since your parents deaths. Your mother’s dying wish had been whispered into your ear with her final breath: Look after your sister.

So you did.

“I will be damned if you even think I’m not going to follow that girl,” You snarled, jabbing your thumb into Marlene’s chest. “That’s my sister. My blood. My promise. You will not take that away from me.”

The Boston QZ was, as to be expected, a literal hell. The only way that you and Ellie were going to survive was if you joined the ranks of the Fireflies. You did. You did, and it ruined you. Any remaining semblance of innocence that you had died years before.

You didn’t want to think about that. It was past, it was gone, just like that part of who you’d been at that point.

All gone. Just like the rest of the world.

Marlene knew better then to argue with a Williams. Where you lacked, Ellie made up for it. It was comical how a fourteen year old girl, in certain situations, had more diplomacy then you did.

She was the one who talked when Joel came into the room for the first time.

“Be careful with that one,” You warned afterward. Marlene snorted as both Williams sisters simultaneously crossed their arms over their chests and leaned into the counter as Joel left the room to confer with his partner. “He’s a storm.”

Ellie knew of your comparisons. She knew of your uncanny ability to read people, to see people, and she’d never doubted you. Not once.

“Funny. First time you told me this, you said I was a fire. If he’s a storm...” She nudged her head uncertainly in the direction Joel had left in. “Then what kind of storm is he?”

Your eyes flutter closed. You’d been able to gauge a lot just from those few minutes of conversation. “Winter,” You reply quietly. “One of those blizzards we got caught in the winter you turned four. Mom and Dad had us hunker down. We didn’t leave the bank we were in for well over a week. Stayed in the safe.” You pause. “If we had even threatened to step into that storm, we would’ve been obliterated. That’s the kind of storm Joel is. Unyielding, vengeful.”

“Your comparisons never fail to amaze me, kid,” Marlene commented. “You’re right on the nose. Watch out for Joel Miller.”

He’s nothing if not ruthless.

***

For the first couple of months you’re forced to travel across the country with Joel, you hate him. You hate how dismissive he is of you and you hate how he continues to act like dragging Ellie to the Fireflies who will then make the cure is the worst inconvenience he can possibly experience.

You hate him. You hate him so much because he seems to be able to see right through you. No one has done that since-

Not since him.

Ellie knows who he is. Joel doesn’t. He doesn’t ask why you sometimes wake up with a cry bubbling in the back of your throat, or why your hands always subconsciously drift toward your ring finger when there’s nothing there.

He also doesn’t ask why your hand is almost always lingering on your stomach when he sees you through the cracks in the doors of the rooms you and Ellie sleep in.

He doesn’t ask.

So you don’t tell.

***

You remember the first time he ever saved you from a clicker on your way through Pittsburgh with Joel, Henry, Ellie and Sam. It’s another one of those instances where you can recall things most other people can't: the details people cannot be bothered to remember.

The smell of the tunnel. Damp. Dark. The smell of infected wafting through your nose, a familiar smell now just like the burnt bodies you so often found permeating the air in the QZ.

The click of the shotgun. The desperate shout of Joel’s voice as he tackled that creature to the ground before firing once, twice, three times into its face while you struggled to regain your breath.

The way that, afterward, he’d tossed the gun into Ellie’s arms to take your own into his hands and survey your skin for bites.

“You good, darlin’?” He’d asked, and your brain short-circuited because this was not the same man who'd spent the last several weeks showing you and your sister nothing but utter disdain and contempt.

“Yeah, yeah... I’m good.” You murmur. “Thanks Joel.”

The most memorable part of that particular day - aside from the sunlight and the way it reflected just right against the grey and white of Joel’s hair and his eyes - was the way you had learned that, underneath the rough exterior, he had the same bleeding heart you did.

***

Jackson is nice. It’s clearly the beginnings of what’s meant to become a larger, thriving civilization somewhere down the line, but it’s the first place you’ve been in the last twenty years that feels calm.

Joel’s entire demeanor changes upon arrival, and it’s not until the gates open that you realize why: The man who steps through - and is clearly one of the few in charge - bears a remarkable resemblance to him.

You and Ellie later find out that it’s Tommy. His younger brother.

The details of that newly made memory are astonishingly clear: The curve of Joel’s smile, the feeling of the sunlight, the laughter that echoes as the three of you are led inside.

For once in the last two decades, you have finally met someone who doesn’t have malicious intent.

“So who’s the older girl, Joel?”

“Kid’s sister,” Joel replied curtly. “That’s it.”

Tommy clucked his tongue and shook his head as they entered the water plant. “I know you better then that,” He argued. “Way you look at her? Not just her sister. You’ll figure it out sooner than later even though that thick skull of yours.”

The plant is attacked by the bandits who have been trying to infiltrate the compound for the last couple of months. Your illusion of peace is shattered as you again are forced to take, take, take, until there’s nothing left but bodies to deal with.

That’s when you find out Ellie is gone. You find out Ellie is gone and for the first time in quite a while, you are properly afraid.

And fear fuels you. Just like anger.

Joel knows anger, but he doesn’t know your anger until he has the gall to tell your little sister she doesn’t know what loss is. It’s unfortunate you manage to hear the entire conversation through the bedroom door while staking out the house to ensure you’re in the clear.

She’d run away from Jackson. Why, you don’t know, but you had been more panic then anything else because it was the first time Ellie had ever attempted to do something like that.

You really just wanted to know her reasoning.

“What do you want from me?!” Joel snaps, harsh and sharp, as he storms deeper into the room.

“Admit that you wanted to get rid of me the whole time! Admit that my sister has been nothing but an inconvenience to you and you’ve felt burdened by us both!”

You can’t see Joel’s face. You can’t see his face, but you see the way his body reacts to that statement. He’s trying really hard to keep himself under control. It’s admirable.

They argue for what feels like years. Ellie calls him out, again and again, only to be stonewalled by Joel’s incessant need to keep everyone at arms length and provide as little information about himself and his feelings as possible.

What causes you to storm into the room is the statement that makes the whole world grind to a stop.

“I’m sorry about your daughter, Joel... but I have lost people too.”

“You have no idea what loss is.”

Ellie’s entire aspect shifts into something akin to both horror and shock as you storm into the room, fury radiating from your features, to only then whip Joel Miller around and slap him in the face.

Your handprint burns against his cheek as he stares at you slack jawed, raising his own hand to cradle him jaw. Joel’s seen you do a lot of things. He’s seen you kill, and he’s seen you comfort, but he’s never bore witness to the heart of the storm itself.

He immediately regrets provoking the argument now.

“El,” You say quietly, fury dripping from your words as you grip his shirt with tight fingers. “Go downstairs and join Tommy. Now.”

Ellie doesn’t argue. She never has because she knows better. With a curt nod, your little sister evacuates the room like a flood has just fallen upon it to leave you - the gentle storm versus the vengeful one - alone with Joel.

“Sunshine-”

“Don’t.” You snarl. “Don’t you dare. You don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to telling her she doesn’t know what loss is, you sanctimonious egotistical-” Your hands pound against his chest, once, twice, three times. Every hit makes you just a little more tired. “We all know what loss is, Joel! You’re not the only one who’s had to deal with the funerals!”

Funerals.

Huh.

Snatching your hands with his own, Joel’s response is quiet and extremely unnerving as he murmurs, “We didn’t have funerals. We just burned them.”

You don’t have time to reply. There’s people in the house, and you’re left to slip back into your mask as you remove your gun from its holster and flick the safety off.

You don’t spare Joel a second glance.

***

It’s another dead end. Another dead end full of questions and no answers that leave you asking more that no one seems to be able to give you. There might be nothing here but bodies and unanswered questions, but it does give you one thing that makes it memorable.

The way that Ellie has smiled more now than she has since your parents and Riley died. You don’t try to intervene, to make yourself apart of what are undoubtedly her memories to carry, so you watch.

It’s enough.

It’s pretty straight forward into the University - nothing, nothing, and more nothing - until you’re ambushed by another group that has you and Joel fighting hand to hand for the first time in a while.

You’ve only just managed to incapacitate yours when a resounding crash sounds from outside, and you just barely see the telltale salt-and-pepper hair go careening over the edge of the balcony.

Seeing Joel like that.. That’s the second time you’ve known the same fear in such a short amount of time: Fear of loss.

There’s me, the fool with the slow heart who dared to think I could love someone else again.

***

The storms feels like it’s dwindling now. Like it’s simply the kind you get in the early hours of the morning in December, where the clouds are thick and gray and cover the entire sky as snow slowly falls to stick upon the chilled earth.

Joel Miller has been this unyielding, fierce storm that threatens to tear everything apart from the moment you met him in Boston. He’s cold. Calculating. Sharp. You’ve seen what he’s capable of - and reacted quite violently the first time, you hadn’t realized the human body held that much blood - and have experienced the ramifications of what such things can do.

The nightmares, the abrasiveness, the need to push everyone away because it’s simply easier than allowing yourself to love something that death can touch.

You’ve always known Joel to be a storm, but since Ellie - and you, though you just don’t know it yet - have wormed into his heart, the storm has dwindled. It’s gentler. Softer. More willing to listen to reason, to fight for something other then himself.

The rough exterior that turns so many people away is slowly giving to show who’s under the surface.

You were almost positive that your heart was going to give out when you watched Joel fall from Ellie’s horse. You’d barely been able to do anything about the wound he’d obtained from the rebar at the university, using what meager means of medical supplies you had in your saddlebags to pack and dress it so the bleeding stopped.

Ellie had watched you from the top of Callus as you carried him to the horse and slowly eased him into her arms.

“Do you think he’s gonna make it?” She asked you later, long after you’d lost sight of the school over your shoulder.

“I hope so, El.” You reply quietly. “I don’t know what we’ll do if he doesn’t.” It’s half a truth with a confession hidden in between of your true feelings toward the matter. You’d spent so much time watching Joel - learning about the inner workings of a man your heart aches to know, to heal, to love - that you weren’t sure what you’d do if his steady, sure presence wasn’t around anymore.

The three of you have made your home inside a garage in an abandoned neighborhood when the snowfall hits. Ellie volunteers to take care of the horses while you situate yourself and Joel into a crude attempt of a sleeping situation inside, pushing two of the remaining mattresses together and scrounging up blankets for you to shield yourselves from the cold.

You don’t like how pale he is. His wound isn’t infected, which is good, but his heartbeat is too weak and you can’t help yourself from feeling somewhat responsible.

“Joel Miller,” You whisper, long after Ellie is gone and it’s just the sound of uneven breathing and the pounding of your heart from where you lay curled around him on the pair of mattresses. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself into my blood stream. You’re not allowed to give up on me. On us. Do you understand?”

Joel doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t answer. You don’t expect him to, but part of you wishes he’d open those dark brown eyes and gaze up at you with all the longing and desperation you’ve felt towards him since... since.

The bitter cold that settles in your bones is an alarming reminder that you need to curl around Joel to preserve body heat. Last thing you need is him dying of hyperthermia.

“Don’t leave us,” You whisper again, curling your fingers into his hair as you tuck your body around his own and press your chin against the top of his head. “Don’t leave us.”

We can’t take another funeral.

***

The first time Joel wakes up is the day before Ellie leaves for another hunting trip. She’s scrounged up a meager amount of supplies through the houses in the neighborhood, just enough for you to get by, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the guilt settling in your stomach when you hear Ellie’s stomach growl halfway through the night.

It’s not like you’re sleeping anyway.

Joel’s sudden state of awareness is brought upon by the fingers raking through his hair and the warmth that touches his skin from the body wrapped around him. It’s odd, foreign. After so many years of isolating himself from other people, he hadn’t realized how much he craved physical contact.

And the burn that follows is enough to make him groan.

“Joel?” Immediately your hands are at his sides, Ellie’s face just above his head as his vision swims. The pain is muted. Numb. He’s barely feeling is because he’s far too distracted by your hands. “Can you hear me? I’m going to check your wound again. If you stay awake enough, I want you to eat.”

Ellie has taken his head into her lap before he can protest. Joel is awake just enough to say your name, low and hoarse, before his vision swims with black spots and the last thing he can remember is the burn.

He can remember the burn, and he can remember how you made him feel in the midst of it. Peaceful. Safe.

Joel Miller has never known peaceful or safe. Not since her. Not since Sarah.

And as he succumbs to sleep, he finds that he wants to know it more.

***

Ellie’s been gone for too long. You know she’s been gone for too long, and you haven’t heard from her on the walkies the two of you had found a couple of weeks before.

She’s been gone too long. You need to go find her.

That’s the second and final time Joel wakes up.

You’re halfway through loading his shotgun when he finally comes to, wide eyed and alert as his hands scramble for purchase on the closest weapon to him. “Easy, Joel,” You chide gently. “It’s just me.”

Something settles in him. He seems at ease with your answer.

“Where’s-” Joel grunts as he sits up, pressing a hand to his side as he does so. You ease the shotgun to the side and kneel down to his level to meet the worry in his gaze. “Where’s Ellie?”

Your frown deepens. “She went out to hunt too long ago,” You reply. “I was just about to secure this place and then go look for her.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You fidget nervously with your hands as your gaze drops into your lap. “I didn’t want to leave you alone, Joel.”

He wants to scold you. Joel wants to chastise you for such a foolish decision when your sister’s life is on the line, but he can’t find it in him to do so because your gaze is so genuine. He’s not used to that.

Joel Miller is not used to real.

Pressing a gentle thumb to the divot in your chin, you’re captivated by the way the condescension and hostility in his demeanor is gone as he slowly moves his fingers to cup the curve of your jaw. “Thank you,” He murmurs gratefully. “But now we need to go find Ellie.” A pause. “Are you ready to do what we need to do, if it gets bad?”

He always asks you this. Right before he has to embrace the side of himself that scares you, that you’ve tried so hard to keep at bay, Joel warns you about it.

“Yeah. Yeah...” You pump the shotgun in response and press it against your hip. “Yeah, I am.”

It’s uncanny how quickly you’ve learned how to slip into your masks. The mask of the gentle, compassionate woman that Joel had only just gotten to know disappears in the face of the violence he’s so accustomed to - shifting into something darker, more apathetic, more willing to do what needs to be done.

Even for the sake of one life.

You don’t even flinch when he starts torturing two of the men patrolling the neighborhood you’ve called home for the last few days. Not when the screaming starts. not when the blood pours.

“Now, the girl. Is she alive?”

“What girl? I don’t know no girl!”

The poor idiot doesn’t start talking until Joel has driven his blade clear through his knee. According to his endless rambling, your kid sister has become the newest pet to someone named David.

