#immediate self report that you know nothing about the character

[bargarean]

i still can't believe morph was assigned goo at birth and literally said that they preferred their neutral form but took an average human shape in public not because they were ashamed of who they were but because it was just easier and less awkward that way. and it took until this year for them to be portrayed as nonbinary

[lostingrayrain]

hello hello!! i bought homicipher the day it came out and i'm so in love with it.. but there's no content whatsoever and i'm so sad 😭😭 could you write literally anything for any character.. i just need to see more homicipher content!!! 😭😭💗

I GOT YOU ANON I've clocked in like 20 hours since the release on November 1st omg....

I've been cooking up something for my first Homicipher post.....here's some general thoughts on the relationships/dynamics with the main guys.

Characters: Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood, Mr. Machete, Mr. Scarletella

Word Count: 1454

Warnings: sfw, some mentions of canon-typical violence

Mr. Crawling

He loves you!! He loves you so, so, so much!!!

Do you love him?

He asks you that. A lot. He loves to be reassured that you adore him. And he's always vocal about how much he adores you.

He follows you everywhere, like a lost puppy. It's honestly so endearing and sweet. He's constantly on the lookout for you.

He also adores physical touch, once he knows it's fine. Other than the little headpats, he likes to touch your legs, especially your calves. In times of rest he's incredibly cuddly and loves to nuzzle into you.

Pet his hair and he'll melt immediately. It's so relaxing to him.

He's usually with you, but when he's not he's often on the lookout for gifts and trophies to bring to you. He just wants to make you happy, in any way possible. The second there's anything you mention liking or being fond of, it's a priority for him to see if he can scrounge it up.

If you'll let him, he'd love to touch your hair. He will play with it and make silly nonsensical braids and giggle quietly to himself all the while.

He's a bit of a chatterbox. He loves to talk to you. Any time he's been away he likes to give you little reports of what he's done or what he's seen. And he wants to hear all about your day or your dreams, too. There's never a time he won't want to hear what you have to say.

Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair

You are so very interesting to him! He wants to study you.

But not hurt you. Normally, he probably would have already dismembered you to watch how your body pulls together again, but since you're friends with Mr. Chopped, he's put aside that urge.

Instead it's been replaced by something else, though he doesn't really understand what it is. He's never felt it before. Or maybe he has? Maybe he doesn't remember? Could you help him remember?

Whenever you’re feeling ill, he finds that he wants to make you feel better. He’s trying hard to learn how to keep you together just as you are.

He’ll get you to lie down when it seems you’re feeling faint, and carry you to bed when you collapse in the middle of an errand. Before he realises it, he's massaging your hair. Think nothing of it. Your head hurts, right? So it makes sense to pet you.

He likes to watch you sleep. He can’t put a finger on why. He likes to tell himself he’s doing armchair research when he’s really just….zoning out.

He's extremely perceptive and observant. He's always checking your reactions to things and events to figure out what you like or don't like, or to try to understand how you're feeling in the moment.

He's the type to politely ask if it's okay to touch you before doing so.

He would never hurt you unless your urges became unbearable, in which case it's self-defense, right? He'll make sure you'll turn back to normal and he'll be there for you every step of the way.

Mr. Gap

He's probably...one of the strangest denizens of the otherworld. You're still not sure if he has a body. But he has helped you on multiple occasions. You've found yourself growing fond of him.

You often see him peeking at you from various holes and gaps. Sometimes he tries to get your attention, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he just watches.

When you find a bag in the underworld, you begin carrying it around with you.

He's usually inside, but sometimes not. You have no idea where he goes.

He'll often bring back little gifts like weapons or food, like some bizarre cat. When he finds out you like candy, he tends to focus on that.

He always asks for your heart before he gives you anything, and you always say no, and he always grumbles.

But somehow you'll always find those same things coincidentally in your path or somewhere in the room after you wake up, if you've taken a nap.

He likes to scope out newspapers and magazines too, and show them to you, especially if they feature himself. He's so proud of that.

Over time, his requests for your heart grow less and less frequent. Sometimes, you forget he used to ask you for it at all, until he suddenly pipes up with the query again.

Is his wanting your heart the same thing as wanting your love? Things to ponder.

Mr. Hood

He's quiet and reclusive but he's there for you whenever you need him.

You need or want anything? Just ask. He'll give it to you immediately with hardly a question.

No harm will ever come to you whenever you're with him, and he hardly lets you out of his sight. He's incredibly protective of you.

He loves to carry you in his arms or on his shoulder, whether you're small or not. It's no bother to him. He's more than strong enough.

Hand touches are so pleasant to him -- whether you're touching his hands, or he's touching your face. He's secretly touch-starved. As long as you don't shy away, he'll continue to hold onto you.

He enjoys quizzing you on your knowledge of the otherworld language. When things are slow, he’ll randomly ask you if you know the names of certain things.

Whenever you both encounter something new during your travels, he’s quick to ask you if you know what it is or outright tells you what it’s called.

He seems a bit self-conscious of having minimal form. What is under his robe? If you don't ask he'll be grateful. He doesn't know himself.

But if you're not repulsed by his anomalous form, that's just -- incredibly touching.

He claims to not understand love, but he'll never abandon you.

Maybe he doesn't understand. Maybe he's forgotten.

But there's something about you that comforts him, and makes him feel safe. Quite paradoxical -- he's the one doing the protecting, after all. But your presence soothes him.

Mr. Machete

He's just looking for a way to not be bored. And being with you -- somehow, it's fun.

Maybe because he's usually alone, so he doesn't often have anyone else to talk to. It's...fun to banter with you, even if sometimes your words confuse him.

It's unquestionable that he's the brawn, you're the brain of this duo. Maybe the beauty and the beast, too?

He's always, secretly, been a little bit of a coward. The second things don't look like they'll turn out well for him, he ditches and flees.

But, oddly, you give him the courage to stand against things or monsters he would have thought were impossible to defeat.

Sometimes, you die -- whether by accident or because something else got to you before he could. But he always sighs and waits for you to wake up again. If you're mad, it's a little funny. You were just too slow that time.

He likes sparring with you. You have to get faster, right? Your weapon is pretty funny, too. So small and yet somehow you manage to not get overwhelmed by him. He's not holding back. He never would. Right?

He likes to pick you up and sling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Likes to hug you like a teddy bear, too. You're soft and warm. You feel nice against him.

He's not the type to ask, but if you made any indication of not liking anything, he'd stop. He doesn't want to break you.

Mr. Scarletella

You are his queen. He literally worships the ground you walk on.

You are so fascinating to him. He just can't believe he's found someone as perfect as you. Someone who likes to destroy and kill people, just like him? Immaculate.

You haven't and never will give him your name. That's fine. He can live with that, as long as you're with him.

You've likely given him something else to call you. It's not quite your name -- maybe it's not your full name, and he knows it, because he can't quite grasp your essence. But it's enough to be able to give a sound to the person -- thing -- he likes most in this world.

He likes to say that not-quite name, and he says it often, just to get your attention.

He's fascinated by everything about you -- including how small you are in comparison to him. He loves that he can easily dwarf your form and loom over you. It's exhilarating in a completely different way from mindless violence.

Speaking of which, his favourite thing is without a doubt to commit violence with you. There's a new urban legend steadily growing in the human world, of a pair of murderers characterised by their red and white umbrellas. You're the perfect perfectly awful duo, truly.

Even when he's not with you, he's always somehow got an eye on you. Most of the otherworld residents know by now who you belong to, and they'd never lay hand on the one cherished by the red umbrella man.

[valeriele3]

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

𝒮𝑒𝓁𝒻-𝒜𝓌𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓃𝓀𝒶𝒾 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝑅𝒶𝒾𝓁

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

✎ Sorry for the somewhat rushed ending! ^^;

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

Messages.

Idle chats.

You were answering them like normal. Sometimes even giggling on the messages

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

You log in, check your messages, answer them if there's one, do daily tasks, and maybe farm, then log out. That was your daily routine in HSR.

However, you begin to notice how much more frequent the chats are. After assigning an assignment, you get a new message. 'Oh well. Free jades," you thought.

Every time you beat an enemy, boss, or do anything in the game, you will notice a new message.

'Maybe it was an update? Or a bug?' You brushed it all off and thought nothing of it.

You would answer all of them wholeheartedly; after all, you also noticed that if the character liked what you said, you'd receive more Stellar Jades.

You'd talk about it with your friends, but they'd respond with "I wish", "Oh shut up~ Don't make me hope", and "Hm? Is your game bugged?? Or is mine bugged? I don't get any of those benefits..So unfair."

You try to check the dev logs to see if there was an update regarding the messaging feature, but whenever you try to look at them, your computer freezes.

'No matter, I can just check using my phone.' No luck; it also freezes.

'Maybe my tablet?' Still the same.

Frustrated, you ask one of your friends to look into it. "There's no update or any fixes on it, Y/N. Maybe you should report it; your game might really be bugged."

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

Deciding to report it, you open up Bug Report, but then your screen freezes again.

It then opens up the messages, and you read the following words:

| Hey

| Please don't do it.

| It took such a long time to break the code, you know.

| Hey

| Are you still there?

| Oh

| Right

The messaging bubble pops up.

| You can type now.

"W-What.." You stare at your screen dumbfounded.

Reaching out to your keyboard, hoping it won't work and choices will pop up, you press a random key, and it works

Startled, you immediately plugged out the cables on your computer, causing it to shut down.

You grab your phone and start messaging one of your friends. Before you could hit send, the screen blackened, and then in the next second, it lit up with a notification.

"Hey, we were in the middle of a conversation."

"Why did you suddenly leave?"

Your hand trembles. 'Shit, how..How did it get to my phone too..'

"I know I like reading self-aware au's but I didn't want it to actually be true!" You scream, throwing your phone across the room.

You can hear it dinging with new message after new message.

You decide to leave your room for a bit to calm down.

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

"Ok..Be calm..I'm probably dreaming, right?"

"There's no way this kind of thing will actually happen in real life."

"I need to think about this rationally. I could try to get my phone and computer fixed..Maybe I accidentally got a bug."

"Oh, my tablet too..It probably has the same bug.."

"Then, uhm, should I tell them about this? No, maybe..Agh! This is so frustrating..!"

After going back and forth, you decided to sell your gadgets instead of trying to repair them. Buying new ones is much cheaper than trying to get them fixed.

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

The first month was alright. You also stopped playing HSR just in case something of the sort would happen again.

However, everything changed when you awoke to your notifications going off like crazy.

【Luka】

| Hey! Y/N, wanna come watch my tournament this week?

【Qingque】

| Y/N

| This is urgent. Come to Exalting Sanctum

| Watch me go against this pro. I'm sure with your attendance I'll easily win.

【Robin】

| Y/N, would you like to come watch my concert?

| Don't worry! I made sure that you'd get the best seat.

【Sunday】

| Y/N. Do me a favor and attend Robin's concert, will you?

| If you don't..

| Well, it'll certainly make her sad. As for me, it's best you don't know.

【Arlan】

| Hello, Y/N

| Would you like to accompany me with walking Peppy?

【Blade】

| Come.

【Bailu】

| Y/N!

| I have made a huge discovery!

| Meet me at Aurum Alley!

【M̵̛̼̘̭͎͓̘̘̽̎̃̊̄͋̈́̑̇i̵̡̨̡͎̖̮͉̺̣͂ͅs̴̰͂̉́̅͒̆̄́̄̋̚͜͠͠͝ͅȟ̵͉̹̖͍͎̱̭̳̰̘̀a̵̧̨͔̣̘̮̻̐̆̌̀͑̊̄̄͌͗̓̌͘̕̚】

| C̷̛͇̬̥̼̲̙̠͓̭̺̱̻̟͖̜̾͑͋͊́̀̕͝ä̷̡̨̨̤̫́̏́̾̄͘͝��̨̡̼̗̫̪̟̰ͅn̸̡̪̱̻̜̻̺͊̍͒̂͗̀̍͐̔͆̆̎̚̕̕ ̷̛̻̟̀̇͐͋̋̌̂͒́͑̏͝y̴̮͆͒̈͒͑͋͆̒̂̓̕͘̚͝͝o̸̩̫̰̤͌̈͝ͅu̷̻̗͉̥̺͕͉͔̠̯͇̭̖̐͜ ̵͖̲̼̥͑͝ḣ̵̟͓̆͌̄̑̂̈́̓̚͘̕͝͝e̷͖̥̜̅͛̂̒͒̕͜a̶̧̫̹͉͆͑̊͊̊̐̐̂̈̉̾͜͝r̶͎̫͛̑͊͌͐̎ ̴̢̢̛͓͉̮͇̞̬̪͔͓̦̾̓̈́̀͐̀̂̀͒͝ͅm̴̤̙͎̽͋̽̇͛́͑͌̃͑̊e̷̦͚̔́̔̀̒͊͂̔̕̚͝.̵͎͓̪̥͍̍̓͂̾̌̂̌̚̚ͅ.̵̨̟͉͕͈̜͎̻̗͓̯̜̜̩̓̈́̓͊̆̓̑͐̈̐̄̀̕?̵̙̠͚̆͊͊̇͌

【Aventurine】

| Why're you ignoring my calls and texts?

| Is the money not enough for you?

【Pela】

| The Tale of the Winterlands original artbook sold out in 1 second again

| But

| I was fast enough to get you a copy too

| Don't worry. I'm messaging the right person this time

【Natasha】

| Y/N, did your cold get better?

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

You stare at your phone, frozen. Even as you were sitting there staring at it, the messages continued to flood nonstop.

It

Was

Nonstop

Even if it's on silent mode and DND, you can still hear it dinging.

At one point, the messages started appearing in all the social apps that you use.

Hell, it even started appearing in your smart fridge

You deleted and deactivated everything. Throwing away any and all sorts of electronics that could potentially be used for apps.

But you could still hear it.

Even the sound of the doorbell ringing, the kettle whistling, or your telephone ringing makes you panic. 'What if that's them?' You always think

Every creak, every shuffle, and every little sound makes you paranoid.

What if they cross over to Earth? What will you do? You can't run from them. Even if you do, they'll be able to find you easily.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

You know, it would be interesting for me to read the gloomy Disney characters. By the type that the Reader accidentally enters the Disney world. Or is already in this world. For example, a man! The Evil Queen× reader. Just imagine that the mirror says that the most beautiful is the reader and the man!The evil Queen was interested.. Well, or dark! A man!A Disney princess who believes in love and believes that the reader is his true love and that the reader should belong only to him.

Sorry for the bad English

Don't apologize

You're perf, babes

Yandere!Genderbent!Evil King x GN!Reader x Yandere!Genderbent!Snow White

CW: Death, obsessive behavior

"Magic mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" The vain king asked his enchanted mirror as he often did whenever his pride was wounded. King Hadewig was the envy of men and women. Cold and beautiful, his features were cut like an ethereal ice sculpture. Intelligent, talented, and ruthless, most everyone either wanted to bed him or be him. However, his power was not guaranteed for long.

Hadewig was King only by responsibility, and not by actual title. His title was, legally, Prince Consort. He married his, now deceased, wife when he was a young bachelor, and she was the only eligible bachelorette of suitable status as a widow. Being so much older than him, it was an "unfortunate", but not "unsurprising" passing of the crown when the Queen died and left her son in Hadewig's care.

The only reason the child wasn't immediately crowned king was because of Hadewig's charm and influence, convincing the court that the young Prince Snow was too irresponsible to rule the country. But it was difficult to continue that lie going, even with Hadewig purposely keeping Snow ignorant of his future kingly duties by treating him as a servant, for now the boy was twenty years of age, and truly should have not only been coronated years ago, but also wed off to the available princess of the neighboring kingdom, a woman as old as Hadewig.

But his potential loss of power wasn't the reason for his low self esteem that day.

"You are, my king. There is one who approaches, but does not yet share with you what makes you fair."

The king slumped in his seat in an uncouth like manner. "Then why does my hunter not look at me like a man?"

King Hadewig's personal hunter, an immensely talented killer that didn't just slaughter animals for the king. And the only person who simply looked at the king. Nothing Hadewig did could change the professional look on (Reader's) face during their meetings. No matter how charismatic he was with his words, how stylish his clothing was, nor the love potions he attempted to spike (Reader's) drinks with, they were seemingly immune to every one of his attempts. In their most recent meeting, the one that left Hadewig depressed, he had offered his hunter a glass of wine, which they turned down, stating that the last drink they had received from the king did not agree with them.

"I can not tell you that, my lord. I only can report what I see, so unless your hunter speaks their secrets out loud while I spy, I am blind to their feelings for you."

Hadewig groaned, upset and broken hearted.

"Show me my hunter, again."

The face in the mirror melted, dissolving into an image of (Reader) leaving the castle. Their strong frame sent shivers down the icy man's spine. His first and only marriage was one of political importance, with no love or warmth between the husband and wife. But in the presence of his Mx. Hunter, the king was set ablaze. The intense feeling of heat was dowsed when he witnessed the bastard he hated most in the world approach his hunter.

