#I encounter it less since it occurs in spaces I have less reason to move in but it is just as horrid and just as annoying | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nevereverlandboys · 3 years ago

Text

Different Pulses

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: After Pan gets defeated, Y/N and Felix live together in Storybrooke with the "heroes". They both don't get along and seem to avoid each other, until the "heroes" need to leave them alone to save Henry from another threat. Will Y/N get along with the cold, distant boy?

Part: (1/?)

@madd-devil

This story is heavily inspired by "When it's cold" by:

@the-original-weirdo-83

@peter-pan-on-neverland

Y/N's eyes wandered through the small room, from the small bed to the huge window, stopping at the small drawer underneath it, before finally stepping further in. The walls were dyed light blue and besides a big clock and a flat screen they were empty. There was nothing unusual with this room, nothing really striking and yet it still felt a little strange. She walked forwards and ripped the dark curtains away, opening the window to welcome the golden sunlight into the room, warming her skin. The air smelled different and even the birds chirped in another tune. It seemed as if this world was quieter than the other, less dangerous and more welcoming. For a moment Y/N was soaked into the moment and drifted off into her thoughts, as suddenly some cursing in the next room ripped the girl out of her thoughts. With an annoyed snarl, she rolled her eyes and let herself drop onto the small bed, trying to ignore the sounds that probably came from the grumpy former second in command. After all, he still did not like being taken from Neverland, as he found himself with Y/N in a new home in Storybrooke. He still did not fit in and fought with everything he had to integrate. The second in command was stubborn and feisty, hot-tempered and constantly in a bad mood. Felix had barely granted Y/N a smile since they came off the Island and after he was brought into Mary Margaret's and David Charmings flat, everything went worse. The lost boy usually locked himself up inside his room, stayed there until after dinner to grab himself the leftovers, before vanishing back behind the wooden door. He never seemed to understand the technology around him, not even trying to understand it, but getting angry instead if it did not work out like he had imagined it to. Y/N on the other hand, found herself in a healthy relationship with her hosts real quick. They took it as their own responsibility to take both of them in, after Pan was defeated. Felix, because he was the most stubborn boy that would never find his peace in an orphanage and Y/N, because she was the only girl next to Wendy that lived with the lost boys. After all this time on the island, she found herself being close to Henry as well. The small, young boy was like a little brother to her, making the girl laugh and joining her whenever Mary Margaret would allow them to go out. She was a careful woman and even though she trusted Y/N, there was no reason for her not to be cautious. Also Y/N suspected Mary not to act like granting the girl a privilege while Felix was still being guarded.

Another loud yell from behind those walls disturbed the girls' peaceful daydreams once more, so she grabbed the pillow and pressed it over her head to muffle all the sound, trying her best to ignore everything around. It was a day too pretty for this and Y/N only wanted to relax, but not a few minutes of delightful silence later, she heard a knock on the wooden door. Moving her body properly under the sheets, she faced the door and mumbled just loud enough,"Come in."

The door swung open and revealed the former second in command's worried face, his sweaty hair hung down his face and he breathed so loud that the girl could literally feel anger flooding in the room. The atmosphere turned immediately tense and the room seemed to shrink around her with each second passing. Y/N held her breath and raised one eyebrow in confusion, trying her best to hide her insecurities behind a questioning look, as the lanky, blonde boy's eyes pierced her urgently.

"Where is the little rat?" Felix spoke in a hoarse tone.

"The ra-" She started confused. "Oh."

Henry.

"He took my cloak." Felix raged. "Where is the bastard, so I can smite him!"

"It's in the laundry." Y/N interrupted him before Felix would even try to hurt Henry and give him the fault for her doings. She found it in the bathroom and washed it along with the other laundry. The girl's voice was almost inaudible, well knowing the boy's temper from all the countless encounters with the other lost boys. Felix's eyes twitched and he gritted his teeth as he slowly came closer, one step after another, to close the distance that kept her away from him, the only distance that gave the girl at least a little bit of comfort. Henry could be glad to have to spend the time with the grumpy lost boy on weekends only. How much she envied him.

"What?" He snarled with his face just a few centimeters away from hers and for a moment her mind went blank, the only impulse she felt was to storm out of the room. As she crashed to the door, Y/N did not even bother to look back and swiftly grabbed her shoes and keys before leaving the apartment. The door swung shut with a loud crash that echoed through every room as Felix swayed back in his own room, every cell inside him questioning why his heart felt so heavy. Y/N was not even sure if the lanky boy bothered to chase after her and if her actions seemed a little exaggerated, but when Felix built himself up in front of her, the girl's heart sank into the bottom of her body and fear overtook her mind. The former lost boy had been cruel to other boys for less than that.

She did not stay out for long, simply walked around the block to get some fresh air and to get some space from the tall boy. Also, because she knew that Mary would be mad if she was not home when the woman returned. The first week did not start well and Y/N let out a frustrated sight as she thought of the future. Mary and David left her alone with him half of the day, having the boy locked up in his room was not consoling though, the fact alone that he was present was enough to make her feel nervous. When she returned to the apartment, Felix was nowhere in sight, so she quickly snuck back into her room, hoping that he would leave her alone for the rest of the day. On the other hand, she had to make sure that he would not hurt Henry, the poor boy did nothing wrong. For a moment Y/N hesitated until she decided to get Felix's cloak from the washing line on the balcony. Not a surprise that the asshole did not know it was there, when he never left his room. Still, the girl felt a little curious when she thought of what he might do all day by himself- especially with no understanding of technology. Was he not bored? There was no convincing answer that she could think of and Y/N wondered if she would find out as she strutted with the big cloak in her hands towards Felix's room. She knocked at the door and immediately regretted it after the previous events. Nevertheless she tried to be brave and push her fear aside, telling herself that the former second in command was not threatening at all.

She knocked again when nothing happened and suddenly some angry footsteps stomped into her direction-, firm and loud, before the tall boy ripped the door wide open, revealing his furious face.

"What the fuck do you want?" Felix growled, the veins of his neck throbbing and his hands pressed so tightly into fists that his knuckles turned white.

"I-...eh." Y/N stammered nervously and tightened her grip onto the cloak. Her eyes widened as she thought, He would not hurt me, would he? "I have your-"

"Keep that!" Felix interrupted her, his words were like poison.

Felix slammed the door shut before the girl could say another word, leaving her in the dark hallway with an unsettling feeling inside her guts that something was wrong. But how could she even tell what? Felix never spoke to her that much and it was pretty obvious that he would not do more in the future. All Y/N knew was that the grumpy boy missed the island and that he missed Pan, even though the girl never understood his obedience to the green devil. Peter Pan was manipulative and evil and she was glad he never left Neverland alive. Felix couldn't give her the fault for his loss, she had never helped the heroes and even refused as the only one next to him to say a word. Well, Y/N opened up quicker and befriended the "heroes" after everything they did. It was a saint if she could speak freely about it. The cloak must mean a lot to Felix, or else he would never be this angry, even for a boy who had a tendency to violence-, he never hurt Y/N before. She really hoped he would take it back and overcome his rage. The idea that Felix might only looked for a reason to hate Henry more occured her a few minutes later, but it was an unspoken thought that seemed to be way too assumptious.

"I am sorry about Peter." She moved her forehead onto the wooden door, resting it there for a bit and after a while she watched a single tear drop down onto the ground. Peter was not completely evil, not to Y/N at least and deep inside he was a loss to her as well. There was a short time where Felix seemed to be nice too, back on Neverland just weeks before Peter got defeated. He had shown the girl a flower field and tickled her until some boy's would crossy their way and disturb that lovely moment. It was the first and only time he had ever been close in a comforting way. Since then, Y/N had always hoped to see the boy underneath this rusty shell, but it was all gone since the second he stepped off the boat.

The door stayed closed and she stared at Felix's cloak, wondering what to do with it. When Y/N returned to her own room and snuck underneath the covers, the cloak was still under her arm. It did not smell like Felix anymore. The ticking of the clock was the only sound filling the room, capturing the girl's eyes to check the time- six pm. It was late, almost time for Mary Margaret to come back from work and cook some dinner, and when it was time for Y/N to sleep, David would come home too and Emma would come tomorrow, to bring Henry over for the weekend. Y/N barely saw David. He was always busy with his work in the police station and would get home late in the night. He left Felix and her up to Mary and Emma, which was definitely a hard task thinking of the rebellious boy next to Y/N's room. The man could not stand the former lost boy, the girl had seen it in his eyes when Emma brought her onto the ship, back then, from escaping Neverland. Felix's emotions seemed mutual and everyone around could sense it. That both of them were separated most of the time, was not so bad after all. Mary Margarett even tried to take it as an opportunity to get to know more about the former lost boy, but all her attempts failed. The boy kept shut, would not reveal his past and barely replied to any of the woman’s actions. It was tiring to watch, quite a show though. It seemed like a boring game of charade, in which Mary kept asking him countless questions and then tried to interpret his annoyed growls as he ate some cereal. Breakfast was a strict rule for him to join and dinner to avoid.

Y/N rolled over and grabbed her phone, turning some music on to change her thoughts and kill the silence. Even though it was so early, she felt how her eyelids were getting heavy, how she slowly drifted off into sleep, using the cloak as a pillow. Throwing it away was not an option for her, there could always come a time where the former lost boy would demand it back.

It felt like a whole night when the girl woke up from a strange feeling of someone pulling on something underneath her. Out of reflex, she tightened the grip on the cloak in her arms. The pulling got stronger and when she realised that this was not a dream, she slowly opened her tired eyes.

"I changed my mind." Felix scoffed. "I want it back."

With a mind still dizzy and drunk from sleep, Y/N's sight was still so blurry, that it was hard to catch up and she needed a moment to follow the lost boy's words. He obviously meant the cloak, but why did he make such a fuss about it when he did not want it in the first place?

"Y/N?" He pronounced her name so carefully when he realised her eyes were closing again. She did not respond.

The sound of Felix's knees hitting the floor startled the girl out of sleep, finding herself sitting bolt upright in bed, pressing the cloak with widened eyes tightly against her chest. He let out an amused chuckle, grinning from ear to ear. Being fully awake now, Y/N realised why the tall boy was here and she slowly reached her hand forward, handing the boy his cloak over. What the hell did he do in the middle of the night inside her room? Why could this not wait? Her eyes wandered to her phone on the small nightstand-, it was eight pm and winter. It caused the girl to genuinely laugh to herself.

"Sorry for washing it." She whispered meek, avoiding Felix's gaze and dropped her head back onto the pillow before turning away from him to close her eyes.

"It's all right." With that Felix quickly made his way back to his own room, the door closing so quick as if he had run.

The next day he kept quiet, did not say a word at breakfast, not even a snarky comment towards Henry who was constantly talking about one of his favourite movies and its heroes. The word 'hero' usually was enough to make the former lost boy explode. Not this time. His steel like eyes were glued onto his bowl as he ate in silence. Later he would sit in the living room, watching some TV that Henry forgot to turn off and would not even complain when Y/N joined and switched the channel. For a moment she felt his eyes burning on her skin. When she met his gaze, the former lost boy rose to his feet and walked away, slamming his door to confirm he was in his room now. Felix was strange and not the friendliest boy for sure. Still, Y/N had the feeling that there was more behind his behaviour that he would let her on and that he exaggerated an act. Mary would give her some tasks over the time like getting the groceries, which she would really appreciate doing, since it was a great way to get out. Y/N and Felix were no prisoners of course and the cold of the thick snow creeping in from the outside would keep her under her covers anyway. There never has been snow on Neverland. It was entirely strange and yet so familiar, waking a nostalgic feeling inside the girl. When Y/N found her way to the grocery store, there was no one to harm her and she had all the time she needed to wander through the different Isles and shove anything she liked into the shopping cart. There were no lost boys with spears and torches, that would hunt the girl down until her feet would bleed. No Pan that played his dangerous, manipulative games, that only entertained him in a twisted, sadistic way, satisfying him, that it could already be a kink.

It was freedom.

The good snacks from the store disappeared immediately inside the drawer, keeping it safe from Henry or Felix. Both had the tendency to steal Y/N's food. She would often cook for herself, learning new skills since there was nothing else to do anyways. As soon as Mary returned, the girl hoped she would bring some more groceries, but she got disappointed. The snow held her off too long, the mood to go into the supermarket was simply gone and Y/N could understand that.

"You can go with Henry." She smiled and grabbed herself something to drink from the fridge.

"When will he be here?" Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow as she waited for an answer. The short haired woman slowly turned around, her face seemed to be frozen in an unbelieving, perplexed and slightly fearing frown.

"Isn't he here alr-" She stopped and both of their heads shot into the same direction when a key was put inside the front lock, turning and unlocking the door. The girl expected the young boy to get home, instead, Emma stormed into the apartment, shortly followed by David and the girl already saw on their faces that something was wrong. Mary let go of what she was doing and closed the distance between them with quite some concern on her face.

"They took Henry!" Emma bursted out, her eyes searching the room as if her son could just hide somewhere and would just magically appear any moment. She looked full of hope. David gently rubbed her back and told Mary to get her things. They always seemed to find trouble and now Y/N finally understood what Felix meant, when he once claimed that their hero being was only a facade and they were the true danger. Were they? Henry was gone and that was because he was so important to these women.

"Who took him?" Y/N asked worriedly.

"Stay out of this, you are not a part of this." Emma ignored the question and gently shoved the former lost girl out of her way to get her keys. She ripped the door wide open and jumped down the hallway without bothering to close it, expecting the others to follow quickly.

"We will get Henry back." Mary turned to Y/N, trying to comfort her by holding her hands. "You don't have to worry."

It was not the young boy she worried about and the short haired woman knew that. With a quick glance back to Felix's closed door, Y/N gulped and immediately shook her head.

"I can come with you!" She protested at the thought of being all alone with the former second in command.

"No," Mary said and sighted. "I need you here."

Her gaze wandered off to Felix's door again and her look grew frustrated. Y/N followed with her eyes and nodded before facing the short haired woman again. She turned to the counter and grabbed her purse to pull out her wallet. Then she collected all the money she had and put it in a sugar box inside the shelf.

"I trust you enough." Her words meant a lot. "Besides, once in a while Regina will check up on you two."

With that, Mary Margaret turned around and gave David a final nod, before both of them left the apartment to join their daughter in the car. As soon as Y/N closed the door behind them, everything went into an uncomfortable silence. There was no single sound instead of the unbearable striking of the clock hanging on the kitchen wall.

"Great." Y/N moaned quietly. At least they could have told her who took Henry and for what possible reason. The adults would always seem to know better and in this case they decided it would be better to keep Felix and her out of this. Did they really want to leave her out of it, or was Y/N just not to be trusted? Felix would easily try to convince her about that. The former lost boy probably would not care at all. It was smart of Mary Margaret to hide some money for Y/N. The fridge was almost empty and she wondered how long they would be away and when she would need food. There was nothing good inside it, nothing appealing, so Y/N closed the door and strutted back to her room. Dropping into the sheets, she grabbed the remote next to her pillow and turned on the TV. Henry had shown her how to use it real quick as he often joined the girl to play video games. All those years living here and using all these things caused him to always be smarter and it was the first thing Y/N noticed that Felix disliked about him. At the end, there were countless things the scarred up boy hated, but Henry was always the center of his anger.

With the time passing by, the rumbling in the girl's stomach got louder until her tummy literally screamed for something to eat. Back in the kitchen, there was still nothing appealing and with a quick glance to Felix's wooden door, she wondered if the former lost boy would like to eat something too. Each step further towards his room felt more heavy and Y/N's stomach turned inside out. The moment her knuckles knocked against the cool wood, she questioned why she even tried to be nice and get along with him. The floor was cold, maybe she should have put on some socks or turned on the heater. There was no sound on the other side of the wood and Y/N started to wonder if Felix was even home, when suddenly some heavy footsteps slowly strutted closer. Felix swayed the door wide open and rubbed his tired eyes, then rested his heavy head on the doorframe. He only wore some grey sweatpants, revealing his scars on his pale chest. The air around the girl thickened and her body heated up at the sight of his messy, sweaty morning hair.

"Sorry." She mumbled and avoided looking at him. His presence alone caused shivers to run down her spine. "Did I wake you?"

"M-hm." Felix grumbled tiredly, fighting to keep his eyes open. Y/N's eyes wandered back to the open kitchen and its clock. It was four o'clock.

"Are you hungry?"

The tall boy remained silent for a moment, his dull eyes staring at the girl as if he did not understand the question, turned to look at his bed, then slightly nodded with his head as if it was the hardest thing to do.

"I could eat." He spoke with a deep, raspy voice, laying his focus back onto Y/N. Fuck, he sounded so hot, it caught her off guard and left her unable to speak for a glimpse moment.

"I am ordering food." She said after a small moment. "What would you like?"

Felix pressed his brows together, then lifted one in confusion. "How does that work?" He asked and Y/N chuckled in amusement, feeling how her stiffened limbs relaxed.

"You choose a restaurant and then decide what you want to eat." She explained and showed the blonde boy her phone. "They deliver it and you pay."'

"Ah."

Y/N were not sure if Felix was not understanding it, or simply did not like it. He brought his hands up to his arms and rubbed the scarred skin, feeling how cold it was and finally bothered to put on a T-shirt. If Y/N were honest with herself, she liked Felix's exposed back. Muscles danced under tender flesh, as arms stretched upon the ceiling, forward and crooked together, pulling the cotton over his chest. Back on Neverland, Felix always seemed to be violent and rough, harsh to others and never in a good mood. There has not changed much, yet the dangerous, threatening touch was missing since he came to Storybrooke with Y/N. He was bent to new rules now.

"Pizza." Felix said and stepped closer, closing the distance and bent down to take a glimpse of the menu. "Do they have some?"

Y/N's skin started to prickle when she felt his breath against her cheek and immediately froze in place. Why was he so close?

"You know Pizza?" She asked unsure, still a little curious. Felix smirked and let out a husky chuckle. "Sure I do."

He walked past her into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, gulped it down, filled another one, gulped it down, but when he repeated that for a third time, the second in command could not finish it and disposed of the remains in the sink. He turned around to check the time and widened his eyes as he realised how late it already was.

"The days are dark during winter." The boy mentioned with a side-along gaze, as if he knew that she might have criticised him for sleeping that long. Y/N did not know how to respond, but was confident enough to join the tall boy in the kitchen, pulling the chair back and taking a seat at the table. Both of them did not say a word and with each second passing in silence, she regretted sitting there with him even more.

"Why did you run from me earlier?" The question caught her off guard, she needed a moment to think for the right answer. The girl tilted her head in Felix's direction, his eyebrows were lifted up in a questioning look and he leaned at the counter, waiting for the girl to open her mouth and speak. He was just curious, not too gruff nor angry.

"You scare me sometimes." Y/N admitted. "It's like being back in Neverland."

The former lost boy nodded disappointed and shifted his gaze out of the window to hide half of his features as if she would ever be able to read them.

"You really did not like the Island." The boy stated, receiving a light nod as an answer. "Was it so bad?"

"There were no toilets."

Felix could not help but chuckle, a warm genuine smile spread over his face and he nodded his head in agreement when he faced her again.

"Toilets sure are great." He laughed. "Or warm running water."

Felix pushed himself away from the counter and slendered over to the girl, taking a seat on the chair in front of her. "It took me three days to find out how that works, by the way." He added after a small pause. Y/N could only shake her head in response and give him a brief smile. "Must have been cold."

The tall boy agreed in silence and crossed his arms in front of his chest, waiting for the food to arrive. He would disappear for a while to go to the bathroom, giving her some space to clear her mind. All she could think about was how beautiful the former second in command looked when he smiled, making her nervous the longer he stayed with her. For a moment, it seemed like he was another person when she was all alone with him.

"Where are the others?" Felix asked when he returned from the bathroom, pulling the chair around to straddle it.

"Someone took Henry." Y/N admitted low, not even wanting him to know that, well aware that he would only mock this situation, probably having expected such a thing sooner or later.

"Hm.’' Felix let out an amused chuckle and gave her a winning smirk, one that said,"Told you so!"

"We're on our own for a while." The girl said, checking her phone for a message from the delivery guy. Not long. Almost here. How the time had passed by.

"I am fucking happy they are gone." Felix snorted and rolled his eyes."They were such a pain in the ass."

At least they gave him a home and clothes, food and no worries about his current life. That was something and even though Y/N knew how beautiful the Island could be, the former lost boy had not been safe there. None of them were. How could he still be so blinded after all? Y/N wanted to respond but decided to keep her mouth shut. Right at that moment the doorbell rang. Shifting from her seat, Y/N strutted over to the door and opened it, waiting a few moments for the delivery guy to get up the stairs and hand her the Pizza. She pulled a twenty dollar bill out of her pocket and handed it over to the man before closing the door. The boxes felt hot on her cool hands and the smell of fat, cheese and pepperoni filled the room, making the girl realise how hungry she actually was. Felix's stomach started to rumble when she started to cut her Pizza, so she assumed he did not have any breakfast either. For a moment the girl really enjoyed the boy's company and hoped he would stay longer, but she was also sure that he would take his food and vanish as quickly as he used to do. Yet, Felix never ceased to amaze her. He waited in silence until she was done cutting, then he took the knife and in that moment her fingers touched his, she felt a quick, electric sensation followed by butterflies rumbling in her stomach. Taking the Pizza, she quickly strutted into the direction of your room to hide her sudden joy, just to be stopped by Felix calling her name.

"Where are you going?"

"Into my room?" Y/N gave confused back ,wondering why he would want her to accompany him all of the sudden.

"Oh- I thought…" Felix sounded disappointed.

"Oh…" Her eyes widened and maybe she sounded a bit too harsh. "I thought you wouldn't want-"

"Nevermind." Felix barked harshly and swiftly vanished behind his own door, not even giving the girl a chance to say another word. Damn, this boy was so sensitive, his mood was constantly switching and Y/N wished to find out why he was always so pessimistic about everything. Not now, she thought, not now. First she would eat, then she would take care of that matter.

The boy let out an annoyed sight when he opened his door after Y/N knocked not long after she finished eating. Felix was eating the last slice of his pizza and held the empty box in his other hand.

"Why are you always coming to me?" He snarled.

"I just care about you! For god’s sake! You act so fucking mean since we came here and I wonder why." She raised her voice and knitted her eyebrows together in a serious manner

"Please don't do this." Felix moaned theoretically. "Please don't act as if you cared!"

Felix swiftly turned around and threw the empty box of Pizza aside. His fast movements caused her to flinch a little, but still she managed to remain calm.

"You don't care!" He snarled. "Nobody cares. Just leave me alone."

The tall boy did not need to turn around and give her a final glare, he made it clear that she was not wanted and no matter how much he needed her help, she respected his wishes. Y/N had really no thought to waste about him when she went straight into the bathroom to take a bath that might cool her nerves. That fucking audacity and this childish behaviour, as if Felix really meant what he was saying. They both knew he was not serious and that he was simply lying to himself about his emotions. There was no place for love in his heart after being manipulated by Pan for so long, nor for friendship. Y/N did not care what the former second in command told himself about their friendship, it all has been a lie and a game for Pan, something to entertain him. It was worthless. His loss meant nothing, still Y/N cared how Felix felt about the betrayal of every former boy.

While she stripped off her clothes, the girl waited for the bathtub to be filled with hot water and bubbles, a metaphorical way to clean her thoughts when diving in. She should rather think about helping someone out and earn some money, so she could afford buying her own things. She splashed the water with her fingers and slowly sank deeper into the bathtub to enjoy the silence. The hot steam filled the room and when her thoughts drove off to something pleasantly, she almost forgot the time. Back in Neverland there was nothing to worry about time, the days were almost all the same and no one was there to rush someone. Things have barely changed in Storybrooke, since there was nothing to do for Y/N and the lanky lost boy, so they needed to find something to kill the time.

It had been an eternity since the girl had taken a proper bath and maybe it was time to get out, but the hot water remained too tempting for her to step out. With a deep breath she closed her eyes and leaned back, as suddenly a door slammed shut, immediately telling her that Felix was leaving his room again. His slow footsteps definitely made their way towards the bathroom and Y/N realised that she did not lock the door. She did not really forget to lock the door, right? The girl could not recall it and to get out of the water, to check was too late, as she watched agonised how the door handle went down and the door swung wide open, causing her heart to skip a beat. The tall lost boy did not seem to notice her at first, but as soon as he entered the steamy room, Felix froze in place. His eyes widened and his face turned blank. For a long moment, they both stared at each other and Y/N felt relieved that she was at least covered by a thick foam of bubbles.

"Fuck, sorry...I-" Felix stuttered through half open lips, as if the little sight of a girl's skin was enough to steal his voice. It gave Y/N her confidence back.

"I didn't mean to-" the boy still couldn't open his mouth while his gaze burned holes through her. It took him a moment, but suddenly Felix shook his head to ban whatever he was thinking about and shifted his eyes away, then turned on his heels to swiftly leave the bathroom.

At least he could have closed the door, Y/N thought as she sunk deeper into the water in embarrassment. Fuck, how in the hell could she forget to close the door? At least he did not see anything, or did he? The whole situation left her frozen in place, unable to think clearly. Y/N did not even dare to step out of the water to close the door, so she just sat there, trying her best to calm down. After a while, the skin of her fingertips were already wrinkled up, leaving a rough touch on her softened skin and she finally thought about getting out of the bathtub. A long time had passed, since Felix stepped into the bath and now the water was starting to get cold. The girl's eyes searched the room for a towel until she realised that she had washed them and now they hung in the living room. Fuck this shit.

"Felix!" She called him as loud as she could, but there was no answer. The boy did not respond until she called him again.

"What do you want?" His voice echoed through the hallway. She sounded unsure and intrigued.

"I have a problem."

"Well now you have two." Felix yelled back.

Y/N frowned in confusion and lifted her head.

"How's that?"

"I ain't interested in your first problem."

She let out an annoyed sight and rolled with her eyes and brought her fingers to her forehead, running over her skin in a steady, relaxing movement. Why was he like that? Was it really necessary to always find a way for drama?

"I don’t have a towel." She whined, hoping for him to bring her one. The grumpy boy did not respond again, an unbearable silence filling the apartment. Felix was there, the girl knew that he was. He had not shut his door yet, so he must be in the living room or kitchen where he would perfectly understand you.

"Felix…" She called him, already giving up that he would come and breaking her mind by finding a way to get past him. "Please."

A few seconds later she heard his footsteps come back again, the wood creaking under his weight and announcing the boy’s arrival. He did not even enter the room, instead Felix threw the towel through the open crack.

"I need to take a piss, so please hurry up!" He said rather cowardly before the footsteps led him away, then shutting the door shut. Y/N did not hesitate and got out of the water as quickly as she could, barely drying her skin before she sprinted into her own room before the former lost boy would cross her way again.

Why did such things always happen to her? Could it not have been someone else to walk in like Emma or Mary? Of course not, destiny always found a way to punish the girl,- first Pan, now Felix. Nevertheless, the cold boy stayed inside her mind all the time. She dressed herself and got ready to snuck under the blankets. For a while she allowed herself to dream of him cuddling against her back, how his big body would feel like pressed against hers, or maybe even… on top of her?

NO.

Fuck no, she was not having dirty daydreams of mister cold facade. There was nothing special about Felix, right? Eventually that long scar that ran over his jagged jawline and those blue, stabbing eyes fascinated her. Those piercing eyes, that were sharp as daggers and intimidating as the gaze of a shark. There was definitely something mysterious about the former second in command, still, Y/N had told herself that she was done with adventures and risky decisions- Felix was definitely one of those,- that she could tell. He was hot, but also the biggest asshole she ever met. The former lost boy kept wandering through the apartment and distracting the girl's dreaming thoughts with each passing second. He would not leave her mind until she fell asleep.

(Next Chapter ->)

#felix ouat #ouat felix #parker croft #ouat #ouat felix x reader #ouat felix imagine

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somewhatgreatexpectations · 4 years ago

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Wouldn’t It Be Nice? (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello! May I present you all with part 2 of the "Love Goes” sequel. I’m still trying to decide on the name for it, but I’m really appreciating all the suggestions so feel free to keep sending them. A fair amount of dialogue from Wandavision is still used since it was necessary, but less than the first part for sure since the story is developing.

Songs used are “Wouldn’t It Be Nice?” by The Beach Boys (1966) and “This Magic Moment” by The Drifters (1968). Hope you all enjoy!

Summary: As Y/n and Wanda attempt to settle into 1960s Westview, what shenanigans will they encounter? Will they be able to fit in?

“You’re a mystery around here, you know?”

Glancing up from your desk, you noticed the familiar figure of your partner leaning against the entryway of your office with a friendly smile on her face. “A mystery you say?” You questioned in amusement.

Instead of answering right away, she moved further into the office and took a seat in one of your chairs. “Yes. We’ve been partners for weeks and I barely know anything about you besides the information that everyone already knows because you were an Avenger.”

You shrugged and leaned back in your chair. “Maybe that’s how I want it.” Was your cryptic response.

“If you say so.” The woman rested her head on her palm thoughtfully. “One day you’re going to have to let someone in.”

“Maybe I already have. Maybe I’ve learned better.” You raised an eyebrow in challenge.

For a moment she just stared at you, analyzing you. “So, you regret it then? Letting someone in?”

“I could never regret it.” You replied quickly, easily.

She leaned forward with interest. “Does the reason for your mystery have a name?”

There was hesitation in your voice as you responded. “Wanda.” If you were going to be partners, it was only a matter of time until she found out anyway.

Her eyebrows raised slightly in recognition, everyone who worked there knew who Wanda was. “Hmm.” She hummed, her expression neutral. “I actually came in here to ask if you wanted to get dinner together? Maybe lift the shroud of mystery a bit more.” Her tone was teasing.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. “Sure…” A name followed the word, but it was muffled. Almost as though you couldn’t remember it even in dreams.

“Y/n.” The women said as you looked up at her with furrowed eyebrows. “Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.”

With a jolt, you sat up in bed, relaxing slightly when you realized you were in your shared room with your wife. “Y/n.” You heard again. Turning your head, your eyes landed on Wanda who was looking back at you with wide eyes.

“Yes, my love?” You answered groggily through a yawn.

Her expression became shy as she fiddled with the sheets. “I think I heard something at the window.”

Glancing towards the window you heard nothing but silence. “I’m sure it’s nothing, sweetheart.” You said reassuringly but got up when you saw her expression remained the same. “Allow me to put your mind at ease.”

Pushing aside the curtains, you glanced outside and saw nothing but the picturesque garden Wanda had lovingly put so much effort into. “What do you see?” She probed tentatively.

“Only your lovely rose bushes.” You answered as you scanned the yard once more. When you were satisfied, you closed the curtains and turned back to face Wanda who still looked skeptical. “I assure you, I saw nothing amiss. You have no reason to be frighten-”

A bang against the window interrupted your sentence as you let out a squeak and dove into your bed to seek safety. You pulled your covers up to your chin.

Wanda stared at you with an unamused expression as the disembodied voices laughed. “You were saying?”

“You know, I was reading an article in the newspaper about suspicious activity that’s been recently occurring in the neighborhood.” You mumbled defensively from behind your sheets. “Who knows what that could mean. Robbing house, vandalizing property-”

“Manipulating the earth, moving objects without touching them?” Wanda cut you off sarcastically.

You tilted your head curiously. “You think they were referring to us?” Before Wanda could respond another thud against the window startled you both. You gasped and Wanda magically pulled the beds together. “One of us should really determine the source of that sound.” You suggested meekly.

Wanda set her lips in a line and shook her head at your antics. “Yes, one of us should.” She grumbled sarcastically. Another thud tapped against the window, making you both jump again. “Oh, this is getting ridiculous. I’m going to take a look.”

You grimaced as you both turned towards the window. Wanda waved her hand to open the curtains, only to find that the source of the sound came from a tree branch tapping against the window from the wind.

There was an awkward moment of silence as you both merely stared at the true source of the sound. “Well… I think we handled that well.” Wanda said lightly with a playful smile.

You turned on your side to face Wanda with a smile to match hers. “Yes, I’m very proud of us. All the trees in the neighborhood will know not to disturb us from now on.” You said teasingly. You glanced down at the bed with a smirk. “I’m even more pleased with the way you’ve seized the opportunity to redecorate.”

Wanda grinned suggestively. “This is better, isn’t it?” She questioned as she waved her hand. Immediately the two separate beds transformed into a one large bed.

“Wanda, darling.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Yes, dear?”

You shifted closer. “Get the lights.” Wanda waved her hand to turn off the light as she pulled the covers over both your heads. As soon as the covers were over you both, you could feel her eagerly climb on top of you and connect your lips fervently. The disembodied voices gasped scandalously.

“You know, I’m beginning to think I should have been the assistant, darling.” You called out as you adjusted the hat that was placed precariously on your head.

There was a short pause before Wanda shouted her reply, “Just say the line!”

Sighing at her response, you turned back so you were facing out into the room. You took a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath as you got into character. If you were going to do this, you were going to do it right.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for my final trick, I bring you…” You paused for dramatic effect. “The cabinet of mysteries.”

You gestured out into the open air where Wanda should have been, rubbing a hand down your face in amusement when she didn’t respond. “Darling. That’s your cue.”

“Did you say cabinet of mysteries?” She called from the hallway.

Stepping back, you gestured dramatically to the open space once again. “I said… Cabinet of mysteries!” You repeated even more theatrically.

“Oh. That’s my cue.” Wanda said cutely as you could hear her struggle to push the large box into the room.

Quickly rushing over to help her, you huffed at the weight of the object as you pulled it. “Doesn’t this seem like a bit… much?” You asked hesitantly.

Wanda waved her hand dismissively. “You should hear about what some of the others are planning. Let’s keep going.” She urged, her eyes shining brightly with excitement.

When she looked at you like that, you were unable to deny her anything she wanted. You would have given her the moon and all the stars if she asked for them.

You quickly got back into character. “Yes, okay. Where was I?” you mumbled to yourself. “Ah, yes! Watch closely as I, Terra, make my captivating assistant, Glamour… disappear!” You bit back laughter as Wanda posed dramatically.

In unison, you opened the doors as Wanda stepped in, her eyes locked on yours adoringly. “You really are very stunning.”

A blush spread across your cheeks as you smiled bashfully back at her. “Thank you, darling.” You stood with your hand resting against the doors. “Fear not, Glamour. I vow to bring you back exactly as you were.” Again, you had to bite back laughter at Wanda’s expression.

A overly dramatic gasped escaped your wife’s lips as you closed the door. “Abracadabra!” You exclaimed as you tapped the box three times with the plastic wand. After a beat you opened the door once again to reveal the empty box. “Ta-da!”

Wanda began clapping as she stepped out from behind the trick door, a delighted smile on her face. “That was amazing!” When she received no response from you, her brows drew together apprehensively. “What’s wrong?”

“It still seems a little much.” You admitted sheepishly. “Plus, I think you’re a better fit for the magician than I am. Your powers are more aligned.”

Wanda stepped out of the box and made her way over to you. “Darling, it’s fine. In a real magic act everything is fake.” She reassured you “The talent show fundraiser is the most important event of the season. It’s our neighborly duty to participate… And our chance to appear as normal as possible while doing so.”

“We are the very definition of normal, dear.” You replied teasingly as you allowed yourself to float for a moment to emphasize your point before settling back to the floor.

That’s new, you thought to yourself.

If Wanda was surprised by your actions, she didn’t show it as she gently took your hands in her own and pulled you closer. “This is our home now. I want us to fit in.” There was vulnerability in her eyes which immediately put a stop to your joking.