And that makes you see red.

You don't blink twice when both bodies lay motionless on the ground.

“Hey Joel?”

“Yeah, sunshine.”

“When we find this David,” You drag your fingers across the expanse of his shoulders to rest them on the exposed skin of his neck. His pulse thrums steadily under your touch. “I’m going to be the one to put the bullet in his face.”

***

The storm has died down to a newly fallen December snow. The temper has eased, and the anger has dissipated - only to be directed toward the people who are most deserving of it - into something that searches, that yearns, for something.

Snow melts. Snow melts and reveals what lays beneath it.

You’re just inside of the Salt Lake City limits when it happens. You’re the one who volunteered to take watch while Joel and Ellie slept. The three of you were nearly in the endgame now being so close to the Firefly hospital. Once your sister was taken there, the world would finally be saved.

And you could finally settle. No more running, no more existing.

Chewing absently on the inside of your cheek, you fiddle with the edge of your rifle from your lookout point over your camp. You’re almost too deep into your thoughts to hear him scream.

But he doesn’t just scream. Joel screams Sarah’s name, and everything becomes astonishingly clear as to why he has been the way he is. Ellie had told you about Tommy trying to slip Joel the last photo of him and his daughter before the outbreak. How he’d refused it. How he, to this day, remained adamant that his departed little girl would never be a topic of conversation.

No one warns you about the loss of a child.

“Easy, Joel,” You warn, shouldering your rifle as you climb down from the tree to sit beside the bed. His shaking fingers are wrapped tightly around the hilt of his blade. “There’s just a couple of hours until the sun comes up. You thirsty?”

Dark eyes flicker to the next bedroll. Ellie is still sleeping.

“No,” He replies gruffly. “But thanks.”

There’s a long moment of companionable silence that passes as you sit beside him, finally feeling courageous enough to spill your heart at his feet, “For all those months when we started this, I hated you. I hated you because you clearly hated me-”

“First off,” Joel interjects sharply. “Never been a time in which I hated you. Don’t know what gave you that assumption.”

“So if it wasn’t hate, then what was it? I’m not an expert at reading Joel Miller,” You shrug. “At least not yet.”

The sun is just beginning to creep over the edges of the three line in front of you. The sky above is shifting from the deep black to a soft, gentle blue that will shift into the golds and oranges of dawn.

You’re running out of time.

Joel swallows the knot in his throat as he contemplates his answer. Giving the real answer means being real and vulnerable. He’s not sure if he’s ready for that yet.

He’s not sure if he’s ready for that but with the open, earnest way you’re looking at him? He’ll get there eventually.

“Sarah was my daughter,” Joel says quietly. He can’t look at you. If he looks at you while he says this he will come apart at the seams. “She died at the start of the epidemic. Longer that goes by, more I’m almost.. grateful.” The words are sour on his tongue. It sounds so wrong. “She was too good for a world like this one. Too pure. Any kind of innocence I had was gone a long time ago. I was made for this kind of life,” His eyes slowly shift to meet yours. You haven’t taken your gaze off of his face once. “You and Ellie weren’t.”

You smile. “That’s sweet, Joel. Really. But you could not know-”

“I do know. I know because you have something that doesn’t exist anymore.’’

You tip your head to the side in confusion. “Which is?”

“Goodness. Compassion. You’re real,” Joel pauses, running his tongue along his teeth. “That’s why it looked like I hated you. I hated you because I was afraid of how real you are. How gentle you are.”

“Why would that be something you’d fear?” You ask softly.

“Because I don’t deserve that kind of thing, Sunshine. Goodness? Compassion? All the soft things that died with my little girl?” He shakes his head. “Those aren’t something you give to someone like me.”

You’d noticed over the last couple of months that every time you touched Joel, he recoiled like he had been burned. You’d seen that before too. It was the look often accompanied by the quiet desire to seek more of something you’d been deprived of: The look of a touch starved man.

It was why you’d been more deliberate in starting slow. Cheek touches, chin touches, gentle fingers raking through his hair to scrape across his scalp and kisses to bloodied knuckles on the nights things were bad.

If he wanted real, if he wanted peace, you were more then willing to give it to him.

“I had a son,” You whisper. This is not something you are ready to divulge to Ellie. Not yet. “He was born around the same time she was, though she never knew it,” Something akin to realization flickers through his eyes before he’s opening his mouth to apologize, most likely, but you hush him with a raised hand as you continue. “He died before he ever turned one.”

You didn’t want to continue. It was still too fresh. Too raw. He would’ve been fifteen soon.

Joel took your hand into his own and spread your fingers apart, dragging the tips of his own fingers across the back of each of yours before lifting them to his lips to kiss all your fingertips.

“They have a word for someone who’s lost a spouse. What do you call someone who lost a child?”

And there it is, that quiet understanding you share that makes you ache to pull back what remains of his walls and finally reveal the man who lay underneath.

You hum thoughtfully as you then lean forward to just barely graze your lips against his cheek.

That’s also the same time Ellie decides to wake up. She sees the way your silhouettes cast across the grass as the rays of early morning light emerge from over the trees. She sees the way Joel leans into you like he’s seeking something, and she sees the way scarlet dusts your cheeks when you finally pull away.

Hm.

Seems like you’ve finally found what you’re looking for.

***

Everything finally feels right. You’ve finally started down a path that ends with Joel realizing that you love him, with Joel realizing that he’s deserving, and with you hopefully realizing that he’s been reciprocating for quite some time.

The three of you are at the hospital in Salt Lake after being caught in the flood. You’re the one who took the most damage. Battered and bruised, Joel is left to watch helplessly from your bedside as you sleep. He’d only just woken up himself in the same state.

Marlene comes in much, much later to tell you what’s going on with Ellie. What the real cure is, what it will do to her.

And suddenly, again, everything comes screeching to a halt.

This is the story of how, despite everything between you and Joel going right, everything begins to go wrong and you’re left with a decision that will inevitably cost you your sister.

All of those lives, for the sake of one.... is it worth it?

Haven’t I given enough?

part two??? :D

#The Last of Us #tlou #tlou1 #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x Reader #Joel x Reader

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heyclickadee · 1 month

Text

The first of several Tech Lives posts. I was going to do in show quotes, possible foreshadowing, and moments that are just kinda suspicious in one post, but just the quotes got too long. So, with the caveat that I’m arguing that I don’t think a Tech return was cut and that it’s just going to happen later than we expected, here’s a list of lines either said by or connected to Tech that could point to him coming back at some point:

"Better late than dead." Phee, as her introductory line, right before she starts hitting on Tech, "Spoils of War."

"Hey, I'm a survivor. Remember?" Romar, to Tech, followed by like a six second camera hold on Tech before he goes back to get into the ship. "Ruins of War"

The entire exchange about culture and memory; Tech's actual character arc was about experiencing life outside the war and the narrow definitions the war gave him. That was not an arc that was completed, no one steps up to fill that space or continue that arc, and maybe it’s not an arc that could have been picked up in season three without focusing on Tech and writing Omega into the background of her own show. Maybe it needed its own space.

This exchange (which I bring up because it happens right after Tech fixes Romar's databank and restores that cultural memory, and we do get the implication in season three that Tech could be running around with amnesia. So.):

Romar: You--you actually did it! Tech: Of course I did.

THIS exchange:

Omega: You did it! Tech: You sound surprised. Wrecker: I thought you were a goner.

Like. Come on. He drifts into a cloud of dust so that the outcome of the race is hidden from view at first, Wrecker and Omega thought he was going to die because he made the decision (in defiance of their requests not to) to do something that would have killed almost anybody else in order to save them, he succeeds and he comes out alive.

"I guess I owe you one, Goggles." Cid, in "Faster." This isn't something they just forgot about, either. Tech indirectly brings it up as a reason she should help them at the end of "The Crossing," and it actually does get Cid to relent a little and say that she'll see what she can do before cutting off the call. But, since she doesn't come through on that, she still owes Tech that favor.

This exchange:

Phee: Don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers while you're gone. Tech: No. This mission should not require either.

Because of course this isn't literally what Phee means, she even clarifies in the next sentence that this isn't literally what she means, but can we at least all agree that this is a weird ass way to say, "Don't run off with any hotties while you're out, I'm still interested and I'm right here?" There's no reason for her to say it this way…unless Tech is going to end up running into some pirates and smugglers. Which hasn't happened yet.

"See you around, Brown Eyes." Phee, the current last thing she says to Tech, in "The Summit."

This exchange:

Crosshair: Where's the jedi? Hunter: Stunned him when he jumped. He didn't make it.

you know, the one where Hunter and Crosshair are talking about Caleb, the jedi who very much did not fall to his death (which plants the idea that falling deaths are suspect right in the first fifteen minutes of the series, btw), is worded almost identically to THIS exchange:

Omega: Where's Tech? Hunter: Omega…Tech didn't make it.

And it's the only two places in the entire show that "Where's X?" is followed up with, "X didn't make it,” btw.

THIS LINE:

"We have to go back! What if he's hurt? He--he needs us! Tell him, Wrecker. We can't just leave him! No! Tech's not gone! He can't be!" Omega, to Hunter and Wrecker about Tech, in "Plan 99."

Two things. One, Omega is actually…usually right about this kind of thing. We never do get explicit confirmation that she has any force sensitivity, but we do get a somewhat implicit one that she does at least have a little bit of natural ability. And even if she doesn’t, when she has a feeling about something that feeling usually turns out to be justified. No reason this should be any different. Two, I got through the rest of this episode about a dozen times and the entirety of season three without ever knowing for sure if Omega even thinks that Tech is dead. The closest she ever gets is saying that she "lost" him, and then goes on to use that exact word in the exact same sentence to describe Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo being captured, and actually said that they'd lost Echo way back in "The Crossing" when Echo was very much not dead and she knew it.

And then when we get to season three, she never actually talks about That Time Her Brother Threw Himself Off A Gondola To Save Her On The Worst Day Of Her Life, and she only brings Tech up once, and only when prompted by Crosshair. I have NO IDEA if she's accepted that Tech is gone or if she even believes he's never coming back, we're given no real indication either way. You know what she WAS real explicit about, though? Demanding that they go back because Tech isn't gone and needs their help.

Honorable Mentions:

"This story changes every time she tells it." Tech, about Phee, in Entombed. This isn't an obvious comeback line, and it's a bit of a stretch, but the thing is. The thing. Is. That Tech being alive, especially depending on how he comes back if he is, when, who knew what, who was hoping what, etc. has the potential to completely recontextualize the entire third season, if not the entire show. A lot of things would be different without actually having to change anything at all.

"I thought it was obvious." Also not foreshadowing, but makes for one hell of a zinger if it turns out he's alive and the clues were there all along.

"Yes, I am playing against myself. It is the only time this game is a challenge," would be one hell of a line if it turns out Tech was forced to be someone else for a while and ends up really struggling with that once he's recovered. Not like. There's any hinting. That this is a thing that could have happened.

“The last time we crossed paths, you had just lost a member of your squad. And it appears history may repeat itself. CT-9904 resisted my conditioning in the past, but I've made alterations to my methods. If you all survive, you will make fine operatives. And if not, well, there's no shortage of clones to test on next.” Dr. Hemlock, “The Cavalry Has Arrived.” I blazed right over this line originally, but @eriexplosion brought up that it’s just *real weird* for Hemlock to be bringing up Tech and that history is going to repeat itself in the context of being right about to start CX-ing the others and being so confident it’s going to work. So here’s what I’m thinking might be happening here: either he CX’d Tech and Tech’s standing right over there in the room with them, or he did something else to Tech and Tech was the change he made to his CXing method. This is actually one of several reasons I don’t think the CX-Tech plot was dropped or cut, and that we aren’t actually done with this—we get little bits of hinting it’s him even in the final episode.

“This isn’t over.” Wolffe to CX-2, “Extraction” Like a few others in this “honorable mentions” section, this relies on Tech being CX-2 either physically or mentally. But I uh. Do think it points to Wolffe potentially having a run in with CX-2 again.

Controversial, but I’m putting it on this list anyway:

“Clone Force 99 died with Tech! We’re not that squad anymore!” Crosshair to Wrecker and Hunter, “The Cavalry Has Arrived”

I know.

But here’s why.

First, one of the long running narrative questions of The Bad Batch was whether or not Clone Force 99 could ever be whole—whether they could ever fix what the Empire broke in “Aftermath.” Because we never get a full reunion by the end of the series, the answer we get isn’t a “yes,” but it wasn’t really a “no” either. Because the entire Tech situation is so unconfirmed, and because the show did nothing to allow either the audience or the other characters to let him go, the possibility of a full batch reunion and reconciliation remains on the table. There’s still a remote chance that they can fix what the Empire broke after all. Maybe they won’t all live in the same place when all is said and done, but maybe, maybe they can still be a whole and complete family. Because the story never fully closed that off as an option.

And the thing is, the show could have had the family fully heal without Tech. They could have resolved the family stuff without him by dealing with him as dead and allowing everyone to treat their wounds and move on. But because we get this line in the last episode, because no one ever pushes back on it in a meaningful way, because Crosshair never takes it back, that’s not what the story does at all. So the answer we end up with here is, “Maybe, maybe not—but not without Tech, apparently. They’re still broken without Tech.”

Second, Crosshair has always been a little cynical, but this season went out of its way to establish him as Pessimism Georg, an outlier who shouldn’t be counted. The last time he said someone was probably dead, way back in “A Different Approach,” we knew it almost definitely wasn’t true and Omega immediately shut him down. He wasn’t there on Eriadu, he doesn’t know any more about Tech falling (he might know other things but we don’t know that) than the others and probably less, and I think there’s a possible future spoiler reason why they had Crosshair say this when Omega wasn’t around to hear it instead of any time that she would have been.

Third, like. Okay. Crosshair might believe Tech is dead. Crosshair might know something about what happened to Tech that no one else does, and might need to believe Tech is dead because of it. He might have suspicions about where Tech is. He might know nothing. Whatever Crosshair actually thinks or believes, though, one thing I do think we have to keep in mind here is that words very rarely leave Crosshair’s mouth without being sieved through fifteen layers of Crosshair being Crosshair, and so Crosshair frequently exaggerates, omits, talks from a certain point of view, lies, and so on.

