#and thank you for reassuring me that this is not the uncanny valley i feared

[shoshiwrites]

from the 100 paired prompts list - ⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar for Jo and Joe. (yes you heard me.)

The sun rises early in late July, the beginning of August. She’s too warm, lying here in bed, unable to fall back asleep. Outside, a blackbird in a backyard tree sings. A warbler too, as she watches the light on the floor barely touch the murky outlines of their furniture — the dresser, the vase, the lamp, the mirror.

A sleeping Joe lies heavily beside her, soft snores and uncombed hair, the faintest stubble he’ll be shaving away in an hour at most.

Her tongue sticks in her mouth, tastes like teeth. Craving something. None of it’s been too strange, or at least no more strange than how she normally eats. Salt with the sweet, sour with the fat. She won’t ask him, she decides. She can take care of it herself. She can’t sleep anyway.

A few scattered mornings have seen her do this, take the car. Joe doesn’t mind, of course. He doesn’t put the work into it for nothing, he says. She’s dressed loosely, throws an old jacket on over all of it. Takes her wallet, her sunglasses. She almost smiles — it feels almost like stealing a Jeep. The air outside is fresh and cool, not yet hot with the afternoon sun.

The stand she’s thinking of is indeed open, a wooden sign wet with dewy grass. Plump peaches — Sugar May, the farmer calls them — brilliant nectarines and deep purple plums, delicate apricots, a few containers of cherries, like a lipstick ad in Technicolor, come to life.

She doesn’t know him well enough to dissuade the help loading a small box of the peaches into passenger seat, and something tells her he would’ve offered anyway. Something about him reminds her of something gone, his kind and wrinkled smile, faded flannel and work trousers, a lost summer afternoon before the war. He tells her to enjoy the fruit; she tells him she will.

Joe’s up by the time she’s back; she smells coffee from the open door when he’d gotten up from the table at the sound of the car pulling in. She sees his steaming mug on the blue-checkered tablecloth, hers set out on the counter. He’s dressed in blue too, collared chambray work shirt and darker trousers.

He looks surprised, at her early-morning mission, but doesn’t say so. Doesn’t look at her like anything other than who she is — the woman he married, the girl in love, the writer who chased the story halfway around the world and came home to him. He looks like a boy in love, when he looks at her.

“These look good,” he says, taking the box from her after his greeting, the good morning, the kiss he’d pressed to her lips after she’d set hers to his cheek. “Thank you.”

“I thought I might try and bake with them,” she says. “Evie sent over a recipe.”

She pushes her hair back behind her ear, catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Disheveled, hair a little wild from the open car window. Pink-cheeked. She wonders when the doctors are going to try and put her on bedrest. She’s getting there. She doesn’t know how she’s going to handle it.

He’s already holding one in his hand.

“Go on,” she says, smiling. “He wouldn’t let me leave without extras.” There’s a nectarine or two nestled in there, two clusters of plump cherries.

He doesn’t argue, only leans over the sink and bites. The door’s closed, the light beaming through the curtains he didn’t open. She can do this, now. Press her fingers to his, sticky from the sweet white flesh, ignore the clock on the mantle, kiss him breathless against her heart.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXIX. “uncanny valley”

parts: previous / next

plot: you and Bruce dance around the horrors of the weekend, desperate to make things right—or, at least, better.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, angst, mental health issues, descriptions of violence, descriptions of injury, grief, anxiety

words: 6.1k

prev. chapter summary (XXVIII): You go to Wayne Tower on Saturday night to talk to Alfred about ways to get Bruce help. Alfred is hopeless. Bruce intercepts, bitter at your intrusiveness, and storms off. You call Dr. Crane, who tells you to refrain from following him for fear of escalating the argument. On your walk home, you run into a panicked, horrified Bruce in an abandoned alley near his house. He does not recognize you, and after calling Alfred for him to be picked up, Bruce begs Alfred not to tell his parents about him being out so late. After a brief heartfelt (and teary) conversation with Alfred, where he expressed thanks and reassured you were not making things worse (as you thought, and still think), you went home. The next day, Bruce has no recollection of the night before, brought up to speed by Alfred. At Alfred’s urging, Bruce visits your apartment on Sunday, begging you to see his side. The argument becomes heated, and, convinced by Dr. Crane’s horrifying prognosis for Bruce and his own erratic, dangerous behavior, you do a last hail-mary to get him help: you lie about being the person who saw Bruce jump, expressing how terrified you were at thinking you’d watched him die. This immediately triggers Bruce to his childhood, and he does a hard reset on his denial, horrified he’s repeating the cycle, reassuring you he will accept help.

Outside of receiving some calls, you hadn't checked your phone since Thursday night. Texts, socials, it had all been abandoned trying to remove the noose snaking Bruce's neck. After the phone call with Alfred you were able to relax into bed and pull out your phone—immediately smacked by a bazillion texts from Mar, a few from your parents, and some mentions on Scypher. You clicked on Mar's texts first.

Thursday, 11:50pm: OMGGG just now seeing thissss i got so lit tonight. sorry!! idk if i can make it to help you move. def can't drive in the morning tho!!! ttys!!!

Friday, 1:20am: ok lolz i went to a second club 2nite and yahhh i don't think i can make it 2morrowww

Friday, 12:30pm: if ur still in town i could help, i just got a massive headache hahaha have you left yet

Friday, 1:22pm: ur prob on the road byeee

Friday, 1:30pm: wait ur still in Gotham??

Today, 12:58pm: BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!! you didn't tell me you did the interview with him!! like actually!!!!!!! okayyyy too famous to respond to me I see? i'll make sure to visit to get your autograph lol.

Today, 2:15pm: bro i got so many more friend requests already today???? some are Bruce Wayne fan accounts. wtf!!!??? this is like blowing up

Today, 6:15pm: MISSED CALL FROM MAR.

Today, 6:16pm: MISSED CALL FROM MAR.

Today, 6:18pm: LOOK !!!!

She'd attached a Buzzfeed article titled: Bruce Wayne's First Interview Came Out Today, and Our Jaws (and Clothes) are on the Floor

You couldn't read any further though, seeing as you had a handful of texts from your parents to sort through.

Friday, 1:45pm: Hey hunny! Your mother and I are home from the second shot. She told me to text you 'I am fine'. We will call you this evening after I finish up the deck.

Friday, 6:37pm: MISSED CALL FROM DAD.

Friday, 6:40pm: Deck done. When you visit next I'll show you. Walter likes it. Love you

Today, 3:13pm: MISSED CALL FROM MOM.

Today, 3:20pm: Hi kiddo. Wow! Congratulations on the article! Debbie showed it to us when she visited earlier. I thought you said you were done with that guy. Love you sweety!

You responded to your dad about your mom, and your mom about the article. You refused to comment on her mention of Bruce, wanting to purge your mind as much as you were able to after the weekend you'd had. You resigned to calling her first thing in the morning, miserable over forgetting about her second shot. After responding to Mar to update her on staying (and to express faux excitement about the article's release), you stayed up a few more minutes to see if your parents might still be awake and responsive. Sleep.

You woke up late that day, around two in the afternoon; the only reason you hadn't slept even longer was a phone call from Dr. Vry startling you awake. "Y/N! Have you seen your article? I can't believe it. Over a hundred applications just TODAY to the journalism program!"

You fought your way through the conversation, the gears in your head finally harnessing enough energy to start worrying again. The call ended quickly, as she 'had a lot of applications to get through', and you called your mom without a second glance at your phone notifications.

"Hey sweetie. I saw your text last night, but I couldn't respond. Walter was finally curled up in my lap, you know how sensitive he is." She sounded fine, neither ecstatic nor miserable. Her energy picked up when she started talking about your article. "Your dad was looking into that Wayne guy, and ran across that article of yours. He didn't know it was you that wrote it until Debbie brought it over!"

You'd padded out to your kitchen to make some toast with the butt of the bread. "Since when is dad researching things about Gotham?"

"He's been very intrigued ever since graduation. He—"

Your dad sounded off in the background. "Hun? Hey! I saw that article of yours! His first interview ever. That's a big family, you know. The Waynes. It's a big deal sweetie!"

He continued without leaving space for you to change the topic. "You know about his parents, right? God, poor kid. Seems to have recovered from it well enough."

You stifled a laugh at him delivering the most famous lore of Gotham city like it was breaking news. "Yeah, I know about his parents."

"You know, I knew I sensed something between you two. When's he coming to visit?" You heard a meow in the background, and you could only imagine your dad was munching on some sandwich he desperately wanted.

"Dad,"

"People don't give their first interviews to just anyone. Must've really impressed him."

"He's never coming over, dad."

"You don't have to be embarrassed honey. He seems like a stand-up guy! Next visit, bring him."

"It sounds like you want to meet him." You rubbed your temples, having temporarily abandoned your peanut butter spreading. You didn't know if you were right, but you could've sworn you heard him shaking his head. Walter meowed again. He definitely had some sort of food in his hand.

"What kind of dad would I be if I weren't excited to meet my daughter's boyfriend?"

The juxtaposition of the past few days to his chipper, nonchalant demeanor was stark, reducing you to a teary mess. No, you wanted to snap at him. I actually visited him in a psych ward. Had to stop his future from becoming a funeral.

"Hey, whoa now..." Your mom spoke in a hushed, frustrated tone in the background. "I'm sorry sweetie. I get it. I won't talk about him anymore."

