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pietromaxi · 5 years ago

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you’re a bad guy

request: @fashionlive15 Hi Sahar!! How are you? I saw that you were taking much request, solo can I please have o me with the reader being Tony's daughter and dating cap during civil war and she is on caps side until she learns that Bucky killed her grandparents and then Steve almost kills Tony and she is so sad and feels betrayed (it could be more that one part if want) Hope you have a great day!

hi angel! i really really love this concept, i highkey went overkill with this one but i like the way it turned out. hope you like it!

warnings: violence, ANGST!, like one (1) kiss?, blood?? cursing

——

for the first time in your life, you and your dad seriously butted heads. you would argue over small things, like: tony putting empty orange juice containers back in the fridge, or tony putting a red sock in with your crisp white clothes, or tony- okay so it was usually always tony’s fault.

but this time, who’s fault was it? neither of you could help that you believed in something so strongly you sided against eachother.

“i’m not signing that shit!” your chest heaved up and down as you and your father had an intense stare down.

“Y/N Y/M/N stark, sign the goddamn papers or so help me you will be grounded until you’re in an old lady home!” tony was basically foaming at the mouth. it was a serious hit to his ego knowing his baby wasn’t with him. his baby was with cap.

but here you are now, leaning on the side wall of the quinjet, listening to your beloved boyfriend and best friend talk about their past.

“you remember that time we had to ride back from rockaway beach in the back of that freezer truck?” bucky snorted and looked over at his best friend.

“was that the time we used our train money to buy hotdogs?” now it was your turn to laugh, both boys looked at you and smiled, steve pressing a kiss to your head.

“you blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead.”

“oh god, bucky. three bucks? wasn’t that like three-hundred-dollars back then?” bucky looked over at you with a dopey smile, “something like that. what was her name again?”

“dolores. you called her dot.”

“she’s gotta be a hundred years old right now.”

“so are you boys.” you clapped a hand on each of their shoulders, moving to stand in between them. “real funny, y/n. real funny.”

the doors on the quinjet opened and you walked with bucky and steve up to a door, slightly ajar, hidden in some rock.

“he can’t have been here more than a few hours.” steve turned around to look at the two of you.

“long enough to wake them up.” you and bucky uttered the words at the same time. the three of you lauging lightly at the realization.

steve led the three of you into the cast bunker. you traveled down into the depths inside a caged elevator. you’ve always hated elevators, sighing, you moved closer to steve. he welcomed you with open arms and leander down to press a firm, but soft, kiss on your lips. “i love you.” he whisphered. steve had a bad feeling about this.

the elevator stops in the bowls of the bunker, the doors slide open with a high-pitched screech. steve reluctantly lets go of you, then nods to both you and bucky and heaves the cage door open. bucky readys his machine gun while you focus on the fire beginning to seep from your fingertips. the three of you walk down into the depths of a corridor, alongside a wall. bucky turns his head to look into an alcove along the corridor wall, it appears to be nothing but old technology so the three of you keep moving.

going up a small flight of metal stairs, steve shoves his way in front of you, earning a grunt in protest. “what? i don’t like you leading the way, you could get seriously hurt, doll.” sighing, steve clutches your hand just a little bit tighter. bucky stays behind you with his gun drawn.

at the sound of a large groan behind you, the three of you spun around, “you ready?”

“yeah.” immediately after bucky mumbled the one-word reply, iron doors were forced apart by none other than your imbecile of a father, his mask was currently off, he was holding it inbetween his hands. both you and steve lowered your weapons and stared in shock. bucky stayed stiff.

“you seem a little defensive.” of course your father would say that. you cautiously approached your father, steve followed closely behind, shield now being held up in front of his chest. “it’s been a long day.” you embraced your father tightly, smiling when he hugged back.

“at ease solider. i’m not currently after you.” tony held his hands up in defense as you went to stand beside steve, his pinky immediatley wrapped around your much smaller one, a simple gesture, but you two seemed to do it on every mission when holding hands seemed like a bit too much.

“then why are you here, daddy?” steve gripped your hand tighter, as you stared forward at your father.

“could be your story’s not so crazy. maybe. ross has no idea i’m here. i’d like to keep it that way. otherwise, i gotta arrest myself.” tony raised his eyebrows and shrugged, looking down at you, “i’m sorry this split us up, kiddo. you know i loved you through all of this.”

your dad’s words brought a wide smile to your blood and dirt caked face, “i love you too dad.”

steve glanced at you, and then to your dad, “well that sounds like a lot of paperwork. it’s good to see you tony.” steve lowered his shield, bucky flinched in reaction, but refused to lower his gun, eyes watching your fathers every move.

“you too, cap. hey, manchurian candidate, you’re killing me. there’s a truce here. you can drop the huge thing you’ve got pointed in my face.” tony stared straight at bucky as steve signaled you can lower it.

cautiosuly, the four of you stalked down the corrdior, your pinky still held tightly in steve’s. very quickly, you approached a vast chamber, filled with standing capsules. tony stopped abruptly, “i got heat signatures.”

steve’s eyes shot up immediatley, “how many?”

“uh, one.” your father’s confused eyes trailed over the three people standing before him, before looking back in front of him.

as the four of you enter the chamber, dust bunnies dropped from the ceiling when the dim, yellowish lights flickered to life. a hazy, yellow mist begining to fill the capsules on the far wall. the four of you looked around, bewildered.

“if it’s any comfort, they died in their sleep. did you really think i wanted more of you?” a squeaky, russian voice filled the vast room, “what the hell?” bucky lowered his weapon when you lightly placed your hand on his forearm.

“i’m grateful to them, though. they brought you here...” suddenly a rat-like man wearing glasses appeared in the control room window. without thinking, steve hurled his sheild straight at the man, it hit the wall with a loud sound and flew straight back into steves hand. “...please, captian. the soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets.”

your dad scoffed, stepping up infront of the three of you. cracking his kneck, he spoke, “i’m betting i can beat that.”

the small man spoke again, “oh, i’m sure you could, mr. stark. given time. but then you’d never know why you came.” tony scoffed again, even though you couldn’t see, you just knew your dad was rolling his eyes. classic move, dad.

“you killed innocent people in vienna just to bring us here?” steves grip on his shield and your, now bruised, pinky finger.

and again, the little man spoke, “i thought about nothing else for over a year. i studied you. i followed you. even your silly little girlfriend, there. but now that you’re standing here, i just realized... there’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes. how nice to find a flaw.”

“there’s actually some amber surrounding his pupil if you look close enough, guess you didn’t study well enough.” the first time you spoke, of course it would be sarcastic. after all, you are tony stark’s daughter. your dad held his suit-covered hand behind his back, silently saying ‘oh i know you didn’t just say that, give me a high-five, that was a good one.’

everyone else in the room seemed to ignore your little comment, steve continued his arguement, “you’re sokovian. is that what this is about?”

you turned to face bucky, “i thought he was russian?” bucky cracked a tiny smile and turned back to the newly-named sokovian man.

“sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell. no. i’m here because i made a promise.”

steve’s lips tightened into a straight line, studying the man in front of him, “you lost someone?”

little sokovian man looked grave. after a few silent moments he clicked his tongue, “i lost everyone. and so will you.” after he began speaking an ancient tv roared to life, static, then nothing, then a date. december 16th 1991. you all stepped towards it. “an empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. but one which crumbles from within? that’s dead... forever.” the small sokovian disappeared right as the video began.

the video plays, a car is forced off the road by the winter solider. bucky gulped loudly behind you, you could feel his heartrate jump. the winter solider rises and gets off his motorcycle. a man lies on the ground beside the car. a soft gasp leaves your lips. its grandpa howard.

he whimpered, blood seeping from a cut on his head, “help my wife. please. help.” you closed your eyes tightly, you could hear the grandfather you’d never met crying out for help, anything.

“sergeant barnes?”

“howard!”

you heard grunting, the crunching of bones, squelching blood, crying out. tony slumped to the ground, head in his hands. your eyes slowly opened, “did you know?”

steve looked deep into your eyes, “i didn’t know it was him.”

“don’t bullshit me, rogers. did you know?” steve swallowed harshly, he was in deep shit.

he looked up to meet your eyes, a fire blazed, brightly. your powers trying to come to the surface, he come see you fighting it, “yes.”

a hard punch went straight to steve’s nose, a shove to his chest, a kick to his shin. and he took it all, he knew he deserved it. bucky watched in horror, this was his fault. you turned straight to him, ignoring your boyfriend apologizing profusly, “you! you- you killed them! my family, bucky! how could you?” bucky looked at you pleadingly, his eyes said it all. “you. bucky barnes. you disgust me.”

you lunged at him only to be grabbed by the waist, metal fingers doug into your waist, “dad! put me down now! stop! let go!” shouting everything you could, you tried your absolute hardest to get him to drop you. all to no avail. he opened a door and threw you inside, slamming it behind him. quickly, he held out the palm of his hand and welded the door frame to the door. you’re not getting out anytime soon. “this is my fight, y/n. don’t you dare try to get out.”

your fists pounded on the door as you screamed, pleading your father to please just let you out. let you fight, let you avenge.

you heard slight sentences through the door, after your screaming subsided. it was clear he wasn’t going to let you out, ever. “move!”

“it wasn’t him!”

it had been fifteen minutes. fifteen minutes of listening to the people who were once closet to your heart fight to the death. you’d been trying to burn a hole through the door, but like little sokovian man said, it was strong.

the door started thinning, little by little. but this wasn’t going fast enough. you’d have to take another approach, would it be safe? you’d only tried this a few time during training and every time it almost knocked you out. serious naps always followed suit.

taking a deep breath, you circled your hands much like when trying to make a fireball, but the motion was a bit different. it became slightly windy in the room, a light breeze blowing through your hair, not enough. thirty more seconds and you’d be busting this door down, concentrate. you could hear your dad and cap shouting, but bucky was silent. could he be... dead?

after thirty seconds the small storage closet was becoming so windy all kinds of things were blowing off shelves. with one final breath and an outwards push of your arms, a tunnel of wind blew straight at the wall. blowing the door clean off.

a cracked doorknob rolled past your feet, picking it up, you threw it straight at the back of cap’s head, hard. he let go of your dad, stepping back and cradling his neck, “baby?” he looked in your directon, wind whipped your hair around, fire spirting up from your fingertips, irisis bright red and glowing. steve had never seen you so angry, not at him at least.”dont. you. dare!” a ball, spitting fire was thrown straight at him. he held his sheild up and the ball exploded, much like a firework.

you stared at him. red flashed inside your head, he had hurt your dad. he had lied to you. you screamed out and threw fireball after fireball at him. eyes burning bright red, tears of black pouring down your face. you looked like something straight out of a movie, and for the first time, steve felt scared.

he dodged or blocked every fireball that fell from your fingertips, “y/n, please. don’t make me.” his eyes pleaded with you, as he looked from you to bucky’s gun, disgarded on the floor.

tony knew what he meant. oh no, he is not touching his iron baby. he lunged for steve, the two rolled on the floor throwing punches and kicks. blood spewing from their noses and mouths. bloody fists and crackes knucles coming in contact time and time again.

you fell to the floor, would steve really shoot you? would he really kill you? would he really-

“he’s my friend”

“so was i.”

final punches and throws were thrown. steve had the upperhand, his shield was directly above your dad’s arc reactor. “no!”

with that, steve plunged his sheild into tony’s arc reactor. crushing it. blue light flickered and dwindled down until there was a dull glow. he left it there, standing tall and proud. straight out of your father’s chest.

“you’re a monster!” you sobbed vicisouly and crawled over to your father.

“y/n, dont.” steve whimpered as he helped bucky up.

“you-you could’ve killed him.” you grasped your fathers metal hand, holding it close to your chest.

steve shuddered. you sounded so broken. worse than the time he watched you cry as your father fell straight out of the wormhole in new york. that was the first time he met you. he wanted wanted nothing more than to hug you and apologize, but he couldn’t. much like now.

“you, steve rogers, are a bad guy. you’re just as bad as any other villian we’ve ever fought, you broke me. you broke us.”

he dipped his head low and wrapped his arm tighter around bucky, stablizing him. he grasped his shield and turned away. you scowled, after kissing your father on the head.

“that shield doesn’t belong to you. you don’t deserve it. my grandfather made that sheild.”

and with that, he dropped his shield and limped away from you, and all your history together.

steve rogers was dead to you.

——

a/n hi!! i hope u guys like this. it’s my first fic so be nice please! xx

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes #steve rogers #tony stark #y/n stark #avengers #marvel #marvels the avengers #avengers x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #bucky barnes x platonic!reader

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quillsareswords · 6 years ago

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October Air

Damian Wayne (fluff/angst?)

(random Witch reader)

Requested (anonymous)

If you hadn't made these plans two weeks ago, you wouldn't have bothered to show up. If Jon hadn't begged you to stay, you would have already vanished.

Eyes narrowed, you watch the little children scamper around the blocked off street in costumes, some well-thought out, some the equivalent of a bedsheet with eye holes cut out.

You huffed and crossed your arms, yet another futile attempt to fight off the cold air that turned your breath to steam.

This drew the attention of one of the boys walking in front of you. Damian turned to look over his shoulder. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. The last time you were this upset with anyone, it took a call to Zatana for them to finally stop coughing up small frogs.

"Hey! Look! There's a haunted house!" Jon cried excitedly, pointing toward an open gragae of a warehouse.

You rolled your eyes. "Been there, done that. Let me know when you find something interesting to do," you grumbled, stalking off toward one of the food stands. Digging your wallet out of your back pocket, you pulled out a five and scanned the menu as you neared.

Jon had come to you two weeks ago, begging you to join him and Damian on a trip to the Gotham City Amusment Park. Though, he didn't really have to beg. You had thought it would be fun, right up until the screaming match between you and your boyfriend.

You had secretly followed him out on patrol, dispute not being a vigilante, because you knew with Halloween drawing near, you wouldn't be the only supernatural being in Gotham with your eye on the current Robin.

Of course, when he found out, he threw a fit.

You were still angry with him, even though he had realized his mistake. He had yet to apologize for it, which was the main reason you were a few guilty side-glances away from hexing him in to the next century.

"Are you ever going to forgive me?"

You whipped around at the question, green bill clenched in your fist. "Sure, as soon as you apologize for not only throwing an unnecessary tantrum, but also for saying the horrid things you did about my cat!"

Ah, your cat. And crow. And rat. A true Witch's familiar, able to shift from form to from to fit their master's needs. Your beautiful clico American short hair was thoroughly offended when Robin had the audacity to call him a "flea bitten servent of black magic". You had been more so offended at the implication that you practiced black magic.

"Fine," he relented, leaving the edge on his voice to slice through your ears, "I apologize for calling your cat anything but beautiful, and for throwing a necessary tantrum."

Your glare hardened, and somewhere in the distance, a few cans of paint spilled at the arts and crafts center. You spun back around, marching straight up to the food truck.

Damian threw his hands up in exasperation, groaning loudly.

An hour later, you were walking beside Jon, sipping slowly from the cup of hot chocolate you had been waiting on for several minutes to cool down. Damian trudged along behind you, arms crossed, eyes boring through the back of your head.

"Hey! Look!" You ignored the déjà vu. "It's a spooky ferris wheel!"

You turned to see what Jon was talking about, and, sure enough, the usual ferris wheel was decorated with as many orange and purple lights as three houses. Plastic bats and other creatures hung from the metal frame, blowing in the wind as the giant wheel made it's rounds.

"Do you guys wanna ride?" Jon turned to you more than Damain, hopeful glimmer shinning in his eyes. You smiled and nodded.

With a few laughs and a couple minutes, you were climbing into the two-person cabs.

You were left begging as many gods of Fortune and luck as you could think of not to put Damian in the same cart as you, watching Jon climb into a cart with a pretty girl about his age.

Of course, likely for the bad Karma you had worked up a week ago, here you were, pressed up against the cold metal side of the cart, arms crossed, looking anywhere but the dark haired, dark skinned boy beside you.

You didn't realize you were shivering until a pair of warm fingers graced the side of your hand, leaving a wanting for more.

"Are you afraid of heights?" he asked. He had suddenly realized that he'd never been with you when you were this high up.

"No," you gritted out, and you weren't lying. "I'm not shivering because I'm scared, I'm shivering because that girl is practically naked, and it's giving me second-hand frostbite."

He looked ahead, following your unwavering line of sight. In the cart ahead if Jon, two girls were rocking their cart back and forth, laughing loudly, clad in skimpy "costumes".

He rolled his eyes. You were always cold. He leaned forward and shrugged off his own jacket.

You narrowed your eyes again, eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't want your jacket."

You felt the warmth of it as soon as he draped it over you. You secretly reveled in the left over body heat. "Too bad," he muttered, "You're getting it."

You couldn't find it in yourself to give up the warmth it brought, so, as angrily as you could manage and with as much pride as a cat that missed a jump, you tugged it closer around you, allowing the much bigger article of clothing envelop you. Your eyebrows were still furrowed together.

Damian resisted the increasing urge to grin at the sight of you, huddled up under his jacket like an ungrateful kitten. "Why won't you forgive me?"

Without missing a beat, you replied, "Because I can handle myself, I was only worrying about you, and still, you threw a tantrum and yelled at me." You were still trying to keep some semblance of pride as you flipped up the hood.