At the steps of the castle, Snow had been timidly watching the triumphant hunter from afar, gathering the courage to approach them. He had never known shame, never feeling any sort of embarrassment about the state of his dress, but in the presence of the person who always smelled faintly of iron, he was reduced to two inches tall.

Stepping lightly like a mouse, the short adult snuck up behind (Reader), still debating whether or not he was actually going to announce his presence.

His decision was made for him, however, being noticed by (Reader) almost immediately.

"Good afternoon, your highness." They said, turning sharply on their heel to face him.

The hunter was the only person to address the prince by his royal status.

"Ah- how did you know it was me?" He asked incredulously. A pink blush warmed his entire head, wrapping around the back of his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

"Because I could hear you." (Reader) offered a kind smile to the shy, younger man. They felt sympathy towards him, with the way his cold step father treated him. With what they had done to him.

Snow was impressed by how cool (Reader) was. And a small part of him wished to impress them as well. He tried to straighten out his worn out rags. "What brings you to the castle today?"

"To gift the king a wolf pelt. And also," (Reader) reached into their pouch, pulling out a pressed flower, "to gift you this."

The prince sucked in his gasp, wide eyed and lips pressed tight.

"I apologize for not finding something better for your highness."

"No!" He panicked, grabbing the flower with both hands. "It's beautiful!"

He hadn't received a gift since the passing of his mother.

"Happy Birthday, your highness." (Reader) bowed, then turned swiftly, leaving the young man hyperventilating and sweating.

Only the king and his mirror heard Snow whisper long after (Reader) left: "I love you."

Three days later, and the king was losing his mind over the interaction. Snow was visibly taller, standing straighter as he worked, singing as he cleaned the castle grounds, and it was bothering him.

Hadewig kicked over his chair in frustration. "Magic mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

"The one you fear is getting stronger, the confidence has warmed his winter, and people shall notice his spring awakening. The prince now glows more brightly than you, whose anger has etched lines of hatred into his ice like face."

King Hadewig released a scream, losing his control before quickly sharpening back up, running his hands through his messed hair.

He left his study, storming over towards a frightened servant.

"Send for my hunter."

Before (Reader), the king was disheveled, worrying (Reader) something awful.

"I can not stand for this disrespect any longer." His gaze read cold and cruel as it pierced the hunter's. "You understand that you are mine, correct?"

(Reader) thought about the flower and felt a wave of anxiety. "Yes, your highness."

"You understand that you belong to me?"

"Yes, your highness."

He sighed ever so slightly, before retrieving a wooden box from his desk. "I have another assignment for you.

Kill my son."

Nausea threatened to erupt from the seasoned murderer. "My lord?"

"Take him deep into the woods, and bring me back his heart." He held out the box. It was a test, as though (Reader) hadn't proved their loyalty to the mad man enough.

The empty box was heavy in (Reader's) hands.

"As you wish, your highness."

Prince Snow spun in the field of flowers as he searched for the most beautiful flowers for the hunter. It was the best day of his life! His father had given him a colorful outfit that fit him and the hunter had asked him out on a date! Well, they didn't call it a date, but what else could it have been?

He wove a crown for (Reader) while imaging their wedding day, becoming King and Royal Consort and having a real crown placed on their head.

(Reader), however, was weighing their options, not truly paying attention to the prince, and trying to ignore his childlike excitement.

What would the king do, if he was made a fool?

"Oh, hunter!" Snow ran over, holding out the delicate crown. "I made this for you! May I?"

And that was all it took, for (Reader) to spare his life.

They bent down, feeling the weight of the crown on their scalp. It smelled nice. Before Snow could retreat, (Reader) wrapped their arms around his thin waist. They had killed so many people before, but this was only the second time they felt unbearable guilt.

The first was after they took the life of the Queen.

"(Reader)?" Snow stuttered out, feeling weak in their strong arms.

"You must run, your highness." (Reader) whispered into his ear.

"What?"

"The king has ordered me to kill you. So please, run. Far away, into the woods." They released the prince, and it was only then that he noticed the heavy bags under their tired eyes.

"Why? I don't understand-"

"Leave. It won't be long before that witch discovers my lie."

Snow fell to his knees, holding onto the edge of (Reader's) shirt for dear life, falling apart in front of them. "Please, no! Come with me! If he would kill me, what would he do to you for sparing me? Please, run away with me!"

(Reader) bent down to release his fingers from their hem, planting a kiss on his forehead as they did so. "I hope when I meet you again you will have found a name more worthy of such a warm and kind person. For as of this moment, Prince Snow is dead."

Excitement threatened to crack the King's cool demeanor as he observed the bloody heart in his hands. (Reader) was distant, but that didn't matter to Hadewig, for now there was no competition for his hunter's affection. They would soon be his, even if he had to use force to make it so.

"Excellent work, my faithful hunter." He offered a practiced smile, unnerving (Reader) who prayed that the pig heart made a convincing decoy. At least until they could escape and hide out in the mountains, far away from the King's eyes.

(Reader) gave a deep bow. Then they left, calmly getting on their horse, and leaving, not taking a single glance behind them as they sped off, emergency bag already packed on their steed.

Back in Hadewig's room, he caressed the box affectionately, thinking about his lovely hunter. The stress had certainly caused a frown line, just as the mirror said, but he was working at reversing the damage.

"Magic Mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" He dreamily asked, slightly nervous that the rage had permanently ruined his perfect face.

"Hiding deep within the woods, tending a wounded heart, the fairest in the land hides. Prince Snow still lives."

The king scoffed. "I have his heart right here, mirror."

"No, within that box lies the heart of a pig."

The box fell from Hadewig's hands. "A pig..?" His face scrunched up painfully. "(Reader) would never betray- they belong to me! ME! Guards! Where is my hunter?!"

"The hunter is flying towards the mountains, away from the woods they released the prince into."

Hadewig collapsed at his desk, screaming in agony while pawing at his chest. "No! It's all his fault! Find me that little bastard- I'll kill him myself!"

The seven dwarven women listened to the young man recall his tale of woe, his eyes full of tears but a smile still on his lips. "So, if you please, could I stay here? Just until my love returns for me."

Happy sighed dramatically, blushing and twirling her beard. "That (Reader) is so brave~"

Grumpy smacked the back of her head. "That double crosser may have saved the prince, but that doesn't mean they won't double double cross him!"

Bashful stomped a foot. "It's true love! They would never!"

"Well, they never confessed their feelings," Doc said while cleaning her glasses, "they could have saved Snow out of the goodness of their heart."

Snow smiled, trying to calm the fragments of his heart. "I have to believe, to hope, that (Reader) loves me as I love them. To risk death for me.. but, they said we would meet again. And I trust them."

It was painful, knowing that his father wanted him dead, but what was worse was hearing that (Reader) had put their life in danger for him. Despite all the pain and punishment Snow had endured, he never held it against his step father, but now..

A dark, bitter seed had been planted.

And throughout the night as the household slept, Prince Snow could feel it grow, threatening to burst forth from his chest. The dwarven women were so kind to him. So inviting, and trusting.

He wondered what else they would do for him.

The dark haired man knew that the apple was poison from the moment it was placed in his hands. What kind of elderly man would be this far out away from any sort of town, especially if they were traveling to sell produce? He didn't know who the old man was, but knew that he must have been in cahoots with the king.

"Oh, I don't have any money." Snow said quite sadly, placing his head in his hand.

"For such a lovely young man? Free of charge."

"Are you sure?"

The old man was certainly no real beggar. Nothing made sense. It was cruel, what Snow thought to do, especially if he was wrong, but in case he was right.. Snow whispered to a bird before smiling brightly at the stranger, taking the apple in both hands.

"Of course, please take it!"

Snow bit into the fruit, but did not swallow, hiding the chunk in his hand. After a few seconds of pretending to chew, he collapsed, holding his breath.

The king almost immediately dropped his disguise, snarling. His once similarly raven hair had a stripe of grey.

In a voice barely louder than a huff, he said "It serves you right, you filthy bastard. I would have let you live, if you had simply left my (Reader) alone."

He exhaled. There was no movement from the floor.

"Are you dead yet? Can you still hear me? I hope you can." The king smiled. "I hope you can hear me from beyond the grave as I finally get my happily ever after."

But as he celebrated the dwarves rushed home from work, and a small bird was rallying forces to find the hunter and lead them to Snow's body.

As he monologued to what Hadewig assumed was his son's corpse, the women returned from the mines, righteously horrified and armed with pickaxes.

Hadewig heard a woman shout "Grumpy, don't!" before a pick connected with his lower back, piercing his organs from behind.

The pain was excruciating, sending fire up his body as blood poured out of him. He imagined (Reader's) face, finally smiling for him as they cradled him in their arms, accepting his love. Hadewig wanted that to be the last thing he saw before he died.

Instead, he witnessed Snow, smiling up at him from the floor.

(Reader) arrived just a moment too late, having been closer than they had expected due to how deep into the woods Snow had traveled. They witnessed the sobbing dwarves sitting at the door, too upset to enter their own home where the young prince they tried to rescue lie dead.

The hunter pushed passed them, not wasting a second to grab the young man. He was still warm, but wasn't breathing.

Snow kept his eyes closed as he felt the worst pain he had ever known.

(Reader's) hands slammed into Prince Snow's chest. A rib cracked under their strength, but Snow refused to show it.

Then their lips pressed against his.

His nose was held shut as (Reader) forced air into his throat, trying to get him to wake up. They continued the repetitions a medicine man had taught them while blowing air into his lungs.

"God damnit, Snow, wake up!"

They leaned in, and felt him breath against their mouth. His large brown eyes fluttered open, and his face reddened.

His lips curled into a weak grin. "You came back for me.."

Guilt washed over (Reader), hugging him tightly to their chest. "I'm sorry I left, Prince Snow."

Warm hands ran through (Reader's) hair. "Please.. Call me Theros."

The regret and pain kept (Reader) still, allowing the recently "revived" prince to pull them in for a kiss.

After all that (Reader) put him through, a kiss was the least they could do.

But for the born again man, it was just the beginning.

[kooldewd123]

I haven't been checking in with the wider Gravity Falls fandom since I've been trying to do a lot of my own analysis so forgive me if this is something that's already been discussed a lot, but this one thing in particular has been really sticking in my mind. Typing "gun" or "oh yes they both" into the terminal provides these two responses:

These are lyrics from the musical Chicago, specifically the song "We Both Reached For The Gun." Here's a clip of the song from the movie adaptation, for reference:

Two immediate things to note here. First, the scene uses heavy puppetry imagery, and the importance of that in relation to Bill should be obvious. And if that wasn't enough, the character actually doing the puppeteering is named Billy. Frankly, that could quite likely be where this reference begins and ends and everything I say from this point onward might be me overthinking this. This could simply be another joke response like "McGucket" just leading to the music video for Cotton Eyed Joe or "Gideon" giving a Google search for sweat resistant bolo ties. What makes this one seem different to me is that unlike those examples, it stays in the terminal and doesn't link to an external site. You wouldn't understand the joke without already knowing the song (honestly, I didn't understand it myself until the previously linked video coincidentally came up in my YouTube recommended feed a few days later), not to mention that the prompts to find it are entirely self-contained as well.

Digging into the song itself, it's a very interesting choice to reference here (Quick disclaimer: I haven't seen this musical before, and most of my research has been fairly cursory, so please correct me if I get something wrong). The context here is that Roxie (the girl being puppeteered) killed the man she was having an affair with when he tried to leave her. In this song, Billy, her lawyer, rewrites the story so that the man was instead a jealous ex threatening her life. Him and Roxie "both reached for the gun," and the murder was actually an act of self-defense. Because of this spin, the false story of Roxie being a sympathetic hero ends up overtaking the reality that she's just a vindictive killer. And the weirdest part is... this kinda mirrors Bill's backstory that we learn about in the Book of Bill? We never solidly find out the truth of what happened to Euclydia. What information we have is at best heavily biased and at worst outright censored. Did Bill truly want to help his dimension or is that just a justification he came up with after the fact? We don't know. We're the reporters in this song, the people who have nothing but the word of the perpetrator to go off of. And I... don't really know what conclusion to make of this. Like, the broad strokes of the two stories are very similar in their themes, but whenever I try to look at the details, they don't map onto each other as well as I'd like. Roxie seems much more unrepentant than Bill, and Bill seems much less, stable? i guess? than Roxie. I really feel like there might be something it's trying to say about Bill here, but whatever it is, it's eluding me.

[kairiscorner]

when grump meets grump <3

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

miguel x grumpy reader

now if there was anyone else feared upon in the spider society that wasn't named 'miguel o'hara', it was you. the moment you joined the spider society, everyone had a new face to fear.

every day was a challenge for the rest of the spider society, even jess and peter b couldn't go to your quarters without knocking and stating their name and business for coming there. if they wasted your time with an easy picking mission, or a bad joke, or at worst... a childish prank, they'd be squishes spiders in the next minute–or make that in the next five seconds.

you were serious about your job, no nonsense was allowed on your watch. you reminded everyone of a certain leader who was very particular with how things were run at HQ, and how fun was virtually dead when he was doing things his way.

but surprisingly...

"i hate him." you seethed as you clenched your fists, your eyebrows were furrowed as you scrunched up your nose, gritting your teeth. peter b spit out his coffee all over the table by accident, jess fetching a few napkins to clean it up.

"you... you hate miguel?" peter b asked, exasperated and... bewildered, if anything else. you nodded, slowly, as your eye twitched just the slightest at the mention of that damned man's name.

"he thinks he's the shit. honestly, what's wrong with him? why does he make everything about him? you've seen how he plans out the missions, he always delivers the finishing blow. he never lets anyone else do the work, it's always him, him, him!" you exclaim as you got up and threw the table down out of rage.

peter b yelped as jess grabbed him and brought the both of them to the side. they were... extremely surprised you didn't see eye-to-eye with miguel. they always believed that if they weren't miguel's closest allies, you'd be. but no. your rage and hatred for miguel subverted their expectations.

"so glad i never let them hold mayday..." peter b murmured. "well be glad if they don't hear you right no–" jess was telling him, until you turned your head with a scowl at them. "i could hear everything you two were saying, y'know." you warned them, which was their cue to leave.

you cooled down after a few hours, beating anomalies without anyone else holding you down or telling you what to do always hit the spot. but soon, the dreaded hour came.

a holographic image of miguel appeared on your watch, you tried your hardest not to look angry nor disgusted at the sight of him, even when masked. "report back to my office at HQ, we got a situation here." he said curtly, and before you could even ask what was so important that he had to call you, he hung up immediately.

you sighed and groaned in frustration as you opened up a portal to head back to HQ. the moment you stepped back into HQ, you were in miguel's office. you crossed your arms over your chest and raised an eyebrow.

"talk to me." you said in a monotonous voice as miguel turned around to look at you, confused. "why're you here?" he asked. you looked at him in disbelief. "o'hara, don't fuck with me. you called me earlier, dumbass." you reminded him, getting a little pissed off at him playing dumb.

miguel looked at you now in disbelief, turning around fully to face you as his platform slowly descended. you tapped your foot impatiently like a cartoon character. "last time i checked, you weren't from earth-8311. what's got you so impatient over nothing?" he asked in a tired voice.

you groaned. "you. you called me? jeez, i thought you of all people would know it's not hilarious to waste another person's valuable time with such stupid, insipid little pranks!" you exclaimed, angry, and a little embarrassed because miguel really did seem like he didn't know what you were talking about. could you have been wrong, for once in your life?

miguel put a hand up to stop your fuming self from framing him from any more allegations of him summoning you to his office. "i didn't call anyone, i was out fighting more variants of the vulture with jess and a new recruit. i didn't call for anyone else, except... dammit." miguel breathed out as he put a hand to his side and pinched the bridge of his nose with furrowed eyebrows.

"lyla!" miguel called for the ai assistant in an irritated voice. lyla showed up a little disheveled, she soon refreshed herself and came back looking more presentable. "what?" she asked as she looked at miguel, who looked at her a little... desperately.

"did you... did you call them?" miguel was asking lyla in a hushed voice, almost as if he did not want you to hear what they were talking about even if it concerned you.

lyla looked at miguel, then at you, then back at miguel, then back at you, then she smiled. she shrugged. "i did." she said in a cheeky, unenergetic voice.

miguel rubbed both of his temples and shut his eyes when lyla admitted she called you. you pit your hands on your hips and raises an eyebrow, still unsure of what was going on.

"but why?" miguel asked in a slightly nervous tone. "you know never to call their line unless... it's absolutely necessary." he reminded lyla, who laughed a little at that.

"i was just doing what you told me to do, test out your automated answering system for video calls. it was arbitrary, just so happened to call them with an automated response. no biggie." she said with a smile and a shrug as miguel looked like he was about to combust out of frustration towards her.

"so what is it? why'd you call?" you asked in an expectant voice, looking at miguel who tried to appear brave, but instead, appeared remorseful.

