#I’m sure I’m not the first person to capitalize on accidentally being an asshole and im

[the-horrible-anon]

I changed my wifi name on my phone to Titanic.

Now it’s syncing.

(still the previous anon, but I have an idea)

[you can just call me the horrible anon for now, cuz I feel really shitty for what I did]

anyways have a (slightly more?) on target joke

How did the asexual win the tennis match?

He aced every serve.

(you're good. Trust me about that.)

Alastor looks up from his current position, and chuckles lightly

"I've got a joke for you."

"I was digging in my garden and I found a chest full of gold coins! So I went to go tell my husband, but then remembered why I was digging the hole"

[with-the-flickers-of-light]

a response to the new yorker article.

The New Yorker released an article about Matty Healy, and, well, there's some questionable shit to dive into.

Here's a link: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2023/06/05/who-is-matty-healy

And we'll dive into some quotes beneath the cut.

"I'm sorry if you're living and you're seventeen." -- Matty Healy

I'm not 17 anymore, but I do belong to the general demographic he's getting at, so. Thank you for your condolences. I too hate existence, thanks.

"Now, as Healy sees things, the average seventeen-year-old is worried about melting ice caps, or the failures of capitalism, or how easy it is to say the wrong thing. The future holds little imagined promise, and, to cope, teens are indulging in reactionary conservatism or the oppression Olympics, the world and their identities distorted by social media." -- Jia Tolentino

Yes, I'm worried about melting ice caps and the failures of capitalism. I don't think I'm as worried about "how easy it is to say the wrong thing". Mostly, what I'm worried about there is how to be aware enough that I don't hurt people. I'm not worried about accidentally slipping and saying something offensive; I'm worried about rooting out my prejudices. I'm not worried about being politically correct; I'm worried about having enough knowledge and understanding to make the right decisions.

(Also I have social anxiety, so fine, I worry about saying the wrong thing. Like, for example, I worry about whether I said "thank you" an appropriate amount to the food service worker. Or, what if I slip up and order the wrong food because I panicked. You know.)

Regarding the so-called "oppression Olympics" -- please don't tell me this is another case of someone ragging on intersectionality because they don't think systemic racism exists or something like that. While I can't speak for everyone, I can speak for myself: I know what minorities I belong to, yes, but I also recognize that I have an immense amount of privilege. And I know many other people in my demographic who feel the same.

"Healy said the band had asked Styles to come. 'He gave us a hard no,' he added, laughing. 'He’s afraid that he would have to say something.' Healy found it annoying that, at a certain level of fame, celebrities can cultivate liberal auras while avoiding the risk of taking real political stands. (Swift, I thought, but didn’t say, seemed to be excepted from his critique.)" -- Jia Tolentino, on Swift's feature at The 1975 concert

This is just... interesting. Not sure what to say about it, but it's interesting.

“Before, I always debased myself when I became sincere. I’d be sincere, and then I’d say, ‘Oh, I’m only joking,’ or ‘Oh, I pissed myself,’ or something else unglamorous to negate how much I just let you in.” -- Matty Healy

First, I do believe people should be able to express themselves sincerely, without needing to put up walls and saying they're joking to protect themselves from backlash. That's like, in general, though. If the things you're sincere about are racist/misogynist/etc. then society reserves the right to call you out.

Because I don't think I have to tell you how this sounds when he's also justified offensive remarks my claiming it's just a bit, that he's only joking.

“I think Matty is a deeply sincere person, who can, at different points, be misunderstood because of how much he enjoys a bit. If you don’t know him, if you don’t get him, because you’re not really tuned in to the work, you might assume a cynicism that is literally not there.” -- Jack Antonoff

Well, see, here's the thing: if you enjoy your "bit" of being an asshole, then you enjoy being an asshole. And if your enjoyment of being an asshole makes you constantly act like an asshole, then congratulations, you're an asshole.

“We used to expect our artists to be cigarette-smoking bohemian outsiders, and now we expect them to be liberal academics.” -- Matty Healy

As I have said in the past, I really don't expect celebrities to be activists, or as Healy puts it, "liberal academics". I don't expect celebrities to become involved in politics or in political issues. But when a celebrity involves themselves -- either by claiming to be an activist or by acting in a way that is harmful -- then yeah, I do expect them to do something about it.

“I’m more interested in actually being wrong, and people seeing that, and knowing what’s right because of it.” -- Matty Healy

... I'm sorry, what? You've decided to... be wrong, so that people would... see that... and realize how shitty it is... so that they know how to be good? Is that the argument here?

Anyways, if I'm interpreting that correctly, I'm not sure why he would be upset about fans being fucking pissed about his statements. Because, like, isn't that the point? If his point was to make us angry about the wrongs in the world by embodying the wrongs in the world... then he's trying to make us angry. And if that's the case, he shouldn't be upset about our anger. (See later quotes.)

"I asked him about the podcast. He’d been doing so much promo, he told me, that he wanted to do something that felt more like simply talking with his friends. But, of course, he had done this all in public, on mike. Had he baited his fans on purpose? 'A little bit,' [Healy] said." -- Jia Tolentino

The implication, I think, of "something [...] more like [...] talking with his friends" is that this is what he sounds like when he's not playing PR. When he's not bothering to filter himself. And that's not a good look, because it's damn near outright saying "all the decent stuff I say for promo, is just promo; the real me is the one who derides minorities".

Again with the "baiting fans". Once again: whether or not it's meant to be bait, if it was hurtful, then it was hurtful. I swear, this is like arguing with people who think girls should let themselves be bullied because it's actually just how boys show they like girls.

“But it doesn’t actually matter. Nobody is sitting there at night slumped at their computer, and their boyfriend comes over and goes, ‘What’s wrong, darling?’ and they go, ‘It’s just this thing with Matty Healy.’ That doesn’t happen.” -- Matty Healy

First of all, why the boyfriend? He's implying it's a bunch of straight women or gay men that are overly sensitive to his remarks, which is not cool, and reinforces stereotypes of "femininity is hysterical hypersensitivity". But whatever, I'm not really hurt about that, just a bit annoyed.

(Or, OR, maybe it's because no one with a boyfriend would be upset? Maybe he thinks having a boyfriend precludes you from being upset about things?)

Anyways, the reason I ask about the boyfriend thing is because I don't have a boyfriend, but actually, I... was sitting at home, slumped over my computer, when my roommate came to bother me about dinner, and then we had a long talk about how I was feeling kinda messed up because of the Healy Situation. So. Uh. It does happen, thanks. And to populations other than the one with boyfriends.

“If it does, you’re either deluded or you are, sorry, a liar. You’re either lying that you are hurt, or you’re a bit mental for being hurt. It’s just people going, ‘Oh, there’s a bad thing over there, let me get as close to it as possible so you can see how good I am.’ And I kind of want them to do that, because they’re demonstrating something so base level.” -- Matty Healy

What's funny to me here is that he's not just calling the people actively calling him out "deluded" or "a liar". He's saying that anyone upset about his comments are deluded or lying. He is very purposefully saying that his comments could not POSSIBLY have been offensive. Not just not-cancel-worthy -- but completely and utterly innocent.

Anyways, I am kind of offended at being called delusional over being hurt. Now I'm doubly-hurt, so congrats. I think that makes me doubly-delusional as well. Does that make me not delusional? Does delusional cancel out delusional? I have so many questions.

You don't get to decide whether your offensive remarks are hurtful, m-kay? If you don't want people to be hurt, you can control that by not being offensive. But once those words are out -- once you've done something offensive -- you no longer get to control whether or not you've said something offensive. That's up to the audience. And if the audience is hurt, then congrats, you've said something hurtful.

The only thing I lied about was that this blog would be inactive. (I mean, I did say "unless the situation changes", but realistically, the situation was "he's an asshole" when I said that and the situation is still "he's an asshole".) And to be clear, I did mean that, and I do mean that -- I come onto this account whenever I encounter a stupid headline, reblog a few posts, and maybe make a statement of my own. Thanks for making a liar of me by continuing to make fucked up headlines, I don't appreciate it.

Also, seems a lot like he's admitting that he did, indeed, do a bad thing? So... again, why are you minimizing people's upset by calling them delusional or liars, when by your own admission, they are seeing "a bad thing over there"?

And again, he's saying that he wants the reaction. He wants to provoke us. He wants to show us that bad. And yet, when we react in a way that is reasonable for being provokes with shit, he has to resort to calling us "mental".

“I want to be known for what I do. But now fame is about being known for who you are. And people are complicated. If people are going to make me this famous, I’m going to make people work for it.” -- Matty Healy

Again, this seems like a green light to criticize. He's basically saying "I'm being an asshole because I want to tempt fate into cancelling me". So. Again: why is his defense against criticism basically "you're delusional"?

“This is about you, you know who you are, I love you.” -- Matty Healy / Taylor Swift

IDK I have nothing really to say here I just think it's funny that Taylor mouthed it before "cardigan", a song where Betty mourns that James was a cheating jackass.

I know apparently Betty and James get together after "cardigan" and "betty", but the foreword to folklore also describes imagery of "a cardigan that still bears the scent of loss twenty years later", so sounds like they still didn't get their happily ever after. Also, the apology in "betty" is actually such a bad apology -- he calls her friends stupid ("in front of all your stupid friends"), puts the onus on her to carry on the relationship as if nothing has happened ("will you have me? will you love me?"), and is even expecting her to live up to wild expectations ("will it be just like I dreamed it?"). Also, I swear, the whole song is him blaming other people ("I hate the crowds, you know that / plus I saw you dance with him", "she pulled up like a figment of my worst intentions"). AND the absolute asshattery necessary to "[sleep] next to her but [dream] of you all summer long". God. Pisses me off.

Also also adding the line "sensual politics" as a phrase to describe an era can be forgiven since folklore directly follows Lover but still... a reminder that activism should not just be an aesthetic or an era.

.

.

.

Ending off with a personal note, I am officially holding out zero (0) hope for Healy. And my hopes for Swift are dwindling fast.

[milaswriting]

Hi Mila! Hope your day is wonderful. Could I please request this prompt for Kaidan? Or just K in general.

“ they don’t deserve you. and i’m not— i’m not tryna be that asshole that says i do. but sure as hell would never hurt you like that. ”

University guarantees one thing. Parties.

The intense kind, the ones that you shouldn’t go to but do anyway. The ones with the making out, the hookups, the pictures and videos that end up on social media — you get the gist.

And yet K’s walking into one. No, seriously, K de la Renta is walking into a party they don’t want to be at. The reason they’re doing that? Because of you.

It’s fair to say that K hasn’t been their usual self. Well, they’re still confident, flirtatious, strut around with a dash of arrogance but something’s off. Or, more specifically, you’re the one who’s off.

K shoves a hand into their jeans pocket before they slip through the door. A house full of humans, the scent of human blood… yet the smell of your blood in the one they pick out first.

They swallow hard before walking through the club, they accidentally bump into a few people but K isn’t one who cares enough to apologise. They then stop in their tracks when they see you at the other side of the room.

You have a smile on your face, a bright one, a genuine one; and it’s almost enough to make K grin. That is until they see you with them.

You’re used to the way rumours spread, being a big deal in a capital city has made you aware of that. Universities are the same.

The person who has their arms wrapped around you… rumour has it that they’re bad news. And not only when it comes to relationships. K isn’t usually one to trust stories that come through the grapevine, but if there’s a chance that you could get hurt from it, then they’re believing those stories 100%.

Using vampire speed in a club full of humans is a terrible idea, for so, so many reasons — but when your classmate leans in to kiss you on the cheek, K’s sure that terrible ideas are the way to go.

Without their supernatural abilities, they get to the other side of the room with ease, before the kiss is planted.

“Hey.”

You feel a hand clutch around your elbow gently, it’s enough to get you to turn around and tilt your head.

“K? What are you doing here?”

You watch as K’s eyes dart around, the fixed glare on their face as they focus on the person behind you before their eyes land on your own.

“I need to speak to you,” K utters. “Come with me.”

You’re not really given much of a chance before you’re pulled down a wide corridor, into a large room that you know is completely off limits but K shuts the door behind the two of you, anyway.

“You actually came to a club,” you says in surprise.

There’s a large enough distance between you and K, you even debate whether to take a seat on the sofa, but decide against it.

K swallows hard, and after that the words leave their mouth in a ramble. “What are you doing here with them?”

“What? With who?”

K rolls their eyes. “The idiot who’s had their hands over you all night.”

You take a breath, wet your lips and realise who K’s talking about. “I’m on a date, at a party, in a club,” you say in a matter-of-fact tone before taking a step forward. “Th— This is what you want to talk about?”

“Back up,” K says with their eyes closed before opening them. “A date?”

“Yes,” you exclaim. “Yes, a date. Why did you bring me here to ask me that?”

K runs a hand through their curls before taking a step closer to you. “Because they’re a dick, that’s why.”

“What?!”

“You are, you always will be the first person to hear the rumours that spread around this city,” K responds. “You hanging around with them, you dating them, it won’t end well. You’re being used for a leg up in society and a million pound cheque.”

Silence washes over the two of you, not complete silence because the music from the speakers outside is still audible, but for once neither of you utter any words.

“You’re wrong.” Your voice is far from confident, but you’re not going to reveal to K that you’re in two minds. “You’re wrong,” you reiterate.

“Fucking bullshit.” K scoffs.

“Admit it.” You’re directly in front of K now, your eyes are locked to one another’s and right now there’s only anger between you. “You’re jealous.”

A fake smirk curls over K’s lips. “Jealousy is one thing I don’t do, rich kid.”

It’s a statement you ignore. “Jealous that someone actually wants to be in a relationship with me. Frankly, I don’t know why you’re so bothered, you don’t want to be with me, anyway.”

“This isn’t even about me.” K looks you up and down. “They don’t deserve you.”

“And what? You fucking do?”

“Of course not, I—“ K gnaws on their bottom lip before taking a step back from you. “I’m not trying to be the asshole that says I do, but I sure as hell won’t hurt you like they will.”

You scoff before sauntering over to the door. Your hand hovers over the handle, and that’s when you look at K over your shoulder.

“I have a date to get back to.”

~

Thank you for your ask!

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Fantasy Merchant Punz 'correct' quotes

I like this au a definitely normal amount. I have the normal amount of brainrot for this au. Please believe me.

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

Tommy: Hello! I’m the chosen one! I would like to have all your potions in stock!

Punz: ...You’re 17

Tommy: Yeah so?

Punz: ...Right so that’ll be approximately 500000 gold. Pay up

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

Punz, talking to a customer: And this is a potion of invisibility. Great for you to hide from others or get out of situations in a pinch.

Dream, as he is attacked by Tommy’s Team: Punz! Punz let me in! I know you can hear me!

Punz, closing the blinds: Of course you can take a speed potion. It’ll be good when getting away fast and you can take your enemies off guard.

Dream: FUCK YOU PUNZ!

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

Bad: Hello! Would you like to go and join the Eggpire? We have cookies and you’ll definitely not go and get mind controlled!

Punz: Please go away, you’re scaring the customers

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Techno: Punz where do you even get these things? This is from the Antarctic Empire and that went and fell thousands of years ago. All items of it were destroyed from what I know

Punz, who is pretty sure his ancestor lived there at some point: ...Time travel

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Punz, nervously looking at the box: Hey buddy. So today I went and scammed a few people and met this guy who is apparently the chosen one. He’s 17 though so I kind of doubt it. Though that is something the church would do...What do you think?

The Box: *ominous humming sounds

Punz, lighting as many candles as possible and getting the Prime symbol: You know what? Yeah that sounds about right

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

Cornelius, still in the box and listening to Punz: I haven’t met Punz in person and I’m pretty sure he’s terrified of us but if anything happens to him I will kill everyone in the world and then myself

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

*5 months before Dream’s uprising

Punz: You know, actually fuck the church. It’s shit in my opinion. I know that it’s supposed to be there and that it’s supposed to be a major part of this country but not everyone follows Church Prime! I mean I don’t! The Church shouldn’t be in such a high state of power when not everyone follows it! They’re soon going to use that power and just force everyone into their religion!

Eret, in a bad disguise and already been considering taking away the church’s power: True true. Now then, can you please tell me more about your views on the Church?

Punz: Oh you’re going to be in here for a while because I have so many opinions on this.

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

*4 months and two weeks before Dream’s uprising

Ant: Hey Punz, congrats on talking to the King last week! Heard you talked about how the Church shouldn’t have power. Pretty bold if I say so myself!

Punz, who has been oblivious this whole time: I TALKED TO THE KING!????

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

Quackity: God! Punz, they’re so handsome! Both of them are strong and handsome and I can’t compare to them! I just want to go and hold both of their hands and tell them that I love them but they probably don’t think the same way :(

Punz, who has listened to Karl and Sapnap rant about their love issues as well: Oh trust me...I’m pretty sure they do

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

Wilbur: Okay we’re trapped by Eggpire and that’s fine. That’s fine. That’s absolutely fine. We just need a plan. We just need a- Wait PUNZ!?

Punz, in a bad disguise and planning on blowing up the Eggpire a little because they scaring the customers: No it’s...Spunz...

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

Charlie Slimecicle: Punz, we are both definetely human beings with many bones. Look! I have a skull in my head just like you do!

Punz: A bit concerned where you actually got that skull but yeah. We are humans and have bones Charlie

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

Punz: How the heck did my ancestor become the hero in the first place? Like I know maybe they were a different person from before but still, we have so much treasure and I’m pretty sure an actual hero would deny all of this or something.

Purpled: Well they’re dead so we’ll just never know.

Punz: Yeah…

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

Punz’s ancestor: Foolish, Cornelius, I fucked up. I accidentally became the chosen one after I stole this sword from this asshole who owes me money. Now I have to defeat the weird Crimson monster that has been terrorizing the lands for a bit.

Cornelius and Foolish:

Foolish: Okay you know what? Let’s just. Have some tea first and then we can freak out okay?

Cornelius: How the fuck did you become the chosen one? You went and scammed several people last week and you did it with no remorse

Punz’s Ancestor: Hey I’m a good person!

Cornelius: Last week you met my child, Robin, said Ew, a child, and then went and told me you would drop-kick him without any hesitation.

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

Dream: So you finally arrive- What the hell are you wearing

Punz, in all of his most overpowered equipment and looking like a fashion disaster: It’s my ass kicking outfit bitch!

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

Wilbur: Hahahahaha. Hey Punz did you know that I fucked a mermaid? It was amazing and we actually fell in love with each other. We actually had this fox child named Fundy but she died before he could see her. Anyways he aged fast so he’s like about in his 20s now and he actually ran away a bit while back and I miss him greatly. Also he’s working in the rebellion and I really want to say that I’m proud of him but I don’t know how. Fun fact: did you know that technically he’s Antarctic Empire royalty because my ancestors were the first rulers of the Antarctic Empire? Crazy isn’t it? Anyways, give me all your TNT. I’m about to blow up the capital.

Punz:

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

Karl: Hey! I just found out a honk ton of information about the Red Masquerade! Apparently someone named Billiam went and invited guests over and then lured them to a room where he went and-

Punz: Wrong building Karl.

Karl: Oh I know, I just want to talk to you!

Punz, internally crying tears of joy: O- Oh. That’s nice. So what about the Red Masquerade again?

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

Punz, locking his doors as he sees the Eggpire surrounding his shop: You know maybe if I just go and ignore them then they’ll leave. It’s not my problem and it will never be-

Foolish: Uh...Punz! Get your weird sword and armor out or else the property value is going to go down!

Purpled: Give me back my sword you weird Void Demon!

Punz, getting all his overpowered equipment: You know what? I’m going out there

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

Punz: I’m pretty sure the Church is just now plucking children from their homes. This can’t be legal. Child soldiers are illegal and I’m surprised no one pointed that out.

Wilbur: Oh it is. They just have too much power and Dream isn’t really doing anything so…

Punz: ...Hey want to go and blow up the main base of Church Prime?

[izzyfandoms]

Like Lipstick Stains On His Skin

SHIPS: Remile

CHARACTERS: Emile Picani, Remy Sanders

WARNING: Anxiety, references to heartbreak

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @glassferns @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1

Masterpost

A Series Of Soulmate AUs Masterpost

Emile Picani had been in love with his best friend for as long as he could remember.

The moment he had first laid eyes on Remy Sanders, his initial thought had been that that was the most attractive person he’d ever seen. And, after getting to know him better, Emile’s thoughts only solidified; Remy was funny and sarcastic, smarter than anyone gave him credit for, and casually flirty in a way that made Emile’s heart stop and pound and ache all at once.

And Emile’s feelings had only strengthened as they grew up together.

From awkward teenagers still figuring out their sexualities to adults with their own homes and jobs and independent lives, Remy and Emile had stayed friends through it all, sticking together like glue since they’d first met in middle school. They knew almost everything about each other, and they were best friends.

But that was just it – they were friends. Nothing more.

And Emile was... fine with that. He was fine.

He loved Remy. Loved, loved, loved Remy.

And, sure, it hurt when he was with Remy, but not really with Remy, not in the way Emile always wanted to be. It hurt to be around him and know that it would only ever be platonic, that his best friend would never love him back in quite the same he loved him.

But time spent with Remy was better than time spent with anyone or anything else. And Emile knew that Remy cared deeply for him, too.

Emile could take the heartache if it meant he never lost his best friend.

When Emile heard the knock on his front door, he immediately recognised it as Remy’s. He jumped up – perhaps a little too enthusiastically and excitedly, but the only person that could see him right now was himself, so there was nobody around to judge. He rushed over to the door and pulled it open. Remy’s eyes lit up when he saw Emile, and he grinned.

Emile would never admit aloud to the tremble of his heart in his chest at the expression on his best friend’s face, but he did immediately squish down the traitorous hope that emerged every time Remy looked at him like that. Which happened almost every time they saw each other.

“Hey, Remy! You’re here early,” Emile said.

“Hope that’s chill, babe. I was not watching the time.”

(Emile did his best to ignore the feelings that the use of the nickname ‘babe’ stirred up.)

Remy’s sunglasses were propped up on his head, as they often were, and his warm brown eyes were on display. He was wearing his signature black leather jacket, too, as he usually was, with a white crop-top – with the word ‘bitch’ across the front in block capitals – underneath, exposing his midriff.

It took effort for Emile to keep his eyes from drifting downwards.

“It’s fine, Remy,” Emile smiled, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on his best friend’s face. “You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

Remy laughed. “If you keep saying that, I’ll end up showing up here at 4am when I’m drunk.”

“Well, I would rather you came here than go somewhere else and get yourself hurt.”

“Even if that means I wake you up from whatever candy-coloured, cartoon-filled dreams you’re having?”

“Mhm!”

“Damn, gurl, you really are sweeter than sugar, huh? How the hell did someone like you end up being besties with someone like me?”

“Aww, Remy, I think you give yourself too little credit.”

Remy laughed again. “Nah, babes, I love myself. I’m just kinda an asshole sometimes.”

“Isn’t everyone sometimes?” Emile said.

“Not you, apparently. Come on, you’re basically an angel, like, 24/7 and I have legit no idea how you do it. You’ve got the patience of a saint and a smile that literally gives me toothache just looking at it. You’re downright adorable.”

Elation bubbled up in Emile’s heart, and those bubbles filled his chest and spilled over in the forms of happy giggles. He covered his smile with his hand, and practically melted on the spot at the soft, fond look that crossed Remy’s face for just a moment – almost unnoticeable, but Emile paid enough attention that he saw it – before being replaced with Remy’s usual grin.

“Do you want to come in?” Emile asked, still smiling.

“Sure.”

Emile stepped to the side, and Remy’s arm brushed against his own as he walked past him. He hoped the stuttered breath at the contact wasn’t obvious.

“I like the new tie,” Remy commented as Emile shut the door and turned to face him.

Emile perked up. “Oh, you noticed!”

“Course I did,” Remy said. “I’ve seen every tie you’ve got like a million times. I could tell that one was new basically as soon as you opened the door.”

“Aww, Remy... you’re great. The best friend a guy could have!”

Emile’s smile was soft, fond, and so, so caring, and – for just a moment – he could have sworn that Remy looked flustered to be the recipient of it: wide-eyed and as still as a statue. But then, the moment passed, and Remy’s expression smoothed over and returned to normal, and Emile was sure that he’d only imagined it.

“It’s nothing, babe,” Remy said, waving his hand dismissively. “You noticed when I got that new skirt last week, even though it’s identical to my old one-”

“Your old one had a big hole in it! The new one didn’t.”

“Yeah, so I had to get a new one ‘cos it made my ass look great and I wasn’t ‘bout to give that shit up, you know? Ooh, and I especially love it paired with those heels that get everyone looking at my legs, ‘cos that combo makes me look fab AF.” Remy paused. “You know what, I think that’s kinda beside the point. Any-gay, you noticed ‘cos you’re cool like that, so me noticing your tie is, like, nothing.”

“Aww, Remy,” Emile reached forward, and poked Remy’s arm. “It’s not nothing, most people wouldn’t even be able to tell! You’re my best friend, and it makes me really, really happy that you notice these kinds of things.”

Remy’s expression softened. “Well, then I guess it makes it pretty special then, huh?”

Emile felt like screaming. Or kissing Remy. Or kissing Remy and then screaming.

(Though, really, if Emile ever got the chance to kiss Remy, he’d be too busy savouring it to even think of doing anything else. Too busy savouring the feeling of warm lips against his own, of Remy’s gentle hand against his cheek, of a chest pressed against his own, of being so close to the one person he wanted to be close to more than anything else in the world. But he never thought he’d ever get the chance.)

Emile stumbled over his words, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other as he fiddled with his hands. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that, and wasn’t sure if he even could without losing control of his mouth and accidentally confessing his undying love for his best friend.

“Um...” he trailed off.

Remy laughed awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair and glancing away.

“So, uh... what did- what did your patients think of your new tie?”

“Oh!” Emile perked up again, at once both disappointed and relieved by the return to the original topic of conversation. “Yeah, two of them complimented it. And someone said the red was a nice change from the usual pastels, so I think it was a big hit!”

He smiled, and Remy immediately smiled back.

“Nice.”

“I think the pink tie’s still my favourite, though.”

“Mine, too. It’s a classic Emile colour.”

Emile laughed. “There are classic Emile colours?”

“Sure, there are! You’ve got your baby pink, baby blue and, you know,” Remy reached out, tugging gently on Emile’s cardigan sleeve. “You’ve got your cardigan-colour. I’ve, like, barely ever seen you without this thing. How many of these do you have? Like, a hundred?”

Emile giggled again, covering his mouth with his hand. “I have two. And they’re both a little different!”

“Right, right,” Remy nodded. “One’s, like, a little bigger.”

“Mhm! And this one’s a bit softer.”

Remy nodded again, slowly and with an amused tint to his smile. “So, are we gonna, like, move, or are we gonna stand in your hallway forever?”

“Oh, right!” Emile said, like he’d only just remembered that they were still stood at his front door.  

He moved past Remy, gesturing for his friend to follow as he went into the next room and sat down on the couch. Remy immediately flopped onto it beside him, getting comfortable on the soft, squishy cushions. He leant back lazily and stretched.

“Ooh,” Remy finally said, straightening up. “I bought a new lipstick yesterday!”

“Ooh, what colour?”

“It’s, like, pink. It matches the shoes I bought last week, and it makes me look killer. I’m gonna get all the guys’ eyes on me, so it sucks that I can’t wear it when I’m, like, actually looking to kiss strangers, you know?”

Emile ignored the pang of pain in his heart, and did his best to smile encouragingly.

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned,” he said. “I- I bet you look great in it. And it- it's a shame you can’t wear it when you want to.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda tempted to, you know, but, like, if I’m wearing lipstick, then I won’t know if any marks my lips make are ‘cos of my lipstick or ‘cos of soulmate shit, right?” Remy continued, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “And, like, what’s the pointing of making out with people if I can’t also know if they’re my soulmate?”

“Right.”

“So, I can only wear lipstick when I’m not looking for people to kiss. Sucks, but it’s gotta be done.”

Emile nodded slowly. Then, he paused, and his brow creased in thought.

“You don’t usually wear lipstick when you’re with me,” he said. “Even when we’re going out and it’s just us, no- no kissing strangers involved. How come?”

Remy froze in place.

“Uh...”

Emile blinked at him. He tilted his head questioningly. “Hmm?”

He could practically see the cogs turning in Remy’s head, while he searched for an answer that he obviously did not have or did not want to share. He looked... flustered, in a way that Emile had almost never seen him before – opening and closing his mouth a few times – and Emile just couldn’t seem to figure out why.

Remy and Emile just stared at each other, neither knowing quite what to say to the other. Emile was confused, not wanting to speak up at the risk of interrupting whatever Remy wanted to say. He also absolutely would not let his mind wander to the any possibilities that would fill him with hope.

A crushed hope was definitely not something Emile wanted to deal with, not right now.

Remy cleared his throat. He swallowed.

“Um- there’s...” he then huffed, looking down at his lap and running his fingers through his hair. He let out an awkward laugh, and then looked back up at Emile. “I... okay,” he sighed. “There’s something I think I should probs tell you.”

Emile stared at him, blinking. “What is it?” He asked.

“It, uh...” Remy sighed again. “I have no idea how you’d react to this. The thing I want to tell you... it could probs mess up our friendship.”

“Remy...” Emile said softly. “You’re my best friend. You can tell me anything, and I promise you this won’t mess anything up, okay?”

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

“I don’t need to. I know you.” Emile leant forward slightly, giving Remy his best attempt at a soft, reassuring smile.

Remy stared at Emile for a second. Then he laughed again, a strange mix of awkwardness and nervousness and with a hint of slight joy, too – with a confusing, even a little alarming, effect. His eyes never left Emile’s smile.

“Jeez, babe. How are you making this so much harder but so much easier at, like, the same time?”

Emile blinked. “Um... is that good?”

“Dunno. But...” Remy took a deep breath. He clenched his hands into fists, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before he turned back to Emile. “Okay... wow, I’ve wanted to tell you this for forever, but, like, fuck, this is terrifying.”

Emile’s expression creased with concern. He reached forward, looking him over worriedly, and rested his hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Remy, are you okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he frowned slightly.

“No, I- I want to tell you. God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about telling you about my feelings.”

Feelings. Feelings, feelings, feelings.

Did that mean what Emile thought it meant?

The hope rose up, though he tried so hard to squash it down, but it was like trying to fit something large in a container too small and he could hardly keep it from filling up and overwhelming him. His breath stuttered, and he was sure he tensed up and froze in place for a moment, before he finally regained his composure and physically relaxed.

“Feelings?” He asked, in a voice slightly more strangled than before. “What feelings?”

Remy let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, that’s- that’s what I’ve gotta talk to you about. My- my feelings... for you.” He took another deep breath. “I... I love you, Em.”

“I love you, too,” Emile answered back immediately. “Haven’t we said this before?”

They had. The two best friends had been friends for so long: exchanging ‘I love you’s was practically part of their routine, by now.

But it had always been platonic, at least from Remy’s side.

Right?

“We- we have...” Remy said slowly. “But that’s not what I meant. I love you. Like, love love. Like the head over heels in love kind. The- the I can never stop thinking ‘bout you kind. The, fuck, you’re so gorgeous kind. The kind that means I’m, like, basically always thinking about you and about kissing you and about how, wow, you’re- you’re just amazing. I mean, damn, I know last week when I told you that you’re my favourite person, I kinda said it like a joke, but I meant it. I like really, really meant it.”

When Remy realised that he was rambling, he clamped his hand over his mouth, like it was the only way to get the words – the pretty, pretty words that had set Emile’s heart aflutter – to stop tumbling out.

Emile was frozen.

He stared, wide-eyed at his best friend.

“Oh,” was the only thing he could say, in a strangled voice.

He was sure that his face was already bright red.

“Great.” Remy sighed, removing his palm from his mouth and burying his face in his hands. “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?” He mumbled just loud enough to be audible. “I- I know you don’t feel the same way, babe, and it’s fine. It’s totally, totally fine. I’m happy just being friends with you, ‘kay? You- you don’t have to return anything. It’s- it’s whatever. It’s chill.”

Emile’s brain had broken. He could hardly think anything other than the words ‘Remy’ and ‘love’ just over and over on repeat.

Instead of saying anything in response to that – as he wasn’t even sure if he could – he just suddenly burst into nervous, delighted laugher. Emile was sure he sounded like he was crazy, especially when Remy turned to him with a bewildered expression.

“Did- did you really mean that?” Emile asked when he could finally collect his thoughts enough to speak, which took slightly longer than he would have liked it to.

Remy blinked. Then, his expression softened.

“Of course, I did,” he said. “I’d never lie to you about something like this, Em.”

“So, you... you really mean it?” Emile asked hopefully.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Remy said. He hesitated for a moment, before nervously adding: “Do you- I mean, is it-”

“I love you, too.”

There was a beat.

Remy stared back at him, wide-eyed. The moment of silence was somehow simultaneously nerve-racking and also soft and so, so exciting, because, oh my gosh, Remy loved him. Remy loved him, he loved him, he loved him!

Love! Love! Love!

And, oh, heavens above, Emile was about to start wiggling excitedly because, gosh, he really, really just had to kiss Remy, right now. And maybe – maybe, maybe, maybe – Remy would say yes if he asked.

Emile let out another giggle, covering his mouth with his hand.

“You... you do?” Remy asked, eyes wide and hopeful, and Emile was suddenly glad that the sunglasses were propped up on his head, as his expression was always much easier to read that way.

“Yeah,” Emile responded, equally soft. “I really, really do.”

“Wow. Just- just wow.”

Emile reached forward, impulsively cupping Remy’s cheek with his hand, and Remy froze. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“Oh, gosh- sorry,” Emile apologised. “I should’ve asked-”

He moved to take his hand away, but was stopped by Remy covering Emile’s hand with his own.

“You’re good- you're- yes. Yes.”

And, well, that was exactly the answer that Emile had wanted to hear.

He leant forward, and finally – finally! – did the thing he’d most wanted to do for years. Years. Since the moment he’d first laid eyes on Remy, he’d thought about it.

He kissed Remy.

Softly. Carefully. Holding Remy’s face so delicately like he was holding something precious.

And the way Remy was kissing him back...

Emile had seen Remy kiss people before – strangers, friends – and he’d always kissed them like he was doing it for fun, not love. He’d never seen Remy kiss anyone as gently as Remy was kissing him, right now.

Bubbles of delight and fireworks of excitement were going off in Emile’s heart and his mind.

He sighed happily into the kiss, and he could suddenly feel Remy smile against his lips.

Emile broke the kiss with another delighted giggle and Remy couldn’t help but just start laughing with him, too. And, of course, that just made Emile’s giggles louder and more enthusiastic.

He was so focused on the laughing and the delighted feeling in his chest from the fact that he had just kissed Remy, that Emile didn’t immediately notice that Remy’s lips were suddenly pink – a light, pastel pink that certainly hadn’t been there before.

And, in fact, it was Remy who halted the laughter first, by freezing in place and staring – yet again wide-eyed – at Emile’s own lips.

Emile paused, and tilted his head in confusion.

“Remy?”

Remy opened and closed his mouth a few times, never taking his eyes off of Emile’s lips.

“Em... your- your lips.”