You continued to cry, unable to get any words out. It was like you were finally able to feel the weight of what had been placed on you, feel the piercing stab of the fear it instilled. Your sobs were so pathetic and deep that your mom kept asking if you could breathe. It took much longer than you were comfortable with to even begin steadying, and when you did you knew it wouldn't last. You told them you had to get back to work, and that you'd see them in two weeks.

Vanity Fair. Vogue. People. Cosmopolitan. Us Weekly. Elle. Glamour. Seventeen. Marie Claire. Your eyes had fuzzed over as anxiety nestled into your gut. So this had been... this had been huge. 600 followers had turned into 13,000, and that was just on Scypher. Instagram had 300, now 6,500. So many mentions, so many comments, you started to panic even more. You tossed the phone across the bed and wrapped your arms around your body, rocking slowly back and forth, squeezing your arms so hard they began to ache. Flashbacks to Saturday night pulsed between your eardrums, projected on the back wall of your mind. You'd never seen someone so out of their element before. The image of him in the fetal position on the ground. The screaming. The nearly incomprehensible rattle in his voice. The stitches that bulged, the skin sloughed off his fingers. The blood. The sweat. The panic. Dread. Fear. Hysteria.

Your hands shook just the same as they fought to text Alfred. Your fingers garbled the message, but you couldn't handle another second without knowing if he was alive or dead. What if he'd taken the whole fucking bottle? What if he was on the floor of his bedroom, the last dregs of his functioning body procuring foamy spit out of his mouth for him to choke on? What if he flung himself off another building? His house was so fucking tall. So empty. So huge. So many places he wouldn't be seen, he wouldn't be found, so many places someone could hide if they needed, or wanted. What if he was strung up by his neck on a ceiling bar?

You shrieked in pain as waves of fear ravaged you. If it were real water you'd be swept under, and you wouldn't even fight it. The water would take away all your troubles, your worries, your fears. But he couldn't know that. They couldn't know what this was doing to you.

You set the phone down.

If he knew, he'd feel guilty. He couldn't feel guilty. Guilt would hurt him more. Guilt could push him over the edge.

Instead, you dialed Dr. Crane. He answered on the second ring, always so quick. "Y/N. I was about to call you. Before we get into it, why did you call?"

Anxiety lurched up into your chest, eager to overwhelm and incapacitate. "Get into what?"

Dr. Crane laughed, a discordant sound that chilled you. "To thank you. Whatever you did, it was successful. This is strictly confidential, but he is accepting treatment."

So he's alive? "I wanted to talk to you about that." You swallowed hard, yanking at a loose thread in your comforter. "I uh, he wasn't going to get help until I, until I lied."

"About what?" Dr. Crane's composure was always strictly maintained, and this time was no different. He never gave away his feelings. "I had to tell him I was the witness. I said I saw him jump."

"Oh."

That was quite possibly the worst thing he could've said.

"Well, that changes things."

"What things?"

"For one, that's a secret you must keep. Glad you clued me in." You heard a rustling of papers, a hushing of his tone. "Usually that would be unacceptable, but if we're both being honest," His candor was unsettling. "I have yet to see someone as deeply in denial as him accept treatment. I went to sleep fully anticipating waking to news of his passing." His tone was suddenly lighter, almost singsongy. "I can't say I'm disappointed in you."

You had no concept of how to respond to that. Guilt ulcerated your stomach and strangled your chest, but at least Bruce was breathing. After a silence that was too long, long enough you were surprised he hadn't yet hung up, you spoke. "Are we, are you, sure?" Words were having trouble finding you. "About the lying? I didn't see it, and what if the real witness,”

"There is nothing to be concerned about regarding the witness. Mr. Wayne has begun treatment, and will soon be stable. Incredible work."

"I—"

"You saved Bruce Wayne’s life, Y/N. It's only a shame it's a badge you can’t share." You could hear the smile in his tone, but you weren't happy. The reassurance you’d been seeking was far from assuring, leaving you situated in an uncanny valley of suspicion. How could he be so joyful? Why wasn't he drilling you about going to such lengths? Had it… had it really been that fucking hopeless? Anger boiled in you at the prospect of Dr. Crane knowingly sending you on a suicide mission. Before you burnt the bridge, you thanked him for the update and hung up. It took everything in you not to throw the phone against the wall.

The shower was scalding. You barely felt it. He must have thought he wouldn't make it. He seemed so fucking resolved to Bruce's death. Fully anticipating waking up to news of his passing? But there was 'nothing he could do'? Not a word of tangible advice besides 'don't go after him'. If I listened to him, who knows who would have found him out there! Would he have attempted again? You also wrestled with the uncomfortable reality that Dr. Crane had been correct; you had played a vital role in him accepting treatment. Had Dr. Crane psychoanalyzed you, deemed you the sort of person to lie if needed? Someone he could push to do things outside of personal liability? A sort of reverse hitman?

As you toweled off, your anxious mind continued its rumination. So he took meds. But did he take just one? Alfred will watch him, right? Hold onto his meds, only give him them as needed? Is he employing a system, making sure he checks under Bruce's tongue, locks the bathrooms, listens for retching, making sure the medication is accurately and genuinely consumed, as prescribed? You needed a break, but you couldn't find one. Sitting on the edge of your bed you knew you wouldn't be able to rest until you knew he was alive right now. And the next day. And the next day. And the next. A boulder jammed down your shoulders knowing you wouldn't be satisfied unless he personally slept on your couch so you could monitor him like a newborn. His attempt and general discontent were affecting you far more than you'd initially internalized.

Bruce sat in Alfred's study by the fireplace, staring out the window towards the grounds. Over breakfast with Alfred he took the first dose of the medication, and only a few hours later he swore he could feel the effects. He'd done some quick googling on olanzapine, and it appeared he was having a placebo effect. At minimum he'd feel effects in a few days, more likely after a week or two. He had to stop researching after that, too freaked out about having to be on antipsychotics, too much still in disbelief about how he'd done something so drastic yet had no memory of it. Alfred convinced him to stay 'home' from Batman for the rest of the week, which was an unusually easy feat considering how he hadn't taken a voluntary night off since beginning the project years ago. It broke him how upset you'd been, and he knew he wouldn't be able to see Alfred cry again. That was unbearable.

He didn't have much to do; he quickly realized he had been living only for the night. There really wasn't anything to do in the tower; no games (outside of a dusty chess board in Alfred's study), one old television (also in Alfred's study, off to an adjacent corner), no gym (he overextended himself enough as Batman), and the house was generally kempt from Dory's attentive cleaning in a house that didn't need more than dusting anyway.

Alfred told him to skip the meeting this week; Bruce initially hadn’t cared much either way, but realized that wasn't an option after misery frayed his nerves with just half a day of sitting around. In order to go in public, he needed to not be scarred and scabbed to hell; he wanted to walk the grounds, but worried about doing it in the daytime in the state he was in. Your article’s release had also prompted a patch of reporters to hang around his house, increasing his surveillance. Give an inch, they’ll take a mile. He and Alfred briefly discussed the contingency plan they kept at the ready: staged police photos of a nasty car crash on the edge of the grounds, but he couldn't share them yet—he wanted to leave you as much time as possible to soak up the success of the interview. You deserved that much, you deserved more after what he'd put you through. At least once an hour he thought about calling you, and he very nearly did a few times. He worried about you. Were you safe? Did you need anything?

On some level, he theorized focusing so much on you was a coping mechanism to escape his failing mental capacity. The more he focused on you, the less real estate his panic had. Last night had been miserable. He'd stayed awake staring at the ceiling, his mind swirling with shock and fear. He’d wondered if this is what his mom had endured, but he didn’t have the mental fortitude yet to go digging through Arkham Asylum records. He didn’t know if he ever would again, so he simply sat. Watched the clouds move along the skyline. Watched the shrubs sway in the backyard. Followed the occasional crow floating past the windows.

As soon as darkness fell he couldn't contain himself any longer. The nagging feeling of someone he traumatized being alone in it was too much. He grabbed a hoodie and walked to the elevator, sure he could make a free escape through the old subway route. His hand hesitated before pressing the button. What if you didn't want him to visit? What if it was too stressful? He couldn't keep coming over unannounced, it was weird. Not normal. Alfred had heard the metal rustling and walked into the kitchen. His brow furrowed. "I thought you were taking a break from him?"

"I am." He stared at the ground, lost in thought. "Would you call her?"

"Miss Y/N?" Alfred's voice was soft, concerned. "Sure, why?"

Bruce had conveniently kept to himself that you'd been the one to watch him jump. That you were the witness, that you'd called 911. "I want to give her an update."

Alfred pulled out his phone and Bruce walked closer, bridging the gap between them. "Ask if I could talk to her." He didn't blink until you picked up, hiding a wince at how you'd done so before the end of the first ring. You were scared. Desperate.

"Miss Y/N, I hope this isn't a bad time." Alfred paused with the phone to his ear, his expression faltering before he let out a small chuckle. It was hollow. "No, he's alright. He wanted to see if he could speak to you now."

He handed the phone to Bruce, who quickly scurried up the stairs and into his room. He only put the phone to his ear once the door was closed behind him. "Y/N?"

"Bruce." It was so nice to hear your voice when it wasn't panicked. You sounded a bit tired, breathy, but miles better than yesterday. A sigh of relief heaved out of him, to which you had a reflexive response. "Are you okay?" Your voice rose, both in volume and octave.

