#any ending where timmy loses the only people in his life who really care about him SUCKS!!!

[msnihilist]

"'Channel Chasers' was the perfect ending to the original run of the show" No it wasn't, what the fuck are you talking about.

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: B - Bat Label

Summary: Unknowingly at nine years old, Dick started a tradition by labelling everything Bruce owns with the term bat at the beginning of it. Even now, years later, the family are still putting that labelling method to good use, even if it’s not used in the most serious of ways. 

Enjoy! :D

“What’s that?”

The question comes out of nowhere and Tim blinks before registering that he should give an answer. He glances at Jason who is standing next to him on his right.

“It’s a radar. I decided to do a little bit of experimenting, it’s supposed to specifically recognise-”

Jason waves his hand through the air in a slashing motion. “I really don’t care,” he deadpans, “I only asked what it was, not for a detailed explanation of it.”

Tim glares at him, feeling both annoyed and offended by the comment. Instead of retorting Tim goes back to his device and scans the area they are investigating. The two of them are out on patrol and have been sent to this location after reports of a truck full of highly toxic chemicals had recently passed through. Tim and Jason are to investigate and see if they can find any clues on this mysterious truck, Tim also thought this would be a good opportunity to try out his new gadget he built.

“Does it have a name?” Jason asks out of the blue again.

Tim frowns, considering Jason declares he’s not interested in his device he sure does seem curious about it.

“Uh no… why?”

“You should call it the batdar.”

Tim gapes at him, completely bewildered by the comment. His brother is wearing that stupid helmet so Tim couldn’t even get a clue to his facial expression on whether he’s being serious about this or not.

“What?” He gets out in the end, having no idea on what Jason is thinking.

“Yeah y’know, how everything we have has been named bat-something. Batcave, batmobile, batcomputer, batarangs, bat-signal. That could be the batdar.”

Tim just stares at Jason, following the man’s movements as he walks around the alley inspecting it. After several beats Tim shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. That’s so stupid.”

Jason turns to him. “How so? Everything else works, so this could too. It just doesn’t sound right because it’s new.”

Tim runs a hand over his face in exasperation, not for the first time he worries about Jason’s mental wellbeing and maturity. “You do realise that everything else was named by Dick when he was nine. Bruce only started using those names because Dick kept insisting on it.”

“I know. I don’t see why we can’t keep the tradition going. I mean, in the community we’re known at the batfamily, so it really isn’t too farfetched.”

Tim shakes his head again and decides to drop the subject, it’s probably best to not indulge Jason with this line of thinking, it’ll only encourage him more and it’s already bad enough as it is.

Turns out Jason isn’t giving up the idea of naming Tim’s gadgets any time soon. As soon as they arrive back at the cave he brings it up again, this time dragging Steph and Dick into the conversation who eagerly respond to it.

“I think it’s great!” Steph claims grinning widely, she swivels around in the computer chair with a smiling Dick standing next to her.

Tim rolls his eyes at her. “Of course you would, it’s stupid.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” She challenges him.

“You know exactly what I mean.” Tim retorts raising an eyebrow.

“I think we should label most things starting with ‘bat’. We have a reputation after all.” She says looking around, as if trying to find inspiration from around the cave.

“I mean there’s the batsuit.” Dick inputs from where he’s leaning against the computer desk.

“What about the batvault? Like where Bruce keeps all the hardcore stuff.”

“That could work.” Dick agrees easily. He reaches out and pokes at the chair Steph is sat in. “This could be the batchair.”

Steph hums. “Maybe, but wouldn’t the batchair be more suitable for Bruce’s chair at the Justice League HQ?”

“Good point.”

The two of them continue to throw words starting with bat at each other, each of them debating the suggestion before moving onto the next. After several minutes of this, Tim turns to Jason with an exasperated look on his face. “This is on you, look at what you have done.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Jason smirks mischievously, his words counteracting his expression. The bastard knows exactly what he’s done.

“Hey, you know what,” Dick starts, getting their attention again, “when I was ten I tried calling Alfred Bruce’s batler.”

Dick receives a few surprised snorts for that statement.

“What was Alfred’s response to that?” Jason queries amusedly. Even Tim has to admit he’s curious to that one.

“All he did was raise an eyebrow at me and sent me that look. You know the one.”

They all snicker at the mental image of a tiny Dick Grayson being on the receiving send of one of Alfred disapproving looks.

“And here I was thinking we were the only ones still up at this time in the morning.”

A new voice interrupts their conversation and gets their attention. The four of them all look over to find Duke and Cass making their way across the cave towards them. The two groups at look at one another respectively, wondering the same thing, after all it is four in the morning and six of them were still up.

“Well we’re discussing the all-important matter of adding ‘bat’ to everything we own, because after all we do have a reputation to uphold.” Steph tells them.

Cass looks amused while Duke looks rightfully confused.

Tim holds up his hands. “I did not agree to this, Jason brought it up and here we are.”

“Ah ah ah,” Jason denies, “if you want to get technical, it’s originally Dick who brought it up, when he was nine. He started this whole ‘bat’ thing.”

Tim sends him a disbelieving look. “You brought it up tonight by calling my gadget the batdar. This is on you!”

His comment goes ignores as Jason addresses the rest of the group. “Did you know that Roy has nicknamed Bruce our bat-dad? I cracked up laughing when I first heard him say it so casually.”

Dick chuckles, nodding, “I do know that, yeah, I think he used it when we were in the Titan’s together a time or two.”

Steph spins on the chair to face Cass and Duke. “Have anything to add, any ideas to share?”

“Batcow.” Cass supplies simply.

Steph clicks her fingers, her face lighting up in recognition. “Oh yeah! How could we forget. Damian’s batcow and then there’s Titus and Ace as our bathounds.”

“I’ve got nothing,” Duke shakes his head seeming apologetic for not coming up with anything, “but all I know is that you’re all batshit crazy.”

A sudden silence envelops the room and everyone turns to stare at Duke. Duke himself is fighting a smile, clearly proud of his quip, but then loses the battle after Jason barks out a laugh, breaking the silence. Jason’s laugh is contagious and soon enough all of them have cracked up over Duke’s comment.

“Oh Duke, I knew there was a reason why I liked you, you dark horse.” Jason says breathlessly.

Duke shrugs sheepishly and seems to accept his words. Once they all calmed down, Tim decides he’s had enough and decides that he wants to go to bed, after all it is late, or early depending how you see it. Also he’s so done with the talk of bat named things.

Wishing everyone a goodnight Tim heads towards the stairs and in hindsight he really should have expected the next lot of comments giving that nights theme.

“Night Timmy, sleep tight-”

“- and don’t let the batbugs bite!”

As Tim groans another round of laughter starts up behind him. Why does he hang around these people again? What is the sole purpose of them? He swears that they lower his IQ bit by bit everyday and that’s saying something considering his best friends are Kon and Bart.

He loves them all really (Damian is very much debatable in that matter), but sometimes they really test him. He has to admit though life would be very different without them, he may complain about his family but he honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.

[floralovebot]

Helia and Tecna friendship headcanons? -lambofzenith

AHHHHHHHHHH okay so

helia is really bad at technology right? pretty much anything that isn't covered in red fountain lessons, he's a complete no-go at. tecna takes it upon herself to try and help him understand basic technology a bit more and it goes so wrong. helia is literally the mom that squints their eyes and holds their phone away from their face while using One pointer finger to type everything. tecna hates it so much.

helia naturally doesn't understand a single thing that comes out of her mouth when she's talking technology but he still supports her nonetheless

helia is surprisingly rational most of the time! he's a firm Push All My Emotions Down And Then One Day I'll Die kind of person so even during really stressful missions, he's good at keeping a level head about things. tecna really appreciates this and it's not rare to see her, helia, and timmy discussing mission-related strategies During The Middle Of A Fight

tecna has a tendency to talk while she works (only noticeable around people she's comfortable with though) but she gets a little self-conscious about it. she knows it's not Bad or anything, but it doesn't seem Right either so she tries to keep quiet most of the time. helia on the other hand is so used to working while it's noisy that he's totally chill with it. they've gotten used to just vibing in the same room, working on their own things, and not actually talking to each other during it. they're comfortable around each other :) helia doesn't mind when she rambles out loud and tecna doesn't mind him pacing around the room every five minutes. symbiotic relationship.

tecna doesn't like talking about what she went through in the omega dimension, even with timmy. however, she does occasionally draw things out when she really needs to vent and can't think of any other way how. she's always been good at sketching due to her background in designing gadgets so this wasn't a weird transition for her. helia told her about this anonymous place for artists to submit their art with absolutely no names attached and after checking to make sure it was legit and she was completely safe, she started to submit one or two a year. she doesn't like to do it often but it does help to sort of "get it out" without actually talking about it.

while helia is notoriously Bad at video games, he does actually like the more "physical reality" ones (think that virtual reality tecmy scene!) mainly because it feels close enough to real life that he doesn't need to rely on just technology to do it. tecna and helia often have very competitive gaming matches but specifically within those kinds of games otherwise, he's really bad at it and she gets annoyed that he can't remember any of the buttons.

speaking of competitions, helia has an inner bet going on of How Much Can I Pretend To Not Know Jackshit About A Specific Technological Topic Before Tecna Notices. what he doesn't know, is that tecna knows he does this and has her own inner bet of How Long Can I Explain This Specific Topic Before Helia Gets Bored And Moves On. so far, the score is mostly even, with helia only winning because timmy isn't aware of this mental battle and will often jump in to explain things too. helia is very smug about this and tecna can't say anything to timmy otherwise she loses the fight that no one actually set firm rules on.

timmy is just really happy that his two best friends are also friends and sometimes he tries to invite helia and flora on their dates. tecna is okay with this only because she thinks it's funny. florelia were also okay with it but started to not be because they realized that their version of a date and tecmy's version of a date was extremely different. they've started to come up with increasingly ridiculous excuses for why they can't go and so far timmy is the only one that hasn't noticed. poor timmy, he genuinely thinks flora's best friend cactus is sick and needs care 😔

when timmy isn't available, helia will call tecna for any technology related issues he's having. on one hand, she likes that he trusts her and can rely on her, on the other hand, she's told him ten separate times not to leave his computer running all the damn time. (tecna: please turn the computer off when you're not using it. this will immensely help solve all of the problems you've been having. helia: okay so i'm gonna leave it on all the time?). he's not trying to be difficult though. he just forgets everything and assumes it should work regardless (he a little stupit).

roxy gets so much gender envy from both of them and it confuses her all the time. they have no idea what a gender envy is though and they're mostly just wondering how they stop giving it to roxy since it seems like it agitates her??? help please???? researching the matter doesn't help and it ends up becoming a meme on winx stan twt because tecna made a very official and serious post asking about the severity of "gender envy" and needing to know how contagious it is. now whenever either of them posts, earth teens just comment gender envy at them. helia still doesn't know what it means.

they don't watch movies/tv together but they will binge-watch the same shows and then talk about them later on. tecna's formatting is still very formal and functional meanwhile helia bounces off multiple points and forgets to make a conclusion. he stresses her out so much.

helia notices when tecna has stayed up too long for too many nights and will occasionally send her a "please sleep" message when he knows timmy is already asleep and can't do it. she doesn't always listen but sometimes she will, but not before sending the same message back because why the fuck is he up at this hour huh dumbass?????

tecna has a pet bird and helia has multiple cats and they absolutely cannot be in the same room together. her bird is constantly trying to fight his cats and while they're usually well behaved, he's genuinely scared they're gonna try to eat it (tecna: stop calling my bird an "it"; helia: stop putting your bird near my cats 😐)

they actually don't like hanging out when one of them is upset. they both have a hard time talking about their emotions (for different reasons obviously) and they always end up feeling like they have to say something when they're together. they just really prefer hanging when they're both in a good mood or at least calm. whenever one of them gets upset, they stop hanging out together until that person feels better.

connected to the last point, you'd think that would mean they don't know a lot about each other, but they surprisingly do! they're both relatively observant people (tecna gets better every year) and they're actually really good at figuring out why the other is upset and what would help. they just don't talk about it.

although, on a similar note, the one time they did have an emotional talk, it was about timmy. tecna was feeling upset again and worrying over whether or not she's "too logical/not emotional enough" and it was the one time where she actually allowed herself to hang out with him while being upset. they had a genuine heart to heart about things and especially about how she's way too hard on herself. they thought it would be awkward since they actively avoided this kind of thing but it wasn't! it went very naturally and helia even teared up a bit. he's very proud of her and the effort she makes every day and since that talk has been much more vocal about it.

when they went to earth in s4, they both spent way too much time learning about Earth Things; tecna about earth media (canon), and helia about animals since that's what flora was talking about. he started calling tecna "chip" after that because chipmunks reminded him of her. she disagrees with this assessment and he refuses to admit he mixed up chipmunks and squirrels. he still calls her chip to this day, and fortunately, it's grown on her. unfortunately, he calls timmy "chip" too, and now it's a hassle to figure out who he's talking to.

helia is surprisingly interested in zenith technology despite not understanding it all! he enjoys walking through the streets of zenith with tecna while she proudly points things out so he can go "ooo aaa" at everything. sometimes she tries to explain how things work and his mind starts playing elevator music automatically. tecna has gotten really good at knowing when helia is just. brain empty no thoughts because she recognizes the Empty look in his eyes. she enjoys catching it live and trying to figure out why he's just. not thinking (usually it's because he either doesn't understand something or got bored) (this happens often when sky starts talking) (sorry sky)

tecna is one of the winx (besides flora of course) that helia trusts the most. not in an emotional or friend way, but in a physical, we're on a mission way. she has good control of her magic and knows how to use it. she's good at thinking of strategies and applying them properly to the situation. and after the omega dimension, he had a newfound respect for her previously unknown to him survival skills. if he were even in severe danger, she would be the first winx he'd call (depending on the situation, she is occasionally ahead of flora).

helia is really bad at sharing details. he tends to go straight to the conclusion but doesn't share how he got there (adhd king 😌) and tecna is the best person to call in when this happens. her logical questioning makes it seem so easy because she has the patience and knowledge to connect the dots and ask the right questions. when anyone else tries its more like (helia: i'm sitting in a pool of blood; person: uhm do you know where it's coming from?; helia: probably the stab wound; someone: did you get stabbed??; helia: oh yeah definitely.)

[t-o-m-hollands]

And so finally here it is, the fourth and final part of this series.

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut. One scene contains memories back to an emotionally abusive relationship (not between main characters). This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up). Also features a PROFOUND misunderstanding of Nietzsche’s work.

Summary: Can you and Timothée make a life together?

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

READ THE PREVIOUS THREE CHAPTERS HERE,

this is the final part of this series.

August, 1953

The days are spent like this, one much like the other, settling into life without either one of you ever really noticing. The future is never mentioned more than a few days ahead and all plans are made for the day only.

But without really meaning to, you both make a home out of villa Marguerite.

Timmy buys a vespa from a man in town. It’s rusty and old but steers easily. His sore feet thanks him for no longer having to walk up and down the long hill each time you’ve forgotten to buy something in the village, instead he now just swings his leg over the saddle and swiftly sets out to buy it for you (“unpitted black olives, please”).

Each night you insist on doing the cooking, telling him you find pleasure in it; and well, who is he to deny you anything that brings you joy? So each night you cook and after the food and the wine shared on the terrace he goes back inside to do the dirty dishes. With shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows he sets to work, going over each utensil with great care. Louise snickers at him most nights, tells him there’s no need, that it is her job; looks at him with a knowing smirk he can’t quite translate to meaning. Still, he does the washing up. Wants to do it. Loves the domesticity of it, you cooking; feeding the both of you, and him cleaning after; helping out.

*

One afternoon as the sky above shifts in shades of pink and lilac Timothée and Marco sit by the square, playing chess. Marco is winning, a habit he has when they are playing together. Timothée in turn is trying not to sulk, something he spectacularly fails at, which is entertaining Marco to no end.

It is not the losing that has got him in such a terrible mood.

You have had to go back to London for a few days, (“there are papers that need to be looked over and signed”).

“Honestly” Marco says, as he takes Timothée's queen. “Why don’t you just tell her you are crazy about her?”

“Afraid that ship’s sailed, mate” Timothée mutters, taking one of Marco’s pawns, a small victory indeed when one has just lost his queen. With his head resting on his folded arms on the table he observes the chess board in front of him with vague interest, trying to figure out Marco’s plan of action.

“Why’s that? She has clearly not kicked you out of the house so she must be somewhat fond of your sulking ass?”

Timothée snorts. “Fond? How nice, the word we save for people we can’t force ourselves to love”.

“Then why do you stay there? Leave. Find another woman, let yourself heal.”

Timothée’s head snaps up, and for a second he’s stunned silent. “No” he says eventually, but not after having first considered the idea. “ No, I can’t do that” he says. It is not as if Marco had suggested something impossible, like walking on water or turning water into wine. Timothée could leave. He could go back to your home, pack his bags and take the first train back to Paris. It would not be an equal action to that of the resurrection. Marco moves his queen across the board but Timothée isn’t looking, has his mind somewhere else; far away. For the first time he truly ponders about the option to leave. To start anew; to forget he ever met you.

But he doesn’t want to.

It’s as easy as that. Living with you, sharing space with you; why would he ever leave that? Even if he’ll never get to kiss your soft lips again he’d still stay. As long as he sees you in the morning, unguarded with tousled hair; drinking coffee he’s made you; as long as his days end with a meal shared with you, drinking wine and talking.

Marco waves a hand before him, a sly smile on his face, “your turn, Romeo”.

Timothée rolls his eyes and moves his king out of Marco’s queen’s way.

“And shack mate” Marco says, a broad smile on his face as he knocks Timothée’s king over with his knight. “Next time maybe keep your focus on the game” he adds, winking at him.

“Oh you fucker” Timothée grumbles, taking a swing from his wine glas.

*

Later that night as he walks home, having drunk much too much to drive, he hears a small, injured whimper. He stands very still for a moment, trying to ignore all other noise, before he hears the sound again. Following the injured mewling he soon discovers the source. It’s a kitten. Looking not older than a few weeks old and tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand, with fur completely black from head to paw and eyes shining yellow in the night. It looks strangely like a very small panther. It looks slightly worse for wear as well. Skinny and small and with uneven fur. The kitten looks up at him, opens its mouth and lets out the same whimpering sound once again.

Timothée stands up, presses the small animal against his chest to keep it warm, and takes him home. He lets it sleep in his bed and it curls up beside him and the next day he takes it to the vet; who informs him that the creature, all though underfed, is in perfectly good health.

When you come back from London the next day, face more strained than before but seemingly happy to be back, Timothée tells you the story.

“What have you named him?” you ask, scratching the purring kitten behind his ear.

“Well, I thought that maybe you should be with me on the decision” he says, watching you pet his newfound friend.

“Any suggestions?”

“Well,” Timothée begins, suddenly shy. “I was thinking maybe Chopin?”

You smile at him, with genuine fondness in your eyes, and he feels his cheeks heat up. “Chopin it is. It was very good of you to save him, Timothée”.

And something like hope blooms in his chest.

That night as he lays in bed, Chopin sleeping on his chest, he reflects on his conversation with Marco and the words ‘let yourself heal’ comes back to him. The words had startled him, confused him, and maybe even shocked a little. He ponders over the words, the meaning and the implications, and decides that no. He cannot heal.

Because he is not wounded. He had been, after you left Paris that spring, he had been a wounded thing; a child who flew too close to what he wanted, only to find his wings melting and his body falling down into the sea.

But he wasn’t wounded anymore.

Through the other side of the wall he can hear how you walk around your room, going through the nightly routine. He hears the squeaking sound as you lay down on the big iron bed. Chopin purrs on his chest and Timothée closes his eyes, ready for sleep to take him.

There’s no use in thinking ahead, he decides. What will be, will be.

*

September

Late one night Timothée is playing cards with some new-found friends.

Marco had finally given in and arranged a jazz night to Nathaniel’s and Timothée’s great joy. The Milanese jazz band consists of five free-spirited and unbound vagabonds. When they play the whole village square dances. After their performance Timothée, Nathaniel, Marco and the musicians sit down to play cards. The night passes and the rum flows as easy as the conversation. The room is quickly filled up with cigarette smoke and wild anecdotes of past victories. The musicians, although a cheerful lot, have not got much to bet with, so the stakes are kept low and the spirits high.

So how exactly it came about that Marco lost the old piano in the bistro to Timothée no one can remember the following day, for the details are blurry and stained by drink. Nevertheless, as they wave the five musicians off the following morning, it is clear to them both that Marco owes him a piano.

“Ridiculous” Marco grumbles, his Italian accent clearer when aggravated, as he and Timothée push the piano up to the truck. “You can’t even play the damn thing!”

Timothée snorts, “I can learn!”

“Oh really?” Marco bursts out, sarcasm heavy in his words “like how you’ve ‘learned’ Italian you mean?”

Sweat runs down his back, the afternoon sun is bearing down on them and the heat feels like a physical pressure against his skin. “I speak perfect Italian, thank you very much” he defends himself.

It is Marco’s time to snort, which he does with great satisfaction before announcing “speaking French while putting on an Italian accent is in fact not speaking Italian at all”.

His head is pounding; but he is in a good mood and so he laughs. With much effort and even more grumbling from Marco they manage to load the heavy thing inside the rented truck and after having driven it up the hill they carry it into the villa. Deciding to place the instrument in the drawing room they lean on each other’s shoulder for a bit, trying to catch their breath; laughing.

He offers the older man a beer, but Marco declines; has a business to get back to.

So Timothée steps out into the burning sun on his own, the stone floor of the terrace scorching his bare feet. The world feels peaceful in all its golden glory. He can hear the rhythmic waves of the ocean far below, the radio playing in the kitchen; the seagull’s calling in the sky. He takes a deep breath and tastes the salt of sea water on his tongue.

His oil paints and canvas are still where he left them yesterday, a half-finished attempt of a sunrise pictured on it. On the table stand a vase with bright blue hyacinth and blood red poppies that you must have picked.

For a few minutes he just stands there, soaking in the sun. With unhurried fingers he starts to unbutton his white linen shirt. Removing it he lays it on the sunchair beside him and his trousers soon follow suit. Turning away from the sun he walks down the hot stony steps by the terrace and down to the private beach. It’s a long walk down, but he feels a great need to wash himself clean of the sweat, the dirt, the booze from last night.

With his eyes glued on the steps in front of him he makes his way down, and only as he jumps the last hot stone does he rise his head; and he sees you. You are already out in the water, swimming on the spot, your face turned towards the horizon. He clears his throat, not wanting to pry on you, nor does he want to scare you. He fails, as you turn around, startles, and lets out a sharp gasp.

“Hi,” he says, feeling awkward, shifting from foot to foot, aware that he is only in his underwear. “Didn’t know you were here”.

“’s alright” you say, sinking down into the water slightly.

Knowing not where else to look he looks down at the ground, spotting with surprise a white towel thrown on the sand, next to your dress. It is only then he realizes that you are completely naked.

“Mind if I take a swim as well?” he asks. He’s almost certain that you will ask him yes; tell him to wait until you are done but you just shake your head.

“Hop in” you say “the water’s nice and cool”. And so he asks you to turn around, so that he too can rid himself of his last remaining piece of clothing before walking out on the jetty and jumping down into the deep water.

Swimming out to you he keeps a few meters distance out of respect. The water is still somewhat clear, and he doesn’t want to peep, even by mistake.

And so there, wading in the water, avoiding the others eyes, you both watch as the sea and sky in front of you slowly turn from vibrant blue to lilac as the sun begins its journey down the horizon.

“I, eh, I won a piano” he says eventually, wanting to break the somewhat awkward silence. You turn to him, wading the water, surprise written on your face. “A piano?”

“Yeah, put it in the drawing room, hope that was okay?”

You laugh, the sound clear and bright and something flutters in Timothée’s stomach like the wings of a butterfly. He tells you the story of how he came by it and you laugh some more and he can’t help but smile at the sound, can’t help but stare himself blind at your beautiful face.

You swim on the spot and you talk; about everyday life, how you both think Louise has fallen in love with a baker in the village, about Chopin scratching on the furniture, about the pasta you had for lunch. About life in all its domestic simplicity.

You’re looking at the sun. It is the golden hour and it has painted you golden as well. You seem to shine in the light, laughing at something he’s said as you wade the water in front of you, the water golden as way; a reflection of the sky above. It hits him almost with brutal force, how beautiful you are. He looks at you thinks; Aphrodite, who entered the world fully formed, born out of sea foam, the goddess of love and beauty. You blink up at him, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly and his chest feels too tight, as if something inside where his heart should be is taking up too much space

Without either one having realized it you’ve swam closer to each other. You are so close that he could easily reach out and touch you; could easily lean in and taste the saltwater on your lips. You are looking at his mouth and he is wondering if that is what you want him to do but he is not sure and because he is afraid to ruin the tender friendship you have built by blundering in - he doesn’t. And you don’t either.

‘But, we used to be lovers’ he thinks. His body used to know your body like it was a continuation of his own. And perhaps that is why it hurts so bad to be parted from you.

“I should get back” you say in the end, avoiding his eyes. “We haven’t even had dinner yet”.

“Alright” he says “I’ll come join you in a minute”. He turns away from the beach, leaves you to get out of the water and get dressed in privacy.

*

Later that night there is dinner, and drinks, and your bare feet as you dance in the dining room to a jazzy tune, a glass of sangria in hand as Chopin runs circles around the hem of your dress. Later there is laughter as Timothée tries to teach you poker, something you turn out to be disastrously bad at.

And later somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

One day is much like another. You wake up in the morning and Timothée makes you coffee and you share it on the terrace. Then he paints and you move through the house; going through the things that need to be gone through, doing the tasks of the day. You read your correspondents and write your letters back.

You set out to the market, chat with the vendors. You learn their names and their stories and in turn they share their family recipes for the perfect pasta vongole or ratatouille. You buy your vegetables and bread, your fish and meat, your wine and cheese, excited for the dinner ahead.

Sometimes you go to the tailor and you share a cappuccino in the sun with Claudette, the old woman running it. You chat about clothes, of fashion in the past versus the fashion of now, about the passing of time. She tells you about the war and the occupation. Of the rationing of fabrics and how she has learned how to make each cut of cloth work - wasting nothing.

In her store you pick out a light floral pattern chiffon and Claudette turns it into a beautiful summer dress, so light and different from the heavier material you wore in London.

You buy handmade pottery from the woman in the square. Big pots and jars and urns that she’s crafted with her own hands and with handpainted flowers and patterns on them; made by her sister. You keep olive oil and flour and flowers in them, and place them around the house in their rightful place.

You go to the beach and you collect seashells. Bringing them with you home you tie them up on strings and you hang them by the terrace door and with each dust of wind the gentle noise of the seashells rattling against each other can be heard.

You don’t talk about the future and never plan ahead. You are not together; just two people living in the same house after all.

*

You watch him, laying on some faded old sheets on the terrace floor, soaking up sun. Timothée approaches sunbathing the way he does everything else in life; with reckless abandon. Despite Louise’s warning words that he’ll burn his pale skin he lays under the scorching sun for hours, wearing nothing on his skin but white bathing shorts. His nose has already turned an angry pinkish colour that will surely change to red soon. Beside him lay an open book, Robert Graves - The Greek Myths. His half-finished landscape painting of today lay abandoned on the table.

In the kitchen you hear the clattering of dishes as Louise does the washing up after lunch. She’s singing along to a tune on the radio and without looking you know that she is dancing.

