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let-them-read-fics · 4 years ago

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Safe With Me

Pairing: Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 1,690

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! Here’s my first writing for Jennie; I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

“Y/N, it’s Jennie. She needs you.”

The second that your brain processes those words, you’re on your feet, mind beginning to race.

After the staff had called you in a panic earlier, you came as soon as you could. They failed to inform you, though, that it was something concerning Jennie -- likely because they knew you’d drive like a maniac in order to get there as fast as humanly possible.

“What happened?”

“She had an attack on stage earlier and she still hasn’t fully calmed down. We got her some water and she’s in her dressing room right now, but she keeps asking for you.”

With that, you thank the backup dancer and exit the waiting room, quickly making your way to her. The winding hallways of the backstage area seem longer than they ever have before, and you can’t help the antsy feeling that creeps over you.

Upon turning the corner, you spot Jisoo outside of Jennie’s door, a heavy look of contemplation on her face. When her eyes meet yours, worry flashes across her features -- considering how strong she always stays for the other girls, this comes as a bit of a surprise. Despite the stutter in your step after seeing that, you continue on nonetheless.

Rosé and Lisa are further down the hall, the low chatter of their voices carrying over to Jisoo and yourself. “This one was pretty bad, Y/N. Take care of her, okay? I’ll keep the others occupied.” With a nod, the two of you part ways, and you open the door.

You make sure to enter slowly, not wanting to burst in and frighten her in her already anxious state. “Hey, jagi. Come here.” The words come out softly, a gentle request, as you open your arms to her and sit down beside her on the small couch. Wordlessly, she crawls over to you and settles against you. Now, holding her close, you can feel every tremble and sniffle that she lets out. Your world shatters a little more with each erratic pulse of her untamed heart -- you can feel every beat against your own chest. Her head is resting on your shoulder, her warm cheek pressing against your skin, and her lips lightly brush your neck.

It wasn’t anything sexual -- it’s something that she does everytime you hold her, no matter what. She once told you that it brought her comfort to feel your pulse point against her lips, the steady beat working to regulate her own. So, everytime she gets anxious, you assume this position with her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, but I’m here now, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” Your left hand rubs soothing circles on her lower back as you use your other to play with her hair, knowing the calming effect it has on her. Her body begins to relax into you, and you feel the weight start to lift from your shoulders.

Having an inconsiderate boss always sucked, but never more so than at times like these. Even after explaining your reason for needing to leave early, he didn’t budge. He fired off the cliché, “If I let you do it, then I’ll have to let everyone do it too!” In a moment of crisis, Jennie needed you more than anyone else, and you couldn’t even be there for her. Even though it wasn’t your fault, you can’t help but feel guilty about it. Her reasoning for finding such comfort in your mere presence still baffles you, but you’re always willing to offer it when she needs it.

She must have noticed the dejected look on your face, because she pushes herself up enough to press a kiss to your cheek. “I love you; thank you for being here. Now, will you tell me about your day?” You nearly melt at the sound of her sweet voice, paired with her declaration of love. It still makes your heart skip a beat, and based on the light smile that tugs on her lips, you’re sure that she felt it.

Her words serve as your command, and soon you’re filling her in on everything that happened throughout the day. Jennie could listen to you talk about absolute nonsense for hours on end; she loves the sound of your voice, and she takes solace in the vibrations of your body as you speak. All of those things -- some of her favorite things about you -- are a combination that never fails to take her mind off of anything that’s stressing her out. If she’s honest with herself, everything about you cheers her up. The way your face lights up when you see her, the feeling of your arms wrapped around her, your sense of humor, your kindness, the warmth that you radiate just by being yourself -- she could go on and on forever. No amount of words could possibly convey how thankful she is for you and all that you do for her.

It goes without saying that you feel the same way about her. You suffer from anxiety, too, and she’s always by your side in an instant whenever it gets especially hard to handle. Her perfume would wash over you, and she would pepper kisses across your skin. Words of affirmation would spill from her lips and drift to your ears, working to bring you back down to Earth. She always knew just what to do to help, and you often thank your lucky stars for aligning with hers.

Things like that can really make or break a relationship -- dealing with stressors and pressure is never easy, but it can certainly bring people closer together. Before you even started dating, Jennie knew you were special; being around you brought her comfort like no other, and she quickly realized that she would choose to spend all of her time with you if she could. Anytime she thinks about her future, you’re always in it; you’re a complex puzzle that she wants to spend her life unraveling and solving.

After spending the better part of an hour like that -- limbs entangled as you talk with one another -- Jennie’s feeling a lot better. Her heartbeat is steady now, and that suffocating feeling of panic is long gone.

“What would I do without you, huh?” She asks, nudging your shoulder as she sits up to face you.

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” You start, looking off dramatically while you pretend to think. “Probably be really bored without all of my awesomeness around.”

Your dorky response earns you a chuckle, and she shakes that beautiful head at you.

“I think you might be right about that one.” She tilts her head to the side, her eyes shining with a look of pure adoration.

She rests her forehead against yours and guides your hand to her chest. It’s her special thing that she always does after an attack; she wants you to be aware of what your help does to her. The rhythm of her heart is constant against your palm, and her fingers slide up to lace with your own. Knowing that she’s comfortable now is the only reward you could ever ask for.

“I love you so much, Jennie. You’re so strong.”

“I couldn’t do it without you.”

Her lips find their way to yours, and you can taste the gloss on them as she deepens the kiss. Before long, she’s worked her way into your lap, her hair falling like a curtain around the two of you. Unbeknownst to you, moments like these got her through some very hard times; her mind would recall the memories of how her skin felt against yours, the sighs that would leave your lips as she would kiss down your jawline, how just one touch from you could send her wild, etc. Her safe place is you, and she’ll do everything in her power to always remind you of that.

Just as her fingers begin to undo the buttons of your shirt, the building’s intercom starts up, and the sound echoes loudly across the building. Jennie startles, falling forward against you, and lets out a surprised yelp. Despite your efforts, you can’t stop the small giggle that leaves your lips at how easily she gets scared. She playfully smacks your shoulder and tries to give you an angry look; she can’t keep it up for long, and soon the two of you find yourselves in the middle of a laughing fit.

You give her cheeks a little squish before saying, “You’re the cutest ever.” Following this, she boops your nose and replies with confidence: “I know.”

She pecks your lips one final time before standing up and tugging you along with her. “We’d better go find the girls now.”

“Fiiiiiiiiine.” You drag out, your usual dramatic self coming back out to play.