"Yes. Are you okay?"

"I really don't think it matters,"

He bit back a part of him that wanted to say you were the only thing that mattered. He'd broken you. "Are you?"

You sighed. "Yes. Did you uh,"

"I got the meds."

"Good. Did you take them? Or, one, or, whatever the dose,"

"Yeah." He could hear how clouded your mind was, and it was excruciating being so limited to the phone. He remembered the first week after the murder. His mind had been a hazy minefield, everything running on autopilot. The tears, his limbs, his voice, nothing had been a conscious decision for weeks. Sure, he hadn't died, but you'd thought he had. If… his parents had survived, he figured he would've been in a similar state regardless. He wanted to help you, but he didn't know how.

"How long does it take the medication to work?"

"A few days. Maybe a few weeks." After his parents died, everyone brought him food. Random strangers had brought flowers, and food, and even stuffed toys for him to cuddle with. He'd only kept one, a stuffed dinosaur, now tucked into the back of his linen closet. Alfred checked on him constantly. No longer did he have to do his chores; Dory and Alfred picked up the slack. No longer did he have to deal with hearing his mom demand he eat his veggies and sides before getting another helping of soup, he only had soup. And juice, and soda, and warm blankets fresh out of the dryer. He remembered the warmth. Of the blanket, the soup. Those, paired with the scraggly dino in his arms, were the only things that made a decimal of impact on his devastation. "Do you need anything?"

"No. Do you?"

"Do you want anything?"

"I'm good. What about you?"

He didn't believe it. You were trying to spare him, just like you had by making yourself anonymous. Would it be wrong of him to come over? This late in the evening... probably. But he remembered the nights were the worst part. Alone in the empty darkness. Less cars, less lights, even the reruns on tv were stale at that time. It left no room for distraction. And honestly, he worried if he didn't distract you from your pain, he'd be gridlocked by his.

"Can I stop by?"

Onion, celery, carrots, butter, flour, curry powder, chicken broth, an apple, rice, chicken breast, thyme, and heavy cream. He didn't know how to make much, and Alfred didn't keep much variety around, but you hadn't balked at mulligatawny the first night you'd stayed here, and it was one of the few things he knew how to make without a recipe. It was also one of the few things the old man always kept fresh and stocked, especially now that Bruce was in recovery mode. Most importantly, it was warm. It was only nine, he could get this done before ten, and be gone before midnight. Just in time for you to get tired and go to sleep, without hours spent tossing and turning alone in bed. It was the least he could do for you.

He'd never felt more ridiculous than he did when he opened your door. The backpack was heavy and a reminder that he hadn't asked if he could cook, but assumed he would waltz into your kitchen and work some magic. You invited him in and he went straight to the island, setting down his pack and taking out the supplies. Your face scrunched with confusion. "What are you doing?"

He kept taking out food while he thought of how to phrase it. It was like his mind was slowed down, your apartment a pool of tv static. "I wanted to cook." Pause. "For you." Another pause, and he took out the apple. "It's warm." Fuck, could he have explained it any worse?

He paused and you watched him slowly move to meet your eyes. "Can I?" His hand was hovering above one of the drawers, ready to get to work. "Sure." You didn't understand why he couldn't cook at his house, but you couldn’t complain; still coming down from the nauseating blend of relief and guilt that gnawed at you when you finally saw him in the flesh. Like being attacked by a wave on a hot day; soothing, but bitterly cold at the same time.

You had reassembled the chairs today, and the table. You'd anticipated calling Mar later tonight if she weren’t already at a club, offering to order some takeout and have a movie night. When thinking up a distraction, you certainly hadn't anticipated Chef Bruce appearing with fixings for a mystery meal. Did billionaires even know how to cook? Did billionaire Bruce Wayne ever have to fend for himself in the kitchen? A brief image of him staring confusedly at a box of cereal made your mouth twitch into a grin.

Good. Your humor was still there, thank god. With his back turned to you, facing the burner, you could finally, finally, finally, finally unclench your jaw and drop your shoulders. He was here. It was weird, and uncomfortable, but undeniable. He was here, not hanging from a rafter or god knows where doing god knows what in the city. He was putting butter in a pan, and grabbing a wooden spoon. He was alive.

But... this was still out of character, which raised an orange flag. You waited for him to reach an impasse before speaking, tapping his fingers on the countertop while he watched the rice cook. An apple sat cubed to the left, the chicken sizzling on the back burner. "How are you? Really?"

Bruce needed to toe the line. Too honest and it would shift the focus to him, further distressing you; too dishonest and you'd dismiss it before he finished speaking. His body didn't just ache, it screamed at him. Every step, even every time he spoke, felt like torture. He'd teared up at multiple points between the lobby and your unit. His spirit was entirely crushed, shattered into irredeemable smithereens. He hung his head and let all the air out of his lungs, letting his weight fall into his wrists as he leaned over the stove. "Not great."

It should've pained you to hear that, instead it felt like wind in your sails. He was being honest. You could work with that. Honesty didn't need to be interrogated or sleuthed upon. "How can I help?"

He wanted to say you've done enough and don't want your pity, but it felt too real. You didn't need that tonight, not so close to the event. "Taste the soup and tell me if it needs anything." He prayed you wouldn’t keep asking.

"How would I know?"

"I want it to suit your taste."

"I don't know what it's supposed to taste like." You were hyperaware he hadn't answered you, not in the way you wanted. Maybe it was too close for comfort right now. Maybe all you needed to do was focus on him being here, and ask questions later.

"Pepper, curry flavor. Creamy." He stirred something fragrant on the stovetop.

"What's the apple doing?"

"It's necessary." It felt good talking about something else with you. Something normal. Not Batman, not his legacy, not the attempt. Still, all of it clouded and constricted the conversation, a constant tension you both wittingly ignored. "Smooths the spice."

I barely tasted it that night. Too scary being trapped in the house of one of the most powerful men in the world. You watched as he stirred, chopped, and fluffed. You were brought back home with your parents, watching them make dinner while you sat at the dining table and talked at them. He glanced around and looked at the can of heavy cream. In an instant you were up and grabbing a can opener, desperate to do your part. He instructed you to pour it into the pan, and for a half second he was just another guy; an acquaintance, someone passing through; someone regular, unassuming.

After a few more minutes of sitting around, you grabbed some bowls and spoons. After a quick taste he required you take ("Need to know if I missed something"), he ladled the bowls full, and you both walked slowly, carefully over to the table to set down the steaming soup. Bruce dug in without waiting, while you blowed on a single spoonful until every bit of steam hesitated to rise from it.

He watched you apprehensively. Your eyes widened a bit, and he could see your jaw moving like you were savoring it. "How is it?" It tasted fairly similar to how Alfred made it, which was fairly similar to how his mom had made it. At the very least he hadn't royally fucked up. Who knows, maybe olanzapine changes tastebuds.

You nodded, blowing on another bite. "Mulling it over."

God, that was so droll... it tugged a whispering grin to his lips, his bite slipping back into the bowl at the gentle movement of his dry chuckle.

He was laughing. Not really. Kind of. Weird, but yay! "I've never tasted anything like it. It's good."

"Don't have to placate me."

"It's peppery. Curry. Creamy."

He rolled his eyes and tossed another spoonful into his mouth. "Creative. What's the apple for?"

The tension never left, though you both did your best to selfishly soothe it through dry humor. The most either of you did was grin, breathe a little extra air through your nose. When he wasn't looking your eyes wandered to his purple and green bruises, and the complementary crusting scabs along his neck and hands. You wondered if he was suicidal right now, but wasn't saying anything. When you weren't looking, he studied your body language, hoping it would betray you. Were you scared right now? Did you think this was the weirdest thing ever, like he did? Did you think this was creepy? Was it creepy? Was it helping? Was he helping you?

You both finished and walked your bowls to the sink. He started rinsing them and reached for the dish soap, and you let him for a little. After he pat dry the first bowl, you couldn't sit with this worry on your chest any longer. The food had been warm and energizing, the mood made less intimidating with the joking, and all of it together held your hand as you broached the topic. It made you sick how concerned he was about your wellbeing; yes, he scared you, images of his frenzied, panicked face waking you up in the dead of night, but you hadn't watched him nearly die like he thought. His worry felt like rain on a hundred degree day: unsettling and unwelcome. You inhaled fully, hoping enough oxygen would get to some brave neurons and force the words past your teeth. They caught in your chest and by then he'd finished the second bowl; anxiety palpated your heart, bullying it into silence. You overrode it. "Bruce."

At once he abandoned the silverware and turned toward you. His analytical gaze peppered your face and the fingers that annihilated your cuticles. The stench of something burning singed your nostrils, your eyes tracking the source to the hem of his sweatshirt draped over the hot stove, smoking as small flames burnt through the cotton. Perhaps waiting to be seen, it erupted into a blazing ball of flame. You yelped and jumped toward the sink, grabbing the adjustable faucet and spraying him down. The flames went out, he turned off the burner, and you looked around for some magazines or papers to fan away the tendrils of smoke wafting toward the fire alarm.