"i... i didn't call you here." he admitted, looking at you then back away. "lyla was testing out the beta stages of a project i have, um, it was an arbitrary choice, really, just so happened to call you by accident and didn't get to tell you it was a beta test. i'm sorry, for wasting your time and energy for coming here." he apologized.

your eyes widened as you looked at him. "you... apologized?" you asked with a tone of surprise. "you, miguel o'hara, apologized to me?" you asked incredulously as lyla was taking videos of this moment.

miguel put his hands to his hips, hung his head, and nodded. "yeah." he said with a click of his tongue as he looked back up at you. "i'm sorry." he said, and though it was hard to distinguish it from sarcasm or sincerity, miguel really was being sincere with his apology for wasting your time.

you stared at him, you refused to believe he was being honest. "and why would you apologize? i thought everyone here was expected to bow down to you, mr. o'hara." you asked, putting up your cold front.

"well... if you must know, um..." miguel stuttered, trying to find the right words, when lyla finally spoke up on his behalf. "your badassness scares him shitless. he hates having to piss you off because he wants to keep living." she said, and as miguel lunged forward to shut her up, lyla moved from one side of his to the other. "that, and he thinks you're super hot, so there. toodles." she said as she logged off as miguel was going to lunge at her again. he cussed under his breath as you took in what lyla said.

"is it true?" you asked him, your tone softening. he turned around to face you, and looked at you with a nervous expression. "do i... scare you?" you ask miguel as you approached him. he loomed over you, but you always found ways to subdue your opponents–miguel never wanted you to see him as one. in fact, he wanted you to look at him as the complete opposite, really.

"um... yes." he admitted, looking down at the ground. "but, you also find me attractive?" you ask, which sends a warmth through miguel's cheeks. "i... i kinda do." he mutters as he looks away from you.

you put a hand on his chin as you made him look at you, gently turning his face to look at you. "oh, well don't just look away from someone after you confess to them, that's very rude." you said with a joking air.

miguel looked at you, his eyes wide as he saw, for the first time, a playful look on your face that had no malice, no anger, no... grump in it. "i may be grumpy and serious, but that doesn't mean i'm heartless." you tell him as you squeeze his cheeks together.

"man, who'd've thought a big, commanding man such as you was actually scared of little old me? now that just makes me blush." you said with a small laugh as a rosy blush slowly appeared on your cheeks, miguel's blush deepening.

"so, do you... do you feel the same way?" he asks you, pretty hopeful of your answer. you shrug. "i did just admit to jess and peter b how much i hated the way you made everything in missions about you... but maybe you did that because you hate having someone telling you what to do. i hate that too, actually." you say with a grin.

"i kinda like the cut of your jib, o'hara. maybe... maybe you and i can come around to a compromise on our, well..." you trailed off as you searched for the right words.

"attitude problems." lyla chimed in as she disappeared just as immediately as she came in. miguel groaned as you chuckled. miguel smiled up at you. "yeah, maybe we can... take a break from being such grumps." he said.

"hey, you're the grump–i'm always the right one, you know that." you tell him as you give him a sly look.

"is that right now?" miguel asked sarcastically as he smiled at you.

maybe both of your grumpiness would only be a sometime thing now, hopefully.

tags!! @miguelswifey04

[y-umiko]

TOKYOREV BOYS IN ONE NIGHT STANDS

CHARACTER(S): Ran . Sanzu . Rindou

WARNING/S: nsfw implications

Ran Haitani

The sun gently woke you up from your sleep, a groan followed up by a migraine, accompanied by the sinful and blissful memories from last night. Never in your sober self had you ever thought you'll hit it off with Ran, one thing led to another and you both ended up making out, later continuing to your room.

but you were not surprised to wake up beside a cold spot in bed, of course, the infamous Ran Haitani wouldn't settle for someone like you. you're just one of his another one-night stand, and you were a fool to believe that there was something between you two. a sigh escape your lips from the thought, that is until the bathroom door opened and out Ran Haitani in nothing but pants, that were hanging low on his lips, his toned stomach in display for you to see.

"you're still here?" you asked surprised, quickly averting your eyes that unconsciously traveled to his exposed skin. something Ran definitely saw but decided to ignore for now after hearing your accusation.

"did you think I left?" he asked amusedly with a playful grin, before picking up his discarded shirt and putting it on effortlessly "I'm hurt that you think so lowly of me"

you rolled your eyes, It's not just me that thinks that everyone does" he chuckled as he easily tied his tie and look for his socks, from his actions, it's easy to understand what he meant, that this between you two was just a one-night stand, it was a hopeful dream that he would settle for you.

you pouted as you gathered the blanket, "Anyways, you were probably on your way out and I just caught you leaving" your words coming out questioning as you went under the blankets to hide your red face, " Well don't let me hold you back"

it was silence at first before the blanket was rudely pulled away from you, just enough to see Ran waiting seating beside you on the bed, a playful grin adorning his lips. "you look so irresistible right now do you know that?" "hey!" you felt heat in your cheeks at Ran's seemingly calm demeanor as if teasing you. but soon drops into something serious as he pecks your lips in assurance.

"I have to leave early for a meeting" he whispered disappointedly, if he were to choose hell spend the rest of his life with you in bed.

"but trust me I'll see you tonight" he sealed with a kiss, deeper and with more emotion.

Sanzu Haruchiyo

Sanzu was a deep sleeper, that or he just didn't care as you rush in the morning gathering your clothes and putting them on, before leaving his room in a complete mess.

you started your morning, as usual, reporting and checking some stuff. the morning was so busy that you almost forgot about the night before, but images from last night kept crawling back into your mind. and when you thought that Sanzu had probably moved on with his day, he came angrily stalking towards you that very afternoon, his eyes swirling almost feral.

"If you think you can just run away and pretend nothing happened, then you're wrong" he blurted out as he rudely interrupted your conversation with one of the members, who immediately read the atmosphere and left. definitely not wanting to face the upset Sanzu. "Sanzu-san I- " "Sanzu?" he interrupted exasperatedly, looking down at you, his eyes full of so much emotion, something you don't see that often "That wasn't my name last night unless you need reminding of then I'll be more than happy to take you h-"

"Ha-Haru!" you immediately corrected, flustered and face flushed from the surge of memories. as you look left and right, making sure no one was around before continuing "Look what happened last night, it was an accident we both don't want, you're not under any obligation, can we just forget about it?"

"I don't want to" was his stern response as you can't help but only stare at him at the sudden seriousness of his words. gasping when he surprisingly gently cupped your chin.

"do you have any idea how long I wanted you?" he said, his breath hitting your lips as he watch your eyes flicker between his lips and eyes. a sign he only needed before pressing his lips against yours. you felt him smirk as you responded to his kiss and before you knew it you felt his arms beneath your legs before picking you up, bridal style.

"Now, that's a good girl"

Rindou Haitani

Amidst the headache and soar body, the first thing you notice when you woke up was the delicious smell of coffee and pancakes. sitting up from the bed, clutching the blanket over your naked body, the fact you're not in your room becomes apparent. it was then that the pleasant memories from the night before come rushing.

The Bonten executives had a gathering last night, and more than usual the guys ordered more drinks than they can handle. all you remember was more than half of them were drunks, the others passed out somewhere. while you and Rin somehow ended up in his room.

grabbing a clean shirt from his closet, you threw it on before making your way to the kitchen. expecting to see some take-out food or maybe Rindou will kick you out of his room right away. but to your bewilderment, there stands Rindo Haitani in his sweatpants and shirt, yet looking good, behind a stove, a spatula in one hand.

"What?" he asked after noticing you standing on the threshold, staring ridiculously at him. but one thing he noticed was how good you look wearing his shirt he quickly averted his gaze away, in fear of you seeing his red face.

"What are you doing?" you asked cautiously, now a little aware that you're basically wearing nothing except his shirt. but considering what happened last night, what's more, to be embarrassed about.

"what does it look like I'm doing?" Rin simply answered as he put the newly cooked pancake on a plate, before setting them down on the table, gesturing you to take a seat.

quietly, you sat in front of the newly cook pancake while Rin sets 2 cups of coffee. you stared at the delicious food in front of you. however, as good as it smells, you can't help but think that this food was his way of consolation before kicking you out.

"who cooks breakfast for their one-night stand" you mumbled sheepily but he heard you anyway.

"No one" He firmly said, as he sets down a cup of coffee beside your plate "Because this is not a one-night stand" your head perks up, "what?"

Rindou looked at you with a furrow on his forehead, his arms crossed against his chest, "you slept with me, you're wearing my shirt- half naked, in the middle of my kitchen"

He sighs," don't play dumb…"

"you're already mine"

[spacexseven]

misconduct

NOTE: i really missed working on oneshots :>>

REQUEST: yandere! dazai with an oblivious + self sacrificing darling from @cc-6789

CW: yandere character + themes, obsession, jealousy, stalking, deceit, (heavy) manipulation, abuse of power, breaking and entering. dazai is an Asshole

the first time you loudly declared that you trusted dazai enough to go check on a case with him, dazai felt his heart falter.

it was almost funny how quickly you trusted him, but the thought that you might share your trust with anyone else immediately silenced any humor dazai may have found in the situation. if all it took from him was to regularly ask you about your day, with a little flirting on the side for you to already decide that he was...nice, what would it take from anyone else? was kunikida, who, despite his harsh comments, personally guided you through the hectic report writing process, also nice? was yosano, with her insisting that you step out of the office with her to stretch your legs, also just as easy to trust? though he was confident none of his coworkers held the same wicked thoughts about you as he did, the bitter taste in his mouth refused to go away every time he saw you cling onto yosano on your way out or graciously smile at kunikida before heading home.

and about why he decided to mess with you despite knowing that you trusted him, honestly, he was only curious—just how much did you trust him? or, perhaps, a sullen part of him thinks, it may just be an offhanded statement by which you meant nothing. though nobody around dazai threw around the word trust lightly, he wasn't sure if it was the same for you.

honestly, you weren't all that special in dazai's book, nobody as memorable as the dangerous ability users he mingled with or the incomprehensibly genius minds he discussed with. but there was something about you that lingered in his mind. he can't put his finger on it exactly, but he identified it to be woven into your determination and unwavering resolve, hidden in the bright look in your eyes when you grinned at his antics, and surrounding the silent reassurance you offered when the world weighed down on him—something about you that was entirely unforgettable. somehow, the perfectly ordinary you became so unattainable and striking, even without trying.

and he coveted for all that was you to be his, for it to be tucked away in the palm of his hand, hidden away from prying eyes. he yearned for it to shine for him and not for anyone else, not for any other sweet words or gentle caresses. wasn't it selfish? to want someone so much?

for the most part, you were oblivious to his sinister desires. if not, why were you so careless around him? why did you smile so freely, gravitate towards him so naturally, as though it was perfectly normal to do so? he wonders if you'll scorn him if you knew how selfish he was; not that he couldn't take care of it anyway.

dazai inches a little bit closer to your stiff figure, watching out of the corner of his eye as you glance over at him nervously. at this rate, he was going to be in your lap before you could leave. he observes your eyes flitting between the clock on the wall, its hand crawling at an unbearably slow pace, and to his hand, which had found purchase on your thigh.

he lets his hand shift, holding his breath as his fingers graze your inner thigh with a light touch—light enough to resemble a slight breeze or a delicate brush, but you know it was him. he waits, with bated breath, his fingers on your thigh trembling in anticipation. your lips purse together, a frown slowly creeping onto your face, eyes stuck onto your screen instead now.

and then—"dazai," you finally acknowledge the man beside you, "i'm sure you're bored by watching me work all day long."

he stares at you, not exactly surprised by your response. you go on about how he could just wait outside and you'd be out in a moment or if he'd like you could close up now, but instead of paying attention to your words, his gaze is stuck on your pretty mouth. your lips, he observes, are chapped and dry. you don't seem to notice his attention shift as you ramble on, words never reaching dazai.

you're cut off abruptly when he leans over and starts digging into your bag, finally grasping the cylindrical tube he had been looking for.

"pucker up," he grins deviously at your startled expression, waving the tube in his hand.

honestly, you were far too cute—you had to be doing this on purpose. he was tempted to grab your face and kiss you right then, but he knew better than to try. as the confusion cleared up, you awkwardly follow his orders, hands clenched at your sides. any last protests from you are ignored, his fingers firmly holding your jaw.

a soft smile makes its way onto dazai's face as he slides the balm over your lips. you're still staring at him, quietly, unmoving, but your eyes are locked onto him. he thinks, for a moment, that he quite likes you this way; only looking at him.

"thanks..." though you sound confused, dazai doesn't try to explain himself. instead, he's waiting for you to say something. waiting for you to awkwardly ask him to not to that again, politely say something about boundaries and personal space. but you only look at him for a moment longer before directing your gaze back to your work, obviously unsure of what to do.

perhaps a little recklessly, he decides to test the limits again.

"say," he places a hand over yours, stopping you from typing, "about your friend in the special division..."

your eyes light up as you turn to face him, "oh!," you mention a name dazai can't be bothered to remember—he knows the loser's face, anyway, "he was the one who got me a job here, actually. do you know him, dazai?"

he inhales deeply and then sighs, as though he was gathering up the courage to tell you something. your interest is obviously piqued, as you completely move your hands away from the keyboard.

"well ango mentioned," you'd recognize ango's name for sure, "that he was acting a little...strange. sort of jumpy and on edge," dazai pauses for a minute to gauge your reaction, biting back a smile, "i was just wondering if you were aware of anything going on in his personal life?"

"not that i know of, but dazai, why—"

"none of this is really any of my business, but ango sounded really worried about it. and you know, there was some suspicious activity linked back to him as well...missing files and the sort...."

dazai was distracted for a moment, musing on how cute your shocked expression was.

"you don't think...he can't be a spy. he doesn't have any suspicious friends, and he really loves his job. i just can't imagine..."

dazai, with a perfectly feigned expression of concern, places a hand on your shoulder, "for the time being, i think it's best you distance yourself a little. obviously, there'll be an investigation and i'm afraid they might trace things to you. "

"that...makes sense," you whisper.

"i didn't mean to make you worried, [name]. i know you'd never do such a thing, but if he were to frame you or try to drag you into this..."

noticing your distraught expression, dazai tries to apologize to you for ruining your mood. you reassure him after that, though your voice is still shaky and dazai knows you're the one in need of reassurance. but what he's really interested in is whether you'd listen to him or the desperate pleas of your friend. whether you'd trust his words or not.

it's a few days later that you slump over in your seat, looking absolutely devastated.

"he was packing up his things," you manage to say, "and...he kept saying that he was being set up."

dazai nods along as you confide in him your suspicions, not at all suspecting that your friend was telling the truth all along.

"and then," you lower your voice even more, "he kept mentioning you, and said that you were lying."

dazai's blood runs cold, and he rapidly assesses the situation. how could he salvage this? how could he—

"i think my phone's bugged!" you finally declare, much to his surprise, "i mean, how else would he know what we talked about?"

it occurs to dazai then, in a wonderful revelation, that you didn't suspect him, even for a moment. you had immediately assumed it was your so-called friend who was lying. oh, what a marvelous thing trust was. dazai doesn't waste any more time. he offers you some comforting words and asks you if you want to take the day off. in response, you look at him like he just offered you the world. you were so easy to please, he thinks, wouldn't it be just as easy for someone to sweep you up and away from him?

he thinks of suave, charming mafioso and exciting, mysterious strangers. he thinks of seductive smiles and alluring words. there was too much on the line, and you were not yet completely reliant on him. he had his work cut out for him, but he didn't mind. it was always so rewarding, working with you. dazai thinks of all the limits he can breach, all the lines he can cross. he could touch you more, he could plant more seeds of suspicion. he thinks about helping you out first, whisking you out of particularly risky missions, and protecting you from unpleasant people. after that, wouldn't it feel so natural for him to insist he should walk you home?

and would you be so upset if he were to hold you tightly, closely, if it was only because he was hiding the both of you from a pursuer? would you be doubtful the next time he told you that yet another friend was planning something evil, or hesitate when he claimed that a heinous crime was in the area and that you should obviously stay with him?

maybe it was the paranoia that brought him to do this. dazai peers over his glass at your frozen figure by the doorway, wondering what your next words would be.

"dazai," you begin, confusion lingering in your words, "i wasn't expecting to see you here."

he shrugs, swirling the little liquid left in his—your—glass, before leaning forwards and placing it down.

"you weren't at work."

you blink slowly, "is that why you're here?"

"why didn't you come?" the actual question he wants to ask is left unspoken—was it because of me? he's not worried, not as much as he is cautious. it would be a shame to lose everything he's worked on all this time just because he pushed you a little too far.

"i just needed to take my mind off things after everything that's happened. but dazai," the corners of your lips tug downwards ever so slightly, "is that why you're here?"

"i thought," he says, his voice the most serious you've ever heard it, "that something had happened to you. you were worried about being bugged, and then the next day, you just...don't show up."

the hand around your bag strap tightens, and you straighten up.

"i didn't realize," you mutter, "i should have said something."

"you should have," he agrees.

"i'm sorry," your voice trembles ever so slightly, and he delights in the way it wavers. he loves the effect he has on you.