With that, the two of you head out to the main dressing room in search of the girls, hand in hand.

~~~~~~~

“YAY! You’re here!” Lisa shouts, nearly knocking the two of you over with her bone-crushing embrace.

“We sure are!” You struggle out, the words coming through as more of a pained wheeze than anything else.

Rosé and Jisoo manage to pry Lisa away, but soon all of you are hugging again anyway. Your little huddle is perfect, and you’re so thankful for the girls. Being surrounded by such genuine, talented people is a blessing, and you seriously wonder how you got so lucky. As the sounds of their jokes and laughter fill your ears, you can practically feel your heart soaring.

“Time for dinner!” Rosé shouts, now walking out the door.

“I’ll race you to the car!” Lisa rushes out, quickly darting past the other girl.

“Not fair, I wasn’t ready!” Their rapid footfalls fade as they get further and further away, and you just scoff at their antics.

“Kids.” Jisoo says with a roll of her eyes, her inner mom showing.

Jennie leans into you, settling against your side, and lets out a content sigh.

In that moment, the dynamic between everyone so perfectly highlighted, you can’t help but think to yourself: there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

#jennie kim #jennie x reader #jennie kim x fem reader #blackpink #blackpink oneshots #blackpink imagines #jennie imagine #let-them-read-fics

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plethora-of-imagines · 4 years ago

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Outdoor Cat

AN: Being Missy’s kitten is a big mood. So I wrote about it.

Word Count: 3358

Warnings: smut/lemon, kitten play, a small amount of anal, minor public, “coercion”/manipulation, leash

Description: A day of trying some newer things and being Missy’s kitten.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

You tried to nuzzle deeper into the pillow you were curled upon. You shivered as it did nothing to warm your freezing body. Missy had insisted that her kitten should only be wearing a collar as clothing. So here you were, freezing in the cold air of the TARDIS with no blanket to burrow under. Your nipples were as hard as when Missy had forcefully held ice against them the other day! You were just so cold. Of course, in order to be her kitten, you also had on a pair of kitten ears. They were soft and fuzzy to add to the illusion that they were real. While a delight to wear they didn’t add any warmth to your body. The one accessory that could possibly add even the slightest amount of heat to your body you had forgone this time. The tail.

While it was delightfully fluffy and soft - just like the ears- you really hated wearing the tail. It was attached to a small anal plug, the smallest that could be found. You didn’t really like anal so you never liked wearing the tail. Missy would never force you, but she had encouraged you to give it a try. To see if it was something you actually didn’t like or if it was just something that society had convinced you was unpleasant. So far you genuinely didn’t enjoy it. You would give it a few more tries before truly deciding it wasn’t for you, but only because you knew that Missy adored your attempts to try it out. You had promised her that you would one day try being plugged for a longer duration. You almost wished you had agreed for it to be tonight. At least then the fuzzy tail could help give you a tiny bit of warmth.

You had thought that being Missy's kitten tonight would be fun, not cold, and lonely. It wouldn't have been so bad if she had allowed you to share the bed, or wear some clothes. Longingly you gazed up at the bed Missy resided in. It looked so warm and inviting. It had a thick comforter and Missy in only a chemise. Why had Missy said she wouldn’t allow her kitten up onto the bed? Tons of people let their pets sleep in bed with them. Especially kittens! You pouted. There would be no rest for you tonight if you weren’t warm and cozy. You would have to resort to begging Missy to let you up onto the bed. You were adorable and cold- she would have to give in!

Crawling to the edge of the bed you meowed sadly up at Missy. Her hand finding its way to your scalp, gently scratching behind your kitten ears. Almost against you will your body leaned up into the touch.

"What is it kitten?" Her voice was somewhat husky from being awoken. She blearily glanced down at your shivering form. "Aww is my little kitten cold?"

You meowed sadly again to try and convince her to have mercy.

"Hmm I'll let you join me on the bed, pet, but only if you wear the tail."

She started to pull her hand away from you. In a rush, you gripped her wrist with your lips. Taking care not to use your teeth, you didn't want to know what the punishment would be for biting Missy without permission. You whimpered around her wrist, giving her the most pitiful look you could manage.

"Cute, pet, but no kittens on the bed without a tail. No matter how cutely you beg and pout I will resist giving in to you, you unruly, spoiled kitty."

Resigned to your fate you let go of Missy's wrist and crawled away to get the tail plug. Staring at it sadly for a few moments as you accepted the cost of being warm in the bed with Missy. It would be worth it. Picking it up with your teeth you make your way back to Missy carrying it like a prize you had returned to deliver her. To Missy this would indeed be a prize. With muffled sounds you begged for her attention to return to you, to give you permission to get up on the bed.

"Up you come then, kitten. Let's get you all nice and settled."

You climb into the bed with only minor struggles, joining Missy.

"Lay down on your stomach for me now, pretty little legs spread open and relax for Mistress."

You followed her orders doing your best to relax. You knew that it would be easier for you if you were relaxed but your nerves still had you tensing up in anticipation of that foreign feeling. Missy's hands trailed through your hair to help you relax. Just as you were starting to be lulled to sleep you felt something wet being spread around your ass. Lube. Missy was spreading lube which meant that soon she would put the plug in. You tensed up once again as you were reminded of what was to follow.

A single, generously lubed finger pressed into your ass. Your body tense as you smothered your whimpers in the pillow.

"I said relax, kitten," her voice strict, demanding respect. Demanding to be obeyed.

Slowly you let your body fall limp. Missy's finger was soon replaced with something slightly bigger. She went slow, easing the plug into you. Letting you adjust before continuing. Cooing over you, speaking praise and reminding you to stay relaxed as best as you could manage. Once it was in you shifted uncomfortably. Squirming at the foreign feeling. It was only slightly bigger than Missy's finger but it was still not pleasant. You didn't like the way it made you feel filled.

"Good job, kitten. You were so good for Mistress."

Slowly- as Missy rubbed soothing circles into your skin- the uncomfortable sensation subsided into something you could ignore. As Missy laid down beside you, you quickly nuzzled your head in between her breasts. Curling up against her. You were tired and the sooner you warmed up, the sooner you would manage to fall asleep. A blanket soon covered both of you adding to your contentment. Pleased with the warmth you began to "purr" as best as you could by catching a rolled r' in your throat. The sound dropping off as sleep claimed you.

You woke uncurled but still clutching Missy’s chemise. A light boop to your nose had you scrunching your face and trying to burry it into Missy’s stomach. You wanted to stay all warm and cozy in bed with her, even if -no doubt- she had other plans.

“Off you go, kitten,” you looked up at her in confusion as she started to push you off the bed. “If you make it to the kitchen before I do I’ll allow you to eat like a human. Better hurry along now! I’m ravenous.” She punctuated her words with a small threatening growl.

Scrambling down off of the bed you rushed out the door on your hands and knees. You hated eating out of a pet bowl. Missy loved the humiliation of it but you would prefer it if all of the pet bowls she got you as a joke were thrown into a supernova. The moment you entered the kitchen you jumped into a chair. Waiting in anticipation for Missy to startle you with her entrance. She entered a few minutes later and you finally let out a sigh of relief. You never trusted that you were in the correct place until Missy walked into the room. The TARDIS just had so many archived rooms that you could stumble into instead of the room that Missy had intended.

“How are you doing this morning, poppet?”

Missy brushed past you with a quick hair ruffle and got to work starting to fix up breakfast for the two of you. She seemed to be making some sort of sweet crepe, that was a bright blue color...?

You hesitated to speak. Were you allowed to talk right now?

“Use your words, poppet. I would hardly ask you to meow to me how you were feeling! It would be far from productive.”

“Umm I’m good. The tail is still... uncomfortable, but I can ignore it most of the time. I’m good to keep going with it but I don’t think I will want to be using it again after today. It’s just not for me, you know?”

Presenting a plate to you with a flourish Missy responded, “Oh I know, poppet. That’s why you needed the extra encouragement to try it.”

“You manipulated me!”

“Well, how could I resist, with how adorable you look when silently begging,” Missy teased as she pinched your cheek. “Besides you did say you wanted to give it a try to be sure that it wasn’t something you enjoyed. I was just ensuring that you didn’t dread it for ages as you continued to put it off. You always keep your promises so it would have happened sooner or later.”

A bite of the crepe was shoved into your mouth before you could continue to half heartedly complain about Missy manipulating you. She was completely correct, but it was the principle of it all! The cream that filled the crepe covered your lips. You were tempted to lick it up but it had spilled far enough to be difficult to get it all. Maybe she would kiss the excess away.

“What is the crepe made with anyway?”

“Might as well be snogberries, the look on your face as you ate it really makes me want to thoroughly snog you.”

“Then snog me-” before you had finished Missy got to work pressing you against the chair as she ravished your mouth. Licking the remnants of creme off of your lips.

Being kissed by Missy always felt like being caught up in a force of nature. This time it was a hurricane, hopefully, you wouldn’t drown.

“Eat up now kitten!”

Missy shoved another bite into your mouth, once again before you could talk. Well then. Guess you weren’t going to be feeding yourself this morning... Or teasing Missy about how snogberries were definitely made up.

Once Missy was placing the dishes in the sink you accepted that your break was over and returned to being on your hands and knees on the floor. It was time to be a kitten again. You dutifully followed after Missy as she made her way to the console room. At least that’s where you assumed she was leading you. The TARDIS was having mercy on you by bringing the console room closer to the kitchen. Crawling everywhere was so time-consuming and tiring. No wonder cats took so many naps.

“Hmm I think a walk before I get to work,” Missy danced around the console piloting you to whatever location she had in mind. “Don’t you agree kitten?”

You swallowed nervously. A walk. Outside. You already hated this idea, but before you could try and protest you were already there. The TARDIS landing with an ominous toll. Missy stalked towards you, hooking a leash into your collar in one smooth motion that you had no hopes of halting.

She had to practically drag you to the doors. You tried with all your might to find something to grab onto with which to halt your progress towards the doors. There was nothing other than the smooth floor that offered no salvation.

“Oh, come on, kitten. Stop being - what would you human’s say... Oh, yes! Stop being such a pussy. I wouldn’t parade you naked through the crowded streets!” Missy paused to reconsider her statement. “At least not without asking you first. I bet that if I asked you’d even say yes, I digress. The place I have chosen for your short little walkie is perfectly abandoned. No one gets to see my pet naked and live, after all.”

You took a moment to consider what she had said. Against all common sense and reason, you trusted Missy with your life. If you really didn’t like it and couldn’t get over the minor discomfort of bringing this type of play outside of the TARDIS you could always safeword. Missy was wearing her jacket with her blouse... if you safeworded you had no doubt that she would quickly wrap you up in her jacket to help comfort you.

It seemed it was a day of pushing you out of your comfort zone. Nothing had impeded on your carefully set limits; however, Missy was certainly inching close to them by exploring some of your previously unexplored kinks. The ones that you had told her upon discussion that you were willing to try, but were relatively certain that would only be tried once before being put on your dislike list.

Missy was correct earlier that the more you put off some of the kinks you had promised to try the more nervous you became about trying them. You couldn’t help but fear that she would try and make plans to throw you into the deeper parts of the kinks instead of easing you into them. You should have known that Missy would never do that to you if you thought that the kink was one that you wouldn’t like once you tried it out. Missy wasn’t kind by any stretch of the imagination, but she could be incredibly soft with you.

Still, you were hesitant as you let her lead you outside of the TARDIS. The ground was by no means comfortable for your hands and knees, but it was surprisingly not as painful as you had expected it to be. You stayed as close to Missy as you could manage without getting underfoot or tripping over the leash. Every sound of nature drew your cautious gaze. Was it really just an animal? Or would it be a person stumbling upon you in your current state? It seemed best to just hide behind Missy for protection. You felt safer hidden away from any potential eyes.

You almost hated yourself for the small thrill that potentially being caught brought you. Until you remembered Missy telling you to never have shame for enjoying yourself. You had done your best to take her words to heart. Besides, there should be no real risk of anyone stumbling upon you. Missy wouldn’t have brought you somewhere that could have other people. She didn’t like anyone seeing you in compromising situations without her approval first. Approval that was very difficult to obtain. You weren’t even sure that she would let her previous selves see you in compromising positions. A man had once walked in on you changing and Missy had killed him. You had still been almost fully dressed too. She was possessive like that.

She had mentioned a desire to fuck you in front of an audience once. Then she elaborated that all of the people who watched would of course be killed shortly afterward. They would be blessed to see you in the throes of passion before they expired. The idea had excited you when she described it but she had known that in practice it was not an idea you were ready to try. With how much you wanted to hide just out in the open like this she was correct that it would have to be a senario slowly worked towards.

“If you are going to be this shy I might as well have brought you to somewhere crowded- give you a real reason to be shy. All those eyes all focused on you and your adorable flushed face. I would have to kill so many people, but it might be worth it if all you’re going to do is cower from the very, scary leaves.”

You took Missy’s subtle threat to heart immediately. Deciding to rush forward into the pile of leaves nearby, it seemed as good a spot as any to fake kitten-like interest in the world. Before you could get more than a foot away from Missy you were strangled by the leash harshly yanking your collar back. Missy laughed at your betrayed expression.