He’s a genuinely perceptive guy who can read people and situations like no one’s business BUT his brain cells turn off and that big wounded heart of his takes over whenever he has to make a decision, so his internal logic makes sense but goes through such a tortured filter on the way he comes to some wild conclusions. (For example: The batch escaped without him and from his perspective, they didn’t do enough to give him a chance. Reasonable given what he knows about the situation. Justified. His solution to that is to capture them and invite them to the apocalypse to hear the galaxy’s worst business pitch.) He’s just. His observations are often good and, in contrast to his foil, Omega, who’s usually right about this kind of stuff, Crosshair has a tendency to come to the wrong conclusion.

And on top of that, let’s remember that this is a guy who will say the most cutting, ruthless, out-of-pocket thing in order to get a reaction or even to get people to leave him alone. And he’s good at it. It’s a skill. I’m not sure he even has a sense of what going too far looks like (I don’t think he left Tech out of his fight with Hunter because he thought it was a step too far, I think he left Tech out of that fight because he blames himself for Tech too much to blame Hunter for it). This is a man who told a child he would leave her to die if he had the chance. A child he would both kill and die for. So of course if wasn’t true, Omega immediately calls him out on it, but he still said it because he thought it would get her to leave him and save herself. It’s worth noting that the entire reason Crosshair launches into the entire “Clone Force 99 died with Tech” speech is because he’s trying to get Wrecker and Hunter to protect themselves and let him go into Tantiss alone.

Lastly, even if Tech was definitely dead, this line is custom made to get Tech spinning in his grave so fast that he’d spontaneously resurrect for the sole purpose of decking Crosshair across the jaw because what does Crosshair think he fell for then? You…can’t really have the final note on a man who (supposedly) died to save his family be that his family is irrevocably broken because he “died.” Which is another thing—they’re not just a squad. They’re a family, and Tech thought of them as a family. Like. Just. This entire line is just so perfectly crafted as something that feels like it needs to be pushed back against and refuted I’m just. I’m *biting biting biting*

All this to say that Crosshair should not be regarded as a source of objective fact.

Aaaand that’s. All the ones I can remember.

#the bad batch #tech lives #I’m. sorry the formatting is weird I wasn’t sure how to lay it out

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authortobenamedlater · 2 months

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Part of a small S2 Fall of Reach AU I'm working on. By working on I mean thinking about a lot because I'm devoting my limited writing time to my S1 novel.

I must bring Tom and Chyler with me everywhere I go in Haloland now. This proved a good dumping ground for some scrapped MWAS ideas.

@ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask since you egged me on to write this, though it isn't the part you wanted (yet).

Reblogging to Silver Timeline Central.

John jerked out of his doze at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Oh! Master Chief, I—“”

John automatically started to stand. “It’s all right, ma’am.”

Silva waved off the gesture. “As you were, Chief. And you don’t have to ‘ma’am’ me. That feels a little odd.”

John sat back in the chair.

Silva clasped her hands as if unsure of how to continue. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted to check on Vannak.”

John looked at the sleeping form on the bed. “He’s stable. The doctors think he’ll make it.”

Silva looked him up and down awkwardly. “You know, I remembered you being taller.” She glanced back at Vannak. “All of you.”

“It’s the armor,” John said stiffly.

Silva laughed softly. “I guess everyone looks tall when you’re fifteen and running for your life.” She sat in the chair opposite Vannak’s bed. “Tom and I used to wonder if you would remember us. If we ever saw you again.” She took a breath. “I’m sorry we didn’t pick up on it earlier. With everything going on. And, well….”

“The armor?” John guessed.

Silva gave a relieved laugh. “We never did see you without it.”

John tried to square the officer in front of him with the near-corpse he’d loaded onto the last Pelican off Circinius IV.

“Chief?”

“We didn’t know you survived,” John blurted. “After…they never told us anything.” In his emotionally-repressed state, John hadn’t even thought to ask.

Silva brushed her fingers over the spot on her abdomen where the needler round had embedded itself. “I survived.”

“How?”

“Luck,” Silva said. “Maybe some divine intervention.”

“And you,” John swallowed and looked at the ring on Silva’s hand. “You and Lasky are…” was this even appropriate to ask?

“We’re married, yes,” Silva supplied.

“That’s allowed?”

Silva smiled playfully. “Nobody’s stopped us in twenty-three years.”

John blinked. Twenty-three years? Circinius was only…

Silva seemed to pick up on his confusion. “Tom and I both went to the academy on New Carthage,” she explained. “We got married right after graduation.”

“Do you have children?” John asked haltingly.

Silva brightened. “As a matter of fact, we do.” She fished her compad out of her pocket and handed it to John. “Kate. She’s almost done at Luna.”

John looked at the image of a young woman in cadet blues and glanced back up at Silva.

“I know; she’s my little clone,” the commander said.

“That was our first deployment,” John murmured. He handed the device back. “Circinius. Our first major deployment.”

Silva’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t know that.”

“I wish we could have saved more,” John whispered. “Everyone thinks fighting is the hard part, but….”

“But what keeps you up at night is everyone you couldn’t save.”

John nodded. “Yeah.”

Silva sat forward. “How many people did you save on Circinius, Chief?”

“Four.”

“Only four?” Silva lifted her compad. “I count at least five.”

John looked at the picture of Kate again.

“Chief, if you hadn’t been there, Kate wouldn’t exist,” Silva said. “Did you know that a few years after graduation Tom saved his entire squadron from a Covenant attack? If you hadn’t saved us, Tom wouldn’t have been there to save them. I was mad as hell at him for the stunt he pulled, but he saved his squad. And they’ve gone on to save others.” She sounded like she’d wanted to say this for a long time.

Silva bit her lip. “That’s why Tom took us back to Reach. I tried to tell him we didn’t have the resources. That we couldn’t save everyone, maybe there wasn’t anyone left for us to save. He wouldn’t hear it. I don’t know why I bothered. And he told me…” Silva trailed off. “That it wasn’t just about the people we would rescue today. That we didn’t know what future we might be saving.”

Their daughter.

“He’s brave,” John said.

“That’s a lot, coming from the Master Chief,” Silva said gently.

John normally would have bristled at the sentiment, but it felt different coming from Silva. Like she really meant it. Understood it.

“I have to say, though, I didn’t imagine we were coming to rescue you,” Silva added.

“Neither did I,” John murmured. “I didn’t imagine anyone was coming.”

“Don’t tell my husband I said this, but I’m glad he didn’t listen to me,” Silva said with a conspiratorial smile.

My husband.

Silva’s compad beeped. “Oh, speaking of.” She got to her feet. “I’m sorry. Duty calls.”

John stood. “Ma’am.”

“What did I tell you about the ‘ma’am’ business, Master Chief?”

John shifted uncomfortably. “What should I call you then, ma—Commander?”

Silva smiled again. “Well, my friends call me Chyler.”

John froze.

I really don’t know what people say to each other.

“John,” he said after a moment. “That’s what my—my friends—that’s what they call me.”

That’s what Cortana called me.

If Silva was put off by his awkwardness, she didn’t show it. “In that case, I’ll see you around, John.”

John watched her go. He stared at Vannak’s vitals and thought about what Silva had said.

Saving the future. He’d never thought of it that way.

I saved their future, John thought with a bemused half-smile.

And they saved mine.

#halo tv fanfic by atbnl #married with a supercarrier au #halo #halo tv show #master chief #john 117

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cobra-diamond · 11 months

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What I Liked From Azula in the Spirit Temple

Now that Azula in the Spirit Temple has been out for a few days, I can confidently say I found the majority of the book compelling and worthwhile. However, it is difficult for me to say I enjoyed it due to the dark and depressing subject and its flaws, which I will cover later, but not all art is meant to be fun and I would consider Spirit Temple to be a work of art rather than entertainment. Here are the things I liked from Spirit Temple:

It Tackles Heavy Topics

Azula’s feelings toward Mai and Ty Lee’s betrayal. Her relationship with her father and mother. Azulon’s order to have Zuko killed. Her mother’s disappearance. Vengeance. Feudal piety. The consequences of going against royalty. Azula’s ability to reach into a dark place. These have been dangling plot threads since the show ended, for fifteen years, and this comic sufficiently touched on them to provide much-needed context and clarity.

The Asylum is Contextualized

A dumping ground for rebellious noble children. A place for the most traditional families to imprison their unruly daughters (read: sluts and lesbians) to punish them for “transgressions” against their proper roles in society. Scraps of humanity drifting down the river of life. This is high-level stuff with direct historical analogues. Not only is this how Azula saw her imprisonment at the asylum (dumped there to be humbled and broken) and saw herself while there (a scrap of a person), it world-builds the Fire Nation’s society in a much-needed way.

Hair-Down-and-Angry Azula

Thematically perfect. Not only does this feel like the “real” Azula bursting forth—angry, jaded, tormented, troubled—but it harkens back to pre-breakdown Finale Azula, when she was struggling with the very topics the comic addressed (see: throne room scenes). I love Hair-Down-and-Angry Azula. Some might call it Angry Wet Cat Azula. It feels like a return to the Finale when all of this “Who is Azula?” questioning began. Brilliant creative decision. Need more of it like I need oxygen.

Azula Hates Herself

This has long been speculated. Azula loathes herself and has low self-esteem despite also having immense pride, talent, and achievements to bolster her self-worth. She uses the word “loser” to describe Ty Lee and Mai, which means she views her current self as a loser. She hates that she is alone and betrayed. She hates that the best of herself doesn’t cancel out the worst. She hates that who she is is not who others want to be with. I think this is great for a prodigy who has experienced conditional love by her most influential parent.

Azula is Darkly, Horribly Conflicted

She loves her father, but also sees how he harmed her. She wants her family to be together and happy, but she also feels that if Zuko had been killed her life would have been better. She is proud of her achievements, but the consequences of what she had to be and do to achieve them makes her hate herself. Zuko was never this conflicted, even at the peak of his journey. This will take an enormous narrative effort to overcome, with likely tons of setbacks, but when it happens, it will make Zuko’s redemption look like a warmup.

There are professional authors who spend their entire careers never sniffing a character like this. I can’t say where the Avatar franchise will take Azula, and they could still fuck this all up, but this is a character capable of reaching the highest summits of literary storytelling. Capable of, not necessary will. There is not a character remaining in Avatar who can hold a candle to the moral and internal conflict found in Azula in this comic. The franchise has something special, if they handle it right.

Azula’s Desire for Family

If her family was together, that would mean none of the bad things would have happened. Her low self-esteem would be fixed by the love and admiration of her family. This is a good development. There are tons of evidence for it in the show based on how often Azula says “we” and “us” and acts like the Queen Bee of a group rather than a loner. She hates being alone and the idea of family and parental figures gives her the most security. Very realistic and compelling. Avatar has not had a character motivated by pain of loneliness and want for human connection.

Azula Continues to Use Collective Pronouns

A pattern existed in the show where Azula would very often use “we”, “us”, “our”, and other forms of collective pronouns or group references instead of “I” or “my”. The pattern continues in this comic. There are several instances where she uses collective terms when she could have said “I” or “my”. At this point, it is intentional by the writers. They are signaling something that shows up again in this comic: Azula wants community and teamwork, not isolation.

Azula is Willing to Accept Blame, But Not All of It

Just like a real person with strong will and pride would. We are all the heroes of our own journeys. Accepting blame is painful, and for a person like Azula, who has all these accomplishments under her belt, to bury herself under 100% guilt and culpability, and to allow people to denigrate those accomplishments in turn because of how "bad" she is, can likely come across as a bridge too far. She conquered Ba Sing Se, killed the Avatar, saved the capital during the Day of Black Sun. Who is anyone to tell her she did nothing right and everything wrong? Azula is also highly intelligent, which makes it easier for her to justify her actions and beliefs and craft narratives explaining it all.

Azula is recognizing she has flaws and has made mistakes. It even appears she wants to be able to talk about them. The door is not shut on listening to criticism. This makes Azula’s potential reconciliation with the heroes full of drama and dynamic conversations.

Azula Won’t Be Brow-Beat or Guilt-Tripped into Submission

If she is backed into a corner with accusations of being cruel, evil, to blame for everything, the cause of all her problems, a monster, like the Zuko apparition was doing, she will lash out. Call it denial. Call it a defense mechanism. She will not allow what she is proud of, what she feels was worth it, what has been her closely-held identity, to be thrown in the gutter. This is high-level literature and human psychology. And it holds an important implication for the future: the heroes will not be able to shame Azula into accepting their morality or worldview. Unless her feelings are taken into account, the back-and-forth dialogue observed in Spirit Temple will not happen.

Azula’s Walls Can Snap Up in an Instant

She can let her guard down and hear criticism, but if the criticism turns into a personal attack, her walls will snap back up and she will drop back into old habits and beliefs to protect herself. This is a tough problem for the narrative to solve based on its complexity, sensitivity, and need for tact, and so will require a special character to help Azula work through. I don’t think the franchise currently has such a character. Maybe a more militant, warrior-poet version of Guru Pathik could do this.

Azula Talks and Thinks Like a Feudal Princess, Not a 21st Century Teenager

This needed to happen. ATLA needs to start developing the politics of the Fire Nation if they are to successfully build out Azula’s and Zuko’s post-war dynastic struggles. This is the first time the franchise has taken this seriously. Azula calls her family traitors, thinks Ty Lee should have been grateful for having the ear of royalty. Royalty. Finally, the word is being used to describe the social dynamic between her and her friends. Great stuff. This is who Azula would be in “reality” and part of why she is so scary to us today.

Azula Sets Her Terms for Reconciliation with the Heroes

Apologies. Acknowledgments of the pain and damage they caused her. Them valuing the “good” things she has done for them, much of it from her feudal princess perspective, and some from her troubled teenage girl perspective. I don’t think this is everything she will put on the table, but it’s major pieces of the redemption and reconciliation puzzle. This is probably one of the most profound parts of the book, because it says the door is not closed between her and the heroes. Zuko being Fire Lord and the war being over are not showstoppers.

Azula Loves, and Hates, Her Dad

Her father has both hurt and helped her. She hates him for turning her into his firebending weapon, but loves him for how that led her to greatness, and the conditional love she received from him. She is a villain loving another villain. I think there is something significant here that might play a role in the future: Azula will continue to love her father until he shows he doesn’t love her. In fact, she might seek confirmation of love from him and his response might be a turning point in their relationship.

Azula is Developing Her Own Identity

She says she is the last of her kind, the only one left. Sounds like she sees herself as representing a version of the Fire Nation that doesn’t want to go down quietly, the version of the Fire Nation that Zuko needs to figure out how to redeem rather than destroy. Even though she recognizes the damage her father did to her, she retains enough pride and belief in the Fire Nation’s war to stand by him. This looks like a sign of Azula coming into her own person, even if it is villainous and could send her down a dark path. Regardless of the morality, she seems to be voicing her own beliefs, and beliefs are supremely important to developing character, as beliefs can change. Azula still has to learn the wrongness of the war. This might be her “Zuko Alone” moment equivalent to Zuko declaring his identity to the corrupt soldiers.