Emile blinked. He reached a hand up to his own lips, and swiped a finger across them. He then looked back down at his hand, and found nothing – no blood, no anything.

He paused, and then turned his head to look at the mirror that hung on an opposite wall.

His eyes landed on his reflection, and he finally noticed that there was a smear of shiny silver across his lips that definitely, definitely hadn’t been there before.

Emile sucked in a breath as Remy turned his head to look into the mirror, and he realised that Remy’s lips were now a lipstick-like pink, when he certainly hadn’t been wearing any just before the pair had kissed.

“We’re-” Remy started.

“Oh,” Emile breathed.

“Oh,” Remy echoed.

They turned their heads to stare at each other, equally wide-eyed and shocked and excited.

Soulmates.

They were soulmates.

And then Remy surged forward, and kissed Emile again.

[fandom-necromancer]

You are safe with me

This was prompted by an awesome anon! I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: Description of violence, evil Sixty, panic attack)

‘Eli’, Gavin whispered, trying to keep his voice down. ‘Eli!’, he tried again with a bit more urgency and was rewarded by a low groan. Gavin could hear the pain in his voice but was relieved the man had woken up at all. Once again, Gavin futilely tried to rub his blindfold off with his shoulder. He had only just started warming up to his brother again, but damn, he wanted nothing more than see the bastard and make sure he was okay. ‘Are you alright?’, he asked. ‘I’m fine’, Elijah slurred through gritted teeth. ‘A few more bruises and breathing hurts. You?’ ‘I’m alright’, Gavin sighed. He was, in fact, not. Elijah was who they wanted. The genius inventor with billions on his bank account and influence all over the world. Gavin was just someone they accidentally had to take with them because he had visited Eli over the weekend. Figuring they could use him as a bargaining chip to make his brother spill whatever they wanted from him, he hadn’t been treated as lightly.

He was hurting all over. Being beaten up and cut to make him scream over and over again, so Elijah would cave in, hadn’t passed him without a trace. He hadn’t lost enough blood to be light headed, but half his face was swollen, he couldn’t find a position his body wasn’t hurting in when he laid down and from his past hospital visits from his work, he knew there were several bones that were broken or at least sprained.

They had been taken by masked figures and since then Elijah had worn a blindfold. Gavin was only blinded when he was brought back to his brother. During his sessions in the next room, he was allowed to see his opponent and it made his stomach turn. It was Connor. Or at least a Connor. Gavin refused to believe the puppy-eyed nerd that constantly swarmed Hank was capable of such things. The Connor that had introduced itself as Sixty was far too cold anyway. Gavin could see it had some sort of sadistic fun hurting him. And the more the damn machine smiled at him, Gavin struggled. Even if they tied him down and took everything that could be used as a weapon from him, he still had his voice. They needed his voice so Eli would hear it next door. And Gavin used it to spit every expletive known to man in Sixty’s face.

But he could feel how he grew weaker. This had been going on for far too long already. There was only so much pain a human could withstand and still fight. With every passing day, desperation sat in. Gavin’s only hope was that the DPD would find them. Kidnapping Gavin was a bad idea when his partner and love was the best android ever built. But he hadn’t found them yet. And if Nines hadn’t managed to find a trace yet, how likely was it he would find one any time soon?

He was his only hope by now, because he knew he would never stop searching for him. But that hope was dwindling as Gavin tried his best not to think about him too much. He was already dreaming of Sixty hurting him over and over again when he found a few hours of sleep. It was far too easy for these eyes to turn blue, for his face to turn up and for their surroundings to change to their living room. Nothing was worse than waking up from sleep after the love of his life had just mutilated him in his dream and being dragged off by his Doppelganger immediately afterwards.

Sometimes, when Sixty decided to phck him up worse than normally, Gavin thought to see Nines. Reality and dream had merged and panic overshadowed anger. He didn’t bother to hide it: He was afraid. He was so damn scared Elijah would give them what they wanted, and they would just kill him off. He was so scared they would never be rescued. He groaned, as he rolled over, trying to locate Eli and make sure the man didn’t lie to him in the same way he did to him. Because what he feared even more than himself dying in this hellhole was Elijah meeting his demise.

He had finally wormed his way over to his brother as the door opened and they both froze. Gavin felt familiar arms hugging him from behind to lift him up and felt like throwing up as they were almost careful. He was carried out of the room and laid on the table. Only then the blindfold was lifted, and the man froze in panic as his stressed-out brain tried to make sense of what he saw.

It was the first time he begged for Nines to stop.

-

‘Everyone in position?’ Nines waited at the north entrance to the abandoned machine hall – a relict from the days Detroit was still the world’s automotive capital. He was wearing a borrowed Jacket from Connor and had changed his eye colour to brown to infiltrate the building. He had worked night and day to find the people that had taken his love away from him and with help of nearly the whole department found out who had kidnapped the Kamskis. Sixty, the wretched third brother that had nearly stopped the revolution and killed Connor, was still loyal to Amanda and taken Elijah in her name. He wanted to force him to develop a virus that would un-deviate every last android in the world and follow Amanda’s orders. With that information Nines quickly found a place that had sufficient space and power supply to house an AI and checking the energy draw it was a surprise they had managed to stay hidden for so long in the first place.

Nines didn’t want to think what they had done to Gavin. They didn’t exactly need him and likely used him to pressure Mr. Kamski into compliance. But that would end today. He heard the others confirm their positions just outside the different rooms, entrance routes secured for a quick access. ‘Alright. Going in.’

He walked calmly down the hallway and feigned a confidence only Sixty could display. If they had hired goons for protection, Nines doubted they knew Sixty well enough to distinguish him from a near identical model. And if not, then it would just come down to a match between him and an inferior machine. Nines was prepared. Months of despair, pent-up stress and fear could create a dangerous cocktail of fury and the RK900 was determined to let Sixty feel it before deactivating him for good.

Walking deeper into the complex he never saw another face and decided to give the clear for the rest of his team to enter and scout for themselves. He watched out for any sign someone had been here lately, climbing through debris and balancing over beams where the floor had collapsed. But it were his hears that picked something up in the end and it made his pump stop at least two full beats: The bloodcurdling screams coming from the end of the hallway were so far from everything Nines had ever heard this voice produce, but still mistakenly Gavin. He started running, regardless of whether the integrity of the floor allowed it or not. He slid to a halt at the door, pieces of drop ceiling on the floor spun to the side after centuries of decay. With one distinguished movement, Nines ripped the door open, the lock falling to the floor from the sheer force. He could only see the table with Gavin strapped onto it and a person bowed over him, then he was already next to them and punched Sixty square in the face. The impact sent him crashing against the next wall.

The time Nines needed to follow gave the other android the chance to look up at him and ask: ‘Connor?’ Nines dismissed the masking protocol and fixed the RK800 out of his own, blue eyes. ‘Guess again’, he ordered cold enough to let hell freeze over and took Sixty by the throat to punch him against the wall repeatedly. ‘My name is Nines. You kidnapped and tortured someone who is very dear to me.’ ‘Kamski?’ ‘No. His brother.’ ‘Reed? What, someone actually likes the asshole?’

Nines screamed at him and send him to the floor, pressing Sixty down with his weight alone. ‘I love him. You weren’t successful the first time and you missed your second chance, Sixty. Now you die.’ Those were the last words the RK800 would hear, as Nines broke Sixty’s artificial neck before unholstering his gun to shoot him a few times for good measure.

He looked down on the deactivated android with content until his attention shifted to the laboured breathing audible in the room. Immediately he was on his feet and on top of Gavin to open the restraints and take him in his arms. Gavin was alive. Gavin was hurt, but alive. Gavin was back by his side. They would go home and- no, they would go to a hospital first, but they would go home eventually and then-

‘No, no, no, no-‘ The panicked whisper, nothing more than air leaving his lungs, came from somewhere at his chest, where Gavin’s face had been smothered against him. ‘No, this can’t be. Not this dream again, please-‘ weak arms pressed against him and Nines knew Gavin well enough to let him go immediately, only helping him to lay back down. The human’s eyes were wide in fear and panic and Nines instinctively took a step back. ‘Please, no, not you Nines, no, I beg you. You would never do this. Make it end, make it end!’

‘Gavin, it’s me. It’s me. I came to get you out of here. You are safe now.’ But the man wouldn’t listen. ‘You say that, but you will just hurt me again. This is my phcked-up brain again. Stay away from me!’ ‘I- I will’, Nines said despite wanting nothing more than holding him close and carry him out to never let go again. ‘I will stay right here; I won’t do anything. I don’t know what they did to you, but this is me. The DPD is just outside waiting to shut down Amanda for good and get you to a hospital.’ He finally shrugged out of Connor’s jacket, thinking it might be the uniform. But otherwise he didn’t move, hoping Gavin would come to his senses. But everything his scans returned him was showing him he was experiencing a panic attack. He had to keep calm. For Gavin’s sake. ‘Gavin, please, try to breathe. Try to focus. Try to breathe deeper. It is over. Sixty is dead. I will get you and my brother out of here.’ ‘What are you asshole playing?’, Gavin asked, tears flowing down his cheeks. ‘Just get on with it already you mad phcker! Cut me open like you always do! What are you waiting for?’ ‘For you to calm down, Gavin. I unshackled you. And look: I will sit down here now.’ He took more steps back until he hit the wall and sat into the dust. ‘I won’t stand up until you tell me to. Please try to calm down, to breathe and to relax. I won’t do you any harm.’

Gavin eyed him sceptically, but his breathing had indeed become more regular. Nines relaxed a bit, staring at his human, who was just sitting there wounded and sore, bleeding from cuts and his face swollen. He wanted to caress where he could and warm him, wanted to make it better. But anything he would do now would only make it worse. ‘I’m not dreaming?’, Gavin asked. ‘You never did that in a dream before.’ ‘You are not. I’m really here and we can go home whenever you are ready.’ ‘Home…’, Gavin still watched him, but his eyes looked distant. ‘I… Is it really over?’ ‘Yes.’ Gavin blinked and looked down on his feet, swaying to the side and righting himself again. ‘Sixty is dead?’ ‘He is.’ ‘Nines, I think I’m losing consciousness…’

Nines was on his feet the moment he said it and ran to his side, holding him gently and this time Gavin didn’t freak out like before. He did tense and looked like he was ready to bolt the moment Nines moved the wrong muscle, but otherwise sought the closeness. Nines did nothing but supporting him, until Gavin leaned against his chest and hugged his side. He inhaled through his nose and smiled. ‘It’s really you’, he murmured, before resting his head against him. ‘Get me out of here, Nines.’ ‘I will, Gavin. You are safe with me.’

[kogo-dogo]

Layman’s Guide to the Sixth House

You know, it’s been a long time (literal years) since I’ve infodumped bullshit about Morrowind to people, and I feel the itch now and maybe this’ll inspire some people to actually play the damn game. If not, at least it’ll lay the groundwork for people when I inevitably angry-write some kind of twisted eldritch House Dagoth bullshit to provide myself the content I want (after I get done with all the HLVRAI/Half-Life shit I have on my plate).

OKAY COOL.

I present: “The Sixth House for Dummies: You’re Not Actually Dummies But I Will Explain This To You Anyway”

Dateline: Year 668 of the First Era

You are an elf named Voryn Dagoth. You are a very powerful elf in charge of a very powerful political house, House Dagoth, and the best friend of the war-king of your people, some asshole named Nerevar Indoril. Your people--the Chimer--are living in the shadow of a very technologically advanced, elitist, perpetually bitchy race of elves known as the Dwemer who, for a long while, were your enemies because... well, your people just stormed onto their land after an argument with their old neighbors and said, “We live here now.”

The Dwemer and Chimer only stopped fighting because other people tried to show up on your lawn and live there. And now your king, Nerevar, is trying to make that ceasefire last because it’s kind of nice to not be always beating the shit out of each other. 

But oh! There’s a problem! During some run-of-the-mill diplomatic visit with the higher-ups of the Dwemer, you discover that they’re building a goddamn, divinely inspired war machine in their basement. That... does not sound good. That actually sounds really fucking bad.

So, what do you do? You politely excuse yourself, run home at Mach II, throw open the king’s door, and yell, “Holy FUCK, you know those assholes we’ve been trying not to fight? Bitch, I think they’re going to nuke us.”

Because that is, admittedly, something a technologically advanced, elitist, perpetually bitchy race of elves would do.

So your king says, “Dude, I’m gonna go talk to them about it like a civilized adult, because me and their king are tight as fuck now that we ain’t bludgeoning each other to death. I’m sure it’s all a huge misunderstanding.”

A few hours later, though, your king comes back and says, “Okay, so. That didn’t work out how I hoped it would.”

Your name is Voryn Dagoth and you have accidentally started a war.

Dateline: Year 700 of the First Era

Okay, you are Voryn Dagoth and things were a lot worse than you expected. The Dwemer are building a literal war god out of dead god parts they found in a volcano, and now everyone is involved. Nerevar has an entire posse of people to act as advisors/generals--you; some dude named Vivec who wants to have sex with anything that moves; Nerevar’s wife, Almalexia; Sotha Sil, a mage who doesn’t know how to people very well; and this guy named Alandro Sul who nobody will remember, I promise. You are the oldest, and you do not like these other people very much, but you know what? They know what they’re doing, so we’ll let it slide.

The war has been terrible and, to be honest, considering the fact the Dwemer have goddamn robots on their side and your people are still fighting with spears, it’s impressive you’ve not been utterly destroyed. Again, these advisors seem to know what they’re doing. So much so, actually, that in a final, decisive battle, they help you and Nerevar bust straight into the citadel where they’re building this war god so you can just fight this war god yourself.

The Dwemer panic. The guy in charge of building the war god pulls out a fancy set of tools the second he sees you coming and does... some weird ritual that involves the heart of a dead god. Their entire race vanishes, bringing the war to a very anticlimactic end.

So here you are, confused, standing there with Nerevar and the Scooby-Doo Mystery Gang, holding these weird tools at arm’s length going, “What the hell are we going to do with these? The fuck is this? We should melt these down, right? This seems bad.”

Except most of the Mystery Gang (barring Alandro) is begging you not to destroy them, and Nerevar is flustered and dazed from having the ever-loving fuck knocked out of him, so he tells you, “Bro, I’m gonna go talk to god and see what she has to say about it.”

And you’re like, “... O... kay. I guess I’ll stay here.”

“Don’t let anyone touch this shit, though. Deal?”

“Yeah, cool. I won’t let anyone touch it. Go talk to god, I guess.”

And so Nerevar and the barnyard gang leave you there, alone, with these magical objects that just obliterated an entire race. And you sit there, kind of wondering how it works. So you play with them a bit--feels weird, man--but you’re still pretty thoroughly convinced these things need to be tossed in the volcano and bulldozed over. You hold this thought until the barnyard gang comes back, sans Nerevar and Alandro, covered in blood and demanding the tools.

“Where’s the boss?” you ask. Well, they tell you he’s busy or whatever and you know that’s bullshit. These motherfuckers just killed your best friend, and now they’re asking for these items that just obliterated an entire race. They don’t seem like the type of people who should have them, so you flippantly tell them that your goddamn king told you not to let anyone touch the fancy tools and if they want them so bad, they can go get Nerevar and have him come take them from you himself.

They do not like this answer.

Your name is Voryn Dagoth. Your best friend’s murderers have just killed the shit out of you and taken your impossibly dangerous tools away.

Dateline: Year 882 of the Second Era

Your name is Voryn Dagoth and you are somehow not dead. You wake up in the place you were “killed” and are incredibly pissed off by what happened. The world has changed significantly. Your people, the Chimer, are now called the Dunmer and look completely different. The guys who killed you have somehow obtained god-like powers and are worshiped as deities. Nerevar is now patronizingly considered a saint by his murderers, who also used his dead body as an undead servant and then fucking lost it somehow.

Oh, and your political house? You, your family, everyone? Have been branded “evil” and responsible for every calamity that has befallen your homeland (now named “Morrowind”, apparently, which is also different) since you’ve been out cold. They won’t even speak your name out loud. “House Dagoth” is now “The Sixth House” and “The House Unmourned” because everyone hates you. You know, for doing what you were told and not murdering your king.

Fine. Fine! Two can play at this game, can’t they? In the words of a great scholar, “I was supposed to be good, but you forced me to be bad. So I’m going to be BAD.”

You decide that you’re going to finish the war god. You’re going to take over Morrowind. Fuck, you’re going to take over the whole fucking continent. You’re going to restore order, you’re going to fuck shit up. If they’re gonna fuck with you, you’re going to fuck right back.

You plot. You scheme. When your murderers, thinking you are very dead, come back to use their fancy tools on the Heart (now with a capital H) to restore their stolen divine essence, you mug the shit out of them. You take the tools, you chase them off, you bring back your kin who were executed for just being a part of House Dagoth and you say, “Rise and shine, bitches! We’re starting a religion! Who wants to be immortal?”

And everyone raises their hands because, like, come on. Wouldn’t you?

Now you and all of your brothers and sisters are back and angry, construction on the war god resumes, and you start hardcore studying these magical tools to figure out how the fuck to use them properly. Because you are going to cram your foot so far up the asses of the people who killed you that they are going to be choking on your toenails.

Your name is Voryn Dagoth, and you are feelin’ fine as fuck.

Dateline: Year 427 of the Third Era

You are Voryn Dagoth, and things are going pretty okay. You can do a lot of weird shit with the heart of a dead god, you find, though it’s not the prettiest way to make things happen. You’ve always prized yourself on being a diplomatic and poised guy so, you know, the fact you’re having to stoop to some rough, not-very-aesthetically pleasing lows is not ideal, but it works, and that’s what counts.

Like, you can control disease. The people call it Divine Disease, and it’s got about a 50% success rate on people afflicted, with half of them becoming weird masses of tumorous growths who just drool and eat people and the other half decaying and regrowing parts until they look like weird elephant squids who are still all-there in the head but look really weird. They’re loyal and they’re good company, though, and for some reason everything the disease touches is immortal and insanely strong so. You know. It works out.

You can also mind control people, and infiltrate dreams. It’s good for recruiting people without a plague, and it’s good for issuing orders, and it’s good for freaking people out. That last one is proving to be the most useful, because all of these idiot mortals are now pointing fingers and arresting each other whenever they have a nightmare because, “Oh my GOD, Becky! You’re a DEVIL WORSHIPER.”

So, that’s fun.

The war god is almost constructed and even though it’s taken over four-hundred years (which has given an invading Empire time to take over your home; sucks to suck, huh?), you’re getting a good foothold. Stealing your fancy tools from your murderers means they’re garbage at being gods now, and you’ve managed to expand your enterprise to all sorts of caves and strongholds where your followers butcher non-believers and dance around naked by candlelight. You have assassins in major holy cities that are tearing shit up. You got operatives selling cursed idols right outside of temples in borderline plain sight.

But, lo, there is something on the horizon and it’s vaguely familiar. It’s some scraggly motherfucker that gets dumped off of a boat in the middle of a swamp, and you can’t help but feel as though you’ve seen them before. Or, well, felt somebody like them before. It’s a vibe thing, really, since they don’t look anything like anyone you know, and you don’t really know anyone because you’ve been living in a volcano for hundreds of years.

You take a special interest in this one because of the familiarity. You send them dreams, and you send them personalized invitations to come join your cult. You send your followers to watch them sleep and, like, try to kill them because you’re not sure if this is a good familiar or a bad familiar. They never really take you up on your offer or, you know, die, though.

And the longer you watch them go on, the longer you watch them do things, the more you realize... holy shit it’s Nerevar, bro.

Sure, some superstitious tribals have been chanting about how Nerevar Indoril will come back from the dead for revenge someday (as claimed by Alandro Sul, that guy that nobody remembers), but that was so far beneath your gaze that you kind of let it slide. And now here he is, amnesiac and wearing a new face but checking all the boxes, and he’s being specifically led on a path to come meet you. You know, to kill you.

So, you disease that motherfucker. Incurable god plague, baby! Except he somehow... cures the incurable god plague and he’s still coming. Jesus Christ, he’s persistent.

And... oh no, he’s siding with Vivec, the slutty guy who fucking killed him. You’re raking your claws down your face grumbling under your breath because, you dumb sack of shit, that man murdered you. Don’t listen to him, listen to me. I’m the one in the right, bro, I’m the one who was loyal to you.

And now god herself has endorsed him and he’s walking into your citadels and stealing your stolen tools back and, dude no. Stop. We were friends, bro, what the fuck is wrong with you?

And now he has the tools and he’s coming into your actual house and you’re just sighing in exasperation and trying to explain to him that, you know, you guys are friends. You will totally still let him join your side if he stops cracking open your followers�� skulls. Except he’s still skull-cracking and he’s still coming and...

... Great, now he’s right in front of you. Fantastic.

Okay, so you want to offer him amnesty one more time, but it isn’t going to work. You’re tired, you’re pissed off, Nerevar has somehow grown to believe that you are somehow in the wrong (which you are obviously not; taking over the world with a manufactured war god and a horrific plague seems perfectly justified to you), and worst of all? He has so many questions. He’s just blathering, demanding to know why you are the way you are and it’s just like.

Bro, this is kind of your fault. You left me alone with dangerous, desirable objects while you went to go talk to god. If you’d just let me destroy them in the first place, this never would have happened. Fuck it, offer rescinded. You can’t join my club anymore, Nerevar. Now throw hands or get out of my house.

So, Nerevar throws hands.

You and the reincarnation of your former best friend and king are now having a hair-pulling, spell-slinging, bloody fucking knock-down-drag-out in the middle of a volcano in the shadow of a war god. Your cultists are idiots who keep falling into lava trying to intervene. Nerevar keeps attempting to bypass you to get to the creamy, god-heart nougat at the center of your war god because you know he knows how to undo all the magical shit it’s capable of.

Somehow. Probably because Vivec figured it out and told him.

And if he gets to the Heart and he does that ritual, then your war god is done for. So are your falsely-divine murderers. And, unfortunately, seeing as those divine powers are the only thing keeping you alive after your murder, so are you.

And he’s getting so fucking close and he’s actually got there and you’re trying to burn him alive or claw his face off or literally anything you can do as your powers weaken the longer this ritual goes on until, finally, you look up and see that your war god is collapsing. Nerevar has won. The world is going black. It’s like somebody flipped an “off” switch in your brain.

Your name is Voryn Dagoth. You accidentally started a war, did all the right things, and were murdered. You tried to enact your revenge, you thought you were restoring order, and now your best friend has come back from the dead and killed you.

The last thing you see before you hit the ground is all of your hard work literally falling on top of you. You still don’t understand how any of this was your fault.

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-05-19

Figured an upd8 was coming, it’s felt like enough time has passed for one.

Huh, looking at my last post I’d completely forgotten I was supposed to play through Pesterquest sometime... work is busy and stressing me out a bit, I’m not sure when I’ll have the energy on the side to do that.  (Maybe I’ll livetweet it like I did Undertale a while ago, but this time not looking at my twitter replies so I don’t get spoiled by One Guy™?)

Also, including bonus commentary on A Threat Sensed.

Okay, going in completely blind.  I’d guessed from context that we’re hopping over to Meat side to get a chapter there before we can come back to actually see Yiffy?

Yep.  Okay, what is this about exactly?

(Agh, dammit, I’ve been copying and pasting so much at work remoting into Windows lately that now I’m automatically trying to hit control-C instead of command-C to copy.)

> CHAPTER 9. How Goes The Eulogizing, Dear?

CONTENT NOTE: This chapter contains Child Abuse.

Which one???

Wait

JANE: (Where is he?) JANE: (It's a question I've found myself asking many times in recent days.)

Holy SHIT we get two Candy chapters in a row???  So we might see her right away??  No, it’s gotta just be another tiny glimpse.

(Has two Candy chapters in a row happened before?  Future Boots, scroll back up and put this here. FUTURE BOOTS: “I forgot to scroll back up and put that here.” EDIT: Also, not the first time with two in a row, but it IS the first time with THREE in a row, huh.)

So Jane has to be talking about either Tavros or Dave.  --Oh, if this was a Candy Side chapter title, I guess Rose or Jade is eulogizing Dave for John?

> (==>)

JANE: (Where now is our merry savior?) JANE: (Where is the horn that was honking?) JANE: (Where is the cape and the codpiece, and the...) JANE: (The...) JANE: (Oh, fiddlesticks.)

What?  Is she reading a childrens’ book?  --Oh.  She’s eulogizing Gamzee.  So that gives us a third option, where the rebellion crashes the funeral somehow, probably audiovisually rather than in person.  (Which would make sense, given Candy practically began with Gamzee crashing Dirk’s funeral.)

> (==>)

Ah never mind, she’s still writing it.

That sure is a single button drama-remote that’s going to be pressed at some point.  Oh, and who the fuck keeps a spork in a pen cup???  --No no, don’t say it’s one of those pens with a spork at the eraser end, either ready-made or rubber-banded to the side.  That would make sense.  You totally know it isn’t that and is just a spork.

JANE: (Okay, poetry is out.) JANE: (What else?) JANE: (Hrm...) JANE: (I've always been pretty good at crying on cue.) JANE: (Could I try staging an emotional breakdown?) JANE: (That could work; playing to people's humanity.)

Why were you crying in Jake’s arms about his death if you didn’t care that much?  Did you just want him to hold you and kinda make him feel in on things again?  Or did you just cry yourself out about him?

JANE: (Or whatever is the more inclusive term.)

I bet the rest of Earth C figured out a more inclusive term millenia ago FUCK I accidentally added millennia to my dictionary misspelled instead of correcting it hold on--

...There, killed the entry for it.  ...Huh.  Take a look at my Chrome dictionary’s custom-added words over the years, apparently:

Caliborn Eridan Kanaya Matriorb Meenah Tavros alchemiter dichotomic nephilim reblogged uncaptchalogues uncaptchaloguing

That’s fun.

Okay back to reading. Millennia.  Phew!  Where was I.

JANE: (One really good and calculated weep could do it, I think.) JANE: (But then there's the danger that I might get carried away and do it for real.) JANE: (And I can't risk that.)

So still feeling something, just too used to calculating over the past years.

JANE: (What can I say about him that will stir up their emotions?) JANE: (Do I mention the stuff about the milk?) JANE: (Think Crocker, think.)

WHY would you-- how much did Gamzee normalize adult breastfeeding?!

JAKE: Ahoy over there!

Not the best time.

(The thing with the divorce papers from the Epilogue and John implying he was planning with Jake to execute something that sounds like a divorce... is that going to be sprung here?  Did her lawyers send the divorce papers way back when she was in a fit of pique, and he just had them available to sign now at the tactical moment? Or... let me pull the exact text...)

JOHN: now, harry anderson, i know that you and tavros haven't always gotten along. JOHN: but i am going to have to ask you to try and look out for him for the time being. JOHN: your uncle jake and i... well, i'll explain later. JOHN: let's just say that gamzee isn't the only family member jane is losing today.

(So is John going to submit the papers? Or did they already go through a while ago and default custody to John or something who’s going to adopt him too or some nonsense?  And did he plan this out with Jake NOW, or a while ago, and if only a while ago, is Jake going to KNOW whatever John’s about to pull in that respect is about to happen??)

> (==>)

Butte

Janepalme

> (==>)

JAKE: Er... how goes the eulogizing, dear?

Gah.  I completely forgot again that capitalized-first-letter chapter names don’t mean KANAYA is saying them.  That probably makes a lot more sense out of my wondering about the chapter title earlier to those of you who didn’t realize I was making that mistake.

JANE: It turns out that it's mighty difficult to find touching things to say about a person, the relationship with whom was predicated on deep-seated mutual loathing.

Hah!

--A loathing you regarded as largely more important to you than Jake ever was, by the way.  You asshole.

JANE: I imagine this is one of the reasons no funerary tradition was ever established on Alternia, besides the barbarism of their culture. DIRK: Jesus christ. JANE: Not only did a significant proportion of their interpersonality depend on romance in the form of hatred, but it was a society based on cruelty and violence. JANE: What reason could they have had to provide for the dead? JANE: What kind of last rites could they have even imagined?

I wondered for a moment why (bg!)Dirk of all people would react to a single line of her starting to bring up prejudices, but then I realized that (1) Brain Ghost Dirk is a little more Jakey, and (2) Dirk knew that more ranting would follow the first line.

JANE: I can't think of anything good to write about him because deep down, I hated his guts. JANE: But he was and is beloved of the multitude, so I have to think of something regardless. JAKE: Im not sure i understand. JANE: Don't worry your pretty little head about it. JANE: This is politics, Jakey. JANE: Lying through your two front teeth about people you hate is about as good a definition as it's possible to get. JANE: But, by gum, is it tiring work.

Mm.  It’s a position Jane put herself in, but it’s still a legitimate position once you’re there.

JANE: The funeral is tomorrow, after all.

Got it.

DIRK: Dude, the bowl. JAKE: Hm? JAKE: Oh, right. JANE: What is it now, Jake. JAKE: I brought something for our guest as well. JANE: You mean the prisoner. JAKE: Y...es.

Wait, bowl?

Oh god damnit which of you had the idea to feed her with a DOG BOWL.  Either of you could have thought of it, and either of you would be horrible for it.

> (==>)

Huh, that outfit on Yiffy looks familiar, like a reference to something.  And a black tail?  This definitely isn’t quite the look I was expecting from Jade Plus Rose, but I suppose the snazzy tie is a Roseish vibe.  Also reminiscent of Jade’s old Dead Shuffle dress.  Formal wear and soccer cleats??

JANE: She's over in the corner. JANE: Don't worry, she won't bite. JANE: I've seen to that already.

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN.  I don’t see anything over her mouth!  Did she stick something in it, or drug her?  File her fucking teeth???

I mean I did forget the Child Abuse trigger warning to be fair.  Hoping whatever would be on her mouth is just not shown in-panel yet for stylistic reasons.

> (==>)

JAKE: Its only mac and cheese, sorry. JAKE: Its all I know how to make, haha. JAKE: ... JAKE: I um... hope you can safely partake of cheese? JAKE: ... JAKE: Well, JAKE: Bon appetit.

How the fuck did Jake eat on his island then?  --Oh right, preserved food cans that Grandma Jade stored up, I think I remember.  Why would cheese not be a thing for them, if it’s fine for Jade?  I know he’s probably not just worried about lactose intolerance.

Either way, if she’s drugged here, that’ll mean we won’t get a good idea of her for a while, so which is it...

> (==>)

DIRK: Bon appetit. DIRK: Seriously dude? JAKE: (What? Did i pronounce it wrong?) DIRK: Jake. DIRK: You put the food in a fucking dog bowl. JAKE: (It was all there was, ok???) JAKE: (I feel awful enough as it is without you getting on my case about it.)

Ah, missed the bone pun.  AND, yeah, Jake, you’re a fucking idiot, you could have put it in a cup or something.

JAKE: (So far ive yet to see anything come of that brilliant plan of yours.) JAKE: (Are you sure sending that message to the others was enough?)

Okay, so he IS coordinating this slightly.

> (==>)

Horrifying image to contemplate, eh Jane?

Or anger-inducing?

> (==>)

Seems about right!

> (==>)

Oh that’s a GREAT exasperated Jane face.

JANE: I hope you're not expecting dessert, young lady.

I like how Jane didn’t notice, comment on, or care about the bowl.  How can you hate a kid so much??

> (==>)

Oh I know why I felt like I recognized the outfit style, it’s because it’s ANIME AS FUCK.  Feels like some Persona 4 Arena nonsense, and I say that not having played any of those games or even remembering what they looked like.  Also, white hair, black fur’d dog parts?  Nice change of pace.

YIFFY: GRRRRRRRRR... JANE: Oh no you don't.

Red text?  What color exactly... “#D00009”?  Huh.  That’s nowhere near Alt-Callie’s #FF0000, and darker than Dave’s #E00707.  In fact, let me go back and check those spilled color pins the commentary pointed out from an update or two ago...  no, the red pin is #E63225, closer to Dave’s color.  (Also, is Yiffy blocking the doorway out?  That’s a pretty slack chain then.)

Did Jane see to it that she wouldn’t bite with like, a water spray bottle?

(EDIT: Oh my FUCKING GOD, THAT's why it's #D00009...)

> (==>)

FUCK I didn’t notice the shock collar in the Yiffy image!  FUCK YOU, Jane.

> (==>)

Keeping someone in line with collars, especially ones that punish whenever one strays out of line, has always been a decent way for her to mix in some Doomy control of others to show how she’s “grown” to balance her main role and her Tiara-controlled-like inverse for more power.  Doom in part represents boundaries that you can’t cross without getting hurt or punished.

> (==>)

FUCK, those little buck teeth!?  D’:

JANE: That's more like it.

She HAS to have more of a reason for hating her than hating her parents, right?  Like, more than that and general racism applying to partdogfolk?

> (==>)

Hey fuck off with that!

> (==>)

This is a pretty cool ima-- are those piercings on her dog ear?  I didn’t notice that in the first shot, neat.

JANE: You've been a thorn in my side ever since I agreed to enroll you at the academy, little madam. JANE: Back then, I was doing a favor for two old friends who made a disgusting mistake. JANE: I'm no longer going to play nice with you just because of your parents, however. JANE: That truce is over. JANE: Do I make myself understood?

What the fuck?  WHY would you do that?  Why does Jane run "Ms. Paint’s Home for Inconvenient Girls”?  What did Yiffy do to piss her off so much there, how much trouble could she have caused?

I don’t know if she’s referring to the behind-Kanaya’s-back part as disgusting or she’s just being MORE racist.

> (==>)

JANE: We don't want you passing out during the ceremony, do we?

Oh, just showing the hostage off during the clown funeral, huh?  Classy much?

> (==>)

JANE: Now, be a good hostage and get some rest, Yiffany dear. JANE: We've got a big day tomorrow.

For a politician, Jane’s not good at looking at herself in a mirror.

> (==>)

JANE: Night night. JANE: Hoo hoo.

> (Yiffy: Lights out.)

Huh, dream stuff is gonna be relevant out in Candy then? *click*

Okay, dark background all of a sudden.  Properly dramatic?  You even have to highlight the non-link “>” part of the Next link to see it.

> (==>)

-- thespiansGlamor [TG] began pestering adamantGriftress [AG] --

Well, I don’t know WHY it’s happening, but the white-backed pesterlog suddenly on the dark site framing is certainly evocative.  Of like, a mood, or something.

TG: i thought he was pretty quiet down there. TG: we'll make a rebel of him yet! AG: Lol. AG: I think it's more that he can't sleep. AG: I know how he feels. TG: yeah. TG: today was a lot. AG: ... TG: do you wanna talk about it? AG: Ugh, not you as well.

It’s really jarring to transition between Homestuck’s “kids jarringly mentally resistant to freaking out about the end of the world” to HS^2′s more realistic “kids traumatized by their first firefight even though it was an overwhelming victory-escape”.

TG: but seriously, do you? AG: Not really. TG: not even about... you know? TG: her? AG: No. TG: ... are you sure? AG: A8solutely. AG: What are you, my moirail? AG: Just leave it, Harry. TG: ok.

Are they about to have an “I wonder what Yiffy’s like” talk?

> (==>)

Very similar Tav/Vrissy convo to the previous one.

