#bedlam writes
Link
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 明日方舟 | Arknights (Video Game)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Czerny/Ebenholz (Arknights)
Characters: Ebenholz (Arknights), Czerny (Arknights)
Additional Tags: Moving In Together, Sharing a Bed, Banter, Mental Health Issues, "what if our bad brains fit perfectly together and we can be functioning people together?", Ebenholz is allowed one (1) meme for enrichment
Series: Part 9 of (Your Songs) Send Love Through
Summary:
"You need to change the bedsheets. You've had these ones on for almost two weeks now."
"Es tut mir leid, mein Herr. My deepest apologies for forgetting that amongst the rest of my cleaning today." Czerny adds a put-upon sigh as he gestures to the rest of the room. "I even dusted in here. Dusted! I was sneezing for hours."
"Means you need to dust more often."
---
On cohabitation, chasing away nightmares, and how brilliant the dawn can be if the night is shared with someone you love.
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Plague I Call A Heartbeat: Submas Vampire AU
Cross-posted on AO3 here!
Warnings for: Vampires and associated blood/violence/etc, the traumas of turning into a vampire, major character undeath (and the death of one vampire OC who really deserves it).
...
"I am Emmet. And something...bit me. I don't feel well."
Ingo's heart plummets into his chest. He's already throwing on his shoes and coat, and while he tries to keep his collected and calm, his voice still shakes. "Where are you? I'll come get you. Do you need me to call an ambulance?"
"No, I'm...I'm not bleeding. I checked. Though that's funny. Isn't it? I got bit. There is a lot of blood. But I am not hurt. I...I find that strange."
"That is. We'll figure it out. Emmet, your location, please." Ingo storms out of the apartment and down the steps to the dark city streets below.
"Hmm...an alleyway. It's dark. I'm next to a dumpster. No...no Pokemon though. Whatever bit me must've scared them off. It was big. Verrry big. Like a person..." Emmet sounds out of breath, and his words slur like he's pleasantly drunk and about to fall asleep. Ingo has to beg him to focus, to keep talking to prove he's still alive. "I think...I was close to home. Past the park? Yup yup, past the park. Someone...followed me from the park..."
They have traced this path a million times, every day to work and back, and never encountered trouble. This is far from the first time either of them have walked home alone. Why now, Ingo thinks as he checks every alleyway? Why is this night different, what happened, who would dare hurt Emmet?!
There. A pair of legs, shoes and pants bright white in contrast to the dark night, poke out from behind a dumpster. Ingo hangs up the X-Transceiver and runs, practically collapsing onto his knees next to Emmet as he gathers his twin into his arms. Emmet is so, so pale, almost as white as his clothes, which makes the pricks of red dotting his clothes stand out all the more. So do the two dots of red on his neck, like twin bug bites, small and freshly scabbed over. Such tiny wounds. Yet Emmet looks like he's lost far more blood than what he's stained with.
"We should get you to a hospital."
"No. I am Emmet. I am...I am just tired. And hungry." Emmet curls into his brother, holding tight. Though he's exhausted and clearly somewhat delirious, he's got a grip like an Onix using Bind. "I want to go home. Please take me home."
Okay. He can check Emmet at home first, ascertain his twin's condition in a safe space. Ingo stands up, carrying his brother in his arms (he's so light, why is he so light?), and hurries back to the apartment. He doesn't want to be seen here. Bystanders will spin up rumors if they see him, even though not one citizen who might've seen Emmet bothered to help at all. (Ingo swallows these thoughts like bitter medicine. He's displacing his anger. He should save it for finding the villain who did this, once Emmet is safe. Protect Emmet first. Protect his bleeding baby brother.)
Up the stairs. Door open. Emmet is gently deposited on the couch, and Ingo only leaves him to grab a first aid kit and a damp washcloth. He helps Emmet out of his soiled clothes and cleans the spots of blood from his skin, checks on the tiny wounds on Emmet's neck. Questions are asked, but only met with the endless litany of "I don't know". No clue to the attacker's identity, motive, why someone would bite Emmet like an animal and run, nothing.
"We'll figure out who did this to you," Ingo says as he smooths Emmet's hair out of his face. "You'll be okay. I promise."
"I know. Thank you." Emmet looks up at Ingo with glassy eyes, but can't quite seem to focus on his face. He sighs. "Ingo? I'm hungry. Could you...?"
"Oh, right. Of course. One moment." It's late, but Emmet hasn't had dinner yet, as he usually waits to eat until he's home. For expediency's sake, Ingo reheats some leftovers and brings it over. He helps Emmet back into a sitting position and hands him the food. Watches as Emmet takes a bite and immediately grimaces. Strange, as this meal is one of his favorites, and Ingo's portion of leftovers earlier had tasted fine. "Something wrong?"
"N-no. Nothing. It...I must not have closed this one right. Went bad."
"I'll get you something else, then." In the back of Ingo's mind, warning bells sound. He really, really should take Emmet to see a professional, the ER must still be open. But first, he's got to find something for his twin to eat. Some food should help clear his mental fog, maybe help him remember more of what happened.
But nothing works. Seems every food Emmet tries has gone bad. He says it all tastes like ash or dirt. Ingo doesn't taste anything different. Emmet's frustration grows with each attempt, until he's curled up around a pillow and practically shaking.
"We should at least get something in your stomach. Even if it tastes bad." Ingo's last resort is a small protein bar, the kind he usually keeps on hand when work gets too hectic for a timely lunch break. "This is small and should get some fuel back in your furnace. Please try it."
Emmet stares for a long time at the offering in Ingo's outstretched hand. A trick of the light makes it seem like his eyes have dilated, like a Purrloin ready to pounce on an easy mark. Emmet reaches for the bar. Instead he grabs his brother's arm. Brings it closer to his face.
Bites.
Everything feels far away, as if Ingo has stepped out of his body to watch a movie of himself. A horror flick, clearly. Here is his twin, latched on his wrist, eyes wide in abject terror at what he's doing but unable to bring himself to stop drinking in greedy gulps. Red blood bubbling up around pearly white fangs, his brother's fangs, fangs whiter than his coat. Pain more distant than it should be, the dull ache of a needle between injection and removal. His twitching fingers, the hitch in his breath, a growing core of cold in his chest, everything more distant than it should be. Ingo is absently aware that any sane person would be screaming right now. Or struggling to get away. Something. Anything. Move, damn it, move!
"Emmet. That's enough."
Emmet jerks away at the mention of his voice, and the sharp removal of fangs stings worse than the rest of the experience. Ingo pulls his arm away and holds his bleeding wrist to his chest, even though he knows it'll soak into his dress shirt. There are two small, perfect holes in his wrist. Like bug bites. Bubbling with red, his red, his...
"Ingo. I am sorry. I don't know what came over me. I don't..." Emmet is babbling, and there are tears in his eyes even as his tongue laps up the leftover blood flecking his lips. His skin looks remarkably healthier, ashen white replaced by vibrant pink with ruddy cheeks as if he just finished running a marathon, and his eyes are clear and bright and glowing. "Oh dragons. I remember what happened."
Ingo nods, motioning for his brother to continue. If he opens his mouth, he knows all the panic building inside him will spill out.
"I noticed someone following me. Lured him into an alleyway. I am Emmet. I am a Subway Boss. I cannot be seen in a public altercation. But the person following me was so fast. Pinned me to a wall. Bit my neck." Emmet pauses. His fingers hover just over his neck, though now the wound is so healed over that it's barely visible, less than twin bug bites. "I think they...they meant to leave me there. They went through my things. But they saw my trainer ID. Realized who and what I am. Said something about me being important. Or funny. I...forget. But they...they..."
There are tears in Emmet's eyes. For every burden Ingo has built the strength to shoulder, every weakness he has strategized around, he has never learned how to close his heart off when his brother starts crying. He's never needed to. With the one arm that isn't leaking blotchy red into his shirt, he wraps an arm around Emmet and pulls him into a hug, foreheads pressed together.
"They opened their wrist and told me to drink. Or I would die! And I should have, I should have known what would happened, I should have died but Ingo I was so scared and I...I didn't want to leave you, or our Pokemon, or anyone so I...so I drank. I drank until they called me a greedy baby bat, and then they shoved me down, think they might've kicked me, I don't know, I was too stunned I think. By the time I got back up they were gone and I felt sick. And I...that's when I called you." Emmet sniffles and sobs, but already he doesn't gasp for air. Doesn't need to anymore. His fingers dig into the fabric of Ingo's shirt, nails sharp. "Ingo, I'm sorry. I didn't think...I didn't..."
"Shhhh. It's okay, Emmet. We'll figure this out. I'm not angry." At him, at least. The bastard who did this to his little brother, who nearly left him for dead and turned him into a monster instead? Oh, that villain is going to pay dearly for this
"But I hurt you. I could've killed you."
"You didn't. In fact, I feel fine." Well, a little woozy, like he'd just donated a lot of blood. Which he has, in a sense. Deep breaths, Ingo. But not too deep. "Do you feel better? Less...hungry?" Emmet nods, mute. "Good. We'll find a better solution later, but for now...well. Better me than a stranger. Now, I should get myself cleaned up. If you'll excuse me."
Emmet shakes his head. "I don't want to be left alone." His gaze narrows on Ingo's wrist again, but without the raw hunger this time. "I think...I remember how the person who bit me closed my wound. Stopped me bleeding. Let me try. Please. I'll be careful."
Only a fool would listen, Ingo thinks, even as he offers his wrist once more. But his trust in Emmet is stronger, and sure enough, the twin in white does not bite a second time. He laps at the wound with his tongue. The wounds knit themselves shut, barely discernible against pale skin and blue veins. Like there's no harm done at all. Like none of this happened. Like there are no monsters in the night that twist soft and sweet lives into hungry, hunting things.