He rolled his eyes. "I realize that now beloved."

He knew that name would get you.

"And I do, sincerely apologize," he added. "To both of you."

Your eyes slid over to look at him without turning your head. "Will you tell him that when we get back?"

Damian sighed dramatically, wrapping an arm around you. "If it will make you happy, then I'll recite Shakespeare to you pet."

You didn't resist him pulling you across the set. "Don't be ridiculous," you teased, snuggling closer to his side, "he already knows all of Shakespeare's work."

That, he laughed at.

#damian wayne #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader

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megatentious · 5 years ago

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Megami Tensei where u at??

When you are down in the dumps about your favorite video game franchise and the future of a series that is special for you, sometimes you end up seeking it out in places that are … unexpected. I’m going to talk about how, over the last couple years, I ended up seeing three different flavors of Megami Tensei in three different games, and maybe by the end of this we can all end up feeling like it’s okay to move on with our lives. Just keep telling yourself that your favorite games are not your identity and it’s not that serious bruh but also tell yourself that it is therapeutic to collect many paragraphs of thoughts you have had about this to write at length about in your blog.

First up is a game that many many people have noticed is very Megaten and that is the Digimon RPG, Digimon Story: Cyber Sleuth. There was no reason at all for this to be as good of a game as it is. I have no special affinity for the cartoon show. I do not like the Devil Survivor character designer even a little bit. I do not find grinding and monster collecting for the sake of monster collecting entertaining. But from the very first trailer something seemed compelling, and as good word of mouth spread I decided this was going to be a game I needed to play.

Again, everyone has already commented on how Megaten this game feels, and for me the closest specific analogue is actually Raidou Kuzunoha. From the first extended trailer I noticed the jazzy main theme, the detective agency conceit, the visible partner monsters appearing in a Tokyo with bold camera angle choices, and felt a weird familiarity. Digimon also function very plainly as Megami Tensei demons in multiple ways, not only mechanically but also through their story roles. And the somewhat arcane stat manipulation needed for high-end Digivolving scratches the exact same itch as high-end Megaten fusion from previous SMT iterations, which is both a dangerous (100 hours of playtime good lord) and wonderful (100 hours of playtime good lord!) itch to scratch.

You need to put up with some annoying characters and prattling dialogue, but unlike other games there is no pretense here which absolutely helps. Also, re-interpreting traditional Japanese folklore through the lens of the Digimon world is something that never stopped being fascinating for me even amidst a sub-par localization, and as someone with low familiarity with the cartoon, the Digimon designs themselves were alternately hilariously bizarre, bafflingly stupid, and straight up awesome. They even have their own Lucifer!

By the time you get to the second half of the story where the game completely changes and becomes about alliances and faction-building and what happens to a city facing apocalypse, when you take in the incredible atmosphere in Odaiba all buoyed by a soundtrack that has no right to be as good as it is, you start to feel optimistic about how Megaten influence can live on even outside of the series itself.

Next up is an entry from another series that is occasionally compared to SMT, but this one in particular feels like it was only played by two or three people at all when it was miraculously released earlier in 2019 for the Nintendo 3DS. I’m talking about Yokai Watch 3. Arriving close to three years after its initial Japanese release to utterly resounding indifference, this game’s hook is that you get to play in “America,” but as you can tell from the quotes around America this is actually much more complicated than it seems in a way that specifically draws comparison to my beloved Revelations: Persona. You see, the very Japanese Yokai Watch series city location of Sakura New Town, Japon, was localized here for us as Springdale, Springdale back in the first game. This decision has led to many wonderful incongruities moving forward that are honestly identical to those in the Lunarvale of Revelations: Persona. Gotta love these small American towns with Shinto temples in em!

With Yokai Watch 3’s plot focusing on the family moving to actual America though, and the cross-cultural hijinks that are meant to ensue, things quickly get even weirder and more strained. Protagonist Nate Adams complains about the difficulty of understanding southern accents while slurping down sukiyaki. Shopkeepers with tempura-based hairstyles serve traditional Japanese dishes in the quaint American township of St. Peanutsburg. Huge timezone differences between America and “America” are introduced. And all of this is refracted through the even more convoluted localization prism of this game about two versions of America being scripted by the British, leading to children aspiring to be “basketballers” and restaurants having “oriental” atmosphere.

I’m barely scratching the surface of the dissertation-worthy unpacking needed for all of this, and it’s difficult to describe just how deeply weird the vibe can get in this game. In just the first twenty minutes of Yokai Watch 3, you have 1) a purely nutso anime opening featuring scary demonic folklore-based yokai, robots, and cat mascots 2) Mulder and Scully very seriously discussing mysterious “Y Files” 3) a rhythm game where your very American family devours an enormous amount of sukiyaki 4) the same very American (or in the game’s terms, “Springdalian”) family leaving their home to move to the state? country? of “BBQ” and 5) suddenly you are an otaku girl going to a figure shop in “Sparkopolis.” This is just as delirious as it sounds.

Revelations Persona’s uncanny America atmosphere may be one of a kind, but Yokai Watch 3’s frequently insane scenarios can sometimes recall a similar sort of lunacy that leads you to end up fighting a giant mechanical rat while a song with the track name “Child Abuse” plays, or chatting up a populace of mole-covered rainbow afro’d citizens in a locked down mall. At one point after returning from one of Yokai Watch 3’s various alternate dream worlds (very Persona!) my game was even afflicted with a commonly reported glitch that caused the environmental textures to not load, leading to a flat polygon world and some authentic PSX Lunarvale vibes. Throw in all the folktales and mythology involved in the yokai themselves and straight up demon fusion in a cathedral and suddenly you’ll end up experiencing more Megaten than you’d ever expect to see in an RPG targeted to young children.

Last up is an all-time classic that actually predates Shin Megami Tensei entirely, making it temporally impossible for any influence to show up, which muddles the entire concept of this essay but please roll with it you guys this is just how I feel. I’m talking about the seminal Phantasy Star, for the Master System, which I played through M2’s loving, impeccable SEGA AGES port on Switch. This game, which was released in 1987, is simply incredible. Right off the bat you’ve got genius-level programming from Yu Suzuki himself, which allowed for the first person dungeons to scroll so smoothly that posting a snippet of directly captured footage from the game can still lead to semi-viral tweets. It’s these extremely cool boldly colored first person dungeons, along with the expansive feeling of the several worlds you visit that led me to feel some of the spirit of Megami Tensei 2 specifically in this game.

“oops i accidentally phantasy starred for four hours” is how I put it playing through this game for the first time, and it’s a given that a non-fantasy setting RPG where you can talk to the monsters would be appealing to me. Phantasy Star as a series was in fact deliberately conceptualized as a rebellion against the many fantasy RPGs of the time, and the developers have talked about this in a way that is practically identical to early staff interviews about the goals for Megami Tensei. Director and gaming luminary Rieko Kodama has remarked that the choice of a female protagonist was also considered rebellious, even though it felt like a natural choice for her on a personal level.

Megami Tensei 2 is the game that builds the structure for Shin Megami Tensei as we know it today, moving away from Megami Tensei 1’s single full-game dungeon format to a world map with numerous discrete dungeons and eventually, paths to alternate worlds. Phantasy Star shares this exact design format, which still feels so expansive and impressive to this day. It’s a treat to get to experience a game like this over 30 years after its release on current hardware and still feel such an impact, and all of you need to go out and buy buy buy this game, seriously give M2 your money.

I’ve taken it as a given that everyone shares my perspective on where Shin Megami Tensei is at these days as a series, and it’s obviously never a good look to come across as an over-dramatic scolding bitter old who has retreated into pure irrelevance. But by documenting all of these observations down for myself, I can at least feel better about finding bits and pieces of various Megaten strains in the games of today. The lesson learned is that even if you feel your favorite franchise has lost its way, you may be able to find parts of it in the places you least expect.

#megami tensei #shin megami tensei #optimism???

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nancywheelxr · 6 years ago

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Batfam Week: Day 2 - Trapped

through different colored glasses

The Justice League, Hal Jordan and Oliver Queen in particular, love to say that Bruce is too serious.

They say he needs to lighten up. They say he is too anal about things. They say he is too strict. They say a whole lot of things.

But Hal Jordan and Oliver Queen do not have to deal with things like this.

“Bruce, I’m telling you,” Tim says, frantically, “this is in no way my fault. If I had to blame anyone, it would be Dick anyway!”

“Me?” Dick cries, scandalized that his brother would throw him under the bus like this, and almost lets the ice pack slip from his black eye, “why is it my fault?”

“I don’t know,” Jason drawls, sounding utterly bored by the whole situation, “I think I agree with Replacement on this.”

or, alternatively, Bruce confiscates Jason's rocket launcher and sets off a chain reaction, Dick somehow gets dragged into Jason's mess, Tim wishes his brothers weren't maniacs, and maybe it's really a matter of points of view

The Justice League, Hal Jordan and Oliver Queen in particular, love to say that Bruce is too serious.

They say he needs to lighten up. They say he is too anal about things. They say he is too strict. They say a whole lot of things.

But Hal Jordan and Oliver Queen do not have to deal with things like this.

“Bruce, I’m telling you,” Tim says, frantically, “this is in no way my fault. If I had to blame anyone, it would be Dick anyway!”

“Me?” Dick cries, scandalized that his brother would throw him under the bus like this, and almost lets the ice pack slip from his face, “why is it my fault?”

“I don’t know,” Jason drawls, sounding utterly bored by the whole situation, “I think I agree with Replacement on this.”

Bruce should intervene before it escalates further, he really should. Even if it’s nearing four in the morning and he has a board meeting at 8 am. Alfred wouldn’t be happy if Bruce just went back to bed and left them to resolve this on their own. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, “keep your voices down, Alfred is sleeping. Good. Now, start from the beginning.”

Dick and Tim immediately begin talking over each other. He doesn’t know what else he expected, really. “One at a time.”

“Fine,” Jason says, leaning against his rocket launcher, “I’ll start.”

All Jason wants is to get Roxy back.

Honest.

She is an integral part of his arsenal and she has so many memories attached to her. The emotional value is priceless. Like, remember that time he tried to blow up an entire building with Black Mask inside? Good times, he knows.

So yeah, Jason wants Roxy, his beloved rocket launcher, back.

And in all fairness, Bruce had no business confiscating it this time. He hadn’t been planning on firing her against Penguin’s stupid warehouse. It was just for intimidating purposes, mostly.

But getting her back, it’s not gonna be easy, Jason knows. Since the last time, he bets Bruce won’t simply lock her in the armory.

Since asking is not an option, and apologizing is entirely too unfair on his part, Jason does what he has to do. He waits until everyone is out on patrol and Alfred is down in the Cave, and sneaks into the Manor.

It’s quite easy, in fact. Less than fifteen minutes and he’s silently roaming the empty hallways.

You’d expect more, it being Batman’s house and all.

The tracker says it’s not downstairs. Jason walks around aimlessly, watching the tiny red dot blinking on his phone as it grows and shrinks with each turn.

Not in any of the bedrooms, not in the living room, not in the pantry. The second floor, past the music room, past another row of unused bedrooms, past Bruce’s study, past–

Finally. In one of the old ass broom closets.

Jason opens it slowly, cringing at how loud it creaks in the otherwise silent house.

Peering inside, he sighs in relief. There she is. Cue in shitty cliche music. Roxy, in all her rocket glory, stands in the corner of the room, the only shiny object among all the dust-coated, forgotten things.

Ah, how long have they stood there? Forsaken by mankind, refused by society. Sitting in a shrine of dust and cobwebs, never to see sunlight again–

“Oh for the love of god, Jason,” Tim kicks him in the shin, wincing when the movement jostles his sprained wrist, “quit bullshitting, your prose sucks.”

Bruce feels the beginning of a headache growing at the back of his head. Stress then. “Jason, please,” he sighs, “just cut to the chase.”

“Fine, fine. Jeez, talk about a tough crowd.”

Anyway. Where was he?

Oh, right.

So, Jason steps inside. And promptly dies a little more inside. Cobwebs stick to his everything. They get in his hair, on his clothes, even on his damn shoes. Of all the days to leave his helmet behind.

But he powers through. All for Roxy, do it for Roxy, he tells himself.

Finally, after crossing miles of disgusting cobwebs, Jason is reunited with his baby. She looks as gorgeous as the day he bought her, shiny and cool and deadly.

With his mission accomplished, he steels himself for the trek back.

In a totally unrelated note chain of events, a vase is knocked out by something– that may or may not have been Roxy as Jason turned around, but no one can prove that, so– and ends up falling to its side, knocking out a row of boxes that had been beside it on the highest shelf in the process, and then, as it topples down, one of the boxes falls open, letting a bowling ball roll away.

And, in a true feat of the Universe deciding to fuck over Jason, the ball hits the door. Or, more specifically, it hits the doorknob. Breaking it right off.

“Fuck no,” says Jason, with feeling. He hugs Roxy closer, cursing every god in existence and a few fake ones too, just because. If this was anyone else’s house, he wouldn’t think twice before kicking the door down.

But, as previously stated, this story is set on Batman’s house. Jason doesn’t trust an of the doors not to have some freaky sensor thing that’ll alert the big, bad Bat of any disturbance. He’s half convinced it already might have. For all he knows, Bruce could be a second away to breaking it down himself and yelling at Jason.

Even ignoring that particularly upsetting prospect, there’s a lot of ways he could open that door. He could pick the lock, he could unscrew the hinges, he could blow it off with Roxy. The only problem is that all of them are way too noisy for this way too silent place. At this hour Alfred is probably back upstairs, making post-patrol snacks. He would most definitely hear any attempt of messing with the door, Alfred has superhearing when it comes to the Manor, everybody knows that.

And Alfred Pennyworth’s wrath is way worse than Batman’s.

Jason checks the time. While breaking in had taken no time at all, wandering around certainly did. If tonight was slow, and it sounds like it was, they will all be back soon. He turns on his comm, just to check. Tuning in the frequency, he listens as Dick babbles about his stupid day job. Jason turns it off, cursing. If the idiot is babbling that much already, they must on their way back.

Now there really is no way out. Nothing that Jason knows would be fast enough to get him out before they all arrived. You can’t outrace the Batmobile. He is trapped.

Sliding down the dusty, moldy wall, Jason wallows in well-earned, very justified, self-pity, and waits.

Time seems to slow down to spite him further, a way for the Universe to fuck you in big, bold, neon letters. Well, fuck you too, buddy. He waits and waits and waits and waits, but nobody comes his way, because Bruce lives in this unnecessarily, ridiculously giant ass Manor with an unreasonable number of empty ass rooms.

Fed up with the whole situation, Jason ponders his options. On one hand, he could stay there forever, trapped in this tiny, disgusting broom closet, which by the way, has no brooms whatsoever, and waste away into eternity. Maybe he could live off the spiders for a bit, rats if he’s lucky. His arm too, he won’t need two to live in a closet. It might buy him a few months. Or, on the other hand, he could swallow his pride and call someone to come let him out of the damn closet.

He eyes the cobwebs on the upper right corner. Yeah, no, too disgusting. He can’t eat spiders, too creepy, too many legs, too many eyes. Nope, not gonna do it.

Calling someone it is.

Bruce is a no-go, obviously. The Brat, too. He would lord it over his head forever. Alfred? Nah, he would give Jason his disappointed look and shake his head in that sad way, and Jason would be left feeling like the worst person ever. Cass? Fuck, no, she’s still in Hong Kong. Tim, then? Maybe. The kid would definitely be the less annoying option. But he would also be a little shit about it, Jason would never hear the end of it. So that leaves… Dick? Really? Is he that desperate yet?

Let’s be real, he is.

But then again, Dick can be persuaded not to tell on him. If Jason uses the brother card right, maybe he can convince the idiot to keep quiet.

Yeah, he can do this. He survived being exploded, he can survive this.

So he sends him a text, help pls.

To which, Dick answers with a call. Jason declines, they’re operating in stealth mode here. Cant talk, u at the manor?

Yeah where are u? Whats going on? Are u hurt? His phone is thankfully on silent, buzzing with the new messages.

fine, he sends. Then, come to the broom closet next door to the next study after Bruce’s.

what?

quick no time for questions

Sighing deeply, Jason buries his hand on his hands. This is a nightmare. This is all his bad karma kicking his ass. This is hell, this is purgatory– in fact, this is the lovechild of hell and purgatory.

Then, just as he was about to despair, there’s a soft knock on the door. “Jason?”

“Shhh,” he winces at the loud voice, “in here.”

Dick opens the door unceremoniously, not bothered by the creaking hinges. He stands in the doorway, disheveled in his stupid pajama and looking confused like a stupid, lost duckling, “Jason, what do you think you’re doing? At this hour?” He asks, hands on his hips, sounding just as stupidly confused.

“This is an ongoing rescue mission,” Jason explains slowly, because it’s important not to rush Dick, best to let him process things on his own time, “and I needed you to bust me out.”

“What.”

“I’m bringing Roxy home, but the doorknob fell off on my side.”

“Oh,” Dick steps inside, examining the other side of the door to confirm that, in fact, the doorknob had indeed fallen off and Jason hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing, “it really fell off,” he says dumbly.