The Spirit Centipede

Awesome design and capabilities. It seems it was trying to pump her full of opium in the form of the beach dream whereby she falls into a forever sleep in that perfect world allowing the centipede spirit to eat her. Instead, Azula rejected it and the spirit discovered it doesn't actually know this human as well as it thought it did and so panics and tries whatever it can to get Azula to succumb to its offerings of pain alleviation. One of the best spirit designs we have seen in the post-show products in my opinion.

Coraline References

Fantastic movie. Still creeps me the hell out. I’m afraid Azula would not last a week against the Other Mother. The Centipede Spirit tried to be an Other Mother. It couldn’t hold a candle.

More Evidence Azula’s Design Was Inspired by Lady Eboshi

Page 72, Panel 3.

#avatar the last airbender #azula #avatar comics #azula in the spirit temple #princess azula

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britcision · 1 year

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Gonna try and sneakily post after dnd let’s see how fast I can yeet this up 👀 new chapter!!

(I was kinda considering pushing out the porn parody to push me over one million words on AO3, but I have to be in the mood to write good smut, whereas I’m damn near always in the mood for crack, so here we are

The porn parody has been started though, and the first chapter is edging its way to completion. I will be starting an entirely new taglist for the porn parody though, so do say in the comments here if you would like to be tagged in the first chapter of that!)

I got to use a little of my actual real life work knowledge for once in my life, instead of my unending stash of random knowledge 👀 it’s a bold new world and I bet you ANYTHING Bruce never documents his code

Eleven million backup plans for if marshmallows take over the world, but someone else sits to debug the batcomputer? Zip. Nothing. Fuck them if they can’t read Bruce they aren’t authorised to touch it

As may be rather obvious… We’re right up in the bats again this chapter, and Bruce is going to make some Inadvisable Decisions 😈

I’m sure this will have absolutely no consequences whatsoever! This chapter also came in a little short, since there’s not quiiiiite enough space left to squeeze in our next scene, Danny Attempts To Make Jason Kill Him In A Motorcycle Accident

This means we should not brick ANYONES’ tumblr! (Like that’ll happen, my poor mobile using fellows)

Note: there is a reason why I’m choosing when to use our various vigi’s human names while they’re masked, I didn’t miss one on the “edit” that is formatting this mess for Tumblr 😁

First Chapter and AO3 link:

Previous Chapter:

——————

One Fine Day In The Middle Of The Night

About twenty minutes after dropping Danny off at his dorm, Jason was suited up and ready to go.

Well, he’d stayed outside until he’d seen Danny shut the door behind him first. Jason had some fucking manners, though if pressed he couldn’t name who’d taught him them.

It was a habit older than the streets, watching to be sure his friends got to safety.

Danny’s dorm was about fifteen minutes from one of Jason’s better safe houses, as it happened. Jason had never been to a dorm, but from Danny’s stories?

A step below Teen Titans’ bunks, and those had sucked. Less privacy, smaller rooms, and more people? Who weren’t even part of the same team?

Maybe next semester Jason could offer to let Danny move in. He didn’t need need the safe house.

Red Hood could always buy the building. There were other apartments and while they weren’t luxurious, they beat half his other spots. The neighbourhood wasn’t bad either.

It’d be nice to pay Danny back a bit. Not have him closer. Just. Repay some of the debt by giving him a place to stay, rent free.

And maybe, just a little bit, the part of Jason that enjoyed the romanticism of his period novels kinda liked the idea. An estate for the king on your lands was a big deal back then.

A slightly more modern part of him thought being a landlord for his ruler would also be pretty funny. He figured Danny would enjoy that side too.

And it wasn’t like the guy could complain, since he’d literally given Jason back himself. Yeah, Jason was gonna pull that one out if Danny tried any familiar “oh I can’t accept this” on him.

Fixing his core was pretty damn god level on the favours spectrum. Jason could do whatever the hell he liked and Danny would just have to deal with it.

It cheered him up a little more, kept him in a good mood on the ride back to his safe house. It was more time where he couldn’t help Cass, but seriously?

Danny could change in a matter of seconds and be at her side not much slower. Walls, cars, goons, Jason had this feeling that none of it would slow Danny down.

And yeah, knowing that helped, but there was still a piece of him that only unknotted as he slid his helmet on and headed to the window.

“Hey, Black Bat. Busy?” He asked as the comms switched from earpiece to helmet display.

Of course he wore both. People kept trying to steal his damn helmet. That was also what the internal explosives were for.

The others all piped up when they heard him, Harper and Steph calling cheerful greetings around an ongoing conversation.

“Shit, Hood’s in, this mean I can go back to bed?” Bluebird teased. Spoiler cut her off immediately.

“Hell no, it can’t be a school night, Robin’s here! Great timing though Hood, we’re planning Red Robin’s eulogy and you have some experience there,” Spoiler chirped brightly, and Jason hesitated.

Sucked in a breath. He wasn’t gonna judge anyone else’s coping mechanisms until they got past “heads in a bag” levels.

Best to ignore it, since she wasn’t actually trying to set him off.

What the hell had Tim done since they’d left the manor?

Shaking his head, Jason settled into Red Hood and hopped onto the fire escape, scaling easily to the roof.

“Black Bat?” He repeated instead of answering, and half smiled when Spoiler groaned dramatically.

Black Bat answered in the considerate group pause.

“Not busy. Why?” She sounded amused, not even particularly tired, and Jason relaxed enough to slip all the way in.

“Thinking of going a little out of my way tonight. Wondered if you’d mind a tagalong?” Red Hood asked, hoping he sounded casual.

It wasn’t like he’d been planning to patrol the Alley anyway; his guys had already been told to handle it. He’d have to run around tomorrow night to keep the creepers scared, but he could have a couple off.

The tiny pause before her answer didn’t quite feel like judgement, but Jason muted before blowing out the sigh as she did. It wasn’t like the others needed to know he’d been stressing.

“Sure. Meet at library?” She’d had his tracker up. Hood nodded, turning and running for the edge of the roof.

“Sounds good.” And they’d probably wound Spoiler up enough, she’d start plotting vengeance for being ignored soon. “So what the hell did Little Red do?”

“Brought Too Fine to the Bat Cave,” Spoiler told him with relish, not noticeably put out by the delay.

Not necessarily a good sign, since she was also this enthusiastic while actively plotting against him.

Wait.

Too Fine was Tucker’s hacker name.

“But he doesn’t know about us,” Red Hood said with a frown, catching an outcropping and swinging on.

“Oh, now you tell me,” Tim groused while the others snickered, “what a shame you didn’t think to when it’d have actually been helpful!”

News to Hood that he was on, probably still in the cave.

“He knows now,” Nightwing chimed in brightly, probably also travelling from the slight strain in his voice.

Hood paused for a moment, letting that sink in before attempting the next jump.

“Is he on comm?” He asked warily, because if Tim brought Tucker to the bat cave, it was entirely possible that they were all outed.

And that Tucker might tell Danny he was Red Hood.

Shit, he still had to text Harley. Resolving to do it once he hit the library, he set back to running, throwing himself across another street.

Black Bat would probably take a little longer to get there.

“He’ll be back, he’s in the bathroom,” Tim explained with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “It’s not all bad, he’s given me the full story on what happened in Amity Park. Witness account and all.”

“From a witness you let down to the bat cave~” Spoiler sang sweetly across the air.

Red Hood could hear Oracle rolling her eyes as she cut in.

“Tone it down, Batgirl. Bluebird, if you’re still thinking of heading in, could you swing past one last site on your way?” She said firmly, then lightening her tone for their current guest.

“Batgirl who? I’m Spoiler,” Spoiler grumbled, but didn’t push beyond that. None of them did when Oracle invoked the name she’d had before any of them masked up.

Bluebird snickered at her before answering the question, a hint of exertion suggesting she was on the move too.

“I’m not actually in a rush to go home, O, I got all dressed up so I might as well enjoy one last hurrah.”

Right, because she’d be going back to school probably when Danny did.

Harper had always been a damn good hero in Jason’s books, but she valued her retirement and none of them really wanted to ruin it. Unless, apparently, seven bats just had to stalk Jason’s new friends.

Hood would have apologized, but frankly if she’d said no, some of the others couldn’t have come to the gala to be a pain in his ass.

And then he couldn’t have had so much fun fucking with them.

Fine. One cool fruit basket for the Row household, and some rainbow cupcakes for Cullen. He needed practice on frosting roses anyway.

Although that also reminded him.

“Hey Bluebird, have the others filled you in on Phantom?” He asked, cutting off some more background chatter from Spoiler and Tim.

Nightwing and the girls had had hours by now.

“What, your new boyfriend?” Bluebird asked sweetly, and Hood rolled his eyes.

Probably hit the important shit then.

“Sent you a picture?” He asked instead, decidedly not entertaining that question.

Nightwing and Spoiler snickered. Hood flipped off their general directions, settling himself comfortably on the roof of the library to wait for Black Bat.

There was a short pause, the others now wondering what he was getting at. Good.

“In and out of suit,” Bluebird agreed, curiosity tinging with mild suspicion. Being out of retirement clearly wasn’t good for her.

Hood nodded, pulling out his phone and shooting Harley a quick text. It might be moot now, asking her not to mention Red Hood shit in front of Danny, but he might as well.

He still had to ask if Waylon knew. Might as well ask. And see if Tucker knew when he got back.

“I know you’re outta the game, but keep the light show to a minimum if you see him around, okay?” He asked, scanning quickly over the list Danny’d cleared for public discussion.

He didn’t know if Tucker would have mentioned it, but he might as well. Cause of death was good, but Jason personally would veto “and the effects it may have now”.

Because fuck Bruce and his need for everyone to show him their weaknesses.

Bluebird definitely sounded curious now, and possibly like she was punching someone.

“Oh? He not big on the electricity?” She wondered aloud, and Hood grimaced.

Because if they were both at Gotham U in engineering… there was actually a chance Harper and Danny would run into each other.

Danny was older, but Harper skipped a couple years and he had no idea what year Danny was in. Fuck, they might be in the same classes. He couldn’t believe he’d never thought of that.

“Not exactly. You mighta seen him around actually, he’s an engineer too. But he’s not a fan of the electricity flying around,” he explained, Nightwing making background noises that told Hood he hadn’t put the pieces together either.

Good. At least he wasn’t alone.

Bluebird made an interested hum, and probably a finishing blow considering the satisfaction when she spoke next.

“I thought he looked familiar. But then, he’s total Wayne-bait. Yeah, I can keep the good stuff under wraps if I see him around. Gonna guess he’s had some bad shocks in the line of work?”

Hood hesitated and in exactly the same instant Black Bat landed on the roof. Sam had given them all the warning about talking about a ghost’s death, so he could leave it at that.

But…

The way Danny had looked when he explained about Vlad. Yeah, he’d rather they took this seriously. He didn’t want any of his family to hurt Danny, even by accident.

“It’s how he died. He won’t spontaneously combust or anything, but it’s a bad memory.”

Silence reigned while the others absorbed that particular detail, Black Bat crossing to crouch on the roof beside him. Hood leaned over enough to bump their shoulders together.

He could almost feel concern radiating off her, which was an extra weird experience after literally feeling all of Danny’s emotions half the day.

Guess that was where Cass’s liminality was going. It made sense, kind of; despite her occasional trouble speaking, she was pretty much the clearest communicator in the family.

Having another back up way to make herself heard would only fit.

On a whim, he tried projecting comfort back to her. Black Bat didn’t seem to notice, though whether that meant more on her part or his was the question.

She leaned in and bumped him back, her expression unreadable between the full face mask and the shadows.

“Heard and understood, Hood,” Bluebird agreed after a minute, her tone unusually solemn. Hopefully Dickie would take it to heart too.

The odds of Danny running into Nightwing weren’t great if he stuck to Blüdhaven, but Dick was a nosy bastard and there was always one “emergency” or another.

Better than the odds of running into Bluebird, although Harper would almost definitely look him up at school.

Maybe Jason should warn him.

“Maybe you could build him a faraday suit,” Spoiler mused, and Red Hood snickered.

“Handy, but then we couldn’t contact him,” he reminded her and she groaned loudly.

“Hey, if we’re both techies he’ll probably have his own idea. I’ll look him up out of costume, it’s my turn to say hi,” Bluebird decided, and Hood shot Danny a quick text.

Just a heads up.

A picture of Harper, captioned “beware of sibling. May be looking you up in class”. Black Bat giggled beside him, head cocked to watch the screen.

Harper wasn’t technically one of the Waynes, but if Waylon counted she definitely had to, and it wasn’t like Bruce picked his family. Asshole.

A few minutes later he got a message back from Danny.

‘DannyP: !!!!! I know her! 😳😳🤯 She does the cool nanobots! Half our year is betting if she’s a rogue or a vigi 👀 inside info??’

Which was fair, since just knowing Jason wouldn’t be much of a hint either way.

“He knows you,” Black Bat reported to the others, Bluebird immediately bitching that she’d been ratted out.

Red Hood mostly ignored her, texting Danny back.

‘JTodd: Neither anymore. She was a vigi, but she’s retired and getting her degree. No idea if she’ll come back after.’

“Odds you’ll change sides and go rogue, Bluebird?” He asked into a pause, and very much enjoyed the momentary stumped silence. “Apparently there’s a hefty bet.”

Momentary, because everyone had an opinion on that and had to share it. Everyone except Bluebird herself, who seemed to be thinking it over.

“What’re the odds for rogue?” She asked thoughtfully, immediately defending herself as the group booed. “What! I have student loans!”

“You are my villain arc, Red Hood,” Spoiler declared as solemnly as she could through laughter.

“I’m my own villain arc thank you so much, go find your own,” he refuted with a half grin.

“Ask Phantom,” Black Bat advised Bluebird in the meantime, which was probably fair. They weren’t good at staying on topic.

She then gave Hood another gentle nudge, probably for the same reason. Flicked off her comm for a moment.

“Wanted to talk?” She asked, and yeah, they probably should get back to it.

He gave a shrug, hauling himself up and holding a hand back down to her. Definitely not feeling guilty.

They’d tell her before anything became relevant. It just.

Well.

They were a family of fucking detectives, who could never leave well enough alone, and Jason really didn’t want them questioning his humanity.