Ingo tries to swallow it all down until he can reach the privacy of his room. He only makes it to the bathroom, peeling off his bloodstained shirt, where he glances at the mirror and should be able to see Emmet in the living room but finds no reflection to match the footfalls behind him. Ingo collapses on the cold tile floor and chokes on the encroaching darkness.
Daylight comes, and Emmet has to hide in a room with no windows. The sunlight is too bright for curtains and blinds to keep him safe. Patches of his skin are burnt and peeling from daybreak. He numbly rubs salve over his skin as he tucks himself into the tiniest shape he can manage in the back of a wardrobe that taunts him with clean white clothes.
No surprise, the first day is hardest for a new vampire, and not just from the shock or the difficulties in hiding from the sun. Vampires are undead. Emmet died and is now reanimated by the blood of others. His body is catching up with this fact as organs find themselves no longer necessary and shut down. It is a jarring experience, which Emmet briefly escapes by drifting off from sheer exhaustion until a new wave of pain hits.
At least he's not hungry again. Yet. That had been all he could think about after getting home, and now...
Emmet pulls his knees to his chest and shudders, but no pressure builds behind his eyes. Seems that vampires have no need for tears.
"Emmet? May I join you for a bit?" Ingo's voice is hoarse and tired, but seems he can't rest either. Emmet voices a wordless affirmative. The closet door thumps as Ingo sits down and leans against it.
"How are things out there? Is it a nice day outside?"
Ingo takes too long to answer, "It's overcast. Not much going on at all." And Emmet can practically taste that lie on his tongue, but he doesn't want to argue or think about the fact that he can't just look outside anymore, he saw the sun for the last time yesterday and didn't even realize he'd miss it. "How are you faring? Are you...adjusting to your new carriage?"
"Maintenance for this new model is rough. Attempting to shut down and remove equipment that's become obsolete. Doubt that ever comes up in the romance paperbacks. Not a verrry sexy thing for a vampire to do, after all."
Ingo snorts. "No, I would hazard it isn't. I...have been trying to do some research, but there is remarkably little information on vampires online. Mostly information that is, as you say, from fiction. I've found a couple leads, but they all get cut off before discovering anything concrete. Like it's covered up."
"So I've been dragged into a supernatural conspiracy. Lovely." A sigh shudders through his body. "I am sorry."
"Don't be. You didn't choose this."
"Technically, I—"
"Being forced to chose in a life or death situation is not a real choice at all. And if you'd died...if I'd lost you..." The closet door creaks as Ingo rocks against it. Emmet can't see him, but imagines the way Ingo handles crying by pressing his palms against his eyes as if he can shove the tears back into place. "Emmet, if I lost you, I'd lose myself too. We're a two-car train. Last night...I can't let anything happen else happen to you. I won't."
"I know." Emmet has never wanted to hug Ingo as badly as he does right now, when such comfort would also come with the risk of burning alive (unalive? undead?) on his own bedroom floor. "I am Emmet. I might be changing, but I am still me. I will not leave you, unless it would ever hurt you more for me to stay."
"That won't happen."
"I'll get hungry again sooner or later."
"We won't let you get as bad as last night. Figure out better food. Like...from a blood bank? Or, does it have to be human blood, do you think? Maybe..." A yawn cuts through Ingo's theorizing. He slumps against the door.
"Ingo, we'll figure it out. We always do. But we need to follow proper safety precautions. Go sleep. I'll try to do the same. I'm not going anywhere." No response. Ingo does not move. Emmet sighs. "If you need to stay with me, you can sleep on my bed. Don't mind the Joltiks. I've taught them no zaps during naps."
"...Okay. I'll see what I can do." The pressure against the closet door alleviates, and is followed by a thump on the bed. Emmet wonders if there are shadows under his brother's eyes, if any color has returned to his skin yet. Between being drunken from, staying up late to research, and all the jags of crying in between because this is all too much for even Ingo to bear...no wonder he's worn out. Too stubborn for his own good. Both of them are. "Goodnight...er, wait. Good day?"
"Good day Ingo," Emmet says. And once his twin starts snoring, Emmet is finally able to drift off too.
Just as there is synthetic meat, in this age where Pokemon can be cloned and spun up wholesale from science, so too is there synthetic blood. It is meant for trainers who strive to give their carnivorous Pokemon like Golbat and Gliscor a more natural diet. It is not a common foodstuff by any mean, an expensive order that takes time to make and ship.
But it is worth every Pokedollar when Emmet takes that first sip. It tastes different from human blood (or Ingo's, at least), but it does the trick. Like tasting a twist on a favorite homemade soup recipe, it suffuses him with delicious warmth. For the first time, he is able to drink his fill without worrying about hurting someone.
"It works?" Ingo asks. Emmet can only bring himself to nod as he drinks. "Bravo, excellent! If we can keep some of these on hand, we won't have to worry about you getting too hungry while we're out!"
And Emmet won't have to rely on his brother as his sole source of nourishment, which is even more important in the younger twin's book. He's drunk as sparingly as possible so Ingo has time to recover, but even so, it's left Ingo drained and lethargic the past few days. Whenever the twin in black isn't researching, both on how to help Emmet's condition and tracking down his attacker, he's deep asleep. Like a puppet with cut strings, a corpse waiting for the flies to flock over.
At least they have time off work. An official police report had been filed about Emmet's attack, and the Subway Masters are on leave while Emmet recovers from the trauma of the attack. He's received Get Well Soon cards from the depot agents and frequent riders of the Battle Subway. He feels better with their well-wishes, reading them all over and over again while his brother rests. Thanks to the recent purchase of blackout curtains, Emmet is at least able to traverse his own home again during the daylight hours and sleep in his own bed.
Progress comes in slow, steady steps. Emmet reads up on vampire lore to test what he can do. He is stronger than before, faster reflexes, more resilient if struck by a stray Pokemon attack. He cannot fly, nor does he seem to possess any form of hypnotism, but he does have an easier time understanding his Pokemon, as if they were actually speaking to him.
He also might be able to shapeshift. The one time he tried and shifted his arm, the sight of his twisting bones and fur sprouting along his arms terrified him so much that he immediately panicked and shifted back. The incident left him starving to boot, and he doesn't want to feed any more than he has to.
A few nights after the first delivery of synthetic blood, Ingo and Emmet leave the apartment for a walk. A test to see if Emmet can control himself around humans who aren't his brother, who is carrying a thermos of blood in case a hunger pang kicks in. It's a beautiful night, the kind where the moon overhead is a siren luring all walks of life out to the streets, scaring away the darkness as Nimbasa's endless party rolls along. Emmet's been cramped up in the apartment so long, he wants nothing more than to run through the city and take in all the sights and sounds he's missed. But no, this is a test, and so he stays by his brother's side and watches the city with fresh eyes.
(The people and Pokemon surrounding him smell...good. But not so tempting that he'll break cover. He drinks once from his thermos during their outing, but he does not lose control. He is Emmet, a Subway Boss, a paragon of order and safety. He will not lose control again.)
The fairgrounds glitter with so many lights, rides in full swing even so late at night. So full of life. Emmet is so enthralled by it all, he almost doesn't hear his name called over the din of the crowd. But Ingo does, and his hold on Emmet's hand tightens even as he cheerfully calls out, "Elesa! Good to see you!"
"Good to see you too! Sorry I haven't had time to check in much. Work's kept me busy." She emerges from the crowd in a bright wig and puffy coat, one of her many disguises for slumming among the general populace. She embraces Ingo first, then turns to Emmet, expression softening. "Hey. Heard what happened. Are you...how're you holding up?"
"I am Emmet. And I am doing okay as I can." He smiles, careful not to show any teeth. "Missed you, El."
"Aww, I missed you too, you bidoofus." Before Ingo can stop her, Elesa wraps her arms around Emmet and pulls him into a tight hug. He stands there a moment, unsure if he should hug back or pull away, instincts warring between friendship and the warning sights blaring in his head. His face is so close to her neck and she smells...
...Actually, she smells gross. He can't place it, but the stench is sharp, prickles his nose and tongue and makes him want to gag. So he claps Elesa's back once, twice, and pulls away soon as is polite. She beams up at him, and if she notices his discomfort, she says nothing.
"It's late for you two! What brings you out here? Enjoying the nice night?"
"Sort of." Emmet has mulled over this moment, though he didn't expect it so soon. Elesa is one of their oldest, dearest friends, one they met on their original Pokemon journey as children and have been close to ever since. Family in all but blood. Emmet doesn't want to scare her. But she has to know. "Can we talk? On the Ferris Wheel, perhaps."
"Sounds like a plan to me." Elesa knows better than anyone that a Ferris Wheel carriage is one of the most secure places for secrets in Nimbasa. She's spilled her fair share of confessions there, as have the twins. It is so easy, to secure a ticket, climb into a tiny suspended booth, watch the city go by while opening up one's heart.
So they do. Emmet cannot meet anyone's gaze as he talks, explains how he's different now, everything is different. And when his words fail him and Ingo takes over, Emmet turns his attention to the city below. Streets cut through blocks of buildings like veins and arteries tunneling through flesh. Emmet doesn't know if he can fly, but looming over the whole of Nimbasa like this, he feels like he could try, glide along the night and let his white coat blend in with the moon above.
"And that's what happened," Emmet concludes at the end of it all. "I am Emmet. I am a vampire. I do not know who turned me, or why. But I cannot change what happened. Just accept what I am, and refuse to become a monster like the one who made me."
"Oh, Em..." Elesa covers her mouth with a pale hand, nails sharp and perfectly painted, her wrist covered by the sleeves of her puffy coat. "I am so, so sorry for what happened to you."
He expected that. But not what comes next.
"I never thought they'd come after you too."
Elesa is a model, Nimbasa's Gym Leader, and it turns out her trademark perfume is garlic-infused holy water. She did not pick up the family trade of hunting the kinds of monsters that do not fit neatly in Pokeballs, but she knows how to defend herself from things that go bump in the night. Things like vampires, like the one who turned Emmet.