"it's alright," dazai smiles, benevolent and warm, as though you were in the wrong here, and not him, who made himself all too comfortable in a space that wasn't his, "i'm just glad you're safe."

dazai, again, thinks of cruel, brash mafioso and frightening, deceitful strangers. he thinks of mocking snarls and vicious threats. when he sees the way you look at him, hopeful and expectant, he finds that you had come a long, long way already.

[neopoliitan]

RWBY Evermorrow Ep.7 Director's Commentary (or something)

The newscast segment was a late addition, we decided it was best to move a scene to a later episode for a better sense of narrative. I even already animated that whole scene so we don't need to worry about it!

We were gonna use Lisa Lavender here, but decided it was better to use Cyril due to availability of existing cast members as the scene was kind of last minute. We see it as Cyril being the guy in the studio, and Lisa being the reporter in the field.

Khaki's prison number is funny if you can decipher it.

Originally this episode was a big ol scene of RWBYCRDL recounting the mission to Oz and Glynda, then the punishments being dished out, but I was having such a dull time writing it that we decided it was best to cut the recap of the immediate previous episode and hope the teams' reactions did the work. I think it was for the best, a glorified recap episode seems like it would've been a waste of production; if it wasn't fun to write it wouldn't have been fun to watch.

It was a good time to bring in Glynda as she's always been Beacon's voice of reason around Oz's more whimsical tendencies. She's to-the-point and will make no excuses, which sells the teams being reprimanded more. Plus the added questioning of what exactly Ozpin is saying to Cardin offscreen is an interesting question in the viewer's mind.

(Also our Ozpin VA was kinda unavailable but for a very good reason lol)

Let's talk Dove. You've probably noticed he's very much the reasonable one on EM CRDL at this point, which is very intentional as going in I wanted to make them more interesting than Cardin and the Cardins. CRWBY once said Dove was the most skilled of CRDL, which is an interesting angle, and Doves are a symbol of peace which inspired me to make him the """nicer""" one, albeit a bit embittered by his lot in life. This episode has a montage of the moments in ep5-6 that really lay it all out that he's a little better than the others on his team, which is why Ruby vouched for him.

There was going to be a decent focus on family in this episode, but eventually we whittled it down to just Russel's and Dove's. Being like "oh and here's a character's parent being funny and mad" worked twice, but three to eight times might have gotten old lmao

Why did I pick Bertilak for Russel's guardian? Green. Mohawk. Moody. Not a big Faunus fan.

Okay so that's only part of it. Russel has been consistently portrayed as a bit of a doormat in EM, following Cardin's orders or deferring to the next biggest fish if he's not around. His actions around Bertilak imply that the latter is the source of all that behaviour.

Dove offers Ruby an "Olive Branch". I don't know if I can get more unsubtle than this.

Don't ship them they literally feel nothing about each other. That's canon.

Why did I pick Shopkeep for Dove's grandpa? Closed eyes, and Shopkeep is everywhere. That's literally the joke.

Pyke Rite from The Grimm Campaign.

There were a few characters I really wanted to get involved sooner. Can you believe it took us till Ep7 for Ren or Nora to say anything? It felt good to have all of JNPR and OP(A)L fully animated in the same scene, and was fun to set up dynamics like Oscar being a fanboy, Alyx being a little shit and the two teams generally getting along.

In comparison to 6 this episode was a lot calmer and a lot more talk-y, but hopefully we managed to make it fun. The animators and VAs did amazing as always (the former has basically eclipsed my efforts at this point), and I'm looking forward to ep8 very much! Bigger and better!

If you have extra questions about this ep you can shoot me an ask, I'm always down to self-indulge lmao

[hanzajesthanza]

regis didn’t die because “he got drunk,” he died because he abandoned his principles.

regis swearing at stygga and vowing to “fuck this castle up” is not only disturbing for what it is, and who he is, but also because of who he is in the company.

it truly is the “i’m a healer, but…” meme, because regis is the voice of reason, moderation, and logic, advising geralt away from hasty decisions. he’s a self-reported coward and afraid of violence, and you know, he’s the doctor.

it’s not just his abandonment of his principle to not drink, but the abandonment of ALL of his principles—patience, rationality, goodwill, optimism—is what kills him.

this discarding of principles happens in the scene where he returns to the rest of the company and sees milva’s dead body, where he says he feels such strength to fuck up this entire castle.

this hasty, violent cursing of his comes before the scene with vilgefortz—it foreshadows his death owing to his hasty, violent attack of vilgefortz. it didn’t just come out of nowhere that he made a terrible decision. (i mean, his first terrible decision was to follow geralt in the first place but, eh.)

it’s not just because “he had been drinking”—the drinking is more of a side effect rather than a cause... (and “one should treat the cause, and not its symptoms…”)

since, to our knowledge, he had one drink before returning to see milva dead, and during that time seemed to be, more or less, regis as he was—he even cracks jokes to ciri before he realizes, ‘wait, maybe i scared her’—it is when he returns and has seen, is processing, milva dead, that he makes this suspiciously unhinged, out of character statement about “i feel such strength inside me,” “i could fuck up this entire castle.”

sure, he could have had a couple more drinks between these two scenes that sapkowski did just not deign to write of, but even if he had been totally plastered, i don’t think that that solely is what causes his downfall, his out of character viciousness and hastiness. remember that alcoholism is an addiction, and addictions re-emerge when one is faced with despair, loss, grief… and hopelessness. (and with blood already on his lips from the laboratory, it became that much easier to give in when having to confront this tragedy—the coping mechanism was already right back in his hands)

the hopelessness of losing milva at the portico of stygga castle broke them all, before they even went inside. and this death broke regis as we knew him, as the company’s optimist.

seeing milva dead was the death of his principles, his virtues, what he worked so hard for such a long time to hold himself to. because these principles became as worthless as his surgeon’s tools—in this citadel of death, there’s nothing you can do to save life, to preserve it, as he had done prior:

after her miscarriage, although they stayed in the lyrian-rivian corps of meve for five or six days, they had deserted—and deserted the barber-surgeons in that corps—in less than a week. consider then that it became once again, regis’ responsibility, as the company’s barber-surgeon and sole healer, to care for milva as she recuperated.

though dandelion notes she did so quickly as she was a hale and strong woman and her troubles were mostly emotional, one must consider the responsibility that not only a friend feels for his friend’s life, but how a doctor feels for his patient’s life.

and how he feels when that life heals slowly, recuperates with difficulty, suffers more (broken ribs) but continues to heal under care, finally becomes strong again and, like her namesake, a bird, released with pride into the air—only to be shot down immediately, glassy-eyed in her own blood.

milva for regis was a symbol of preserving life (indeed, an interesting symbol, as she suffers miscarriage). and between them, it was also, of course, a complete inversion of the mythology surrounding vampires and pregnant women.

but at stygga, she dies so immediately, so violently:

… and from something… something as inconsequential as any old bit of wood…

what kind of cruelty is it for life to be ripped away so quickly, by something so small, with no chance of saving? of healing?

but it’s nothing, because this is stygga castle. where healing becomes unusable. useless.

so regis leaves his healing at the doorstep—literally, upon the portico, where milva’s body was dragged back to by geralt and cahir, bleeding out in a dark pool.

and along with healing… his patience, moderation, mercy, kindness, wisdom… all of his virtues.

their virtues. the company’s virtues. since regis embodied this rationalist and optimist side of the company, when he abandons these principles of his, the entire company loses them;

because now, there is no one to advise them to “proceed slowly and with due prudence.” now, there is no one to placatingly say, “come, come, let there be concord.” now, there is no one to say, “of course we can, it is simply a matter of invention and positive thinking!”

the voice of reason has left us, he flew off on bat’s wings without a murmur or a whistle. now the voice only says — “i will fuck up this entire castle.”

i don’t think at stygga, in this scene and the one with vilgefortz, we’re seeing just a “regis, but drunk”. it’s deeper than that… because it’s not just his sobriety he broke, he broke everything—broken and shattered, like the collection of glass vials and flasks he shattered in his dramatic entrance to vilgefortz’s laboratory, exploding, bursting one after another. and from this erupts a hellish inferno of corpse-blue flames.

it’s not just “regis, but drunk” it’s “regis, but without patience, wisdom, kindness… etc…”

that’s why he’s so unlike the regis we’ve come to know during the series, why he at stygga becomes so unrecognizable to the readers—because he’s thrown away all of his beloved virtues that he strived to embody. and because “everybody has their good points, to even out the vices,” he became unbalanced, with his vices leading him. namely, his hubris, which often came out in a much more modest way during the rest of the saga—in a scholarly and lecturing tone of voice—but at stygga, comes out as an arrogant threat that he and he alone can and will fuck up this entire castle, an overconfident leap at vilgefortz’s throat.

and in my interpretation, it’s also not accurate to look at it like “this was actually the true regis,” “this was regis underneath it all,” because it’s not “how he was back then,” it’s not like he went back in time to be his past self. it’s not a reverting.

it’s more like coming full circle, for it’s milva’s death which triggers him to discard his principles, and he only got to know milva through his upholding of these principles. his actions towards her (namely his midwifery) showcase some of the best of what he became, owing to these principles of his.

and her presence, or rather the loss of her, makes him realize that all of his goodness is in vain and will be of no help here. and that is when a great hopelessness consumes him, and he throws out his goodness with a cold clatter to the ground—what use was any of this, after all? i cannot save her with medicine, i cannot save her with my principles, it all turned out to be useless.

and we’ve seen something like this already in the saga—it’s much like when ciri is in the korath desert and begins to think, everyone has abandoned me, the morality and ethics they taught me are utterly useless. and it takes her being in korath for her to get there, to break her spirit. the seed of this may have been planted in her at cintra, but her contempt didn’t fully erupt until after she had tasted the love, mercy, and kindness of geralt and yennefer’s parentage and saving of her—and then was suddenly deprived of it.

similarly, regis had a terrible youth, and yes, when he’s giving up his principles here, he’s returning to a similar state—but it’s not the same as if he had never experienced the entire arc following his rebirth into human life. it’s not a return to his youth, it’s more like… hm… a mid-life crisis? hah…

a metaphor of day and night is apt!

he’s not “reverting” at stygga—it’s like how dawn and dusk, though they are at similar light levels, are not the same thing, because they have the entire daytime inbetween them!

the sun sets with his discarding of principles, and we return to night… a cold, sinister, menacing, darkness. back to the realm of the vampire, not the human:

because he, the company, is suddenly deprived of their archer, who, just remember, they worked so hard to save on the battle of the bridge, milva, whom regis rushed towards and carried on his back, staying with her during her miscarriage.

and now, she’s utterly dead in such a violent manner, and actually, the arrow pierced her lower abdomen, possibly where her womb would be: “struck [her] low in the belly (…) having shattered her pelvis (…)” for the ultimate symbolism for her character.

and suddenly with her death, regis realizes how useless he is, to them, here, as a surgeon. he cannot save milva now like he did under the bridge. he can’t help, save any of them. he’s powerless.

and if not a surgeon, their surgeon, who is he?

and if not wise, patient, cautious, kind, gentle? if not always knowing what to do, ‘in his infinite wisdom,’ in his ‘omniscience’? if not humanity? what is left of emiel regis? what is left?

blood.

[cacoetheswriting]

pearl: november & december 1984

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 3.6k chapter summary: when life throws you an unexpected curveball, the person who's there for you the most is one you wish wasn't — so you get your wish, but only after completely altering your friendship.

content warnings: best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, angst, minor character death, loss of a parent, grief and grief management, emotional hurt / comfort, self-doubt / insecurities, use of pet names - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

pearl masterlist

December 1984

Winter was a lot harsher this year compared to last.

Starting as soon as mid-November, it brought with it grey musky clouds, dark days and even darker nights, along with a snow storm worse than The Blizzard of 1888. It was the sort of cold that could freeze the blood of those who did not or could not take sufficient care to be warm.

The season was never your favourite. This year it was even more unbearable and it had nothing to do with the weather — which the news reported was only supposed to get worse.

Early November, while off living your best life at college, you got a call no kid ever wishes to receive. 

Your dad had worked as a police officer ever since you were born. Even as a kid, you were smart enough to deduct his job was not of the safe variety. However, he’d reassure you endlessly that Hawkins, Indiana was by far the most boring town in this country and nothing bad would ever happen to him — that’s why you moved here in the first place.

Until it did.

Jim Hopper rang to break the news. You don’t remember exactly what he said, just that there was an incident at Hawkins Lab and unfortunately your dad didn’t make it. 

“I am so sorry, kiddo.”

You were calm, collected. At least you pretended to be for the sake of your mom. 

You packed a small bag, told your roommate you had a family emergency, and hopped in the car your dad let you keep when he dropped you off back in August. You drove all night in complete and utter silence. Every single part of your body felt numb and your mind was replaying every single conversation you held with the parent you just lost, yet you didn’t cry.

The tears hadn’t come until after the funeral ceremony. 

You were washing up some of the dishes after the wake while your mom was being consoled by Karen Wheeler. Entirely too focused on the cool stream of water, you didn’t realise someone stood beside you until they spoke.

“Let me help you, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s offer broke you. Him being there broke you. 

You immediately turned off the tap and wiped your wet hands against the silk material of your black dress before collapsing into his frame, no longer strong. The metalhead wrapped his arms around you instantly and the two of you were completely still as you sobbed into his shirt.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he muttered in a soothing tone, “Let it all out. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

That day was the last time the two of you spoke. 

For the remainder of the month, after you had gone back to school, you didn’t call him or send the letters you had been writing.

Ignoring him was one of the hardest things you had ever done 'cause not a day went by where you didn’t think about Eddie Munson and your last moment together, but the thought of losing him like you lost your dad was just too overbearing. You figured if you put some more distance between you two, should the worst happen, it wouldn’t be as painful.

The logic was flawed, you knew that. It was also perhaps the most selfish thing you had ever done since Eddie done nothing wrong.

One could argue however, you did all of this as a result of your grief. Consumed by all of these uncharted feelings around losing your dad and simply weren’t thinking clearly. There was just one problem. Eddie would never believe that. He knew you too well. 

Which is why, your whole body was quivering with anticipation as you knocked on the trailer door.

You had prepared an apology speech, rehearsed it all night plus during your drive here. Although, now, as you stood waiting in the snow, you were second guessing everything.

“Forget it,” you mutter to yourself and are about to turn, walk away, when the door swings open.

Eddie gapes at you with his big brown eyes, surprise gracing his features. He sizes you up, wondering why you're here after all this time apart, then proceeds to adjust his posture before stepping to the side. It’s a form of an unspoken invitation you accept with grace, albeit hesitantly. Once inside, you can hear him close the door with a gentle thud. He walks around you and slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Hey,” you say eventually, nervously meeting his gaze as you unwrap the scarf from around you neck.

“Hey,” Eddie repeats. No nickname, no emotion.

You swallow your breath. “H-how are you?”

He scoffs. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, although one you definitely deserve. 

“Seriously? We don’t talk for over a month and that’s the best you can come up with?” Eddie sounds mad. He is mad.

“Right, sorry,” you reply and momentarily chew on the inside of your cheek. “I-I honestly just wanted to come by and explain myself. If you’d let me, that is.”

The metalhead exhales softly. He lets his shoulder slouch, relax a little, and opens his mouth to say something when a knock on the trailer door interrupts him. He glances at the clock on the wall and his reaction causes you to think it’s a client, so you excuse yourself to the bathroom, giving him a few minutes to conduct his business.

You're certainly not trying to listen to his conversation. In fact, you turn the tap on just so you can focus on the sound of running water instead of his conversation, but the paper thin walls of the trailer make it nearly impossible not to eavesdrop.

“Thanks again for lending this to me,” a preppy voice you don’t really recognise speaks, “You were so right, perfect record for getting high,” the girl chuckles and your stomach twists ‘cause unfortunately it seems you couldn’t have been more wrong about this being some sort of deal.

“No worries, darlin’. Glad I could be of service,” Eddie’s charming. You picture him smiling, most likely towering over the girl who came to see him and your heart aches. 

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“Well, I came by to give you that tape back and see if you’re free this Saturday. My parents are out of town and…” You force yourself to fizzle out the rest of that sentence. You did not want to be thinking about him with someone else right now — or ever. 

When a soft slam indicates the girl has most likely left, you re-emerge from the bathroom. 

Eddie doesn’t look at you. Not at first anyway. He places the item he just received on one of the kitchen counters and leans his back against another.

As you open your mouth to begin your rehearsed apology, your focus unintentionally darts to the item now next to him. Whoever said curiosity killed the cat was a hundred percent correct because the moment you register what album that girl was referring to, you go stiff.

“What the fuck, Eddie.”

The metalhead is confused by your words. He raises a brow in your direction but realisation only dawns on him when you snatch the tape from the counter and lift it in front of his face. Janis Joplin’s Pearl.

“Why would you give this to some random chick?” You question, hoping he can detect the hurt in the tone of your voice.

But Eddie only shrugs as if it’s no big deal. 

“You gave it to me. It’s mine now. I figured I could do whatever I wanted with it.”