“Oh, don’t be too cross, pet. You -literally- rushed into that all on your own,” you glared up at her, “Oh, alright. I may have talked you into that. Forgive me?”

Her voice dripped with faux remorse.

A loud rustle caused you to yelp and hide behind Missy. It was too loud to be an animal. It had to be a person. Your fears had been realized. Rapidly Missy moved in front of you, hiding you away from sight. A man larger than either of you stepped out of the woods. The moment you had mentally recognized that there was actually a person there the large man became a very small replica of his former self. Missy had shrunk him in an instant.

“It’s all alright, poppet. He didn’t even get a chance to see you were there,” you clung to Missy’s leg. “Shhh, you’re alright. Now, Mistress is going to ask you to do one more teensy tiny thing for her before she brings you back to the TARDIS to be rewarded for being a good kitten.”

You looked up at Missy, questioning her without words as to what she wanted you to do. The smile she gave you made you fear the answer.

“Be a good little kitty for Mistress and go and bring that man over here.”

You stared up at Missy silently begging her to not mean what you thought she meant.

“Yes, kitten. I do want you to bring that corpse over to me as if you were a proud kitten bringing her kill back to her Mistress.”

The leash being unhooked from your collar is what finally sold you on Missy being serious. She wanted you to bring a dead body back to her feet. Slowly you inched towards the man’s dead body. The closer you got to the miniaturized man the less and less afraid you were. Now that he was tiny his presence was a lot less threatening. Still, you couldn’t help but hesitate. Did you really want to carry a dead body over to Missy like this? I mean sure the two of you would occasionally play with her victims as if they were dolls- you never claimed you were an innocent person- but was this going too far?

“Kitten, if you are going to obey me you should get on with it already. You do want your reward, don’t you? Besided, who knows how many other people could be hiding in the forest.”

Biting the man’s clothes between your teeth you lifted his body off of the ground. You were really doing this. It felt like it took forever to crawl back to Missy’s side. Each foot felt like an eternity, the fabric of the man’s shirt beginning to feel as if it was slowly slipping out of your grasp. You looked briefly up at Missy before bowing your head to place the man’s body down at her feet. While bowed you pressed a slow kiss to Missy’s shoes. Standing with her feet in parallel touching each other granted you the opportunity to kiss both brown leather shoes at once. You hadn’t realized that they were the same leather as her gloves before now.

Missy’s words shook you out of your submissive haze, “Such a wonderful little kitten. Now let’s get you back to the TARDIS. We can take care of those nasty scratches on your knees and give you your reward for being so good for Mistress today.”

Re-leashing you Missy led you back towards the TARDIS doors to receive your reward and you eagerly followed her on your hands and knees. Missy’s rewards were worth doing anything for. Hours of praise, body worship and pleasure were in your future as your Mistress took good care of your body and mind’s needs. If this sort of play would earn you rewards maybe you should tease your boundaries more often! You could grow to love being an outdoor cat with enough pleasant persuasion after a session.

#missy x reader #the master x reader

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sweetmemories2606 · 4 years ago

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Fraxus Day 2020

Not even sure what this is, but inspiration was running wild today so I decided to give it a try. Given that this is only my second time writing Freed and Laxus as a couple, I ask that you please go easy on me.

Hope you enjoy the prompt nonetheless!

Title: Cold Day, Warm Heart

Summary: All Laxus had wanted was to be alone on this painful day until he spotted the most important person in his life at the cemetery and was reminded of how lucky he was to have Freed.

Warning: There is major angst in here as a major character dies.

Word count: 1.5 K

He just wanted to be alone. Not in the mood to talk or even fight. Just space. That's all he needed, but not everyone got the message. The Thunder Legion; well Freed and Ever; followed him to the guild even though he told them not to. They were worried, he could tell, but still they should respect his wishes.

"Can't you see I want to be alone now?" He finally snapped after constant concerned comments and attempts to get him to share.

Silence. They stared at him in shock, but soon that was replaced by understanding. Letting out long sighs, they finally stepped away and let him be; after reminding him that they were only a call away if needed. He was grateful, really, but wouldn't tell them now.

After a quick meal and drink, he returned home only to grab the bouquet of white orchids which he had purchased the day before. They reminded him of his grandfather, but Laxus tried not to think about Makarov, as he made his way towards the cemetery. So much pain and grief; it was always overwhelming.

Arriving at the huge gates and let out a long sigh, closing his eyes and letting the cool breeze envelop him. It was a cold morning which perfectly symbolised the coldness and harshness of this date. It was strange how every year it was the same and even though the rational side of him knew it was due to the winter season, unconsciously he wondered if the weather was like this because his grandfather was gone.

Makarov had been such a warm presence in all of the lives of his loved ones. Always bright and cheerful; truly the best grandfather Laxus could have asked for. Someone who had always been there for him and helped him become a better person.

He was gone now, though, and the warmth left with him.

Laxus didn't want to think about that anymore. It was depressing enough to be standing in front of the cemetery on this freezing day. Thus he took in a deep breath, trying to recompose himself even as the lump in his throat tightened and his eyes watered.

Step by step, he started making his way towards the grave. Per Makarov's wish, he had been buried alongside his beloved wife whom Laxus had never met and the mother he barely remembered. Laxus didn't expect that anyone would be there because even though Makarov had certainly been beloved as a guild master and grandfather to many young members, everyone knew that Laxus wished to pay his respects in private and therefore they only visited the grave after the dragon slayer had done so.

Expecting to be alone, Laxus was deeply surprised when he heard voices upon reaching the grave. Familiar voices too. Normally this would annoy him, but somehow his heart warmed at the thought of who was there.

He rushed, eager to reach his destination, and continued to listen to the sounds.

"So, why was his name Makarov?" A child asked.

"Well, that is because of Master Mavis. Do you remember I told you about her?" A man answered. Even though Laxus couldn't see him yet, he could picture him exactly. That long, wavy green way hair and eyes like emeralds. The adoring look and soft smile which were usually on his face whenever he glanced at his husband.

Laxus couldn't deny how grateful he was to have someone like Freed in his life. The love and care he had given him over the years that they had been together were incomparable. Irreplaceable too.

Freed had always been by his side and had waited so long for him. The dragon slayer knew that no matter what he did, he could never repay his husband for all the years of uncertainty and heartache. All he could do was try to make him as happy as he felt.

He was close enough to see Freed now. His husband stood in front of the grave, holding in his arms a beautiful little girl of 5 years old. She had bright blue eyes like and spiky blonde hair; a perfect mix of her parents. Her name was Nova, after Laxus' long deceased mother.

It always made him proud and incredulous when he remembered that she was his daughter. Someone he hadn't expected to ever meet nor love so much. He remembered clearly a time when he would have disregarded that this could be his future, but now he couldn't be happier with the direction his life had taken.

This was the path he had chosen and the one that made him happy. Because he was happy; perhaps more than he had ever thought possible.

"Yes, daddy, I remember." Nova's sweet voice broke him out of his thoughts. Watching as Freed smiled before booping her nose, Laxus thought once again about how lucky he was to have such a wonderful family.

"Good, so you remember that she was the guild's first master, right?" Freed asked the five year old who nodded.

"Yep yep." She was adorable. Everyone who met her said so and Laxus agreed with them. Though he had to admit he was not the biggest fan of children, his daughter was simply...amazing.

Wondering about Nova led him to think about her mother and how grateful he was to her too. Mirajane had always been kinder to him than he ever deserved and when she had volunteered as the surrogate, he had decided it was time to treat her with the same kindness.

She had also been a good influence which helped him change for the better and become the man that Freed deserved. Over the years, Laxus and Mirajane had grown closer and become close friends which was also unexpected but still a pleasant surprise. Nowadays he might even say she had become his romance coach since she was the one he turned to when dealing with romantic issues.

Laxus also enjoyed co-parenting with her even though sometimes that could be confusing. There were some hard times when Nova wondered why her biological parents weren't together which led to some difficult conversations, but overall parenting was a successful experience for all parties involved.

More importantly, everyone had found a way to be happy. Mirajane, though not having found the right partner yet, was content being an aunt to her nephew and niece as well as a mother to Nova. Her life felt complete; she always reiterated; and Laxus chose to believe that.

His life felt complete too, with the most faithful partner and beautiful family. The only way it could be better was if his grandfather was still there, but there was nothing he could do about that.

"Laxus..." Hearing his name, the dragon slayer realised that he had unconsciously kept walking and was now only a few meters away from the grave.

"Hey." He sniffled, still trying to contain the tears. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"I know." Immediately, Freed's expression sombered and he offered an apologising look. "I'm sorry for intruding, but Nova really wanted to pay a visit to her great grandpa."

Laxus glanced at his daughter, who excitedly called him. "Hi, papa! I missed you."

"I missed you too, darling." He offered her a soft smile before turning back to his husband. "And I'm glad you're here."

"You are?" Freed seemed genuinely surprised.

"Yeah." Laxus embraced them both; enjoying the feel of the two most important people of his life in his arms. Pulling away a few minutes later, he genuinely told his husband. "I feel like I should apologise for shutting you out on this date every year."

"It's okay, I understand." Ever forgiving, Freed didn't accept it.

"No, it's not." Laxus shook his head. "You and Nova are the two most important people in my life. I should be comfortable sharing every moment with you, even the darkest ones."

"Laxus, you don't have to. I know why you don't feel that way." Freed insisted, taking his husband's hand and squeezing it. "You always want to be strong for us, but everyone needs to break down once in a while."

Looking into his emerald eyes and noticing all the love and empathy there, Laxus couldn't contain his emotions anymore. Taking both by surprise, he broke down in tears, prompting Freed to carefully lower Nova to the floor before hugging him tightly. The little girl was silent, understanding they needed a moment.

Just like that, this day didn't feel so painful anymore and the coldness around them faded in comparison with the warmth in Laxus' heart. Being with his family, with the partner who loved and supported him through it all, helped ease the darkness and lighten the weight of losing his grandfather.

For once in a long time, Laxus chose to let himself be vulnerable and appreciated the feeling of being loved and protected. Admit his tears and sobs, he managed to let out two simple words but which carried so much meaning. "Thank you."

#fanfic #fraxus #fraxus day #fairy tail #ship #lgbtq #underrated #laxus dreyar #freed justine #makarov dreyar #Evergreen #bixlow #mirajane strauss #thunder legion #nova dreyar

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disruptedvice · 7 years ago

Text

June bug

GOTG fic Peter x Gamora Summary: In which Peter Quill is from the south, and this shows when he has a four year old of his own. Or: his daughter asks why her daddy calls her June Bug sometimes.

“He-ey, little June bug!” Peter smiles, swooping up his daughter in his arms and tickling her to pieces.

“Daddy! Daddy!” She protests, smile so wide it’s threatening to split open her face. “Stop! No more tickle monster!” She shrieks, laughing as much as a four year old can, still squirming to get out of his path, and trying to tickle him back.

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June Bug

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“He-ey, little June bug!” Peter smiles, swooping up his daughter in his arms and tickling her to pieces.

Elspeth squeals with pitches of laughter, squirming as she tries to stop the tickle monster, but her green little fingers and adorable dimpled cheeks are no match for an experienced tickler. Small, grubby little hands snatch at his own, but he’s too fast, tickling her up and down into a fit of giggles.

“Aw, but I have to get in my tickle monster quota for the day!” He pouts, his fingers stopping their nimble assault on her rolly polly sides.

She gives him a stern, no nonsense look, that she definitely picked up from her momma.

“Fine, fine,” he pretends to huff. “I surrender. June bug: one. Tickle monster: zero.”

She smiles them, looking so proud at beating him, with a look that she definitely learned from him.

“Why do you call me June bug?” Elspeth asks suddenly, eyes wide and brimming with curiosity. She knows where a lot of her nicknames come from. Els comes from Elspeth. Baby comes from when she used to be a baby (she’s a big girl now, but daddy calls her baby sometimes, but she doesn’t mind- daddy calls momma baby too, and momma’s the biggest girl she knows).

She gets called kid and kiddo a lot too (sometimes when momma leaves ship, she tells someone ‘make sure those two kids don’t get into any trouble’ pointing at daddy and her, but momma’s smiling all teasin’ like when she does it). When she asks uncle Rocket why he calls her pip-squeak, he says it’s because she calls him uncle Ro-Ro.

And while people other than daddy call her baby and sweetie and sweetheart (mostly momma), daddy’s the only one who calls her June bug. She doesn’t know why. He never calls anyone else June bug either. The only thing she’s ever heard of being June bug is her.

Peter has to think for a second. He’s always called her June bug. He never, like, intentionally started calling her that, or giving her that nickname- it just came out naturally, on its own. He’s always called her June bug.

“That’s what my mom called me,” he answers, realizing his mom had a lot of affectionate nicknames for him. Of course there was Starlord, that one was the most special and dear to his heart. The most common one too, in happy and serious moments, smiling or sad, but always loving. She tucked him in and kissed him goodnight after a bedtime story with Starlord. She danced with him to the songs on the radio as Starlord too.

But he distinctly remembers his mom saying ‘come here my little June bug’, and coming at him as the tickle monster, sweeping him up in her arms just as he’d done to his own daughter.

“Why did she call you June bug?” Is Elspeth’s immediate and quite frankly predictable question (he should’ve seen it coming). “What’sa June bug?”