Walking back into the house, up the steps and into your bedroom, you lay down on the bed. The bedchamber had been your aunt’s at one point and her style still lingers over the room like her old perfume, a bottle of which still lay on the antique vanity. A comforting presence.

Staring up at the white ceiling you’re trying to put a name to the feelings you’ve been having lately.

It feels, you decide, like you’re playing a game with the past and you’re not sure you’re winning. Going back to London had been a mistake. You had walked the same old streets, dined in the same old restaurants and met the same old people as you had when you lived there with Freddie. It had been a mistake to go back, and hear all the tittle-tattle gossip of the divorce, of your absence from the London scene. You had sat there, in the great white dining room of The Luxembourg, you’re back straight and poise perfected, and the gossiping tongues around you had played in your head like an orchestra. You had seen your dinner companions mouths moving, but the words all seemed distorted and slow, coming to you as in a haze. Your face feeling strangely taut, as if you were wearing a mask over your own skin, unable to move the mask's features.

The only success of the journey had been that it made you all the more certain of your decision; to sell the Mayfair flat and rid yourself of the London scene once and for all.

You had visited your parents as well. Had sat through a luncheon with them and calmly listened to their grief and despair over your split from Freddie. Had heard their praises and glorification of your former husband and you had kept quiet all the way through it, poking at your food and feeling rather sick.

In London baron Freddie Fairfax was a constant presence even in his absence.

Your marriage had consisted of days filled with silence. Days spent apart, seeing different people; living different lives. Thought not at all really, since it was all in the same small social circle. Any secret relieved between friends between crystal glasses of wine at lunch would not stay secret for long. By cocktail hour it’d be known by one and all of the tight-knitted, blue-blooded social circle you called friends. Any secret shared to a confidant would reach Freddie’s ears before the sun set, no matter how much time you spent apart; dining and drinking in different restaurants.

The evenings, if shared just the two of you, would either be spent in total silence; during which you would turn on the radio just to fill the space between you. In the night he would touch you, move in and out of you with sharp thrusts as you pretended to be somewhere else, his grunts filling the only sound in the night.

Or, if he was in one of his moods, the evenings would consist of him leaning over your shoulder, wherever you turned. Breathing down your neck. Always ready with a comment, a sly remark on your clothes, your face, your figure; you’re thoughts and opinions. On the things you said, or on your defeated silence. He never asked you any questions about yourself, had no curiosity about who you were or what you thought. The only exception was when he interrogated you about the men you conversed with, or at times about your female friends; how long you’d known them, if they were dating anyone. How attractive he found them.

Your feelings were his to toy with, because in his eyes you were his plaything to do with as he pleased. Because to Freddie love would always go hand in hand with possession and to you love would always mean hunger.

Hunger for something gentler, warmer, and altogether different. Hunger for someone else.

Pictures of dark curls play in your mind. Timothée, his eyes furrowed and a pencil in his mouth, looking at the canvas in front of him with great concentration. Timothée, with blue paint splattered on his pale cheek, the sun shining in through the dirty windows of his artist flat, illuminating him.

Timothée who had slowly helped you put yourself together again when you fled to Paris; thought he’d never asked for glory for his role in the mending of your heart.

Nevertheless, he had. With great care and gentle hands.

Once in Switzerland you had gone with your father to the horologist. Your father was to have his watch repaired. You had watched the horologist with great interest as he sat down by his desk, thick glasses resting on his nose as he opened the back of the clock. The old man had furrowed his grey brows and with great focus and piety set to work with repairing the complicated machinery of the timepiece. Putting it together with the expertise of a mechanic who not only knows how each fragile piece works but why.

That’s how you imagine Timothée loving you; with great precision, knowing just how every piece of you fit.

And so maybe in the end that is what love means to you; not hunger, but being understood.

The windows are all wide opened, but no breeze makes its way inside and the room remains boiling hot under the late summer sun. The warmth feels like a heavy blanket covering you as you lay there in bed, just taking in the sounds of the house. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the seagulls screeching in the sky, the far-away sound of Louise singing in the kitchen and further away still; the ocean.

The bedchamber remains stuffy and hot.

Sitting up you reach for the cigarette package on your bedside table, discovering that they are Lucky Strikes; instead of your usual Gauloises. Timothée’s cigarettes then. You must have taken them by mistake. Grabbing the package you walk down stairs and out on the terrace again, where Timothée lay where you left him, sprawled out on the floor, the tip of his nose now bright red.

“You’re burning yourself” you tell him, throwing the cigarette package down on the ground beside him. Timothée lifts a hand to shade his eyes, otherwise blinded by the light. He looks at you with a lazy grin, before moving on the sheets to make room for you. Keeping his eyes on you he pats the spot next to him on the floor and so you lay down beside him.

“Think you have my Gauloises” you say, the entire world orange as the sun shines through your closed eyelids. “Must have taken your Lucky Strikes by mistake”.

Timothée hums, before rising and moving into the house. A minute later he is back with your package of cigarettes and an ashtray. Handing you the cigarettes he then helps you light up with his precious silver gift, his dark curly hair falling down his face as he does so. He smells of seawater and turpentine and as you lay down on the ground beside him on the ruffled sheets you feel like you can breath again.

Laying there under the sun you smoke and observe him. His hand with their specks of blue paint left from his work this morning, his legs slightly spread, his chest slowly moving up and down with each breath. His eyes are closed, and the ghost of a smile still plays on his lips. He seems at peace.

You wonder how long this fine line you both have been walking is going to last before one of you tumbles. The fine line between lover and ex lover. You wonder what will happen next.

Or perhaps this is the way things will always be. Each day lived out ad infinitum, one much like the other. A foolish thought; a childish one. For sooner or later he will take another lover, find someone new to cherish. Someone in no need of healing. And you think of Lucy, and her laugh as light as the bubbles in champagne, her easy charm and carefree personality.

You’ll wonder if he’ll take someone home with him one day, make her love to her in the room next to yours. Where he’ll learn her body like he once knew yours .

You wonder if you’ll do the same.

***

October

The days are cooler now, still pleasantly warm but not intensely so, and most of the tourists have left the stony shores; leaving the whole village less crowded and easier to move through.

For two weeks Timothée goes back to Paris. He sits in the street and paints the people he sees in their everyday life; reading newspapers on the park benches, friends sipping cappuccinos on rotting chairs outside the café, old women choosing their bread with great care at the boulangerie. He adds no drama or sensationalism to the scenes, but settles for painting the people in all their simplicity and its realism.

He visits his art dealer, who with great astonishment accepts nine landscape paintings and a handful of sketches. “No portraits then, monsieur?”

And Timothée tells him no. He is waiting for the perfect model for the job.

He goes to his artist studio, and is surprised to find that it feels less like home than before. He doesn’t linger for long, and when two weeks are up he books a new compartment on the Blue Train, treating himself with a first class ticket this time.

On his way to the station, his bag slung over his shoulder and a package of new pots of paints tucked in underneath his arm, he walks by a bookshop. Casting an eye at the shop window he stops dead in his tracks. A placard with William’s face stares back at him through the window, his mouth twisted into a wide smile and his hair styled neatly.

Timothée walks into the store and five minutes later he walks out with a freshly printed copy of ‘A siren calls’ in his hands.

He borders the train, lays down in his train compartment and he begins to read. And through the entire journey home he reads.

*

Villa Marguerite is much the same when he returns from Paris. Chopin greets him as he hears him come in, happily accepting scratches behind his ear as an excuse for his absence. Placing his bag and his paints on the floor, but book still firmly in hand, he walks out on the terrace in search of you, but finds it empty.

Walking upstairs he knocks at your door and upon hearing you call ‘enter’ from the other side he steps inside.

You are laying on your stomach on the bed, wearing your silk canary yellow robe, flipping through a copy of Tatler, the gramophone in the corner playing Chopin. You look up at him, eyebrow raised in silent question.

He clears his throat, unsure how to approach this any other way but straight on. “Have you seen this?” he says, and raises the book for you to see.

“Oh that” you say and sigh. “Yes, he wrote to me informing me of it weeks ago”.

“You knew?” he says, astonished.

“That William’s great piece of literature was going to be about me” you flip a page in your magazine “of course I did.”

Timothée leans against the doorway feeling like the air has been pushed out of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look up at him again, and again with a surprised expression on your face. “I didn’t know you wanted to know that” and then “is it any good? The Tatler’s reviewer calls him the new Fitzgerald”, you nod down to the magazine in front of you.

Timothée hesitates, unsure how to respond. “It's, well yes I suppose it’s alright. The prose is quite stunning, if not slightly overworked”.

“But?” you say, sensing an objection.

“He’s made a caricature out of you”.

“He’s written me as he saw me, just as you’ve painted me as you saw me. And you’ve both sold your works for money. On this, if perhaps on this only, you are the same”.

Again he is stunned. Then, voice slightly shaking with held back frustration, he says “please tell me I’m closer to the real you then this” and he holds up the book again “this rubbish. He’s made you out as this, this…” he wrecks his head for the right word before finally settles for the obvious one “siren. This woman he can’t help but love but his love for her is standing in the way for the life he wants to live of unbound pleasures. A siren that keeps calling him back from his path on the search for perfect bliss. This siren that drowns him with her love”.

Silence for a heartbeat, then “you were”. He blinks, and you continue “you were closer to, as you refer to it, the real me. But that doesn’t make his interpretation of me any less real. Like I said, I’m sure that is how he sees me”.

“Well he’s dedicated the book to you”

“That’s sweet”

“I’m not sure it’s meant to be. Before it could be up for assumption who the book is abou. Now it’s crystal clear for everyone to see.”

“You don’t think he’s meant that as a compliment?” Standing up you tighten your silk robe around you. “I think so. I think he’ll consider it a great honour to have a book written in your honour, no matter the subject matter”. You walk past him “but never mind, let’s have drinks on the balcony upstairs, I think it’s going to rain tonight”.

*

“You never talk about Freddie” he states. It is late at night, rain dipping against the ceiling above, and they are sharing a bottle of wine.

“There’s not much to talk about” you say, avoiding his eyes, eyes set on the rainy scenery in front of you.

“He was cruel to you, wasn’t he?”

“There are others who’ve had it worse.”

“Doesn’t make it less cruel” he says. Feelings are fighting with each other in his stomach, like a nest of vipers they twist and turn inside him, fighting for dominance. Feelings of anger, empathy, sadness and love.

He walks over to you, and sits down on the bench beside you, his warm hand cups your cheek and you close your eyes, looking ready to weep.

“I’m so sorry, ma chérie, I really am” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, moves his arms so that he holds you to his chest instead. Soon you let yourself cry. He holds you to him, his chin resting on the top of your head and as far beneath you the waves are crashing against the rocks and in the chill evening air he keeps you warm.

He holds you for the longest time and somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

An early morning some days later you walk out on the terrace. It is decidedly cooler outside this morning and the air feels crisp in your lungs and pulling your robe tighter around you you sit down by the laid table.

Timothée sits hunched over a book, a cigarette in hand, a cup of black coffee next to him. Despite the morning chill he’s only wearing his usual paint-stained linen trousers.

“What are you reading?” you ask, pouring yourself coffee into a small, porcelain cup. His eyes are still on the book, brows furrowed, and so you look around, take in the scenery around you; the cerulean blue sky stretching out over a landscape of hills and pastel coloured villas, and further down - the ocean.

“Nietzsche”.

“It’s too early for Nietzsche”

“I never went to sleep” he answers.

You try to keep your eyes on the horizon in front of you, but despite your might they dart back towards the tussle of brown, curly hair on the other side of the table. He’s hunched over his book and it is hard to tell, but you think you can see shadows of blue underneath his eyes. He looks tired.

“And what does Nietzsche have to say?”

“Well” he starts, before going on to read from the page. “Nietzsche claimed that the exemplary human being must craft their own identity through self-realization and do so without relying on anything transcending – such as God or a soul. This way of living should be affirmed even if one were one to adopt, most problematically, a radical vision of eternity, one suggesting the eternal recurrence of all events.”

“What does that mean, the eternal recurrence of all events?”

“That the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space”.

You stay silent, contemplating this momentous new idea.

“You know, scientists say that we are made out of stardust” Timothée says.

You don’t follow his train of thoughts but you go along with it and ask, “how could that be?”

“Well, everything we are and everything in the universe and on earth originated from stardust, and it continually floats through us still. It directly connects us to the universe, rebuilding our bodies over and again over our lifetimes. When stars get to the end of their lives, they swell up and fall together again, throwing off their outer layers. If a star is heavy enough, it will explode in a supernova. The brighter the star; the faster it burns. So you see, most of the material that we're made of comes out of dying stars, or stars that died in explosions. And those stellar explosions continue. And so, we have stardust in us as old as the universe, and then some that landed here maybe only a hundred years ago. And all of that mixes in our bodies.”

You stay silent for a while, him with his eyes stuck on the page in front of him, obstinately avoiding your eyes and you; eyes fixed on him, sipping your coffee.

“I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me, Timothée” you say in the end.

He blinks, eyelashes fluttering over cheekbones delicate like fine china, now tanned after months spent on the riviera. The sun is shining down on the both of you by now, and through tousles of dark curls you can now clearly see the dark shadows underneath his eyes. The wind whistles through the cypress trees.

“Just that there is nothing new under the sun” he says after a long silence. “And I guess that I’m trying to talk to you about destiny; how we are born, and reborn ad infinitum. Again and again and again our dice are cast, casting out our roles in life. We all have our parts to play. Parts that we are destined to play, and they are decided for us. It is beyond our control.”

“And what do we learn from this?”

“Amor fati”

“To love one’s fate?”

“To love one’s fate”.

***

One afternoon Timothée wakes up from a nap on the terrace. He opens his eyes and for a moment he’s blinded by the light, seeing only silhouettes in front of him. Stretching out his arms and legs, his body stiff from laying on the terrace floor, he groans. His limbs feel heavy and numb and his mind is unusually quiet, as it has a habit of being just after he wakes from slumber. Closing his eyes again he lets the bright sunlight turn the world white behind his eyelids.

Above him the seashells you’ve put up tinkle in the soft breeze. From way down below he can hear the ocean, steady today in this fine autumn weather. But he can hear something else as well. The clinking of a piano being played. Standing up, as in a haze, he follows the sound.

Walking into the house, past the tinkling seashells and white curtains, through the kitchen and hall he follows the sound into the drawing room.

You are sitting by the piano, playing Für Elise with unpractised hands. The sun is coming through the large windows, lighting you up, painting a halo atop your head.

“Can I paint you?” he asks, for the first time in months.

Your fingers fumble with the piano chords for a second before carrying on, showing no other signs of having heard him. You continue playing until the piece comes to an end.

Then, in the silence, your soft voice.

“Alright”

***

Someone has dug out an old Fletcher Henderson record and the music is blaring from the gramophone as people dance to the old jazz music, one woman has gotten up on the table and is stamping her bare feet along to the rhythm, twirling her dress and swinging her hips. Others are standing in groups, laughing and chatting; cocktail glasses in hand. Others still are sitting by the table.

You can’t tear your eyes from Timothée as he sits leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the railing and head thrown back in laughter. The afternoon light has turned the entire world golden, but Timothée seems to have been more blessed by the light than anybody else; as if he had been picked out and touched by Midas himself. He seems to shine as he laughs with his new-found friends, cheering them with a glass of cheap wine. They’re discussing new revolutionary ideas and he laughs as they clink their glasses in celebration of their own drunken brilliance. He’s wearing his nice white dress shirt and suspenders. The first couple of buttons are undone at the top, and sunkissed skin peeks through. His hair a mess of sea-salt curls, falling over his face, and pearls of water falling from his skin like little stars; the party having gotten back from a swim just moments before. They are mostly Timothée’s friends, though some are yours. Locals, whom you’ve befriended during your time here; with the added number of guests being a couple of british and dutch backpackers Timothée met up with on the way back to the villa.

You look at him, carefree and golden in the sun, and you know the image of him like this will stay with you forever – that you never will see anyone or anything this beautiful again. You don’t think of rebirth, or of reincarnation - of lives destined to be lived over and over again until the sun finally implodes and swallows you all; thus setting you all free from your destinies. You don’t think destined, star-crossed or fated.

Or of amor fati.

Instead you look at him and you think of immortality. Of gods and heroes of the ancient past and of all the holy creatures legends say has roamed the earth since there was anything to roam. You watch him in the golden afternoon light and you think of Achilles and of Apollo and of the archangel Gabriel.

(And you understand why the ancient Greek believed in heroes and god amongst men. You believe as well.)

On the first day God created light.

And so, the scientists say we are all made of stardust. You watch the golden boy in front of you, seemingly shining in the sun, and you wonder to yourself if perhaps the stardust he was made of ever really settled into human skin.

You have never felt more blue, like a sea creature dragged up to the surface against its will; but he is half boy, half ethereal creature. Something Holy. You can almost see it; heavy white wings sprouting out between his shoulder blades, casting a great shadow beneath him, wherever he goes; a golden halo atop the mess of curls on his head. There, at the table under the golden mimosa tree, he throws his head back in laughter again and the sound rings clear over the music, over the other’s voices.

His eyes meet yours where you stand in the shadow underneath the roof and the laughter seems to die in his mouth.

On the third day God created the seas.

The sun goes over the horizon; the golden hour has passed, and everything is set in shadow. You keep your eyes on each other while the rest of the party roars on around you. Their laughter, the clinking of their glasses and the loud music falling on deaf ears as he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

The sun has set, and the boy in front of you is no longer golden for you are all in shadow now; you are both human again.

Yet you still swear you can see the faint light of a halo atop his head and you can still feel the heavy weight of saltwater inside your lungs, taste it on your lips.

Eyes still fixed on his, you raise your glass to your lips, and you drown the last of your red wine. You can feel a drop slip from the corner of your mouth and make its way down your chin, your throat, your chest; down on your white silk dress. You put the glass down beside you and turn away from his gaze, walking away from him.

On the fourth day God created the moon and the stars.

The deep steps down to the water are wet from the passing tide and you move your feet carefully forward as you make your way down to the water. The sounds of music and laughter are soon replaced by that of waves. Passing by the old wooden jetty you walk down to the small piece of stony beach by the rocks. And there you stand. In front of you, a landscape of water so dark it appears black, and reflected on it from the sky above, the moon and the stars.

You hear the creaking sounds of someone stepping on the jetty.

And on the sixth day god created mankind in his own image.

Timothée stands in front of you, hands in pockets, his shirt undone and suspenders slightly astray; looking at you with such intent that you swear there’s thunder in the air, though the sky remains cloudless. Slowly, as if giving you plenty of time to retreat, he moves closer. Then, with his hands holding on to you, he kisses you. It is saltwater and sweet wine. It is red hot and wet and slow, until both of your breaths come heavy and your hands are fumbling over the other’s clothes. You tumble back against the flattened cliff wall behind you and you’re pulling him closer to you, tugging at his clothes until he’s pressed against you, chest to chest. Your hearts as close to each other as can be.

Your hands fumble with his zipper until it finally comes undone, and lifts up the skirt of your dress, pushing down your underwear until they fall at your feet. Hooking your leg around him you struggle for a second with finding the right position. Then, with a jagged thrust he’s inside you and you suck in a sharp breath. “Careful now” you moan in his ear, your arms around him holding onto him tightly. “It’s been a while”.

The reminder seems to soothe him, and the thrusts become slower, more dragged out but deeper too. His hands become gentler, less rushed, but still firm as he holds on to you; each hand pressing into the smooth flesh of your thighs. Your arms are clinging onto his shoulders, painted red nails digging into his back, your own back arched from pleasure. Moans and whimpers are falling from your lips and into his ear; his hair, still wet from the earlier swim, feels cold against your cheek.

There, in the dark; the night only lit up by moonlight, with waves crashing against the stones beneath your feet, he moves in and out of you and the air itself tastes of seawater.

You lean down and kiss his exposed tanned collarbones peeking through his half-opened white shirt and as you gently bite down he hisses and fumbles with the pace for a second, before regaining his posure; pressing you harder up against the wall again.

“That’s right” you moan, hands clutching onto his shirt and your head thrown back. “Fuck, harder!”

And he does.

And when you come it is white-hot bliss. Like the invisible strings holding together reality are all pulled out and you tumble through existence; unsure of where anything ends or begins.

Except that maybe the answer to both of those things are Timothée’s ragged breaths as he fucks you with feverish pace. Maybe there is where it all ends and begins. He comes in a whimper, your hands in his hair, his face in the crook of your neck.

And there you both stand, holding each other; fighting for air, as the waves crash around your feet.

***

You’re in the market and nothing feels real to you.

It is like you’re watching it all happen on film in front of you, the vendors shouting out prices and shoppers picking out their vegetables. It is like you are watching it all happen very far away.

The sun is high in the sky, and it is unusually warm for a day in late october. Your skin is clammy and your palms feel sweaty; yet you feel strangely cold. And you are trembling, feeling certain that if someone were to prick you with a needle right now – you wouldn’t feel a thing.

You see the people moving, arguing over prices of leek one moment and laughing the next. People carrying wicker baskets filled to the rim with ripe fruit and vegetables. It is like they all move in slow-motion, the sounds they make muffled and far off.

You step away from the crowd but when you turn around you walk straight into Timothée. He stumbles backward a step, unprepared for the collusion. He says something, swears perhaps, but you can’t hear him. There’s a ringing in your ear and the ground feels unsteady underneath your feet, the sun glaring down at you.

Then his hands are cupping your face, and you see him mouthing your name. He looks at you, eyes full of worry. He takes your hand, leads you away from the market and into the ancient church. His hand warm in yours he leads you down the aisle before turning into one of the box pews. You sit down beside him and he takes your hands in his.

“Your hands are cold” he says, before lifting them his his lips to kiss them.

He had been inside you just hours ago. You had cleaned up as best you could, before walking up the stairs again and re-joining the party. You had retired early, claiming a headache, while Timothée stayed out on the terrace with his friends. In the morning you had risen before him, heading down into the market before breakfast.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” he asks and you want to laugh. Because the question is so precisely what has been on your mind ever since last night.

You think of the ocean; the way it can carry you or drown you depending on its whim. You think of the seawater in your veins, of lungs heaving for air. You think of never ceasing, impossible blue. Of bones engraved with memories from the past. And how all of this is who you are, that it is not a temporary blueness.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” you ask back.

“I don’t know” he says. The church is cool and drafty, despite the warm weather outside and his hands around yours feels warm and safe. It wakes an unholy sort of wanting inside of you.

“Ask me who I am” he says.

“Who are you?”

“Someone that loves you.” His voice is low. You are not the only two people in church, a few rows ahead there is a woman praying and at the front two priests are conversing with one another. He continues in his soft voice, “I can’t promise you perfect happiness forever, no one can, and frankly; I’m not sure that is what you really want either. It’s perhaps what you think you should want, but that’s not the same as actually wanting it. I think part of you loves your melancholia”.

“Well then, what can you promise me?”

“I promise you that on the days you feel like you’re drowning I will keep us afloat and I’ll hold you until it passes. I’ll keep you warm”.

“And you don’t wish I was more yellow?” you ask, voice sightly trembling.

“You know, I’ve always loved the ocean. I’ve never felt the need to change its hue, despite its darkest blue”.

“It’s that easy?”

“It’s that easy” he says, and kisses your hands again.

***

On the balcony floor outside your bedroom you both lay that night, spread out on sheets and plush pillows you’ve carried out. You lay there, your head on his stomach, and stare up at the stars. Neither one of you is wearing a thread of clothing, but you are both tangled up in sheets. There’s an empty bottle of wine beside you and in Timothée’s hand his book on Nietzsche’s philosophies.

“So what do you think?” he asks. “Do we have a free will or is it as Nietzsche believes, that the dice have already been cast far before we’re born, leaving us to live out our stories without the ability to ever change the outcome. Leaving us to simply accept our fate; to love our fate”.

“It sounds terribly defeatist to me” you say

“Or brave” Timothée says, “I’m really not so sure which. Perhaps both.”

“So you agree with him? You agree with Nietzsche? We are not ourselves in charge of our lives?”

“No, no not at all” he objects “I don’t believe he’s right. I’ve made my own choices in life. I’ve created my own mistakes and fortunes. And my fate has never been to love you, I’ve done that intentionally.”

You love me on purpose?

Yes I love you on purpose. I chose it, I chose you”

“I chose you too”

*****

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

[catxsnow]

VENGEANCE PART TWO

Summary: Part two of Vengeance. No one disrespected Jason, you were going to make sure of that. 

Tim x reader and Sister!reader x Jason 

Warning: angst

A/N: As requested!!! Part!! Two!!! 

Hope this satisfies all of you but already guessing there’s going to be more requests for a part three LMAO. I’m really bad at trying to end things, whoops.

I’ve never been so nervous to post before what the fuck 

GIF not mine

Part one

Word Count: 3.6k

You spent the next few weeks trying to figure out who this guy was. It wasn't just the fact that he knew who you were, it was that he had gone as far as to disrespect your late brother. Jason was everything to you and losing him destroyed you. If it wasn't for Tim, you feared what kind of dark path you would be down.

You weren't the only one on the hunt for the mystery man - Bruce was too. After your encounter with him, he had made it a mission go taunt Bruce. The things he was saying, it was things that no one outside of your circle should know. He most definitely wasn't within your group.

His fighting style was relentless. Not worried about killing, brutal against his enemies, and his weaponry was insane. He left you with broken ribs, stitches, and bruises that didn't want to go away for over a week. It had cut down on your patrol time but meant you could do more surveillance to try and find him within Gotham.

You were going to catch this man, even if it meant putting yourself at risk. Tim never spoke of your words again - about wanting to kill this man for speaking ill of Jason. He never told Bruce, but the more he watched you work, the more worried he got for you.

Tim was the kind of man that could run on very few hours of sleep. He proved that to you very often by staying up late to finish work, or even school work. It would be the very late hours of the night before he joined you in bed sometimes. He was used to working late to get things done.

You on the other hand? You were not near enough like him to copy his lifestyle. It would be Tim having to drag you to bed because it was getting late for him. He could see how exhausted you were - bags under your eyes, a slump in your step; you needed sleep. However, you weren't going to get a good nights rest until he was caught.

"(Y/N)," Tim called out to you. It had to have been past three in the morning and the two of you had class the next day. You only hummed in response, keeping your eyes on the screen. Tim huffed at your lack of acknowledgement and hung his arms around your shoulders behind the chair. His chin rested on the top of your head as he watched what you were looking at. "It's time for bed, come on."

"Just a few more minutes, Timmy," You promised. Tim rolled his eyes, you had said that nearly half an hour ago. You saw the disappointment grow on his face on the reflection of the screen. With a sigh, you shut the computer off and heeded to his words. You needed sleep, as much as you wished you didn't.

"I'm worried about you," Tim told you. The two of you walked hand in hand out of the cave and to your shared room. Bruce didn't like the idea of sharing a room but you were nearing twenty and Tim was in his final year of high school - you both were old enough to make your own decisions.

Juggling class at Gotham University and trying to find this Red Helmeted asshole was a battle you weren't sure you could win.

"I know," You hung your head slightly. "I'm sorry that I'm putting you through this. I just - I can't stand the fact that he's out there, lurking, somewhere. Jason would want me to find him, he would want me to figure out what his intentions are."

"I know," Tim repeated your words. He squeezed your hand and kissed the side of your head. One of the first things that he had noticed about you all those years ago, was that you did everything in Jason's memory. All your choices and actions were based off of what he would have wanted.