Just once, he’d like to know something about himself before anyone else did. To have time to understand and come to terms with what he was before Twenty Questions.

Cass was very good at not asking questions though. And Black Bat turned off her comm first. Tim was distracted, probably with Tucker coming back because he’d been quiet.

No better opportunity was likely to come up.

And really, she deserved the same courtesy. Knowing about herself before the others did.

Maybe she’d have some ideas on how to tell them.

Making up his mind, Hood tapped his comms and hauled Black Bat up with his other hand.

“Hey O, gonna be offline for a minute. Text if you need me or BB, we gotta be radio silent.” There were enough possible reasons for that, he didn’t bother giving one.

Just so long as they knew.

Usually he’d just turn the comm off and swear at her if she turned him back on if he wanted peace and quiet, but… well, it was nice to hear the background chatter.

Nicer when the big Bat himself wasn’t in the field to tell them to focus.

“I always need you, baby!” Nightwing called just before he clicked off, and Red Hood rolled his eyes under the helmet.

Dramatic bitch.

He looked back to Black Bat, wondering where would be the best place for this talk. She was watching him patiently, not moving.

It had been her patrol.

“Is there anywhere on your route we can talk privately?” He asked softly, a little surprised at himself. He’d been the one who wanted to wait.

But that just made it his call who he decided to tell what, and when. And Cass… he trusted Cass.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was liminal. It’d give them something to think until he was ready.

Black Bat regarded him for a moment longer, then nodded and made her way to the edge of the roof.

“Follow.”

The night was wearing on, but Bruce was darkly satisfied that they were finally making progress.

Constantine’s pacing (replacing his smoking; Bruce may not have bothered arguing in the cave, but even Constantine knew better than to light a cigarette in space) had finally slowed.

Something terrible had happened in Amity Park, but even the magician was grudgingly admitting it was probably over. Left permanent scars, but getting no worse.

Unless it was on a cosmic level and would be a slow seeping problem for millennia, but Alfred had Opinions about Bruce concerning himself with issues on that time scale.

There was only so much they could do in the moment.

Another survey of the city was required, and in person since even the League’s best couldn’t take clear pictures of Amity Park.

A fact which didn’t seem to have stopped the Amity Parkers from photographing and sharing pictures of each other, according to his children. Constantine hadn’t actually argued when Bruce compared it to background radiation, so it must be close enough.

He also hadn’t done more than grimace when Bruce asked if he wanted to undertake the survey personally. That was as good as an enthusiastic agreement.

First, though? First they needed to call a meeting of the Justice League, primarily the heroes located in North America.

They had been horribly uninformed of what was going on right under their noses, and if Constantine was right… Amity Park’s problems had begun to spread.

To Gotham.

To his children.

Constantine’s grumbling that it was the miasma of death that hung over the city drawing them in had not inspired confidence, and Bruce resolved to have Zatanna over at her soonest convenience to explain.

Helping Constantine put together a report on Amity Park itself had more than convinced Bruce not to ask Constantine, even if he could have done it today. The man was…

Well. Bruce wasn’t looking forward to having to run him through the JL’s classification system again. Maybe one of his children would want to go and handle the technical side.

All he had to do was finish preparing the presentation, call the League, and he could rest. It would likely take a day or two to put a full meeting together, but he could at least fill Clark and Diana in tonight.

He could sleep in between. Just for a little while.

Right after he showed Constantine how to configure the alerts from Amity Park to direct to the Justice League Dark, not the spam folder. They hadn’t sent one in years, but he was determined not to miss any changes.

That should have been the easiest part of this whole mess. It was just a simple form, with a basic test button to ensure it worked.

Nothing too complicated even for a man who’d decided “no reply needed” meant the same thing as “too dangerous for anyone but JL Dark”.

Fine. It was fine.

Bruce loved making training videos to highlight the most basic functions of a system and ensure that people actually understood what the various controls meant. Wonderful.

It meant that they could work in parallel for a while, Bruce on the presentation for the League, Constantine to fix his mistake. In a blissful silence, even.

It couldn’t last.

“It’s not working, Bats,” the magician declared, pushing back and away from his computer. Probably to pace again.

Bruce closed his eyes, breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, and made his way across to frown at the monitor.

“Did you save your changes?” He growled, doing his best not to let the irritation show. It was getting harder every time.

Constantine rolled his eyes, definitely not helping, and pointed at the screen.

“See for yerself. Look, JLD Top Priority, like ya said. And then ya hit the top button to save, and the red button to test it, and nothing happens.”

He waited impatiently while Bruce clicked through the buttons, seeing it for himself.

Constantine wasn’t wrong. That was unexpected.

Brows furrowing under his cowl, Bruce checked the deleted requests. Three test messages from “Amity Park”.

“Hn.”

“Someone’s fucked ya system,” Constantine commented dryly, sounding unduly pleased that it wasn’t his fault.

Something other than his haphazard filing had apparently been causing some of their problems. Bruce… just didn’t have the time tonight.

He nodded over to his screen instead, pulling up his wrist computer to send a private message to Tim in the cave. How long could a tour take?

Tim could find what was going wrong long before he’d have the time.

“I’ve compiled most of the presentation on creatures of the Realms. Is there anything important I should add?” He asked gruffly and Constantine sighed dramatically and flounced over.

Bruce firmly ignored Steph’s voice in his ear.

Not because he didn’t agree, whatever a “woobie” was.

He just needed Constantine’s once over to confirm he had all the pertinent information, and then he could call Clark and Diana.

Head home.

Get to bed.

“Looks fine. I should check yer damn revenant some time soon too though.”

Bruce froze, finger just above the send button on that tech request to Tim.

His fucking what.

Black Bat led them easily across the city, along what was probably her normal patrol route. Taking her cue from Red Hood, she didn’t rush, but soon indicated that they turn off into a small alley between two warehouses.

Hell, not even a proper alley. A gap where the buildings hadn’t quite smushed together.

Red Hood recognized the area from Nightwing’s bitching; there’d been a bust here last week, and something had cloaked the whole block from surveillance.

These days, he was almost tempted to check what Danny knew about it. Ghosts fucked with technology in ways none of the bats would find.

Black Bat stopped them half way down the gap, feet braced against one wall and her back to the other, leaving her “sitting” about twenty feet off the ground.

Hood matched her a little further down, grumbling a little at the crush. Almost a foot taller, it wasn’t exactly a comfortable position for him, but he’d held worse.

They were stable, and damn near impossible to observe. This was as good as they’d get.

“So,” he began, and immediately realized he had no fucking clue what to say.

Black Bat’s flat, expressionless mask was not helpful.

Hood wished he could pull his helmet off, just to run his hands through his hair. But they were on patrol.

Black Bat just waited, silent and patient while he wrestled with himself. Finally he decided to just spit it out.

“Danny died, and came back,” he said in a rush, glancing over to her.

Black Bat nodded.

“Like you.”

“Like us,” Hood corrected, groaned, and switched off the voice modulator. Actually, fuck it, he had his domino on.

He pulled the helmet off, balancing it in his lap. He could shove it back on if it came time to go.

Black Bat was beside him now, almost close enough to touch. Close enough to lean in and bump their shoulders together.

“One main difference,” she noted thoughtfully, then tapped her chest, “no skin change.”

Which, yeah, Jason had been hoping to emphasize before any of the family got too far down the right track.

“Right,” he agreed, leaning back to stare blankly into the smog of Gotham above them.

Fuck. How do you even say it? How do you tell someone they’re not fully human anymore?

Someone like Cass, who’d been raised to believe she’d never been human, by force. Just a weapon.

Her hand was in his now, and he couldn’t be sure if he’d reached out or she had. He stared down at their laced fingers instead.

“You know how people get when they spend too long around the pit water,” he began slowly, trying a different path.

Cass had been raised around the League of Assassins. She knew.

And took the change of topic fully in stride, nodding and giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Erratic,” she mused softly, her face tilted to the wall across, “unpredictable, especially if they went in.”

No one was going to say Ra’s Al Ghul was an unstable mess of a man, but no one had to. Still, how controlled he was was impressive, especially after you saw what mere exposure to the fumes did to other people.

Red Hood nodded, sighing softly.

“Danny’s parents kept it in the fridge. He was… exposed long before he died,” he explained quietly.

If he was talking about himself, he’d say “contaminated”. Hell, it was the word Danny used when explaining it to the bats.

Jason just couldn’t use it about Danny. It just wasn’t right.

Black Bat stilled, almost enough to be mistaken for a statue instead of a living being. Was that her liminality too? Or just her training?

Red Hood couldn’t stand it either way, giving her hand a gentle tug.

“He told me… being around it too long can change a person, even if they never get dunked,” he said slowly, trailing off again.

“We got dunked,” Black Bat said quietly, her hand curling more tightly around his. There was no hint of emotion in her voice, and Jason hated it.

Pulled her closer, doing all he could to project comfort-sorry-concerned-love you. Wishing he’d asked Danny to teach him to do that first.

Neither of them had really considered he’d need it, since Danny was so good at reading him. But he needed her to know she wasn’t alone.

Her shoulders hunched suddenly, body tensed to spring until her head snapped round to focus on him.

He could… he could feel surprise from her. Maybe it was working.

He gave a graceless half shrug, grinding his shoulders against filthy bricks.

Tried to project yeah it’s weird for me too, but wasn’t sure how well it came across. Anything beyond pure feelings was a little tricky for him to push, though he could usually work out what Danny was saying.

“We got dunked,” he agreed quietly, resolving instead to wrap her in love-protect-safe-safe-safe, “and sometimes… that changes you even without a flashy transformation.”

It was an awful explanation and he knew it, could practically feel her eyes darting all over his face, his posture, reading things he probably wasn’t aware he was showing.

Then she relaxed all at once, settling in and leaning part of her weight on him as well as the wall. He braced automatically to take it. He wouldn’t let her fall.

“He called it being “liminal”,” he explained softly, working an arm around her shoulders above the wall to coax more of her weight onto him. “I don’t know what it means for you yet, BB. But nothing bad. He was sure it wouldn’t be bad.”

Black Bat made a soft humming sound, obediently shuffling so he could wrap his arm around her. Looking down at their still twined hands.

“Can feel you,” she said softly, hand rising to tap gently against the red bat on his chest. “Big brother.”

It startled a bark of laughter out of him, because… well, yeah. A good way to sum up everything he’d wanted to tell her without words.

Felt a quick rush of satisfaction from Black Bat, and tried to answer it with relief-agree-protect.

“Yeah, that’s the fuckin’ weirdest part,” he agreed dryly, almost felt the rush of her giggle more than he heard it. “Apparently some liminals get this… aura around them. Sharing what they feel. I didn’t know if you would…”

What? If she’d notice? If she’d be able to feel the same things?

Black Bat nodded, head tipping up to meet his gaze once again.

“Robin? Batman?” She asked, and Jason hesitated.

He couldn’t talk to either of them about it. Not yet. Bruce would fucking push, he always did, and wouldn’t stop until he tore the secrets out of him. Damian would just run to Bruce.

But it was a valid question. And they did sort of deserve to know just as much.

For now he took refuge in what he knew, shrugging it off.

“Danny thinks they’re liminal, but… not as far along as we are.”

Not as close to death. Not as close to not being human, although technically they were both legally non-sentient, so that was fun.

“D’you really think either of them have the emotional bandwidth to share?” He tried to joke, covering the moment.

Black Bat just stared at him until he fell silent. Then nodded.

“Should tell them. No rush,” she added almost before Jason could tense, leaning back in and resting her head on his shoulder, “have been for a while, yes?”

Jason paused a moment longer, shook his head, and snickered.

“Cannot believe I ever doubted you’d be able to do the whole “emotional telepathy” thing,” he grumbled good naturedly, and Black Bat glowed with gentle amused.

“Better than you,” she told him archly, sounding for a moment like Steph when she was teasing Tim. Jason gave her a squeeze.

“Don’t I know it. But yeah, it’s not a new thing, and won’t mean anything to anyone unless one of us dies again.” Which he wasn’t going to think about.

Shit, someone said Robin was out tonight.

Nope. Not thinking about it. Robin had been patrolling for years, and as much as he whined about his solo patrol route, he never deviated.

Not after Oracle had highlighted his route on his wrist computer for him and proved she could see every footstep. She wouldn’t necessarily tell Bruce, but she’d always know.

Black Bat nodded, resting against him for a moment longer before sitting up again.

“You want to wait.” It wasn’t a question, but he felt compelled to answer.

Picked up his helmet, turning it over slowly in his hands. But of course she’d understand. She always did.

“I want to know what this means to me before I have B poking and prying into every part of my life,” he said quietly, staring into the eye slits of the helmet.

Black Bat ruffled his hair.

“Can wait,” she agreed gently, switching her position to have a hand and foot on either wall. Ready to move on. “No rush.”

Red Hood pulled his helmet back on and matched her, the pair climbing quickly out of the crack between the warehouses. It almost wasn’t worth saying, but…

“You can tell the others if they ask. I just…”

“Don’t want questions,” Black Bat agreed lightly, flipping up onto the roof. “Can ask Danny when the time comes.”

“Yeah,” Red Hood agreed, crouching beside her. “Mind if I stick with you on patrol tonight?”

He sort of hoped she’d think it was unrelated, but another moment of stillness passed across her as she regarded him.

“Until we die again,” she repeated his own words, and Hood was pretty happy she couldn’t see his face anymore as he grimaced.

Not that it mattered, another shot of amused shooting between them, followed by a much softer appreciated.

At least she wasn’t judging him for being a mother hen.

“Understand.”

Tim and Tucker had made quick work of the interview, and Tim was pretty much running out of questions when the batcomputer pinged with an incoming message.

Tucker gave it a longing look and Tim chuckled softly, wheeling himself over.

“Hang on. Might be one of the others out on patrol,” he explained, right clicking to pull up the monitor that tracked the bats’ various dominos out and about.

Tucker stared up at it politely, diverting his attention from what Tim was doing on the other screen, no matter how curious he was. Showing trust and all that.

It was actually really cool too; he’d not really seen a map of Gotham, and having one superimposed with little glowing lights of the various heroes on patrol was really cool.

It wasn’t really zoomed in enough to tell if Bluebird was actually in a fight, but the little blue dot seemed to be the only one standing still, so Tucker assumed she was.

How cool would that be? Watching just normal human vigilantes fight and take down bad guys?

Although off the top of his head, he could already think of a couple of things to add to the monitoring program. They might already be there, he hadn’t clicked around, but like.