She knew a bug was a thing. Maybe June bug was a thing too.

“Well, it’s a bug from earth. Where your papa’s from,” he explains, knowing she’s at least familiar with the concept of bugs. Lotsa planets had their own variety of insects, as if Drax hadn’t affectionately called Mantis bug lady enough over the years. “They were about this big,” he holds up the approximate size of the inch long insect between his thumb and forefinger. “And they flew around like crazy. Used to hear them bumping into the screen door at night whenever we left the back door open cause it was so hot out. They’d just go ‘thunk’ ‘thunk’ ‘thunk’ right into the door,” he told her, mining out the bugs flying right into it again and again. “They only came out in the summer. June is one of the summer months where I’m from. So June bugs were the things flying around everywhere on summer nights.”

“Why’d she call you June bug, though? Cause you fly around everywhere too? Did’ja run into doors a lot?”

Peter laughs, choosing to focus on the innocence in his daughter’s question, not on the fact that his mom had no idea that he’d ever fly around like this one day. “No, she called me June bug cause my birthday’s in June.”

“You have a birthday?!” The little girl gasps. “How come you never told me?!” She sounds so aghast, maybe even offended. It was true, though. Elspeth’s birthday was the only one they celebrated on the ship. Half the team didn’t even know when they were born.

Everyone on the team either didn’t know when they were born, and never celebrated birthdays, or if they ever had, they hadn’t celebrated their birthday in decades.

Hell, Peter didn’t even know when June was according to the galactic system. He wasn’t even sure he could remember what day he was born on, according to earth time. He hadn’t celebrated his birthday since he was eight years old. To be honest, a lot of the traditions they used to celebrate her birthday came from Drax’s homeworld. Peter remembered gifts and cake from his own childhood birthdays. Much of what Elspeth knew of birthday celebrations came from the surprisingly child friendly traditions from Drax’s home planet.

When Elspeth starts squirming out of his arms and pushing on his chest with rather determined grunting, he sets her down on the floor before she starts kicking and scrambling to get out of him holding her up high in the air.

The moment her feet hit the ground, she races off to the other room.

“Mommy! Mommy!” She yells, running into the kitchen.

Peter pops his head in behind her, seeing Elspeth has already made it to where her mother is sitting comfortably at the kitchen table. She has her hands on Gamora’s knees, bouncing up and down on her toes, while Gamora waits to receive the news her daughter was excited to tell her about/shouting at her for while Peter steps into the kitchen.

“Daddy has a secret birthday!” She shouts, all scandalized in that bright eyes and childish way.

“He does?” Gamora asks, smiling, humoring her daughter, and giving Peter a look at the same time, not quite sure what’s going on.

“Yeah! He has a birthday too! And I was named after his birthday!”

Gamora gives Peter another look, this one much less amused- they both knew that Elspeth was named after Gamora’s mother. Peter looks wide eyed at their daughter’s claim.

“No, I did not say that,” he corrects hastily, very alarmed by his wife’s expression.

“Nickname, sweetheart, nickname,” he reminds Elspeth, coming closer to ruffle her hair. Then, whispering over her head, he clarifies “She asked where the nickname June bug came from.”

Gamora’s eyes flash in understanding.

“Yup. Daddy was born on June, Momma. I’m nicknamed after his birthday,” she asserts proudly.

Gamora looks up to Peter for confirmation to see if Elspeth had a correct understanding, and Peter vehemently shook his head.

“Well, sounds like an interesting story,” Gamora says, effortlessly lifting their daughter in her arms and seating her in her lap.

And then his two girls both look up to him with puppy dog eyes for a retelling of the origin story of June Bug.

Peter sighs. “You weren’t ‘nicknamed’ after my birthday. You were nicknamed after me. It used to be my nickname. I only call you June bug cause I used to be called June bug. And my mom called me June bug because I was born in June.”

“Is tacking bug onto words a Terran form of endearment I’m unaware of? Your mother called you an insect as an expression of affection?” Gamora asks, genuinely curious. Just when she thought she got a hang of Peter’s human-isms (‘honey’ he assured her was something sweet, and as such a perfect thing to call someone you loved) he threw in another curve ball. To be honest, she never really thought of asking where the nickname June bug came from. It was already normal by then. She just wrote it off as some nonsense thing she still didn’t quite understand, like why he called their daughter ‘sweetie’ AND ‘sweet pea’ even though they seemed nearly identical, and she still didn’t understand the difference and why he used one and not the other sometimes. Among his list of colorful terms of endearment for their daughter are ‘sunshine’, ‘grumpy pants’, ‘cutie patootie’, ‘little miss grumpy pants’, and the normal ones that Gamora uses like ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’.

He has so many nicknames for Elspeth, she doesn’t know how even he keeps track of them. She finds them all rather adorable.

But she’s never thought to ask about June bug specifically. She didn’t know that it used to belong to him. She didn’t know that his mother called him June bug. She didn’t know that nickname was from Meredith.

Now that she’s heard, though, she’s wondering if bug is an affectionate word like ‘baby’ or ‘honey’.

“No, no. June bug is a type of bug. It’s a species. That was really common where I grew up. They were called that cause they came out in June. So did I. And that’s where I got the nickname June bug. You got it from me,” he says, bending down on his haunches so he’s eye level with Elspeth, and boops her on the nose.

Gamora nods in understanding, thinking she might still have some more questions, but she’ll ask him later tonight, when they’re alone. She has enough of the story for now. She can’t help but be filled with warmth whenever she learns something new about Peter, even after all this time.

“See, I told you he had a birthday,” Elspeth says to her mother.

“Most people do, darling,” she responds with a chuckle.

Her daughter looks up at her in surprise. “Do you have a birthday?” She asks, eyes wide.

“Yes. Myself included. Most people do have birthdays, or a hatching day of some sort. Drax, Rocket, and Mantis have birthdays too. We all do.”

Somehow, her daughter looks even more scandalized by the news, like it was some big secret they were keeping from her- and oh, now she’s pouting.

“Why did nobody tell me?!” She whines. “Why is everybody hiding birthdays?”

“Nobody was hiding birthdays, Els. We just don’t celebrate them, that’s all.”

“Why don’t you celebrate birthdays?” She asks, looking between her two parents.

Peter and Gamora share a frantic look with each other for a second, trying to silently come up with a collaborative story, because the real answer was much more complicated than could be explained.

“We did, but when we were younger. Now… we’re grownups?” Is the offered excuse. For why none of the team celebrates birthdays.

“I don’t wanna grow up! I wanna keep having birthdays!” The four year old exclaims, looking like she’s about to cry. And now both her parents are really panicking.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Gamora says comfortingly at the same time Peter says “You don’t have to.”

“Why’d you stop having birthdays if you didn’t have to? Why am I the only one who gets a birthday? That’s not fair. Why don’t you guys get to have a birthday? Why do I have a birthday now, and you guys don’t? Why do I get a birthday?” Elspeth asks, partly out of concern for her parents, and partly because she’s afraid her birthday might get taken away.

“We all chose to stop having birthdays before we met, dear,” Gamora tells her, lovingly tucking the locks of dark hair behind her ear. “Before your dad and I, uncle Drax and Rocket, and aunt Mantis all met each other. But when you were born, you gave us a reason to celebrate.”

She seems appeased by this answer.

“Mhmm. Now we all get to celebrate your birthday with you. Thanks for that, baby,” Peter says, kissing her on top of the head.

“You’re welcome,” Elspeth replies, already back to smiling.

And, because he couldn't help himself, Peter asks his daughter with a grin “You know who else likes birthdays?”

“Who?”

“The tickle monster!”

“No! Mommy, mommy! Help me!” Elspeth shrieks, already laughing and trying to get up and away onto Gamora’s shoulders before her father gets at her sides.

“Don't worry, I’ll protect you,” she promises, wrapping her daughter up in the biggest bear hug possible, using her arms and curling around her to block any impending tickle attacks.

'love you,’ Peter mouths to her as she bundles their daughter up in her arms.

'love you too’ she mouths back.

#gotg fic #starmora fic #starmora #gamora x peter quill #gotg fanfic #fluff #family #kidfic #one shot #gamora #starlord #Guardians of the Galaxy #my GOTG fics #my fic

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fmdxjerome · 7 years ago

Note

👫

Taken from film;; ft. Julien Shin

strap yourself in. it’s a full length feature film.

The first time Jerome heard of Julien was during the promotions of heavens door and boy did he hate it. It was way too romantic for his time period, way too sappy and teeth breakingly sweet that his nose scrunched up in response to it. To be fair he did experience his biggest heart break yet just two years ago so he wasn’t in the greatest mood to put on the love tunes. Now he plays heavens door sometimes, or any song pf Julien, singing along with the lyrics as he curls his arms around his waist or shoulders. He says its just to pester him but he might as well have grown fond of the songs. ( tell 2013 jerome that he’s gonna end up listening to songs of, and, falling in love with dream boyfriend over there and he’d snort. remind 2017 jerome he used to hate juliens music and watch him get all flustered about it because “no i’m 100% julien stan don’t argue w me buy good for you on itunes” but more so because it shows how much his mood changed ever since he met julien and that’s a confrontation he likes to keep in the back of his mind. ) Also on the topic of pestering he’ll just be in front of his laptop sometimes and start his sentence with “Didn’t you have a youtube channel?” before letting a smirk curl on his lips as he types away. ( but that can backfire so badly. oh julien i urge you not to find jeromes old youtube channel to get him back he was honey blonde at some point it’s not ok )

If there is one thing that has this immense sense of priority in Jerome’s life, it’s Julien, even in situations he really shouldn’t. It started in the little things like picking up the phone at inappropriate (*cough*) times or forgetting the clock when they’d hang out. But later on when he felt that first tinge of love he started picking up on old habits maximized ten fold. Someone who can vouch for that is none other than Jerome’s longest friend, Frederic, when he got to experience bits of old Jerome as they skyped together. They were talking about life but the songwriter kept letting his eyes swerve to the phone placed neatly on his desk every time a ping! was heard. It was Julien, texting him about something that was important enough to occupy half his attention. Whilst it annoyed the older at first to see the younger one grab at his phone so hastily with every infuriating bell noise, it stopped being a negative when he noticed the subtle changes in Jerome’s expression after every passing text. The simple yet genuine smiles, the way his eyebrow arched, the delighted look and not to mention the little sighs that betray way too much. Where did Yuddy go? “Wait. I can’t explain using text, I’m calling you okay?” Julien had written and Jerome absentmindedly responded with a “sure” as he listened to his best friend talking. It wasn’t until he heard the sound of some smooth r&b song escaping the tiny speakers of his phone that his eyes widened a little, comically so that left Freddy laughing a little bit as he told him to pick up. ( to quote: “Answer it. You’ve been texting this whole conversation. To leave them waiting now would be a bit cruel huh? I don’t mind.”) They talked for maybe ten minutes, ( starting with a “Hey. uh. I can’t talk that long, I’m actually skyping with my friend from France right now”..“Jerome! You told me it was okay to call you. I can call you back later.”..“No no it’s fine! It is okay. No need to do that. He said he doesn’t mind, nést-ce pas, Freddy?”..“Huh? Oh, oui oui. Parler, parler.”..��You see, he says it’s fine! Parler means talk. Or speak. So..? What’s up?” ) and the whole time Jerome was smiling as Freddy just shoveled his lunch in his mouth whilst glancing over to him in curiousity. It’s reminiscent how he was in a relationship, the way he acted or acts, and Freddy seemed to notice. ( having spend time with jerome being head over heels he notices signs.) Jerome rarely seems to notice himself though because it’s not something he pays attention to in the moment, only later when he realizes it he freaks out. (“Aren’t you smiley when talking to that person. Who was it?” The elder one started when Jerome placed the phone away for the time being. “Hm? Oh. A friend. A close friend” He didn’t think naming a name would be helpful seeing as Freddy wouldn’t know the singer anyway. But he did feel inclined to specify he’s a ‘close friend’. “Mhm.. an uninvited one?” A joke, rooted in suspicion that left Jerome choking on his own spit. Did he hear that correctly? “W-what?” He asked, stunned. “What?” The other repeated with nothing else to add but a knowing look before taking a sip of his drink.)

They went to a jjimjilbang together once. It was during the colder days of the year, stress consuming the both of them and with this small opening between two of their schedules, they went for it. The time there was nice; falling asleep together in the resting area, sharing and slurping down various food items, exchanging conversation. Jerome even spilled out a simple “God, you look cute.” when Julien placed a sheeptowel on his head and sat there with hands folded in his lap. ( which he denied saying through their whole time there even if the words left him clear as day. in his defense, the singer DID look a+ adorable ) There was something that still haunts him though and that was when they were in the sauna together. An old man who was a bit too chatty had already waddled out of room, leaving the two of them to soak up the heat alone and to have something transpire between them. Julien had placed his head upon his shoulder which in part had made Jerome complain in a breathy tone that it was way too hot for that. ( to quote “You know, in any other situation I would love to have you sweating this close to me but not here. It’s like 400 degrees, Julien.” ) but Julien didn’t budge, even curled against his shoulder further making a sigh escape the Frenchmans frame, accepting there’s no fighting it. Sweat slid down his nose, down his neck, pooling in the dip between his neck and his collarbones as he sighed, his head leaning against the wall. He felt his shirt stick to abdomen and even though the heat was almost unbearable, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. “Ah, feel lucky you’re special.” He had started, voice barely above a whisper when he did. “If you were anyone else I’d push you off of me already.” The feeling of a shift on his shoulder and the sound of an exhale that sounded amused prompted him to let his lips be painted by a smirk as he turned his head towards the other, damp bangs like blinds obscuring his vision as he peered down at him. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to look at the American then, looking so captivating with cheeks all dusted in a soft vibrant pink, dark locks sticking to his forehead partly covering the thick bushy eyebrows that resided just above the stars of his visage; his pretty brown eyes, the same ones that were looking back at him now. He felt the smirk that had been nestled so nicely on his lips slowly fall as the breath he took in got caught in his throat, and perhaps it was due to the high degrees scrambling his normally logical brain but after letting his gaze flicker over his face for moments, he did something that looked like leaning in, gradually inching down and down nearing lips like he had a destination, like he finally was going to do the thing he thought about a bit too much. And their noses brush together, just lightly until boop! Jerome changed his angle to nudge his forehead against Juliens when he heard the door of the sauna open and more importantly he snapped out of it. Was the intention to kiss him then? With a seemingly playful smile decorating his lips and his attention being taken by the few middle aged women shuffling inside, that question was left without an answer. “Let’s get Sikhye.” He said after greeting the ladies respectfully, the words leaving him more as a statement rather than a suggestion, dragging Julien out of the heat moments later. When sipping on the cold beverage, Jerome acted like nothing had happened, that it was intended he bumped their foreheads together and that it would have happened even if the women didn’t enter the sauna then. Yet something changed, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of the singer. Only when their eyes would meet did his drink suddenly feel much more interesting. ( what. is. this. )