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

You glanced back and saw Bruce sopping wet, his hair having gotten in the mix too, draped over his eyes; the singed, ripped edges of his shirt that he clutched between his hands. You bit your lip to reign in your laugh. He started hurrying the shirt off his back, and gently shook it out to see if it had juice left in it. That was the kicker, sending you bolting toward your bedroom. You couldn't be laughing at him all the time. Get it together! He's hurting! But the laughs escaped your tight-lipped prison, and soon his shadow was in the doorway. As quickly as you'd laughed, you began to cry. You dropped to your knees at the whiplash; what once was dead, was now making soup in your apartment. Dancing around it wasn't helping, it was exacerbating the pain. He didn't hesitate to walk over, his long legs getting him across the room in only a few strides.

He didn't think you were crying about the fire. He stood helplessly beside you, unable to make a decision on what to do next. Guilt bloomed angry, self-flagellating thoughts, wishing he hadn't ran with his ego and coddled his denial. He placed a light touch to your shoulder and you jumped up. "I'm fine." He didn't say anything, only sat and watched as you struggled to reign in your barrage of tears. Your fingers threatened to go numb, and you attempted to shake the tingles away. "My body just needs to cry and then, then I'm done." You turned away from him and pressed your clammy palms to your cheeks, trying to physically shove the tears back into hiding.

After what seemed like an extended period of sniffling tears, you looked back at him. He was sat on the edge of your bed, his sweatshirt draped over his forearm. You could see more of the deeper wounds on his arms now, which was a viscerally surreal feeling. It was impossible not to be aware of his reputation; it preceded him at every turn, he was correct about that. Something entirely new though was seeing the fallibility so transparently.

Before graduation—and honestly, before seeing him breaking down in the alley—you had practically thought he was immortal. You wouldn't have done such ridiculous, dangerous bullshit as walking through an active crime scene at night if you hadn't internalized his heroism. Until this moment you hadn't realized how much you'd relied on that story; the subconscious reassurance that the Batman provided to Gotham's citizens. The mythical creature unfazed by bullets, incapacitating anyone in its wake. Batman's neutralizing force was so accepted it went unquestioned; now you knew it was because no one truly knew him. You and Alfred were the only people who had. Suddenly, the world felt a lot more intimidating. If you were any less shaken up, you might've laughed at the unmasking of Santa; but even children mourned the loss of magic, and here you were muzzling yourself.

"Can I help?"

You needed to nip this in the bud. It was going to come out however it was going to come out, and you needed to be okay with that. "I, appreciate the effort." It wasn't coming out so easily. Be nice. Be nice. Be nice. "But I want this to stop." I didn't watch you. "You don't want my pity, and I don't want yours." Too harsh, scale back. "The only thing I need is for you to be safe. Alive."

You sounded so much like Alfred that Bruce bit back a snarky retort. Not the time nor the place. Your bed creaked as he stood up. He hated how your words sat in his chest, but there wasn't exactly anything he could do about it. "Okay."

No argument, no fighting. Like you requested something he already vowed to do. He walked past you into the kitchen, and you followed on his heel. You had never been so close to him alone, and never from behind. His back was broad, making his already impressive height even more menacing. Veins bulged under his skin. Swore a tendon twitched in his forearm every time he stepped on his left foot. If he had turned for the door you might have yelped, but he just finished the dishes in silence while you lingered, then sat on the couch. If someone walked in right now, and was one of the few humans who didn't know about Bruce Wayne, they might think this looked normal. It couldn't feel more foreign.

You didn't wait half a second after the sink turned off to fill the space. From your perch on the end of the couch, across the room. "Will you be safe once you leave?"

Like a knife scraping under his fingernails. So scared he wouldn't be alive the next morning. Skittish. "Yes." He wasn't looking back at you, wishing he hadn't already put down the dish towel so he'd have something to wring. "I promise."

What good's a promise if he's six feet under? Your life had become so singular so quickly, and you were anxious for it to get back to its usual painful mediocrity. "Really?"

Ugh. He turned to face you and followed your eyes searching the carpet. He sighed away his animosity, knowing the rage seeping into his chest was directed at himself; it was nothing greater than embellished fear. He knew this, was well acquainted with it. Maybe he did need to go back to therapy. He leaned his hip against the counter and winced, jamming straight into a blackened, split bruise. He grabbed his hoodie from where it was slung across the edge of the counter, grimacing at the effort only when his face was obscured. “Really.” Within seconds he was at the door, his hand on the handle. He noticed your eyes flash in his periphery, and his entire body constricted at the sight. He forced himself to meet your eyes. It was strenuous. He figured he needed to warn you. "Alfred and I have emergency plans for times like these. Whatever you read in the news, it's a cover-up." He popped open the door, hesitating on the departure. The air was thick with emotional exhaust. "I'll see you on Thursday?"

You nodded, relieved he was being more covert with his concern. Sugaring the medicine. "See you on Thursday."

[searingdestiny]

The Void stares back

So! I wrote a cross over between Undertale and Doctor/Gallifrey. I used Braxiatel and I used W.D Gaster from Undertale and the Void as a setting.  This is fan fiction of the highest degree and I own none of these characters.

I had fun writing this and I hope you have fun reading it! I apologize for grammar I am not the best at it but I do hope you like it! I had to add the wingdings in as tumblr does not have that font I apologize translations are at the bottom! 

The Void stares back

Braxiatel had been invited onto the space station that observed the Void as safely as was possible. He had heard about the station for quite some time and many had shown interest in it but currently no one wanted to go. The Void had its dangers and mysteries that others just did not want to interact with. Braxiatel on the other hand felt as if this was a perfect opportunity to see something no one else wanted to. Rarely did something this interesting pull at his curiosity but it did for some reason as he ventured forth towards, what to many, was considered the unknown.

The space station was very top of the line as Braxiatel made landing procedures he could see the hole they mentioned in the letter. It was a perfect sphere and had the uncanny valley affect of being a part of space but not. He could not describe it in words as he stared at what was supposed to be impossible simply floating there in space. His eyes needed to adjust to the unusual sight as it was difficult to look at it for too long. He was snapped out of his thought process by a young woman's voice. “Lord Braxiatel?” she asked in a sweet tone as he turned to see who was addressing him and he had to admit he did not expect this.

Addressing him was what could only be considered a ghost.

It was bipedal or had been at one point in its existence currently it was floating a few inches off the ground. Its skin was an eerie smokey colour and had transparency as Braxiatel could see the wall behind her. The outline was visible however details were lost such as facial features and a presence.  Up until that moment Braxiatel assumed he had been alone on his voyage but there were others like this one floating about. Difficult to tell where they came from or what exactly they were before becoming this if they even had a before. In regards to its gender he assumed female because its voice was so high pitched and sweet like a bell. He coughed awkwardly before dressing it “Yes I am Lord Braxiatel” he reassured them before he looked about “Have we boarded?” he asked casually. The specter gave of a faint hint of happiness which meant that they glowed a very soft white colour before speaking again in a whispering tone. “Yes we have sir! You are the first creature to arrive here that has physical presence. However do not worry we have catered to your every need! You will be fine so please do not worry” it reassured him as it floated towards the door. “You may feel pressure once you leave but you should acclimatize after a few moments. Also our presence is much higher here so there may be sensations of paranoia I assure you everyone here is very busy and has no time for such things” it answered his confused look.  

Braxiatel followed it “You never introduced yourself” he said calmly as he set foot on the station the sudden pressure caught him off guard. He gasped when a sudden feeling of being light headed struck him making him stumble. He could have sworn he heard something but it was not the one who was guiding him. The specter floated about panicked at first until it realized he was just getting accustomed to the area. “I am deeply sorry! I thought the zones would have been depressurized by now! Ah! There it is” it said as oxygen began pumping into the area “A slight delay that is all” it explained. “As for my name? We don’t usually communicate with one another on this station as everyone has their function and we are limited to it” it thought for a moment. “You may call me Lya if you wish and refer to me as female it will make things easier on you” she offered.

It took Braxiatel a few minutes to compose himself as his head was still pounding from the lack of oxygen and he simply nodded. Once he was able to balance himself physically and mentally he understood what she meant by presence. He immediately felt hundreds of eyes on him even thought there were none. The entire place lit up like a bonfire but instead it was psychic energy as if the place was home to an entire mind field. He frowned a little as he glanced at who he now was to call Lya beginning to understand a few things. “What exactly are you Lya? I have never even heard of a species I can only refer to as ghosts...well...aside from the Gelth but you are not that type of species” he added folding his arms in thought. “You have undead qualities but you are much more coherent and intelligent than a supposed dead being” he pondered.

Lya giggled a little as his assumptions before answering his questions “Lord Braxiatel we are not ghosts or specters” she offered. “We are those who have lived within distance of the Void and such have lived as this since we became” she answered. She then paused “We have never truly been living entities Lord Braxiatel...bits and pieces of the Void spill out and they become us...” it was hard to explain but she was trying. “We are called the vacant” she finally offered “those that have no presence but exist and think for themselves as if they were a living being...but we are essentially the conscious form of the Void in small fractions” she concluded.

Braxiatel had been listening and found this both terrifying but exciting as to have something given form from nothing? This was unnatural and yet her he was interacting with it as if it were a real person. He smiled “Thank you for explaining this to me Lya I appreciate it.” he replied kindly as they began to walk through the station. It was as she said there were hundreds of similar entities of all shapes and sizes just floating about and interacting with objects as if they were nothing. It constantly shook his sense of what was natural and unnatural as they kept interacting with things he assumed they could not. He noticed that a few would look in his direction but they would look right through him and as of right now Lya was the only one to seem to have any freedom? She interacted with them and they communicated with her in cryptic whispers. Their voices left a shiver up his spine each and every time they spoke. It was like someone had a freezing dagger which was slowly, gently and deliberately being pressed, tip first, against his bare skin or along his spine. Eventually after about an hour of walking and explanations they came to the observation room.