"We'll catch him, but you need to take care of yourself first. You're not going to be able to catch someone asleep on your feet. Please, for me, for Bruce, for Jason, get yourself back on track before your hunt against him."

"I will," and this time you meant it. Tim was right, you weren't in good shape right now. This obsessiveness was taking over. Even if you were to find him, you were in no state to be able to take him down. He had already beat you once, you couldn't let that happen again. "I love you, Tim. I really don't know where I would be without you."

"Arkham, probably," Tim joked. You smacked his chest, but couldn't help but laugh. The sad truth was that it was true. If it wasn't for him, you feared for what kind of dark path you would have went down. "I love you, too, (Y/N)."

><

You had done what Tim had asked. Your sleeping schedule became normal (for you), and you were starting to look healthier again. Out on patrol, the two of you stuck together rather than splitting apart to cover more area. If you had another run in with red-helmet-guy, then the two of you could take him down together.

Tim was jumping from the previous rooftop to catch up to you. He was always envious that you were faster than him. You stood on the edge of the roof where you had last scene that man. The sushi place that you never got to go to was lit up and instead of the warm feeling in your chest that you felt when you thought of it and Tim, you felt anger - hate even.

Furious that this man knew such little details about your life, that he thought he knew Jason and what he stood for. You knew Jason, you were the only person who ever really knew Jason. Neither of your parents cared about you, Bruce was too cut off to know the tiny details about your brother. It was always just you and him, and now, he was gone.

Tim finally made it to stand beside you. The city lights shone below you and the late night traffic was causing the empty space to be filled with noise. Tim turned his gaze to where you were looking. He sighed and subtly squeezed your hand. 

Batman had already scolded the two of you never to show affection while on the streets.

You knew that he was right to think like that. One criminal sees the two of you close and the whole city knows. Every single one of your enemies would know both of your weaknesses - each other. However, on cold nights, where the darkness that filled the city also filled your heart, you needed Tim's light to remind you that you weren't the costume. You were human.

"I miss him, Robin," you finally broke the silence. It had been years since Jason's death, yet now more than ever you missed your brother. "Fuck, I miss him so much."

"I know," Tim sighed. There was very little that he could do to comfort you at the moment. Hell, you shouldn't have even brought up your feelings but you couldn't hold it in. Tim was the only person you could express your feelings no matter the time or place. "I'm sorry."

"No, it was my fault. I should have gone with him, I should have been there with him," You shook your head. "Maybe he'd still be alive if the two of us were there. We could have taken him down together, or maybe we would have died together."

"Jason didn't take you with him because he knew it was risky," Tim looked over at you. He could see your eyes were glassy from beneath your mask. "He always wanted you to be safe, that was what mattered most to him. I might not have ever met him but I know that I'm thankful for him protecting you for so many years."

"And when he needed me most I wasn't there to protect him," You hung your head low. You had failed Jason all those years ago and it haunted you ever since. Nightmare after nightmare you awoke in the night. They were all the same - each one of them the most gruesome things that the Joker could have done to him.

"That wasn't your fault," Tim tried to argue. He was frustrated with you every time that you thought that his death was your fault. There were so many nights that Tim woke up beside you in the night while you were drenched in sweating and panting at your nightmare. He was the one that would calm you down until you were able to fall back asleep.

"There's an hour left until Bruce wants us back, let's split up. It's been a quiet night I'm not too worried," You changed the subject. You didn't need Tim to try and convince you that Jason dying wasn't your fault. There was always a hint of pity in his voice and you didn't want to hear it, not tonight. "I'll call in if I see anything."

You didn't give him time to argue before jumping off the roof that the two of you were standing on and swinging away with your grappling gun. The cold breeze whipped against your face though you could barely feel it anymore. Cold nights like these always used to make you want to stay in and have Alfred's hot cocoa. Now, you embraced the nights like these.

As kids, you and Jason would always bundle up in every blanket you could find and nearly beg Alfred to make the two of you hot cocoa. He always would, and the two of you would nearly shake at excitement while you waited. A movie would play on the big screen and you would spend the rest of the night watching as many as you could before falling asleep.

Tim had surprised you with the same kind of date one night and as weary as you were to partake, you realized that making new memories with Tim was the reason that you were able to keep doing what you were doing. You were making yourself happy with him and that was what mattered the most.

Standing on the roof of one of the clubs within the city, you could feel the base of the music below your feet and see the crowd of people coming in and out of the building. Part of you wanted to join the drunk, messy people within. Instead, you tensed at a joined presence behind you.

"You're a hard person to get alone."

On instinct, you threw several batarangs towards him. He had managed to dodge them all without even needing to try. It only frustrated you more. You lunged towards him, hastily trying to hit him in any way that you could. After all these weeks of searching for him, you were finally going to get your chance to bring him down.

The red helmet man didn’t seem prepared for your oncoming wave of attacks. The first punch had knocked him off balance just enough that kicking his chest completely brought him to the ground. This seemed to be too easy. He was too skilled to only be brought down by a few hits.

Either way, you didn't care. You stood above this man, the words that you spoke to Tim rang through your head. I want him dead. The rage that you felt going against the Joker was far worse than you were feeling right now. As much as you wanted him dead, you desperately wanted to know who he was first.

You knelt on his chest, digging your knee painfully into him. A batarang was placed right at the small slit of bare skin below his helmet. "I'm giving you one last chance to do this the easy way: who are you?"

"Haven't figured it out yet? Maybe you haven't improved that much, Batgirl. I never introduced myself last time, call me the Red Hood." That didn't get you any closer to what you wanted to find out. This guy had to have been new to town, you had never heard that name before. "Jason -"

"You say one more thing about him and I'll kill you before you get the chance to finish your sentence," your fist tightened at your sides and the sharp end of the batarang dug into his skin even more. Thoughts about what you wished to do to this man filled your mind. You wanted him to suffer, to know the pain that Jason felt so he knew never to speak ill of him again.

"Bats wouldn't be happy with you."

"Fuck Batman," you harshly reacted. "Jason was the only person that mattered to me and if I have to go against Batman's code then so be it."

You couldn't see Red Hood's reaction to your words besides the fact that his body was extremely still. He suddenly used brute strength to not only kick him off you, but off the elevated fan that you two were perched on. You caught yourself before hitting the ground.

Red Hood stood up and stared down at you. You stood ready for whatever move he wanted to pull next. His knees bent just enough to push off, and with such grace, flipped over you so that he was standing right behind you. Red Hood towered over you and you couldn't help but feel some intimidation.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear," standing closer to him, you could hear his voice through the modulator. It didn't make much of a difference to his real voice. What caught you off guard, was the way that he flipped up and over you. You recognized that push off, the landing, you had seen it done a million times.

The voice. The flip. The sushi. Hell, everything that this man had said and done in the two short encounters that you had with him. You recognized it all, you should have known better, from the start. You should have known why he knew so much about you and why he was so adamant that he knew Jason better than you.

No one knew Jason better than you, except for Jason himself.

"Robin to Batgirl, what's your status?" Red Hood must have heard the static in your earpiece, his head shifted just slightly to the right. You stared up at him, and you swore that he could hear the gears grinding in your head with all your thinking. Everything was starting to make sense to you. "Batgirl?"

Slowly, you reached up to turn your earpiece off. Tears welled up in your eyes once more that night, except this time for a completely different reason. Realization of who was under the mass came to you in a wave of emotion. Terror, fear, hope. You couldn't distinguish your feelings any more.

The tidal wave of all your past horrors washed over you. The terrifying nightmares that you woke up to at night. The grief you felt having to stand over Jason's grave at his funeral. The memories that you shared with him for so many years of your life. The anger that you felt towards the Joker, towards the Red Hood. All of it was overwhelming your senses to the point that you couldn't see straight.

The music from the club below didn't pound as loudly as your heart. The drunken vision that most of the people felt downstairs couldn't have been worse than your own. Even those who were so doped up on drugs must have had more feeling in their fingertips. You felt numb to everything.

"Jason."

Thunder crackled across the sky. The rain that was already spitting against you gushed down more.

Your throat was dry, so dry that you thought that no amount of water would ever be apply to replenish your body. The armor that you wore suddenly felt heavier, as if it was pulling you down to the earth and never allowing you to crawl back up.

The things that Red Hood had said to you before replayed in your mind. Jason would be disappointed. He knew because he was Jason, and he spoke what he believed to be the truth because he knew what he felt. He never told you who he was because he was disappointed that you never avenged him.

He knew that the only person that knew Jason better than you, was Jason himself. 

"Jason," You repeated once more. Red Hood stood before you, he said no words, made no movements. Without hesitance, you reached up to pull the cowl off your head. Rain drenched your hair, your skin, it soaked through your clothes. You didn't care about how cold you felt, just the emptiness that was in your chest.

"You've grown."

Your chin trembled and no matter how hard you tried to force it stop, it wouldn't. With shaky hands, you reached up to Red Hood's helmet. Your fingers latched onto the bottom and pulled it up and off his head.

Fear of what you would see filled you. Your eyes were sealed shut, and you couldn't bare to look at the sight ahead of you. To be honest, you weren't sure what you wanted to see when you finally opened your eyes.

Cold green eyes stared down at you. Black mop of hair with the smallest tuft of white sticking out in the front. Faint scars laced his skin but a particular one stood out to you the most. A small J was carved into his cheek. Beneath all this tragedy, beneath the age, you knew this face. 

This was your brother.

Without hesitance, you threw the helmet to the ground and rushed into him. Your arms were tightly wrapped around him - never wanting to let go because you could never lose him again. You didn't care if you were dreaming or if this was some kind of cruel joke being played on you - all you cared was that in that moment, you had your brother again.

Jason was rigid against you. He planned to be just as angry with you as he was with Bruce, but then he heard what you were saying to Tim. He heard you talk so highly about him, about how much you missed him, and how you wished that you were dead beside him in that terrible warehouse. He wanted to feel an anger towards you for never killing the Joker. It was easier to be angered than to forgive for something that you truly believed in.

His feelings changed when you stood there with your arms wrapped around him and tears down your face for him returning back to you.

Jason finally returned the hug. His arms squeezed you so tightly that you couldn't breathe properly but that was the least of you worries at the moment. Jason missed you more than anything. You were the one person that he could always rely on, and after seeing you on that rooftop, he knew that he could continue to do so.

"How is this possible? How are you here?"

"A story for another time," Jason assured. He knew that the moment that he revealed himself to you, that there would never be a separation again. It had been years since he got to see you, years that you thought he was dead and never coming back. This all felt surreal. You wanted nothing more than to believe that this was true, that it wasn't some cruel trick.

"I know you're still working with the Bats, and now you've got Tim... but I can't go back. I won't go back. And if you're willing, I'd like if you joined me," Jason offered. After what Batman did to him, he didn't want you with him either. He was sure that the only reason that you hadn't left yet was because you had no one else to turn to. Now, you had him.

"Jason, I-," you cut yourself off. You loved Tim, you loved him more than you loved yourself, but Jason? Jason was blood and you couldn't abandon that. No matter how much Tim had done for you, Jason was always your number one. That was something that Tim had accepted a long time ago, your brother would always be your priority.

"I know," he nodded in understatement at your dilemma. Jason didn't hate Tim, he never hated Tim. In fact, aside from him being a complete idiot for taking up the role of Robin, he was glad that it was Tim who had ended up in his sister's life. She needed him, and Jason truly appreciated that Tim was the one to be there for her when he wasn't.

"I'll join you," You firmly told him. You didn't want things to end badly with Bruce and Tim - you would always love them. But being with Jason again filled the whole in your heart that nothing could ever replace. No amount of vengeance against the Joker would ever bring you fulfillment like you had right now. 

You never expected to see Jason again, you couldn't lose this chance. Not after all those night of hoping that you could be with him again. Your dreams had finally become a reality: you had your brother back.

"There's no going back."

"I know."

Tagged: @xapham​ @wasnt-expecting-that​ @annabellabrookes​ @ximaginx​ @comic-brew​ @itzagothamcitysiren​ @lux-xen-and-her-catastrophes​ @cipheress-to-k-pop​ @xapham​ @samaras-weavings 

I think I got everyone that asked to be tagged but I’m so, so sorry if I missed you!

[rpgmgames]

November’s Featured Game: Grimm's Hollow

DEVELOPER(S): ghosthunter ENGINE: RPG Maker 2003 GENRE: Indie RPG, Adventure WARNINGS: Discussions of death, losing a loved one, grief SUMMARY: Grimm’s Hollow is a spooky, freeware RPG where you search the afterlife for your brother. Reap ghosts with your scythe, explore haunted caves, and eat ghostly treats on your journey through death.

Download the game here! Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! *BB: My name's Bruno and I did some of the music along with Nat! I’m super happy to have participated in this game! *NW: I’m Nat Wesley, a.k.a. Natbird! I’m a composer available for hire with a few projects in the works. I’m honored to have had the chance to work on the soundtrack to Grimm’s Hollow! *GH: Hello! I go by ghosthunter online; I started developing RPGs with a friend in school when we found out that we both enjoyed RPG Horror. I enjoy art, webcomics, cartoons and narrative-driven indie games a lot. I bought RM2K3 on sale and started pouring pixel art into it, before learning how to do things like chase scenes, cutscenes, etc. I used to fantasize about making my own game, drawing dungeons and ghosts in the back of my sketchbooks, before I finally started Grimm’s Hollow. Now I’m near the end of high-school, and I’m hoping the best for uni!

What is your project about? What inspired you to create this game initially? *GH: Grimm’s Hollow, originally, wasn’t as ambitious or personal. It was simply just going to be “my first game”, something that I could finally put my doodles and RM2K3 skills to. I wanted a game that a younger me would have enjoyed, back when I first discovered the classic RPGMaker games and replayed them constantly for those endings. That was my initial inspiration. It eventually evolved into an action turn-based RPG that relies on timing, yet it’s mostly narrative-driven. You traverse death in search of your sibling, and try to make an escape. There are unexpected pieces of me that ended up in this game, some of which I’m still noticing even now.

How long have you been working on your project? *GH: Since the summer of June 2018.

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *GH: Standstill Girl, OFF by Mortis Ghost, Undertale, Over The Garden Wall, and the animation medium in general.

Have you come across any challenges during development? How have you overcome or worked around them? *GH: Many! Making your first game is such a giant learning curve, that the list of challenges goes on. I would say that the most difficult issue I encountered (and that, in some ways, I am still facing after release) is working around the limitations of the game engine I am using. I wanted to see whether creating an engaging but simple 1-party RPG in RM2K3 (without going completely custom) was feasible, and I experimented with quick time events as part of that. I worked around the engine’s built-in formulae so players could see progress when they upgraded their stats - although the game might display as defence as “10”, in reality the game stores it as 40 since the engine splits defence by 4. Since I did not want to create an RPG which was too complex for my first game, I also scrapped traditional staples such as armour or weapons. There were also issues such as having an appropriate “game over” handling event which wouldn’t shoot you back to the title screen after you lost a battle; getting RM2K3 to play a small cutscene where you faint and respawn somewhere else was tricky. I felt that if the player had to reload after a loss, it would disrupt the game flow.

Have any aspects of your project changed over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *GH: Like I mentioned before, the game started off impersonal. I just had a soft spot for a spooky cute aesthetic, and I wanted to indulge in that. It was (and in its essence, still is) meant to be a short story, to keep the player invested for the short game length - nothing grandiose. The original draft did not have Baker play a role in the narrative - he was just an ordinary shopkeeper NPC. For a long time during development, Lavender did not even have a name. In the very first draft, she was a silent protagonist the player could name and customize. But she played a very active role in the final outline, so it was hard not to give her own unique voice when one emerged from the narrative naturally. I am glad I did; she grew on me quite quickly! Grimm was virtually unchanged from beginning to end. The only difference was that a close friend suggested that he seemed like he would be into drinking Oolong tea - so that’s what he offers you when you meet him. Timmy also did not go under massive overhauls like Lavender and Baker did, but his relationship with Lavender became much more fleshed out as I wrote the narrative. In other facets of the game’s design, there were not many changes to the original prototype.

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *GH: It was just myself, doing the art, writing, programming, etc. But halfway through creating the second cave, I realised I would need a very specific sound for Grimm’s Hollow. So, I contacted Nat for music, but I also created a post on tumblr calling for a composer since there were many tracks to make. I met Bruno as a result! I am very happy with their work and I am so grateful I’ve got to work with them! (Some players are asking for an OST release, which is in the works).

What is the best part of developing a game? *GH: I really enjoyed the early stages of development: creating new tilesets, sprites and maps and piecing them together in the editor, then taking a small screenshot and sharing it with my friend over summer vacation … It was nice to see the game’s world slowly come together. I think that’s what I enjoyed the most from beginning to end: that sense of world-building, that sense of relaxation from making a small cosy game. The latter started to disappear as work and other responsibilities started to intrude, and pressure began to seep into development time - but I never stopped loving making the world and characters. I also want to say that, by lucky chance, I have met a lot of kind people from making my first game. I’m very grateful for that, so thank you to everyone.

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *GH: All the time! Other RPG Maker 2003 projects are great inspirations for pixel art tilesets, as well as how to code harder features such as custom menus. They’re also just fun to play.

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *GH: Lavender and Timmy are relatable to me in multiple ways. I can’t elaborate on Timmy since that would go into spoiler territory, but I somewhat relate to Lavender’s insistence on managing her life on her own - sometimes to her own detriment. I’d say the most fun character to write for was Grimm. He can be unintentionally silly while speaking in the most formal way, but also very caring too. Everything he does and says was easy to write, whereas I had to think harder for the interactions between everyone else - especially for very crucial scenes regarding their development. That being said, my favourite is still the game’s central two siblings. I can not pick between them for the life of me.

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *GH: I wish I started testing even earlier! Not only does it give you a good sense of what’s missing, but seeing people enjoy what you’ve made yet get hindered by bugs is a very strong incentive to fix your game immediately. When I was lacking motivation or was stuck, I found that good feedback and support made me motivated again. I also wish that I could have pushed the deadline a little further, or perhaps released the game on Early Access since it will take me a while to refine post-release bugs - but as it is, the 31st of October really was the deadline for my game due to external circumstances (no, that deadline wasn’t just because it was Halloween!). Other than that, I wonder if using an updated version of RPG Maker would have produced the same game …? It’s hard to tell, but I hope people enjoy it for what it is - I will be working on that post-release patch soon!

Do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *GH: There are no current plans, but I would be happy to have the opportunity to improve and expand on the game. As it is, the game’s released for free and done as a hobby, so I would struggle to do that by myself.

What do you most look forward to now that you have finished the game? *GH: Earlier on, I was really looking forward to players’ reactions. Games are made to be fun, and I would have felt distraught if my game didn’t achieve what it was set out to do. Yet it was not just about the gameplay; it was about the narrative. I hoped that what I found funny, the player would too; what was heartfelt to me, was heartfelt to the player as well. Like sharing a laugh, or just a good experience together. I hoped they would enjoy the feeling that went into it, despite the struggle of making it against circumstance and limitations. Now, I look forward to resting and sleeping once this over. I want to explore my other interests, improve, and explore new media. I want to relax, and refocus again like I was before the heat of development.

Is there something you’re afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *GH: Bugs! Some are easy to fix, but others are harder due to the limitations of the engine (e.g an error in one ending is caused by an overflow error).

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *GH: Show your game as early as possible, to as many people as possible. As soon as you have something playable, it’s ready for feedback. You’ll see if that game mechanic you spent hours refining works, or if it doesn’t work and why. You’ll understand what players enjoy and what they want more of, but also what they don’t like or don’t enjoy. And you will definitely encounter bugs. You’ll be able to pinpoint and fix minor problems early on that can easily become a larger issue later. You’ll be able to fine-tune your game so its best bits shine, and the difficulty is just right.

Question from last month's featured dev @dead-dreams-dev: Is there anything you’ve added to your game for no other reason than because you’re hoping fans will get a kick out of it? Fanservice, fourth wall breakage, references to other games, jokes, abilities that are just ridiculously overpowered and badass, etc? *GH: It’s hard to say; game design is trying to find the intersection between what’s good for the player, what the developer enjoys, and what’s feasible to implement. Every decision made should be conscious of that … I think a lot of the game’s early light-hearted jokes was not only made because I enjoyed it, but I hoped the player would “get a kick out of it” too. But more so, I think it’s because I would struggle to write a story which is serious and bleak from beginning to end. The game is a little self-indulgent in the narrative that way.

We mods would like to thank ghosthunter & team for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Grimm's Hollow if you haven’t already! See you next month! 

- Mods Gold & Platinum

[elyreywrites]

when i’m like this you’re the one i trust

a huge thank you to my fellow brainstormers: Aque and Mizuphae, my betas: robinlikeitshot and kitcat, and my friend for introducing me to my favorite dick/tim song, which is also where the title is from!!

title is from The Weeknd’s “Blinding Lights”!

please REBLOG - DO NOT REPOST

AO3 Link

Teen 3,107 words Dick Grayson/Tim Drake

Summary:

“You died,” he tried to snap, to hopefully push Dick away, but his voice broke. “You—you fell, and I couldn’t catch you in time.”

- - - - -

Tim reached out, someone was screaming – was it him? – but Dick was still falling and falling and where was his grapple! Dick reached back for him but— he was too far, too far, too far!

“Dick!” He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even close his eyes as Dick hit the broken concrete with a resounding crack. He watched every second, the sight forever seared in his mind.

The world shifted around him and he found himself in the Cave. Tim didn’t know how he’d gotten there and he didn’t care, Dick was dead and—

“My son’s body is on that table because of you,” Bruce growled. “Jason would have caught him. Damian would have caught him. And he’s caught you before. I knew from the start you would never be as worthy of the Robin title, never as good as them. If I had known it would get my son killed, you never would have become Robin.”

Jason scoffed, sprawled over in the chair by Di—the body. “Shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone close to him gets killed. He got his own dad killed, why not his boyfriend too while he’s at it?”

Damian snarled, tears running down his face, and leapt forward with a knife in hand—

“TIM!”

Tim jolted up, grabbing his attacker’s arm and pinning them to the floor before wrenching their shoulder up and—

The person under him sucked in a sharp breath as they hit the ground. When they spoke, their voice was strained. “Timmy, baby bird, it’s just me, Dick. Sweetheart, you were having a nightmare. I shouldn’t have shaken you awake, but, baby, you weren’t waking up. Come on, Timmy, you’re safe. You’re safe, I’m safe, can you let me up now, sweetheart? We’re okay, but I need you to let me up.”

Dick. A distressed keen slipped from Tim as he threw himself backwards, as far away from Dick as he could get. He’d killed-hurt-maimed him, it was all his fault, oh god. His eyes were glued to the bruise on Dick’s arm as he sat up and gingerly held it close to his chest. Tim did that.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I—I’m sorry, Dick, I’m so, so sorry. Oh god. I should—I need to go, you – everyone will be safer, I have to—I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I did my best but—I know I was never good enough, never should’ve been Robin, Dick, I’m so sorry.”

Scrambling to the window, his fingers clawed uselessly at the latch, shaking too much to actually do any good. There was a shout from behind him before an arm was wrapping around his waist and hauling him back until they both collapsed on the bed together. Tim thrashed – he had to get away, before he could hurt Dick again or get him killed, for real this time.

A strained grunt made him freeze. Just like that, he thought, nearly hysterical. God, how fucking worthless could he get? He couldn’t even stop injuring his own goddamn boyfriend—

A kiss was pressed to the side of his head and Dick started whispering to him. “Hey, Timmy, just calm down, okay? My shoulder’s just a bit sore and you knocked it, that’s all. I’m alright, I promise. Breathe, baby, come on.”

The stream of soft, comforting words didn’t stop even as Tim shakily gulped in air, breath catching on half-formed sobs. When he had calmed down, Dick shifted them to be side-by-side, his good arm still wrapped around Tim, just tight enough that he knew Dick wouldn’t let him leave. Tim kept his gaze locked on the wall. The image of Dick’s body lying broken over cement was still bouncing around in his head, and he needed to hold on to that image, needed to remember what he did to the people close to them.

“Come on, you know the rule, baby bird. If you have a nightmare, then you have to talk about it. And you were the one who made that rule, Timmy,” Dick teased gently.

And Tim couldn’t be a hypocrite on this. On a lot of other things, sure, but… not on this. “You died,” he tried to snap, to hopefully push Dick away, but his voice broke. “You—you fell, and I couldn’t catch you in time, and Bruce and Jason were right. It was all my fault, I got you killed just like I get everyone close to me killed, and I never should have been Robin in the first place! I knew—I knew I would never be as good as you or Jason, or now even Damian. I just—I hoped that I’d been enough, but I wasn’t, and they were right! You caught me and I couldn’t even catch you!” Tim bit his lip hard before he could start crying again.

Dick was silent for a long moment, taking one deep breath after another. “Okay. So. Okay, there’s a lot to unpack there, but first of all: Tim, baby bird, sweetheart… I don’t know how many nightmares I’ve had where I fail to catch you. I think I had that nightmare for a solid month and a half afterwards. Some nights it’s so real that I wake up absolutely convinced that’s what happened. I know I worried Alfred with how often I jumped out of bed to immediately review the footage of that night, just so I could see myself carry you in, beat to hell but alive.”

He pulled Tim into his lap, rested his chin on Tim’s shoulder, and continued, “So, when I say that it absolutely is not your fault, please…” Dick absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair out of Tim’s face, tucking it behind his ear. “Trust that I know what I’m talking about? You don’t get everyone close to you killed. It’s just that most of the people close to you live the same dangerous lives that we do, and terrible things tend to happen to us.”

“As for being Robin…” Dick huffed, a sound that was almost a sad laugh. “Jason wasn’t the same kind of Robin that I was, and you weren’t like either of us. Now Damian isn’t like any of us. We were all Robin, but we were all Robin in our own unique, amazing ways. And you were, Tim. Amazing. You were an excellent Robin, and I will say it as many times as you need to hear it, and then some. I know you aren’t likely to believe me because of how I handled things while Bruce was gone.” He sighed, clutching him just a little bit tighter as he said, “I will fully admit that I fucked up with you. There were so many other things I could have done instead, but that’s on me. You were everything a Tim-Robin needed to be. Bruce and I… I don’t think we could ever regret having you as Robin, except for all the pain you’ve suffered because of it.”

Tim broke with a harsh sob, still not able to forget Dick’s fall. “I—I can’t stop seeing it. Dick, I—”

Dick moved them again so that they were facing each other. “Come on, look at me. I know you haven’t, don’t think I didn’t notice that, Timmy. But I’m right here, alive. You just have to look at me, not at the wall. There we go, see? I’m okay.” He offered Tim a small, sad smile.

Tim lurched forward, burying his face in Dick’s neck, and curling around him as tight as he dared. “I’ve mourned so many people,” he whispered thickly. “Even if most of them came back, I can’t—I can’t lose you too.”

“I can’t promise that you won’t,” Dick said after a moment’s pause. “Our lives don’t allow for that. But I swear, as long as I’m alive, I’ll be here for you. Come on, it’s still only one in the morning. Let’s try to get some more sleep, alright? You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Dick tugged Tim into curling up against his side – the uninjured side – and murmured words of comfort that gradually slurred more and more until Dick finally dropped off to sleep.