Remember the phone call that had been left unanswered? It was the thing that prompted him to write 불청객 which is the first raw single he has ever put out to the world but it isn’t the first he had written. Ever since the time Julien sparked up something inside of him with that simple observation showing care and attentiveness, Jerome has written a handful of songs that would never see the light of day. They differ in emotions. Some are sad. Others are lovely. Different situations resulting in different things. One he started writing after the filming of we got married, when the lines felt a little blurred. The starts of it now lays forgotten in the pages of his personal notebook, having stopped writing when he noticed his mind was slipping into dangerous territories. He doesn’t know when he’ll ever finish it, all he knows is that it would just take a little push. He has a title though, scribbled neatly in cursive at the top of the thin paper in black ink; Jasmine. ( for symbolic reasons )

Little Miso headcanons because.. Miso? Whenever he has to take care of her he just ends up spoiling her rotten because she’s this little ball and just like to Julien, he has a hard time say no to her. He falls asleep on couches with her and Edith curled against him after facetiming Julien and showing him his little baby is fine and that’s she has eaten well. During one of those facetime sessions Miso suddenly tapped Jerome’s nose with her paw and he had a very hard time to keep his composure to not show the weakness he felt with the other watching him through the phone. ( his cheeks did dust a light rose as his expression softened, cute things like that turning the intimidating looking male into nothing but a puddle of heart clenching warmth. ) Also, to add to the spoiling. play dates. they happen and Jerome stands in the kitchen for these cats. (”They have canned food, Jerome.”..“I don’t care I bought extra fish leave me.” [x] [x])

( BONUS! birthday headcanons ft filmmaker, chef, and boyfriend jerome. ) *because i missed november 1st and this softness needs to escape my mind somehow.

Aesthetics is something he likes when it comes to his instagram and a post for Juliens birthday isn’t anything different. Instead of the regular “Happy birthday” he uploaded a video of a mere 30 seconds or so with the caption ‘rosy days’ to the social media platform. The video consisted of a stationary shot of the pink skies that fall upon the early hours of Seoul, sunrise tinting the heavens that way. ( of course rosy days hint to Jerome’s nickname for Julien which is ‘rosy ears’ and how he has compared the reddening of his ears to the pink tinted sky that would cloak the city during daybreak.) Above silent static and soft purring you could hear Jerome singing, humming, voice a tad rough from probably just waking up and distant due to his proximity of the phone. Edith is seen in the frame, curled in satin sheets with just parts of her ears splitting the skies in an interesting way and leaving the small film even more delicate in nature. Fans are used to his pretty posts, but this one seems just that tad more beautiful. And oh? What song is he singing, you ask? ♡ A favourite.

He ends up late in the evening at Juliens apartment, prefacing his visit by telling him to keep his evening open and not have dinner. He has a bottle of chardonnay with him (“straight from the grapevines de france.” he tells him, accent in full force as he named his homeland. “bought only for special occasions.”) and a bag slung over his shoulder. There is also a smile on his lips, gentle and small as he wishes the other happy birthday for the second time this day. (midnight was the first.) He stumbles to the kitchen moments after entering and without asking starts unloading ingredients into his fridge from where they previously resided in his bag before rummaging through the cabinets to find a skillet. (”you have wine glasses, right? grab them.”) He’s comfortable in Juliens home as a chef, having cooked for him multiple times already whether here or back in his own home. He starts cooking when he’s done readying up. (”sit with miso and be pretty. it’s your birthday, people need to treat you. i need to treat you.”) Haute cuisine. It’s something with salmon and lemons and the many herbs that engulf Juliens apartment after the first fifteen minutes of Jerome busying himself in the kitchen. (”delicious huh? i learned it from my grandfather when i was, what, sixteen?” he whisks up a sauce with such care as he speaks. “i can’t believe i still remember. especially since he made it so rarely. only made on specific dates. important dates. seeing it was my grandmothers favourite.” with words speaking volumes. he just smiles.) They eat after he spends a bit too much time plating the dish and he disappears back into the kitchen when plates turn empty. (”dessert’s even better. i hope you still have room.”) For dessert it’s poached pears in a sweetened sauce with some kind of baked good he spent the early hours of October 31st making, something warm to lead into the winter months he knows Julien dreads so much. (”i have one more thing after this.” he says, glancing at his bag propped up against a wall. “but that’ll come later.”) Later exists when they’re slouched on the couch together, hours having ticked by after the eating and the talking and the enjoying of ones company. Jerome takes a hold of Juliens wrist and fumbles to clasp a bracelet to it after returning from digging into his bag. The bracelet, minimalist in design contrasts with something he would wear himself but the colour is something he likes; a deep brown reminding of a forest that suits nicely against the undertones of Juliens skin. (”i know you don’t wear that much jewelry but.. i saw this and i wanted to buy it for you.”) He doesn’t clarify when he bought it, how long or how short he’s been holding on to it, he just smiles, concentrating on straightening the accessory on his wrist which might be an excuse to hold his hand a bit longer. (”you don’t have to wear it always, i won’t be upset. promise.” the first smirk of the night appears on his face, lightly decorating his lips. “just know it looks handsome on you.”)With his arm draped behind the other as the hour turns late, he starts to serenade the birthday boy in his own native language, voice quiet, just above a murmur but not without the celebrating tinge that comes with it. (”bonne fête à toi. bonne fête à toi. bonne fête-” his nose nudged the dark locks of the male leaned against his chest, gentle in his actions and in his tone of voice. “-mon julien.” a sigh escaped his frame whilst his fingers slid down his arm, cheek pressing against his hair as his eyes closed shut, whispering the last few syllables just for him. “bonne fête à toi.”) Something incoherent leaves his lips then, just after he finished the birthday melody specially sung for the male that had his heart. It was supposed to be a sentence, mumbled softly from the depths of his mind but his brain wasn’t sending the same signals to his mouth as it was sending to his vocal cords. And maybe it was his lack of sleep that was to blame, or maybe the a part of his consciousness was protecting him, whatever it was, the only things that he produces from his throat are some muddled noises that sounded barely like a sentence, his arms tightened around the other in a comfortable embrace as the words floated encrypted through the air;“I love you.”

♡

#Pris du film. { Headcanons }#Development. { Jerome; Julien }#ooc. { i felt shitty. i couldn't sleep. this happened. and now it's very early. hello. }#{ i don't know what this is. jerome's love volume III }#{ also late edit but i believe bonne fête à toi is the french canadian version? but it's the one i know so jerome sings it }

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black-strike-otp · 7 years ago

Text

part 81

Bleep :q Tis uninteresting chap I’m sorry. Things will pick up again~ Give it time.

~ Days Later ~

“What’s the rush this morning?” Novastrike yawned, watching as Blackout stole data from the console his servo and injected the finalized data into his personal datapad. “And what are you doing?”

“If I retrieve the documents via my processor and send it to my datapad, I can bypass security and hopefully leave less of a trail for Soundwave to follow,” he clarified. “Aside from that, if I tried taking the files straight from my datapad, it would register under the Decepticon database and be much easier to hack.”

Snapping her audios in an alert position, the small femme glanced over Blackout’s backside turned towards her. Her tail moved in nervous kinks a few times before coming to a pause as she vented. Looking over to where Scorponok was huddled up with his optics half-open on the floor briefly, she brought her gaze slowly back to Blackout.

“You don’t sound like you trust your old comrades anymore,” she murmured with remorse.

The scrapping of Blackout shifting on his pedes grated on Nova’s ears. She flinched back slightly whilst dialing back her reception a few degrees.

“Soundwave and I were never close. He only serves Lor- Megatron.”

“I’m sorry if it bothers you to do this. You... you know you don’t have to leave. We don’t have to leave.”

Blackout was clearly caught short by the statement. He turned his helm slightly and nearly moved to look at her better before the connections in his arm tugged taunt from the computer screen. Rumbling in his chassis, he turned back to the screen whilst his digits curled tighter around the datapad in his own servo.

“Why would you think I want to stay?” he inquired softly.

“Because you were a Decepticon,” she speculated while twiddling her digits together anxiously. “You already lost a chance to return to them back on Epads.”

Patiently, Blackout responded: “Every time I’ve said that I didn’t regret that, I meant that.”

“You don’t feel any differently now, being around them? Not even a little.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know, different?” Nova offered uncertainly.

He was quiet. It made her nerves feel more frazzled. But after nearly a minute of his silence, he tugged the connectors from his servo free of the digital screen as the compressed data had been screened. Blackout slowly turned to look over at her, the thin lines from his other servo still hooked into his datapad as he finished the transfer.

“I definitely less valued than I did years ago,” he chided. “Megatron has lost respect for me, but the majority of the crew still fears me.”

Sighing, the small femme looked down at her nervously fiddling digits. “I just don’t want you to regret having an honest, genuine second opportunity to rejoin because of... me.”

“I make my own decisions,” Blackout reminded her lightly with a tender smile. “I don’t need to be here to prove to myself I’m worth something. I don’t need to take the verbal and physical beatings and mundane schedules anymore to impress any bot. I’ve got promises to keep that mean far more to me, and a dream to follow.”

Intrigued, Novastrike raised an optic ridge as she wondered aloud, “What dream?”

“Why, just making the most precious, most beautiful femme I’ve ever seen made of moonlight and glittering stars in her optics the happiest bot who ever existed, of course,” Blackout replied with a flash of a proud grin.

Ears flooding with light, she scowled at him while trying to repress her own smile as she hissed, “Trying to flirt and impress me, you stupid aft.”

“Did it work?”

“Well yeah it worked you thick-helmed giant, now get your fine as frag aft over here.”

Chuckling in the depths of his chassis, Blackout took a few very short steps forward as he hesitated, playfully teasing, “I don’t know, your words seem rather aggressive, how do I know you’re not going to try hitting me?~”

Growling quietly, she made a come here motion with one of her digits as she smiled. “Aggressive, huh? I come off as dangerous to you? Or is it just the swears?”

“Oh no, definitely hazardous,” he agreed swiftly, snickering as he inched closer. “A perilous risk to my spark. Can’t you hear the sound of my spark?”

“You soft-sparked jerk, quit teasing me.”

“I’d say by the smile on your face that you like me teasing you.”

A burst of laughter escaped Novastrike, clutching at her chassis with one servo. She gestured with her other servo wildly, watching as the play of light in Blackout’s optics seemed to grow more distinct in its hues of luminous red.

Shifting a little closer, Blackout turned his optics down to the datapad in his servo as he finished completing the transfer. The cables snapped free as he moved his personal pad to the other servo and flexed his digits, inspecting his arm.

“Are you just going to stand there and leave me hanging, Blackout?” Nova pouted.

“Why not? It makes you want me more,” he taunted with a sweet smile.

“Oh really?” she hummed, placing her servo to her hip. “Maybe I should just go find a different bot on the ship who’ll appreciate my presence and conversation then.”

Quick on his pedes, the obsidian mech advanced the rest of the way, one servo placing the datapad on the berth and sliding it away from the edge.

Nova shivered a little as he loomed over her.

“Mmmm, you don’t think I value and admire you enough? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Well at the moment you’re being awfully mean,” she sulked while slowly batting her optics.

A deep bass rumble pressurized out of Blackout. It was meant to sound threatening; intimidating his enemies but she grinned wide as she caught his smile. A purr radiated through her chassis as she pushed herself to stand up and lean against his chassis. Her face nuzzled into his armor that held a residual heat from earlier.

Massaging slow circles against his plating, she pressed a kiss against the ink black armor. The slightest shiver moved through him; rendered powerless by the simple gesture.

Pressed so close against him, she could understand why he had teased her about giving him spark failure. Her audios could hear the sporadic beating; a rhythm to a beat strong and fierce that quickened and escalated with the pressure of her digits upon his frame.

Growling quietly, Blackout placed his servo against her backstrut, urging her a bit closer to his frame. One of his digits moved to trail along her spine. As she trembled, a sigh moving past her parted lips, he made the quietest laugh in his throat.

“I love you very much, Novastrike,” he stated softly; voice lacking any dark infliction or harshness. “And I do respect you; I adore you totally.”

Laughing breathlessly, Nova rested her forehead against his armor. “I know you do, you dork, I was only kidding around. I love you too.”

“And I can’t hear it enough,” he admitted quietly.

“I’ll be happy to tell you every day, and any time you want me to.”