"I might've even seen the creep too," She explains as the twins listen in rapt bewilderment. "Between my work and my family heritage, vamps see me as like, the ultimate challenge. So I'm used to them coming after me, even if it's rare that any of them make it so far. I've got my security teams and gym assistants trained on what to watch out for."
Emmet has to ask, "...Could you tell? About me?"
"Of course. But only 'cause I'm trained for it. You still look and sound like the same Emmet I've always known and loved. Though the face you made when you noticed my perfume...!" Her laugh rings through the carriage. For that, Emmet is thankful. He was so, so afraid that his confession would lose him a friend. But he couldn't live keeping such a secret from her. But when she speaks again, her voice is softer. "When Ingo said you'd been assaulted, I'd...already had a suspicion. I'd heard whispers of a vamp coming through town. But I didn't want it to be true. When I hugged you down on the streets though...honey, I know how to tell if a heartbeat's missing."
Oh.
"You heard rumors?" Ingo asks. His volume ticks up, curiosity piqued and the flames of protective anger fanning up. "What do you know? Anything that could help us find the vampire who turned Emmet?"
"Sire. The term for a vampire's...for whoever turned them, that's a sire. Though most of them stick around and actually raise those they turn. The fact that yours didn't...well, might narrow things down. I'll ask around. And then I'm coming with you."
"We couldn't possibly ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm insisting. I'll even clear my calendar." As if to prove her readiness, she reaches into her bright and puffy coat to pull out a dagger, silver with an engraved hilt. She idly gestures with it as she continues talking. "You two are the best at Pokemon battles in this town. Maybe in the whole country. But vampires aren't Pokemon. You two couldn't hurt a fly on your own normally, and while righteous rage goes a long way, it'll only carry you so far. You need someone who knows when and where to stake a vampire." She quirks a smile. "Besides. Emmet is my brother too. I won't let anyone get away with hurting him."
Their Ferris Wheel carriage begins its slow descent. Ingo exhales a shaky breath. "Thank you, Elesa. We'll accept any help we can get. We've researched as much as we could, but there's remarkably little to be found on the subject."
"Of course there isn't. The existence of vampires is supposed to be a secret, so they make sure all that info's scrubbed from the internet." Elesa sighs, her dagger spinning close to her braids. "Most of my knowledge is about, y'know, how to spot vampires and hurt them. But I'll see if any of that can help instead. I could never hurt you, Em."
Everyone keeps saying that. They won't hurt him, he won't hurt them. They're so sure of that. "But what if something goes wrong? What if I hurt someone?"
"You won't, Emmet. You're better than that."
He wasn't on his first night. He still remembers how good those first tastes of blood were, warmth and power flowing through him. The feel of teeth piercing flesh. The echoing accusation of greedy baby bat bouncing through his skull, the way he couldn't pull away from Ingo of his own volition and might've gorged himself until he'd left a husk on the couch. He remembers being told that the two ways to measure a man are at his highest and lowest points, and at his worst, Emmet came very, verrry close to failing everything he stood for.
Two pairs of hands take his own. (Two pairs of wrists, one unblemished and the other with two pinpricks too faint to even mistake for bug bites, so close to his face.)
"You are Emmet," Ingo says. Elesa finishes, "We won't leave you." They both squeeze his hands, tight. He lets them lean in and embrace him, and if Emmet could still cry, his body would shake and shudder with sobs until there was nothing left of him. But he cannot, so he simply holds back, tight.
It is only later that he realizes that even with such close proximity, he hadn't felt tempted to bite them. Maybe they're right. Maybe he will be okay.
Elesa pulls strings, calls in favors, pins down Emmet's sire with ruthless efficiency. She completes in days what Ingo spent weeks researching. Seems this vampire has been hiding out in the Relic Castle out in the Desert Resort, when not stalking out Castelia City for meals. The bastard stopped stalking the streets of Nimbasa after turning Emmet, apparently avoiding his handiwork.
The twins and Elesa escape into the desert shortly after sundown. Dry desert wind whips at their clothes, their usual uniforms discarded for more discreet outfits. All of them are armed with their Pokemon, but Elesa has more traditional weapons hidden among her person, and has allowed Ingo to borrow a dagger for the fight. She taught him how to use it, how to slide it through ribs and into a vampire's heart. The knowledge makes him sick with how easy it seems.
Emmet doesn't need a weapon. Emmet is a weapon. He's freshly fed, and he's learned to safely shift his form just enough to twist his hands into monstrous claws. Sharp talons, armor-scaled skin thrumming red with blood; looks a lot like his Archeops, which is almost fitting as he ventures into the ruins where he'd found that fossil years ago. They had escaped into these ruins to escape the sun, Ingo remembers. How fitting to return under those same conditions.
"I smell him." Emmet's grin grows wide and sharp. "This way. Do not become uncoupled from me." Easier said than done, with his newfound speed, but Ingo follows close as he can with Elesa guarding the rear. They descend into the darkness. Ingo's heartbeat pounds in his ears.
A low laughter cuts through the stillness of the ruins. "I was wondering when you'd come find me, baby bat."
Emmet snarls. The last Ingo sees of him is the fury glowing in his eyes as he darts across the stone floor to meet his maker in the shadows. Ingo can hear the hidden scuffle, cracking stone and shuffling sand, the gasp of a sharp hit and the laugh of a successful blow. Emmet is fierce, this he knows. But his sire is far older, and far less human for it.
"Stay on guard," Elesa whispers to him. "Old vampires have all sorts of tricks. Stay with me."
He tries. Dragons above, does he try. Ingo and Elesa traverse the ancient catacombs to join the fight, but alongside the pitfalls and quicksand traps already endemic to the castle, this vampire has left many traps in his home. Ghastly Pokemon block their progress, illusions lead them astray, and stranger powers still seem to twist the hallways in on themselves.
Ingo finds himself alone in dark and silent ruins. Until he isn't.
"My baby bat has more restraint than I gave him credit for," the vampire hisses in Ingo's ear as claws wrap delicately around his midsection, poised to stab if Ingo moves too suddenly. "Thought for sure he would've drained you dry by now. Ah, but it is more fun this way. Now I get a second toy to play with."
Ingo hid his blade in his sleeve in case he was caught. He lets the hilt fall into his palm, just like he practiced. If he stabs behind him, and up, he can get in between those ribs. Just like they practiced.
He hisses as a distraction, "Emmet is stronger than you'll ever be. Because he's still a human at heart. Unlike you."
"For now, sure. He's young still. It takes time, to realize how useless all those morals are in the grand scheme of things." Claws slowly press in, just on the verge of breaking tender flesh. The tips of fangs rest against a pulsing artery. Ingo's heartbeat quickens. "You're coming with me now. We're going to talk with your brother, let him decide what I do to you."
"I don't think so." The blade slides up. Teeth clamp down. The blade stops, as if caught, and is gently pushed back out. It falls to the floor as Ingo's hand goes limp. "You really think I couldn't catch that, with a fresh blood bag right in front of me? What a stupid, foolish boy. I really should eat you and be done with it. But that wouldn't be any fun, now would it?"
Ingo's brain and body slow from blood loss. His fingers can't even grab a Pokeball. "Is that why...you're doing this? Because...you're bored?"
The mouth pressed against his neck contorts into a smile. "That's it exactly."
Ingo is dragged deeper into the ruins. He wants to fight back, but he's already lost so much blood, and those claws are still poised to dig into his frail human body if he makes any sudden movements. He has to bide his time—and stay conscious long enough to act the second he has an opening. He can't let himself be used as a bargaining chip against Emmet, not when his little brother has already suffered so much...
Somewhere behind them, a wall breaks. "Found you. I am Emmet. Let him go."
Ingo is spun around to face his brother. More of Emmet's human visage has fallen away, twisted by blood into something sharp, powerful, monstrous. Ingo's breath catches in his throat. He reminds himself, promises himself that the creature before him is still his brother, even with the glowing eyes and the smile with teeth like jagged, fractured glass.
Ingo squirms as soft hands caress his body and trail those sharp claws across his skin, showing the many places where they could pierce him through. Teeth rest against his neck once more. The wounds from the earlier bite weren't properly closed, and Ingo's warm blood slowly trails down his neck and pools against the collar of his shirt.
Emmet's sire coos, "I don't think you're in a position to bargain here, baby bat. But I am."
That gets Emmet to hesitate. Why wouldn't it? Ingo would do the same. He could have all the power in the world, but seeing his brother under threat would bring him low, could make him grovel and beg and throw everything away. Ingo couldn't stand to see that happen to Emmet. But he's running out of options to escape.
Except he sees Emmet's eyes flicker, just a moment, behind them.
Aha. If there's one thing Ingo still has access to, it's his words. He can stall for an opening. He lets the latent fear churning in his guts bubble to the surface. "What...what are you going to do to me?" But he keeps his eyes locked on Emmet's. Winks. After a long moment and one more flicker of the eyes, Emmet winks back.
The vampire needles Emmet with cruel suggestions of what he could inflict on Ingo, the depraved things he could make Emmet stoop to in the name of saving his brother. Ingo lets the threats wash over him, only responding to gasp and utter terrified remarks when the monologue pauses, and Emmet swears and snarls in kind. It is almost easy to play to a monster's ego when they think they have humans outsmarted.
Then Elesa rises from behind the vampire and pierces him through with a silver stiletto blade. Ingo pulls away before those fangs can find purchase in his neck again, and while some of those claws scrape as intended, they soon fall limp and Ingo is able to break free. He stumbles away, still unsteady from blood loss, and finds himself collapsing in Emmet's arms. Those arms swiftly turn human again, and Ingo is held close to a cold chest with no heartbeat as he whispers, "I'm okay, I'm fine, thank you Emmet, everything's okay."