Tim waited an extra ten minutes before he slipped out of Dick’s arms. He couldn’t stay. Dick would only keep getting hurt until Tim eventually got him killed, just like he ended up getting everyone close to him killed. It didn’t take very long to grab the things that he cared about that were solely his and pack them into his car. The one thing he hesitated on, though, was his box of photographs. If he was going to leave Dick to keep him safe, he needed to leave all of it behind. Dick, the Bats, the vigilante life. The first step would be to let his beginning, his past, go. And that meant he had to leave the photos behind.

Before he left, though, there were two more people he needed to talk to – even if they couldn’t talk back.

- - - - -

The realization wasn’t immediate when he woke up. He was aware that something felt off, but Dick wasn’t sure what it was. Being a vigilante meant that he stayed limp, acting as if he were still asleep and reaching for Tim just as he would have if he were still asleep. If he could subtly wake Tim up, they might be able to—

Tim wasn’t there. Aaand, Dick had found the problem. He shot up, immediately looking for signs of kidnapping – could Ra’s please stop trying to snatch his boyfriend? – or for Tim to be sitting somewhere with his laptop like he usually did when he couldn’t sleep. Instead, he found a room that was emptier than when he went to sleep. Most of Tim’s stuff was gone. After the conversation they had before going back to bed, Dick really doubted that was a good sign.

His eyes caught on a box still on one of the designated Tim-shelves. Tim’s photos. He wanted to take it as a sign that Tim would come back – because he wouldn’t leave those behind for good, right? – but Dick didn’t want to risk it either. He’d let Tim go once before, expecting him to come back until Tim didn’t. He wasn’t making that mistake again.

Babs wouldn’t be pleased by Dick waking her up, but he reasoned that she would be even less pleased if he lost Tim when they had just gotten him back not too long ago. So he called.

Two rings later, she answered. “Someone better be dying if you’re waking me up at… 3:30 in the morning for this.”

“Something happened. Tim thinks that just by knowing him people get hurt, and he decided to leave after I fell asleep. He’s missing and I need your help to find him before he gets too far. Babs, he took nearly all his things.”

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then, “Shit. Alright, while I get to my computer, tell me what you can about a timeframe, and I’ll try to find him on a security camera.”

“You already know we both had the night off tonight, so we actually went to bed pretty early,” Dick started explaining. “But then he had a nightmare and woke up sometime before one o’clock. By the time I got him calmed down enough to get some more sleep, it was about one. I was still awake until maybe 1:30, then I crashed. He must have still been awake and snuck out after that, but it would’ve taken some time to load up his car, especially if he was trying not to wake me up.”

Barbara hummed, the clacking of keys in the background. “Alright,” she said, “That gives two hours to work back through, but that shouldn’t take too long sped up. Once I see Tim’s car in its normal spot, I can work forwards more slowly until we’ve got a better idea of when he left. Then I can follow him on the cams. I’ll call back once I have something.”

Dick sagged in relief as she hung up. Babs would find him, with the Bats’ extensive camera coverage of Gotham at her fingertips. A half-hearted laugh slipped out; it was Tim’s own suggestion many years ago to increase the video surveillance over Gotham. Now, it was working against him.

In all fairness, Tim probably thought Dick would stay asleep long enough for him to get too far and disappear completely, but Dick didn’t want to think about that.

He jumped up and hurried to get ready, throwing on warm clothes and bundling up because it was late October in New Jersey, 3:30 in the morning. It was pretty damn cold out, and Tim sometimes forgot to actually put a jacket on, the spleenless idiot. He’d have grabbed Tim one too, just in case, if Tim hadn’t already taken all his. All Dick could do was hope he’d actually put one on.

By the time he was ready to go, he heard his text tone for Babs, hopefully with a location.

[He’s at the cemetery where his parents were buried. I’ll call if he leaves before you get there.]

“Oh, Timmy,” Dick sighed. His chest ached knowing that Tim was visiting his parents’ graves, something he almost never did. He snatched up his keys and headed out. He had a boyfriend to retrieve.

When he got there, Tim’s car was still parked outside the cemetery, packed just as he’d expected. Tim had really been prepared to just drive off and disappear for good. He made his way through the rows of graves silently, soon spotting Tim in the distance. He was curled up against Jack’s gravestone in a t-shirt and jeans. As he got closer, Dick could hear him talking to his parents, and his heart hurt at the words slipping from Tim.

With a quiet sigh, he tugged his jacket off and draped it over his shivering boyfriend. Tim’s rambling stopped abruptly as he looked up at Dick.

- - - - -

Updating his parents on everything took some time, but he had needed to get it off his chest. But now that he’d gotten to what he had really wanted to ask, he hesitated. “Did… did you guys know?” he finally whispered. “Is this why you were always leaving me, because somehow you knew what I do to the people I get close to? Did you leave to try to stay safe from me?”

He choked out a sharp, bitter laugh, and looked down at his fingers weaving through the weeds. “It didn’t work in the end, did it? You’re still dead and… how can that not be, like, my curse? I get people hurt and killed, that’s… that’s all there is to it, really. I got you both killed, just like I got so many people killed already. Just like I’ll get so many more—”

He cut himself off as a jacket – Dick’s jacket – was dropped on him, head snapping up to find Dick watching him sadly. He settled beside Tim, snaking his arms around his waist to pull him closer.

“Baby bird,” Dick murmured, “you’ve got to take better care of yourself, especially without your spleen. You know this.”

Looking away, Tim could only shrug. “Forgot to,” he mumbled. He climbed to his feet, tossing the jacket at Dick, and began weaving back through the graves to his car.

Dick caught up to him quickly. He draped the jacket over Tim’s shoulders again and wrapped his arm around him for good measure.

“Let go already. I’m leaving and you can’t fucking stop me,” Tim snapped, pulling away.

Dick hummed. “We’ll see.”

“What the hell does that mean?!”

“It means,” Dick drawled, holding up a set of keys with a distinctive dice keychain, “that I’m the one with your keys.”

“Dick! Why do you even care?!” Tim yelled. He tried to grab his keys, only for Dick to hold them out of his reach.

Stopping in his tracks, Dick swung Tim around in front of him and stared at him with a hard expression. “I can’t believe you actually just asked me that, but I’ll leave it be because you’ve had a bit of a rough night. I care because I fucking love you, Tim.”

Tim couldn’t help the way his shoulders curled in, or how he looked away.

“Hey,” Dick whispered. A hand on his cheek turned him back towards his boyfriend. “Tim, I let you go once. I let you run off and I didn’t go after you like I should have. I’m not making that mistake again. If you really have to leave you can, but I can’t imagine not coming with you, sweetheart. If you run… I will be right behind you unless you tell me that you truly don’t want me anymore.”

A raspy chuckle slipped out against Tim’s will. “You aren’t exactly Nick Parker, and I’m no Elizabeth James,” he murmured.

That drew a small laugh, as Dick wiped away Tim’s tears that he hadn’t realized were falling. “You can’t distract me with ‘Parent Trap’ references, Timmy. I’m serious. If you need to leave Gotham, I’ll be right there with you. I’m not letting you run off alone with some dumb idea that you’re protecting me.”

“Yeah,” Tim sighed. He leaned into Dick’s touch and squeezed the hand Dick still held. “I’m starting to get that.”

“Great! Then you are going to get back in your car and drive straight home. When you get there, I want you to bundle up in blankets and put a Studio Ghibli movie in.”

Tim stopped mid-reach for his keys. “And what, exactly, are you planning on doing, if you’re not following me back?”

Dick dropped Tim’s keys in his hand and winked. “I’m going to swing by a 24-hour diner for pancakes, and then I’m coming home to snuggle up with you and watch movies. We’re both taking tomorrow off. And,” the grin gave way to a Bat-glare, “if you aren’t home by the time I get there, I’m calling in the entire superhero community to hunt you down.”

“Okay, okay,” Tim laughed lightly. “I get it. I’ll be there.”

“Good!” Dick pecked the cold tip of his nose. “Head home, baby bird, and… please, don’t try to leave again, unless it’s what you really want?”

Tim pulled Dick down into a full, chaste kiss. “I’ll try not to,” he murmured. “See you at home.”

“Go get warmed up, sweetheart,” Dick said, pushing him towards his car. He had some pancakes to pick up.

[pastlivesandsecretdreams]

paradise - chapter four

chapter four - a documentary

mike dodds  x oc (cecilia “cecily” elizabeth sinatra kennedy)

warnings :: mention of death, loss, airplane crash, hemorrhage mention

song(s) of the chapter : cardigan by taylor swift 

word count : 1,740+

“all i’ve ever known is loss…” cecily told the camera that sat in front of her. she had been asked to make a documentary about her life thus far, and they got some old videos and photos of her from her aunt and her godmother. “fifteen minutes after i was born, my mother died of-” she hadn’t noticed that she had started to cry, until she felt the droplets fall onto her shirt. “-a hemorrhage. so for the first few years of my life, it was just me and my father.” a producer handed her a tissue box. “thank you.” she told him, wiping the tissues away. “i loved my father. he was the first great love of my life, i always say. because like i said, it was just us for the first few years of my life. then, he started bringing this pretty lady around the apartment. i loved carolyn! i never had any female presence besides my aunt caroline. so i was always in love with carolyn. she gave me love and attention and cookies. god, she made amazing cookies!” cecily started to laugh at what she had said. “and i got to be the flower girl in their wedding. i was just happy the two people i loved most were getting married! and that i got to wear a pretty dress. and then…” her face fell as she thought of their end. “i got sick from my school friend, josey. it was a bad stomach bug. like i was throwing up, and when i wasn’t, i was so incredibly nauseous. my father almost didn’t go to the wedding. i remember he was adamant on staying home to take care of me. but my step-aunt, auntie lauren, talked to my father and step-mother, who were fighting. their perfect marriage wasn’t as perfect as i thought. in my mind, they were the king and queen of the castle. but...they weren’t. and yet, there was so much love between them. my aunt caroline ended up taking me to her place until my parents would come back. normally, i would’ve slept with my cousins, but because i was sick, i was put in the guest room.

 i sat in bed after a long ass nap. i had written my father a letter, and i had planned to give it to his assistant, so when he next went to work, it would be a nice surprise on his desk. but...as i placed the letter inside the envelope, my aunt caroline walked into the room and just...wrapped her arms tightly around me. that's when i was told the people i loved most...were dead. and again, i became acquainted with loss. i remember nothing of the night after that. i guess my mind blocked it out. but i do remember waking up the next morning and everyone was treating me like i was a porcelain doll that was gonna break, if they so much as breathed heavily towards me. i stayed with them until the day after the funeral. at the age of seven, i was alone. i was an orphan. until my mother’s best friend and my godmother, alix, came to america. she packed everything i owned and shipped it to her home...in france. so, she uprooted me and brought me to reims, where i would grow up. i love my aunt alix, i do, but i wouldn’t have taken me across the pond. because, in a time where i was so fragile, she took me away from my family and friends. i understand she wanted me to get away from all that...but i needed to hold onto whatever sense of family and normalcy i had left.” she started to cry harder and harder, until her best friend, and possible cousin, ronan farrow walked over and hugged her. “you’re okay...you’re okay… deep breathes.” he whispered to her. “let’s take five.” he said to the producer, who nodded and left with the camera guy. “sweetie, it’s only been a few weeks since you gave birth. you need to relax.” she wiped her eyes and blew her nose into the tissue. “i’ve been on the go since i was seven. i need to do this. it will help me process a lot.” he nodded, starting to understand what she was getting on about. the girl had so much that she had never worked through, but now it wasn’t just her. she was a mother of four now, and still never came to terms with a lot of her demons. “can we start again?” ronan kissed her forehead and left the room to grab the producer and camera guy. “are you okay enough to continue?” she nodded as they started rolling again. “what was the last thing i said…?” she asked the producer. “your godmother taking you away from normalcy.” cecily nodded and took a drink of her water. the babies started to cry down, but mike quickly tended to them, so not to interrupt. he had been so good with taking care of her, and agreed that it would be good to get it all out there. “so, i never really made friends after that… because i was terrified of losing them because of all the loss in my life. i’ve hated feeling so alone. and i was alone...until i came back home to new york. then, six weeks after...i met this boy.” mike walked into the room with the twins, causing her to beam at him. “sorry to interrupt… teddy wants you.” she held out her arms, giggling softly as the baby was placed in her arms. “i just got to the best part in the story.” she told her beloved husband. “which is?” the baby latched onto her hand, nuzzling against her chest. “the part about me meeting this cute boy.” he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “he sounds...amazing.” she let out a melodious laugh, which seemingly echoed through the room. “trust me, he is. he’s the love of my life.” she smiled down the camera lens. “obviously...that boy became my husband the following year. we got engaged about eight months in and we just...couldn’t wait too long. about two months after that, we got married. luckily due to our family connections we got a wedding thrown together rather quickly. i had felt it coming on-” he looked at her shocked. “you did?!” cecily nodded and laughed again. “i did! one day you came into my apartment- which is the same apartment that belonged to my father- and what we live in now. and you just...seemed so sure about us. and i knew...i knew i was right for letting you into my life.” he moved and rested his forehead against hers. “i love you…” they said softly to each other. “you’ve been the light of my life.” cecily told him. “you and the children.” the both babies in their arms were fast sleep, loving being held by their parents. “then, on our wedding day, my cousin jack led me down the aisle. and we got married. and that night, at the reception, i told him what i had found out a week before.” her husband smiled at her, then the camera. “she was pregnant with eliza.” she giggled and nodded. “hell yeah, i was.” he looked enamoured by her laughter, by her, by the children they had made together. “it explained a lot. and after that, i knew i had to open up. so, he came with me to see a therapist. after all, he had some problems as well.” mike nodded and sighed softly. “before we met...i had been in the army. and i had seen so much. and i knew that we both had to work through some stuff.” cecily leaned over and wiped his tears away and kissed where they had been. “and we did it how we’ve done everything.” at the same time, they said, “together, or not at all.” they had added that into their vows last minute, and since then, it was a promise they kept. “and now that we have six dozen children-” this caused her to let out another beautiful laugh. “we- gladly- don’t have that many. we have four.” he smiled at her again, loving the sound that came out of her mouth. he could live on her laugh alone, if possible. “-yet. but!” this caused her to playfully hit his arm. “play nice, monkey!” the twins had woken up due to their mother’s laughter and looked up at them. almost if he understood, cassie started to make monkey-like noises. “oh my god!” the entire room fell into laughter at the two newest additions. “please tell me you got that on camera!” she was given a thumbs up from the camera guy. “can you please send me that bit?” once again, she was given a thumbs up. “thank you, timmy! but oh my god, we have a whole zoo in this apartment.” teddy started to babble to his mother. “yes, you too. yes, you too!” the two older kids waddled into the room, jack following behind them. “it seems the rest of our zoo is home!” the two children brought stools and sat next to their parents. “we missed you. kisses!” both children leaned in and kissed her cheeks, then their fathers. “wanna introduce the kiddies?” the producer asked them. “this is elizabeth jaymes. she’s five. we call her “eliza”. this is john fitzgerald, he’s four and we call him “john john” like how the media called my dad. and these two are the newest. we thought we were having one more...then it seems we got a two for one deal. the one i’m holding is edward arthur. we call him “teddy”. and last but not least, this is cassiopeia star. we call her “cassie”. and the twins are about a month old now.” the two older kids waved to the camera. “what does you daddy do for a living?” the producer asked the older two. “he keeps the bad guys off the streets!” eliza answered before her brother could say anything. “and mama?” he asked john john. “she makes houses!” cecily giggled towards her son. “i’m an interior designer.” she told him. “thats what i said!” another round of laughs came from the room. for a moment, their lives were peaceful. but cecily knew it wouldn’t last.

___________________________

hey everyone! i hope you’re having a good holiday season and that you’re all staying safe! here is chapter four, which i actually wrote on christmas eve, but didn’t have time to post it until now! i love you all! 

xoxo,

gracie

tag list : @evans-dejong​

[yandere-ac]

Yandere Pierce because I'm love him

Yandere Pierce X Reader

Just a heads up. This gets kinda dark towards the end (mainly murder) so if you’re sensitive to this stuff this probably ain’t the fic for you. The next once gonna be a lot less heavy but I just wanted to try some new subjects. If you guys don’t want the more mature subjects on this blog make sure to tell me. But anyways, here it is.

Growing up, Pierce had always felt a sense of entitlement. He wasn’t exactly spoiled, per say. His parents always beloved in working for what you wanted, and he did as well. He was very proud of all the muscle that he’d manage to build up during the past years since he started working out. He knew that the way for a well built body was long and hard but he knew that he was making improvements. See, he it wasn’t those things he felt entitled over. No, the things he would feel entitlement over would usually be people. Or, better put, peoples friendship. He would see or hear about someone and think “wow, I wanna be friends with them” and then go to introduce himself. Because of his (somewhat) charming nature, it was easy to make Friedan and he’d never gotten rejected. But, you could argue that it was bad that he’d never gotten rejected, because now he thinks that he’s owed peoples affections even when he really doesn’t. But there had always been one person that he quite couldn’t put his finger on.

And that person was you.

When he first moved onto the island, you hadn’t really made any attempt to befriend him at first, which he though was a bit rude but he ignored it, instead he made the first move and started talking to you. You two quickly became friends, since you and him and another resident where currently the only ones living on the island. And you were talking on a day to day basis. Sometimes he would trail behind you when you were walking around the island. If you went into the nooks cranny or ables sisters shop he would wait a few minutes and walk in himself, being very sneaky just to find an excuse to bump into you and have yet another conversation.

Sooner or later he would discover small factors like how whenever he was around you, he could feel his heart bump faster. Whenever he heard your laugh, he could feel his stomach fill with butterflies. If you ever said his name, his cheeks would turn red. It had been obvious to him that he had fallen in love with you. And it hadn’t been some small crush, he had fallen and he had fallen HARD. He thought of you, every second of everyday. He had fantasied about you two together, you would move in with him and you would have a pet sea-bass. After a while he would pop the question and you would accept happily. You would get married and start a family together. Oh how he wanted you. But of course you wanted him as well, I mean, how could you not? He was perfect in every single way. And you would soon be perfect together, he just had to find the perfect moment to confess to you.

It was a usual day, the sky was grey and riddled with dark clouds. You had just sold your turnips to Timmy and Tommy for a good amount of bells. You smirked as you looked down at the bags in your arms, you were so happy that you didn’t see where you were going, or who was standing in front of you. You bumped into the tall figure, losing your balance, Vella flying everywhere. You squinted, waiting for the impact of the hard ground. But before you could fall to the ground you felt something wrap around your wrist, effectively hindering you from falling. In a quick movement, they yanked you towards them and you felt your body collide with theirs. After a few seconds, once you got your bearings, you backed away.

“Oh, thanks. I didn’t se-“ you stopped in the middle of your sentence as you saw who had saved you. “Oh...hello Pierce...” you said, stomach instantly filling with bricks. Ever since he moved to the island he had been acting weird. And even if you were a little bit ashamed over it, you had avoided him when he first moved in. It was just something about him that had rubbed you the wrong way. But then he started talking to you every single day, and I mean every single day. Sometimes you would see him walking around you, acting very inconspicuous. At first you though it was just a coincidence but soon you would find that wherever you went, he was always slightly behind you. And it creeped you out! You had thought about going to Isabelle but you never where quite sure if it was stalking or if for some reason it was just a spooky coincidence. You didn’t want to accuse an innocent person of stalking you, especially if he did only want to be friends. However, where you did draw the line was the time you found him outside of your house. It had been one thing to see him following you around the island at daytime, but that was a whole other thing.

You remembered it clearly, the horror you felt. It had been late at night when you had woken up from strange noises outside. You tried to brush it off as nothing since it could be literally anything. But after a while you just couldn’t ignore it. You went up, trying to distract yourself by eating something. Going to your kitchen, you had started eating an apple when you thought you saw something out of your window. You had decided to investigate, a sense of curiosity awakening in you. As you went outside you heard rapid footsteps running from your house. You ran to see who it was, and to your horror you saw him. It was Pierce, or, Pierces back, running away. You were sure it was him. And you ran straight to Isabelle that night, banging on her door, begging to be let in. After a long conversation with her, she told you that she would talk to him. And for a while, it did seem like Pierce had backed off. But now it seemed like he was back with his shenanigans.

“What’s up Y/N? Were you in a hurry?” He had asked you, this was you chance. Quickly picking up all of your bell bags you turned to him in a hasty fashion. “Oh yeah, I really gotta go! Important stuff to do! But- uh, I’ll talk to you later man” you had tried to rush past him but he had grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. Damn it. “Don’t worry, this’ll only take a minute” he turned to you and grabbed your hands, making you cringe slightly. “Y/N, ever since I moved in here, I had my eye on you. You were just so special and different y’know. And I for so long you had made me feel things I had never felt” Pierce exclaimed, letting out a loving sigh. “...okay...” you didn’t like where this was going. “Everyday that I talked to you, I would always think about the interaction hours later, wondering what you made me feel. But then I realized it Y/N! That feeling! I know now what it is. So let me just make this super clear. Y/N, i have feelings for you! I wanna start a life with you!” Pierce exclaimed as he had a big goofy smile on his beak.

“WHAT?!” You yelled as you felt your entire body jolt back. Rest assured, Pierces grip on your hands remained. “Pierce I-I-do-wha-“ you couldn’t form any words at the moment, looking at Pierce his smile was gone and his eyes held something you couldn’t quite place, but your entire body screamed at you to run. “Pierce...I...I don’t....I just though we were friends...I’m sorry but...I can’t accept your feelings” once you said this you could feel his grip getting tighter. His eyes weren’t even looking at you, he was staring off into the distance. And that only terrified you further. By now, the grey clouds had turned darker and it had started raining. “I’m sorry, I hope you can respect my choice...I really have to go now, bye” with all of your might you snatched your hands away from him and ran as fast as you could. You ran towards one of your other residents home, Zucker. He was your close friend and you really didn’t want to be alone right now.

Meanwhile, Pierce just sat there. Unmoving. He couldn’t believe it, friends? Friends?! Is that all he was to you?! No! He wouldn’t accept this! You are his! He would make sure you were! Weather you liked it or not, he was gonna have you.

“Oh my god really?! He grabbed you!?” Zucker had asked, concern bracing his features. You had told him everything and he was quick to comfort and listen. “Yeah, he has honestly creeped me out so much these past weeks” you told him, putting your head in your hands. “You should really take this up with Isabelle. If you want, I could follow you there?” Zucker had offered, you smiled at him as he said this. “Thank you Zucker, I would love that”

You and Zucker were walking to the community Center, talking to each other. It all seemed to be fine and well until Zucker was tacked and pinned to the ground by a sharp pair of talons. You gasped as you turned to look at the culprit, Pierce. Standing above Zucker, growling as he looked at you. “Oh, so this is how it’s gonna go hmm? I confess my feeling for you, only to have you go out with some LAZY filthbag?!” Pierce had shouted at you, he had always disliked Zucker due to both of their different lifestyles. But never had you though that he would do something like this. “Pierce! No! Please don’t hurt him!” You cried out, but Pierce didn’t care. In one fell swoop, he had clawed into Zuckers stomach. “NO!!!” You yelled and fell to the floor.

“What is happening over he-“ you heard a voice say before it was cut off by a scream. Tom and Isabelle had gone out to see what was happening only to discover the gruesome sight. “RUN!!!” You had tried to warm them but soon enough Pierce had latched himself onto them as well. Now was the part where you ran. You ran as far as your legs could carry you. But you knew that it was hopeless. Where were you gonna run? You were stranded on an island! It wasn’t like you could grow wings and fl-DODO AIRLINES!!!

You ran towards the dock, almost tripping on your own two legs as you collapsed onto Orvilles desk. “ORVILLE! QUICKLY WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE! PIERCE HAS GONE ON A KILLING SPRE-“ “Oh Y/N~” Shit. “Where are you my sweet?” You heard the madman call out. Soon, he went into the building. He was covered in blood, and had a love crazed look in his eyes. “Ah! There you are” he approached you and Orville. “St-Stay back! I’m warning you!” Orville had yelled back, but it was no use. “Stay back or what? Orville, between us birds, I don’t wanna milk you. So let’s make a deal alright? You and your brother leave, and NEVER come back. And I won’t kill you. That doesn’t sound so bad now, does it? You’re not strong enough to fend me off and you know that Orville, so let’s just cut the crap and make this easy” Pierce had said. You turned to look at Orville, praying that he doesn’t leave you alone with this murderer. But Orvilles eyes said it all, he was considering it.

Giving you a look of pity and mouthing the words “sorry”, he turned to Pierce. “Okay, I’ll do it, we’ll leave the island. Just...please don’t hurt her” As Orville said this, you felt the entire weight of the world crushing you. “N...no, no, no! NO! PLEASE DONT LEAVE ME ALONE WITH HIM ORVILLE! PLEASE!” You felt yourself get grabbed and lifted off the ground, you began struggling and fighting back as hard as you could but in the end it was hopeless. Pierce was much stronger than you and you couldn’t escape from him. You saw Orville leave, and with that, your last smidge of hope.

Pierce was now carrying you out of the Dodo airline, holding you bridal style. You laid unmoving in his wings, you knew that you couldn’t do anything about it, this was your fate. You were destined to be stuck with this insane bird all alone on a deserted island. But unlike you, Pierce had never felt happier. Sure, he’d lost control and went overboard a little bit. But it was worth it! Now he had you! His little Hawkeye, he deserved this. He deserved you!

And all the other scum who tried to separate you two deserved what they got.

[miss-choco-chips]

Teaching you, teaching me

Four times mother and son learned from and about each other, and one time Tim used his knowledge for evil good.

(Warning: Tim is older in some and younger in others, without order)

(For my babes @the-quiet-carrotcake and @animemangasoul who cheered me up when I was feeling bad, hope this makes you happy as well! 

Also, hon tagged me on a ‘five word prompt generator’ thing and I lost the post, so this is my contribution, five words that inspired each part)

Animal

When Jack died, it was sad but they were prepared. He’d been in a coma for two months by then, and Janet had practically been readying both herself and her son for the outcome. Tim had been sad, but it was more because of a possible future lost (he’d never given up the hope of his father changing one day, of Jack wanting to stay and being more present in his life), than genuine sorrow. Or so had the therapist told her.

Janet hadn’t felt bad, not really. Her relationship with her late husband had been cold long before his death, ruined by years of neglecting their son and being absent of their lives, but she suffered for her son, with his too big heart, who didn’t hesitate on wasting his tears on a father that never deserved them, the second she told him the news. 

Still, she held his hand through the entire funeral, surprised by the way he held his head on high. When he threw an arm over her shoulders to guide her away, after the service was over, she realized he was trying to be strong for her. The thirteen year old, heart breaking inside his small chest, was puffing it out to make himself seem bigger, more reliable, to comfort a mother that didn’t really need it.

Her beautiful, kind son.

Max’s death, a short two months after, was nothing like that.

The dog had been part of their household for nine, almost ten years now. Bought shortly after the circus tragedy, in a desperate attempt at soothing her son’s nightmares with the company of something fluffy and loveable, Max had grown up next to Tim, been there for any sad or happy moment, comforting him or sharing his joy by turns. The golden retriever had seem made specifically of love, giving all of it to the kid he’d been gifted to, and for that alone Janet had gone all out on his medical treatments, desperate to make him live as long as possible for a dog. 

Still, he was gone too soon, taking with him Tim’s smile and leaving ample space for tears. Tim had stayed by his side from the moment the veterinarian informed them of his chronic condition, to the tragic end of it, petting him softly and speaking in low, comforting tones.