“Reassuring me that I’m worthy of having a moon goddess in my life? You’re very generous, dear.”

Novastrike snorted quietly, patting his armor. “Handsome devil.”

Snickering quietly, Blackout shifted slightly as Scorponok chirped, scaling up his armor to dock in his backside. His servo moved up and down her back lightly while giving a quiet hum.

“We better go speak with Nighthawk and see how he’s doing,” he said quietly. “See if he’s capable of moving out of the med-bay today upon clearance from Infiltrator.”

“And Knock Out,” Nova added on, her voice muffled against his armor.

Her frame tensed slightly and then relaxed as she leaned her helm back as far as it could, giving him an accusatory glance.

“I know the difference between when you’re giving a loving caress, and when you’re coping a feel you dirty mech,” she hissed, swatting at his arm lightly as she grinned.

Shrugging, Blackout gave a cheeky smile in response.

“Feelin’ my aft and thighs,” she grumbled lightly, gently pushing at his armor. “I’m gonna feel you up later, sounds like a fair trade to me.”

“You’ll have to get me to sit still first.”

Squeaking, Novastrike slid forward as Blackout began to take a step back. She teetered, trying to save herself from falling. Before she could even lose her balance too much, Blackout scooped his servo around her bottom so she was forced to sit as he lifted her against his chassis.

Huffing, she glared daggers up at he beloved. “I don’t need you to sit still. You’ll be coming to me~”

“Oooh, is that so?” he chuckled, raising up his servo to his shoulder.

“Yeah you will,” she growled, a flicker of confusion on her faceplate. “Your shoulder? I thought you said we were going to see Nighthawk.”

“Yes. Do you not want a ride?”

“I mean, aren’t we supposed to be cautious about all this...?”

“We’ve been here enough days now that not all bots are going to be looking at us anymore like we’ve got three helms,” Blackout testified. “The Eradicon and Vehicon anyway seem to be fond of you. I don’t think they’ll be bothered to say anything or spread rumors.”

Offering a thoughtful hum, she leaned in first to press a very slow, lingering kiss against the corner of his mouth. While he glanced away bashfully, she hopped up and wiggled her aft against his shoulder comfortably.

“If you’re sure, love.”

Reaching up, Blackout booped her light on the top of her helm with his digit. A quiet giggle escaped her as she gingerly pawed at his servo as it retracted.

“Quite sure,” he stated while grabbing his datapad to subspace it. “Now if you’re comfortable darling, let’s be off.”

Looking between Infiltrator and Nighthawk, Blackout tapped his pede restlessly on the floor. The dragon insisted on going over his vitals for what had to be the third time since they’d entered the room. He didn’t seem too eager to allow his mentor to get up despite Nighthawk appearing just as jumpy. In that aspect, Blackout and himself had something very much in common: both of them were workaholics.

Only Blackout had found new ways to curb his desire to constantly work too much.

He moved his optics to look at Nova as she wrung her digits nervously in front of herself. Lifting his arm, he lightly stroked his digit against her side, nudging her lightly.

“How much longer does he need to have that patch on his chassis? Hasn’t it been there a while?”

“It was a brutal wound, Novastrike,” Infiltrator admitted calmly. “And he’s an older bot; it takes him longer to heal.”

“I’m not that old,” Nighthawk defended nervously. “I can still get around. I still work. I’m not senile or deaf; I can still hear you all just fine too thank you.”

Blackout smirked as he spoke up in defense of the ‘old mech’, “Nighthawk’s right. He’s a tough bot. He’s been dealt tougher blows.”

“Now, I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would.”

“Well thank you commander,” the seeker medic snapped. “I’m glad you know my life experiences more than I do.”

“On second thought, maybe you should drug him more Infiltrator. He’s a lot easier to deal with that way.”

The dragonic metal beast turned the most unimpressed blank expression his way. The small visor reader on the side of his helm flickered as he gave a heavy snort through his nostrils; steam moving out of his nose with annoyance.

“Blackout doesn’t mean that,” Novastrike spoke up in his defense.

He turned his helm towards Nova and gave a roll of his optics. Turning back to Nighthawk, Blackout felt some of the nervous tension leave his shoulder. It seemed since the medic got hurt, Infiltrator wasn’t quite as usually teasing and fun as he once was. He wasn’t used to having to dilute his jokes on Nighthawk to get a passable grade by the drake that looked like it wanted to wring his neck every time Infiltrator thought he might have gotten under his tutor’s armor.

Checking the results from his scan once again, the dragon gave a quiet muttering. He turned his helm just slightly to Nighthawk. The medic gave him a nod and supportive smile. Whatever decision his assistant came to, he would support it.

“You’re suitable, boss,” Infiltrator finally sighed, like he wasn’t happy about it. “The patch will need to remain in place to keep the wound from getting bacteria or spores in it from the other bots or whatever this planet may have. Lord Megatron still hasn’t approved the issue of having replacement parts sent in.”

Rolling his shoulders carefully not to send Novastrike toppling off, Blackout cleared his vocalizer. “Need me to look around?”

“No thank you hound,” Nighthawk stated with gentle mockery. “You wouldn’t even know what to look for. Isn’t that what you told me months ago?”

“Heh. Guess you’re right,” he agreed.

Pacing in front of Blackout, the dragon climbed up to carefully unhook some of the lines dangling from Nighthawk’s frame. The medic remained still, and as Blackout watched, seemed rather pleased and confident in his aid’s work. He couldn’t blame him. A lot of the dents had been pulled out already, wounds had been welded, there wasn’t a stain of energon anywhere to be found on his frame that had been cleaned properly and carefully.

Sure he was still a bit scuffed, his armor discolored, and a large hole in his chassis but he was online. The Nemesis had a lot better care and variety of items than most ships; and Infiltrator might still have had access to whatever odds and ends they’d managed to haul off in the Jaguar. That is, if Megatron allowed them to use them.

As Infiltrator stepped out of the way, Nighthawk swung his pedes gingerly over the side of the examination table. Blackout took a step back, glancing to the side as the dragon went scampering on the other side of the room. He came back carrying a staff in his maw and held it out to the seeker, tapping it against his side.

“I don’t need-”

He went quiet, looking at the pleading gaze from the dragon’s big shiny optics.

Venting, the medic snatched the cane with a sharp look at his assistant. Infiltrator just gave a toothy smile in response whilst his tail flicked back and forth behind him.

Placing his cane to the floor, Nighthawk slowly pushed himself up to his pedes. Blackout felt a sickening feeling in his tanks, and glanced off to the side.

Novastrike’s servo brushed against his cheek lightly.

Rumbling, he didn’t quite look to the seeker as he gruffly spoke up, “We need to find someplace more private to speak.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Off ship,” Blackout responded. “In the mines. We’ll have it reported in as you going to look in on a possible accident, injured miner. It’ll probably slip under radar. Even with you injured, you’ve always been a mech quick to jump back into work. Lord Megatron probably thinks you’re terrified anyway and would want to get on his good side. Since I’ve been put on shift to guard the mines recently, it’s doubtful we’ll immediately raise suspicions.”

Nodding his helm, the medic adjusted his grip on his cane. “Alright,” he agreed.

“Novastrike and I will head down now and get to work so we’re not all clustering down together at once. Wait a few jours before heading down. Have Infiltrator send me a ping or something discreet since they’ll probably be far more curious with what you’re doing anyway wandering around.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Nighthawk chuckled. “Looks like you might not have lost all your touch yet.”

“I should hope not,” the large mech sniggered. “I’m going to need all the craftiness I still have in me to pull us out of this one.”

Much to his surprise, Nighthawk reached out with his servo. He patted his on the shoulder lightly, offering a fierce nod as his optics blazed with determination.

“Well, you won’t be doing it alone. We’ll be pulling some of the weight too; don’t think this is all on you.”

“Thank you,” he rumbled deeply, nodding his helm. “I appreciate that.”

Turning his helm just enough, he flicked his optics over to Novastrike. She appeared somewhat worried by her gaze, but offered a smile of encouragement. The dark sapphire and softer baby blues of her optics shone with resolve as she nodded with agreement.

“Couldn’t say it better than Nighthawk,” she agreed. “We’ve got each others backs.”

“Well our hides are going to take a lashing if we’re not down in the mines bright and earlier,” he reminded her. “Megatron was not terribly pleased with previous performances.”

“Oh, you mean working earlier than requested and no benefits? Yeah, I know. He’s like a soul-sucking-”

“Nova,” Infiltrator warned.

She smiled innocently at the dragon, then Nighawk’s amused faceplate, and then turned back to Blackout.

His spark practically melted. Damn femme and her virtuous face; you could hardly place the blame on her for anything. Not that he was in disagreement at the moment anyway.

“Alright you,” he muttered, poking her side gently with his digit. “Let’s go before you decide to mouth off and get yourself in trouble.”

“Me?” she asked innocently while placing a servo to her chassis. “In trouble? But I never cause trouble.”

Choking as he tried to contain his laughter, Blackout bid a respectful nod to Nighthawk and Infiltrator. The medic seemed highly amused watching him try not to laugh, smirking deviously.

Placing a servo momentarily on top of Novastrike to muffle her, the Decepticon Hound left the med-bay, hearing Infiltrator’s chuckling as he left.

#quid pro quo au #OTP AU #OTP Lit #Cute OTP #OTP Friends

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forsaken-city-rp · 5 years ago

Photo

Welcome to the Forsaken City!

We’re glad to see that you have arrived safely within the city limits. You have three days to make your facebook and add the admins Z.Tao, Seunghyun, and Forsaken. But be careful, the sun is rising quickly, and hunters are always on the move.

NAME, STAGE NAME, AND GROUP: Kim Woosung, Sammy, The Rose

AGE: Over 1000; appears around 21 years old

SPECIES: Nøkk/Nixie/Näcken

LIT RP SAMPLE: It wasn’t that Woosung was out of food. That wasn’t the problem. It was just that it was way past three in the morning, he’d just crashed down from a several-hour-long lyric writing binge that had directly followed a full of day of teaching and an evening singing gig (and a make out session behind the club but that wasn’t important), and right now all he wanted was this one specific kind of cheap, salty yet somehow still painfully-spicy ramen, found only at this one nasty little convenience store a few blocks away, possibly followed by a bag of knockoff gummy candy and maybe some chips if he felt like really going crazy and treating himself right. It was that kind of craving that can only ever really hit in the middle of the night, when it’s cold or otherwise unpleasant out, and the distance is too long to walk but too short to drive, and it only ever really happens to young adults who fully know it is within their personal capabilities to go and get the object(s) of their sudden desire, while also being fully aware that it’s stupid, late at night, their fridges have other shit in them if they were really threat hungry, they have shit to do in the morning, and whatever it is they want is most definitely not worth the ultimate effort or cost. Or carbs. Thankfully, however, Woosung had absolutely no need to worry about caloric sins, nor did he need sleep, and money was certainly not an issue after, not to mention that a nice hike across the district definitely wouldn’t kill him. The fact that it was raining also really sweetened the deal. So after a very brief internal debate (not about whether or not he was going, he was for sure going, but on if he should bother putting on real people clothes or not), he grabbed his shoes, pulled a coat on over his comfy but definitely not weather appropriate lounge-wear, and ventured out into the dark and unforgiving night. No one was gonna see him, anyway, and even if they did, it’s not like they wouldn’t like what they saw.

The streets of Seoul, at least those near his apartment building, were decently quiet at such an hour, half-illuminated by dimming lights and colorful signs, and the way the rain hit the pavement under such synthetic glow made each drop shine like a falling star. A fake rainbow hued, halogen and electric-waste lit star, but a star nonetheless. He couldn’t see the moon, not through the storm clouds, but that was perfectly alright, he knew it there, watching him through the haze, he could feel the echoes of its tidal pull ever so slightly lifting the hair on the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t unpleasant though. Just a reminder, neither here nor there in its importance. He hadn’t bothered with an umbrella, but why would he? The water was cool against his skin, his coat just enough to keep the bite of the wind out, and he liked how the rain felt as it ran down his face, clinging to his lashes, beading up at and falling over his lips. He would have really taken his time and enjoyed the walk, if he wasn’t so hellbent on getting a hot and heaping mouthful of stale, tongue-burning noodles into his mouth as quickly as possible. After all, this was his current favorite guilty-habit snack, which meant he’d come this way countless times before and would undoubtedly come that way countless times again before he found a new craving. Like those Ikea cinnamon buns he’d been obsessed with a few months ago. Or those sour candy children he’d gotten hooked on last time he’d stopped home in California (big mistake, traveling half the world for a bag of neon colored sugar blobs was really way too much work). Regardless, the way was well known to him, so he was free to zone out and let music run through his thoughts, piecing words to melodies and humming new tunes beneath his breath, all without slowing his determined, slightly rushed pace.

There was a scuffle and a bang behind him after a solid ten minutes of walking, breaking him from his trance and making him jump, a perfectly manicured hand with fucked up pointer and thumb nails (guitar pics and nail polish do not get along) coming up to clutch his heart. He whipped back, though when he turned around, it was only to find a small hoard of stray cats following after him, a metal trash-can lid lying in the middle of the road, no doubt disturbed by one of his audience members jumping out to join the fray. Oh. Right. He must’ve gotten a little loud with his singing. Not that he minded having a crowd, but it certainly hadn’t been his intention to lure anyone, or anything, in to him. Especially not cats. He liked them fine and all, they could be cute and he’d never met an animal that didn’t like him, but they always kinda weirded him out. And made him sneeze. Okay so mostly it was the sneezing. Still, cats were kinda weird. Kneeling down, he stroked their wet little heads and booped a few on their cold little noses with a delicate finger, letting them nuzzle and lick at his skin, before he politely told them to go fuck off and find shelter before the storm got worse. Of course they all listened, and he watched the last of them vanish into the alleyways and dark corners, before he got up and continued on his way, only now very mindfully silent. He needed that goddamn ramen and getting held up because someone got a little caught up in listening to his voice would really be a major waste of time, not to mention a pain to deal with. At least the cats had been easy to handle. Cats didn’t tend to get violent when they were told no.  

