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tiptapricot · 2 years

Note

First of all, nail polish, yes please 🙌 also h/c's on their vacation vibes??? 🧳

Ok ok

Steven thinks nail polish is fun in concept and has painted his nails a few times, but always starts picking at it the second it starts to flake or come up from the edges, so it never lasts long and it always makes him frustrated and a little sad that it didn’t in the end.

Marc doesn’t rlly get it but I think he’d rlly like running the pads of his fingers over the surface of smooth gel nails over n over. Idk how comfortable he’d be wearing it? It might take some convincing and adjusting, plus he doesn’t think it’s very practical to have during a fight.

Jake thinks nail polish is fun and epic and sexy but doesn’t get to wear it a lot since it’s not an easy change to make and get rid of in his brief times fronting. When Steven’s painted his nails he’s taken full advantage though, adding his own little flourishes and trying to keep them in good condition and letting the other two chalk it up to just forgetting they altered things. Since my brain is also too on ab Jake, I think nail polish is somth he enjoys from a queer and gender presentation perspective, as well as that of reclaiming and expressing his personhood in the limited sphere he has to do that. When the body’s nails are painted, he carries his fingers more delicately and with more care, like hidden treasure and power under his gloves.

Steven loves vacations in theory, but always ends up doing basically just the same stuff he’d do in his downtime at home, only in a different place. He’ll travel somewhere only to stay in his hotel room and read and watch TV, only going out for a short stroll or dinner somewhere before going back. He doesn’t mind short shopping outings and will pick up a few cute knick knacks, but it never holds his attention for long and he honestly gets bored pretty easily if the shops aren’t related to an interest of his. He sticks around for Layla or the others though. He likes airy comfortable clothing leaning towards blues and greys and nothing too highly patterned, and he hates flip flops bc he doesn’t like getting sand or dirt on his feet or stubbing his toes.

Marc is ironically the best at vacationing in the traditional sense. He never quite fully loses his paranoia or tenseness, but he’s always up for going around to new places and sightseeing and… just sleeping HBDBDB He enjoys looking at local tourist traps and seeing how bad they are, and he’s easily fascinated by stuff that’s not even meant to b fascinating. Would be up for just going somewhere and walking around and just looking at stuff without doing activities or buying anything, that’s interesting to him. If he’s excited about a place independently, he will absolutely become the overdone planner type who tries to fit in like 30 different activities in the span of two days because “We have to see this thing we have to.” Doesn’t have much of a vacation fashion and just kind of wears whatever the others put on that morning, or what Layla suggests. If left to his own devices just grabs the same shirt and pants he’s been wearing for three days and calls it good.

Jake is a dad/uncle on vacation. He never quite knows what the actual plans are but just rolls with it, and will side stop in random shops or attractions out of nowhere just because. Always picks up gifts that seem really dumb but are thoughtful when he explains them. Usually more interested in driving through an area than walking, and likes to eat at the local family stores more than the eateries the place is known for if you search it up on Google. Similarly, always hunts for the most hole in the wall, weird, niche stores because “These are the places where the real gold is, not that fake shit.” Likes sunbathing and swimming, or if it’s a cooler place, hiking, beach combing, chill local attractions, all that. Usually derails preplanned activities either because he’s not in the loop or just doesn’t care and would rather do something else. Would go full bright tourist-y look with shorts and a flowery shirt even if it’s someplace like Paris, both because he thinks it’s funny, and because it makes him stick out. Will joke to Steven and Marc that this is his payback for not being noticed for most of their life (even though they’ll also shoot back that that was his doing also).

Send me a fun goofy MK ask!

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #the fruit is talking again #the fruit is answering again #the fruit is headcanoning again #mikes mk meta

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silenthillmutual · 4 years

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prompt: daniil asking artemiy for a hug/cuddle pressure stim !!! (idk what you call it. but that thing when someone lies on u and it's Good)

he’s about near defeated. daniil feels exhaustion weigh into him on a level he simply can’t describe. but he feels like porcelain, like any little stumble could shatter him to pieces. and he feels, too, like he’s on the edge of tripping, even here in his room with his eye to the microscope. daniil takes off his gloves and presses his hands to his face. he hates the feeling of it all soaking into his skin - the soot, the grime, the dirt under his fingernails, because no matter how clean he keeps there’s always something. but with the gloves it’s worse, one less border to keep the world at bay.

and his hands smell like leather. it’s really neither here nor there at the moment, but his head is spinning. he’s never felt so dizzy in his life, even when his stomach railed at him and refused to let him eat. there had always been a sort of dangerous calm to him then, but here, in this town, his nerves have taken all control. shame starts to coil around his shoulders, around his neck like a noose, and he shivers in his atempt to lose it.

artemy’s steps on the staircase are loud. they feel like they pull daniil back down to the ground, back down to earth. and just when he felt like he was floating away from it, too. he can’t tell if his feelings toward that are positive or negative, but he looks toward the other man as he enters the room with a mind to hide how much he struggles, at the moment, hands tucked between his knees and making an attempt at a smile he’s sure from years of faulty experience does not reach his eyes. “burakh,” he greets.

“we’ve no need for the formalities, daniil. it’s just us.” daniil sighs and covers his face once more, fingers digging into his eyes. the twyre’s getting there too, making every surface of his skin itch. there’s a draw between them with the haruspex moving closer, putting his hand to the top of daniil’s head as if to feel the skin. “you look sick, emshen. don’t give me something else to worry about.”

“i’m not sick,” daniil argues, but there’s no fight behind it. he sighs, heel of his hands pressing his eyes back into his skulls. too much force, and they’ll slip right through the sockets, roll ‘round and come out his mouth. oh, how he detests the image. “i’m just exhausted. no matter -”

his attempt to move is cut short by a finger pushing him back in his seat, pinning him down. “it’s not ‘no matter’,” artemy tells him, “you need a rest, that’s clear as day. so have a sleep. i’ll come back in the morning.”

“i can sleep when i’m -” he stops himself just short. he knows the expression artemy wears before he even sees it. half amused, half bemused and altogether fond in an exasperated sort of way. “well, you know what i mean,” daniil says, but there’s a fracture making its horrid scrape across the inside of his head. he starts to angle his body down more, elbow on his knee cradling his brow once more.

artemy is fixated on him. where he stands is not so bad, blocking out a majority of the light in the room. daniil feels outside of his skin once again, bloated and soaring like a balloon. he just can’t stand it like this. “is there anything i can do to help you?”

“nothing remotely within either of our capabilities,” daniil grumbles. “we’ve both got our plates full, so to speak, and you’re already working on a cure. you’ve stated vaccines aren’t within your area of expertise, and i somehow doubt you’d want -”

“no,” artemy interrupts. “not something to help the plague, daniil. something to help you. and your...what is this, a migraine?”

“nerves.” daniil shifts. he’s not uncomfortable so much as a different, long-distant feeling building up in him. embarrassment, he guesses. but the rate he’s been going at, he’s so worn thin that it almost doesn’t matter to him how ridiculous the words he’s about to say will sound. but only almost. “there are some benefits to the human touch,” he states, and waits for artemy to make some snide remark that never comes. “and in times like this, where i feel so out of my body that i might drift off altogether, feeling alone can... ground me.”

so far, artemy hasn’t laughed at him. but there’s still the thought that he might, and it’s that which keeps daniil from looking up. if artemy so much as looks amused, he might - well, he’s lost control, but restraint will be the next thing to go. he can’t think of what he’ll wreck, but he feels the urge right under his skin. “what do i need to do to help?” artemy asks.

daniil’s fingers twitch. he’s got them dug so the nails flat into the wood of the chair. it’s uncomfortable. it’s another thing inching him closer to the edge, to screaming. “this will sound silly,” daniil says, and as much as he intends it as a statement to warn artemy of his forthcoming request, it feels and it sounds so much more like a comment to himself on the quality of his needs. a way to chide himself, to convince himself he’s above such nonesense. “and i understand if it’s far too much to ask -”

“just spit it out, will you?” artemy asks. “it’s not like i’ll bite you.”

he leans back in his seat, not meeting artemy’s eyes. his lip trembles. “lay on top of me,” he says. he feels the color hit his cheeks as his eyes roam over the desk. but he feels artemy trying to drag his attention back with a wave of his hand, eyebrows up nearly to his hairline. daniil’s not sure if he hasn’t heard, or perhaps simply hasn’t believed his own ears. it’s not like daniil to ask for affection, after all, or to show it as freely as all that. that’s something he thinks he wears about himself pretty openly, and it must confuse artemy to no end that he’s here asking for it now. but he clears his throat and pushes himself to a stand, fingers locking behind his back.

“lay down on top of you?” artemy asks. it’s hard for daniil to get a read on his emotions at the best of times, but artemy doesn’t say the words with any sort of inflection. he doesn’t want to get too comfortable with their rapport, in case the tables turn around on him now. and artemy shifts a little, looking around the room, before fixing his gaze on daniil once again, frown set in place. “no offense, emshen, but -” it’s too much, daniil thinks. too personal of him to have asked. “i think you’d break under my weight.” daniil must be wearing some sort of expression that betrays offense, and artemy gestures. “i mean, look at you! you’re rail thin. when was the last time you ate properly, or slept? if i lay on you, i’ll hurt you.”

“i think i know my limits,” daniil replies, but uncertainty is still etched into the haruspex’s face, and daniil sighs, running a hand over his face. “i can’t explain why it works. going into detail, it would only feel...crude. but the heaviness, it’s like - like my jacket, only warmer!” daniil feels embarrassed, trying to explain it, and even worse with the concerned look artemy’s giving him. he turns his back to the man to remove his shoes, mumbling the words forget it to himself as he does. and he keeps his head decidedly turned, too, as he curls up on the bed, hoping he’ll get used to the feeling of artemy’s eyes on him so he won’t just be laying in a huff, staring at the wall.

daniil doesn’t feel the bed shift behind him, no warning that he’s being joined until body heat starts to press against him. artemy rolls so he’s covered about half of daniil’s body. “i feel like an idiot,” he grumbles, and daniil almost shivers with the touch of his breath on the back of his neck. “am i doing this right?”