Max’s last act before dying had been to lick Tim’s hand, the only thing he could reach from where he was lying on the dog bed, and wag his tail once. Even at death’s door, he’d showed Tim more love than his father ever had. Just for that, Janet would Max more than she did Jack.

It also baffled her, when Tim rejected her offer to bring home another dog a week after the small funeral they held in the backyard, softly closing the book on his lap to give her his full attention.

-You love getting new pets -she felt compelled to point out, because it felt like the obvious course of action.

-I do, but I also know why you are suggesting it now, and it won’t work. You can’t make me forget my sadness over losing Max by getting me a puppy, mom. 

-It’ll fill the void -she insists. Almost desperately. 

(She can’t stand to hear her child cry by himself at night, his despair breaking her heart worse than anything else ever could)

-It won’t -he says, shifting in the window seat he always choose when deep in thought or in a contemplative mood-. I loved Max, not because he was a dog, but because he was Max. Even if you buy me a hundred puppies, I’ll love them because they’d be them. It won’t make me forget my pain over Max’s death. 

She wanted to fight him on it, offer more, whatever it took to wipe the dim and far away look from his eyes, but he glanced up at her, so softly and fond, and she felt her tongue glueing itself to the top of her mouth. 

She thought, weirdly enough, of Wayne. Of how, when his first son went away, how he took another boy in. Despite loving Jason, he never stopped missing Dick. She thinks she understands, a little, where Tim was coming from.

(Tim would throw his book at her, if he knew she was comparing the Waynes to dogs, but, if the shoe fits…)

Demonstration

They say watching was the best form of learning, and Tim took it to heart. He analyzed people, going to work, hanging out with friends, buying groceries, fighting, laughing, crying… he saw, and he learned.

The one he watched the most was his mother, though.

How she smiled oh-so-politely at parties, how she ruthlessly destroyed the person speaking to her with short, well informed facts and dirty laundry. How she did both at the same time.

He went with her to DI, and took notice of the way her hips swayed with each step whenever she needed the room’s attention on her, or made her heels click extra hard against the porcelain floor when she wanted averted eyes.

She waved sweetly to her secretary, and frostily glared at the board member sitting three seats away from her.

She clenched her teeth during a phone call with someone she hated, but kept her voice perfectly smooth, warm even, as if speaking to an old friend.

He knew he would inherit the company one day. And, small as DI had been in the past, it had flourished under Janet Drake’s tender and constant care, blooming into the powerhouse it was today, on par with Wayne Enterprises. It was intimidating, to imagine all that power, all that responsibility, on his shoulders. 

Mother, Aunt Nicole, Uncle Lex, Uncle Bruce, Dick, Jay… they all said it, that Tim was too kind, too soft. He would give his hand to someone down without a thought, rather than see if they had a weapon first. Sweet, they called him, and made him blush, because he liked it. Liked that, to all that ruthless, sharp, for moments cruel people, he was a warm presence. A safe, comfortable place to lay worries to rest and smile. He liked being their sweet Timmy.

But he also despised it, because he was a gothamite, and this city ate sweet people whole for dessert, just after finishing with the foolish and naive ones that made for it’s lunch. There was no place for tender people, because that was the best kind to sink teeth into, and Gotham feeds on them. And he can’t die, because who is going to make sure mom and Nicole don’t go off the deep end? Who’s going to help Lex understand and bond with his son, with Conner? Who’s going to make sure the Waynes are getting along, when Alfred himself decides to leave them to their terrible life choices?

So he watches his mom, because she’s a prime example of someone not to be fucked with. Someone who is going to survive this wreck of a city until her drawn out, bitter end, and when that comes, she’ll go kicking and screaming and suing people to the ends of the earth. She doesn’t fear Gotham, and while sure as fuck Gotham doesn’t fear her either, it at least respects her. 

So he watches, and memorizes, and adapts behaviours and gestures into his own, tries to mimic the look in her eyes that send people flinching back and laughing nervously.

And, since he’s watching, he notices that she knows. How she’d look over her shoulder, straight into his eyes, as if saying ‘pay attention, I’m only showing you this once’ before she does something particularly tricky. Demonstrates her way of surviving, and lets him learn from it to make his own.

Tim, eleven years old, so tender and soft he’s like a warm, eatable bunny in everyone’s opinion, closes his eyes and breathes in, deeply. When he opens them, the icy blue of his gaze is enough to send the closest board member stumbling back and mumbling an apology (for what, who knows) before scurrying out of the room. 

Mom looks back to the rest of the board, but Tim knows (because he watches her all the time, he’s learned her to the smallest detail) that she’s smiling. 

She’s proud.

Galaxy

It’s late, and she feels sick and wants nothing more than to go to sleep. She’d basically lived at the office this last week, because of some stupid mistake Jack had made with the one piece of paperwork she needed him to sign (how he manages to screw up from all the way across the world, she can’t quite understand; it surely requires talent), and feels about ready to collapse on her bed.

But, because it’s been a while since she saw him, something in her gut tells her to go look for her son. Tim’s probably asleep right now, it’s almost four a.m, but if she’s silent enough, she could sneak a quick peek through the door, make sure he’s fine, and then go to bed completely unburdened.

Except, when she gets there, she’s treated to the sight of her son, her eight year old son, getting back into his room from God knows where by climbing through his window. Which, by the way, was located on the third floor.

Janet pressed a hand to her chest, as if to make sure her heart was still beating. It was, but the speed couldn't be normal.

Was this a heart attack? 

Hidden by the shadows on the hallway, she noticed how he removed his tiny sneakers, that she had completely forgot he even owned, and thrusted them under the bed. They were worn out, full of grim, obviously used often for activities like sneaking out at night and climbing the house. 

Yes, she was having a heart attack. And an aneurysm. Simultaneously.

The camera around his neck, she did remember. The one gift he had asked for his last birthday, the only thing he ever begged her for. She hadn’t understand his passion for owning one, but since he never had looked so earnest (and wanting to make up for Jack missing the day) she conceded.

Was it a mistake? Watching the little boy making himself comfortable in his bed, going through the photos in the camera with the most delighted expression ever, she felt like ‘fuck yes’ wasn’t a strong enough answer.

Her first impulse, to jump inside the room and demand answers, was squashed down almost as soon as it hitted her. If she did, Tim would clam up and deny everything. Instead, she breathed in deeply and tapped her knuckles against the doorframe.

Tim almost jumped straight out of his skin, looking at her like a thief caught red handed. It’d be almost funny, if her heartbeat wasn’t still off the charts.

-Timothy, it’s quite late. Why are you awake at this hour? And with your camera? -she made a show of scanning his clothing, as if she wasn’t aware of the jeans and hoodie- Why aren’t you on your pajamas?

She could almost hear him thinking, brilliant mind kicking into overdrive as her prodigious son searched for an answer that would satisfy his mother and keep him out of trouble. Shame no such answer existed.

-I… was outside, mama -he mumbled; calling her like that, amping up the cuteness, was almost overdoing it, but she supposed the situation called for big guns- Taking pictures of the sky. I-I know it’s dark, and polluted, but I heard today was going to be extra-starry, and I thought maybe I could photograph the stars for you?

He was good, she ought to give him that. But years too young to even try to lie to her.

-I see -she answers, calmly walking closer to him. Her face betrayed nothing, and she could see how that was getting into him by the way he was fondling with the camera, almost carelessly compared to his earlier reverent touch.

He flinched when she sat by his side.

-M-mom?

-Well? -an arched eyebrow- Aren’t you going to show me? You did something incredibly dangerous, climbing down your window- no, don’t even try to lie, I saw you climbing back in. Don’t think we won’t be talking about that in the morning. But you did something truly reckless, for those pictures for me. The least I can do is see them.

Quick, trembling hands fumbled a bit with the buttons. Janet was honestly surprised when he turned the camera around, showing actual sky pictures to her. She believed it a bluff. Maybe preventive measures, in case he got caught? She was sure he was lying, because even if they were sky pictures, it wasn’t a particularly nice view, all foggy and polluted Gotham landscape.

She also noticed (though pretended not to) how those angles weren't ones he could achieve from their backyard, which upped her panic levels a few notches. Her baby had been alone, at night, away from home, in this shithole of a city.

-What a pity -she says, instead, giving back the camera, despite her burning desire to search for older pictures to get an idea of her son’s true activities-, those look like the usual sky. I would have loved to see the stars. Well, not your fault, this place is just ugly. Maybe we should move to Metropolis, I’m sure there are stars there.

-Mom…!

-Hush, now, go to sleep. We are talking about sneaking out and bedtimes tomorrow, I’m too tired right now.

She could see his anxiety (at moving away? Why did he love this place so much?), but he must have realized he’d push his luck too far if he insisted, so he kissed her cheek and let her tuck him in. 

Despite her bone-deep tiredness, Janet couldn't get a single second of shut eye at all. By six a.m and truly out of ideas, she picked up the phone. Too respectful of Nicole’s boundaries to bother her at that hour (or at least, not desperate enough; had the situation been a little more urgent, she wouldn’t have hesitated to drag her to the manor kicking and screaming), she called Lex.

At the fifth ring, her old friend's voice answered- I have a conference with the president in a few hours and need rest, this better be important.

-Please, your sleep schedule is even worse than mine. I need an opinion.

-And is Al Ghul unavailable? Why are you bothering me, when you two usually ignore my advice and go to each other?

-Don’t be jealous, green isn’t your color. Lavender isn’t either, but well, I guess you can’t win all your battles…

-Bold words for someone asking for help.

-Who said anything about help? I just need a new perspective. And I’m already regretting going to you for it.

-Well, I’m awake now, so might as well. Mercy -Luthor’s voice sounded a little muffled, probably covering the receiver while he addressed his bodyguard slash buttler- I’ll be in the study, bring me coffee.

She gave him a few minutes, twirling one of her dark locks in her pointer finger. Laying in bed, unmade by all the tossing and turning she did for the last hours, she looked the picture of unrest. Luthor would laugh himself sick if he saw her now.

-Alright, I have coffee now. What happened?

-I caught Tim coming back home  after sneaking out last night. It looked like he did it before, multiple times; he had specific shoes for it that he hid, and even got some backup-plan photographs to make it look like he was just in the backyard photograpying the sky.

She heard the squeaking sound his chair made as he sat straighter, floored by her confession. 

-You should oil that chair. Is unbecoming for your image if it makes that kind of sounds everytime you move on it.

-Sorry, I can’t answer properly to the last part because I’m still reeling for the opening bit.

-Weak.

He ignored her (rude), muttering under his breath- Tim what? No, he wouldn’t… well, he does have Janet’s genes, so maybe…

-So -she cut him off, because if he kept that line of thinking, she would hang up and he still hadn’t given her any advice-, your thoughts?

-Get a bodyguard on him 24-7 who’ll keep him from going out at night -he answered quick as a wip, not even needing to think it through. She huffed.

-If it were that easy, I wouldn't need your opinion, you fool. This is my son we are talking about. Guilt and duty might keep him from going out, if I appeal to those, but brute force and shackles? He’s smart, smarter than you, maybe even than me. If he really wants to go, and finds no moral obstacles, he’ll find a way. 

-So, do what you said, attack his conscience. 

-I want to keep him safe, not emotionally destroy him.

-Forbid him from going? Like you said, he’s a dutiful son, and very well behaved.

-Which means he’ll make sure I think he’s obeying, but no guarantees he’ll actually do it. Think harder.

A few minutes went by, before the man sighed.

-You said it yourself, if he really wants to go, there’s little you can do, short of locking him up like a prince in a tower. Maybe speak to him, tell him your reasons to worry… and get him some martial arts teacher, to give him a fighting chance if he ends up disobeying anyway.

----.----

After speaking to Luthor and a quick call to Nicole for a favor (namely, get Lady Shiva to accept a work as a sensei for Tim), Janet slept for a solid nine hours. Eating, overseeing some papers and phoning her secretary to clean her schedule for the rest of the week, and she was ready to face her son after having dinner together. 

They sat on Tim’s bed, and she held his hand as she spoke to him. About how cold it was, how easy it was, before he was born. How life was do this, think about that, conquer here, throw something away there. Act, consequence, simple as that. Clinical as that.

It was different, she said, when he came to her life, to her arms. Because it was warm, and difficult, and so, so scary. She’d never been so afraid of the butterfly effect before. Now, consequences of a misstep could come to bite her in twenty years, a simple act  now could make Tim despise her in the future.

“I’ve never been so afraid in my life”, she told him, baring her soul for the first time in her life. “But I’ve also never been happier, and it’s all because of you.”

“I love you”, she told him, giving her heart away for the first time in her life. “And I can’t lose you.”

Those words were the hardest for her to say. She did it, anyway. Because he needed to hear them, and because they might be enough to keep him from pulling last night’s stunt again.

By the time she was done, Tim’s face was a mess of tears and snot. He hadn’t uttered a single word, holding onto her hand like a lifeline, but his smile was the brightest, prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

-I’ll be careful, Mom -he promised, between wrecked sobs. It had truly affected him, to hear her heart thoughts so bluntly. She ought to do this more often, if he treasured it so much- I.. I won’t go out at night alone, not until I’m someone not even the Rogues can mess with. I promise -he looks at his bedside table, where the camera sits, and looks regretful but determined at the same time. She knows he means it. Whatever feeling he got from sneaking out to take pictures, it evidently wasn’t as strong as what he felt now, holding his mom’s hand and shaking from such strong emotions.

-Thank you -she breathed in deeply, relaxing for the first time since the night before, letting go of his hand to hug his shoulders, pressing him into her side.

After a few seconds of silence, he weaseled out of her hold, raising a hand to halt her when she tried to follow his example and get up- Stay there a minute, Mom, I have something to show you.

With that, he sprinted to the light switch, and turned them off. But a slight, greenish glow remained in the room, and then she noticed the glow in the dark stars sticking to the ceiling.

There were… a lot of them.

Tim came back and sat once again next to her, hand quickly snatching hers.

-You said… you said you wanted to see the stars, so I made you a little galaxy. Whenever you want to see them, you can come here… You’ll also know, that way, that I’m here and not sneaking out.

Thanking people wasn’t something Janet did often. But she had said ‘I love you’ today, and that one was a first, so this wasn’t too far fetched for her.

-Thank you, Tim.

Feedback

A week after showing his mother his multiple closets full of disguises and aliases’ clothing, he was called into her office. 

He had expected some questions, maybe even feedback or advice in how to perfect his portrayal of other people.

He hadn’t expected this.

-..and I know I’m not as… adapted to the ever changing times as younger people like you. Me, Lex, sometimes Nicole, we are too set on our ways, but. 

She cleared her throat. Tim still wasn’t sure he wasn’t having some kind of fever dream.

-But. It’s important for you to know that I… I won’t ever judge you for something you are. I might judge your actions, like when you accept Todd’s offers for a ride downtown, or Grayson’s requests for a dance, or when you are too dumb/ kind, too kind, towards other people… But I’ll never judge you for something you didn’t choose. Like this.

In the midst of this confusing speech, Tim still couldn't quiet comprehend why mom was gesturing towards the shoes on the desk. They were simple, red heels, not even that high, belongings of Caroline Hill, one of his more successful aliases. It was a wonder how people on the Alley’s clinic hadn’t catched on that their favorite voluntary nurse slash doctor in training was a fifteen year old kid instead of the nineteen year old shy girl they thought, but it was an ego boost when they called him Miss Hill, and a boost to his medical skills when they taught him something new.

-I understand this is an… -a quick glance to the papers in her desk. Had mom… wrote this down beforehand? What…?- age of changes, yes, an age of changes for you. And you are… discovering- no, learning yourself. And I’m honored that you trusted me enough to show me that, and came to me in this… confusing times.

Tim opened his mouth to speak. Mom seemed to panic, as much as mom ever did anyways, quickly sorting through her sheets of… Information? Pointers?

-Not that I think you are confused! I trust that you know yourself the best, and I trust whatever you say to me are your honest feelings on the matter. 

-I… I am confused -he managed to blurt out. 

Mom winced, and searched among her papers some more. When she seemed to find whatever it was, she pulled it above the others, gave them a quick glance, and kept going- It’s okay if you don’t know it yet, too. There’s more than just… male or female. According to my research, there’s a ‘neither’, ‘both’ and ‘sometimes one, sometimes the other’ option.

Janet seemed lost at her own words. Tim could relate. He wasn’t even sure they were talking about his aliases anymore.

-What I mean to say is -she breathed in deeply, letting the papers fall to the desk and meeting his eyes head on-, I love you. You are my son, daughter, neither, both, whatever you feel, but still mine. My child, and nothing you do about your… identity or sexuality can change that. I’ll always accept you, as you are. And if anyone ever gives you trouble about it, you can always come to me and I’ll set their minds straight, or remove them from the picture.

Tim felt fondness surging in his chest, even as his mind came to an abrupt halt when he finally understood what this was all about.

-You might have to be patient with me, or explain some concepts, as I learn about this, because its all new information to me. But I promise you I’ll always love you no matter what, and I’m willing and ready to do my best to/

-Mom -he finally choked up, torn between embarrassment and profound love- I’m not… I’m a boy. I really, really appreciate all this, but you don’t need to… I mean, the shoes and clothes? It’s because I’m making aliases, so I can learn different things and meet people without it being traced back to me. Like, tools. Caroline Hill, the shoes owner, for example, is a tool to learn about medicine, and practice the way of women in case I ever need to disguise myself as one. Not… not actual representations of Tim Drake.

There was a minute of silence.

-Well, this is… unexpected.

-But -he continued, cheeks warm but hurting from smiling so hard- you are the best mom ever, and this learning you are doing? It’s great, even if not applicable to me, because it… it’s good, for people to understand and accept other people like that. It makes you a better person, and I’m really proud of you.

He got up from his seat and walked around the desk, sitting in the floor by his mom’s chair like he did when he was a toddler, and rested his head in her lap, hugging her legs, eyes going to hers with wonder and happiness. She seemed utterly relieved, both at not having fucked up their chat, and at him not being mad at the misunderstanding.

-Aliases, huh. I can help with that. We can talk about it over dinner, and I’ll give you some suggestions.

-Thanks, mom. And, hum, since you brought up the whole gender and sexuality stuff… this might be a good moment to let you know I’m bi.

Long, sharp nails scratched his scalp softly, his eyes closing almost on instinct. Her laugh ringed in his ears.

-It doesn’t matter to me, Timothy. Boy, girl… whoever you bring home, I’ll…

He smiled, expectant.

-... never accept them. No one, no matter their genders, is good enough for my son.

Ah, there she was, the mother he knew and loved.

Movie

Tim, sitting in his study, didn’t even raise his eyes from the paperwork mom had assigned him (to help make him accustomed to dealing with it for when he’ll have a more central role in DI)  when the door opened and closed with a bang. He continued signing contracts with one hand, while the other patted his desk for his phone, shooting a quick text to the butler without looking.

-Can you believe it? -his intruder clamored, walking back and forth in front of Tim’s desk, hands messing through long locks of black hair.

-No -he replied, eyes still not leaving his work- It's amazing, how the stock market dropped on Wayne Enterprises. What is Bruce thinking, with the neon knights? He can’t do that and then go gallivanting around the world alone again, the stockholders won’t stand for such a big inversion without the logical follow up. I need to phone Damian about this, maybe he can ask his brothers to pose as Bruce and/

-I’m not talking about your precious Waynes!

-I know -he replied, hand finishing the last stroke of his signature, raising his eyes to his godmother just as the door opened and the butler brought a tea (and coffee) set, placing it by the little table in the corner of the study-, but I needed a few minutes to finish this before paying attention to you, Aunt. Now, a cup of tea? I’ll be having coffee, but it might not be the best for your frayed nerves.

-My nerves aren’t frayed, you little brat. Show some respect. Where is my cute little angel of a godson? -she complained, sitting as elegantly as ever in the plus couch by the little table. Tim sat opposite her.

-He hasn't slept in three days -and is being asked to meddle into adult’s problems, but he didn’t voice that part, merely mixing ingredients in the steaming cup-, It’s natural to be bitter. Now, tea?

She didn’t answer, but accepted the offered drink, already prepared to her tastes perfectly. Despite her anger, she smiled. Two sugars, no milk, a little lemon, the smallest hint of vodka. Her godson knew her so well.

A few seconds went by as Tim readied his own coffee and downed half. The butler topped the cup for him, and then left just as quietly as he had came.

-Now, want to tell me what has you so mad?

He already knew, but playing innocent was one of his strengths. Bruce still blamed Dick for the incident on the music room of the manor, despite the fact that Tim had been there at the moment and his eldest far away on a secret mission civilian Tim wasn't supposed to know about. That was the true power of a goodie two shoes.

-Your mother, she… You know we were planning on going to the movies today, and she…!

-Ah -he nodded, as if only catching up then- She went with Dana, right?

Nicole gritted her teeth, downing her cup in one long glup to calm herself. Tim merely took the teapot and filled it again.

-Janet doesn’t even like the movies! She hates being around other people. The only reason she goes is to humor me, and now… That woman…

-Dana is a good person -he intervened, because he genuinely liked her. Dana Winters had been in charge of taking care of his comatose dad until his death, and they had spent some time together during his visits to Jack. A lot of his alias Caroline Hill had been based on her. And right now, she...

-Too good -Nicole muttered, which Tim suspects, was the root of the problem.

-Shouldn't you be glad? -he asked, head tilted in his best show of naivety- That mom is trying to get someone kind to be by her side? Dad wasn’t… dad wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t as nice to mom as he could have been. I, for one, want her to be happy.

-Janet doesn’t do nice.

It took everything in him to not answer ‘well, she might tonight’, because that would ruin his innocent image, and he was afraid Nicole might actually stab Dana. Really, refraining himself like that was almost painful. Mom better appreciate his sacrifice.

-The nicest thing she could ever stand was you -she continued, ignorant to her godson’s internal struggle-, and you are her baby.

-I’m fifteen -he felt compelled to inform her, but was promptly shushed.

-To us, you never grew past your chubby stage.

-I didn’t have a chubby stage, and you can’t prove otherwise -he’d know. He was the one who got rid of the evidence.

-Back to the point… Dana is no good fit for your mom. She’d end up tearing off her own hair in frustration in less than a month after countless discussions of morality and ‘doing the right thing’. She can barely resist when it’s you doing the nagging and, again, you are the exception to all of Janet’s rules.

Tim hummed, thinking distractedly how someone as smart as Nicole couldn’t see that Dana’s good heart wasn’t the problem here. Oh well, he needed to be a little more direct.

-And who do you think would be a good match for mom? Someone distant, like dad? Or easily manipulated?

A growling almost came out of Nicole’s mouth. Tim refilled his coffee cup again.

-Neither… those make for good tools, but not partners. Janet needs someone who understands her, who couldn’t judge, who likes her as rotten and twisted as she is.

Should he protest? This was his mother they were talking about. Not that she was wrong, but… still.

Deciding against it, because he needed to get back to work and this conversation was already exhausting, he nodded- Mm, but plenty of people in high society adore her... 

-Those fools either don’t know of her true nature, or are too scared of it. None would make for a good life companion.

-So, someone who isn’t scared of her, knows her inside out, isn’t morally upright…

-They should also have similar objectives in life -Nicole interjected, empty cup clattering against the plater when she placed it there-, otherwise Janet might feel the need to remove them to keep them off her way.

-Objectives, like…?

-Staying on top of the food chain of the corporate world, for example. And keeping loved ones safe. Like you, for her.

“And Damian, for you”, he didn’t say. Finally, they seemed to be reaching the end of the discussion. Just a few more lines...

-And they should be strong -she kept on, digging her own grave for Tim’s convenience-, because Janet is, too, which means her enemies are as well, and she needs someone to have her back if she ever needs it.

-I don’t think -he wondered, finger tapping his chin in childlike confusion- that such a person exists. Someone as morally compromised as mom, strong enough to help her achieve her objectives, who knows her and loves her. I never met someone like that… I mean, besides you.

Time seemed to stop for Nicole, who dropped the scon she had halfway through her mouth. Tim knew what having a romantic realization felt like, so he let her deal with it while he finished his coffee. After a few minutes letting her stew, he force a look of curiosity and concern on his face- Aunt Nicole? Are you alright? You went really quiet…

Nicole wasn’t sitting in front of him any longer. Okay, he’ll forgive the rudeness, in the spirit of love and all that. Picking up his phone, he sent Dana a quick text, warning her to make herself scarce.

“Everything going according to plan on my end”

“Ah, okay. I’ll thank Janet for accompanying me, and ask her to just be friends. Then I’ll catch a taxi :) “

“Yeah, let me know once you are back on your house, it’s getting pretty late”

“Aw, you’re such a gentleman. Me and your mom spent all afternoon talking about you, you know. And Nicole”

“You buttered her up to the idea?”

“She seemed to be considering ending this ‘date’ early as well to go looking for her, so I’m guessing I did ;) “

“Thank you again, Dana “

“Make sure they invite me to the wedding, and we’re even!”

“If they don’t elope, that’s it”

“They won’t. That would mean missing the chance to make Uncle Lex miserable by asking him to plan the whole ceremony”

Smiling despite himself, he put his coffee cup down and went back to his desk. Better to get work out of the way before Mom and Nicole came back and informed him of the good news. 

Shocked face number three might do.

[pastel-rights]

IDV AU Masterlist

I think Masterlist is the correct term?

Anyways, all the IDV AU’s I got at the moment-

Normal IdV AU: So this is my normal IdV AU! Obviously. Ehehe. This one is similar to the game, where they play these dangerous games with the goal of a grand prize. It differs in the character backstories however! Some of these new changes are:

Lucky Guy: In the original game, we don’t know his reasons for playing in such a dangerous game, only that he played in it. He’s known for being the stand in for the detective during the tutorials (as Leo is for the hunter) and the guy doesn’t have much personality. In my AU, Luckster gets an invitation to the manor after an incident that resulted in him losing his memory (and basically his identity lol) which he is offered help with figuring out who he was before everything happened if he played their games. Spoilers, Luckster has no choice but to go.

Aesop Carl: In the original game, it’s noted Aesop’s “mentor” was a serial killer, and Aesop himself had assisted in these murders. He found the manor invite off the person of a woman he had embalmed. In my AU, Aesop still basically helped commit murder, but instead of finding the invite kind of randomly, he meets the Manor’s owner in person, where the owner employs Aesop to embalm the corpses of former participants of their game. Aesop acts more like staff than a participant, but he is still allowed to play in the games. The hunters just aren’t allowed to kill him/let him bleed out. Rocket chair is fine though. (Melissa hates that Aesop has special privileges, she wants to kill him so badly sometimes, this man is so sassy and so snarky and she hates it)

Luca Balsa: I dive into his story a lot more in the Death AU actually! But basically, Luca is blamed for the death of the inventor, goes to prison, gets bailed out and receives manor invite and is tempted solely by the money. In my AU, Luca never got to work of his own choice, and didn’t get to work on his own inventions. He was a prisoner to his work, quite literally. His mentor ran a lot of different experiments on Luca, one of which caused Luca to be able to conduct and control electric currents, instead of the incident being the cause of it. Also this man is like, super touch-starved because his mentor never let him out of the estate. Luca was treated more like an object than a human. The invitation to the manor, to Luca, was an acknowledgement that Luca indeed was a person, and it allowed Luca to do the things Luca wanted to do. 

Also, the more games they play (and win) the more money they get, and depending on their score depends on how much money they get.