Lya slowed down to a halt in front of a black line painted on the floor as she turned to face him her presence turning a gentle black. “Lord Braxiatel...beyond this point you will be alone...” she said “If I were to cross this line I would be reabsorbed back into the Void” her tone was terrified. “I need you to understand that despite what the beings beyond might think, yourself included, there is some type of presence in the Void. We have come from it so there must be something in there creating us that is what we are researching here. To see if we are from other universe, if we are truly deceased or if we are something else entirely” her tone softened. “Will you please let us know what you see beyond that line we would really like to know” she begged him “We asked a Time Lord because you have such a high mental state that we felt the Void would not affect you as badly as other species” she explained.

Braxiatel raised his hand to stop her talking and simply smiled slowly “Naturally I will let you know exactly what I feel, see and hear when I return. I do appreciate your letter giving intricate explanations of why our species is perfect for this little adventure. You have never asked another species to do this as you feared they would die instantly. You go above and beyond with care and privacy that even I have no idea what coordinates we used” he replied impressed. “I want to do this as I have heard nothing about it. I am curious about the vastness and supposed emptiness of the void so I wish to witness it with my own eyes” he glanced beyond the black line something felt like it was drawing him in.

Lya watched him hopefully and nodded agreeing with him “Then...I shall leave you to your viewing Lord Braxiatel. I shall be close by in case you have need of me but I will not be able to help you beyond this point” she answered sheepishly. “There is no other living thing beyond this point as far as we can tell. Good luck Lord Braxiatel” she floated past him remaining a few feet away keeping a distance from the line.

Braxiatel readied himself as he stood before the black line knowing he was inches away from the abyss of the Void. He took a deep breathe and stepped forward which felt like an eternity to happen. When he finally felt as if he had taken a proper step he looked ahead of himself and felt all the warmth leave his body.  This observation are was clearly built before they ever placed this ship into the void as it was just like the rest of the ship. It had chairs, tables and a large domed window that took up the front, he assumed, of the ship itself. Through this window Braxiatel could see only darkness. Not just any darkness but pure and absolute darkness unlike anything he had ever seen as he smirked to himself. He wondered if this was how others saw his soul? As black as the Void? As he pondered these questions however he couldn’t help but feel the timelessness of the area. Being a time lord meant being in tune with the ebbs and flows of time and space. Despite standing on a psychical place this place had no physical presence. It was like standing in a deep ocean a feeling of endlessness and depth that had no understanding. As for time?

There was none.    

For the first time in his entire existence Braxiatel felt completely and utterly isolated and alone. No time and no space existed here. His body felt heavy but was weighed down by nothing as he began to move very slowly towards the window. A shroud of dread filled his hearts as the only sound he could hear were the ones he was making internally. He attempted to speak but nothing came and he was shocked he was able to breathe. However he realized there was oxygen being fed into this room it just was not noticeable. It still felt like he was trying to breathe on a roller coaster where the air was there but it was so thin it barely existed to him. He had to take careful and steady breathes as he moved cautiously. Once he was in a position where he was looking directly into inky blackness he relaxed a bit. He was becoming comfortable with the feeling of emptiness around him and in some regards it was rather soothing.

Until he heard it. A familiar sound. The one he heard when he exited his transportation vehicle. Only this time it was as clear as day.

Braxiatel immediately felt his hearts stop for a second as he heard these...words? This was strange as he was very much alone and no one else was here with him. However there was no mistaking it someone had just spoken to him and he did not know how to respond. In the Void as Braxiatel looked on he saw something. This was impossible and yet it was happening a white shape became visible right in front of where he was standing. He could barely make it out but it appeared to be a face? No. A mask? As it came closer it was more distinguishable despite being unrecognisable as the features appeared melted and scarred. It had eyes, one of which was practically closed and long cracks down to its mouth? He could only make out a face for the time being but as he watched it move inhumanly fast for a place with no time he began to feel panic rise. The face examined him meticulously and with something akin to fascination. Braxiatel felt like a statue under observation at a museum of art the way this thing looked at him. No. That wasn’t quite right as something about this thing gave of a presence of incredible intelligence. Braxiatel was not being viewed from an artistic stand point he was being observed from a scientific mindset.

As it spoke again Braxiatel noticed no lip movements despite it having a line where he assumed a mouth was. The he realized that something else had appeared and was now resting on the glass that was currently keeping him safe. Hands? Yes! They were hands but they were just bones and for whatever reason they had a hole in each where the palm should be. Braxiatel swallowed anxiously there was a power this creature was exerting and it was not pleasant. Braxiatel noticed this time that the hands were moving and despite the motionlessness of its owner these were very expressive. His eyes widened as he realized what it was doing. He was speaking in sign language using these hands to emote and talk. Braxiatel slowly backed away as this creature did not look friendly and the hands were making quite threatening gestures.

Braxitel only noticed now that he had gained some distance from the being that there was an odd distorted sound coming from it which he assumed was it trying to speak. However Braxiatel felt he needed to leave now as he made his way back to the line. He could see the other side, the safe place, the place he belonged. As he made it back he took one last glance only to see the creature inside the vehicle now looking at him and it felt like looking in a mirror. Something intelligent was there and also something misguided by its own selfishness. Braxiatel had meet his other selves before but nothing compared with this thing. It appeared to give a big cruel smile as it laughed and vanished without a trace. The last thing Braxiatel heard from it was:

Once it was gone and those last strange sounds rung in his ears reality came crashing down around him. He was back on the station coated in sweat and panting heavily as the oxygen was regulated correctly. His eyes were wide and his hearts were palpitating rapidly in his chest which made him wince he needed to slow down. He didn’t even notice Lya was there as he was focused on the here and now time flooding back to him and space returning to normal. He looked at her eyes filled with dread and fear “N-never...N-never again...” he said standing unsteadily “N-no more...Nothing...” he repeated swallowing saliva as he was thirsty. “Water” he begged simply as she guided him away from the line and to somewhere safe where he could recuperate.

[feel199x]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ monster of my dreams ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ chapter II

monsters inc!au, monster!changbin, fake relationship!au

I  II

masterlist

a/n: uhh the ending made me laugh but it was supposed to be climatic;; I can't add the read later option bc im on mobile but I will edit this later!! sorry!

warnings: uhhh none i think

                       【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

“Ahaha,” out of the dark, appeared another human guy, taking off his mask, “I’m just messing with you. I fell asleep spying on the security footage.” You wanted to cry and laugh at the same time, the tension easing as the boy approached. Changbin rubbed his temples, his patience quickly fading. “Seungmin,” Changbin sighed, voice tight with annoyance, “One of these days I really will steal your teeth.” Your hand went to cover your mouth as you listened to the cruel and vague threat, both out of surprise and in defense. Seungmin, however, took no offense. “So, I take it that you didn’t want me to delete the footage of you running around with a human?” he fake scoffed, “If this is what being nice feels like, then I feel bad for nice folk.” You smiled, immediately giddy that your life was a little less in danger. You hadn’t even thought about the factory having security cameras, but you were glad that someone had, even if they technically hadn’t meant to. But seriously, why were there so many human guys in the monster world. Seungmin didn’t have any characteristic that would define him as a ‘monster,’ unless you counted mischievous. Felix, other than his voice, was probably the softest looking boy you had ever met. Changbin was probably the scariest of the trio, but that was only after you had crossed an unspoken line.

“Okay,” you interrupted, “But what are we going to do now?”

You didn’t want to ruin the mood, but reality had to e dealt with sooner rather than later. Felix turned to you, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Well,” he explained, “Finding your door would be priority. And getting you out of the factory while we do. But how could’ve your door end up here anyway.”

“They’re sc-,” You pinched Changbin’s lower back and smiled as you looked at both the boys. “I have no idea.” you lied, “But how am I going to leave? Where would I go?” Felix clapped his hands together, his face lighting up with the prescense of a new idea. “You can stay at Changbin’s place!”

“What?” he yelled, “Why me?”

“According to the footage,” Seugmin butt in, “You’re the one who got them here.”

Changbin sighed, turning towards you so he could fix your ruined disguise. He was standing a bit to close, wrapping the paper lightly around your neck and accidently brushed his fingers across the nape of your neck. “Sorry,” he murmured, “But try not to take it off this time. I didn’t know you were uh, you know. He tucked loose strands back into the mop he had picked back up from the closet.

“Alright!” Seungmin burst in, clapping his hands together, “I’ve had enough of this romantic tension! Let’s move it boys.”

It was a harmless comment, but it still gave you the feeling where you had to catch your breath again. “Okay,” Changbin sighed, “I know you’re probably mad that I locked you in a closet overnight, but I need you to listen. If anyone asks any questions, you’re my significant other from out of town.”

“What? Why?”

“Because,” he said miserably, “Everyone kept teasing me. So I've been lying for a year. I talked about a proposal.”

“Why can't you just ask Felix?”

“Because he’s not a good liar. Far from good, actually. He's horrible, awful.”