“yes,” daniil mumbles back. he shouldn’t be embarrassed, not of this, not in his own room, but artemy’s commentary makes him self-conscious. that happens - and not just here, not just now, but all of the time when they’re together. daniil sort of hates it, how easily flushed and rattled he gets, the way his colleague’s bites make him feel haunted through the day. but only sort of, because no matter how badly it stings the truth is that the fixation is all his own. he can’t blame artemy for it all.

it always comes back down to him. some block he has, as a person. “you’re cold, erdem,” artemy says.

crestfallen, he thinks the term is. stomach dropped to a lower pit. hurt, but in a deeper way than the shallow cuts he’s used to taking and inflicting. “i get told that often,” he says. his fingers curl in toward the palm of his hand, bending his knees and his head toward his stomach. “many people have called me cold. i didn’t expect you to be one of them.”

he hadn’t meant to divulge that last part. it’s a good thing artemy can’t see his face like this. he’s never liked... all that. being open with people. showing them his feelings. it’s never gone well, never could. it always takes him back to an early age, a bitter one. it’s always better to have people think you are cold, show them a stony face and let them hurl their insults than expect better treatment. artemy’s body shifts so his chest is flat to daniil’s back, and he feels fingers curling over the curve of his shoulders. “physically, daniil,” artemy says. without that coat i can feel your skin through your shirt. how are you even moving like this?” the fingers are light enough to tickle his skin as they reach down, grabbing a wrist. “show me your fingers. i need to see if the tips are blue.” in daniil’s line of sight he takes his hand, slotting his own fingers in the spaces between daniil’s, wrapping over the back of his hand. and he is warm, to contrast, his thumb rubbing daniil’s idly. moments pass, minutes, with artemy’s head rested against the back of daniil’s head before he pulls back. “i could fall asleep like this,” he admits.

“don’t let me stop you,” daniil mutters.

artemy laughs at him. he feels artemy’s chest move with it. “you wouldn’t be able to push me off like that. i really would be crushing you, and then we’d have issues.” you’re crushing me now, crushing my hopes, daniil thinks. he’d like to slap himself for the melodramatic thought.artemy slides until he’s back to an only partial cover, arm and a leg still around daniil. the night air grabs at him, but he feels less cold already. “is this alright?” artemy asks, as he moves his hand to grab the back of daniil’s. his fingers cover daniil’s fingertips, forcing life back to them. “is this alright?” he asks.

no, daniil thinks. it’s not enough. but he only sniffs, and says, “it’s adequate.” he listens to artemy sigh, breath skating against the back of his neck. he feels artemy mutter something, perhaps that will have to do for now.

and if they drift a little closer together in the middle of the night, well, neither man says a thing about it.

#ocdkomaeda #icarus.txt #icarus.docx #burakovsky #this is. ooc fluff. i think that's all it is.

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kaidans-alenko · 3 years

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Under stars

My first piece for oc kiss week <3 i’ve been wanting to write for Nathan and Lily and i’m happy to finally have an excuse lol

pre-me1 takes place after Torfan

Lily stood in the aftermath of the heavy fighting, the air smelling like blood and eezo, she wasn't sure how long it had gone on, all she knew was she hadn't intended to stop until every last batarian slaver was dead. Her CO might think it's excessive, hell they might even kick her ass out for getting her whole unit torn to shreds but it was worth it. They didn't know what those batarians did to her home, what they did….what they did to her. She heard who they were up against and all she saw was red, she wanted to kill them all one by one, carve the names of everyone lost during the raid into their skulls but there wasn't time for that unfortunately.

Lily walked over bodies, her boots covered in blood and who knew what else as she looked for Nathan, he was an infiltrator he had probably hidden somewhere with his trusty sniper rifle and tactical cloak maybe even coming down to meet her, it was only the ground troops that got the worst of it. That's when she saw him, propped up against the far wall, his rifle nowhere to be seen, unconscious and bloody, her heart sank. He wasn't dead, he couldn't be dead, his job had been to stay hidden so why was he down here?

"Nathan!" Lily called out as she ran over to him, hoping that would catch his attention and he'd open his eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes she loved so much, that crinkled at the ends whenever he smiled at her. Nathan couldn't be dead, she wouldn't allow it. Kneeling down in front of him she cupped his face with her hands, he was paler than she was and covered in blood "Come on," she lifted him up and carried him best she could out of the compound. Lily had gone a little too hard with the biotics and was starting to feel it but she just needed to get them outside and stay awake long enough to contact the Alliance.

After that her and Nathan could go on like they planned, a wedding, a nice house on earth and a family, the whole shebang. With a groan she fell to her knees outside, gently placing Nathan on his back in the grass, laying down next to him resting her head on his armored chest "Look Nate, the stars are really pretty, don't you want to see?" She watched his face intently, waiting for the faintest movement, a twitch, something.

Lily could've easily just checked his vitals with her omni-tool instead of pleading with him but she knew she wouldn't like what she'd find. Ignorance was bliss after all. She climbed on top of him, pressing a frantic kiss to his lips, as if they were in a fairytale and true love's kiss was going to wake him up. "Nathan, come on." She grabbed his shoulders and shook him as hard as she could. "This isn't funny, wake up!" She begged but to no avail, he was gone and it was her fault, petty revenge led to her losing the one person she loved more than anything in the galaxy.

She collapsed on top of him, her gloved hands gripping the dirt below them as her body shook, her throat raw from her wailing. Forget the physical pain she was in agony, her chest hurt so much she wanted to rip her heart out just to make it stop "This isn't real, it isn't real." She repeated to herself but denial wasn't going to change things. It wasn't the batarians this time, she had no one to blame but herself for this.

---------------------------

“Lils, come on you need to eat something.” Aiden coaxed.

“No, I'm not hungry.” she said from under the covers she had wrapped herself in like a cocoon.

Aiden sighed “I know but what kind of brother would I be if I let you waste away under there?”

“If I do at least I'll be with Nathan.”

“Lily…” She hadn’t said anything about what happened on Torfan except to the Alliance officials but that was only because she didn’t have a choice. When he was first told what had happened he was shocked. He knew she hated batarians and he couldn’t blame her but to the point of getting her whole unit killed just to put an end to those slavers? It didn’t sound like her. Aiden knew his sister better than anyone and he didn’t think she was capable of this. He didn’t see her any differently but he knew the Alliance would for better or worse.

“I’m still waiting to wake up, to find out this was all some nightmare, walk into the kitchen and find him cooking breakfast,” her eyes welled with tears “wearing those silly horse slippers I bought him.”

Aiden leaned over her, hugging her as she sobbed into her pillow, he didn’t know what else to do, if he could’ve he would bring Nathan back from the dead, erase all her memories from Torfan just to make her feel better but for as advanced as their technology was it was still impossible. Aiden kissed her head, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear.

“Why him? Why not me?”

“Would you want Nathan to feel what you’re feeling right now? Do you think he’d be happy if he were alive without you?”

Lily sniffed “No it just...hurts so much, I want it to stop.” she turned over and cried into his chest, clinging to him, nails digging into his shirt.

“I know Lil, I know,” he held her tighter.

“I’ll never love anyone like I love him.” honestly she would’ve preferred he broke up with her, she could live with that, at least he was still alive but this...she was never going to get over this and she didn’t want to. It was her fault, all her fault and she deserved to suffer for it.

#ockiss21 #lilyshep #nathan grant

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mexicancat-girl · 4 years

Text

Miraculously Supernatural

Ao3: Link

Wordcount: 2,720, Rated M for character death and one implied sexual scene.

A Miraculous Ladybug fic that's a parody of the Supernatural ending, because those final two episodes were too ridiculous and I felt compelled to. I'm sorry to the Supernatural fans.

...

"I love you," Nathaniel states.

Felix stares back at him blankly, looking like he's barely holding himself back from saying a slur.

Adrien just watches with awkward horror as Nathaniel dies, being pulled into a portal into what looks like Super Mega Hell. "Nathaniel…! Oh my fucking God, he's fucking dead!"

"He dies all the time," Felix reminds him flatly.

"Well, yeah but...Felix, he literally just confessed to you? That's different. Shouldn't we... I dunno... try and bring him back again...?"

"He's an angel, he'll find his way out. He always does."

"Felix, he literally went to Super Mega Hell for being gay for you," Adrien reminds him irately, crossing his arms. "The least you can do is pretend to give a shit."

"I'm still in shock," Felix says, in his usual flat voice, not seeming to feel much of anything. "Now excuse me while I throw up."

"Better than saying a slur, I guess..." Adrien mutters with pure disappointment. Five years and fifteen seasons of homoerotic tension, and Felix was just as emotionally constipated and homophobic as the start.

At least Adrien had a love interest...which was only introduced last season...and who barely got any screen time... But hey! Marinette was a nice enough girl!

...

“So…” Adrien starts awkwardly, wanting to finally address the elephant in the room. “About Nathaniel…”

“What about him?” Felix asks, raising a delicate brow, completely disinterested.

“You…You sad he’s gone, or…?”

Felix just gives a shrug. “Yeah. Shit sucks, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“We should go somewhere else. Keep moving,” his brother declares, finally finishing chugging his coffee and smashing the empty container under his steel-toed shoes, in a very manly fashion.

Well, Adrien should have expected this. His older brother always ran away from his feelings. And problems. And everything in life that was vaguely troubling, like the emotionally constipated and paranoid bastard he was.

At the very least, these habits have kept them alive so far. There’s that silver lining.

...

“Y’know, I didn’t realize the Insane Clown Posse was still touring,” Adrien jokes, sweating nervously at the group of juggalos surrounding the pair of brothers.

“Very funny,” one of the juggalos rasps, baring his teeth, and. Alright. Those were vampire fangs.

“Really…?” Felix asks long sufferingly, rolling his eyes. “Is this the best the writers could come up with? Juggalo vampires?”

“With knives!” one of said juggalo vampires says cheerily, raising a knife, his face split half-white half-black down the middle. Not very clown-like, but Adrien was willing to give him A for effort and his nice smile that made his emerald eyes glitter charmingly.

Felix, like the complete weeb he is, readies his shuriken and starting chucking them like he’s a Naruto character. Adrien ducks and rolls, slashing at the enemies’ heels with his claw-gloves and readying his baton.

“Ah, hello again, Kagami,” Felix says silkily, in his Protagonist Fighting Voice.

“How could you tell it was me?” asks the masked woman.

“You aren’t dressed as a juggalo, for one. Two, this show has such a minimal amount of female characters, I could have thrown any name of a woman out there and had a good one in ten chance of getting it correct.”

“Make that a thirty-seventy chance, since most of the women die in the show!” Adrien calls back, because he is all for equality and getting statistics correct.