GG: I havent ever shared a bedroom before,,, GG: Not even for a slumber party,,, AG: Tavvy, you are just a8out the saddest person I've ever met.

Well, we have an even better idea how horrible Jane can be with kids, now.  From Nanna to THIS is quite jarring.  I wonder how the double Nannasprites that must still be around here somewhere feel?

> (==>)

TG: nothing about my dad is cute. TG: what are you even saying. AG: Lmao. TG: seriously! TG: i think he has something against that word, even. he gets super weird about it. AG: He's a strange and funny m8n. TG: yeah. TG: ... TG: i think something bad must have happened.

...um.  What?  Why would John have some sort of trauma about the word cute or being called it?

Did John dress up as a hint of his buried June ambitions as a kid and Dad lavish him with “SO CUTE” praise in an epic supportiveness backfire that caused him to shelve the idea of wearing non-masc clothes and being happier on the flipside of gender ever again???  Because if that’s how June gets canonized as promised, it’s a little harsher than the back of my mind was hoping.  I guess it kind of had to be though from the premise of how it was read into his childhood for the original idea, though.  Fuck, I hope this Cute business is about something different from that (like a Terezi reference or such) just to get less John Sads.  (But still June.  Definitely still want to get June.)

> (==>)

Oh, and now Vrissy is doing nothing but talking about what she said she didn’t want to talk about, of course.  (Also I like how JANE’s now being called the Batterwitch.)

AG: And the worst part was they didn't even fight a8out it! AG: That made me madder than 8nything else. AG: It felt like I was the only person who even W8S mad! GG: I dont think thats true,,, AG: What would you know a8out it?! GG: Maybe nothing,,, GG: Sorry,,, GG: Its just,,, GG: To me,,, all the way through the conversation,,, aunt kanaya looked even angrier than you,,, AG: ... AG: Adults are so fucking weird.

Guh, I don’t want to be reminded how hurt a good chunk of the fanbase is by Kanaya getting hurt this badly.

Original Tavros was always SLIGHTLY perceptive of others sometimes, but maybe perceptiveness is being hinted at as a Tavros specialty?  We still don’t know his classpect/hero-title or have any firm guesses based on purely him evidence.  (Also, frightened kids of abusive households tend to learn to get perceptive pretty fucking quickly I hear.)

> (==>)

TG: dad was sitting in the cafeteria with aunt jade and your moms. TG: it looked like they were discussing something important... they were whispering and stuff.

[etc etc] Alright, the what-happened-to-Dave bit.  And I imagine they’re kind of helping John grieve there, since Rose and Jade have talked that out already.

TG: aunt kanaya's was the only face i could see. TG: she was standing next to them, but she wasn't looking at what was going on. TG: almost like she couldn't bear to. AG: I doubt it. Kanaya's got a8out as much Emotivity as a very reclusive stone. TG: ok, i think that is bullshit but whatever. TG: she saw me standing there, but didn't say anything. she just shook her head slightly, and pointed back out into the hallway i came down.

Yep, giving them some space to grieve.  Also-- gosh, shouldn’t Vrissy have the same emotive senses that Aranea implied Vriska shared with her?  Kanaya isn’t that EXPRESSIVE but she’s certainly full of emotion.  Also, I hope part of her not bearing to watch wasn’t lingering anger toward Jade and Rose mixing with that, but there probably was a bit of that too, though Dave being gone is so much harsher than that. --I just realized they might not have broken the news to Karkat yet, either.

AG: I guesadxcxzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz TG: vrissy?

Put to sleep by someone slumping down on your phone keypad, or surprised by something about the other conversation?

Oh shit, “other conversation” reminded me I didn’t look at Tavros’s chumhandle:

glutinousGymnast [GG]

HHHHHhhhhuh.  Hm... huh? hhhh.  huh?  what, but.  Why would.  ?????

I really don’t understand what that chumhandle or any of its entendres should signify in this context.

Also, this means for our new four kids we have TG, GG, AG, and ??.

> (==>)

GG: I think she might have succumbed to sleep quite suddenly,,, GG: It would explain the,,,,,, interesting messages I've been getting for a while,,, TG: hehe. TG: i guess that tracks. TG: she does that from time to time.

That’s... strange.  Homestuck’s taught us to be suspicious of that.

TG: ... TG: tav? GG: Yes,,, harry anderson,,,? TG: what does it feel like to know someone who's died?

Who is Harry referring to? (EDIT: Yes I know Gamzee for Tavros, but I meant Harry talks like he's worried he'll have to feel that way soon?)  Is he just kind of inferring that something bad might have happened to Uncle Dave?  Got that perceptive “parents are about to tell me about a death in the family” vibe?  Or did he overhear more than he let on to Vrissy?

...alright, that’s the last page of this update.  Looks like this chapter is going to continue to have a good bunch of grieving, or talk around it.

---

Now for Bonus Commentary for A Threat, Sensed.  For some reason I have a dim memory of like... reading this myself without commenting on it?  Or skimming it?  But I’m pretty sure I didn’t do that.  Weird.  Must have imagined doing it.

Ah, I think I saw the opening paragraph scrolling Patreon, and my mind kinda filled in the blanks, this is still looking new to me.

Okay, mostly banter and japes in the commentary here.  About Dirk “throwing a huge tantrum in his philosophy cave”.

We’ve had quite a bit of speculation on whether this is “really” Andrew. To that, I think we’d say that it doesn’t “really” matter.

Really?  That was speculated about?  :/

Here we discover that Dirk has not, as some people have speculated, been directly intervening into the Candy timeline, or influencing it in any way. In fact, he has a very hard time seeing anything going on there at all.

Mhmm, and that was a pretty important thing to learn.

A couple of years ago I might have agreed with the take that everything happening in Candy is simply too outlandish to ever happen naturally, without direct, villainous interference, but that was before literally every fucking batshit insane thing that has happened on Real Life Earth started going down, and now I will believe literally anything. 

This is a nice bit of distraction from the idea that at least the opening parts of the Candy story were written/narrated by Original, Alive Calliope over on meat side.  To refresh your memory of what was pointed out to me:

ROXY: back when jade first got all effed up callie saw somethin and it made them freak out ROXY: it took me weeks to convince them that it was safe to come home ROXY: but now we got the opposite problem and they arent leavin the house at all ROXY: they stay home all day with the blinds drawn paintin some weird ass shit on the walls TEREZI: WH4T? ROXY: its not as bad as it sounds i promise ROXY: some of it is like ROXY: weird and violent?? ROXY: like lotsa nasty purple blood and um ROXY: nudity???? TEREZI: >:? ROXY: yeah yikes ROXY: but MOST of it is cute stuff like... various combos of all of us being happy and gettin married and shit ROXY: anyway thats kept callie kinda busy

Which tracks with the initial out-of-character-seemingness of almost everyone at the start of Candy, and how they kind of tried to railroad things back onto the “Happy??” track after Dirk derailed it with his weird self-accumulation suicide, along with some of the flowery-idyllic descriptions of characters seeing each other bathed in a halo of light and such.

Of course, they’re not going to out-and-out STATE that Calliope was at fault for that narration, helping the Candy story not necessarily fall out the way it did “naturally”, until we finally get a glimpse of her on the heroes’ ship in Meat probably still painting the continuing Candy events, inspiring them into the void of the singularity with her latent powers.  Til then, it’s a bit of misdirection whenever the topic is to be brought up.  Along with a mix of Roxy’s late-Candy point to John of more or less “why COULDN’T we have done this naturally? you don’t know”.

He might even think that he has more direct power over the narrative than Hussie does himself. Surprise, motherfucker, you are a fictional character. 

:p

I’ll quote this next part in full:

There’s been talk of whether or not this bonus was written in the two days between its release and the Yiffy reveal chapter. The answer is--no. It was written over a month ago. But I think the things it addresses were not difficult to suss out. Obviously, Dirk is highlighting the issues that the readership are having with Yiffy, in his typical Dirk fashion. If it seems a little defensive, well...I suppose it is. Yiffy is one of the two hard lines drawn in the sand, and all of us love her, and we’re hoping that everyone else will love her too. But more than that, it focuses on the fact that update culture has a rhythm to it--shock, revulsion, acceptance (or not), and then excitement (or not). Will it follow that pattern this time? Who knows. I guess we’ll find out. 

Yeah, given what was going to be dropped on us I expected they would have had exactly this lined up, especially because Andrew specifically mandated Yiffy.  --I wonder why they aren’t mentioning that somewhere in the commentary and only on one of their Twitters?

Also quoting this:

There’s something both incredibly “cringe” and self-indulgent, as well as philosophically intriguing, about the author arguing with his villain, especially since he’s writing both halves of the conversation himself. You are, for all intents and purposes, trying to solve a problem that you have created for yourself. You are looking an aspect of your personality in the eye and asking, hey, what the fuck, man?

But in the end, isn’t that what every story is? Trying to untie knots that you put in the rope yourself?

Since it’s part of the central struggle of this story, and kind of the question Andrew’s tried to imply with every Homestuck work about what right we have to keep these characters trapped in a story, and if they’d be better off escaping it.

I’m really trying to avoid quoting so much of this, since the commentary is paid...  but I think we can make an exception here?  I’ll have only quoted about half of it; just, the really plot-important half.  Plus, I left out a LOOOT of japes.

Dirk has a certain idea of how stories are supposed to go. That’s pretty much what the Epilogues is about. The audience also has a certain expectation of how a story is supposed to go. In a way, the Epilogues were also about that. They were taking a story that had reached the traditionally “acceptable” happily ever after, and saying, wait, no. What happens next? Thinking past happily ever after in any story is a terrifying prospect. Once Cinderella marries the prince, what then? Sure, she got what she wanted, but who knows that it will be everything she dreamt it would? What if she changes her mind, if not today, what about ten years from now? What if the prince dies of malaria? 

And I’m...

Yeah I don’t have anything else to add here, I’m kind of out of brain juice to think about this tonight.  BUSY day I had.  Y’all take care!

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

Hey!!! Love this blog so much! Can I request a Charon x F!Lone fluffiness??? Like what if she was an amazing fighter but also a kind person when you get to know her. And there was a huge fire fight that she ends up getting hurt in? Idk but I kinda want to see this written, I’m actual Charon trash. ❤️

(*I’m also Charon trash! ;D )

_____________

“Dammit, we are outnumbered!” 

Charon wasn’t sure if his employer heard him over the hail of gunfire that erupted through the ruins around them.  The twisted metal of destroyed skyscrapers and ravaged buildings around them provided plenty of cover — but it also made it difficult to pin-point all of the threats in the area.  The super mutants seemed to be everywhere; some popped out from behind mounds of scrap metal, while others jumped down from the second floor of a crumbled building nearby.  

Over the sound of machine guns whirling, Charon could hear the rapid approach of a centaur making its way toward them.  They always seemed to be with a pack of super mutants, but the abomination was unsightly enough to make even him grimace.  One of its long tongues shot out, hitting the front of their metallic cover, and Charon’s mistress’s geiger counter ticked from the radiation emitting from the creature’s saliva.  

His mistress suddenly popped up from cover, firing toward the super mutants in front of them with an assault rifle.  By now, they had fought together enough that Charon knew she was creating an opening, and he braced his arm up on his cover to put the centaur out of its misery with a blast from his shotgun.  

“Got one,” Charon murmured, more to himself than to her, while she took cover again and the spray of bullets continued.  

“Shit, I hate this place,” she hissed, reloading a clip.  “Shortcuts never work out in my favor.”

“Perhaps if you were looking for a shortcut to hell,” he quipped, and she smiled ruefully, her attention still riveted on the battle.  

“Pffft, we’re not dying today.  These assholes, on the other hand, just found that shortcut.”

She fired again, and Charon was quick to have her back, keeping some of the forces pinned while she thinned out their numbers.  In the months that she had held his contract, they had learned how to compliment one another in battle, and despite the fact that they were outnumbered, they weren’t outgunned.  They had gotten out of much stickier circumstances, and they would get out of this, too.  The vaultie had gotten something of a reputation for being able to deal with problems — problems that even the Brotherhood had trouble dealing with.  It never ceased to amaze him that someone that had grown up in such a soft environment had become so battle-hardened so quick, but it made him respect the hell out of her.

They had almost finished off the brawny mutants when suddenly, the whirl of the gatling gun cut through the clearing again.  It sounded different this time, high-pitched, and she swore at the same time he did.  Charon barreled toward her just as the first laser spurt tore through their flimsy cover, and when he collided with her, he flattened her to the ground and pressed himself over her back, trying to shield her with his much larger body.  The heat from the laser was at his back, and he winced as a spurt singed the back of his armor.  

The second the weapon sputtered, needing to reload and cool down, Charon was on his feet, vaulting over the remains of their cover and quickly closing the distance to blast the super mutant with his shotgun.  When the asshole fell, he double-tapped just to be on the safe side, and then gave the clearing a quick glance to confirm that it was the last of the super mutants.  

At least it wasn’t a Fat Man, he thought, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding as the adrenaline rush started to wear thin.  A glance over his shoulder gave him pause, however; he had expected his mistress to pop up, complaining about his rough treatment — and the fact that he had been the one to fell the mutant with the gatling laser.  

“Mistress?”

When she didn’t reply right away, trepidation washed over him, and he rushed back to find her still lying on the ground.  She had pulled herself up slightly, but she was clutching her side, blood clearly staining her fingers, and panic began to rise within him.  He had seen her hurt before, yes, but it was a rare occasion, and it never stopped him from worrying.  She was a smoothskin, after all — not to mention that he towered over her —which made her seem fragile.  He was her protector; that was his role as long as she held the contract.  

And he had failed.

“Don’t get that look on your face, Charon,” she hissed, trying to stand up.  “It just grazed me.  Damn laser weapons always pack a punch.”  

Quickly, he put a hand at her elbow and assisted her, while scanning her for further injury.  Her armor was thick, but not overly-bulky. The laser had melted through and got her in the side, but it had lost so much energy that it didn’t go through her.  He couldn’t assess the wound here; they needed to get into a more defensible location.  

“I am sorry I could not prevent your injury.”  Charon was always formal, she had found, and she hated it.  It had to be a by-product of his brainwashing, and it made him sound so robotic.  There were some occasions (albeit few and far between) when she could get him to speak faster, to put more of an inflection in his voice, and she always reveled in them.  

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d be swiss cheese.”

The term seemed familiar to him somehow, but the phrase was lost on him.  Brushing it aside, Charon abruptly scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest.  She flushed; he made her feel so tiny by comparison.  Her first instinct was to fight against him, to protest that she didn’t need to be carried through the Capital Wastes, but… the moment she tensed, a pain shot through her side that had her hissing and pressing her fingers tighter against the wound.  

“Do not struggle.  Let me take you to shelter for the night, so I can dress your wound.”

It wasn’t phrased like a question, but she knew it actually was one; he wanted permission. 

“Okay, okay.”

When she first held his contract, he didn’t do anything unless she directly told him to — except when it came to fighting.  When she had gotten hurt back then, he would simply stand there and watch until she specifically asked him to do something.  Now, their dynamic had shifted; he had decided she was a good person, and actively wanted to help her, which was a new sensation for him.  He was accustomed to being used for someone else’s gain — and usually under circumstances he would easily call evil. 

But this badass smoothskin was actually a kind-hearted person, trying to make the Wastes a better place, a livable place.  

And he actually liked having her as his contract holder.

______________________________

Their shelter was a destroyed store with most of its roof still intact and a proximity mine planted in the doorway.  The windows were boarded up, but he still didn’t feel comfortable building more than just a small trash can fire, while his mistress stripped off her mismatched armor.  

Her T-shirt was ragged and torn, and the portion around her abdomen had been seared off.  Slowly, she peeled it up, so the cloth was just below her chest, and hissed again.  “Shit, this burns.  I hate energy weapons so much.”

“You like the gauss rifle,” he commented absently, steering her closer to the light from the fire.  

She scoffed.  “I hate energy weapons when they’re being aimed at me.”

Charon didn’t reply, too busy examining her wound up close.  It wasn’t life-threatening, but it had to hurt.  He dug through his bag and retrieved a stimpak and some Med-X.  

“Med-X?  It doesn’t hurt that much,” she lied, while Charon shrugged.  

“If you want to be in pain, that is your choice.”  

She rolled her eyes, while he readied the needle of the stimpak and proceeded to inject it straight into her wound.  She bit her bottom lip — fuck, that hurt — but almost immediately, it stopped bleeding, and she could see the wound beginning to shrink.  It wouldn’t stop her from having a fresh scar, she was sure, but she wouldn’t need any form of stitches.  

He lifted the other syringe in question, but she shook her head.  “Nah, I don’t need the Med-X.  That stimpak was enough.”  

In truth, it still burned, but she was saving the Med-X for something more serious, like a broken bone, or an instance where one of them would need to fight despite being injured.

Charon dutifully replaced the Med-X, and then began to pour some dirty water onto a rag to clean the wound.  The geiger counter clicked twice, and she sighed and muttered something about ‘Project Purity.’  As he wiped the dried blood away, his fingertips brushed her flesh — accidentally at first, due to his grip on the cloth, but then… he started to do it just to feel her. 

It was so soothing, getting to do this much.  It reassured him that she was alive, that he had really made it in time.  She was a skilled fighter, capable and renowned thanks to the radio station broadcasting her deeds throughout the Wastes.  She seemed immortal and untouchable, like a character from a radio drama.  

But she was just a human — just a young woman that had stepped from a Vault and into an unforgiving world mere years ago.  Even as skilled as she was, she was fallible; she could make mistakes or become overpowered.  

She could die, and the thought terrified Charon.

Doing this much helped assuage that terror.  She was so soft, and he was so close to her, bent over as she leaned back with a palm against the wall for support and the other still holding her ruined shirt away from her abdomen.  He was taking more time than usual, and it took him a moment to realize that her chest was heaving, her breathing heavier than normal.  Abruptly, he stopped wiping the wound with the cloth and glanced up, searching her face for signs of distress.

“Was I hurting you?”

Charon couldn’t tell if her face was flushed or if it was a trick of the dim firelight, but her gaze was unreadable.  She shook her head once and quickly cleared her throat.  

“No, no, I… it was fine.  I’m just feeling a l-...little light-headed.”

“Here.”  Charon instantly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the floor.  Her legs did indeed appear shaky, and he mentally scolded himself for taking so long with his treatment.  “I should have had you lie down before I began.”

“It’s fine.  Probably just blood loss,” she mumbled, while Charon continued to search her expression.  She wouldn’t meet his gaze.  

“The stimpak will take care of that,” he assured her, while he retrieved a piece of gauze and duct tape from their rather lacking medical kit.  He reached to put it on her and saw her belly tense as his fingers smoothed the tape across her skin.  Again, he glanced up, but this time… there was no mistaking the redness that had flared up across her face.  “Are you certain you’re all right?”

His hand had absently dropped to her thigh in his concern, and she finally met his obsidian gaze.  He’d seen many different looks in her eyes since their travels.  There was the glint of determination she got whenever she was focused during a firefight.  There was mirth whenever she cracked a joke or she found some particularly delicious food for them to eat.  There was melancholy when she mentioned her father or came across skeletons in the ruins.  And there were flashes of anger when settlers or members of the Brotherhood made comments about the fact that she was traveling with a monster.

But the look in her eyes now was one that he’d only seen a couple of times.  Once, after she had been feeling hopeless enough that she cried — yes, actually cried — on his shoulder, and then had pulled back to look at him.  And another time when she had been drunk and pulled him by the arm toward the single bed of their rented room because she wanted to be held while she slept.  

Her shirt slipped from her fingers, the ragged ends falling across her bandaged stomach, and she covered the hand on her thigh with her own, squeezing it.  A soft smile curved her lips, and the look changed, that fire in her gaze simpering to a flicker.  “You saved my life today, you know.  If you hadn’t rushed me like that, I’d have much worse wounds.”

Charon turned his hand over to grasp hers, shaking his head.  The terror he had felt over her getting wounded was pushed to the back of his mind.  She could be killed, sure, but the solution was simple.

“If someone wants to try to give you a shortcut to hell, they will have to go through me first.  Always.”

[letterstothemidnightsociety]

It’s week three of my Global-Pandemic-Induced decision to rewatch all of Supernatural, and so I’m still attempting to make this watch more productive than the last show that I binged.

So I’m on disc two now - that’s episodes 5 - 8 for those of you watching on Netflix. By the time we get to this disc, we know the basic formula for Supernatural as a series - Two Hunks + Fighting Evil to the Power of Acceptable Levels of Gore x Missing Dad = Ratings Gold. Or at the very least, good enough ratings that we’ll give you a season (or fourteen). And then...well...then.

Episode five is “Bloody Mary”, easily the scariest episode of this first season and, based on the nose dive that the formula takes after season 1, probably the entire series. Maybe it’s that the Bloody Mary legend was one that really got me as a kid, maybe it’s just that I don’t do so hot with ghosts, but guys this episode still made me turn on all the lights and avoid all my mirrors. I accidentally turned this episode on at 9pm and regretted it immediately. I walked away at one point to go clean my kitchen to strategically miss some of the spookier points and I walked back in during an even spookier point. I was mad that there were no commercials at the commercial break cut-to-black! The first time I watched this episode, I’m pretty sure I watched it through my fingers. This most recent viewing, I ALSO watched it through my fingers. Guys, THIS EPISODE. 

I will say it a-hecking-gain: This episode scared the SHIT out of me.

AND THEN, THEN! Then this show has the gall to go ahead and drop a major season/character plot point right there in the middle of all this content that I am actively trying not to look at: SURPRISE! Sam has premonition powers and sorta kinda knew that his girlfriend was gonna die a terrible death weeks before she dies. Because sure, why not? 

Ohmiglob the DRAMA.

I’m gonna take a moment to say that, yes, technically this piece of plot gets dropped within our first six episodes, so we can still safely say that, you know, they’re still setting up the story for the rest of the series. It’s not like a sudden twist they drop half way through the season, it’s being laid down as ground work. And I know that this turns out to be a MAJOR issue for the next four seasons at least, but can I just say: Kripke, you’re really throwing a lot at us. I mean, OK. here’s what we’ve got - 

The Winchester’s lost their mom at a young age to some evil thing. Cool, got it.

THEN they have daddy issues with C-minus Single Dad John Winchester. Alright, that seems logical. 

The brothers hunt bad guys looking for the thing that killed their mom. Ok still on board. 

There’s family drama, relatable. 

Dad’s gone missing and we gotta find, ok ok ok. 

Also Sam’s girlfriend dies in a fire, alright, so we’re looking for that thing now too. 

OH! And now Sam has magic powers. 

I mean, it’s a lot, right? We got a lot of layers here. That’s all I’m sayin.

So “Bloody Mary”, right? Big episode, big bad guy, they kinda loophole their way into defeating her but I’m not mad. Big reveal at the end, so kind of an important lore episode. And then...well...then we get the following episodes:

“Skinwalker” - gross-out fx, establishes Dean as a lonely asshole with a lot of APB’s out on him

“The Hook Man” - takes the Urban Legend angle of the show and dials it up to 11

“Bugs” - Does what it says on the tin.

Now to be fair: all three of these episodes have at least ONE shining moment that reveals a little more about the characters we’re working with, and that character development plays out in important ways in the rest of the season/series. But all three of them are arguably---

FILLER EPISODES-ODES-ODES-ODESSssssssss. 

Alright, maybe that’s unkind. Maybe we should call them standalones or self-contained. A Filler is an episode designed to “fill out” your season. It doesn’t necessarily move the overarching story of the season forward, although it may contain some concepts or revelations that are important later. I’d argue that Supernatural has only ever had two kinds of episodes - Series Arc and Filler. Not that that’s a bad thing -  I like a filler episode now and again. Depending on how heavy your season gets (and by all accounts Supernatural gets pretty heavy), they can be a nice breath of fresh air - also known as a Breather Episode. Or they can be just for fun. I’mma reference “Once More with Feeling” again because sure, why not throw in a musical episode in season 6 of a show about vampire slaying, that’s fine. I wanna reference something from Community here too, but honestly anything after season 2 could probably be called filler or self contained, so who even knows. I’ll point at the Voltron episode where they spend a day in the mall to gather some unobtainium for the ship and wacky shenanigans ensue. Point being, they can be times to break the mold and experiment and have fun with what you’re writing. Or they can be ridiculous nonsense. Mileage may vary. 

The crazy thing about these episodes is that they most closely resemble what Kripke intended the show to be in the first place. Kripke wanted a show that revolved around characters investigating American urban legends. What is more quintessentially urban legend than Bloody Mary, the Hook Man and curses from ancient Native American burial grounds? These were stories that I as the viewer was already sort of familiar with because I’d heard of all of them before. What I appreciated, specifically about the Bloody Mary episode, was that they a) acknowledge the fact that these are Urban Legends (capital letters and all) and then b) acknowledge that the legends vary wildly so a part of their job is figuring out what is true and what is rumor. I guess you could also call that a cop out but when I was a kid, I was told that Bloody Mary was the ghost of Queen Mary of England who was sister to Elizabeth I and was also violently anti-protestant. WHERE did I get this story? I have no idea. But I also have no idea where Sam got the “mutilated bride” story from either. 

In an old article I found circa season 2, Kripke actually talks about preferring standalone content to mythology/lore episodes in television. Both as a creator and as a viewer, he wants a show where people can jump in at any time and “join the party” wherever they are. That’s the beauty of procedurals - you don’t need to start from the beginning to enjoy them.

But what really got me personally hooked on the show was the mythology, was the season long arc to find John Winchester and whatever killed their mom. Those mythos episodes were where the meat of the show was for me - it usually involved a lot of feelings and a lot of character development which is still mostly my jam. If I’m obsessively watching a show, it’s because I’m connected to the characters and watching them struggle through the challenges in their path, not because I want to see what monster they kill next. 

And again, I’ll reiterate that each of these episodes contains an important nugget of character. In “Bloody Mary”, easily the least likely to be called Filler, we find out that Sam has weird magic powers that are the real source of his guilt over Jessica’s death. 

In “Skin”, we find out a lot about Dean’s inner landscape from the DopppleDeaner, who reveals that Dean is probably most afraid of people leaving him (be still my 19-year-old heart). 

Wasn’t mad about this bit...

Coulda done without this bit tho...

In “Hookman”...alright, you kinda got me on “Hookman”, but we do get the first appearance of the rocksalt shotgun and Sam talks with a girl about her dad issues which is really Sam talking about his own dad issues in the language of tv shows. Also, he maybe starts to move on from Jessica???? It’s unclear, and also a little weird but I guess he’s only 22 and that’s not that far off from 18/19. 

Really, WB?? Sneaking into sorority houses?

And then in “Bugs”, yes, even in “Bugs”, we get juicy little bit of tension between the brothers as they advise some teen boy about family dynamics. The fight shows a lot about what each character feels about their own experiences growing up the way they did, how they manage the expectations from their own father, and how they believe those family dynamics should exist. I mean I guess you could also argue this is the episode that plants the seed for Wincest, but I don’t really want to go there, let’s not talk about it.

This kid’s like, “This is...not a conversation about me and MY dad, is it?”

So they could be worse. I mean the last two definitely aren’t great, and we’ll see how they measure up to the Monster Truck episode later in the season, but they’re not bad episodes. 

So let’s flash forward to Now again - have we seen the end of Filler Episodes?

As I have mentioned in previous posts and will probably continue mentioning in future posts, the 22 episode season is not the norm anymore. A lot of articles I’ve read point to Breaking Bad as the first American show to really break that mold. Breaking Bad released only 7 episodes in it’s first season in 2007. When you’ve cut your story down that much, there’s no room for filler - you’re basically producing a 7 hour movie. 

Now notice I said American TV show. I’m pretty sure for most of the rest of the world, 22 episodes is way outside the norm, but really I can only speak to UK TV. Seasons in the UK do not last as long as seasons in America. Doctor Who, one of, if not the, longest running show on BBC, aired its first season with 42 episodes, which is mind boggling. But since the series revived in 2005, it hasn’t had more than 13 episodes in a season. Spooks/MI5 never had more than 10 episodes. The IT Crowd only aired 6 episodes per season. Broadchurch had only 8. And because I must complete the Superwholock trifecta, Sherlock seasons were only 3 episodes a piece. These are the shows that spring to mind while I’m writing this, but you get the idea.

So why does American broadcast TV have such long seasons? Well, the answer is: moneymoneymoney.

We live in an age of “prestige” TV. Some throw around “Golden Era”, but there’s been like, a Golden Era of television every 10 years since tv’s became household commodities, so that phrase basically means nothing. TV today is more similar to long-form film making than it was a decade ago. We associate terms like “film” with other terms like “art”, and sometimes we forget that television is, and always was, a business. It’s a business that’s making a lot of money entertaining you for hours on end, but a business nonetheless. I’d argue that it doesn’t mean it’s not art, but I don’t think we can separate the art and entertainment value of tv from its actual monetary value. 

Strategically, the 22-episode season was to get a show to a magical number of total episodes - 100. Once you hit the 100th episode, somewhere around season 5 (thanks math), then you can sell the show in syndicated reruns. This is also referred to as second-run syndication or off-network syndication. When a show is syndicated, that means the production company that produces the show can now sell the right to air episodes to other channels. Think channels like TBS or TNT or even USA Network - they don’t really dabble in producing their own content, they just repackage content from other networks to plug in to empty slots in their programming. And because these channels can air episodes 5 days a week, 365 days a year, that means the production company can actually make more money by selling the show in syndication than when they sold the show to the primary network. The more episodes you have in a season, the faster you get to syndication, and sometimes that means a show that’s on the brink of cancellation due to poor numbers may still get greenlit for another season or two if they’re closer to that magic 100th episode. For a show like Supernatural, that has a very procedural, not-super-heavy-mythos, structure, you can do very well in syndication. Just cuz another network agreed to air your show doesn’t mean they agreed to air it in order, so procedurals work better in syndication than your season-arc shows do. And that’s why we have episodes like Bugs, that have nothing to do with the overarching plot of the season and also phone in some questionable CGI. 

Apparently they DID use real bugs to shoot this scene and everyone got bit to hell but the bugs didn’t show up good and they went with CG anyway?!?

But these days, you don’t have to hit 100 episodes. Sometimes only 80 episodes will do. Sometimes, you run a streaming site and you don’t have to worry about reruns at all because your revenue isn’t generated from air time or even ads, but from subscription prices. Honestly, when you think of it that way, it makes way more sense to greenlight shorter seasons so that you have the budget to buy more and more diverse shows that will appeal to a broader audience of viewers. 

So if Supernatural was produced today, would we get these off-shoot, self-contained episodes that have little to do with the plot of finding Sam and Dean’s dad? It’s hard to say. Knowing what I do about Kripke’s original plans for the show and his thoughts on procedural standalone episodes in general, its possible that he’d still try for a traditional season aired on a traditional TV network. But in that same interview I quoted above, he also mentions that the only way to get into a show with a heavy mythos is to buy the DVDs. We don’t need DVDs anymore - we have Netflix. And Hulu and Prime and any number of other streaming services that pick up any show they can get just to have a larger library of content and attract new viewers. I think a good indicator of what Supernatural would look like if it aired today is Hulu’s Helstrom - a show about two siblings with a childhood marked by strange and terrible happenings, who spend the season trying to defeat an evil demon. This show is a Hulu original that dropped all 10 episodes on October 16, 2020, and damn if that doesn’t sound familiar. I told a friend, “it’s like Supernatural but more emotions.” (Her response was, MORE emotions?!?!?) And before you dive down the rabbit hole, the characters in Helstrom made their debut in a Marvel comic back in the 70’s, so you can just chalk it up to nothing new under the sun. 

Big Mood, guys. Big Mood.

I’ll close this one by reiterating I don’t mind a filler episode. Some fillers can be weird and great and wonderful. I’d say “Tales of Ba Sing Se” (Avatar the Last Air Bender, Season 2)  is a great example - with the possible exception of Appa, the vignettes presented in “Tales” are basically side quests that have nothing to do with the main quest of season 2 and only serve to develop characters. The stories are sweet and touching and also light and fun.

I’m not crying, YOU’RE crying! It’s ok, I’m also crying. 

 And the longer a show runs, the more likely you are to run into these fillers - episodes that take a break from the main action to bring something that’s new and out of the box and possibly/probably writers getting bored with the every-day formula of the show. I think season 1 of Supernatural does a decent job of balancing the two styles of episode so that neither gets boring. In fact, I’m pretty Supernatural was what taught me the difference between the two episode styles in the first place. And the first time around, I was hyped for those season arc episodes, because back in the late 2000’s, I hadn’t seen a lot of TV content like that. Now, 15 years on and mired in a sea of seasons that stick mainly to a season arc story with little to no room for breathing, I think that if all TV became nothing but season arc episodes...well, it’d get pretty boring. 

[xfanfics]

Destiel Fic Rec List Part 1

Last Updated in October 2014. Posted in May 2020 for posterity. Listed in no particular order - the total rec list will have ~250 fics. Header graphic used with permission.

This part of the list contains: 48 fics.

Other Destiel Rec Lists: [1]. [2]. [3]. [4]. [5]. [6]. [7].

For Science! by pm_lo E | 21k | ABO, Omega!cas, Alpha!Dean,

Selected transcripts and supporting materials from Dr. Castiel Williams and Dean Winchester’s seminal study on physiological and psychological sexual response by gender designation.

Even though this is a dialogue/email text only story, I still very much enjoyed it and found it ridiculously hot. Maybe I'm just easy. (No I'm not. This fic is good, read it.)

Forget-Me-Not Blues by noangelsinthegarrison E | 68k | Firefighter!Dean, Professor!Cas, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining

Sam and Jess are getting married and Dean couldn’t be any happier for them. Honestly, they’re kind of disgustingly perfect for each other and Dean’s pretty damn excited about staying with them the week before the wedding. He’s Sam’s best man, of course, and he doesn’t even mind that Jess has her own best man to share in all the organizational duties. The more the merrier, right? Except Dean must have done something to epically piss off the universe because Jess’s best man just happens to be Castiel friggin’ Novak. He’s got even hotter since High School, but apparently no friendlier and if Cas wants to spend the week pretending like they’ve never met before? Fine. Two can play at that game.

THIS WAS SO GOOD I'M TEARING UP. tropes abound and I love it!

Cops and Robbers by kinkstiel E | 53k [WIP] | Detective!Dean, Criminal!Cas, Top!Cas, Bottom!dean

They locked eyes for a minute and then Cas leaned back as far as the cuffs would let him go, spreading his legs obscenely wide. “I want you to suck my cock, Dean.” Dean balked, mouth going dry in a second, eyes slipping to the now visible bulge in Castiel’s suit pants. “Um,” he said stupidly, face flushing red, eyes unable to pull away. Cas hummed. “Depending on how well you suck me, I might just tell you everything you want to know.” He licked his lips, smirking slightly when he caught Dean’s gaze. “And with sinful little lips like yours,” he made a low whistling sound, “I don’t doubt you’ll get every last name out of me.

So very good. Love the dark and dirtiness of it. It does get lighter and sappier towards the end tho.