Vitals were all well and good, down in the corner next to each hero’s name and the colour of their dot, but just the heartbeats? That wouldn’t tell you enough.

Tucker preferred brainwaves, because then you could tell if they’d been hit with something or overshadowed.

Although maybe it was because he’d spent his time keeping track of a guy who pretty regularly did not have a heartbeat. And it also gave him more data points for some of his cooler side projects.

Understanding the different brainwave patterns an individual made in different situations was a key part of neural mapping, and adding it to the bat’s routine would get him a ton of data.

And then they could really play Mariokart.

He’d have to ask Tim if they tracked any of that later. Not all the bats wore helmets or cowls that would support the electrodes, apparently. Although if Danny could get his hands on a domino…

Tucker was snapped back to the here and now as Tim pushed back from the batcomputer, a wry grin on his lips.

“Actually, I think this might be something you could help with, Tucker. If you don’t mind a little work on your night off?” He teased, back to Tucker’s complaints about a night of fun and tech.

Like getting to play on the batcomputer did not absolutely count as fun and tech.

Tucker beamed, excitement welling up in him and cracking his knuckles. It’d be pretty cool to assist a human vigilante too. And on a tech problem!

Gotham was fucking great. If Tim really meant it about getting him an internship, Tucker might have to see about switching schools.

MIT was great, but it wasn’t Wayne Enterprises, personal meetings, or personal tech demonstrations with Tim Drake Wayne!

“Sure! What’s going on?” He asked, shuffling over to look at the other screens now that he had permission. Making sure it was obvious he hadn’t been looking.

Resisting temptation had been hard. He deserved credit.

Tim nodded to the screen, and that? That was a message from Batman. Bruce Wayne. Batman.

Tucker scanned the message, eyes widening even as Tim spoke.

“Wanna help debug the Watchtower?” Tim asked, and Tucker clutched at the back of his chair as his heart leapt, swooning just a little.

The Watchtower. The actual Watchtower. In space. Oh he was shoving that in Danny’s face for not telling him he was friends with the Bats!

There was only one real question left.

“Will Oracle be here?” He asked eagerly, looking around the rest of the screen.

A soft chuckle played from a speaker in the bottom corner, and Tucker jumped half a mile as a masked voice spoke.

“You boys have fun with this one, I’ll keep an eye on the city. If you finish early you could walk me through that server of yours?”

Oracle.

The Oracle.

They were real, they talked to him, they wanted to talk about his locked down servers! Tim lunged to catch him as Tucker collapsed, knees giving out under the swell of emotion.

All of his dreams were coming true, all at once.

He’d never been happier.

Danny was having a pretty quiet night in. That didn’t used to be unusual while he was in Gotham; having time to himself was still pretty much a novelty, and he wasn’t exactly a party boy.

Of course, it was a night in with some of his parents’ inventions and recently one or two of his own, so the actual “quiet” part was negotiable.

Quiet enough not to piss off his dorm mates, but luckily most of them were engineers too. They may not always know what he was doing, but they were usually interested.

Tonight, he was alone, most of the floor still being home for the holiday. That had been one of the things he’d looked forward to most about staying behind, but…

Well, after his noisy and action packed few days… he was lonely.

He wished he’d asked Jason to stay. Just because he’d said he was going to bed didn’t mean he had to do anything of the sort.

It was just that Jason had been… tense. He’d not even gotten off the bike when they arrived, just pulling over and chatting for a minute before heading out.

Like he wasn’t fully comfortable going into Danny’s place, which was kinda fair. Unlike Jason’s apartments, Danny’s dorm was a communal space.

Even if most of his dorm mates weren’t home, there was still a chance one of them might turn up. And then Danny would have someone else bugging him about his “boyfriend”.

Nope.

Besides, he’d see Jason again at 11am (he had this horrible feeling Jason might be a morning person), so it wasn’t even all that long. He should probably just go to bed.

He should check his class schedule, actually. Work out what days he’d have free, work out when he and Jason could skip to the Zone for fight club.

Wait.

Would Jason be free.

What the hell did Jason do for a living? He’d have to ask at some point, Danny mused, logging in and taking a screenshot of his class schedule for the new year.

For now, it was probably best just to send Jason the picture so he’d know when Danny was free, and then Jason could work out a good time for them to go and it wouldn’t be Danny’s problem.

Excellent. Sheer genius.

Humming happily to himself, Danny pulled up Jason’s number and sent the picture of his schedule, with the caption:

‘Let me know when ur free for field trips 👊🏻💥👻’

Eyes closing for a moment, Danny let his awareness drift out across the city. It wasn’t something he’d done a lot; Gotham wasn’t his haunt and he didn’t want to step on any toes.

Usually he’d just expand his conscious aura if he was looking for someone, but knowing how much Jason didn’t like it… well, his passive aura covered most of the state, so reaching through the same city couldn’t be all that hard.

Right?

Frostbite could find anyone, anywhere in the Far Frozen with little more than a thought. And was convinced Danny would be able to do that with the entire Zone, some day.

Danny was a little less convinced. Past the background awareness that he was no longer in Amity Park that had taken months to fade, he’d never really paid attention to his passive aura.

It’d be too tempting to feel out the rogues, or at least react to the sudden surges of aggression and danger. But he hadn’t had anyone to protect before, and he knew Jason would feel better knowing Danny could.

That was kinda why Danny hadn’t mentioned how theoretical this particular ability was, although he had no doubt he’d recognize Cass’s energy if she came close to death.

Which meant he should totally recognize it while she was alive, well, and had more energy, right?

He had no idea where she was, which parts of Gotham fell on her patrol route, but that kinda helped. It meant he couldn’t trick himself by focusing on a particular area.

Surprising precisely no one though, he found Jason first. The other halfa almost glowed when Danny was focusing on his energy, a bubbling little ball of yellow and red.

He… was maybe with Cass? Danny’s brows furrowed, nose scrunching as he tried to focus without changing his aura.

He was definitely with one of the liminals. And that quiet little light, almost blue, felt sort of like Cass. When he forced himself not to be distracted by Jason’s brighter glow.

Eyes snapping open, Danny’s concentration broke and he frowned up at the ceiling.

Well, that explained why Jason was in a hurry to get going. He was no expert in Gotham herself yet and had no idea where the two of them were, but if he tried again he could probably work it out.

Did Jason still have a suit? Or did he call Cass in, find something he could do as a civilian to have her help?

Shrugging to himself, Danny dismissed the question and hauled himself up. Might as well get to bed; they’d be back together in the morning and he could always ask.

Tim was scrolling through the code for the alert messaging system itself while Tucker went through the sections that pertained to Amity Park specifically on his PDA when the other boy made a sudden, startled squeak.

Tim considered pretending he hadn’t heard, but there was a chance he’d found the answer. So he glanced over.

“Any luck?” He asked, noting Tucker’s sudden strained expression. Maybe the guy needed the bathroom actually. They’d been down here a while.

Tucker laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So… uh… what exactly does the bug we’re looking for do?” He asked in a small voice, looking more embarrassed than Tim had ever seen.

Which… was not a proportionate response for that noise. And a question that they both probably should have thought of sooner.

He’d meant to mention it, since they’d have to explain it to the Amity Parkers at some point.

“So… remember how the Justice League never responded to an alert from Amity Park?” Tim asked not a little sheepishly himself.

Tucker nodded, not actually looking any less embarrassed himself either. That was definitely a great sign.

Tim sucked in a deep breath and forged ahead.

“So, it turns out there’s a bug in the Watchtower’s systems, where anything coming in from Amity Park gets marked as spam and funnelled straight into trash. We fixed the marking as spam thing, which I guess was user error, but it’s still-”

“All going to trash,” Tucker finished with a sigh, grimacing and shaking his head, “aaaaand I think I know why. But the timeline doesn’t make sense?”

That… that wasn’t even on the same continent as what Tim’d expected he’d say.

“The timeline?” He asked, brows furrowing, sliding over to peek at Tucker’s screen.

Tucker shook his head again, angling it so that Tim could see… a section of code that shuddered faintly in and out, almost disappearing entirely every few seconds.

That.

That was not a thing that should be happening.

Tim would have loved for it to be a simple screen glitch, but it was only that one small section of code. The lines above and below were fine, and Tucker could move the flickering chunk up and down.

“Yeah, this is your problem,” the Black man sighed, wiggling the section demonstratively, clearly aware of Tim’s shattered hopes.

Heartless man. Genius man.

“You’ve had ghosts in your back end. Probably wouldn’t even show up on an uncontaminated device. Which, by the way…” he trailed off, and Tim shook his head immediately.

“Not tonight. No changes to the batcomputer without Bruce’s say so,” Tim said firmly, since he’d already fucked up once. Might as well limit the damage.

Tucker shrugged and nodded back to the section of code.

“Okay. But this… this was definitely Technus. And that makes no sense? He’s a spirit of technology, we’ve fought him a bunch of times, but if he got into the Watchtower’s code he wouldn’t just… hide,” he tried to explain, adjusting his beret fussily.

It totally wasn’t adorable.

Tim did his best to keep up though, nodding along and thinking back over everything they’d been told about ghosts so far.

“You think we’d have noticed?” He asked, and Tucker snorted.

“He likes making giant robot bodies out of toasters, you’d definitely have noticed him on your space station,” he agreed dryly, then sighed.

Frowned down at the tablet again.

“I mean, Danny could make him do it and behave himself now, but if these changes were active during the whole Pariah Dark thing… I dunno, Technus should have been a way bigger problem. He’s not subtle.”

Tim frowned, thinking about what Tucker had said and then pausing.

“Danny could make him behave now?” He asked and Tucker pulled another face. Like he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Well, yeah, Danny’s miles out of Technus’ league now,” he tried to brush it off with a laugh, “the guy knows he’ll lose any fight so he’s really not a problem anymore. We have hackathons,” he added and Tim really wanted to know more about that.

There was just. Something off about Tucker’s answer. Not the content itself, just the way Tucker clearly wasn’t saying something.

That was a problem for future Tim though. Present Tim had a job to do.

“So can you fix what he did?” He asked the important question, and Tucker made another face.

“Dude… whoever or whatever made Technus do this, will probably notice if we fuck with it,” he said warily, and Tim shrugged.

“Whoever or whatever made Technus do it couldn’t do it themselves. How would they know?” He shot back, and Tucker chewed his lip.

Shook his head.

“Lemme text Danny. He’s the ghost expert, he’ll know how much we should worry about this,” he explained quickly, pulling out his phone and shooting off a short message.

Tim gave him his very best deadpan expression.

“How much we should worry about technology ghosts getting into space and fucking with Justice League HQ. I have the feeling the answer is “a lot”?” He offered sweetly, and Tucker snickered.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see. Might actually be alright, if this is all he touched. And, since you won’t let me juice the big computer, we’d have to scan the whole thing through my PDA. Every line of code,” he added, like Tim wasn’t already dreading it.

Tim sucked in a slow breath, weighing his options.

Touching the batcomputer? Ultimate no-no. But Tim’s personal laptop… it had access to the Watchtower’s systems, and was under Tim’s personal control.

And would let Tim go through the sensitive data himself, which the core code of the Watchtower was full of. The question was, did he trust Tucker not to install anything dangerous?

That question had been answered the second he asked Tucker to help him debug though. Clearly the guy could already put what he wanted, where he wanted, and with their current tech?

None of the bats would ever know. At least if Tim’s computer got the update, he’d have a chance at spotting ecto-infused code.

There were other computers they could use of course, old or unnetworked computers that Bruce would probably insist they start with.

Which wouldn’t be able to access the Watchtower’s servers, and couldn’t hold the whole thing to be able to run a useful check.

The answer really was kinda obvious.

Tim looked to Tucker, who’d been texting away while he thought things through.

“We can’t do the batcomputer, but is there anything you could do for my laptop tonight, or do we have to wait on Danny still?” He asked, deeply regretting that they’d gone to video games instead of the tech upgrade.

At the time he’d been planning on having a burner laptop done though, so it probably wouldn’t have been as useful.

Tucker shrugged cheerfully and slid his phone into his pocket, cracking his knuckles.

“Well, I can’t give you the full infusion to let you open Amity’s encrypted data, but I can write you a little something that should expose Technus’s code even without it,” he offered, and Tim brightened up.

“How long?” He asked eagerly, wondering if Tucker would let him watch. It’d be fair if he didn’t, Tuck had been cool about not looking when Tim played on the batcomputer, but…

Tucker smirked, flicking open a new screen on his PDA.

“How long will it take you to get the laptop down here?” He asked smugly.

Tim booked shit to the elevator.

Private Chat: DannyP & TooFine

2:15am

‘TooFine: Danny when tf did u have Technus hack the JL’

‘DannyP: ……. 👀 u cannot prove i did that 🚫🚫’

‘TooFine: I’m helping Tim debug the Watchtower’

‘TooFine: double fuck u for not telling me about Batman btw’

‘TooFine: someone sent all the Amity alerts to trash’

‘TooFine: if we keep talking about this I might accidentally send something to the group chat 🤨’

‘DannyP: FUCK FINE DONT TELL SAM 🏳️🏳️🏳️’

‘DannyP: after the pd thing’

‘DannyP: cw called’

‘DannyP: they hadnt been reading the messages anyway i just’

‘DannyP: shitty people track the jl y’know? and i didnt want em knowing about us’

‘DannyP: let em all think its a joke and then no one else comes an tries to use our portal to harness the realms and blow up superman or whatever’

‘TooFine: dude u fucking told me to tell them what actually happened??’

‘TooFine: pretty sure anyone tracking the jl will work that out now’

‘DannyP is typing’

‘DannyP: ok so maybe i didnt think that through 😔😔😔’

‘TooFine: no shit. I’m fixing the code in case any new alerts come through but it’s not like they’ll bother to call’

‘DannyP: not like they need to, frighty’s got em covered 🗡️🗡️🎃’

‘TooFine: yeah yeah. I’ll set it to ping u too’

‘DannyP: ur the best tuck 🙇🏻‍♂️🙇🏻‍♂️🙇🏻‍♂️’

‘TooFine: better than u deserve’

Across the city, Red Hood and Black Bat had stopped for smoothies. Patrol was quiet, and word on the street was that Bluebird was mostly to blame.

Nobody wanted to know why she was back and taking no prisoners, so even the docks were almost deserted.

Then again, with Riddler and Waylon snapped back off the streets, Penguin lying low in fear of Harley, and Batwoman making Two Face’s life a personal hell?

Yeah, no wonder the smaller players were lying low.