“Yes, of course. My mistake,” Felix states dryly.

“I hate this fucking show,” Kagami sighs, tired and exasperated.

“You’re not the only one.” And then Felix promptly kills Kagami anti-climatically. “I hope you enjoyed your one scene with dialogue.”

“Felix, why didn’t you kill her with your shuriken? You know your best weapon is your shuriken!” Adrien scolds. “I know we’re in the season finale and things should be wrapping up, but—”

And then the younger blond watches before his very eyes as his brother is impaled.

“NOOOOOOO!” Adrien shrieks, going on a vengeance-fueled rampage to kill the rest of the juggalo knife vampires. He then runs over to his impaled brother, who was impaled by huge…rusty nails? He thinks? Listen, he was too fucking tired to question it. “Felix! Felix, talk to me!”

“I’m sorry, little brother,” Felix rasps, coughing out blood, the red liquid splattering down his chin. “I was…careless.”

“You’re gonna be okay, Lix,” Adrien sniffles, clutching his brother’s hand in his. “You’ve survived worse! Like, you’ve literally fist fought God! You’ve survived fifteen seasons of this shit, you can—”

“I can’t come back from this.”

“But why?!” Adrien demands, tears budding in his green eyes.

“Because…I want you to live…”

“I can bring you back! I can, I swear—”

“You really think the writers will do that, when they want to end this flaming trash heap?” Felix chuckles, with a slight smile, lips coated red.

“But you survived so much! How will the audience even believe you died from murderous vampire juggalos?!”

“They won’t…This is…the stupidest fucking thing the showrunners could have done,” his older brother rasps with a sassy and bitchy roll of his eyes. “Fucking morons…Total brain rot…I knifed God, and this is the thanks I get…”

“You’ve died plenty of times before, I can just bring you back, Felix, it’s gonna be—”

“No. Let me die in peace, you dumb, whiny little bitch,” the other blonde growls. “I’ve been stuck in this hellhole of a show for fifteen fucking years. Let me die already. I don’t care about the situation being braindead and unrealistic. I don’t care about the mechanics. We’ll just say that resurrecting me when you’re alone it too dangerous because it takes a toll on you that’s too great to pay. Before, Nathaniel could resurrect one or both of his because of his holy powers. Without him, doing this is pretty much impossible.”

“I can’t fucking believe that in your death scene, you’re actually giving an in-universe explanation that’s more realistic than what the writers of the show can come up with,” Adrien weeps while laughing.

“It’s a skill,” Felix deadpans, his grey eyes going soft as he brings a bloody hand up to gently touch Adrien’s cheek. “Listen…Go live your life…Live a long and full one…Marry and have children and grow old…All the stereotypical mushy shit, alright? You go and do that.”

“But you’re my brother. You’ve protected me from so much, never left my side,” the younger one whimpers, green eyes red-rimmed and face pulled into a visage of pure grief. “Please…”

“Stop dragging this out. You’re giving the incest shippers more to work with,” the older one states, before his eyes go glassy and he stops breathing.

Adrien wails, burying his face in the space of the other’s chest that wasn’t impaled, sobbing his heart out and clutching his dead protector.

...

Adrien burns Felix’s body. It’s what his older brother would have wanted. No physical remains, no possibility for his body to be taken by any of the monsters lurking in the world.

Adrien burns his brother’s body, and keeps moving.

...

Adrien is in a shoddy motel the next day. He only has one slice of toast for breakfast, to show how sad he is of his brother’s untimely demise.

...

Adrien is wearing glasses and his hair is a shoddy grey comb-over, to show that time has passed. He looks like a very tired university professor on tenure that no one is quite sure what subject he even teaches.

He’s in front of a house, in the lawn. “Lix! C’mere, Felix!”

A little boy with sandy hair and a bright smile runs at him, and Adrien hugs his son. His wife stands back, watching the scene.

Does he end up marrying Marinette? Another woman? Who knows. Fuck the fans for wanting to know that answer, amirite?

Adrien goes through the motions, and hopes the finale will end soon.

...

Trees. As far as the eyes can see. Trees, and a mountain range in the distance, dirt road under his feet.

“My love…” Felix whispers, tears budding in his steel-grey eyes, which have softened with pure love and passion. “I…I thought I’d never see you again…”

He stumbles forwards, stopping in front of the beauty in front of him. He carefully reaches a hand out, before gently placing his fingertips against the silk-smooth surface.

“Plagg, you little bastard, I didn’t even know cars could go to Heaven…” Felix breathes out a laugh, one of elation, tears spilling out of his eyes. He sniffles and wipes them away.

“Well, this is Heaven. Anything you could ever want would be here,” a voice says kindly.

Felix blinks, whirling around to stare at the man sitting in a rocking chair in front of a saloon he hadn’t noticed was there before. Next to the familiar man was an equally familiar ice cream cart.

“Andre…?” the blonde asks, confused. “I—What the fuck are you doing here? You’re a minor character.”

“Yeah, but I’m a minor character that was confirmed to have gone to Heaven,” the portly man says, nodding back at the monster hunter. “The writers couldn’t really think of anyone else to throw in here to serve as your guide, so here I am.”

“Well. Alright then,” Felix blinks back.

“C’mon, son. Lemme share with you some teen-rated friendly ice cream.”

“Suspiciously worded and a suspicious request, but I’ll play along,” the blonde shrugs carelessly, striding forwards.

The portly man hums, digging through his ice cream cart, creating the perfect cone in front of Felix’s eyes.

“Red velvet for his hair, cheesecake for his wings, and blue sherbet for his eyes and soul,” the ice cream man says kindly, handing the cone over to Felix, who takes it with numb fingers.

“Thank you,” he tells the man stiffly, carefully licking at the cone.

“This place has everything you could ever want…Except…” Andre’s face turns sympathetic and soft with sadness. “Well, he’ll be here, eventually. Time works different here than it does where Nathaniel is at. But he’s an angel. He’ll find his way back here.”

“…Sure,” Felix says, lips twisting into an awkward half-smile. This is Heaven. He can’t go calling an angel a homophobic slur. He’ll end up switching places with Nathaniel, or something.

Besides, Andre was kind enough to make him an ice cream cone. And it was a rather nice ice cream. So Felix enjoys the cone, for about five minutes.

“Can I go back to Plagg, now? My baby needs me,” Felix asks five minutes later in almost a whine, sick and tired of the ice cream flavors that reminded him too much of Nathaniel.

The portly man chuckles. “Go on, then, Felix. Go on.”

The blonde grins toothily and runs back to the Impala. “Ohhhh, baby, how I’m glad to see you…!” he coos, opening the door and sliding in. He breathes in familiar scent of his reliable, manly, super sexy heterosexual car. “Now, let’s crank it!”

Felix’s smile fills his entire mouth as he chucks his unfinished cone out the window, turns the ignition on, and revs the engine.

Plagg drives smoothly, like a cat purring. Felix turns on the radio, Carry On My Wayward Son playing as he drives through Heaven. Maybe he can find a place he can look over Adrien from. That would be nice. He wants to see if his little brother actually had kids or not. And see how ugly he’s gotten from old age.

...

Adrien’s hair has now turned white, to show how even more time has passed.

Carry On My Wayward Son, but it’s a cover from Evanescence, plays in the Impala as Felix parks the car and watches his little brother be an old man.

...

Nathaniel sighs and taps his fingernails against the desk he was sitting at, in Super Mega Hell’s bureaucratic offices.

“What the fuck is taking them so long to revive me again…?” the gay angel mutters, pouting. “They usually don’t take this long! Are they not doing it because Nathaniel feels awkward about everything…? Did one of them die, so they don’t have enough energy to complete the ritual…?”

The redheaded angel sighs, feeling guilty. “Poor Adrien…He always was a nice lad. I hope he enjoys Heaven, at least. I went and fixed it up quite well. Shame he has to use it so quickly… Felix must be grieving so terribly…”

“You look sad, Nath. You want me to suck you off?” asks his underling softly—a fellow named Marc who died as a juggalo knife-wielding vampire. Despite Marc’s strange make-up, he had a kind smile and pretty green eyes, and Nathaniel was fond of the lad.

“You don’t have to!” Nathaniel says quickly, face going warm, suddenly incredibly shy. “You’re not obligated to do anything you wouldn’t like to do—”

“But I want to,” Marc says warmly, already sliding onto his knees and unbuckling Nathaniel’s belt. “I’ll get your mind off your little boyfriend, alright?”

Nathaniel is about to protest about Felix being his boyfriend—after all, he’d just confessed before being dragged into Super Mega Hell, so he hasn’t had the time to have a proper conversation with Felix over them even dating—but then Marc fulfills his offer. Nathaniel’s mind goes hazy with pleasure, complicated thoughts about the Agreste brothers flying straight out the window.

...

Adrien Agreste lies on his deathbed, dying from old age. The shot transitions from him lying down with closed eyes, to opening them, his face unwrinkled and youthful once more.

All around him are trees, with a mountain range in the distance, a dirt road under his feet. He turns, and startles, seeing someone he’d lost so long ago.

“F-Felix…?” he asks waveringly, tears in his eyes and throat instantly clogging.

His older brother is as youthful and healthy as the last day before his death. He’s got his arms crossed, leaning his hip against the sleek, black Impala, a wide and toothy smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough,” Felix teases, jerking his head and opening his arms. “C’mere—”

Adrien runs and tackles his brother in his hug, Felix yelping as the two land on the ground.

“Careful here,” Felix grouses, but he’s smiling as he speaks. “You’ll give the incest shippers more fodder.”

“Fuck the crazy shippers, I missed you, you fucking asshole.”

“What did I just say?” Felix sighs, fondly exasperated. He wriggles out of Adrien’s hold, getting up, before offering his hand. Adrien quickly takes it, allowing his brother to pull him up and clap his hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Welcome back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Adrien smiles with all his teeth, before he looks next to him at the Impala. “Uh…Not to be a Debbie downer, but where’s Nathaniel? And why’s Plagg here? Can a car even go to Heaven…?”

“No clue,” Felix chirps, before he rubs the top of the Impala’s hood like a loving pet own would their cat. “But I’m glad he’s here.”

Adrien deadpans back at him, “You’re grateful your car’s with you, but not the man that went to Super Mega Hell for you?”

“Details, details,” Felix waves his hand dismissively. “Andre told me about Nathaniel—”

“Andre the ice cream man? How’d a minor character like him show up at the finale?”