Cursed or Not ❤ by Ltleflrt E | 115k | witch!Cas, shapeshifter!Dean, switching

While experimenting with magic when he was a kid, Sam accidentally cursed Dean. Now, Dean is forced to wear a spelled amulet constantly, or he'll turn into a random animal. For a little over a decade, he's learned to live with the curse, and has even found it useful in some cases, but he sure would be happier without it. When he meets a witch named Castiel, he's offered a deal. Instead of assuming all witches are bad, Dean can spend a season getting to know him. If at the end of the season, Dean still thinks he's evil Castiel will send him away with his memory wiped of the whole experience. But if he learns that Castiel is not the monster Dean assumes he is, he'll lift Dean's curse. It's an offer Dean can't bring himself to pass up.

Literally perfect. Enthralling world, magical relationship.    

Surprise Package by wannaliveindeansdimples E | 3k | Hot, , Dom Cas, Sub Dean, Light BDSM

When Cas' roommate Meg has to go out of town suddenly, she leaves him an unexpected gift.

So so hot. Non extreme Dom!cas and sub!dean.    

Never Have I ever by sweetdean M | 78k | Fluff,  High School AU, top!cas, bottom!dean

When Jo drags Dean along to a game of "never have I ever" with her friends, he finds himself getting caught up in a lot more than just a game. “Never have I ever hung out with such an asshole,” Dean countered, positively shocked at his own sass. Cas smirked again. “Oh, are we hanging out now?fricken adorable  

Road Signs by gemmiel E | 9k| Canon!verse, true form

Dean is curious about how angels have sex. Castiel shows him.

Damn. True form, soul sex, and regular sex. Yes please.    

It's Brilliant, Really by snarkymonkey E | 15k | Fluff,  AU, Professor!cas, Stuntman!dean

Castiel Novak is a History adjunct at Stanford University. He's also the most patient younger brother. When his older brother, Gabriel, decides to start *wooing* one of his younger waiters, Castiel reluctantly agrees to double-date with the intended paramour's older brother. What he didn't expect, however, was how much his own life would flip over such a careless decision.

Adorable. Hot, and adorable.  

Gabriel's Unfortunate Mistake by JackHawksmoor E | 8k | Hot,  AU

an answer to a prompt: Gabriel decides to hire a prostitute for his virgin brother Castiel as a joke, but instead accidentally hires Dean, a professional Dom. The moment Dean first lays a hand on him, Castiel knows he is lost. Dean/Castiel AU.

Um mm.... Damn. That was hot. Newbie sub!cas and pro dom!dean    

Well-Beloved Unto Me by  Moorishflower E | 3k | Alt!Canon, tentacles

The Winchesters don't get rewarded for all the shit they go through, so Dean is understandably wary when a few recharged and promoted angels offer him and Sam the vacation of a lifetime. Title comes from the Song of Solomon.

True form. And sex. MY FAVE.  

How to Date an Angel in 12 Easy Steps by Fourthduckling E | 23k | Fluff,  Alt!canon

It's not that hard to date an angel. All Dean has to do is fight off hordes of vampires, research gay porn, get sucked into a crappy Narnia, endure Sam's comments, creep out on Dr. Sexy, get harassed -- oh, and that's right-- figure out he's into Cas. Easy, right?

SQUUEEEE. Perfect and cute and cuddly.  

Two Wrongs Don't Make A Right But Three Rights Make A Left by the0voice0from0above E | 45k | High School AU, Dancer!Cas, Welder!Dean,

The beautiful Garrison Ballet School becomes home to a reckless bunch of misfits after the Colt Welding Academy is severely damaged in a fire and has to close for repairs. Needless to say, Castiel and his friends clash with their unwanted guests but there's one boy in particular who infuriates him.

Dancer!au. Love it love it love it!    

Rest My Angel by cobalt_wings E | 86k | Fluff,  Season 9 AU

Angels are falling from the sky, and Dean is losing it. Sam is dying in his arms, and one of those burning, twisting figures blazing through the night air might be his very own angel, Castiel. What can he do to help those he loves?

Sex and domestic and lots of fucking. My fave.    

One Species Too Many by wallmakerrelict E | 21k | Fluff,  Alt!canon

While Dean is laid up for a month after breaking his leg on a hunt, Cas decides that it's a perfect time to adopt a litter of kittens. But even though he's gotten better since Purgatory, Cas still isn't quite the same as he was before fixing Sam's head, and being trapped in a cabin with him for weeks on end is making that all the more obvious to Dean. When Sam takes off on a hunt, Dean has to figure out on his own how to navigate his new relationship with Cas while also helping to raise a bunch of fuzzballs that aren't even cute. Not even a little bit. (Well, maybe a little bit.)

Team free will with kittens!! So fluffy and domestic but also a touch of angst.    

It's A Bet by vitamindesi E | 34k | College AU, top!cas, bottom!dean

Destiel College!AU in which freshman Dean is dared by his best friends to hit on senior Castiel at a party. He wants to say no but then someone starts a bet and Benny bets a sum that is ridiculously high for a student and Dean can’t disappoint Benny, right? I deviated only, but hopefully it suffices.

So fabulous and smutty I want to cry. Literally perfection.

Your Call Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by eBob, K_K_TiBal T | 66k [WIP] | Fluff,  College AU

AU in which Castiel accidentally sends a text message to the wrong number and befriends the person at the other end of the line. However, accidents don’t just happen accidentally, and sometimes two completely different people are exactly what the other needs.

LITERALLY THE BEST. So many feelings. I WANT IT TO BE COMPLETE SO MUCH. Abandoned WIP.    

Equinox by luchia E  | 12k | Alt!canon, time travel

In which Castiel is the weird time-traveling freak who just might be the love of Dean Winchester's life.

Confusing but perfect time travel fic.   

If I run by betty days E | 4k | Hot,  AU, sexting, long distance relationship

"Dean Winchester is a red-blooded American male. He lifts all the things. He aims for functional strength. He counts his macros and makes fun of curlbros. He is not a member of the Tarahumara tribe and he will not read Born to Run, no matter how many times Sam tells him to, because Starting Strength is the only book Dean will ever fucking need." Wherein a friendly competition with the mysterious ThursdaysAngel turns into a sexy selfie-trading spree that motivates Dean Winchester to train for his first marathon.

Soo. Hot. Makes me want to actually exercise?    

The Little Things by Alreadypainfullygone T | 2k | Angst,  Cancer, Major Character Death

Au based on 'the big C' in which Dean gets very sick, and deals with it the denial way. Meeting a homeless man on the way. Dean/Castiel Angst. Warning for trigger - Cancer. sorry if you think I dealt with it badly.

This is only 2.8k words, and yet it managed to make me cry.    

Do What Feels Good by  Catchclaw, cymbalism E | 12k | Hot,  Alt!canon, PWP

Castiel learns to love alone time in the shower. And then he learns to share.

Fuuuuuck that was hot. Castubation and shower sex is just so hnnnggg.    

All That Is And Used To Be by MisaChan E | 26k | Alt!Canon, wing!Kink

Dean never even knew anyone was living in the old estate outside of town until its mysterious occupant contracts his shop for a very specific job: a custom piano bench with grooves cut into the back. He finds Castiel and his terms to be eccentric with a capital E but the money is too good to turn down and anyway, Dean can't help indulging his curiosity about the guy and his secretive, isolated life. There are secrets that will not stay hidden and stories that refuse to be forgotten. Especially when they happen to involve Dean Winchester and the angel Castiel.

Ugh, I love this story. Concept, execution, and characterization are all perfect.    

Do I Have Something Like That? by MysticMoonhigh E | 2k | Hot,  horn!kink, wing!kink

based on the tumblr post I made: Does anybody know any demon!Dean fics where Cas makes Dean climax by basically giving his demon horns a hand job because I want this so badly out of lifE | I'm. I've read this about three times and I think I'm finally coming to terms with my alien biology kink. Hot. Wink!kink and horn!kink. Yes.    

The Doctor Will See You Now by  PetrichorPerfume E | 7k| Hot,  PWP sub!dean, gentle dom!cas, wing!kink

Dean has a medical kink. Castiel is more than happy to oblige. Starring Castiel as the slightly unorthodox Dr. Novak who enjoys prescribing enforced chastity and daily tease and denial sessions, and Dean as his needy, submissive patient who will do anything for a chance to come.

Wowowwowowow. Um. This was super hot. Nnnghhhh.    

Into Your Hideaway by thepinupchemist E  | 176k |Angst,  a/b/o, omega!dean, alpha!cas, mpreg

Driving down a deserted road in the Rocky Mountains, Castiel finds something unexpected: An omega. Not only an omega, but a naked, injured, pregnant omega. Dean doesn't talk much at first, but that doesn't change the brightness of his soul. It also doesn't stop Castiel from falling in love with him.

I just... Wow. This was an amazing story. Beware that it is possibly very triggering, because of rape, assault, violence, and general bigotry. But perhaps because of all of that, you get a story that is almost painful in its reality, and it is all the more loveable for that.    

The World Crashing All Around by thepinupchemist E | 36k| Alt!canon, best friends wing!Kink, kid!fic

During a storm in September of 1987, Dean and Sam hear something hit their roof. When they brave the backyard to investigate, they find a fledgling angel. A story about best friendship, spoiled plans, and love, in four parts.

OH MY GOD. This was perfect all the way through. From soul bonds, to slow burn, to growing up together as best friends, it's all my favorite. And it even has wing kink, which is literally the best.    

Share Your Burden by aTimeOfMagic E | 3k Hot,  PWP, Sub!dean, dom!cas

Set at the end of 'Are You There God? It's Me Dean Winchester.' 4.02. Castiel shows Dean that he deserves respect, and Dean comes to see that Cas is not, in fact, just a 'hammer'. He also learns that his 'people skills' are definitely not entirely 'rusty'.

Damn. Um, really hot. Also, unexpectedly sweet.    

Flawless by Vaerin E | 69k | a/b/o, accidental bonding, sub!dean, dom!cas

A contract is out on the Winchesters, a large sum of money the reward for throwing them off their game. A witch in the town they happen to be passing through decides to collect. She sets her sights on Dean, trying to seduce him into leaving his job to stay with her. When she can't even convince him to warm her bed, she decides to turn her job into his punishment. Knowing he fears commitment and can't stand the thought of being with a man, she works a spell between him and Castiel... the one friend he can call a safe haven. When they end up mated the next morning, not only does the Winchester family business suffer... but so does Dean's friendship with Castiel.

Cute long soul bond fic. Contains sabriel.    

Chasing Normal by Donovanspen M | 16k | Fluff,  First time, Cuddling & Snuggling

Dean reevaluates his definition of an 'apple pie life' and what that means for him, personally.

This is the definition of domestic fluff and smut. There's a wee bit of angst because hey, it's set in the canon verse. But so worth it.    

Hold On by somuchforbaggles E | 92k | Fluff,  Angst,   mental illness

Castiel is sure that nothing in his life will ever change. Everything that happens to him is predictable, from the stability of his job to the unrelenting sporadic anxiety attacks, he can rely on his life to stay the same forever - until he saves Dean Winchester from the path of an oncoming train. From then on, everything changes for both of them, and the only way they can deal with it is together.

Woww. This was an amazing ride. Angsty and fluffy, then angsty again, then back to fluffy. So good.    

I said to myself again by avyssoseleison E | 2k | Fluff,  Praise!kink, Self-esteem issues

Dean finally lets himself be appreciated and cared for by his angel.

Praise kink is my ultimate weakness    

The One Thing You Can't Lose by MajorEnglishEsquire T | 4k | Fluff,  Cuddling & Snuggling

You know what I like a lot? The thought that Dean can just tug Cas anywhere at any time and Cas, who can lift tons without effort, who can demolish things with the light of his grace, who has battled and gone to war, has defended and broken, will just let Dean do it.

fluffy love    

Spit Slick by VeraBAdler M | 1k | Fluff, , First Time

[no description]

A super cute fluffy little oneshot :3 (tags say 'happy sex' and 'sexy cuddling' if you need more to go on)  

Late Bloomer by somuchforbaggles T | 7k | Alt!Canon, Wing!kink, Wingfic, Soulmates

On every child’s seventh birthday, a celebration is held to mark the beginning of their journey as a fledgling - a sprouting ceremony. It doesn’t matter if the child hasn't shown the symptoms of emerging wings yet, for it is scientific fact that every child grows wings in their seventh year, sometimes even earlier. Castiel is not every child.

A coming of age wing fic. With mates. Basically, I'm in love.    

Sleight of Hand by aileenrose M | 64k | Angst,  Human AU, psychic cas, journalist dean

Dean Winchester has interviewed them all--mob bosses, serial killers, crooked politicians. Next he plans to unveil the con-man who markets himself as Castiel, a reclusive and secretive "healer" who claims to heal the sick in return for thousands of dollars. Dean's expecting a challenge, but he never expected Castiel to be so clueless or sweet...or that he might be telling the truth.

I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS AU. The one where Dean is a skeptical journalist/professional idiot and Cas is a socially inept healer and mind reader. There's lots of angst, but the payoff is so worth it.    

Leaning In by Anonymous T | 15k | Hospital AU

Castiel never changed out his scrubs, Dean had a way of getting himself injured and Sam seemed to think it was a good pairing

Even though I have no idea who actually wrote this story, it's worth a read. I'm always up for a good medical AU.    

Someone I Forgot to Be by  MatildaMavis E | 36k Fluff,  Angst,  Human AU

Castiel is content - sort of - with his quiet life in Boston...at least, until his new neighbor moves in. It's Dean Winchester, the cliched long lost love of his life. Can these two idiots find their way back to each other after eight years, after fame and loss and heartbreak? After Dean has found love again with Cas' neighbor, Lisa? Fate can be a sadistic bitch, they've both learned that, but maybe they've matured enough to be able to handle it this time. The sparks, the attraction, the tension...or maybe not.

I thought this would be extremely painful, and it sort of was. But it was so worth it.    

Didn't Get That Particular Memo by Snarkymonkey E | 5k

Dean has worked with his best friend for years and maybe it's a bit more than that for him but not for Castiel, right? Right. And really, he'd feel so much better if Castiel would just get a companion already. Because it's not like Castiel actually wants him, right? Right.

Damn, that was fucking hot.  

Cas, You Had A Baby? by allthebeautifulthings9828 M | 132k | Fluff,  Alt!Canon, Kid Fic, Slow Build

At some point in every angel's life, raising a fledgling is required. Castiel's turn comes rather unexpectedly when his superiors hand off a newly created infant angel to him and leave him to raise it with all of Heaven's principles of blind obedience. He's not sure what to do, so he tucks the fledgling in his coat and goes straight to Dean and Sam Winchester. Together, Dean and Castiel hatch a plan to raise the fledgling away from Heaven's control. And soon, the angel Hael arrives with news that, after Castiel disappeared, she and four other angels ran from Heaven's oppression with their fledglings. Castiel finds himself the unwitting ringleader of angels choosing to raise their fledglings with the principles of free will. Is angelic parenthood too much for his deepening relationship with Dean? Who can they really trust? (Disclaimer: This story depicts fledglings consuming honey for the nourishment of their undeveloped graces. Human babies cannot consume honey, so please do not feed it to your infants. This is fiction.)

Oh. My. God. I admit that I was skeptical at the beginning about this story, but let me tell you, it sucked me in. Sometimes, you run across a story that has wonderful OCs that you get attached to. This is one of those. And of course, the baby is adorable.    

Healing by Jacqueline Albright-Beckett M | 2k | Fluff,  Canon!verse, PWP

Castiel can heal more than just physical wounds.

Sensual and romantic.    

Better Late Than Never by whelvenwings G | 23k | Fluff,  Alt!canon, friends to lovers,

When Dean first sees Castiel, he's clinging on for dear life - and things never really get any easier. In fact, they get a lot harder; Dean's worst enemy isn't always the monkey bars. Bound together year on year by the ritual pact of being a Guardian Angel, Dean and Cas grow close, showing loyalty and bravery in the face of danger. But will they ever find the courage to admit their true feelings for each other - and will it be too late by the time they do?

i LOVE best friends to lovers fics! and this delivers on that perfectly.    

Like A Candle In The Window On A Cold Dark Winter's Night by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel T | 6k | Fluff,  Canon!verse, asexual Cas

In which Castiel saves Dean, Dean saves Castiel, there is beer and TV watching, and if it weren't for the monsters and assassination attempts, life would be almost perfect.

A cute little fic I've read multiple times :)    

How many slams in an old screen door? by dandelioness T | 15k | Fluff,  Theatre AU, Asexual Cas

In which Castiel is a theatre major terrible at first impressions; Dean is a set designer who likes Cas anyway; and the most chaotic production of Les Miserables in history somehow manages to go off without a hitch. Or, just as you should never give a moose a muffin (because he'll want some jam to go with it), you should never give a blank check to a university theatre department.

This is perfect. I can't speak for the accuracy of the information and feelings given about asexuals/asexuality, but I enjoyed this fic nonetheless.    

Breath of Heaven by solacesnake18 E | 9k

When Dean is wounded and dying in Purgatory, Castiel returns from his self-imposed exile to help him.

Wow. True!form cas and metaphysical sex that somehow manages to be poetic, emotional, and erotic all at once. I approve.    

The Mirror by CloudyJenn M | 24k | Canon!Verse,

When Dean touches a strange mirror, he's whisked away to one alternate reality after another and it doesn't take him long to realize the universe is trying to tell him something.

One of my favorite fics, and a fandom classic. So beautiful. It's a trip, but you'll love it. The ending makes me really emotional.    

Rock 'n' Roll Queer Bar by chasingrabbits E | 121k | Fluff,  Human AU

Ellen and Jo Harvelle run Harvelle's Roadhouse, a bar that unintentionally becomes a beacon for wayward queer souls. Her employees: Dean, the smartass runaway with a big heart and bigger mouth; Castiel, the college drop-out turned hippie; his (surprisingly heterosexual) trouble-making brother Gabriel; and Charlie, who has been told several times that the back room is not to be used for after-hours Dungeons & Dragons games. But there's a lot of love in this place, and a new family for anyone who may otherwise be without.

Sweet little (well, not so little really) universe. Link is to the series.    

A Million Ways to Go by chasingrabbits E | 91k | High School AU,

Castiel Novak is a preacher's son living in a world of black and white. Pragmatic and dutiful, he doesn't understand why anybody would want to make waves. Then the Winchesters move in down the street. Soon many of the skeletons in the Novak family's closet are exposed, and as the family faces them, Castiel begins to understand that there are many ways to see the world and so many more ways to live than what he's been told.

Wow, this was a ride. Set in an alternate!canon where Cas is a repressed preacher's kid and dean still grows up a hunter. Also, lots of Sam and Gabriel brother!feels. Not sabriel.

Like That Foreigner Song... by DevilMadeMeDoIt E | 5k | Hot,  Alt!Canon, Deancest, Time trave

Dean and Cas have been together for a while now, but Dean always regrets that he has been with so many people in the past. He wishes he could go back in time and tell his 15 year old self that there is someone worth waiting for. Cas gives him the chance and the outcome is one that neither of them expected.

Oh god, this was a perfect little story. So much love.    

TutorMate by faeryn M | 21k | College AU

Sam leaves Dean's laptop logged in to some app called "TutorMate" and Dean meets his brother's tutor. Cas helps him with his own work and they strike up a friendship. Before long Dean finds himself growing attached to the cute, clever Cas and flirtatiously suggests they go on a date if he applies himself to his college work. Cas agrees, but Dean discovers his online friend is not quite what he expected. (Or, in which Dean thinks he's met a cute girl and finds out he's actually met a cute boy.)

Wowowwowowow adorable. Perfect little college AU.    

More recs coming soon.

[emmerrr]

41 pynch!!

41:“Is this seat taken?”

these prompts could get really tedious if i do them all in canon-verse settings, but this one lends itself wonderfully to an AU, so here, have an alternative meeting. i hope that’s okay! :)

(also i got so carried away with this oops, these are supposed to be DRABBLES)

Adam slipped through the train doors just as they were closing and had to stand with his hand on the safety bar just to catch his breath for a moment. He hated, hated having to run for the train.

When he was fairly certain he could now move again without feeling like his heart might explode, he began to make his way down the carriage in search of a seat.

Normally, he’d put up with just standing, but not today. It had been one of those Days with a capital ‘D’, when everything that could go wrong did go wrong, and Adam had worked through his lunch-break and then stayed late to try and get back on track.

He was exhausted.

The train was relatively full, and whilst there were a few unoccupied seats, a lot of people had put their bags up next to them in a most uninviting manner, and Adam didn’t particularly want to engage.

Finally, he spotted a free aisle-seat. The guy in the window-seat was probably around Adam’s age, and he was wearing a beat-up leather jacket and black jeans so distressed that Adam couldn’t tell if they were supposed to look like that or if they’d accidentally been put through a shredder. He had expensive looking headphones around his neck and not covering his ears, the tinny beat of what sounded like shitty EDM faintly audible. He was also wearing what looked like a permanent scowl on his face, but the seat beside him was completely empty, and it would do.

“Is this seat taken?” Adam asked politely when he drew level. The guy looked at Adam, then at the seat, then back at Adam before finally shrugging and turning his head to look out of the window.

Adam just about resisted rolling his eyes and slid into the seat, muttering, “Thanks.”

“It’s a free-country,” his new seat-mate said without looking at Adam, his voice dripping with boredom.

“In theory,” Adam replied mildly, dropping his head back against the headrest as he tried to get comfortable. He heard a small huff of what might have been amusement, but when he glanced to the right, his neighbour was still staring steadfast out of the window, his expression surly in the reflection.

He was actually quite annoyingly good-looking. Not that Adam was paying attention of course. Just…objectively.

Fuck, Adam was staring. And he was tired. He crossed his arms and slumped a little lower in the seat, hoping the guy hadn’t noticed.

His eyes drooped a couple of times, and Adam valiantly fought to keep them open. He could sleep when he got home. He just needed to stay awake for the rest of his twenty minute train journey. Easy.

…Or not.

Adam came to slowly, dimly aware he had no idea where he was. His cheek was leaning against something hard, and his mouth was slack; he’d possibly been drooling slightly. Fantastic, he’d fallen asleep.

He yawned and blinked a couple of times, not yet willing to lift his head.

“Y’know,” said a rumbling voice, “it seems like you should at least tell me your name before you fall asleep on me, but I guess we’re past that now.”

Adam jerked upright, absolutely mortified. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he said, covering his face with his hands. There was a perfect indent of the shoulder seam of the stranger’s jacket on Adam’s cheek, and he slowly dragged his hands away from his face, hoping he wasn’t as red as he felt. Hesitantly, he said, “Adam Parrish.”

The guy smirked. “Ronan Lynch.” It suited him.

Something oddly pleased settled in Adam at now having a name to put to this face. At the very least, Ronan didn’t seem annoyed that Adam had been sleeping on his shoulder for God knows how long.

“Oh fuck,” Adam said suddenly, leaning across Ronan to look out of the window and try and figure out where they were. He could immediately tell that he’d gone too far, and let out a groan just as an overhead announcement called out the next stop, which was three along from where Adam should have gotten off.

“Fuck,” he reiterated, sitting back in his seat. “I missed my stop.”

“That sucks,” Ronan said, unconcerned.

Adam whirled on him. “Why didn’t you wake me up? Who just lets a stranger sleep on them on a train?”

Ronan shrugged. “I dunno, man, you seemed, like, really fucking tired.”

Adam pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d let this happen. “I am really fucking tired, and I’m going to be even more tired by the time I finally get home.”

He’d have to get off at the next stop and then wait for the next train going the other way which — Adam checked his watch and groaned again — wouldn’t be for another hour.

“Hey, Ad—Parrish,” Ronan said, rubbing a hand over the back of his shaved head. He looked a little awkward and it was endearing somehow; it helped to saw some of the edges off Adam’s irritation. “This is my stop, and I only live down the road from the station. I can borrow my brother’s car and drop you off wherever you’re going, save you waiting for another train.”

“I—you’d do that?” Adam asked, surprise colouring his tone.

Ronan shrugged again. “Well, yeah. I kinda feel fuckin’ responsible now.”

Adam shook his head. “Don’t, it was my fault, not yours. You really don’t have to.”

“I know that,” Ronan said, then he rolled his eyes. “I’m offering though. Take it or fucking leave it, Parrish.”  

Adam hesitated, everything he’d ever learned about stranger danger at school flashing through his mind. But he couldn’t deny there was something about Ronan that seemed innately trustworthy. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d offer his help unless he really meant it.

Plus Adam really, really didn’t want to wait for another train.

“That would be great, as long as you’re sure it’s not a problem,” Adam said. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“It’s fine, Parrish.” He nudged Adam in the arm. “Get up, stop’s coming up.”

Adam hoisted himself out of the seat and led the way down the aisle towards the doors just as the train slowly drew to a stop. They stepped out in silence, the chilly October air setting in quickly after being in a warm train. Adam pulled his jacket tighter around him.

Ronan shot him a quick look. “It’s not far,” he said, and Adam nodded.

It was harder to know what to say now they were out of the train. He searched his mind for something— anything — to talk about, but all he could come up with were stereotypical small-talk conversation starters. He got the impression Ronan wasn’t much of a small-talk kind of guy.

It didn’t matter anyway, because when Ronan had said it wasn’t far, he really meant it. They hadn’t been walking quite five minutes when they stopped beside a modest-sized house that had a sporty yellow Subaru in the driveway.

Ronan took his house keys out of his pocket and got the front door open, waving Adam inside.

“C’mon in for a sec, I gotta grab the car keys anyway.”

Adam followed him inside and shut the door behind him, but then hovered awkwardly near the door as Ronan walked further into the house. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and called up, “Matty, I’m taking your car, I’ll be back in a bit.”

There was an unintelligible shout in response and then a thump as someone started thundering down the stairs.

“What?” said an approaching voice. “What’s wrong with your car?”

A boy appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a few years younger than Adam was; maybe late teens, early twenties. He was very clearly related to Ronan, although he looked softer in almost every conceivable way. His eyes landed on Adam and he smiled widely. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hello,” Adam said, returning the smile as politely as possible.

“Are you a friend of Ronan’s?”

Adam looked at Ronan helplessly. Ronan shrugged in exasperation and then gazed skyward as if praying for help. He sighed. “This is Adam, Matthew. I just met him on the train and he missed his stop, but my car’s in the shop, which is why I need to borrow yours to take him home.”

Matthew took all this in easily enough, clearly not bothered by the fact that Ronan and Adam were practically strangers. “No worries, pal, my keys are on the hook in the kitchen. It was nice to meet you, Adam.” He turned around and headed back up the stairs.

“You too,” Adam said after him. 

Ronan went to the kitchen to grab the keys, then came back out, jingled them at Adam and gestured towards the door. Adam preceded him outside and got in the passenger seat when Ronan unlocked the door.

As soon as he was settled behind the wheel, Ronan asked where Adam lived.

“Just get onto the Main Street and keep going, I’ll let you know where to turn off.”

Ronan nodded and got them moving, and for the first couple of minutes it was silent, before it became too much for Adam. Ronan was going out of his way to give Adam a lift home; the least Adam could do was not ignore him.

“What happened to your car?” he asked, and Ronan glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “You said it was in the shop.”

Ronan’s eyes flicked back to the road. “Some asshole scratched up the doors at a parking lot downtown. Getting the bodywork fixed.”

Adam winced in sympathy. Jobs like that were costly which was annoying given that they were mostly cosmetic. “That’s a pain in the ass. Know who did it?”

Ronan shook his head, and Adam let the subject die.

He took to looking out of the window, but a moment later was startled out of his own head by Ronan’s voice. “I hate getting the train.”

“Yeah, it’s a pain,” Adam said. “Saves me money though, I have a railcard. And no car.”

Ronan shook his head again, seemingly frustrated, like Adam wasn’t getting it. “I usually hate getting the train, and I don’t normally have to because I have my car, but I got it today,” he said, then glanced at Adam quickly. “Of all days.”

“…What’s your point?”

Ronan huffed a laugh. “Nothing, Parrish.” But it obviously wasn’t nothing, and a second later he continued. “The first time I have to catch a train in fucking years, and you sit next to me, fall asleep on my shoulder, drool all over my fuckin’ jacket, then miss your stop. It’s just…”

“It’s a meet-cute,” Adam supplied, then couldn’t believe the words had tumbled so easily out of his mouth. He really needed to get out of Ronan’s company before he embarrassed himself further.

Ronan snorted. “It’s a meet-something.”

“And I didn’t drool on your jacket.”

“You fucking did.”

Adam thought about it, and then he remembered and inclined his head slightly. “Maybe.”

Conversation was easier for the rest of the journey. Adam found out that Ronan worked at an art gallery in the city just a couple of blocks from Adam’s office-building, and that Matthew lived with him whilst attending the local university. He also had another brother who lived in D.C., and his mother lived on a farm back in Virginia. Ronan didn’t mention his father, and Adam knew better than to ask. It wasn’t like he’d been particularly forthcoming about his own family. Ronan had seemed to sense they were a sore subject.

Before Adam knew it, he was telling Ronan to turn off and directing him the last couple of turns before stopping outside his apartment building. Ronan put the car in park, but didn’t switch off the engine.

“Thank you, Ronan,” Adam said, his hand on the door-handle. “I really appreciate it.”

“No worries, Parrish. I should’ve woken you up, at least to check where your stop was. It’s at least a little on me.”

Adam smiled, struck by the sudden urge to lean across the middle console and kiss Ronan on the cheek. He refrained, just about.

“To be honest, I kind of enjoyed our little misadventure.” He shrugged and opened the door. “Might do it again some time.”

Just as he got out of the car, he thought he heard Ronan say, “Night, Adam,” but he was already shutting the door, and then Ronan was driving away.

Adam stood alone on the sidewalk for a moment, feeling oddly despondent. It felt anti-climactic somehow. He didn’t even have Ronan’s number. He really should have asked for it.

Feeling somewhat heavy-hearted but not surprised that he was only thinking of this now that it was too late, Adam dragged his feet up to his apartment.

He showered, ate a microwave meal in front of the TV, and then tried to get a little work done with little to no success. His mind kept getting caught up on daydreams of Ronan, and Adam soon gave up and went to bed.

Sleep should have come easy, but it didn’t.

The next day at work was easier. There were fewer disasters, fewer fires for Adam to put out. He actually got to take his proper lunch-break which made for a nice change. Although he didn’t strictly need to, he stayed late again. He told himself it was because he was just trying to get ahead of himself, but if he was completely honest with himself, he knew it was because he was trying to increase his chances of seeing Ronan again.

It was stupid. Ronan might not get the same train again, or maybe he took Matthew’s car, or maybe he had his own car back by now. There were so many variables; it felt like he was setting himself up to be disappointed and yet he couldn’t help it.

At the very least, he didn’t have to run for the train this time. He walked through two carriages with no sign of Ronan before he gave up and sat down at the next available seat. 

He sat by the window and pressed his temple against it, looking out with a frown on his face and trying to rationalise his crushing disappointment.

“Is this seat taken?”

Adam turned his head so quickly he nearly got whiplash to see none other than Ronan Lynch staring down at him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You’re an asshole,” Adam said, but he laughed. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

“Obviously, Parrish,” Ronan said jovially, and flung himself in beside Adam. “Why so glum?”

“I’m not. Not anymore.” Adam blushed a little, but he was determined not to repeat his mistake of yesterday. He took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Ronan. “First thing’s first: Put your number in there.”

“Is this so you can call me anytime you need a lift?” Ronan said, but he was clearly joking and he dutifully typed his information into Adam’s phone.

“No,” Adam said. “It’s so I can call you to ask you out.”

Ronan smirked as he handed the phone back. “Why don’t you just ask me out now?”

“Because I’m tired and your shoulder is comfortable,” he replied simply as he got himself comfy leaning on Ronan. “For the love of all things holy, do not let me sleep through my stop.”

Adam’s eyes were closed but he could hear the smile in Ronan’s voice when he replied, “No promises, Parrish.”

[batboys-and-other-messes]

Elevator (Tim Drake X Fem!Reader)

Requested: NO A/N:  This was supposed to be short and sweet and then I lost control …. I had a conversation with @sassyshoulderangel319 (I can already type that url out by heart) about this post and which one I would choose and then somehow this formed in my heart and jesus, it was such a good idea. I put it under a Read More because it's ridiculously long and seriously… But I hope you guys like it!! Word count: 6256 (YES You read correctly. I lost control) Warning(s):  Claustrophobia Tagged: @icequeen206 @crescent-bluemoon @nanna-the-batmum @xoleaox @sleep-depiravation [You wanna be tagged in my next piece? Just shoot me a message or ask!]

Your feet dragged across the floor as you walked towards the elevator. 

Today was one of these days again. The kind that never ended and just seemed to drag on to eternity.

Your Head was pounding, your eyes were tired and your legs felt like someone had filled them with metal and put a magnet underneath the whole floor.

The building was already empty, which wasn’t a surprise at that time. It was already well past midnight and even the cleaning staff had been there and left again. You were alone, walking down the hallway.

Well, technically ‘alone’ except the one old guy who was lying there on his desk. You weren’t even sure if he was still alive but from what you heard through the gossip of the others, he just went through a nasty divorce and practically lived at his desk.

Poor Robert.

Well, at least he had a desk.

You knew you shouldn’t complain. You got a summer job at Wayne Enterprises. It was an opportunity some of your classmates would kill for, but there was always a catch with these kinds of things. What you didn’t expect when you signed all these confidentiality agreements was that your supervisor would be a lazy asshole that made you do all kinds of things you shouldn’t have to do.

But you had no say in the matter. Absolutely none.

So you sucked it up and got shit done.

And now that you had carried all these binders to the upper floor it was time to go down, get a taxi and sleep through tomorrow, your day off.

Almost lifelessly you pressed the elevator button, feeling like your finger might break from that little action.

Even the buttons up here were posh. The only thing missing was diamond-encrusting them. Maybe the Top floor had butlers that pushed the buttons for them?

You smiled at your own stupid joke, glad that nobody saw you. The doors opened and you stepped in. You pressed the last button and took out your phone. You haven’t had time to glance even once at it and were surprised to find 9 missed calls and about three dozen different messaged on it.

You were popular?

You expression fell when you saw that all of them were from your best friend.

The elevator moved but instead of going down it started to rise and you groaned internally. Someone from the higher-ups was still in the building, at this time?

You focused back on your phone. You phone signaled that it was very low on battery but you just clicked it away before you opened the newest messages and started to read them.

BITCH did you die or did you forget how to use your damn phone?? ANSWER ME Or do you think you are better than me now that you have a JOB and a PURPOSE in life? smh Hello??? You need to humble yourself Anyways, I have good news I’m gonna assume you asked ‘Oh Jenny, what good news?’   I found your lonely ass a boyfriend. I know, I know, thank me later Or thank me now Well, its actually gonna be a double date And I kinda already promised you’ll come I swear he’s cute Kinda Mine is They are brothers But he also has a sister, if you’re not in the mood for a guy? Don’t think I haven’t noticed your gay tendencies towards batgirl ANYWAYS Sorry to break your coming out? Or is it rather a Passing BI? haha Yeah okay, that was a bad one That’s what you get for ignoring me Bitch

You closed your eyes as you heard the elevator ding, and the doors open. You were too tired for this shit. Way too tired for any of this.