“Hey!” Felix called out, “ I'm not that bad!”

Seungmin patted Felix’s back. “Yeah,” Seungmin countered, “You are.”

Changbin grabbed your hand, holding it tightly and suddenly you were thankful for your ridiculous disguise. “Seungmin,” you called out, “Please delete this footage.”

“Sure,” he answered, “But only because you asked so nicely.” You found yourself out in the monster world, and to your dumbfounded surprise, it was extremely similar. It was an uncanny valley, and you were a little more than weirded out. Even Changbin’s car was similar to those you've seen pass by. “Are you sure that monsters don't like humans?” You asked, pausing to look for Changbin’s reaction and continuing when you his face didn't change, “Because your world is like, weirdly similar to mine.” You were careful not to say the word ‘ours’. You figured that Changbin had at the very least grown up in this world, even if you didn't know why. Changbin tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, his foot twitching on the accelerator. “I wouldn't know,” he said quietly, “Felix does most of the scaring. My boss let me try it out, he said if I filled up the scare meter then I could start scaring.”

“Did you?”

He smiled quickly, a small smile slipping through his make-believe tough exterior. “Yeah, I mean I think so. You screamed a lot.”

“I did not!”

“If you're this bad at lying we should probably ditch the fiancé plan.”

You shut up, crossing your arms and staring out the window.

“Why'd you leave me in the closet?” you asked softly, “If you knew that, um, I don't like the dark.”

Changbin loosened his grip on the wheel. “I used to get bullied a lot,” he explained, “I wouldn't know if I was human by nature. But I grew up here, I live here. That makes me a monster.”

“You don't need to be a monster to scare people. Fear is universal.”

Both of you had skeletons in the closet, collecting dust in the dark. Clearly, the pair of you had some issues to work on.

The sky was making its transition from dawn to day, the tangerine fading into a bright blue. How could it be that sem their sky was the complete same? It bothered you to no end. Changbin parked his car in front of a condominium, where monsters of all kinds were slowly making their way out. “Okay,” he turned, taking of his seatbelt and grabbing both of your hands and look you in the eye. You couldn't look him straight in the eye, shying away from his stare, “When we get out there, you're my lover, okay? Just follow my lead.” You could feel your hands getting clammy at the suggestion of being Changbin’s lover. But you didn't protest, this was an unfortunate situation for the both of you. And this relationship gave the both of you an excuse to be there. “Okay,” you breathed deeply, “okay. I trust you Changbin.” His eyes widened a bit, surprised at the emotional gesture. He stepped out of the car, and helped you out. As you stepped out, he laced his fingers in yours and gave them a small reassuring squeeze. The both of you walked into the condominium, and were inevitably greeted by a snake-haired woman. “Oh, Changbin!” she greeted, “Who’s this?”

Before Changbin could speak, you stuck out your hand. “I'm his significant other,” you gave a polite smile, forgetting that she couldn't see it under the paper. But she smiled anyway. “Oh!” She wrapped you in a hug, and you were scared that she could smell the human on you, as weird as it was, “I was beginning to think that Binnie here was lying.” She let go, and put her hands on both your shoulders. “I’m Irene,” she told you, “And I can already tell that you're too good for him.”

Changbin pulled you back to his side, and you stood shoulder to shoulder, unsure of what to do. “Irene, you've known them for two seconds,” he complained, “Please don't steal them away.”

“No promises.”

She waved you a goodbye, returning to her business and both you and Changbin your way to the apartment. As soon as you arrived, you slumped down on the couch, utterly relieved. “You can take that disguise off,” he commented, “I’m just surprised it worked.”

Happily, you pulled the mop wig off and pulled at the toilet paper wrappings, finally able to properly breathe.

“By the way,” you asked, “who's this big bad boss of yours?”

“My boss?” He took a moment to pause miserably, “His name is JYP.”

[okikouji]

to the place where i won’t sway

One part buddy cop movie, one part mind-numbing domestic fluff, one part redemption fic but not in that (or any) order.

ao3 link: [ch1]

non-linear narrative

Arc 3 - ⁂ Bakugou Katsuki ends up in a Life Changing Field Trip with one Todoroki Shouto

Ch1- ⁂ - Midoriya Izuku would like know what, pray tell, the fuck.  