Continuing on his way, Woosung made sure to keep his mouth shut, though that didn’t stop him thinking about the lyrics he’d been writing earlier, back when he’d been curled up on his sofa beneath a thick, warm blanket, in his nice, cozy apartment, with a cup of coffee and a heart rate not threatening to yeet itself into the thousands because of the minor cardiac arrest those cats had given him. Enhanced hearing really did make any loud noise that came out of dead silence seem so much more severe. And he’d always been weak for jump-scares. Shaking his head, he picked up the pace, both for want of the ramen and a desire to get away from the place he’d been ambushed by little allergy beasts with good music taste. The rain was falling a little harder now, thunder rolling lazily in the distance, and he could practically feel the electricity in the air as it danced with the water running across his skin. It was a little cold; what could he say, he was from California? It was always warmer there, breeze tinged with heat, summer lingering even when winter came. But even still, he liked the chill, the way it traveled through his bones. All weather was good weather, from languid spring showers to blizzard-and-death hailstorms, days with cloudless skies and bright sunlight to dark, overcast ones, when night was hardly discernible from what had come before. He wasn’t warm nor was he cold blooded, he just /was/, like water, adapting to what was around him, taking on the temperature of whatever was beyond him and just going with it. Though that didn’t mean that he didn’t A) really want some hot noodles and something hotter to drink or B) wouldn’t appreciate being back under a nice pile of blankets and sweaters. Maybe he really should have put more clothes on but he’d been so comfy. And getting dressed-dressed was so much work.  

Turning a corner, he could see the hazy light of the convenience store sign in the distance, about a block away, a smile drifting across his features, he made it about three more steps forward before he heard yet another unpleasant sound—this one being the unmistakable click of a gun’s safety being flicked off. Welp. That was certainly far less innocent than a cat knocking over a trashcan. Pausing, he forced the smile to remain on his sweet lips as he turned to face whomever was approaching him guns drawn, apparently. There were two men speedily heading towards him, one with a pistol already shakily aimed at his head, the other apparently still fiddling with his own, like he’d ben surprised they’d actually managed to find someone (or something) to pursue, like their hunt being genuinely prosperous was a new and unnatural experience. Ah, nothing like young, unexperienced humans who had no idea what they were dealing with and likely thought they’d already won. Fuck they’d probably seen his shit with the cats and followed him. Just his fucking luck. At least they didn’t seem to have the brains to know they should’ve shot before he had a chance to open his mouth. They also didn’t seem to have gotten the memo that the bullets, brass, wouldn’t leave more than so much as a scratch in the morning. Iron and steel were the only ways to go. Pity they didn’t know. Eying the weapons with mock concern and fear, he tilted his head and schooled his expression into one of total innocence and confusion. “I’m sorry, is there a problem?” He asked, voice soft and lovely, wavering ever so softly, like he was afraid of whatever they thought they could do to him. He could feel their emotions shift, from adrenaline-laden conviction and confidence to hesitance, concern.

  Idiots.  

“You don’t want to shoot me, baby,” he told the nearest one, eyes flashing molten gold, reflecting the light, ruby lips pulling back over sharp teeth that flashed dangerously as his glamour faltered from the use of his voice, his true voice. He slipped closer to him, holding out his hand, which the man took, his eyes glassy as he nodded, entranced. Not that he really wanted a hunter to touch him, but it always got easier to make men listen the closer they were, the more they felt like he was theirs, the more of him they could pretend, if only for a moment, to own. Especially if he wasn’t going to sing; speaking was less powerful. And especially if he was going to make them do something particularly against their will. “You want to shoot your friend.” He purred out the words, though ever-light, gentle. And of course, that worked, as within but a few moments the other hunter was hitting the ground, a hole placed squarely between his temples. He didn’t seem to realize what he’d done, continuing to stare all doe-y and dumb at the creature before him. Fuck he hated hunters. All his life he'd watched them kill and hurt and ruin whatever was in their path, regardless of how undeserving. Woosung was a creature of mercy, a protecter just as much as a predator, he wasn’t keen on killing for the fun of it or simply because he could, but when it came to hunters, his moral ambivalence and tendency to remain grey threw itself out the window. No, these bastards deserved it. “And now you want to shoot yourself.” He told him, smiling as he caressed the man’s cheek, smiling even still as he watched him nod and pull the gun on himself, aim it at his own heart and pull the trigger. He watched the body fall, twitch for a few minutes before going still. How very anticlimactic.

Stepping over the mess, he leveled his gaze once more on the gas station and store in the distance, grinned to himself at the thought of what awaited him, and walked on.  

The nøkk was gonna get his fucking ramen.

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sunlitroom · 8 years ago

Text

Gotham s3e16 - These Dark and Delicate Obsessions

As I watched it, and some random observations here and there.

Previously on Gotham.

It's Uncle Frank, who abandoned poor young grieving Jim. The Court is secret! Jim watched his father die. One cannot deny love. Bang. Ed. Does. Not. Love. Oswald. Splash Look who’s alive! Oswald’s got a murder to-do list. Bruce is in the arctic. Falcone has always done what the Court asked. The Court will purge the city. Chaos, Cleansing. Destruction. Dogs and cats, living together – mass hysteria.

As always, long post will be long - reaaally long. There are likely to be rambling digressions. Gobblepot may appear (although I welcome all shippers and non-shippers alike :)). There will be naked favouritism and naked not-favouritism. Broader comments at the end on plotlines and parallels and general direction.

The Court is meeting in their silly frilly masks. The have a weapon to cleanse the city, but they need a unanimous vote to progress. They all place feathers on the table in front of them, except Frank, who pauses. Kathryn notices and glances at him, and Frank reluctantly follows suit. Judgment has been passed. Gotham must fall.

Bruce awakens in his cell. The door opens. There’s a man framed in the doorway. Bruce wants to speak with whoever's in charge. That makes it sound like he’s complaining about a hotel room. The man says that would be me. Bruce asks if the Court is behind this. The man tells him the Court is a tool, nothing more. Bruce tells him that they won't get away with this – but then realises that the clone will cover his absence. He protests, though – and tells them that Alfred will figure it out. The man agrees, but says that, by that that time, they should have accomplished their goals.

Bruce asks what the goals are. The man says that they need his help, and tells him to eat, since he’ll need his strength. Maybe keep him in a warm room with an actual bed, then? He tells him they’ll begin soon, and leaves.

At GCPD, we see Aubrey James on a TV screen. He’s apparently back in charge. Jim and Harvey chat. Jim says the trip to the cabin was ‘fine’ - which is hilarious, since in about two minutes he’ll spill his guts about the actual trauma-fest that it was. Jim has a very low bar for ‘fine’.

Jim asks about ’Nygma’. Somewhere, Ed grits his teeth and leans down heavier on an iron-on transfer of a question mark. Harvey says that they’ve not heard from him – he’s simply disappeared. How you lose the model in the bright green suit and bowler hat is beyond me.

Harvey asks what Jim is looking at. Jim tells him it’s the record of the drunk driver who killed his father, and spills about the cabin. Apparently this guy was stabbed in prison early in his sentence. Jim looked at his medical record too – and found chronic persistent hepatitis. He’s going to ask Lee what that is when she gets in. Harvey- though – cuts in, telling him that it’s a non-progressive form of liver inflammation that would prevent you from drinking. Either this guy can’t have had that – or he wasn’t drunk at the wheel. Jim says the report must have been faked, and leaves to investigate.

(An aside – I know Gotham moved away from all things procedural, but it’s nice to see them being detectives for once.)

A glasshouse. Ivy has Oswald in a wheelchair, wrapped in a blanket. She's excited, he's grumpy. You know when little girls try to wrap cats in blankets and carry them about like dolls? It looks like that.

Ivy tells Oswald that the fresh air will do him good. She’s actually being very sweet with him. Oswald is snarly and short-tempered. He shakes her off, telling her that he is fine – and a grown man.

(An aside - Which is not only a reminder that Ivy isn’t a grown woman, but striking because Oswald is often presented to us as childish – sulky, spiteful, infantilised by both parents and, recently, very dependent. Maybe this is a statement of some development for him?)

Ivy giggles, and boops his nose. And hungry!

Oswald looks round. What's with you and all the plants?

Ivy tells him the plants are her friends – better friends than people. Oswald pulls a face. Some even helped save his life, she continues.

She hands him a glass, which he hurls to the ground. Ivy is irate.

What is wrong with you?

Oswald needs to build an army to get revenge. Ivy tells him that no-one is stopping him. She could help! Poor Ivy is so happy to just have a friend. Oswald sighs impatiently, and offering a tight, insincere smile, tells her to deliver a message to Gabe – a moron, but a loyal moron. And an army only needs one loyal soldier. He’s just about got that right now with Ivy – but Oswald’s judgment has been hideously off of late – and he can’t quite see it.

Ivy waits. Oswald looks impatient. She’s waiting for a please. Irritated, but with no other options – he acquiesces. Be nice, Oswald. You’ll notice Ivy’s nursing you back to health is genuinely unselfish and caring, taking none of your agency away, and not seeking to mess with your head. Something of a novelty for you.

Jim looks at his father’s grave. It looks very cold - a lot of the light in this episode is cold and blue. Uncle Frank approaches. Jim says his father’s death made to look like an accident – what does Frank want from him? Frank tells Jim about the Court’s weapon to destroy the city. Jim asks why they would destroy it? Franks replies that it’s not the whole Court - just high-ranking fanatics. The Court has done it twice before. It’s no bluff.

Jim asks how to stop it – Frank has no idea, and doesn’t even doesn't know what weapon is. The Court knows that Frank reached out to Jim, though. As Frank walks away, Jim tells him to be careful

Lee is at Mario's grave. She looks sick and tired. Jim stares over at her, then approaches. It’s a bit tactless, which he must realise, since he opens with an apology for intruding. Lee asks who Jim was with – and Jim tells her it was Uncle Frank. Lee thought they were estranged, but seems pleased – at least, hypothetically pleased, that they’ve reconnected – she betrays very little emotion.

She talks a little. She’s been coming here a lot. She saw a little old man, all dressed-up, smiling at his wife's grave. Lee couldn't understand what there was to smile about, but then it occurred to her. They shared a whole life together. Jim apologises again. Lee looks at him disbelievingly.

How'd you do that - just move on, leaving so much destruction in your wake?

Jim doesn’t protest – that he wrecks everything he touches is – as we know – one of his deepest fears about himself. He’s not going to argue. Lee sighs tiredly, and as she walks away, says that she wishes she could do that.

(An aside – given what we know, this maybe seems likely to be Lee’s characteristic when infected with the Tetch virus – wreaking destruction. It would explain the wrecked GCPD we saw)

Jim’s phone rings. Harvey says his father’s killer was a ‘career scumbag’….and Falcone paid for the fancy lawyer to get him a plea.

Ivy’s glasshouse, where a gleeful Gabe hugs Oswald tightly.

Everyone thinks you’re dead, Barbara’s running things. Interesting that Butch and Tabitha are not mentioned as equals.

Oswald is impatient – he wants Gabe to build him an army. Gabe agrees immediately – the guys will come running. He wanders away little and starts talking enthusiastically on his phone.

Ivy looks dubious. There’s something off about him. She doesn’t trust him.

Oswald is dismissive. Gabe is essentially a human Labrador. Ivy tries to tell him about her perfume. One whiff - and any man gives her anything she asks. She’ll find out if he’s telling the truth.

Oswald rolls his eyes, not fully understanding what Ivy means by this. He tells her it’s time that they part ways – he has an army to build, a war to plan, and they really don't know each other that well.

Ivy doesn’t get it. Oswald meanly tells her to ask her plants. Ivy is genuinely hurt.

You don't trust me – I saved your life. I thought we were friends

Oswald laughs at her

Friends?

Ivy looks even more hurt.

Oswald blinks.

Oh - you're being serious…

but continues to behave like an ass.

Look – don’t take this wrong way – but you are a bit of a freak.

Ivy storms out, teary-eyed and swinging her arms like the upset and angry little girl she is.

Gabe, meantime, has approached.

Did she tell you not to trust me?

Oswald laughs. Yeah. His face gets serious though, as he wheels and asks why Gabe asks. Gabe belts him in the face and smiles.

Smart girl

Back in Bruce's cell of Mortal Kombat training-esque tedium, he hears a sound. The door opens. There’s a lot of running down corridors to come back to the same point. I’m not recapping the whole thing. It would be more entertaining with Benny Hill music over it. The mysterious man is in his cell again. It’s time to begin. Bruce says the temple is a maze. The man says everything is a maze, they need to find a space within it. Bruce says he’ll figure it out. The man asks how long he’s been blindly wandering round a maze looking for directions. Bruce tells him,

Speak in cryptic riddles all you want. I’m not scared of you.

Somewhere, Ed just cried a little.

Jim is at Falcone’s house. Falcone blusters threateningly for a bit about how Jim took his son. (An aside – have all these people forgotten that Jim had literally no option open to him: Mario was infected, and about to kill Lee).

Jim shuts him up.

I took your son - you took my father. I’d say we were even.

Jim also tells him he knows about the lawyer he paid for.

Still think we have nothing to talk about?

Falcone dismisses his henchmen.

You’ve got a question for me son - go ahead and ask.

He admits he killed Jim’s father, adding

I respected your father, much more than the son he left behind.

Jim says was a hit though, ordered by the Court of Owls. Falcone asks what he knows. Jim says his uncle is a member. Falcone says he isn’t a member– but they have a mutually beneficial relationship. Jim baldly comments that he does their bidding. Falcone doesn’t like that. Jim wants to know who ordered the hit, and Falcone delivers the information with obvious relish

Frank Gordon - your uncle

Frank is at home with a bottle of whiskey. As he enters the living room, Jim appears, and puts a gun to his head. Jim questions him as Frank pours them drinks. Frank confirms that he ordered the hit, and also tells Jim that Falcone contacted the Court as soon as Jim left – they’re suspicious now.

Jim asks why Frank ordered the hit. Frank says his father wanted to expose the Court. Jim cuts in, incredulous,