“Yeah, well, thanks for opening up the door,” Jason gets up, dusting himself off and then picking up Roxy, “and I’d appreciate if you would keep this, you know, between brothers? Great, now it’s time to scram.”

“Uh, Jason,” the idiot stammers out, looking panicked at Jason and pointing, “don’t freak out, but there’s a huge spider on your shoulder.” He takes a step back, totally freaking out, and bumps on the door. Slamming it shut. “Uh, this is bad.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jason glares at him, easily flicking the small spider from off his shoulder, “congratulations, now we’re both stuck.”

Then, Dick wails in despair.

“Jason, that is not what happened!” Dick launches himself across the bed, trying to reach his brother but only managing in scaring Tim into climbing up the headboard, “stop telling everyone I’m dumb!”

“To be fair,” Jason says, watching amused, “you make it real easy.”

“Stop jostling the bed!” Tim complains from where he’s perched, cradling his injured wrist. He is going to fall, and it’s going to hurt, mattress or not, but Bruce doesn’t have the energy to get him down himself.

“Tim,” he warns, “if you fall and aggravate your injuries, you are going to tell Alfred yourself tomorrow.”

The teenager grumbles, sending Bruce a betrayed look, but slowly climbs down, scooting as far back as possible.

“Fine,” says Dick, frowning. He and Jason hadn’t stopped bickering yet, but Bruce hadn't expected them to. “here’s what really happened.”

Staring at the door, Dick can’t fathom what the hell Jason could be doing inside an unused broom closet. True, his brother can be a unpredictable at times, but this a new level of random.

He knocks at the door, just to be sure. Prank wars aren’t that rare around the Manor.

“In here,” Jason calls quietly. That’s never a good sign.

The door opens with noisy hinges that would probably make Alfred cringe. Dick takes in the scene. Jason is sprawled in one corner, hugging a rocket launcher. Near his feet, a bowling ball sways. Weird, he didn’t know Bruce used to go bowling.

Right. To more important things, “Jason, what the hell?”

“I’m rescuing Roxy,” Jason says unhappily, as if offended that how come Dick didn’t immediately jump to that totally reasonable conclusion, “and I needed you to bust me out.”

There are so many things to address, Dick isn’t sure where to begin. What even. Okay, first things first, “you named your rocket launcher Roxy?”

“That’s what you got from what I said?”

“Would you rather I focus on the fact you were trapped in a broom closet?” Dick rolls his eyes. Tonight patrol had been almost dull, suspiciously so. He should’ve known better. Clearly, Gotham seen Jason hiding in there and had taken pity on Dick, knowing the kind of wravoc Jason is undoubtedly going to bring down. On that note, “how did you manage that, by the way?”

Jason makes a non-committal noise, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the door as he gets to his feet with dramatic groans. Dick steps inside to take a better look at the thing, almost tripping on the bowling ball and sending it rolling to the other side of the room. The doorknob is missing and the metal is dented around where it should be. Really? How the hell did he break the whole thing clean off? “It fell off? How?”

“Sometimes,” Jason says, “it be like that. Now, if you could keep this just between us, I’d really appreciate it.”

Dick snorts, already expecting that, and shakes his head, turning around in time to see his brother dusting himself off and grimacing at the cobwebs sticking to his fingers. Gross. But then, something catches his eyes. Crawling its way up Jason’s shoulders, a black spider is quickly reaching his neck. Dick shudders, resisting the strong urge to check himself for any insect, “hm, Jason?” His brother looks up. “Don’t freak out, but there’s a spider on your shoulder.”

And, of course, Jason loses it.

“Shit, I said don’t freak out,” he rushes to stop him from tripping over anything or knocking any of the shelves down. Jason keeps trying to bat the thing off, but the cobwebs stick to his hand, leaving the spider dangling in the air, almost landing on his leg. “Hold still, stop squirming, you’re gonna– jesus christ.” In his frantic flailing, Jason manages to hit him with a painful elbow to the eye, causing Dick to stumble back and almost lose his balance.

Unfortunately, backing away means bumping right into the door. It closes with a loud thud.

“Okay,” Dick sighs, “this is bad.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jason says, having stopped his ridiculous flailing around, “congratulations, now we’re both stuck.”

They watch in silence as the tiny black spider crawls across the room and up the wall. She’s surprisingly fast, and it makes him think of Wally, even if his friend would probably disagree with the comparison. Well, Wally isn’t here to see the little eight-legged speedster himself, therefore, he has no base for opinions, agreeable or not.

“I’m not eating spiders,” says Jason, out of nowhere and with no context whatsoever, “or my arm.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” Dick shrugs, because what else is he supposed to say to that, “cannibalism is generally frowned upon in most societies. And spiders are generally gross, even when they’re like Wally.”

“I really don’t wanna know,” he frowns, sitting back down where Dick first found him and beginning to check his rocket launcher for any damage, “but anyways, you wouldn’t know if Bruce boob-trapped the door, would you?”

Dick wants to say no, he does, but after spending his teenage years in the Manor, he can’t honestly say that’s not something he wondered in more than one occasion. Bruce’s absolute perfect timing used to border omniscience. It was almost supernatural. Every attempt at sneaking out after curfew was foiled before he could even make it to the gates. “I mean, I don’t think it’s going to blow up on our faces if we try to pick the lock.”

“But it might trigger a silent alarm,” Jason concludes, sounding resigned.

“How pissed do you think he’s gonna be?”

“With you? Very. With me, though? Astronomically.” He sighs, rubbing his eyes, “I don’t really feel like being lectured at three in the morning, how ‘bout you?”

“Think I’ll pass, too.” Dick should’ve been sleeping now. On his bed. Getting some rest before his shift tomorrow. He should’ve been sleeping, not sitting on a hard, dusty floor.

“Guess there’s no other way then, uh?” Jason says, like Dick is somehow supposed to know what the shit is going on in his head. Dick stares blankly at him until he huffs, annoyed, “we gotta call the Replacement, he’s the only one left.”

“No, wait, don’t wake him up.”If Dick remembers it right, Tim should be fast asleep by now, safely tucked in his room. No need to drag him into this disaster in the making. “God knows it’s an uphill battle to get him to actually sleep.”

Jason snorts. “Too late. He’s on his way.”

“What?” Son of a– ,“he was already awake, wasn’t he? Damn it. I really thought Alfred put something on his coffee.”

“Sounds healthy.”

A knock on the door echoes loudly on the small room, startling Dick. He glares at Jason snickering at his side, and calls, “we’re in here!”

The door swings open silently for once, revealing Tim still on the frankly way too coffee-stained sweatpants he found earlier in the cave and a baggy NASA shirt. Specifically, a NASA shirt that belongs to Dick. A NASA shirt he distinctly remembers going missing years ago. And when he says years, he means before Tim had even stepped inside the Manor. Which means–

“Oh my god, you little shit,” Jason is saying accusingly to Tim, “that shirt is mine!”

Dick hadn’t been doing anything at the moment, but he screeches to a halt all the same. In spirit, if you will.

“No way,” Tim crosses his arms, “I’ve had this shirt since forever.”

“Fuck off, Replacement,” Jason points a threatening finger, “I remember tearing that hole trying to climb down the window.”

“How dare you,” Dick finally gets his voice back, whirls on Jason, “how dare you, you hypocrite lying liar who lies.”

Jason gapes. “What the fuck.”

“That shirt was mine and you know it,” he can’t believe this. No, no, actually, he can. Easily. “I distinctly remember asking you if you’ve seen it, and then you looked me in the eyes and said I don’t know, I ain’t your housekeeper. And then you flipped me off.”

To be fair, Dick mostly remembered that day because it had been one of the few times he had been visiting the Manor before Jason, you know. Passed away. So yeah, he remembered it.

Now, though, seeing his shirt going from thief to thief, Dick isn’t feeling too charitable, death or no death.

He realizes Jason had gone quiet, looking as if trying to recall the incident. “I don’t really remember,” his brother finally says, “but it does sound like something I would do.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

“I mean,” Jason raises one of his hands up in a placating gesture, the other still cradling his stupid rocket launcher, “it’s not like you’re my favorite person either, Dickhead. ‘Sides, I wasn’t the only asshole back then.”

Shame and guilt rise in tandem, swallowing his gut in acid. Jason’s right. Dick has no right to sit here and call him out on being a jerk, not when he’d been just as guilty. He had been so caught up–

“Can we please skip the guilt trips?” Tim asks tiredly, “it’s almost four in the morning and your argument is moot anyway. The shirt is mine.”

It’s a testament for how tired he is that Dick doesn’t immediately restrains Jason when he goes silent. And, to be perfectly honest, that shirt is not freaking his.

“Jason, put the rocket launcher down,” Tim continues, unfazed, or maybe reaching the apathetic stages of lack of sleep, “you know how Alfred feels about weapons upstairs.”

“Why does everyone think I don’t sleep!” Tim glares at the ceiling, shifting so he can stretch on the bed more comfortably and kick Dick on the side, “I do sleep! All the time!”

“I don’t know,” Jason shrugs, wincing. He hides it well, but now that Bruce is paying more attention, Jason is leaning rather stiffly against his rocket launcher, standing as still as possible without being too obvious about it. Bruce sighs, he should’ve suspected; Jason has always been one to hide injuries. “Never seen it. Methinks the lady doth bullshits too much.”

“Jason,” Bruce begins cautiously, he doesn’t want to spook him. “Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”

It’s the wrong choice of words, it comes out more accusing than he intended, and Bruce can see Jason shutting down, face going blank. “I’m not hurt. And it wouldn’t be any of your business if I were anyway.”

Dick is giving him a sad, disappointed look. Completely unnecessary, Bruce knows he screwed this up. It seems to be a pattern when it comes to Jason. “If you sprained your ankle, there’s a perfectly good bed for you to sit.”

“Oh yeah? Good thing I ain’t hurt then.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Bruce sees Dick burying his head in his hands, ice pack forgotten beside him on the bed, already melting and soaking the covers.

“Jason,” Bruce tries again, taking a moment to find a better way to phrase it.

Before he can say anything else, Tim kicks the rocket launcher, forcing Jason to put his weight on both legs to regain his balance. He curses loudly, clutching the bedside table to stay upright, and glares at his brother. Dick still refuses to look up.

“Get on the damn bed, idiot,” Tim scoots over, making space, and pushes Dick further down to the foot of the bed, “you know Alfred will have our heads if he finds out you were standing on that ankle.”

Jason grumbles and huffs, but climbs on the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re such an asshole, Replacement. This entire fucking family, I swear to god. All assholes. Except Cass. And Duke. Probably because it hasn’t been long enough for them yet. Fucking assholes.”

“Language,” Tim elbows him, “now all of you, shush. It’s my turn.”

Tim watches them argue with little interest. This shirt had been down in the Cave when he found it and thus, by the unspoken laws of the Manor, had been fair play.

It’s his now and Jason and Dick can both cry him a river.

Honestly, it’s just a shirt. A remarkably comfortable one, sure, but just a shirt. Besides, NASA shirts are all the rage now. Walmart probably sells them at a reasonable price.

Tuning back in the conversation, Tim catches the tail end of Jason’s retort and the beginning of Dick’s knee-jerk reaction to all things before. Crushing guilty and vitriolic regret. And it’s always worse in times like these, when Jason isn’t trying to kill anyone, when it almost feels like family.

Either way, Tim should stop them before it inevitably spirals into a real fight. Which would be so not good in such a tiny room and with Jason holding a rocket launcher. “Can we please skip the guilt trips?” He pauses, resigned. “It’s nearly four in the morning. And it doesn’t even matter anyway. This shirt,” he points down at his own chest, “is mine.”

Jason falls silent, and that’s not a good thing, but Jason is also thankfully very, very predictable, so Tim simply raises one eyebrow, “Jason, put that damn thing away,” he yawns, unimpressed by the rocket launcher aimed at his face, “you know how Alfred feels about weapons upstairs.”

He grumbles, muttering under his breath, but lowers the ridiculous thing back on his lap. Dick looks vaguely ill, scooting away from the rocket launcher. Tim supposes that’s fair, although he doubts it’s loaded. For a brief moment he entertains the idea of calling Jason’s bluff, but dismisses it in the end. Dick would probably have a stroke.

On that note, “how did you get a black eye?”

“Oh shit,” he raises a hand to gingerly touch the rapidly bruising skin, wincing, “is it that bad?”

“Yup.” Tim pauses, decides he doesn’t want to know, “now, are you two getting out today or…”

Dick and Jason scramble up, dusting themselves off. Cobwebs stick to their clothes, and something runs from where they had been sitting– Tim wrinkles his nose, figures it’s better not to mention it.

“How the two of you managed to break the doorknob is beyond me,” he comments as they pass him, “but somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“Whatever you say, Replacement,” Jason waves him off, stretching, “but damn, it’s good to be free.”

“You know what’s gonna be even better?” Dick asks, his question trailing off in a yawn, “sleeping in a real bed.”

“Shit, did you hear that?” Jason stops mid stretch, frowning, “shit, shit, someone’s coming.”

They all look at each other panicked. Tim doesn’t even know why he’s panicking, he’s done nothing wrong here besides letting himself be talked into helping these two morons out. Which he now sees was a terrible mistake, worse even, a rookie mistake. But maybe it’s being awake at 4am wandering an empty hallway that gives off this feeling, like he’s doing something he’s not supposed to do. It reminds him a little of the times he snuck out of his parent’s house after lights out to shadow Batman and Robin around.

Or maybe it’s the fact Jason is still carrying around the damn rocket launcher like a newborn baby. That definitely would count as a bad thing on Bruce’s point of view. And no matter what they might say, the man would certainly write Tim and Dick off as accessories to the crime. Well, they did learn of the crime after it was committed and they are kind of aiding the criminal in scaping.

Sighing, Tim lets himself be dragged back to the broom closet by a frantic Dick. He adds helping the criminal conceal the crime to the list. The door closes with a soft click just as the footsteps get closer. Whoever it is, probably Bruce by the heavy steps, turns the corner, and then walks past them. Somewhere still uncomfortably near, a door opens, then closes.

“He’s in the study,” Dick sobs, “and we’re stuck here again.”

“We’re never getting out of here,” Jason says, sitting down again, “one day Alfred will finally come clean here and find our decomposed bodies.”

“Gross,” Tim wrinkles his nose at the mental image, “come on. Let’s just pick the lock.”

“No!” They whisper-shout at the same time.

“What the fuck.”

“It’s booby-trapped,” says Jason.

“There’s silent alarms,” says Dick.

Oh right, all of his brothers are paranoid lunatics at heart, how could Tim have ever forgotten that. “This place looks like nobody used it since before either of us were born. Why, oh why, would B put it under surveillance?”

Silence. Jason hugs his rocket launcher closer, sharing a look with Dick. Great, and they’re a united front now. “Listen, fine. You don’t wanna pick the lock. Fine.” It’s always best not to contradict a crazy person, let alone two. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Living off spiders.”

“Call Damian.”

“One, gross. Two, I’d literally rather die.” He begins, “three, you all are useless to me.”

They need a plan, and they need it fast. Before one of those two finish spiraling into cabin fever. Looking around, Tim tries to think of it as any other mission. There’s a small window in the on the right wall, probably connecting to the adjacent room, which Tim thinks might be a bedroom. It was probably a leftover of some old renovation, it might’ve led outside once upon a time, but now it’s likely their only way out. It’s very small, Tim might go through it with little problem, Dick too, but Jason is too broad shouldered, he might get stuck. If only they could remove all the bars, it could give them just enough space.

Okay. They have an exit. All they need is way to get up there and the tools to deal with the bars. He turns to his brothers, “I think I can get us out. There’s a window behind that shelf.” He points at the glass visible between two boxes, “but I need some sort of ladder and a tool box.”

Apparently the prospect of a real plan is enough to shake them out of their stupor. Jason jumps to his feet, begins rummaging through the scattered boxes. Dick busies himself with pushing the shelf out of the way, clearing the path to the window. Satisfied, Tim begins digging inside the nearest box in search of anything useful.

By the time Dick manages to push the shelf out of the way, Jason has found a hammer and a phillips screwdriver. He did find a crowbar too, but that was quickly discarded and buried under a pile of old books. Deciding the boxes are sturdy enough, hopefully, to hold their weight, Tim piles them up in the best makeshift stairs he can make.

Is it wobbly? Yes. Are they going to fall and break their necks? Probably. But better be dead than ask Damian for help. The little demon would never let him live it down for the rest of their lives and probably in the afterlife too.

Once again tuning out his brothers, Tim begins the quickly climbing up the boxes. It’s more stable than he expected, so he starts unscrewing the metal bars–

“Of course it was stable!” Dick exclaims, throwing his hands up and then falling down on the bed, “we were holding it in place!”

“You weren’t even listening to us, you ungrateful–”

“I got us out, didn’t I?” Tim snaps, “god, everyone’s a critic. Can I go back to the story, please? I’d like to finish telling it before sunrise.”

“God, yes, please.”

Anyway.

The metal bars and the stained glass panels fall apart easily, as expected from such old, unused things. The space left looks wide enough to let them through, maybe. If they’re lucky. “Okay, I’m already up here, so let me go first.”

“Wait–”

Tim doesn’t wait. He hoists himself up, diving face first through the window. It gets him a mouthful of dust and sand, and then he’s free falling–

There’s a second of panic, in between falling and landing, where Tim recognizes waiting might’ve been a wiser course of action and that maybe he should have looked before jumping.