“You’re asking a lot from the writers of this shitshow,” Felix deadpans back at him. “Anyways, he said Nathaniel would take some time to come back up to Heaven.”

“Dude, that’s pretty homophobic.”

The other shrugs. “All the gays are in Hell anyways. He’s probably having the time of his life down there. He’s aesthetically attractive, he’s probably gotten a few booty calls.”

“You’re the straightest and most ridiculously homophobic man I know, and I am so sorry he’s in love with someone like you,” Adrien says with disgust, wrinkling his nose. “How a selfless angel is in Hell and a homophobic, prickly bastard like you is in Heaven, I’ll never understand.”

“I reap the benefit of the rewards from the terrible writing,” Felix smirks like the devil, throwing up the horns.

Adrien looks into the camera like he’s in The Office. Felix looks into the camera too, his face now startlingly blank, but somehow expressing the full weight of his homophobia. Carry On My Wayward Son plays one final time.

The end.

#supernatural spoilers #parody #nathaniel kurtzberg #adrien agreste #felix de graham vanily #marc anciel #andre the ice cream man #miraculous ladybug #fic #supernatural series finale #mexicat writes

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ginnyzero · 4 years

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Completely Harmless Ch. 8

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Eight Designer... Duck Coops?

The ducks had gotten out and were all over the gardens and vineyard.

“They must be feeling better,” Elsa said dryly.

Tyra put her hands on her hips. “We can’t have them running all over taking over the joint,” she said.

“Even if we are the Silver Drakes,” Regina giggled.

“We’re going to have to coop them up somewhere then until we have a good water feature to keep them occupied.” Lily bit her lip.

“Someplace quiet,” Abigail said.

“And it needs to match the Manor so the Baroness doesn’t get mad at suddenly owning a lot of ducks!”

They all burst into giggles.

“All right, to the internet!” Jennifer said.

Grace pulled out her phone and started searching.

“Maybe the library has some ideas.” Theresa suggested.

“Let’s take a gander,” Regina started.

“Gander are geese,” Elsa pointed out.

“And we better look up composter ideas too. I know that a lot of the manure goes to the local farmers,” Pauline said but she looked like she was fretting. “Along with the extra grape skins and seeds that don’t get used. There isn’t a lot of those since some have to be dumped back onto the dirt to keep the right salinity and the rest get used in making the oil.”

“Right,” Lily rubbed her forehead. “You know, maybe we should introduce ourselves before we get too carried away here.”

“Well, at least, we need to run these ideas past Linda and Judy,” Pauline said.

“I agree,” Tyra nodded. “They are in charge of the stable.”

“Do ducks really fall under stable?”

“We’ve got a lot of ducks. We might need to make several,” Tyra fretted. She wrung her hands.

“Doesn’t one of the gardens outback have another water feature,” Lily asked. “It’s also dry as a bone. But we can mention to the gardeners that we need spaces for the ducks.”

“I hope Agnetha is open to ducks,” Pauline murmured.

They split up again. One group to go round up the ducks who got in the damnedest places. Another group to go research about duck coops and composters. And a third group to go look for good quiet places to put the duck coops.

Linda caught them returning the quacking ducks to the huge tubs.

“Escapees,” Elsa said.

Linda raised her brows. “Uh huh.”

“We don’t want them to get sick again,” Brittany put her hands on her hips.

Tyra wiped her brow. “Would it be okay to put in a duck coop somewhere?”

“We’ll make it nice!” Brittany said.

“Just to keep them from running all over during the night and maybe getting eaten by weasels or raccoons,” Tyra added.

“That’s not a bad idea.” Linda pushed up her glasses. “Let me run it past the Baroness.”

Lily ran out. “We’ve got plans!”

Linda started.

Lily stopped, rested her hands on her knees and panted bending over. She held her phone out to Linda. “Here are some ideas for duck coops. They’ve got to be low to the ground with a wide door and they like straw.”

Regina came running up next. “You know, there’s a nice area behind that little temple thing near the empty reflecting pool. It’d be great because they’re going to want to swim anyways when they want to go free range.”

Pauline rode up after her. “Yeah, there are two water features down behind near the old Gardener’s cottage. If you really want to call it a cottage. We could put another coop down there if we need it.”

Linda looked at them. “You girls don’t do anything halfway.”

“Linda! Linda!” Tyra ran out. “Where do you think we can put a composter?”

“Gardener’s cottage!” Pauline said.

“Oh, excellent!” Tyra beamed. “Should have thought of that. The gardeners will be the ones wanting it the most.”

“A composter,” Linda said slowly.

They pointed at the piles of dead leaves and thick thorn vines and the roots they’d pulled out.

“Right. Composter,” Linda said. She gave Lily her number and Lily sent her the photos. “Okay, I’ll go talk to the Baroness. You stay here.”

“We’ve still got plenty of gardens to weed out,” Lily said.

“I bet we could make it look like a little Greek temple,” Tyra said.

“And then put some barrels around it with straw in them,” Brittany bounced on her toes.

“Then, then, have you seen the ‘castle tower’ types. They’re so cute.” Lily said. “We could make it a rounded dome type with columns instead.”

Linda shook her head. “Give them an inch. They’ll take a mile,” she muttered and walked off.

Linda was very careful to broach both topics of the duck coops and the composter as needs for the manor long term. Making suggestions about where they could go and that they would blend in with the manor’s overall look rather than being something slapped together.

The Baroness listened. She pressed her lips into a thin line. Her hands she folded in front of her on the desk.

“We wouldn’t want to simply buy something from J-Kea,” Linda said weakly. “And there is a lot of garden debris to take care of.” The Baroness had informed her that morning about the Inspector’s demands. Linda showed her the pictures.

The Baroness’ lips twisted and Linda couldn’t tell if it was a grimace or a smile. “We definitely wouldn’t want something from J-Kea,” she said.

“You’ll have final say on all the plans,” Linda reassured her.

The Baroness reached for a paper and started writing. “Very well. I’m assuming you have the hands lined up already.”

“Yes, some girls from the Moorland Summer Camp are helping out,” Linda said with a wince. She didn’t know the Baroness would feel about it at all.

The Baroness’ hand paused above the paper. “Thomas sent them?”

“No. Um, Justin did,” Linda tucked hair behind her ear. “They wanted to buy horses and, well, they just started coming back to help out.”

“Hmm,” the Baroness said. “I’d like to meet them.”

“I’ll pass it along.”

She finished writing. “Here is your budget.”

Linda’s eyes widened.

“I want final approval.” The Baroness nodded.

Linda gulped. She took the paper. “You have it, Lady Silverglade.”

The Baroness returned to her paperwork. There was plenty of it to get G.E.D. off her lands for good.

Linda knew that it was her dismissal. She got up and left.

The girls convened around her, taking off gloves and leaning against tools.

“We have a budget,” Linda said sternly. “No J-Kea. And everything has to be approved by the Baroness.” She cleared her throat. “She’d also like to meet you.”

“Tomorrow morning,” Lily said. “I think that will be good.”

Linda pushed up her glasses. She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Tyra texted Linn down at the Arena.

Lily bit her lip. “So, we need actual plans.”

“Designer duck coop?” Regina wrinkled her nose.

Pauline sighed. “I hate to say it.”

“Anastasia,” she and Lily said together.

Lily texted her.

Her phone rang.

Lily set it to speaker. “A designer… duck coop?” Anastasia sounded intrigued and offended at the same time.

“Ducks are getting caught in the oil fields spillage from the G.E.D. Until it’s cleaned up they need someplace to stay safely.”

“And duck eggs are good eating,” Anastasia said. “What kind are they?”

“American Pekin,” Grace said. “Good egg layers, Dame Anastasia.”

“Don’t call me Dame, darling. It makes me feel so old.”

“Sorry,” Grace squeaked.

Linda spoke up. “The Baroness has given her approval and a budget.”

“We might need more than one coop, but we want to talk to the gardeners first before deciding on where they go.” Lily added.

“Any luck with that?”

“There seems to be a husband and wife pair that might suit, Bjorn and Agnetha,” Lily said.

“Agnetha is a wonderful gardener. Overbearing, but wonderful. Of course, with my mother, you’re going to need someone with a strong will so that the new gardens aren’t a photocopy of the old gardens. How tiresome,” Anastasia said. “Hmm, do you have any ideas? Meet me at the Jorvik Mall Café. I could use a good coffee. I’ll have a list of names by the time you get here.”

“Thank you, Anastasia. Oh, um, Aaron is considering putting in a wine and gelato or frozen Greek yogurt bar in the Wine Cave.” Lily added.

“He had an idea.” Anastasia sounded aghast. “Well, we’ll have to get together to work out how to coordinate the menus if we’re going to get that restaurant on the roof actually going anywhere. Ciao, darlings.”

She hung up before they could say good-bye.

“Speaking of overbearing,” Elsa mumbled.

“No joke,” Melody agreed.

Lily sighed.

“You have Anastasia’s phone number,” Linda said blankly.

“We better sluice off and change into something better before meeting her.” Lily looked down at herself.

“The only better thing we have is the Silverglade Clan outfit,” Pauline said.

“If we wear it twice, she’s going to call us out.”

“Then that should encourage her to get us some new clothes that the Baroness will like.” Pauline raised a brow.

Lily turned to Linda. “Meet us at the bus stop in half an hour?”

Linda blinked.

Regina looked at her nails. “You are the manager and have the budget.”

Linda bit her lip. “All right, half an hour. But I’m not changing.”

“No worries,” Lily said. She hadn’t expected Linda to change anyways.

Anastasia looked Lily and Pauline up and down and sighed. “Not that old thing again.”

Lily shrugged. “She likes it.”

Anastasia rolled her eyes. “It’s time for her to expand her fashion horizons. And you are?”

“Linda Chanda, the Silverglade Equestrian Center manager,” Linda said.

Anastasia already had coffee for them. So, they all sat down right away.

“All right, darlings, catch me up on what is happening at dear mother’s bumpkin estate,” Anastasia drawled.

So, they did, quickly.

Anastasia nodded. They showed her the pictures. “All right, I know the fellow. Not his usual bailiwick, but he’ll get the job done. I’ll give him a call before you leave here and give you an introduction so you can meet him today and he’ll ship you the materials and plans tomorrow. Most likely to Fort Pinta.” Anastasia sipped her coffee. “Now, darlings, I had an idea for that rooftop. There were plans to put in a fine dining establishment. Nothing happened of course. Mother brushed it off. So, I think we should have a chef call. I want you to find a bunch of chefs from around South New Jorvik County and perhaps a manager. They can present their different menus to my mother and let her choose what she feels is the best food to serve at the manor.”