IdV Death AU (Normal): If you’ve ever looked at any of my IdV content, you should know about this AU. This is basically the “Timmy murders a bunch of IdV characters she loves starting with Nort and making her way down the list” AU because it’s an AU that follows certain ghosts (Like Norton and Luca) and certain humans (Naib and Edgar) and to get certain characters as ghosts, I have to kill them. Sorry Norton 🤷🏻‍♀️

Here is a more detailed post for this AU. It’s also called the fantasy AU sometimes cause I’m dumb and can’t keep consistent naming.

IdV Racer AU: This is an AU based off the COA IV trailer, as well as incorporating the COA III suits! It takes place before the final race, a couple races before it actually. The moments from before the final race, is told as a flashback by Mike, and after the final race with the COA III team would be “reality”. As for the 5 suits in the essence (Molten Hound/Gamekeeper, Pumping Tires/Acrobat, Fueling Agent/Barmaid, Highway Cavalier/Prospector, and Reflective Mirror/Priestess) and the COA III suits (Netherwalker/Smiley Face, Puppeteer/Mechanic, Whiplash/Cowboy, Trickster/Embalmer, Surveyor/Seer and Vile Blossom/Female Dancer.) Here are the breakdown of the individual suits and their roles.

Molten Hound/Gamekeeper: Bane serves as a challenge for Norton, Demi and Fiona, and has chains on the 3 of them. Out of the three of them, Norton has the most chains on him. Their lives belong to him. And over the years, they’re trying their hardest to break the chains Bane has on them. It’s only after Mike, not bound by Bane’s chains, gets involved that they get their freedom from Bane. Bane notes that there will be more challengers after him, and becomes a spectator to their journey after defeated. He even trains them to be better.

Pumping Tires/Acrobat: Unlike the others, Mike is unbound by Bane‘s chains, meaning he’s free to do whatever he’s like. Growing up in the circus, after a terrible incident that leaves only two survivors, Mike grew up wild, jumping from hyperfixation to hyperfixiation, not caring how well a job paid or not. He always got himself into trouble, and often acted without thinking (such as crashing his car into Bane’s, and drowning in the river because of his actions) which causes a bit of trouble and panic for the others. Before COA, he was known as a very famous acrobat named Mr. Swifts and was well known for his disappearing juggling acts and incredible flexibility. He joined the COA IV team towards the beginning of their final races against Bane, and he was able to bridge the gap because of his chain free status, which helped earn Norton, Demi and Fiona their freedoms, even if it meant giving up his own life. He gets along well with everyone, he isn’t really disturbed by their “strange” habits as other racers are, he finds them very interesting. If anything, he considers himself stranger. He doesn’t give his own life much consideration, he’s too busy trying to save other people’s lives. He would gladly lay down his life to make sure other people could live theirs without fear, and that shows up till his last appearance in the COA IV race, in which the aftermath has him meeting the COA III group. Don’t worry, he reunited with his newly freed friends... after almost a year. The two COA teams see different sides of him. With the COA III team, he gets an outfit similar to the one Vile Blossom wears instead of his COA IV racer outfit or his Mr. Swifts outfit.

Fueling Agent/Barmaid: Demi grew up with the other two COA III racers (Norton and Fiona) and is one of the racers Bane has chains on. She doesn’t really have her own free will, and has (unwilling) done some terrible things, such as sabatoging the engines of other cars. It was her who introduced Mike to the gang initially as one of Bane’s plans to torment the trio, seeing as Mike was pretty well known in the community in general for being a sole Acrobat (He was known as Mr. Swifts at the time) and having something bad happen to a celebrity like him could spell bad news for the crew. Little did Bane know, Mike isn’t the typical celebrity. Far from it. Demi became really interested in Mike after first meeting him, and Bane twisted Demi’s feelings of admiration and crushing into almost an obsession that prevented her from properly functioning (aka daydreaming while driving, dangerous stuff like that) while makes Mike a bit uneasy, but he seems to get over it rather quickly. Like, really quickly. Demi often is the one tending to Norton and Fiona’s wounds, as she doesn’t seem to get hurt as badly. She gets really emotional at times, going from one emotional extreme to another one. She can be unsettlingly happy one moment to extremely angry the next for no reason.

Highway Cavalier/Prospector: Norton has had the most experiences with Bane’s control. He’s also one of the few people Bane has used to make an example out of (the scar of his face) to instill fear into the others. He’s suffered through a lot trying to win his freedom and his friend’s freedom, but no matter what he does, he can’t break Bane’s chains. Not alone at least. When Mike is introduced to the trio by Demi, Norton can almost hear Bane’s thoughts. He knows Bane wants to hurt Mike to get the trio to do something or to get the public to act a certain way towards them, he just knows Bane’s intentions aren’t good. So he distances himself, he tries to drive Mike away so that Bane can’t use them to hurt him, but his harsh exterior is pretty quickly and easily broken by Mike. He goes from tolerating Mike to starting to enjoying Mike’s presence, although he’s very hesitant letting Mike race with them (cause of Bane and all), he generally is very open to hanging out with Mike. Norton gets hurt a lot, before forces himself to keep going, because in his mind, no matter what he goes through, it’ll be worth it when he earns his freedom. Bane likes to hold this over his head, and more times than not, Norton’s in critical condition and depressed by the end of it.

Reflective Mirror/Priestess: Fiona is very cold and closed-off. She used to be this upbeat, outgoing friendly figure, but Bane’s broken her to the point she feels everyone is out to get her. She often feels like everyone is using her, and only through confirmation from Norton and Demi is she able to get over this type of mentality. She’s also very unsure about Mike, but for different reasons than Norton. She feels like Mike is hiding something, she has this image of Mike that isn’t what the other two have. She doesn’t really mind Mike but she doesn’t trust him. It isn’t till Mike saves her after Bane crashes her car initially that Fiona realizes Mike isn’t all bad. Fiona still stays a bit cold towards Mike, but Mike doesn’t really care. Although, the Mike Fiona sees is more of a hidden personality, and the Mike Demi and Norton sees is more of Mike’s surface personailty. Being a priestess has granted her many abilities, after all.

Netherwalker/Smiley Face: Similar to Bane, he serves as a challenge. He’s a bit worse than Bane if I’m honest, he exceeds in mental torture instead of physical torture. He often messes with people’s thoughts, as well as the way the see the world. He acts like a hallucination almost. He can reveal himself to whoever he decides, and uses it to drive the COA III team insane almost. He often overlooks everyone, and takes pride in his abilities. A certain acrobat’s actions catches his eyes though... needless to say, he is not prepared to deal with Mike. No one ever is. He’s able to strike up deals, and is very convincing. Knowing Mike was the one who broke the Molten Hound’s chains interests him, he wants to see how far he can push Mike before Mike shatters. He makes a deal, to bring him back to life to discover the truth, but awakens a much darker side of Mike in the process, corrupting the Acrobat as a result.

Puppeteer/Mechanic: Being a very curious soul, Tracy struggled to understand the predicament she found herself in. Tormented by the Netherwalker, she is driven crazy by everything she doesn’t know. On top of that, when a certain Acrobat arrives (assumed dead at first), this just adds to her frustration. Yet she’s curious, intrigued by what happened to him.

“He looks like a racer, no?”

“Did you hear about that big incident on the racetrack? One of the racers swerved off the race track and straight into the ocean. They never found a body, you think this may be him?”

“I heard he wasn’t even a racer, but a jack of all traits. He did whatever he wanted, most famous for being an acrobat.”

“How curious... I wonder if he survived his trip.”

She’s obsessed with finding out what happened to Mike, as well as the COA IV team, and it’s this burning desire to uncover the truth that brings the two COA teams together. So ya... Mike’s recklessness and Tracy’s curiosity is what brought the two teams together.

Whiplash/Cowboy: The poor guy has no idea what’s going on. He goes out for an hour and comes back to a washed up body, and Tracy making a new journal dedicated to finding out the truth. He’s very serious, very protective over the whole group. He’s rather levelheaded, yet once you get to know him, he shows his softer side. He isn’t that phased by the Netherwalker’s attempts to break him, but he’s always concerned for his companions. He’s also pretty knowledgeable, he keeps up with the news a lot.

Trickster/Embalmer: Aesop is very gentle in the way he goes about things. He is careful with what he says, and often hides things from the others. He’s very cryptic, and often twists things to sound worse/better than they are. Puppeteer hates it when he does this, because it shows he knows the truth of the incident and he’s purposely withholding it from her. More times than not, he gets in trouble for it. But after Mike’s arrival, it almost seems like the play field has flipped. He’s no longer the one in control. He’s just as clueless as the rest of the COA III team. And that is what drives him mad. No Netherwalker involved. Yet.

Surveyor/Seer: Eli chooses to see the world from a bird’s eye view. He comes at every issue objectively, and often will lean in whatever direction is better to his advantage. It’s Brooke Rose who finds Mike a couple minutes after he washes up on shore. At this point, Eli can tell Mike is no longer among the living, yet he can feel something special about him, so he (painstakingly) drags Mike to the others. Like Aesop, Eli knows things that the others don’t because of the way he can choose to view the world, but he doesn’t tend to hide it. He only says what he thinks is important. He is very thrown off by the whole situation. In the end, Eli’s the one who takes up The Netherwalker’s offer to bring Mike back with the intention of learning why Mike was brought to them. In Eli’s mind, there has to be a reason, right? There always was. He eventually gets everyone else on board too.

Vile Blossom/Female Dancer: Margaretha knew Mike before everything happened, and to Margaretha, it all seems to happen at once. From losing her only job to becoming her favorite poetry’s champion, she didn’t have time to wonder. She knows she left Mike all alone, she takes full responsibility for what happened to him. Of what he became. Margaretha was like a motherly figure to Mike, she let him down. She would do anything to make it right. She knows that when the Netherwalker offers to revive her deceased companion, that he isn’t doing it with kind intentions, yet she wants to know his story, she wants to know what happened, for different reasons than everyone else. She oversees Mike while he’s in the care of the COA III team.

IdV Cameras AU: In this AU, Joseph is the most powerful, as implied by the cameras in the name. It basically explores the pasts of the characters in the Death/Fantasy AU, as well as exploring different character paths entirely if he tweaked small things (like having Xie Bi’an come back before Fan drowns, or having Luca bailed out before he gets hanged.) to use those versions of those characters. He can create custom versions of whatever character he so pleases, and then use them to his advantage. It can be a precursor to the Death AU, but in this AU in particular, he explore these alternative paths to see where they led, finding out some things (like the inventor’s death, as well as Fan’s death) are inevitable.

[violetsmoak]

jaytim Actors/Celebrity AU

Here I go with another plot idea I don’t know if I’ll get around to writing *sigh* I wish my fingers moved as fast as my brain did when it comes to plotting out stories...

Anyhow, so here it is:

Actors AU

Jason Todd is a well-known actor who grew up poor in Crime Alley; when they reopened the theater when he was a teen he got a part-time job there, sweeping floors, working the box office, all the crummy shifts and such; could never afford acting school, but the theater had a community class like once every two weeks or something;

from observing the actors and plays, and just generally hanging around a lot he manages to work his way up/get opportunities to get on stage; he eventually secures a scholarship to go to the UK and study acting classically; over the years he develops his own signature acting style, which is largely based on improvisation; he has his own way of doing things, can be hard to work with, but has some kind of luck that just makes everything he is a part out turn out amazing/talk of the town;

when he’s in his teens he lands a part in a hit drama that suddenly catapults him to fame—although he remains notoriously picky about what parts he plays and is more interested in the art than the fame side of things; he’s a very private person, has on occasion punched paparazzi for following him and his boyfriend/girlfriend of the time around, donates the majority of his money to children’s charities and such, etc.

Tim Drake is the son and adopted son of silver-screen royalty; his parents were both actors who became well-known producer / talk-show hosts; kind of larger than life figures and he always felt overwhelmed around them; as a kid he expressed interest in being an actor when he grew up, but got a condescending “oh, but you’re so smart, you could do anything else” sort of answer and never really brought it up again because clearly his parents didn’t think he could do it (had made self esteem issues, yeah?);

anyway, he grew up neighbors to the Wayne Family, family of a long line of actors, and the latest heir to that name Bruce is also a bit of a scandalous figure because he adopts children like crazy (basically he’s Angelina jolie); so Tim grew up neighbors and friends with Dick, Cass, Steph, Damian and Duke, all of whom are celebrities in their own right (maybe not necessarily actors, but definitely well-known);

and he’s a secret theater fanboy, watches all the classics, knows all the lines to things, pretends to be his favorite actors—especially a certain Jason Todd who he idolized from the first moment he breaks out with that drama role and follows his career obsessively, just basically either wants to be him or be with him.

when Tim’s parents died in a plane crash, Bruce was named guardian of him so Tim goes to live with him; And the Waynes are all super supportive of him; Timmy wants to be an actor? Then by god he’ll be an actor; they’ll find him an agent and help him get shows and everything; they don’t even care if he’s good or not, if he wants to do it, they’re supportive

And at first the only thing he manages to get booked for is Teen heartthrob roles and voice acting; and most people say it’s just because who his parents are, and he never really gets a chance to show his talent, but it’s a foot in the door

Until he lands a role in a major action flick; (I dunno, something like Maze Runner or Hunger Games or something) and it turns out he’s actually a good actor; like an amazing method actor (and also not too hard to look at); thus begins his career—at the same time that Jason Todd is majorly injured (stunt action scene gone wrong, he ends up in rehab for 18 months recovering, people start to think he’s dead or whatever)

By the time Jason comes back to the world of acting, he decides to go back to his roots on stage; maybe something on Broadway; he’s all set up to take on a new role, only to hear that he’s lost out to a certain Tim Drake (whose only dream has been to follow in his idol’s footsteps and do stage acting in a certain show at least once), but hey, the role opposite is free if you want it?

Jason is rather resentful of being replaced by some kid that he only knows is a Disney channel staple because Roy’s daughter Lian watches that stuff religiously; he doesn’t intend to cut him any slack, because in his view, you have to work your way up and earn your privilege on certain stages and he doesn’t think Tim’s managed that.

They meet. Jason’s defensive and a jerk to Tim; Tim is heartbroken that his idol doesn’t like him.

Cue weeks/months of tension and rivalry; Jason grudgingly admitting that Tim actually has some talent; Tim getting to know the side of Jason that the public never get to see; slowly, they start to work together and get closer…which is, of course, when Tim’s adopted family starts putting in appearances and making things hella complicated. And of course there’s the press, who Tim has gotten so used to being followed around by and in his life, but Jason’s having a hard time of it because he’s always done his best to keep private. And the press keep showing them together, always talking “Bromance”, and Jason is way irritated about this…and then he begins to realize he’s more irritated about the fact that it’s just a bromance because he’s started to realize he and Tim have a connection deeper than that

They end up embarking on a relationship (after a lot of false starts, mutual pining, Wayne shenanigans, etc.). And it’s really, really good.

Except Tim’s agents and reps are on his back to keep the relationship under wraps, because a large part of his image as teen heartthrob / Hollywood hunk is based on the fact of him being straight and they’re worried he’ll lose out on opportunities and such if it comes out that he’s in a relationship with a guy; which tim thinks is bullshit, but he’s signed on to a really important role just now and the guy in charge is huge homophobe and has been known to make the lives of people he doesn’t like miserable to the point where they quit…and breaking a contract with him is practically a “You’ll Never Work In This Town Again” sentence. So Tim and Jason agree to keep things under wraps for a while.

Which causes tensions between them for obvious reasons.

Maybe throw in Jason getting a stalker (Joker, anyone?) and there being a major confrontation between him, where Tim comes to his rescue, or something happens to out them and then they both have to figure out what’s going to happen from them.

…

…

…

Anyhow, that’s all I have for now, but I was thinking about that this morning. Don’t even know why I suddenly was thinking of actors or anything.

I don’t actually know much about theater/acting/celebrities except what I see on TV, but this is what’s been in my head :P

Feel free to steal

[peeterparkr]

perennial;tom holland|one.

chapter one: yellow chrysanthemums

↳ flower meaning: neglected love or sorrow.

story summary: After the war, Tom let the flowers die of thirst, Harry decided to water dry flowers and Timmy never stopped taking care of his. But flowers speak for us, flowers have meanings. And like flowers, maybe you’ll keep on blooming, it’ll be up to you if you decide to wither. And it’ll be up to you what flower you end up choosing.  

chapter summary: the explanation, the flower shop

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: angst 

word count: 7.9k

prologue  next chapter   perennial masterlist.

perfidy  ( series masterlist)

wanna be tagged?

hi, first chapter is here, cry with me :) thank you to @peachybloomss​ for beta reading and being the real MVP

There are flowers that are popular among people. Most of them we don’t know the meaning to. There are the obvious ones, like roses. Romance, love, passion. But roses have been used too many times, it’s a shame, they’ve lost so much meaning. How can something so beautiful and incredible wear out? People who give out flowers without meaning anything barely can see the beauty behind them. That’s the problem with red roses. People now give them out without meaning it. 

They usually let them dry out. Yes, that’s the problem. They let the flower die by itself in one empty vase. 

Sometimes we give them our meaning. Most times we don’t. We choose them because they’re pretty, because of the colour. After all, they match our personalities. It seems to be a shame when you let something so beautiful die. 

Some people like flowers now and then, they use them for seasonal colour. It doesn’t matter then what type of flowers you give them. There are people who give out flowers to ask for forgiveness, some others because they were minded by someone else, some others because they like the pretty smell.  

How can someone let something so beautiful die? 

That’s the only question Tom had when he heard it: ‘She’s gone.’ Had she given up so easily? 

She hadn’t waited. She hadn’t tried to reach out for him. And it didn’t make sense. 

Except she had. And Tom was cursing when he hadn’t answered. He still had a voicemail. 

“Where did she go?” Tom asked the girl standing in front of him. 

“I—I am not supposed to tell anyone,” she said. “However, she asked me to buy daffodils every day to give you, I guess she didn’t think I could only buy some and keep them in a pot, but she told me you give you some daffodils, yeah,  if you ever came and look, here they go, good thing I did buy them today.” Cherry—that was her name, handed him some yellow flowers. 

“What—?” Tom was confused. He didn’t want to believe it. 

“New beginnings,” Cherry grinned. “Take what you want from that—“She was about to close the door. 

Tom stopped her. “Why did she go?” 

Cherry rolled her eyes. “Daffodils.” 

“What—?” Tom blinked. 

Cherry sighed. “Daffodils. New beginnings, now—They’re perennial, to take care of them—“

That’s all Tom needed to know,  he guessed. New beginnings.  But it barely made any sense. 

He didn’t want to be rude to Cherry, but he barely paid any attention to her. He really didn’t care about flowers. Just the ones he had bought. What had Cherry said they were? 

Chamomiles. Primroses. Heleniums. Yellow flowers. 

“Did you hurt her?” Cherry had asked. “Or why did you bring her these flowers?” 

“Yellow flowers have meaning to us,” he had explained. 

Yellow flowers. 

Just like the flower pot in his car. Daffodils. Stupid flowers that gave him no explanation. 

New beginnings. 

He had left Cherry because he really didn’t want to explain it to her. Cherry was clueless about it. How this was horrible. 

Y/N was gone. 

Why had she left? 

Tom looked back at it. It could’ve been easier. As if he had just walked out of a war zone. 

He had noticed how y/n’s apartment had felt cold. And it probably didn’t have anything to do with Cherry or that y/n had left. That apartment felt like it had been freezing for a while. 

And even if Tom had known that they had been crushed from the start, he hadn’t expected her to run away. Y/N didn’t do that. Sure, she reserved herself. He knew that she stopped going out, and he knew that she would be alone all the time. But she never left. She never did that. 

Y/N was gone. 

It didn’t make any sense. She had thrown it all away and they were back in the start. Back where y/n had been. Roles switched. Now there was Tom, hurt. 

Tom now knew how it felt to be hurt by yellow flowers. He felt like he was drowning. And she wasn’t there. He felt stupid.  Very stupid. Of course, y/n would leave. Y/N was selfish and y/n was stupid. 

And he loved her. He was the idiot.  He still loved him. 

And Tom didn’t understand why this was all so complicated, because he was angry, but he felt guilty. Because he should’ve gone and searched for her earlier. He should’ve read her letter earlier, but pride was stupid. 

And it was clear, even if New York had been only for a short time, it was not a hoax. He needed a reason, another reason to love her. Because he didn’t have many reasons to love her, but love per se. He was losing control. 

There was Tom, trying to call her but it sent him straight to voicemail. What would Tom do with some perennial daffodils? Let them die of thirst? He didn’t want to take care of those stupid flowers.

Flowers? That was her way of saying goodbye? New beginnings. His life was pathetic now. 

He needed answers. He had a pain in his chest, intermittent pressing. This was the first time one of them ever forgave each other.  But had they? Because he was angry at her again. 

He still had her voicemail. Did he have the courage to hear it? 

Maybe there were answers. 

“Tom, I know—I know you won’t talk to me,” she started, her voice was cracking.  “I—I’m sorry. Maybe you have read the letter I gave to you. You probably haven’t. Or if you did then I guess—It’s lost, isn’t it? I’m just—You’re the only one I care about right now. You were right, I may deserve to be lonely.” 

Tom felt a headache growing. She really didn’t deserve it. 

“But I don’t want to be,” she continued. “I can’t—I really. A chance was presented okay? And if you—Please call me back. I don’t know if I should take it or not, and I know you don’t care, I know but… I guess I don’t even know I really, really wanted us to work out and I hope you can forgive me someday. I’m just so confused because there’s a chance to start a new life and I’m not sure if I want to. It’s not in London, I’d be leaving and—Maybe it’s for the best, you probably don’t want to see me anymore. I just feel like I’m drowning Tom and maybe this is the only way out. I know there are a million things I should say to you but right now I just—I’m sorry, Tom.” 

Did he blame her? It had taken him a while to listen to her. He was hurt, though. She shouldn’t have left. Now he had everything to remember her. Because why had she given him everything? 

Maybe it was her way of saying goodbye. She said she wanted to erase herself of the narrative. But it felt… incomplete. 

And he thought about it, had anyone talked to her those days? Even if he had been angry. Maybe she really was alone. Because who did she have? Her brother? 

New beginnings. Did he need to have one, too? But he didn’t feel like having one. Not right now. Where had she gone to? 

He needed answers. 

Rome? New York? She wouldn’t. 

She said she didn’t want to go back to another war. And in her mind they would be infinite. 

He did blame her. She threw everything away, she gave up on him. 

But then he thought about it. How this had turned out. He had to look back. Was y/n hurt, too? How hurt had she been? 

This time, the last time. How many times had she not felt the way Tom was feeling? 

Nothing good starts when someone enters war. Someone will get hurt. And maybe y/n had been right.

Tom should’ve known better, she would be the first one to leave, no matter what. Because it would’ve led nowhere. They had started declaring war and they had walked out of a battlefield.

Had she left with Tim? Had she left because of Harry? 

The second question was really the answer he needed to. Tom was, even if it was arrogant to admit, sure y/n loved him. Maybe that’s why all of this didn’t click. She had left. 

Though Tom was hurt he wanted her to know this time it was different, this time he really didn’t care about their past. Not the bad one at least. He cared about the one he could build up. Whatever had happened to them, he wished it hadn’t. He needed to look out for her. He didn’t care anymore about this.

Nothing could save him but her.  Did he have to move on? Finally move on. 

But he couldn’t because they were meant to be and they made sense.  And it made no sense.

Maybe y/n had run out of hope. But god, why hadn’t she fought more? She could’ve tried a bit more. 

Unless… she hadn’t wanted to. After all she had written the letter before Harry had kissed her. Had it awakened anything in her? 

But Harry said it hadn’t. 

He waited a few hours to call her again. There he was, on his bed, staring at the ceiling waiting for answers, updating every five seconds every single social media of hers. She hadn’t deleted anything. That was good, right? 

But she gave no sign of her new location. So he called her. 

It finally rang,  a few times. But then—

“Tom,” her voice was low.

He couldn’t speak.  He lost his breath. 

“Tom? Are you—are you there?”

He hung up, quickly. He couldn’t talk to her. He couldn’t say anything.  Why had he called? 

She called him. 

He answered. 

“Tom?” She said again. 

“You left,” that’s the only thing he could word out.

“I’m sorry,” she said. He could tell she was already crying. 

“What for?” He asked. 

“Everything.” 

Tom gulped as he sat up. He was nervous, he cracked his fingers anxiously. “Why did you leave?” 

She didn’t answer right away, he heard her sigh.  “Because knowing us,” she sighed. “This is the best that I could do.” 

“Why?” Tom questioned. 

“Because Tom—Look where we were standing okay, and—Though I—really wanted this to work, I love you so much but after— I don’t know if it can ever—“

“You gave up.” 

She stayed quiet. 

“You gave up,” he stated again. 

“I’d never give up on you,” she admitted quietly.

“Then what are you doing?” Tom ran a hand through his hair, before standing up. 

“Tom maybe this time we were through,” she said. “I—And I know it’s stupid.” 

“You think?” He frowned as he paced around the room. “If we love each other—“

“Yes, Tom but we cant pretend that all of this didn’t happen, and look at the way it started okay? We need to heal, completely. And maybe we will see.” 

“But right now—“

“Is there really anything we can do?” She asked, she was stressed. 

“You could’ve stayed, for starters.”

“I didn’t leave for the sake of leaving, I was going to stay,” she admitted. “Because I thought you would show up.” 

“And I did, and you were gone,” he gulped as he plopped back on his bed. 

“I had to go,” she sighed. “And I’m going to miss you, god, I’ve missed you all this time.” 

“Then—come back, or… I can’t be okay with knowing I let you go again, okay? I can’t.”

“But you didn’t, you did show up,”  she gulped. “This one is on me, Tom.” 

“Where are you?” He asked. 

“Los Angeles.” 

“Okay, I’m going, I’ll take the first flight—“

“I—But,  Tom I need time. You need time,” she cried. 

“Time for what?” 

“Healing.” 

“Fuck that,” he sat up again. “I love you, I need you. We will heal together.” 

“Tommy. Please.” 

“No, you're throwing us away,” Tom snapped. 

“No, I am not, I love you,” she sighed. “That’s why—“

“What the hell then?” 

“Tom we can't start out again with wounds, or else we will end up in the same place,” she explained. 

“Is this about Harry?”

Quiet. She went bloody quiet. This had to be about Harry. And that didn’t make sense. 

“Y/N?” 

“It’s complicated,” she admitted. “It’s not in the way you think okay? you need to fix everything with your brother. He matters more than I do.”

“What the fuck—?” He frowned. “What about the letter? And the DVD?” 

“Take it as my collateral,” she said. “I love you, that’s not changing.”  

“Do you love Harry?” 

“Tom, I had to go because he still… You saw it, didn’t you? He fucking kissed me, and I can’t--I don’t want to hurt him.” 

“But you have no trouble hurting me,” Tom pointed out. “I’m right here y/n.” 

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Tom,” she said. “But Tom, we can’t, we can’t pretend it didn’t happen, okay? And I’m gonna go back, okay? I need time to think about everything.” 

“Y/N this is fucking stupid we both said it how we hated that we loved each other and never did anything.” 

“I am doing something because I love you, I am letting you heal.” 

“If you love me then you wouldn’t have left,” Tom snapped. 

“If I had stayed, do you think we would’ve worked out?” She questioned him. 

“Yes,” he lied.

“You don’t believe that,” she stated. 

“So you’re asking me to move on, then?” He frowned. 

“I—“ she didn’t say anything.

“Are you?”

“No,” she said quickly. 

“So you’re asking me to stay here waiting for you like a complete idiot?”