–right into a bed.

He had been right. It did lead to an old bedroom. The bed was covered in sheets, just like the rest of the furnitures, but it works to break the fall, even if a cloud of dust rises in the air when he lands, coating his lungs with filth.

Laughter bubbles up, a little hysterical, a little relieved.

“Are you okay?” Dick’s head appears through the hole, “are you hurt?”

“My wrist hurts a little, I think I sprained it when I tried to break the fall,” Tim shrugs, rolling off the bed, “but I’m fine, really.”

“Hold on, I’m coming through.”

Dick falls with a huff, his breath knocked out of him in the landing. He groans, “shit, that’s gonna bruise.”

“Cool, you’ll get a matching set,” Tim gestures his black eye, “but you might wanna make space, it sounds like Jason is on his way.”

And true enough, as soon as he had forced himself out of the bed and limped away towards Tim, a rocket launcher lands on the bed with a heavy thud, and then Jason appears. Although only half of him makes it through. He dangles, arms swinging uselessly, stuck in the window. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously?”

“Oh my god,” Tim wheezes, “tell me someone has a camera.”

“I feel so much better already,” Dick giggles.

“Oh come on,” Jason snaps, flipping them off with both hands, “a little help here? Assholes.”

To be fair, it only takes a little wiggling and a little pulling to get him out of there and into the dusty bed. By now the air is more dust bunnies and promises of allergies.

“Tell me it’s over now,” Jason says, then changes his mind, “no, no, no. No one say anything, it might jinx it.”

“Please leave,” Tim tells him, “you have an apartment, I know you do. Please.”

“Are you kicking me out, Replacement? Really?”

“You just put me through the most traumatic hour of my life and I don’t even know why. So yes, please.”

“What he means,” Dick intervenes, “is that–”

“All of you have a lot of explaining to do.” In the now open doorway, Bruce stands, looking like your regular angry father if your regular angry father was the Batman.

“Oh crap,” Jason says, and Tim wholeheartedly agrees.

“And the rest is history,” Tim says, yawning, and then turning to Jason, “I can’t believe all of this was because of your stupid rocket launcher.”

“Excuse me,” Jason sounds affronted, “Roxy has emotional value.”

“Your unhealthy attachment to that thing gave me a sprained wrist so excuse me for being a little salty.”

“Can you guys not fight for ten seconds, please,” Dick, in turn, sounds tired.

“I don’t think I need to say in how much trouble all of you are, do I?” Bruce finally says, gathering the attention of the three. He glances at his watch, it’s nearing five in the morning, then back up at the bed. Jason is laying with his leg propped up in a pillow, looking harried and tired and less antagonistic than before, Tim is at his side, curled up around a pillow and his injured wrist carefully cradled on his chest, and the story seems to have drained the last of his energy, as his eyes close for longer and longer periods of time. Dick is sprawled at the foot of the bed, laying sideways and currently wrestling a pillow out Jason’s grip.

Bruce looks at the scene in front of him, three of his children together at peace, or the closest thing to it they’ll ever get, and something inside him softens. Seeing them like this, getting along, no trace of masks or capes, it feels almost like a normal family.

It feels warm and golden.

Unwilling to disturb the fragile peace, he gets up from the armchair, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Dick, the more awake of them, asks, “aren’t you gonna yell at us?”

“As I said, you all know you are in trouble,” Bruce answers calmly, “but there’s going to be time for that tomorrow, at a more reasonable hour.” He suppresses a smile, “I am going to retrieve some blankets. It looks like you’re not going back to your rooms tonight.”

Dick looks around him, finding Tim already asleep and Jason yawning. He smiles, “you might be right. Thanks, B.”

Bruce nods, but as he leaves the room, a thought suddenly occurs to him, “oh, and Dick?”

A sleepy noise comes from the bed.

“You were all wrong.” Another inquisitive muttering, a little more awake now. “That shirt? It used to be mine. It was a special edition, confectioned after the moon-landing. You stole it from me.”

Shaking his head, Bruce prepares to leave, but a voice stops him just before the door closes, “I know, but you know the rules. If it’s down the Cave, it’s fair play.”

Laughter echoes quietly in the hallways at the Manor, bouncing off the walls and filling all the empty spaces.

#batfamily #batfam #bfw2018 #bafam week 2018 #batfam fic #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne

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artificialqueens · 7 years ago

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Black Leather Chapter 2 {biadore} - imafuckinglibra

Meow moew. Since the anon gave the thumbs up and you guys seemed to like it here’s another chapter. You ever wonder what really went on in the show between their little gazes and shit? Well here it is bitches. I have nothing else to say. K bye.

Dela ran into the workroom with a jump, kicking his leg into the air as Roy followed close behind.

“Wha-wha wha wha.” He sang in a semi-cheerful but still his usual grumpy self manner, after linking with Danny 2 days ago he was riding a high like no other.

Because they couldn’t see each other when they weren’t filming he hadn’t seen Danny again since. But the minute they got into the bus together and he saw that smile he was on top of the world.

He decided to dress as casual yet nicely as possible to look good for his new love. And he did look good in his black and white striped tank too and dark blue jeans rolled up at the bottom, if he does say so himself.

He couldn’t help grinning brightly when Danny followed behind him asking “What size?” In a nasally chola voice.

“There’s 6 of us!” Dela shouted followed by Shane entering with a high pitched “Yay!”

When they got to the table, standing around it in their usual spots with Danny and Roy at opposite ends he noticed Danny ogling him. He only noticed because he was watching Danny too.

He looked incredibly adorable, no pun intended, in his black tank, grey knee length jean shorts and black boots with the shin length white socks poking out.

“You look nice.” Roy mouthed in his direction, grinning widely at the way Danny quickly looked down blushing. The younger awkwardly mumbled something to himself about Roy looking nice too that nobody seemed to pick up.

“So what’s next?” Dela asked and Darienne made a joke about them doing magic.

This prompted Shane to start telling a story about being a ‘glamorous assistant’ once while Joslyn wrapped a disgustingly bright colored shawl around his head.

“…I was in such a contorted position that my right testicle popped out entirely.” Shane widened his eyes to emphasize how ridiculous the story was.

“Why do you have a rat testicle?” Dela asked looking very confused and slightly concerned for whichever rodent Shane had left scrotumless.

“My RIGHT testicle.” Shane clarified and the room erupted in laughter.

The loud siren signaling the new shemail with their cryptic clue for the next challenge went off ending their conversation.

“Oh! Thank god.” He groaned tilting his head back. Grateful to get away from the topic of rodent testicles.

Ooooh girl!

Dearly beloved…

From the corners of his eye he could see Danny’s displeased expression as he stood with his arms crossed and his leg nervously shaking.

He himself was standing between Shane and Joslyn with his arm resting on Joslyn’s shoulder. His mouth involuntarily dropping open at the marriage themed shemail.

The universe could sometimes be a cruel, unforgiving bitch and today was one of them. Of course the first shemail they got after linking would be something wedding related.

If this show wasn’t so intricately thought out months in advance he’d had sworn Ru and the production team were pulling some kind of bad prank on them.

Wait…Did RuPaul know? Did any of the producers or even the other queens know?

We’re gathered here in the presence of…yes gawd.

Suddenly it was if he could hear Danny’s thought as vividly as his own. With an open mouth he tilted his head in disbelief and confusion when Danny’s voice popped into his head saying some shady shit about Langanja.

Say I do…

‘I do.’ He heard Danny’s voice in his mind again and the sudden urge to smack his birthmark hit him. It was the only alternative to smacking his soulmate and scolding him for his loud thinking.

But he knew slapping his chest like a disgruntled cave man wouldn’t exactly read very well on camera or even to his peers. So he resisted the temptation and continued listening to the shemail.

“Uh oh.” He pursed his lips when Ru entered the room. He disregarded the cameras for a minute and gave the tall queen a very serious, shady glare.

Examining his every move in deep concentration to try and figure out if he knew about their linking.

Ru greeted the girls and they all neatly lined up like they did for every mini challenge. Why he and Danny had to be so far apart was an unnecessary mystery of the competition he now hated.

Even though they were only separated by three people, well Darienne counted for two, he could feel the pulling in his chest. Not bad enough that he was in pain like most days but still not pleasant.

He tried faking the biggest cheshire cat grin he could to play off the discomfort, but when he felt Danny’s heart flutter at the mention of marriage equality it made his flutter too.

“Everybody say love.”

“Love!” The girls chimed in unison and he could feel Danny’s eyes on him when they did.

Danny’s own uneasiness faded when he said the word, Roy could tell by the way his soulmate’s giddiness was easing his tension too. Despite all the bad of linking, like the first night when the rush of all Danny’s angst from his teen years overwhelmed him, being linked had it’s perks.

Like now for example.

It was nice getting to feel Danny’s gentle heart lighting up. His partner’s happiness made him happy.

“Oh scruff pit crew!” Roy singsonged.

The queen’s doing their usual little woofing at the nakes men entering. Roy decided to throw a little flair in and with his hands in front of his chest like little puppy paws he did his barking in the deepest voice he could muster.

Once the challenge was announced and Ru gave them the go the girls sped off. Danny with his gangly long legs of course was the fastest by a landslide. Roy meanwhile took his time half jogging over to the rack of disgusting nude body suits that hung in a row.

The mini challenge had left them all looking like a hot mess so afterwards they were promptly escorted to the bathroom to clean up.

Who came up with this shit anyway? Twerks of art? Really? It was a lot of fun though Roy had to admit that much and he did win which was a neat little bonus.

The production really went all out in spoiling their contestants didn’t they? A small bathroom with maybe, if you’re pushing it, three working stalls. Classy.

Shane and Danny had the most paint on them so by the time the others were done they weren’t even halfway. Roy took his time cleaning his face so he could wait around Danny a little longer and keep him and Shane company.

Eventually when it was just the three of them he couldn’t restrain his hands from moving towards Danny’s face, his thumbs brushing Danny’s eyebrows down. What remained of them anyway.

“Your baby brows are really fucking cute you know that?” He softly smiled, forgetting Shane was with them. But who cares anyway? He knew he could trust his friend. He was a cunt but a reliable one.

“Shut up!” Danny playfully whined giving his shoulder a light shove. “Yours aren’t too bad either. This is cute.” He tilted his head. His index finger tracing the little cut at the base of his right eyebrow.

“That’s where I’ve seen it!” Shane suddenly shouted. “When I helped you into that hideous shin length gown! The one with the low cleavage…ooh.”

“Birth mark.” Roy clarified for Danny when he saw the confusion in his eyes. Pulling the very low cut tank top Danny wore down a bit further to tap the moon shaped fleck.

“Oh. Party.” Danny shrugged it off and gave the hand poking him a little slap.

“I won’t tell anyone.” Shane winked at Roy who mouthed ‘thank you’ in return.

“We’re not keeping it a secret or anything.” Danny nervously added.

“I know?” Shane brushed his high pitched tone off and continued rubbing the yellow and purple paint out of his ear. Paint and small nooks never work out well.

“I mean we have nothing to hide right?” His wide eyed gaze flicked back to Roy.

“Calm down there spazzy you’re making me feel all…twitchy.” Roy shivered and gave Danny’s ass a small pat.

“About the whole feeling each others emotions, what’s its like? Can you actually feel everything he does?” Shane took a break to rinse out the stained cloth he was using and look at Roy waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know about you.” Roy handed Danny another make up wipe. “But I mean for me, it’s like…”

“Like when you’re in a dark room.” Danny finished his sentence.

“Yeah exactly…here.” He saw Danny was doing a shitty job cleaning the paint off behind his neck so he took the wipe and did it himself. “You know when the lights are off and you can make out the shapes and sometimes if your eyes have adjusted you can kind of see things but not exactly. It’s all pretty muffled but yeah we can feel ‘em.”

Danny nodded, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as a thank you for helping him.

“And I’ve always been pretty in tune with like, feeling peoples energies and stuff but this is pretty heavy duty shit.” With his face now clean and Roy helping him clean the spots he missed he rested his head against the shorter man’s shoulder. Peeking into his shirt to smile at the matching mark on his chest.

“Guess that’s why it’s called a gut feeling right?” Roy thought out loud. “When you were nervous for your black and white runway but you were acting so cunty. I knew you weren’t really feeling it because I got this almost…sinking feeling in my stomach. You know what I mean? Even though I was fucking confident about ours I could still feel your nerves making me nervous. And we weren’t even fucking linked yet, how that work?”

“Sounds exhausting.” Shane pouted.

“It actually feels super natural.” Danny tilted his head down to kiss Roy’s chest.

“It does. Although…earlier I could hear your thinking?” Roy remembered how vividly he could hear Danny’s snide remark about Laganja.

Before Danny had time to give an explanation a crew member came in to call them back into the workroom.

Since Roy had won the ridiculous mini challenge he had the privilege of assigning the brides to the queens.

Their main challenge this week, they thought, was to get brides ready for their wedding. What they didn’t know was that they actually had to turn their galant grooms into the blushing brides instead.

He had decided on playing it as fair as possible and assigned each person with a bride that looked similar to the queen’s look or personality. If he had known they’d be dragging up their grooms however he might’ve gone a completely different route.

What’s done is done I guess.

Roy still felt fairly secure-ish in his pairings despite the new twist right up until he saw Danny hunching over in despair hiding his face in his palms. His bride next to him making matters worse when she let out an “Oh no!”

He shook the uncertainty from his head and eased up a little once he was sitting down with his couple and discovered that he had actually picked the perfect pair for himself. They seemed open to just about every suggestion he made which got him really excited.

The bride even said she wanted a dominant eye AND a dominant lip. This was going to be fucking perfect and a whole lot of fun.

“Oh! You are my kinda girl Eddie!” His voice got higher with excitement.

As he was writing her comment about makeup down he lifted his head ever so slightly and caught Danny mid stare. The younger smiling at him biting his lip made him smile too. Classic giddy school girl looking at her crush moment.

“Busted.” He mouthed in his direction with his brows raised.

Danny stuck his tongue out at him and both resumed their consultations. Okay so he didn’t fuck this up too bad for him, that’s comforting to know.

“Well just so you know I’m not gonna hit on you because I’m not really recruiting. There’s enough gays in this world so…and now that they can get married you know it’s only gonna be a mess.” He joked with his groom…bride? Whatever, while they were working on snipping him some hip pads.

Following his comment the conversation turned to marriage equality and he soon discovered that his partner, surprisingly enough, was actually a really nice guy. More surprisingly that he had made a friend in this stranger.

Him. Roy Haylock. Friend.

His bride, Alex, was easy to talk to and seemed open minded and easy going enough that they just naturally clicked. They continued talking about Holland’s views on homosexuality and acceptance and somehow, somewhere along the lines soulmates came up.

He felt a bit hesitant to open up about Danny and being newly linked, mostly because they were being watched under such a strict magnifying glass that he didn’t know what the people around them would catch onto.

He didn’t even know if soulmates were allowed to compete together, Alaska and Sharon almost competing popping up in his mind, so he avoided mentioning his or even thinking of him.

His body betrayed him slightly though when Danny left the room for a smoke break. The sudden absence of his young lover sent the burning in his chest ablaze.

Automatically when Danny was out the building his hand reached for the little crescent moon shaped fleck on his sternum. Taking a deep inhale to try and push back some of the queasiness building in his throat.

“You okay there?” Alex must’ve picked up on the dip in his energy.

“Yeah I just need some water..heartburn I guess. Us old folk you know how it is.” He lied but he could tell he wasn’t buying it.

“A little trick I found that works is keeping a little like trinket or something of hers on me at all times. Just the reminder of them on you will help, trust me.” He whispered digging something out of his jean pocket.

It was two small leather bands braided together to form a bracelet with a locket. Probably with his fiancé’s photo inside but he didn’t want to be nosey and poke around.

“I’ll remember that.” He made a mental note taking a big swig from his water bottle under the table.

Alex held the big circular piece of foam he was working on up in front of their faces pretending to ask if he did a good job. Leaning in close to Roy as if he was examining it from a different angle. “So…which one? I won’t tell.”

Roy followed his lead showing some imaginary flaws on the padding. “Ol’ smokey.”

“Ah…hold tight.” He padded Roy’s shoulder and went up to a crew member, asking to be excused for a smoke break.

‘Didn’t even know he smo…oh no.’ Roy caught on to what he was doing. He was going to talk to Danny.

Fuck!

Roy debated running after but since he doesn’t smoke that would look too suspicious.

He returned his focus to drawing more guidelines on the foam for Alex to cut, distracting himself any way possible.

His distraction tactic apparently worked so well he didn’t even notice Alex coming back in a few minutes later. He did however notice when Danny had come back because the way the tightness in his chest had significantly subsided.

“Hold on to this.” Alex discreetly slipped a small piece of something into Roy’s back pocket. Hiding it by casually sliding his hand up to Roy’s back to pat it. “Back to work.”

He wanted to make a joke about Alex having done this before with something along the lines of drugs but knew if he acknowledged it they’d be caught. Thus defeating the purpose of being sneaky.

His curiosity eventually getting the better of him he reached back into his jean’s pocket finding a small piece of cotton fabric between his fingers. He rolled it around while examining Danny from head to toe trying to piece together what it could be.