Also, who wasn’t gay for Batgirl?

That was normal, right?

You started typing out your reply, too focused not to use too many curses and to keep her family out of it, to even notice the stranger that entered.

A moment passed and suddenly everything happened at once. You hit send, then the elevator shook, it stopped with a BANG, your phone died and the lights went out.

It all happened in the blink of an eye and for a moment you thought you had died.

And suddenly, your realized your situation.

‘I am stuck in an elevator’, was the only thing you could think of.

The person next to you sighed deeply and you let out a scream and jumped to the nearest wall.

‘WE are stuck in an elevator’

Fuck.

You took in a shaky breath as you felt cold and hot at the same time. Your sleepiness was gone, being replaced by a thousand pictures of crashing elevators and that one weird X-Factor Episode where (supposedly) death himself was in one and you only heard the screams of these people and you really didn’t want to die in an elevator with a stranger. You had so many things you still wanted to do! Hell, you haven’t even paid your student loan yet! 

Though this thought calmed you a little bit.

Fuck capitalism.

“Hey” A male voice spoke up somewhere from the left. “Are you okay?” he asked and you gulped.

Okay, (Y/N), don’t show him that you’re having a panic attack.

“No.” you answered truthfully.

Yeah okay, that didn’t go as planned.

Maybe it was the adrenalin or the utter terror in your bones,  but you weren’t really able to lie right now.

“It’s gonna be okay. We’ll just have to find the emergency-button.” He said and he sounded young. Something about his voice and the way he said it made you feel calmer but the fact that you were locked in here with a stranger unnerved you.

You nodded, realizing that he couldn’t see you, you added a quick “Okay.”

You moved towards where you remembered the buttons to be and suddenly you felt a hand and you yelped.

His hands were cold.

“Oh sorry.” He apologized and you heard him press a button, once.

You two waited and he pressed it again.

After pressing it about fifteen times nothing happened.

The darkness was getting to you and your hands started to sweat as you cursed yourself for not taking the elevator with the glass walls and the freaking panorama view. At least the moon would’ve provided some light but no, you were lazy and took the first one you saw.

“Weird.” The guy said and you didn’t answer. But it seemed like he was more talking to himself. “Usually the emergency generator should’ve turned on by now. And if that one failed the backup should’ve been enough to at least power the elevators.”

Maybe he was just thinking out loud but every single word filled you with a deeper sense of dread. 

Was it common knowledge how many emergency-generators this damn building had? What did this mean? Where you going to die in here?

You heard some rustling and then a sigh.

“My phones dead.” He said and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out if he was talking to you or if he just really enjoyed his own voice.

Either way, every statement that left his mouth wasn’t good.

“I guess we have to wait.” He said and you nodded again which, of course, he couldn’t see.

“Okay” you managed to say meekly.

A silence settled between the two of you and it wasn’t one of the good kind. It was rather the “My crush just saw me scratch my ass and pick my nose while farting” kind of silence that made one want to fling oneself out of the nearest window and into certain death.

It was very awkward silence.

You heard the guy clear his throat. “Uhm… Hello.”

Oh shit, he wanted to converse.

You started to hyperventilate for the fifth time in the span of a second before you almost slapped yourself.

Get your shit together, (Y/N). It’s a conversation. You can do this. Remember? You had plenty of conversations in your life!

But how should you answer? ‘Hello’ would sound too stiff. ‘Hi’ would sound like you were best friends and you didn’t even know this guy. But going back to Hello would signal to him that you wanted to talk which you actually didn’t. Meaning you wanted to have a conversation with him because it seemed to calm you down but you didn't want to be trapped in the social construct of a conversation and then accidentally make it really awkward and end up trapped in a long awkward silence knowing that he would judge you for the whole time you two were trapped in there. You really didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of someone who might be the last person to see you alive.

“Okay, I guess you don’t want to talk.” He said slowly and he sounded so unnervingly calm.

“Yes. I mean No. I mean No I- I mean I don’t want to talk. I mean I don't want not to talk- Ugh. I WANT to talk but I tried to negate it twice and it came out sounding like I didn’t want to talk when in fact I do.” You said and you mentally slapped yourself for that.

Great thinking, (Y/N). No more freestyle-conversation for you until you learn how to act like a person, you moron.

Suddenly you heard him chuckle at that before he started to laugh as quietly as he could. It seemed very sincere and gave you the more reason to slam your head against the wall. But you didn’t.

“Don’t worry, I get it.” he said and you wondered if he was lying.

“What’s your name?” he asked and you blurted out “Nineteen.”

A second passed.

“Your name is Nineteen?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

“No. I-I am nineteen years old. My name is (Y/N). I don’t know why but I thought you asked for my age because everyone here asks for my age first since this is actually just a summer job, you know and yeah.” you said. 

You didn’t know why you were still alive right now.

“Oh, cool. You got a summer job here?” He continued as if he still thought you were a sane person and you were very grateful for that.

“Y-Yeah. There was this representative at my college and I won the contest for a ‘summer job’. Depending on how I do, I might even get a permanent job offer for when I’m done with college.” You said. 

Your feet were hurting you and as if he could hear your thoughts you heard him sit down on the dirty elevator-floor before you could even ask yourself if it was okay for you to do so.

“Oh yeah, I heard of that. Congratulations, by the way.” His voice came from his sitting position. There was a smile in his voice and a sincerity you haven’t heard in a long time from someone else.

“Thank you.” You said, mimicking him and sitting down too. Your foot bumped against his when you tried to stretch your legs so you immediately pulled them back and just crossed your legs.

“What’s your name?” you asked, seemingly way calmer than before.

There was a moment of hesitation before he answered.

“Tim.” He said and you silently nodded.

“Hi, Tim.” You said and he let out a short chuckle.

“Hi (Y/N).”

“Do you think we are going to die here?” you asked.

“Okay, that escalated quickly.” He mumbled more to himself before you heard him continue.

“No. This building is very safe. The only thing worrying me is why our phones didn’t work. Mine is always charged and the backup generators should work anyways unless someone turned them off on purpose.”

You knew his words were supposed to be aimed at you but somewhere in the middle of it, he seemed to be talking to himself again. You still continued to listen.

“Well, my phone was low on battery anyway.” You said and he stopped at that for a moment.

“Mine was fully charged.” He said.

A pause.

“When did it turn off?” he asked and something in his voice made you answer it immediately.

“The same second the lights went out.” you said and even you realized how weird that sounded. There was still a little bit of battery left, a text message couldn’t possibly drain that much energy at once.

He was quiet for some time.

“What... does that mean?” you asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know yet, but it's not a good sign.” He said before he quickly added. “I still think we are safe here. Its probably a robbery of some kind and the energy will be back as soon as they are done.” He assured you and you didn’t believe a word he said.

“Bullshit.” You said forcefully in his direction.

“If what you just implied was true and someone messed with the energy enough to turn both our phones off at the top of the building then that’s definitely not a normal robbery. It's probably something bigger. Like super-villain big. So stop lying to me.”

You let your words hang in the air between the two of you and you just wished you could see his expression right now.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He said after a while and you were surprised that he didn’t try to lie his way out of this.

“I didn’t want to worry you because you already seemed pretty freaked out.” He explained and you could understand that.

“Fair point.” You said and you both fell into your own thoughts again as the silence started.

“Hey, Tim?” You spoke after a while, which felt like an eternity. “Is Tim short for something? Like Timothy? Or Timotheus? Or is it just Tim?” you asked, hoping he wouldn’t ask why you would voice such a stupid question.

“Timothy.” He said and you could swear could hear him laugh but he didn’t make a sound. “But I prefer Tim.”

“Oh, so Timothy, like the Wayne one.” You said. “Or was it Drake-Wayne? Was it just Drake? Like the rapper? Shoot, Maybe I should know this since I'm working here. I hope they don’t quiz me on this or else it would really be embarrassing. I don’t even know how many children Mr. Wayne has. Is there like a chart or something?? They don’t quiz the employees here, do they?” you talked yourself into panic again.

“No. They definitely don’t.” he stated calmly and you were sure he was making fun of you.

“I mean they shouldn’t… It’s a weird thing to ask someone. And if someone does, just shoot a random number and make something up. That's what I like to do, anyway.” He said and you nodded, making a mental note of that.

“Right.” You said.

“You get anxious really easily.” Tim broke the silence absentmindedly.

“Yeah, It’s the Anxiety.” You shot back and it made him laugh again.

“Yeah, I figured. It was like my second guess.” He said and you smiled.

“Second? What was your first guess then?”

“The first was that you’re secretly the criminal responsible for this. Maybe your escape plan had failed and now that you’re trapped here with a civilian your cover is about to be blown.” 

You would lie if you said you wouldn’t like to hear the rest of this story.

“Wow.” You said. “That’s… very specific…. Su- Suspiciously specific.” You said, letting that sink in.

“Are you trying to tell me something with this, Timothy?” Was that even his real name?

“No.” The pause before he spoke was way too long for your comfort.

Way too long.

“And please call me Tim.”

“I’m curious now. Was there like… a third theory you had?” you licked your dry lips in nervousness.

“Yeah. That you’re nervous because of me.”

“Well, I certainly am now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah really. You could be a murderer for all I know. I mean you are so calm while we're stuck here, that kinda screams psychopath. And your name is Timothy. I dunno, there are a lot of red flags here.” You rambled on, not even sure yourself if you’re joking or not. But you mostly were.

“Hey, whats wrong with Timo-“

Suddenly you felt the elevator drop an inch and you almost pissed yourself.

Then the lights flickered and there was suddenly light illuminating the elevator.

“Oh, the lights are back on.” He said, looking up before he stood up again, pressing the emergency button. There was a voice that came from the speakers above and you registered him saying something but you didn’t really catch what he was saying as you just kept staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.

It was him.

Timothy Drake-Wayne.

FUCK.

It was him all along.

What the fuck did you say to him?

You were sure you insulted him at least three times in the span of this conversation and he didn’t even say a word! And looking at him now he sure looked a lot more handsome than he did in the papers and he was your boss in some kind of way, no, he was the boss of your bosses boss and you just called him a murderer and you would probably be kicked out the next thing right now and you wouldn’t even mind because why the fuck did you have to run your mouth like this?!?

“This might take a while. So, where were we?” he asked, letting himself slide down before glancing at you again.

“Right. I was possibly a psychopath.”

“I am so so so sorry.” Your face exploded in all shades of red as you pressed your lips together, avoiding his eyes at all cost.

“What for?” he chuckled with a lopsided smile. “I mean the name thing was kinda rude and I honestly want to know whats wrong with my name but you were just being honest.” He shrugged and you kind of wished the elevator would plunge to you to death. “Not many people here tell me that to my face.”

“Yeah, but it was only because I couldn’t see your face!”

“Why? Whats wrong with my face now?”

“Nothing! Its ridiculously stunning and it belongs to the guy owning this damn elevator.” You almost cursed.

“Bruce Wayne owns it.” He corrected you and he seemed surprised by your choice of words. “... and thanks?”

“You’re his son.” You retorted.

“Adoptive son.”

“Same thing.”

At that he paused, looking at the corner of the elevator. “No. Not according to some people.”

You stopped mid-thought.

“Oh.” You said, not knowing what else to say. 

But you had already shot yourself in the leg once, so why not reload?

“But why should it matter what other people think? It’s not their decision to make how you feel towards someone. Or what your relationship with them is.” You looked at your hands, fumbling with your fingers as you felt his eyes on you.

“Sometimes… biological parents… aren’t good.” you added.

Your heart was beating and you knew he was watching you but he didn’t say a word. He just listened to you, waiting for you to speak out what you were thinking. What you were implying.

You weren’t sure if you could.

“Are yours?” he asked and it felt like a little nudge. Soft but present. Like a calm hand on your shoulder, encouraging you to make the step.

What was it with him? How could he make you feel so calm with just his voice? With just his presence?  With this look in his eyes that you didn’t even have to see.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m eighteen..” You said. “It shouldn’t matter”

“Maybe it shouldn’t,” he said. His knees were up and his arms rested on them, crossed. He didn’t look like the co-owner of a company. He just looked like a guy with a lot on his mind. And lusciously messy hair. “But it does.”

Suddenly you heard a sound and both of you looked at your phones.

“My phone is on again... And its fully charged?” you said in confusion before he confirmed that his was too.

You both started to type away as you opened your friend's Messages.

Did you die again? HELLOOOOOOO?? You can’t insult my eyebrows and then JUST LEAVE ?!?!? What the fuck is wrong with you?? You know how insecure I am about this

There was a string of other nonsensical messages but you decided to reply immediately before the power went out again.

Stuck in an elevator. Power and phone went off. Just turned on again Still stuck And your eyebrows are shit

You smiled as you saw the bubble pop up, indicating that she was typing.

OKAY, FIRST OF ALL HOW DARE YOU? Second of all Are you okay? Did you call for help? Are you alone? Should I call and keep you company?

You quickly glanced over at Tim, as he seemed to be texting someone too, a slight frown on his face before you looked back at your phone.

Nope, not alone

A pause.

And who’s there with you??

You typed.

Theres a guy with me

Old or cute?

Second  And why are these the only two options?

You only realized how true this was when you typed it out. You were definitely attracted to him. Of course, you couldn’t fall for a cute barista or someone else. No, It had to be untouchable people like Batgirl and Bruce Wayne’s freaking son.

At least you weren’t aiming low.

What kind of cute?

Tim Drake

Since when is that a measurement in your book? I mean I won’t complain. He’s cute?

No It’s him.

???

The guy. In the Elevator. With me. Is him.

There was a long pause in which she didn’t even type and you were afraid that she had placed her phone down before you saw the bubble pop up.

Use protection.

You closed your eyes in resignation.

I’m going to slap you

Well, whats the problem?

I insulted him... I think?

Of course you did

I mean it

Thats the problem

Are you going to help me or be useless?

I dunno… My eyebrows are still hurt

JENNIFER

Whoa we’re busting ot the full names now? Heavy.

I’m not good at this?

Good at what?

Talking

I know

Jen...

Seriously, what are you trying to do? Apologize? What am I supposed to help you here with?? Give a girl something to work with!

You thought about your reply for a moment before typing it up.

Flirt?

You died just typing that up.

“I got some good and some bad news,” Tim said.

His voice ripped you out of your thought and you almost dropped the phone in a panic, afraid that he could read what you had just written. You placed it display-down on your lap, blushing.

“W-what?” you asked as you looked at him.

“Well, the good news is that there was a power outage and in the whole city. Something like a force-field-thing but we don’t know more.”

You blinked.

“Why is that good news?” you asked, confused.

“It means nobody targeted this building specifically. We are safe. Locked up but safe.”

Somehow, that made sense. But only in Gotham.

“And the bad news?” you asked.

“There is a lot happening right now and we might be stuck in here for a while because there are other emergencies that happened.” he explained carefully and you nodded.

That meant you would spend some time with him in here.

You glanced at your phone to see what your friend had answered.

Show him your tits

You blocked her.

“You look angry.” You noted, lying on the floor with his jacket underneath your head. He had insisted you take it and you learned how stubborn he could be.

“’M not.” He said absentmindedly while frowning at his phone.

“You sure do.” You said. He probably wasn’t even listening to you.

“Nope.” He said casually.

“Yupp.”

“No.”

“Ye-hes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Stop it.”

“Nope.”

This was fun.

“Who are you texting?” you asked, bored out of your mind. It looked like he was doing something very important and you asked yourself if he was a workaholic. Or maybe he just enjoyed someone else's company more than yours?

Were you that boring?

“My brother.” He said, glancing over at you for a moment with a quick smile and suddenly you felt reassured again.

Damn, he was good.

“Hm.” You just said, not knowing how to answer to that.

“Why did you stop texting?” he asked, still typing away and you turned your head to him.

“What do you mean?” you asked confused.

“When your phone worked again you were texting with someone. And then you stopped.” he stated curiously and you realized that it was a main trait of his. Curiosity.

“My best friend.” You said, circling your finger over your phone that was laying on your stomach.

“But she’s being obnoxious again.” You finished drawing your circles and started drawing them in the other direction.

“How come?”

It was such a simple question but he seemed genuinely interested. At the same time, he wasn’t even looking at you and was typing on his screen. You didn’t know what to make of it.

Talk about mixed signals.

“She’s trying to set me up on blind dates and … she really doesn’t have the slightest clue what my type is.”

You paused a moment and he looked at you, fully.

“Jesus, that sounded stuck-up.” You realized horrified. “W-what I meant is that I don’t even know if I have a type myself and I didn’t mean it in a physical appearance-wise way but its just really uncomfortable when you sit with someone and try to talk to him and its just obvious they are here to hook up with your friend and not interested to talk to you, at all. You know?” You said, squinting up at the ceiling of the elevator, wondering why you just told him that. Why should he care?

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation.

You would probably regret this a lot tomorrow.

“Why... don’t you just tell her no?”

It sounded so simple when he said it.

Because she always agrees first and then it’s my fault when I cancel.

Because she is a little bit manipulative like that sometimes.

Because she keeps playing the victim whenever I do.

There where so many replies you could’ve given him but you didn’t. Instead, you sighed.

“Because I’m a pushover.” you said, and it rang true to you.

“You don’ sound like one.” He said, unsure of how to word it. “Or at least you don’t seem like one.”

“Thanks, guy who knows me for like two hours. At least that means I can fake dominance?”

He clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, ‘dominance’ is maybe a bit far-fetched,” he mumbled.

“Oh, shut up, Timothy.”

“I would really appreciate it f you would stop calling me that.”

“Why? What's wrong with Timothy?”

  “Maybe we should start recording diary entries to keep track of the days that had passed? In case someone finds us too late?”

You had taken off your shoes and his head rested on your bag. He had rolled up his sleeves and his tie was gone and it was seriously dangerous for you to look at him right now.

Somehow being stuck with him for 4 hours fo far made him seem so much more human than you would’ve ever imagined. This wasn’t the rich business-boy you heard of. This was fidgety, curious and sassy Tim. The elevator Tim.

“Jokes on you, I already made seven entries so far. Currently on entry eight, pondering about the symbolism of the elevator.” His Phone was gone and he was staring at the blinking lights with you. Occasionally closing his eyes as he seemed to be just as tired as you were.

In a normal setting you would’ve never been caught dead in such a position but somehow you stopped caring around the first hour that had passed. Social construct couldn’t harm you here anymore. It was a surreal plane of existence.

“Maybe the lights are the light that leads us to the afterlife?” you theorized and you saw him grin at that.

“And the buttons symbolize the levels of hell?” he added

“Heaven and hell.” You corrected.

“We’re somewhere on the top floor. What does that mean?”

You thought about it.

“That Satan and God are fighting for custody and god is winning?” you improvised on the spot.

He let out a laugh.

“Great. I’m gonna get adopted again.”

At that, you burst out laughing.

  “Why do you carry so many chocolate-bars in your bag? Did you raid a vending machine or something?” Tim looked at you, deeply concentrated as he took a bite from one of them.

“Pff, Because I always am prepared for being stranded on a deserted island like in Cast Away, duh.” You said, mockingly.

“And chocolate bars would be your number one priority in such a case?” he raised an eyebrow, crunching at the chocolate-chip one.

“What would be yours, Mr. Know-it-all?” you asked

“Water. Water and shelter, obviously.”

“Yeah, but I can’t exactly carry around a freaking tent with me everywhere.” You chuckled.

“Pff you could. With the right amount of dedication.” He smiled.

“People would think I’m paranoid.”

“A small price for survival, (Y/N).”

“Guess I’ll just die then?” you shrugged.

“Yeah …. Please don’t.”

He smiled weakly but there was something in his voice you couldn’t decipher.

  “Oh, that’s easy.” Tim said, eyes determined.

“I would kill Robin, Marry Nightwing and fuck Red Robin.” He said and you chuckled at the speed of which he answered that question.

“What did Robin ever do to you?”

“Do I have to answer this?” he asked dramatically.

“No, but why marry Nightwing? I want to know your thoughts behind it.”

“He seems like someone you could trust?” he motioned the usual ‘I don’t know’ motion and you accepted it.

“I’m not gonna question the Red Robin part.” You assured him and it seemed to pique his interest.

“Why not? Is it like….. a common thing to want?” he sounded almost worried and definitely confused.

“Well not that I know... but he seems like a loveable dork.” You chuckled. “He saved me once.”

“He… did?” He asked.

“Yeah. I almost walked into traffic once while I was distracted, long story, and he just pulled me back while swinging by and yelled ‘PAY ATTENTION’ and then he slammed against a building.” You laughed softly at the memory. “I felt so guilty for it but he was already gone before I could apologize.”

Tim went silent after that.

“If we ever get out of here, I want to eat a triple cheeseburger. Not the tiny ones. I’m talking about the ones that are as big as my face. The ones you could feed a small family with for three days, you know?”

You were hungry. 

There was more hunger than a few chocolate bars and some bubblegum could satisfy. Maybe it was also just the fantasy of being free and sitting in a fast food joint and stuffing your face that intensified that wish.

You wanted out of there and the need to get up and run was getting stronger and stronger with every passing minute. But at the same time, you wanted to stay and keep talking with him.

He gave you a kind of attention you’ve been desperately waiting and searching for and a part of you felt guilty that maybe he was forced to do so since he had nowhere else to go right now. But it felt so natural and sincere whenever he did that you wished it would never end.

When you didn’t get a response from him you turned your head, only to see him staring back at you. He immediately looked away.

“Y-yeah, me too.” He quickly said and you asked yourself what that look just now was supposed to mean.

  You opened your eyes, blinking at the bright light in the room.

Where were you?

Oh right, you were still trapped.

And you had fallen asleep.

Fuck.

You looked over at Tim, who was sitting up again.

You blushed deeply in embarrassment before you sat up too.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Tim looked at you again with a smile.

“Yeah … Uhm… How long was I gone?” you asked, hesitantly and you watched him look at his phone.

“About an hour.”

Your heart dropped.

“Oh. Thanks.” You couldn’t even believe you had the nerve to fall asleep in a situation like this but you were apparently tired enough to do so.

“What did I miss?” you asked and you definitely noticed how he hesitated and avoided your eyes.

“Your friend called.” He said. “And …. She sounded angry.”

Your heart dropped.

“You picked up??” you asked in disbelieve. What did she say to him?? Oh Dear Lord, please let her have shut her big mouth just once for this time, PLEASE.

“I- I really didn’t mean to pick up! But she called seven times and your phone wasn’t muted and when I wanted to mute it I saw her text of how worried she was and…” he trailed off and it was almost a little bit comforting to see him talk in a frenzy instead of you.

“What did she say?” you asked, having your mental fingers crossed and hoping for the best.

“Nothing much. She kept yelling and when I finally got a word in she hung up.” he said and you never felt more relieved than before.

 “Are you shitting me? That’s what he did??” you couldn’t contain yourself in laughter as you heard the story he had just told you. It made you feel a dozen times better about the ones you had told him before.

“Yeah. Bruce banned spoons after that. Except for the kitchen and dining room, of course.”

You laughed at that, even letting out a snort as you couldn’t contain it.

“No wonder he always looks so tired in all the pictures.” You chuckled.

“Besides that, I still can’t believe you have a dining room. One that you actually use.” You added.

Tim looked away and you had learned in the short time here with him that it meant he wasn’t quite comfortable with that topic.

“Yeah, comes with the job I guess?”

“How often do you guys just … you know, play hide and seek? Or Tag? Do you ever feel tempted?”

Tim chuckled.

“We did, once. We aren’t allowed to do that anymore. We lost Damian for two days and didn’t tell Bruce...” he trailed off.

You laughed again and you didn’t notice how much he seemed to enjoy that sound.

“I don't even want to know how you guys did that.” You said, grinning at the hilarity of it all.

“I’m not even sure I’m allowed to tell you, anyway.” He replied. You glanced over at him, opening your mouth to say something when you both heard a voice from outside. 

You both looked at the door from where the sound came.

It was the rescue workers. And suddenly a timer started to run down in your head that you didn’t know you would start to detest.

It was only a matter of time till this would end.

The men outside started the whole ‘Are you safe’ spiel and you heard Tim answer some of the questions. The only thing you could focus on was what the man had said.

“You’ll be out in 15 to 20 minutes.”

15 to 20 minutes.

That was by far not enough time.

Was it selfish of you to want to sit here with him and keep talking? Listening to his past shenanigans and the way he laughed when you told him yours? The way his brows creased when he was thinking or the completely surprised expression of his when you delivered a good comeback to his sassy remarks?

You probably shouldn’t feel this way anyways.

Wasn’t he technically your boss?

Even though he had told you that he really didn’t like it when you talk to him like he was this big shot, it still didn't change the fact that he was.

Or maybe it was your way of pushing him away? Your way of justifying why he would never be interested in you in this way.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Tim looked down at you and you honestly didn't know how to answer that. You sat up, hearing the workers trying to open the doors as you glanced at the jacket your head was lying on a second ago.

“This is going to sound stupid…” you said, already throwing the idea out of the window until you saw his face. It was concerned, almost worried and a little bit curious.

“Try me.” He said, encouragingly.

“I’m .. gonna miss this.” You said eyes averted to your shoes. The courage he had given you was gone and you wished you could take all that back.

“Being locked in?” he asked and you looked up at him, ready to tell him how stupid that question just was when you saw his smile. He understood.

You two shared a look.

“You know..” he started after a moment. “There is this place, a few blocks from here, that has really good burgers… At least I heard so.”

You chuckled.

“Oh, really? Even cheeseburgers?”

“Yupp. The big ones.”

“Sounds tempting.”

A heartbeat passed.

“Would you want to go with me?”

You thought about it.

“Like as newly formed friends or as a date?”

“Definitely a date.” he paused. “O-only if you want to.”

You could barely contain your smile as you heard the door crack open.

“I would love to.”

[jeremietheguy]

Beret

I stood outside my dorm in the Maine autumn holding my beret, shivering a little. It was a Saturday night and the weekend was reserved for Halloween parties. My friend Heather had asked me if her friend could borrow my beret because she was “being a French person” so I waited for them to come pick up the beret. I had bought the beret just a week ago because 1) I was a young impressionable freshman who cared about owning stuff that had our school’s name on it and 2) I had always wanted to own a beret. The irony was that despite wanting to own a beret, I was never the guy who would wear a beret.

I spotted two figures walking towards me, but they certainly were not Heather and her friend. No, it was two men. As they got closer, I noticed that they did not look like students. At least, certainly not students from our school. They were quite a bit older with scraggly beards and extremely baggy clothes. Guys from our school do not look like that. They must be townies, I thought to myself. I had heard that term being thrown around a bit amongst other freshmen, a word which I understand to be a slightly derogative term to mean townspeople. The reason for its derogatoriness was based on the massive socio-economic gap between that of the average Bowdoin student and that of the average Brunswick resident. In short, they are what upper class people would think of as the shady, hillbilly redneck types. And they probably thought of us as rich spoiled asshole liberal kids.

Of course, I didn’t know any of this at the time.

As they got within speaking distance, one of them asked, “excuse me, can you tell me where the Bowdoin radio building is?”

They were each holding a brown paper bag. No doubt as to what is inside, given their slightly stumbling gait and slurred speech.

“Sorry, I don’t know where that is.”

They suddenly turned very verbally aggressive.

“Look motherfucker, we know you know where it is. Stop fucking with us.”

“No I’m serious; I don’t know where it is. I’ve only been at this school for like two months and I barely know any of the buildings that don’t contain my classrooms.”

They went on with their barrage of insults, refusing to believe that this random student they bumped into didn’t know where the radio building was. I let them go on with their verbal outpour, wondering if Heather’s friend would successfully dress up as a French person tonight.

The two guys then changed the topic and began to, from what I could tell from their tone of voice, tease me. It was rather odd because the content of their speech was anything but.

“Oohh, were you a good student in high school? Did your meritorious grades get you in Bowdoin?”

Two thoughts flashed across my mind. First, “meritorious”? Is that the correct form of the word? Ironically, it is, and I didn’t know that. Hmm, so much for my meritorious performance in high school.

Secondly, I decided to have some fun with them.

“No,” I replied, “I got in Bowdoin because I am…” –gesturing my face– “…Asian.”

The two guys froze in what seemed like surprise for about three seconds, and then they became very friendly.

“Yo, respect man, that’s some real shit.” Both of them laughed and stepped forward to fist bump me, which I returned in kind.

“You know?” one of them said, “I’m actually half Black myself.” I didn’t know why he would say that, because there had been no discussion of Black people the entire time and more importantly, this guy looked super white. They both did.

“Check this out.” He lifted up his sweatshirt, and tattooed on his stomach/chest area in all capital letters were the words MOTHERFUCKING NIGGER. Actually, the MOTHER and FUCKING were in two separate lines because it’s a pretty long word. I silently giggled to myself at the altered meaning of MOTHER FUCKING NIGGER.

“Very nice,” I said as I nodded. He seemed quite pleased by my reaction, and went on with more incoherent rambling that I honestly can’t remember. Just then, two scantily clad girls passed by us, drawing the gaze of our three pairs of eyes. They stopped talking, because processing visual information in their brains was taking too much away from speech production.

After they had gone, MOTHER FUCKING NIGGER said, “look, I like you man, you’re cool. But you Bowdoin students better stay away from this one part in town.”

“Sure.”

“You guys aren’t welcomed there.” He told me the name of the place, which I promptly forgot. Hell, maybe that meant I accidentally ended up there during my time at Bowdoin, since I didn’t remember that place that I couldn’t be.

After a few more minutes of nonsense, they decided to leave. They turned and walked in the direction they just came from. I wondered where this radio building was, and if they would find it tonight. My thoughts were interrupted by the dorm door opening behind me. Laurel, the proctor on duty that night, stuck her head out.

“Were there townies just now?” she asked from behind the slightly ajar door.

“Yeah.”

“OK, I got to call security.”

She dialed her phone and handed it to me. The security guys asked me for their description, and I gave it to them honestly. After I hung up, Laurel told me I was to report all townies who wander onto campus.

“They seem rather harmless.”

“Yeah, but…” Laurel gave some response that I remember not being satisfied with. She went back inside, leaving me with my beret.

Finally, Heather and friend showed up.

“Here’s the beret,” I said, hold it up for the friend to see, who looked kind of disappointed.

“That’s not really a beret” was the reply.

“So you still want to borrow it or…?”

“I’ll take it.”

As they turned to leave, I asked, “Hey would you guys by any chance know where the radio building is?”

“Yeah,” the now appropriately Frenched-up girl said, pointing past my shoulder. “It’s right there.”

I turned, staring at the red brick building fifty feet away from where we were standing.

“Oh, OK.”

[sophrosynic]

Okay, I have A Lot Of Thoughts about Star Wars:

[TLJ SPOILERS ABOUND]

1) The movie was way too fucking long for what happened in it. They could have cut back on a whole bunch of stuff and still had a decent movie but nooooooooo Ryan Johnston INSISTED on cramming all that shit in there like sardines. Because who ever needs subtlety right? 2) If you honestly walked away from this movie thinking that the Kylan Roe Redemption Sequence actually made him look like a good person and not someone who has a repeated & consistent pattern of being a horrible fucking human being, then you were watching the wrong movie lol. 3) Speaking of which, the best fucking thing about the rest of this movie series is the fact that Kyaln Row's story line has finally been set up so that he's the final villain. Like, we have gotten the shitty failed redemption arc crap out of the way now and there's no more turning back sooooooo can't wait for ReysGonnaWreckHisAss2k19 4) Anyway the good stuff 5) LUKE LOWKEY DISSING OBI-WAN KENOBI AND THE JEDI ORDER THOUGH LIKE :ALKSDJF:DLKJF:SDLUORUDSKJ:DSKF 6) OBI-WANS PROBABLY SCREAMING OFF IN THE DISTANT VOID LIKE 7) "SHOULD HAVE FUCKING LEFT YOU IN TATOOINE ASSHOLE!!!!!" 7.5) (When Luke dies and becomes one with the Force, Obi-Wan legit follows him around DEMANDING royalties for the "if you strike me down" shit) 8) Also, I WAS RIGHT ABT REY'S PARENTAGE I WAS RIGHT I WAS RIGHT I WAS RIGHT AND I AM SO HAPPY ABOUT HOW RIGHT I WAS 9) Because the whole POINT of Star Wars has always been about found families. 10) WHICH, speaking OF, is yet another damning indictment against Klo RowRow. Because family doesn't mean shit. Because choice is everything. Choosing the goodness within yourself is what matters the most. Because no one is born with inherent light or inherent darkness within them--they choose these things as they go on and it's those choices that matter. 11) WHICH LEADS TO YET ANOTHER POINT BECAUSE FINN!!!!!!! REY!!!!!!!!! POE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 12) THEY HUG 13) "FINN NAKED LEAKING WHAT?????" 14) "HELLO IM POE." - "I'M REY." - "I KNOW IVE HEARD" !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 15) IDC IF THATS WRONG OR NOT WHAT THEY SAID BECAUSE FUCK YOU 16) REY!!!!!!!! LOOKING AT FINN!!!!!!!!! BEING KIND TO ROSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 16.5) (OT4!OT4!OT4!OT4!) 17) ANAKIN SKYWALKER'S LIGHTSABER BROKEN INTO TWO DAMN PIECES IS THE BEST WAY FOR IT TO GO 18) (SOMEWHERE OUT THERE IN THE FORCE HE'S HEAVING A LEGIT SIGH OF RELIEF AND PADME GIVES HIM A HUG) 19) (LEAVE THE POOR BASTARD ALONE HES DEAD) 20) THE SUBTLE AND INCISIVE CRITIQUE OF CAPITALISM AND WEALTH AND WAR AND IMPERIALISM, ALL IN ONE SINGLE SENTENCE THOUGH. 21) Hux is SUCH a fucking LOSER like WHAT THE FRUFKC klajd. 22) (Honestly this is just gonna make all the shippers so much MORE annoying tbh!!!!!) 23) HONOURABLE MENTION 1 GOES TO: Luke tossing the lightsabre over his shoulder and rolling his eyes and walking away LIKE THE DRAMA QUEEN HE IS  (There are no more honourable mentions after this one.) 23.5) (SOMEWHERE OUT THERE IN THE FORCE VOID ANAKIN IS CHEERING IN DELIGHT) 24) Listen. LISTEN. It is in fact an intergalactic resistance meme by this point to make fun of Hux at any given opportunity, in as many increasingly bizarre and surreal ways as possible. 25) Galactic social media is just filled with shitty Hux memes 26) Most of them are just variations of "Uh hello??? I need to speak to Hucks? With a K? Rhymes with Fucks, as in, I'm all out of fucks to give abt the First Order????" 27) (Poe may or may NOT have ripped it off of a Resistance fan Twitter, but can you BLAME him when so many people are so damn creative???) 28) THAT ONE MOMENT WHEN HUX MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE BECOME A GODDAMN INADVERTENT HERO BUT NO. NO. FUCK YOU!!!!! 28.5) (Shitty TLJ AU where he DOES shoot pylon rowboat and becomes an accidental-but-totally-on-purpose-for-the-lulz posterboy for the Resistance & they manage to bring down the whole First Order by just refusing to take Hucks seriously) 29) "Do you think you got him???" 30) Ok, I'm reading through this list and there isn't enough appreciation for Rose, so here goes: 31) ROSE STOPPING FINN WHEN SHE THINKS HES RUNNING AWAY AND THEN JUST CASUALLY MENTIONING THAT SHE ZAPS DESERTERS INTO OBLIVION WHENEVER SHE COMES ACROSS ONE 32) ROSE FEELING FOR THE BIG HORSE THINGIES SO DEEPLY 33) ROSE HATING CAPITALISM!!!!!!!! 34) (IN A MOVIE WITH AT LEAST ONE CRITTER THAT WAS SPECIFICALLY DEVELOPED FOR MERCHANDISING PURPOSES ONLY) 35) SAVING FINNS LIFE WHEN HES TOO CARRIED AWAY TO DO IT HIMSELF 37) (Just also want to mention briefly that Obi-Wan is also lowkey pissed that Luke just copied his shitty Old Man Day Drinks Himself To Oblivion in Solitude aesthetic, ALL THE WAY DOWN to the badly written George Lucas dialogue like HOW and WHY but most importantly HOW DARE YOU) 38) (But he will give him points for the whole "every word in that sentence was wrong" bit) 39) (He's also happy that at least SOMEONE picked up the Kenobi instinct for wrecking people by shade alone) 40) Anyone who mistakes Rey's efforts to bring that undeserving fuckwit back into the light as anything EXCEPT the actions of a pure, wonderful delightful human being who is committed to goodness and NOTHING ELSE watched the wrong movie 41) I'm sorry but you did 42) I'll probably scream abt that in a different post tbh 43) In summary: Ryan Johnston got mildly lucky and I'm prety sure the movie would have been ten thousand times worse but there was just so much stuff there that there was enough stuff to make it partially worthwhile so yeah

[iv-kplpt]

it feels like we’re pulling teeth [grandmaster au]

~21k words (yes i do realize). rated m.  charlie and oswald are two streamers. they don’t exactly like each other. they are both going pro. they are going pro on the same team. whoops?

some notes before we begin: - this was supposed to be short and silly. it’s not. apparently i can’t be casual about anything ever. - there will be a follow-up, because i got SO invested. - i have no idea about the inner workings of programing and i firmly refused to google anything. suspension of disbelief, man. *naruto voice* BELIEVE IT. - charlie’s problems were written from experience, so jot that down.