Lily and Pauline blinked rapidly. “A chef’s call,” they said blankly.

“Yes, set up a bunch of tables. Have them bring their menus. Do a tasting. Whoever gets the approval of my mother, gets to open a restaurant on the roof.”

“Shouldn’t she have some say in that?” Linda asked. Her heart felt quite low in her chest. This was much too fast.

“If my brother can have an ice cream bar, I can have a restaurant.” Anastasia waved her hand breezily.

“Right,” Linda said voice even weaker.

“I’ll make it okay. You just get me the chefs,” Anastasia said.

Lily and Pauline looked at each other. “Okay,” Lily said slowly. “We haven’t really explored much of the county though.”

“Now is your chance,” Anastasia said brightly. “Surely somewhere out in the boonies is a bright young chef looking to make their mark.”

Oh boy, Lily thought. “We can look,” she said.

“Excellent, then I’m sure it’s all in capable hands.” Anastasia smiled. “All right, you need to go to Aideen’s Plaza, my contact is there.” She handed them a paper with the name.

“Thank you,” Lily said.

But Anastasia was already on her phone and waving them away.

They took the tram to Aideen’s Plaza in silence.

Once they got off, Linda spoke up. “The apple really doesn’t fall too far from the tree does it?”

They burst into giggles.

They went to a furniture store. The man wasn’t overly surprised to see them. He was expecting them after all. They explained their ideas showing him the pictures and their budget. He got it right away. Lily texted Regina to get pictures of the areas they thought might make good places for duck coops.

As soon as he saw them, he brightened and used them to make sketches.

“The winery does have barrels,” Linda said helpfully.

The man just laughed.

Linda took pictures of the designs and texted them to the Baroness. The Baroness texted back her approval of the plans.

“All right. I’ll get in contact with my suppliers and ship the materials to Fort Pinta by tomorrow afternoon,” the man said.

“That would be great,” Lily said. “Thank you.”

“It will be just for the one by the Wine Cave. Getting the stone for the one down in the gardens will take longer. And you’ll have to tell me if you need another one by the riding arena or not.”

“We will,” Lily said. “We do want to talk to the gardeners first before building.”

“Then I’ll get an order in on hold for the materials and once you have approval of the gardeners, fussy folks gardeners, you get a hold of me and I’ll them shipped as close as I can get. Stone’s heavy.”

“Deal,” Pauline said. “The closest village would be Silverglade. There’s a post office there.”

“Then, that’s where I’ll direct the stone. Just have a truck or plenty of horse power to pick it up.”

“We will,” Lily smiled at him. They left. Lily wrinkled her nose. “Now, where in heaven’s name are we supposed to find chefs?”

Pauline laughed. “I’ll take you around,” she said. “I know all the towns.”

Linda nodded. “If you do chores at the different stables while you’re out, it will cover transport costs. And you can get to know the different stable masters.”

“Good idea,” Lily said.

They took the bus back to Fort Pinta and that’s where Lily and Pauline started their chef quest.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

#star stable #star stable online #sso #fanfic #star stable salt #completely harmless #jorvik reimagined #silverglade reimagined #many nods to ruth westside #i'm terrible at posting schedules

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chibinightowl · 5 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole, Chapter Six

Raise your hand if you thought I’d forgotten about this fic? Nope! Thank you everyone, and especially @tanekore, for your patience! Probably two chapters left!

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five

~*~

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tim-Cat spares a quick glance at Jason before returning his attention to the Red Knight and the Bandersnatch.

“It means I have shit luck.” Jason sighs because the universe just loves to use him as a punching bag. If the Red Queen is who he thinks she is, then there are probably going to be all kinds of other baddies to deal with on the other side of this hedge.

He and his subconscious need to sit down and have a little talk because seriously, what the fuck?

“What’s the plan, Cat? You know this place, I don’t.” Contrary to popular belief, not all his plans include kicking down the door and shooting everything that moves, although in this particular case, he’ll probably have to.

An assault rifle would be handy right now. Or better yet, an RPG.

“I’m thinking,” Tim-Cat snaps. “The Bandersnatch doesn’t like the rain any more than I do, so it’s possible we can just wait him out. Once he retreats, it’ll be just the Red Knight.”

“Seems like using both of them is overkill.”

“It is, which leads me to believe we’re expected.”

“After what I did to the Jubjub bird, I sure fucking hope so.”

The Cheshire Cat looks like he’s about to reply when a piercing scream rips through the night, louder even than the storm thundering overhead.

“YER NOT GETTIN’ AWAY THAT EASY! RED KNIGHT! FIND THAT BRAT AND BRING HIM TA ME!”

Jason blinks hard and tries to shake the ringing from his ears. There’s no doubt about it.

The Red Queen is Harley Quinn.

Tim-Cat’s ears have flattened against his head. “I hate when she does that.”

“Yeah, she’s shrill in my world too.” And completely nuts, but ever since Harley gave her puddin’ the big fuck you, she seems to have settled down; rumor has it that she’s in a relationship with Poison Ivy now. Tim’s been meaning to track that down and see if there’s any validity to it. Jason doesn’t care in the slightest.

At least until it impacts him in some way.

They watch as the Red Knight silently dismounts, running a hand along the sleek fur of the Bandersnatch’s back. The touch speaks of ownership, rather like how Damian behaves around Titus. He disappears through the hedge, but not before another lightning flash reveals the knives sheathed on his thighs and the sword strapped to his back. Jason is no stranger to a knife fight; however, he’s a bit rusty with swords. His best bet is to take this guy out at long range.

Still, Jason frowns at the way he moves, his long strides familiar. Whoever is under that armored helmet, it’s not the Joker. But who else could it be? A fighter for sure and one he knows well, which narrows the list of possibilities down quite a bit.

The Bandersnatch backs himself up so that the hedge provides shelter from the rain. Water sprays everywhere as he shakes, then settles back into a crouch. His eyes gleam red as lightning streaks overhead.

“Do you think the brat the Red Queen spoke of is Tweedle Dum?” Tim-Cat asks in a low tone. His hair and tail are soaking wet. “He’s quite nimble, much more so than his brother.”

“If this Tweedle is anything like my brother Dick, then he can probably contort himself out of just about anything.” Jason unsnaps one of the holsters strapped to his thigh and draws out his favorite gun. It’s time to get down to business. “What are some of the Bandersnatch’s weak points?”

He purposefully doesn’t call it a cat. His companion probably wouldn’t like the comparison. And people say he has no tact.

Tim-Cat sniffs. “I do a lot of crazy things but getting up close and personal with the Bandersnatch is not one of them.”

Jason sighs, wishing he were anywhere but here. “Okay, here it goes.”

Crouching in the brush, he takes careful aim. With the clouds and rain, visibility sucks, and he wishes that he’d been wearing his hood when he got gassed because then he’d at least have infrared and night vision in the display. Then again, if he’d been wearing his goddamned helmet, none of this would be happening in the first place.

Hindsight’s a bitch.

The Bandersnatch is a pale blur under the shadows of the hedge and Jason waits, needing to time this perfectly.

Lightning streaks across the sky and Jason fires, the retort loud as the gun expels gases from burnt gunpowder and the bullet exits the barrel at supersonic speeds.

Out of nowhere, small figure suddenly uses the back of the Bandersnatch as a springboard to vault out into the open.

It’s Tweedle Dick.

The boy staggers as he hits the ground, some injury preventing him from nailing a landing the real Dick could do in his sleep, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to run for cover.

At the same time, the Bandersnatch cries out in pain as his eye explodes, blood running down the gaping wound. He rears up and shakes his massive head, crying out again before collapsing to the ground.

“Shit!” Tim-Cat doesn’t waste anymore words. As soon as the Tweedle appears, he’s already moving, racing across the grass to grab the boy before disappearing entirely.

Well, that didn’t go exactly as Jason thought it would, but whatever, he’s got the opening he needs. He bursts out of the underbrush and books it for the hedge. The cries of the Bandersnatch must have alerted the castle and the Red Knight has to be on his way back.

If it were Jason’s kitty that just got shot, he sure as fuck would be.

The big beast is still breathing as he squeezes past it, its bulk mostly blocking the pathway carved through the hedge. It’s tempting to shoot again to make sure it stays down, but Jason is fairly sure he’ll need every bullet he has when he faces whatever else this night brings him.

On the other side of the hedge, he emerges just as lightning cracks again, illuminating an altogether too familiar sight.

Arkham Asylum.

It’s no castle, but it doesn’t need to be. The old Gothic building looks like it belongs in a horror flick. Jason hugs the dark hedge, using it for cover as he scopes out the area. An ill-maintained lawn full of dead weeds lead up to the main entry. From the front, everything appears the same as what he’s used to when he’s wide awake.

And if that’s the case, then screw going in the front door. There’s a side entrance and a back door, as well as a rooftop hatch that leads into what’s still the attic.

Thank fuck he has his grapple gun. It’ll save a lot of time.

The lightning flashes again and in the ensuing darkness, Jason runs across the lawn, swinging wide to avoid the main path. Thunder finally booms overhead, and the rain falls harder. The weather sucks, but it provides him with the needed cover to make it to the side of the Asylum. Another flash and the grapple line shoots upward, catching on the edge of the roof.

Back home, breaking into Arkham isn’t quite so easy, but he knows better than to let his guard down. He’s about to deal with Harley Quinn and considering just how fucked up his subconscious is, that means the Joker can’t be far.

On the roof, the hatch is exactly as he remembers it, a heavy steel plate that’s a bitch and a half to raise on his own. The opening is a gaping maw of utter blackness and Jason can’t suppress the shiver that runs down his spine. This fall isn’t going to be like his last one, he just knows it.

He digs into his jacket for a glow stick. Cracking it, a lurid blue light appears and he drops it down through the hatch. Other members of his family use green ones, but he refuses to. The color connotation messes with his head.

The glow stick doesn’t go far and lands on the wooden floor of the attic.

Well, guess he was wrong then. Jason lowers himself through the opening, hanging on to the edge with his gloves before dropping the rest of the way through. It’s only a few feet and he lands with a soft thud that raises dust.