Tenderly, you stroked the back of her hand with your thumb. “Oh, Wanda… We do. We will. I’ll make sure of it. And we’ll be the best act out there.” You promised her earnestly. Once again, you’d do anything for her.

Wanda leaned forward and placed a short kiss on your lips in appreciation.

“Especially with you wearing this.” You added with a wiggle of your eyebrows as you picked up her stage outfit and held it in front of her.

Wanda shook her head in amusement. “That’s actually the rest of your costume.” She quipped teasingly.

With a shrug, you held the costume against yourself. “I did say I would be better off as your assistant…” You trailed off as the disembodied laughter once again drifted into the air.

With a light hit to your shoulder Wanda took the costume back in her hands. “There will be no backing out now, Y/n.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

Briefly Wanda glanced down at her watch. “Well, I better get going if I want to make the planning committee meeting.”

Reaching over, you grabbed your cardigan off the couch and began pulling it over your blouse. “I should be off as well. I have a meeting with Ellie.” At the mention of your publisher’s daughter, Wanda’s eyed you, an uneasy expression on her face.

“Why are you meeting with her, darling?” Wanda questioned with a tense smile.

Occupied by the buttons on your cardigan, you missed her expression. “It seems she takes after her father as she is the chief publisher of the town’s newspaper. After last night’s scare, I want to make sure the town is informed and prepared for any potential dangers.” You said seriously.

The tension in her shoulders melted away at your response as Wanda affectionately tugged you forward by the cardigan. “That’s a swell idea. You make sure you let all the tree branches in town know who’s boss.” She pulled you even closer and pecked your lips.

When you pulled away she adjusted your cardigan. “Would you look at us? Fitting right into Westview. Who would’ve thought?” You teased with a wink.

A short laugh escaped her lips as she looked at you fondly. “I’ll see you at curtain call.” She announced as she moved into the kitchen. You chuckled and departed through the front the door.

Shortly after you left a loud thud caught Wanda’s attention. When she stepped outside a vibrant object in the bushes stood out easily against the monotonous tones that surrounded it. She looked around nervously. When she plucked the object out of the bush, she stared at it for a moment. The confusion in her eyes was clear as she held the object as though it was a threat.

The vibrant red helicopter was clearly out of place.

“Look, it’s the star of the show!”

Wanda jumped at the sudden voice as she dropped the toy back into the bush. “Agnes,” She gasped out as she clutched at her chest. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Agnes’ smile never faltered as she raised the cage in her hand. “Oh, I brought my pet rabbit for your magic act.”

“Yes, of course! Thank you, Agnes.” Wanda said appreciatively as she took the cage from her and began walking in the direction of the house again. “We will take good care of him.”

With a proud smile, Agnes called after Wanda, “Señor Scratchy just loves the stage. He played baby Jesus in last year’s Christmas pageant!”

Unsure of what to say to her comment, Wanda turned and laughed awkwardly as she placed the rabbit inside. ___________ When you arrived at the Westview tribune, you found Ellie’s office easily, except she seemed preoccupied by the papers in hands. The soft sound of music drifted quietly from the radio at her desk.

Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray, it might come true. Baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do. Oh, we could be married and then we'd be happy. Oh, wouldn't it be nice?

The music distracted you temporarily as your thoughts wandered – essentially entranced by the unfamiliar tune. Static over the song cut into your thoughts as what sounded like muffled speaking rolled over the instruments. Ellie didn’t react to the change in sound, almost as though she chose not to hear it. You figured she was just engrossed in her work. The muffled sounds lingered for a second longer before fading into the music once again. With a shake of your head, you remembered why you were there.

To get Ellie’s attention you knocked softly on the entryway, smiling politely when she looked up. “Hi, sorry to interrupt. Is now still a good time to discuss the neighborhood safety article?”

“Y/n. You’re not interrupting at all.” Ellie said dismissively as she leaned back in her chair and waved you in. “Lay it on me.”

You took a seat in one of her chairs. “Well, I was recently reading an article in the tribune about suspicious activity in the neighborhood and I thought it might be relevant to feature an additional article discussing safety protocols and tips.” You pitched enthusiastically.

A minute passed without a word. “I think that’s a swell idea, Y/n.” She finally said with a smile.

An excited smile crossed your features as you attempted to contain yourself. “My wife said the same thing.” You admitted bashfully.

With an amused smile, Ellie rested her head against her palm as she scrutinized you. “Well, it’s clear she has excellent taste.” She paused briefly. “She is married to you after all.”

Unsure of how to respond to the comment, you decided to ignore it entirely.

Hesitantly, you stood up and offered her a hand which she easily took. “Thank you for meeting with me today, but I really should be going. I want to get to the talent show location early to get everything ready for Wanda. Today means a lot to her.”

Ellie stood with you and stepped around her desk. “The talent show isn’t for a good while. Stay and chat. Maybe lift the shroud of mystery a bit more.” She said playfully.

Her words caused you to recoil as remnants of your dream from the night before flashed through your mind. “Sure… Ellie.” You responded unsurely.

“Are you alright, Y/n?” Ellie’s eyebrows knitted together in concern as she took a hold of your elbow.

For some reason, you couldn’t help but feel something familiar in the action. It wasn’t flirtatious, it was comforting. Like the touch of an old friend. “I’m fine.” You paused as you attempted to gather your thoughts. “Just déjà vu.” You insisted.

There was still hesitance in Ellie’s eyes as she released her hold of your elbow. “If you say so.” Suddenly, she snapped her fingers, which caused you to jump slightly. “Maybe you can get into the neighborhood watch committee.”

You nodded eagerly, relieved her focus was back to the article. “I can do that.”

“Between you and me, I think it’s just an excuse for the men in the neighborhood to eat pastries.” She whispered in a mock-conspirator voice.

A short laugh escaped your lips. “Even more of a reason to join.” Once again, you glanced down at your watch. “I really should be going now though.”

Ellie nodded, knowing there would be no convincing you otherwise. “Before you go, do you mind helping me get a box of books down from my bookshelf?” She gestured to the box on a shelf slightly above your height, but just out of Ellie’s own reach.

“Sure thing.” You made your over the shelf and began sliding the box off the shelf, so you could get a better hold of it.

Just as the box was teetering precariously along the edge of the shelf the static on the radio flared as a single word slipped through clearly. “Y/n.” The sudden appearance of your name startled you as the box fell off the shelf and knocked you in the head, causing you to fall.

A surprised gasp escaped Ellie’s lips as she rushed over to kneel by your side. “Are you okay?”

When you looked up, there were three different versions of the woman before you swimming in your vision. “’m fine.” You mumbled out as you rubbed the side of your head.

Cautiously Ellie helped you up, her eyes skeptical. “If you say so. Here, at least take this pain reliever.” She quickly walked over to her desk and grabbed the medicine before handing it to you.

To appease her you took the medicine. “Have a nice... work time.” You said unsurely as the thoughts in your head became muddled. On unsteady feet you made your way out of the office and began your trek to the location of the talent show, not wanting to keep Wanda waiting. ____________________ Hurriedly, you rushed up the steps to the gazebo where your wife was waiting anxiously. On the last step you stumbled and fell on your side. An amused chuckle escaping your lips. “Wanda,” You said unsteadily with a crooked smile when your wife came into your view. “You look breathtaking.”

“Where were you? Did something happen?” Wanda rushed over and helped you up, her brows knit together in worry.

Her question fell on deaf ears as you leaned heavily against her. Your eyes settled on the women who was on your other side seemingly ready to catch you if you fell again. “Well, hello there.” You said with a goofy grin. “Have we met? I apologize if we have, I don’t even know the name of my desk mate. My name is Y/n Y/ln… or is it Maximoff? We never discussed the logistics.”

Much to Wanda’s relief the woman seemed amused by your antics. “We have not. I’m Geraldine.” The women replied, offering you a hand which you shook rapidly. With an awkward smile she stepped back. “I’ll be over there checking on the other acts.”

Geraldine walked away, and you continued leaning into Wanda. “Where were you?” she repeated, her eyes still wide with worry.

“Was just at the tribune. I might have gotten lost on the way here. I heard the loveliest song.” You rambled deliriously with a wave of your hand.

Ignoring your words, Wanda tried to get you to stand on your own. When you were properly upright, she took your hand in hers, her expression serious. “Listen, something strange happened today, Y/n. It’s hard to explain.”

Your eyes widened in an overdramatic fashion. “Did the man in the radio try to talk to you too?” you said in a poorly executed whisper.

“Man in the radio? What? Y/n, no. What is going on?” Wanda questioned, her concern growing.

Geraldine rushed over, interrupting the conversation. “You are!”

Indistinctly you could feel Wanda adjust the hat on your head as she rushed away. You began fiddling with the ring on your finger as your mind wandered. “Hey! Hey! You’re up!” Geraldine whispered urgently as she ushered you out onto the stage.

When stepped onto the stage, you felt as though the floor below you shifted which caused you to stumble into a post. “Pardon me, I’m sorry.” You mumbled as you staggered down the steps. “Hello, Westview!” You shouted dramatically. “Good afternoon, it’s lovely to be here! I’m Terra, Glamour’s assistant!” you declared confidently.

“What she means is I’m Glamour, her assistant and she’s terra the illusionist.” Wanda corrected with a dramatic wave of her hands.

“Yeah… what she said.” You turned towards the audience with wide arms and a deliriously bright smile. “Today, we will lie to you and you will believe us!” You shouted boldly as Wanda’s smile faltered slightly. “Because you are all naïve and easily amused by simple slights of hand. And fooled by basic illusions due to how little you’ve seen! Flourish!”

The strained smile on Wanda’s face remained as you wandered over to the opposite side of the stage. “You just do it, you don’t say it out loud, honey.”

You waved a hand dismissively as you attempted to search through your muddled mind for the rest of the act. “Now, my wife and I will delight in your dumbstruck little faces. Flourish!” You repeated as you allowed yourself to float into the air.

Thinking quickly Wanda waved her fingers and a rope attached itself to you as the crowd chattered excitedly. You turned sideways in the air from the rope as Wanda maneuvered it to lift you higher. You felt your head spin even more than it was before. “Wanda! Darling, let me down! I’m feeling dizzy!” You shouted indignantly.

Thankfully Wanda let you down moments later, her concerned expression breaking through her show façade.

You attempted to recall the next portion of the act, but eventually gave up when you spotted a car parked just off stage. Metal. Perfect. “How about a fantastical feat of strength?” You maneuvered your fingertips so that they were barely resting on the bottom of the car. With a quick wink to the audience, you turned to focus on the car again.

With a slight wiggle of your fingers the car began to float just above your hand, so it looked like you were picking it up.

“Illusions!” Wanda shouted nervously and made her way over to you after she wiggled her fingers. “Terra is the master of illusions! Allow me.” She took the now cardboard car from your hands, making sure the audience saw that it was indeed cardboard.

When she turned she winked at the audience. “Whoops! You weren’t supposed to see how we did that trick.”

Feeling yourself getting sleepy, you decided to jump forward to the final part of the act. A portion that you actually felt you remembered. “Ladies and gentlemen, for our grand finale, I bring you the box of… magic?” You shouted semi-confidently, unable to think of the name you had practiced just that morning.

Wanda took the hint and began wheeling out the box. “The cabinet of mysteries!” She corrected.

“Yeah, yeah. What she said.” You pulled open the doors to show the box was empty inside. “I will now make my wife disappear!”

“Are you sure you don’t want an audience volunteer named my husband Ralph?” Agnes called out from the audience.

You forced a chuckle along with the audience, “Haha- no.” You mumbled flatly as you closed the doors to the cabinet. “Abracadabra!” you weakly hit the box with the plastic wand, proud of yourself for remembering that step.

Wanda looked around nervously. “Uh, sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Hi.”

“Oh.” You said, realizing you forgot the most important step. The crowd quickly started chanting what’s in the box.

Both you and Wanda exchanged timid glances as Wanda’s smile became strained. Her body language showing her obvious discomfort with the situation. Subtly, she wiggled her fingers once more.

With hesitant hands, you pulled open the doors with Wanda to reveal a very confused Geraldine.

The crowd cheered enthusiastically. All three of you took hands and bowed. “Flourish.” You muttered sheepishly for the final time. “Let’s get out of here.” You mumbled to Wanda as you ran off stage.

When you were safely backstage, you turned towards Wanda with a guilty look on your face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so stupid.” You cried as you sat yourself on the floor and covered your face in shame.

Wanda hastily made her way over to you and delicately placed her hands on your cheeks as she tried to get you to look at her. “Y/n. Y/n, it’s alright. Hey, it’s okay.” She reassured you as she attempted to urge your eyes up to meet hers. “But what is going on with you?”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “I don’t know! It all started when all of Ellie’s books fell on my head and then she gave me medicine that made me feel worse.” You whimpered.

Wanda’s eyes softened. “Oh, sweetheart. Let’s get you home, so you can sleep it off.” She gently coaxed you up. “And before Dottie and the planning committee can string us up for ruining the show.

Wordlessly you agreed with her plan and took her by the hand as you both attempted to sneak passed the audience.

“You two! Stop right there.” Wanda’s hand tensed in your own as you both turned to face Dottie who was on stage. “Nothing like what you two did has ever happened in the history of our talent show.”

You squeezed Wanda’s hands comfortingly as you stared down at the floor in shame. “Dottie,” Wanda began fearfully. “We are so-“

“Hilarious!” The woman interrupted Wanda. You both shared a look of surprise. “That was the most hilarious act we have ever seen. Wouldn’t you all agree?” The crowd cheered.

Dottie gestured you both on stage which you both uncomfortably complied with. “On behalf of the planning committee I would like to award you with the inaugural comedy performance of the year.” Wanda beamed proudly as she took the offered trophy. The look on her face made everything worth it to you.

You smiled deliriously at the sight as you rubbed your head which was still spinning.

As the crowd cheered you gestured Geraldine forward into your final bow, everything after blurring together so much that you couldn’t remember it. _______________ When you came to again, you were on the couch at home. Your head resting in Wanda’s lap as she stroked your hair soothingly. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” She asked softly when she noticed your eyes flutter open.

You sat up and blinked a few times. “Much better, my love. Heads all clear again.” You answered as you knocked lightly on the side of your head. “Though I don’t remember everything that happened.”

Wanda chuckled softly and pecked your cheek. “I think it’s better you don’t, darling. While you were amusing in your delirious state, nothing can beat the Y/n I know and love.” Wanda leaned into your side as you wrapped an arm around her. “I don’t know what I was so worried about. It wasn’t so hard to fit in after all.” She admitted.

You rubbed your hand up and down her arm tenderly. “And all we had to do was be ourselves.”

“With a few modifications.” Wanda added with an amused smile.

For a moment you both just settled in the comfort of the moment before you stood up and made your way over to the radio, turning it on. “Let’s celebrate.” You suggested as you fiddled with the knobs.

Sweeter than wine, softer than the summer night. Everything I want I have, whenever I hold you tight. This magic moment, while your lips are close to mine, will last forever. Forever ‘til the end of time.

Satisfied with the music, you turned back to Wanda and offered her your hand. “I was wondering if I may have this dance, my love?”

Wanda stared up at you with loving eyes as she took your offered hand and stood up. “You certainly may.”

Gently, you pulled her closer. Your arms wrapped securely around her waist as hers rested over your shoulders. The feeling was comforting and familiar. Everything either of you ever needed. Wanda’s eyes stayed on yours, glimmering with pure love and happiness, the look mirrored in your own expression. For a moment you both just swayed in place to the rhythm of the song, your heads pressed gently together as you cherished being there in that moment.

The moment was short-lived as static rolled over the music playing much like it did earlier in the day. Both you and Wanda pulled away to stare at the radio.

Once again, the muffled speaking began, this time much stronger than before. “Wanda.” The voice called out clearly, this time addressing your wife. You didn’t know why but you knew that you recognized the voice. You just couldn’t place a name to the voice. “Wanda. Can you hear me? What happening, Wanda?”

You turned to look at Wanda, unease in your eyes. “What’s going on?” you questioned, but her eyes remained locked on the radio.

Before Wanda could say anything, a loud thud outside caught your attention. The abruptness of the sound making you jump and effectively distracting you both from the radio. “If it’s the damn tree again, I’m going to rip it up by the roots.” You announced as you stormed outside, the radio forgotten as Wanda followed closely behind you.

You walked to the edge of the yard, looking around as Wanda stopped beside you. “I don’t see anything.” She said lightly.

Almost as soon as the words left her lips, a mysterious figure came out of the drain cover. “Wanda. What is that?” you stepped protectively over to her, your arm wrapping around her from behind.

The figure turned their head in your direction. “No.” Wanda said sharply.

Satisfied with the music, you turned back to Wanda and offered her your hand. “I was wondering if I may have this dance, my love?”

Wanda stared up at you with loving eyes as she took your offered hand. “You certainly may.”

You froze slightly when Wanda stood up. “Um. Wanda.”

“Hmm, what?” She questioned with a cute tilt of her head. Your eyes fell to her abdomen which had become round with the signs of pregnancy. You delicately placed your hand on her stomach as she gasped. “Y/n… is this really happening?” The smile she gave you was so bright that it could have rivaled the sun.

You brought her hand up to your lips and pressed a soft kiss to the palm of her hand. “Yes, my love. It’s really happening.”

Lovingly Wanda leaned forward and connected your lips in a sweet kiss as the disembodied voices cooed at the action. When you pulled away Wanda cupped your cheek, a surprised look in her eyes when she looked at you. “Y/n.”

You both looked around in awe as the home around you became rich with vibrant colors. Like magnets you were drawn back together as you both met in a loving kiss. . . . . . . . . The group once again watched you and Wanda share a sweet kiss as the credits rolled on the screen before them. A moment of tense silence hung in the air as they attempted to process what they just saw.

“You got her pregnant!” Natasha finally shouted at Steve, smacking him in the back of the head.

Darcy tried to choke back a laugh at the sudden comment as she fumbled with the technology, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. “I don’t think that’s how pregnancy works.” She mumbled to herself.

Steve rubbed the back of his head with a frown. “I didn’t get her pregnant, Nat.” He huffed in annoyance. “And I might not be a scientist, but I know Y/n couldn’t impregnate her either. I’m pretty sure Wanda got herself pregnant.”

“Yeah, well, one minute they’re dancing and then you try and talk to them and suddenly Wanda’s pregnant. I blame you.” Natasha countered with a roll of her eyes. “Which, by the way, while Y/n was lifting heavy objects over her head? Really?”

Darcy’s eyes widened in amusement as she tried to keep her expression neutral.

“That… wasn’t my finest moment.” Steve admitted shamefully as he rubbed his temples in embarrassment.

As the two Avengers were arguing Fury shut off the television. “What’s done is done. Now that we have Monica in there under the guise of working for S.W.O.R.D. we can potentially receive some intel. Even though she seems deeply immersed in her character. And,” He waved a file in his hand. “I know who Ellie Hart is. You two might want to hear this.”

Part 2! I will admit I had slight trouble writing this since it was still fairly restricted by Wandavision because it’s necessary to set up the story still. Well, as always, I hope you all enjoyed! And let me know your thoughts, remember they are always welcome! :)

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silverbyeol · 3 years ago

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When We Collide - Tom Holland

Summary: A close encounter with death, brings on a new relationship (This summary sucks, but I don’t want to give anything away)

Author’s Note: Not sure if this classifies as angst, but the ending is kind of sad... but lots of fluff all throughout!

Word Count: 3.6K

“That’s a wrap for today everyone, have a good day and I’ll see you all on Friday,” the male producer said, there was some light mumbling throughout the cast and everyone disbursed soon after.

“Hey, Tom!” yelled a male voice, stopping the brunette in his tracks, “Would you like to hang out with us? We’re going to grab some drinks at a pub?” Tom looked over at the owner of the voice, one of his co-stars.

“I would, but I already have plans for today. Definitely next time,” the male replied with a smile. Truth be told, Tom didn’t really have any important plans. They were shooting a movie in London and all Tom wanted to do was walk around and enjoy the feeling of being home for a while.

The male walked into his trailer and changed out of the outfit he wore on set and into something more comfortable, jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He checked himself out in the mirror and, before leaving the set, put on a black cap and dark shades, to mask his identity. It was nice to get away from fame and responsibilities for a while and just lead a somewhat normal life.

The streets of London were always busy with people walking about, minding their business, and tourists snapping pictures of every nook and cranny. The weather was gloomy today and there was really no reason to wear shades outside. He probably looked crazy, but Tom went unrecognized as he made his way towards his favourite cafe- ready to enjoy some afternoon tea and maybe even read a book. The cafe was located in a part of London that was rarely crowded. The brunette turned a corner, and there it was; the cafe was standing just across the street. He stopped at the pedestrian crossing, waiting for the signal to turn green.

On the other side of the street stood a young female. She had a pair of over-ear headphones on and wasn’t really paying attention to her surroundings. The male looked her over, admiring how cute she was. She had a black and white striped top on, paired with black cargo jeans, and a black Nike duffle bag across her chest. She looked as if she was coming back from the fitness center. The light turned green for them to cross and the female looked both ways to make sure there were no other cars. She quickly looked back at her phone, missing the vehicle that was speeding down the road.

Everything moved so fast. She was about to get hit and without thinking, the male took off running towards her, ready to push her out of the way. Everything started moving in slow motion and for a split second, he saw her eyes widen with fear as she looked up from her phone and noticed the situation unfolding. Tom quickly grabbed the girl's waist, lunging the two onto the ground, right in front of the coffee shop.

‘This definitely hurts less at the studio…’ he thought and fluttered open his eyes, meeting fearful e/c ones.

“Are you okay?” the female asked as she lay on top of Tom.

“I’m fine. No big deal,” he grunted out. It was actually a big deal… His head and back hurt from the fall and his hands were scraped from sliding on the concrete. “Are you okay?” he in turn asked her as he scanned her face for any injuries.

“I’m fine… I- ermm…” she stuttered and quickly got off the males body, sitting down on the ground next to him, “Thank you- I don’t- Everything just happened so fast…” she said with a shaky voice as if the events finally hit her. The car was long gone and there were no other people walking by as the incident occured.

“What a bloody arsehole, he shouldn’t have been going so fast,” Tom said and frowned. The female's things were all over the ground and right in the middle of them were his sunglasses. His eyes met with the girls, yet she seemed to not recognize that he was famous, “Are you hurt? Should we go to the hospital?” he questioned, concerned about her well-being.

“I’m alright. Thank you… I’m not sure how I could ever repay you for saving my life… you even got hurt,” she said as she studied his scraped hands.

“There’s no need. What’s your name?”

“Y/n.” she answered and the couple stood up from the ground.

“I’m Tom. Pleasure.” he replied, looking into her eyes for any sign of recognition, but nothing.

“Can I at least buy you a cuppa or coffee?” she asked and motioned towards the shop. Tom warmly smiled at her.

“Sure.” The two grabbed their things and collected themselves before going into the shop.

“Welcome! What can I get started for you two?” asked the barista. Tom and the female awkwardly approached the counter.

“I’ll have a flat white, please,” the female by his side said.

“Two of those,” Tom added. Y/n started digging in her bag, most likely looking for her wallet.

“10 pounds.” the barista said and Tom swiftly handed the barista the orange/brown coloured bill.

“Wait… what are you-” Y/n said in confusion.

“Let’s go sit down,” Tom interrupted and led the two towards an empty table.

“You’re way too kind…” Y/n said when the pair sat down. Tom chuckled.

“Making you pay wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.” the female smiled at him and the barista came over to the table, setting down two small cups.

“Thank you.” they both said and Y/n picked up the cup and took a small sip, making Tom stare. Being a celebrity, he never had meaningful conversations with strangers. Everyone either wanted a photo or autograph, so it was hard for the male to make connections with regular people.

“What's up with the shades?” she asked, hoping to see more of the strangers' faces.

“Oh....” Tom mumbled and took off his glasses and cap. There was no one in the shop besides the pair, it was fangirl free, “It’s a habit.”

“Makes you look kind of dodgy...”

“Does it…?” he mumbled more to himself than the girl. She looked more calm than before as if the incident was long forgotten. He picked up his mug and took a sip of the hot liquid. Y/n took a second to examine the male. He had brown hair and a pair of matching brown eyes. His baby face made him look like a puppy. He was cute. Her eyes traveled to his arms, they were slightly veiny, he was most likely fit and worked out a lot. Her eyes looked at his hands that were red and had scratches from the fall.

“Tell me about yourself,” Tom said, wanting to keep the mood light.

“Me? I’m honestly not that interesting…” she said and looked down at her lap, “I’m a ballet dancer, I don’t really have time for much else…” she continued, picking up Tom’s interest.

“You dance? I took ballet classes when I was a child. I was even in the Billy Elliot musical-” Tom said and suddenly felt nervous. (Y/n) didn’t seem to know who he was. It was nice to be normal and treated like a regular human, not a famous actor, “when I was in secondary school,” he added.

(Y/n) looked up with interest, “I didn’t realize you were done with school… you look so young,”

“I’m actually 24,” Tom said. The female looked at him with wide eyes.

“You look so young…” she repeated and Tom took another sip of his coffee, “Did the ballet thing work out for you or are you pursuing different things?” This was Tom’s chance to tell the female that he was a famous actor.

“No, I decided to do other things,” he started. He decided that he liked the feeling of being unknown, “I work on movie sets… bunch of random things, honestly.”

“That’s cool. Do you get to meet a lot of celebrities?”

“Yeah… you could say that.”

The two sat in the coffee shop until the sky turned dark, talking about anything and everything. The longer the two talked, the more Tom started to fancy the female. Despite what she thought, she was interesting and very kind. He never met someone like her, and he definitely wanted to keep getting to know her.

“It’s almost 9…” she said with a tired sigh, “I should get going. I have rehearsals in the morning.”

“I should get going too…” Tom said, slightly disappointed…

“Despite the circumstances, it was so nice to meet you, Tom. Thank you for saving me.” she said and started getting up. He didn’t want their conversation to end, if she let him, Tom wanted to keep in touch with the female.

“Wait!” he called out and she looked at him, sitting back down, “Do you mind if I get your number? I would love to take you out on a date, or just hang out,” there was a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

“Ummm… yeah- of course…” (Y/n) felt her cheeks get warm. It’s been a while since someone asked her for her number or even asked her out on a date. Tom gave her his phone and she typed her number in.

“Have a goodnight, (Y/n).”

“Have a goodnight, Tom.”

Tom could not concentrate on set. All he could think about was the girl with the e/c coloured eyes. After the encounter, Tom texted the female that night to make sure she made it home safe. Ever since, they’ve been sending messages back and forth constantly. He wanted to take the girl out on a proper date, but that was slightly difficult. Public spaces meant lots of potential fangirls and the male was not ready to reveal his status yet.

“Holland!” yelled a strict male voice making Tom come out his daydream.

“Sir?”

“What’s the matter with you?” the director asked, annoyed that they had to reshoot the same scene for the fifth time.

“Sorry… I’ve got a lot on my mind.” he replied, making the director sigh in defeat.

“Alright. Why don’t you take the week off, yeah?”

“Oh, okay.” he replied, his thoughts going back to Y/n.

“And make sure you come back to Earth by then!” the male yelled and stormed off, annoyed about having to make a new shooting schedule for the week. Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone:

Tom: Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow?

Tom: Totally fine if you don’t

Tom: Don’t want to pressure you

To say that the male felt stupid was an understatment. Why was he so nervous? He barely knew this girl for a week and she made him feel like a teenager who was helplessly chasing their crush around. He looked at the screen, three little dots appeared and a message suddenly popped up:

Y/n: I would like that

Tom: Great! I’ll pick you up at 6! Text me your postal address.

Tom sat on the sofa in Y/n’s flat as they watched Citizen Kane on her small telly. The female was laid down, her legs laying on top of his as she balanced a big bowl of popcorn on her belly, occasionally munching on the snack. Tom looked away from the noir film, his attention purely on his girlfriend. The pair have been dating for nearly half a year and Y/n was still unaware that her boyfriend was an A list celebrity. Of course, Tom wanted to tell her, but they’ve already gotten so far into their relationship that he was scared of how she might react to the news.

“You know… I’ve never been to your flat,” the female said and stuffed some popcorn into her mouth, never taking her eyes off the telly.

“Is that something you would like to do?” Tom questioned.

“I mean… We always spend time here. Why haven’t you invited me over? Are you hiding a secret family from me?” her eyes met his and he saw the playful gleam behind her orbs.

“You caught me. My wife and kids wouldn’t be too happy to find out that I enjoy spending my time more with my mistress than them,” Y/n picked up a piece of popcorn and threw it at him, landing it right in the middle of his forehead.

“That’s what you get, Mr. Holland… or is that even your real name?” she said glaring at him, but a smile was plastered on her lips. Tom grabbed the bowl of popcorn from her belly and placed it down on the floor. He quickly got on top of her, using his forearms as support to hover over her.

“Would you like to come over tomorrow then? I could cook us dinner?” he questioned as he looked all over her face, admiring every little detail.

“That sounds lovely. Your wife and kids won’t mind?” she giggled.

“No. I’ll make sure they’re out by the time you get there,” he said and dipped down to capture her lips.

Tom was nervous about his girlfriend coming over, and not because he had a secret family. Tom did not mind that his girlfriend lived in a flat that only had one small bedroom and a common area, nor was he worried about her being materialistic and only keeping him around for the money. She didn’t have much, but she liked to spoil him with small gifts here and there with whatever money she had left from her paycheck. It was bad enough that he drove around in a Porsche, but he lived in a luxurious two story flat on the outskirts of London. If she were to ask questions, how was he supposed to explain where his wealth came from? What if there were paparazzis situated outside his home? He wanted to tell her about being Spider-man on his own time and this could potentially out him.

“I thought you lived closer to the city…” Y/n said looking out the window, watching as they got further from the center of London.

“I prefer staying out of London… It’s always so crowded and the traffic is horrible.” he replied as he pulled into the carpark. Y/n smiled in anticipation. The building of the flats looked really modern, as if they were built recently. She knew that this place must have been expensive to live in. The couple walked inside the building, his hand on the small of her back as he led her towards the lift.

“Mr. Holland.” the doorman greeted, with a kind smile.

“John. Good evening.”

Once inside the lift, Tom swiped his key card and pressed the button for the highest floor. Y/n looked around, slightly feeling out of place. She knew that Tom worked in the film industry, but she didn’t expect him to be loaded. The door to the lift opened and the girl's eyes went wide with shock as she was met with a spacious flat and huge windows that were facing towards the center of London.

“Woah… You said you did what?” the female questioned as she looked out the window.

“I work on movie sets… which reminds me,” he said and came up behind the female, wrapping his arms around her middle, “There is a private screening tonight of the movie I was working on when we first met. It would mean a lot to me, if you came along to watch it.” he said, kissing his girlfriend's cheek.

“Am I allowed to?”

“Of course. You’re my plus one, love…”

The couple finished their dinner before going to see the private screening. Most movies would be shown to the cast and crew before they officially premiered in Hollywood. This showing was meant for the UK team only. This was the moment that Tom would confess who he actually was. His heart was pounding against his chest as he and Y/n sat down in the chairs in the screen room. There were only five others there.

“What’s this movie about?” questioned the female.

“Superheroes.” Tom responded with a bit of a smirk on his face. This was going to be the first time he’s seen the final product, so he wasn’t completely sure when Peter Parker was going to make an appearance. The Marvel logo played and transitioned into a poor quality memorial video of all the Avengers that died during the Thanos battle. The scene continued with two teens as they were giving a morning announcement to their school. Tom looked over at his girlfriend who looked confused, she must not have watched any of the marvel movies. The scene ended and there he was… It was always weird seeing your own face on a big screen.

“I have a plan!” his character started, talking about how he was going to woo MJ in Paris. Tom looked over to his right. Y/n had her mouth wide open as she watched her boyfriend speak in an American accent. She looked at the screen and slowly turned her head to look at her boyfriend as if trying to confirm that it was the same person. Five minutes into the movie and there he was in his Spider-man suit talking at a fundraiser. Y/n grabbed her bag and abruptly stood up, walking out of the screening room, having seen enough.

“Shit…” Tom mumbled and raced after her, “Love, wait!” he yelled, but the female kept walking until she got outside. Not knowing where to go, she stopped in her tracks, “Y/n…”

“You’re Spiderman…” she muttered lowly and Tom almost didn’t catch it.

“I-” he started saying, but she quickly cut him off.

“This is mental. You’re Spiderman and you forgot to mention that your job entails you to actually be the main character in the film?” she said and turned around to look at him. She looked sad, almost disappointed. Tom was at a loss for words.

“You’ve nothing to say?” she tutted and started walking in a random direction, away from the male.

“Babe! Wait!” he yelled and ran up to stand in front of her to block her way, “I was scared okay… Everyone who I ever meet on the street wants a photo or autograph. When I met you, you made me feel normal for once, not like I’m some object that belongs in a museum. I know that keeping this from you was bad and I am truly sorry,” her eyes sparkled in understanding as she listened to the male speak, “I don’t want to lose you.” he ended, his eyes slightly glossy. Y/n sighed and leaned over to give him a kiss. He grabbed her waist and pulled her closer to him, fearing that this would be the last time he would be able to feel her lips.

“I understand if you want to break up-”

“Shut up and kiss me, you bloody git.” the female giggled, making Tom smile and lean in for another kiss.

…

“Don’t lie to me ever again.”

“Never.”

It’s been about five years since the couple started dating. Tom was ready to ask Y/n to marry him. He was going to propose on their anniversary, but he wasn’t sure how or where; all he knew was that he was ready to call her his forever. The male walked into their shared bedroom where the future Mrs. Holland was already in, laying under the covers, dozing off. He slipped in and pulled her close to his chest.