⁂

26 years old

Koizumi Kaito is a genius. A child prodigy who graduated from Zenmiburu High School at 15 years old and the youngest graduate of Japan's top police academy at 19; whose quirk, Dome Isolation, makes him a top investigator and invaluable in crime scenes. He was also, luckily enough, given the honor to be part of the freshly dubbed Supernova Squad in charge of getting the world's most valuable key witness to the rendezvous point in Sukagawa and from the Fukushima Airport guard him all the way to Vienna, Austria, where they in turn would describe, and outright name in some cases, the heads on the international villain coalition (dubbed Singularity by his superiors). Said honor allowing him the privilege to stand in front of a retired All Might himself, along with one of the heroes he most admires both. By all means, this should be the highlight of his life. Instead, he wishes he was anywhere but here. Away from All Might's shocked and open mouth (clearly visible under the oxygen mask he requires daily), away from the groans of the woman standing behind the couch, the very same couch where Midoriya Izuku, famed hero Deku, sits with a towel wrapped around his shoulders, still sweating from the physical therapy session he'd been interrupted from, face impassive. "I'm sorry," Midoriya Izuku, famous and beloved hero Deku, starts, "you lost my husband?" Against those eyes and that tone, one oh so reminiscent of Kaito's grandfather chastising him during his youth, Kaito fights back a shudder and gives a stiff nod. There's a beat of awkward silence. "Do you realize how fucking stupid you sound?" Kaito stares aghast (doesn't even hear All Might's chiding "Midoriya, my boy...") as one of his favorite heroes plainly says that to his face. Midoriya Izuku for his part seems to realize it too, seconds later, blank expression crumbling into a surprisingly boyish and embarrassed grimace. "I'm sorry, Kacchan's a terrible influence," he mumbles quickly, running a hand down his face before bursting up from his seat, "wait- no, I'm not sorry! You lost my husband?! How do you lose my husband?!" he shouts before starting to pace back and forth in front of the couch. The woman behind the couch rolls her eyes before making her way around it, just as Midoriya Izuku keeps his rapid fire mumbling about "how can you even lose him, he's pretty hard to miss. I mean even if you lost sight of him he's pretty freaking loud, there's no way you could miss him, as if he'd let you-" "Calm down, Midoriya," the woman says, reaching up towards a shoulder and pushing him back into his seat (a hard feat considering how short she is, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders), "the stress is bad for the baby," she says with a straight face. "What baby?!" Midoriya Izuku shrieks, near hysterical (and Kaito barely manages to restrain himself from shouting that out too). "You. Now hush," she says to him, but instead faces Kaito with the sort of look you'd expect from someone looking down at a particularly annoying bug before grinning at him, blinding white teeth that look just short of being uncanny valley material. He was warned before hand about Supernova Hero Agency's head accountant slash PR manager slash Bakugou Katsuki's right hand woman and business partner, Ueno Airi. It's no secret after all, that a key player in Bakugou Katsuki's, in Ignite's Hero Agency becoming one of the most profitable and effective agencies around, and in such an incredibly short time too, is all thanks to her ability to utilize her quirk at 200%. If villains all around feared the good majority of the Ignite Agency heroes, then paparazzi and newbie police men across the country alike feared her. "Now," she says with eyes promising pain, "tell me again how you lost Bakugou Katsuki, and be a dear, don't leave anything out." the 'or else' loudly heard at the end. Kaito opens and closes his mouth before freezing at her raised brow. He's not even supposed to be here longer than it should've taken to let Midoriya Izuku know that, yes his husband was very much missing but not to worry as they would be doing everything in their power to find him and bring him home and really please do not worry everything is perfectly under control. All of course without mentioning just how dire the situation was for all involved. He knows he shouldn't- can't- really shouldn't say anything when he hasn't gotten the approval for it by his superiors. Symbol of Peace or not, the world's got bigger problems right now than possibly making a disaster with the most famous duo in the hero business' relation with that of the police force. After all no matter how well heroes and policemen get along there's always discontent somewhere. But he also glances down from Ueno's face to see Midoriya Izuku's worried eyes, still finding traces of fatigue in a still too thin face, and remembers- this man- these men have given so much to the world already that to keep one of them in the dark feels almost too rude. Even if it causes himself problems, or puts his job on the line, he'll breaks his orders. It's the right thing to do, at least it will be, if it eases Midoriya Izuku's worries. He takes a deep breath. "Do you- Is there a sound proof room here by any chance?" he asks. "Or at least somewhere where the chances on someone listening in are as slim as possible." The others frown at him. Midoriya nods, leaving his seat (Ueno walks and stands near All Might's wheelchair). "Whatever you have to say they can hear it too," Midoriya says over his shoulder as he leads them out of the sitting area, then out of the terrace into the gardens making a bee line for the storage house disconnected from the main building. Kaito can hear All Might's motor-powered wheelchair behind him as well as All Might's soothing words of, "It'll be alright," most likely for Ueno, though he finds it difficult to believe that someone who can verbally go head to head against Ignite on a bad day would ever need to be reassured about anything (he remembers too that this is someone who Endeavor himself once tried his hardest to recruit into his agency, only for her to make a very public and very humiliating rejection speech, without ever actually mentioning Endeavor himself). Midoriya holds the door for all three of them, waving off Supernova's current hero-on-guard-duty, Diamond Brand's, questioning shout from the roof of the house with a smile and reassurance that 'everything's fine, we'll be right back'. Kaito takes a moment to look around once inside. It's fairly empty, expected perhaps since it's only been around three months since the couple moved into this home according to the information he was given. There's a fridge tucked into a corner, nothing compared to the one he saw in the kitchen when he'd been lead to the sitting area but definitely bigger than the one he owns in his apartment. Other than that, there are some weights thrown into another corner and some towels folded atop a small stand next to the fridge. There's nothing of interest inside and the sounds that are heard from outside tell him this isn't a very soundproof place at all. There's a thermometer by the door, he notices when Midoriya turns to it after closing the door. He pulls down the cover of it, a small black screen inside. He presses his thumb into it and Kaito can hear a small buzzing sound coming from everywhere around them before the floor gives a slight shake. He nearly stumbles, unlike the others, with the exception of All Might, who merely stand in waiting. The floor starts to lower, taking them and everything else with it, weights and fridge and towel stand included, down. "There's a basement?" He asks shocked. That wasn't in the floor plan he was given. Midoriya Izuku gives him a half smile. "Something like that." Kaito hums, waiting for the lift to stop. It takes a bit, he notices, glancing upwards to see the top coming close as lights can be heard flickering on. At least the distance of four to five floors is what they've traveled down. The final lights seem to come to life as the wall behind Midoriya Izuku slides open. Kaito has to close his eyes, the light blinding him for a moment. The first thing he thinks when his vision clears is, 'Holy shit.' Except for the part where he doesn't think it, blurting it out in such wonder that the other three give small laughs. Midoriya walks into the room first, arms raised for a moment. "Welcome to the playground," he says with a smile. "This is where Kacchan trains when he's not down at the agency. Everything in here from the walls to the ceiling and floor was made specifically to withstand even his strongest explosions and keep the volume of the explosions to a minimum." He shrugs. "Can't have him go deaf from hearing his own explosions over and over." All Might and Ueno follow him inside. Ueno turns to him. "So nothing gets out of this place in terms of sound." All Might laughs. "Wouldn't want to bother the neighbors after all." Kaito steps inside, looking around him. The space is definitely at least four stories tall and encompasses what's likely the entire property, being almost three times the space of the house above ground. The walls must be made up of a special type of metal, shining a bright gray and looking brand new still. Kaito notices there's no echo for such a large space. "There are two more exits, here," Midoriya motions to the left of the elevator, a small door tucked into a corner, "and over there," he motions to the opposite end. "Each is a stair case that leads into the streets above but they can only be opened from inside so there's no danger of someone accidentally ending up in here. Down here. Anyway, usually when Kacchan's here he'll wear a wireless mic that's connected to the main frame of the house's intercom system, so if he needs something and I'm in the house I'll still be able to hear him. But, we don't have that here and now, so nothing leaves this room at all," he finishes, face once again serious. "So please, tell me what's going on." Kaito nods. Shakes his head before taking a deep breath. "Ok," he says, "are you aware of the last mission Ignite was on?" Midoriya and Ueno nod. "Kacchan said something about having a bad feeling about all the villains that were suddenly crossing borders internationally," Midoriya starts, crossing his arms over his chest, "even I had my doubts that it wasn't a big deal, even though it was getting little to no media attention." "Once he started putting the pieces together he asked me to call in a few favors here and there," Ueno continues, "see if there was at least some investigating going on that he could lend- well, get his hands on. Once he got in and ended up with a lead he took Rockafella, Vitalia, and Condance with him. It was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission. And I haven't seen any of them since," she finished openly glaring at him. Kaito gulps down his fright and perseveres. "They have been relocated for the meantime. They're not in any real danger at the moment," he specifies when Ueno's face clouds and she takes a step towards him. "They have no information of value to give, to any one, but for their safety we scattered them. In fact, it was requested by Bakugou himself," he points out. "Why?" He turns his head, giving his attention back to Midoriya Izuku. "Because you're right," Kaito says to him, "even though it has had little to no media attention, it is cause for concern. All these villains being seen in neighboring countries or even across oceans to their own usual sightings. In fact there's little to no media attention because this is how they wanted. World governments, the UN, you name it." He shrugs. "It all sounds very conspiracy theorist but it's true. Any information that comes out, that country's government chooses it and keeps what they don't want out in." "Keeping the people in the dark never helps the situation, regardless of what the situation is," All Might says, looking down at his hands on his lap. Kaito nods. "I agree- or I would if the implications weren't quite as- dangerous. Which is precisely why Bakugou requested that we keep his team safe even though he himself was the only one in danger. He- he saw something he shouldn't have, but that something is exactly what my superiors wanted, no, needed desperately. It's the very same thing that the villains in question wouldn't want out at all. Or at the very least, not unless it's on their terms because if what is being speculated is correct, then-" he stops, needed a moment to collect himself. What he'll say, and who he's saying it to, is almost an insult, if Kaito's honest with himself. But there's no point is sugarcoating it. "Then we're talking about a team up of villains that would make the League of Villains look like nothing but an after school club. A coalition that managed to grow right under All for One's nose, to a bigger scale than anything he ever accomplished in the decades he lived. A danger far worse than All for One or Shiragaki Tomura." Because really what can you say to a man whose loved ones were brutally murdered by and whose life was pretty much destroyed by the former, and to another man who ended up in a year long coma and even now is having serious health repercussions from the confrontation with the latter. How do you look them in the eye and tell them that that was nothing.

Notes:

#are they all just standing at the end (w/ the obvious exception of all might)? YES. #zenmiburu is just a play on "all-seeing" (全部見る = zenbu miru) ("what kanji would you use to write it out then?" uuhhhh idk) #you get to see Kaito's quirk in action in another chapter! yay suspense! #Airi's name is written with the kanji for "management" (管理 = kanri) instead of the usual way (bc it's a hint about her quirk) #[this] is the house Kacchan bought and renovated #Kacchan is not King of Explodo-Kills bc the only 'killing' that would've happened if he kept that name would've been his dignity

[sending-the-message]

A former stalker has been texting me. She's been dead for a year. (Part 4) by Tiro1000

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Not too much has happened since my last update, with the exception of today. Today itself is worth an update, so here we go. Before we start, I wanted to address some of the comments from the last update.

A quick note on the number that Beth has been texting me from. On a hunch, I tried calling it. At the expense of seeming cliche, the number was disconnected. I’m not sure what looking the number up would find, but I get the feeling it wouldn’t turn up anything useful.

A few of you have pointed out that I may have jumped to conclusions about Sarah and her “friend,” speculating that he could be a brother, gay best friend, or some other person that would make the situation completely innocent. She does have one younger brother who I’ve met, and it wasn’t him. I can’t honestly say that I’ve met all her friends. You’re all right though, it could have just been a friend or cousin or someone consoling her. But as I said before, it frankly isn’t any of my business. Regardless of my reasons, I dumped her. She’s free to do what she wants or see who she wants; as she pleases. In the past few days, I’ve let it go. I need to focus on my situation with Beth.

Which brings us to the start of this update. For the most part you all have been encouraging me, although with caution, to help Beth. I don’t know yet if the end goal is her crossing over, or just being at peace with herself. Either way, I’ve decided to do what I can. It’s the least I can do for the pain that I’ve caused her.

I decided to go to mass again on Sunday. I confess I didn’t go for the service itself. Although I was raised Catholic, I have never been a good Catholic. I used to go all the time, but never was able to get into it. In fact, outside of church I have never been comfortable around religion. Despite my situation, I’m still not sure about God, Jesus, and all that other shit. Consider me open-minded, but highly skeptical. Regardless of all that, my main reason for going was to talk to Father Frank again: get his advice.

“You know, Eric,” he said from across his desk, “when most people ask me for advice they want advice on how to be a better Catholic. I’m not an expert on this paranormal stuff.” I had told him, for the most part, of the updates since the blessing. “So now not only does the presence feel not threatening, you think it needs your help?”

“I do.”

“And how do you know this?” He asked with his hands clasped in front of him. Here it was. I had been intentionally vague in what I had told him before. I never told him that I knew who it was I was talking to. I never told him about the texts. On an impulse, I told him about everything; even showed him the texts. I really wished I had thought about it beforehand. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. I’m not sure if he was still taking me seriously after that. “Eric, everyone you ask will seem to have a different answer on what happens after death. Even priests will have some variation.” He stood and walked over to the stained glass to peer at it. “The church teaches that there are several different places your soul goes to. Heaven, for those who lived and died in sanctifying grace. Hell, for those who led wicked lives outside of the grace of God. And-”

“Purgatory.” I finished for him. “A purification process for those in between. My dad’s gone over this with me more times than I can count.”

He nodded, turning back to the desk. “But the faith is rather vague as to the nature of purgatory.”

“You think that’s what’s going on? Beth is talking to me from purgatory?”

“I don’t know what’s going on with your friend. She could be, or she could be somewhere else entirely.”

“But she committed suicide,” I reminded, “isn’t that a one way ticket to hell?”