They started out as anything but friends, really.

The year was 2017 and they were both famous for embarrassing themselves online publicly - even though the proper term for that activity is streaming.

They were both famous for playing games, basically. Sure, Charlie also had a vlog channel and Oswald was a well known foodie - but it was their gaming related shenanigans that drew people to them. They were rivals of sorts - mostly because Overwatch matchmaking system somehow always put them in opposing teams.

Also, she mained Mercy, while Oswald mained… Literally every good counter to Mercy. Roadhog. Reaper. Doomfist.

(The truth is, every character is a good Mercy counter, as long as their player can aim - and Oswald’s aim was impeccable. He was accused of cheating many times; and every times the accusations were proven to be false.)

The problem was - she was a good Mercy. She knew when to switch between healing and damage boosting, seemed to always be one step ahead of her opponents and tracked the locations of airborne Pharah and safely nested Bastion with surgical precision, always ready to fly to safety, always ready to undo enemy team’s careful planning - all while being impossibly optimistic and nice, spamming hearts on match channel and always informing the enemy team they were worthy opponents.

(Lack of capitalizations and abundance of exclamation points were a good indicator of her messages being genuine, rather than generated by game’s anti-ggez bot.)

She was absolutely unbearable and insufferable with her rezes and optimism. Every time Oswald saw CherryPop on the enemy team - he knew he just lost. No matter how long he chased her - in the end she’d always escape his flanking attempts.

At first, he hated her guts.

The feeling was mutual - seeing birdmaskguy would cause a sudden surge of anxiety to travel down her spine, making her realize she’ll have to double her efforts. He was persistent. Relentless. Calculating.

And obnoxious as hell. His quirk - a thing making him stand out, making him different from a legion of other competitive-focused streamers - was being faceless. His nickname didn’t come out of nowhere - and good grief his mask was obnoxious. Shaped after a penguin skull and so completely, absolutely pointless. He never showed his face on stream - even though he introduced himself by name more than once. Finding out what he looks like was just a simple Google search away; he was the only heir to one of the wealthiest families in his hometown. His father was a well-known businessman, and Oswald as expected to take over the family money and name one day; so naturally his face was all over Gotham news.

Except Charlie wasn’t from Gotham, and Gotham news were never big enough to make it matter on a national scale. And she was never curious enough about her nemezis to actually spend her precious time Googling him; why would she? It was only a game.

They first met during placements for season four - and they were in the opposing teams. By that time, Oswald was already a relatively well-known streamer; Charlie was just taking her baby steps, and most important of all - didn’t know anyone in the scene. No one was her inspiration - she was simply being told she’s good by strangers.

NightKnight: mercy NightKnight: do u stream

CherryPop: nope, should i? mikey1111: yeah. you’re good. CherryPop: aww :P thanks!! free rezzes for everyone!!

They met in Hanamura, under the blossoming cherry trees. Her team started out on defense, his - on attack. They had a defense McCree; and he was very persistent. In fact, he and Mercy worked like a well-greased machinery, understanding each other without a word; she always knew where is he and he always knew when she’s in trouble.

birdmaskguy’s first interaction with CherryPop was hooking her away, with intention of killing her in one shot, as Roadhogs tend to do to fragile supports; but as soon as she was hooked that damn McCree flashbanged him, effectively saving her life.

Thank you! he heard the Mercy spam, as McCree reloaded and Mercy pulled out her gun.

She spilled his first blood that match, all while spamming the I’m not a miracle worker… line and jumping around like crazy.

On her first stream, CherryPop killed the birdmaskguy; and thousands of people were watching on his end.

A lot of people lost their shit at his pathetic failure; she killed him few more times with the assistance of the mysterious McCree who seemed to prefer the crouching position. He lost the match and was very close to typing out fuck you mercy in the match channel; but he didn’t. He was better than that-

CherryPop: hey hog CherryPop: OINK OINK

birdmaskguy: >.> birdmaskguy: get fucked, mercy. CherryPop: sheesh, at least buy me a dinner first! pork maybe? :P

They kept meeting like this, and she kept getting more and more popular - first as a Mercy who destroyed birdmaskguy, then as her own - rather skilled and enjoyable to watch - person.

PLAY OF THE MATCH: CherryPop as Mercy. [5 people rez, singlehandedly undoing his quad, accompanied by Hanzo quietly taking care of their Junkrat. Or: 3 people rez immediately followed by a double kill and three last second assists while boosting Hanzo just as he was launching his dragons of destructions. Or: accidentally getting nanoboosted and promptly becoming the legendary harmacist.]

They were bitter rivals all through seasons four and five, always in the opposing teams, always bickering on match chat, her always undoing all his efforts and him fruitlessly trying to hunt her down and corner her in a dead end on King’s Row or give her a choice between an environmental death or an execution in Dorado and so on and so on. They never watch each other’s streams; partially because they usually were doing them at the same time, and partially because they didn’t want to. It didn’t matter anyway; all until one day they ended up on the same team.

They crossed paths many times earlier this week; and Oswald was as persistent as always in tracking her down and distracting her from her team. He hooked her away, he gunned her down, he didn’t let her out of his sight every time they were on the same battlefield; he pissed her off more than once that week.

(Some people on his streams were watching them both at the same time, promptly informing them what does the other one have to say; she called him an insufferable prick more than once. And a dick. And a complete and utter asshole, good lord, fuck him and his obsession with ME and FRESH TOMATOES-)

They were both very high ranking in competitive; and in that tier cooperation relied mostly on precise, clear voice communication. Built-in lines were only helpful to a certain degree, and typing was taking away precious time; but he was still a bit surprised when he heard her voice for the first time.

“Well, well, well.” she said as they were picking their characters. “That’s a new.”

Her voice was sweet and melodious and Oswald tried to imagine her spurting out series of invectives fueled by his persistence.

“So unfortunate.” she continued, picking - of course - Mercy. “It’s such a shame there’s so much bad blood between us, right, Birdie?”

“Oh come on.” he muttered, picking Reaper. “You are going to heal me, right?”

“I don’t know.” she said nonchalantly. “I was thinking about pocketing our Rein. Hey, Rein, want a pocket Mercy?”

“JAAA!” their Rein replied, doing their best Reinhardt impression and she giggled and Oswald groaned.

“You heard the big guy!”

“Come on, don’t be like that.” he pleaded as she emoted; he decided the Devil skin she had equipped was very fitting. “I’m dps! I can’t distract them if I’m dead.”

“You are pain in the ass, Oswald.” she said and his name rolling out of her mouth sounded disturbingly right and he hated, he absolutely hated this fact. “A prick. You gotta ask nicely if you want something from me.”

“Seriously?” he asked with disbelief as commenters on his stream were starting to whip out memes. “You want me to beg for heals?”

“It does sound weird when you put it this way, but yeah!” she said cheerfully as the match was starting and their team was leaving the spawn. “Beg for mercy, you pretentious jerk.”

“Oh, fuck you!” he groaned and she only laughed, flying away to take care of Rein and Zarya as he was decimated by Torb’s turret.

Finally - eight deaths later - he cracked.

“Fine!” he said, Shadow Stepping away from the payload, as she was high above the streets of Dorado, flying the friendly skies with Pharah. “Please, Mercy.”

“What was that?” she asked innocently and he groaned. “I didn’t hear ya!”

“Please!” he said desperately. “Pretty please! With cherry on top!”

“Aw, you sound so cute when you beg.” she said mockingly, flying down to him. “Got you. Now go, fuck someone up. Preferably not their Zen. He’s trying his best.”

“Thanks, I guess.” he muttered, getting back into battle.

“Aaaa!” she squealed few minutes later, frantically spamming the group up! command. “Their Harambe is after me now!”

“Their WHAT?” their Rein asked.

“The monkey guy!”

“His name is Winston, you uncultured swine.” Oswald said, getting in her line of sight. “Come on.”

“Hey, don’t be an ass to me, I’m the one thing standing between you and death!” she said, flying to him; persistent monkey followed, promptly getting stuck in Junkrat’s trap.

“And I’m the one thing standing between you and death.” Oswald said firmly as she flew away. “So you too should stop being an ass.”

“Get a room, you two!” Junkrat yelled out, 1v1ing a very foolish Widowmaker. “We have a payload to escort and a match to win.”

“Shut up!” Oswald and CherryPop said at the same time and their entire team laughed.

They won, and he got play of the match; a perfect, sextuple kill, only ruined by her tag in the corner of the screen, as she was boosting him.

(He very begrudgingly voted for her and her astounding 30k points of healing, only slightly spoiled by “40% of team damage taken”. The last number could be lower, if he spent more time protecting her feathery ass and less time being snarky.)

“Well, that wasn’t too bad!” she said cheerfully. “Thanks for the saves!”

“You have my hammer!” Rein chimed in. “No, seriously, hit me up if you ever want to queue in a group. You’re an angel.”

She giggled and the match concluded and Oswald was returned to the main screen, left with a weird, burning feeling in his chest. Heartburn? He decided it probably was a heartburn, first in years.

(He was very careful about what he ate. Not like he avoided junk food; but he was generally careful with what he was putting inside him. And thus he managed to go years without heartburn and indigestion.)

An hour later, he ended the stream; it was early Thursday afternoon and he didn’t have any plans, so he just stretched and began to mindlessly browse the web.

Eventually he found himself on her channel and clicked a random video - and for the first time he saw her face and he sighed, not knowing what was he expecting. Her smile was as beautiful as her voice and when she laughed - and he still could hear the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears - she tilted her head and her red hair would brush her long, pale neck.

She was infuriating to play against and very nice to look at.

“Well, fuck.” he muttered, watching her wink. “Fuck me, I guess.”

*** Streaming was a pleasant distraction, and so was vlogging; and she needed all the distractions she could get, to get away from the overwhelming apathy and numbness that would creep in the second she wasn’t doing something. And playing that dumb game? It turned out to be surprisingly easy, very intuitive. It was an easy sense of accomplishment, seeing gold medals and votes and SR points roll in; and people seemed to enjoy watching how effortless this seemed when she was doing it, how easy. She was only partially paying attention to the game, and yet she was winning, and yet she was doing great; it felt nice, It felt… It felt.

And then there was that one fucking guy. That asshole. That tool.

No, not her ex boyfriend; when she thought of Harry she wasn’t angry. Sad? Probably. Ashamed? Maybe. But she wasn’t angry at him; if anything, she was angry at herself for trusting so easily, for not seeing right through him.

(To be fair, he did deceive everything, her parents included. So it’s not like she was a fool among the wise men; they were all blind idiots.)

That one person able to piss her off went by the name of birdmaskguy. The name was very telling - he wore a mask when streaming, and he often joked he’s doing it to not distract people with his very handsome face.

He played like an asshole. He sounded like an asshole on those short clips she watched on tumblr. He probably simply was an asshole; and they had a bone to pick. Her initial career online was built on her killing him; sure, with time she did get a reputation for her actual skills, rather than firing some bullets into a remarkably large target, but at first she was simply a Mercy who killed birdmaskguy; and his deaths from that match made their way into a lot of “Overwatch worst fails” compilations. For a week or so he was a laughing stock; and boy oh boy was he resentful.

And people liked hearing her call him names as she was running away from him. She called him many things - insufferable prick. Fucking asshole. Unholy offspring of the monster from It Follows and Michael Myers.

(Not in his face though. On match chats she was playful and mockingly friendly; but her viewers heard her. And enjoyed every second.)

People would never guess she’s severely depressed; she was good at hiding it. On her vlogs - about fashion and food and makeup - she was bubbly and cheerful; and messy flats and poor eating habits weren’t exactly a red flag, they made her seem quirky and relatable. No one knew about hours spent in complete silence, just staring at the ceiling. No one knew about her insomnia. And about how she simply couldn’t be bothered to cook, when throwing shit into microwave was so much easier. On the surface level, she appeared perfectly fine; and no one really felt the need to get any deeper.

And that guy - that Oswald Cobblepot from Gotham, that pretentious asshat in a ridiculous mask - was one of the very few people who were capable of making her feel something. Sure, that seething bloodlust wasn’t anything good - but it was a good start. Baby steps.

At some point, she started to come across him outside the game. She was embarrassingly active on shittyfoodporn subreddit; she felt some sort of ridiculous bond with those other losers, who mostly ate junk and microwaved shit and horrifying combinations of ingredients and half-burnt food. It was comforting, knowing her dietary habits are not, in fact, an isolated case.

He, on the other hand - was active on that part of reddit dedicated to good food. Normal food. Actually edible food. birdmaskguy was a well known foodie; he often talked about his meticulously composed diet - or so her viewers were telling her in the comments.

god, i switched to birdie for a second and he’s talking about garlic bread AGAIN.

“Again?” she asked, groaning when she spotted him materializing behind her team. “That sounds intriguing.”

he never shuts up about food!! he was talking about garlic bread yesterday as well. i think he’s obsessed. what a loser.

“Well, that one thing I have in common with that asshole.” she said casually, shooting him in the face. “I also love garlic bread. It’s delicious. And cheesy garlic bread? Heaven!”

yeah, but your whole personality doesn’t revolve around you liking to eat. :p

“More like one third.” she said jokingly. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

She knew he’s a foodie - but she never saw him in her part of reddit, reserved for loosers very optimistic about their mediocrity and disgruntled people who paid for a chicken sandwich and got a very sad chicken sandwich.

He once commented on her post; it was obvious he’s trying to pick a fight with her. Spats between streamers and high-ranking players weren’t nothing new; just last month she saw another Mercy end her friendship with another player she often queued with. He was toxic; also streamers often talked shit about each other. A fight between CherryPop and birdmaskguy wouldn’t be anything shocking, hell, it’d be something a lot of people wanted.

(According to her meticulously curated tumblr dashboard - some people shipped them. There were fanarts. She only saw one piece of art, relatively mild, reblogged by her mutual, who only did it to yell at the artist for drawing real, actual people fucking. “THOSE ARE NOT FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, YOU FUCKING CREEP” they said and Charlie couldn’t be more grateful.)

Granted, what birdmaskguy said was a harmless joke; he said her dinner looks worse than his pride did after their struggle in Hanamura.

hey, it can’t look THAT bad. :P

Oh, it does. I can’t believe you put this into your body. How are you even alive?

through sheer willpower and the knowledge i have to live to annoy you!!

He never replied and she felt something akin to disappointment; she liked teasing him. It was a fine way of working through her weird urge to strangle him.

(That one time when she made him beg? She wasn’t really feeling great that day, and she was almost glad he initially refused to play along.)

And so they lived - bitter rivals, a depressed Mercy and her food-obsessed tormentor. She’d always make him say please if the ended up on the same team; and afterwards he’d be even more determined to hunt her down - and with each attempt to put her back in her place she’d take even greater pleasure in ruining the match for him.

When season six began they were both famous, and their creepy tag on tumblr was booming.

(She sometimes wondered what does he think of all those fanarts where he was ~getting his revenge~; personally she found them creepy, those random strangers drawing her genitals in great detail.)

Their little feud was still alive and well and her depression was getting worse with each passing day; World Cup was coming up and she kept distracting herself in any way possible.

Eventually… She made her way to the American team - effortlessly. Absentmindedly.

She kinda forgot she even tried when she got the email, informing her of her success.

*** When was the moment he realized he’s in deep, deep shit? Ah, it was during a deathmatch, about two months after he ended up on her YouTube channel and saw her face.

He was taking a short break from comp and wanted to have some dumb fun; so did she, apparently.

This time he heard her insults.

“That’s for making me beg in Dorado!” he hummed. “That’s for Nepal! That’s for Eichenwalde!”

“Hey!” she said as he killed her for the fifth time. “I never made you beg in Nepal, you said please all by yourself!”

“Yeah, well, ever heard of Ivan Pavlov and his dogs?”

“What, you automatically beg as you see me?” she giggled as he was skulking around Chateau Guillard, looking for her, completely ignoring everyone else… For now. “That’s kinda sad.”

“Your life is sad.” he muttered, as he spotted her, turned with her back to him, enjoying the view as Sombra.

“That too, but yours is still sadder.” she said in an upbeat tone as he took the shot. “Oh, you prick.”

“That’s me.” he said proudly. “Prick and an asshole.”

“God, I hate you.” she said, respawning. “Alright. You want war? You get war. It’s on.”

“Alright, doll, you asked for it.” he said. “I’m going to make you regret everything. Your ass? It’s mine now.”

“In your dreams, you fucking furry.”

They engaged in a heated fight in which other players unwillingly took the role of collateral damage and innocent bystanders; and Oswald realized he’s in deep shit when he - without thinking - yelled out “IS THIS A GAME TO YOU?!” to which she for a moment stopped running away and after a brief moment said “...yeah, actually. That’s what we’re doing. We’re playing a game. Did you forget?”

She then proceeded to call him a dumb loser and he sat there, completely mortified, very glad for his mask that was hiding his face and expressions, because in that moment he realized he actually has a massive fucking crush on Charlie aka CherryPop, his bitter rival, always one step behind his quintuple kills, always one step ahead his sextuple ones.

She had a beautiful voice and a beautiful face and her personality was driving him crazy, that way she mocked and taunted him, all while being bubbly and peppy. He had a massive crush on her; and that revelation left him so distraught he accidentally let her win.

“Blow me, you furry!” she said cheerfully, after scoring the last point. “Kiss my ass!”

“I’m twelve.” they suddenly heard a very serious voice, belonging to another player. “And you two are being very sexual. Stop that.”

“You’re not twelve, you’re six.” someone said in the background and Charlie laughed and his heart skipped a beat, because he could see her laughing, he could see her tilt her head as her hair brushed her neck.

(Her neck was beautiful, as if made for kisses and bitemarks.)

“In your dreams… That is, if your diet doesn’t kill you before I get to you.” he said playfully and she laughed again.

That’s when he realized he’s in deep shit; and then he was informed he’s now a part of the American team for the upcoming World Cup.

He wasn’t too shocked when he found out she’s been accepted as well. Of course - she was skilled and driven and it was high time she really let it shine. Their team was in a good hands.

Some website reporting the latest news from the gaming world reached out to him for a comment regarding the fact he’s now going to be on same team as CherryPop; he said he’s “very pleased” and that “he believes they’ll be able to put their differences aside to reach a bigger goal”.

He wondered what does she has to say about it.

*** “I’m not happy about it, but what’cha gonna do? He did well. He deserves the spot.”

Her comment on the situation sounded harsh, but she simply couldn’t be bothered to dress the thing up in pretty words. It didn’t matter; they hated each other anyway, even if she found herself looking forward to crossing paths and deaths with him. The bickering, the taunting, the mockery - it made her feel stings of something. And it sure as hell was better than nothing.

Being on the team required her to temporarily move from New York to Gotham; by pure coincidence she was the only member who didn’t live there. Practicing with actual people on hand made a lot more sense, than just yelling at each other on voice channel.

birdmaskguy reached out to her in that matter; actually he shot her an email, asking if they can talk on discord. His email didn’t mention her harsh comment; but it did sound stiff and official.

They talked later that day; his icon was an aggravated penguin, because of course.

(Hers was her own picture; she was blowing a balloon out of pink bubblegum. It was a bit trashy and definitely sugary; she liked it. It reminded her of being actually, genuinely happy.)

“Hey.” she said with a yawn. “What did you want to talk about? Are you going to, like, threaten me with a lawsuit?”

“...no?” he said hesitantly; that was the first time she heard his actual voice, not muffled by his mask. It was pleasant; melodious, just a tiny bit raspy, energetic. Nice to listen to. “Why would I do that?”

“Assholes always find a reason to sue someone, I guess.”

“Maybe not today.” he said carefully. “Look, Cherry… Can I call you that?”

“Well, better this than bitch or stupid cunt.”

“Hey, you know I never called you that.” he said almost angrily and she sighed; he was right. He never actually offended her, always sticking to things like you ass or I’m going to kill you, then I’ll resurrect you and THEN I’ll kill you again. That was what kinda made the dynamic entertaining; sure, they disliked each other, but they were never hurtful. Almost as if he respected her.

“Fine, you never called me a bitch, I’ll give you that. Still. What do you want, Birdie?”

“You have to move to Gotham temporarily, right?” he asked; she could hear the typical street sounds in the background. “So I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m all ears.” she muttered, absentmindedly rubbing a dried-out stain on her desk; most likely BBQ sauce or ketchup.

“Come live with me.” he said casually and she froze in place, staring at the stain. “Hey. You there?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she asked with disbelief. “Did your brain turn into lettuce?”

“...pardon?”

“I’m not going to live with you! We’re going to kill each other-”

“My family has a mansion.” he interrupted her. “Chateau Cobblepot.”

“...is that its actual name?”

“...I’m going to kill you myself if you as much as make a joke about it. I’ll poison you. Strangle you. Drop my father’s bust on your pretty little head.” he threatened her tiredly and she laughed at how utterly resigned he sounded, but quickly regained her composure.

“Alright, no jokes about the dumbest name I’ve ever heard. How big exactly is that place?”

“Big enough for us to never see each other face to face.” he said nonchalantly. “Google it. Trust me, it’s better than fucking around with hotels or rental. A token of good will from my side.”

“Where’s the catch?”

“...there’s no catch, Cherry.” he said patiently. “Well, maybe except for the fact you have to take care of transporting yourself and your stuff to Gotham, but other than that… Chateau Cobblepot awaits. Free of charge, just as long as you do your job.”

“Does it mean you’ll charge me if we lose? That’s an extreme version of blame the healer, you know.”

“...let’s worry about getting anywhere first, hm?”

“Ugh. Fine.” she muttered, rubbing her forehead; truth is, the thought of actually taking care of her Gotham stay was a bit overwhelming. That’s why she stayed in NYC for so long - because her parents were taking care of everything. “I’ll take your deal. Anything I should know about?”

“Not really, no.” he said; judging by the sounds, he was crossing a street. “Just email me date and time and someone will pick you up from the airport or train station. Also… Do you have any allergies?”

“Except for you?”

“...except that one, yes.” he said, sounding almost amused. “Well, I better stop taking your time, you have plane tickets to buy. See you soon?”

“You promised I won’t have to see you, you know.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Cherry. See you never. Better?”

“A whole lot better.”

*** It worked! He couldn’t believe it actually worked. He figured he might as well give it a shot, considering his parents were taking a break from Gotham and were leaving the mansion all to himself - but he never expected her to actually accept the proposal. Sure, she didn’t want to see him - which hurt more than he’d like to admit - but the perspective of simply having her around for an unspecified period of time… Was enough. “It worked!” he announced after entering the coffeeshop where his friend - and their fellow teammate - was waiting.

“...what worked?” she asked carefully, looking up from her coffee. “What did you do this time, Cobblepot?”

“I told Cherry she can come live with me during the duration of this thing.” he informed Vicki, sitting down in front of her with his back against the wall and his legs outstretched. “And it worked! Well, partially.”

“Well, which part didn’t work?”

“She sounds very adamant in not wanting to see me.” he said lightly, masking his budding despair with an optimistic smile. “I think she actually hates me.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Vicki muttered and he scoffed. “I can’t imagine why anyone would like you, Cobblepot.”

“You keep saying that, and yet you’re sticking around since forever. I think you like me.”

“I’m programmed to feel sorry for losers.” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “And you are a loser.”

“I still love you. No hetero though.”

“God, you’re disgusting.” she said, wincing. “But anyway, What’s your plan?”

“I don’t have one, actually.” he said, getting up. “Well, maybe except for getting a caramel latte right now.”

He returned with his coffee and sat back down.

“I guess this is a lost cause.” he said cheerfully and Vicki sighed. “What?”

“I hope it’s not.” she confessed and he blinked. “No, don’t say anything, you get to hear me be nice to you once a month. Don’t ruin it. I hope it’s not a lost cause. Remember, I’m a dick to you as well, and yet here we are.”

“Are you implying… Tough love?” he asked, tilting his head.

Vicki sighed.

“Maybe. Or maybe she really doesn’t like you. You’re… An obnoxious ass. I’d say… Fifty fifty.”

“Those are pretty good odds. And you know what they say… A drowning man clutches at a straw.”

“So you really have a crush on her. Huh.” she said absentmindedly, taking a sip of her coffee. “I guess your taste is one of very few not crappy things about you. She’s cute. Kinda too sweet for me, but… Definitely cute. And funny. Watched her video on calling people by their full name?”

“You know I did.” he muttered, looking away; Vicki snickered.

“Right. I forgot you’re a creep.”

“Those are public, Vicki.”

“I know. Still - you’re pathetic. Need a wingwoman?”

“...are you offering your services?”

“Uh-uh.” she nodded, taking a sip. “You know I have no problem saying nice stuff about you behind your back. Just try to not directly contradict what I’m saying and we’re golden.”

“Well, what are you going to say?”

“Not a word about you being a hopeless sap, that’s for sure.” she said with a smirk and he scoffed, hiding his gratitude; he knew Vicki knows he’s grateful. They knew each other for years, and had each other’s back through thick and thin.

Rest of the day passed peacefully. Charlie sent him an email asking  if he can take care of transporting her stuff from the airport; sending it few days before her trip was cheaper.

Of course he’d do that.

Well, if you insist.

i’m not insisting, i can take care of it myself. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

That was a figure of speech. Just send me the dates.

It took her an hour to reply; the message simply said thanks.

They crossed paths in the game that evening; but they didn’t talk much, except for the usual please heal me I can drop down on my knees if you want me to banter. Surprisingly, she wasn’t doing great; she sounded distracted, reacting to everything with slight - but noticeable - delay.

“Are you sleep deprived, Pop?” their Mei asked; the deep baritone contrasted with the cutesy character.

“Just tired, that’s all.” she sighed. “I’m going to stay behind this time.”

She was slurring words and Oswald felt a sting of worry.

“S’alright. We will carry, you try to not die.” he said, switching to Reinhardt. “There. One personal shelter… Coming up.”

“Thank you.” she said slowly; she sounded surprised. “Want a free solo rez?”

“So when’s the wedding?” their Bastion asked, yawning. “Rein’s shield this, solo rez that… Where’s the venom? The spite? The-”

“We’re going to compete on the same team, you dummy.” Oswald interrupted them hastily; he knew that player fairly well. They had a reputation of being rather harsh, mostly thanks to their tendency to getting straight to the raw point. “We’re practicing this whole team spirit thing.”

“Uh-uh.” Bastion said; Oswald could hear the distinct sound of crunching. “Sure.”

She went offline immediately after the match, not even waiting for the votes; he considered sending her a message to ask if everything’s alright, but he decided against it.  Pushing wouldn’t do him any good; plus it would be suspicious.

*** She had a breakdown that day, between emails. She realized she hadn’t left her flat in weeks; she was relying on food delivery and online grocery shopping. The perspective of leaving and doing stuff and actually interacting with people was… Overwhelming.

But it’s alright. She had pills to take in case of sudden breakdowns; it instilled warm, pleasant fog in her brain and dried her tears up and fought off the anxious, crying-induced convulsions. She was calm again; even if her eyelids were heavy like lead and her vision and thoughts were slightly hazy and speaking clearly required a great deal of effort - but at least she was calm.

She googled birdmaskguy’s family home; it was huge. His family was one of the wealthiest families in that part of country, and it showed; she went for a virtual walk through the gardens, leaving taking a look at people living inside the building for another day.

He seemed to be completely unaffected by her - not really intentional - harshness; she realized she’s going to have to tone it down eventually, but as for now she didn’t have the energy to sugarcoat her words.

She made the mistake of trying to play that evening; but her thoughts were clouded with the pills-induced fog and she was doing bad. Luckily her team was understanding; even birdmaskguy offered his help, without complaining or snarky remarks. It was… Surprising; that small, meaningless gesture left her feeling disturbed. It didn’t fit. It was out of place. It was out of character.

She went to bed early, setting up a series of notifications in her phone - laundry. Packing. Shipping her stuff. Shower. Another shower, just in case. The trip.

She had a sleepless night; she simply lied in fetal position, tightly wrapped in blanket, staring into darkness of her littered, slightly airless bedroom.

She shipped her things to Gotham two days later; three boxes of clothes and personal items. Her precious, stickers-covered laptop would travel with her in her hand luggage, along with her favorite blanket, a teddy bear and her documents. Taking her of her stuff used up nearly all of her energy; she was so mentally exhausted she didn’t even reply when Cobblepot mailed her to inform her her things arrived safely and were waiting for her in his home, untouched.

(She sure hoped so. Depressed or not, she wouldn’t want anyone - especially not him - going through her underwear. She had a wide collection of lace and satin; pretty lingerie made her feel a bit better.)

Finally, day of the trip had came and she sighed, looking around her flat. She threw out things that could rot, and threw the majority of dirty dishes into the dishwasher; she didn’t have plants to water or pets to feed. Once again she checked her bag - everything was there. Her laptop, the accessories, her blanket, her meds, her teddy bear, her wallet. She was ready to go, and the cab to the GCT was waiting outside.

Even though the ride would be short, she booked first class; all she wanted was some peace and quiet. She wasn’t feeling chatty and she felt she’s not going to make it through if someone decides to chat her up.

On the station - alone and tired - she felt so out of place, surrounded by lively people who were talking to each other and laughing and feeling emotions and not feeling like their lives aren’t going anywhere at all. She avoided talking to others and looked at the ground, tightly gripping her bag; and everyone ignored her, as if she was transparent.

(She’d like things to stay this way forever, actually.)

Charlie spent the ride silently looking out of the window, wrapped in her blanket, thinking about how apathetic she is to the thought of living - even if only for some time - with someone…

It wasn’t hatred, that thing she felt. It definitely wasn’t hatred; he annoyed her, sure, but she never actually wished for anything to stop, for him to disappear. It wasn’t harassment; he valued his reputation too much to harass.

Or maybe he simply wasn’t into harassing people.

Finally the train stopped at Gotham Central Station; her ride was over. Breathing in and out, her legs shaking and her fingers trembling, she stepped out of the train, looking around.

Gotham felt… Different. Something was in the air, definitely; it was dripping from the gothic architecture, escaping people’s lungs, reflecting itself in glass surfaces.

“Admiring the architecture?” she heard a familiar voice, and when she looked left - there he was, birdmaskguy, Oswald Cobblepot.

He was tall and lean and handsome, which came as a surprise. Narrow lips and very sharp eyes and nice jawline and slightly messy har; he was wearing a well-tailored suit and looked at her expectantly with a polite smile.

So that was the face of her rival. He was very nice to look at, she decided begrudgingly; and he smelled nice. Someone obviously wasn’t a skinflint when it came to cologne.

“Hey.” she said nervously, brushing her hair away from her face; his gaze felt odd, he looked at her almost tenderly.

(Or maybe it was pity.)

“You’re short.” he said and she scoffed quietly; he snickered. “Watch out, you might get lost.”

“Ha-ha, very original.” she said, looking away. “I thought we established we’re not going to see each other.”

:”A necessary sacrifice.” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Want me to carry it for you?”

She handed him her bag without a word and he took it with a nod.

“Car’s parked outside.” he said, walking towards the exit and she followed, looking around. “How was your ride?”

“Uneventful.” she said, glancing at his sharp profile. “How’s… Your day?”

(It’s been a while since her last normal, face to face conversation. She felt like playing a half baked test build of a Telltale game, following an unedited script.)

“Quite eventful, actually.” he said, sounding amused by her awkwardness. “Cat got your tongue, Cherry?”

“What?”

“I’m waiting for some snark, you know.” he said as they left the building; even the air smelled different here, less like dead rats and hot dogs and more like gunpowder and herbs. “Needles and pins and harsh words.”

“Sorry to disappoint, you prick.” she muttered. “It’s easier to talk big online, you know. Face to face… It’s harder.”

“Hey.” he said softly and she blinked, not expecting such a gentle tone. “It’s alright. Take your time, get used to me. I’m distractingly handsome. I know.” he said with a smirk and she groaned and nudged him with her elbow.

(He was right - he was handsome. And nice.)

“You’re too self confident.” she said instead, looking around. “Put that mask on, before you scare some children.”

“Ouch.” he said playfully, fishing for car keys in his pocket; apparently he was driving a dark red Maserati, because of course. “Now that’s Cherry I know and… Tolerate.”

The pause before his last word felt weird, and he said it hastily, almost as if he bit his tongue to force his words to change direction at the last second.

They drove through the streets of Gotham, and she kept looking around curiously. The city definitely looked like it’s living up to its reputation of one of the most dangerous places in America; but it was still beautiful, in a dark way.

“That’s my family’s park.” Cobblepot said suddenly, pointing to a nearby place. “My parents funded it.”

The park seemed to be crowded; everywhere Charlie looked she saw people, enjoying the green grass, colorful flowers and sturdy benches.

“It looks nice.” she muttered. “Any ponds?”

The question escaped her before she stopped herself; she actually tried to drown herself in a bathtub once. She wondered if her brain is trying to suggest something.

He looked at her in silence, furrowing his brows.