“I love you, Y/n.” he whispered as he kissed her neck, earning a tired reply…

“I love you, too…”

~~~~~

"He's waking up!"

"Tom!"

"Can you hear us?"

"TOM!" slowly his eyes opened and he met a white ceiling.

"Where am I?" he groaned and looked over to the side, his mom was there looking at the male in worry.

"You're in the hospital, Tom. You've been in a coma for six months..." his mother said in a calm voice as tears spilled from her eyes.

"Mum? Where's Y/n? I need to see her, is she okay?" Tom questioned as he tried to get out of bed. His head was pounding as he tried to recall the accident.

“Woah… you need to stay in bed, Thomas. Who’s Y/n?” his mother asked, concerned.

“My girlfriend… I was going to propose to her.” Tom let out.

“I’m going to go get a doctor. Please don’t move.” his mother said and left the room.

“What happened?” Tom groaned and he held his head.

“Your director called us after you didn’t show up for the shooting…” spoke up his brother, Harry, who was sitting on a chair, on the opposite side where his mother just stood, “You and some girl got hit by a car just outside a shop in London.”

“Coffee shop?” Tom questioned, his headache starting to ease.

“Yeah…” Harry said.

“Where’s the girl?” Tom questioned, curious what was happening.

“Just in the other room. They haven't been able to identify her.” Harry finished, concerned about his brother.

“Can you take me to her?”

“You just woke up… No way…” Harry said as he frowned at the older male.

“I need to see her…” Tom pleaded, making his brother sigh. Harry got up from the chair and rolled over a wheelchair that was located on the other side of the room. He helped his brother on it and wheeled him towards the room next door. The pair of brothers stopped just outside a window that looked into a patient's room. The shape of her face, the colour of her hair- everything about her was so familiar. She had lost a little colour on her skin, probably due to being in a coma and light bruises littered her body. He couldn’t see the colour of the girl’s eyes, but he was sure that he recognized her.

She was the same girl who Tom was going to propose to. That girl was Y/n...

Thanks for reading, lovely~

#tom holland #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland oneshot #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n

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gateway-to-glimmer · 4 years ago

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A Guide to Dream Work

Dream States

Sleep states are fun to consciously control for various reasons. They can be used to view and analyze our memory and sense of self in an indirect way. The feelings and ideas produced by sleep feel profound and vivid, and can be used for creative inspiration.

The characters and places we encounter in our dreams are reflective of the things we have experienced and imagined. We have dedicated systems of memory for things like our stereotypes of people and places, as well as our relationship to our environment and to ourselves. When we are in a dream state, we see the boundaries between ideas contained within our memory distort and change, leading to the experience of a world created entirely from the contents of our knowledge and memory.

Sleep is essential for functioning. Contrary to what one would expect, the brain is active even during sleep. When we sleep, the brain goes through a process of regulating physical and mental functions. Sleep is essential for memory consolidation. It is difficult to retain and recall information that hasn’t yet been consolidated during sleep.

There are several distinct stages of sleep. Older psychological texts used to break these up into five stages of sleep. Today, most researchers divide the stages of sleep into four stages: NREM 1, NREM 2, NREM 3, and REM sleep. REM stands for rapid-eye movement. During REM sleep, the eyes move back and forth quickly, hence the name. NREM stands for non-rapid eye movement. In these stages of sleep, the eyes are still, unlike in REM sleep.

Staying lucid during the different stages of sleep is an interesting experience that many enjoy and find thought provoking. Each stage of sleep is experienced by the dreamer in a different way. Studies have been conducted on participants who were woken up during the different stages of sleep and asked what their dreams were like. People who were woken up during light sleep felt as though they had entered an immersive daydream but hadn’t quite fallen asleep. People woken up during deep sleep (NREM 3) reported feeling fully immersed in their mind, but that the dream felt more thought-like and involved mundane subjects, activities, and places. People who were woken up during REM sleep reported vivid, surreal, and fantastical dreams.

Different mystical traditions delineate between three distinct types of dream-work which map onto lucid dreaming during the three stages of sleep. Hedgecrossing occurs during NREM 1 and NREM 2 sleep. During this stage of sleep, if the dreamer is lucid, their thoughts become random, vivid, immersive, and contain spontaneous events that feel profound. Their thoughts feel out of their control. Spiritual traditions use this stage of sleep for the purpose of contacting spirits or interpreting some aspect of their lives.

Lucid dreaming during deep sleep is experienced as astral projection. Astral projection stereotypically involves the perception of leaving the body and walking into the world just outside of the self. Traditionally, the world becomes more random and mystical as the person moves further from their body, which maps onto the idea that the change in sleep states causes a subjectively perceived change in experience while lucid dreaming.

Lucid dreaming during REM sleep is what people traditionally think of when they think of lucid dreaming. REM sleep dreams depart from the normal laws of reality the most severely of all of the stages of sleep. Because of this, lucid dreaming can easily be used to generate creative ideas or to explore themes from one’s life through the vivid feelings produced by the dream. In addition, it is possible to attain some degree of psychological healing through dreams because of their connection to our memory, and because dream experiences feel vivid and thus their content and our reaction to them can significantly impact us even when we are awake.

I will describe how to attain each dream state in the next section. In a subsequent section, I will explain how spiritual practitioners approach dream work. I will then explain how to use dream experiences in a constructive way (such as through dream analysis, creative inspiration, and overcoming traumas and internal conflicts through dream role play) as an alternative psychological technique.

Hedgecrossing

Hedgecrossing refers to the state of mind that occurs when one is lucid during light sleep. This state of mind is useful for spiritual and psychological work. People who subscribe to a mystical belief system may use this state of mind to contact spirits or perform a ritual or detect something about the world. People who see these states of mind as psychological tools may use this state of mind to access parts of their memory - similar to using hypnotherapy techniques.

Procedure

The general procedure for hedgecrossing is to meditate in a comfortable position until the mind begins to enter a sleeping state. There are certain tells that the mind has entered such a state - the thoughts that automatically come to us become random, nonsensical. As with all dream-based work, it is important to try many times to attain and work with these states. It is very easy to fall asleep or to fail to enter into a dream state at all and this can be discouraging for many people. Hedgecrossing is the easiest lucid dream state to attain because it takes place in the first stage of sleep, so it is the first dream state entered. People don’t feel as though they have left their body but they do feel like their imagination has taken on a mind of its own and it can surprise them with moments of insight and inspiration.

We will be creating a specific mental place inside for each of the three lucid dream states. Eventually, our brains come to associate this internal mental space with the state of mind provoked by each type of dream state. Over time, as the association becomes stronger, this helps us enter into a particular dream state more easily.

Lay down in a comfortable place that you ordinarily sleep in. Practicing good sleep hygiene, especially the step where you only sleep in the room/area you sleep in so that your mind can associate that area with sleeping, can help. Beginning at a time where you are naturally tired and normally go to bed helps. This state is prompted by entering the first stages of sleep, light sleep.

Clear your mind as though you are meditating. Enter your mind’s eye and focus solely on the experience of being inside of your imagination. Ignore external thoughts and sensations as they come up, letting go of them and turning back inside. You are free to develop your own set of visualizations. The general framework for developing your own system of visualizations to distract you until you enter light sleep is, more or less, this: enter the first of your visualizations and ground yourself in your 5 senses; leave the area to a second room associated with hedgecrossing; leave to a third room where you engage in a repetitive (hypnotic) motion; then leave to a final room where you can walk endlessly until you enter a hedgecrossing state/light sleep state. I will give an example below.

Enter your mind’s eye at the foot of a blue cliff with the opening to a black cave. Feel the blue grass beneath your feet. Drink from a nearby pool of clear water above pastel blue sand. Look at the deep blue sky above and listen to the wind blow through the blue leaves coming off the black trees behind you, smelling the cool, chilly, evening air. Enter the cave.

Enter a black room with blue steps leading down. Blue stars line the walls of the cave, approximating the complexity of the universe. Look at them as you continue downwards. At the bottom of the stairs is a glowing blue number one on the walls instead of stars. This mental state, hedgecrossing, is associated with the star symbol as well as the color blue and the number 1. Giving specific symbols meaning like this helps make entering this state from this mental location easier in the future. There is a door with a large blue A glowing on it. Walk through the door, feeling the texture of the doorknob in your hand.

Enter a room with blue crystals and a pool of water with a waterfall. Watch the waterfall flow endlessly into the pool of water, feeling the cool water wash over your hands. Listen to the sound of the water flowing into the pool. Dive into the water.

After entering the water, enter a room without water. This area is a maze. Ankle deep water and blue crystals and stars line the walls. Walk through the cave, taking random turns, until the area begins to randomize and things begin to change outside of your control. You will have entered the state informally called hedgecrossing (lucid dreaming during light sleep) when the area and things inside of it are partially outside of your control.

Some people find it helpful to take a small amount of caffeine; others find this does not help at all. Stimulants can make it easier to maintain lucidity, but also harder to fall asleep. I have narcolepsy and I’m prescribed Ritalin and I accidentally lucid dream on it all of the time because of this.

Uses

Soul retrieval and hypnotherapy both force the practitioner into a trance that is similar to light sleep or near light sleep in order to enter into and manipulate the mind in a deeper way than is normally possible in a waking state. This allows us to cross mental barriers, such as the barriers that keep memories repressed, and view normally forbidden materials in our mind. This also means that, since our emotions are more vivid, the things that we think and the way we interact in our mind leaves a stronger impression than is normally possible during a waking state where our emotions are more repressed. The increased emotional vividness serves as a flag to our mind that what we are thinking is more important than normal.

The following techniques can be practiced in other sleep states, although the form they take may differ between stages of sleep. Because it is difficult to remember information between a waking and sleeping state, it is essential to keep a journal nearby in order to write down important thoughts. Get into a habit of writing about the contents of every lucid dream, regardless of which stage of sleep it occurred in, as soon as you wake up. Write down every regular dream, as well.

Symbols are important elements of our mind. Symbols serve as associative cues to different places in our memory. When we hedgecross, we enter into a state of mind where we are closer to our memory, almost living in it as we do when we are deeply sleeping. We can use symbols to interact with our mind. When we are hedgecrossing, we can call up a symbol. Say, the color red. We visualize this color, and because our thoughts have become more random, they will warp and respond to the introduction of this cue. We could randomly remember a memory connected to the color red. Or we could spontaneously imagine a character or the beginning of a story prompted by thinking about the color red.

We think about the world in certain ways that are connected to our different types of memories. We have special neurological processes dedicated to processing things like narratives, relationships, time, other people, cultural stereotypes, and places. These elements become easy to notice when we engage in dream work. We become immersed in the components of our memory, and the types of components we can think in become obvious quickly. Elements that frequently recur in dreams often have some significance, and it is worth it to interact with these symbols - doing so can reveal old memories and can allow us to interact with these ideas to inspire or change the self. This is the process of dream analysis. By interacting with these symbols, characters, and other ideas, we can see their meaning. Dream analysis books offer interpretations based on cultural symbolism. This is helpful to some extent, but personal symbolism is what matters the most, and it can be quite contextual and idiosyncratic. It is possible to interact with an idea or symbol in a dream and to talk to it, touch it, see what is inspired by interacting with it. The ideas that spring up from interacting with this element can be used to analyze its meaning.

Interacting with symbols in the mind can be used as a hypnotherapy tool. If someone has a troubling thought loop or memory, they can interact with it in a dream state to learn more about it and to gain mastery over the memory. However, it is possible to trigger nightmares in doing so. That is the risk of good dream work - there is some element of difficulty to it, and one must be willing to face and master difficult thoughts to proceed. This can be used to identify core thoughts and traumas and integrate with them in the course of dealing with difficult personal experiences and thoughts.

Astral Projection

Astral projection is the act of lucid dreaming during deep sleep. Qualitatively, this state feels more mundane than a traditional lucid dream, and it feels more thought-like. As we enter deep sleep, we finally feel ourselves leave our body. Paradoxically, we are actually entering our memory, completely cut off from the external world. For a moment, we haven’t yet forgotten the rules of external reality or the context we fell asleep in. Our short term memory takes a short amount of time to clear, and in that time when we first enter an astral state we experience ourselves as leaving our body where we left off before we forget where we were when we fell asleep as our previous circumstance is cleared from our short term memory. Some people feel vibrations; other people feel nothing at all as they transition from light sleep to deep sleep.

The general framework for astral projecting is as follows: lay down in a comfortable location; focus on staying awake as you slowly fall asleep. Eventually, you will become overwhelmingly tired that it is almost beyond your capability to hang on to your conscious awareness. Continue to stay focused and eventually, your body will feel strange in some way. Different people experience this change differently. It can be difficult to get up and to exit the body; no longer being able to move the body means you are in an astral state. Eventually, if you stay awake and keep trying to interact with the world, you will leave your body.

This is a good framework, although to properly associate this state of mind for your deliberate use later, I recommend a slight permutation to the classic technique. Before laying down to astral project, enter into your mind’s eye. See a green glowing 2 in the middle of a field of green roses. The sky above is filled with green petals. Turn around and see a door with the letter B glowing green. Reflect on your intention and enter the door; it should be dark. This signals to your mind that you are beginning to focus with the intention of astral projecting. Some people might want to stay immersed in the mind’s eye and imagine a green landscape beyond the door; a green hedge maze with infinite twists and turns, and green marble fountains and benches. You will completely enter your internal landscape when you fall into a deep sleep. This is similar to hedgecrossing, and it is easy to get stuck in a hedgecrossing state and it can be hard to transition to an astral state, although some do it this way. It is important to fall asleep in astral projection, whereas in hedgecrossing it is important to stay aware as you are near sleep. In an astral state, you completely lose touch with the external world and your internal world becomes your entire reality.

Uses

Astral projection is fun. The vivid emotions provoked by this state of mind can be entertaining. It is interesting to watch the changes in cognition that accompany the different stages of sleep. It is possible to use lucid dreaming states in order to solve or work on personal problems. As in hedgecrossing, analyzing and interacting with the content of dreams can be highly meaningful and symbolic.

Some people use dreams to help deal with psychological issues. Profound visions, such as religious experiences and positive dreams, can be used to help improve mood even if one isn’t spiritual. It is possible re-enact difficult memories or scary situations and to master them in dreams, which leads to one feeling more comfortable with that memory or situation in waking life.

Because of the way we think, we often encounter certain types of forms when we astral project. These forms reflect the way our brain encodes and interacts with the world around us in our memory. We have specific types of memory rather than just one unified type of memory; we have memories for knowledge, behaviors, habits, associations between ideas, and events. We also have further subdivisions in our memory for our perception of ourselves, others, places, cultural stereotypes, objects - and our relationships (which can take the form of opinions, a perception of personality, narrative plots, and themes) to these things. We can interact with these elements of our mind in a literal way in dream states and understand how our memory itself is structured.

People often encounter elements of our memory- and its ability to create novel versions of things it has introjected- in specific forms in our dreams. Some people refer to these constructs as deities or spirits, others see them as thoughtforms depending on if they subscribe to a spiritual belief system or not. We can perceive other people or ideals as characters that feel emotionally profound; we can perceive otherworldly places that feel as though they are beyond us. We can perceive the elements of our memory in a vivid way that is highly creative because of the memory shuffling that is occurring during memory consolidation which happens during sleep. I am convinced that dreaming is people watching the process of (some part of) memory consolidation in a literal way.

Lucid Dreaming

Lucid dreaming takes place during REM sleep. In a normal person who isn’t sleep deprived, REM sleep sets in after about 90 minutes. This makes entering a lucid dream through the traditional way of meditating through the previous sleep states difficult, although it is possible. Some people attempt to enter REM sleep directly by waking themselves up and then going back to bed again; because their mind is interrupted mid-sleep cycle, they may enter REM again quickly.

The best way to attain lucidity during REM sleep, in my opinion, is to engage in reality checks. Reality checks train us to check during dreams automatically to see if we are sleeping or not. We pick some detail about dreams that sets them apart from reality, and during the day we check several times to see whether or not we are sleeping. Eventually, this habit carries over into dreams and we naturally question whether or not we are dreaming - which prompts us to enter a lucid dream if we ask this question while we are dreaming.

Here are some examples of reality checks: dreams constantly change and shift, so if you look at something, look away, and then look back - if you are dreaming, it should have changed. If you aren’t dreaming, it will stay constant. In dreams, you can manipulate things with your mind; try changing some element of the scenery as you would in a dream, or try to fly. Trying to do these mental exercises from a waking state feels silly and doesn’t work, but in a dream it can trigger you to realize you are dreaming if you check to see if you can do these things and you can. Regularly check to see if you are dreaming during the day, and check for these properties found only in dreams. Eventually, you will ask the question during a dream and will become lucid.

Intentions are helpful for the attainment of lucid dreaming. Before bed, enter into your mind’s eye and find yourself on a red beach with a large red 3. A door with a glowing red C awaits you. Enter it, holding your intention to lucid dream that night as you allow yourself to fall asleep. When you attain lucidity, think back on the red C and the red 3. This will associate these concepts with sleep. You can think on these red concepts in order to help with dream recall. These is called an anchor. Anchors can be used to help keep you present during the dream and remind you that you are lucid. Regularly think back on the red room with the C; create a glowing C or 3 in your hand. The action of doing this grounds you in your dream and prevents you from losing your lucidity or from waking up.

Additionally, you can check your dream journal for patterns you are encountering during your natural dreams. These should be your REM sleep dreams as these are the easiest to recall if you weren’t lucid during them. Recognizing common types of dreams and dream locations can help you recognize that you are dreaming.

Uses

Lucid dreaming is fun. REM sleep dreams are vivid and highly creative. Lucid dream states can be used to flesh out story ideas or to obtain inspiration. The emotional vividness and the surreal ideas encountered in this state of mind are ideal for creative inspiration, like to get inspiration for an otherworldly landscape to draw or for a fictional place or character for a story.

If you are going to use a lucid dream state for some purpose, set your intention ahead of time. It can be fun to explore dreams without an intention, but for goal directed purposes it is important to set your intention or else you will forget while you are maintaining your hold on your lucidity. Do you want to work on a story idea? Okay. Do you want to focus on the plot, the setting, the theme, or the characters?

You can focus on one element of your story that you want to flesh out, or several. You can focus on them one at a time, or all at once. It is difficult to hold many ideas in mind at once. Reminding yourself of your story world, or the characters, or a scene will cause it to manifest in your dream. Because dreams constantly shift and evolve, it will immediately come to life and go in a direction you barely control. This can be used for creative inspiration. That is how one uses dreams - anything that manifests in the dreams suddenly comes to life and takes on a mind of its own during a dream state. Interacting with it intensifies this effect, leading to interesting ideas and feelings.

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kjack89 · 4 years ago

Text

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 6/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage with all the shenanigans, and what comes after the wedding? Why, the honeymoon, of course. This got long, so I had to cut it, and, uh...sorry not sorry in advance for where it ends ;) (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3, chapter 5 tumblr | AO3)

Weddings, though usually happy affairs for the couple and families involved, always bring with them a certain amount of disappointment. Disappointment for suitors who find themselves spurned; disappointment for distant relatives hoping to inherit; and disappointment, perhaps most of all, for you, dear readers, as they usually signal the end of a scandal.

It is thus with a somewhat heavy heart that this Author reports that the wedding between the Marquess of Enjolras and Adélaïde Grantaire has occurred without complication and with seemingly little fanfare. They were wed in a small, private ceremony with two of Mr. Grantaire’s household attendants as witnesses. And, assumedly, Mr. Grantaire himself, though interestingly, this Author has it on good authority that his is not one of the signatures on the marriage certificate as an official witness. An unusual move, to be sure, but nothing about this particular wedding can be otherwise described as usual.

In any case, friends and family alike await the Marquess’ return to the city, though no one seems to have any idea when that event may occur. The Earl of Courfeyrac was overheard lamenting to Viscount Prouvaire that none of their friends were invited or even informed of the wedding before reading it in this very column. Even more unusual than not standing as witness to one’s sister’s wedding may indeed be not informing one’s closest friends of one’s pending nuptials, especially when said nuptials are surrounded by scandal.

Perhaps this illustrates why the Marquess has not yet returned – between his mother and his friends, he is certain to have quite a bit of explaining to do. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 7 MAY 1831

Dinner following the wedding was an understated affair, nothing like the grand feast that Enjolras was certain his mother would have planned had this been a real wedding. And while he and Grantaire carried on their conversation as if nothing much had happened that day, he couldn’t help but feel that something between them had shifted, something he could not quite find the name to but which left him feeling unmoored.

As the evening drew to a close and both men finished their after-dinner drinks (a rather hefty glass of whiskey for Grantaire, a roughly thimbleful amount of cognac for Enjolras, and only grudgingly because they were ‘celebrating’), Enjolras felt like he needed to say something, though he wasn’t entirely sure how to broach the topic.

As usual, he picked the worst possible way.

“What you said earlier,” he started as they headed upstairs from the library, and Grantaire paused, tilting his head slightly as he glanced at Enjolras, clearly waiting for an explanation of what Enjolras could possibly be referring to, and Enjolras flushed slightly before elaborating, “about the wedding night.”

Grantaire straightened, his expression evening out. “A joke, of course,” he assured Enjolras, before adding, with just a hint of a smirk, “After all, I’m not a lord, so I’m not entitled to Primae Noctis.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That so-called right is apocryphal at best,” he huffed, irritation spiking at the thought of any member of the nobility claiming some kind of right to rape a subject. “Besides which, wouldn’t it only entitle you to sleep with your sister?”

Again, possibly the worst way to continue the conversation, but Grantaire just winked at him. “That’s what you think.”

Despite himself, Enjolras blushed and looked away before clearing his throat. “Rights to the wedding night notwithstanding, I don’t believe I said it earlier today, so thank you. For...everything.”

He hoped he wouldn’t need to elaborate, not because he was incapable of enumerating the great many ways Grantaire had been of service to him in recent days but because he suspected Grantaire was in a mood to turn anything he said into a joke.

To his surprise, Grantaire did not joke in response, instead frowning slightly as he paused at the top of the stairs where they were set to part to attend to their individual bedchambers. “There is no need to thank me,” he told Enjolras. “I would do the same for any of our friends.”

“Would you?” Enjolras asked, more rhetorically than anything, because he suspected they both knew that the answer was contrary to Grantaire’s words. “I asked you once, before, why you were doing this. You did not answer me then, but I thought, given everything that has happened today, you might answer me now.”

Grantaire sighed. “Enjolras—” he started, but Enjolras just shook his head.

“Why did you do all this?”

“Because…” Grantaire trailed off, something unreadable crossing his face, and before Enjolras could so much as blink, he had closed the space between them, reaching up to cup Enjolras’s cheek with one hand, the other closing around Enjolras’s cravat.

And then he kissed him.

This was not the simple pressing of lips together of before, the fumbling move Enjolras had made at the wedding. This was like a fire that seemed to sear through Enjolras from the moment their lips touched, an electricity that sparked an absolute awareness of how Grantaire’s body pressed against his, and above all else, an overwhelming and inexplicable desire to pull Grantaire even closer, to rid themselves of the fabric that were the final barriers between them, or to—

But before Enjolras could react or respond in kind, Grantaire pulled away, looking horrified. “I am sorry, my lord,” he gasped, and there was no trace of his usual joking in his use of the title. “I should not have – forgive me.”

And without another word, he disappeared into his bedchamber, leaving Enjolras standing alone in the hallway, more confused than ever.

----------

Enjolras did not generally consider himself a vain man, but there were a number of things about himself that he took pride in, one of which was his intellect. There was not usually a puzzle that he encountered which he could not decipher, or, at the very least, develop a treatise on the tools needed so that the masses could decipher the puzzle.

But Grantaire was an enigma. Had always been, from the moment they had met, Enjolras a serious boy barely on the verge of manhood, Grantaire a seldom-serious man who, as Enjolras had recently learned, had left boyhood behind long before their meeting. Where Enjolras could understand each of his friends’ motivations, the driving forces that had led them to their group, he had never understood why Grantaire joined them and a cause in which he harbored no belief, and even less why he had stayed over the years.

And yet despite their numerous arguments, the shouting matches that caused the walls to shake or even just the bickering that peppered most of their conversations, he had never once made Grantaire leave.

He understood his reasons for that least of all.

Of course, his kiss with Grantaire, and Grantaire’s reaction to it, might beat it out for things he didn’t understand. Either of his kisses with Grantaire, he realized, since he had also kissed him during the wedding ceremony, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever understand his reasoning for doing that either.

Enjolras stared up at his ceiling, having woken far too early after a fitful sleep the night before. He did not like having a puzzle he could not solve on his hands, especially when he was stuck in said puzzle’s house, far from anything that might put them on some semblance of equal footing.

The longer he stared at the ceiling, the more it became clear to him that if he was going to figure this out, it required a change of scenery for both him and Grantaire, a chance to start anew, so to speak, and see what new developments would emerge.

And there was only one way he could think of to do so.

“I was thinking of leaving,” Enjolras announced at the breakfast table when he had finally deemed the hour late enough for him to arise. He had been strangely gladdened to see that Grantaire also looked tired, as if he too had not slept well the previous night.

Not that the thought of Grantaire not sleeping well should gladden him, but it was at least a small sign that he was not alone in being affected by the events of the previous day.

Grantaire went very still at Enjolras’s words. “Oh?” he asked, in what to Enjolras seemed a deliberately casual sort of way.

Enjolras nodded. “Yes. Madame Hucheloup reminded me that it's customary for newly married couple to take a honeymoon trip, even if just for a few days, and as I am not ready to return yet to the city, this seems an easy excuse to explain my absence in a way that does not draw suspicion like my staying here would.’

Grantaire nodded as well, avoiding Enjolras’s eyes. “Where will you go?” he asked.

“I own a cottage in the north,” Enjolras told him. “I thought I might stay there for a bit.”

Grantaire frowned slightly. “Would not your servants wonder why you are there without your wife?”

Enjolras shook his head. “It's not family property, it's a cottage I bought in my own right. As such, there are no servants, and it's remote enough that I'm not sure anyone with twenty miles has any idea who I am or would care enough to report it to someone who does.” He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need to add, for Grantaire’s benefit, “I go up there when I need to work, mostly, or just need to get away from the bowing and scraping and whatever else.”

“Well. That sounds lovely, and I'm certain you will have a good time.”

Enjolras waited a beat before adding, his turn to be deliberately casual, “I thought you might accompany me.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened before he busied himself with a scone. “Would that not be as obvious as you staying here?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I think Madame Hucheloup can manage some convincing tales in the village of you staying here while I journey north with your sister,” he said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“But why?”

Grantaire sounded torn between confusion and curiosity, and Enjolras shrugged again. “You don’t like being here,” he said simply.

“How—”

Enjolras should have realized that Grantaire would be surprised by that observation. He had a reputation, deserved or otherwise, of not paying attention to personal details of his friends, and he flushed slightly. “The way you spoke of your sister, and your father. This place holds no good memories.”

Grantaire’s eyes met his. “It holds a few. And more as of recent.”

“A few, then. But a great many bad ones, I’d wager.” Grantaire did not deny it and Enjolras hesitated before adding, “And I would not leave you alone with that.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, and for one heart-pounding moment, Enjolras thought he might refuse. But then he managed a small, wan smile. “In that case, I shall be glad to join you.”

Enjolras smiled as well, certain that he was one step closer to finding the answers he sought.

----------

It was a long ride up north to Enjolras’s cottage, but where the ride from the city to Grantaire’s estate had been punctuated by their usual conversation, there was none of that today. Silence hung between them instead, as Enjolras thought of a thousand conversation topics and cast them all aside, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

But eventually, the silence grew too much for him to bear, and he blurted, with a forced cheerfulness, “Lovely weather we’ve been having.”

Grantaire stared at him. “The weather,” he said, incredulity lacing both words. “You’re talking to me about the weather.”

“Well, it was that or comment on the jostling of the carriage, I suppose,” Enjolras muttered, feeling himself flush.

“And here I would assume that the jostling of the carriage is nothing compared to the struggle of the people that you champion so regularly,” Grantaire said archly, and Enjolras frowned.

“Are you trying to start this sojourn with a fight?” he asked

Grantaire just raised an eyebrow. “Trying? I do not recall ever needing to exert much energy to get you in an argumentative mood.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “Perhaps not, but…”

“But what?”

“But nothing,” Enjolras muttered, not wanting to tell him that he thought things might be different between them now. Different how was the real question, and that was the answer he was endeavoring to find. Of course, maybe nothing was different – maybe Enjolras was reading far too much into one stupid moment and they would return to the city and everything would fall back into place as it always had been.

He hated that he felt almost disappointed at that prospect.

“Tell me about this cottage we’re going to,” Grantaire said abruptly, and Enjolras blinked at him. “It’s only fair, you interrogated me about my home when we were en route there.”

“I’d hardly call it an interrogation,” Enjolras scoffed.

Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. “Maybe not, but the point still stands.”

Enjolras supposed it did. “It belonged to a distant relative of my mother’s,” he said. “A great-aunt, I think, though I only ever knew her as Auntie. It’s a couple of hours by horseback from the northernmost Enjolras family holdings. I was sent there as a child one summer for some fresh air.”

“Fresh air being assumedly in short supply at the Enjolras manor,” Grantaire remarked dryly.

Enjolras barked a laugh. “Truth be told, my parents just wanted me out of the way.” He sighed and shook his head. “My mother had discovered she was carrying another child, and I suppose my father didn’t want me underfoot.”

Grantaire blinked. “I did not realize you had a sibling.”

“I didn’t. My mother miscarried.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression. “I am sorry.”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “It’s not the same as losing a sibling, of course, but it was still a loss. A loss of possibility, really, of what could have been…” He trailed off and shook his head, his tone turning wistful. “But for one glorious summer, it was just me, in a cottage with no servants, no lessons, no expectations about how I should behave or speak as a future marquess. It was the best summer of my life.”

He shook his head once more to clear it of the memories that rose to the forefront of his mind. “When my mother’s great-aunt died, there were no close relatives to inherit, so the estate was going to pass to some even more distant relation, but I offered to purchase it instead. I used a small inheritance I received when my maternal grandfather died so that it couldn’t be lumped in with the Enjolras holdings. And it’s been mine ever since.”

“It’s not much of course,” he added, and he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to assure Grantaire of that, or to warn him. “Four bedrooms, I think, though one I don’t think I’ve been into in ten years, and another is used for storage. There’s a woman in the village nearby whom I retain to clean it every few weeks.” He paused before adding, suddenly feeling almost tongue-tied, “You’re the first person I’ve ever brought to stay.”

Grantaire looked surprised by that. “Truly? Not even Combeferre or Courfeyrac?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No.”

“I am...touched, I suppose.” Grantaire made a dry noise that might have been an attempt at a chuckle. “Hopefully I’ll not taint your memories of the place.”

“I’m certain you won’t.”

“You say that now, and yet…” Grantaire trailed off, looking almost troubled. “Dare I ask why you’re allowing me to intrude on what until now has been something of a sanctuary for you?”

Enjolras frowned. “I told you, I did not wish to leave you alone—”

“Yes, and it’s a noble gesture, but you know as well as I that I could have returned to the city, or gone any number of places.”

Enjolras made a face. “I do know that you are far more popular than I, yes.” Grantaire laughed and Enjolras managed a small smile before continuing, “I suppose I was looking for us both to get a small dose of reality before we returned to the city.”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared. “Reality,” he murmured, something almost dull in his voice. “Of course.”

“As much as I would love to continue living in this little fiction we’ve spun—” Grantaire did not laugh and Enjolras frowned, wondering if he had somehow said the wrong thing. “Anyway,” he muttered, “that’s why.”

They continued the journey in relative silence after that, and when Enjolras finally spotted the familiar grey stonework out the carriage window, he had never been so relieved. “We’re here,” he announced, rather unnecessarily, as the carriage drew to a halt.

Grantaire stepped out of the carriage and turned automatically to offer Enjolras his hand to help him down. “I can see why you come up here to think,” he said, surveying the rambling moors that extended in any given direction. “No distractions.” He gave Enjolras a mischievous smile. “Are you certain you want me here to ruin all that?”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly after the carriage, which had already left. “Bit late to change my mind, don’t you think?”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “I suppose so,” he murmured, bending to pick up what luggage they had brought and ignoring Enjolras’s protestations that he was perfectly capable of carrying the luggage himself.

Once inside, both men stood a little awkwardly just past the entryway. Enjolras cleared his throat, casting about for a neutral topic. “Shall I make us some tea?” he asked, falling back on manners when all else had failed him.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Don’t feel obligated.”

“I do believe it’s considered good manners when hosting one’s brother-in-law, no matter how fictional the bond,” Enjolras said, aiming for a joke. “Or one’s bride, I suppose, depending on how one wished to look at it.”

But Grantaire didn’t look amused. “None for me, thanks.”

“Right,” Enjolras said, his heart sinking. “How about a tour, then?”

Grantaire shrugged again, but this time seemed inclined to actually go along with it, which was good, as it gave Enjolras at least a little more to drone on about as they made their way through the cottage. Of course, the cottage was only so big, so the tour itself was a brief affair, though Enjolras was somewhat relieved that Grantaire seemed to regain at least some of his good humor as they went.

“So what do you think?” Enjolras asked as they finished the tour in the library.

“It’s not what I was expecting,” Grantaire admitted.

Enjolras glanced sideways at him. “Dare I ask what you were expecting?” he asked, equal parts wary and curious.

“Oh, the usual,” Grantaire said loftily, waving a hand as he plopped down on a sofa. “Threadbare curtains, a straw mattress to sleep on, no decorations…”

“You expected me to live like a monk?”

“Well, the vow of poverty seemed apt,” Grantaire mused before smirking at Enjolras. “Though I suppose were that the case, you would have abdicated your title and its associated lands, properties and incomes long ago.”

Enjolras knew Grantaire well enough to know when he was picking a fight, and he knew this was one of those times, even if he had no inkling of why Grantaire was choosing now to quarrel. Either way, he really did not wish to spend their first night in the north fighting, so he forced himself not to rise to the occasion. “Yes, well, as I am neither monk nor saint, I suppose I can indulge in a few comforts now and then,” he said instead before changing the subject. “I’m going to go down to the village before it gets too late to stock up on some food for our stay. Do you wish to accompany me?”

“No, I think I’ll stay here, see about perhaps getting some painting set up,” Grantaire said, but without much enthusiasm, and Enjolras frowned, unsure why Grantaire’s mood seemed so all over the place.

“Right,” he said. “Well. I’ll be back soon.”

“Pick up some whiskey while you’re down there, would you?” Grantaire asked, in a way that Enjolras couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not.

“And raise suspicions that I’ve suddenly returned as a drunk?” he said, aiming for a joke of his own. “We must keep up appearances, after all.”

But Grantaire just seemed to further deflate at that. “Right,” he said dully. “Appearances, and fiction, and all that.”

Enjolras had no idea what to even say to that, so he took his leave instead, hoping that by the time he returned, Grantaire might find himself in a better mood.

His trip to the village was a brief one, and he brought back enough food supplies for their supper and to break their fast in the morning, with more to be delivered the following day. When he returned, he was pleased to see that Grantaire had lit the fireplace in the kitchen, the library and both bedrooms, though he appeared to have abandoned his quest to paint, as he was instead absorbed in some ancient tome he had found in the library. Their evening was spent in relative but comfortable quiet as Enjolras read through some parliamentary briefings and Grantaire continued perusing the book, as similar an evening as many they had spent together over the years when their meetings had finished and it was just the two of them left in the backroom of the Musain.

But all too soon, Grantaire put the book down and stood. “I am going to call it an early night,” he told Enjolras. “I will see you on the morrow.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, a little surprised as he looked over at the mantel clock. “Well, I was thinking perhaps we might take a walk tomorrow? Explore nearby and such?”

Grantaire glanced at the window. “It looks like it’s going to rain,” he said flatly, and before Enjolras could respond, he added, “Have a good night.”

All in all, Enjolras reflected when he too went to bed a few hours later, it was not at all what he had expected, and he was beginning to think this was a bad idea.

Still, he rose the next morning determined to make the best of it, only to quickly discover that Grantaire had risen with the opposite attitude, picking at his food over breakfast and staring out at the rain lashing against the window.

His mood only seemed to worsen as the day went on, and as Enjolras busied himself with some accounting work for one of his estates that was well overdue, Grantaire took to pacing impatiently. This would not ordinarily bother Enjolras, who had a tendency to get absorbed in his work, but the cottage was only so big and Grantaire’s pacing could perhaps be better categorized as stomping about.

On his fifth lap past Enjolras’s desk, Enjolras gritted his teeth and tried very hard not to stab his paper with his pen. “I would offer you some entertainment, if I had any to offer,” he said as politely as one could through clenched teeth.

Grantaire snorted derisively. “I am not a child,” he snapped. “I do not need to be entertained.”

Ordinarily, Enjolras would have shot back that Grantaire could have fooled him, as he was certainly acting childish, but he held his tongue, not wanting to cause an argument on only their second day. “Very well,” he said instead, continuing his tone of politeness. “I’ll leave you to your own amusement, then.”

“God, how can there be no alcohol in this entire building?” Grantaire burst. “Not even a single bottle of cooking sherry.”

Enjolras frowned. “Well, seeing as how I very rarely partake…”

“Yes, but surely one as well-bred as you knows to keep refreshments on hand for guests,” Grantaire said sourly.

Comments on Enjolras’s breeding were the fastest way to get under Enjolras’s skin, and he took a moment to stop from snapping. “Certainly, and I’m sure you would enjoy the wine cellar at any of my family’s estates,” he said finally, almost murderously polite. “But since I never imagined entertaining guests here—”

“Torture seems more accurate,” Grantaire muttered, flopping down on the sofa. “And your imagination needs some work.”

“Yes, well, I never dreamed that I would find myself entangled in such an elaborate fiction that would have me bringing you of all people here,” Enjolras snapped, dropping the façade of civility. “Or perhaps the real fiction was imagining that you and I might have an enjoyable time without the aid of alcohol!”

Grantaire cursed and stood. “Well forgive me, my lord,” he snapped, crossing to the door and yanking it open, that neither the real nor the fictional version of myself is not up to your standards.”

“Where in the bloody hell are you going?” Enjolras asked incredulously, half-shouting to be heard over the roar of the storm from the open door.

“Anywhere but here!” Grantaire shouted back, slamming the door after him.

Enjolras cursed as well and rushed to the door, opening it to shout after him. “Grantaire!” he shouted, but the man ignored him, stomping away through the mud. “Grantaire!” Again, there was no answer, and Enjolras lost what remained of his temper. “Fine!” he shouted. “Then I hope you drown out there!:

He slammed the door closed and stormed back to his desk. But he was too incensed to continue working and he didn’t bother sitting down, just crushing the piece of paper he’d been writing on into a ball.

What had he honestly expected? When had Grantaire ever risen to Enjolras’s expectations, and why had he assumed he would start now?

Because the man had kissed him, once? And then immediately fled?

Enjolras had clearly been deluding himself into thinking there was anything more between them when Grantaire could not go an hour without trying to stir up animosity.

Not that he cared. Not that he did not spend the next twenty minutes pretending he did not glance at the door every time the house creaked, expecting or hoping Grantaire had returned. Not that he began to worry, when the clock chimed the hour. Not that he regretted whatever it was he had said or done that had made Grantaire leave.

What had he expected?

Something, anything, to show him that he was not imagining it, that what there was between them was real. Something, anything, to show that Grantaire might feel even just a little bit of what he did.

Something, anything, to prove that Grantaire cared.

And when had Grantaire ever cared about anything?

His fuming might well have sustained him for the entire night, but as one hour crept toward two and Grantaire had still not returned, Enjolras’s anger was rapidly replaced with worry. He had not been joking when he had told Grantaire that there was no one within twenty miles besides the village, and Grantaire could easily have gotten lost, or hurt, or, as Enjolras had shouted at him, drowned in the deluge still downpouring outside.

Enjolras was not entirely sure how he could live with himself were any of the latter options the case.

Resolved, he grabbed a coat from the front closet and went outside, squinting against the rain as he surveyed the horizon for any sign of Grantaire. There was none, but there were footprints, at least, half-filled with puddles of water from where Grantaire had assumedly sloshed through the mud as he had stormed away.

His trail was easy enough to follow, but every step away from the cottage filled Enjolras with trepidation. If anything had happened to Grantaire— If any harm had come to him—

The trail came to an abrupt stop at a large puddle of water that was growing rapidly, and Enjolras heart sank. Any sign of Grantaire would be washed away, surely, or else—

“What in the devil are you doing out here?”

Grantaire had to shout to be heard, especially as a crack of thunder boomed across the moor, but Enjolras had never been so glad to hear his voice, hoarse and tired as it was. He turned to find Grantaire huddled in the lee of a large tree nearby, clearly trying to wait out the worst of the storm and, judging by the mud that stained his trousers and the fact that every inch of him was soaked through, failing miserably.

He looked awful, but to Enjolras, he had never looked more perfect.

“Oh thank God,” Enjolras breathed, crossing to him in three long strides and pulling him into an embrace. “I thought you had gotten hurt, or lost, or—”

Grantaire pushed him away. “Yes, well, now you can see that I’m alright, so you can go—”

“Alright?” Enjolras interrupted, incredulous. “You’re soaked through to the bone! If you stay out here much longer, you’re liable to catch your death.”

“It honestly might be preferable at this rate,” Grantaire muttered.

Enjolras scowled. “If this is how you’re going to be, I’ve half a mind to leave you here and let you drown.”

“Good,” Grantaire shot back. “At least you’d be showing some hint of your old self!”

Enjolras stared at him. “What in the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. “I’ve been nothing but courteous to you this entire trip, while you’ve tried to start a fight at every turn!”

“Of course I have,” Grantaire snapped. “Because fighting is what we do! It’s who we are! And I’ve been trying to prove to myself that nothing has changed, that you’re still you and I’m still me.” Enjolras just stared blankly at him, squinting against the rain, and Grantaire sighed, running a hand across his face which Enjolras was certain accomplished absolutely nothing to clear it of the rain. “But things have changed, and it’s what I never wanted to happen but what I always feared would, if I were ever to be stupid enough to…” He trailed off. “And I can’t stand you being polite to me, it’s driving me absolutely mad, and if it continues for much longer, it may very well kill me before this rain gets a chance to.”

If anything, Enjolras was even more lost than before. “What are you talking about?” he repeated, more a plea than anything, begging for some kind of rational explanation.

Grantaire just shook his head and returned his question with one of his own. “How?” he demanded. “How do you not know?”

If this was a puzzle, Enjolras had grown incredibly tired of trying to figure it out. “Because I’m extraordinarily stupid, apparently?”

Grantaire glared at him, though when he spoke again, the bitterness in her voice seemed directed more at himself than anything. “You really must be, because I’ve been the most obvious idiot of all time.”

Enjolras didn’t know why he bothered asking for a third time, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” Grantaire threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “I mean, I’m in love with you, you fool!”

Enjolras gaped at him. “You – what?”

#enjolras #grantaire #enjolras x grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #les miserables #fanfiction #bridgerton au #regency au #canon era #chaptered #developing relationship #fake marriage #part 6

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all-things-are-nothing-to-me · 3 years ago

Text

The Liberation of Motion Through Space

Time is a system of measurement, which is to say, a ruler, and authority. There is a reason why, during many insurrections, clocks have been smashed and calendars burned. There was a semi-conscious recognition on the part of the insurgents that these devices represented the authority against which they rebelled as much as did the kings or presidents, the cops or soldiers. But it never took long for new clocks and calendars to be created, because inside the heads of the insurgents the concept of time still ruled.

Time is a social construction which is used to measure motion through space in order to control it and bind it to a social context. Whether it be the motions of the sun, moon, stars and planets across the skies, the motions of individuals over the terrains they wander, or the motions of events across the artifices know as days, weeks, months and years, time is the means by which these motions are bound to social utility. The destruction of time is essential to the liberation of individuals from the social context, to the liberation of individuals as conscious, autonomous creators of their own lives.

The revolt against time is nothing if it is not a revolt against the domination of time in one’s daily life. It calls for a transformation of the ways in which one moves through the spaces one encounters. Time dominates our motion through space by means of “necessary” destinations, schedules and appointments. As long as the social context which produced time as a means of social control continues to exist, it is doubtful that any of us will be able to completely eradicate destinations, schedules or appointments from our lives. But on examination of how these modes of interaction affect the ways one moves through space could help one create a more conscious motion. The most notable effect of having to get somewhere (destination), especially when one has to be there by a certain time (schedule/appointment), is a lack of awareness of the terrain over which one is moving. Such motion tends to be a sort of sleep-walking from which the individual creates nothing, since the destination and the schedule pre-exist the journey and define it. One is only conscious of her surroundings and how they are affecting her to the minimal extent necessary to get where she is going. I don’t deny that many of the environments through which one may move, especially in an urban setting, can be disturbingly ugly, making such unconsciousness aesthetically appealing, but this lack of consciousness causes one to miss many chances for subversion and play that might otherwise be created.