“No,” she sighed. 

“What do you want then?”

“I don’t know Tom.” She was so stressed. 

“You want me to see other people, then?” He asked. 

She didn’t answer. 

“Y/N?” 

“I don’t--but” She sighed. “I guess you can do whatever you want.” 

“Well, why not be together? if that’s what I want. ” 

“I don’t know Tom, we are fighting already, see? This is my point-” 

“I’m fucking asking why you left,” Tom said. “I’m… And daffodils?” 

She was crying now, he could hear it in her voice and he could hear the deep breath she’d taken. 

“I’ll go to L.A.,” he said. 

“No, Tom, you’re missing the point,” she sighed. “Just a little time, that’s all I need.” 

“No, y/n, you gave up,” he sighed. 

She sighed. “Maybe I did! ” she snapped. “But because I thought I had lost everything, and I kind of did, alright? I did one bad thing and I lost everything, and I know, I know, it was bad, but what do I have left, Tom? You do understand that--Maybe I was thinking, hey look at us, we kept hurting each other, and-” 

“Y/N you’re making no sense, I’m going to go to L.A,” he stated. 

“If you love me you’ll understand why I need time,” she sighed. 

He clenched his jaw. “Why L.A.?” He questioned. 

“It’s not a hey, I’m escaping to find myself, okay? I actually did have a reason to come here, I’m...Look, originally Cherry told me to switch places with her, then Timmy and Emma--” 

“Tim?” Tom frowned. 

“They’re coming to LA, too,” she said. 

And it made sense, she was crawling back to Tim, that’s what it all was. This was her going to the happy place, just like she had done after Rome. 

“Tim, huh.” 

“But I didn’t accept their offer,” she continued.

“But Tim?” He scoffed. “You’re throwing us away y/n, literally all the good things, you said fuck them, right?” 

“Tom I’m telling you I’m not doing that, are you even listening to me? I- We need to heal.” 

He sighed. “And are you listening to me? If you’re gone, how the hell am I supposed to heal? We should work it out, okay? I’m trying to go back to what we were in New York!” 

“But that’s not us, okay, not right now, this is us,  I know, Tom, I want to… Fuck I know, and I won’t be able to move on, okay? This is not me running away from you, this is me trying to make some sense of myself.” 

“And you go with Timmy!” He yelled. 

“I’m not going with him!” She snapped. “And even if--He was the only one who acted as a friend, I have no one Tom, I really have nobody maybe I need a friend-” 

“You have me!” He pointed out. 

“Do I? Am I supposed to go to you when you’re the one I’m crying for?” She said. “I need to--” 

“You’re not the only one who’s sad, you know?” 

She sighed. “But think about it, will we work?” She questioned. 

Now it was Tom’s turn not to answer. He maybe didn’t believe they could  work but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to fight for it. 

“Honestly, Tom, how many things have we--Have we let go because of each other?” She questioned. “I’m…” 

“You don’t want us to work.” 

“I do, that’s why we need to wait, okay? Then we can try again,” she sighed.  

“This is me trying,  y/n,” he pleaded. 

“I can’t let myself try something right now knowing I hurt you,” she said. “I can’t forgive myself.” 

“And I can’t forgive myself, either,” he admitted. “Why LA?” 

 “They’re making my script,” she said. 

He sighed. “The same script that made this whole mess?” 

“Yes, Tom but--” 

“That’s just fucking great, y/n.” 

“I-” 

“No, you’re right, I should move on.” He hung up. 

Tom laid down, staring at the window. The moon wasn’t there, neither the stars, only dark clouds. He really wished she hadn’t left. Because he was not going to search for her. 

And y/n on the other side of the line wished he really hadn’t hung up, but she knew that it would make no sense on calling him.  He had called her just as she had arrived at her aunt’s place, she hadn’t walked into her place yet and had sat on her suitcase as she talked to him.  And she couldn’t believe it, she was crying outside a flower shop, with a suitcase and her backpack.  The sun was about to set. How pathetic did she look? 

So good for her new beginnings. 

But she walked in, with barely any emotion left. She wished too she hadn’t left, but there was nothing she could do now, or was there? 

Maybe she did want Tom to go and look for her, and she really wished he was as stubborn as usual, and she wished that he wouldn’t listen to her. It’s funny how they never said what they truly meant. Because y/n still felt guilty and that’s probably why she didn’t want to see him, because she feared she’d hurt him again. And y/n was angry, too. She’d done one thing wrong and all had blown up. 

How many times had Tom hurt her? He had built it around that. Y/N still needed to heal that. Because even after everything, she was still aching. You know, you can never truly heal from a broken heart. Once your heart is broken, it can’t be mended again.  The pieces never really set. 

But when will she see him again? Maybe after this Tom didn’t want to see her. And this was her fault, she had left with no goodbye. And she wished she’d given him one last kiss, had she known the one she’d given him would be the last, she would’ve made it last longer. She would’ve treasured it. 

And why had he said that? Didn’t he remember? Why and how everything happened? Because she had been hurt, too. But she still wanted him. And she had apologized but he hadn’t, and maybe he didn’t have to, but she wanted to hear an apology, and he hadn’t given it to her. 

Why did they always put each other through hell? Why couldn’t she just forget her pride and forget everything and run back into his arms when that’s all she wanted. But she needed to protect her heart, let it heal. And let him heal, otherwise they’d end up in the same place. But they didn’t work, or did they? 

That’s the only question y/n had, because they had New York, but it seemed like only part of their imagination, and sure, it had been perfect. But it was like they had ignored it. This was them, the yelling over the phone, the stupidity. 

No, she wouldn’t pull any more perfidies and she knew Tom wouldn’t either, but she didn’t know if they could go through it again, she didn’t know if their love would foresee their pain, one can only ignore it for a while. And she knew they’d probably bring it back. Unless they healed, she knew that once Tom healed, he’d rather sleep alone. Because he would see it. Would she, though? 

But she hadn’t left because she wanted to run away from him. She had left because there was a chance, and at least she could try to make the script something beautiful. Like they had, their love story. Turn the ugly things into good ones, turn the tears from sorrow into tears from laughter. It definitely wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. And it probably had ended now all because she had left. 

But then again, she really needed to make something beautiful out of that mess, and maybe this time, make sure Tom reads it until the end. 

She feared Tom would move on, carry on. He had said it: ‘see other people’. She hadn’t even thought about that. She wouldn’t. 

But she had to get him out of her head, she needed to see her aunt. She had decided to stay with her until Emma and Tim arrived, they’d look for an apartment for the three of them. 

Was that wrong? Living with her ex? But nothing would happen, she knew that. Her heart only belonged to Tom. 

How stupid it was, the sky had never looked so pretty. A perfect sunset that was the warm hug she needed. She needed a new beginning. 

She wiped off the tears, and walked into the coffee and flower shop, y/n guessed that since it was in LA, it probably had to be more than flowers. A bell rang  as soon as y/n had walked in, the smell of coffee and flowers filled up her nose, and the woman working on the counter looked up. 

Auntie Eliza,  she hadn't seen her in a while. The woman was what you’d expect from someone who owns a flower shop in Los Angeles. She wore long skirts, and her hair up in a messy bun,  it seemed like the woman flowed, in a way, she seemed calm, and had bracelets and many earrings, and rings, many rings. So different from y/n’s mother who was a business woman and always very neat looking, but one could see the resemblance. The woman was gorgeous, no wonder Cherry looked like an actual model. 

“Y/N, dear,” the woman grinned. “I’m glad you’re finally here!” 

She approached her to give her a hug, and y/n only smiled. 

“Have you been crying my dear?” She asked right away. 

Sometimes it’s easier to let it out on a stranger than on people you’re closest with.  They don’t judge. And though she was family, she was merely a stranger. She’d seen her just a few times, her mother and her were not that close and living in different countries. 

But y/n never really liked to open to strangers. Or to anyone in general. 

“I… No, not really,” she gulped. “I’m probably allergic to the… weather here in LA,” she lied. She looked around the shop, it looked like the perfect place to cry in, to find a new beginning in. It was… just the calm she needed after crying over the phone. 

Her aunt laughed. “Oh, let’s hope not! I’ll show you your room in a bit, it’s upstairs if you want to go by yourself, second room to the right,”  she said. “I’m glad you’re staying here for a few days, you could help me out with the shop,” she said. “It’s been a mess, really, since Cherry left.” her aunt said. “Let me…” She took out her phone. “I’m texting your mother to let her know you’re here already. How is she by the way?” 

“Good, good,” y/n said. “Fine.” 

“She told me you really needed a break,” She smiled, looking up. “So I’m going to assume your allergies come from said break you really need.” 

Y/N gulped. “I-” She sighed. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“You haven’t changed,” Eliza laughed. “Still that same y/n that dresses up like you’re Marty McFly’s girlfriend.” 

Y/N grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I guess,” she chuckled. 

“I was about to close the shop,” Eliza said as she pranced around the room. “I was going to water the flowers and clean up,” she explained. “Are you too tired or would you mind helping me? It’s okay if you want to rest.”

“No, I’ll… help you.”  

She gave her some 

That had helped her. Get a little bit distracted at least. Somehow the flowers had her full attention. It was so nice. Except whenever she saw yellow flowers of course. That’s when it stung. 

“These ones are pretty,” y/n pointed out as she was delicately touching the petals of some yellow flowers. 

“Hm?” Eliza looked up. “Oh,  the yellow chrysanthemum,” Eliza nodded. She then stared at her. “Why do you like them?” 

“They’re yellow,” y/n said. 

Eliza nodded. “Most yellow flowers mean joy,” she explained. “Not those ones, though. Those mean neglected love”

Y/N scoffed. “Leave it to me to find the only ones that mean something sad” 

Aunt Eliza watched her. “Flowers speak for us,” she said. “This break will suit you, y/n,” she said. “Your mother told me what happened.” 

“She did?” Y/N sighed. Her mother had told her yet nobody had really seen if she was okay. Maybe that was why y/n had run away, if nobody would care then she’d go to somewhere where she could be happy, at least. Or pretend to be, at least. “Funny, thought she didn’t know.”

“Yes, she did” Eliza nodded. “Don’t be hard on your mother, it’s her best friend’s sons we’re talking about, and Elaine was never good with comforting.” 

Y/N nodded. 

“And as far as I know, you’re not exactly the one to speak the most about your feelings,” Eliza commented. 

“No, I don’t speak about them, I write them,” she said. “But that’s what led me to a mess. To do the worst thing I could’ve done, hurt the love of my life and push away my best friend.” 

“But it also opened a door to Hollywood,” her aunt pointed out.  She walked over. “The chrysanthemum, you know, no matter how sad its meaning is… they still make the sorrow pretty, don’t you think?” 

Maybe it was pretty. Time to make her sorrow pretty. Yellow. Yellow meant joy and happiness and cheerfulness. Maybe it was time to change the meaning of yellow flowers. 

But she wanted to go back to Tom. She wouldn’t carry on, though. 

Tom who probably would move on, who would try to move on. Yes, he would try to.  Because Tom couldn’t understand anything. 

Tom thought maybe she was right, maybe y/n had robbed him of being happy, he thought about it, how he was always angry because of her. Because he couldn’t have her and when he had they fucked it all up.  Except in New York, or Rome. 

But that… hadn’t been them. And he wondered if something had gone different, where would it have led? 

He looked at the daffodils and then at his phone, waiting for her to call again. She didn’t. 

But he made the decision, he had to move on. She had made the decision for both of them, hadn’t she? Maybe she was right, maybe they needed to finally carry on. But he didn’t want to. 

The next days were awful. And he kept waiting for another call. She never called him. But he wasn’t feeling alright. 

Of course, he didn’t tell Harry, did Harry know? Was Harry aware that y/n was gone? 

He didn’t tell Harrison.  He talked to nobody. He didn’t want to explain it. Because this was pathetic. 

He did go to the doctor, though, he didn’t understand what was going on. With his body, his mind, his heart. 

“Your body's going through withdrawal from love. You got used to having this exchange of happy chemicals between you and the person you were with. And now it’s gone and it’s normal to have a physical reaction. You’re experiencing high levels of stress which releases cortisol in the body. You’re grieving, Tom.” 

That’s what they had said. He felt stupid after going to the doctor. He hadn’t really believed it, when he had read it. Heartbreaks making him… sick? 

How did he not see it? Y/N had said it, how she had gone to the doctor, too. Was this her plan? To make him feel like she had before? 

The doctor had said: Let yourself feel, go out with friends. Keep yourself busy. 

But he didn’t want to. 

With his airpods plugged in the whole time, sad songs to make him even sadder. His heart was aching, because the girl he loved was gone. Because she had given up.  He couldn’t stomach it.  He did water the flower pot, though. Cherry had warned him they would dry out but that they’d end up blooming again, eventually. 

Tom had been spending time with Cherry, the girl was nice. She searched for him, asking him to show her around the city. And for those few days, it kept him busy .It was nice to have someone out of the whole damn circle of hell.  It was easier, in a way. Because Cherry didn’t judge him, and she didn’t ask awkward questions about y/n. A new friend, Cherry, she made him smile again, nothing else, she was so different, maybe because she was from outside his usual type of friends. 

 She was one of the few people that barely knew about Tom and y/n. She knew the whole: “Enemies” thing.  But she was making him forget his sorrow. Because Cherry didn’t know about anything else but their childhood, before the yellow flowers. 

“What happened with y/n?” She did ask, at one point. 

“Nothing.” 

“I’m no idiot, Tom, your flowers spoke, and hers did, too,” Cherry said. 

Tom really couldn’t tell her. “We both hurt each other.” 

“I can tell,” Cherry said. “Her yellow roses and tulips? She was asking for forgiveness.” 

“Yellow flowers mean a lot to us, that’s it,” he admitted. 

“And what flowers will mean something to us, then?” She had asked. 

Tom didn’t even know what she meant by that. And honestly, didn’t know if he could care. His mind went back to y/n.

When things were simpler.

He missed y/n. That was something that he couldn’t help. 

Had she stayed, what would’ve happened? Would they have just ignored it and ended up in between the sheets one Saturday evening with rain pouring down? Passionate kissing, with crescent moon shaped scars on his back. Sweat dripping down, and gentle moans, and sighs, and eye rolling toe curling movements. Exploring and memorizing each other’s bodies. Again, and again. 

Ignoring everything that could happen and everything that had happened. Them from New York. 

But maybe that’s what had saved them back then, not talking about who they really were, because they had ignored everything else in New York. Maybe y/n was right, New York wasn’t them. New York was a fantasy. A fantasy that Tom couldn’t keep out of his mind. But that was not them, not entirely. 

This, their yelling, and the ignoring and the pride speaking was them, with problems and fights and ignoring each other. That’s who they were. He couldn’t deny it. 

Maybe they were both. And he knew that one didn’t erase the other. But he knew that one was stronger. 

But he loved y/n. And maybe her hope was gone, but she was still the love of his life, no matter how horrible this had gone , he could never love someone as much. And he could try. To move on; he had to go on. But how could he? If she was the only thing in his mind. 

They hadn’t really tried, if he really thought about it, it’s like they had only had a trial. But now the years didn’t make sense, because even if they’d built up this, he couldn’t deny that they had built it upon insults, and hatred and broken hearts. Maybe she was right. 

Did he have to move on? He didn’t want to.  However, he knew… that maybe it was for the best. 

He really didn’t want to move on, so he had called his agent, because maybe something could work out.  And maybe it made no sense, but he could pretend he was okay. Maybe it was because he was greedy, or very stupid, but he wanted her to believe that fine, she had decided to leave, but that he’ll be fine. 

He was fine, a nice song would be playing in the background. Believing he was the only one crying. 

Was he, really? 

Did she miss his lips as much as he missed hers? The dexterity that they’d both shown they could be able of. It was stupid, yelling at the wind for answers. And who else would she go kiss now? That’s what Tom feared, that she’d find somebody else. Or Timmy? Tom wasn’t prepared to see her move on. Because that’s what she’d asked him, to carry on. And though he would forget his sorrow for a few minutes when he was around Cherry, his mind would go back to y/n, and his heart would keep on aching. 

But Tom knew he had to talk to Harry, and he went and searched for his brother. Harry hadn’t been talking to him. And Tom knew that if anybody understood y/n was Harry. Though Tom wasn’t as sure. 

Tom felt different. All his life he had been told that he didn’t know y/n, but did he really not know her? 

Not like Harry.  Harry probably was the only person in the world that had learned to understand y/n.  Except Tom knew, the only thing Harry had never understood about y/n was why she kept choosing Tom. 

Harry had initially not wanted to talk to Tom. He truly didn’t want to. But he had agreed to see him. Their parents had been very careful around them, they were angry at Tom, understandable. 

“She’s gone,” Tom said, after a while. They had been sitting outside their parents house, the treehouse only standing there as a reminder for Tom to ache even more. He felt it again, that pressing on his chest. “Left weeks ago.” 

“I know,” Harry said, crossing his arms. “Found out the day she left,” Harry told him. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.” 

Tom frowned. So Harry had gone to look out for her. 

“I didn’t, either” Tom said. “It was too late.” 

Harry shrugged. 

“I’m sorry,” Tom said. The apology seemed simple but it carried too much weight. Tom had never been good at apologies, no matter how many times he had apologized to y/n throughout his whole life he’d never found a way to make them mean what he really meant. 

Harry clenched his jaw. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, too.” 

“For what?” 

“I’m pretty sure she left because of me,” Harry said. 

And there it was, the way Harry understood y/n. The way Harry knew y/n head to toe, from the meaning behind her words and thoughts she could get. Spoken words and silences. 

“Where did she go?” Harry asked.  “I saw her before she left.” 

Tom felt… different. Even Harry had come earlier. “What happened?” Tom asked, curiously. 

“She initially didn’t want to see me, as if she was hiding from me. She felt guilty. And she-- She,” sighed. “I don’t know.” 

Tom didn’t talk. 

“I guess I wanted an answer,” Harry admitted. “I didn’t--I don’t know.” 

“You still love her, right?” 

Harry grimaced as he shifted in his seat. He gulped as he played with his phone. “I asked her what I could’ve done better. If in another lifetime it could’ve been me,” Harry said. “She didn’t have an answer.” 

There was that fear Tom had always had, how selfish it was of Tom, he was so arrogant. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again. “I know you are in love with her, and she is in love with you, but I couldn’t help but wonder, you know, the late nights, the laughing, the stories we made, the photographs hanging here and there. The way she knows me and the way I know her, and because the story was built up that way, you know? And now I’m here knowing I fucked it up, because now the weekends will come and she won’t be there, and I know that I’ll find something funny and I won’t be able to send it to her. I will have to watch those movies alone, and I don’t know… I don’t understand my heart,” Harry admitted. “Because I lost her forever, and I know that.  And I… I read the script. And I know it, I need her, you know? It’s hard because what I feared the most was losing her friendship and now I don’t have anyone to talk with, she’s the only person I could trust on this, and I can’t believe I fucked it up so much by not thinking about her, about you. I shouldn’t have kissed her. Because maybe, seeing the story now it probably only meant that we were supposed to be friends.” 

Tom felt guilty again. 

“But you know, even.... Even if I wonder if she misses me, I know… I know that it’ll never be the way she feels about you, you know? And I don’t… want her, too.” 

Tom looked away. “I can’t hide it anymore, Harry,” he said. “I know you love her and I spent my whole life trying to make her love you and I guess I never stopped to see how I felt, you know?” 

Harry finally looked at his brother. 

“And I know it, I’m stupid for doing that, but I still… now I saw it, I accepted it and I wanted it to work this time, and I know that this last time… I just wanted to erase everything I’ve done, but maybe y/n’s right we can’t really ignore who we are, and we can build it up from there and we can’t pretend it didn’t happen, but then she wrote me something and I saw it and… And Harry I...I know you loved her, but I am so in love with her, too and I… I couldn’t even tell her I was sorry, too.” 

Harry kept quiet. 

“I am so in love with her, and I can’t get why she left is she loves me, too.” 

“She did one bad thing and it all blew up in her face, meanwhile you spent your entire life hurting her and no one really gave you shit for it,” Harry pointed out. “I understand why she left. I would’ve too.” 

Tom frowned. 

“I thought about it, how we didn’t… We were too busy with ourselves blaming it on her and we didn’t stop to see what we did wrong,” Harry continued. “I got angry at her for never telling me about her feelings but I never really said anything either, I got angry at her for not kissing me back when I shouldn’t have done it. Yes, you got angry at her for writing a script where she was taking revenge but you never stopped to think how much you’ve hurt her among the years, and how she’s doubted herself for her entire life because of every single comment you’ve directed her way,” Harry said. “I know y/n, but I still can’t figure that one out, how even after everything she decided to open her heart to you,” Harry scoffed. “I’m not trying to blame it on you, but-” 

“I… hadn’t thought about that,” Tom admitted. “But why did she give up just now after we knew we could-” 

“Now we both know how it feels to be rejected by y/n,” Harry joked. “Maybe you should read her script,” Harry said. “You’d understand it,” Harry nodded. “You’ve always said she never noticed, but she did, she was the only one to notice that you could have feelings for her.” 

“I’m just--I don’t understand how she threw away all our progress, you know?” 

“Was she the one to throw it out?” Harry questioned. 

Tom frowned. 

“Before the… incident,” Harry said. “She told me about the script,” Harry admitted. “And how she had no idea how to tell you, but that she wanted to, she was trying to find a way to tell you but you had already pushed her away.” 

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then I exploded and did what I did best, hurt her.” 

“Yeah.” 

“How do you even know all of this?” TOm frowned.

Harry chuckled. “I’ve spent my whole life listening to her rant about you, she never understood you and… I read the script, Tom.” 

“I just want to get her back,” Tom sighed. 

“And I want Emma back,” Harry said. “But here we are both.” 

“Emma, then?” 

“Yes,” Harry sighed. “She’s the love of my life and I was stupid enough to get my heart be confused.” 

Tom understood, though. He would’ve been confused. Tom himself had been confused about it. 

“I guess when Emma threw the ring at my face, I thought--You can’t lose more, you know?” Harry sighed. “But it was stupid to think, I don’t know, I was broken hearted, I dunno, I think I searched for y/n because I was too broken hearted. It’s easy to look for some familiarity you know?” 

Tom shrugged. “Dunno.” 

“And now I’m… I miss Emma too much, and I can’t seem to deal with the heartbreak, I lost the love of my life and my best friend all in the matter of days,” Harry coughed. “I dunno.” 

“So you don’t have feelings for y/n anymore?” Tom questioned. 

“I don’t know, but even if I did that shouldn’t fucking stop you, Tom.” 

“I-- You don’t mean that.” 

Harry nodded. “Yes, because she was supposed to love you, and you love her.” 

“I don’t miss her that much,” Tom lied. He didn’t know why he didn’t want to admit it. “How am I--- fuck, I do, and I’ve never felt this bad, I went to the doctor, and I… I still can’t,” Tom knew his voice was cracking and his fingers were shaking. “I just… For the first time, I know Harry, I know you loved her but--” 

“No, no,” Harry shook his head. “I… I’d rather let her be happy with you.” 

“But it doesn’t matter now, she left and fuck, it’s all shit right now,” Tom said. “And she didn’t accept my… I don’t know.” 

“Well, go after her,” Harry frowned. 

“She told me not to,” Tom gulped. 

“You don’t know her at all, do you?” Harry shook his head. “You know, there’s a part of me that really wants to help you out with this. So my advice is go after her.” 

Tom gulped. “I know her enough to know she really doesn’t want me to be there.” 

Harry clenched his jaw. “How stupid would it be of me if I helped you get the girl?” He asked to the air, mostly to himself. “I could easily sabotage you, I won’t but… Do I want to help yet another guy get the girl I was in love with my whole life?” 

Tom gulped. “I’m not asking for help,” Tom said. 

“I know,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t do it for you,” he shrugged. “But maybe that would be my way of telling her I fucked up and that I’m sorry,” Harry groaned.  “And if I make sure she knows I was the one to help you and then… If she’s with you, then I’ll be with Emma, and I know that’s the most selfish reason I could come up with but I--I don’t know. 

Tom chuckled. “That’s the most selfless selfish thing one could do,” Tom shrugged.

“Where did she go?” Asked Harry. “If I know her enough she probably finally went to Greece, to start her Mamma Mia fantasy,” he laughed. “But guess I don’t know her anymore. And Emma’s gone, too.” 

“Los Angeles,” Tom said. “They’re making her script,” Tom explained. “Emma is in LA, too, with Timmy.” 

Harry looked up, hopeful. A ray of sunshine hit Harry. 

“Tom you do realize that this is even easier than you thought?” 

And it probably was, especially with Harry’s new plan or idea or whatever he was coming up with,  but Tom really, wasn’t brilliant. Because maybe it was easy seeing it all from outside the problem. But Tom hadn’t been careful. Tom never stopped to see his actions. 

And y/n, she really didn’t want to move on. She had continued to work at the shop in her free time, she liked to be surrounded by flowers. Learning its meaning and drinking coffee, making corrections to the script, helping her aunt. 

Maybe it really was fine making her sorrow prettier, and she really was trying to keep herself busy, going out, having fun or pretending to have fun, with her new roommates, Tim and Emma. 

Pretending to be fine. Not wanting to move on just yet. And she wouldn’t have made the decision to move on until she had seen it, and y/n thought about it, how she wasn’t the kind of flower that was popular among people, she wasn’t the type of flower that people knew the meaning to. And maybe she finally understood how it felt to finally die out of thirst. 

Maybe y/n shouldn’t have gone back on social media, and maybe it had been a mistake to follow her cousin’s Instagram. She probably should’ve gone out with Tim and Emma instead. She wouldn’t have seen it, and realized that maybe Tom had let the flowers she’d given him dry out. 

A picture of Cherry’s lips on Tom’s cheek had taken away the little hope y/n barely had. As if someone had drowned her in her room and there was no escape. Funnily enough,  drowning and everything, y/n thought about it, maybe she was the kind of flower that people let die of thirst in an empty vase. 

prologue next chapter   perennial masterlist.

perfidy  ( series masterlist)

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[vindogy]

Part 4 of the Skully ask that turned into a whole AU

(A little somethin extra at the end too)

After a concerning amount of time, Brian finally began regaining consciousness. Opening his eyes and letting out a few groans of pain, wincing at the soreness of his body, he looked down and instantly realized he was bound to the chair he was so familiar with. No longer having his vision obscured as he was so used to having, he realized his mask was off. He set his sights on Jay, giving him a knowing glare. He stayed silent, his gaze burning into Jay, but didn’t struggle from his position. All he had was an intimidating expression on his face that Jay wished was aimed at someone else. Mustering up some courage, Jay decided to break the silence at long last. But to his surprise, it was Brian who spoke first.

“Y’know, there were better ways to do this.”

Jay gasped in surprise. He assumed that one-word answers were all Brian could manage at this point, but it looked like that wasn’t the case. Brian continued speaking, a sly grin beginning to spread across his face, despite the several bruises and bloodstains.

“For starters, this chair is barely being held together after Tim nearly broke it. Metal’s bent, and I could struggle out pretty easily. Second of all, you can’t tie knots for shit. I already got a little wiggle room and I didn’t even move yet. Third…”

Brian turned his gaze to Tim, who was still crouched down and silent.

“… have you forgotten? We’re a team. I know how to control him, you don’t. Hell, I could tell him to kill you right now and you’d be none the wiser.”

Jay looked down in shame. He really didn’t think this through, and Brian was making sure he knew that.