"Either of you two want to finish this guy off?" Elesa asks. The vampire is staked and paralyzed, but not dead just yet; Elesa has another blade pressed against that vampire's throat. Ingo considers a long moment before shaking his head; one attempt at murder, even of a monster, is enough for him tonight. And Emmet shakes his head too, lips pursed, hold on Ingo tight. He's got more important things to look after. Elesa shrugs and says, "Suit yourself. I'm gonna' toss his head into the desert for one last sunrise. You two should get out before that."
"Okay," Emmet says. He reaches into his pocket and holds out Ingo's fallen dagger. "You dropped this earlier."
"I don't need it anymore," Ingo says. He doubts he could hold it well right now anyway. His head is still fuzzy from blood loss.
"You've lost a lot of blood," Emmet points out. And, judging by how wide his pupils are, he still is. "You're still bleeding. I...that is not good."
"You can close it," Ingo says. Emmet does not move. "You don't have to believe what he said. He's dead. And you're better than him. I don't need the dagger because the only one with me will be you, and I won't need to hurt you. I trust you."
Emmet bites his lip. But, under Elesa's watchful gaze (just in case), Emmet leans in and laps the blood off his brother's neck, closes the wound shut. It barely stings at all now. Emmet stays there a few seconds longer than is comfortable for any of them, but in the end he pulls away and scoops up Ingo like he weighs nothing at all. Elesa loosens the hold on her dagger and watches them go.
Just as Ingo carried his vampire-bitten brother out of that alleyway at the start of this mess, now it is Emmet's turn to bring him back from the darkness, final stop set to home.
"You should turn me."
Emmet does not trust his ears at first. He pauses the TV show and turns toward his twin on the couch. "Repeat that."
"You should turn me." Ingo will not meet his gaze. He tightly hugs his dozing Excadrill to his chest, though the Pokemon stirs at the concern in her trainer's voice. "What happened last week, with your sire...there will be other threats, vampire or otherwise. And I cannot be dead weight again like I was before."
"You were inexperienced and caught off guard. But you still got out alive and distracted my...our foe." He doesn't like acknowledging that such a cretin was his sire. "Even Elesa said she was impressed at how well you kept your cool."
"I was still a liability. Emmet, we are a two-car train. We work and fight together in all things. I don't want to be a risk to you." Ingo hugs Excadrill tighter, the Pokemon emitting a little squeak. The older brother, normally so stoic, looks to be on the verge of tears. "Please, Emmet. I don't want to lose you."
"You aren't. I am Emmet. I am right here. I am not going anywhere." They are already making plans for his return to Gear Station, adjusting his schedule to ensure he'll stay out of the sunlight, setting up a break room where Emmet can rest and restock on blood as needed. Everything is going to work out.
Yet Ingo's words, normally so loud and confident, barely come out as a whisper. "And what will happen when I die, and you are still here? When you are alone?"
Oh. He's still shook up by that encounter, all the poisonous things that creep whispered in his ears. "I will still be me. I will not lose sight of who I am."
"Yes. Yes of course. But I..." Ingo presses a palm against a tearful eye. "It's our birthday in a few days. And I know age is just a number, I know how arbitrary it is. But for the first time, I will be older and you will not age right behind me. You're always going to stay like this, and I'm only going to grow older and weaker. One day I won't be enough, and then I'll be gone. And whatever might happen after I die? You won't be there with me. And I won't be with you, won't get to see you become stronger, or remind you when we have an upcoming deadline, or..."
Or make sure Emmet doesn't lose sight of his morals, the way his sire did. If Emmet is being honest, he's terrified of that too. The sight of his big brother, his biggest supporter and his shield since they were small, wrapped up in all those claws and slowly bleeding like a chew toy being slowly torn apart...it had nearly broken him. If he hadn't seen Elesa sneaking up on the vampire, he doesn't know what he would've done. Something stupid that would've gotten Ingo even more hurt, most likely. The guilt for letting things get that out of hand had been the one thing strong enough to outweigh Emmet's hunger and keep him from gorging himself on his twin's blood once the fighting was done. Without the influence of his twin or all their loved ones, how long would Emmet be able to keep those monstrous urges at bay? What's to stop him from getting bored after years of trains and Pokemon battles and ending up like...
Yes, he's a better person than his sire was. At least he is for now. But if he doesn't have a mirror reflecting back at him, could he tell if his smile's grown too sharp? Does he want to take that chance?
"Are you sure?" Emmet asks. "If I turn you, you'll outlive everyone right along with me. We'll have to watch all of our Pokemon die one day. And Elesa too, and everyone else. We'll have to leave the Gear Station behind once it becomes obvious we've stopped aging. Can you handle that?"
Ingo looks down at Excadrill, who peers up at him through sleepy eyes and coos, carefully nuzzling Ingo so he doesn't get cut on the sharp bits. "I will, in time."
"You won't be able to see the sun again. That hits harder than you expect, Ingo. You won't be able to taste your favorite foods because they'll all taste like ash. You'll give up so much, and you'll never get it back. Are you sure you want that?"
Ingo is quiet. He takes deep breaths of Excadrill's dusty fur. "You didn't get that choice. And I'd rather lose all manner of things before losing you."
Emmet doesn't need to breathe and he doesn't miss that, but it does take extra effort to draw air in and exhale, because sometimes the only answer one can offer is a long, drawn-out sigh. "I know you. You've thought about this awhile."
"I would have asked when you were first turned, but...there was so much going on. Thought it'd be best to get you settled first. But dealing with your sire...that sealed it. I'm not letting you face something like that alone again. I'm not letting you face any of it alone again." Ingo finally looks his twin in the eyes. "Please, Emmet. Turn me so we can stay a two-car train. So we can stay us."
Emmet knows in his mind that he should stay strong and refuse. But he is Emmet and he is a vampire, selfish and lonely, and if he can keep one thing from his old life with him forever, it would be his twin.
"Okay."
It is the night before their birthday, and Ingo is about to be turned into a vampire. Nerves are finally catching up with him.
They've spent the whole week in preparation. Setting up schedule changes to accommodate the new nocturnal habits of both twins. Stockpiling extra blood. Training their Pokemon so they can spot if one of their trainers is low on blood or about to lash out, so they can step in and restrain accordingly. And at Emmet's insistence, Ingo writes a letter and seals it, only to be opened in the event that the transformation fails and he...doesn't make it.
His pulse quickens as he settles into the empty bathtub, which they'd deemed would be easiest to clean in case the blood gets messy. He trusts Emmet wholeheartedly, and he isn't going back on his decision. They're a two-car train until the end of the line, and if that means they'll both be vampires stalking the shadows for the rest of their un-lives, at least they'll be damned together. But he knows no amount of thinking can prepare him in full for what will occur. The way it's going to hurt. The way their lives will change when neither of them are human anymore.
Earlier today, Ingo went to the park and sat in the sun, letting it soak through his black clothes and into his pale skin. He lay in the grass, watching the clouds drift along a perfect blue sky, seared the image into his memory. Emmet never got that chance. Ingo, at least, is walking into this with both eyes open. Does that make him more of a fool, seeing his twin's unwitting transformation unfold before him and choosing to go through with it all anyway?
Emmet knocks on the bathroom door. "Are you prepared for departure?"
Just about. Ingo strips off his shirt and carefully folds it. They want to get blood on as little clothing as possible, so Ingo is only clad in a pair of old sweatpants he'd planned on ousting from his wardrobe anyway. "I am. You may proceed with safety checks."
Emmet enters the room, his face betraying his nerves with a too-tight smile and the fangs peeking over his lips. Pokemon are released; Chandelure to gauge if Ingo is too close to death, and Gavantula for restraints if either twin gets too blood-hungry. Emmet goes over the upcoming procedure one more time.
"I will drain you of your blood. All of it. Then I offer my wrist, and you will drink from me. I...suppose I will be able to tell if it worked and when to make you stop." Emmet takes Ingo's hand, palms pressed together, Ingo's heart beating for the both of them. "From this point, there is no returning to your previous station, and we cannot make any unplanned stops. Are we clear?"
"We are. All aboard, Emmet."
"All aboard." Emmet leans in and buries his teeth into Ingo's neck oh so gently. It's barely noticeable. Like bug bites. This time as he's slowly drained of his lifeforce, Ingo isn't afraid, even as his body grows cold and his pulse slows. Where Emmet lost his life alone and in fear, Ingo will lose his own in the safety of his home, in the embrace of the person he cares for most in this world, the one he'd give up a mortal life and death for.
At the precipice of life and death, Ingo watches his brother pull away, eyes bright, skin flushed and full of life (Ingo's life). Emmet tears into his own wrist with sharp white fangs. Blood pools forth and comes to Ingo's lips. "Drink."
It is warm. Acrid, the tang of iron, a taste that normally only comes with pain. The first mouthful is hard to swallow down. The second is easier. And as he drinks, life returns to the world around him. Sounds and smells are sharper, colors are brighter and the shadows have nothing left to hide. And this blood is more than sweet. It is fresh fruit on a summer afternoon, juices dribbling down chins and laughter ringing in the air. It is a warm broth that chases the cold away when winter is at its fiercest. It is morning coffee made perfectly to signal that the day is ready to begin. It is all of this and somehow more, and Ingo understands how it could be so easy to drink this forevermore.
A gentle hand settles on his cheek, fingers brushing his jaw to encourage him to unlatch from his brother's wrist. "Bravo, Ingo. You came through alright."
Ingo pulls away, new fangs lightly grazing his brother's skin. And as he saw his twin do, he licks the injured wrist and watches as the wound seals up before his eyes. The deed is done. In time, it will all hit him full-force how his heart will no longer beat and there will be no more air in his lungs.
"It's almost midnight," Emmet says. "Happy deathday to you. And...wait for it..."
They count down together. Five, four, three, two...
Ingo and his twin press their foreheads together. It is the first day of the rest of their undeaths, and they laugh because there are no more tears to shed.