Subverting one’s motion through space, making it one’s own, freed from the bondage to time, is a matter of creating this motion as nomadic motion rather than self-transportation. Nomadic motion makes a playful (though often serious) exploration of the terrain over which one is passing the essential aspect of the journey. The wanderer interacts with the places through which she passes, consciously changing and being changed by them. Destination, even when it exists, is of little importance, since it too will be a place though which one passes. As this form of motion through space becomes one’s usual way, it may enhance one’s wits, allowing one to become less and less dependent upon destinations, appointments, schedules and the other fetters that enforce the rule of time over our motions. Part of this enhancement of the nomad’s wits within the present time dominated context is learning to create ways to play around time, subverting it and using it against itself to enhance one’s free wandering.

A radically different way of experiencing living occurs when we are consciously creating time for ourselves. Due to the limits of a language developed within this time-dominated social context, this way of experiencing life is often spoken of in temporal terms as well, but as a subjective “time”, as in: “The time when I was climbing Mount Hood...” But I’d rather not refer to this as subjective “time” since it has no shared purpose with social time. I prefer to call it “nomadic experience”. Within nomadic experience, the peaks, the valleys and the plateaus are not created in steady, measurable cycles. They are passionate interactions of the sort which may make one moment an eternity and the next several weeks a mere eye-blink. On this passionate journey, the sun still rises and sets, the moon still waxes and wanes, plants still flower and bear fruit and wither, but not as measurable cycles. Instead, one experiences these events in terms of one’s passionate and creative interactions with them. Without any destination to define one’s motion through space, linear time becomes meaningless as well. Nomadic experience is outside of time, not in a mystical sense, but in the recognition that time is the mystification of motion through space and, like all mystifications, usurps our ability to create ourselves.

A conscious, playful, exploratory creation of our own motions through space, of our own interactions with the places we pass through, is the necessary practice of the revolt against time — nothing less than creating events and their language. Until we begin to transform ourselves into nomadic creators of this sort in the way we live our lives, every smashed clock and every burned calendar will simply be replaced, because time will continue to dominate the way we live.

#feral faun #anti time #anti civ #anarchism #post left

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pandoraimperatrix · 4 years ago

Note

Can you lily for BatCat?!? PS you’re just so talented at writing!

This is a sequel of Time Unreal that @comicskbanime2 requested in march.

It falls after the 4x15 of Gotham,so Baby!Batcat what feels weird to say when this is smut lmao.

Lily - “Staying quiet was never your strong suit, wasn’t it?” “Well, you could do something about it.”

Enjoy!

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

Growing up on the streets Selina learnt by pain and hurt that the only thing that really matters is power. And the main two things that could give you some was violence or money. She didn’t enjoy violence very much. She was no lily livered coward, but she did not take pleasure on inflicting physical pain to others. And the way she avoided to be on the receiving end was being small, fast and smart, but those three things could fail her, and had many times. Money, however, she liked very much, but she didn’t have any, that’s why she took it from people that had too much.

Dealing with Bruce was different, the rules did not apply at all. For once, despite still having nothing of the things that should give her power over him, there was no doubts of whom from the both of them had the reins of their particular dynamic. And it was not the boy billionaire.

But Selina miscalculated. She made a mistake she never really expected she could ever make. Because it was so unlike her, it never occurred to her that she needed to look out for that particular kind of danger. She got comfortable, domesticated. And, by doing so, Selina led herself to believe that the things between them would never change.

Back then, she, sometimes, when lying on his couch, watching through half-lidded eyes his never-ending reading, pretending to be asleep, she wondered why. Why he didn’t mind her presence? God, why he even seemed to enjoy it? Worse, why was he so despaired for her good opinion? Why he even cared about her at all? And how could have her let herself forget that those questions didn’t have an answer? And if she didn’t know why or how she managed it in the first time, how could she keep her power over him?

Did she even had any, like, ever? Wasn’t their whole relationship just one of his experiments and when he tired of consorting with the poor, he’d forget her? But wasn’t exactly that what happened, wasn’t it? Granted, in the heat of her rage, when for the first time since they met, he rejected her, it hurt so much and so deeply that she told herself that’s what happened. That their whole relationship was a lie, that Bruce was just another selfish rich bastard who used her for amusement and now was done with her.

Of course, that was stupid and not true at all. Even if she couldn’t understand why Bruce liked her, she knew him well enough to know he was none of that. And that had been why, even after believing their story was over, her heart broke when she saw him playing that part, forcing himself to be something so far from his true self, something that he, himself, despised. And when he told her what was really going through his head the last time they fought at the hospital, the surprise, the relief, the need was so great that she couldn’t do it anymore. Selina realized that Bruce hadn’t been the only one pretending to be something he was not, and she kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him, and when they had their first time, in the wrong place, wrong time and even more wrong circumstances, finally, she felt something was right in the world.

He put away the jewellery, and she waited as he came back, feeling awkward. Such unfamiliar feeling. She, who had wore shamelessness on her head like a crown all her life, felt embarrassed by being under Bruce Wayne’s gaze now. He didn’t come back to the Sirens after their last encounter. Then the whole affair with Ivy happened and when she heard he was one of her former friend’s victims, the whole affair was done with, and he was okay. Good. Yet… Some part of hers, the one that was still insisting on making the same mistake that costed her so dearly before, expected him to make the next move. And when he didn’t, when not even the dirt bag Brucie that haunted her bar failed to show, she was disappointed. Of course, her pride would never let her admit that to him. But even her pride had its limits, and after how Ivy tricked her into participating in the murder of Roland Charles, Selina felt the need of a friend. Someone who understood. Someone to whom other people’s lives mattered. She needed him.

He looked surprised to see her still there in his messed up kitchen when he came back, but other than a small smile and a special glint in his gaze, he didn’t comment on her lingering presence.

“Are you still hungry?” he asked.

“You have no food,” she answered, trying to shake the weird shyness she was feeling off. She was sitting on the counter now, her legs swinging. His eyes darkened, maybe he was remembering the last time he held her against a bar counter, maybe it was a trick of the light.

“I could make some.”

“I could eat.”

He took the apron from the hook and tried to tie around his waist, but his hand – now puffy and purple – hurt and he winced in pain.

Selina jumped off the counter and took the apron from his hands, helping him to tie it on his back.

“Are you really alright?” she whispered, taking forever to make the knot, she wanted to lean her forehead against his back, when had it become so broad? He used to be such a frail thing.

“Yes…” he sighed, knowing she didn’t mean his hand. “As much as I can be.”

“I don’t understand it,” her hands fell limp around her body.

“What?” he turned to look at her, but Selina was facing down, biting her lip to stop it from trembling.

“Why don’t you just take off to your castle in Italy and never come back to this stupid city?”

“Chalet in Switzerland, Selina,” he said in a mock-annoyed tone. “I’ve told you a hundred and fifty-seven times already!”

That got her to raise her eyes to him.

“Knowing you, I might believe you counted for real.”

Bruce took his good hand to her face, Selina’s eyes fluttered closed; his thumb caressed her cheekbone lovingly.

“Still… You really can’t think about a reason?” his voice was barely a whisper.

“Hm?” she made, leaning into him, one hand on his hip, the other on his chest, she wished he would shup up and kiss her already, she didn’t want to hear it, because she might believe him.

“Can’t you?” he urged her again, but now his hand had slid into her hair, and his lips were against her ear.

Selina shivered, but pushed him away gently.

“Look, Bruce…”

“No, no,” he pleaded, his voice betraying his despair, “don’t do that,” he reached for her hand, “not now, please.”

“What do you even want from me?” she asked, frustrated. “I just don’t get you. You’d think that fucking you would give me some clue, but somehow I know even less of what goes on in that huge head of yours, and I’m tired of trying to figure it out. Thank you for the help with the jewellery, I’m… I’m taking off now.”

She tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but Bruce used the leverage he had to pull her awkwardly closer, making their bodies smash into each other.

“I’m sorry!” he said letting go of her hand, but doing nothing to create space between them. “But just-“ he sucked air in. “Stay, please. I don’t get me either, most of the time, but after Ivy did to me I think I might be getting somewhere… I feel like myself again. But one thing never changed. Not even when I was so completely lost… What I want from you… Oh Selina, how can you possibly not know?”

She just stood there, staring at him, and for the longest moment, it seemed that nothing else would happen. Because she couldn’t move, her thoughts were running so fast that if she did, something could break. And she was taken back to the last time he showed himself so vulnerable to her, and what the lack of reserves blew out the walls she had painstakingly built around herself. It was dangerous, Selina knew, and her brain was trying the impossible by pushing the acquired notion of Bruce growing out from his attachment to her to the reality of the young man standing there, who was so obviously in love with her.

“I want you,” he said finally.

Selina rose to the tip of her toes, crashing her face against his so hard her nose stung. Her hands went straight to his hair, her body arching to get more of his warmth, as he wrapped his arms around her and licked the seam of her lips. Selina gasped letting him in, she moaned when she felt his tongue slide to the roof of her mouth, remembering how it felt against her clit last time.

“Bruce…” she breathed when he started spreading kisses way from her lips. Selina pushed him away another time, but now her objective was to peel that stupid turtleneck off, she needed to feel him.

He grunted when, of course, the offending garment trapped his maimed hand as they hastily worked it off.

“Your hand!” she cried, alarmed.

“It’s fine,” he roared back, trying to catch her lips again, but Selina, ducked, taking the harmed hand delicately between hers, examining the damage.

“You should put ice on it.”

He used his free hand to pull her chin up.

“I have something better to do now.”

She snorted.

“You are so corny.”

She saw his smirk get closer and closer, until their lips were together again. He was being weirdly sweet as he kissed her, going slowly, kissing her skin as he peeled her jacket off, as if he was apologising.

It was too late for apologies, as Selina didn’t want any anymore.

She pushed him against the counter and unzipped her hoodie, discarding the shimmering fabric on the floor. He reached for her, but Selina stepped back, staring directly into his eyes, almost daringly, she pulled her undershirt off, revealing no bra. Bruce swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, he licked his lips in anticipation, but instead of claiming his mouth again, Selina hooked her arms around his neck and bit his chin, licking downwards and sucking the sensible skin of his throat hard. She leaned back to admire her work, his skin was so fair, it was so easy to mark. She wished it was easy like that, to brand him as hers, to remind him so he wouldn’t stray again.

Wondering about his silence, she rose her gaze to his eyes, they were pitch black, her throat dried, Bruce’s mouth fell upon hers again, but didn’t last. He used her stunned oxygen deprived stage to rotate her body by her hips, pulling her thick hair aside and kissing down the nape of her neck, giving her one mark too, while his hands were free do grab her chest.

Selina moaned when he licked between her shoulder blades and pushed her hips towards his, desperate for more. By doing so, Selina felt against her backside how affected he was too, and reached behind to do something about it, but Bruce grabbed her still gloved wrist and pinned it on the counter.

“Not yet,” he told her, ignoring her annoyed huffs and continued from where he was interrupted. Selina looked over her shoulder to see him, kissing lower and lower down her back, he bit the curve of her hip kneeling on the floor, she involuntarily arched against him, and Bruce, finding that the fabric of her trousers were a problem reached for the front button. Selina helped by unhooking her whip from her belt as Bruce kissed the new revealed skin, but when he parted her soft mounds to lick her middle through her damp underwear she cried out in pleasure and shock.

She threw daggers through her eyes when she heard him chuckling.

“This morning you tried to grab my attention by making loud mess. But as Alfred is back, you’ll have to be quiet if you don’t want us to be interrupted.”

She turned around, facing him.

“I didn’t try to get your attention,” she said in arrogant tone, “I’ve got it”

He smiled again, but instead of amusement at her expense there was a mix of fondness and arousal in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

Bruce tried to stand up, but Selina hooked her leg across shoulder.

“Yes,” she leaned down, their faces inches from each other, “I still have you wrapped around my little finger, Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce’s smile disappeared and Selina’s core contracted in anticipation, he cupped under her knee, pushing her leg open and sucking her inner thigh. With each inch of skin he won, she bit her lip harder, trying so hard to not give him the satisfaction of having her loud and clear praise of his talents. Selina’s eyes rolled shut when Bruce pulled her underwear with his thumb and slid his impossibly hot tongue across her slit.

She was pretty sure she had broken her own skin, but all her efforts were nullified when he started sucking her clit and Selina cried out loud, one of her hands grabbing his hair with despair and the other reaching behind for support distrusting the capacity of the only leg she still had on the floor to keep her standing.

“Fuuuuuck,” she moaned when he started lapping, Bruce didn’t stop, his thumb let go of the fabric of her thong to penetrate her, and the combined stimulation made her fall apart, her leg giving in, pleasure mixed with horror as her fingers slipped from the hold she had on the counter. But before she had a very undignified fall, Bruce guided her body down, lying Selina on the kitchen floor.

She was still startled and still having orgasmic spasms when he started kissing up her navel.

“Staying quiet was never your strong suit, wasn’t it?” he teased.

“Well,” she breathed hard, “you could do something about it. Come here.”

He did, and she held his face as they kissed, enjoying the weight of his body over hers, the contrast of his feverish skin and the cool floor tiles. They took a break, Bruce’s forehead falling against Selina’s, his hands wandering down to her chest as she caressed his back.

“Your hand,” she remembered.

“What?” his mouth had joined his hand in the exploration of her breasts.

“When I fell and you held me-“

“It’s fine,” he mumbled.

She studied his face, trying to judge if he was being honest or just way too horny, deciding she believed him, or didn’t care enough to stop, she looked down.

“You still have your pants.”

That made him follow her gaze. And then when he sought for her face Selina smiled devilishly. She pushed him away, making Bruce fall on his back, then she rose to a kneeling position, undoing his fly. Selina used her teeth to pull her glove off before inserting her now bare hand inside the waistband. Bruce grunted when he felt her fingers close around him. He watched transfixed as she pumped a few times, and then pulled her hair behind her ear leaning in. When her lips closed around the tip, he held his breath, seeing stars.

“Hey,” she called wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Bruce remained with his eyes closed shut. “B to earth,” he heard her giggle and opened one eye, “do you have a condom? Last time we didn’t and… Better not risk it.”

He breathed in trying to remember how to process language and speech again.

“My wallet.”

“K,” she bended over him fumbling with his jeans’ pockets until she found his wallet. But when she opened it, she was surprised by a picture of herself. It was old, she should be around fourteen when it was taken, she didn’t know the picture existed and wasn’t looking at the camera. She turned the picture around trying to find more information of where it came from, but glued on the other side was a portrait of Bruce’s parents smiling to each other. Her hand shook, and she turned the picture over again, facing herself, and blinked trying to sway the tears wetting her eyes.

“Selina? Did you find it?”

She didn’t answer, not trusting her voice.

Bruce sat up, his hand caressing her back.

“Oh,” he made when he found out what was distracting her, “this…”

Selina sat of her heels, Bruce’s hand followed the change of her posture sliding up her back until he found the curve of her neck, massaging the bottom of her scalp.

“How did you get this?” She asked.

“I took it…” he said studying her expression. “Alfred found my mom’s vintage camera and I was playing with it.”

She turned her face to him.

“I don’t remember this.”

“You weren’t looking, I’m sorry,” he was now caressing her face tenderly, “are you upset I took it without telling you?”

“No, it’s just…” she closed her eyes shut. Why did he have to be so… “Where’s that damn condom?”

“Selina, I don’t un-“

She let go an exasperated sigh and pushed his wallet to his bare chest, climbing on his body.

“Find it, or I’ll fuck you without it.”

He found the object without difficulty and handed it to her.

Selina used her teeth do open the foil package.

“Do you know how to-“

“I was a virgin last time, not stupid.”

He chuckled.

“What?” she asked, rolling the condom down, Bruce hissed with the contact.

“Nothing,” he answered with a tight voice, his hands were now on her waist, wishing she was closer. “I just missed you.”

She pulled him for a kiss at the same time she guided his penis inside. Her mouth fell open breaking the kiss for a moment, before he urged her to continue, pulling her bottom lip with his teeth. Bruce’s hand, kneaded Selina’s buttocks as she swayed her hips back and forth.

As they got momentum, Bruce started thrusting his hips up to meet hers, by then Selina was being so loud, he had to cover her mouth with his hand. She came again, becoming limp in his arms, then he laid her down, without breaking their union, and proceeded to seek his own release until he collapsed over her.

They remained there, locked into each other, Selina’s hand playing with his hair, his head on her chest, Bruce felt so much at peace that he might have fallen asleep before being brought violently back to reality by a very loud British exclamation of horror.

When Bruce entered his bedchamber that night, there was someone already under the covers.

“So, what did you say to Jeeves?” she asked, as if having her on his bed as something normal and not the first time ever. Earlier, they dressed in haste and Bruce ran after Alfred to stop him from leaving again, when he went back to clean the mess in the kitchen, Selina was gone.

“A lot…” Bruce said pulling his turtleneck off and folding it. “He was worried I lied to him about fixing my life, but I convinced him.”

“How?”

“I told him” and he made a pause looking straight into her eyes, “it was you.”

“Oh…” he didn’t hide his smile when he saw the redness on her cheeks, Selina rolled her eyes.

“Won’t Barbara and Tabitha worry about you?”

“Nah,” she shrugged, “they don’t care.”

“Hmm,” he made unsure, he didn’t understand or liked Selina’s association with the two criminals that filled the space he had left in Selina’s life, but that was something he would have to deal with. After finishing his preparations, he fell on the bed and pulled Selina against him, very aware of the pleased smiled on her face.

“So…” he said kissing down her neck, “are you my girlfriend now?”

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I hope you liked this one too, and if you do, please reblog so more people can find it too <3 Have a nice week!

#batcat #brulina #baby batcat #gotham #selina kyle #bruce wayne #catwoman #batman #my fic #flower prompts #blythbrezna

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seasonofthewicth · 4 years ago

Text

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 15

AN: This chapter takes us over the 60k line, and I never expected this fic to get this long! We’re finally at the date! The date!!! Please nobody throw anything at me (even virtually)...

masterlist - ao3 - my askbox

“My saviour.”

Aelin hurried her final few steps through the hallway towards where Dorian stood, her heels clacking along the linoleum flooring and echoing through the now silent hallways of the school.

“Thank you,” She gasped as she closed her fingers around the royal blue mug he held in an outstretched hand and the scent of freshly brewed coffee swirled around her. She breathed it in deeply as she took her first sip, relaxing into the rich taste and the anticipation of the caffeine induced energy boost she knew was imminent.

“Anytime.” Dorian’s smile was charming as he slid into place beside her as they headed to the corridor bearing both of their classrooms.

“I needed this,” Aelin spoke as they covered ground. “Rutting Fenrys rushed me out the loft so quickly this morning, something about an early meeting with Maeve, as if that’s somehow more important than coffee.”

Aelin shrugged as she finished, her main concern with the rush had been that she had missed out on her second cup of coffee this morning, but Dorian’s brow pulled in tight.

“Is he-” He cleared his throat as his walk slowed. “Is everything alright?”

Aelin slowed her pace to match the crawl Dorian had adopted and she tilted her head to the side to shoot him a look of confusion. It wasn’t like Dorian to stumble over his words.

“Yes, I think so,” Aelin began slowly. “He mentioned something about funding for a trip. For one of the sports teams maybe, I- Why are you blushing?”

A delightful, soft rose tint had graced the planes of Dorian’s high cheekbones. He turned away from her slightly but Aelin shot out a hand to grasp his bicep and pulled him back around to face her.

Aelin tugged him to a stop as she said, “Explain.”

Dorian brought a hand up to brush back one of the raven curls draped across his forehead. “I think I’m going on the trip too.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes, suspicion burying its hooks deep within her. “Why would you volunteer to go on a school trip outside of work time? And a sports trip at that.”

A flicker of expression shadowed his face before he carefully schooled it into calm. “Fenrys and I have been… speaking.”

Dorian phrased it like a question and Aelin’s mouth dropped open in an onset of shock.

“You and Fenrys speaking? Like… you and Fenrys?”

Dorian nodded. “I think so.”

“How did I not know this?” Aelin cried. “Is everyone keeping their relationship a secret from me?”

“Aelin,” Dorian began his walk again and she hurried to keep up. “It’s not a relationship, we’ve mostly just been texting. No big deal and-”

“It is a big deal,” Aelin interjected. She held her free hand up in surrender when he shot her an unimpressed look.

“It’s not a big deal, and it’s nothing serious.” He told her with an air of finality and she knew not to push it any further.

Aelin had known of their brief hook-up years before she had got the job at the school, but she had to admit she hadn’t expected anything more to bloom between the two.

It had, quite possibly, been a bit of an oversight on her behalf. She had noticed Fenrys perking up whenever Dorian was mentioned, and he had always found a reason to appear whenever she had brought Dorian around to the loft.

Even most recently in the hospital, he had jerked to attention the moment she had mentioned Dorian.

“You scoundrel,” She said with the beginnings of a wicked grin, unable to resist one last taunt. “Using a school funded trip as a romantic getaway with your man.”

Dorian only winked at her, “Would you expect anything less?”

Aelin laughed, the sound a sinful cackle. From Dorian and Fenrys? No, probably not.

“And,” He continued. “You can’t talk about keeping secrets. You’ve gone radio silent on Rowan recently, and I bet if anything bad had happened I would know about it.”

It was Aelin’s turn to blush. She hadn’t told anyone Rowan had asked her on a date yet. She had wanted to keep it just to herself for a little while, at least until after the date had occurred.

He had asked her out a couple of days ago now, but with Aelin working in the daytime and the majority of Rowan’s shifts being concentrated in the evenings, they were still yet to find a chance. Aelin was bursting with anticipation and she had struggled to sleep during most of the nights since their recent encounter in the kitchen.

An element of her insomnia was the excitement, her anticipation to finally be on a date with Rowan, but a large part, arguably the largest part, was the knowledge that Rowan slept just across the hall from her. It would be so easy for her to tiptoe across the space and into his room, into his bed, and to be faced with Rowan.

Rowan who she had now kissed, who she had been pressed up against, the heat of his body burning every inch of her own. But she knew she couldn’t cross that gap, both physically and metaphorically. At least not yet anyway.

Rowan had been the one to press the brakes on the two of them, and Aelin knew it was coming from a place of respect rather than a lack of desire, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult to temper the part of her brain that wanted to throw all caution to the wind and-

“Damn,” Dorian laughed. “It must be really bad for you to end up that inside your own head.”

Aelin bit her lip. She hadn’t told anyone, not even Lysandra, but surely telling Dorian couldn’t hurt.

“Just promise me you won’t tell Fenrys.”

“Gods, that bad?” Dorian joked.

“It’s not bad, just don’t tell him.” She said simply.

Dorian nodded his agreement. “Promise.”

“It’s not bad at all,” She began with a coy smile. “He asked me on a date.”

Dorian’s returning smile was wide as he took her in. “Took him long enough,” was all he said with a slight laugh, before he continued, “When?”

“The weekend.”

Aelin knew she wore a doelike smile, one she couldn’t help at the thought of Rowan. She was excited, sue her. It felt like she had been waiting for herself and Rowan to reach this point since she moved into the loft, and their relationship had only gone from strength to strength since she moved in. It felt as if her anticipation was reaching the climax, but there was relief that went hand in hand with it.

Rowan was right along with her, treading steadily by her side as they stepped down the path of whatever it was that was coming their way.

He had been the one to kiss her, and the one to ask her on a date. Aelin knew where she stood with him, and where he stood with her, for the first time in what felt like a long time and the feeling was reassuring; it allowed her to relax into the excitement she held.

“What are you doing?” Dorian asked. “Something outdoors?”

“Why something outdoors?” Aelin laughed and Dorian shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know, seems to fit Rowan.”

Aelin laughed again, she knew Rowan enjoyed the outdoors, maybe slightly more than the average individual, but she wasn’t sure something like that was what he had meant when he had promised to plan something nice.

“No,” Aelin said, pausing to take a sip of her coffee. “I think we’re getting dinner.”

She still struggled to contain the smile that wanted to dawn, the joy that ran through her at the thought was almost childlike and free.

“The classic,” Dorian teased, but Aelin was unbothered. She truly didn’t care whether or not Rowan took her for a simple dinner or an extravagant adventure. Spending time with him was enough.

“Shut up,” She laughed, swatting the air between them. “I’ve got further than you.”

“Now that’s not exactly true, is it?”

Aelin snorted, almost spitting her drink across the hallway. Dorian’s smile was perfectly innocent, no sign of the act his comment was alluding to and she shook her head.

It wouldn’t be long, Aelin was sure, until she and Rowan were there too.

The week had dragged on for Rowan. A seemingly endless cycle of mindless shifts at the bar, and stealing snippets of time with Aelin in the loft during the limited hours they were both in the apartment. The time they shared had never seemed so brief as now when he craved her so.

Rowan had enjoyed those stolen moments, filled with the desire to simply reach out and touch. He longed to kiss her lips again, but he had promised he would only do so after their date.

He had settled himself to tracing his fingertips down the line of her hand, tracing the delicate lines and pathways of her veins beneath her golden skin. He had allowed himself the pleasure of tucking a rogue lock of hair behind her ear, and relished in the spark that bloomed within him when he lightly caressed his thumb down the shell of her ear.

Rowan longed for their date, and for the end of the night that would inevitably follow. The date itself was a long time coming to Rowan, and he didn’t wish to rush through it, he wanted to savour the moment and the image of Aelin sat beautifully across from him, but there was an impatience within him for the part that came after.

The part where he would finally allow himself the sweet touch of Aelin’s lips against his own once again.

He had managed to drift through the week, spurred on by the evernearing climax he could sense along the horizon. Rowan had managed to trade his Saturday night shift with an older bartender named Malakai in order to take Aelin out. The older man had only shaken his head, and assured Rowan to take the time he needed to treat his special lady.

Something about the comment had thrown Rowan somewhat. His lady. Aelin.

The idea was both exhilarating and terrifying. It filled him with warmth in his chest and a churning in his stomach simultaneously.

He fiddled with his collar as he scrutinised himself in the mirror. Rowan had been ready for a while, but the nervous energy within him was channelling itself into mindless motions and fluttering hands.

He had swapped his usual flannel and baggy jeans for a crisp, white shirt and a new pair of dark jeans. Smarter attire than usual, fitting for the occasion, but relaxed by the couple of buttons undone at the top of his collar. He had thrown a jumper over the shirt, hoping to fight off any of the approaching chill in the air of a late summer night in Adarlan.

They weren’t going far, but he wanted to make sure he was prepared.

He had chosen a relatively nice restaurant for their date, one only a couple of blocks from the loft, but he hadn’t wanted to go anywhere overly formal. He thought a more relaxed environment fit himself and Aelin better than something stiff and uptight.

There weren’t many secrets between them, living together and across the hall from each other didn’t allow for many to exist. He had chosen a setting for them to enjoy each other’s company, they didn’t need a candlelit dinner while they discussed their favourite colours, they didn’t need to sip champagne while they compared their careers.

Rowan had never been on a first date like it, he knew Aelin so well by now and truthfully, it didn’t feel much different than the dinners they had eaten together in the past. There was a level of comfortability between them that most of the usual first-date fears were absent.

Rowan felt as if his fears were different to those preceding a usual first date. This was Aelin, and he couldn’t bear to let her down. He wanted to make it special and a night that she would remember.

He had chosen to send her a text with the details, and he had heard her laugh through the walls when she had received it. It was exactly the response he had hoped to receive, and now he assumed she was tucked away in her bedroom getting ready.

It was almost time for him to cross the hall, and he was struggling to hold back. His foot had been tapping on the ground for a while and he pressed a hand to his knee, hoping to halt the pounding.

Finally he gave up, sure that five minutes wouldn’t make that much of a difference to Aelin anyway. He swung his door open and crossed the hall in a second to knock gently against Aelin’s door. Within a second she swung the door open and Rowan lost any attempt at a greeting.

He could only marvel as he took her in. Aelin looked truly phenomenal.

Her hair was curled and flowed down the length of her back, with the front tresses pinned back behind her ears. She wore a black dress covered in small, shining, golden stars that hit mid thigh leaving her toned legs on display until they tucked away into small black boots at her feet.

He knew from the gentle way she bit her lip she was waiting for him to speak and a whisper of a smirk crept up into the corner of her lips. Rowan cleared his throat.

“Hi.” His voice was rough, but Aelin’s smile dawned into a full smile. One Rowan knew he returned.

“Hi,” She mimicked, her voice soft.

He allowed himself the luxury of a moment to take her in. To track his eyes down her face and back up, taking in the brightness of the blue in her eyes, the flush of her skin and the shining golden highlights through her hair.

“Aelin,” He breathed. “You look incredible.”

Aelin preened at the compliment, her smile spreading even wider as she leaned to brace herself in the doorframe.

“Thank you, and you too.”

Rowan bit his lip at the appreciative look in her own eyes as she took him in. He fought the embarrassment that teased his senses at her appraisal and attempted to lean into the flattery that accompanied it.

“Ready to go?” He asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I’m curious where you’re taking me though,” She said with another easy smile as she turned to grab her small shoulder bag off her bed.

Rowan watched the motion and the glimpse of thigh the waves of her skirt allowed him as she spun. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and he couldn’t believe she had agreed to go on a date with him. Or the level of pure joy radiating from her at the prospect.

He straightened himself as something settled in his stomach at the thought. Aelin reached him again and he offered her an arm.

“You haven’t got much longer to wait before you find out; I’m not ruining the surprise now,” He told her as she slipped her arm around his own and stepped out of her bedroom.

“Do I look okay for where we’re going?” She asked, looking down at herself suddenly vulnerable.

Incredulity struck him, at the idea that Aelin could look anything less than perfect. He couldn’t hold himself back from dropping a faint kiss to the top of her head. “You look perfect.”

A beautiful cloud of rose dusted her cheeks and Rowan smiled again, he was sure this was the most he had smiled in a long time.

“So, dinner?” He asked as they stepped into the hallway by the door.

“Dinner,” Aelin agreed as she slipped her arm from his to slide into her coat.

“You guys are getting dinner?” Lorcan appeared in front of them and Rowan froze.

Only a moment later the front door to the loft opened at Rowan’s side and Aedion and Lysandra strode into the loft, tucked up in jackets from wherever they had been.

“Oh, hello,” Aedion laughed at the apparent welcome party. “Are we all heading out somewhere?”

Rowan cursed the gods as Lorcan spoke again. “Dinner.”

Aedion nodded appreciatively and looked to Lysandra who only quirked a brow. Rowan braced himself for Aedion to deliver the damning verdict. “Great, we’ll join.”

Rowan could only look to Aelin, unable to hide the mild panic he knew was stark on his face. Aelin looked back up at him, and from the twist of her mouth he knew she wasn’t thrilled, but was frozen in the same predicament he was in.

They couldn’t, or didn’t want to, reveal their exact plans for the night.

Rowan had wanted to keep this just for the two of them, at least for the night, and he knew Aelin felt the same.

“We weren’t going anywhere exciting,” He tried, and Aelin attempted her agreement at his side.

Aedion shook his head, still painfully oblivious. “No big deal, I’m not sure I’m up for anything too fancy now.”

“Is Fenrys coming?” Lorcan asked as he pulled on his trainers, and Rowan squeezed his hands lightly into fists at his sides. His head snapped to the side when he felt Aelin’s touch at his wrist, she linked her smallest finger through his own, tucked out of sight behind his back.

She looked up to him, a small smile across her painted lips accompanied by an amused look in her eyes, and he knew she was disappointed but he understood the gesture. He could feel his own annoyance fading into an amused acceptance, and he offered her a small closed-lipped smile of his own as he gazed down at her.

Rowan knew that dating Aelin would never be fully separate from their roommates, and even though he still needed to speak with Aedion he knew they would be supportive. He had just expected to make it through their first date before their roommates interfered.

He rolled his shoulders back and gave Aelin’s fingers a gentle squeeze, hoping to convey his disappointment through his touch. Her returning squeeze reassured him she was more than alright with the turn their night had taken.

He flashed her a soft smile before detangling their fingers and turning to face the group now assembled by the door.

“Someone get Fenrys, and quickly,” He instructed as he leaned into what the night had become.

Aelin had not expected to spend her first date with Rowan jammed in between her cousin and Lorcan in a booth at some chain restaurant downtown. She had expected a romantic evening, where the two of them would have had a chance to talk and drink and laugh. She had been looking forward to spending time with Rowan, and getting to know him as truly more than just her roommate, more than her crush.

She had been looking forward to watching him across from her, watching the way he talked and the expressions he made when he did. Rowan didn’t often get animated in a group, but around her he loosened his inhibitions, and she enjoyed watching him come alive.

She could never take her eyes off the way his hands would gesticulate as he spoke about something he was passionate about in the brief moments where he did. Sometimes it was the bar, sometimes it was sports and other times there were topics she had never expected from him. It was easy to forget that he had studied law at university, he liked to keep his intelligence understated, but there were times when it was hard to miss.

Aelin was a little disappointed to have missed out on the opportunity to enjoy that side of Rowan, but she was comforted by the fact she knew they would get to reschedule, and by the knowledge she was still going home with him tonight either way. She was also determined to get her kiss afterwards, whether or not this had managed to qualify as a date or not.

The small smiles he offered her over the table helped too. The smiles that said ‘we know something they don’t’ as their roommates chattered away around them.

She pursed her lips around her straw at him as Fenrys jabbed a fork aggressively at Lorcan and Lysandra cackled. They’re clueless, not sure how much we can blame them.

His own shake of his head as he bit back a laugh told her more than enough. I can blame those idiots as much as I want.

Aelin forced herself to take another drink to cover her laugh. Rowan’s eyes were sparkling and there was a lightness to his shoulders as she took him in as he lay back in his chair between Fenrys and Lysandra.

The shirt and jumper combination had thrown her the moment she had swung her door open. Rowan didn’t often dress fancy, in fact the only time she could remember seeing him in something other than his usual uniform of a flannel and jeans was at the wedding a few months ago.

The colour of his jumper over the top of his shirt did wonders for him, highlighting the tan of his skin and the brightness of his green eyes. Or maybe that was just Rowan.

She couldn’t remember a time where she hadn’t taken the opportunity to just observe him. To observe the beauty in the line of his brow, the handsomeness in the cut of his jaw. Her mouth had dried as she had watched him and she lifted a hand to take yet another sip of her water.

“Aelin?” Lysandra’s voice snapped her to attention.

“Yes?” She asked after taking a large sip.

“Was he as hot as Fenrys is making out?” It was only then she realised the attention of all those at the table was directed at her.

Rowan was hot, but Aelin wasn’t convinced that was who Lysandra’s question was regarding.

“Who?” Gods, she had been far too lost in Rowan to even attempt to follow the conversation at the table.

“The doctor, from the other day?”

Lysandra’s final question had taken on a different edge to the others, her voice soft and an unusual look in her green eyes. Surprise, intrigue, and an element of… was that suspicion?

Aelin cleared her throat and dared to look across to Rowan. His expression was carefully guarded, hidden was the amusement they had shared only moments before as he watched her from across the table.

He wasn’t the only one doing so. The others at the table, even Lorcan, had turned to her, each waiting for her response.

“Um, yeah. I guess.” Aelin had little interest in discussing the supposed ‘hotness’ of the doctor from the other day. She wasn’t even sure she knew where the paper with his number on had ended up.

“Damn, Aelin,” Aedion jeered. “Why’s he not here now then?”

Aelin flicked her eyes between Fenrys and Rowan. Fenrys was all too knowing. A twist at the corner of his mouth was the only visible hint of his discomfort, and she followed his gaze as it flicked to Rowan.

He wore a deliberately careful and mild smile as he watched her, and she hoped her expression conveyed the level of dismissal she gave to the doctor. If not, she hoped her words would convey exactly how she felt.

“I wasn’t interested,” She said plainly. “He was nice about it.”

“Not interested in a hot doctor?” Aedion scoffed. “At least go on a date, I can’t imagine how much luxury a doctor’s salary could get you. Probably at least champagne.”

Aelin laughed, a little weakly, desperately finding a way to change the subject. Rowan’s expression was a little less guarded, but she wanted him back to the amusement they had shared earlier.

She nudged his foot under the table with her own, and was beyond grateful when he returned the gesture with a small smile. The twinkle in his eyes had returned, if only a little dimmed.

Aelin sighed and allowed a slow smile to spread across her face. “If he’s so perfect Aedion, I might be able to set you up somehow.”

Her cousin only stuck his tongue out at her and she laughed, she heard the rest of the table laugh too.

“Sorry, Lys,” She said with a grin and her friend only shrugged.

“I know where I’m beaten.”

“Hey,” Aedion sounded offended at the thought and leaned across the table to press a kiss to his girlfriend’s cheek. Aelin smiled at the gesture and looked back to Rowan.

Soon.

Soon they’d finish dinner, and Aelin had plans for him.

The walk home had likely been his favourite part of the evening. They had split off into subgroups for the short walk back to the loft, Aedion and Lysandra walked ahead, their linked hands swinging in the space between them. As much as Rowan had disliked his friend’s teasing at dinner he was happy for his friend, and it was clear to him that Aedion’s relationship was serious. More serious than Rowan had seen Aedion before.

Lorcan and Fenrys had taken up the rear, debating something Rowan was deliberately tuning out as he enjoyed the feeling of Aelin tucked into his side. Her arm had wrapped around his own, her hand tucking into the crook of his elbow and her other hand reached across her body to hold the bicep of the arm she gripped.

It felt delightful to have her there, and he didn’t care about the looks Fenrys was throwing him. He knew what he and Aelin looked like, and he didn’t care. It felt good. Felt good that Rowan was here with Aelin like this. Not the doctor.

Rowan wasn’t petty enough to feel jealousy that the doctor the other day had given Aelin his number, or at least he thought. There was something in his stomach, the only thing that came close to bringing him out of this moment, that he couldn’t quite name. A feeling he couldn’t quite pin down.

They reached the loft having walked in relative silence, but it hadn’t been an awkward journey. It had been relaxed, and satisfied, and easy with Aelin.

They each went their separate ways once in the loft, and he led Aelin to the small stretch of hallway that housed both of their bedrooms.

This was the moment he had been waiting for all night.

She turned to him, releasing his arm as she bit her bottom lip slightly. Rowan couldn’t peel his eyes away until she finally spoke.

“That wasn’t quite what I expected,” She said with a soft laugh.

Rowan shook his head, laughing himself. “No, me neither. I will take you on a date properly soon, if you want to.”

He couldn’t stop himself from adding that last part. Aelin only tilted her head and took a step closer to him. She placed a hand gently on his chest as the smell of her surrounded Rowan. The fruity scent was enticing and he wanted to bury his face in her neck and breathe her in.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m still saying that tonight was our first date.”

Aelin was even closer to him now as she spoke and he raised a hand from his side to rest gently at her waist. The fabric of her dress slid between his fingers and he pulled her into himself slightly.

“Really?” He couldn’t help the tone of disbelief he used.

He hadn’t had a bad night, far from it in fact. He enjoyed spending time with his roommates, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to have lived with them for so long if he didn’t, but Rowan wasn’t sure he would have pictured their group dinner as his and Aelin’s first date.

“Yep,” She said, tilting her face up towards him and Rowan lifted his other hand to cup the back of her neck. His eyes were flickering up and down, an endless race between her eyes and her lips. “And I know what you promised me after our date.”

Rowan couldn’t help the wide smile he wore at her words. The realisation that she was as desperate as he was for their lips to touch again.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, rearranging his hand to rest more comfortably against the back of her head, his fingers slipping between the thick strands of her golden hair. “And what was that?”

Aelin lightly pinched his shoulder but rose up onto her tiptoes to finally press her lips to his.

Rowan could have sunk into this feeling forever. The spark that lit within him at her touch ignited, burning brightly as Aelin leaned even deeper into him, her lips opened in a soft gasp as her hand lifted from his shoulder to wrap around his neck.

Rowan breathed her in as he tasted her on his tongue. Aelin was divine, sweet and addictive. He chased her, wanting more and more and more. Too much wasn’t enough.

He only recognised that they had moved when the knuckles of his hand wrapped through her hair hit a solid surface. He had walked her backwards to the wall and at the realisation that he now boxed her in he drew back from her.

His breaths came fast and his heart was pounding ferociously in his chest as he gazed down silently at her. Aelin’s eyes fluttered open slowly as a broad smile bloomed.

Her cheeks were flushed from the kiss and Rowan risked one last press of his lips against her own. Unable to beat the urge to taste her again.

What he had intended to be a brush of lips Aelin stole control of. She locked her arms around his neck and held him to her, parting her lips for him again. Rowan took and took, unable to fight the desire building deep inside of him.

Aelin gasped against his lips as he removed his hand from her hair to hold her waist and lift her to him slightly. The sound sparked him, and he felt… He couldn't describe how he felt. He never wanted to stop, but Aelin’s gasp had reminded him where they stood.

Rowan pressed her against the wall in the hallway of the loft they shared with the others. They stood so wrapped up in each other that if anyone stumbled upon them denial would be an impossibility.

Rowan went to step back but Aelin rose forward and pressed one last gentle brush of a kiss against his lips before leaning back on her heels and releasing her arms from around his shoulders.

“Goodnight, Aelin,” He whispered, unable to muster anything more than a breathy whisper.

Aelin seemed in the same state as him. Her pupils were blown wide and her lips were a dusty shade of just-kissed pink. Rowan wanted to kiss her again.

“Night, Rowan,” She whispered, just as quietly as he had spoken.

Rowan took a step back and smiled down at her as she smiled up at him. He slowly backed across the hallway until he stood in front of his own door, his hand braced on the handle.

Aelin offered him a final, dreamlike smile before she slipped inside her bedroom. Rowan crept into his own and threw himself straight onto his bed.

His mind was blissfully restful as he lay, staring at the ceiling, replaying every touch he and Aelin had shared. His mind ran over all the details of their night, from the smile she had worn when she opened the door to greet him, to the feeling of her arm wrapped around his.

The unspoken words they had shared, wearing mutually knowing smiles, had warmed him and he fought off a smile at the thought.

She had rejected the mention of the doctor, quite outright, which relieved him, but the feeling from before had crept back into his stomach.

He still couldn’t place it, but as he lay, his thoughts came together, and he reached over to the side for his laptop. He sat himself up in bed, this wouldn’t take long, and typed a few words into the search bar of his browser.

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady

@illyrianwitchling

@SHINYA-HIIRAGI

@fangirlprincess09

@darlinminds

@bookittothelibrary1 <- this came up as the url please let me know it its not right

@thenerdandfandoms

@danibutterr

@inthecityair

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan x aelin #throne of glass #a groovy kind of love #agkol #i know this probably isn't what people were expecting lol #but I had a good time writing it #dorian havilliard #fenrys moonbeam #dorrys?#DORIS HAHAH #fenrian?#lorcan salvaterre #aedion ashryver #lysandra #lysaedion #rowaelin au

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statusquoergo · 4 years ago

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do you ever wonder about what mike's arrest would have been like, angst and story wise, if mike and harvey had been together at that point in time? because i do. like all the time haha. i saw a post on here talking about that once and i haven't stopped thinking about it since!!

Gallo wouldn't have made it to the end of the season alive, that's for sure. Nobody puts the love of Harvey Specter's life in danger, pal, you can bet on that much.

No, okay, with the usual caveat of "let's pretend Suits has a little self-awareness and can carry out the emotional repercussions of a heavy plotline for more than five minutes," it sure would've been... Well, I think it would be very similar in some ways, and very different in others. As it is, Harvey dedicates himself body and soul to getting Mike out of prison, and them being together obviously wouldn't change that. Maybe he would've done even more, somehow, although I'm struggling to think of, like, how that could possibly have happened.

Let's back up a little bit, to the events of the trial.

Now, being that the show spent remarkably little time during the second half of Season 5 focusing on Mike and Rachel as a couple, I don't think much would necessarily change prior to the aborted wedding in the finale. Mike and Harvey are at odds over Mike's defensive strategy, but that's mainly because they want to protect each other, so being a couple would only intensify that response.

The first place there's really room to showcase a different narrative is when Rachel gets mad at Mike for defending that man in court rather than spending time with her. Being that Harvey is, by and large, more empathetic towards Mike's need to prove himself and his desire to help people in need, I think he might be frustrated that Mike wasn't taking perhaps one of his last moments of freedom to spend time with Harvey, but he would also understand where Mike is coming from. That is, Mike has had this amazing experience over the past five years and worked so hard all this time to use his fairly accidental power to help people who would not normally be helped by someone in his position, and now the life he's built for himself is about to be ripped away, but he's stumbled on this one last chance to help someone else who's in the midst of being fucked over by the system, and he's going to take it, because he has to. Because he's Mike, and that's what Mike does.

So where does that leave us? With a great opportunity for Harvey and Mike to have an actual heart-to-heart that comes less from a place of anger, as their glass-throwing fisticuffs in the next episode, and more from a place of hurt—not Harvey's hurt feelings that Mike isn't spending time with him, or Mike hurting over his potentially impending imprisonment, but them both hurting for each other for what's going to happen if Mike goes to prison. From an angst perspective, this is a wonderful opportunity for a really soul-baring scene from the two of them, especially if Mike is starting to feel the hopelessness that prompts him to accept Gibbs's deal, and Harvey might or might not see the writing on the wall but refuses to accept it without fighting to the last breath.

Anyway, they missed out a little bit there.

As I said before, Harvey canonically devotes himself wholeheartedly to getting Mike out of prison, so I don't know that a lot would necessarily change in the overall scheme of things once he's there, but there are specific events that could be very interesting to handle differently. First of all, Harvey and the warden drugging Mike to give him a few hours with Rachel. The plan is stupid, the plan has always been stupid, and now that plan isn't going to happen, so that's good, but also Harvey still needs Mike to accept Cahill's deal, so how's he going to do that?

More emotive speeches!

No seriously think about it, if Harvey and Mike are a couple and the only thing keeping Mike from getting out of his sentence early is his refusal to turn on his cellmate who he's known for all of five minutes (hyperbole, but not much), what kind of impassioned conversation do you think Harvey and Mike might have arguing over that? There can still be backdoor shenanigans with the warden, even, if Harvey wants to secure them a conversation someplace where they won't be recorded so they can really release their inhibitions. I'm actually not talking about a sexual encounter, but Harvey in particular is, as we know, very guarded with his emotions, and Mike might've learned by that point not to be so cavalier about saying or doing whatever he pleases wherever and whenever it occurs to him, so getting them into a completely private space could be very...freeing, to use a slightly misguided word in these circumstances. More angst, is what I'm saying, this is a great opportunity for another really deep, vulnerable, angst-ful scene.

And that's all very well and good from a plot-alteration standpoint, but how about emotionally? Though I don't know that Harvey's actions would change much if he and Mike were in a relationship as opposed to merely...dangerously codependent, I could see his mental state fraying more than it does in canon. Not to bring this all back around to his mother, but let's bring this back around to his mother: It's heinously unfair to say Harvey would feel abandoned by Mike going to prison, so I'd like to think that if Harvey does feel that way at any point, he recognizes it and shuts it down pretty quickly. He's not the most emotionally astute guy around, sure, but he's not a total idiot.