“Well,” he started as he paced, his hands now clasped behind his back. He looked like he was going into teaching mode. “That can be seen as a common misconception. Many people, and priests even, teach that killing yourself is breaking the fifth commandment; thou shalt not kill. However, as I believe and teach, you need to be consciously making a decision to commit a sin that severe. Killing someone in a car accident doesn’t condemn you to hell. Suicide is a bit tricky. There are so many factors that can go into someone’s state of mind when they decide to take their own life. I’d say that although it’s likely, it’s not always guaranteed.

“I’ve never refused to do a service for someone who has taken their life. And I always tell the attendees that they cannot make the judgment, that they should trust in the mercy of the Lord.” He cleared his throat after his lecture was finished. Despite my feeling on the faith, I actually found it an interesting listen.

“So, Beth could be in purgatory?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, then yes. The people in paranormal movies and books often speak of crossing over; going toward the light. One way of looking at that is helping someone cross out of purgatory into the grace of God. If that’s really what she’s asking, then I say help her.”

I thought about his words, then I thanked him for his advice. “Anytime, Eric.” He said. “I’ll say some prayers for your friend and I advise you do the same. Always pray for the departed. They need as much help as the living.”

When I got home, I waited outside to tell Beth what I had found. I already told her that I wasn't going to let her back into my home, at least not yet. She hasn't pushed it, which gives me hope that she was being sincere about changing. For now, we agreed my car is a nice place for us to chat. “So does any of that sound about right?” I asked.

Beth: I don’t know.

“Have you seen anyone on the other side? Other dead people? God?"

Beth: Eric, please don't ask me about God. Just don't.

That's the second time she shot me down for asking about God. I'm not sure if it's a sore subject or if it's something she really can't talk about; like a taboo or something. Either way, I let it drop again. “Do you want to cross over?" A minute paused before she answered, like she was thinking.

Beth: I don't know, Eric. I'm sorry, but I'm having a hard time with this.

“Alright. It's alright." I reassured. “I told you I'm going to help you, regardless of if you cross over or not."

Beth: Thank you, Eric.

Not much happened over the past few days. Beth didn’t bug me much at work, so we mainly talked in the car, aside from the occasional text back and forth when I was inside my apartment. I did however have a genius idea of downloading a text to speech app for my phone, one that reads SMS messages. Now when we’re next to each other, we can have an actual conversation, or at least something like one.

“This is weird.” The voice said on the phone. At least I was able to find one with a voice that sounded remotely like a normal person. Still, the voice brought on just a bit of the uncanny valley.

“We’ll get used to it. At least now we can talk during my commute.”

“True.” She said. “Thank you, Eric. This was sweet of you.”

“Careful.” I warned. “I didn’t do this to be sweet.”

“You’re right.” She answered. “Sorry. Still getting used to this.”

Work was busy today. Ongoing; not much chance for a break. The flip side was that the day went by rather quick, so I couldn’t mind too much. I took my phone off silent when I got into the car. Beth didn’t say much during the commute. I pulled into my complex before the phone spoke.

“I need your help.” Beth said.

“What with?” I asked.

“I need you to get something from my house.”

I checked the text. I heard her right, but part of me was reading it as ‘terrible idea terrible idea terrible idea.’ “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Eric, please.”

“You realize your dad wants to kill me, right?”

“If you go right now, he won’t be there. Please, Eric.” She begged. The synthetic voice did little to convey emotion, but I swear I could hear it.

I sighed, tried to say something, then sighed again. I started my car back up, repeating the word “Fuck” a dozen times, then pulled out of the parking lot. “What are we getting?”

Every step up to Beth’s old door was a struggle. She used to live in an older Victorian-style home on the edge of the suburbs. Beth once told me her dad bought it as a fixer-upper. Wasn’t a bad place, save for the memories it held. I rang the doorbell once. I waited for a moment, deciding between ringing again or just going back before the door opened. “Hello?” A voice asked. I looked through the door... and saw a ghost.

Kaitlyn McDonnell was the striking image of her sister, Bethany. Same stark black hair. Same silver eyes with a tinge of blue. Same everything. She was a year younger than Beth, but always looked similar. I was speechless. Fear and sorrow flowed through me along with the growing feeling I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. Still, I told Beth I would help. “Hey, Katie.”

“Eric? What are you doing here?” She asked. She had a half-smile. I knew that she didn’t feel the same as her parents, but it was reassuring all the same.

“Well,” I said, having rehearsed this, “you know the night I came over? I think I left something here. I was hoping to see if you still had it.”

“What was it?” She asked.

“A necklace. Must have slipped off in her room.”

She didn’t say anything right away. Her mix of emotions about that time must have been similar to mine. “I don’t know, Eric. If my dad finds out-”

“I’ll be quick.” I said. “Please, Katie. It’s very important to me.”

I could see the question form in her eyes. ‘Why didn’t I come sooner then?’ She probably assumed it was because of what happened, which is what I was going for. She sighed then stepped to the side to let me in. “Alright then. Just don’t tell anyone.”

I thanked her and followed her inside and up the stairs. I was confused, figuring that she would pull out a box of old jewelry and tell me to look through it. Instead she opened Beth’s old door. Inside was almost the way I remembered it. “We use it as a guest room but haven’t touched it too much. Mom doesn’t like us moving things around.” She told me.

I nodded then stepped inside, looking around. It wasn’t too long before I spotted what I came there for; at least what I thought it was. I pretended to look around a bit longer before my distraction came. A loud knock on the front door.

“Just a minute!” Katie shouted downstairs. “I’ll be right back.” She told me before leaving. I nodded, then waited until she was out of eyeshot before grabbing the trinket from Beth’s nightstand. Katie looked perplexed as I stepped down the stairs. “Must have been the neighbor kids again. Did you find it?”

I shook my head. “Must have lost it somewhere else.”

“Sorry about that.” She said. “I’ll keep an eye out for it. What did it look like?” I took a moment to describe a necklace I didn’t have, something about a cross and a lion’s head. “Sounds pretty,” said Katie with a smile, “I’ll let you know if I find it. Can you give me your number?”

“Sure.” I said. I had the feeling Beth wouldn’t mind me keeping in touch with her sister; maybe even appreciate it. If not, I could always delete the number later. I pulled my phone out to exchange contacts when I saw a slough of missed texts from Beth. My stupid ass put the phone on silent instead of vibrate. The first was from five minutes before.

Beth: You need to go.

Beth: You need to leave, now!

Beth: He’s coming home, get out of there!

My chest went cold. With a white face, I quickly gave her my number and turned to the door. “Eric, wait.” She said. I turned just in time for Katie to give me a kiss on the cheek. I froze. There was so much wrong with that. “Thanks for coming by.” She said with a wide smile.

I just nodded. “See you around.” I then went out the door, walking as fast as I could without running back to my car. I was about five feet away when the headlights shined on me. The car stopped in the middle of the street, just staring at me. I glanced back at the door. Katie looked like a deer caught in the headlights, just as I must have. A moment later, an older man got out of the divers seat. Beth’s father.

Sean was everything you expected of a middle aged Irish man, minus the accent. “The fuck you doing here!?” He said. The words wouldn’t come out of my mouth and I found myself at his mercy as he grabbed me by the collar. I was pushed down against the hood of my car. The wind would have been knocked out of me if it was meant to hurt me instead of just intimidate me. “Huh!? Why are you here!?”

“Dad!” Kaitlyn shouted as she ran outside. “Stop! He just came to find something of his.”

“And what’s that? My other daughter wasn’t enough, so you had to take her too?” My shirt shrunk around my neck as he tightened his grip.

“No!” I gasped.

“Dad, stop!” Katie pleaded.

“Go inside!” He barked at her. I actually thought he was about to punch the shit out of me.

“Sean, let the man go!” A woman said from the car. I turned my head. It had only been a year since I saw Beth’s mother, but she had aged quite a bit.

The moment dragged on with intensity before he let me go. I quickly scurried away from him to the door of my car. “You stay the fuck away from my daughter!” He said with a stabbed finger. “If I find you around here again I’ll fucking kill you, you understand?”

I didn’t even give him a nod before getting in my car and starting it. My tires screeched in protest as I shoved the gas to pull away. I saw him in my rear-view mirror, staring at me as I drove off into the setting sun.

“How much of that did you see?” I asked Beth.

She took her time responding. I think we both were calming down from what just happened. “All of it.”

“I’m sorry for not seeing your texts.”

“It’s alright.” She said to me. Her answers were short. There were several elephants in the room. Her sister’s kiss, whatever that meant. Her father’s near assault. I wasn’t quite sure how to address any of them. “Can I see it?”

It took me a moment to think of what she was talking about. I held up the heart shaped locket for her, either silver or sterling silver, or something that looked like it.

“Open it.” She requested.

I complied, opening the locket. The cynical part of me expected to see a picture of myself. Instead the frame held a handwritten inscription.

May your true heart never part.

It gazed at it for a moment. “Who gave this to you?”

“My grandmother.” She answered.

I didn’t say anything after that. I think she just needed some time.

“I miss her.” She said after a short while.

“Your grandmother?”

“Kaitlyn.” She corrected.

“How close were you?”

“Very.” Another moment of silence. “No matter what we went through, we always had each other.”

I couldn’t say anything. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. The thought of the nights I left Beth crying and her sister comforting her. Somehow my mind made it all about me again. I tried to get past it. “I can’t imagine what she went through,” I said, trying terribly to console her, “a close sister killing herself must have torn her apart.”

Then the curve ball came. “I didn’t kill myself.”