He picks up the glow stick and looks around. No one has been up here in years, not with the layer of dirt and grime everywhere. Formerly white sheets cover unused furniture and there are stacks of boxes and trunks scattered around with no rhyme or reason.

Orienting himself, Jason picks his way toward the back of the attic where the stairwell leading down into the upper level of the Asylum should be. The dust is almost overwhelming, so he searches for his rebreather, quietly berating himself for not thinking of it sooner.

In fact, he really needs to get his head in the game because now that Tweedle Dick apparently managed to mostly rescue himself, he’s got one less concern to deal with. All that matters now is the vorpal sword.

The rebreather helps and he’s at the top of the stairs in no time. As he pockets the device again, a sudden thought has him pause.

What does the sword even look like?

Jason wants to kick himself in the ass for not asking the White Queen or the Cheshire Cat when he had the chance. Knowing his luck, there will be hundreds of swords in here and he’ll have to test each one to see if it goes snicker-snack like the poem promises.

“’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome raths outgrabe…” he recites under his breath as he starts his descent. The nonsensical words had always stuck with him and he remembers what Tim-Cat said earlier about the mome raths disappearing from the White Knight’s old home.

His hand is on the doorknob when he hears the quiet sneeze from somewhere behind him.

Instincts kick in and Jason has a gun in hand, thumbing off the safety as he whirls around to face whatever danger that just announced itself.

Tim-Cat is crouched at the top of the stairs, rubbing his nose. He sneezes again and his ears twitch in agitation. “I hate dust.”

Jason points the gun at the ceiling and clicks the safety back into place. “Jesus fuck, Cat. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Helping you, remember?” he replies testily.

“I thought you’d stay with Tweedle Dum,” Jason says. He doesn’t want to admit that he hadn’t fully believed the Cheshire Cat would put his hide on the line to help him find the sword. “Transporting two kiddos in one day has to take a lot outta ya.”

“It does.” Tim-Cat rises and gracefully descends the stairs, stopping on the last one so that they’re eye level. His tail is noticeably angled up and away the floor, still dripping from the rain. “But I said I would try and protect you while you search for the sword. I meant it and rescuing Tweedle Dum hasn’t changed that.”

There are a number of things Jason can say, first and foremost that this is a dream and he can’t be killed, but the little niggling doubt in the back of his mind asks if he’s absolutely certain about that. Second, and he really doesn’t want to think about this, is that everything he’s experienced since he got a face full of that gas is real and that damned sword is his only way back.

Instead, he takes the time-honored path favored by all Bats. Avoidance.

“How’s the kid?” he asks, holstering the gun.

Tim-Cat shrugs. “Alive. Saying something about a trap before he passed out, but we already knew this. I don’t know how he was even able to move. He’s got broken ribs and his foot shouldn’t be able point in the direction it is.”

“Adrenaline is an amazing thing.” Jason rests a hand on the doorknob, then asks one more question. “How did you find me? I thought you didn’t teleport around here?”

“I don’t. But in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I do more than just vanish and reappear elsewhere. I can sense you, which makes it very easy to track you, even up the side of the castle and into a dusty attic.”

Jason recognizes the less than subtle rebuke for what it is. The Cat is clearly ruffled by more than just the rain and he remembers his words from earlier that were pretty much an invitation for him to stay. An image of his Tim flashes before his eyes, one with that devious little smirk that never bodes well for anyone (including him).

It doesn’t stop him from releasing the knob again. Jason grips the back of Tim’s neck, gloves catching in the wet strands of hair. “I’d ask if that makes me special, but we both know the answer is no. It’s just something you do.”

“You are such a jackass.”

“Like you’re any better, Cat.” Jason punctuates the statement with a kiss, capturing those lips that look and feel just like Tim’s. If he has to stay here, if he’s completely trapped (if this isn’t a dream), then he could possibly find some semblance of happiness in these arms.

That is if the pain of what he’s lost doesn’t drive him mad. Tim.

If there’s ever been a shred of doubt that he loves Tim Drake, it vanishes from his mind.

Jason draws back and releases the Cheshire Cat. “Come on. Time to find that sword.”

As they exit the attic, neither one notices the ruby red eyes of a dark green lizard slowly blinking after them.

~*~*~

The upper levels of the Asylum are a bust, not that it’s really any surprise. The Arkham of Jason’s memory uses the above ground levels for offices, treatment rooms, and guest facilities. Everything is all nice and shiny to divert attention from the real dangers below ground. This version seems to be following the same pattern, a fact which puts Jason more and more on edge the lower they get.

Although that could be the complete lack of noise coming from anywhere besides the storm still raging outside.

Even Tim-Cat is on edge, ears and eyes darting all over. But it’s his tail that reveals just how agitated he is as it lashes from side to side.

“Simmer down, Cat,” Jason says after he almost shuts a door on Tim’s precious tail.

“I hate this,” the Cheshire Cat replies in a low tone. “If I dared to use my power here, we’d have found the sword by now.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. But at least this way keeps us from having to face the Red Knight. He’s probably pissed about what I did to his pet.”

“I’d be pissed too if someone shot me in the face.”

Jason shrugs, not wanting to get into it. He did what he had to like the good little soldier he no longer is.

Their search of the upper floors complete, they cautiously pick their way toward the stairs leading down to the main level. Jason kneels a few feet back from the balustrade and listens intently. There’s some light coming from below, the source still undiscernible from up here. What disturbs him though is that his memory of reality is now distorted because what he sees isn’t the main entrance for Arkham. Wide and expansive, the open space with its fine wood panels and vaulted ceiling belongs right out of Gone With the Wind or, worse yet, Wayne Manor.

The sudden change is unsettling, and Jason is reminded yet again that his subconscious is a dick.

The silence drags on.

“Have you ever been here before?” Jason asks, inching his way closer to the rail.

“A couple of times,” Tim-Cat replies. He hunkers down beside him and peers into the shadowy twilight below. “There’s a parlor just off the foyer where the Red Queen would make us wait whenever the White Queen visited. I remember a fireplace and some hideous paintings. From what it looks like, the parlor door is open and that’s where the light is coming from.”

Jason’s memory helpfully provides an image of the guest parlor at the front of the manor that Alfred keeps pristine. No one is allowed in there on pain of no dessert unless guests were present, and the really good manners needed to make an appearance.

To him, as well as Dick, having to sit in that room while Brucie did his thing was a punishment. Thank god he doesn’t have to go through that anymore. As the only little bird in residence, that falls to Damian now.

“Are you ready?” Tim-Cat asks, tearing Jason from his thoughts.

“I really wish I had one of Tim’s drones on me right now.” And his hood while he’s at it because for all he knows, the Red Knight has been quietly stalking them from room to room this entire time and is just waiting to say boo when they head down those stairs.

“I don’t know what that is, but it’s not too late to change our approach.” Tim-Cat shuffles a little closer to the stairs. “We can still backtrack.”

Jason is about to reply when something breaks the long silence. Wild and maniacal, it’s a sound that sends chills down his spine and a flash of terror in his heart, a reaction he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to fully suppress.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

Tim-Cat hisses and scrambles back, ears pressed flat against his skull and tail stiff from fear. “No. Oh, no. No, no, no. She’s released him.”

There is no doubt Jason knows exactly who he’s talking about, but he still has to check. “Him who?”

“The Jabberwocky.”

#chibinightowl writes #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #JayTim #Jason in Wonderland

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thenickelportrust · 7 years

Text

Lucy’s Perspective Short

This sucks.

It’s a goddamn stupid thought but at least it keeps me from tearing apart the alcohol soaked cloth that I press to my side. The armor was ridiculously difficult to get off… but that probably had something to do with the fact that my shoulder still looks a little too sideways for my liking. Probably dislocated. Damn.

Now the shirt underneath is plastered to my side and soaked a deep red. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be there soon enough and I can change once I return home. I struggle to keep from crushing the doorknob to the discreet black building, Mambo wouldn’t be happy if I did that again and I’m sure loyal customer service can only cover so many ‘destruction of public property’ additions to my tab. Still, I can’t keep it from getting dented in the process.

Lucky for me the waiting room is nearly empty, Tango shoots me a cheery glance from her place guarding the door, lifting the rifle strapped across her chest in a kind of half-greeting. She’s holding it tightly- I wonder if there was some trouble earlier today?

“Vicky!” One of the three others in the waiting room stands up on her chair, waving to me enthusiastically. Oppenheimer’s left arm dangles by her side, the red hoodie she wears soaked an even darker color. Even with only two others in the room she makes it a point to sit as far away as possible, with her back to the wall, suspiciously eyeing the others. One of whom I recognize- Bugbite, cradling his carapace armor with nasty looking cuts dotting the few parts of his skin that poke out from a shattered mask.

I nearly collapse into the chair next to her, it takes all my strength- even enhanced as it is- to keep myself upright as the final shreds of adrenaline fade. Still, I grin widely at Oppenheimer’s enthusiasm, “Hey Op,” I nod to her arm, “Rare to see you in this dump.”

I can hear Tango scoff even across the room.

“Yeah,” Oppenheimer shifts nervously around in her seat, gloved fingers in her working hand drum her leg before reaching up to pull the handkerchief even further up her nose- it almost covers the dark tinted goggles that hide her eyes. “I… guess we all have our off days, huh?” She laughs, a squeaking sound that dies down soon as the one guy I don’t recognize turns his head towards us. Oppenheimer immediately quiets, pressing just slightly closer towards me.

I fix him with a scowl in return, locking eyes- or as much as we can with both our eyes covered- in a daring challenge. Would-be silence is filled with the ticking sound of the battery-powered head-bobbing turkey that Mambo keeps next to the orchids on the desk. Eventually, he grumbles, turning his head away and looking back at the palms of his hand.

Even still, I don’t turn away, “Who’s he?” I nudge Oppenheimer with my shoulder.

She takes one quick glance at the man across the room, the visible shadow of her eyes seem to stick to him, glued in a kind of slight awe. “Y’know… Not quite sure. I think he’s new in town, sauntered and demanded to see Mambo right this minute. Didn’t matter that he was in the middle of a surgery. Tango couldn’t talk him down… Hell, she even brought Foxtrot out to deal with ‘im.” Well, that explains her nervous grip.

“Really?” I glance around, “They still here?”

“Foxtrot?” Oppenheimer repeats slowly, shaking her head, “Nah, don’t think so, they scurried off a while ago.”

“Damn.”