But what I do think there's room for is the collision of Harvey's mantra that "Everybody leaves," and his somewhat more hidden resignation that "I drive everyone away." Mike is in prison, because Harvey couldn't save him. Because Harvey wasn't fast enough at the courthouse. Because Harvey wasn't a good enough lawyer. Because Harvey couldn't convince Mike to let him take the fall for them both. Mike is in prison for Harvey. If they're a couple, I'd love to see this played out more thoroughly with some more attention given to some of the actual reasons Harvey is moving heaven and earth to get Mike out, aside from just "He's Mike and we're attached at the hip," or even in this alternate universe, "He's my boyfriend and I love him." No, let's get down in there and talk about what the parameters of this situation are doing to Harvey, who never talks about his feelings or examines his own emotional state. He's gotta start coming apart at the seams, to say the least, and what do you think Mike's response would be to that during their way-too-frequent-to-be-legal visitations? Nothing good, I'm sure of that, especially on top of the hardship of living in prison. Harvey is hurting, Mike is hurting, their hurting is hurting each other, everyone is miserable and there's not a whole lot to be done about it. So what do we do? Fight harder, of course! Ugh, I hope Harvey doesn't do anything too unhinged...

Well, anyway, I certainly think there's room to explore that idea and I'm sure I haven't exhausted the possibilities here, but it was fun to think about! Thanks for bringing this up!

#marvey #season 6 #anonymous

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goulets · 4 years ago

Text

Heartland

Chapter: 2/8 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth Rating: T (for now) Case Fic/Kid Fic a03 link

The first suggestion is that Jason move back into his old room, just down the hall from Bruce's which is met with an unequivocal not on your fucking life, Bruce.

“Let's get one thing clear: I am not 'moving back in',” Jason hisses, glaring around at all of them. He's whispering so as not to wake the baby, and it doesn't come off quite as intimidating as he'd like. “I just need a bed to sleep in, that's it. Don't do me any fucking favors.”

Dick says, “There's an empty bedroom next to mine, it's not that big, and the bathroom is shared, but – ”

“Sold,” Jason says, and again, the infant sleeping in his arms makes a good old-fashioned broody storm-off kind of impractical.

(jason)

The first suggestion is that Jason move back into his old room, just down the hall from Bruce's which is met with an unequivocal not on your fucking life, Bruce.

“Let's get one thing clear: I am not 'moving back in',” Jason hisses, glaring around at all of them. He's whispering so as not to wake Danielle, and it doesn't come off quite as intimidating as he'd like. “I just need a bed to sleep in, that's it. Don't do me any fucking favors.”

Dick says, “There's an empty bedroom next to mine, it's not that big, and the bathroom is shared, but – ”

“Sold,” Jason says, and again, the infant sleeping in his arms makes a good old-fashioned broody storm-off kind of impractical.

“Okay,” Dick nods. “I'll, um, just show you then.” Bruce looks impassive, and Tim looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with himself, as Dick walks past Jason and Jason follows him up the steps to the main part of the mansion.

Jason doesn't like following behind Dick. It's partly the principle of the thing, because he literally had to die and rise from the grave to get out of Dick's shadow, and even then, it's a matter of distance, and little more. He's far enough off the path of righteousness that the light that shines like a beacon onto Dick doesn't even touch him. So it feels like old news, a habit he grew out of long ago, walking behind Dick, tracing his footfalls, but it's so familiar he half expects to see those stupid fucking pixie boots on his feet when he looks down.

Then there's the other familiar part, the part he’s been struggling not to acknowledge, the awareness that’s been growing in the back of his mind since he set up camp in Gotham. Simply put, Dick is hot. His ass in spandex was the source of way too many semis popped Jason's stupid, flimsy little Robin shorts, and his ass in faded pajama pants is nothing short of miraculous either. But it's not just his body, although Jason wishes it was, not just the shape of his ass and the curve of his spine and the span of his shoulders – Dick is beautiful. He's elegant when he moves, when he laughs, when he's angry, when he's worried, when he's a fucking mess. It's impossible not to look at him, the attention he commands is probably partly due to the fact that he was raised a performer, and partly because that's just Dick.

Jason knows he's one in a long, heavily annotated list of people to fantasize about Dick Grayson. It used to keep him up at night when he was a kid, and not just in that way. There hadn't been a lot of tolerance in the streets for homosexuality – sure, it existed, Jason'd even been on the receiving end once or twice in the unlucky parts of his youth – but you didn't talk about it. So he'd suppressed it, save for those late night visits from his hand in the dark, and then he'd died. Been sprung from the grave, grew up a little, and came back to find that, surprise surprise, the world had grown up a little bit too, and not entirely for the worse. And since then, he's had encounters with men, women, couple aliens, and all that is whatever. This thing with Dick doesn't bother him on account of Dick, well, having a dick. Not anymore.

No, it bothers him because it's Dick fucking Grayson. Golden Boy, Boy Wonder, or as Jason likes to refer to him, Stupid Fucking Bastard With Stupid Fucking Sticks Who Just Won't Fucking Quit. Out of all of them, Dick's the most unchanged. Bruce is hardened, less trusting; Tim is broken; Jason is – whatever the fuck he is, beyond all hope, maybe; but Dick's never lost the spring in his step. Jason thinks he'll probably backflip right into death with a smile on his face, and he won't come back, because Dick is too damn good to be reanimated like some freakish perversion of nature. Jason calls Tim “Replacement” because it's true, Jason was replaceable, but Dick never was. Not that Jason had ever wanted to be his replacement – he hardly knows what he wanted to be to Dick then, even less what he wants to be to Dick now, but it sure as hell isn't some bullshit co-parenting gig with the whole family breathing down his neck.

Of all the fucking days he had to drag his ass down here to gossip.

Dick says, “So, this is it,” and Jason realizes they're outside his new room. The room he's staying in. The room the baby is staying in. That's all it is.

It's not small at all, of course, and the bathroom he's sharing with Dick is also not small, with a stand-up shower and a jacuzzi sized tub, because that's necessary, two sinks, and a ridiculous amount of storage space. He doesn't look at Dick's room, just takes in the furnishings of his own, a queen bed with slate-grey sheets, closet, dresser, desk, bookshelves with a good number of books already on them, and a little windowseat that for some reason makes the back of his throat feel itchy to look at.

Danielle makes a small noise in his arms, and something occurs to him. “Um, where's she supposed to sleep?” He's not an expert, but he's pretty sure babies need cradles – actually, and a lot of other shit, like diaper cream, special baby soap, pacifiers, those sling contraptions he sees people walking around with, and probably a billion other things he has no freaking clue about.

Dick says, “Huh. Good question.”

Helpful, Jason thinks. She can't sleep with him, can she? What if he rolls on top of her? What if she rolls off the bed? What if he has a nightmare and pummels her to death in his sleep? The thought makes him want to be sick, what is he thinking, trying to be some kind of fucking caregiver –

“Jason? You okay?”

Jason blinks. It dawns on him that he's been frozen in place for several seconds now, mind overloaded with the sheer volume of information he doesn't know, endless blank pages supplemented by a thoroughly sourced index of his fears. It's not like he planned for this – ever – he's pretty sure parental ineptitude runs in the family, because his mom sure as fuck never read What to Expect When You're Expecting.

He says, “Doesn't she need some kind of special baby doctor?”

Dick nods. “Bruce'll have Leslie come by and look at her soon. According to the hospital records, she missed her three-month check-in, so.”

“Dick.” Jason tries, and fails, probably, to keep the overwhelming helplessness he's feeling out of his voice. “What the fuck, man – this is crazy. I can't – I don't – where is she supposed to sleep?”

“I can answer that,” comes Alfred's clipped tone from the doorway. Jason turns to see the older man hauling an enormous, tall box into the room.

Jason says, “The hell?” at the same time that Dick rushes forward and says, “Here, let me help you,” and that about sums it up, he thinks.

“Her sleeping quarters,” Alfred says. He and Dick lay the box down, and Jason feels his stomach churn unpleasantly at the picture on the front of a smiling, drooling blonde-haired baby standing in a white wooden crib, fat little fists wrapped around the railing.

“You work fast, Alfie,” Dick comments, hauling another box into the room. This one says Changing Table on the side, and then Alfred pushes a rocking chair in, and Jason will be damned if it isn’t a whole fucking matching baby bedroom set.

“Where the hell did you even get this?” he asks, incredulous. He’s been at the manor two hours tops, hardly enough time for even Alfred to go out shopping for an entire room’s worth of furniture.

“Same-day delivery,” Alfred says smoothly. “I find that being a frequent, loyal customer expedites the process somewhat.”

“You don’t fucking say,” Jason mutters under his breath. Dick is now bringing in box after box of diapers, six huge shopping bags full of baby crap Jason would rather do just about anything than sort through, and some disassembled swing-looking contraption that promises “15 soothing melodies and nature sounds”. The room, suddenly, doesn’t seem so big anymore.

“Hmm,” Dick frowns, looking around. He must be noticing the same thing as Jason. “Honestly, I don’t see all this fitting in here. Alfie, what do you think?”

“You have the adjoining room, do you not, Master Richard?” Alfred replies. He surveys their haul, looking satisfied. Jason feels a tiny bit like he’s going to have a nervous breakdown, which is more or less where he’s been since Danielle was placed in his arms to begin with.

He’d been deadly serious when he’d told Bruce that he’d take her and protect her, but true to half-cocked form, he hadn’t even begun to parse out what that meant. Now that he’s standing in a room that looks like a Babies R’ Us blew up in it, with a human being the size of a loaf of bread snoozing and twitching in his arms, he doesn’t know what he could have possibly been thinking. What Bruce could possibly have been thinking, letting him walk away with her.

Well. Actually, Jason thinks, that about tracks for Bruce’s idea of fatherhood. In Jason’s experience, anyways.

“We’ll put the crib here, I think,” Dick says, leaning the box against the wall opposite the bed. “Changing table can go next to it, and I guess put the rocking chair in the other corner? Bottle stuff should go in the bathroom, and, hmm…” he trails off. “Yeah, we’ll just put the swing in my room. Don’t worry about it, Alfie, I’ll take care of it. You’ve done more than enough, seriously.”

“I’ll leave it to you boys, then,” Alfred says, picking up some of the discarded shopping bags and tucking them under his arm. He gives Jason a long look, like there’s something he wants to say, but seems to think better of it. Jason doesn’t know whether or not to be disappointed.

The silence that falls once Alfred leaves is awkward, bordering on oppressive. Dick doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps opening boxes and stuffing things in drawers and putting on a show of looking like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Jason knows better - can see how haphazardly he’s putting things away, how he’s moving around just to avoid being still. It’s a relief, in a way, to know that he’s not the only one completely out of his depth.

Still, he can’t deny Dick is being about a billion times more useful than him. What else is new.

“I’m just gonna stick this in the closet,” Dick says about a box containing a carseat. “We’ll figure it out later.”

Jason frowns. His car right now is a piece of crap Volvo that certainly shouldn't be hauling around anything as fragile as a baby. Not like he can take her on the bike, either. If they have to make a quick getaway, he’s looking at one-handed free running, or getting some new wheels posthaste.

Danielle grunts and yawns, stretching her tiny hands up and clawing at the material of his jacket. He pats her back, and she settles back into the crook of his arm. It tears at him, a little, watching her burrow into the leather, mouth occasionally opening and sucking, leaving little damp spots in her wake. She’s warm as hell now, practically a furnace, and he frankly wishes he had taken the damn jacket off before she got all comfortable, but he’d rather eat his own gun than put her down. It’s shocking to realize, but he wants her to be closer, wants to hold her right against his skin, against his heartbeat. He’s never felt this way about anything before, about anyone.

He clears his throat. “You seem bizarrely familiar with all this crap,” he says to Dick. “How do you - I mean, I don’t even have a clue what that thing is,” he gestures to the piece of fabric Dick is holding. It looks like the world’s longest scarf.

“It’s a wrap,” Dick says. “It’s for holding the baby. Or ‘wearing’, I think they call it. It’s nice for keeping your hands free. Roy had one for Lian, but it had a lot more buckles than this.”

Jason blinks. Roy, of course. Roy’s told him how much Dick has helped him out when he got full custody of Lian, back when she was still a baby. No wonder Dick is able to snap into action so easily. Jason’s spent a little time around Roy’s daughter, but she’s usually with her grandparents when they get together. For the best, since most of his team-ups with Roy have ended in shootouts and/or catastrophic explosions.

Just another reason he has absolutely no fucking business being anywhere near an infant.

“Hey,” Tim says from the doorway. “Um, here’s this pillow thing.” He holds out a box labeled Infant Lounger, and Jason is officially calling bullshit, there’s absolutely no way babies need this many goddamn surfaces to simply exist upon when, as far as he can tell from his one hour of baby experience, there’s no chance you’d ever want to put one down anyways. It’s all just one big racket - except for the diapers, probably.

“Thanks, Tim,” Dick sighs, opening the box and pulling out the lounger. It’s covered in a cutesy little whale pattern. “Well, that’s adorable, isn’t it?”

Tim looks skeptical. “If you say so.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “You didn’t come up here just to deliver a whale pillow, Replacement.” Dick shoots him a reproachful look, but screw him. “What’d you find out?”

Tim, to his credit, looks relieved to have an excuse to get to the real reason he’s there. “Well, we can officially rule out anyone from Intergang as a suspect. Their whole operation is a bust now. Word is Mannheim is pulling all the survivors out and regrouping, probably off-world.” He nods to Jason. “We’ve ruled the League of Assassins out, too.”

“So, who does that leave?” Dick asks. “Locals? Who are the major players in the East End?”

“There aren’t any,” Tim says. “The whole neighborhood’s been a power vacuum since...well.”

“Since me,” Jason snorts.

“It’s all small-time gangs, nobody with the firepower or the logistic capability to pull something like this off,” Tim goes on. “Which means we’re either looking at somebody new, or there’s a major territory grab that we somehow haven’t caught wind of.”

“Who patrols the East End now, anyways?” Jason asks.

“Nobody, unless Barbara sends the Birds out there. Used to be you,” Tim says mildly.

Jason works his jaw. “Last I checked, your boss is the one who wanted me out of there.”

“Last I checked, you didn’t take orders from him,” Tim replies, voice cool and even. Jason suddenly understands what an infant lounger is for - it’s a safe resting spot to hold your baby when you need both hands to throttle your aggravating family members.

“Oh, knock it off, both of you,” Dick says irritably. “Tim, are you running down leads for this?”

“I guess so,” Tim shrugs. “I was here on the Intergang expansion in the first place. Bruce and I are going to check out the bodies later this evening, get ballistics reports and see what else we can find. The paperwork is coming in pretty slow on the law enforcement side of things.”

Jason twists his mouth in disgust. “GCPD, dragging their heels? Shocking.”

“Pretty much,” Tim affirms. “They’re just happy the Intergang faction’s dealt with. I don’t think they want to look into it too closely.”

Even with a baby on the hit list, Jason thinks bitterly. It’s enough to make a person want to pick up and move altogether.

Danielle moves suddenly in his arms, stretching her tiny body and kicking one leg out against his ribs. She whines, twisting her head away, and when she turns back to look at him, her brown eyes are wide and watery.

“Shit,” he murmurs. “Dick, help. She doesn’t look happy to see me.”

Dick appears at his shoulder. Danielle whines again, flailing her limbs against Jason’s chest.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Dick coos, right in Jason’s ear. Oh, sweet Jesus, Jason did not think this one through at all. He feels his face flush, and has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at Dick to back the fuck up.

“Look at you,” Dick goes on, oblivious. “You’re awake now, huh? You need some attention, sweetie?” His breath is warm against Jason’s neck. Jason is going to crawl out of his skin.

Danielle’s eyes flicker towards the sound of Dick’s voice. She grunts, then turns abruptly and mouths at Jason’s armpit. Jason feels like his heart is gonna jump out of his goddamn throat. It’s been - God, he doesn’t even know, months? The better part of a year? - since he was this close to another person without his helmet on. His brain is screaming at him, escape, fight, neutralize, but even louder, there’s a piece of him overriding everything, a fist deep in his chest clenched around something he thought he’d left back in the Pit.

Danielle whines louder, kicking, and the fist clenches tighter.

“I don’t - ” he starts to say. His voice comes out breathy and ragged, he stops. Swallows. Get a grip, for fuck’s sake. “Maybe you should take her, I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.”

“Just rock her,” Dick suggests. His arm comes around to Jason’s elbow, and now Jason can’t help it, he jerks away violently. The little body in his arms goes stock still for a moment, hiccups, and then the sound of wailing fills the room.

Jason swears. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, like that means a damn thing to a baby. “Shit, I’m really sorry, Danielle.” He holds her upright against his shoulder, rubbing her back like he’s seen Roy do with Lian when she’s upset. “I’m an asshole, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She hiccups again, and makes a displeased noise that sounds vaguely chastising. Fair enough, he deserves it. Anything is better than crying.

Dick is looking at him, overbright, and Jason averts his eyes. Briefly, he makes eye contact with Tim, who looks incredibly uncomfortable. Good.

“I think we’ll leave the morgue investigation to you guys,” Dick says to Tim. He seems to have realized he overstepped. “There’s a lot to do here, and I still have my regular patrol. I’m guessing you’re going to the docks this evening,” he addresses Jason.

“I want to, but.” Jason rocks Danielle pointedly. “Kinda got my hands full here.”

“You don’t think we can leave her for a few hours?”

“What the fuck, no,” Jason says, incredulous. “Even if she wasn’t being targeted by some psycho, you can’t just leave a baby, what’s wrong with you.”

“Even I knew that,” Tim says, obnoxiously.

“She wouldn’t be alone, jeez,” Dick protests. “Alfred is here.”

“I’m protecting her,” Jason reminds him darkly. “Alfred has enough shit on his plate.”

“Okay,” Dick says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “She’s pretty attached to you anyways, so you’re right, it’s probably best if we do that.”

Jason isn’t sure whether or not he’s being patronized, but flips Dick the bird just to be safe. Dick pretends not to notice.

“Drake, your input is being requested in the Cave,” Damian announces from the doorway. Christ, it’s a whole fucking family reunion, and he can’t escape. “Personally, I hadn’t even noticed your absence.”

Tim’s expression goes from vaguely aggrieved to fully constipated, which soothes some of Jason’s irritation. Bruce’s demon spawn is a complete and utter terror, but he’s so like his mother that Jason can’t help liking him. He’s not stupid enough to look down on him in a fight - he heard secondhand what Robin did to Victor Zsasz - but his heart’s just not in it when he spars with Damian. So sue him, he’s got a soft spot for kids, no matter how lethal they are.

“Keep me updated,” Jason says to Tim.

Tim nods, one hand on the doorframe as he exits. “Will do. Sure you don’t want to come along? Autopsy is daytime work.”

Jason grimaces. “Been there, done that. You guys can poke at dead people, I prefer to get my answers from ones that are breathing.”

Damian scoffs audibly. “Breathing until you finish with them, you mean?”

Jason ignores him. He turns his attention back to Danielle, who is starting to mouth at the collar of his jacket more aggressively. Shit, he probably shouldn’t let her do that. This jacket isn’t too old, at least, but he’s smoked his way through a dozen packs of cigarettes in it already, not to mention all the bad guy spatter it’s probably absorbed. Surface cleaners can only do so much.

“Perhaps you’d like to offer her this,” Damian says imperiously, holding out a bottle. “You know, children her age require feeding every three to four hours.”

“...Thanks,” Jason says, suspicious. He doesn’t think Damian would attack him when he’s holding a baby, but he looks like he’s considering it. Warily, he takes the bottle. It’s warm. “Did you make it?”

“It’s infant formula,” Damian replies bitingly. “It requires no scientific mastery.”

Alfred made it, then. Jason exchanges a look with Dick, who quirks an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.

“You don’t need to stay, Damian,” Dick says. “I’m just gonna be putting together furniture. You probably have homework to do, right?”

Damian looks affronted. “My studies aren’t so taxing, Grayson. What furniture?”

“Baby furniture, for Danielle. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “You’re dismissing me because you want me to argue, so that I’ll stay and help you.”

Dick is the picture of innocence. “I really don’t need help. I assembled all the furniture in my apartment, I know what I’m doing.”

“I also know what you’re doing.” Damian walks to the box holding the crib pieces, hands on his hips. “A simpleton could do this.”

“They make it pretty user friendly.”

“I’ll get my tools.”

Dick looks quite pleased with himself as Damian rushes off. Jason can’t help but laugh.

“Nice,” he says, shaking his head at Dick’s impish grin. “Hold her for a second, I’m gonna take my jacket off.”

Danielle whines more insistently when he passes her to Dick, and doesn’t stop when he takes her back. He cradles her upright in one arm, bouncing her a little to keep her distracted, and touches the nipple of the bottle to her mouth. She latches on eagerly, and he tries and fails not to smile at her enthusiasm, the delighted kicking of her legs as she eats, her eyes trained on his face like laser beams. He feels - full, almost, like a balloon in his chest is slowly filling up, a window he’d nailed and soldered shut is being pried open again.

There are holes in Jason’s memory, things the Pit couldn’t restore, fragments of his life that were beaten out of him, or left in the ground, or atrophied and rotted away during his lost year after waking up. When he first came back to Gotham, he’d filled all those empty spaces with rage and spite, but he’d burned through it all in a few months and found there wasn’t enough left over to keep filling them, to stop him from noticing the edges of remembering in his mind, the sensation of familiarity that would abruptly fade into nothing. He’s learned to navigate around them, but there’s never been a moment that he hasn’t known they are there. They’re a constant reminder that he died Jason Todd and came back Almost Jason Todd, the same person but without all the pieces.

The feeling he has, feeding Danielle - the warm smell of her, the force of her gaze, so human and yet so alien, the clutch-and-pull of her small hands against the fabric of his shirt and the scarred skin of his hand - it’s like she’s reached right into the center of him and dragged forth the memory of being whole. He isn’t, he won’t ever be, but he can remember it, and it absolutely takes his breath away.

“You good?” Dick asks, softly.

Jason swallows. “Uh-huh,” he manages. It’s a damn good question. Jason isn’t frequently good, he’s often satisfied, often pissed off, often (less often, now) steeped so deep in madness he’s out of his mind. This is something else, he thinks. Something close to shattered, but it’s also close to good, because even though he’s in a thousand goddam pieces, the pieces, for once, are all there.

“Wow, Jay,” Dick murmurs. “You’ve really got a way with her, you know.”

Jason waits to answer until he’s sure his voice won’t betray how shaken apart he is. “She just doesn’t know any better yet,” he says. “Probably at this stage, it’s all the same to them.”

“She didn’t eat this well for me,” Dick says, and Jason can’t tear his eyes away from Danielle to look, but he can hear Dick smiling. “Face it, Jaybird, she chose you.”

“Shut up,” Jason replies, but it’s so subdued it’s practically a whisper. He can’t even deny it - she did choose him, and even if he can’t fathom why, even if it terrifies him, he can feel it all the way down to his bones. He’ll do anything for this little girl. Shit, she’s already got him shacking up in the last place he’d ever want to be. She’s got him thinking about sensible family cars, for Christ’s sake. He hasn’t even known her a full day, but she chose him, and he knows he’d die for her as instinctively as breathing.

“This had better not take long,” Damian says, reentering the room with his toolbox in hand. “I have training to finish.”

Dick laughs, but it’s a little off, somehow. Jason still doesn’t look - if he had to guess, he would say that Damian managed to surprise Dick, but that doesn’t seem very likely.

“Sure thing, Dami. The changing table is probably the easiest, if you have things to do.” Whatever Jason thought he heard, it’s not there anymore. Dick’s voice is back to being smooth and casual, pointedly so, which probably means Damian’s about to -

“In other words, you want me to assemble the crib,” Damian says flatly.

“Pretty sure I said changing table,” Dick repeats, exasperated.

“Enough with your mind games Grayson. They aren’t subtle, you’re embarrassing yourself. I’ll assemble the crib, since you seem to think it’s too challenging for you.”

“If that’s what you want,” Dick says evenly. Jason finally catches his eye, and he winks. “I’ll start working on the changing table - the way she’s eating, we’re gonna need it soon.”

Anxiety flits across Damian’s face, and he scowls hard at Jason a split second later. Jason shrugs one shoulder at him peaceably. He’d be lying if he said he had no reservations about changing diapers either, but hell, he signed up for this, didn’t he? People even more dysfunctional than him must have figured it out over the years. And considering his extracurricular activities, he can hardly be getting squeamish over a little baby poop.

Danielle, having paused her eating to look around, makes a short fussing sound and then latches onto the bottle again. Jason adjusts his hold and brings her up a little higher. She curls into him automatically, the fingers of her little hand splaying against his shirt, right over the intersection of scar tissue fanning across his chest. He’s never let anyone touch him there before. It doesn’t feel….bad. At all.

It feels like waking up after a long, disorienting dream. Like climbing down a mountain and taking the first breath of oxygen-rich air.

It feels like being home.

***

(tim)

“Here’s what we know,” Bruce says, pulling up the footage from Oracle. “One month ago, Cy Reynolds and a couple dozen henchmen took over the Eastern port for Intergang. They demo’d the warehouses the Dragons were operating out of, and the old Falcone hotel. They brought in tech, weapons, and what appears to be equipment from Apokolips to construct a boom tube.”

“Just what we need,” Tim mutters.

“Two days ago, Cy Reynolds, his wife, and their adult son all turned up dead. Each was shot twice in the head, execution style. Oracle, any update on ballistics?”

“Negative,” Barbara’s voice comes through the computer speakers. “Forensics are taking their sweet time.”

“We have sixteen other bodies, identified as Reynolds’ second tier of command within Intergang and their respective families.” Bruce pauses. “This includes three children. A fourth was targeted, identified as the child of Mitchell Howard and Linda Torres, but she somehow survived.”

“And made it all the way to St. Aden’s in Coventry,” Tim finishes. “Records say Torres lived on the edge of Little Italy.”

“Has your group seen any signs of new groups operating on the East End?” Bruce asks. “There’s a short list of suspects who could have pulled this off in two days.”

“If there are, they’re way underground,” Barbara says. “You can rule out the Golden Dragons, most of the ones left in that area joined up with Intergang. They’re focused on turf wars in Chinatown, they wouldn’t bother defending the Eastern port.”

“That fits with our intel,” Tim says, trying not to sound annoyed. This started as his op, and he’d ruled out the Dragons from the very beginning. Bruce’d had barely a passing interest until Jason got involved, and now Tim has been demoted to pinch-hitter on his own case. He’ll deal, but after the year he’s had, it’s a little hard not to take it personally.

“The killers’ modus operandi ranges from shooting to stabbing, which suggests human suspects,” Bruce says. “Targeting families suggests the mob.”

“The Falcones used to control the whole east side,” Tim says thoughtfully. He’s surprised it never occurred to him. He’d been so focused on new territory feuds, he hadn’t stopped to think that it might be an old territory feud. Maybe he deserves to be a pinch-hitter. “Any chance they’re making a comeback?”

There’s a flurry of typing on Barbara’s end. “Funny you should mention them. We had five bodies from the Falcone family turn up over the past six months. Some of these could be accidental, but I tagged it as suspicious after the third one.”

“So, a rival family,” Tim says, slowly. He racks his brain for a list of crime families in Gotham’s history. Who’d even bother going after the Falcones these days? They haven’t been truly active in Gotham for over two decades, but, Tim supposes, some rivalries never die. “The Maronis are locked up….maybe the Odessa Mob? Could they be making moves?”

“Nightwing would know if they were expanding past Bludhaven,” Bruce says. Fair enough. Wouldn’t make sense for the Russians to stage a hostile takeover when they’re barely holding ground across the harbor, anyways. “Who are the victims from the Falcones?”

“That’s the weird part. They were all straight, as far as I can tell. One shoe store manager, two housewives, a scuba instructor, a graduate student, and an entrepreneur. Barely a drug charge between them.”

“Could they be unrelated?” Tim asks, glancing through the reports..

“No,” Bruce says decisively. “It’s too much of a coincidence. These murders are all connected.”

“I agree,” Barbara says. “Based on proximity alone, but combined with the destruction of the old hotel, it’s all adding up to something.”

Tim doesn’t argue. They’re right - if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that coincidences are never just that in Gotham. The connection is there, they just need to find it.

“That hotel was Carmine Falcone’s crown jewel, back when he was in power,” Bruce says. “If the Falcone family is behind this, they could have been retaliating.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of bodies to drop just in retaliation,” Tim says doubtfully. “And to what end? If it is them, it has to be more than that.”

Barbara puts new footage on their screen. “Here’s what I pulled from last night’s traffic cams. Looks like the person who killed the baby’s parents is the same one who dropped her at the orphanage.”

Tim studies the grainy figure on the screen. They’re wearing a hood and limping slightly, but from the approximate size and shape, they appear to be -

“A female assailant,” Bruce says. “Not a pro. This person couldn’t have taken down a man like Reynolds.”

Tim stretches his arms over his head. “So, multiple killers.”

“Fits the mob angle. Give me an hour or two, and I’ll have an ID,” Barbara says. “Oracle out.”

Tim watches Bruce pull stills from the footage and run them against his video backlogs. On a separate screen, he watches Colin draw baby Danielle out of the Safe Surrender box, look around at the camera, and then hurry out of view.

“Red Robin, what exactly is going on over there?” Barbara asks quietly over the comm in his ear. She must have opened a private channel, because Bruce doesn’t show any indication he’s hearing her too.

“I’m gonna hit the training mat,” he says to Bruce. He gets no acknowledgement, which is more or less what he’s learned to expect.

“It’s been kind of a shitshow here,” he replies, once he’s out of earshot of Bruce. “What have you heard?”

“That Robin brought home a baby, and Red Hood adopted it, and now he’s moving back in to take care of it.”

“You’re pretty much caught up, then,” he says, stifling a laugh. “And Nightwing is helping, which is even weirder.”

“No shit,” she muses. “He’s helping Red Hood?”

“I guess? I was just with them, they’re kind of getting along, actually.”

“They had a decent rapport going when Nightwing took over as Big B,” Barbara says. “Robin wasn’t crazy about it. I think he wanted N all to himself.”

Tim considers this. “I always thought Robin didn’t like Hood because of his methods.”

“I’m not about to psychoanalyze Robin on a line I know he could hack if he wanted to,” Barbara says dryly. “But I’m sure that’s part of it. Hang on, B is lighting up the family line.”

Tim switches over. Bruce says, “We’re going to have to make some adjustments to patrols, while Danielle is in our care.”

“Black Bat and Batgirl are still in Florida,” Barbara says. “They should be wrapping up their case in the next day or two. I’ll put them on the South End when they get back.”

“Good,” Bruce says. “Signal should also be back in Gotham by then. Red Robin, you’ll need to put activities with the Titans on hold. I’ll have you covering the Northeast corner, including Crime Alley and the Bowery.”

“That’s my turf,” Jason snarls over the comm. “You can’t just go giving away my patrol. I gave you the East End, and look how that fucking turned out.”

“I wasn’t finished. Red Robin will cover those areas when Red Hood is otherwise occupied.”

Tim closes his eyes for a long second. Great. Now Jason will be gunning for him, again.

“Nightwing, your coverage of Bludhaven is non-negotiable. Robin will join you, temporarily, and fill in for you on the nights you need to be absent.”

“Really?” Dick sounds pleased. “Hey, Robin, did you hear that?”

“Of course I did,” Damian says. “Father, I accept this assignment.”

Unfair, Tim thinks, petulantly. He thinks Barbara’s probably right about Damian wanting Dick all to himself, but they all want Dick all to themselves. It’s complete bullshit that Jason and Damian, by far the least deserving, are the ones getting him.

“Oracle, we’ll need the Birds to fill in the gaps.”

Tim can almost hear Barbara rolling her eyes. “That’s what we’ve been doing, Batman. I’ll ask Huntress to keep her eyes on the Narrows. I’ve already got half my monitors dialed in to the East End. If anything happens there, I’ll be first to know.”

“Good,” Bruce says. “We’ll debrief again after tonight.”

There’s a long pause, and then Jason says, “Replace - Red Robin, we better talk if you’re taking my patrol tonight.”

Tim swallows. “Just so you know, I didn’t ask B to assign me.”

“No shit you didn’t. No one in their right mind would. No idea why he’s gone off the fucking deep end about this, like we haven’t dealt with way worse.” Jason sounds aggrieved. Tim can hear baby squealing noises in the background.

“Twenty bodies in one weekend isn’t nothing,” Barbara says. “This only happened because we were lax on patrol. No one was covering that area while Red Robin was gone.”

“I had informants on the ground,” Tim protests. “We were in touch.”

“It’s not your fault, Red,” Dick says immediately. “Oracle didn’t mean that. We should have been covering. It’s our bad, not yours.”

“I could have been covering,” Jason grumbles.

“Last time there were this many dead gangsters on the docks, you were covering.”

“Oh, fuck you, Boy Wonder.”

“Boys,” Oracle says, none too pleasantly. “I’m muting the family line now, so you’ll have to bicker like schoolgirls in person. Oracle out.”

Well, if he’s on the training mat anyways, he might as well get a workout in. Tim grabs his bo staff and scrolls through the training menus on his phone until he finds one that’ll thoroughly kick his ass. It’s stressful, having this many people in the manor. Tim doesn’t have a single clue how to act around a baby, much less how to act around Jason Todd with a baby.

Conner will find this hilarious, he thinks, whenever he gets back to Earth. Not the murders, obviously, but he’s always taken particular delight in Tim’s family drama. He’ll have to tell him about it next time they see each other - if they ever see each other - if Conner is even talking to him -

Tim shakes his head roughly. He’s been doing so well at not thinking about Conner, and truth be told, a hiatus from the Titans will probably do him a world of good on that front. He can’t take any more of Bart’s overcompensating, or Gar and Cassie’s whispering when they think he isn’t paying attention. At least when Bruce and Damian second-guess him, it’s not because they think he’s heartbroken, or whatever.

Because he’s not.

Probably.

The program starts, and then immediately ends when Tim takes a holographic missile to the chest. Crap. He hits the restart button, pushes everything else out of his mind. Dealing with his encyclopedia of dysfunctional relationships can wait. This, at least, he knows how to do.

***

#jaydick #haven’t posted fic on this website in many years and the text editor has really tanked i gotta say #what do you have against center alignment tumblr #where did the nice word processor go #Ugh #anyways here’s this #fell face first back into bats so i’m finishing this wip from 2013 #my fics #heartlandverse

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hyperfixrat · 4 years ago

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“COLD SEASON” inspired by @too-many-umbrellas

PROMPT: “Do you think the Hargreeves’ powers go off when they sneeze?”

*sorry it’s so late <3

———

It's the evening of November 30th, and the academy has just settled down after a long day out in the cold. Vanya insisted that they go together to see the lights—something about 'finally spending time as a family'.

It took a little extra convincing to get Diego onboard, as the holidays just weren't his thing, however, he reluctantly agreed after Klaus practically begged him to join— after he’d been informed that there'd be eggnog and stuffed animals.

And of course Allison was onboard, as she had hoped to find a gift for Claire for when she sees her again. Luther barely gave it a thought before agreeing to go, not having experienced anything majorly relating to Christmas since.....ever.

Five joined the bunch without a word, not really feeling the Christmas spirit but wanting to see his siblings happy together.

They spent the evening at the park, drinking hot chocolate, sampling pastries and enjoying the festive atmosphere.

It got late and the temperature dropped, so they all made their way back to the academy. As they drop their coats at the door, Five jumps to the fireplace, placing an armful of firewood onto the rack.

He grabs a matchbox off the mantle, stealing a quick glance at the painting on the wall above before swiping the match along the side of the box and tossing it onto the wood.

Five turns to his family with a smile, watching Allison pass out blankets while Klaus delivers warm cups of cocoa to his siblings before snuggling into the corner of the couch.

Klaus subconsciously leaves space for Ben, before remembering that he'd moved on. Nonetheless, he pulls the edge of the blanket closer in order to pat the couch to invite Five to sit next to him.

Accepting Klaus's offer, Five makes his way to the couch. He stops in his tracks as his nose begins to burn—achoo!

Five disappears, the mug of cocoa shattering as it hits the floor. The sound startles the siblings, immediately waking them from their exhaustion.

Klaus jumps up from the couch, searching the room to make sure Five hadn't just teleported behind him by accident.

"Fuck!" Five's distant voice echoes from the third floor. Diego's attention turns to the source of the sound, along with the others.

It falls quiet for a moment before a low rumble shakes the room, the mugs on the table practically vibrate with the sound.

Diego looks to Vanya, who looks just as perplexed as him. The lights flicker violently as a gust of wind rips through the room scattering papers and whipping through the drapes.

In a split second Five re-appears, landing back-first on the coffee table. Cocoa is spilled on the floor and blankets are soaked, but not one of them bat an eye at it.

Vanya is the first to check on Five, helping him off the table and making sure he's unscathed. Five pinches the bridge of his nose as he feels another sneeze emerging, praying that he could hold it off so that his powers don't spaz again.

Allison makes her way over, placing the back of her hand on his forehead. He's definitely got a fever. She sighs and walks away to grab the thermometer from the bathroom.

Vanya guides Five to the couch, having him sit in her previous spot before covering him with a dry blanket. "I told you to wear a damn jacket, Five." Diego speaks from where he's knelt on the floor, picking up the scattered papers from Five's portal.

"It was 28 degrees outside and you still went out in those shorts." Luther shakes his head at the irony, Five may be the smartest among the bunch at most times—but he can also be stubborn as hell.

"So what? It's better than those stiff ass slacks that dad made us wear every winter." They nod in agreement, Reginald often thought 'punctuality over comfort' was a suitable reason to not let them wear sweatpants in winter.

Allison returns with the thermometer, handing it to Vanya so that she could check Five’s temperature. A moment of silence passes before the thermometer beeps with the confirmation that Five indeed had a fever.

Shit. Diego cursed internally as he came to a concerning realization. When they were younger Reginald would quarantine the siblings to their rooms; as every time one of them spiked a fever or had shown any signs of sickness—a chain reaction occurred to where they all immediately became ill.

Of course, that hadn't happened in years—achoo! Klaus sneezes, sending a couple bottles from Reggie's liquor cabinet crashing into the far wall. He sniffles, scratching the side of his nose with his pinky.

"Damn," He sighs. "What a waste of perfectly good alcohol."

———

Over the course of the next 48 hours, all six of the Hargreeves children had fallen ill.

Klaus had been the first to succumb due to his compromised immune system—from years worth of drugs and alcohol—at first he would be mildly startled when he'd sneeze or cough and a random ghost would appear in the corner of his room, but now he barely flinches.

Vanya caught the worst of it from Five, having to board up all of the windows in the house after she blew her nose once and all the glassware in the living room shattered. Allison suggested that she keep her breakable items in her room down the hall, as it was far enough to be out of the 'danger zone' as Diego liked to call it.

Next was Diego. Who was in the middle of training when he coughed and accidentally sent his knives hurdling towards Pogo as he watched from a distance. Thankfully, Pogo stepped out of the way before he was injured.

Five encountered the most issues as he continued to jump from one end of the house to the other with each cough and sneeze. At one point he found himself in Vanya's isolation chamber and decided to just lay down for a while, as he lacked the energy to jump back to his room.

Allison and Luther waited in the kitchen silently. Their powers accumulated less damaging issues, leaving them able to assist Grace and Pogo in caring for their siblings. Ultimately, Allison found Five asleep in Vanya's chamber after searching the entire academy for him when Grace stated that he wasn't in his room and didn't show up for supper.

Presently, Luther and Allison sit at the kitchen table--a cup of coffee in Luther's hands as he watched Allison's expressions as she sat in deep thought. The two had significantly less problems when they got sick, since their powers were easier to maintain. So, they volunteered to help Pogo and Grace with the others until they were all better.

Allison usually helps Pogo with checking vitals and temperatures while Luther helped Grace with meals in the kitchen. Luther decided the previous evening to help Pogo and let Allison take some time with Grace, knowing that Allison had a greater chance of getting sick from being around their siblings for more than a few minutes.

"Quit staring at me, Lu. I'm fine." Allison's voice catches Luther off guard and he's brought into focus. "I've been helping Pogo for three days now. If I were going to get sick, I already would have."

Luther sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He hadn't taken time to stop and think since the night everyone got sick. He'd been on his feet and endlessly worrying about his siblings and their powers--not that he'd ever admit it.

"Sorry. It's just a lot right now." Luther sips his coffee. "This hasn't happened since we were eight, and even then it was a lot to handle." Allison nods, understanding where her brother was coming from. Reginald would make them all train until they were too sick to continue.

And once the others were bed-ridden, Allison and Luther were forced to take up their training time by themselves—stopping only if they too became sick, or were injured to the point where training was no longer an option.

Both heads turn to the doorway, where a tired-eyed and groggy Klaus stands. He yawns, pulling his stuffed llama close to his chest and making his way over to the coffee pot.

Now, they may all be similar in age, but Klaus always had a child-like nature growing up. He always had a thing for stuffed animals or anything remotely soft when he wasn't feeling good.

There was one instance when he was grounded on their tenth birthday after calling Reginald an 'asshole' for yelling at Vanya for practicing her violin. He was forced to stay in his room while Grace took the other siblings to the fair.

Diego felt bad and brought Klaus the stuffed llama from the fair, saying the rainbow swirls and sparkles reminded him of him. Ever since then, 'Fruit' has been Klaus' comfort whenever he was down.

Klaus pours himself a cup of coffee and sits at the table next to Allison, proceeding to lean his head on her shoulder. "Al?" He whispers, earning a hummed response from his sister. "When do you think we're gonna be better?" Allison sighs, gently placing her hand on the top of Klaus' head to pet him lightly.

"Soon, I'm sure." Klaus hums, taking a long sip of his coffee. A few moments later, Five and Vanya stroll into the kitchen, shoulders covered in thick blankets to keep them warm in their pajamas. Vanya sits next to Luther, tugging the blanket closer with a sniffle.

Five attempts to jump to the coffee pot, only to fade from solid to translucent. He sighs and walks over to pour the remainder of coffee into his 'number five brother' mug. Vanya had scratched out the one and scribbled the five over as a joke when they were younger, but it easily became five's favorite mug.

"I guess we're all here, then" Klaus states as he sits up, holding Fruit in his lap. Five joins the siblings at the table, clutching his coffee like a lifeline. They sit in silence for a few moments before Grace and Pogo walk in, mildly shocked. It had been almost two weeks since the siblings were all in the same room together.

Grace takes it upon herself to prepare a brunch for the family, hoping none of their powers spaz while she has the knives out. Pogo sits at the head seat, looking over the siblings to make sure they were well enough to sit together. "I presume you are all feeling better?" He questions. All six siblings nod in response.

"Scrambled or Over Easy?" Grace asks from the stove, having just placed a carton of eggs on the counter before buttering the pan. She already knows the sibling's preferences, but she always asks to make sure. After receiving answers, she proceeds with cooking.

The siblings begin to converse, talking about their week in isolation or dreams they had. Pogo listens in silently, occasionally adding to the conversation but mainly enjoying seeing the siblings together and happy.

They spend a couple hours just talking and laughing and being a family. After brunch, the siblings go up to the living room to watch a movie. And by three in the afternoon, they're all feeling better. Pogo still suggests that they stay inside one more day so that he can be sure that the sickness has passed.

That evening, they gather in the living room once again to decorate for the holiday season. After a couple of bottles of wine and so many cookies the siblings crash on the couch and floor in front of the fireplace and twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. Pogo and Grace stand in the foyer, overlooking the siblings sleeping in the living room.

"I suppose we'll leave them be." He suggests. Grace nods her head and accompanies Pogo upstairs so that they, too can go to sleep. After all, they'll have a long day tomorrow.

“Achoo!”

#hargreeves siblings #not canon #our six super-powered babies #sick!au #the umbrella academy #incorrect umbrella acadamy #fruit the llama #chaotictua writes

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ververa · 4 years ago

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Unspoken Words

A/N: Alright, so first things first, story time. I had this idea... I wasn’t going to write it, because whenever I write for Ellie Staple I get carried away. If you know, you know (if you don’t, just read Asylum) Anyways I spent a whole night telling my best friend all about it. And in the end I had to write it for the sake of my own peace. And I did. I wrote it, but then I was resistant to post it, because I feel like it’s kinda dark. But again my best friend told me how proud she is of me for accomplishing it and other shit like that (yes, I’m a sucker for such things) and then @misssmephisto shared her opinion and they both convinced me to post it. So, many thanks to them both!!! It’s been a while since I wrote for my baby Ellie Staple and I almost forgot how much I like it.

As for you, petals, I hope you’ll enjoy it! Please, let me know what you think about this one <3

Dr Ellie Staple x fem!reader

Word count: ~4000

Warnings: mention of death I guess

The day she thought everything ended was actually only the beginning. The very beginning of real struggle she wasn't prepared for. The struggle she didn't expect. The danger she wasn't aware of. Of course, she knew what kind of consequences the failure could bring. Yet she hadn’t considered failure an option. It had never happened before. The Organization never lost, not until the last mission. Her mission.

Ellie's hands were clenched on the steering wheel. She sighed looking at the files of documents on the passenger seat, before her gaze shifted to her reflection in the rearview mirror. She had been sitting in her car for over 30 minutes, doing nothing, but looking blankly at the passersby. How did it come to that? When did things go wrong? How could she not realize it earlier? How could she be so oblivious? So blind? So stupid?

She was the one in charge. The boss, the coordinator of the operation. She was supposed to know it. She should have overseen it. Outsmart them. But she had not. She hadn’t, because she hadn’t been fully focused on her job. She had allowed herself to be distracted. She displayed a weakness and now was going to suffer the consequences. The damage was done. She knew the price. It was high. Too high at that point, yet it hadn’t occurred to her earlier. Not when she had gotten the offer to join the Organization, not when she signed the papers, not even when she had to give up on her own life. Until the very end she believed it was all worth it. But was it for real?

Ellie kept going over her papers, recalling everything she had done and replaying it in her mind. Every little detail. Minute by minute. Second by second. Over and over again. Trying to find the answers she needed so badly. Trying to figure out when she failed. When she made a mistake.

Each of her reports and research papers was impeccable. She remembered almost every word, the tiniest detail of each research, but it didn't mean a thing anymore. Not now, that the Organization was revealed. There was nothing left for her and as it turned out, she regretted only one thing. Just one. Her biggest regret - you.

Ellie never knew the realization of loss could be so violent. But it was. And the fact she didn’t have enough time to fix it hurt even more.

She wanted to get everything right. And the great idea of saving the world, the way of thinking she subscribed to - it seemed right. Though as the mission failed nothing seemed right anymore. At first Ellie was outraged, but that feeling subsided very soon. Sooner than she would like it to. Her rage gradually faded, turning into fear. She was terrified, especially that she knew exactly what was going to happen. And that… that was something her studies hadn’t prepared her for. Nothing could have prepared her for that. Nothing and no one could make her ready for death.

A part of her considered it a natural process, a natural course of events. After all no one could choose what would stay and what would fade away. But maybe she could? Not completely, but to some extent.

Her job had always been the priority. Ellie had always put it first. She always listened to her brain, never allowed herself to get carried away, never allowed her true feelings to display. Not until you. Her work might have been a priority, but you were everything in between. You were her thoughts. The space in her bed. Warm coffee in the morning. Quick kisses on the forehead. The warmth that she was coming back to every evening. The relief to her exhausted mind. The feeling she couldn't get enough off. The light of each day. You were her heart. But then you turned into her regret. Her biggest loss. The one mistake she wanted to fix. The only thing she needed to resolve before it was too late.

But what was she supposed to say? Ellie couldn’t find the answer to that question and she had less and less time. She needed some resolution. Some revelation. Someone to cure her from the grief. To bring her some relief. She desired just one more touch. One more taste of that heavenly, devouring rush. A vision of the start and the end. Just a little bit of you. That’s why she came, though she didn’t have enough courage to actually knock at your door.

But there you were - watching. Observing her. As you did for the past week.

"If the mission fails, kill the target" that was the order. But how could you kill the woman you used to call yours. The one and only who got to your heart and owned it. The one you'd take the bullet for, rather than pulling the trigger.

She took your heart with her that day. The day you two parted. And ever since you felt dead again. Numb, deprived of feelings, unable to separate the good and the bad. The line between the two had always been rather thin and blurry for you. That’s how they made you. Everything you knew was manufactured, fake. Everything, but Ellie. Everything, but what the two of you used to have. That feeling. The sensation. The only real emotion you knew. The only good thing in your life.

Everyone had always treated you as a monster, a heartless creature. Their perfect killing machine, programmed to destroy. To bring nothing, but chaos. The one to make peoples' biggest fears come out. Their perfect toy to play with anytime. Their weapon. Nothing more, nothing less. But not for Ellie.

Ellie was different. She might have worked with them, for them, but she wasn't like them. She was compassionate. She was good. Not flawless, but definitely not evil. Maybe lost. Maybe confused. But not evil. No, not her. She wasn't bad. Not your Ellie.

But was she still yours? Could you still call her your Ellie? You weren't sure of it. At that point you weren't sure of anything. The only thing you knew was that you couldn't do it. No power could make you pull the trigger. Nothing and no one could force you to do it. And that, the inability of following your order made you think that maybe, just maybe there still was another way. An escape. A solution that was yet to be found. The chances were slim to none, but you were a fighter. You were strong, resilient. Brilliant. Incredibly intelligent and completely focused. That's why you were so efficient. But that was only half of what you really were. What made you truly dangerous was the fact you were fearless. How could you ever be scared, when you were what they called fear. You made people scared and they had a good reason for it. You realized it. You hated it.