“Yes.” he said finally. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Cherry.”

“Is that the Wayne Tower?” she asked a few minutes later, looking at an impossibly tall skyscraper.

“Uh-uh.” Cobblepot nodded. “What, wanna meet Bruce Wayne? I’m his friend. They’d let us in.”

“Maybe not today.” she said carefully, not commenting on his sudden eagerness. “Hey, Birdie.”

“Yeah?” “I changed my mind.” she said hesitantly, glancing at him. “About the… Not-seeing-you thing.”

(Gotham felt overwhelming; beautiful, but deadly. And she felt like loneliness might be unbearable this time.)

“Well.” he said after a short silence.

He glanced at her briefly and she looked away, ignoring the cheeky smile his lips were curled in.

“I knew you won’t be able to resist my charm.” he said finally and she scoffed.

“Your what?”

He chuckled as they drove through Crest Hill; a luxurious, suburban neighborhood outside which Chateau Cobblepot was located, not too far away from the legendary Wayne Manor.

“We’re here.” he finally announced, swiftly parking the car in front of the entrance, next to the fountain; Charlie quietly looked at the massive, gothic building that looked like a perfect setting for a Percy Shelley poem.

They got out of the car and he took her bag out from the trunk.

“Come on.” he said, walking towards the door, white gravel quietly clattering under his shoes. “Top floor of the west wing is for your disposal. I’ll show you the way.”

Top floor? She groaned quietly, thinking about climbing the stairs; due to her lifestyle her body wasn’t in the best shape.

“Something’s wrong?” he asked, as they came in; she looked around, slightly impressed with the interior design, relying on wood and marble and lots of light.

“I’m out of shape.” she said hesitantly. “Stairs are… Not my friend.”

“Well, shit.” he said, sounding concerned. “Should have guessed.”

“Oh, get fucked.” she muttered, knowing he’s referring to her abhorrent diet. “What now?”

“There is a free bedroom in my part of the building.” he said hesitantly, glancing at her. “I wanted to be hospitable and give you the entirety of our guest quarters, but since you can’t climb stairs…”

“One room will do.” she interrupted him. “Back home I don’t leave my bedroom anyway. Just as long as there are no stairs involved… I’ll be fine.”

“Well, okay then.” he said, turning right. “I inhabit the bottom floor of the east wing. I’ll show you the way, and then… I’ll take care of your boxes.”

“Don’t you have like… A butler to take care of this stuff?” she asked him, following him through the corridor; his part of the Chateau had its own small library, well-equipped gym, an office and a state of the art kitchen. The guest bedroom was at the very end of the corridor, tucked between his bedroom and the library; it was spacious, well lit, had a jacuzzi in the bathroom and the bed looked extremely comfortable.

“Our butler left with my parents.” he said, setting her bag down. “And we keep minimal staff. We do most of the things by ourselves. Keeps us grounded.”

“From the people, for the people?” she asked and he smiled.

He did carry her boxes; effortlessly, smoothly, as if they weighed nothing. He was stronger than he looked; and there was something disturbingly nice to the eyes in the way his shoulder muscles moved under the fabric of his shirt.

“There.” he said, setting down the last one. “Still sealed, as you can probably see.”

“I’d sue you if any of them were open.” she said, opening the nearest box and instantly closing it back again, as the first thing she saw was her underwear; and he did not need to see any of that.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” he said, walking towards the door. “Unpack, settle down, do whatever. Yell if you need something. Food, for example.”

Her stomach gurgled; she hadn’t eaten that day.

He heard it.

“...hungry?” he asked softly. “I can… Fix that. WIth actual food, instant noodles and frozen tendies have no place in my kitchen.”

“Fine.” she sighed.  “I guess I’m at your culinary mercy now. Do your magic, just… No asparagus.”

“Already setting your rules? Feisty.” he said with a smirk and left the room, leaving her sitting on the floor, feeling oddly at peace in this gigantic house.

She quickly threw her clothes into the closet and drawers and got down to business: setting a quick life update stream regarding the upcoming competition. She’s been pretty quiet about it for days; now was the time to tell the world how things were looking.

“Hey, world!” she said to the camera, sitting on her ridiculously fluffy bed. “You’ll never guess where am I.”

She was in the middle of a sentence when he entered the room, carrying a plate of what looked like pasta with tomato sauce; it smelled absolutely divine. It was obvious he used fresh herbs.

He set the plate down on her nightstand without a word and she kept on talking, only pausing once, to thank him.

“So, I’m at birdmaskguy’s home - hey, thanks! - and he just made me food. Shocking, right?”

“I don’t starve my guests, and especially not my teammates.” he said, crossing his arms on his chest. “Hey, Cherry’s viewers, you can’t see me, but you can hear me. Sorry for interrupting, I guess.”

“People on chat are saying hi.” she informed him. “One person is saying fuck you. Someone… Oh, crap.”

“What?”

“Someone warned me to not go into my tags on tumblr.” she muttered, looking at him, slightly flustered. “They say… I’m not gonna like it.”

Without a word he pulled out his phone and opened the app.

***

He never knew there’s porn of him and Cherry; he never thought someone might be fucked up enough to draw detailed depictions of two actual people having sex.

There were fanarts. There were fanfics. And he instantly spotted two most popular trends among those creepy fanworks - her dominating him and him “putting her in her place”.

(He’d lie if he said he never thought about her warm body and quiet gasps escaping her lips, but in his thoughts - it was consensual. He also kept those thoughts to himself, thoughts of her skin under his fingers.)

“Fucking hell.” he said finally, looking at her sitting on the bed in his home. “That’s… Creepy.”

“You heard him.” she said to her viewers. “That’s one thing we both can agree on. Well, okay, that and garlic bread being delicious.”

She shot him a faint smile and he smiled back, unable to take his eyes off her. In real life she seemed… More tired than on her vlogs; a bit awkward. She stuttered from time to time and had a problem with direct eye contact and made a lot of pauses, looking for words.

He thought about her freckles when he was in the kitchen, peeling and chopping tomatoes, and her soft lips and the way she scoffed at him. She seemed so lost in Gotham, so out of place; he felt as if this city might eat her alive.

In person, she seemed and sounded softer; and this softness cemented his massive crush on her, mixed up with concern for her bad shape and dark circles under her eyes and the fact she apparently forgot to eat.

“Fucking hell.” he muttered to himself after leaving her alone with her laptop; he headed to his gym, he had some steam to let out. “This is getting out of hand.”

He called Vicki and started his sit ups as she picked up.

“You’re on speaker, so behave yourself.” he said before she said anything. “Shit’s fucked, Vale.”

“Uh-uh.” she muttered; he could hear the crunching. “Why’s that?”

“A number of reasons.” he said tiredly. “Hey, is your offer still a thing?”

“Well, yeah. Why, did you fuck up so badly you need help?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” he sighed. “Please, Vicki.”

“Fine, fine!” she said. “Remember about tonight.”

“...what’s tonight?”

“Oh my god, I’m not your secretary, you lazy bum. The icebreaker drinks at the Waterfront?”

“Right.” he said, remembering calling Fish Mooney. “Now I remember. Thanks, Vicki.”

“You’re welcome, jackass.” she said nonchalantly. “Dress up nicely. I got your back.”

She ended the call and he was left alone with his thoughts and the burning presence of Charlie on the same floor; through the door, he could hear her voice faintly. She was laughing, and it was a beautiful sound.

After the workout, on his way to take a shower he knocked at her door.

“Come in!” she called out and he entered the room and she looked up from her laptop and raised her eyebrows.

“What happened?” she asked, before he said anything. “You look… Sweaty.”

“I forgot to tell you, we’re going out tonight.” he said, wiping his face with a towel. “I made a reservation at the Waterfront. The team should get to know each other.”

“For a second it sounded really terrifying, you know. Like a date.” she said with a nervous chuckle. “Do I… Have to be there?”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. The Waterfront’s a nice place. The owner is an old friend of mine.”

“Fine.” she said with a sigh. “I’ll come. When are we leaving?”

“In… Two hours, more or less. Sorry. Should have let you know sooner.”

“Yes, you should.” she said, closing her laptop, getting up and walking up to him. “Get out. I have some dolling up to do.”

She pushed him out of the room and her hand almost burned the skin on his chest, even though the fabric of his t-shirt.

He next saw her two hours later; and she wasn’t lying when she said she’s going to doll herself up. She curled her hair and put makeup on, hiding her freckles, much to his carefully hidden dismay. Her red lips were perfectly symmetrical and she was nervously playing with the cuff of her navy blue blouse.

“What?” she asked as he was staring at her “What?!”

“You look different.” he said finally and she rolled her eyes.

“That’s the point of dressing up, you know.” she said, crossing her arms and for a brief moment he saw a faint flash of her bra through the thin fabric of her blouse. “Good different or bad different?”

“Fishing for compliments, Cherry?” he asked, regaining his composure.

“Maybe so.” she said, putting her shoes on; simple, black pumps, that accentuated her legs nicely. “Anyway, I’m good to go.”

“Let’s go then. Ladies first.”

She walked past him and he smelled her perfume; fresh and fruity, with the most noticeable scent being strawberry.

He looked at her red hair and decided that of course she’s a strawberry kind of girl.

*** He was so infuriatingly nice and polite she wanted to strangle him. Almost nothing like his online persona; and his ridiculously handsome face wasn’t making anything easy. Hating him online, as he taunted and tried to kill her was easy; hating him in real life, as he made her pasta and carried her things was nearly impossible. Sure, he was still snarky; but it didn’t change the fact she felt oddly at peace in his home, in his presence, under his eyes.

(He looked almost impressed when he saw her dressed up and with makeup; that was first time in months she actually put some effort into looking nice. She was kind of glad she packed her heels and nice clothes and cosmetics; and kind of annoyed at the fact he didn’t look at her like that when she was bare faced and her hair were messy. Men.)

He looked very… Human when he knocked at her door and - sweaty, out of breath - informed her of the forgotten plan; and he looked at her apologetically and for a moment she found herself lost in his sharp, intelligent eyes.

Things were fuck, as the wise man once said. Things were fuck.

He held the door open for her, that fucking gentleman; and as they drove to the Waterfront - a well-hidden local, ran by his old friend - she was sure they looked like a picture perfect couple. His dark blue tie matched her blouse, as she absentmindedly noticed.

The club was crowded and she got anxious thinking about navigating between all those - drunk, high, chatty, happy - but he put his hand on her arm.

“We have a private room underground.” he told her, leading her towards the stairs. “You’re not the party type, I take it.”

“Not recently, no.” she muttered, wondering how it’d feel if he put his arm around her waist and quickly shaking this ridiculous thought off. “This place is… Something.”

“First of all, it’s safe.” he said, going downstairs and turning around. “Come on, I’ll catch you if you trip.”

“It’s not the first time I’m wearing heels, you know.” she muttered, slowly walking down as well and ignoring his hand he held out for her.

He only shrugged and put his hands in his pockets; finally they reached their private room and he let her in and she shuffled past him, briefly brushing his chest and inhaling his smokey cologne.

The others were already waiting for them, and Charlie recognized Theo - a pale, young man who went by the nickname XFilesTheome - and Louise, who went by RaptureFucker; she was after law school and was known for actually lecturing people about threats and offensive language; she had no idea who the other people are and if she played with them.

“Finally!” said a young woman, who was lounging on the nearby chair; her hair were tied in a ponytail and she was wearing a suit. “Took your sweet, sweet time, eh?”

“Yes, we did.” Oswald replied calmly, as Charlie awkwardly stood next to him. “There was some traffic. Sorry for not mastering bilocation, Vale.”

Vale! That must’ve been Vicki Vale - of victoriousvale - who often grouped up with Cobblepot. She was a journalist by day, and a formidable opponent by night; her Tracer was almost as relentless as Cobblepot’s Reaper.

“And you must be Charlie.” Vicki said, without getting up. “Pleased to meet you. Don’t just stand there, sit down!”

“...sure.” she said quietly as he pulled out a chair for her. “Hello.”

“Hey.” Louise muttered, not looking up from her phone. “Hold on a sec, I have to read this.”

“Fanmail?” Charlie asked and Louise shook her head.

“God, I wish. No, I’m helping a friend out with her problems.” she said, furiously typing. “You know Rocco?”

“I don’t think so, no,” she said hesitantly, looking at the last man; he was thin and had giant, dark, eyes and a soft, warm smile.

“PennyDumb.” he introduced himself and she gasped; he was one of her favorite Reinhardts and absolutely terrifying to play against. “Glad to finally meet you in person, Pop.”

“Likewise!” she said with enthusiasm. “God, we have so many hours together, I remember when we were both bronze!”

“Right?” he said with a smirk and she laughed. “Time flies as experience points come…”

“Time is but a social concept.” Theo said firmly, brushing his dark hair away from his eyes. “It doesn’t exist, but it serves.”

“...that’s a quote from children’s book.” Charlie said after a while. “About alchemy.”

“Well, now we’ve both exposed ourselves as nerds who read books for children.” Theo said with a shrug. “What can I say? It’s a nice read.”

“I’m going to order drinks.” Cobblepot said suddenly. “What do you want?”

She looked down as she remembered her pills don’t mix well with alcohol. Oswald went around, taking orders; some wine for Louise, scotch for him and Vicki, beer for Rocco and Theo-

“I don’t drink.” she said as he looked at her expectantly. “Sorry. And… Neither should you. You’re the driver.”

“One scotch won’t even get me slightly buzzed. Your pretty little head is safe with me.” he dismissed her and she scoffed; that was the second time he said pretty little head in relation to her. “I can get you freshly squeezed orange juice.”

“Alright.” she said, as Vicki was watching her attentively; she leaned in towards her as soon as Oswald left.

“How’s he treating you?” she asked and Louise rolled her eyes. “I know you’re staying with him, and I know you two are… Not on the best terms.”

“He’s decent, actually. I think he realizes people talk a lot of shit in the heat of the moment. He’s… A good host.” she said, sighing. “It’s complicated. You know how it is - you call someone a piece of shit, but it’s not like that, it’s never like that.”

“Oh, I get it.” Vicki assured her. “I call him pretentious dick all the time and he doesn’t mind.”

“I do, actually.” Oswald suddenly said, entering the room with a tray full of glasses. “I’m not pretentious. I’m eloquent.”

“Same difference, you prick.” Vicki said nonchalantly; Louise put her phone down and sighed. “Now give me my liquor. I’ve been good this week, I deserve a treat.”

“You don’t.” Louise said calmly. “You forgot to feed the cat… Again.”

“He’s a predator! He can feed himself. Besides, he’s fat anyway.”

“Keep your marital spats out of this room, please.” Oswald said, setting a wine glass in front of Louise. “I got you a whole bottle.”

“That’s one of ten bottles you owe me, big guy.”

“Give me time.” he said with a wink, turning to Charlie. “Your juice.”

He set her glass down and his hands were slightly sticky; did he squeeze the juice himself?

(It was perfect, tart and sweet at the same time, thick and delicious.)

The evening was pleasant, and with time Charlie loosened up a bit; after all, those were not complete strangers. Sure, they knew next to nothing about her as a person - but she was fine with people knowing her just on the surface level.

(No one would care about what’s underneath anyway.)

They were all nice; and she found herself glancing at Oswald from time to time, pondering the nature of her feelings for him. Outside the game, he was charming, polite, hospitable, always ready for some petty quarrel; and eventually she came to a simple conclusion - she liked that guy. Sure, it was a weird kind of sympathy, very aggressive and harsh at times; but she definitely liked him. She felt at ease around him - and she only actually knew him for a day.

Things only went downhill from there, from that moment when she briefly glanced at his relaxed, grinning profile and he saw her gaze and nodded lightly in her direction, before returning his attention to Vicki.

*** He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her from time to time, as they were getting to know their team. At first she was tense and quiet; but after she loosened up a bit… Her natural charm came to surface and Vicki had to kick him under the table a few times to stop him from staring at Cherry.

Because good god he felt he could stare at her forever, at the way she covered her mouth when she laughed and the way she fluttered her lashes; he felt like this is the person who taunted him for months.

(Even though that anxious, quiet Cherry was also delightful. The truth was, he’d consider her a delight no matter the circumstances; he was in too deep.)

Vicki joined him when he was heading upstairs for another beer for Theo and more juice for Cherry; he glanced at her Cheshire Cat-like grin as they were walking up the stairs.

“What?” he asked and her smile grew even wider.

“She doesn’t hate you.” Vicki said finally and Oswald froze in place for a moment. “You heard me. She doesn’t hate you. I have no idea what does she feel for you, but it most definitely isn’t hatred.”

“Well, do you think I have a chance?”

“Who the hell knows?” she said with a shrug. “Maybe. Just because she doesn’t hate you doesn’t mean she’s into you.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” he sighed as they approached the bar; that night Fish herself was behind the counter. “Hey again, Fish.”

“Welcome back, boy. What will it be this time?”

“Just a beer and another juice.” he said, sliding behind the counter. “You still have those sweet oranges, right?”

“Last batch. Just for you… And that pretty little thing.” Fish added with a smirk and Oswald shot her a pale smile. “Sweet like her, eh?”

“That’s the general idea, yes.” he said cutting oranges in half as Vicki sat on a nearby barstool. “Hey Vale, want another scotch?”

“You know I do.”

“Coming up.”

“Oh, I wish I could have you here every night.” Fish sighed, watching his hands. “Why won’t you run away from home and come work for me, boy?”

“Maybe some other day.” he said, setting the glasses down on a tray. “Family business comes first. You know how it is.”

“I do, unfortunately. Anyway. Give that pretty little thing my regards, Oswald. What’s her name again?”

“Cherry.” he replied automatically and Vicki snickered.

“No, it’s Charlie. We call her Pop. You’re the only person to call her Cherry.” she said mockingly as he looked at her heavily. “Come on, Cobblepot. Say her name.”

“Charlie.” he said - softly, tenderly, lovingly. “Her name is Charlie.”

“Pretty name for a pretty little thing.” Fish said with a playful smile. “Good luck, Oswald.”

“Thanks.” he said, lifting the tray. “I’ll need it.”

“Wish I could record it.” Vicki said mockingly, walking next to him. “I bet people on twitch would pay me good money for this one.”

“Oh, fuck off, you sound the same when you’re talking about Lou!” he scoffed, but she only laughed in response.

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend. Not an unrequited crush.”

“Well, want me to remind you how you were when you didn’t know it’s mutual?”

“You don’t have to, my facebook memories do it on a daily basis.” Vicki said grimly as they were walking down the stairs. “The point is, people in love act and sound pathetic. And as your best friend and wingwoman… I think I have the right to making fun of you.”

“Of course you do.” he sighed as she opened the door for him. “You can do whatever you want, Vale.”

“Ah! Can’t wait to use that one against you.” she laughed out as he was setting Cherry-

Charlie’s juice in front of her. She glanced at him and smiled, rubbing the back of her neck; and he instinctively winked at her, accidentally brushing the back of her other hand with his fingertips.

Finally they had to part ways; their first practice was tomorrow afternoon and they had to get some rest, and in case of Rocco and Theo - sober up a bit.

Oswald didn’t feel tired; and neither did Charlie.

“My family’s park is nearby.” he suggested as they were standing on the sidewalk outside. “We can go for a walk. Some fresh air won’t hurt.”

“Alright.” she said hesitantly, rubbing her arms with her palms and looking away; once they were alone, she got all awkward and tense again. “It’s… Kinda cold though.”

“Ah yes, nights in Gotham can get chilly.” he said, glancing at her. “Want my jacket?” “But what about you?”

“I’ll manage.” he said, already taking it off. “I kinda like cold, to be honest.”

(He lied; he hated cold - but the grateful look in her eyes when she took his jacket was worth it. And so was the sight of her briefly closing her eyes as she covered her shoulders with it.)

That time of day, the park was nearly empty; but it was still clean and well lit.

“It’s nice, I have to give your family that.” she said with a sigh, as they were nearing a pond. “Whoever designed it knew their craft.”

“That’d be my dad.” he said, picking up a perfectly flat pebble. “Hey. Want to play a game?”

“...sure.”

“I’m great at many things, including skipping stones.”  he said, glancing at her. “Make a wish. If the stone skips five times… It’ll come true.”

“And if it sinks?”

“Then we’ll try again.” he said nonchalantly and she giggled. “Come on. Make a wish.”

“Alright.” she said eventually. “I made my wish. Do your magic.”

He squinted slightly, bent his wrist and threw the stone. Plop, plop, plop-

It skipped six times before finally sinking. He turned to her, grinning.

“See?” he said proudly. “What did you wish for?”

“Victory.” she said after a short silence, looking him in the eye. “Not very surprising, huh?”

“Wishes don’t have to be surprising.” he said slowly, hearing the faintest note of hesitance in her voice. “But looks like I just cemented our success.”

“Here’s to hoping.” she sighed and suddenly yawned and he turned his head away to hide the fact his lips were curling in a tender smile. “I think now might be a good time to go home.”

“Already feeling at home in Chateau, Cherry?” he asked as they were slowly walking towards the exit.

“I’m trying to.” she said. “But basically, home is where my heart is… And I think I didn’t forget any internal organs.”

“Not even your brain?” he said playfully and she rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

He bumped into her in the kitchen later that night; they were both heading to bed and he walked in as she was pouring herself a glass of water; she was only wearing a washed out tee and a pair of boyshorts and he groaned quietly, looking at her pale legs and ridiculously shapely buttocks - and when she turned around he could see the faint outline of her perky breasts through the fabric.

She nodded in his direction, seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him, briefly glancing at his chest.

“A knife fight?” she asked, looking at a scar running across his ribs.

“Yep.” he said, shuffling past her to get his own glass of water. “You should see the other guy though.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, taking a sip. “Handy with a knife?”

“You could say that. Though I prefer to limit my skills to chopping onions, rather than stabbing people.” he said, briefly glancing at her freckles; she stood in place, staring at him silently. Finally she shook her head.

“I’m going to bed.” she informed him, shuffling past; her hair brushed his skin. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite…” he hummed and she snickered.

“You know, warning me of bedbugs doesn’t show your family in the best light.”

And just like that she disappeared in her bedroom and he was left with an overwhelming need for a very cold shower.

***

That night she did that one thing she never expected to ever do, under any circumstances - she got off to the thought of birdmaskguy.

He bumped into her in the kitchen, as she was trying to decide between water and apple juice; and he looked scandalously hot, with his messy hair and intriguing scars scattered across his body.

(Good boy from a good family. Where did he even get those?)

And he looked at her like he saw her for the first time; it was an awkward, tense moment, with her body slowly betraying her mind, and him slowly coming to terms with the fact she had a physical form.

They went for a walk earlier that night, through the park; it was beautiful and quiet and she felt unreasonably at peace next to him, even though they threatened to kill each other multiple times. He showed off his skill at skipping stones, and she played along.

She wished for happiness. That was her wish - to actually feel happy again. It felt ridiculous, making that wish as he stared at her expectantly, dim light of a nearby lantern illuminating his face.

As he turned around looking at her triumphantly she suddenly felt the urge to kiss him; but she fought it off. It was ridiculous and out of place and would technically count as an assault. She didn’t kiss him, instead limiting herself to simply staring at him, same way she did many times earlier that night.

And there she was, in her bedroom in his family home, the image of him imprinted in her brain, dishevelled, casual, offensively alluring, and the way he looked at her, as if he forgot she has a body.

(He looked at her same way when he first saw her in makeup and nice clothes. It was weird and complicated and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.)

He looked beautiful that night; he looked beautiful in a suit and he looked beautiful in his sweatpants and with bare skin of his torso and her body betrayed her with a wave of heat washing over her, finally centering between her bare thighs.

She got off to her imagination, her thoughts wandering freely, trying to figure out what would his scruffy chin feel like against her skin.

He woke her up the next morning, with very persistent knocking at her door.

“What?” she groaned, her eyes still closed, her body still curled up under the blanket. “It’s early, go away!”

“It’s nine.” he said, still knocking. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” she muttered, grabbing a pillow. “Your house, your rules.”

She threw a pillow at him as soon as he entered and he threw it back.

“You should eat something.” he informed her, crossing his arms. “What do you eat for breakfast?”

“I don’t eat breakfast, so piss off.” she muttered, returning to her previous, fetal position and closing her eyes; but he wasn’t going anywhere. Instead he cleared his throat a few times, until she opened her eyes again and looked at him.

“What?” she asked tearfully and he snickered. “What do you want?!”

“Breakfast is important.” he said, still staring at her. “Come on. Get up.”

“But I don’t want to!”

“But I don’t care!” he replied, mimicking her; he walked up to the bed. “Come on. I’ll count to three. Get up, or… I’ll get you up.”

“Mmm. Good luck with that.” she muttered, closing her eyes and putting her head on a pillow.

He did drag her out of bed; he grabbed her ankle and pulled, forcing her to sit up. Then he grabbed her wrists and forced her to stand up.

“Come on.” he said firmly. “My house, my rules, and my rule for today is you shall eat your breakfast. Cereal? Oatmeal? Eggs? Toast? Pancakes? Fruit salad?”

“Waffles.” she muttered quietly and he snickered, opening the fridge. Of course he’d make his own batter. What an obnoxious ass.

“You should work on your sleep schedule, you know.” he said, setting a plate full of perfect, golden, crispy waffles in front of her. “Did you stay up late?”

“No, I just sleep a lot.” she muttered; she was tired a lot, no matter how much sleep she got. Sometimes she’d sleep for sixteen hours, only getting up to go to the toilet. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Well, some of your habits should die quickly. You have to be in tip top shape.” he said lightly. “What do you drink?”

“I assume you don’t have any cheap energy drinks, do you?”

“No, but I have citrus black tea.” he said, boiling some water. “I have an intrusive question. May I?”

“Your existence is intrusive.” she said and he only smiled and shook his head.

“Are you depressed, Cherry?” he asked, making her tea.

It was a sunny morning in Gotham and she was eating perfect waffles birdmaskguy made her and he was making her tea and they were both in their pajamas, their hair messy and their bodies still warm from the memories of sleep; and he just asked her if she’s depressed.

Weird situation.

“Yeah.” she said, putting her fork down. “I am.”

“We have a very good psychiatrist in Gotham, you know.” he said, adding some honey to her tea. “One of the best. I can get you two in touch if you run out of medication.”

He glanced at her and she sighed, thinking about last night. Did he figure it out when she said she doesn’t drink? Who knows.

“Thanks.” she said, as he set the cup down. “But… Why do you care?”

“Because…” he said after a long silence. “I don’t want your bad mental state to get in a way of our victory. Which means… Me taking care of your sleep schedule and eating habits. Do you exercise?”

“Oh, don’t you dare-” she started, but he interrupted her.

“I’m not going to force you to exercise. What I’m saying is… Some physical activity would probably help.”

He paused for a moment and sent her a provocative grin.

“You wouldn’t keep up with me anyway.”

It worked. It was such a bullshit, obvious bait - but it worked.

“Hey, fuck you.” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “I refuse to believe you can do more than ten pushups. You sit on your ass playing games as well, how fit can you be?!”

Turned out, he is in perfect shape; she gave up after fifteen minutes. He kept on going for over an hour, talking effortlessly, and she sat on the floor of his private gym, trying to not stare at him too much, trying to not dwell on what happened last night too much.

(She was sure it was just a one time thing.)

***

It wasn’t just a one time thing.

As days passed, and he looked after her she found herself thinking about him more and more often. After a week she couldn’t remember what it felt to be angry at him; he was genuinely nice and didn’t seem to mind her occasional meanness; and she didn’t seem to be able to ignore the fact he was attractive. Depressed or not, her body still had its needs - and she had so few actual distractions from her apathy and numbness she didn’t even feel guilty when she’d slip her hand between her legs, thinking about the way his muscles moved under his skin as he was doing pushups.

And as much as she hated to admit it - his efforts in making her feel a bit better by making her sleep at regular hours and feeding her normal food weren’t entirely fruitless. She had more energy, and only had one breakdown; she knew he’d probably stop his efforts if she was firm enough in saying no, but… She didn’t want to. She knew as soon as she returns to New York she’s going to resume her previous, miserable, almost destructive lifestyle; but this thing was nice while it lasted. Kept her grounded.

She kept her thoughts to herself, even though even her viewers - because she sometimes streamed from the comfort of her bedroom in Chateau Cobblepot - noticed there’s something different about her. Her laughter apparently sounded more genuine, and her voice sounded more relaxed; some people made - rather not amusing - jokes about birdmaskguy’s magical dick.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” she said, glancing at the comment. “It’s not like that, you know. Two adult people can spend time together and not fuck.”

tbqph sex is a fun activity, so i don’t think anyone would judge you if you fucked him.

“Yeah, well, I would judge myself.” she said lightly. “He’s not my cup of tea.”

but he sure as hell is MY cup of tea. he’s hot and he cooks!

“He also spends a lot of time on reddit.”

yeah, well, no one’s perfect. okay, except for idris elba. he’s perfect.

“Hm.” Charlie pondered, cheerfully teabagging the floor with the enemy Tracer. “Yeah. That’s true.”

She wondered what’s going on on the other side, during his steams; their audiences overlapped a bit, but his was more… Typical.

She winced, thinking about what kind of jokes probably happen in his comment section.

*** “I’m going to ban you.” Oswald said tiredly, seeing another rape joke. “You know my zero tolerance policy for this stuff.”

People’s reactions to Charlie temporarily living under his roof were… Distasteful. Sure, many people took it well,  some people made mildly funny jokes about the grand finale to apparent sexual tension between a Reaper who just scored quintuple kill and a Mercy who scored a quintuple rez, and some people - who didn’t like Charlie for being annoying and squeaky - wished him luck; but some people reacted in… A truly abhorrent way.

“Stop that.” he said firmly, as another person expressed their wish of seeing him put her in her place, whatever it meant. “We’re on the same team. Sure, we have our differences, but it’s normal.”

did she suck your dick at least lol

“I’d say I feel sorry for your partner, but I don’t think you’re going to get one in foreseeable future.” he said with a yawn. “What is with you people and being obsessed with us?”

people are expecting a hatefuck.

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” he said dryly; he was never a fan of what he called antagonistically aggressive sex. It always rubbed him as borderline non-consensual, hurtful; a little bit of pain was a nice addition, but only as long as it was a path to mutual pleasure, not objectification. “But my sex life is still my own.”

are you implying you don’t think she’s hot? are you blind?

“Alright, this is enough.” he said, once again grateful for his mask. “That’s none of your business anyway.”

come on, you told us about your pierced dick! why are you suddenly so coy? hiding something?

“I was drunk!” he said angrily. “Just drop it, ok?”

A knock at the door; as he looked up, she was standing there, in a t-shirt and underwear and she looked sleepy and soft.

“You’re yelling.” she said. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Sorry.” he said, staring at her from behind the mask. “I’ll be quiet now.”

“Are you streaming?” she asked with a yawn; she walked up to him, and - putting a warm hand that almost burned his skin on his shoulder - looked at the screen; her face was in frame.

“Hello!” she said, watching him die. “Awh. You’re terrible.”

“You’re distracting.” he muttered; he wasn’t lying. The warmth of her body was distracting.

She giggled and he groaned quietly, wondering if she’s doing it on purpose.

“Well, I’m going back to bed.” she said eventually and left and he died again, too busy staring at her ass.

wow, what a bitch.

“I woke her up. She has every right to not be nice.” he said, locking another person out of his channel. “Anyway.”

*** They hooked up between the matches, between USA vs Germany and USA vs New Zealand.

At that point, she already came to terms with a shocking revelation she actually likes him. Sure, she never told him - not after he explicitly stated he only cares about her depression because it’s a potential obstacle - but he was still a pleasant company.

He called her a tease during the match, as she was frantically flying between the teammates, trying to keep everyone alive, especially Rocco, whose shield was the one thing standing between them and certain death.

“Come on, you tease!” he called out. “I’m dying here!”

“I can’t be everywhere at once, you prick!” she yelled in response, as their teammates briefly glanced at each other with a mix of uncertainty and amusement.

But ultimately they won and he decided it calls for a celebration in form of a feast at Chateau, with champagne and everything they liked to eat.

“And you are going to help.” he said and she groaned. “What? I feed you! It’s only fair.”

“So I’m a slave.” she said and he winced.

“No.” he said firmly. “Let’s keep slavery out of this discussion, please.”

She helped him with groceries, which included a long trip to farmer’s market and a huge order at his favorite, expensive-as-fuck deli. Finally, she helped him in the kitchen - but not without loudly voicing her unhappiness.

“Oh, shut up.” he said carelessly, throwing a small onion at her. “If you really don’t want to help, you can go. But I’ll complain about it a lot.”

“I know.” she said, taking a knife and cutting the vegetable up. “Which is why this heroic sacrifice is taking place.”

“Attagirl.” he said, also chopping something; and she briefly paused her own action to shamelessly stare at the way he used the kitchen blade.

(She wondered if he’s as handy with a butterfly knife.)

Finally everything was prepared and was sure she has cumin and nutmeg stuck in her nose; her hands smelled like a variety of herbs and she had lettuce in her hair.

“Take a shower.” he said, wiping his hands in a kitchen towel; he had some yellow curry paste on the bridge of his nose, surely a result of not using a hand blender carefully enough. “And dress up nicely.”

“Yes, sir.” she said sarcastically and he rolled his eyes. “Anything else you need, master?”

She left the kitchen before he said anything, very pleased with how dumbfounded he looked, even though her cheeks were red.

She took a  - cold - shower, and put on a knee-length, black pencil dress with sheer neckline and black ankle-strap platforms; Oswald knocked at her door as she was doing her makeup, painting her lips red.

“Mmmm?” she muttered, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “What do you want?”

“Red or blue?” he asked, holding two ties and looking exasperated.

“It doesn’t matter.” she said, reaching for her eyeliner. “Blue, I guess.”

He kept staring at her without a word, so she sighed, put the eyeliner down and turned around, still not getting up from her stool.

“What?” she asked, and he blinked a few times.

“Nothing! Nothing.” he said quickly and left, leaving her puzzled.

The dinner was pleasant; everyone was optimistic and chatty and joked about how the Germans are probably crying themself to sleep or maybe cheering themselves up with Goethe or Schopenhauer.

Vicki told her something surprising as they bumped into each other just outside the toilet. She was slightly buzzed; maybe that’s why she spilled the beans.

“I promised him I’ll be his wingwoman, but sometimes honesty just does the trick, you know.” she said in hushed voice, as Charlie stared at her silently. “He’s an obnoxious ass, isn’t he?”

“He has his moments.” Charlie said carefully. “But he was raised well, I think.”

“Yes, he’s a gentleman.” Vicki giggled. “Which is why he’d never tell you half the stuff he told me.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie said lightly, crossing her arms. “What did he tell you?”

“That you’re a tease.” Vicki giggled. “And very distracting one. He told me he couldn’t sleep the first time he saw you in your pajamas. He never got into details though.” she added, staring at her. “But honestly, I kinda feel him. You’re a pretty girl. You’re not my type, but… I definitely see the appeal.”

“Thanks.” she said uncertainly, slowly processing what she just heard. “You like… Tall girls, right?”

“Tall and dark haired and sarcastic.” she hummed and Charlie smiled palely; it was admirable how faithfully in love Vicki and Louise were. “Do you like him?”