In all honesty whatever it was it worked. Having his little piece of Danny had a calming effect on him. Normally in these situations where they were on opposite ends of the room he’d feel a tight, almost pulling, sensation in his chest.

But now he oddly enough felt, fine. The pulling was still there, he could feel it on Danny’s end as well, but it wasn’t that intense. It was pretty manageable actually.

It suddenly made sense to him why his dad had always kept one of his mother’s rings around his neck. He made a mental note to give Danny something similar of his as well.

They resumed giving their pale foam its ‘hair cut’ just casually chatting about Alex’s future wife. How they met, when they linked all that fun jazz and he couldn’t help but wonder if he sounded that tranquil talking about his own love.

Speak of the devil. He heard a loud thud from somewhere in the room. When all the girls looked up from their work in the direction of the sound they spotted a bright beet red Danny jumping up from the ground.

“What was that?” He asked with a chuckle while Dela and Shane were hanging over each other laughing their asses off.

“My shirt.” Danny lied in high pitched tone, the same one he used whenever he was lying.

‘Dead giveaway, moron.’ Roy scolded in his head.

Roy joined in with the rest of the room laughing at his terrible lying. “That sounded louder than a shirt, bitch.”

“…I was in it…” He nonchalantly admitted before his giggles got the better of him.

Everyone was back to being hard at work on constructing their ‘bridal wear’ for the main stage presentation.

Roy knew this would be a breeze for him, unlike the last challenge that he had gone into with misguided confidence he was genuinely sure he’d win this.

Making and designing clothes had been his thing since he was a kid so he definitely had this in the bag. He could make a dress in probably 3 minutes flat so making a simple wedding gown would be a cinch. Especially now that he and Alex had clicked and were working well together.

While he was hand stitching something onto his white satin fabric, easily adding intricate detailing with no effort at all, he noticed his love struggling.

“I hate it!” Danny sitting on the ground in front of him whined while he pinned something to the mannequin. “B…I need to make a skirt.”

He lifted his head from his stitching to see Danny pouting at him. He leaned forward across his table to see how bad It was and if he could help in any way.

“I just don’t know how to do it.” Danny was on his knees his with his big doe eyes looking up at Roy. His attempt at a peach skirt held in place with his thumb.

“Okay. So now you trying to put an overskirt right?” Since this was his forte why not help him out? The other’s couldn’t really question his motives for it since he’s helped them out so much in the past as well.

Danny nodded biting his cheek with a hint of a smile.

“Well pin it on there first and see how it looks.” He instructed with his tone soft and caring.

Danny and his bride went to work placing the patterned lace over skirt as he had told them to. Not needing to pay much attention to his work with muscle memory taking over he continued his stitching. Keeping an eye on Danny’s progress.

He wanted him to do good on this challenge not just because of the obvious reason but because he wanted the young queen to prove to the judges and the others that he deserved to be there. Which he did.

Granted the obvious reason did play a big part. Losing Danny this close to the end and right after they linked would literally be soul crushing.

He didn’t know if his heart would be able to survive being apart from him. Even just the distance of being in a different hotel room than him had taken it’s toll.

The day they had to spend apart was so tough on his body that he was curled up in agony the entire time, occasionally even throwing up because of it.

Soulmates weren’t supposed to be apart too much after they’d linked. It usually ended in pretty severe repercussions to their systems.

There’s a reason it’s called heartbreak for fucks sake. Many cases have been reported that after one soulmate dies their partner was soon to follow from their heart giving in.

Something about the muscles in the organ tearing from what it had to endure being separated. It’s what caused the searing pain, that he had attributed to heartburn, whenever they weren’t together. Long term separation or after death, without their soulmates, the remaining partner’s tendons in their heart would become completely shredded.

“Like that?” Danny asked still on his knees, proudly showing Roy what he had done with a big open mouth smile.

“Yeah.” Roy nodded.

Danny obviously wasn’t as confident as he put on though. He started loudly laughing with a very fake, nervous smile on his face. He looked like some psychotic movie character honestly.

“What are you tryna do?” Roy asked trying not to laugh at his idiotic young lover even though he could sense his panic. He couldn’t help himself, regardless of his smile being fake as fuck it was goddamn adorable. “You gonna have it open on the side?” He returned to being somewhat serious.

Danny defeatedly let go of his dress and threw his hand over his face. His head turned awa avoiding Roy’s gaze.

“I’m asking.”

He could feel Danny’s energy tank. With his hand still on his cheek he looked back at Roy with a very worried expression. “I dont know…”

Roy lifted his eyebrows in uncertainty halting the stitching his hands were still working on. ‘Baby…’ He thought to himself. ‘I don’t know how to help you…’

“Oh my god!” Danny cried getting up to attempt fixing his garment.

“Well you got this, bitch. C’mon.” He tried reassuring him and resumed the work on his own bride’s outfit.

Deliberation and untucked had both taken a severe toll on Bianca, even more so on Adore by the feel of it.

Bianca could feel every agonizing moment of self loathing, anxiety and the longing for her mom. Only heightened after Bonnie’s call in untucked. It was slowly eating her up inside, and this was only the parts of it Bianca could feel.

What Adore must’ve been really going through had to be about a 100 times worse. All she wanted to do was jump over Joslyn and grab hold of her love to tell her everything would be okay.

During their brides’ vows Bianca kept an eye on Adore and the way the younger queen was standing with a sombre expression and her hands clasped tightly in front of her chest.

Listening to the couples declare their love on the main stage made Bianca realize that she wanted to be them. She wanted to be up their with Adore instead of watching by the sidelines. To love and to hold in sickness and in health, tucked and untucked.

On their way out of the gold bar Bianca had stopped to grab Adore’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze to let her know everything would be okay - that she would be okay.

And who knows maybe it worked. The younger queen had put on another killer lip sync performance and sent Joslyn home. Thank god. She loved Joslyn and her, for lack of a better word, simple ways, but she loved her Adore more. With all her heart in fact.

“Top 5!” Courtney sang behind Darienne when they entered the workroom.

Adore and Bianca had followed them in last behind the rest of the pact since they had others matters to attend to first. They had cornered the AD before they were ordered to enter the workroom and explained their unavoidable situation.

They came to an agreement that suited all fairly quickly and pain free. They had gone up to him with an already well thought out plan, at least Bianca did, that they knew he couldn’t reject so they weren’t really expecting him to put up much of a fight. Still nice to know more drama was avoided though.

Bianca, being the more level headed responsible one, had brought up the fact that there were only two episodes left aka one week of filming.

They weren’t asking for special treatment or any benefits the other queens wouldn’t be getting, they weren’t even asking to share a hotel room.

All they wanted was to keep their relationship off the show. They’d be completely professional when cameras were rolling with the understanding that the crew would allow them to be affectionate whenever they weren’t, like when they were dedragging or getting mic’d for example.

In return they’d let them show whatever footage they did have at the finale and make a grand spectacle of it all if they wanted to.

Duncan, the AD, agreed to this on the terms that what they would end up showing when it aired would be tiny moments of them maybe looking at each other or Bianca being helpful. Nothing too obvious that they were an item but enough that would lend itself to fan speculation. Just for the ratings.

If they did catch anything more on film that was too telling they’d simply edit it out.

This seemed fair enough so the pair happily agreed and rejoined the others to film the walk in and Adore’s mirror cleaning.

“Congratulations to you young lady!” Dela congratulated a cheerful Adore. Probably a little too cheerful for someone who just lip synced but oh well.

Whenever Adore was happy, Bianca was happy…in theory. Something felt wrong, about Adore maybe? She couldn’t place her finger on it but something was up.

‘Right…linked.’ Bianca thought releasing a deep sigh. She still wasn’t use to feeling someone else’s moods and emotions. She was happy enough, certainly not unhappy about winning the challenge, but Adore was a different story.

Bianca was trapped in a pitch black room again and her eyes were having difficulties adjusting. She could make out an uneasy tension coming from her soulmate but she couldn’t place exactly what it was or why she was feeling that way.

“I’m the new Trinity!” Adore jokingly snarled puffing her arms out like a big buff wrestler making the girls laugh.

“You turned out that lip sync even though when you took of your shoes you looked a little like the girl from The Grudge.”

“Yeah I did.” Adore agreed with Dela’s comment.

Bianca couldn’t help still wallowing silently in a low mood as she watched Adore’s bantering with Dela. She made it look so effortless, as if this was genuine joy instead of a mask hiding a scared little boy. When Adore turned to her and spotted her frown her smile fell.

‘Shit. Busted.’

Before either could say anything Dela jumped in congratulating Bianca on her win.

”Thank you my love.” She followed Adore’s example and picked up her energy a bit. “I will send all of you a post card from Hawaii…because remember you’re my sisters.” She sang in her fakest voice doing her go to ‘smiling and then fake disgusted face’ trick.

One or two girls laughed at her expression but Adore’s face lit up, probably at the mention of Hawaii. She felt a sudden glowy feeling wash over her body. Yep…definitely Hawaii.

“Can I come with?” She excitedly asked making Bianca laugh. There was honestly nothing like seeing Adore’s idiotic face so bright, but that was probably going to be one of the moments cut thanks to their new arrangement.

Either Courtney didn’t notice their moment or she just decided to ignore it but she changed the subject to Darienne’s potty mouth.

Bianca opted to stay out of the conversation since it was just basically Darienne, the shady elephant, being shady. Shocking.

She spotted Adore rolling her eyes like an obnoxious bored teenager during Darriene’s comments and couldn’t help but snorting at her childish manners.

Being completely over it despite Adore’s silliness lifting her spirits Bianca swiftly ended their conversation. “Okay well, having my balls shoved up my ass is fun and all but can we fucking get this shit off?”

“Amen.” Courtney smacked the table and the girls all rose with various degrees of exhausted groans to go dedrag.

Managing to become Roy again in probably a new record speed for Bianca he slumped down onto the grey couch where he had pinned Danny onto a few days ago.

Originally Roy had kept his look for the runway simple enough so that he could blend in with his bride, Alex, and not overshadow him too much or put to much work on himself to finish anything elaborate.

Now however it seemed like the best decision he’s ever made. Less tassels and beads the quicker the dedragging. Thank you Jesus.

He was sitting on the couch distractedly fiddling with the little white handkerchief Alex had slipped into his pocket earlier. The same handkerchief he had gotten for Roy from Danny and the same one Bianca had used on stage in her little crying mother bit.

In spite of the fact that Danny had to stand on the other end of the main stage this small, seemingly unimportant, piece of folded fabric had made it possible for him to remain in control.

When Roy had started feeling the all too familiar gnawing in his chest during Adore’s critiques from having to stand apart so long he felt like following Joslyn’s bride and vomiting in the same bucket. Or passing out, which seemed more likely in that moment.

But while Michelle was saying something shady he quickly pulled out said handkerchief and rubbed it between his fingers. Much like his goddaughter Lola had done as a baby with her blankie.

God he missed Lola.

He couldn’t wait to get back to New York and introduce his favorite little girl to his new favorite little boy. Boy…oh god.

‘13, 14…14!’ Roy quickly did the mental math of their age difference. 14 years. Before he could start worrying about this, quiet frankly, unimportant detail too much his thoughts were interrupted.

“There’s my favorite little chola.” Roy teased when he heard clumpy boots heading his way, already knowing who is is by the sudden surge of butterflies in his chest and the loud stomping.

Danny had kept his face on, same as Roy usually did, which explained why he was done so quickly. Not that he had a lot of anything to take off in all fairness.

Danny took hold of the hand not playing with the fabric and as he sat down sideways on his knees next to Roy he placed it over his shoulder. “Hm…hi.” He half yawned half giggled.

“Hi my love.” Roy gave him a quick kiss drawing him in closer to his body with the hand Danny had so politely draped over himself. “No music today?”

“Uh-uh.” Danny shook his head leaning up for another kiss before tucking his head into Roy’s shoulder.

“Because we had company?” His hand had now moved to the small of Danny’s back. Running it gently up and down his spine feeling the tired young man melting into his embrace.

“Mh-hm.” Danny hummed. He was definitely falling asleep. Which was completely understandable I mean he just had to lip sync for his life a second week in a row.

“You’re a fucking child.” Roy chuckled under his breath. He looked up at Shane when he felt his eyes on them. He had a strange smile plastered across his annoying little face with his bottom lip out and his hands clutched in front of his chest. “Shut up.”

With Danny’s hand drawing lazy patterns on his chest around his birth mark and his head still in Roy’s shoulder the older felt at peace.

The opposite of the panic he thought he’d feel from being so open about their relationship in front of the others, might have been helped by some residual euphoria he was feeling from Danny though.

“Is anyone else seeing this?” Darienne shouted from the other end of the room pointing at the couple.

“It’s sweet let them be.” Dela chimed in in her usual gentle almost motherly voice.

“Yeah!” Shane stomped his foot.

“They look like…”

“Hey!” Roy aggressively snapped in her direction. “If you say one fucking word you nasty cunt so help me!”

“Adore Delano! Bianca Del rio!” Duncan came into the room with 2 other strangers yelling their names loudly. “We need to talk, follow us please.”

#imafuckinglibra #black leather #biadore #bianca del rio #adore delano #soulmate au #tw swearing #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant #on set fic #s6

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puckconnolly · 7 years ago

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@thescorpioracesfestival Tourist Challenge 9: Souvenir (and we finally get some screen time with Sean Kendrick)

Once again, I’m sorry this challenge and the last two were late, but I’m all caught up now!

Links to challenges 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

as always, shoutout to @colestclairs / @suriels (she switched blogs but you can find her posts on either, or just search the tag “claire&rowan”)

Challenge 9 under the cut. Enjoy!

Rowan and Claire made their way to the O’Brien’s house, laughing and giggling the whole time. Rowan had invited Claire over after hearing that she was less than wanted at her own home. She figured it might be nice for Claire to talk to people who were excited she was racing, not scared.

They had barely made it through the front door when Rowan’s grandfather yelled from the kitchen, “Who wants November cakes? I just finished them, and I think they’re my best batch yet!”

Rowan and Claire made a beeline to the kitchen. The faint smell of oranges hung in the air, swirled with sugar and melted butter. Rowan wished her apartment back in New York smelled as good as her grandparents’ kitchen did. Claire and Rowan plopped down on the stools and inhaled the November cakes.

“So Grandpa,” Rowan started, mouth full of gooey November cake, “What was is like when you raced in the Scorpio Races?”

Chester smiled clasped his hands together with glee. He had been waiting to tell someone other than Amelia about his time racing. “Well, it all started when I was out for a walk on the beach one day.” Chester called back those memories he looked back on with great fondness.

Twenty years ago, a twenty-years-younger Chester strolled along the beach near Skarmouth. He noticed something black bobbing in the water and got closer to check it out. He knew the risks, he was a born and bred Thisbian, but, like most of the islanders, he was drawn to the dangerous horses.

The capall uisce barreled out of the water, pushing against the tide and ran straight over to Chester. Up until that point in his life, Chester had been content to partake in the festivities surrounding the races, but then that all changed.

That capall uisce that didn’t rip him to shreds and instead stood tall, facing Chester, changed everything.

Chester had taken a tentative step forward, arm outstretched. He knew he’d probably lose his hand, but didn’t care. He knew the horse would probably bolt and run back into the sea.

But he didn’t.

Instead, the capall mirrored Chester and took a tentative step forward, and nuzzled his snout into Chester’s outstretched palm.

“Blackberry,” Chester had named him, for he was as black as the night and much sweeter than any capall uisce ought to be.

Chester didn’t have any rope, but Blackberry had seemed to understand him, seemed to know that he supposed to follow Chester. Together, the two made their way to Malvern Stables. He was greeted by Sean Kendrick, whom he had grown up with. Sean had given him a look of surprise when he’d seen the capall following calmly behind. What Sean hadn’t seen, Chester recalled, was the half loaf of banana bread in his pocket that Blackberry got dangerously close to stealing.

Sean had helped fit Blackberry with a saddle and bridle and had found him a place at the stables. Every day after that, Chester had snuck off to the stables after Amelia had gone into town. It wasn’t that Amelia disapproved of racing, it was just that Chester wanted to make it a surprise the night of the parade.

So every day, he had trained Blackberry, gently coaxing the horse to trust him. He would give Blackberry blackberries when he had done well, and Blackberry had taken a liking to his namesake. In no time at all, Blackberry and Chester had formed a bond. People had starting paying attention to them during training. Sean had helped Chester with the art of riding, as Chester had never ridden a capall uisce before. Sean had stopped racing many years before. Chester once asked him why and Sean replied that is wasn’t the same without Corr.

Though Chester progressed in his training, he was still a cautious rider. He had been petrified of going too fast and had just wanted to ride Blackberry. Sean and Chester would ride up on the cliffs, away from the more ferocious capaill uisce. Sean explained that he had done this with his beloved Puck because she had raced her island horse, Dove, and the capaill had seen Dove as dinner. Chester had felt quite special after hearing that.

So, for weeks, the two of them would train, more so Chester than Blackberry, until the day of the race. Puck, sadly, had ratted out Chester’s surprise to Amelia, but that hadn’t mattered. The race was here, and Chester had Amelia, Sean, and Puck on the edges of their seats.