You had him killed – your own brother. He points the gun again.

Frank shrugs.

Go on - shoot me, you’d be doing me a favour.

He tells Jim he needs to do what his father wanted, bring down the Court.

Jim eyes him for a moment, and then disagrees.

My father would want justice to be done, so do I

Jim starts to arrest him. Frank is frustrated, Jim’s not been listening

Arrest me and it’s over

He headbutts Jim, hits him with the bottle, and breaks free, telling him that the weapon is arriving at dock 9c – Jim needs to find out what it is. He tells Jim he needs to make a choice, and leaves.

Ivy's greenhouse. Oswald sits, tied to the wheelchair, regarding Gabe

I didn't think you had it in you

I know - you never did

Boo-hoo – that’s what about - no gold star for being best thug? If you’re going to kill me, get on with it already.

Gabe’s not planning that though -

We aint's gonna kill you – we’re gonna auction you off to the highest bidder.

Oswald looks panicked. We?

4 other thugs arrive

Ivy watches from behind a tree

Should have just listened to me, but noooooo - nobody listens to Ivy

We hear a sound, and a thug has approached Ivy, putting a gun to her head. She straightens up and sighs.

GCPD – where a bruised Jim holds ice to his face.

Harvey is taken aback at Jim story. Jim apologises for involving him, but he doesn’t know who to trust. (My shippy head tells me that Oswald would have been a go-to for this – it being in that lovely, dangerous grey area where Jim likes to associate with Oswald)

Harvey tells him that he would work the lead, but acknowledges that Jim might want to go after his uncle and – if so – Harvey has his back. Jim says that it’s important GCPD can’t be involved, or the Court will know. Harvey asks who they know who could help – and then looks unhappy when he guesses the answer. Jim’s other complicated criminal relationship.

Barbara is holding court as Nazareth’s version of Love Hurts plays in the background. The magnificent Mad Men fashion analysis of every episode talked about metallic fabrics as being and ostentatious representative of wealth and power. Barbara’s ensemble is almost entirely gold –money is a marker of success in crime, and Barbara is flaunting her success. Metals are also cold and hard – which is also representative of Barbara right now.

A man is kneeling before her – but he’s not brought enough money, and Barbara swipes him with a stiletto.

Her phone rings, she answers smugly

Barbara Queen

She grins widely when she realises it’s Jim.

What an unpleasant surprise. Do I feel a favour coming on?

Much like Oswald – no matter whether it really benefits her, or if she’s still pissed at Jim for their last meeting, she’ll still do what he asks.

Bruce’s cell. The man tells Bruce he’s been waiting for him for a long time. Bruce just wants to go home. The man says that they share a destination. He unrolls what Bruce observes looks like acupuncture needles. They have a freaky mystical glowing symbol on the end. He tells Bruce they’re keys to unlocking the mind. When he presses the needle to a vaguely hypnotised Bruce’s head…..

Bruce is in an alley in the city. The man points out that he wanted to return to Gotham – so here they are.

It dawns on Bruce that he��s back at the scene of his parents' deaths. He turns slowly, tears in his eyes.

Dad? Mom?

And is forced to witness their death again. He comes out of the hallucination/trip/whatever, and scrambles away from the man.

What was that place?

The mean tells him it was memory. He can experience them as though living them for the first time. One is always inside one’s own mind - pretending we’re separate is the falsehood.

Bruce asks why he would take him back there. The man tells him,

You never left there

He says that Bruce will have to leave in order to accept their teaching. Bruce backs away.

(An aside – if you watched Deep Space Nine – this is essentially Sisko’s first experience with the Prophets, where they keep making him return to the scene of his wife’s death. When he finally loses it – and asks why they keep taking him there, they respond – blandly – it’s not them, it’s him. You exists here.)

A warehouse where Barbara and Tabitha are torturing a man for information, while Barbara brightly comments that torture is fun. He tells them that Barbara and Tabitha don’t know what ‘they’re’ capable of. Even Falcone never pried into their business. Barbara doesn’t like that, and reminds him that she’s running things now, ramming some sort of spike into his chest to underline her point.

He caves – something came in the crate over in the corner. We see an Indian Hill stamp on it. Barbara says that he must have a phone number to let them know when it arrived – and she wants an introduction. Tabitha seems like she’s amused/impressed by her.

There’s a sound – and a court assassin runs in and wipes the floor with everyone. Barbara and Tabitha flee – not sure why he doesn’t go after them, they’re going nowhere fast in those heels. He decapitates the tortured man.

Ivy's greenhouse. Oswald winces at a flash of light – photographs are being taken of him to prove he’s alive.

A bound Ivy sitting beside Oswald shakes her head. The gangsters fetch cannoli from their car for a snack break.

Ivy comments that Oswald got himself into quite the pickle. Oswald points out that she’s tied up too.

Our fates are intertwined

Ivy is dismissive. She’ll be fine. Oswald asks what her plan is. She lets him dangle for a moment longer, because he was so unpleasant. He asks angrily if she wants him to beg. Ivy loses her temper.

No - I want you to be nice to me!

Nice to you?

Yes – it’s not so much to ask

Oswald swallows his impatience. He agrees it’s not much to ask, and promises to be nice.

Ivy tells him to watch and learn. She effortlessly manipulates and hypnotises one of the thugs. When he confirms that he’ll do anything she asks – she tells him to kill them all. Oswald stops her at the last minute. He tells her to ask him to stop, hand him the gun, and untie them. Ivy’s having great fun, and yells all of these excitedly. Oswald winces.

You don't have to yell

Sorry - I just got so caught up in the moment

Ivy grins as Oswald shoots a thug, and watches, beaming, with hands on hips as Oswald tells Gabe he likes the idea of an auction – maybe he’ll auction parts of Gabe off to himself.

The Court of Owls is meeting to discuss what Falcone told them. Frank stands in the middle of the circle, being questioned. He tells Kathryn that Jim only knows what Falcone knows, and that nothing can lead back to the Court. Kathryn wants to know why Jim is suddenly interested now. Frank says he doesn’t know – but it’s the last thing he wanted. Jim won’t stop until one of them is dead. Kathryn thinks this is unfortunate – Jim would have been a powerful ally, but Frank knows what he has to do now: Jim Gordon must be killed.

Harvey and Jim on the phone. She’s passed on the information about 9c. Frank must either have been kept in the dark by the Court about the weapon’s arrival, or have lied deliberately. He also says that the crate had an Indian Hill stamp on it – ‘the freak factory’.

Jim’s phone rings again. It’s Frank. He tells Jim to come quickly – that they need to talk.

Back at Ivy's greenhouse, where Oswald is confronting Gabe.

I trusted you Gabe - and how did you repay that loyalty? Betrayal

Gabe protests.

I was there when your mother was killed, when no one else was - and how did you pay me back? Passing me over

Oswald pauses.

Valid point. Maybe we must remember that loyalty must be extended before it can be returned. You were loyal to me once - I wonder if you could be again.

Gabe kneels dramatically and swears on his mother’s soul

Oswald asks Ivy to check that Gabe’s oath of loyalty is noble and true. Ivy is baffled.

If what is what now?

Oswald rolls his eyes and asks her to make him smell the perfume. He does – and when under the influence – will not swear to be loyal and true.

I don’t understand - why can’t he be loyal? (An aside – Oswald’s rather plaintive question echoes Ivy’s earlier – you don’t trust me?)

Gabe expands. He never was loyal. He only followed him out of fear, like everyone else. There a tiny flicker of something from Oswald, but he shrugs it off. Fear and respect. He can live with that. Management 101.

Gabe goes on.

No one ever respected you. We all saw you for what you really are - a tiny freak who used to hold an umbrella. Nothing more

This word ‘freak’ releases something in Oswald. He repeats it a few times, rage building, before he picks up a fork thing and stabs Gabe to death with it – yelling freak all the while. Ivy watches – wide-eyed but entertained, and blood sprays all over the glass.

Frank’s apartment. Jim enters. Frank – holding a gun and a glass – thanks him for coming. Jim tells him the weapon came from Indian Hill, but Frank has no ideas – the court no longer trusts him. Jim asked why he called him. Franks tells him that he’s supposed to kill him. Jim asks where that leaves them. Franks says it’s up to him. He needs a replacement, and someone else to find out what that weapon is and how to destroy it. He needs someone to join Court – they still want Jim, but just don’t see how it’s possible.

Frank does, though. He tells Jim that a woman named Kathryn will call to ask if he’s dead. When she does, Jim should pick up, and say that he blames him – that he gave the order and deserves what he got. He smiles – and we start to see panic on Jim’s face.

You’ve got your father’s strength. He would have been so proud of you.

Jim yells - horrified.

No!

After his usual gruff yell – though – there’s a small, pained intake of breath, that sounds like it comes from someone younger, and softer, and more vulnerable.

Bruce waits in his cell. He tries to attack shadowy man, but is easily subdued. He begins the memory procedure again – and Bruce’s response is reminiscent of Oswald at Arkham.

Please, I'm sorry - just please don't make me go back there!

He’s forced again to watch his parents die. He attacks the shadowy man after it. When he comes back to the room – he’s stunned to find that he’s bleeding from the fight in the hallucination. If the emotion is strong enough, the consequences follow you back to the real world.

Emotional pain blocks Bruce from who he needs him to become, who Gotham needs you to become. Over centuries they’ve tried to stop the plague of crime and violence – but it recurs because people are afraid, and fear breeds hopelessness. Bruce is sceptical that he cares. The man claims he does. Gotham needs something only Bruce can provide – a protector. Bruce protests.

I can't protect Gotham, not by myself – no one can

If you were to become a symbol against fear, Gotham can be reborn

Ivy’s greenhouse, where Oswald - both sleeves up – is digging Gabe’s grave. Ivy watches – serious-faced. Oswald sighs.

Ok. I admit it - might have lost my temper a bit.

Ivy doesn’t mind.

It's ok

Oswald continues. I don't know why I let him get to me - sticks and stones - right?

Ivy considers this, arms crossed

Words always hurt me way more than sticks or stones

Oswald turns, his body language open and honest.

Yeah. Me too.

It’s a moment of connection between two outsider characters who are often shunned by others, but have a caring and protective side, and want friendship, want family.

Ivy is curious

Does that mean you’re giving up your plans for revenge?

Oswald is deflated. He can’t take Nygma and Barbara and the rest on by himself.

Ivy grins.

Who said anything about yourself? Selina told me some pretty crazy stories about Indian Hill. You wanted an army? What about an army of freaks?

Ivy’s delighted by her own idea – little-girl glee at turning Gabe’s insult back on him. Oswald now seems curious, and pleased by the idea.

What kind of freaks?

A grim-faced Jim leaves the family photograph at dad's grave.

His phone rings. When he answers, Kathryn comments that she’s not entirely surprised. Jim brusquely tells her he killed his uncle, and makes no apologies. When Kathryn tells him she understands, he says that it’s time they meet. She agrees – and when Jim glances to the left, he sees a black limousine waiting for him. He walks towards it, the interior deliberately shot to look dark and confining.

How long have you been blindly wandering around in a maze, looking for direction?

I’ve often said that although other characters have become more prominent over time – the three main characters we come in with are Jim, Bruce and Oswald. They now find themselves on unfamiliar ground, forced to take new paths that they would not otherwise have chosen.

In many ways, they've been wandering for a while - even before they were forcibly thrown into new situations. Jim might be back at GCPD, but his life is a mess of unresolved issues and trauma. He's lost Barnes as a mentor, and his relationship with Lee seems destroyed. The relationship with Vale ended as badly as it could. He's soldiering on, but all is not exactly well. When he got home at the end of the episode before the hiatus, he headed straight for a whiskey bottle. Bruce is still training for something - but there's a lack of direction and focus there. His investigations into the Court seemed to be at an impasse, and he's been discontented for weeks after fighting with Selina. Oswald's had nothing but trauma since Gertrud was kidnapped, and a crisis of self after Strange's interference, but more recently we've seen him struggling with a complete lack of confidence in himself - totally dependent and easily manipulated.

The journeys they begin now are driven by necessity – they did not ask to be placed in these situations - but offer the opportunity to shed aspects of their identities which have become restrictive:

Jim has the opportunity to put his father to rest by carrying out the mission that got him killed. This also affords him the chance, unconsciously, to shed the burden others place on him - the constant unfavourable comparison to his idealised dead father. It's also possible that he'll discover some truths that allow him to take his father down from that pedestal anyway. Oswald learned that the image he had sought to cultivate was a farce. People might have obeyed him, but they still thought he was a freak. All that work, all that loss - and he's still the weird kid in the playground. Ivy - on the other hand - never really tried to hide her oddness, even when she frightened people, although we did learn that - like Oswald - Ivy has been hurt by being excluded and mocked, and it’s still a sore spot for her. The kinship she offers, through her own honest friendship, and the idea of a freak army, is something new for Oswald. Bruce is given the chance to protect the city, to save it - something he's instinctively wanted to do, but never quite known how. But to do that, he'll have to move forward from the event that defines him, his parents' death.

Another parallel - Bruce, Jim and Oswald are in the odd situation of having witnessed the death of a parent twice over. Oswald watched Gertrud die, then Elijah, and was forced to watch Gertrud’s death over and over as part of Strange’s ‘therapy’. Bruce saw his mother and father die – and now has to watch it repeatedly as part of his ‘training’. Finding out the truth about his father’s death is like Jim losing him again – first by accident, now by intent. He also watches Frank – his should-have-been father-figure die right in front of him, something that will doubtless play in his mind

Sundries

As @millicentcordelia points out, Barbara’s seemingly effortless takeover of the entire underworld – aided only by a woman with a whip and a man they all know as a repeated second fiddle - strains credulity. Actions need consequences, and plans must have risks in order to have dramatic tension. We’ll hopefully see more of that in the form of internal division in their team. Also – Barbara is due for a fall. Answering the phone ‘Barbara Queen’ is like asking the universe to knock you on your ass.

Harvey continues to be an indefatigable ally.

Lee seems tired and empty.

Week 2 of no Victor.

Thoughts?

#gotham commentary #gotham s3e16 #these delicate and dark obsessions

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