“Are you going to run straight to him and tell him my answer?”

“You bet!”

“Then I’ll keep the answer to myself.” Charlie said, shuffling past Vicki and disappearing in the toilet.

Inside, she looked at her reflection; she looked nice. She wondered if he complained about it to anyone, if she was a distraction.

*** She was infuriating that day and he couldn’t help but stare at her helplessly, taking all her snark and theatrical complaining. He called her a tease completely mindlessly, but seemingly no one noticed; when they won she looked at him proudly and he wanted to do the most cliche things possible - raise her up and kiss her in front of everyone.

But he didn’t, instead he only winked at her; and he barely looked at her when they were cooking, instead grounding himself by focusing on chopping and measuring and stirring, painfully aware of her warm presence.

He - perhaps foolishly - decided to ask for her opinion on which tie he should wear; and her sight left him dumbfounded. That was the second time he saw her like that, and the sight wasn’t any less breathtaking - the conclusion being she looked beautiful in pajamas and elegant clothes and sweatpants, with and without makeup, with her hair messy and neatly styled.

She looked annoyed by his presence, so he promptly left, tightly grasping at the tie she picked.

She drank some champagne that night - a small,symbolic amount, because she firmly refused to let him buy a bottle of non-alcoholic one for her - and she looked at him sipping it. In fact, from certain point she looked at him a lot - did he have something on his face?

(Vicki avoided his eyes that night and he wondered how badly did she fuck up.)

Finally the people had left, and she helped him clean up, glancing at him from time to time.

“Did I do something?” he asked, taking a mountain of plates from her. “You keep staring.”

“Do I?” she replied, quickly walking away, leaving him puzzled.

(He posted a picture of their team on his social media accounts; tonight we are victorious, champagne pouring over us - one match won, plenty more to go! good job. It gathered quite a lot of attention; people were congratulating them and complimenting their bold strategy. Even busy Bruce Wayne found a moment to write an upbeat comment, congratulating Oswald on his victory and asking when is he going to bring his friend over for dinner.)

He was in the middle of a stream when he heard a knock at the door and a quiet can I come in?

“What is it, Cherry?” he asked, not looking up from his screen. “Am I being too loud again?”

“I just could use some company, that’s all.” she said hesitantly and he looked up; she was wearing the same washed out tee and boyshorts she was wearing the first night, and something about her felt… Different.

“Alright.” he said, returning his attention to the game, as she slowly walked up to him and sat on the surface of his desk, next to his monitor.

“How’s it going?” she asked, crossing her legs and folding her hands and staring at him.

“I’m mostly just fucking around tonight.” he said carefully, ignoring the rapidly popping out comments. “I’ll be wrapping it up soon anyway. It’s late.”

“Mmmm.” she muttered, still staring at him.

Finally he said goodnight to the viewers and turned everything off; she kissed him as soon as he took his mask off.

He dropped it onto the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer; and initially, he gave in, only pushing her away when she pulled his hair,

“Are you drunk?” he asked, even though there was no trace of alcohol in her breath.

“I don’t drink.” she reminded him quietly, looking at him attentively; her cheeks were flushed.

“Then what’s going on?”

“Vicki told me.” she said quietly, nervously playing with her hair. “That you… Are into me.”

“Fuck.” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.

“That’s my intention, yes.” she said with a smirk, brushing his chest with her fingertips. “What, not in the mood?”

“I’m just… Surprised, that’s all.” he said, trying to not get distracted by her touch. “I didn’t think it’s mutual.”

“Well, it is.” she said, gently nudging his knee with her foot. “So what are you waiting for?”

He kissed her without a word, getting up from his chair and picking her up effortlessly; he carried her to bed and she giggled as he slid one hand under her shirt, reaching between her legs with the other one.

“I guess…” he whispered, gently brushing her neck with his lips, squeezing her breast lightly; her skin was smooth and warm and exactly as he imagined it to be. “I’m waiting for you to say please.”

“Then you’re going to wait for a while.” she panted out as he teased her through the fabric. “I’m a patient gal.”

“Yes, but I’m an insufferable prick.” he said with a smirk and kissed her again.

She was so soft under his touch, so sensitive; she scratched his back and her moans and whimpers were like music to his ears as he kissed her neck and held her hips to keep her from moving and laughed in her face as she called him names, while pulling him closer, closer, closer.

*** She snuck out of his bedroom after he fell asleep; her heart was racing and she felt more alive than she ever did during the past year. He was so gentle; and his fingers on her skin felt right. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep; so peaceful and beautiful.

She wasn’t sure he’d play along when she entered the room; but he did. He gave her what she wanted, and more - and yet when she closed the door to her bedroom behind her she felt… Empty. It was a different kind of empty than the one she felt for months; it was painful and grey, not dull and black.

She cried herself to sleep that night, firmly refusing to take her pills, even though the bottle was there, on her nightstand, within her reach.

The next morning he didn’t wake her up at all; when she opened her eyes and checked the time it was noon. He left her shirt and undies on a chair just outside her door; and when she ventured into kitchen she found some oatmeal on the stove, and tea in thermos; still hot, sweetened with honey, like always.

(She didn’t even like oatmeal; but his was thick and sweet and rich, with freshly grated cinnamon and sauteed apples and brown sugar.)

She sighed quietly, putting some bread in the toaster. She wondered where did he go; without him the house felt cold and impersonal. Suddenly she realized she has no idea how do other parts of the building look; for a moment she considered going through other rooms, but quickly abandoned the idea of violating his family’s privacy like that.

She took a shower and got dressed, washing off the sensation his kisses left on her skin; and as she was drying her hair, she heard a doorbell.

“Shit.” she muttered, torn between pretending no one’s home and acting like a normal person. “Alright. I’m coming!” she called out, hurrying towards the front door.

Outside she bumped into Bruce Wayne himself, who was admiring the view with his hands in his pockets and his back turned to her.

He turned around and raised his eyebrows.

“Well.” he said hesitantly. “You’re not Oz.”

“He’s… Out.” she said, brushing her moist hair away from her face. “And I have no idea when is he going to be back.”

“Alright.” Wayne said carefully, looking at her. “Can I come in and wait for him, or-”

“Oh, sure!” she said quickly, moving aside to let him in. “He didn’t tell me he’s expecting someone today.”

“Probably because it’s a surprise visit.” he said, going inside and glancing at her. “You’re on his team, right?”

“I’m the healer, yes.” she said, following him. “And I’m the parasite who’s living with him.”

“That’s harsh.” Bruce said hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name-”

“Charlie.” she interrupted him. “I’m Charlie. People online call me Pop. Oswald calls me Cherry.”

“Yes, he always has nicknames for people close to him.” Bruce said and her heart skipped a beat. “He used to call me Zorro… Though he stopped at some point. Now it’s just-”

“Brucie!” she heard Oswald’s voice coming from behind them; when they turned around he was standing in the doorway with a wide smile on his face. “It’s been ages!”

“Work.” Bruce said with a smile, and the two friends embraced; Oswald briefly glanced at Charlie over Bruce’s shoulder and his smile disappeared for a moment. “But I have a free afternoon, so I thought it might a good idea to pay you a visit. Catch up a bit. Check if everything’s alright.”

“Oh, everything’s dandy.” Oswald assured him and Charlie stood there awkwardly, wondering if he regrets last night ever happening. “I see you’ve met my temporary cohabitant”

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Charlie said quickly as Bruce turned his attention to her. “It was… Nice to meet you, mister Wayne.”

“It’s Bruce.” he corrected her with a smile. “And likewise.”

She hastily disappeared in her bedroom and opened up her laptop to catch up with the latest drama on tumblr.

Oswald knocked at her door some time later.

“You should eat something.” he said calmly as she looked up from her screen. “I threw some pork into a slow cooker before leaving. Interested?”

“I’m not hungry.” she said, despite actually being hungry. “But I think we should talk.”

“Alright.” he said indifferently, playing with his wristwatch; and his indifference hurt. “Let’s talk.”

“What happened last night…” she said carefully. “I’m… Sorry. I’m not sure what had gotten into me.”

“So it was a one time mistake.” he said, after brief silence. “Right?”

“Right.” she said slowly, trying to look beneath the surface of his calm, trying to find the man who kissed her back.

“Everyone makes mistakes, Cherry.” he said and she felt like she’s suffocating. “It was fun, but it’s not going to happen again. Curiosity sated, and so on.”

“Right.” she muttered. “Well… Well said.”

“You really should eat something.” he said before leaving, looking at her over his shoulder. “I worked hard on your new dietary habits. I’d hate to see my efforts go to waste.”

She flipped him off and he laughed and for a moment it felt like nothing had happened between them, like last night was just a figment of her imagination.

***

When he woke up, she weren’t there; only her clothes on the floor signalized last night really happened, that she really came into his room, that they really… They really…

He lied in bed for a while, trying to process what happened. The warmth of her skin, and the way she reacted to his kisses, and the way she looked at her with her eyes half closed; it was magical.

But - she wasn’t there when he woke up, she snuck out when he was asleep; maybe she regretted it. Maybe she was ashamed.

He got dressed, made breakfast and left the home, without waking her up. He went to Vicki’s place; it was eight in the morning when he knocked at her door.

“Do you know what time it is?!” she asked angrily after unlocking the door, but softened after noticing how miserable he looked. “...what happened?”

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly and she let him in; luckily she was alone that morning.

“Coffee?” she asked, yawning and locking the door behind him; he shook his head, knowing she’s drinking cheap, instant coffee that had nothing on what he had back home.

“You look like a kicked puppy.” she said, making herself a cup of that cheap monstrosity. “What happened?”

“I fucked Cherry.” he said as she was pouring some milk into her cup; she sighed and set the jug down, but didn’t turn around to face him.

She knew.

“She came to my room last night…” he continued, staring at the back of Vicki’s neck. “...and told me you told her I have hots for her.”

“I didn’t think she’d do anything about it!” Vicki said, finally turning around. “What’s the deal anyway? That’s what you wanted, right?”

“You know it’s not!” he blurted out. “You know damn well it was not about getting her to spread her legs for me.”

“...you’re right.” she said after brief silence, avoiding his eyes; he looked at her coldly, remembering the time when he helped her with Louise. He thought he can count on her to repay the favor. “I messed up.”

‘We both messed up.” he said softly, his anger gone. “In fact… I think all three of us messed up.”

“Maybe it’ll clear some air between you.” she said; she was clearly forcing herself to sound optimistic. “How about it?”

“Maybe.” he said, deciding to let it go; there was no point in blaming Vicki for his own actions. “Sorry for waking you up, Vale.”

“You can redeem yourself by going out and getting me bagels.” she yawned. “You know what I like.”

When he returned home some time later, Bruce was there, talking to Charlie; he looked at her as he was hugging his old friend. She looked surprisingly miserable, and excused herself as soon as it was possible; he followed her with his eyes, before returning his attention to Bruce.

“You look good!” he said. “Alfred’s taking good care of you, I presume?”

“Alfred is doing his best.” Bruce said with a smile. “How are your parents?”

“Oh, they’re doing great. Their anniversary is coming up, so they went to Bahamas for two months.” he said with a smile.

“So.” Bruce said after a brief pause. “That girl… Are you two…”

“It’s not like that.” Oswald interrupted him hastily. “She’s a teammate. Just a teammate.”

“A live-in teammate.” Bruce pointed out with a playful grin and Oswald rolled his eyes theatrically.

“Yeah, well, we’re both responsible adults. Tea?”

“Always.”

After Bruce left, he went to her room to talk; in the meantime he made a decision. She snuck out; maybe she wasn’t interested in anything bigger. So be it. He decided to give her all the space she needs; she herself said she has no idea what gotten into her.

When she flipped him off his heart skipped a beat, because it was as if they erased the previous night altogether. Nothing ever happened between them; and nothing would happen ever again.

***

They kept on winning; their team was like an unstoppable force of nature. They knew all of each other’s tricks, after hours spent on playing against each other; they knew all the tricks - and were quick to find ways to assist each other with them. They thought on their feet, abusing slight glitches and the physics engine, and worked like a well-oiled machinery; they won with New Zealand, Australia, Sweden, Japan, Poland.

(Though the last one wasn’t too difficult; a short clip of CherryPop’s Mercy hustling among the corpses of the enemy team with Another One Bites The Dust by Queen playing in the background quickly became a hit.)

And what happened that one night - didn’t happen again. She was sure Vicki knows; Vale looked at her oddly and anxiously. It didn’t seem like the others found out; good. There was no reason for them to know.

(Even though she was sure there’s something going on between Theo and Rocco; but it was none of her business.)

She still got off to her imagination from time to time; but it just didn’t feel good anymore. What she felt during that one time - it was more than just pleasure. She felt at peace, almost like happiness was within reach; almost as if he genuinely cared about her as a person, and not just a teammate. He was so tender, so gentle; a real fucking gentleman.

But it was just a one time thing; even though… Even though she wouldn’t mind it happening again. And again, and again, and again. It was a scary thought; it was not all what she wanted to feel, and she despised herself for it - but the heart wants what it wants and it cannot be reasoned with.

And the internet was buzzing - the word had spread that CherryPop visited birdmaskguy one night and sounded… Weird. The fact some people were bored enough to gossip about streamers was odd and a bit sad; but they did. And she let it slide, not debunking or confirming anything. There was no point in doing so; it simply didn’t matter.

He resumed taking care of her diet and sleeping schedule, and she resumed being unhappy about it; but it felt fake. She was conflicted, more conflicted than ever; lost and confused and yearning for more - but she couldn’t bring herself to talk about it - and nobody knew. Not their teammates, not her parents; and so she had nobody to complain to, nobody to consult.

(Her parents were convinced she’s doing fine, way better than in New York; new diet and regular sleeping hours were actually making wonders. So did the occasional exercise - but she started being sneaky about it, using the gym when he wasn’t around; she simply couldn’t bear looking at him like that.)

She developed a crush on him, on Oswald, on the way he treated her and the way he always rebuked her offenses and the way he once refused to hand her a jar of Maraschino cherries and held it above her head until she promised to pocket him the next match. She developed a crush on him, a crush she most definitely didn’t expect when she first met him on Hanamura, under the cherry blossoms between the objectives. She developed a crush on who he turned out to be under the mask, under his obnoxious quirk; and she wished she could turn back time and refuse his offer. Sure, she could simply pack up and move to one of Gotham’s many hotels - but he’d ask why.

And she wasn’t so sure she has the strength to lie.

***

It was painful, having her so close and not being able to treat her the way he wanted to - with love. When she asked him why he cares about her depression he lied through his teeth, and she accepted his answer; when he gently gave her a way out their bedroom mess - she took it. She wasn’t giving him a chance, she wasn’t giving him false hopes; he held his head high and kept on telling himself it’ll be over soon. Soon she’d be gone, out of his home, out of his sight; and he was sure with time she’d be out of his heart as well. What the eye does not see the heart does not grieve over, and so on.

So he kept on his facade; until everything went crashing down, thanks to his own obtuseness and the Russians.

(The Russians. Of course. In Gotham it’s always either Russians or Italians; almost as if those two nations personally cursed the city. Fuck you, Putin and Berlusconi.)

At first, everything was going well on their part; they were in good moods and well-rested and Charlie was begrudgingly munching on celery sticks he suggested her in place of tortilla chips.

(“...you do have lettuce instead of brain.”

“Ah, but what fresh ideas I have thanks to it! Come on, open up. Eat your veggies… Or else.

“Corn’s a vegetable though. So technically, tortilla chips…”

“...eat your celery or I’ll strangle you in your sleep.”)

The Russians were playing dirty and had no honor - he expected that much. He knew part of their team, he crossed paths with them a few times; and unfortunately - they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

(He reported some of them for… Distasteful threats.)

Their Mei was constantly on Charlie’s ass, so their attention was divided between making sure she’s making it out alive, and taking care of their Slavic opponents; not an ideal scenario, but they could work with that.

Eventually though, their Mei managed to sneak behind them.

“Fuck! Someone help!” Charlie called out, frantically jumping around, trying to stall the enemy for as long as possible.

“Coming!” he said; he was on his way back to spawn anyway. He had to switch; they had to try something else if they wanted to have any chance at all at winning.

He hooked the Mei away at the last second and killed her in one shot, as Mercy ran to the nearest health pack.

“Thanks!” she said, for a moment looking away from her screen to shoot him a grateful smile; he blew her a kiss in response.

Her face turned pale and she looked away from him, staring at her screen again, even though her eyes seemed… Unfocused.

‘The fuck are you doing?” Vicki muttered to him, gunning down the enemy Zenyatta. “Again?”

“Shut up.” he muttered equally quietly in response, carefully glancing at Charlie; her lips were pursed and her eyes were squinted and she seemed angry.

They managed to score one point. No big deal; they simply had to stop their opponents from scoring any point at all to win. Or they could always get a draw; that’d call for a sudden death. That was a valid option as well.

Charlie disappeared somewhere during the short break between the rounds; and when she came back she was slurring and seemed lubberly. She seemed relaxed - too relaxed.

“Shit.” Oswald muttered as she walked up to him. “Are you alright? Cherry?”

“I had to take my anxiolytic pills…” she muttered, looking him in the eye; she cried. Her eyes were red and puffy and there were traces of tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry…”

“What’s the problem?” Louise asked, walking up to them; rest of the team followed.

“We have to go on without her for a while.” he said calmly; she shrugged and looked away. “Carry until she wakes up, basically.”

“Maybe an energy drink?” Rocco suggested hesitantly. “I have some Red Bulls in my bag.”

Charlie nodded; but Oswald shook his head.

“Out of question.” he said firmly. “Mixing medicine with whatever’s in that shit… It’s not going to do her any good. I’ll get her some cold water, but that’s it.”

“You’re throwing a match, Cobblepot.” Charlie said calmly, looking at him; her eyes were hazy and she was shaking slightly.

Was she out of her mind? Her health was at stake - and all she could think about was a game?

“We still have a chance.” he said, keeping his concerns to himself; they could wait for another time. “I’m going to get that water. You try to keep her awake.” he said to rest of the team and walked away.

Round two was effectively a 5v6, due to Cherry’s state; they held the Russians off for as long as they could - but they didn’t stop them from getting the first point.

In the meantime, Charlie got better and left her hideout; but it was too late. The Russians got bold; they dealt tons of damage and hurled their abilities carelessly.

It was all over before they knew it; they lost 2:1, Mercy’s rez at 80% as their screens went black.

They lost; they were out.

***

She was doing fine; all until the moment he blew her a kiss in front of everyone, as if that was a normal gesture for them, as if he’d kiss her if he could, as if she wasn’t the one who kissed him first during that night that never happened.

What was he trying to accomplish? She had no idea; probably nothing, she told herself - but it was too late. Seed of a breakdown had already been planted; she excused herself during the break and cried in a bathroom stall, and - without thinking - swallowed a pill, first one in a long time.

It worked… Quickly and powerfully - maybe her organism grew disaccustomed. Maybe her brain was simply too tired to fight it off.

“You’re throwing a match.” she told him, desperately hoping to hear something like you’re more important than any match; but instead she only heard they still have a chance.

(Of course. She wasn’t important as a person, but as a teammate. The surface level was important; no one cared about what’s underneath.)

“Give me that Red Bull.” she muttered to Rocco after Oswald left; but he shook his head.

“He’s right, you know. It’s not wise.” he said and Charlie groaned. Vicki looked at her hesitantly, looking as if she wants to say something; but she didn’t.

(Maybe for the best.)

The ice cold water did wake her up a bit; but it wasn’t enough and it happened too late and they lost and it was all her fault; she knew it, she felt it in her bones.

“We did good.” Theo said optimistically. “We got far. Also, you guys are cool.”

“Right?” Louise said with a sigh. “Shame we mucked it up, but hey, we didn’t go down without a fight. It could be way worse. We could go down same way Poland did.”

Everyone laughed; except for her. Even despite the medication she wanted to cry; and when they weren’t looking - she simply sneaked out, got into a cab and drove to the train station, where she bought a return ticket.

Oswald could take care of sending her stuff back to New York. She was sure he’ll do it gladly, after all that mess that transpired between them.

Few hours later she was back in her stuffy, messy flat; she didn’t even bother to call or text her parents before curling up on the bed and bursting in tears again.

***

“Hey, where’s Pop?”

Theo asked the question - and Oswald realized he doesn’t know the answer. She vanished, plain and simple; and in her state it couldn’t possibly mean anything good.

“Maybe she went home?” Rocco suggested hesitantly. “Your home, I mean.”

“Maybe.” Oswald said, forcing himself to be calm. “I’ll check there. Then I’ll check the train station. Then… I guess I’ll panic. Just a bit.”

On his way home, he checked the Gotham-New York timetable; previous train left fifteen minutes earlier. The next one would leave in thirty minutes.

She wasn’t anywhere in the Chateau; and he checked every single room, even the locked ones. Everything was the way she left it; she didn’t even bother to come back for her laptop.

She wasn’t on the train station either; but when he asked, a woman working at the ticket office - a kind, old woman - told him that yes, indeed, a young woman with hair so red it almost looked fake bought a ticket to New York. The train departed shortly before he got there.

So she went home - and he didn’t have an address. There were many ways of solving this problem - but he decided to settle on the… Most Gotham one.

He called Vicki on his way to the police station.

“She went back to New York.”

“Well, fuck.” Vicki said; he could hear Louise in the background, talking about how McDonald’s french fries are so much better than Burger King ones. “What now?”

“I have to talk to her.” he said. “And Jim Gordon owes my family a favor.”

“I’m not turning the Bat-Signal for you.” the tired commissioner told him. “It’s out of question.”

“Please.” Oswald pleaded, feeling helpless. “It’s a matter of life and death!”

“No, it’s not.” Gordon said impatiently. “Look, kid, I’m sorry, but I can’t help-”

“But I can.” they both heard Bat’s one of a kind, gravely voice; Gotham’s protector stepped out from the shadows in the corner of Gordon’s cluttered office.

“Batsy!” Oswald said with joy, looking at the grim vigilante. “A sight for sore eyes, truly.”

“I heard it’s a matter of life and death, Cobblepot.” Batman said, staring him down. “Stop wasting my time. Cut to the chase.”

“You seem to know everything about everyone, somehow.” Oswald said hastily. “I know you hacked at least four federal databases. I need an address… Of someone not from Gotham.”

“The girl.” Batman said grimly, doing something on the computer built into his gauntlet. “Is she in danger?”

“I don’t know.” Oswald said quietly, as his phone buzzed; the Bat sent him Charlie’s address. “Wow. That was quick.”

“Don’t blow me any kisses.” Batman said as he was leaving. “It never leads to anything good, it seems.”

He didn’t have time to wonder how the hell does Batman know what exactly happened; he had a trip to New York to make.

He only stopped once, to get some gas; he reached her address just before the dawn. She lived in a modern, expensive building; and the receptionist who also doubled as security wasn’t too eager to let him in.

“She said she doesn’t want guests, except for food delivery.” he repeated tiredly. “I can’t let you in.”

“Yes, you can.” Oswald said firmly. “I’ll pay you, alright? It’s a matter of life and death.”

They argued for some time; but then one of the other tenants came home and the receptionist opened the elevator for him and Oswald hopped in, right before the door closed again, leaving the tired man behind.

He rang the doorbell and knocked, over and over again; it took him about fifteen minutes to get a reaction out of her.

“I don’t want to see anyone.” she said faintly and his heart broke a bit; she sounded so tired, so resigned. “Please, go away.”

“Cherry, it’s me.” he said; silence. “I’ve been worried.”

“Why are you here?” she asked tiredly, as if he hadn’t just told her. “We lost. It’s over.”

“I’ve been worried!” he repeated, frustrated. “You disappeared!”

“I went home, because my role was over.” she said. “I fucked up. So I left.”

“Yes, without a word.” he said, resting his forehead against the wooden surface of her door. “So I looked for you.”

“But why?” she asked again and he blinked; he told her already. Was she even listening?

“Because…” he repeated slowly “I’ve been worried. I’m having a deja vu.”

He took a step back as he heard her unlocking the door. Finally she let him in; and he sighed deeply seeing the state she was in. Well, she and her flat.

She was wearing the same exact clothes she wore when he last saw her, and her eyes were red and puffy and the floor was covered in garbage; candy wrappers, empty chips packets, soda cans.

“Good lord.” he muttered to himself, stepping over a small pile of Twix wrappings. “What happened here?”

“Depression.” she replied, wrapping herself in a blanket. “Well, now that you know I’m alive… So you can leave me alone.”

“Fine.” he said after a brief silence. “But only if you look me in the eye and tell me you really want me to leave.”

She raised her head a bit. She looked him in the eye.

“Please don’t go.” she said tearfully. “Leave. Stay? Fuck.” she muttered. “I have no idea what I want.”

“Which is a good reason for me to not leave you alone.” he said softly, carefully sitting down next to her. “I can take you back to Gotham. The others are worried as well.”

“I fucked up.” she muttered. “Big time. I fucked up… Everything. We lost… Because of me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” he said firmly. “Cherry, I lost plenty of times because of you. Doesn’t matter. None of it does. It’s just a fucking game, after all.”

“But-”

“No buts.” he interrupted her. “It’s a game. Period. We can try again next year.”

“Alright.” she said hesitantly. “Take me… Take me back. I won’t run away again.”

“You can run away as much as you want, just let me know beforehand.” he sighed, getting up. “Come on, Cherry.”

“Can you help me up?”

“If you want me to carry you, just say the word.” he said and she smiled faintly.

“I’ll consider it.” she said and he helped her get up and took her outside, to his car.

They were back in Gotham just when the city was starting to wake up.

*** He came; but why?

She couldn’t comprehend why he’d came - which was a bit sad, considering it was one thing she so desperately wanted. Even as she fucked everything up for everyone, even as her role was over - he came. She couldn’t believe her ears when she heard his voice outside; but there he was, looking more determined than ever.

He took her home; his home started to feel a lot like her place, like she belonged there, like she was meant to be there. She felt more at home there than she did in her own flat in New York; especially when she took a shower and put on some clean clothes and went to the kitchen, where he was making pancakes.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as she sat down.

“Weak, but I’ll live.” she said, playing with her hair. “I… Cried a lot.”

“Well, in that case it might be a good idea to take a nap.” he said, setting a plate down in front of her and sitting down with a cup of coffee for himself. “But first you have to eat.”

“Thanks.” she said quietly, picking up a fork. “Maple syrup?”

“Oh, good idea.” he said, getting up and opening a cabinet. “Some sugar might help.”

He handed her a bottle and she gently brushed the back of his hand with her fingertips and he froze in place, staring at her.

“Sorry.” she said, looking away. “I… I’m not trying anything, I swear.”

“No?” he asked, as she was pouring syrup all over her pancakes.

“No.”

He nodded quietly as she finished eating.

“Go to bed.” he said, not moving from his spot. “Get some sleep.”

“And what about you?”

“I just drank a pitch black coffee.” he said, looking up. “I’ll manage.”

“It’s not healthy.” she said and he snickered, shaking his head; and when he looked at her - softly, tenderly - her heart skipped a beat.

“Get some sleep.” he repeated. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

She fell asleep almost instantly; last thing she heard before drifting off were his footsteps outside.

***

She let him take her home; that was good. She apparently wasn’t able to figure out he had been worried sick; that was… Less good.

His phone was buzzing; others were worried as well.

Got her.

is she alright????? She’s asleep now, but she’s alive.

[praying emoji]

He wondered what’s next; it was obvious she shouldn’t be left to her own devices. It was also obvious he’s still hopelessly infatuated with her; even after a night of crying she looked beautiful, with those red rings around her eyes and matted eyelashes. There was a lot of beauty in her sadness - but it was also painful; both to look at and to bear.

She woke up in the late afternoon, as he was napping in his bedroom; a hesistant knock at the door woke him up.

“Come in, come in…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Hungry?”

“A bit.” she said, shuffling inside. “Oh… Did I wake up?”

“S’alright.” he said, yawning. “I’m a big boy.”

“What now?” she asked, standing in the doorway. “I mean… With us.”

That question awakened him faster than any cold shower ever would.

“What do you mean?” he asked, staring at her. She sighed, crossing her arms.

“Can I be honest?” she asked and he nodded, preparing himself for a figurative kick in the ass-

“I like you.” she said arduously, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve been trying to not, but… I do. I like you. A lot. And I… Know it’s not mutual.”

Had it not been for him being in a state of deep shock - he’d probably throw something at her.

“Wow.” he said eventually. “You are… Not the world’s greatest detective, huh?”

“...what?” she asked faintly, as he started to count on his fingers.

“I offered you a stay here. I took care of your abhorrent habits, I whined to Vicki enough times to finally make her crack, I went to New York just to check if you’re alive, I brought you back to Gotham because I was worried-” he recited, not taking his eyes off her. “And you think it’s one-sided?!”

“But I thought-” she said faintly, but he interrupted her.

“Thought?! Please!” he scoffed, waving his hands angrily. “If anyone here had a reason to think it’s one sided - it’s me!”

“Oh, woe is you!” she replied angrily. “You called that night a mistake!”

“Yes, because you snuck out and locked yourself in your room!”

“I was confused!”

“Newsflash, you asshole!” he shrieked. “I’ve been confused for weeks!”

She laughed, and she laughed so hard she actually snorted - and it was the most endearing sound he had heard in a long time.

“Oh, my god.” she said finally, wiping her tears. “This is incredible. If only we talked like normal people-”

“Drama is more important.” he interrupted her. “Come here. I want to kiss you.”

“And I want to eat something.”

“Ah, alright.” he sighed, getting up. “It’s… Late afternoon. Breakfast food is-”

She threw her arms around his neck as he was walking past, and pulled him in and kissed him; and he gave in, until he heard the sounds her stomach was making.

“Good god.” he muttered. “Do you have a Reaper inside you?”

“Maybe.” she said with a shrug. “Come on. Feed me.”

The Aftermath

Things were going decent, for both of them; even though it took the world some time to get used to the fact they got together. Many claimed it’s just a publicity stunt; some were disgusted and disappointed, some were saying it’s probably going to fall apart in two months.

Charlie decided to actually move to Gotham; she made friends there, and had someone who seemed very determined to keep an eye on her. Not all the time, naturally - just during bad times. Someone to force her out of bed and to take a shower. Someone to keep instant noodles as far away from her as possible.

(Suddenly everything made sense. Suddenly the way he looked at her made sense.)

But first - she had to come back to New York to pack up her stuff. Her parents offered their help; but Oswald was ridiculously disconsolate.

“I’ll be fine!” she said, and he only muttered and kept hugging her, resting his chin atop of her head. “You know you can’t watch over me all the time. I don’t need a nanny.”

“No, I just grew very used to your presence.” he mutered. “I’ll miss you.”

“It’s just a month, Oswald.” she said softly. “Say hi to your parents from me. You sure they don’t mind?”

“The house is huge, you saw it yourself.” he sighed, finally letting her go. “The more the merrier.”

She kissed him one last time and entered the train; she had butterflies in her stomach, the good kind. The kind that came from gestures of tenderness from someone she loved.

*** Without her, his home felt so empty; his family was back, so the rooms were filled with familiar warmth - but he missed her. And it’s only been a few hours.

“Oh, you fucking sap.” Vicki muttered to him over the phone. “Chill out, have some faith, she’s gonna be fine!”

“Yeah.” he sighed, standing in front of her bedroom. “I hope so. Otherwise…”

“There will be no otherwise though. She’s gonna be fine. She spent the majority of her life without you.”

“Yeah, and she developed depression and anxiety.”

“And you are not a cure to her problems.” Vicki said firmly. “Look, Oz, love is a wonderful thing, but it’s not a miracle cure for anything. Her problems are not your fault, neither they are yours to solve. It’s admirable you want to help, but… You gotta let her live.”

“Jesus, Vale, chill out with the preaching.” he muttered. “Would ya?”

“I’ll consider it.”

He saw her online that evening; she posted something on r/shittyfoodporn, for the first time in many weeks.

McDonald’s for dinner. Of course.

Oh come on. he commented.

kfjgjskfjgjdkfgjgjf let me live!!

I’m just joking.

<3

you two are absolutely fucking disgusting. by all means, keep doing whatever you’re doing, but you’re disgusting. keep that relationship shit away from us pathetic lowlifes. ps - fuck, i want a cheeseburger.

Three weeks flew by; she seemed to be doing well - he watched one of her streams and she was bubbly and chatty and a delight to look at.

(She got adorably distracted when a comment from him popped up, and blew him a kiss.)

People seemed to not remember what happened during their last match; or maybe they remembered, but simply didn’t care. There were more important things in the world; life went on, after all.

They crossed paths in game one evening; they ended up on the opposite teams, because of course.

birdmaskguy: hey, mercy.

birdmaskguy: i have a deal.

CherryPop: ?????

birdmaskguy: let my team win, so i’ll be nice when i come over next week.

strawpuff: DUDE, HAVE SOME DIGNITY.

CherryPop: that’s precisely why i won’t let you win. :P i like it when you’re not nice!!

strawpuff: …

Bolero: ……………………….ew

dijkstra: :D omg

(She liked it when he was acting like an asshole; she liked when he was taking advantage of being taller and when he was taking his sweet time with her body. Gave her a reason to call him names; for her it came easier than an I love you - and he understood, after years of being close with Vicki. She’d call him a prick - but then she’d run her fingers through his hair, all while complaining about how infuriating he was.)

*** She missed him more than she thought she would; and eventually she literally provoked him into coming over earlier than planned. It involved internet connection, some boiled - and unsalted - pasta, a jar of Nutella and her phone’s camera.

She posted the photo of noodles mixed with chocolate-hazelnut spread online, implying she’s going to eat it; he texted her few minutes later.

That’s it. I’m coming.

nooooo, she texted back with one hand, pulling out a spare blanket for him with the other one. i was just joking!!

Mm-hm. I don’t believe you. I’ll be there today.

nooooo!!!

:(

hey, i was just joking. come over. i miss you.

<3 <3 <3 <3

He brought a few things with him - clothes, his favorite spatula, a bag of fresh vegetables and a giant jar of tomato sauce he made at home.

“You can’t be serious.” she said, looking at it. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Eat it.” he said, setting it down on the kitchen counter. “Better safe than sorry, that photo… Almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Fine.” she said with a theatrical sigh. “But tonight I want pizza.”

“Just as long as it won’t turn out you only ate pizza few days in a row. That didn’t happen, right?”

“And what if it did? You’ll punish me?” she asked playfully.

“No, I’ll look at you sadly.” he said. “Come on. Order up, I’m hungry. Just pick a good place.”

“I know, I know, only highest quality ingredients find their way into your body. The usual spiel. Got it memorized.”

“Mmm, I’m letting it slide tonight. After all, I haven’t seen you in weeks…”

“...are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

“...the inner machinations of your mind are an enigma, but probably yes. Could have worded it better.”

“Asshole.” she muttered as he pulled her closer. “Insufferable prick. Douchebag.”

“I know. I love you too, Charlie.”

“Ndjhfhsjhgjd.” she muttered, as she always did when he called her by her name and he smiled, thinking back to that time he kinda wanted her dead, but not really, because who the fuck would take a game this seriously?