What was the race like? Chester looked back fondly to the sand scratching up his shins and the salt of the ocean spraying in his face. He remembered Blackberry’s wild mane whipping in the wind, hitting Chester’s forearms, but he barely even noticed. Sean had told him to go close to the water, because so many of the other capaill were drawn to the sea, but Blackberry was drawn to Chester’s easy laugh and patient voice, and also whatever food was in his pocket. He wouldn’t care about the sea singing her sweet song to lure the capaill uisce back to her. Sean had been right, of course.

Once the race started, Chester knew immediately that he wouldn’t win. And that was ok. He had learned a new skill, had fun, and made a new friend. And that was all that mattered to him.

So Blackberry had merely trotted along the shore, water splashing up from his hooves. Chester watched in fascination as riders fell or lost control of their capaill, while he merrily strode by.

He had heard Puck scream at him to GO FASTER WHAT ARE YOU DOING? but simply did not care. He ended up in third place, and was content.

The watchers of the race had formed in a mob around the winner, while Sean, Puck, and Amelia made their way over to Chester and Blackberry. Amelia had taken a picture of the most joyful Chester that had ever existed with his arm slung lazily around the shoulders of Blackberry.

Chester thought back sadly to when he and Sean had released Blackberry back to his home in the sea. He knew he couldn’t keep Blackberry, but he felt he was losing a dear friend. He never told anyone, but each year, he looked down on the training to see if Blackberry had resurfaced, with no luck.

He didn’t tell that last bit to Rowan and Claire though. He didn’t want them to pity him. It was a tentative friendship between man and beast. It had only lasted a month. But Chester still wished he’d had more time.

“So,” Rowan said, breaking Chester out of his memory, “Do you think Blackberry is still alive? Have you ever looked for him?”

“No,” Chester shook his head, “I haven’t seen him since.” He cleared his throat and turned to Claire. “I hope your capall--”

“Elemental,” Claire offered.

“Elemental,” Chester smiled. “I hope your Elemental is as special to you as my Blackberry was to me.”

Claire smiled back and assured Chester than he was. Chester seemed happy with the answer and excused himself to let the girls have time to themselves.

“Wow,” Claire sighed.

“I know! I never knew my grandpa was so cool!” Rowan exclaimed.

Claire agreed. “Hey, I got you something,” she changed the subject.

“A present? For me?” Rowan asked in delight.

“It’s nothing crazy,” Claire assured her, “just something to remember me by.”

Rowan scoffed, “I don’t have to remember you. You’re coming with me, silly!”

Claire looked down at her hands. “I know, but just in case.” She quickly handed Rowan the gift.

“Socks?” Rowan questioned.

“Wool socks that I made myself,” Claire clarified. “From our sheep.”

Rowan smiled and immediately put them on. “I love them!” And she wasn’t just saying that, like she did with most presents she received. Rowan truly loved them simply because Claire had made them.

#tsrf2017 #thescorpioracesfestival #tsr #claire&rowan #Finally got to see Sean!#I'm sure present day him and Puck will show up in the next few challenges

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sscrambledmeggss · 3 years ago

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Thank you for the tag @awkwardcaterpillar and @multifandommessy :)!

Kagome Higurashi from Inuyasha: I l a t ch e d onto her as a child 🦧 like genuinely I always wanted her to succeed, and I loved seeing her get stronger and learning new things, while also being empathic and being able to speak her mind.

Kurt Hummel from Glee: are we surprised? I just love him so much shdhhd, like I genuinely can’t express why I relate to him so much?? It’s just like I saw him and was like “that’s the bitch I’m gonna project all my problems onto <3” but also I love how he’s so compassionate, and always thinking about other people. Even forgiving things he probably shouldn’t 🦧 he was always doing what he thought was best, even if it meant hurting himself in the process (which is not healthy at all, but you go self destructive <3)

Tohru Honda from Fruits Basket: I just, I just love her so much 🥺 she is my beloved, and deserves only the best in life <3

Tina Conan Chang from Glee: again, my beloved. It just makes me happy seeing her.

Sebastian Smythe from Glee: this bitch. This emotionally constipated rat bastard of a man. I love him, but would also kick him in the shins without hesitation.

Killua Zoldyck from Hunter x Hunter: also an emotionally constipated little bitch. But he <3 like okay king try to make it look like you don’t care, while you stare at your friend for 20 minutes doing intense gay monologue, I’ll wait.

The crows from Six of Crows: just all of them. I love them all too much and they make me sob 🥰 they get all my love as well. My beloveds. Icons. Criminals <3

Mercedes Jones from Glee: Again she just makes me so happy, I love her so much. She ends up getting her way in life through being not only nice, but not being afraid to openly state her opinions. She knows she deserves better, and she will rightfully say it. While also being one of the kindest and thoughtful characters on glee. I absolutely love her

Tagging: anyone who wants to join! :)

i’m just curious: who is your comfort character (or who are if you have multiple!) and why? reblog!

gonna be honest: I don’t really have many, if any, I just don’t think I’m the type to have a comfort character but here’s some that are the closest to comfort for me:

Buffy Summers (BtVS): inspirational hero. So much shit thrown at her but she survived, she’s comforting in the sense that “if Buffy can survive 10 apocalypses, then I can make it through today”

Cordelia Chase (BtVS version ONLY. We don’t talk about AtS): just makes me laugh, which is comforting

Danny Mahealani (Teen Wolf): dude’s just chilling and I respect that. His one-liners were so great

Orla McCool (Derry Girls): my favourite Derry girl. So eccentric and it’s comforting

Jason Mendoza (The Good Place): love this himbo. He has no idea what’s going on and I like that vibe

thanks for the tag!! 🥰🥰 @infinitesubconscious

I’m tagging: @juliasrehwalds @vampirevillain @known-as-naya @alwaysfangirlingish and anyone else who wants to do this :)

#this list goes on for a long time so I didn’t list them all 🥰#tag thing

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babequestcomic · 6 years ago

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BABEQUEST UPDATE

All in all, a relatively warm welcome.

[SUGGEST]

[NEXT]

[PREVIOUS]

[FIRST]

Babequest is a tgchan quest about a gay elf on the run and the circus he hides out in. Follow the SUGGEST link or click here to read Babequest in full, read comments from other readers, and tell Babe where to go and what to do!

[faq] [twitter] [ko-fi]

Transcript under the cut.

[1] "This isn't even a choice!" I shout, kicking my legs wildly to little avail. "Nobody's gonna laugh at me! They're way weirder than I am!!" "You sound DEFENSIVE, Babe! Maybe the CLOWNS will CHEER YOU UP! Because you're feeling so DEFENSIVE! And need CHEERING UP!" Bashan delightedly proclaims, adjusting his grip on me and striding toward the big top as though I weigh nothing. In a blind rage, I punch and kick at the air and shout every insult I can throw at Bashan as he carries me beyond the wall of canvas.

[2] "HEY, EVERYONE! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!" Bashan's voice booms through the tent as he holds me up high, his words perfectly clear even over the loud voices of all the performers within. I stop shouting in the loaded silence that follows Bashan's brazen announcement, instead opting to clench my jaw as tightly as possible as I weather the shocked stares of the people I've known since I was a scrawny teenager.

[3] All at once, several people are running toward me and everyone is shouting. Before I can prepare myself, Bashan drops me like a half-eaten animal carcass at the doorstep of a beloved friend. Like vultures, my old friends and enemies descend upon me to pick me apart. "You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" The first person to reach me is a tiefling; storming over from the middle of the room with a dancer's grace, their furious voice carrying above the din as they grab me and haul me up while I'm still surprised. I stumble as they shove me, recognizing Juno if not from their unchanged appearance then their open hatred of me. "What the fuck are you doing back here, you rat? You fucking vermin? You-" "God! Shut up! Move!" someone else yells, and Juno is shoved unceremoniously out of the way by a human woman. She runs toward me at a sprint and promptly bowls me over with a hug, landing me in the dirt once again as she squeezes me tight enough to make me wheeze.

"Get off me, Maggie-" I choke out, shoving her off of me. I earn myself a kick in the shin for my hubris. "You are so bad," she tells me, audibly thrilled. "I can't believe you're, like, back. You totally killed Ringleader Smith." "Duh. Let me up." "Hey. Noro." My attention is drawn to a white-faced clown standing above me as I get to my feet, whose wide painted smile is as menacing as it is unfamiliar. She looks me square in the eye as I straighten up. "Please understand that I will kill you very, very soon." "Oh my god, Lars, you're so dramatic. Get a life!" Maggie yells after the clown as she strides out of the big top. Juno trails out behind her, glaring daggers at me as they do so. Finally afforded a moment's peace, I look around at the three other people around me, electing to ignore Bashan who still stands proudly behind me.

[4] I immediately notice a young, lanky tabaxi with similar colouring to Bashan standing nervously nearby, and realize with a start that this is Silvy, the younger brother of the shittiest strongman in the world. He looks worried that I don't remember him, so I grant him a begrudging nod, still too pissed off at the world to give up anything more. At his side is Aberdeen, a faun who seems almost as nervous as Silvy with the contrast of actually having been my friend before I'd fled the show. Far back, in the VIP seating area, Philine the sword-swallower continues to snooze despite the chaos. Walking up to me with one hand outstretched is the ringmaster herself, Bronwyn Bell, whose welcoming grin is almost more intimidating than any death threat I've received thus far. "So you're finally back," she enunciates. Bronwyn is the type of person who enunciates, announces, and declares. "I think I may have forgotten to thank you for your services, Noro, m'dear."

#bupdate #webcomic #lgbt #artists on tumblr #fantasy

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mrjeremydylan · 7 years ago

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My Favorite Album #220 - Jon Cryer on Radiohead ‘OK Computer’

Jon Cryer is one of the most beloved figures in the last three decades of American comedy, from his breakout role in ‘Pretty in Pink’ to starring in one of the most successful sitcoms in history in ‘Two and a Half Men’. In addition, he’s also an author, screenwriter, director and lately a podcaster. But today he joins me in his capacity as a music fan with a deep love for Radiohead’s era-defining classic ‘OK Computer’.

From battling the network to get Radiohead posters included in one of his early sitcoms, why the track ‘Fitter Happier’ made him burst into tears on first listen, why he listens to the album in his car, his experiences bringing Radiohead virgins to to see the band live and more. Jon discovers live on air what the lyrics to two of the album’s songs are for the first time, and compares the precision in Radiohead’s music to the precision that can make or break a gag in a comedy film. Plus, we talk about what it’s like to act opposite Elvis Costello.

Listen in the player above or download the episode by clicking here.

Subscribe to the podcast on Apple Podcasts here or in other podcasting apps by searching ‘My Favorite Album’ or copying/pasting our RSS feed -http://myfavoritealbum.libsyn.com/rss

My Favorite Album is a podcast on the impact great music has on our lives. Each episode features a guest on their favorite album of all time - why they love it, their history with the album and how it’s influenced them. Jeremy Dylan is a filmmaker, journalist and photographer from Sydney, Australia who has worked in the music industry since 2007. He directed the the feature music documentary Jim Lauderdale: The King of Broken Hearts (out now!) and the feature film Benjamin Sniddlegrass and the Cauldron of Penguins, in addition to many commercials and music videos.

If you’ve got any feedback or suggestions, drop us a line at [email protected].

LINKS

- Jon Cryer on Twitter. You can get his memoir ‘So That Happened’ here and listen to him on the ‘Undisclosed’ podcast here.

- Buy ‘OK Computer’ here.

- Jeremy Dylan’s website, Twitter, Instagram and Facebook page.

- Like the podcast on Facebook here.

- If you dig the show, please leave a rating or review of the show on iTunes here.