Oppenheimer finally tears her eyes away from the new villain, even with the thick goggles that cover half her face I can tell she’s looking at me funny, “Something important? You could ask Tango if you really needed her to call ‘em…”

“No, no,” I wave my hand, wincing when the dislocated shoulder pops and cracks in protest, “It’s fine I’ll… catch up with them later.”

Oppenheimer shrugs, slumping back in her seat, “‘Kay, well, if it’s important I’m sure they’ll turn up sometime.”

Important…

Oppenheimer sounds hurt, and I guess I can sympathize. It’s always hard to keep friends when half of you are fighting for your life… against each other. Foxtrot is the rare exception to that rule, and sometimes I wonder if I’ve trusted them with too much but… it helps to have someone who knows how to keep a secret. It’s even better when they’re a friend of yours.

Besides, it’s like Oppenheimer says, it’s… important.

Especially considering what they helped me with last time. Even if I never asked ‘em to keep tabs on… them, Foxtrot did me a big favor by tipping me off that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to stake out Yolanda Waltz’s big event. I hate being indebted to them but…

I breathe in, a heavy, shuddering breath that makes Oppenheimer lay a hand on my back, a concerned “You okay?” Quietly rising up.

“Fine.” Snapping is a bit too much, and Oppenheimer winces, whipping her hand away and holding it to her chest as if it were injured as well. I mutter a quiet apology, digging my nails into my gloves in the kind of familiar frustration that makes my muscles feel tense and uneasy. I need to move. I need to get out of here. I stand up, Oppenheimer spares me little more than a glance.

“You can’t seriously be going for a walk now.” She shakes her head.

“I am.”

“Valkyrie-”

I brush past Tango, who quirks an eyebrow but is, like always, silent as I head towards the back door. The limp as my injured side drags across the ground only makes me want to sprint even more, as if I could run all these wounds off.

Wouldn’t that be the dream.

I tear the door open with a bit too much force, the top hinges go sideways as the nails clatter to the ground. Tango tilts her head and I sigh, letting the door hand crookedly when I look back at her, “I dented the door knob earlier, too.” Her eyebrows go up, “You really need to get an automatic.” She huffs, and I slip back into the nighttime alleyway. I don’t bother to close the door… not like that would work anymore, anyway.

My arm still pressed to the bleeding wound in my side I pace down the block and then back up, then down the side street and back up again. But it doesn’t help. No, my frustration only grows with each step that sends a searing, burning pain through my side. My legs start to wobble and my hand curls and uncurls from a fist against my side. But it’s good, at least, because the anger makes everything else a blur. It conceals any thoughts into under a haze. It keeps me from thinking about-

“Goddamnit!” I slam my hand against the boarded-up windows of the abandoned building next to Mambo’s practice, the fist goes through the wood and glass as if I were punching through water- but it still comes back with shards dug into my skin, painting the white glove red along with everything else. Fuck it, I’m already here, aren’t I?

“Getting stronger isn’t going to make it any easier to keep what’s left of our door on.” I snap around, instinctively raising my good arm defensively. But it lowers when I spot Foxtrot perched atop the dumpster filled with bloodied bandages and rusted suturing needles. They tilt their head in a funny, almost feline way, and like with every motion they make it seems to be followed by traces of red and rosy-peach mist the color of their hair and skin before fading away into oblivion. “Unless you plan on robbing another bank soon, I’d advise against it.”

“Foxtrot… Oppenheimer told me you had a busy day,” They shrug, sending another wave of mist fluttering into the air. They hop down from their perch, seeming to flicker in and out of existence for a moment when their feet touch the ground, no more than a blink of an eye and suddenly their hand rests comfortingly on my good shoulder.

“This is about earlier, isn’t it?” The touch is light and, like most things about Foxtrot, never really seems to be entirely ‘there’. Their consistently blurred face, as if they were trapped in an out-of-focus picture, twists into what I recognize as a frown. “You didn’t go, did you?”

I shake my head, “No… but you-”

“I did as you asked,” Foxtrot hums lightly, the hand doesn’t seem to fall away so much as it just… fades and ceases to be there, instead apparating at Foxtrot’s side. “Made sure they didn’t die as you asked,” They hum lightly, fading away and leaving their disembodied voice floating in the air before reappearing, back on the dumpster, sitting with their legs crossed.

“That’s…” I breathe in deeply, “Good.”

“Though they did try Waltz’s drinks,”

“They what?”

“Relax, nothing happened…” Foxtrot trails off, “Though… There was a moment when I thought I was gonna hafta haul your ex’s unconscious body outta there.” What little I can make out of a nose wrinkles, “Woulda been awkward.”

“You didn’t stop them?” I can feel my hand curling into a fist again, and before I know it I’ve stepped up to the dumpster. “Foxtrot I asked you to-”

“What was I supposed to do?” They run an incorporeal hand through misty auburn hair, “Appear at their side and say ‘Hiya! Nice to meet you! I’m Foxtrot, the friendly ghost who’s here to give you some advice- don’t do drugs, kiddo!’” They fix it with a wavering grin, a thumbs up across their chest, and a blurry-brown-eyed wink.

Immediately, the facade drops, and Foxtrot leans back on their hands, legs crossed as they shake their head, “Yeah, I… don’t think that would’ve worked.”

“I…” I sigh, kicking the dirt rumbling out something incomprehensible. Something rears it’s head in my mind, a brief flash of a memory. Little more than their face, twisted briefly into an expression of bright horror as they jumped back, nearly knocked me over. I can feel my heart squeeze at even the brief bitesized reverie but still…

I begin to laugh.

Foxtrot’s face contorts into about as much confusion and concern as their ethereal form will allow, “... Okay, now I’m worried. You alright, Val?”

“It’s just…” I turn my back to them briefly, lifting my mask just the slightest amount to wipe a tear that seems to have sprung up, unwanted to my eye, readjusting the piece, I look back at Foxtrot. “I remembered something. Something… stupid,” An inadvertent grin spreads across my face, “So stupid it was fun.”

Foxtrot glances back towards Mambo’s door, they shrug and kick their legs against the dumpster, making soft and oddly solid sounds from their otherwise immaterial legs. “We got time.”

“You want me to tell the story?”

Foxtrot scoots forward, patting the dumpster next to them as they cradle their head in their hands, a bright smile plastered across their face. “Might help more than punching a window.”

I eye the space next to them, biting my lip. The idea of talking about… them makes me heart ache even more than it did already, but… “Well, what the hell?” The stronger desire pulls me towards reminiscing- which is weird because I’ve never been one for taking strolls down memory lane but… I have always been one to go with the stronger side of me. So, I pull myself up next to them, “I… guess I could try this whole ‘talking about your past’ thing every once ‘n a while, right?”

Foxtrot claps their hands together, exclaiming excitedly, “Story time!” As they settle in.

It must have been sophmore year of college. I remember that because it was right when everybody who hadn’t declared a major yet was beginning to panic and scramble for any kind of semblance of a future job idea they could grasp. Stress was damn high and it drove us to do stupid things, drove us to believe in stupid things. For me, that was when I really got into boxing, and for my friend it was ghost stories. He would gather us all up and spew these tales about ghosts that appeared in the B-Hall parking lots at 1:15 in the morning, or houses down the street that a former headmaster had died in after one student threw a too-rowdy rave and how his ghost still haunted that place, punishing any kid who dared throw a party on the premises.

They were all a bunch of B.S. but most of them led to some pretty wild college parties. So we tended to go along, and those who didn’t were dragged in by those who did. There was one, though, that really got us curious. It was this never-finished construction project for some big mansion on a hill-style house. Supposedly, though, it was supposed to be a lair for a villain. Kinda the… mastermind’s getaway vacation house. Apparently this guy had a lot of henchmen as well, and none of them were quite happy with his reign. So the lot of them plan a revolt when he’s coming to visit and check in on the progress of the lair. He’d have none of his fancy defenses at the finished place so it was the perfect time.

Villain arrives, they revolt, yadda yadda- everyone in a 3-mile radius dies. Usual stuff. Now the place is haunted and abandoned- two factors which made it the perfect venue for one of my friend’s ghost parties.

Problem was getting everything set up, since it was pretty far away we had to arrive a solid two hours beforehand, I had volunteered to do some of the heavy lifting and…

“Your ex came along?” I don’t notice I’ve trailed off in the story until Foxtrot speaks up, supplying the detail that’s still stuck on my tongue.

I inhale deeply, “Yeah,” I nod, “Yeah that’s right, my… ex came along.” I smile, a bitterness tainting the gesture, “Always seemed like no matter what it was, they’d be there to help me. Even the small shit.”

I find myself running my good hand through my ponytail, tugging harshly at any knots still stuck from the battle, “It feels horrible now, stupidly, but if I’d known then about everything else I think that maybe I wouldn’t have been so… liberal when asking for their help, y’know?”

Foxtrot just shrugs, “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, as they say.”

“I hate being indebted…” The breath I’d taken in comes out as a whoosh, “But I can’t say I regret it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” I grin, quickly segueing back into the story.

‘Cause you see this place, even if it wasn’t haunted, was just about the freakiest pile of rubble I’d ever been in. The entire thing reeked of death, and I knew this even before I understood what that smell felt like. We’re talking the works- half finished rooms, padlocked doors, peeling paint, rotting food in abandoned worker lunchboxes- you name it, the house had it. Now this got the host all excited about the possibilities but it also meant we had to comb through the house and set things up in the creepiest possible places. I teamed up with them, of course, and we took the second floor which was… mostly complete, really.

But that only made it creepier.

There were these furnished rooms with unpainted walls, like someone had lived in there for a day before disappearing entirely. There were nails in the halls for family photos that had never been put up and bedposts with no mattresses… Hell, even I was feeling a bit unnerved by all this. I remember they were practically shaking and… this was before things got serious but they were basically clinging to me the entire time. It was… kinda nice, actually. So I didn’t mind.

What made me laugh, though, was when we were in one of those unfinished bedrooms, and, as if that wasn’t worse enough, it was a children’s bedroom-

“Oh god.” Foxtrot interjects briefly.

Yeah, really creepy. All these dolls were lined up on the wall, most of them just harmless animals but when you’re already waiting for Krueger to pop his head around the corner and wave at you with his knife-fingers it feels a helluva lot worse than it is. We were setting up a stereo and some skeleton-themed chips in that room when apparently the shelf we were putting the bowl up on decided that was a bit too much weight. They’d just stepped away when the entire thing came crashing down. I swear they moved faster than you do, knocked me over and by the time I’d gathered what was happening they’d dragged me all the way downstairs and out the door.