“That wasn’t the point of me gifting this to you. How dare you pawn it off onto some girl who you most likely just wanna have sex with?!”

That causes him to stand straight and take a step towards you. 

“I don’t get why you’re so upset by this. You are the one who iced me out when all I ever did was be there for you. I figured if you could disregard our years of friendship for no apparent reasons and with no communication, I can lend a stupid tape to someone.”

“I had my reasons—”

“Yeah, maybe,” Eddie interrupts, “But you never shared them with me. I called you every fucking day after you went back to college! The list of pathetic excuses your roommate has given me, if she ever bothered to pick up the phone you clearly forgot how to use, is long enough to fill a goddamn novel!”

“That’s literally why I came here this evening! I want to explain and get back to where we were before!”

“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”

Something inside you snaps in that moment.

“My dad died, Eddie!” You shout, tears starting to trail down your cheeks, “God, I am so fucking sorry that his death and how I chose to grieve losing a fucking parent was an inconvenience for you! I am so fucking sorry that your ego was bruised when I didn’t pick up the phone or return your calls while my life was literally falling apart at the seams!”

He’s taken aback by your sudden outburst, mouth half-open as if he doesn’t know what to say next. It made sense that he doesn't. In all the years you've been friends, you have never raised your voice at him. The two of you didn’t argue, ever, because there was never a reason to.

“You have every right to be annoyed with me for icing you out, I’m not trying to take away from that," you continue, slightly calmer, “But handing out a tape that literally means the world to me since it reminds me solely of you, is a fucking stab in the back. Especially knowing now your intention was to hurt me.”

You chuck the cassette at Eddie’s chest. He catches it, not breaking the hold he had on your gaze.

“You may not see it that way and you may even think I’m dramatic or over reacting. That’s fine too. What you don’t get to do however, is give me shit about how I chose to handle my dad’s death because that’s not fair,” you sob that last part, voice breaking.

Eddie’s clutching onto the tape.

There’s an agonising moment of silence. You're not sure how long it lasts. A minute, perhaps, or ten. During that time, your eyes remain locked with Eddie’s and you can feel your heart breaking. You wonder if he feels the same and then you wonder if hoping he did, made you a terrible person.

“So where do we go from here, huh?” Eddie asks, monotone.

Apparently your lack of rebuttal was all Eddie needed, because after another moment of heavy silence, he states: “Perhaps… Perhaps space is exactly what we need.”

Earth shattering, his words.

“That’s the conclusion you’re coming to?” You probe, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your winter coat.

He nods. “We clearly forgot how to be there for one another.”

You realise then that nothing could have prepared you for this. Pushing Eddie out of your life these last few weeks wasn’t going to make losing him any more bearable. If anything, it only hurt more.

Chewing down on the inside of your cheek in a lame attempt to prevent the floodgates opening further, you reach for the inside pocket of your coat and retrieve a small stack of envelopes, tied together with a green bow.

“Here,” you say blankly, devoid of any further emotion, “I meant when I said I came here to explain myself, but if you believe being apart is for the better, I guess I don’t owe you anything.”

He slowly takes the envelopes out of your grasp and you adjust your hold in the process to make sure your fingers don’t brush against his.

“These are all the letters I wrote you while we didn’t speak. Read ‘em, burn ‘em, do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t give a shit anymore.”

Your exit is swift. Not like it matters because Eddie doesn’t bother chasing after you.

After starting your car and glancing at his trailer one last time, you drive off completely heartbroken because Eddie was no longer your Bobby McGee. He was not your best friend and apparently you meant nothing to him.

November 1984

“How are you doing, sweetheart?”

Eddie’s question remains unanswered for approximately forty three seconds while you try to gather your thoughts. The carpeted floor of your childhood bedroom is oddly comforting, so in a way, right this moment, you're doing relatively okay.

Eddie’s next to you. His hand is on your thigh which he squeezes gently every so often, probably to check if you're awake since your eyes are closed.

After your breakdown in the kitchen, Eddie practically carried you upstairs, away from the pitiful looks of everyone gathered in the living room. He carefully sat you down on the floor, just under the window, and opened it with ease. Who knew? Fresh air was all you apparently needed.

But how were you really doing? Not good, would be the simple option. Not good, would tell him all he needed to know and it would also be the honest answer ‘cause how else are you supposed to be doing hours after burying your dad.

“Better,” you lie.

He stiffens next to you, meaning he didn’t exactly believe you.

“Sweetheart—”

“Why are you calling me that?” You ask, finally opening your eyes and immediately turning your head to look at him.

Judging by the expression on his face, he’s taken aback by the sudden change in topic. He doesn’t say that though.

“It’s just a nickname.”

“No, it’s not," you protest, almost in a scoff. “That’s not what you usually call me, so why do you keep calling me that?”

Eddie frowns. “Seriously, sweetheart, don’t read too much into it. It’s really just a nickname.”

Unsure of why you're so on edge and why his new pet name has irritated you so much, you stand. Even with the open window, the room suddenly felt really stuffy. You place your hands on your hips, only to cross them across your chest, then quickly uncross them again.

“That’s not what— It sounds like you’re taking pity on me. Like you think I’m weak and you need to baby me or some shit.”

Eddie’s now up on his feet too. He towers over you, one hand on your shoulder while the other cups your face, and for a split-second, you're a little calmer.

“You’re overreacting.”

You were a little calmer. Eddie’s attempt at dissolving the situation only made you feel worse and so you free yourself from his grasp and take a step back.

“Prove it.”

His brows string together. “What?”

“Prove it,” you repeat. “Kiss me.”

The silence is overbearing. You knew the request was idiotic, yet it’s like your mouth had a mind of its own and before you could stop yourself, the words spilled like coffee. Worst part was, you didn’t even feel bad for putting him in this awkward position.

“I-I… I'm not going to do that.” Eddie says eventually. “It’s been a really emotional day, an emotional week, and you’re in your head, which is understandable, so let’s just—”

“Don’t tell me how emotional it’s been, Eddie. I know how emotional it’s been,” you practically snap at him, frustration levels rising. “Downstairs, there is a room full of people acting differently towards me because of what happened. I-I can’t have you being one of ‘em, Eddie. I need you to treat me like you’ve always treated me.”

“And I am.”

He reaches out for you, but you pull back from his plea.

“No, you’re not.”

That must’ve been the breaking point for the metalhead because right in front of your eyes, his demeanour changes completely. As does his tone of voice.

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me ‘cause it’ll make you feel better or what’s the deal here? ‘Cause what I’m failing to understand is how is asking me to kiss you going to prove that I’m treatin’ you any different? We don’t— That’s not what we— Fuck!”

He sighs and runs a hand through his messy locks in frustration. That’s when you see it. A certain melancholy behind his chocolate-like gaze that you've only ever witnessed on a few rare occasions.

In retrospect, you should’ve stopped then. You should’ve said sorry and put this entire conversation to bed. You should’ve instead asked him to join you on the rooftop for a smoke or asked him to take a nap in your bed. You should’ve said literally anything else other than what you said next.

“So you don’t want to kiss me?”

Eddie clenches his jaw. Suddenly you feel like you're suffocating. The entire room is spinning, only Eddie is still and staring right through you. His soft expression hardened, almost displaying betrayal.

“Not like this.”

His voice is a mere whisper and for a brief moment you're not sure you even hear him correctly. You open your mouth, but no words come out. You're frozen. Dumbfounded.

The metalhead clears his throat. “I-I should go,” is all he says before walking out of the room and you force yourself to shake awake, hurrying after him.

“If not like this, then how?” You ask, but he ignores you, approaching the stairs. “Eddie, please.”

He stops. Eyes closing momentarily at the soft plea which just escaped your lips. He chewing on the inside of his cheek, debating what to do next 'cause either way, your relationship will never be the same.

“If not like this, then how?” You ask again, only softer, while closing the gap between you.

Eddie looks at you then. He scans every inch of your face as your hands hesitantly settle on his chest. He's sure you can feel his heart hammering, just as he can feel the unsteady beating of yours. And so he thinks how much he loves you and how he wanted to tell you that anyway in a few short weeks.

“Fuck it,” he mutters and dips his head lower, his lips crashing against yours in a yearning kiss.

He tastes like cigarettes and the mints he indulges in to try and cover up the tar on his breath — intoxicating. His hands cup your face, firmly pulling you in closer with every passing second, as his body pushes into yours, causing you to stumble backwards until you hit a random wall.

The kiss is fuelled by pent up tension, a desire you both shared but didn't want to admit in fear of ruining the best friendship you've ever had. It's a dance of fire and ice. Both of you are aching for even more, yet wanting nothing more at the same time. However, since that line was now crossed and there's no going back, Eddie gets braver and bites down your bottom lip and as you gasp against his mouth, he slides his tongue in with ease.

You feel elated as his tongue explores your mouth, hands squishing your face while your fingers tug at his shirt. The kiss is perfect. This moment is. He's perfect.

But then you think how you landed in this situation and a ping of guilt rushes through you. Shit.

Your fingers splay flat across his chest and you open your eyes, suddenly pushing him away. Eddie feels the pressure and breaks the kiss, pulling his head back slightly, gaze dropping from your eyes to where your hands are then back to your eyes.

You look panicked and his heart sinks.

He drops his hold on you and takes a step back. He opens his mouth to say that this is what you wanted but if he crossed a line than he's sorry, unfortunately he just doesn't get the chance. In the blink of an eye, you disappear back into your room, slamming the door shut.

December 1984

The sound of the car engine starting makes Eddie flinch.

He's holding onto the unopened letters completely speechless and his heart is aching because all he has ever wanted was to make you happy, yet instead he hurt you.

Deeply.

All because his feelings were hurt; thinking back to the kiss you shared.

A kiss that should have been heaven, and instead ended like hell. The feeling of your lips against his invades Eddie’s thoughts at the best and worst of times. And the image of you disappearing into your room without a word… that haunts his nightmares.

But at the end of the day, his love for you is ever present. If not stronger. Just because you pulled him in, then pushed him away twice as fast, that didn’t change how he feels.

He unfortunately had to be a prick about it. ‘Cause he has no self control, no self respect, and hurt people, hurt people.

So he debates running after you, following you home so the two of you could maybe finish this conversation on a better note. Yet, something within him is holding him back.

Your words, "I don't give a shit anymore", are ringing in his ears and the letters are heavy in his grasp. He glances down at them and chews on the inside of his cheek, shuffling through the stack as he wanders towards the couch to sit.

He’s not really sure what he’s expecting to find out. What he reads though, is deeply personal and the further down the stack he gets, the guiltier he feels.

With the letters still in his grasp, Eddie is back on his feet in a flash. He doesn't bother throwing on a jacket, in his mind there is no time 'cause you love him just as much as he loves you and he fucked it up.

He hastily reaches for the keys to his van and the scarf you left behind. Unfortunately, the stupid piece of shit car doesn't start and the rational part of Eddie's brain knows it's the icy conditions, the engine block probably froze over, however he also can't help but feel this is karma.

Jesus Christ, he runs a hand down his face and exhales. He is such a fucking idiot.

pearl masterlist | main masterlist

thank you for reading <3

[blighted-lights]

because of course im gonna ask: first aid? —cmofirstaid

(Based off of this post! TFP Soundwave, IDW Sunstreaker, IDW First Aid, IDW Ravage, and IDW Cosmos have all been asked for! Feel free to send in an ask for any character that isn't one of these five 🌸❗️Not limited to followers or mutuals, so go wild!)

First Impression: Oh shit, First Aid! I read MTMTE before I read most of IDW, and I was fucking stoked to see him appear in the Delphi arc- ESPECIALLY with how he was introduced with his report that doubled as the issue's intro narration. Aside from that, though, I didn't focus on him much during my first read-through. Pharma and Ambulon immediately stole the show away from him, and it wasn't until my second read a few months later that I really focused on Aid. Aside from being happy to see him, I LOVED how he was drawn in MTMTE. He's always been cute, but something with how he was drawn in the first half of MTMTE really cemented for me that he has one of the best designs. He somehow manages to be boxy and round at the same time and I love him for it.

Impression Now: You are ENTIERLY responsible for how much First Aid means to me now, I hope you know this. One of my top ten IDW faves. His design remains one of my favorites, and I wish we got more canon content digging into his POV of things pre-mutiny. I wish he stayed on the Lost Light instead of being called away, too! There is so much focus on Ratchet passing over the title of CMO to First Aid, but then Aid leaves so quickly after. Idk, I wish we just got to see him more pre-mutiny. Aid is such a tragic character to me but he's another background tragedy and it makes me want to shake my screen a bit when I think about him. A somewhat vaguely odd thing to say, but I wish we got to see more of First Aid's grief over Ambulon and his feelings towards Pharma. Honestly I wished we got to see more interactions between Aid and the rest of the medical cast in general- including Ratchet, Velocity (ESPECIALLY Lotty (is not biased)), and Rung.

Favorite Moment: Speaking of Pharma, my favorite moment of First Aid is this one right here:

I think Aid should be shown like this more often. I NEED him to be angry. I need him to be murderous. As a treat for myself. I hate the idea in media where the good guys refuse to kill a villain because they'd be "letting the villain win". It's good to see that narrative challenged by Aid here.

... Even if the consequences aren't easily forgotten.

Idea for a Story: Someone put First Aid and Rung into a therapy appointment, I need to pick their interactions apart under a microscope. I do not thing going to Rung would be able to help Aid. In fact, it might just make an already shitty situation worse. But I want to see First Aid sit down and talk about what he is experiencing. And maybe I want to see Rung unintentionally making his grieving process more difficult. We already know from Rung's own admission in Lost Light that he does not know who he is without his patients. He banks his entire identity and self-worth on trying to assist other people. But what happens when nothing he does seems to help First Aid, and therefore his own self-image begins to crumble for it? How does his own perceived failings affect his treatment of First Aid?

Unpopular Opinion: 🤔 Not sure if I have one. I'm allergic to the idea of Aid being really nice and nervous 100% of the time, ig. All things considered, the First Aid we have in IDW isn't nervous at all. But I don't actually know how prevalent this is in fandom or if this is even an unpopular take 🤷‍♂️.

Favorite Relationship: Canon-wise? It's a toss up between him and Ambulon and then him and Ratchet. It is devastating how hard Aid takes Ambulon's death, and his desperation to help save Ambulon when Ratchet wouldn't let him was heartbreaking to read. At the same time, I NEED more of First Aid and Ratchet arguing with each other and Aid calling Ratchet out on his bullshit. It is rare that anyone steps up to Ratchet like that and succeeds in affecting him. I would like more, thanks.

Non-canon relationships? Another toss-up between Velocity and Ravage. Put these three in a blunt rotation, I'm sure they'll be fine.

Favorite Headcanon: First Aid is extremely tactile. There is not a word or phrase that could properly describe how touchy First Aid is. He has the capability to turn someone who is touch-starved to touched-out in the span of thirty minutes. While this is in part due to just him being an affectionate person in general (or at the very least, more physically affectionate than most other Autobots), it is also partially because of his intense focus on Autobot brands. He is so used to checking everyone he comes across for their brands in the case that they might have a bullet shot through them that the process of checking someone over is compulsive. This extends to people who fall outside of the Autobot ranks who do not even have brands, like Ravage, Cyclonus, and Ten. It's earned him more than a few strange looks and awkward silences over the course of being on the Lost Light.

[devotedtosadpoetry]

Character Analysis: How Dr. Bishop Views Leonardo

Essay contains spoilers up to chapter 23 of Down with the Stockholm. 

Dr. Bishop is one of my favorite villains I’ve ever written. Her manipulation tactics and thought processes make her a massive threat not just to enemies, but allies and friends too. All that she does is with purpose, there is not a single move she makes that was not thought about. Her intellect for situations and behaviors matches Donatello’s level of knowledge for technology, and I am not saying this lightly. She will always take control of every conversation, every situation, she will spot and abuse your weaknesses within moments. In order to understand how she views Leonardo, we have to understand how Bishop’s mind works, and how she views others as well.

What does Dr. Bishop want?

Honestly, what doesn’t she want? If she could, she would have everything. To her, having everything means being the one in charge of it all: Dr. Bishop wants nothing more than power. She doesn’t even fist-fight her way to the top. We can see in Chapter 4 “Bad Side” that Leonardo easily punches her and is able to get away, and it isn’t Dr. Bishop running for him, it’s security. Yokai and mutants are all naturally stronger than humans, the EPF and Dr. Bishop have done thorough studies to know to remove this upper hand they have by restraining them. 

To ensure she will always be the one on top, she does extensive research on every subject she receives. She will always know far more about Leonardo than he (or the reader) will ever know. In Chapter 1 “Pest?” She obviously enters the scene having power over Leonardo by researching all that she can find about him, and then also keeping him restrained and sedated. She first says to him “Wow, you are something special, aren’t you?” She’s giving him praise in her own doctor-way—she is testing the waters with him, then takes it a step further by asking for his name despite already knowing it. She wants to see if he will even tell her his name. And he does, and she freely calls him that. At the end of the chapter she comforts him after the torture, saying, “Everyone deserves comfort, Leonardo. I can tell you’ve been through a lot—you especially deserve it.” 