"Happy birthday to us."
#vampire au#submas vampire au#vampire ingo#vampire emmet#vampire hunter elesa#blood#vampire related violence#bedlam writes#I have so many thoughts and feelings about vampires y'all#submas#emmet#ingo
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
I was rereading Skulduggery Pleasant and realised it was a goldmine for cute Alastor & Charlie moments.👌
I’m gonna project genuine friendship onto these fuckers and you can’t stop me!
#grey art#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel comic#charlie morningstar#alastor#skulduggery pleasant#for the dialog#guys go read those books they are like half my personality#even though Ive not been keeping up since Bedlam 😅#DEREK KEEPS WRITING THEM I DONT KNOW WHATS HAPPENING#anywho….#Charlie and alastor being friends or something is something I’ll always devour
8K notes
·
View notes
Note
POV
Natasha POV of the opening scene of Of Home Near! (Original version here.) About 1.1K below the break.
*****
Sometimes Natasha thought that Howard Stark just liked looking at Steve.
She had seen Tony watch Pepper when he thought no one else was looking, and there was a little of that in the way Howard watched Steve, his chin propped on one hand and his eyes going soft and pleased. Part of it might have been only that Howard had missed his best friend while Steve had been presumed dead and was more than a little afraid that Steve would vanish if he looked away, but if there was one thing other than how to kill people Natasha knew, it was how to read men.
She couldn’t exactly blame Howard for it. She liked looking at Steve too, and she was the one who was in his bed every night. She had the right to look, which was still a fairly novel sensation for her.
By the time they had been there for a week, everyone in the SSR was getting fairly stir-crazy due to the lockdown Howard had imposed. As far as Natasha could tell, no one was actively opposed to it; despite Howard’s attempts to spread a more mundane version of the story, rumors of Captain America’s dramatic return had spread and at this stage in the war everyone in the SSR was paranoid enough to understand the reasons for the lockdown. It just didn’t mean they enjoyed it. It also meant that they were running short-handed since Howard had instituted the lockdown in the middle of the night, when most of the SSR’s personnel had already gone home.
They were in Howard’s office, Natasha watching Howard watch Steve and wondering if Steve had any idea that Howard Stark was in love with him, when she heard the sudden silence in the lab outside. Steve cocked his head to one side, listening, then suddenly went white. Natasha looked at him in concern, then turned as the door opened behind them.
“Stark, you are aware there’s still a war on, aren’t you? We can’t drop everything to hop across the Channel just on your say-so.”
The speaker was a tall army officer with a weathered face, wearing a colonel’s insignia and SSR pins. There was a woman with him, mouth painted red and brown hair perfectly coiffed, and four years ago Natasha had seen both of their portraits flanking Howard Stark’s in an old SHIELD building in New Jersey not long before Hydra had blown it to hell.
Howard’s gaze flickered quickly to Steve’s still face before he straightened up. “I didn’t think this one could wait,” he said. “And you took your time coming back; I called you a week ago.”
“Because there’s still a war on,” the woman said. Steve shut his eyes at the sound of her voice, breathing hard, and Natasha closed her hands into fists. She might be sleeping with him now, might have his name and his borrowed ring on her finger, but she was under no illusions about where she ranked on a scale that included Peggy Carter. “Well, what is it?”
Howard looked at Steve again instead of responding. Steve breathed in deeply, then opened his eyes and turned around. “Peggy,” he said, then swallowed hard and added, “Sir,” to Chester Phillips.
Phillips blinked once, clearly startled, and said, “Rogers.”
Peggy didn’t say anything at all. She just walked forward until she could put her arms around Steve. Natasha bit the inside of her cheek as Steve hugged her back, his whole body briefly going slack with relief, like he had gotten something back that he had never expected to have again. Which he had.
When Peggy finally pulled back, she reached up for him, and this time Natasha looked away, belatedly aware of Howard Stark’s sharp gaze tracking the motion.
Steve said, “Peggy, wait – wait –” and Natasha looked back, startled.
Peggy seized his left hand, staring at the ring on his finger, and said, “You –!” Then she punched him in the face.
Steve staggered backwards and almost fell. Natasha and Howard caught him to steady him as he got his feet under him again, staring at Peggy with huge, hurt eyes.
“Well,” Howard said, releasing him once he was sure that Natasha had a good grip on Steve’s other arm, “at least she didn’t shoot you this time.”
“Thanks, Howard,” Steve said, touching his jaw gingerly. “That really makes me feel better.” He was trembling a little under Natasha’s hands, but his voice was even. Since she had seen him take a punch from a god without flinching, she suspect his reaction was more surprise than anything else.
Peggy shot Natasha a hard look that both took in the ring on her left hand and quite obviously found her wanting. Natasha met her gaze calmly, not willing to let herself waver and undermine Steve.
“Glad to see you’re in fine form, Rogers,” Colonel Phillips said, turning to shut the door on the audience they had acquired in the lab. He looked at Natasha and added, “Is this the lucky lady?”
“Natasha Rogers, Colonel Phillips, Agent Carter.” She let go of Steve and offered the colonel her hand. His grip was firm and dry; she saw him register her pistol calluses and nod a little, giving Steve a contemplative look that was probably at least as much evaluating his taste in women as gauging anything about Natasha.
Natasha felt the pistol calluses on Peggy Carter’s palm and fingers as the other woman squeezed her hand a little too hard, her expression suggesting that she would have liked to rip Natasha’s throat out with her teeth. Her gaze tracked the scar at Natasha’s hairline from the Battle of New York as well as the way Natasha shifted her weight after Peggy released her, one professional’s quick evaluation of another. She didn’t look at Steve, whose expression was miserable.
Howard and Phillips were both looking back and forth between Steve, Peggy, and Natasha like spectators at a three-way tennis match. Natasha let out her breath, then took Steve’s hand in hers, folding her fingers around his and squeezing a little to reassure him.
She had only been thinking about how Steve might react to Peggy Carter. It had never occurred to her to worry about how Peggy Carter might react to him. Or to Natasha, for that matter.
“You were able to bail out?” Phillips asked Steve.
Steve took a deep breath. “Not exactly,” he said. “I didn’t walk away from the crash, either.” He glanced at Natasha, who nodded a little in response to his unspoken question, then took another deep breath and looked back at Phillips. “I’m Steve Rogers, but I’m not your Steve Rogers – I mean, I am, I’m just not from 1945. Nat and I are from 2018.”
#miss marieanne#bedlam replies#meme response#of home near#cut scenes and concept writing#home behind the scenes#iw time travel concept
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
A/N: Part 37 of the Bedlam AU! This part is a longer piece, but there was no tidy place to split it, so you get all of this! Enjoy! I certainly enjoyed writing it ;)
x
Haru is not afraid of the dark.
After all, she's been on enough cases where the odd dungeon delving, or cave diving, or secret passage walkthrough with non-existent light has been necessary, so she's familiar with dark. But the thing is, absolute darkness is rare. Usually there's a lantern, or starlight, or even bioluminescent algae to shed some light, and that's not even considering Baron's light magic. Usually, even if she can't see much, there's still a vague sense of her surroundings.
Behind the blindfold, it's nothing but black.
Haru is not afraid of the dark, but her heart skitters nonetheless. There is something about the complete nothingness, something about the spidersilk on her skin, something about the stillness of the air, that feels all wrong.
Then again, simply knowing that on the other side of the blindfold is a soul-sucking monster might also do that to a gal.
"Haru?"
"Haru, what's happening?"
The voices are indistinguishable from one another, perfect copies of Baron's voice. It sounds like both are stood before her, one to the left, the other to the right.
"It's one of the Bedlam's games," she says. "One of you is the real Baron, and the other is the Bedlam in disguise. I need to guess which one is real."
"I am!" one Baron cries.
"Naturally, you would say that," the other retorts.
"Yes. Because it is the natural thing to say. At least, it is if you're real."
"Or if you're pretending to be."
"Enough!"
At Haru's command, both Barons went silent.
"This isn't a puzzle that's gonna be solved by who can shout the loudest, or insist they're a real boy the most often. From now on, you only speak when I ask you something, got it?"
"Yes, Haru."
"Yes."
"Okay, good."
Haru's mind races over the options. There is always a possibility that neither is the real Baron... but somehow she doubts it. It's not that she doesn't think the Bedlam is above cheating, but rather that everything she's encountered so far implies that weaving a new Baron puppet would take time, and she's somewhat sprung this upon him.
So that leaves... well, one Bedlam masquerading as Baron, and one real Baron. Still, there are ways the Bedlam could cheat.
"Both of you, hold out your hand," she orders. "One on my left, the other on my right."
She feels cotton brush against her fingers, and she curls her hand around each gloved wrist. "This way there can be no secret switcharoos happening while I'm blindfolded," she says.
"Clever," the right Baron approves.
"What did I say? No talking unless I ask you something."
Haru wants to pace, but there's no way of doing that without trawling both Baron's behind her like two wayward children. If she could see them, this would be easy – the Bedlam seems unable to create puppets or alter himself without button eyes – but then that explains the blindfold. That said...
She runs her hands up the respective Barons arms If the Bedlam is limited by button eyes, she'll be able to feel them by brushing a hand across his face. Her hands have only reached their shoulders when both vanish.
"Hey!"
"Now, now, now," the Bedlam's voice croons. "That'd be cheating."
"You didn't set any such rules when we started," Haru retorts.
"You're making this a thing of logic, rather than of knowing. The point of this game was you proving you could recognise your Baron blindfolded–"
"Which you've helpfully provided."
"–so if you go looking for my button eyes, where's the fun in that? Where's the creativity? Prove to me you know him for who he is, not who I am."
"I take it from the fact I still can't see a thing that I get a second chance?"
"I'm looking forward to you guessing wrong."