I start laughing again, a wild sound that bubbles in my chest, briefly lifting the heaviness that’d settled there before it breaks down into a groan of pain. Too much joy for too many injuries. I wince, and press my hand against my side once more, swallowing the building pain, “I… had to sit there in the woods and calm them down enough to convince ‘em that it wasn’t a ghost. We ended up going back to campus before the party had started that night.” A strained smile stretches on my lips, “I promised, then, that even if it was a ghost I’d fight it off. They laughed at me. But I swore they had nothing to be afraid of…” Another sigh finds it’s way through me, “As long as I was around.”

Foxtrot says nothing, and I don’t feel the need to fill the silence either. So we end up sitting there for… who knows how long. Long enough that I hear Mambo’s front door open and close, whatever poor sap was on his table beforehand limping away. Long enough that their footsteps fade into silence. Long enough that it lasts even after that. Foxtrot takes a deep breath, they lay a quiet hand on my shoulder, “You know, it might not hurt to talk to-”

“It would.” I snap, and like Oppenheimer feel some guilt well up in me with the harshness, but unlike Oppenheimer, Foxtrot doesn’t wince, doesn’t even blink. Instead I feel their fingers curl around my shoulder, a sternes settling into what little of their face I can make out.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Not quite as harsh this time, but just as determined.

“No, Lucy, you don’t.” Now it’s my turn to jolt back, caught off-guard by Foxtrot using my real name. Instinctively I look behind them for any eavesdroppers- but I know Foxtrot wouldn’t risk something like that unless they were absolutely certain we’re alone. “You’ve assumed the worst for four years, now, and you’ve never even tried to contact them.” Foxtrot’s blurry eyes narrow, “Do you even want to see them again?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then go!” Foxtrot releases my shoulder, hands extending out beside them, “I never thought I’d say it but you, of all people, are overthinking it, Lucy! You! Overthinking something!” They shake their head, “What’s the worst that could possibly happen?”

“They could-” I cut myself off quickly.

I trust Foxtrot enough to share parts of my past. I trust Foxtrot enough to look after them when I can’t. I even trust Foxtrot with my real name… But I could never trust anyone with that. If I did, it would make these past four years for nothing.

That’s not a fight I’m willing to lose.

Foxtrot doesn’t press the issue, they don’t get the chance to when the door slams open once more. Both of our heads turning to the mouth of the alley as heavy footsteps stomp around the corner. The unknown man from inside stands bathed in weak streetlight. “Dammit, him again…?” Foxtrot wonders beside me.

“You!” He juts an accusing finger directly at me, “I knew I recognized you! You’re Valkyrie!”

Foxtrot leans my way, “Fan of yours?”

“You hack!” He continues to scream, “You don’t deserve your spot on Nickelport’s most wanted!”

“Apparently not.” I scoff.

“What have you ever done of consequence!” He continues to rave, “You fight for nothing! Nothing! Villains like you give the rest us a bad name! We’re not all mindless slaughter-machines.” He snarls.

Foxtrot sighs, fading into a clear mist before reappearing off of the dumpster. Muttering a quiet, “Here we go again.”

“Wait.” I land beside them, grabbing their shoulder and grinning widely, “Let me.”

Foxtrot’s eyes flicker down to my side, “You sure?”

“You worried about me, Foxy?”

“Worried about him.” They jut their head towards the still-ranting man, “Far as I see it… well, the glass had a better chance against you.”

I laugh, relishing in that familiar temporary lightness that comes with it, “I’ll pull my punches.”

Even through the mist, I can see Foxtrot’s disbelief. “You never pull your punches.”

“C’mon, please?” I pat their shoulder, “I’m in the mood for a fight.”

Finally, Foxtrot relents, “Fine. Just… try not to kill him, okay?”

My grin only grows wider, “I’ll do my best.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’ve got cleanup duty tonight.”

#model citizens unmasked #lucille pinchette #short story #shorts

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theunfamilliarmatter · 7 years

Text

Thoughts on Nesta’s and Feyre’s Relationship Part 2

I truly think that their relationship is unlike any other sibling relationship i’ve ever read. It’s very complex and you need to really know the characters to understand it. I used to hate Nesta so much but now I really like her. I’m just gonna continue list down the moments shared between Nesta and Feyre that have me a greater understanding on their characters as well as their relationship. If you feel like i’m missing sth, it’s maybe already explained in the first part ( https://theunfamilliarmatter.tumblr.com/post/161948048722/some-thoughts-on-nestas-and-feyres-relationship ) or I didn’t notice it (feel free to respond!).

ACOTAR

1. This is just a follow up from point #3 on the previous post.

“Father once told you to never come back,” Nesta said, “and I’m telling you now. We can take care of ourselves.”

Once I might have thought it was an insult, but now I understood—understood what a gift she was offering me.”

Nesta has always known what Feyre is capable of and she wasted no time to try to persuade Feyre to not leave the house. (This is also why Nesta let Feyre hunt for years, because she knew that Feyre was the only one who can keep the alive). What Nesta did here is freeing Feyre from the responsibility she has carried for years. No matter what, Nesta wanted the best for her sisters, and she never interfered with their choices (Like how Nesta let Elain marry Greysen).

2. I glanced at my hands, clutching the top of the shovel. Callused and flecked with scars, arcs of dirt under my nails. They’d surely be horrified when they beheld me splattered with paint.“Even if you washed them, there’d be no hiding it,” Nesta said behind me, coming over from that tree she liked to sit by. “To fit in, you’d have to wear gloves and never take them off.”

When I first read ACOTAR, I was like “The f, gurl?!”. However, now that I understand Nesta more, I see this as one of Nesta’s attempts to reach out. When Feyre went back to the house for the first time, Elain told her how Nesta didn’t talk to anyone, and Feyre also notices that Nesta still wore the clothes they had when they were poor. At this point, I think we all understand Nesta’s aversion to social norms and how she felt misunderstood and didn’t belong. I interpret the scene above differently now. I think what Nesta actually meant but didn’t properly convey was that, “You don’t fit in. We both don’t.” Remember when, in ACOMAF, Feyre said how Nesta knows that she and Feyre are two sides of the same coin? I think this scene alluded to that notion.

3. “It’s my home, isn’t it?”“No, it’s not,” she said flatly. I slammed the shovel back into the earth. “I think your home is somewhere very far away.”

As I said in my last post, Nesta understood Feyre more than she let on. Nesta really does see everything.

4. This is something I found from one of the meta posts @illyrianazriel wrote. (I believe it is called Nesta’s Turning Point Meta).

Nesta reached into her pocket and tossed something onto the churned-up earth.

It was a chunk of wood, as if it had been ripped from something. Painted on its smooth surface was a pretty tangle of vines and—foxglove. Foxglove painted in the wrong shade of blue.

My breath hitched. All this time, all these months …

THIS IS IMPORTANT. Nesta Held on to Feyre while she was gone. That little chuck of wood out of Feyre’s painting comforted her because it made her feel closer to Feyre. I really don’t understand why people would still hate Nesta so much after knowing this (or after knowing that Nesta went to the wall to rescue Feyre).

I put a shaking hand over my eyes, breathing in. What had happened? Not just at the Beddors’, but at home, in Prythian?

“Feyre,” my father said again, and Nesta hissed at him, “Quiet.”

This is a follow up from #6 on my previous post. For years, Nesta felt so useless with Feyre. She felt like she couldn’t do anything for Feyre, and she hated Feyre for it. Though I think she had always admired Feyre for it too.

ACOWAR

1. Nesta seems to care about Elain more because she feels like Elain is the one who needs her, unlike Feyre. Elain is also more open and relaxed, which allows Nesta to be more free with her love. Nesta didn’t know that Feyre couldn’t read because Feyre hid it from her and also because Nesta didn’t think Feyre would ever needed her help, or would have a weakness. In ACOWAR, I saw a moment that is very important to me, it took place during the library scene :

“Rhys gave me a layout of the stacks. I think there might be more on the Cauldron and wall a few levels down. You can wait here, or-” “I’ll help you look.”

For all of her previous neglect, once Nesta found out Feyre couldn’t read, she wasted no opportunity helping her (Feyre hadn’t even finish her sentence). 2. “What do I do now?” A purpose, I realized. Assigning her the task of finding a way to repair the holes in the wall… it had given my sister what perhaps our human lives had never granted her : a bearing.

In a lot of ways Nesta looks up to Feyre. (ex: Feyre was the one who inspired her to talk in the High Lords meeting). I really love Nesta’s development. She was so spiteful and bitter in ACOTAR that she would rather be dead and wait for her father to do something, but here she becomes someone who always rises to the occasion. The intention has always been there. Nesta has always been someone who hated feeling useless, but now she has become more mature.

3. When Feyre when to look for the Suriel, Nesta kept quiet despite Mor’s anger. Nesta would always support her. That much is clear.

4. When Feyre looked into Cassian’s mind during the attack in the library, Nesta was freaking TERRIFIED for Feyre.

Nesta was there-and Feyre. It was the former he saw first, stumbling out of the dark, wide-eyed, her fear a tang that whetted his rage into something so sharp he could barely think, barely breathe- She let out a small, animal sound-like some wounded stag-as she saw him. …. She gripped his leathers instaed. “Feyre,: she rasped…

Another interesting detail : after Feyre and Az rescued Elain,

“[Nesta] let out a sob at the sight of Elain…I’d never heard a sound like that from her. Not once.” Cassian described Nesta’s sound as a “small, animal sound”, and nesta’s fear was so vivid and agonizing that he, a 500 y o fae who has gone to war and witness many atrocities, was taken aback by it that e “could barely think, barely breathe-”

If you still think Nesta doesn’t love Feyre as much as she loves Elain, or that she is a heartless bitch and stuff, idk what else to tell you. I’m really excited to the how their relationship develop in the next books. I don’t expect them to be all fluffy for each other, and it’s not because they don’t love each other, but they are both people who don’t really know how to express their feelings - they are very closed off, serious. Their love is a hard love. One that would show its true intensity when times are hard and desperate. When things are somewhat normal, they could only show their love by silently understanding and respecting each other.

#feyre #nesta #elain #archeron sisters #acotar #acomaf #acowar #rhysand #mor #amren #cassian #azriel #sarah j maas #metal #feysand #nessian #elriel #elucien #feyre x nesta

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