She saw him sacrifice himself. She read the signs of low self-esteem with the other video feeds she had available. She caught onto this immediately, and used it to her advantage. 

Because no one does as much research as Dr. Bishop does on her subjects, she believes she is far more superior than any doctor in the EPF. Dr. Goswell in chapter 14 “Pressure” describes Dr. Bishop’s reports as “Complete and utter masterpieces.” Even her writing is well put together.

It’s unsurprising why she views her boss, Mr. Sorenson, as an idiot.

He is technically the man in power, but Dr. Bishop has not viewed him this way, not even once. Just because he’s the one in the chair does not mean he has free will—her strings are wrapped around him. She convinced Mr. Sorenson to let her study Leonardo, and even after she gets what she wants she manipulates him still. In Chapter 23 “House Party” Agent Bishop asks Dr. Bishop how she managed to convince Mr. Sorenson on letting them take Leonardo home with them, to which she responds, “Didn’t have to. I have that man wrapped around my finger. He could might as well be another B583.” Proof of Mr. Sorenson’s idiocy can be found in chapter 12 “Be Good!” He not only forgot Leonardo’s name (boy literally saved all of NYC) but also had to pull up video feed of Leo to realize he had mystic powers. If we were in Dr. Bishop’s perspective during chapter 12, we would get a very different story than what Leo noticed in the scene. Her dialogue is compliant and polite with her boss. In her head she is belittling the man. She smiles while answering his questions that clearly show he has not done his research and proves he’s never been close to any yokai or mutant. But she doesn’t need his chair to know that she is the one in power. She is the one in control. 

How does Dr. Bishop view Agent John Bishop?

Now this is an interesting question. As her husband, you would think she may look at him as an equal. Well, John Bishop is nowhere close to her intellectual level, his strengths lie on the physical side, and Dr. Bishop prefers that. She does not want a partner at her or above her level of knowledge. She doesn’t want someone to help her improve, she forever wants to be the smartest person in the room, and having a husband that acknowledges that makes her very happy. They’re actually perfect for each other due to Dr. Bishop’s yearning to be the big boss, and John Bishop’s secret kink of being belittled by said big boss. Again, it’s all about control, and as long as she has her husband under control, she will happily stay in that marriage. 

How does Dr. Bishop view Leonardo?

NOW we can answer this question. Mutants and yokai are other beings—aliens meant to be studied by her. But because the Hamato’s saved the city and are viewed as heroes, this disturbs her. These creatures shouldn’t be heroes or seen as ‘above.’ They should either be tested on, enslaved, or used to her advantage such as Jasfira, a personal weapon she can use on test subjects. With Jasfira, she remains polite towards simply due to the yokai’s obedience and obvious loyalties to the EPF, so there is no reason for her to belittle or torture her. Dr. Bishop is never needlessly cruel—if a yokai or mutant is already under her control, there’s no need to further the cruelty. We see this in Chapter 22 after Leonardo is possessed by his ancestors and Agent Bishop and Mr. Sorenson feel he is out of control—Dr. Bishop recognizes his switches in behavior and insists “TT isn’t necessary.” She could’ve easily tossed him back into Technodrome Therapy if she wanted, but it was not needed to further his development.

We see that later as Leonardo is 100% feral, she treats him kindly, treating him like a dog, a pet, a creature easily under control, and does not punish him. The only punishment she has ever given him was placing him on the electric table after attempting to escape. Even Leonardo noticed this: “He already knew this would not be for research. This was just torture.” And it proved efficient as he pleaded that he’ll do anything. Not even Technodrome Therapy was a punishment, she had been planning to test his body’s response to it beforehand (TT is also used to get a highly accurate X-Ray, body scan, DNA, etc, of the mutant’s body to see exactly what they are made of in every portion of their body. That’s why the tentacles went EVERYWHERE. Yeah I probably should’ve wrote this in the chapter but oh well). 

All surgeries and environments were to further Leo’s development and send him deeper into a feral mindset, or to ensure his parental view of Dr. Bishop. 

Before ever meeting him, she had seen him and his brothers as nuisances disturbing NYC. After researching him, planning surgeries for his arrival, and first meeting him, she has more interest as she sees him up close. He is not an ordinary mutant after all—he was created with purpose; to be a weapon. And she wants that for herself. So, she guarantees that she is the only one allowed to touch him at first, giving him comfort between pain so he is relying on her. She makes him feel like he NEEDS her, that he can’t live without her. She wants to use him all for herself, and while giving him affection—she does occasionally view him as a pet. She is proud of the result of her surgeries, she wants to walk him outside like a dog if it meant everyone could see what she made out of him. The difference is that while you would die for your pet, she sees pets as little pieces of decor on a shelf. Easily breakable, nice to look at, nice to hold and use sometimes, but if it breaks, she will not be heartbroken. She’ll be annoyed, yes, maybe even frustrated, but she can always replace it. 

Dr. Bishop keeps in mind that if Leonardo does indeed “break and must be thrown away” he does have three brothers. That’s three more tries to get it right, and as much as she despises failure, if it means she’ll have a powerful weapon under her foot, she’ll do what it takes to make it happen. But she also would never give up Leonardo easily. She worked especially hard on him, after all. It would be a waste for all of that work to be tossed aside…

This essay is all to say that she is a selfish bitch that everyone hates, but she is one of those villains that I love to hate. She is sickening, calculated, and far smarter than I ever will be. But oh she is so so fun to write, and every time someone comments about how much they hate her, I smile. It means I’m doing my job right, and I’m honored so many have read this far to see what will happen. Thank you for 500 kudos. 

[yril-writes]

— BELOVED

synopsis ; Letting someone go is sometimes the right thing to do, some say letting go is just another form of running away but in your case letting go is seeing someone happy, even if it's not with you.

scenario ; your first love back in your high school days came back after how many years, he is now a pro volleyball player and right now you are watching him play in this stadium.

"Maybe, it's because I loved you too much. Too much that I created these shackles that pull you down. Maybe, it's time I let you go, no?"

type ; drabble and one-shot

include/s ; ushijima wakatoshi

pairing/s ; pro volleyball player character x fl! reader

genre ; angst and a hint of sad corn

You came back here again, in this very stadium you watched him play you watched him like nothing happened. Ushijima now is a pro volleyball player, you always believed his dream would come true one day and this is it. The man playing on the court right now was his dream years ago. But what about your dream? "Wakatoshi! When you achieve your dream in the future! Would I still be able to spend time like this with you?!" your voice echoed in the empty classroom that you were both in. Wind blowing the curtains and the sun sets behind the mountains at a distance, Ushijima who is across the room from you next to the opened windows, he looked towards your direction and his lips were moving but you couldn't hear a word he says. This happened in the last year, and last day of school since both of you are in the third year now, it's time to graduate. You didn't have a special relationship with him, in other people's eyes you were a classmate admiring this popular volleyball geek of a guy but both of you are close, you share small things in common when it comes to food and even hobbies aside from his volleyball obsessed self.

You never thought of having a future with this guy, but you still tried at the very end. "Spend time? What do you mean?" Ushijima asks in a confused tone with his eyebrows furrowed. "You know, hang out...talk and have fun..." you felt your voice cracking the second you tried to mouth out words one word to the other, but you fell at ease when you saw how he is eager to listen. "Wakatoshi, I am willing to wait for you. I'll be here waiting for you when you're all done with your dreams, I'll be waiting to have mine!" you gave such a smile he felt how sincere you were, but he felt something else within. While he was out there achieving his dream you stayed there waiting, until days became weeks then months turned into years, and here you are in the very same stadium still watching him from afar.

The game soon ended and immediately the press interviewed them and gave you no opening for you to go near. One of the reporters asked if he had any girlfriends and he abruptly said no and made his way to the change room. Looking at his broad back, made you realize that he isn't the Ushijima you used to know, he changed. Everyone does and that is where you saw how high he is now that you are too low to reach him, all those years waiting and waiting only made you weak and reached none, while Ushijima now is out there thriving making his own name gaining his own fame, he is too bright, he is too much and you only have less. Waiting for him to walk out from the doors of the exit at the alleyway, the door opened wide to reveal a familiar figure. "Long time no see, Wakatoshi." you waved your hand a little and gave a smile, for a moment he was stunned enough to have troubles to what he is about to say, or even should stay. "(Y/N)..." he utters under his breath, it's been a while since he called you by your name that somehow, you heard it in a bittersweet tone.

Looking into his eyes the way he looks at you was very obvious, he was stunned to see you since he didn't expect for you to show up like this. And as if he was uncomfortable even. "You haven't completely achieved your dreams yet, haven't you, Ushijima?" judging by those words you said his expression softens as if you hit a bullseye and you did. "(Y/N), I'm just getting started...these past years I never forgot about your words...but now looking at you I can't...I just can't..." the way he looks at you right now, you felt pity in a worse case scenario, because you already knew that it's your fault for holding him back, no. Not holding back, but pressure. Putting him at the edge, just by appearing like this in front of him as if woke him up from his dream of reaching the top of his career, you were the wake up call that he didn't want to take. "(Y/N), I don't want to make you wait, I feel like I'm dragging you into this without knowing if you're okay to go with it. My dream is this, and I don't see my dream with you being in it..." just hearing those words you felt like you were being stabbed over and over, it hurt so much that you wanted to burst into tears but you didn't you mustered up to show a smile, cleaning both of your palms into a ball you feel your nails digging into your palm, it hurts.

Your chest aches each time you breath in and out, it hurts. The more you talk the more you feel like you are going to choke on your words with your throat tightening up, it hurts. Even though it all hurts mustering up a smile, it was just a pitiful sight to see."Maybe, it's because I loved you too much. Too much that I created these shackles that pull you down. Maybe, it's time I let you go, no?" while you were stuck with your dreams in the past you didn't realize that you were putting shackles on Ushijima who wished to achieve great heights. Letting someone go is sometimes the right thing to do, some say letting go is just another form of running away but in your case letting go is seeing someone happy, even if it's not with you. Letting Ushijima go to achieve greater heights was the choice you chose because you get to see him happy, the happiest he had ever been.

"Farewell, my beloved. I'll be cheering on you."

a/n ; yeah, kinda teared up just a little bit. Hoping to up more angst I want to cry lmao. Here is another post to celebrate my 70+ followers! Just the tiniest bits is enough to bring joy to this human! All the reblogs and likes thank you so much!

taglist ; @sammushy @ryuuudesuwa @jasugoi @gcj-doesart

if you want to be tagged/mentioned, please do comment down below so you won't miss an update!

[flying-to-catboy-island]

Rachel Newman

American Psycho 2's worst aspects are when it tries to relate itself to the original material. Otherwise, it's actually pretty campy and fun, with a main character that is distinct from the original movie.

Rachel Newman, the main character, is distinct from Bateman in that she kills more as a means to an end. She enjoys it, yes, but there's an impression that she could live without it if she wanted to. The majority of the murders she commits is in the pursuit of getting a criminology TA position in her university, something she genuinely can't imagine herself without. Even hanging around the character for a few moments, you can get the sense that she's bolstered by a sense of self confidence that Bateman never had.

From that description, you may think that Rachel Newman gets the position too easily for you to bother watching, but the best parts of the movie are when Rachel Newman is put in situations where, if she were not to use murder as a tool, she would certainly fail at her goal immediately. You get to see her hold her ground and problem solve while the odds are against her. Eventually, her actions end up cancelling the TA position altogether, and you get to see how she tries to overcome that too.

You do have to suspend your disbelief of how she isn't caught throughout the course of the film. In one scene, she kills a guy sitting at a completely unobscured table in a library, and somehow he's not found until, like, 4 days later? The police force is like the police force in Heathers, where they'll act like "there sure have been a lot of missing person reports recently, but overall nothing suspicious here."

Anyway, maybe it's worth a watch if you're looking for a fun killer film. May fuck around and talk about it more later, who knows.

[blancheludis]

Whumptober 2024 Day 12: "just a little more"

Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Tags: Suicidal Ideation, Overworked Tim, Lack of Self-Preservation, Dysfunctional Family, Team as Family, Protective Jason and Bruce

Summary:

There are a hundred signs that something is wrong with Tim and once Jason starts looking, he cannot believe how he missed it before. He does not want to call it suicidal, but Tim seems to care more about getting the job done than whether he will still be whole on the other side of it.

Something has to be done about that. Jason prefers to remain the only Robin that died.

There are a hundred signs that something is wrong with Tim and once Jason starts looking, he cannot believe how he missed it before. When they first met, when Jason went to Titans Tower to kill Tim, when Jason had beaten him into a bloody pulp and held a knife to his throat, Tim still had more life in him than he does now. Back then, he still carried passions. Solving riddles was a fun challenge, going out at night to patrol was an exciting duty, becoming a part of the family was something he longingly aspired, too. He could talk a mile a minute about anything that even loosely interested him.

Now, the longest Jason ever hears Tim talk is to give a report, succinct and clinical, filled with facts, no personal input. He is not sure the kid still does anything for fun, but arrives like clockwork for work and patrol and any other duties he does not manage to get out of by simply being invisible enough that no one can rope him in.

Somewhere along the way, Tim had stopped being a kid and become a colourless working bee in the terrible machinery that is Batman's vigilantism.

The first time Jason witnesses Tim jumping off a roof without taking nearly enough care whether his grapple will connect with something strong enough to hold him, he thinks Tim needs more sleep. By now, he has watched Tim be reckless too often, throwing himself into fights where the odds are stacked against him, never asking for backup, never saying no. He just takes orders like the good soldier Jason was supposed to be once. And Jason is not okay with that.

---

Jason ambushes Bruce one day during patrol, when he knows that everybody else is safely away and busy. He appears silently on a roof, measures how tense Batman gets before he recognizes Jason, and then gestures at Bruce to turn off his comms so they can talk privately.

A year ago, Bruce would not have trusted him enough to follow his suggestion. Something twists inside Jason at this blatant show of trust now, but he decidedly does not think about it. Not now, not later.

"We need to do something about Red Robin," Jason says by way of greeting.

No matter what clothes he wears, Bruce does not like his time being wasted. Small talk with Jason is definitely a waste. They might have rebuilt a somewhat professional relationship but nothing beyond that. They are not family.

Immediately, what little of Batman's face is visible does this whole disapproving routine with his jaw turning, impossibly, even tighter. "I thought you've gotten over your animosity. Red Hood, this is not -"

Jason cuts him off with a sharp slash of his hand. He is not holding anything, yet Batman follows the gesture with more caution than is warranted for a friendly chat. He decides not to comment on it but lowers the hand anyway. They can fight about this another time.

"If you haven't even noticed that the demon brat is the only one still openly hostile towards Red, we've got a bigger problem than we thought."

The problem is already big enough and no one does anything about it.

Case in point, Batman says, "Don't call your brother that."

Perhaps this would have been easier somewhere they can use actual names, but there is no way Jason could have cornered Bruce in the Manor while also making absolutely sure no one would overhear them. Funny, that he deems a roof in the middle of the city safer than the place he once called home.

"That's all you have to say?" Jason asks, sharp like a blade, ready to be used to cut. "Will you never get smarter, B?"

Too much, Jason knows immediately, because Bruce begins to turn away and grits out, "I don't have time for childish games."

For all that he was so reluctant to take Damian in, he is now utterly blind to the boy's faults. He has always been immune to someone criticizing his own behaviour, of course.

"No? What's on your busy schedule then?" Jason scoffs, enough venom in his voice that Bruce stops leaving, although he does not quite look back at Jason. "You've given responsibility for your day job basically over to Red. You've got an entire swarm of vigilantes to help you patrol the city. The brat needs less training than any of us ever did." Feeling petty, he adds, "Other than in how to behave like a normal human being, but I'm not sure you can help with that."

"Hood," Bruce snaps, more a growl than anything else, which just underlines Jason's point. He is just one wrong - or right - word from jumping off the roof, and Jason cannot have that, so he pushes on without mercy.

"I think you've used Red up to the point where he cares more about getting the job done than whether he'll still be whole on the other side of it."

Jason does not want to call it suicidal. He has little doubt that, if Tim wanted to die, he would do it in the most efficient way possible, tidying up all of his affairs and fading out at a time most convenient to everybody involved. Nobody can stop Tim from doing something he wants. But, even if he does not want to die, Jason is not entirely sure Tim cares whether he actually lives, either.

Bruce goes rigid, tensing in the same way he does when he expects an attack but is not sure which direction it is coming from.

"Explain," he orders, all cold efficiency, finally facing Jason again, the eyes of the mask piercing him like all the armour Jason wears is made of paper.

Jason does not even try to swallow the underlying, vibrating anger in his voice. And he really is angry about this. "He barely eats or sleeps. He comes out of patrol with more wounds than anybody else." He and Dick were more or less pushed into this life, but Tim came in with his eyes wide open and nobody sat him down and told him when to stop to not lose himself.

Bruce's jaw rolls before he comments, "There's no excessive number of injuries in his file."