~~~

"What kind of superhero are you?" she asked you once when you were in her office

Ellie observed you. Carefully, warily. She registered every move. As if trying to figure you out. After all, it wasn't usual that patients came to her willingly, seeking help. None of them was aware of the fact they needed it. Was it possible then that you actually were?

"I'm not" you answered after a long pause, your voice was calm, clear and loud, but calm

The redhead looked into your eyes. Her stare was piercing, but she couldn't find anything behind your big, wide open eyes. How could she ever find anything in them when all they filled you with was nothingness in the first place.

"Who are you then?"

"A nobody"

Her eyes squinted, as she tried to come up with the right words. You appeared to be the most complex case she had ever encountered. And yet she was far from being scared. Ellie had never got scared of the unknown. The only thing she felt was curiosity and the need to explore. And that's what she did.

~~~

It had been almost a year since your ways parted. Breaking up wasn't something questionable. You were prepared for it. You knew it would happen eventually. The only thing you hadn't expected was that you'd miss her. You weren't supposed to feel - the same as you weren't supposed to fall. But you did and nothing was the same anymore. You happened to find love where it wasn't supposed to be. You found love in her and there was no talking sense to you.

Now the only option you had was to stand and fight. To protect your heart. To protect her, in hope she'd still want you. In hope she'd open her arms for you the way she used to. You wanted her to choose you, again. But you wanted her to choose you willingly and not for fear. You wanted her to want you the way she had wanted you back then. Because even under those circumstances, she had a choice. She always did. You always allowed her to decide and it wasn't going to be any different this time.