Hood had pulled his phone out to check in on the Alley in case they’d be more useful there when he noticed a message from Tucker’s private chat app.

It was from Danny.

Danny had sent him his class schedule. Told Jason to let Danny know when he was free. Like class was the only thing that’d stop Danny from wanting to see him.

Jason was so lost in staring at his phone, utterly swamped in the implications, that he didn’t even notice Black Bat finish her smoothie and swap out her empty cup for his.

Danny wanted to see him again.

He’d have to work out a proper schedule of his own.

Bruce was having a Bad Day. An extended bad day, one that was fast approaching 48 hours long.

As if everything with Amity Park wasn’t already bad enough, both in the past and the present, now Constantine believed there was something wrong with Jason.

That his son wasn’t fully human anymore.

Now, Bruce’s best friends weren’t even a quarter human between them, and no matter what everyone seemed to think he was perfectly happy with meta humans.

So long as they kept themselves safe.

Preferably where they wouldn’t be mind controlled, kidnapped, or held hostage every few days. Frankly being a meta was probably stressful enough even in a normal city.

But he’d keep Gotham’s metas as safe as he could, just like Duke.

But Jason… Jason had been born human. Had lived as a human, died as a human, and Constantine seemed so sure he’d come back as something else.

“Revenant” the man had called him. An animated corpse that haunted the living, powered by rage.

Bruce might even have believed it two years ago, when Jason first returned. Jason had been so angry, intent on destroying Tim when the other was just a child.

When Jason was little more than a child.

But… that wasn’t all he was. He was himself, truly Jason Todd in ways Bruce hadn’t wanted to believe. He’d fought his rage and won every day.

Most days.

And being around Amity Park, being around Daniel James Fenton, might be enough to push him back over. To drag Jason closer back to death.

Halfas could act as psychopomps, bringing lost souls safely to the other side.

Jason had only just become himself again. They had only just begun healing the rift between them.

Bruce couldn’t lose him again.

They had to keep him away from Amity Park. It was as simple as that really; something in Jason’s resurrection had gone wrong and they all knew it.

Even Jason himself wouldn’t argue with that. Something about his death clung to him, poisoned him with that violent green rage.

His children’s reports told him that Danny was claiming to help with the pit rage because he had also been exposed. But what if he was just helping the pit?

Even if he didn’t mean to, exposing Jason to that much power that closely tied to death couldn’t be good. Constantine hadn’t exactly said as much, but Bruce could read between the lines.

Death magic was contagious between those who’d been infected. Who’d died and come back.

That wasn’t fun to know. Not with how many of his children, his friends had all died before.

Even he himself had. He’d have to investigate Amity Park personally. Take the risk himself, to keep it from the others.

Tim and Duke could help, but they were both so busy with their own lives. He would have to wait and see.

His meeting with Clark and Diana hadn’t gone well either. They’d both been gratifyingly concerned with what he’d learned and had recognized the threat.

Clark had promised to keep an ear out for Jason, to listen in on his heartbeat and make sure he was okay. Bruce would have been grateful, if Clark hadn’t also told him that Jason’s heart was noticeably slow.

Easy to pick out, even if they hadn’t spent much time together.

Just how close was his boy to dying again?

Diana had advised caution. Wanted to speak to Danny herself, see the hero who had shouldered the burden of this small town. See if he had turned under the pressure.

Pressure that should never have been his. Pressure they should all have shared, protecting the child and the town together.

It would be his fault if Danny had broken. Had given in to whatever in the Infinite Realms had stolen a whole town away.

Bruce knew that with a leaden certainty, felt the weight of it settle in his chest. The same way he knew he was responsible for most of his rogues.

He could see the wisdom in letting Diana talk to the man first. She was wiser than most of the League, and a good judge of character. Even without her lasso, it was hard to lie to her.

But if what Constantine said was true, he didn’t want to tip their hand. Zatanna and Shazam had both agreed to attend tomorrow and give their own opinions.

They could afford to wait one night. Perhaps two, if Danny couldn’t be found tomorrow.

Just about the only thing Bruce wasn’t worried about was Danny running. If he had ill intentions, he wasn’t the sort to give in and disappear so easily.

He’d threatened Bruce to stay out of things between him and Jason. And certainly wasn’t afraid of a fight.

Bruce was also quite sure that he and Diana could take the boy if it came to it, even with the abilities Constantine ascribed to the realms. He would find a way.

But not tonight, he reminded himself firmly as he strode into the zeta tube. Tonight he would go home, update his children, and get some sleep.

Maybe waiting a day or two to speak to Danny directly would help. This concussion had passed frustrating and was beginning to affect his decision making.

Shaking his head to clear it, Bruce hit the button to send him home. Soon he could rest. At least for a little while.

A gentle buzzer went off in the cave and Tim yelped like he’d been stung, clutching at Tucker’s arm in an entirely unmanly way.

“SHIT he’s back hide the candy canes!”

Tucker stared at him wide eyed, but to his credit the other man didn’t hesitate to sweep the pile of different flavoured canes off the desk and into the front of his shirt.

“Where?!” He asked, and Tim hesitated for half an instant.

The zeta tube was down by the cars. Bruce would be up in less than a minute. Spinning Tucker by the shoulders, he shoved him towards the infirmary.

“Get in there! Don’t come out til I say!” He hissed, already hearing the zeta tube’s door whoosh open.

Tucker obediently scurried away, and thank fuck he was quick on the uptake enough to drop his voice below a whisper.

“What?! Tim, what?! Am I not supposed to fucking be here?!” He hissed, and Tim pulled the infirmary door almost shut before darting back to the table.

He’d cleared it with Bruce, had texted about giving their guests a tour, but since it turned out that Tucker hadn’t already been in the know… well, he wanted to prime Bruce with the good news first.

The tube only pinged once though, so Constantine hadn’t come back with him. That was probably good. Bruce would be less cranky.

Tim wasn’t exactly back in his seat by the time Bruce reached the batcomputer, but he was close enough to watch him note the second chair.

Tim didn’t let him ask.

“I have a first hand witness account of what happened in Amity Park.” That was the important thing, right? That they had answers.

Bruce stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed and the whiteouts narrowing with them. Tim stared him down, refusing to look away.

He’d fucked up just like, a tiny bit. But he’d gotten results. Better results than anyone else. So was it really a fuck up?

He watched Bruce’s eyes widen as he realized, and was a little surprised when the man’s shoulders slumped. He dropped gracelessly into the swivel chair, elbows propped on the table and his head cradled in his hands.

Tim was growing a little alarmed now, hurrying forward to Bruce’s side. Was he injured? Had something happened?

His hand was just reaching out to touch when Bruce sighed and sat back up.

“Tim. Who did you bring to tour the cave?” He asked in a tired, heavy voice, and Tim’s brows furrowed.

What? He’d said, hadn’t he?

“Tucker Foley?” He said cautiously, wondering if he should call Alfred. Maybe switch out Bruce and Tucker and get the big guy into the infirmary.

Bruce was very still. Tim forged ahead, hoping to get to the good news.

“He was a vigilante back in Amity Park, part of the support team. I have his statement going back to the beginning of the ghost attacks, and he’s already answered most of our questions.”

Leaning past Bruce, he hit a couple of keys and brought up the sound file of Tucker’s interview.

Bruce was still a little slow as he turned to look, but it seemed to hearten him. Which was when Tim realized.

“Wait. Who did you think I was bringing?” He asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

Bruce shot him a sidelong frown, pulling off his cowl.

“Not a stranger,” he growled, though his heart clearly wasn’t in it. He just sounded tired.

Tim carefully patted him on the shoulder, still thoroughly confused.

“What? But I said…” he paused, pulling out his phone and staring at the texts.

Nope. No he didn’t.

Oops.

Groaning, Tim let his head drop.

“Ah fuck, and I thought we were doing so well!” He sighed heavily and Bruce made a grunt that might have been a laugh. “Alfred’s going to be unbearable.”

That shut Bruce right up, as it should, and then Bruce sighed again. They were moving past it then. Probably for the best, since Alfred would lecture them both on the importance of communication later.

At least it wasn’t only Tim’s fault. The only person who wasn’t a stranger or a bat had been Harley, and he wasn’t actually sure if Harley had cave privileges.

Well. She did now. Since that was what Bruce must have thought he was asking.

Then Bruce straightened, eyes determined and steely.

“I have new information from Constantine. The risks of the Infinite Realms.” It definitely heartened him to talk about, skipping straight to the debrief part of the day.

Maybe they could just skip right over the Tim-fucked-up-and-brought-a-stranger-to-the-cave.

“I need you all to keep away from the Amity Parkers until I know more.”

Ah.

No then. Nope, not skipping over it, because Tucker was actively still fucking in the cave. It was for the best that they’d hidden him then.

Tim shook his head firmly, hoping that if he seemed certain that would help.

“That’s not gonna work, Bruce. I couldn’t have fixed our Watchtower problem without Tucker, and we can’t look at any of the Amity Park data without an Amity Park device.” It was the theory they’d been running with, but they’d had it confirmed now.

Never mind that Tucker had already downloaded most of what was publicly available for them. Bruce would always want a primary source anyway.

Tim pretended it didn’t affect him when Bruce’s head jerked, eyes narrowed as he scowled at Tim.

“You let him into the code for the Watchtower?!” He exclaimed in a hiss. Which was interesting, since Tim had kinda figured the bat cave thing would be more personal.

Then again, the Watchtower could compromise more than that.

“Bruce, read the report on Tucker. We literally couldn’t stop him if he wanted to hack in, because his tech runs on levels that slide right past ours. Tech he’s already sharing,” he added sharply, reaching behind him without looking to hook his laptop forwards.

Bruce, mouth already open to argue, quieted at once. Yeah, new toys always helped. Tim nodded to the batcomputer.

“The update’s ready to go live, but I waited because you need to see this. Open the third window,” he nodded over, pulling up the corresponding section of code on the laptop.

Bruce’s expression pinched but he did as requested, clearly not willing to put another step between himself and the answer. A quick glance up to confirm, and Tim nodded to himself.

Fuck, he needed a laser pointer.

“So it all looks good up there, right?” He pushed and Bruce frowned, but nodded, eyes scanning quickly across the screen.

“Is this your update?” He asked but Tim was already shaking his head, pushing his own laptop towards the man.

Bruce’s eyes widened at the glitching sections of code. Tim nodded, satisfied he’d gotten Tim’s point.

“Tucker Foley wrote me a program so that I could access this ghost code. In half an hour. From scratch,” he added for emphasis, and yeah, he could already hear the lecture about “compromised tech”.

He tried to shut that one off too, pointing up at the screens.

“That? That’s apparently the work of a ghost. One called Technus, who likes to possess technology, and now Tucker and I are going through every line of the Watchtower’s code looking for changes.”

Bruce’s lips thinned to a tense line and he gave a short, harsh nod. He very obviously didn’t like it, but the presence of a bigger threat did wonders for calming him down.

Tim patted his laptop.

“We’re waiting on you to upgrade the batcomputer, but we’re gonna need to check every program on that too. Everything, Bruce. These ghosts could have been rewriting everything. And we’d never know if I hadn’t asked Tuck to help me with the Watchtower.”

Honestly, Tim was just hoping none of their rogues had made any ghostly connections. The implications made his head spin, but he stubbornly kept himself on track.

They needed Tucker’s help. Never mind that the ghosts themselves were reportedly allergic to subtlety and would always go big over going home; that was a tendency, not a guarantee.

Hell, if Tim had a say, he’d get Tucker’s upgrades for the ghost code, improved firewalls, and Danny’s ectoplasm into all his own gear by tomorrow.

He wasn’t going to, Bruce’s paranoia being what it was, but he was already uploading Tucker’s program to his suit’s wrist computer. It wasn’t like there’d be any hidden malware.

Tim had watched over his shoulder as Tucker wrote it, direct on the PDA. And watching him work had been… it was just…

He so rarely got to talk to anyone that was actually on his level. Rarer still that they weren’t a direct member of the family.

And Tucker, for all he currently had a tech advantage? He’d invented that advantage himself. All on his own, he was incredible. Maybe even better with some aspects of software than Tim himself.

The things they could do together… even the internship was pretty much a formality at this point. Just get Tuck through college and see if he’d accept a job at WE.

Hell, if he wanted to found his own company Tim would invest. That kind of brilliance deserved everything it needed to grow.

He had to wrench himself back to the present moment, the “introduce new genius to Batman” step still looming large, but honestly? Tim wasn’t worried. Bruce would see the potential.

Here and now Bruce’s gaze had gone distant, and Tim could easily have kept going, but he stayed quiet. Let the man absorb new information, stop and think.

And if he still wanted to make dumbass decisions, well, Tim could argue with him literally all night. They’d all picked up Bruce’s stubbornness too.

It was hard to focus on the screen through the throbbing of his head, the lights too bright even at their lowest setting. He’d checked.

Luckily, it was an issue he’d been dealing with for years, and Bruce pushed it aside with the resigned acceptance of long practice.

He’d pay for it later. That night of sleep was probably going to be a day of sleep at this rate, but he’d get at least six hours. More if Alfred caught him.

For now… Tim felt very strongly about this. Had good reason to, if he was even half right about the scope of the problem, or Tucker’s uses as a solution.

After hearing from one member of the Justice League Dark, Bruce was desperately hoping Tim was right. They sorely needed an ally, one they could trust to guide them through these dangerous waters.

Of course, Fenton and Foley were close. That may skew his judgement, but it could be accounted for. Wasn’t worth more than an ally whose skillset Bruce understood, and could trust.

Tucker Foley was a tech expert, which put him above any occult master in Bruce’s book. Magic had no rules, not that could be relied on, and Bruce wouldn’t touch it if he didn’t have to.

And Tucker’s tech would work with his own.

There’d be a review period of course. He’d have to meet Tucker himself, speak to him a little, get a sense of the man. See how far his opinions would be based in fact, not feeling.

Tim’s vouch was a good first step. As little as Bruce liked that Tim had brought an outsider down to the lab. And then let him use Tim’s computer.

And honestly, it certainly wasn’t Tim’s fault that Bruce hadn’t asked. He’d been lax, not checked properly, and it was that damned concussion slowing him down.

He needed sleep. His thinking was dangerously clouded. But one thing was always true: he trusted Tim’s judgement. Probably more than he trusted his own at the moment.

They could review the situation in the morning, come up with some suitable punishment and protocol to introduce new vigilantes to the cave (which they’d never needed, because other heroes usually came through the League and were already vetted).

A thought struck and Bruce almost smiled. It would be a fitting solution on three separate sides. Maybe the punishment would be easy after all.