"Bold words from the monster who's just had to take a time out to establish extra rules," Haru scoffs. "So, what am I allowed to do?"
"Why, talk, of course. Ask questions."
"You've been watching me for months. I doubt there's much I could ask that you wouldn't know."
"But you've known the Baron longer than that," the Bedlam assures. "I'm sure there's something you can ask him that only he will know. Now, if you're quite done complaining about the game..."
The world shifts, and suddenly there is a gloved wrist in both of Haru's hands. "Baron? Are you back?"
"Yes," two voices chorus.
"Good. Now, let me think."
The Bedlam's interruption has unnerved her more than she wants to let on. Questioning both Barons on their knowledge had been Haru's next plan, but the Bedlam's assurance that such a scheme might work seems... odd. Even if he had only been watching for a few months – and that is plenty of time – he still managed to make a very convincing perfect world for Haru.
And Haru had talked with the Bureau so often (at least before her exile) that the Bedlam probably overheard them reminiscing about the past. He certainly knew about the Cat Kingdom and Katzen Blüt. And that was at least a decade ago.
Still, there were ways in which the Baron-Bedlam had differed from the original Baron. Maybe the Bedlam hasn't learnt from his mistakes. Some habits die hard, after all...
But, oh, this is going to break her heart.
"I have a question for you," she says eventually. "I want you to answer it truthfully, one at a time. Was what the Bedlam said earlier true? Do you..." She falters, and steadies her voice before attempting it anew. "Do you wish I was a Creation too? Would you have still thrown me out of the Bureau had I been... like you?"
Was I not enough?
She turns her head to her right. "You first."
Right Baron cradles her hand in both hands, his hold soft and precious. "No, never," he promises. "Haru, the Bedlam preys on our worst insecurities, using them make us doubt ourselves until we leave our world and all its imperfections behind. He said what he knew would wound you most. He used the biggest mistake of my life and used it to convince you that I didn't love you, and for that there is no apology I can give that will do justice to the harm I've done."
She feels Right Baron move closer, and she shakes her head, even though all her heart wants to do is fall into the embrace he would surely give.
Right Baron reads her correctly and backs off, but is still closer than before. "It's taken all of... this for me to see the error of my ways – taken me almost losing you – but now I see I never should have pushed you away. Instead I should have told you the truth: that I love you, exactly as you are."
Haru swallows. For the first time, she's glad of the blindfold – glad that neither can see the effect those words have had on her. Still, her mouth wavers as she turns her head to the left.
She doubts either one miss the way it takes her two tries before she can speak, and when she does she cannot fully hide the tremour.
"Now you."
Left Baron doesn't speak immediately. Though she can hear his breathing to be steady, she can feel his erratic pulse from the wrist caught in her grip.
"It would be a lie to say things would not be... simpler, if you were a Creation," Left Baron says. In contrast to Right Baron's heartfelt fervour, Left Baron's words are soft and sad. "Humans are so fragile and, sometimes, I think you forget that. But I don't. I can't. I look at you, and I see all the close shaves, all the near misses, all the times I could have lost you, and it breaks my heart."
His fingers brush against hers, so briefly that she could almost believe she imagined it.
"So would I have thrown you out of the Bureau had you been a Creation? No."
Haru can't help it; a pained, disgusted sound rises through her throat. She releases Left Baron's wrist before she can stop herself, but he grabs her hand.
"But would I love you if you were a Creation?" he asks, and his grip is firm and just a shade off desperate. "I don't know. Maybe. But even if I did, I would be in love with a different person. You would be different. Your compassion and bravery is rooted by your mortality, strengthened by your humanity, and that is the Haru I fell in love with."
Haru blinks and, even blindfolded, her eyes water. "It's you." She drops her hand away from Right Baron and cups Left Baron's face. She feels the dimple where eyes rest. No buttons. "It's really you."
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
lost in the sauce (mermaid au) - dunno why this is so fun for me ?? i think it's curing my art block
#my art#the bedlam stacks#mermaid au#it's no longer mermay#the bottom left image is inspired by the moodboard c:#glowy water#this coloring style is really fun for me#it's sort of close to painting#might do some more art of them#i wish i could write haha
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Clem's real life journey in Caravaya vs his and Merrick's fictional one!
#the more I read about clements markham in actual history books (AND his own writing) the faster I am becoming a clem lover.#natasha why did you do him so dirty#the bedlam stacks#sir clements markham
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
I started writing a self-insert OC Venture Bros fic but idk if I'll finish it, however what I've got is too good not to share (spoilers for season 6 & 7)
"This... Is our new target. Or, I guess more like this is Venture's newest Guild mandated arch."
Henchman 21 leaned over the dining room table, shuffling the stack of papers around so he could read them better.
"Doctor Bedlam?" 21 hissed through his teeth, a sympathetic twist in his furrowed brows. "He's like. Y'know."
"What? Like what?" The Monarch demanded. He had one fist propped up on his cocked hip, the other spread flat across the table. It was still a bit funny to see him in both his cowl and a silk robe. "You chickening out on me now, huh?"
"No, no, no, no," 21 shook his head emphatically. "I just think we should exercise some uh... Extra level of caution."
"Is there something I'm missing here?" The Monarch held up their target's picture. "Are you really that afraid of this fucking... Tony Stark/Slumdog Millionaire lookin' motherfucker?"
"The only reason why Doctor Bedlam isn't a 10 is he doesn't actively kill," 21 crossed his arms, one brow quirked. "Imagine a beast like Red Death but sub the bloodlust for, like, literal clinical psychopathy. You wanna act casual about that?"
"Really?" The Monarch looked at the picture again, pursing his lips in thought. "This guy? He looks like one of those cringey pick-up artists but he only goes after yacht club college girls."
Henchman 21 simply shrugged.
"I'm only speakin' the facts, boss. Don't underestimate this guy."
"Feh," The Monarch flapped his hand and let the sheet of paper flutter back down onto the table, already distracted by an exploration of the fridge. "Nothing the mighty Blue Morpho and his trusty Kano can't handle. We'll suit up after breakfast."
🦋🦋🦋
The Monarch-- or rather, Blue Morpho whistled in appreciation once he and 'Kano' were dropped off by taxi at their location.
"Damn, nice digs," The Monarch mumbled. "What floor is this guy on again?"
"Penthouse suite," Henchman 21 double-checked his notes before folding up the paper into a tiny square and tucking it in his pocket. "Top floor, baby. This guy's an arms dealer, he's like rich rich."
"Like Batman rich or like...?"
"I've heard rumors he's like Oprah rich."
"Daaamn."
Shockingly, the duo got into the building with no issue. Strange. The security seemed non-existent, the only visible employee being some older guy snoring at the front desk. They slipped into the elevator but when The Monarch reached for the penthouse button, 21 superceded him, obscuring it with a cupped palm.
"We'll take the floor below then climb the stairs to the roof," He encouraged, thumbing the 29th floor instead. "Who knows what kinda shit he's got waiting for us at the door."
"I still think you're overreacting," The Monarch rolled his eyes but didn't fight back, leaning against the wall as the elevator ascended. "Why the hell would the Guild assign such a supposed level 11 badass to a shmuck like Venture?"
"No clue," 21 frowned for a moment. "It's not like Dr. Venture goes out and does superhero work, he's kind of a shut-in."
"Yeah," The Monarch snickered. "He doesn't save cats in trees or kiss babies or whatever. Sometimes he's almost as much a villain as I am. Did you know he powered one of his inventions with a fucking dead orphan kid once?"
"Fucked up but also hardcore."
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Just across the hall was the emergency exit and, once again, the pair slipped out and up with no issues whatsoever. After a brief climb, they were on the roof and overlooking the rest of New York City from a bird's eye view.
"Alright, here's a vent we can enter through," 21 grunted with effort as one of his knives popped open the grate. "This should hopefully take us to the living room but we'll take it nice and slow."
"Move over," The Monarch barked, easily tucking both long legs into the vent, using a swift rush of momentum to zoom in like a slide. "And have more confidence in your leader!"
Crawling on hands and knees, they managed to move rather quietly, pausing over every subsequent grate to peek down and do some reconnaissance. There were exits into a master bathroom, the living room, the kitchen, and what looked like a study. It was too dark to tell but that seemed advantageous so 21 silently lifted the grate and the pair soundlessly hit the floor on two feet.
#venture bros#vbros#the venture brothers#the monarch#henchman 21#vikram joshi#doctor bedlam#fanfic#writings#teehee#self-insert#my oc
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
It's the way love is presented as a warning throughout The Bedlam Stacks.
‘That’s what you have to be careful of.' That's what the stewards warned Merrick as they passed the scene of the markayuq holding the human bones in his arms, the last moment being of them kissing. It comes as a warning to both humans and markayuq, especially the latter. They are not the sort made for love. That girl's bones won't be laid to rest, and that markayuq will wake up, probably grieving at what he's done.
Despite the grim scene, Mr "he had managed to become more important than Clem or cinchona or anything else" Tremayne over here BLUSHES. Because he doesn't see despair, he sees a private moment between lovers, put up on display for everybody to see!! This display is in the front fucking entrance for a reason!! Do you guys see realize how insane his reaction is??
It was the same way I couldn’t look at French postcards; a kind
of pointless prudishness that came from never having married.
This line drives me nuts every single day.
And we come back to Raphael, who doesn't expect much from anybody. Who's first real friend died for him waiting, who sent his son in his place so that Raphael wouldn't wake up all alone, and who's OWN SON did what two previous generations of Tremaynes couldn't do: wait with the patience of a man who just wanted to have coffee again with his closest friend.
Love was a warning, that's how it goes for all immortal stories. But in a world where they'll never have enough time and the odds are against them, it's all they have. They can't have this, they shouldn't be allowed to have this and it will only end in heartbreak. But by GOD will they try, and be all the more better for it.