CHECK OUT OUR OTHER EPISODES

219. Neil Innes on The Mothers of Invention ‘We’re Only In It for the Money’ (1968) 218. Gold Class on the Dirty Three ‘Ocean Songs’ (1998) 217. Julian Velard on Billy Joel ‘Turnstiles’ (1976) 216. Courtney Marie Andrews on Bob Dylan ‘Blood on the Tracks’ (1975) 215. Anita Lester on Leonard Cohen ‘Song of Love and Hate’ (1971) 214. Meet Me In The Bathroom author Lizzy Goodman on Yeah Yeah Yeahs ‘Fever to Tell’ (2003) 213. JAY-Z biographer Zack O'Malley Greenburg on JAY-Z ‘Reasonable Doubt’ (1996) 212. #BeatlesMonth Wall Street Journal’s Allan Kozinn on how ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand’ broke the Beatles in America and the anatomy of an iconic hit 211. #BeatlesMonth Conan’s Jimmy Vivino on the Sgt Pepper remixes and recreating the intricacies of the Beatles with the Fab Faux 210. #BeatlesMonth Heartbreaker Benmont Tench on playing with Ringo, the Beatles RnB roots and the genius of ‘No Reply’ 209. #BeatlesMonth Ken Levine on ‘Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’ (1967) 208. All Our Exes Live In Texas on Rufus Wainwright ‘Want’ (2004) 207. Eilish Gilligan on Counting Crows ‘August and Everthing After’ (1993) 206. Katie Brianna on Rilo Kiley ‘Under the Blacklight’ (2007) 205. Pegi Young on her biggest influences, from Janis to Joni, Clapton to the Dead 204. Margaret Glaspy on Bjork ‘Vespertine’ (2001) 203. Iluka on Marvin Gaye ‘What’s Going On’ (1971) 202. Veronica Milsom (triple J) on The Shins ‘Wincing the Night Away’ (2007) 201. Charles Esten on Bruce Springsteen ‘Born to Run’ (1975) 200. What’s Your Favorite Aussie Music? with Benmont Tench, Duglas T Stewart, Natalie Prass, Sam Palladio and Jeff Greenstein 199. Showrunner Jeff Lieber on Gregory Alan Isakov ‘The Weatherman’ and how music fuels his writing process 198. Jack Colwell on Tori Amos ‘Boys for Pele’ (1996) 197. Benmont Tench on playing with Bob Dylan, Jenny Lewis and Ryan Adams and the worst advice he’s received 196. Ella Thompson (Dorsal Fins, GL) on Renee Geyer ‘Moving On’ 195. The Shires on Lady Antebellum ‘Own the Night’ (2011) 194. Duglas T Stewart (BMX Bandits) on Beach Boys ‘Love You’ (1977) 193. Dan Soder on Queens of the Stone Age ‘Like Clockwork’ (2013) 192. Kingswood on The Beatles ‘Magical Mystery Tour’ (1967) 191. Comedian Becky Lucas on Michael Jackson ‘Bad’ (1987) 190. PVT on Brian Eno ‘Another Green World’ (1975) 189. Middle Kids on My Brightest Diamond ‘Bring Me The Workhorse’ (2006) 188. The Bitter Script Reader on Tom Hanks ‘That Thing You Do’ (1996) 187. Carly Rae Jepsen ‘Emotion’ (2015) with CRJ Dream Team Roundtable 186. Sarah Belkner on Peter Gabriel ‘So’ (1986) 185. Mark Hart (Crowded House, Supertramp) on XTC ‘Drums and Wires’ (1979) 184. Emma Swift on Marianne Faithfull ‘Broken English’ (1974) 183. Owen Rabbit on Kate Bush ‘Hounds of Love’ (1985) 182. Robyn Hitchcock on Bob Dylan ‘Blonde on Blonde’ (1966) 181. Dave Mudie (Courtney Barnett) on Nirvana ‘Nevermind’ (1991) 180. Brian Koppelman on Bruce Springsteen ‘Nebraska’ (1982) 179. Nicholas Allbrook (POND) on OutKast ‘The Love Below’ (2003) 178. 2016 in Review: What the hell? ft Jeff Greenstein, Rob Draper & Cookin on 3 Burners, Melody Pool, Lisa Mitchell, Emma Swift, Brian Koppelman, Mark Hart (Crowded House), Davey Lane and Alex Lahey 177. Harper Simon on The Beatles ‘White Album’ (1968) 176. Andrew P Street on Models ‘Pleasure of Your Company’ (1983) 175. Matt Farley (Motern Media) on why The Beach Boys ‘Love You’ is better than ‘Pet Sounds’ 174. Lisa Mitchell on Regina Spektor ‘Begin to Hope’ (2006) and her favorite albums of 2016 173. Peter Bibby on Sleep ‘Dopesmoker’ (2003) 172. Slate’s Jack Hamilton on Stevie Wonder ‘Innervisions’ (1973) 171. Showrunner Blake Masters on Drive-By Truckers ‘The Dirty South’ (2004) 170. Taylor Goldsmith (Dawes) on on their new album ‘We’re All Gonna Die’, loving LA and the albums that inspire him 169. Sadler Vaden on The Rolling Stones ‘Goats Head Soup’ (1973) 168. Guy Clark biographer Tamara Saviano on ‘Dublin Blues’, Guy’s songwriting process and his musical legacy 167. What does Trump mean for music? 166. A Tribute to Sir George Martin, The Fifth Beatle with Davey Lane and Brett Wolfie 165. John Oates on Joni Mitchell ‘Blue’ (1971) 164. Jimmy Vivino on the birth of the Max Weinberg 7, his relationship with Conan O’Brien, country music and the future of rock’n’roll 163. DJ Alix Brown on Transformer (1972) by Lou Reed 162. Taylor Locke on Doolittle (1989) by the Pixies, the album that inspired 90s alt-rock 161. Harts on Around the World in a Day (1985) by Prince and jamming with Prince at Paisley Park 160. Mark McKinnon (The Circus) on Kristofferson and programming the President’s iPod 159. Alan Brough on A Walk Across the Rooftops (1984) by The Blue Nile 158. Peter Cooper on Pretty Close to the Truth (1994) and why we need Americana music 157. Will Colvin (Hedge Fund) on One of the Boys by Katy Perry (2008) 156. Julia Jacklin on Extraordinary Machine by Fiona Apple (2005) 155. Japanese Wallpaper on Currents by Tame Impala (2015) 154. Montaigne on her album Glorious Heights (2016) and its inspirations 153. Alex Lahey on Hot Fuss by the Killers (2004) 152. Jack Moffitt (The Preatures) on Physical Graffiti by Led Zeppelin (1975) 151. Mike Bloom on Axis Bold As Love by Jimi Hendrix (1968) 150. Hey Geronimo on Drowning in the Fountain of Youth by Dan Kelly (2006) 149. Mickey Raphael on Teatro by Willie Nelson (1998) 148. Jack Ladder on Suicide by Suicide 147. Rusty Anderson on Hot Rats by Frank Zappa 146. Kenny Aronoff on The Beatles 145. Bob Evans on A Grand Don’t Come for Free by The Streets 144. Chris Hewitt (Empire) on New Adventues in Hi-Fi by REM 143. Dr Warren Zanes on Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers 142. Dr Mark Kermode (Wittertainment) on Sleep No More by the Comsat Angels 141. Van Dyke Parks on Randy Newman by Randy Newman 140. Imogen Clark on Heartbreaker by Ryan Adams 139. Jesse Thorn on Fresh by Sly and the Family Stone 138. Stephen Tobolowsky on The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars by David Bowie 137. Ben Blacker on Blood and Chocolate on Elvis Costello & the Attractions 136. Jonny Fritz on West by Lucinda Williams 135. Adam Busch on A River Ain’t Too Much to Love by Smog 134. Kelsea Ballerini on Blue Neighbourhood by Troye Sivan 133. Natalie Prass on Presenting Dionne Warwick 132. Josh Pyke on Badmotorfinger by Soundgarden 131. Kip Moore on Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen 130. Koi Child on Voodoo by D’Angelo 129. The Cadillac Three on Wildflowers by Tom Petty 128. Julian McCullough on Appetite for Destruction by Guns n Roses 127. Danny Clinch on Greetings from Ashbury Park NJ by Bruce Springsteen 126. Sam Palladio (Nashville) on October Road by James Taylor 125. Steve Mandel on Blood and Chocolate by Elvis Costello 124. Brian Koppelman on The History of the Eagles 123. Benmont Tench on Beggars Banquet by the Rolling Stones 122. Jimmy Vivino (Basic Cable Band) on Super Session by Al Kooper, Mike Bloomfield and Stephen Stills 121. Holiday Sidewinder on Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid by Bob Dylan 120. Ben Blacker on Aladdin Sane by David Bowie 119. EZTV on The Toms by The Toms 118. Jess Ribeiro on Transformer by Lou Reed 117. Whitney Rose on Keith Whitley Greatest Hits 116. Best Albums of 2015 with Danny Yau ft. Jason Isbell, Dan Kelly, Shane Nicholson, Tim Rogers, Will Hoge and Julien Barbagallo (Tame Impala) 115. Phil Spector’s A Christmas Gift For You with Jaime Lewis 114. Xmas Music ft. Kristian Bush, Lee Brice, Corb Lund and Tim Byron 113. Sam Outlaw on Pieces of the Sky by Emmylou Harris 112. Jason Isbell on Sticky Fingers by the Rolling Stones 111. Ash Naylor (Even) on Houses of the Holy by Led Zeppelin 110. Burke Reid (Gerling) on Dirty by Sonic Youth 109. Lance Ferguson (The Bamboos) on Kind of Blue by Miles Davis 108. Lindsay ‘The Doctor’ McDougall (Frenzal Rhomb) on Curses! by Future of the Left 107. Julien Barbagallo (Tame Impala) on Chrominance Decoder by April March 106. Melody Pool on Blue by Joni Mitchell 105. Rusty Hopkinson (You Am I) on ‘Nuggets: Original Artyfacts from the First Psychedelic Era’ 104. Jeff Greenstein on A Quick One (Happy Jack) by The Who 103. Dave Cobb on Revolver by the Beatles 102. Justin Melkmann (World War IX) on Coney Island Baby by Lou Reed 101. Kacey Musgraves on John Prine by John Prine 100. Does the album have a future? 99. Corb Lund on Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs by Marty Robbins 98. Bad Dreems on Unknown Pleasures by Joy Division 97. Davey Lane (You Am I) on Abbey Road by the Beatles 96. Dan Kelly on There’s A Riot Goin’ On by Sly and the Family Stone 95. Ash Grunwald on Mule Variations by Tom Waits 94. Stella Angelico on The Shangrilas 93. Eves the Behavior on Blue by Joni Mitchell 92. Troy Cassar-Daley on Willie Nelson’s Greatest Hits 91. Lydia Loveless on Pleased to Meet Me by the Replacements 90. Gena Rose Bruce on The Boatman’s Call by Nick Cave 89. Kitty Daisy and Lewis on A Swingin’ Safari by Bert Kaempfert 88. Will Hoge on Modern Sounds in Country & Western Music by Ray Charles 87. Shane Nicholson on 52nd St by Billy Joel 86 - Tired Lion on Takk… by Sigur Ros 85 - Whispering Bob Harris on Forever Changes by Love 84 - Jake Stone (Bluejuice) on Ben Folds Five by Ben Folds Five 83 - Pete Thomas (Elvis Costello and the Imposters) on Are You Experienced? by the Jimi Hendrix Experience 82 - Dom Alessio on OK Computer by Radiohead 81 - Anthony Albanese MP on The Good Son by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds 80 - John Waters on Electric Ladyland by The Jimi Hendrix Experience 79 - Jim DeRogatis (Sound Opinions) on Clouds Taste Metallic by The Flaming Lips 78 - Montaigne on The Haunted Man by Bat for Lashes 77 - Guy Pratt (Pink Floyd) on Quadrophenia by The Who 76 - Homer Steinweiss (Dap Kings) on Inspiration Information by Shuggie Otis 75 - Best of 2015 (So Far) ft. Danny Yau, Montaigne, Harts, Joelistics, Rose Elinor Dougall and Burke Reid 74 - Matt Farley (Motern Media) on RAM by Paul McCartney BONUS - Neil Finn on The Beatles, Neil Young, David Bowie and Radiohead 73 - Grace Farriss (Burn Antares) on All Things Must Pass by George Harrison 72 - Katie Noonan on Blue by Joni Mitchell 71 - Harts on Band of Gypsys by Jimi Hendrix 70 - Tim Rogers (You Am I) on Bring the Family by John Hiatt 69 - Mark Seymour (Hunters and Collectors) on The Ghost of Tom Joad by Bruce Springsteen 68 - Jeremy Neale on Graceland by Paul Simon 67 - Joelistics on Graceland by Paul Simon 66 - Brian Nankervis (RocKwiz) on Astral Weeks by Van Morrison 65 - ILUKA on Pastel Blues by Nina Simone 64 - Rose Elinor Dougall on Tender Buttons by Broadcast 63 - Sarah McLeod (The Superjesus) on Siamese Dream by The Smashing Pumpkins 62 - Keyone Starr on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill 61 - Chase Bryant on Defying Gravity by Keith Urban 60 - Brian Koppelman on Southeastern by Jason Isbell 59 - Michael Carpenter on The Beatles White Album Side 4 58 - Pete Kilroy (Hey Geronimo) on The Beatles White Album Side 3 57 - Mark Wells on The Beatles White Album Side 2 56 - Jeff Greenstein on Colossal Youth by Young Marble Giants 55 - Laura Bell Bundy on Shania Twain, Otis Redding and Bright Eyes 54 - Jake Clemons on Surfacing by Sarah McLachlan 53 - Kristian Bush (Sugarland) on The Joshua Tree by U2 52 - Kevin Bennett (The Flood) on Willis Alan Ramsey by Willis Alan Ramsey 51 - Lee Brice on Unorthodox Jukebox by Bruno Mars 50 - Davey Lane (You Am I) on the White Album (Side 1) by The Beatles 49 - Joe Camilleri on The Rolling Stones by The Rolling Stones 48 - Russell Morris on The Rolling Stones by The Rolling Stones 47 - Mike Rudd (Spectrum) on England’s Newest Hitmakers by The Rolling Stones 46 - Henry Wagons on Harvest by Neil Young 45 - Megan Washington on Poses by Rufus Wainwright 44 - Andrew Hansen (The Chaser) on Armchair Theatre by Jeff Lynne 43 - She Rex on BlakRoc by The Black Keys 42 - Catherine Britt on Living with Ghosts by Patty Griffin 41 - Robyn Hitchcock on Plastic Ono Band by John Lennon 40 - Gideon Bensen (The Preatures) on Transformer by Lou Reed 39 - Harry Hookey on Blood on the Tracks by Bob Dylan 38 - Rob Draper on Faith by George Michael 37 - Best of 2014 ft. Danny Yau, Andrew Hansen, Gideon Bensen (The Preatures) and Mike Carr 36 - Doug Pettibone on Wrecking Ball by Emmylou Harris 35 - Ross Ryan on Late for the Sky by Jackson Browne 34 - Michael Carpenter on Hard Promises by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers 33 - Davey Lane (You Am I) on Jesus of Cool by Nick Lowe 32 - Zane Carney on Smokin’ at the Half Note by Wes Montgomery 31 - Tony Buchen on Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Beatles 30 - Simon Relf (The Tambourine Girls) on On the Beach by Neil Young 29 - Peter Cooper on In Search of a Song by Tom T Hall 28 - Thelma Plum on Stolen Apples by Paul Kelly 27 - James House on Rubber Soul by the Beatles 26 - Ella Hooper on Let England Shake by PJ Harvey 25 - Abbey Road Special 24 - Alyssa Bonagura on Room for Squares by John Mayer 23 - Luke Davison (The Preatures) on Green Onions by Booker T and the MGs 22 - Neil Finn on Hunky Dory by David Bowie and In Rainbows by Radiohead 21 - Neil Finn on Beatles for Sale by the Beatles and After the Goldrush by Neil Young 20 - Morgan Evans on Diorama by Silverchair 19 - Emma Swift on Car Wheels On A Gravel Road by Lucinda Williams 18 - Danny Yau on Hourly Daily by You Am I 17 - J Robert Youngtown and Jon Auer (The Posies) on Hi Fi Way by You Am I 16 - Lester the Fierce on Hounds of Love by Kate Bush 15 - Luke Davison on Green Onions by Booker T and the MGs 14 - Jeff Cripps on Wheels of Fire by Cream 13 - Mark Holden on Blue by Joni Mitchell (Part 2) 12 - Mark Holden on Blue by Joni Mitchell (Part 1) 11 - Gossling on O by Damien Rice 10 - Matt Fell on Temple of Low Men by Crowded House 9 - Pete Thomas on Are You Experienced? by Jimi Hendrix (Part 2) 8 - Pete Thomas on Are You Experienced? by Jimi Hendrix (Part 1) 7 - Sam Hawksley on A Few Small Repairs by Shawn Colvin 6 - Jim Lauderdale on Grievous Angel by Gram Parsons 5 - Mark Moffatt on Blues Breakers by John Mayall and Eric Clapton 4 - Darren Carr on Ten Easy Pieces by Jimmy Webb 3 - Mark Wells on Revolver by The Beatles 2 - Mike Carr on Arrival by ABBA 1 - Rob Draper on Highway 61 Revisited by Bob Dylan

#podcast #jon cryer #radiohead #thom yorke #hot shots #two and a half men #pretty in pink #johnny greenwood #colin greenwood #ed obrien #phil selway #nigel godrich #elvis costello #sean penn #charlie sheen

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your-anonymity-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Solitary

The amount of times I have contemplated my life, would equal how many breaths I take.

No one knows, how it feels to live with this.

I constantly questioned myself.

Was it deserved?

Was it supposed to happen?

Am I who they say I am?

Did I want it?

I am unsure of who I am or why I am here.

I know what happened to me, I know what it did. And I’m not sad. I don’t know how to describe something that replaces you and eats you alive.

You can’t escape.

There is a constant reminder that I am a mistake.

I am not like the rest of the world.

I am a science experiment, a permanent solitary excuse.

I never know what to say.

Words never seeming to form in my brain when attempting contact with others.

The touch of someone else, is something I’ve grown to hate.

Why didn’t I say it was them?

How did I know it was them?

In the breathtaking moments where my innocence was torn from my soul.

No sound capable of escape.

I constantly whispered to myself.

I need help, I hate myself.

I felt my life had no meaning.

My body was a car running in a garage, the exhaust filling up the spaces in-between. The air escaping what was my nightmare. My lungs slowing with every breath I took; the taste of freedom was close.

I am still breathing.

I reached out. Thirsty for answers or an end. But the replenishment they provided me was toxic. The toxicity I tried so hard to balance, continued to own me.

Was I what was toxic?

My attempts were continuous failures.

My body was sore from fighting for so long.

All I wanted was a way out.

Did everyone know?

I could feel the stares from locals as I crossed the street. They seemed to hide away, when my face appeared.

My solitary would soon be the death of me.

I constantly asked myself

Was I the victim or was I the monster?

The only thing I knew was what I tried so hard not to be.

I felt in-complacent.

Nothing I did, was good enough.

Did I pity myself too much? Did my attempts at corrections correlate with my inability to be something else?

Was I the only one?

I made another attempt to help myself. Using a forum as a guide for my life.

The forum offered insight, insight offered by those who knew as much as me.

My habits overwhelming me to the point of questionable sanity.

This wasn’t normal, yet why did I allow it to continue.

The guilt was overwhelming; my feelings aren’t valid. Writing thoughts recklessly, publishing for all to see, isn’t going to make me valuable.

I did not lack empathy.

Yet I hated myself.

Forcing myself to no longer be a victim and to look past my faults. Only made me fall more.

Nothing worked.

I wasn’t worth it.

Maybe it was the one that created me, regretting my existence?

Day after day would seem to pass and nothing changed.

Realization came like a flock of vultures, I was stuck.

It was me.

It was my fault.

This is who I am.

I figured blaming myself, would make me feel something.

I still felt nothing.

My own judgement clouded.

It wasn’t I who stole away my innocence, yet I didn’t stop it.

Could I have stopped it?

The beloved one of the family?

I lost my family due to them.

The anguish hard to relent. Seeming to be so persistent in my mind.

When my problems occurred, I was blamed and kicked in the shins.

Told to leave, yet incapable. My legs became shattered glass, all the hope in me lost.

I never stop thinking about the day when you looked at me with fear and hate in your eyes. The look of regret, the look of loss.

But you don’t know. You don’t know what I lost.

I just wanted your comfort, knowing that it wasn’t my fault.

And then it seemed, there was nothing left of me.

I was what I struggled not to be.

My solitary confined me to a lonely room in my mind.

The outer world no longer being of existence.

And finally, I allowed myself to think.

To breathe

Without taunting myself.

The toxic gas seeped so deep into my mind, destroying all the barriers that surrounded what I tried to hide.

I told you there was something wrong with me.

And you never seemed to ask why.

Does anybody ever ask me how I feel?

Does anyone see me as a human?

Am I a lab rat in a secret experiment to see how far someone can go with weight of this?

This weight is not mine. It’s yours.

You advocate lives, yet you’ve been throwing away mine.

Mixing me with them, when all I wanted was freedom.

I’ve never had a home. I remained dormant inside my own mind.

I wanted to be free.

I soon realized giving up isn’t letting go, giving up is grieving.

Giving up is loss.

Giving up is giving in.

I no longer wanted to feel this way.

Maybe in the aftermath, I can feel okay.

Maybe it wouldn’t have all been for nothing.

I wanted to call you, before I wrote this.

Explaining to you, what I couldn’t all those years ago. My fingers couldn’t dial the number, but I wanted you to know why.

I had an encounter when I was younger, in the very home you trusted. It continued for 4 years, until they moved onto someone else. Yet their hands never left me. To this day I still shiver from the traces of their print.

I’m sorry, okay?

I didn’t want to be like them, yet I retained the same thoughts.

And I’m sorry.

Maybe there’s an answer as to why I was punished for their crimes.

Maybe someone out there is experiencing the same thing as me.

But my loss of life, began 18 years ago.

I’m not sure if this will be for anyone to see, knowing everyone wanted me to stay in silence.

But I knew if I left without a word, the world would be pleased.

Another life they wouldn’t have to compromise.

The final breath is always the best one.

The moment of clarity, before the internal despair of my brain gasping for life.

This life is no longer mine.

I’ve been imprinted with the signature of their initials.

My body was a piece of property.

My mind a piece of me, lost in destruction.

The emphasize of the end, in all stories is always a happy one.

And I’m relieved I have reached it.

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shewhowantsmouseears · 8 years ago

Text

The Nutcracker Prince, 6

Notes: As always, big thanks to my editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

After discussing it with my editors, I decided to split this into two chapters, so enjoy!