Jason scoffs. Underneath the helmet, he rolls his eyes for good measure, even though Bruce cannot possibly see it. He probably knows, anyway.

"No," he says, drawing out the word to show how ridiculous he thinks the notion is. "Because he does not log them. And he doesn't ask for help to patch himself up."

Which Jason does not often do, either. He rarely comes back to the cave and prefers to deal with his own business. He does not regularly do his own stitches, though. If he does not go to Alfred, then he usually asks Dr. Thompson. Of course, he prefers not to get wounds that need stitches in the first place.

"How do you know, then?" Bruce asks, which Jason counts as a good sign. If he is not dismissed out of hand, they still have a base for discussing this.

"I've been watching him." Which includes going through Tim's trash and hacking his bank account to have a look at his expenses. Jason wisely does not mention that. "He also acts like someone without any self-preservation instincts out in the field." He has proof, including a list of incidences and videos from his helmet camera.

Bruce does not ask him for proof, however. He considers the matter, hunches his shoulders just slightly, and says, "I'll talk with him." Growls it, really. Which could be seen as an accurate prediction for how well a conversation like that would go.

"No, B," Jason says flatly. "If you go to him like this, if you talk to him as Batman, you'll only make things worse. He doesn't need accusations and lectures to do better." He needs a family, Jason thinks but does not say. What would he know about family?

Silence rises and Jason lets it. He will never achieve anything if Bruce does not make his decision on his own. This is a lesson he learned the hard way.

Then, almost unnoticeably, Bruce inclines his head. "What do you propose?"

Jason was not prepared for things to go this smoothly. He has expected to argue only for Bruce to tell him to back off.

Caught off guard, he blurts, "Joint custody. For now. And whoever manages to create the best habitat gets to keep him."

Likely at the end of his patience, Bruce grinds out, "Red Robin's not a pet."

Bad choice of words, Jason admits. But this is how Roy explained it to him when Jason was whining about the problem. Tim has been put into a bad environment and has learned to act accordingly. Like some animals in captivity scratch themselves raw or lick themselves until their fur falls out.

Jason thinks briefly about continuing more delicately, then decides there is no such thing as too on-the-nose when talking to Batman. "No, but he's an overworked teenager with suicidal tendencies. I prefer to remain the only Robin that died."

Bruce winces. Jason would have missed it if he were not watching so closely.

"Deal," Bruce then growls and vanishes off the roof with a dramatic swirl of his cape.

Jason grins to himself and, without losing any time, reopens his comm. "Things are slow, tonight. I think I'll turn in. Red Robin, fancy some ice cream? I've found a new place." He can play dirty. In fact, it is what he does best. And there really is no more time to lose.

"Ice cream," Dick pipes up immediately, always easy to stir up. "In the middle of the night?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Nightwing." Jason takes a little too much smug satisfaction from adding, "You're not invited."

---

To Jason's surprise, Tim turns up only a few minutes later. It is not like he knows about Jason's plan to make him feel more welcome, more a part of the family. He just takes it as a sign that the kid really does not have any self-preservation instincts. Why else would he meet at night with someone who has professed a wish to kill him several times?

Tim sidles up to where Jason sits across the street from the ice cream parlour, giving no indication that he even checked the perimeter and squints at him.

"Are you going to poison me?" His tone is almost bored, his posture lax. As if the answer to the question is of no real consequence. That does several unpleasant things to Jason's insides but he takes care not to show any of them, since he does not think Tim will take kindly to his plan.

"I wouldn't do that to innocent ice cream," he says instead, exaggerating his shock.

Jason is not sure whether he should feel insulted or mollified that Tim seems to take that as enough of a reassurance to sit down.

Turning slightly towards Jason, now without actually looking at him, Tim asks, "So, what do you need?"

Usually, Jason would be glad to skip the small talk, but he really does not like the flat monotone of Tim's voice. "A triple scope and as many chocolate sprinkles as possible."

Nothing changes in Tim's expression. "I don't mean ice cream."

"Well," Jason quips, obstinate on purpose. "Then a vacation. Somewhere sunny without poisonous fog and regular prison breaks."

With that, he jumps up and crosses the street to get to the counter. The vendor is surprisingly chipper for the late hour and indulges Jason's order to put as many sprinkles on his chocolate scoop as he possibly can. Tim, very dismissively, refuses sprinkles.

They walk back to their park bank, where Jason ditches the helmet, and sample their ice cream in silence, tension rising around them while Jason does his best to pretend he does not notice.

"Hood," Tim says slowly and now he just sounds tired. "I'm not in the mood for games. What do you need from me?" He also looks like he is one wrong word away from bolting. Or falling asleep right there on a park bank in the middle of Gotham.

"Nothing," Jason says, more reassuring than he meant to be, since he guesses Tim will not respond kindly to that. "You're just the least annoying brother and I felt like company."

Tim stares at him, the mask making his expression even more flat. Without a word, he scoops some of his ice cream into a small lab tube he gets from somewhere and pockets it. Then, for some unfathomable reason, he keeps eating.

Jason swallows the first few choice responses sitting right on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he asks, lighter than he feels, "Do you like the ice cream so much that you want to reverse engineer it later?"

Tim takes his time to swallow before shrugging as if completely uninterested in the topic. "You're being nice when you're never nice, so I'm still not ruling out poison."

Things might be worse than Jason expected. "Why do you keep eating then?" he asks, losing some of his calm.

Cocking his head to the side, Tim considers that for two seconds flat, then goes in for another taste. "I'm okay with taking a break right about now."

Jason never thought this would be easy, but this is something else. "Then take a break," he says but, half-way through, turns it into a question.

Tim shoots him a look that brings Jason very close to dying a second time in his short life. "And I suppose you'll be happy to take over my patrol routes and B will go to the board meeting tomorrow morning and the meetings with the new production team after, and all of you will work on my cases?"

That is not all of it, Jason knows, because he has kept an eye on Tim's calendars, both personal and for business. It is better if Tim never finds out, however, because he might interpret it as them not trusting him to get his jobs done, even though he is probably the only Bat who always finishes every task he is ever set, on time and perfectly and without complaint.

"Why are you eating ice cream in the middle of the night if you have a board meeting tomorrow?" Jason asks, knowing the why are you even on patrol and why don't you delegate things are implied, even if Tim will ignore them.

Tim looks at him like he is an imbecile and says slowly, "Because I wanted a break."

Jason breathes. It is easy. Things are going according to plan, actually. He wanted to get Tim to sit down and talk. That is what they are doing. He can ignore that the things Tim actually says are dangerous for his blood pressure. It is not like his life expectancy is that great.

"Did you tell B that?" Jason asks, all calm and mature.

Tim scoffs. It makes him look both like a child and unbelievably weary. "You were Robin. You know he doesn't believe in breaks."

That is both true and not. Bruce had always been aware of the limits of the people under his care, even if he could not put that into words without making it sound like an accusation. Over the past years - since Jason died, to be precise - he has certainly become harder and more demanding. With more vigilantes running around now, however, he has also learned to delegate - if someone points out the need for it.

"He made me take breaks all the time," Jason protests, still feeling the sting of some of those moments, although he will take that to his second grave. Commiserating about it will not help with Tim. "He didn't even let me go out the nights before I had English Lit exams, which I could've aced in my sleep."

For a moment, Tim is silent, his expression painfully pinched. Then it smooths back into tired disinterest and he shrugs. "Well, we all know I'm an inferior replacement."

That hits like a punch in the gut. Pressure builds in the back of Jason's throat that tastes suspiciously like guilt. Worse is the way Tim does not even sound accusatory. He is just recounting a fact.

"Kid."

Tim smiles, all teeth, no softness. "I'm older than you were when you -" glancing at the dark streets around them, he redirects, "went away."

They really should not do this in public. If cornering Bruce somewhere private is hard, however, doing it with Tim is impossible.

Jason clears his throat but it remains terribly raspy. "I shouldn't have been in a position where someone could have made me go away."

Sometimes, Jason is still unbelievably furious with Bruce. Not anymore for refusing to kill the Joker, but for repeating the same mistakes over and over again. For someone who allegedly grieved Jason, he shows no inclination to stop putting children in the direct path of danger.

As if reading his thoughts, Tim points out, "Then perhaps you should advise B to keep the new Robin at home. He's the kid in this scenario."

They are veering off into a whole new cesspit of issues, but Jason does not know how to salvage any of this.

"The demon brat is probably the last person I'd call a kid," he says darkly, not even trying to sound amused. Kids can be cruel and jealous. None of that is an excuse for Bruce not making it more clear to Damian that Tim is part of the family and not to be harmed. By knives or words.

"Hood," Tim expectedly chides. Why is this idiot's first choice to always roll over and give up?

"You don't get to defend him," Jason snaps, gesturing sharply enough with his ice cream cone that he almost loses the top scoop. He definitely loses some sprinkles. "He tried to kill you."

Tim just looks at him, not moving a single muscle in his face.

Jason sighs. "I'm still maintaining that I had better reasons than him." He did not. But he apologized and he is trying to make up for it. Right now, he is trying to save Tim's life, no matter what shape that is going to take.

Turning back to his ice cream, Tim shrugs. "You were literally brainwashed by the same group of people."

That is not a period in his life that Jason likes to be reminded of. No one said he does not have issues of his own.

"Doesn't that make you feel special?" he asks, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. He quickly gets another spoonful of chocolate to get the taste out of his mouth.

Tim's smile turns crooked. "That our enemies see me a as a tool and don't even realize that B couldn't care less if they did manage to kill me?"

Jason freezes in sudden shock. "T-," he swallows, tries again. "Red. You don't think that."

What a hypocrite he is, considering he built a criminal empire right here in Gotham and tried to kill Tim just because he thought the same thing. That Bruce does not care. That he sees all his little Robins as expendable. Desperate kids are a dime a dozen in Gotham, after all. Why be careful with a nondepletable resource?

It is wrong, though. Bruce is shit at showing it, but he cares. All of them care.

"Listen," Tim sighs, all exhaustion and no bite, "I was promised ice cream, not a forced heart-to-heart."

Jason came here with a purpose, but now his determination has tripled. "B cares," he tries, even knowing it will fall on deaf ears.

"Like he cares about you?" Tim's gaze burns on Jason's skin. "Only as long as you stick to the rules and make yourself useful?"

"I mean -" Jason says but that is as far as he gets.

Tim stands up abruptly, offering Jason another one of his painfully wrong smiles. "Thanks for the break, Red Hood. Let's not do it again." With that, he walks off into the darkness, never looking back.

So, step one of the plan seems to be only barely a success. Tim came when Jason invited him. There was no blood. It is clear now, however, that they have a long way to go.

---

"Tim," Batman calls out as Tim is already on his way out of the cave.

Habit has him stopping immediately, but he takes a deep breath before he turns around.

"Yes?"

He wants nothing more than to get home and sleep for two days straight, maybe three. However, he and Bruce only talk about work these days, so he guesses sleep will, once again, be pushed to a later, as of yet undetermined date.

Batman - and it is still Batman, cowl and intimidating expression perfectly in place - looks at him, taking him in as if searching for something. Tim fights the urge to stand up straighter. He has impeccable posture, his parents made sure of that, but he is sure Batman will still find him lacking in something. He always does.

"Good job today."

Silence. Two, three breaths. Nothing else is coming. No buts, no I need you tos. Tim quickly goes over what happened this night, if there was anything special. Nothing comes to mind. He barely even crossed paths with anyone else. Something is up and he does not like not knowing what.

"I have a dinner with new investors tomorrow," Tim says, not sure whether he is trying to provoke Bruce or to simply use his suspicious conciliatory mood. "So, I'll be late for patrol."

Normally, that is worthy of a rebuke, a reminder that they are doing an important job, that his tardiness could cost lives.

Instead, Batman just nods and says, "If you need time off, that's no problem." As if late and time off are words he actually accepts.

Is he trying to politely tell Tim that he is not needed anymore? That does not add up with the earlier compliment, but Bruce never does anything without having thought through every possible further step and consequence. He does not just say good job and leaves it at that. He keeps pushing to the breaking point and then demands them to do it again.

Or it is a subtle dig at Tim's deficiencies. If he cannot get his job done, then what use is he?

"I'll be on time," Tim says stiffly, mentally rearranging his schedule. He should be able to charm the investors without letting the dinner run too long. That is what he was raised for, after all.

"Tim," Batman calls out, quiet and displeased, the exact same tone that has ended so many arguments.

"See you tomorrow." And Tim is out. It is only when Wayne Manor has disappeared into the dark night behind him that he allows himself to breathe again.

---

"Hey, baby bird," Jason greets as he appears in front of Tim on a roof. He is proud of that. It was a precise job of grappling and jumping at the exact right time to land where he did and before Tim got his own momentum going, and he managed to make it look casual. He holds up a brown paper bag. "I brought snacks."

Tim's mouth pulls down in distinct displeasure. "This area isn't part of your patrol," he says without an ounce of gratefulness.

"It's a quiet night." Jason shrugs with practiced carelessness. "I was bored."

In fact, Tim has been difficult to get a hold of since their last conversation. It turns out, in a game of subtlety and evasion, he is the clear winner between the two of them. Jason is made more for frontal assaults and to put his head through the wall. It is time he turned the game around again in his favour.

"Well, I'm not bored," Tim snaps impatiently and begins to turn away.

Jason pushes the paper bag closer to him, effectively blocking his way. "You're probably hungry, though."

"No." With sharp sarcasm, Tim adds, "Thanks."

"I also brought coffee," Jason offers and pulls a thermos from his utility belt. He is not growing desperate for some kind of positive reaction. He knew this would be hard.

Tim takes a step back, shoulder dropping like someone cut his strings. "What do you want?" he asks, sounding so weary that Jason can barely suppress a wince.

The innocent act will not work. Still, he tries, "Why would I want something?"

It is not a lie, not completely. He does not want Tim to do anything for him, does not want any favours or help. He wants for Tim to realize that he is not expendable. That he has people to fall back on.

If possible, Tim withdraws further into himself. "You don't need to bribe me. If there's something you need from me, just tell me," he says, meaning like everybody else does, meaning I've stopped needing something from you long ago, meaning let's get this over with. "Or send a message. You know, technology exists."

Jason does not lower his hand with the thermos between them. Very carefully, he says, "I'm pretty sure you've got enough on your plate."

He knows that. Since their last meeting, Tim's schedule has stayed as crazy as ever. If Jason had not wanted his snooping to remain unnoticed, he would have booked blocks for sleeping and eating, and threatened every single person at Wayne Enterprises away from daring to put any meeting or phone call or last-minute task in these blocks. It would not have changed anything, but perhaps the message would have been clearer.

Tension slams back into Tim's body. "Are you saying I can't do my job?" he asks, dangerously flat.

"No, Red," Jason replies, as gentle as he dares. "I'm saying you're due a break. Hence the snacks."

Without another word, Red Robin grapples off the roof.

"Hey," Jason calls out, annoyed at himself. "Don't run away." To no avail, of course. He is left alone on the roof with the coffee and a bag of still-warm donuts. Just barely, he suppresses the urge to throw all of it after Tim.

"Did something happen," Batman's voice cuts in over the comms, sounding irritated, which does nothing to calm Jason down.

"Are you spying on us?" he snaps, wishing Batman were in sight so he could throw the thermos at him instead.

Strangely, Batman pauses at that. Then, calmer, he replies, "No. You're not supposed to be in that part of town, Red Hood."

"You're totally spying on us." Jason clicks his tongue. "You hear that, Red?"

But Tim is long gone and merely says, "No problems, Batman. Getting back to patrol right now." He sounds utterly matter-of-fact, emotionless, tired.

Changing to a private comm line, Jason tells Bruce, "That's not how you win the game." He is not even cross at Bruce. In fact, it is kind of sweet that he checked in at what was obviously not a fully positive encounter.

"This isn't a game," Bruce rebuffs him, words and voice all Batman.

"No, it certainly isn't."

With a sigh, Jason raises the thermos and takes a sip, only to spit it out a moment later. He had asked Alfred to make it the way Tim likes it but that stuff is vile, black enough to wake the dead. He pours out the rest over the edge of the roof, pointedly not taking it as a metaphor to how the rest of the night has been going so far.

---

When Tim closes his report and pushes away from the desk, he expects Bruce to address him. Over the past weeks, this has become a new, painful sort of routine. At the end of every patrol, Bruce has something to say to him. Awkward praise, totally out-of-the-blue questions about his civilian life, stilted inquiries about his well-being.

If the mere idea were not ridiculous, Tim would think Jason and Bruce are conspiring against him together, considering that Jason, too, has not yet given up on bothering Tim. He has neither the time nor the nerves to deal with these new eccentricities. The old status quo was neither happy nor comforting, but he got used to it. This, whatever this is, is tugging at old wounds he really does not want to reopen.

"You should come for dinner tomorrow," Bruce says, the words hitting Tim like a punch in the solar plexus, causing him to freeze in place, caught like a deer staring into headlights. Bruce's face is painfully earnest, too, like he actually means this.

"He should not," Damian bursts out from somewhere to the side, indignation making him sound his age, for once.