~~~

The thing that made your relationship work was that none of you asked questions. It was an unspoken rule that the two of you had. You never asked about Ellie's work and she never asked about yours. The moment you crossed the threshold of the apartment your work stopped existing. Stepping in you were leaving everything else behind. Your work and problems stayed outside. There were only the two of you. No questions, no doubts, no explanations, no complications. Only you and Ellie living an ostensibly normal life. None of you ever had a problem with that. It seemed to be what you both needed - a hint of normality. Or rather the illusion of it.

That's how it was. And it was good. At least you thought so. You were both rather content with the way your relationship worked. Though even the strongest feelings, the greatest love couldn't be built on the cornerstone made of lies and understatements. You knew it. You ignored it. Was it easier that way? No. But it was safer.

And so you didn't ask and neither did Ellie.

You didn't ask even when she was spending whole nights at her clinic. You didn't ask even when she disappeared for a few days. Work. That was the only answer and you got it. You understood it and accepted it, because it was the same with you.

Ellie didn't ask what had happened when you came back with a black eye. She didn't ask any questions even when your whole body was bruised, when you were all sore, when you hurt to the point you could barely move - because something on the way to accomplishing your order had gone wrong. She never asked. She knew she couldn't, because then you would ask too.

And so you both remained silent. Choosing oblivion over the truth. Opting for sweet, little lies. Deciding to live in your illusionary, safe world that the two of you built inside the walls of your apartment.

~~~

Ellie took a deep breath as she got out of the car. Finally making up her mind, gathering what was left of her courage to face you. She moved towards the entrance of the building. Slowly, cautiously, pressing her briefcase to her chest, looking over her shoulder every so often, as if waiting for something or someone. She looked tired. Tired and worried, petrified you would dare to say. Ellie never displayed that kind of feeling. She always held everything inside, just like you did. But at that point it wasn’t possible for her. She tried, she truly did, but you knew she was on the verge of breaking down. She knew what was going to happen and so did you. It was inevitable. She was aware of it and that was scaring her. She didn’t realize you were there. She couldn’t know it. The same as she couldn’t know it was inevitable for most, but not for her. Not until you were alive. Not until she was under your protection.

Ellie hoped to remain inconspicuous as she entered the hotel lobby. She knew it was your new home. She hoped to find you there and that’s what she was focused on at that moment. But it was until she noticed the man in a long, black coat following her. And then she noticed another man - dressed in a military green coat. He stood over the corner, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching her. But Ellie wasn’t stupid. She knew better. She was preparing to run, hoping she’d make it to you in time, when she felt a hand on her lower back.

Her eyes widened. There was only one person in the world, who would dare to hold her that way. Yet she didn’t turn, in case she was wrong.

“Stay cool” she heard you whisper into her ear, your warm breath tickling her cheek and just for a moment she allowed herself to close her eyes and enjoy a few seconds of comfort your touch provided. It was the relief she needed and you were there to grant it, as you always did. She never knew how you were doing this, you just seemed to know exactly when she needed you the most.

~~~

Even though Ellie loved her job and was completely dedicated to her patients, it wasn’t always easy. As a matter of fact, it never was. She often found herself getting mad over stupid, minor things only because something hadn’t gone as planned at the hospital. She was struggling. Her work started reminding a jungle rather than a specialized clinic. Her patients didn’t cooperate and began slipping out of control. She was tired and mad. She needed to be in control all the time, no matter what.

“Good morning” you said, entering the kitchen. Ellie didn’t even look at you. She knew you said something, but was too lost in her thoughts, desperately trying to find the solution, to register and comprehend your words.

She stood at the window, observing a busy street. Her thoughts on the loop. It happened quite often - her losing the connection with reality, getting lost in her imaginary world. But that was her way of solving problems. By creating different scenarios in her head and replying them over and over again, until she found the one that worked out the way she wanted it to. You knew her habits. You knew her inside out, even the darkest corners of her mind, which she unintentionally reached pretty often. That’s when you stepped in. Somehow you just knew not only when you ought to do it, but also how to keep her grounded.

“Coffee?” you asked offering her a mug with the beverage and placing your other hand on her lower back

Ellie looked at you. She didn’t answer, just nodded and offered you a small smile. She took the mug from you and as you made sure she was holding it, you wanted to go away.

“Y/N” you stopped, when she called your name

“Yes?”

“Stay?” it came off more as a question. Ellie wasn’t the type to ask for affection or attention - you knew.

“Of course” you smiled sitting on the couch and opening your arms for her

Ellie put the coffee down on the table, before sitting in your lap. There was no place she’d rather be than in your arms.

~~~

“C’mon, we need to go” you brought her back to the cruel reality “We’ll use the stairs instead of the elevator, for…” you hesitated, paused, trying to find the right word “...safety. Now, let’s go. Second floor. Room 46”

Ellie nodded, immediately complying to the order. You let her go first, making sure she was safe. You watched the men out of the corner of your eye. You knew the management’s decision. You knew that Ellie with all her knowledge and experience was now considered a threat. She couldn’t be controlled anymore and they had nothing to lose, so they decided to get rid of her. You knew all their motives, you knew more than they thought you did. You had expected they would send others for her, but you hadn’t really had the time to think it all over. You didn’t manage to come up with a good enough plan that would allow your both to stay safe. But you couldn’t think about it now. You had to keep going.

You locked the door, then quickly moved to curtain the windows. Ellie observed you. She still wasn’t aware of many things, but you knew she’d figure them out soon. You understood you didn’t have much time before Ellie would put two and two together. You kept moving nonetheless and Ellie kept watching you. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say or if she should say anything. You were moving fast. You opened the wardrobe, then took a white shirt and a pair of black jeans. You handed them to Ellie.

“Change!” you said, not even looking at her. You wanted to, but you couldn’t. You knew that if you do, you’d be both in even more trouble. There was no time for explanation.

Ellie looked at the white shirt, it was your favourite. She still remembered.

~~~

Ellie was sitting in the armchair. A glass of wine in one of her hands, a book in the other. Yet she paid no attention to it. She was watching you. A small smile forming on her face, as she observed your moves. You were ironing your shirt. You were doing it for the past 20 minutes. Repeating the action multiple times, because it being smoothed wasn’t enough. It had to be perfect. Perfectly smoothed.

Ellie tilted her head to the side, so that she could have a better view of your face. You were so focused. So invested in the process as if your life depended on it. You were a perfectionist. Always so fastidious and precise. She shook her head and chuckled, as you were about to start all over again.

“Y/N, it’s the fifth time. It’s smoothed already. Leave it”

“It’s not good enough. It’s still wrinkled...”

“It’s not” Ellie put her book and the glass of wine down “Let me help you” she said stopping next to you, waiting for your permission

You looked at her, unsure of what to do. You didn’t like others touching your things. She knew it.

“C’mon, Y/N, it’s just a shirt”

“It’s my favourite” you admitted, shyly, as if you were ashamed

Ellie smiled. Her hand moved to your cheek and gently caressed it.