“Seriously, what were you thinking? I don’t blame you though. I’ve seen how you act. You can be pretty damn stupid sometimes.”

Jay wanted to respond to the insult, but he couldn’t think of an adequate response. Brian let out a laugh and looked down at the blood dripping onto his jeans. He looked back up and flashed a crimson smile at Jay.

“But let’s say you weren’t a dumbass. Let’s say you took me far into the forest, Tim nowhere in sight. You tied me tight enough to make my limbs numb, and you have a jagged knife in your hand, ready to cut me up and bleed me like a pig if I don’t answer your questions. Let’s say you’ve absolutely broken me, and I’m sitting here crying in pain, begging you not to tear into me anymore. My eyes are gouged out, my clothes have been torn off, and you’re there making sure I feel as much pain as possible. Even then, I wouldn’t tell you jack shit. Let’s say you’ve trained Tim and you’re making him crush every bone in my body into fine dust. Hell, let’s say you’ve buddied up with Alex and he’s siccing The Operator on me, making me live through a thousand years of pain in one minute. Even then, I won’t tell you shit!”

Brian let out another laugh, taking sick pleasure in describing his own brutal torture.

“But none of that’s happening. You’re here, having me tied onto a flimsy chair, right next to one of my most vicious partners, and you didn’t even have the brains to gag me! You’re a real riot, Jay, I’ll give you that.”

In an instant, his tone shifted drastically, now looking at Jay with a stone-cold expression.

“But this is all so, so, so useless. Curiosity killed the cat, Jay, and right now you’re looking like a nice defenseless cat caught in a bear trap, surrounded by nature’s top apex predators. Why don’t you give me a reason to not kill you where you stand?”

Sweat was running down Jay’s back. He was terrified. Brian was not like this at all. Not the Brian he knew. Jay stuttered, trying to think of a valid reason that wouldn’t get him killed.

“W-well… you uh… y-you need me!”

Brian raised an eyebrow and smirked. Jay knew exactly what Alex was feeling when he told him to wipe that stupid smile off his face.

“I do?”

Jay tried his best to hide his fear. The shuddering overtaking his body was on obvious tell that he was very bad at hiding it.

“Y-yeah. You and T-Tim can’t take on Alex. Y-you’ve tried before! You need me!”

Brian looked to the side and nodded.

“Alright. Fair point. You can live for now, but if you t-”

“Wait!”

Jay made a sudden and brave interruption. He wanted answers, not another reason to fear the hooded man. Brian seemed surprised by the sudden courage as well.

“Whoa. Didn’t know you had the guts to interrupt me when I’m talking. What do you want?”

Jay stopped shuddering. He had to find out at least one thing.

“Why does the mask calm Tim down? Why does the mask turn him into that?”

Brian gave Jay a pained smile, looking like he’d been wanting to answer this for a long time.

“Aw well, that’s easy. See, when Timmy boy doesn’t get his meds, he gets real, real angry. It was always a slight problem. Back in college, the worst that would happen is that he’d lash out and maybe yell, but that’s about it.”

Brian paused for a moment, and Jay swore he saw a look of guilt in Brian’s eyes.

“But then enter Alex and The Operator. Yeah, that thing had latched onto Tim, but he did a pretty good job at not letting it get to him. Alex, on the other hand, oh boy. One encounter, and he’s out here killing people left and right, unknowingly feeding that thing. The Operator is a pretty messed up thing, y’know? If it doesn’t swallow you up in its dimension to keep your hopeless corpse in for god knows how long, it’ll instead chew you up and spit you out, breaking your mind in the process. Happened to me, happened to Tim, and now it’s happened to you.”

Brian’s eyes began to water, yet his voice didn’t waver.

“And man, let me tell you, it fucking sucks! Tim got even more violent before I was even there to intervene. He’d go on rampages late at night, running around the forest and tearing up all those poor innocent animals he saw. Dude was strong enough to take down a deer with his bare hands. That’s pretty impressive, ain’t it? Too bad I didn’t get any superpowers. All I got was a nasty cough and the worst trauma of my life!”

Brian’s voice was now breaking. He was beginning to lose his composure.

“You know how it feels to wake up one morning with no memory of what happened last night, and suddenly realizing that you don’t care about anyone anymore? I could cut up my own parents with a rusty razor, hear them cry my name and beg for mercy, and I wouldn’t feel a damn thing! Not even a drop of remorse, nope! And believe me, I wish I could. I wanted to care so much. But now, I couldn’t give a damn about what happens to anyone! Not even myself! I can’t live a normal life anymore. Society would lock me up and let me rot. I can’t have friends, I can’t have a family, I can’t have anything a normal person can have! And you know what? I’d prefer being dead!”

Brian let out a shaky laugh, several tears dropping onto his hoodie. He was vulnerable right now. Going against his morals, Jay decided to take advantage of this.

“Is that why you want to go to the ark?”

Brian immediately stopped. He looked up, his intimidating glare having returned. But just as soon as it came, it left. Tears welled up as Brian burst into tears, finally letting out years of pent up trauma and grief.

“Yes! Yes goddammit. I saw it! I saw the ark and by god, it was the worst experience of my life, but it has SOMETHING. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back to how I used to be. I want to. I want that life back so bad. I want all those lost years back. I want to have hope in the future, but right now I’m feeling that the only thing the future has for me is my lifeless corpse in the middle of nowhere.”

Brian took a moment to compose himself. Despite easily being able to free himself from Jay’s restraint, he chose not to do so. Jay wondered if this was a sign of submission.

“You though. After all those years, you began watching those tapes. You learned everything. And all of the sudden, I wasn’t alone anymore. I had a little sliver of hope in my life once more.”

Brian gritted his teeth and shook his head, regaining his anger.

“But you weren’t doing ANYTHING helpful. You just walked around like a headless chicken, getting yourself in spats with Tim. And then one day you team up with Alex despite knowing damn well something was up with him, and together you fucking broke Tim’s leg. No Jay, you weren’t just not doing anything. You were actively HURTING my efforts. You made it all worse getting all inflammatory with Tim. And I went back to being alone. Even more alone than before, since you took Tim along with you only to traumatize him even more.”

Jay immediately snapped back, shocked at Brian’s lack of self-awareness.

“I’m the one who traumatized him? Don’t you think treating him like your personal attack dog would have a worse impact on his psyche?”

Brian lashed out at the accusation, though Jay could see his facade beginning to break.

“Doesn’t matter what I do to him when he’s like that. He doesn’t remember any of it anyways. Unless of course, two lanky idiots decided to break his leg. That would matter quite a bit.”

Jay was getting heated as well. He knew that he wasn’t the most responsible decision maker, but Brian had a lot to be blamed for as well.

“You kept stealing his meds. You forced him into that state, robbing him of the normal life he tried so hard to have. He can’t hold steady work, and his mind is getting worse and worse every time you use him like that. Does that not matter to you?”

Another flash of guilt appeared in Brian’s eyes. He tried to deflect it once more.

“What matters is getting rid of The Operator. One casualty is nothing compared to the damage it d-”

“You never answered my question.”

Brian paused.

“Huh?”

“I asked you why the mask calms Tim down. Answer me.”

Brian’s face got red.

“Well, it’s because uh. . . it reminds him of the old days. I did my research. Back when he was being hospitalized, they’d always place a mask over his face to administer anesthetic to get him to calm down. Tim was too violent, though, so a normal mask wouldn’t work. They had to lock up his entire face into a heavy-duty one, made so that it couldn’t be ripped off or broken. Any time he wears that mask, it reminds him of those times. By instinct, it makes him calm and obedient.”

Jay shook his head as he glared at Brian.

“You’re fucked up. Don’t you feel any pity for him?”

Brian stayed silent.

“Well, do you? Tim was your best friend. Surely you feel at least SOMETHING for him?”

Brian bit his lip as he tried to stop the tears from flowing once more. He remained silent but pensive.

“What even is the ark, Brian? What is this thing you deem so important that you’re willing to ruin your best friend's life to even get a chance of seeing it?”

Brian looked up. His violent spirit had also been calmed, replaced with a softer tone that Jay could tell had a lot of fear behind it.

“The ark is where The Operator keeps all its victims. I saw it when Alex fed me to that thing. An ever-growing empty landscape filled with bodies. Some still conscious, but their minds gone. Some rotted, some freshly killed. Some still crying for help. The Operator feeds off of their despair. It prefers people on the brink of death, so it can suck out as much despair from them as possible. It keeps the corpses to induce even more despair into those who go into it.”

Brian’s gaze went off into the horizon, empty and unblinking, as he remembered everything.

“You’re a religious guy, aren’t you Jay?”

Jay nodded.

“You know the story of Noah’s Ark? Of course you do. There’s a reason why I call this place The Ark.”

Brian grinned for a moment before returning to his somber expression.

“There’s two of each.”

“What does that mean?”

Brian bit his lip once more, this time drawing blood.

“Every person in the world you can think of. A shy lonely man with social anxiety and a knack of bringing danger to his friends. A troubled man running from his past. A cheerful girl who dated the wrong man. Any person you can think of, any combination of traits or personality, anything. Absolutely any and all people you can think up of, no matter how specific, The Operator wants two of. Doesn’t matter how unique you think you are. In there, at some point, you’ll eventually find someone just like you. And that’s when you lose all hope. That’s when you realize that if someone just like you never escaped, you’ll never escape as well. How you’re just a bag of flesh with no purpose. And that’s when The Operator digs in, having the biggest feast of a lifetime.”

Brian took a deep breath, having to compose himself yet again. The stoic personality he kept in his hooded form had shattered thanks to Jay’s conversation.

“The Operator loves taunting us. Sometimes it’ll toss you into the ark without a second thought, wanting you to feel nothing but despair. But I want to go there. I know better. I can go in there with hope and help people escape. The more I help, the more people that can help others. It only takes one hole to sink a boat, after all. Once the ark is empty, The Operator has nothing left to feed on. From there, it’ll starve. And that’s one less horror the world has to deal with.”

Brian’s gaze suddenly turned hopeful.

“And that’s where my plan comes in. If I can get into the ark without being on the brink of death, I can save someone. Just one person. That alone would be enough to hurt The Operator and leave it from attacking us ever again. But that’s not what I want. I want it dead.”

Brian looked up at Jay, his eyes now kindled with a familiar warmth behind them.

“Catch my drift?”

Jay nodded. Brian had completely changed from the psychopathic sadist he was before this. Was a good conversation all he needed? Jay’s internal questioning was interrupted by Tim shuffling in front of Jay. This reminded Jay of another point he wanted to address.

“Wait! What about Tim? Do you really want to keep him like this?”

Brian nodded, then paused, shook his head, then nodded again.

“I uh. . . I don’t know. He’s more useful this way for sure but. . . if you take that mask off him and give him his meds again, he’ll be fine. But is that what you want? How do you think he’ll react to seeing you, not only still alive, but in cahoots with his presumed dead best friend who ended up being his stalker all along. How do you think he’ll react knowing that two of his closest friends brutally attacked him and broke his mind? Do you think he’ll be cooperative?”

Jay was stuck. Brian had a good point. Turning Tim back to normal would cause a lot more problems, and chances are it would traumatize him more than anything. But keeping him as an obedient, unthinking bodyguard felt wrong, and would only worsen his mental state. Meanwhile, Brian had already freed himself and was standing next to Tim, a bottle of pills in hand. He could tell Jay was having a rough time deciding. 

“Well, what’ll it be Jay? Free him, or keep him masked up for a while longer?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Surprise! I don’t know how to follow this up so I’m just gonna say fuck it and let whoever cares enough about this to choose. Of course, if I get requests for both I’ll write em both, but I’m interested to see where people's hearts lie in this situation.)

[maychorian]

For the prompts, #6 with Tim Drake and Jason Todd

This is set in a possible future of Year of Fallen Angels.

6. “Where are you? Tell me where you are.”

Jason was stacking boxes in the storeroom of the diner where he worked when the phone in his pocket jingled with a certain ringtone. It was the theme song for one of Tim’s favorite TV shows, and it only came from one number.

He dropped the boxes he was holding on the floor and took the phone out of his pocket and put it to his ear. “Timmy?”

The line was quiet. Jason strained to hear, pressing the phone closer to his face. Then he realized that it wasn’t silent, after all. Tim was panting, harsh and terrified.

“Tim? Baby bird? Talk to me.”

Jason was already striding toward the door of the storeroom and into the kitchen. His manager, Mr. Sevalkis, was leaning over the counter sorting receipts. He looked up at his entrance. Jason raised his eyebrows and pointed to his phone.

Sevalkis grimaced. “One of those calls?” he asked.

“Yeah. Gotta go.”

Sevalkis waved a hand. “Get outta here. Come back if you can. Dinner rush in two hours, if you can make it.”

“I’ll try.”

On the other end of the phone, Tim was gulping for breath. Jason moved toward the service entrance, grabbing his leather jacket off the hook on the wall and slinging it on one-handed. “Where are you, Timbo? Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.”

“Quad,” Tim said faintly. “Front of… Front of the library. There’s people around.”

“Okay. That’s good.” Jason slung his leg over his motorcycle. “I’m gonna have to hang up while I drive. Wanna tell me what happened before I do? If not, we can talk when I get there.”

Sometimes nothing happened. Nothing external, anyway. Sometimes it was all inside, just a build-up of pressure until it exploded and Tim couldn’t take it anymore and called for help. And Jason always came. But sometimes there was a trigger, and sometimes it helped to talk about it. Jason would be happy for any information he could get out of Tim when he was this jammed up, even just a word or two.

“I thought I saw him,” Tim said numbly.

Jason clenched his teeth so hard he could hear them creaking under the pressure.

“It probably wasn’t him,” Tim amended. “Probably just…a trick of the light. Or my stupid brain.”

“Maybe,” Jason said. “Maybe not, though. Good job getting somewhere public with lots of people around. Stay there, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

“Yeah.” Tim’s breath was just a wisp. “Hurry, okay?”

“I will.”

He hung up and drove.

He liked the diner. It was mostly a cover, a veneer of legitimacy. He kept light hours, but he worked hard when he was there, mostly janitorial, maintenance, short order cooking during meal rushes. He liked it most of all because they had agreed to his one condition.

First thing at the interview, as soon as he sat down, he put it out on the table. “Listen, I know it’s bad form or whatever for the job applicant to make demands, but I gotta let you know, I can’t work here unless you can put up with something for me. Sometimes I get a phone call, and I have to drop everything and leave. I’ll do my best to come back when it’s taken care of, but it’s not negotiable. If you can’t handle that, we should just end the interview now, and I’ll keep looking for work elsewhere.”

The owner, Anderson, was there, and Jason’s future manager, Sevalkis. Anderson started making uncomfortable noises, but Sevalkis raised a hand. He looked at Jason steadily, barely blinking. “That’s a pretty extraordinary demand. I think we can handle it, as long as you’re not out making drug deals or something. Can you tell me a little more about these phone calls you’ll be getting?”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Not drug deals, I promise. It’s not really your business. But yeah, okay, I get that you need more than my word.”

Sevalkis placed both hands flat on the table and looked Jason deep in the eyes. “I don’t need your life story. A summary will do.”

“I have a little brother. Couple of years ago, he was tortured.” He didn’t say by who, or why, or any other details. This was Gotham. Innocent people got tortured on a semi-regular basis.

“He’s doing okay, most of the time. Going to college, working part-time. Every once in a while it gets to be too much for him, though, and I get a call. And I go.”

The corner of Sevalkis’s mouth turned up. “Your personal Bat signal.”

Jason laughed again, a little more genuinely. “Yeah. We joke that I’m his bodyguard, twenty-four seven. Even when I’m halfway across the city, I’m protecting him in spirit if not in body. He’s a good kid. The best. He doesn’t deserve what happened to him, and he doesn’t deserve how hard things are for him now. I would do anything for him.”

“Including losing any chance at gainful employment?” Anderson asked.

“Including?” Jason gave him a sharp-toothed smile. “That’s the least of what I would do for my baby bro, pal. The very least.”

“I like him,” Sevalkis said, already reaching across the table to shake Jason’s hand. “You’re hired.”

Anderson balked. “No other questions?”

Sevalkis shrugged. “I read his resume. The interview is for gut impressions, not dry facts. A guy who would drop anything to help his kid brother deal with PTSD will work hard and give his all at other things, too, including a job in a crappy little greasy spoon like this one. I like him, and I’m hiring him, unless you want to overrule me.”

Anderson shook his head. Jason and Sevalkis shook hands, and that was it.

Now, he parked his motorcycle basically on the sidewalk of the quad at Gotham U, barely taking time to set the kickstand and take off his helmet before he was jogging across the grass. Tim was sitting at a stone picnic table in front of the library, his bright red hoodie standing out like a flag. He was slumped over with his head buried in his folded arms, and a nice-looking girl was sitting next to him with a hand on his back.

Jason slid onto the bench across from them, giving the girl a pleasant smile. “Hi. You a classmate of Tim’s?”

She nodded. “Zo. Zoanne. We’re not in any classes together, since he started too late, but we hang out sometimes. You’re Jay?”

“Yup. I’ll take over for ya. You can go back and take care of whatever you were doing, no worries. Timmy’s in good hands with me.”

She smiled. “I know. He talks about you a lot. His other siblings, too.”

Zoanne took her leave, and Jason leaned over, his head near to Tim’s. “You wanna tell me where you think you saw him? I’ll check it out for you.”

Tim shook his head against his arms and rolled it over to look at Jason with one eye, peeking out between his arms. “I already sent an alert to O. She’s checking security footage. I don’t think she’s going to find anything, though. It was just me being crazy again.”

“Hey, what have we said about that?” Jason laid his hands on Tim’s upper arms and gave them a careful squeeze. “It’s not crazy to be scared of a dude who hurt you like that. It’s perfectly rational. Your brain is just trying to protect you by pointing out things that even remotely might be him.”

Tim pulled in a shuddering breath and slowly sat up. His arms slid out of Jason’s grip, but he offered his hands instead. Jason folded them between his, massaging carefully but firmly. He could feel the ridges of scars, the bumps and off-angles where the pins had come out. Tim’s hands were shaking, of course. But Jason’s were too, a little.

He kept rubbing Tim’s hands, rolling his slender fingers between his, pressing big blunt thumbs into his narrow palms and massaging in circles. Damian was still the best at giving Tim hand massages, but they all had had plenty of practice by now. It had become a ritual, a way for them to connect with Tim and help him calm down when things were rough, a tangible expression of how much they cared and how much they wanted to erase his pain and help him heal.

Eventually Tim’s shoulders went boneless, his eyes drooping and face slack, and even his hands had relaxed down to their normal faint level of trembling that never really went away. Jason stood up and went around to his side of the table to draw him to his feet. “C'mon, baby bird. Let’s blow this popsicle stand. You want me to take you home, or would you rather come hang out with me at the diner during dinner rush?”

Tim perked up a bit, leaning into Jason’s side as he led him over to his bike. “Will I get to watch you cook?”

Jason chuckled. “Maybe. You like that?”

“It’s funny watching you swear at everyone for not keeping up with you, even while you’re grinning like you’re having the time of your life.”

“Yeah, the diner is good fun. Let’s go. Sevalkis will probably give you a free piece of pie.”

“Rhubarb?”

“You know what, hold that thought. I’ll call ahead and tell him to reserve a piece for you.”

Tim sat on Jason’s bike, grinning without a hint of fear in his eyes, while Jason called his boss and told him to save a piece of his kid brother’s favorite pie. The sky was clear, and McDaniels wasn’t in jail, but he wasn’t here, either. And everything was as good as it could get, for now.

[fountainpenguin]

S and T for the ask

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

> Bittersweet endings. I don’t like completely perfect or completely depressing ends… I like little nibbles of both.

> Witty banter. Never get tired of it.

> I’m not normally one for AUs, but I love college AUs for worlds that don’t have a college equivalent. What do they study? I must know.

> Fleshing unliked/overlooked side character out with an interesting backstory and cool hobbies.

> We dislike each other but have to keep up appearances.

> Smooth, probably sexually experienced character is easily flustered.

> Alternatively: smooth character flirts with someone, takes it too far, and instantly backpedals while screaming internally.

> Sharing space on a road trip.

> Soft holiday stories! Especially fantasy holidays, because then I’m falling in love with the worldbuilding and pleased that the characters are happy.

> Blind dates.

> Tired but loving single parent who works very hard

> Two tired parents working very hard, so glad they’re in this together

> Someone falls in love with a single parent, asks their kid(s) permission to marry their parent, and lets kid help them pick out a ring and participate in wedding plans.

> HEALTHY!!! STEP-FAMILIES!!!

> Jerk messed with the wrong person and now they’re in for it… We don’t know when… but oh, they’re in for it.

> Petty villains (“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I call in an evil plan, and you send your B squad??? Frankly I’m a little insulted!” -Snaptrap)

> Petty heroes… Read: Randy Disher, a full-grown adult police lieutenant, getting his feelings hurt when the Captain says he’d save Monk, not him, if both were in the water because Monk can’t swim, and Randy persists by asking if his mind would change if Randy was holding an anchor and the Captain asks why he wouldn’t just let go of the anchor and Randy looks him in the eye and says “Family heirloom” and the Captain just >:|

> Gift giving is shown to be a valid form of affection and not played as a greedy, materialistic love language (Related: Character A buys cute little gifts for B sometimes and it doesn’t turn into a story about wasteful spending or needing to shower your partner in gifts or else they’ll freak out).

> Bed sharing / cuddles (As long as it doesn’t progress to sex… I have to be in the right mindset for that and 9.5 times out of 10 I’d rather have snuggles).

> Quick, casual, absentminded kisses. Convince me this character’s instinct is to express affection even when they’re distracted and you have me eating out of your hand.

> Kisses in awkward places… Up against walls, quickly stolen while the third wheel is out of the room, couple trying to hide even though their friends ship them and no one present will judge them for a kiss… Yes. The more uncomfortable the position or time, the better. Love that spontaneous cute.

> Fake dating and in the end they’re still good friends, no push into a romantic relationship just because they were in this situation together.

> Healthy mutual break-ups

> Asexual characters!!! I’m for any story that acknowledges people like me exist and are happy, whether it’s a story about discovery, the difficulties of being ace, or a story where the ace character is just at peace.

> People are close friends and not dating. Both are comfortable with their relationship and no one tries to make them feel bad.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

(Below the cut. Keep in mind these are my personal preferences and I’m not attacking anyone who likes tropes I dislike. This isn’t a comprehensive list, just some thoughts about tropes I don’t enjoy reading).

> Redemption through romantic love. So. Much.

> Everybody Lives AUs

> Soulmates

> Forbidden love

> Amnesia

> Coffee Shop AUs (I’m all for “In the future this character gets a job” stories, but I dislike “I’m going to flirt with this person while they’re in a position they can’t leave” stories)

> Psychic powers / Twins can read minds. It’s not an immediate deal-breaker, but my interest will drop sharply.

> Falling in love way too quickly / confusing infatuation with genuine love and the moral of the story is that you should risk your life plans and dive headfirst into relationships with people you don’t know well yet (I didn’t watch The Sun Is Also a Star, but the trailers pushed ALL my wrong buttons).

> Physical touch is the only or most important way to express affection. I’m all for love language miscommunication stories. I don’t like being told those who don’t express physical touch easily are frigid or uncaring.

> Big rescue scenes in romance (Ex: Hero carrying love interest from a burning building… I’d rather see hero helping love interest up a tough patch of the trail they’re hiking, or leaving a party to find their partner a dessert they’re not allergic to, something small and affectionate like that).

> Asexual invalidation/correction stories (Related: Virgin mockery). I don’t mind reading these if the main character is asexual and it’s a story about sexuality exploration or a character facing difficulties because they’re ace (That’s what Origin of the Pixies is, after all), but if the author legitimately believes asexuality needs to be fixed or that ace characters can’t be in fulfilling relationships, that’s what I don’t like.

> Canon: *Characters state they don’t want to be together romantically*  Fanfic: *Makes them romantic*  As a reader, I’m willing to let you take my hand if you show me careful thought processes and honest conversations while the characters work through changes together in early chapters, but if there’s absolutely no explanation (or indication that backstory will be given later) and the story just starts with them together for some reason… I won’t play along.

> When two people in canon are very close but not an official romantic couple and the only ‘fics about them are romantic. I don’t mind some stories being romantic, especially if they’re set in the future of canon, but if I can’t find more than a tiny handful of ‘fics that match their canon relationship, I get frustrated.

> Oh, here’s a trope I despise with the intensity of a thousand suns… Animals that are not dogs behaving like dogs (Ex: Maximus the horse in Tangled). Other animals are interesting too!

> I dislike a lot of angst tropes in general. I like psychological horror, like the slow recognition of your own sins (which is probably why I write villain backstories). A loved one dying in your arms, or trapped inside a burning house, does nothing to me. You could not get farther from affecting me if you tried. My heart will break if someone hesitates in an otherwise cheery story and the other person staggers back, realizing things aren’t as perfect as they thought. I live for moments where the bliss suddenly snaps and in an instant, everything’s changed. But deaths drawn out with gasps and bleeding, or houses going up in flames, don’t really land. Angst has to be fast and hard or I find it tedious.

> Developing a crush on someone before you even see or hear them interact. See also, liking someone you have no business liking when your people raised you to dislike theirs. How do you exist outside your culture? I want reasons.

> Using new pronouns for a character who hasn’t revealed their preferred pronouns to the narrator and/or a character outs someone by using new pronouns without ensuring they’re okay with that. I’m cool with long-established pronouns, but if some characters don’t know yet, they don’t know yet.

> I’m personally not a fan of self-insert stories, especially Self-Insert x Canon. Specifically, I dislike the trope that self-inserts will draw canon character attention and take the focus away from a canon character development story, which is what I prefer to read. Self-inserts who don’t disrupt the status quo are fine by me.

> I can accept OC x Canon if you don’t contradict canon, but the OC has to be well fleshed out with realistic flaws, and if the canon character is completely OOC, I’m backing out (It’s specifically Main Character OC x Canon that I don’t like- I’ll happily dive into “Failed relationships in canon character’s past involving OC exes because canon characters won’t work for this”).

> Timmy wakes up one day and realizes Tootie’s the girl for him. I need a looong slow burn to sell me on that one. I’m happy to see him recognize his own judgmental attitudes and accept her as a friend, but if it moves into romance while they’re still young, I’m out.

> Wanda being pregnant instead of Cosmo… I 100% forgive this for anything written before “Fairly Odd Baby,” but if Wanda’s the pregnant one then I immediately scroll up to check the upload date. If I can’t trust you with that piece of canon, what can I trust you with?

> Wanda confronts Cosmo and argues that he’s being mean to her. That’s a can of worms I’d rather skirt around.

> I’m all for Cosmo and Wanda having a second kid, but NOT while they’re still with Timmy.

> Abusive Juandissimo.

> I also don’t like fluff. I don’t deliberately avoid sweet, plotless stories, but I don’t seek them out. I lose interest in fluff more quickly than anything else.

… I’m realizing now that the reason I don’t like romantic stories is probably because most of them revolve around expressing affection the literal opposite way of how I prefer it (Ex: Way more stories about physical touch and making out until impulsive sex occurs, not enough quick kisses in passing or time spent existing quietly on the same couch enjoying your separate hobbies).

I don’t inherently hate romance, I just have different romantic preferences than the media that usually crosses my path. I’m more about companionate love than fiery passion. It’s hard to convey the comfortable silence I like in words.

Fanfic Ask Meme