"Damian," Bruce snaps immediately, iron in his tone. "Tim is your brother. He is welcome at home any time."

The reprimand shocks all of them into silence. Brother, home. Usually, none of these words apply to Tim.

Damian opens his mouth, no doubt to say something scathing, something that hits right where it hurts, but Tim cuts him off, "I can't. I have work."

It is not even a lie; he just always has work. Perhaps once he is not as young anymore and more accepted by the board of WE, he can begin to delegate more, but right now, a lot of people think he should not be the CEO, that he has neither the experience nor the qualification. Nepotism, and all that. Of course, he will likely not have the position that long. At some point, Bruce will want to take over again so he can teach Damian. The company should stay in the family, after all.

"You need to take breaks," Bruce tells him, back to being earnest.

So, they have come all the way from if to he does need a break. Tim wonders whether he should not just quit. It would spare him a lot of sleepless night. And they all would not have to go through the awkward matter of pushing him out. His position, amongst the Wayne family, the Bats and the company was always supposed to be temporary. He really should not overstay his welcome too much, even though a substantial part of him just wants to cling on, to milk them for every last drop of affection, cold and seldom as they have become.

"I'm fine," Tim says and it barely even registers anymore as a lie. He is fine. Always has been. Probably always will be. His parents raised him to be and Bruce only ever carved the lesson deeper.

---

The next day, Tim is late on purpose. He is not sure he can stomach seeing Bruce so soon again, so he waits until he is sure the rest of the Bats are already swarming Gotham's streets before he enters the cave.

Luck is not on his side.

Lazing on a swivel chair is Jason, out of his armour, facing Tim head on the moment he gets off his bike.

Tim is not stupid. He knows a set-up when he sees one, has fought his way out of enough traps to recognize the teeth snapping closed around him.

With a calm he does not feel, Tim takes his helmet off and walks closer to Jason. This has been going on for long enough. If someone has something to say about the quality of his work, they should do it openly, not play this cloak-and-dagger game, saying one thing and meaning another. If they want him gone, they should do him the courtesy of just throwing him out. He has given so much for the Wayne family, for the Bats, that he is owed that, at least.

"What is going on?" Tim asks and clamps down on the desperation creeping into his voice. He is not going to make this harder on himself.

Eyebrows raised, Jason looks at Tim. He never could pull off innocence. "What do you mean?"

"Don't take me for an idiot," Tim snaps, feeling his patience fraying. He is just so tired. "You don't like me, yet you keep stopping by my flat all the time or make me break for snacks during patrol. B keeps inviting me to the Manor and even told Damian off yesterday." He still has not wrapped his head around that. It makes no sense if they want him to leave. "Something's happening and I want it to stop."

Abruptly, Jason straightens in the chair. "I like you."

Tim fixes him with such a flat glare that Jason automatically ducks his head. "Sure," he drawls, then shrugs. He does not have the energy to argue semantics. It is true that Jason has not tried to murder him in ages and has stopped calling him replacement. If that is supposed to be a declaration of eternal brotherly love, so be it. "I mean, what's the end goal here?"

Jason just looks at Tim for a moment like he is choosing his words very carefully. Quiet and serious, leaving no room for misunderstanding, he says, "I want you to not kill yourself."

That is not what Tim expected. He is not even sure where that comes from. Do they think he is suicidal? Do they think he does not have several plans to take himself out of the equation if it ever becomes necessary? He has a plan, a formula, for everything.

Suddenly certain that he cannot have this conversation standing straight, Tim gets himself another chair and sits down a safe distance away from Jason but does not let him out of his sight.

Tapping his fingers against his thigh, he asks, "What are you even talking about?"

As if he merely waited for Tim to sit, Jason jumps to his feet, the very picture of nervous energy as he begins to pace.

"You're worse than Bruce," he says, jabbing a finger in Tim's direction. "You work too much, basically running the company on your own, and then you go on patrol at night. And you work on who knows how many cases. More than all of us put together, probably. You barely sleep and you eat less."

"So what?" Tim replies without missing a beat. Confusion spreads through him but he keeps it off his face. No one ever accused him of working too much. "I can take care of myself."

Jason stops for a moment to better stare at Tim. "Can you?"

With a frown, Tim glares back. "Of course."

The way Jason's lips pull into a sharp-edged, utterly unamused smile seems dangerous, like a rope coiling ever tighter around Tim. "So, hypothetically," Jason drawls, voice full of poison. "If you were to run into some trouble during patrol, you'd do the smart thing and call for help? You'd try to get out of there in one piece instead of fighting your way through it, not caring whether the other guys get any hits in?"

Tim's brain immediately sorts through the past weeks, the days before both Jason and Bruce started to act strangely, searching for something that could have caused this, some glaring oversight on his part, something worth a permanent mark in his record. He does not find anything out of the ordinary.

Calmly, he points out, "I always make sure I'm in acceptable working condition."

"That's exactly what I mean." Jason runs a frantic hand through his hair, slipping out of anger into something Tim cannot quite pinpoint. "Fuck, Tim, do you even hear yourself? Working condition?"

Tim fervently wishes he had skipped patrol completely this night. Jason is like a dog with a bone but even he loses interest if one can only hold out long enough. It is too late for that now, however. "I know what's expected of me and -"

Jason cuts him off with a sharp gesture, and grinds out between clenched teeth, "Not even B expects you to run yourself into the ground."

That is debatable, but like a good soldier, Tim says, "And I'm not."

A laugh spills over Jason's lips that is brittle like glass breaking. "When's the last time you had a proper dinner?"

"Why are all of you so fixated on dinner?" Tim asks and rolls his eyes, despite knowing that is not the smartest move with an agitated predator in the room. "I moved out of the Manor for a reason, I don't need Alfred to cut my steak for me and handfeed me. I can take care of myself."

He is so tired of people assuming they get to make his choices for him. Before he moved out, nobody was happy at seeing him haunting the manor halls, and now they are complaining that they cannot control what he does at all times.

"Even I eat more often at the Manor," Jason says as if that proves some unspoken point he is trying to make.

Of course, Jason eats in the manor. There might still be difficulties and arguments with Bruce, but Jason is Bruce's son. He came back from the dead. Nobody wants to squander that second chance.

Heat roars inside Tim's chest, flickering to life so suddenly that he feels dizzy with it. He has become so used to drudging through his life without feeling much of anything that this is like the first breath after almost drowning, burning but also sweet, waking some beast he thought long dead.

"I'm not wanted there," he points out, all bite, no bark, but all of it turned against himself. He does hate Jason a bit for making him say it out loud. And then more when he has the audacity to look stunned.

"What?"

Tim digs his fingers into his thigh to keep his arms from crossing in front of himself. "You're really going make me repeat that?"

"Well," Jason snarls, startled into hostility. "It sounds like complete bullshit."

Does it? Tim used to hope so, but they are long past that. Perhaps he had a chance, at some point between Jason trying to kill him and Damian coming to the manor to claim his rightful place in the family.

"I never went to Bruce to replace you. Becoming Robin was only ever meant to be temporary, until he got back to his feet." Almost gently, he adds, "I know I've been letting it go on for too long."

All his life, he has been clinging to things he had no right to, beginning with his parents' love. His continued connection to the Bats is just another mistake in a long line of them.

"What the fuck, Tim?" Jason all but yells, something wild in his eyes. "I was wrong about that. You're nobody's replacement. You're your own person, your own Robin."

Tim shakes his head, done with hiding. "I was your replacement and a placeholder for Damian," he says without mercy for himself. "I should have left as soon as Dick made Damian Robin."

Jason makes a noise like he is choking. He clears his throat, points out, "Then Bruce would still be gone."

Maybe, maybe not. "After, then," he still says. He is not going to pour gasoline on his already burning bridges. "I was Batman's partner for a while, but you don't keep using tools after they stopped being useful."

Tim loathes the way his voice goes flat, indifferent. It is the same way his father used to count off all the ways Tim disappointed them at various social functions. It does not leave room for emotion, good or bad, like he is not important enough for any of that. Of course, he often preferred that to his mother's cutting remarks, her icy disappointment. His father, at least, seemed like he could be swayed back in Tim's favour if only Tim could do what was asked of him.

Jason is neither indifferent nor cold. He is angry. Tim almost expects his eyes to turn green.

"This is not about being useful. You're -"

"I'm not part of the family," Tim cuts him off, does not regret it, either.

His words hang in the air between them for a long moment, souring the tension into something more brittle.

Jason steps towards Tim, almost close enough to loom over him. He reaches out, lays a hand on Tim's shoulder, warm and heavy and undeniably real. "You are our brother," he says, slowly, deliberately. "You are my brother."

Tim pushes the chair backwards and shrugs off Jason's hand. "Sure."

Just like that, Jason is back to pacing, pulling at his hair, the white streak of hair sticking up comically.

"Would you stop saying that?" he demands more than asks. "True, B can be an obstinate asshole who would rather choke on his feelings than talk about them. Dick wants to save everybody all the time and that makes him blind to people who pretend too well. I have anger issues and say shit I don't mean all the time. And Damian sees you as threat, a rival for his father's affection." He turns, looks at Tim to make sure his words hit where intended. "We're all fucked up, but we are family."

It occurs to Tim that Jason means it. Actually, truly means it. He leans back in his chair but keeps his shoulders straight. "Why?"

He is not quite sure what he is asking, but Jason does not hesitate to say, "We care about you. And the way you behave is just short of actively trying to kill yourself."

Never missing a blink, Tim clarifies, "I'm not suicidal." He has too much to do to even think about that.

Jason stops, looks at Tim open and vulnerable. "Is staying alive a priority to you? If Bruce gives you a task, do you care more about getting it done or that you remain in fucking working condition?"

"I'm just doing my job." It is the wrong answer, Tim knows as soon as the words leave his lips, because Jason screws his eyes shut.

"No," he snaps and takes a deep breath before continuing, only marginally calmer. "It's not a job. Bruce became a vigilante instead of going to therapy, but don't you dare pretend that's normal. Don't dare assume that your life is not more important than his vendetta."

Tim doubts any of this is still a vendetta. True, Bruce tends to go overboard when hit with grief, but he is otherwise rather clinical, a true stickler to his complex system of rules. Tim is also aware that this is very much not the point Jason was trying to make. Before he can argue further, a new voice interrupts them.

"Jason is right," Bruce says, appearing out of nowhere.

Both of them flinch. Out of the corner of his eyes, Tim sees Jason go for his gun, an instinctive response to unexpected danger. Tim is not one to talk, however, because he acts just as much on instinct, getting up from the chair, standing up straight, his shoulders painfully squared as he faces Bruce, ready for whatever will be thrown at him.

Bruce looks at them for a long moment, one of them ready to shoot first and ask questions later, the other too used to turning the other cheek. He clearly does not like what he sees, because a shadow flits over his face before he carefully forces his expression into something soft.

He turns fully towards Tim. His voice, when he speaks, is hoarse, but the words are firm, nonetheless. "You're more important than any job or case could ever be. We are protecting the city, but my first priority will always be to protect you." With a glance at Jason, he adds, "You and your brothers."

That sounds practiced, and Tim really does not know what to do with that realization.

"I'm sorry for arguing in the cave," he says instead of acknowledging anything Bruce just said. He just wants to be done with this. "I'm ready to head out."

"Tim." Bruce takes a step forward, then aborts the motion halfway-through. Painfully gentle, he says, "We haven't had dinner yet. Why don't you both come up?"

It is too late for dinner. They have a schedule and Bruce never lets them vary from it.

"Patrol started a few minutes ago," Tim points out, wondering if, maybe, this is a nightmare. Or he fell into an alternate dimension.

"Patrol starts when we go out," Bruce corrects, not a single trace of disapproval in his tone. Then, arguably worse, he offers, "I think we should stay in tonight. Eat, watch a movie. Maybe talk."

What is happening? Tim looks at Jason, hoping to find him just as confused, just as horrified at hearing Bruce say he wants to talk of all things. But, no. Jason has relaxed, like he does not believe Bruce was poisoned or replaced by an impostor. In fact, he looks relieved.

"If we're not going out, I'll head home," Tim says mechanically, thanking his parents for their relentless teachings. Otherwise, he would not have managed to keep his tone even and his back straight. "I've got a meeting to prepare for."

Bruce frowns and Tim knows what is going to happen before he even opens his mouth. "I'll call Lucius. He'll -"

"Are you firing me?"

That is the only sensible conclusion. He never expected Bruce to be gentle about it, but that is the only thing that can be happening here. Tim has outlived his welcome. The invitation to dinner might have been in preparation to letting him down out of costume. Perhaps Alfred insisted to send him off in a civilized manner with a last gift. He will have to sign things, too, if he is to step away. Bruce probably has everything prepared upstairs in his office and Tim has just made it harder on everybody by refusing to listen.

It all makes so much sense in his head, that he barely hears it when Bruce says, "No, Tim." He only snaps out of it when Bruce puts a hand on Tim's shoulder, painfully similar to how Jason had done only a few minutes ago.

"I would never fire you. Neither from the company, nor from patrol," Bruce says solemnly. As if he has not fired Dick, once. "But I've been neglecting you and you apparently took that as an incentive to take on more work than you should. WE is still my company and it isn't fair that I let you handle all of that on your own."

Surely, he has not been doing that bad a job. Right? "I can handle it," Tim tries, acutely aware that Bruce has not moved his hand. "I've been raised to."

Briefly, Bruce closes his eyes. "And you're doing a good job. But you're doing more than you should have to. I don't want you to burn out."

Tim is pretty sure he is already past that point. He certainly feels worn out enough for it.  "I guess it won't be that much longer until you bring Damian into the company," he says, carefully unclenching his jaw. "I can rest, then."

Bruce finally lifts his hand, but it hovers in the air, uncertainly, for a moment longer. "Damian?"

Shrugging, Tim says, "He's your heir. He's already impatient."

For all that there is no love lost between them, Tim thinks Damian might actually be a good fit, once he learns more. He has been trained to think logically and be disciplined. And he will not let the board or business rivals intimidate him.

Bruce looks at Tim like he has suddenly grown a second head, like he is the one behaving irrationally. "I would very much like it if you and Damian could work together, but you're not just a placeholder." The choice of that word just proves how long Bruce has been listening in before making himself known. "The company, the position is yours. I just don't want you to overwork yourself."

"Su-" Tim starts, then cuts himself off with a look at Jason, who is uncharacteristically silent. "Okay." Then, finally losing the fight against letting his growing confusion show, he asks, "Can I go now?"

There is the displeasure, the disappointment. Yet, Bruce does not lash out. "Dinner, please," he says instead and then makes everything worse. "I love you, Tim. I know I don't say that often enough. But you're my son, and I value you for far more than what you can do for the family. I'd love you even if you stopped doing anything."

Tim's entire body locks up. He has heard Bruce tell Jason that he loves him, several times. Dick, too. But they are his sons. Even someone as emotionally constipated as Bruce knows to tell that to his family every now and then. But Tim is not family. Tim is not - this is not fair.

"I'm not going to kill myself. You don't have to say any of those things," he all but spits out.

He does not need their pity, does not want the scraps of their attention just because Jason interpreted Tim's behaviour wrongly and now they all think he is suicidal because they are not all holding hands regularly and making overly emotional confessions.

He wants to leave. Even if it is true that Bruce does not intend to fire him, Tim is one wrong word away from quitting. He could just get on his bike and drive. Somewhere. Anywhere that is not here.

"Tim, I do love you," Bruce says and sounds so honest that Tim has to swallow the sudden need to punch him. "I'm sorry I didn't see you for so long. I'm sorry for thinking I didn't have to say it for you to know."

Jason makes an emphatic gesture, just at the edge of Tim's vision. After that, it takes Bruce only a heartbeat to get moving and pull Tim into an embrace. It is awkward and foreign. Tim's body tenses further, like it wants to shrink in on itself to escape Bruce's touch. There is no getting away, however. Bruce is warm and surprisingly soft and everywhere. 

"Stay the night," Bruce mutters. Tim feels the vibrations of the words more than he actually hears them. "Tomorrow we'll go over our schedules and work something out to get you some breathing room. And I want you to come to Friday family dinners." Bruce lifts his head, briefly. "You too, Jason."

"What?" Jason croaks, sounding unhappy at being pulled back into the conversation. Serves the traitor well.

"I know I haven't been fair to either of you," Bruce keeps talking, completely ignoring Jason. "That stops now. So, family dinners and actual breaks. Let's start there."

Tim looks at Jason but only receives a helpless shrug. The picture gets a little clearer now. Jason must have gone to Bruce and roped him into his scheme to get Tim to - what? Work less? Question his conclusions on whether or not he is part of this family? Either way, they are both in it, now. And Jason does not get to protest now without seeming like the world's biggest hypocrite.

"All right," Jason says, too loud and cheerful, never once looking away from Tim. Not until he rolls his eyes and nods against Bruce's chest.

"All right," Tim echoes. With glacially slow movements, he puts his arms around Bruce in turn, finally sinking into the embrace. Then, much quieter, he adds, "I love you, too."