“I’ll be careful then” she said, kissing your forehead

~~~

As she stood there, now dressed in your clothes, taking in your scent - that she missed so much, it suddenly hit her that she had never tried to figure out why you were that way. She had never wondered where all your excessive habits came from. And she knew for a fact there had to be a good reason, a serious cause of them, but it wasn’t the right time to ask. There was no time to ask. And she wasn’t sure if she still had the right to demand any answers.

At that point you were both on the edge of basically everything. Though you couldn’t think of your past, not now, when your present was so screwed up. There was no time for questions and explanations. They wouldn’t change anything anyways.

Deep inside you both knew you’d have to talk about it. To have that kind of conversation you both dreaded of so much. The one full of questions to which you would have to provide answers, whether you liked it or not. Regardless of how ugly the truth was. But it wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the right time and place. For now you and your wellbeing were hanging on mutual trust. The moment of truth would come in time. You knew it. You agreed on that the second your eyes met, as you both stood in the middle of the room. It was another unspoken agreement. Another deal you two made. But at that moment you didn’t need words to understand each other. There was only one thing on your mind - to make it through.

“You’ll be fine” you said, not sure if you were talking to Ellie or to yourself. She nodded.

“We’ll be fine” she said, carefully reaching for your hand.

That was another feature of your relationship. You never spoke too much. You never truly allowed yourselves to be completely open with each other. You couldn’t. But you still were close. Granting each other comfort. A hint of understanding and sympathy. That’s why you always held each other - whether it was holding hands, resting your hand on her lower back or her placing her hand on your thigh. The simple gestures were your own way of communicating, of releasing unspoken words, of telling each other “I’m here” “I care” “You’re not alone”. It was as simple and complicated as that.

There was a lot happening at once. A lot to face. A lot to deal with. Though you knew for sure that as long as they didn’t separate you, you two would be fine. You knew you would manage to find a way. To resolve the situation. After all, it was only the beginning.

Tag list: @midnight-lestrange, @natasha-danvers, @stopkillinglilyrabe, @welshdragonrawr, @saucy-sapphic, @yang12e, @xixxiixx

#dr. ellie staple #ellie staple x reader #dr ellie staple x reader #glass movie #ellie staple #sarah paulson #sarah paulson imagine #glass imagine #glass fanfiction

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championofsanghelios · 4 years ago

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Sidlink Story - “Seeing Red.”

Link was in trouble...to put it mildly. Since arriving at the border with Zorana he’d been aware of eyes on his back, a group of 3 or 4 Lizalfos were stalking him, following some distance behind, on the higher ground. It was a strange situation to be in, and one he’d only encountered twice before.

Lizalfos weren’t exactly clever creatures when it came to combat, the only time they’d actually get a strike would be if he wasn’t aware they were there. That being said, they weren’t exactly subtle either.

He knew they were following him, and he got the distinct impression that they had enough collective brain-cells between them to know that he did and were just waiting for the right moment to pounce.

He’d been ambushed on this road several times before, so it wasn’t new to him. That still didn’t make the prospect any less daunting however. One moment it would be quiet and peaceful, the next there would be a number of reptiles scuttling down the mountain-sides with the intentions of killing, then eating him.

...okay maybe that last part was made up, he really wasn’t sure if Lizalfos ate people. But it was a fair assumption regardless. All those teeth, they looked like crocodiles, or very angry over-sized geckos.

... The Domain was visible just above the mountains in the distance, something that under normal circumstances would have been a major comfort for Link. But right now...with all these eyes watching him, he felt it was more of a reminder of how quickly he had to move, and where he needed to get to before those reptiles decided it would be a good idea to charge him.

Often times he’d come upon a Guard Sentry, or a patrol on the roads, but tonight...for whatever reason...there weren’t any to be seen. He’d hoped to have spotted some on the few towers dotted around the territories border, and inlaying hills, but again those were empty.

Bazz must have had them all recalled for something, or perhaps it was just too quiet a night for them to worry about security? King Dorephan had been lifting the lock downs on the border slowly over the last few months...this could be the result of that.

But surely they wouldn’t leave their borders undefended...would they? There was always some sort of presence, some reminder that there was in fact an ancient monarchy in these mountains, and a culture so unfathomably old, nobody dared comprehend it unless they were crazy, or studying Zoran history.

It’s at this point that something occurs to him, something that is so obvious and so ridiculously simple that he can’t help the muttered curse he gasps out as he stops in his tracks.

The Domain had a shrine located inside it. Sure he rarely used his Shiekah Teleport out of a preference for real travel, but just this once...it seemed a reasonable choice to make. “You’re an idiot, Link.” he mutters to himself, reaching down under the cloak he’s got over his shoulders and pulls out the slate. He reaches up with his left hand and pulls back his hood, getting a better look at the screen as it lights up. “Now then...which one was it again?” He swipes at the screen for a second, looking for the area on his map that he’d labeled rather hastily “ZORAHS DOMANE”...he liked to think his spelling had improved since those early days.

Just as he finds it and presses his thumb over it, something races past his right ear, so close that he feels it brush past. Glancing in that direction, his view fills with the face of a Lizalfos Warrrior, it’s teeth bared and it’s tongue stuck out in a loud, screeching hiss. The next thing he knows is pain, and the sensation of falling. He hits the ground hard, the slate tumbling out of his hand and bouncing across the path ahead. A pain splits across his chest and it’s hard to breathe, though he suspects he’d just winded himself from the fall. Almost immediately after that, adrenaline kicks in and he leaps up onto his feet, pulling out the Master Sword from over his left shoulder and readying it for a fight. However there’s an empty space where the Lizalfos had been.

He looks to the left and the right suddenly, gasping as he sees no movements, and hears no sounds. That leaves only his rear flank-

Turning on the spot, he’s struck against this time by an arrow that impacts the leather chest-plate he has over his tunic. He feels the rather uncomfortable thrum of electricity that pulses through it, but other than that, no real damage is done.

The Lizalfos from before is now charging him, it had seemingly come out of nowhere. He raises the Master Sword, blocking a strike from it, then another, and another. This was usually something that came second nature to him...but this time something wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t move his arms in the same way he usually did, his strength had diminished almost instantly and with each strike from the reptile, it got harder and harder to maintain a proper defense. ...and then the Master Sword is knocked from his hand. A nightmare scenario was now unfolding. He had been ambushed, was loosing strength due to something he wasn’t aware of, and now he’d been disarmed. Most ordinary people would just accept their fate at this point...but Link wasn’t most ordinary people.

He instead decides to use his body to dodge the attacks that come. Stepping back and jumping to the side whenever he can. This becomes harder and harder to do as time passes and when he finally does jump, only to fall onto his side, he can see why. The source of his weakness was finally visible to him. He’d been sliced along his right side, and was loosing blood fast. If there was ever a time to regret leaving his rucksack in Castle Town...it would be now. This was supposed to be an uneventful trip from one placer to another. And this is what he gets for assuming it would be. Someone up there must really hate him. The pack of reptiles were now appearing around him. He let’s out a pathetic wheezed breath and rolls onto his back, coughing a few times. One of them wastes no time pressing it’s large, left foot against his chest, holding him down.

All of it’s weight comes down on him, and it’s not a light creature by any means. What little air was left in his lungs comes out almost instantly, and the more he tries to breathe, the harder it gets. The next few seconds feel like an eternity, but thankfully the lack of air makes hims light-headed and almost numbs the pain from his wounds. Then again that could still be the adrenaline in his system. ...then something happens. There’s a movement to the left, his ears still able to pick the noise up despite his condition. This is followed, by what can only be described as a blur of red, passing across his visual field.

The Lizalfos whose blurry, dark shape had been present over him had disappeared, and the muffled noises that followed suggested it had been attacked by something. “Good” Link thought to himself, his eyes re-adjusting slightly as he takes in a desperate, gasping breath, and rolls onto his side, hand glued to his chest. “At least karma was on his side.”

He blinks a few times, his vision starting to clear a little. He makes out the shape of the Master Sword on the ground nearby, and with immense strain, starts to slowly haul himself towards it. As his hand takes a grip of the pommel, something trips over his left leg, and lands to his right. He looks back at one of the Lizalfos who had attacked him, as a Sword is stabbed through it’s chest. It let’s out an ear piercing squeal, before it’s eyes cloud over and it lays still.

This is followed by a set of muffled voices, and the next thing Link is aware of is someones hand on his right shoulder. He summons just enough strength to grab the Master Sword and pulls it with him as he’s turned on the ground. The pathetic swipe he tries to make is blocked by something thick and metallic, an arm, protected by metal plating, Zoran in design. His eyes shift to the face just behind it...and almost immediately his grip on the Master Sword goes lax. Sidon catches the blade before it hits him and does him any more injury, placing it gently to the side. “You’re alright, Link! You’re safe. I’ve got you!” ... Link let’s out a groan as he comes back to his senses, taking in a deep breath, he immediately notes a familiar scent, a fresh, clean smell that reminded him of a spring morning. He lifts his head slowly, his eyes stinging when the light hits him. His arms were being held around something in front of him. Something warm, something delightfully familiar. “You’re awake...” Sidon says, his head turning slightly to the right. He’d picked the Hylian up after he found him and slung him over his back. “...good. I was worried you may have been worse than you looked.” “...where-” Link’s voice was dry and groggy. He had basically zero strength at the moment, and basic things such as speaking were difficult. “We’re just arriving at the Domain.” Sidon says. Link looks around from his perch on the Prince’s back, he could see Tarquin and Bazz up ahead, the two of them leading the other soldiers. Sidon himself was wearing a set of armor he’d never seen before, spare one occasion after the Calamity had been sealed away. It was like the other guards sets, but had all sorts of engravings on the chest-plate and cauldrons. He wasn’t wearing the hood though, it would seem the shape of his head-tail didn’t allow for one to fit. “The one day I am commanding drills...and you decide to get ambushed on the road in.” Sidon says, there wasn’t any disappointment or anger in his tone, but it didn’t make Link feel any better. “Sorry...” he breathes, allowing his chin to rest on his shoulder. “Should have used the...tele...porter...thing.” “Oh don’t worry about that.” he sees the Prince’s head shake out of his peripherals. “I’m just glad we found you before those beasts finished you off.” “Thank you...” Link whispers next. “I’ll hear nothing of it.” Sidon says. “And fear not. You’re safe now. The Healers will be waiting for us when we arrive...for now, just try and rest.” ...

#sidlink #link #prince sidon #bazz #link gets into trouble allot #sidon worries about sed trouble #i wrote this instead of sleeping #loz #botw #sidon4smashLOL

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scripttorture · 4 years ago

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(Villain story PT 1) My story is about two enemies/villains. Character A is tortured by B as punishment for harming a friend of B. A escapes and tortures B for retaliation (other people who have been wronged by character B also help character A do that). A and B are not directly involved in each other's tortures but they know who is responsible for their punishment. Later, A and B come closer to each other's side and start to compromise their politics. They also come closer as people.---

(Villain story PT 2) They also come closer as people. They realize they think alike. They don't have regrets about the torture they did to one another but they don't want to repeat it. Later there is some atonement for their actions. I am doing the trope "enemies to friends" but with both characters having a twisted mentality (aka "it's fine if you come closer to your torturer"). (Villain story PT 3) However, I don't imply that torture is something light or harmless or that it's natural for someone to be kind to their torturer. i also don't try to excuse the actions of the torturers.I am worried if with this story I present torment in the wrong way. Any commentary or advice? Thank you!

OK I think I understand what you’re going for here.

I’m going to start off by saying that I don’t think there’s anything wrong in writing ‘bad’ characters. Or characters who believe in stuff that’s awful, stupid or just plain wrong. If you want to write unhealthy relationships, characters making bad decisions or characters having rare/unusual responses there’s nothing inherently wrong with that.

The issues come when we start teaching people these things are ‘normal’, that survival should look a certain way or that a particular kind of trauma ‘wasn’t that bad’.

Sometimes that stuff can be very subjective, so this is always a learning process.

But this isn’t about telling people to stop writing particular plots or characters. It’s about the problems that come when fiction is the only source people see for something real and complex and misunderstood.

I don’t have a problem with authors breaking from reality; it’s called fiction for a reason. The problem is when we present a potentially damaging fiction as fact and do so in an environment which makes finding the facts almost impossible.

I talk about what is or isn’t realistic often because I think it’s important that we understand the reality. We get better stories when the writers are aware of how and where they’re deviating from reality. We get more compassionate stories when writers take the time to think about what those breaks from reality imply.

I don’t think you’ve chosen a plot that’s inherently torture apologia but it could stray close to some of the common misconceptions about torture. And you’ve recognised that, which means you’re thinking about it critically. That’s a really important step.

First off in this kind of scenario it’s worth distinguishing the torturer from the person who ordered torture.

You’ve made it clear that neither of these characters actively tortures the other. They order it but it isn’t even clear if they’re in the same room when the abuse takes place. And I think that gives you a lot more leeway.

I don’t know of a single case where a survivor and their torturer (ie someone who directly, actively tortured them) became friends or had any sort of positive relationship afterwards.

There are abuse cases where the survivor and abuser have gone on to have a healthy and mostly positive relationship afterwards. It’s rare*, but it does happen.

The thing is abusers usually have an established prior relationship with their victim. Torturers don’t. The most I’ve found is a couple of cases where they were vague acquaintances before hand; I’ve yet to find a case where torturer and victim were actually close beforehand.

What I’m saying here is that generally there isn’t a reason for survivors to want anything to do with their torturers in any capacity. And there are a lot of good reasons for them to not want to be near their torturer.

There aren’t a lot of accounts of survivors encountering their torturers afterwards. The ones that I have found-

Well Fanon describes one that happened in his hospital. Both torturer and survivor had a panic attack. The survivor ran into a bathroom and tried to commit suicide.

Hospital staff managed to convince both of them that they were mistaken about who they thought they saw (a decision Fanon justified as being the only way they could continue to access the treatment they needed). They rearranged the schedules to make sure they never encountered each other again.

I’ve read more recent accounts that were by survivors. Most of them seem to be describing panic attacks or at the very least, extreme distress on the part of the survivor.

That’s partly in response to the torturer in a way that’s beyond the control of both individuals. But it’s also partly because of the attitude torturers typically seem to have to their own crimes.

I’ll pre-face this by saying we really need more research on torturers. At the moment there isn’t a lot in the way of good quality long term studies. Based on the information we have now torturers seem to struggle to understand the scale and impact of their crimes. Some of them do express regret. Some of them will admit that what they did was wrong.

But they might also say (example taken from one of the survivors accounts and paraphrased) ‘Well I served my time in jail so you shouldn’t have a problem with me any more. I have as much right to be here as you do.’

As you might imagine this sort of attitude and lack of understand tends to make a healthy or positive relationship less likely.

As I said, I never heard of a case where a survivor and their torturer had a positive relationship afterwards and I think that it’s extremely unlikely.

But the survivor and the person who ordered torture… that is potentially a different story.

People who order torture usually aren’t present when torture occurs. They don’t exist in the toxic torturer sub-culture these organisations have. They are not typically at risk from the torturers in their organisation. And since they don’t typically witness torture they’re not going to develop the mental health problems torture typically causes.

And because they’re not typically present when torture is actually happening there’s less chance that a survivor is going to feel triggered by their presence. They might blame them, they might hate them. But the visceral response they have when seeing their torturer doesn’t seem to be there, as far as I can tell from what I’ve read.

I think that difference, that distinction, gives you a fair amount of leeway. Because a person can know, logically, that the head of the organisation that tortured them is ultimately responsible for their torture and still not have the same level of emotional response or distress.

Because they weren’t part of the toxic sub-culture torturers create in organisations, a person who ordered torture is less likely to have the same attitude towards their crimes. I can’t say for certain that they’d have greater insight or perspective into what they did; there’s even less research on them then on torturers.

But I think they’d be able to denounce, regret or move away from torture with less personal risk. They’re not going to lose their whole social circle for saying torture should stop. And they’re unlikely to be physically attacked by their peers for it.

I still think that gaining that insight, that understanding of the scale and impact of their crimes, would be difficult and unlikely. But my instinct is that it would be more likely in someone who is at a remove from torture then in someone who was actually a torturer.

Showing that torture is serious is more about how you portray the effects then how you have the characters’ relationships developing. It’s about showing consistently showing the effects symptoms have on the characters’ lives.

Having more survivors then just these two characters could serve to highlight that this relationship isn’t usual, as well as underlining that people’s responses are very varied.

If you make the effort to show, consistently, that both the main characters and any secondary survivor characters are effected by what they went through then you should avoid downplaying the damage torture causes.

You’ve probably already picked out the 3-5 symptoms you want your main characters to experience. Decide what those problems look like for them and show those problem consistently even when the character is improving.

The story I’m writing at the moment has a character with a minor brain injury and part of the symptom set I gave him involved having lower inhibitions. Which in this character looks like a complete lack of brain-mouth filter, he says what’s on his mind constantly. And he does get better at managing his disability through the course of the story but he still says the ‘wrong’ thing constantly. Which in turn impacts on his ability to relate to other people.

That’s the sort of thing you need in order to show the effects are serious: a commitment to showing them all the way through the story.

For instance if one of the characters has severe anxiety that gets set off by crowded spaces, improving and managing that condition might look like:

Rearranging their schedule to avoid places at the most crowded times

Medication to reduce the effects of panic attacks

Constantly using breathing exercises in crowded spaces (and possibly sounding a little strange when they talk as a result)

Sending other people to potentially crowded spaces in their place

Putting off or cancelling things if a place seems too crowded for them

Taking the rest of the day off to recover after going somewhere crowded

Any of those might lead to the net result of less panic attacks and overall improvement. But they’re still working around a serious condition. The fact the character has to make these adjustments constantly in their life means the condition is still there and still serious.

The rest of this is probably less about the overall themes or plot and more about how it comes across when it’s written.

I can’t give you a roadmap to a perfect story that no one will ever take issue with. That does not exist. Because every individual reader will bring something different when they sit down to read and they will take something different away too.

Getting beta readers can help with this, and help build your confidence. I’ve found in person (or in these days over skype) writing groups to be really useful.

You’re trying to do better and that is the main thing. You’ll learn in the process of writing this story and what you learn can feed into the next one.

This is a complex topic you’re tackling and your fear is natural. Do everything you can to do it justice, but give yourself permission to be imperfect. You’re only human. I assume.

I think the main thing to consider here is whether you’re portraying what happens with these characters as ‘normal’ or not. Because however you look at it this is an unusual outcome. I think you know that and I get the impression from the ask that you’re not trying to portray this as the ‘usual’ or ‘correct’ response. You’re just trying to tell a story that interests you using an unusual response. Nothing wrong with that.

Implications and atmosphere can be hard to get right. They take practice. Having someone else read over the story can help confirm that scenes are coming across the way you intend them to.

Once again I think having other examples of survivors will help you avoid any suggestions that survivors ‘should/naturally are’ kind to the people who ordered them to be tortured. Showing symptoms consistently should also help you avoid excusing the torture. Especially if that effects the relationship that’s building between these two characters.

Take your time. Take breaks. Read your own writing critically and think about what you might be implying with each scene. Get second opinions to make sure it’s coming across as you’d like it to.

I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*The fact that it can happen is occasionally used to encourage victims to stay in dangerous situations on the off chance they might be able to ‘fix’ their abuser. This is, of course, dangerous rubbish.

#writing advice #tw torture #tw abusive relationships #writing survivors #writing torturers #writing witnesses #writing recovery #people who order torture #torture apologia #torture survivors and relationships #torture is not safe #writing symptoms #effects of torture #behaviour of tortures #enemies to friends #not sure what to tag this

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rimmers-swimming-certificate · 5 years ago

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Red Dwarf fanfic - Patience

The sleeping quarters on the new ship were bigger and a little more luxurious than the ones that Rimmer remembered. The last time he had been on Red Dwarf, or at least on Red Dwarf in this universe, it had been very different. This was an entirely new, upgraded model, rebuilt by nanobots for reasons that Rimmer still didn’t entirely understand, and from what he had seen of it so far, it was the kind of ship a second technician would have dreamed of being assigned to. Everything about it was better. Even the vending machines were more intelligent, better stocked, and probably much less prone to clogging.

In many ways — actually, probably in every way — it was better than the ship they had used to call home, but it was better in that ‘nice but not yet familiar’ way that a new car was better. It was going to take time to figure out what all the fancy new buttons did, and where to find the headlights and the windscreen wipers. It was going to take time before it felt completely comfortable. As someone who had spent years hopping between dimensions and encountering things and people that were familiar, yet subtly different from the ones that he knew, Rimmer was sure it was going to take time before it felt like home.

Lister didn’t seem to be having any such trouble. Of course, he had a head start on getting used to the place. To Rimmer’s relief, Lister, unlike the ship, hadn’t changed one bit. A little older, maybe, but otherwise identical in every way to the man that Rimmer remembered. He lounged slobbily on a sofa at the other side of the room, humming a tuneless tune under his breath as he casually flicked through the well-thumbed pages of a magazine aimed at women half his age and filled with celebrity gossip over three million years out of date.

All around him was a growing collection of junk. He had, predictably enough, already started to fill every available surface of the living area, and part of the floor, with things he had found around the ship. As though he sensed Rimmer watching him, Lister lowered the magazine and glanced over at him. “Hey,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased to see him. “You’re back in blue.”

Rimmer looked down at his clothing. It had been time. Now that the other Rimmer had left, and taken the Wildfire with him, it was official: he was himself again. It felt good; familiar, like putting on a comfortable pair of old shoes. Ace’s clothes had never felt like that. He nodded.

“What are you doing standing in the doorway?” Lister asked.

Rimmer took a few steps into the room, to allow the door to close behind him. “Just thinking I should get my stuff out of storage,” he said. He made a show of looking at the assorted junk. “While there’s still somewhere left to put it.”

Lister nodded. “You’re still planning on bunking with me then?” he asked.

Honestly, it had never even occurred to Rimmer not to. The ship certainly had enough quarters to spare; they didn’t need to be living in each other's pockets, but he just couldn’t imagine living any other way. For all he had used to complain about Lister's snoring, he had still occasionally had trouble drifting off to sleep on the Wildfire because it was too quiet. For years, when he had woken up in the middle of the night after a bad dream, or had some funny thought occur to him as he drifted off to sleep, he had instinctively tried to talk to Lister about it only to find himself alone.

He shrugged, attempting to give the impression that he didn’t mind one way or another. “Yeah, I’ll probably stick around here,” he said. A horrible thought occurred. He had just assumed he would be welcome, Lister had certainly seemed pleased to have him back on the ship, but what if he wanted his own space? “I mean… If that’s okay with you of course,” he added.

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Lister told him. “I’ll help you move your stuff out of storage in the morning.” He grinned widely. “It’s not the same around here without your swimming certificates and newspaper clippings brightening the place up.”

Rimmer breathed a silent sigh of relief. “He didn’t have swimming certificates then?” he asked. “The other me?” He tried to keep the jealousy out of his voice, but he heard it anyway. It had been a shock to return home to find another Rimmer, a living Rimmer, no less, in his place. Not only a shock, but confusing too. For a time, he had been convinced that the computer was wrong and he had landed in the wrong dimension.

“Yeah, he did,” Lister told him. “But he took them with him.”

Rimmer nodded. He hadn’t had the opportunity to do that. When he had left, only Lister had known the truth, the others had thought he had died. It would have given the game away if Ace, who had happened to be there at the time, had mysteriously decided to take all of Rimmer’s keepsakes with him when he had headed back out into the unknown.

“I still can’t believe you convinced him to go,” Lister added. “I mean, considering how much work it was to get you to take the plunge. And he was a version of you with no experience at all of parallel universes and no clue about half the smeg he might run into out there.” Lister shook his head in apparent amazement. “When I first met him I thought he was exactly the same as you; you before you died, I mean. He changed a bit while we were in prison, loosened up a bit, if you can believe it, but I figured maybe not having to worry about duties and exams and all that stuff was good for him. Now, I think maybe he was different all along. I mean, he must’ve been, right?”

“How should I know?” Rimmer snapped. Honestly, he hadn’t known him well enough to say. For some reason though, it made him feel better that there might be differences between them. “He never met the real Ace. Maybe not knowing what an insufferable git he was helped.” Not knowing what he might run into out there had probably been a factor too. Rimmer wondered whether he should feel guilty about that. He hadn’t lied exactly, but he had emphasised having his own ship and being a hero side of things over the dangers.

Lister shook his head. “I don’t get it, Rimmer. You were Ace. How can you still hate him?”

“Easily,” Rimmer said. “Sticking on a wig and doing a silly voice doesn’t change who you are, you know. I wasn’t Ace, I was an Ace, just like your other Rimmer is now.”

Lister shrugged, then nodded. “Fair enough.”

Rimmer cleared his throat and folded his arms nervously across his chest. “Are you going to miss him?”

“Ace?”

“The other me.” What he really wanted to ask was, ‘did you miss me?’, but he couldn’t ask that. He couldn't bear it if the answer was no.

Lister frowned thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s only been a couple of days since he left,” he said. “And I’ve got you back… I mean we’ve got you back, so it’s not the same as when you left.” He shrugged. “But yeah, I probably will, a bit.”

Rimmer nodded. That was good. Someone should, and he knew that the others wouldn’t. He brushed a hand down his uniform tunic, then glanced around the room again. “Nice junk collection,” he said.

“It’s not junk,” Lister told him. “It’s salvage.”

“Salvage means things rescued from a shipwreck, Lister. This is junk you found while rooting through the belongings of your former crewmates.”

“Yeah well whatever it is, don’t worry I’ll make room for your stuff,” Lister promised. “You’re lucky it’s all still there, by the way. The others wanted to throw it out.”

A stab of irritation struck him at the thought of that. “Throw it out? My stuff? Why?”

“They thought you were dead, man.” Lister shrugged. “And I guess they’re not as sentimental as I am.”

Translation: they hated him, and they had wanted to get rid of any reminders of his existence. They had probably tried to eject it from an airlock the instant he had left the ship.

“We were still all living on Starbug at the time, don’t forget.” Lister added. “We didn’t have as much room and, well, most of it wasn’t stuff we had any use for.” Lister hesitated. “I think Cat might have been interested in Rachel, but don’t worry, I kept her safe for you.”

A muscle began to twitch just below his left eye at the thought of Cat and Rachel. Not that he had touched her since well before he had died, not even after he had got his hard light drive. Lister was right; Starbug was small, and he wouldn’t have been able to bear the embarrassment of someone walking in on them. He couldn’t imagine wanting to try it now, either. Rachel had been good to him, but it was over between them. Still, the thought of Cat touching her turned his stomach. “Thanks,” he said.

Lister nodded. “Maybe in return you can tell me a bit about what you got up to while you were off being a hero.”

Rimmer didn’t reply. He glanced around the room, looking for a way to change the subject. He strode over to a shelf filled with Lister’s things and picked up a packet of playing cards. The backs of the cards showed soft porn images of women, and he knew instantly that Lister had liberated them from Petersen’s quarters. He quickly checked the pack for anything disgusting, Finding it clean, he held it up to Lister. “Fancy a game?” he asked.

Lister looked at him suspiciously. “I’m going to get it out of you, Rimmer.”

“It’s not a secret,” Rimmer insisted. “I’ve just got back. Give me some time to be myself again before you make me talk about pretending to be him. Now, gin rummy?” he suggested. “Speed? Or how about snap?”

Lister shook his head, still looking suspicious. “Not with those cards. They’re useless. Every single one has a different picture on the back, so all you have to do is memorise which set of breasts belongs to each card. I’ll play later though, with a real pack. In fact, let's have a poker night tonight. All four of us. It’s been a while.”

Rimmer nodded. A quick glance at the deck confirmed that Lister was correct about the cards. He shuffled the assorted sets of breasts, sat down at the table and started to deal himself a game of patience.

“What’re you doing?” Lister asked.

Rimmer glanced over at him again. The magazine was discarded on the floor now, next to a dirty, curry-smeared plate and one — not a pair, just one — dirty sock. Lister was peering at him over the back of the sofa with apparent interest. “Patience,” Rimmer told him.

Lister got up from the sofa. He stepped around the magazine and old plate, and made his way over to the other side of the room, where he folded his arms and leaned against the wall, watching as Rimmer continued to arrange the cards on the table.

Rimmer watched him out of the corner of his eye, as he turned over a card and started to play. Lister continued to stare down at the game as though it was the most interesting thing that had happened aboard the ship in months, and it was a little distracting. “Lister, what are you doing?” Rimmer asked, finally.

“Watching you,” Lister told him.

Rimmer put down the card he had in his hand, and turned to look at him. “Yes, I can see that. What I meant was, why are you watching me?”

Lister shrugged. “I just wanted to see what you were going to do.”

Rimmer turned over another card. He couldn’t use it, so he dropped it on the reject pile and picked up another. “I told you what I’m doing. I’m playing patience.”

“Oh!” Lister grinned and shook his head. “Right, that makes sense. I thought you were telling me to be patient. I thought you were going to do something interesting.”

Rimmer looked up at him incredulously. “The game is called patience, Lister. You know, solitaire? Did you switch brains with the Cat while I was away or something?”

“No, I just…” Lister gave him an embarrassed grin. “I just thought maybe you were going to do a card trick or something.”

Rimmer turned over another card and placed it on top of one already on the table. “Lister, the whole time we’ve known each other, have you ever once seen me show the slightest interest in performing card tricks?”

“Well, no.” Lister pulled out the chair at the opposite side of the table and sat down. He looked down at the cards. “But you’ve been away a while, haven’t you? I figured maybe you picked it up while you were off being Ace.”

Rimmer turned over another card, placed it on the table and made several more moves. “I didn’t,” he said.

“Well you can’t blame me for not knowing that,” Lister told him. “You’ve been back nearly a whole week now and you’ve barely said a single word about what you got up to out there.”

“And so you leapt to the obvious assumption that I’d spent my time learning how to do sleight of hand tricks?”

“Well, no. Not until I thought you were about to do one.”

Rimmer shook his head dismissively and turned over another card in his game. “I did a lot while I was away,” he said. “Far too much to tell you about in just a week. Dozens of heroic rescues, overthrew a couple of fascist dictatorships, organised an uprising or two.” He shrugged in what he hoped was a modest way. “Nothing special.”

Lister smirked.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just you did that hair flick thing again. It just looks a bit silly when you don’t have the wig on.”

Had he? He hadn’t noticed. He glared at Lister, just on the off-chance that he was messing with him. “No I didn’t,” he said.

“Rimmer, you did. You do it about five times a day. Maybe you should just start wearing the wig again, at least that way you’d have enough hair to have to actually flick it out of your eyes.” He shrugged. “Or you could grow yours out.”

Rimmer shook his head. “Lister, there’s a reason that Ace decided to wear a wig; my hair just doesn’t do that. Anyway, I passed the wig on to the other Rimmer.” Like passing a baton in an endless relay race around the assorted parallel universes, he had handed over the wig to the living version of himself that the nanobots had created in his own universe, and sent him on his way. “And like I was saying, I did loads while I was away, and I’ll tell you about it one day. I’ve just been too busy settling back in.”

“Right, absolutely, makes sense,” Lister told him. “Well, except for the part where you haven’t even got your stuff out of storage yet. Anyway, you’re not busy now.”

He gritted his teeth. Technically, he supposed Lister was right; he wasn’t busy. That didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it. Not yet. One day, maybe. If it ever came up in conversation naturally, rather than when he was being grilled for information. And if it never did, well, maybe Lister would tire of asking after a few years. He pointed at the cards on the table. “I am busy.”

Lister looked decidedly unimpressed as he looked at the game. “Come on Rimmer, the only reason people play that is to kill time because they’re bored. And it’s not even a good way to kill time. Why don’t you watch a film or something, like a normal person?”

“I’m not ‘killing time’, Lister. I play because I enjoy it.”

Lister looked unconvinced. “Okay then, so how come I never saw you play it before?”

Rimmer turned over another card. “When did I have a chance before?” he asked. “Before I died I was always busy. When I wasn’t on duty, I was revising, or trying to convince you to pick up after yourself. I didn’t have a lot of time for sitting around playing games.”

“Yeah, okay.” Lister shrugged. “But I never saw you do it after the crew got wiped out either.”

Rimmer sighed in frustration and slammed another card onto the table. “Lister, why are you so interested in why I’m playing a game? I just wanted to.” God, Lister was infuriating. He could be a master irritant when he wanted to, skilled in the not so subtle art of being annoying. And what was worse, was that he revelled in it. Once he got an idea in his head, he would keep going until he got his way. Rimmer had missed him, more than he had ever realised he would, but he definitely hadn’t missed this. “Can’t you just smeg off and read your magazine, leave me to it?” he tried, knowing that Lister wouldn’t.

Lister didn’t smeg off. Instead, he tucked his chair a little further under the table, rested his chin in a hand and looked down at the cards on the table as though he were the one playing the game.

Rimmer watched him for a moment then sighed. “Fine. If you must know, the reason I didn’t play then, was because I was still soft light. Not being able to pick things up doesn’t exactly make it easy to play cards, you know. Just enlisting the skutters’ help to let me play poker was bad enough, and that doesn't take half the dexterity that this does.”

“Dexterity?” Lister shook his head dismissively. “I thought you said you weren’t doing card tricks. How much dexterity does it take to turn over a playing card and put it down in the right place?”

It took a lot more that Lister could ever realise, and a level that a skutter just didn’t possess. Not unless you were willing to spend about twenty minutes on every move. Rimmer shook his head. “Lister, until you know the frustration of spending hours coaching some idiot of a skutter to perform a simple task that should take two seconds, only to have to watch them screw it up over and over again, I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut on the subject.”

Lister looked at him, and for a moment Rimmer thought that he was going to argue. Instead, he frowned, then reached for the pile of cards. He moved slowly, as though paying attention to every minuscule movement of his hand and arm as his fingers slid the card from the top of the pile and turned it over. “Okay, yeah,” he said, and handed the card to Rimmer. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “It’s probably a bit like that fake arm Kryten gave me that one time,” he said. “Took me forever just to make the stupid thing pick up a smegging ball. Something like this? There’d have been no way.”

Rimmer looked up at him sharply. “What?”

“Well, until Kryten upped the sensitivity, but that wasn’t any good either, ‘cos then it had a mind of its own.”

Rimmer tried to make sense of what he was hearing, but he couldn’t. He looked at Lister, specifically at Lister’s arms; they both appeared normal. They were covered by the sleeves of his jacket, making it difficult to be sure, but as far as he could tell, they looked exactly the same as they had always done. He allowed his gaze to move to Lister’s hands, where he could see bare skin. They both looked fine too; completely normal. “Lister, what are you talking about?” he asked. “What fake arm?”

“Oh, right,” Lister said. “You weren’t here for that.” He shrugged like it was unimportant, and pointed to one of the cards already turned over on the table. “You can move that one,” he said. “To there.”

Rimmer ignored him, and instead continued to stare at Lister’s hands. They both looked real. They both moved like they were real. If one of them wasn’t, it was the best prosthetic he had ever seen. “Lister, are you trying to tell me that you have a prosthetic arm?” he asked.

“What?” Lister grinned as though that was the funniest thing he’d heard all year. “Of course I don’t.” He flexed the fingers of his right hand compulsively. “Rimmer, have you ever seen those things? Trust me, if I did, you’d have noticed by now. He reached for the card he had told Rimmer to move, and moved it himself.

“Lister, don’t do that!” Rimmer snapped. He snatched the card up and moved it back to where it had been before.”

“I was only helping!”

“Well don’t. This is a one man game; you’re not supposed to help. For all you know, I was saving that move for later.” He looked at the cards, desperately trying to find another move to make first; any other move, just to prove his point. Typically, there were none. He scowled at the cards as though they had done it on purpose, then grabbed the one Lister had moved, and moved it again. “So if you didn’t lose an arm, what were you doing with a prosthetic?” he asked.

Lister shrugged. “I never said I didn’t lose it. I just kinda…” he shrugged, “found it again. But technically I didn’t lose it actually. I knew where it was, it’s just that Kryten hacked it off with a laser scalpel and flushed it out the airlock.” He winced and flexed his fingers again. “Anyway, stop changing the subject.”

“Yes, because the subject of exactly how many times I’ve played a particular card game in the past is infinitely more fascinating than the story of how you lost and somehow found an arm. Come on, what happened?”

“Actually, the subject was what you got up to while you were Ace,” Lister corrected. “Talking about your stupid card game came later.”

“Lister, I want to know how you lost an arm,” Rimmer demanded.

Lister frowned thoughtfully. “Oh, do you?” he asked. “Okay, let’s trade. If I tell you this story, you’ve got to tell me one of yours. Deal?”

Rimmer sighed, the idea that this whole thing might have been a setup suddenly occurred to him, but he really did want to know. He folded his arms and glared at Lister admonishingly. “Okay, fine,” he agreed. “But it better be a good story.”

“Killer virus,” Lister told him. “Got snogged by a three million year old corpse, caught this thing called Epideme.” He shrugged. “Kochanski and Kryten got the idea that they could chase it into my arm, then cut it off.”

Rimmer blinked. “You got snogged by a what?” he frowned. “Wait a minute, that wouldn’t work. You can’t just chase a virus into one part of the body and lop it off, or else they’d have been able to cure everything that way.”

“Turns out you can,” Lister told him. “Or you could with this one, anyway. Except for a few bits of the virus escaped back into my body, so I ended up armless for nothing. In the end they actually had to kill me so Epideme left, then they brought me back to life.”

Rimmer blinked. “Right. So you died?”

“Well, I mean not really. Not like you did, anyway. It doesn’t count if it’s only for a minute or so.”

That was a lot to take in. “And getting the arm back?”

Lister shrugged. “Nanobots. You know that part already.”

“I knew they rebuilt the ship and the crew. You neglected to mention the part where they also rebuilt you.“

“Out of the whole thing, honestly that seemed like the least interesting part.”

Rimmer shook his head. “It’s a part of the story, it’s relevant. And how could you think I wouldn’t be interested in you agreeing to let Kryten cut off your arm to save you from a deadly space virus?”

“Honestly? It wasn’t exactly something I was eager to relive. I only brought it up now because I figured I’d be able to get a story out of you in return.”

“So you did trick me,” Rimmer said. “You lured me in with a hint of a story, knowing I’d want to know more, just so that you could wheedle information out of me in return. I knew it!”

Lister grinned. “Yeah.” The grin faded. “But having one arm sucked like you wouldn’t believe. I couldn’t play the guitar.”

Rimmer smirked. “Well in that case I’m surprised you found anybody willing to help you track down the nanobots. Personally, I’d have been completely willing to sacrifice your arm in order to silence your guitar.”

“Smeg off. You would have as well, wouldn’t you? It was my right arm too. Do you know how crap I am at everything with my left hand? I could hardly do anything for myself.”

Rimmer turned over another card in his game of patience. “You’d have learned. It was only one arm, so it’s not that bad, is it? I didn’t have any arms at all — any body at all — for years, and you didn’t hear me whinging about it.”

“Seriously?” Lister stared at him incredulously. “Rimmer, you used to whinge about it all the time.”

“I didn’t. Not all the time, anyway.” He thought back to the time after he had first been activated. “I mean, maybe I complained a little bit at first, but all things considered I think I handled the whole thing pretty well. Better than you would have done, anyway. And even if I had complained, I’d say that was a whinge-worthy problem. Losing one arm, not so much.”

“This is why I didn’t tell you about this before,” Lister told him. “I knew you’d find some way to trivialise it.”

“I’m not,” Rimmer assured him. “I’m sure the whole thing was very traumatic for you. How terrible it must have been, having to brush your teeth with your left hand.”

Lister shook his head. “Fine. Go on then, you owe me a story. And it better be a good one too.”

Rimmer mulled over his options. He had stories, of course he did. The issue wasn’t thinking of a story, it was thinking of a story that would paint him in the right light; one that Lister would be impressed by, but that didn’t make him sound too much like that insufferable git Ace. He needed something that would remind Lister why he, Rimmer, the Rimmer without a wig, was the superior Rimmer.

He couldn’t think of a single one.

“You’re right, you know,” he said, hoping to fill the time. “I didn’t play patience before. I picked it up while I was off being Ace.”

Lister nodded. “Yeah, I figured,” he said. “It couldn’t have been all daring missions and rescuing the damsel in distress, could it?”

“Sometimes it wasn’t a damsel, men needed rescuing too, you know. In fact, they needed rescuing more than the women because they have a tendency to do more stupid things and get themselves into trouble.”

Lister shrugged. “Fine, so it couldn’t be all rescuing the damsel or,” he hesitated, “…or damson in distress.”

“I don’t think that’s the right word.”

Lister waved a hand dismissively. “My point is, there had to have been some downtime in between. And it’s not like you had us lot around to talk to, so you would’ve needed something to do.”

“I kept myself busy enough.”

“Well yeah, but I bet because you’re, well, you, even though you probably could’ve spent the night in bed with whatever lucky sod you just saved, you’d’ve probably convinced yourself they didn’t actually like you or something, and decided to spend your nights alone in your ship. So you needed something to do, so you got yourself a pack of cards.”

Rimmer sighed. On the one hand, it was nice to be back around someone who understood him. On the other, sometimes it would be nice if Lister didn’t know him quite so perfectly. “I didn’t have to ‘get’ the cards, they were already there, left behind by a previous Ace.”

Lister shook his head. “That wasn’t really the point.”

“Fine. Well if you must know, Lister, I did have a few liaisons. I even had to turn down a couple of marriage proposals. But in-between all that, there was still a lot of time alone. There were times when I would jump into dimension after dimension and find them completely empty. I don’t know whether humans just never evolved there, or whether they wiped themselves out before I arrived, or if I was just in completely the wrong part of the universe. All I know is, there were times that I went for months without speaking to another person. So I had to find something to do.”

Lister nodded. He was quiet for a long moment, then folded his arms tightly and nodded. “Sounds lonely,” he said quietly.

It had been. Long stretches of loneliness and boredom interspersed with the occasional terrifying situation.

Lister was looking at him now with something approaching sympathy in his expression. Lister understood loneliness; a man who had surrounded himself with a large group of friends, who had been friends with everybody, who had thrived on and drawn energy from the social interactions that left Rimmer drained and anxious. A man who had found himself marooned in deep space, the last survivor of the human race.

“It was fine,” Rimmer assured him. It was only a partial lie, half of the time it really had been. Well, a bit less than half. More like a quarter. Or fifteen percent? He shook his head. “Okay yes, it was a bit lonely. But it’s your fault.”

“Mine? How’s it my fault? Because I convinced you to go?”

Actually, that was a good point too, but not the one Rimmer had been trying to make. He shook his head. “No. It’s your fault I couldn’t hack the solitude. Over the past however long it’s been, I must have got used to having you around.”

“So you’re mad at me because you missed me?”

Rimmer shook his head. “I‘m not mad at you, and I didn’t miss you, not specifically. I just missed not being alone; having someone to talk to.”

Lister grinned. “You did. You missed me,” he said.

“Fine. And what about you? Did you miss me?” He hadn’t meant to ask that, but now it was out there, he couldn’t take it back. He held his breath and waited for the reply.

Lister folded his arms. “Yeah, of course I did,” he admitted. He glanced away and dropped his voice to a mumbled whisper. “Even had a couple of dreams about you.”

Rimmer nodded in satisfaction. Lister hadn’t even been on his own. For some of that time, he had had a whole crew to keep him company, not to mention a version of Rimmer himself, and yet he still admitted to missing him. He smiled to himself, confident that he had come out the victor in this competition. “Wait,” he asked. “What kind of dreams?”

“Just dreams, not important.”

He decided to let it go for now. “So, your turn,” he said. “What else did I miss while I was off being a hero? Did Kryten hack off anybody else’s body parts?”

“One arm wasn’t enough for you?”

“Okay, maybe that’s enough dismemberment, but something else interesting must have happened while I was away.”

Lister frowned. “What, other than the entire crew, including you, coming back to life?”

“Other than that. I already know about that.”

“Well yeah, plenty happened,” Lister told him, “but you haven’t held up your side of the bargain yet, have you? A story about you sitting around in your ship playing cards on your own doesn’t exactly count, you know.”

“Of course it does. You never specified what the content of the story needed to be.”

“Suit yourself,” Lister told him, and turned over another of Rimmer’s cards. He placed it exactly where Rimmer would have put it, which allowed him to make five more moves and take two cards out of play. He moved to pick up another card.

“Fine,” Rimmer told him. “I’ll tell you one more story.”

Lister looked up.

“I rescued you once,” Rimmer told him. He hesitated. That wasn’t true, strictly speaking. “Well, no. Not you but another version of you. And it wasn’t much of a rescue either if I’m honest.”

“Great story, Rimmer. I’m on the edge of my seat!”

Rimmer scowled at him. “It was a couple of GELFs with a grudge, and they — the other crew — would have probably handled it fine if I hadn’t shown up, but I did, so I thought it was only right to lend a hand.” As he spoke, he heard himself slip unthinkingly into the Ace Rimmer accent he had perfected over the years. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I kinda like it.”

Rimmer rolled his eyes and continued in his own accent. “He was a lot like you, the other Lister. If I hadn’t known better — well, if I hadn’t had a ship’s computer that could tell me better — I’d have genuinely believed I was home. It turned out his Rimmer had already left to become Ace, years earlier. When I showed up, the other Lister thought his Rimmer had come back.”

Lister winced. “Did you tell him he hadn’t?”

“I didn’t want to,” Rimmer admitted. He looked away. “Telling him that, was basically the same as telling him that his Rimmer was gone.”

“Yeah,” Lister said. “If I was him, I don’t know how I’d have…” He folded his arms and stopped talking abruptly.

Rimmer nodded. “This thing is, it was a bit more delicate than that. They’d been…” he hesitated, “They were pretty close. Closer than you and I.”

Lister frowned. “Closer than us? Rimmer, the only way they could possibly have been closer than us is if they were…” His eyes widened as understanding dawned. Rimmer nodded, and slowly a smile spread across Lister’s face. “Oh, right,” he said. “Right.”

“It turned out they’d been together for quite some time before he went off to be a hero,” Rimmer said. He shook his head. “The idiot.”

“Hey!” said Lister. “You’re saying sleeping with me makes him an idiot?”

Rimmer shook his head. “No. Well, yes, obviously he must have been. But what I meant was why would a version of me who had someone that loved him, give it all up to go off and be Ace? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Lister shrugged. “You did it.”

Rimmer looked at him for a long moment, trying to figure out exactly what Lister had meant by that.

Lister cleared his throat. “So, what did you think about that particular revelation?”

He considered the question. “Mostly, I thought that I really didn’t want to have to be the one to tell him his boyfriend had died. For a moment, I even thought about playing along, being his Rimmer for a day or two then telling him I had to go off and be a hero again.”

“You didn’t, did you?”

Rimmer shook his head. “Of course not.” He was still Ace at the time, and that would have been a cowardly move. Another time, another circumstance, maybe he would have done. “It wouldn’t have been fair to him.”

“Yeah,” Lister agreed. “Definitely not.”

Rimmer picked up another card, and rather than putting it down, he began to fidget with it, turning it over nervously in his hands. He cleared his throat. “I thought another thing too,” he said.

“Oh yeah?”

“I thought about how glad I was, that there was at least one universe out there where I’d been brave enough to accept who I was.”

Lister nodded, and Rimmer got the impression that he wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already known. “So how’d he take it?” he asked. “When you told him you weren’t his Rimmer?”

Rimmer continued to fidget with the playing card. “I think he already knew, really. I mean, I think he hoped I was his Rimmer, but he didn’t really believe it. He’d already accepted that he was gone. That’s how it works, isn’t it? As soon as you get into the ship and make your first jump that’s supposed to be it. It’s meant to be a one way trip, and he knew that.”

Lister nodded. “Meant to, anyway.”

“He asked me to stay,” Rimmer continued. “Not to replace his Rimmer or anything like that, just to make a home there. Stop leaping dimensions and just… just be me again. It was tempting, too.” In fact, he had stayed for a little while, but he had found that he needed to move on. “When I told him I needed to go, he’s the one that told me I should try to get home. I think he could tell my heart wasn’t in it anymore.”

“And so you came back,” Lister said. He smiled warmly. “I’m glad. No offence to the other Lister, but if you were going to settle down somewhere, it had to be here.”

“It wasn’t quite as simple as just ‘coming back’,” Rimmer told him. “It was actually very difficult. You can’t safely jump between similar dimensions, you know. It involved multiple jumps, a fair amount of danger, and a lot of luck. Of course, if I’d known you’d gone and made yourself a brand new Rimmer, I might have just stayed where I was.” He could hear the jealousy in his voice, and he didn’t care

Lister shook his head. “Come on, you know that wasn’t planned. Anyway, he wasn’t you. I mean, he was you, but he wasn’t you you, was he?”

That was the kind of thing that Rimmer might have rolled his eyes at, once upon a time. Now, it made perfect sense. He had met a lot of people who both were, and were not, people he had known. It was a strange feeling, one that he had never quite got used to. “Still, I was surplus to requirements around here, wasn’t I?” He was fishing and he knew it. He didn’t care.

Lister seemed to know it too. It was obvious that he was playing along as he shook his head sympathetically. “Of course not!” He paused, then shrugged, “I mean, two of you would’ve been a bit too much to handle, but you’re always welcome here, Rimmer. Always.”

Satisfied, Rimmer nodded. “And I suppose it’s good that you replaced me,” he said. “Because then I could replace Ace. If there hadn’t been another me here, it would’ve meant the chair was broken.” He shrugged. “Not that that’s exactly a tragedy though. Does the universe really need some smug git in a wig flying around being heroic? Really?”

“I didn’t replace you,” Lister insisted. “And I think the universe probably does need an Ace. Just like it needs an endless ouroboros cycle of List…” he stopped, then smiled. “Okay, my turn,” he said. “While you were off being a smug git in a wig, I found out who my parents were.”

Rimmer stared at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. And you’ll never guess who they are.”

Rimmer resisted the urge to groan. “It’s going to be something ridiculous, isn’t it?” he said. “Like you’re actually related to royalty or something.” He was never going to hear the end of it; Lister was going to be constantly lording it over him. “You’re the illegitimate son of some King or Queen, dumped in a pub by a jealous relative whose claim to the throne your birth put at risk.”

Lister grinned and shook his head. “Er, no. Not exactly,” he said.

Rimmer breathed a silent sigh of relief. The only thing worse than finding out something like that would be… oh smeg. “You’re my brother, aren’t you? Like in that reality we hallucinated when we encountered the despair squid.” Oh, that was all he needed, just when he was beginning to come to terms with the idea that he might like Lister. It was typical, and so in-keeping with his luck that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured it out sooner. “How the smeg did that happen?” He rested his head in his hands. “I didn’t even know my mum had been to Liverpool.”

Lister laughed and shook his head. “I have to give you this much, Rimmer, you’ve got a good imagination.”

“So we’re not brothers?”

“No, of course we’re not.”

Rimmer began to breathe a sigh of relief, then hesitated. “And not half brothers? Or cousins? Second cousins once removed?”

“We’re no relation at all. Well, at least as far as I know.”

Rimmer exhaled slowly. “Right. Good.”

“It’s even weirder than that, actually.” Lister paused, either for effect or to make sure Rimmer was listening, Rimmer wasn’t sure. “It turns out I’m my own dad.”

Rimmer frowned. That couldn’t be right. He looked at Lister, searching for any hint that this was some kind of a joke, but he couldn’t see any. Finally, he shook his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But it’s true. Me and Krissie had a baby, and it was me. Then I…”

“Wait,” Rimmer interrupted. “You and Kochanski?” He tried to ignore the stab of jealousy that came with that particular revelation, and failed. “I thought you said you never got back together with her. You said she was too hung up on the other Lister. You said…”

“Hey.” Lister stopped his words with a gentle hand on his arm. “Relax. She was still too into the other Lister, and I can’t really blame her either. I mean, they were together a long time; as long as me and you. And over that time she’d moulded him into some kinda weird, opera-loving anti-Lister. I mean, I was never going to live up to that, and I didn’t want to either. All I had to do was make a… uh, a genetic donation, and she was planning on raising the baby with him.”

“Oh,” Rimmer said. “Well, good. Not that I care, of course.”

“Nah, ‘course you don’t,” Lister agreed. “Anyway, it’s probably for the best that she wasn’t into me; I was a bit too hung up on somebody else myself too, if I’m honest.”

Rimmer wondered who it could have been. Lister’s own Kochanski, he supposed. After all, the one that had ended up aboard Starbug with them had been a different Kochanski from a different dimension. If the years they had spent together had changed the other Lister to the point where he was almost unrecognisable. Maybe there had been differences between the two Kochanskis that Lister hadn’t been able to see past.

“Anyway, that doesn’t matter,” Lister continued. “So when the baby was born, we raised him for a couple of months until he was about the same age I’d been when they found me, then I went back in time and left him under that pool table so that he could be found, grow up, get stranded three million years in the future, work this all out for himself and then do the same thing to his own kid." He paused, then frowned. “Who will be me as well.”

Rimmer pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head slowly from side to side as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Of all the nonsensical things that they had encountered during their time in space, this had to be one of the most improbable, for so many reasons. “Lister, before I dignify this with an answer, tell me, are you being serious?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. Of course I am. You don’t think I could just make up a story like that, do you?”

He probably could but it didn’t sound like something he would do. For all he had always pretended not to mind, Rimmer knew how much not knowing the truth about where he came from had bothered Lister. He also knew how much it had hurt him having to give up the twins; he wouldn’t joke about giving another child away.

“So, if you’re your own dad,” he said in an attempt to break the tension, “that makes Kochanski your mum, right? So is that why you never got together?”

“What?” Lister pulled a face. “No. Why would it be?”

“Well, because she’s your mum,” Rimmer repeated. “I mean, you’ve got to admit it would be a bit weird.”

Lister folded his arms. “It’s not like that though, is it? She’s the kid’s mum, not mine.” Even as he said it, he didn’t sound convinced.

“But the kid is you.”

“Yeah, but…” Lister shook his head.

“Technically, it sounds like she’s your grandmother too,” Rimmer added, with a smile to show that he was joking. He wasn’t, actually, but Lister didn’t need to know that. “And your great grandmother.”

Lister folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “Smeg off,” he said. “You’re just happy because you think you’ve got a chance with me now, like that other Rimmer did.”

Rimmer sat back in his seat. He genuinely hadn’t thought he was being that obvious. He looked at Lister, trying to decide whether he was joking, or whether he was feeling particularly empathic today. “No I’m not,” he lied.

“Oh,” said Lister. “Well that’s too bad.”

Rimmer blinked.

“So, did you ever figure out where the universes diverged?” Lister said.

It was such an abrupt change of subject that it took him a moment or two to realise that Lister was talking about the other him again. “More or less, yes. It was around the time I got my hard light drive. Remember that night we stayed up all night drinking and talking about things?”

Lister nodded. “I remember you talking for hours about different textures and temperatures, trying to make me understand why it was so great to be able to feel for the first time in years.” He smiled. “Must’ve been amazing.”

It had been. It still was, even if he sometimes took it for granted now. “Well, from what I can gather, that night played out a little differently in that universe, and ended up with the two of us… well, the two of them…”

“Gotcha.”

“What I couldn’t figure out is why that happened. There must have been something before that that changed things enough that we felt able to do that, but whatever it was, it must have been so small that the other Lister and I couldn’t figure it out.”

Lister shrugged. “Might be because there wasn’t anything,” he said. “Sometimes things just happen, you know. I bet I can guess exactly how the whole thing started out; Rimmer put his hand on Lister’s, to feel it I mean, and Lister grabbed hold of it, pulled him in closer and kissed him. Right?”

Rimmer blinked. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never asked for a play-by-play. Why?”

“Because that’s what happens, isn’t it? When realities split. You have a choice, you make it, and the other version of you makes the opposite choice.”

Rimmer nodded. “More or less.”

“So here’s the thing,” Lister told him. He picked up the pile of unplayed cards on the table and ran his fingernail down the side of the stack. “In this reality, when you touched my hand I was… well, I was kinda tempted to pull you closer and kiss you, but I chickened out.”

Rimmer stared at him, trying to process what he was hearing. “Why?”

“Because you were talking about all these different sensations you’d been missing out on, and how amazing it was, and I thought you might want to experience another one.”

“Not why did you want to, you gimboid. I meant why didn’t you?”

“Oh…” Lister hesitated. “Well, like I said, I chickened out. I thought you might not like it, or you’d turn me down. And maybe you would have. I mean, if anything that could happen did happen in one universe or another, there must also be a universe where I kissed you, but instead of whatever happened in the dimension you landed in, you freaked out over it and things got really weird between us. So I mean, maybe I dodged a bullet.”

Rimmer pursed his lips. He wanted to insist that wouldn’t have happened, and maybe he was right, but there was a good chance he wasn’t. After all, he already knew that theirs wasn’t the reality where they had ended up together. Not then anyway. He sighed. “You’re probably right.”

A shadow of disappointment fell over Lister’s face.

“No, I mean, it was different then,” Rimmer stammered. “It was a long time ago. Just because I might have reacted badly then, doesn't mean I’d do the same thing now, does it?”

“I dunno.” Lister looked at him like he was trying to figure out whether Rimmer was serious, and if so, how serious. “Does it?”

Lister put down the playing cards and rested his hand on the surface of the table. Not breaking eye contact with Lister, Rimmer slowly slid his hand across until the tips of their fingers touched. He kept going, until his hand rested on top of Lister’s. As he moved, he tried to remember how he had felt that night, when everything had been so new and every touch had felt amplified a hundredfold. He concentrated on the warmth of Lister’s skin in comparison to the cool air of their quarters, the difference between the texture of the soft back of his hand and the rougher skin of his knuckles.

He had been so afraid that night, convinced that the hard light drive wouldn’t last; that his bad luck would kick in and he would revert to his usual, soft light form, deprived once again of the ability to feel. He remembered thinking how much worse it was going to be, having experienced touch only to have it snatched away again, and he remembered how desperate he had been to cram as much sensation as he could into every second, before it was too late.

He had become complacent, he realised, as he pressed the tips of his fingers a little harder into the back of Lister’s hand, feeling the bones and tendons beneath the skin. He had become too used to it; started to take it for granted. He closed his eyes and savoured the sensation in a way that he hadn’t done in years.

After a moment, Lister placed his own free hand on top of Rimmer’s and simply held him for a while, Rimmer’s hand encased in Listers, feeling the warmth of his skin. Then, gently, he turned it over. When his hand lay palm upward on top of Lister’s, Lister began to trace the lines of Rimmer’s palm with his fingertips, then, when that was done, began to move his finger in slow, lazy circles. It felt good. It felt incredible, but it wasn’t what he had been expecting. He opened his eyes and looked at Lister, questioning.

“What? I wasn’t just going to grab you and go for a snog,” Lister told him. “I’m a bit more subtle than that. I mean, not much, but a bit.”

Slowly, he pulled Rimmer’s hand a little closer to him, lifting it from the table and toward his lips, then gently kissed his fingertips one at a time. Finally, he moved his grip further up Rimmer’s arm. Holding tightly at his arm at the elbow, he tugged gently. His grip was firm enough that he could lead Rimmer closer to him, but not so firm that Rimmer wouldn’t be able to back off if he wanted to. Rimmer didn’t want to.

Lister pulled him closer until he leaned far enough across the table that Lister could easily close the distance between them, then he touched his lips to Rimmer’s. Their lips brushed gently together, barely a kiss, barely even a touch. It left him wanting more. Rimmer leaned closer, trying to get more sensation, but Lister moved further back. He smiled and shook his head. “Wait for it,” he whispered. Rimmer felt his breath on his skin.

He moved a little closer, a fraction of a centimetre, and allowed Rimmer to feel the warmth of his skin and the softness of his lips as they pressed, slightly open, against his own. Lister’s hand snaked slowly around the back of his head, his fingers parting Rimmer’s curls as they worked their way through his hair. At the same time, Lister’s tongue teased Rimmer’s and Rimmer felt himself respond in kind.

For a moment, everything around then faded away. The living quarters, the ship, the years that they had been apart, everything but the moment. Rimmer was lost in sensation; drowning in it.

And then, it was over. All concept of time had abandoned him, and Rimmer had no idea how long it had been before they finally came up for air. At some point, he didn’t know when, he had closed his eyes. He opened them now to find himself staring directly into Lister’s eyes. Lister smiled nervously, and shrugged. “So, it’d have probably been a bit like that,” he said. “If I hadn’t chickened out that night, I mean.”

“Right,” Rimer said. He nodded, and sat back down again, unsure what he was supposed to do or say now. His game of patience was ruined, the cards scattered over the tabletop and on the floor. He tugged on the bottom of his uniform tunic, straightening any creases that might have appeared, and quickly ran his fingers through his hair in a futile effort to undo any damage Lister might have done to it. “Right,” he said again.

He could feel his own simulated heartbeat pounding in the hard light projection of his chest. His skin tingled everywhere that Lister had touched him, and he wanted more.

“Right,” he said, for a third time. He realised that he really should think of something else to say, but for some reason he was drawing a complete blank. He opened his mouth to speak again, and this time, closed it again.

“Well?” Lister asked. Rimmer could hear the apprehension in his voice, and see it on his face.

Rimmer took a slow, deep breath and tried to force his mind to regain the ability to speak. “That was…” he began, then faltered. He didn’t have the words to describe what that had been. Anything he might say would pale into insignificance in comparison to the real thing. He took another breath, slowly in and out. He needed to say something or it was going to start to get weird. “Lister, if you’d done that the day after I first got my hard light drive, you’d probably have shorted the damn thing out,” he said.

“What’s that mean?” Lister asked, appearing worried now.

Rimmer reached for him again. He grabbed clumsily at his hand before intertwining his fingers with Lister’s. “It means it was incredible,” he said. “But it would have been too much for me then. When I hadn’t been able to feel for all those years, suddenly experiencing something like that… it would have been overwhelming.” It was almost still too much for him now, but at the same time it hadn’t been enough. He wanted more. If Lister could do that with a few gentle touches, Rimmer wanted to know what else he could do.

“I mean, I’ve had a bit of time to think about it, so maybe it wouldn’t have been exactly like that,” Lister told him.

“So you’ve been thinking about it?”

“No.” Lister said, far too quickly. Then he shrugged and glanced away. “Well, you know, just now and then. Not all the time or anything like that. Just when I had nothing to do and my mind wandered.”

In other words, he had been daydreaming about it. About him. Of all the things Lister had told him about the things he had missed while he had been away, the deadly virus, the resurrection of the crew, finding out that Lister was his own father, somehow the revelation that Dave Lister had been daydreaming about him was the most unexpected. And the most wonderful.

“So,” Lister said. “It might have been too much for you then, but what about now? You’ve had a couple of years to get used to touch again, and I bet you had more than a couple of kisses while you were off being a hero, so…” his question tailed off, leaving it hanging in the air between them.

Rimmer thought about it. “It was still overwhelming,” he said honestly. “But I think…” he hesitated. “I think being overwhelmed now and then might be a good thing.”

“Want to try again?”

Rimmer nodded.

Lister got to his feet and pressed the manual lock on the door to their quarters. He offered a hand to Rimmer as he walked back past him, and when Rimmer accepted, steered him in the direction of the sofa. “Might be a bit comfier over here than leaning across a table,” he said.

He sat down and Rimmer sat next to him. He glanced down at his hands awkwardly, not sure what he was supposed to do.

“Hey, by the way,” Lister said as he edged himself a little closer and snaked a hand around Rimmer’s shoulders and then up into his hair again. “Don’t you think this gets you out of telling me stories. I still want to know everything you got up to when you were out there being Ace.”

Thank you to @coney-island-blitz for the beta on this!

#red dwarf #red dwarf fanfic #my fic #long post #dave lister #arnold rimmer #rimmer/lister

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