#fic writing is going a little insane as you can see#have i talked enough about the markayuq with the human bones in their hands?#i dont think ive talked enough about it#when will pulley write another book thats just like the bedlam stacks but isnt the bedlam stack but is the bedlam stacks#when will we get another raphael#where is my bedlam stacks 2!!! thats the better question!!!#the bedlam stacks#tbs#natasha pulley
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
yeah fuck it why not
anyway. poll for initiative: bedlam is good. the main characters are delightful and also in love. i'm writing about their first time together. this is a piece of that bcus i'm going feral about my own writing. lmao.
A thought apparently shared by Cassandra, as she sat up and Lys got the world’s best seat to Cassandra pulling off her shirt and tossing it somewhere else in the cabin. She settled on her knees, staring down at Lys for a moment to let them both catch their breath. Her skin glowed in the lantern light, the flames catching the peaks and valleys of her muscles and the streaks of her body hair, the orange blending with red to make something ethereal, like the fae who used to try and lure Lys deeper into the woods. There was a scar that started at Cassandra’s belly button and trailed up and under one of her breasts that Lys had never seen before. Her breasts themselves, free of her shirt, were practically begging for Lys to hold them. Looking up from her position lying underneath Cassandra, Lys suddenly understood why people knelt in church.
Lys sat up, relishing in how quickly Cassandra’s hands were on her again as they crashed back together. They slipped under her shirt and to her waist, holding Lys tight and bracing her against the lips that started with a proper kiss and quickly moved on to explore the parts of her neck and jaw that made Lys moan and shudder. Lys’s hands wandered between shudders, landing everywhere she could touch -- Cassandra’s hips, her waist, her back, her breasts, her shoulders, her neck -- to test for the touches and places that made Cassandra stutter and whine in turn. Trailing her nails along the curves of Cassandra’s muscles earned her consistent noises of appreciation and she delighted in how her nipples perked up when Lys cradled them in the dips between her fingers; Cassandra pricked the soft parts of her jaw on her fangs as her nails dug into Lys’s skin, lighting up nerves that had never been so awake before. Heat was continuing to gather in Lys’s abdomen as her body tried to process how much pleasure she was feeling even with no hands passing her waistband. Despite a gut feeling that she wasn't at risk of cumming untouched, it certainly felt like a possibility, as though the pleasure from being lavished alone would drive her over the edge. And perhaps it would have, if she hadn't found herself practically drooling over the idea of getting her mouth and fingers on Cassandra and earning a few even louder sounds, at the idea that the favor could be returned -- Cassandra’s fingers were thicker than her own, after all. And Cassandra had yet to bite her. Gods, she wanted everything about her. The sensation coursing through her was more akin to a hunger than any lust she’d felt before tonight, a craving for everything they could give each other, a desperation to put her hands on every inch of her girlfriend and commit all of it to memory. Was this the kind of desire that drove people to madness, to heroics, to acts of true devotion? Was this what people meant when they talked about true love? The lanterns flared up as she moved her hands to Cassandra’s face and crashed their mouths together in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and a rushing, boiling desire to make her entire mouth taste like Cassandra.
#little rock.txt#ciaran does the art#poll for initiative#poll for initiative: bedlam#suggestive#also. hi riley lmao djsklfjksda#welcome to my blog i'm a lesbian and i like writing about lesbians#also this isn't Actually the part i'm Most feral about but that part i'd have to tag that with uuhhh other things <3#i need to finish this fic i'm going to go into my own walls y'all
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
The first "I love you" between them is an accident.
They're heading back from a mission, in the back of the carrier where it is darkest and easiest on Ebenholz's migraines. There is a bench back here where he can lie down with his head in Czerny's lap, eyes shut and face nuzzled into the elafia's stomach so those caprinae horns don't risk stabbing anything. Here, they are close to the engine, but its rhythmic sounds are almost soothing, even with the occasional jostle of the carrier.
Czerny's hands stroke his hair, fingers trailing through the waves like a dark river, dipping down to his neck here and there to massage at tight muscles. Warmth that lingers even when those fingers move on. The composer is humming a lullaby that fills his whole body, so Ebenholz can feel it buzzing through him as he hears it.
For a moment, even with the ravages of his headache, this is his favorite place in the world.
"I love you."
The words slip unbidden from his lips, mumbled into cloth and skin. The hand in his hair pauses, palm resting light against his neck. Is it close enough to feel Ebenholz's pulse quicken as the weight of his own admission settles in? Is it about to pull away, these three words being one intimacy too far even in this darkness?
No. "I love you too." Low and whispered, tender with a note of surprise. Like discovering a seed has finally sprouted. Fingers trace from neck to jawline, down to his chin, up to his lips. Two fingers press close, a kiss without displacing either of them. "And I have no plans to go anywhere. Rest easy, my heart."
Unseen in the darkness, Ebenholz smiles.
#surprise! minific be upon ye#bedlam writes#arknights czerny#ebenholz#czernholz#ebenholz/czerny#I was struck by a brief but powerful vision. enjoy.
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
i wanna talk about what i’m planning for down into bedlam so fucking bad but i don’t want to spoil anything so i’m standing here like
#gonna be saying this everytime i bring it up: down into bedlam was that undertale fic i talk abt writing#just 2 avoid confusion
16 notes
·
View notes
Note
Might I ask your opinions on Steve/Nat/Bucky as a throuple?
Not my thing because amongst other reasons I'm honestly just not that interested in Bucky -- I see the attraction and I know a lot of people who are very into him, but it's not a character type that does anything for me. I also feel like I've just been really overexposed to Bucky in fandom, both on his own and in various ship combinations, and am generally kind of burnt out on the character and ships thereof over the course of the last 13 years in and around MCU fandom. I don't have anything against the character on his own, I just basically see too much of him around. (As well as being here on the Tumblr/AO3 side of the fandom, I'm also in the pin-collecting and cosplay sides, and if you're anywhere around the Captain America and Black Widow segments of the fandom, there is just...a lot of Bucky. Which is understandable but kind of frustrating for me if I'm not there for that particular character.)
In general I also find that it's impossible to find any kind of BuckyNat (or combos thereof) that's MCU-based rather than comics-based, which means disregarding basically everything about Natasha's backstory and characterization from the MCU in order to transfer her comics backstory over to the MCU, which is a huge no-go for me these days. (This was a little more understandable back in 2012 when there just wasn't that much to go on, but it is 2024 now; in general I find most of the fic that stems from 2011-2016 to be near-unreadable for me these days which is actually incredibly frustrating, since until I started writing in it the MCU was my longest-running reading fandom even when I wasn't actually in the fandom. There are fics -- of various ships -- that I have been reading for ten plus years that I can't read anymore.) I realize I got seriously into the fandom after the Black Widow movie came out, but even before that you couldn't really transfer her comics backstory over to the MCU, with or without the Bucky relationship. I've also found, reading the ship on and off over the course of the past thirteen years (like I said, I've been here for a while), that very few authors are actually interested in the SteveNat of that particular threesome and it tends to slant towards being a combination of BuckyNat and SteveBucky rather than a true OT3. And I'm a SteveNat truther, so... *hands*
The short version of all that is that it doesn't do it for me, but I get why people like it.
#sorry that this is a bummer of an answer!#I think I was actually thinking about this the other day because I reread some combination of stevebuckynat fics#and was trying to figure out why I had such a negative reaction to them#my curse is that of the various steve-bucky-natasha-peggy ships I virulently hate all of them#except for stevebucky which I am neutral on these days but don't actually ship#and stevenat because I am a stevenat truther#every other combo in there I really dislike and unfortunately nearly all the combos are more common than stevenat#which everyone else characterizes differently than I do anyway#well probably not EVERYONE but I've never read a fic that hits the points about it that do it for me#and then I hit the point where I mostly had to give up reading in my writing fandom#skywalkerrisen#bedlam replies
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
A/N: and now the fun officially begins! When/if I finish this, I do plan to upload this to AO3, but you lovely folk shall be my guinea pigs ;)
Part 1
x
Haru never meant to fall for Baron a second time but, as it turns out, she has a type – and that type is unattainable immortal cat gentleman.
She hadn't even fallen for him in the same way, which might at least have been understandable. No, this time she hadn't fallen for his suave ways, his chiverous habits, or his ability to save one in the nick of time and look good while doing it (although none of these things had dissuaded her). This time, she had fallen for him while older, allegedly wiser, and working with the Bureau (which, given the number of near misses, might have nullified the wiser claim) in a hundred mundane little moments.
She fell for his laugh (all of them, from his breathless, I'm about to do something reckless laugh that accompanied them on too many cases, to his sheepish chuckle when he was trying not to encourage more of Muta and Toto's bickering, to the silent laughter she could feel while they sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, reading beside one another). She fell for the way he would read aloud whatever passage had caught his humour, voice velvet-smooth, and the way he would listen to her when she read from her own novel. She fell for their conversational cups of tea, for their shared knowing looks, for the rightness when they worked in tandem on a case.
She fell slowly, gently, until one day she realised that there was no place she'd rather be than alongside him and their Bureau.
The only real flaw (okay, perhaps not the only flaw, but the one which was a source of some consternation) was that Baron was... well, somewhat elusive when it came to voicing matters of the heart. (A cruel irony, given that her first encounter with him, so many years ago now, had been the catalyst for her finding her own voice.)
She was... fairly certain he returned her feelings. 77% perhaps 82% on a good day. After all, there were only so many ways to translate the looks he threw her way and her way alone. (At least, she assumed; she hadn't spotted Toto or Muta receiving any such looks, but that didn't entirely rule out it just being Baron being Baron - i.e. being utterly oblivious as to what someone else would consider flirting.) And, had he been anyone else, she might have plucked up the courage to come forward with her own inconvenient, lovestruck emotions, and hope he either swooned into her arms, or did the polite thing and pretend it never happened if her feelings were somehow one-sided.