“Alright. I’ll need to speak to Foley first. And you will be writing out fresh protocols to address when a new hero but not a league member can be introduced to the cave,” he added, and Tim groaned loudly.

Bruce ignored him. That was just the start of his troubles.

“You will also be responsible for running John Constantine through the full reporting system, and updating the training materials so this doesn’t happen again.” It was a weight off his shoulders, really.

And a fitting punishment, because Tim would definitely think twice before pulling this stunt again. The man himself threw both his hands into the air.

“What?! Bruce! You said you fixed it!” He whined, and Bruce resisted the urge to smile.

“And I fixed Amity Park. But I highly doubt this was his only error, so the two of you will have to review every case he’s reported on before you go back on patrol.”

It was probably several hundred since they’d had the new system alone. Tim groaned like Bruce was sucking the soul from his body.

Bruce levelled him with a stern look.

“I take the secrecy of the cave seriously, Red Robin. This will not happen again.”

“Because I’m gonna die of old age sitting at a desk with Constantine,” Tim grumbled, folding his arms and scowling.

It wasn’t even something he could write a program to fudge for him; every case would need Constantine’s personal input to be sure it was filed correctly.

Bruce was quite pleased with this solution. But he made sure to hide the smile from Tim, who wouldn’t appreciate it right now.

“Tucker Foley may end up working out for us all, but that’s no guarantee a future mistake won’t be fatal. And Tim…” even if it was a formality at this point, he had to ask. “Do you trust him?”

The answer was obvious, this was Tim’s personal laptop, this was the Bat Cave, and as expected Tim nodded immediately, the sulk from his punishment vanishing.

“He’s a good guy. He’s even made a clean set of Amity Park data you can look through until Danny fixes the batcomputer.”

Ah. And there was the problem. With a solution wrapped around it though, so Bruce focused on the cleaned set of data.

If Tucker was anything like Tim, it’d be extensive enough to keep him busy until the Justice League came to a decision.

Until he could speak to Danny. Speak to Jason.

He was so tired.

Bruce nodded, leaning back in his seat.

“Alright. Tucker Foley is exempted, but I need you and the others to stay away from the rest, and particularly Danny Fenton until the League has made a decision.”

It was just a little heart breaking watching Tim’s face fall from hope and happiness straight back into worry.

“But Bruce… he’s helping Jason with the pit, he might need to see him,” he argued, arms folding again.

Bruce shook his head. That was exactly what he was afraid of.

“I know… and I know how Jason feels about following orders. I’ll tell him myself, tonight.” Luckily he was still in the batsuit, if not the cowl.

Raising his wrist to his face, Bruce activated his secondary comm on the group channel. He’d turned both off when his children headed out, fully aware Oracle would override it if they needed him.

He didn’t need to be distracted by the noises of a normal night.

“Everyone, return to the cave before heading in please. There have been developments I need to update you on.” Nothing to worry them, but hopefully interesting enough that Jason would still drop in.

No talk of protocols or anything. No, that was Tim’s future.

Tim, who was looking at him oddly.

“Who told you Jason went out tonight?” He asked, and Bruce frowned. Looked up at the batcomputer, and realized that the tracker screen wasn’t open.

That could be a problem.

“Didn’t he?” He asked, really not looking forward to asking Dick to ask Jason to drop by tonight. If Jason was actually home, actually sleeping…

But Tim shook his head, that odd expression still on his face.

“He never said he would, but he called in after taking Danny home. He’s out with Black Bat,” Tim added, and Bruce frowned.

Why even bring it up if Jason was out? What did it matter?

Tim, clearly seeing and understanding his confusion, groaned and tugged at his hair.

“Bruce. Please, just… listen to me. Danny isn’t the threat here. He’s been nothing but helpful. He’s the one who picked up the ball when the League dropped it, who dealt with all the ghosts we can’t. He saved that town-”

“We don’t know that, Tim,” Bruce cut him off, shaking his head sharply. “We can’t take that risk.”

He could see Tim getting frustrated, temper flaring, and in an odd way, it made him feel better. Calm. In control.

“Bruce, you stubborn… so what? We just tell Jason to keep away from the only person who makes him feel better?” Tim asked sarcastically, and Bruce could see exactly how he’d missed the point.

This was what he’d have to watch for with Tucker Foley. But the technical advantages would be worth it.

“We don’t know that he’s making the pits better,” Bruce said darkly, and fuck it felt good to even voice the thought aloud.

Made it feel real, less like paranoia.

Tim gaped at him, but didn’t argue.

Bruce raised a hand, counting the points off on his fingers.

One.

“None of us heard anything about him a week ago. Not even a few days. Fenton has been here over a year and only just ran into Jason?” It wasn’t possible.

It didn’t make sense. Gotham was a large city, sure, but for two people apparently so closely linked? No.

A second finger rose.

“Danny himself claims that he is helping with the pits.”

“Jason agrees,” Tim cut in, clearly looking to break his train of thought. Bruce silenced him with a stern glare.

“Danny claims he is helping with the pits. Jason claims to have noticed the same thing, but we already know the pits affect his mind. He may not understand what’s being done to him.”

That? That made perfect sense. The pits had driven Jason into those uncontrollable rages, made him do things he’d never have wanted to.

Who was to say they couldn’t have a more subtle influence? More dangerous? More like Ra’s himself.

Even Tim couldn’t argue with that, and Bruce nodded his satisfaction at the boy’s silence, raising a third finger. This… he wasn’t looking forward to this one.

But its weight had been sitting in his chest since the possibility came up, and he didn’t want to hide anything from his boys. They deserved to know the risks.

No matter how much he’d rather protect them from it.

“The little f… Constantine believes there is a chance that even being close to Danny may have dangerous side effects for Jason, purely accidentally.”

Tim’s eyebrow rose at the aborted description, and Bruce was glad he’d clamped down on it. Couldn’t quite meet the boy’s eye as he continued to explain.

“Danny’s connection to… his death,” the words were hard to even speak, another child lost, “is what gives him his power. It’s strong, and may have radiating effects Danny doesn’t even know about.”

Because that was kind of the worst part. There was a chance that Danny truly meant everything he’d said in earnest. That he was Jason’s friend, wanted to protect him.

Wanted to help Jason come back to himself and be free of the pit rage. That they did truly care for each other, and wanted to make each other better.

And none of those good intentions would matter if Danny’s mere presence risked Jason’s soul.

He could see Tim realizing it too, eyes widening and the aggression slumping from his shoulders. But he’d decided to be honest.

Clear, open communication. They could try.

“The way Jason came back… we still don’t know how it happened, or why. But anything half living and half dead can have side effects on the world around them, especially for those who have already died.”

Danny might be here to take Jason away. Back to the dead.

He’d meant to say the words, to lay it bare, but in the end he choked on them. Couldn’t even face the thought.

Tomorrow. After he slept. If they still needed convincing, he’d try again tomorrow. Which did neatly bring them to point number four.

Steeling himself, Bruce shifted his gaze back to Tim, raising his pinky finger.

“And if you are right, if Danny really is helping… it’ll only be for a few days. I meet with the League tomorrow. Zatanna and Shazam will both be there to give their opinions.”

Suddenly Bruce just felt tired. Tired of arguing, trying to make people see things his way. All he wanted was a couple of days. Just to be sure. Just to be safe.

Tim raised an eyebrow again, shifting slowly to lean against the other chair.

“Then why will it be a few days? Why not tomorrow?” He asked cautiously and Bruce chuckled.

Of course Tim knew him well enough to know there would be something else.

“I’d like to talk to him myself first. Perhaps have them meet him directly. Just to be sure what his intentions are in the city.”

“And with Jason,” Tim put in flatly. Bruce just nodded. The boy was right.

“With the city and with Jason,” he agreed, looking back up at the large screens of the batcomputer.

Pulled up the location tracker for his bats and birds, watching their little trails of light run across the city. He wouldn’t let any of those lights wink out.

Tim sighed and shook his head, coming to lean against the back of Bruce’s chair instead. Not quite tall enough to rest his chin on the top of Bruce’s head, and not likely to grow much more at nineteen.

“I still think it’s a bad idea,” he said bluntly, eyes tracking the Red Hood dot in particular. “You’ll only push Jason further away by trying to control who he sees.”

Bruce shook his head, leaning back just a little more into the presence of his son.

“I don’t care if Jason hates me for the rest of his life, so long as it’s a long and healthy one,” he said softly, and Tim snorted.

Pushed away from the chair, and for a moment the distance ached.

“Yeah, well. When it blows up in your face, I told you so. Did you wanna see Tucker tonight or tomorrow?” He asked, and Bruce’s head snapped suddenly around, scanning the cave.

“He’s still here?”

Shaking his head, Tim made his way across the cave to the infirmary, pulling out his phone where Bruce couldn’t see it. He shot off a quick text, not looking down.

‘J. Don’t come back to cave. B has mega bitch face just let him cool down’

Across the city, the message flashed in the corner of Red Hood’s helmet visor. Groaning to himself, Hood kicked a goon’s gun into Gotham bay and waved to Black Bat.

“You good? I gotta send a text.” He called, deeply offending the eight goons still standing, armed with knives and fucking pipes, and tussling with Black Bat.

Which only got worse when she shot him a quick thumbs up, sat on a particularly tall goon’s shoulders before throwing herself back so far the guy toppled, twisting them in the air so she still somehow wound up on top.

Hood nodded, pulling out his phone one handed.

“Hey! You can’t just text! We’re not done!” A goon protested, rushing in at Red Hood.

Who pulled his gun and shot him in both kneecaps, sending him sprawling to the slick planks of the dock.

This was why he always took out their shooters first. Batman could preach hand to hand all he liked, it was way safer when the bad guys had holes in their hands and no guns.

“Anyone else?” Hood asked rhetorically, pointing the last gun on the dock at the remaining goons in turn. In unison, all six focused their attention solely on Black Bat.

Not because they thought they’d win, but well. She didn’t have a fucking gun.

“Yeah, thought so,” Hood grumbled, sending a quick message back to Tim.

Paused to take a picture when Black Bat actually got three heads at once into a leg lock, because that had to be a record.

‘Is it to do with your big fuck up?’ Cuz honestly, what else could B be pissed about?

The answer came back though, fast and weird.

‘As hard as I also find it to believe this, no. Magician’s got him all twisted around about Phantom. Wants to forbid us all from seeing him.’

The phone creaked in Jason’s grip as he read the last words, a low rumbling growl spilling from low in his chest.

The remaining standing goons whipped around and exchanged startled looks.

That. That definitely wasn’t fucking good. No way.

Black Bat took another to floor as they paused, and the last three fled. Didn’t quite make it to the door.

Jason didn’t notice until her hand landed gently on his shoulder, concern radiating off her. His head whipped round, and he was suddenly glad the full helmet covered his face.

Couldn’t see the way he fucking snarled at her.

Black Bat didn’t move, her head cocked to one side as she regarded him.

“Eyes. Glowing,” she told him carefully, reaching up to touch the side of his helmet.

Jason jerked back in shock, but he could already feel the green rushing away. Receding until his vision purely his own again.

He hadn’t even noticed the green haze.

Black Bat inspected him again, then nodded, going on tiptoes to pat him on top of the head.

“What’s wrong?”

Red Hood sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to recenter. He’d never felt the rage come on that fast, from nothing to all consuming before he even felt it.

Even thinking of the messages made angry green tides again.

We will not be kept from the King!

And it was talking to him again. Lovely. Why couldn’t that part have been his imagination?

Shaking his head, he focused on Black Bat’s question instead.

“Just B bein’ an asshole again. I’m gonna pass on the cave tonight, tell him I went to bed.” It was about as much as he thought he could talk about it without screaming.

Almost forgot that Black Bat could read him too, her aura still soothing and open to him as she nodded. Rested a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Go now. Rest,” she told him firmly, turning back to the downed and groaning goons.

Red Hood hesitated, looking around the dock. It was getting early, nearly time to turn in anyway, and they were done here. Just a routine drug shipment.

The last lot too dense to be cowed by the mood on the streets, or counting on the hour to mean the bats went to bed. Cuz that went so well for them.

He nodded and moved to help her, flipping the biggest goon over and zip tying his wrists to his elbows, and then his ankles.

“After I help you wrap your presents,” he agreed, heard Black Bat let out a soft huff of laughter.

One of the still conscious goons shot him a glare.

“Y’could at least pretend to take us seriously,” she grumbled, then yelped as one of her fellow goons kicked her in the shins.

Clear message: do not push the crazy bat.

Red Hood snorted.

“I’ll take you seriously when you’ve fuckin’ earned it,” he told her, going for the next biggest body.

Black Bat could take every one of them out of the fight, but bagging and tagging a dead weight was much less fun for her. He could handle that part before turning in.

He had a big day tomorrow.

Private Chat: DannyP & TooFine

4:30am

‘TooFine: dude Tim just shoved me in a closet I don’t think Batman knows I’m here?????’

‘TooFine: dude’

‘TooFine: dude wake tf up I might need emergency evac 🚨🚨’

4:35am

‘TooFine: that fucking Constantine guy’s put a bug in Batman’s ass’

‘TooFine: told u we shoulda hunted him down 😤’

‘TooFine: and after all I did to help!! Ungrateful bat!!’

4:46am

‘TooFine: okay Batman fucking hates u specifically ur screwed 😳’

‘TooFine: I’m good tho 😇’

‘TooFine: I think he likes me now 😏’

‘TooFine: he wants all my sweet tech upgrades’

‘TooFine: they’re gonna let me play on the batcomputer!!! 😳😳😳’

5am

‘TooFine: u are missing vital updates bitch’

‘TooFine: he’s gonna fucking ground Jason from hanging out with u’

‘TooFine: AH SHIT HE KNOWS IM HERE ABORT ABORT ABORT’

8am

‘TooFine: u may have been right going to bed early man this shit sucks’

‘TooFine: didn’t even get to see what happened’

‘TooFine: they sent me to bed like a naughty child! 😤’

‘TooFine: I’m changing all his ring tones to Funky Town’

10:59am

‘DannyP: okay miette’

11:02am

‘HalfBitch: OKAY IM SORRY TUCKER AT LEAST TAKE THE MAGIC MIKE THEME OFF’

——————————

Next Chapter:

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778

#dp x dc #danny fenton dead and loving it #dead on main ship #jason x danny #danny x jason #one fine day in the middle of the night #still no smooches here tho #just bat angst and softness #chapter 13 #unlucky 13 cuz i forget the number exists

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