Summary: While Donald comes to term with his past and its burdens, Minnie makes a sacrifice to save those she holds dear.

Christmas Eve is supposed to be a time of magic and wonder, especially for little children who've yet to understand life's cruelties. But instead of listening for the sounds of reindeer hooves on the rooftop, one particular child was sitting by the window and awaiting the sound of a motorcar. Snow had begun to fall outside and it became harder to see what was coming down the worn-down road, though the little girl was certain she'd still hear her uncle's car since it made noise like its own mechanical parade. It was getting late, however, and she knew her foster parents would beckon her to bed soon.

Something's not right.

Quietly she pleaded to Santa Claus that she didn't need a single present except to see her beloved uncle. Although, if Santa was also going to give her new ballet shoes and a pretty doll, she certainly wouldn't complain. Her eyelids began to droop, but before her body could fall into slumber, a jarring clattering erupted from outside. There was no mistaking that sound, and she jumped to the floor in joy. “Donald!” she called out, continuing to hop up and down in delight. “Donald, he's here! Uncle Ludwig is here!”

Haven't I seen this before?

Like a bolt of lightning, her elder brother raced into the room, almost knocking down the ailing Christmas tree in the corner that took up most of the room. He ignored the pine needles sticking to his sweater and white feathers, moving past his little sister to look out the window. “Are you sure, Minnie? Are you absolutely sure?”

No...No, I know how this ends.

Donald stood in the doorway, watching his younger self and his little sister happily pounce on their uncle on that Christmas Eve so long ago. It was this night that changed everything, and he slapped his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to drown it out. He didn't want to go through this again. He didn't think he had the strength. Yet he could still hear his smaller self ask, “You are taking us there, right?"

But this time Ludwig's face brightened and he took Minnie by the hand. “Of course I am. I'm taking Minnie with me.” With a hearty laugh, he picked her up into his arms, and she snuggled up to him. “Well, have a nice life, nephew. We'll be sure to write.”

The adult Donald dropped his arms in shock, before bowling over his past image and trying to snatch Ludwig by the arm. “What do you think you're doing!” he snapped, his infamous temper threatening to boil over. “You can't just leave me behind!”

Ludwig smiled with hauntingly empty eyes, and Minnie copied the lifeless expression, tilting her head. “Isn't this what you wanted?” Ludwig asked cheerfully, not even blinking. “No more broken promises, no more family to tie you down. You can live exactly as you want.” He then held up Minnie by an extra inch. “Isn't that right, mein kind?”

Little Minnie waved her hands about like a conductor would, repeating the words she'd said in the cave. “It's okay, Donald. Now you can stop sacrificing everything for me. You can live for yourself now. You're free of me,” She said in a sing-song manner, even kicking her feet about. “Bye-bye, bruder!”

“But I didn't - ” Donald faltered, his hands shaking as he tried to find words to match his inner horror. “I didn't mean – That's not what I wanted! I never asked you to go away!” He made a desperate grab for his sister, but his hands passed through her like wind. He tried again and again, yet for every attempt, they seemed to drift farther and farther away from him, their smiles painted on without a hint of fabrication. “It's not true! I didn't want this! I never wanted-”

“Then what do you want?” Ludwig and Minnie asked in union, before suddenly vanishing and leaving both Donalds alone in that cold room with a dying Christmas tree. The little one hadn't said a word, and merely watched his older counterpart with an unreadable look.

What did Donald want? He felt something ugly and horrible welling up inside him, but he covered his face, not wanting anyone to see it. “I just – I just wanted - ” he stammered, feeling shameful hot tears begin to slide down his feathery cheeks. “I just don't want to be alone!” he howled in agony, falling to his knees, and burying his forehead in the carpet. He had tried for so long to act as if losing his parents hadn't hurt, as if Ludwig's abandonment was a mere obstacle on the path of true happiness, but they'd hurt, they'd hurt so deeply, and now he was losing his sister. Now he was crying like some stupid kid, all dignity and hope lost.

Then he felt a tiny hand touch his fingers. “What's so bad about that?”

Donald had completely forgotten this other one was there, and he was slow to open his fingers and looked upon his past. Yet his past didn't seem to mind the elder's behavior. “What's so wrong with not wanting to be alone?”

“I...” Donald stammered, trying to clean his face. “I'm an adult. I'm not supposed to need anyone. I have to be strong for Minnie.”

“Then who's going to be strong for you?”

A stretch of silence passed between the past and the future, unsure of what to say. Donald couldn't believe he used to be so small. He almost felt like he should have apologized for never giving his childhood a chance. Yet the little one held no resentment, and eventually smiled, reaching over to pat Donald's forehead. “The world's a big place, I think. Even in that tiny kingdom, there's a whole bunch of people. Can't you make some friends?”

Donald snorted, turning his head away. “Who'd want to be friends with me? No one can stand me. I can't even stand me anymore. My own sister hates me. She...wouldn't even look right at me when she left.” He began to stand up – and that's when his younger self kicked his shin. “OW!” Donald yelled, grabbing his leg and hopping up and down. “Why you doggone stubborn little brat!”

“No, YOU'RE the doggone stubborn little brat!” the child growled, hands on his hips. “I don't care what she said! Do you love her or not?”

“Of course I love her, but that's-”

“Then shut up and go after her!” The little one grabbed two fistfuls of Donald's coat and refused to let go. “You don't wanna protect Minnie just because she's your sister. You love her for who she is! She's nice and smart and she has hope even when everyone else would give up! And she didn't give up this time either! If she wasn't looking at you, dummy, then where was she looking?”

Donald grabbed his younger self by the wrists in an effort to pry him off, but as he looked upon his hands, the memories returned as crystal clear as clean ice. No, she hadn't been looking at him in her final moments as she gave herself away. Her eyes had been down, but not out of pathetic sadness. They weren't on the ground, not on the ice, but on -

On the magic sword that had been frozen in his hand.

No, she hadn't given up on him, had she? Minnie believed in things when no one else would. For so long he'd seen that as a weakness, as a childish folly – but perhaps that optimism had taken true strength, more strength than it took to see the world only for its disappointments. They both had every reason to keep their heads down and trudge on in life, but she'd chosen to keep her chin up and look for light in a dark world, and now, Minnie was counting on him.

“It's not too late,” the younger Donald murmured gently, placing something into Donald's now open palms – the same toy sword with his name. “For Minnie, for Ludwig, for that doll of a prince, for Daisy, for everyone in the kingdom. And it's not too late for you.”

Donald clutched the sword tightly in both hands. If he continued using this magic to save the kingdom, he could die. Yet he lowered his shoulders and held his sword high. “Well, I'm not dead yet,” he declared. “No more promises! I'm doing what I have to with my own strength!”

“HANG ON, MINNIE! YOUR BRUDER IS COMING!”

And that's when he woke up from his dream, the ice around his body cracking. Donald's eyes snapped open in time to see the ice falling off into melting chunks, his sword lit aflame once more. Within seconds, the same freedom happened to Ludwig, who cried out in shock, to Daisy, who would have jumped in glee if she could feel her legs, and for Mickey, who toppled over due to his wooden weight. Donald stumbled once he was wholly able to move and stared intently at his sword. It still burned, and he could feel the same overwhelming exhaustion that had come when he cured the Sugar Plum Fairy.

“Gimmie a minute,” Daisy said as she leaned on a wall for support, “And I'll kiss you in gratitude all over again!”

Ludwig knelt down to help Mickey up, but his eyes never left his nephew. Though all he could see was Donald's back, he could see from the strength in his body that a fight had begun. “You're going to go back for her, aren't you?”

“Not just her.” Donald could hear his horses outside the cave, knocking their hooves on the snow. “I'm not leaving until all of Mausekönig is free from that rat king. And I don't want you to tell me to run away or to not use magic, because you know me. I don't listen to anyone.”

“H-Hold on!” But the objection didn't come from Ludwig – it was Mickey who shuffled to Donald's side. “You've gotta let me come with you! This is my fault, I have to fix things!”

“Count me in too!” Daisy smacked her palms together, eyes burning with the intensity of revenge. “I owe Mortimer a lifetime's worth of punches to his big fat nose! If he can't change me again, then I'm invincible!”

That just left the oldest member of the heroic band, and all turned to look at the quiet Ludwig. He adjusted his spectacles – it was difficult to tell when exactly it had happened, but one of the lenses had popped out. “I'm not sure how much help I can be to any of you. I've done nothing but burden you all, and you can't even ask me for advice.” He even took a step back, ready to wander further into the dark cave. “I've been a lousy uncle. I've been a lousy royal aide.” he shoved his cold hands into his empty pockets. “Tell...Tell Minnie I do love her.”

“Aw, tell her yourself, you sad sack,” Donald huffed, marching forward and yanking Ludwig by the shirt collar. “I didn't get off the pity train just so you could take my seat. You're coming with me.” Unwilling to hear any further resistance, he began to drag Ludwig to the horses.

“Didn't you hear a single word I said!” Ludwig struggled to reason with him, and when he looked for help from Daisy and Mickey, they merely shrugged. “I can't do anything for you!”

“You're not going to escape your responsibilities if I have anything to say about it!” Donald only released Ludwig once they were outside, but then he turned and jabbed his sword near Mickey's chest – the wooden prince would have jumped had he been able to. “That goes for you too, doll face!”

“Nutcracker!”

“You gotta apologize to your people for what you did! Maybe even get on your knees!” Donald paused in his rant to inspect Mickey's legs. “If you can kneel. Or lay on your face.”

“But-” Mickey held up his hands defensively, knowing Donald had amazingly good points but afraid of where they would lead. He was also afraid of catching on fire, which is why he kept backing away every time Donald got closer. “What if they don't forgive me? What if they don't want me as a prince?”

“Doesn't matter!” Donald kept poking Mickey until the mouse was also outside of the cave. “You should want to apologize because it's the right thing to do! Both of you! It's about doing the right thing, and darn the consequences! We have to save everyone, then we can care about what they think! Now get moving!” He then whipped around to address the last member. “And you!”

Daisy blinked rapidly. “What did I do?”

“Don't kiss guys like crazy until you know their first and last names! And you're both dating! Now get on the horse!” He yanked her by the wrist, but he honestly didn't have to. Daisy would have happily done whatever he asked – this side of him was quite enjoyable.

“Does this mean we're dating?”

“If I live through this, sure! Whatever!” The fire on his sword began to die down, but Donald knew it would live again when the time was right. He swallowed down his weariness and climbed atop his horse, with Daisy choosing to climb up as well. Ludwig uneasily sat on the second horse, taking a guess at how the remains of the reins were supposed to work. That left Mickey to jog behind, as they didn't want to risk the horse's bones breaking. Mickey watched Donald as he rode on ahead, knowing he was risking his life and going forward nonetheless.

Mickey felt jealous, but in a strange way, it felt good. For so long he only had old rulers in textbooks to admire and look up to, but now there was a man of flesh and blood who was showing him what it meant to be a leader. No wonder Minnie wrote so fondly of Donald in her letters.

~*~

Once when Minnie was little, she'd worn her ballet shoes all day from morning to night. She had thought doing so would improve her steps and make her a better dancer. But it wasn't long before she'd gotten blisters and her feet were in agony. Her ballet instructor warned her over doing something so foolish ever again and Donald carried her around until he was completely sure her feet were healed. His arms felt so strong and secure, she could fall asleep in them.

“C'mon, don't tell me you're tired already!”

In the present, Minnie felt she could have fallen asleep because of how drained she felt. Ever since she had returned to the castle, Mortimer had ordered her to dance – and he hadn't let her stop. Not to eat, not to rest, not even when she inevitably fell over on the floor. In the corner, Mortimer had used his magic to enchant instruments to endlessly play, and he treated himself to a feast fit for a king. Minnie was his entertainment, and he didn't care that the average person wasn't built to dance for hours on end.

She crawled onto her arms, her face dripping with sweat. “P-Please, your highness...I just need a few minutes...” Minnie could only hope blood wouldn't show through her ballet shoes. If he became disgusted with her, that could put her on his next-to-enchant list.

All of Mortimer's eyes rolled and he slumped in his seat. “Well, now I'm bored. Why do the best toys break so easily?”

The right face clicked its shorter tongue. “Real shame we let those ducks go, they could've made for some really funny jesters.”

The left face snorted through its bigger nostrils. “Good riddance to 'em, I say! We don't need anybody who'd get in our way.”

“Easy, fellas!” Mortimer of the middle interrupted, holding up his hands. “What's past is past, so let's find something fun for the here and now! Let's forget all about those trouble makers.”

Minnie didn't want to look up and see Mortimer's disfigured faces, but as she lifted her head to do just that, she could see he wasn't even looking at her. His narcissism kept his attention almost 24/7, even to the point of stupidity. Even though he possibly had three brains, it didn't make him any smarter. If anything it made him greedier. As Minnie's eyes moved from one face to the other, she saw that maybe there was a way to use this obvious overconfidence.

She sat on her knees, cocked her head back, and let out the most pitiful wail she could muster. “Oh, no! This is awful!” she cried, pretending to wipe away tears instead of sweat.

Mortimer suddenly sat up right, surprised by the outburst. “What are you going on about?”

The ballerina placed her arm over her forehead. “My poor bruder! Why, oh, why didn't I see this coming?” After a quick glance to make sure Mortimer was paying attention, she made her fake cries even louder. “He's going to come back for me! I'm sure of it!”

Now the false prince narrowed all his eyes, trying to decipher what her sobs were saying. “Whaddya mean he's coming back? Didn't you tell him he could get lost? Who would be foolish enough to come back when I could turn them into potted plants?”

“Oh, but my bruder is so very foolish!” Now that the fish had noticed the bait, time to make it wriggle. “Most people are so very foolish when it comes to you, your highness, but he is the dictionary definition of foolish! I'm sure he'll come right here and try to save me, and you'll have to wait until he comes right into the castle before punishing him!”

“We will?” the right face asked immediately, puzzled.

“Of course you will! Because someone as brilliant as you would want to see him fail in front of his darling little sister, so it'll hurt all the more!”

“We would?” the left face questioned, but now it was starting to sound interested.

“Absolutely you would!” Minnie flopped onto her back, rolling back and forth, breathing hard through her nose for extra authenticity. “And you wouldn't need any of your guards, because you're such a genius! And I'm just a good girl who can't do anything but watch as all three of you defeat him! I'm sure it'll break my heart so much I could never love anyone again!” After a few unnecessarily loud chokes, she made sure to turn her head towards him. “Except for you, obviously.”

The middle Mortimer slapped his hand on the arm rests of the throne. “Gentlemen, I have an idea! I say we let that troublemaker right back in here! We'll show him that no one can defeat us!”

“What a great idea!”

“Glad we thought of it!”

Letting out a sigh of both relief and exhaustion, Minnie hid a tired smile as she lay still on the floor. While she had been trying to point Mortimer in a certain direction, she hadn't entirely lied either. Her brother would absolutely come after her, as would her dear uncle, as would her dear prince, and though she had only met Daisy briefly, a woman with that amount of anger wouldn't turn back and hide. Though she had said harsh things to Donald, they were family, and more importantly they loved each other. Donald was many things – ill tempered, overprotective, and a downer. But he was also stubborn where it mattered most, and he cared for her when it could have been easier to live only for himself.

Yes, Donald would come and save her. It was just a matter of time and patience. But she would also have to do some work in saving herself. If Mortimer hadn't noticed this trick, he hopefully wouldn't notice another. He had infinite power atop his head – up to a point. It became harder to think of plans when her feet throbbed in pain though. Minnie grunted as she sat up, looking at her ballet shoes that seemed tighter than ever. Just as she reached over to pry one off, she stopped – infinite power up to a point.

Minnie gulped. She didn't want to do this. She was afraid, and there was a good chance this could wind up killing her. She shut her eyes tightly, but wound up seeing images of the sad mutated servants, of her princely nutcracker who didn't have the courage to defy tradition, and of her brother with a target on his back. With all of these in mind, she spoke again. “If only I could dance forever and ever.”

All of Mortimer's pupils centered on her, latching onto the idea without giving it another thought. “That's perfect! You CAN dance forever and ever! See, aren't I good to my girls? Besides, I need something to pass the time while your idiotic brother gets here. So, on with the show!” He clapped his hands together loudly, and the rubies atop the crown emitted a harsh glow. Violent red light shot out from the crown, striking Minnie's ballet shoes and turning them as red as the blood pooling inside them. Minnie bit down on her tongue to keep from screaming as she felt the magic enter her very feet – it was as if worms with vicious teeth were crawling through her skin and taking ahold.

There was no time to adjust to this terrible sensation as she found herself propelled upward by her own feet. Though each and every step was excruciating torment, she couldn't make herself stop. Her feet were under another's command, instructed to dance until, well, forever and ever. Eventually Mortimer would summon his guards and give them the odd order to let any intruders in, but until then, he laughed with a child's delight at his whirling toy. What did he care if it broke? There were plenty to pick from afterward.

As Minnie twirled and twirled in dizzying torture, she repeated three words over and over in an effort to keep herself awake and sane. The words she had to say Donald to make up for the pain she'd caused him back in their uncle's cold torn apart home.

I'm sorry, Donald.

#disney #fanfic #the nutcracker prince #mickey mouse #minnie mouse #donald duck

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