But he wasn't anyone else. This was Baron, her coworker (boss? colleague?? She wasn't entirely sure what the hierarchy was in the Bureau) for whom the phrase 'needlessly dramatic' had been created, and who had leapt out of a window upon being plied with a love confession at least twice. (And that was counting only windows and only incidences Haru was aware of. She suspected the actual number of times Baron had made a dramatic exit following someone else's outpouring of emotions was probably far, far higher.)
So she knows to hold her tongue, to keep her heart under lock and key where Baron is concerned. And she is okay with this – has accepted this in an adult, mature way (read: complaining copiously to Hiromi, who is rather under the impression Haru is pining after a fellow volunteer at the charity she spends her weekends at) as an unexpected cost of running with the Bureau. After all, the price of a little pining was worth it for the adventure, and magic, and travelling to other worlds which had drawn her back to the Cat Bureau in the first place.
Even if, sometimes, those other worlds don't always agree with her.
She sits on a Bureau armchair now and tries not to bleed onto the furniture. (She had suggested getting fixed up outside, but Baron had informed her in no uncertain terms that she wasn't about to be left on any paving slabs in her current state.) She leans her head back, gently lightheaded from the blood loss, and makes the concious decision to not watch Baron patch up her bloodied shoulder. It wasn't that she was usually squeamish but... well, she didn't really want to think about how much blood she'd misplaced.
"Before you scold me," she says to the ceiling, "you should remind yourself that you would have done the exact same thing if our roles had been reversed."
"Indeed," he replies tightly, "but only one of us isn't going to bleed out if stabbed."
"If I hadn't interceded, he would have burnt you to a crisp. And we both know that that's one thing your Creation tricks wouldn't have saved you from."
"Instead, you take it upon yourself to have a cutlass run through you."
"I didn't mean for it to happen," she argues ruefully. "Strangely enough, I was more occupied with getting the fireglove off him. The cutlass was incidental." Her breath hitches as Baron catches on the wound.
She feels him freeze, and there is an unspoken apology in his next attempt to tend to the injury. "It very nearly wasn't incidental," he admonishes. "A little bit more to the right, and he would have cleaved your heart in two."
"Then it's just as well I dodged left, isn't it?"
"It could have easily gone either way."
"But it didn't. Baron, I know what I'm doing."
"And that is?"
"Well, today it was stopping you from getting turned into ornamental firewood, and only getting minorly stabbed."
"This isn't minor," he grumbles.
"It's not fatal." She rolls her gaze to Baron, raising an eyebrow. "What was I meant to do? Stand back and watch the love of my life be used like kindle?"
His ministrations falter; from this proximity she can see the way his eyes widen, hear the way his breath catches.
Oh.
See, this is why conversations when one is down a pint and a half of blood is a bad idea, she laments. You do stupid things like confess long-repressed crushes and you can't even make a run for it.
"I didn't realise–" he begins. Now he is the one carefully avoiding her gaze, attention fixed doggedly on her shoulder.
"Yeah, well, I did my best to avoid shouting it from the rooftops. Already did that once, it didn't get me very far." She hopes to tug a reluctant smile free with that joke, but his expression doesn't shift.
"How long have you felt this way?"
"About... a year?" Long enough to assure herself she wasn't merely experiencing a repeat of her original schoolgirl crush – that this was, unfortunately, not going anywhere. "I didn't want to make things awkward, and, you know, you don't have the greatest track record with reacting to these sorts of things, so I just..."
"Stayed."
"Yeah." There is a shadow in Baron's eyes which she does not recognise. "Look, I'm an adult. I'm not going to let it get in the way of helping here – I mean, you don't seem to have realised I felt this way until now," which, honestly, she's a little disappointed to learn, "so obviously I've been handling it just fine..."
"Is that why you keep returning here?" he asks. His voice is soft in a way Haru doesn't know how to read. "For me?"
She snorts, and then immediately regrets it as her shoulder blazes into pain again. "I mean, way to reduce me down to a one-note lady, Baron. I come here because I like the work we do here – I like the other worlds and the magic and the helping – and I like seeing Toto and Muta too. But," and her body somehow manages to summon up the spare blood for a blush, "I would be lying if I said that spending time with you wasn't also a part of that."
"You nearly died today because of that."
"I've been nearly dying since before we ever met," she reminds him bluntly. "The only reason I ever found the Bureau in the first place was because I ran in front of a speeding lorry trying to save a cat. And then when I was twenty, I nearly drowned trying to haul a kid out of a river. I'm pretty good at nearly dying, emphasis on the nearly."
"One day it may be fatal."
"I'm mortal. That's kind of unavoidable."
Baron is silent for a good long while. He's almost finished binding up Haru's shoulder, when he says, "I'm not so sure this was a good idea."
Haru rolls her eyes. "I did say I was going to bleed all over your furniture if you insisted on me sitting here–"
"Not that." He pins the bandages into place and his hand automatically lingers there, before making the concious decision to break the contact. It feels pained, somehow. "Your being part of the Bureau."
Haru snatches a breath; her shoulder flares up again but she barely even notes it. Baron's words feel like a kick in the ribs. "Because of some near miss? Come on, Baron; I think I've proven that I can handle myself."
"Love makes us reckless," Baron says. His gaze is on his hand. Blood stains the ginger fur; already it's starting to dry a russet-brown. "As it did today. You didn't know you would survive the altercation today – but more importantly, it didn't matter to you if it meant saving me. And I cannot be responsible for that."
"You say that like it wasn't my own choice."
"Then let me rephrase: I don't want to see you throw away your life for me."
"Then look away," Haru says curtly.
"I have." His eyes crinkle, shame lining his brow. "I've chosen not to see the sacrifices you make in your human life to be with the Bureau – the lies you've had to tell, the secrets you've kept, the moments you've missed."
"I haven't–"
"It was your mother's 60th last month," he says, "and you spent it with us, trying to track down an assassin in the Shadow Kingdom."
"To be fair, I didn't know that case was going to overrun so badly."
"I know you had an offer of promotion at your work, but you turned it down when it meant less flexible hours you wouldn't be able to change if a case turned up."
"So I like having more control over my days off, so what?"
"You lie constantly to your best friend to cover up the scars you suffer while working here."
"What am I meant to tell her? That a ghost pirate stabbed me? It's fine, Baron. I have everything under control."
"No," he says, "you don't. But you will soon."
Unease creeps beneath Haru's skin. "What do you mean by that?"
He finally meets her gaze, and the apology in his eyes is overshadowed only by his own surety. "It means, Miss Haru, that from today onwards you are free from the Cat Bureau." He stands, and the distance between them is only a foot, but it might as well have been a mile. "We will not be needing your services again."
#the cat returns#cat writes#bedlam au#i tried so hard to keep baron in character#even if he does make stupid decisions#it's essential for the plot dont worry!
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
I subscribe to a Batman who is happy and CARES. To the Batman that after discovering Killer Croc killed two cops trying to protect homeless people from them, just let Waylon go scoot free. To the Batman that wants the Robins to not be like him. To the Batman that promissed Killer Tut that he wouldn't let the doctors/wardens in Arkham abuse him nor any of the patients again and meant it, that was sorry he wasn't able to do it before. To the Batman who helped Clayface rehabilitate and accepted him into his vigilante family. To the Batman that supported Harley and was glad she lefted Joker. To the Batman who say how tje Drakes negleted their son and aitomatically letted Tim move to the mansion. To the Batman who say a young kid steal wires and decided the kid needed support. To the Batman who failed Jason because he hoped that meeting his mother would help him. To the Batman who did his best to convince Clark to accept and raise Conner. To the Batman who started trying to garantee no lod would have to lost their parents and that realized that he wanted more than that, that he wanted a Gotham that people liked to love in. To the Batman who could've healed any other city but failed cause Gotham is cursed and still keeps trying cause he cares.
But unfortunally this Batman is rare. Specially after Miller and Nolan sucesses. We still have him from time to time. But not always.
And Arkham is Bedlam (fourth day reminding people that). The most important part of Batman's rogues gallery exists or because the system failed them again and again and people don't care about mental heath or - in the worst case scenario - because the writers see mental illness as a moral failure. Bruce is a hero cause he doesn't develops it. His vilans are evil cause they are crazy. (I do preffer the one who doesn't stigmatizes it and again a good Batman media is also a good critique of the instituions of power and the prejudice put over neurodivergent and mentaly ill people or just use the also huge but not so popular part of Bruce's gallery that is just capitalistic assholes and forms to preserve the corrupt system or just sane and evil).
Anyway. Batman is my favorite hero when portrait right. Wich is not soo often, but when we have it, it's beutifull.
#batman#batman rogues#arkham#arkham makes the villans worse#arkham is bedlam#bad written bruce will be the death of me#asshole batman will give me an angry hearth attack#this was a very different post#but the two parts didn't match#so I'll just end here and make another post about how Flash is great and how Batman rogues would be better of with him#but yeah flashfamily is the healthier dc hero familily#again on the context of asshole bruce wich is unfortunally common#still#this is my batman love letter#but also me begging DC to stop writing asshole bruce
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
I just had the thought that even though Raphael couldn't/wasn't allowed to travel further than a few towns away from Bedlam, we know that markayuq can at least in special cases, therefore I present to you the idea: Merrick & Raphael's post-markayuqisation trip to the beach. Raphael should be allowed to see the ocean at least once, I think.
#I don't know where I got the idea that he physically can't get too far away from Bedlam#but I always imagined some sort of magic that makes him ill if he gets too far away or something#the bedlam stacks#one day I'll write about it#once again we return to the logistical question of: how on earth do you transport a markayuq thousands of miles without anyone noticing#they got matthew to Cornwall somehow...
11 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
decaffeinatedstarlightbear
Untitled
healthandfitnesstrainer
Health and Fitness Information
eelectronics
Untitled
kemperpunch
Andre Kemper punching at Things
multirenowacja
multirenowacja.pl