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anothertimdrakestan · 3 years

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Heat Waves (TimKon)

Words: 3k

Hi! I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve been working on this for way too long and definitely have a pt2 planned out if you guys like part one! I hope you’ll take the time to read this because I spent way too long on it and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out!

for the like 0.1% of my audience that this overlaps with, yes, i too am utterly obsessed with Heat Waves for DNF and have been listening to this song on repeat for three days straight waiting for chapter 8. But, i figured why not let that amazing piece of absolute art inspire a Timkon fic cuz they have the same dynamic as DNF in my eyes! All credits go to tbhyourelame on ao3!

if you don’t know what heat waves is that’s fine this is just a regular fic but I highly recommend you checkout the amazing song here

It was as hot as death itself in Kansas. Not to mention a farm with no AC was just about the worst place Conner could be forced to “vacation” at. But Ma and Pa had been begging to have him over and the month of June just seemed to overlap, so there Kon was, sweating buckets in the middle of nowhere.

It felt so cold in Gotham. Though, the temperature was comfortable- the most comfortable it had been all year- but Tim always felt colder, lonelier, when Conner wasn’t by his side. The two of them were a duo, fitting together like a puzzle piece, the absolute best of friends and best of heroes. But now, he was using his mandatory away-from-the-tower weeks up while Conner was in Kansas, it was some sort of mandate that Bruce’s kids come home occasionally and instead of suffering weekends in Gotham Tim opted to just grind out a few weeks at the manor, even if it meant dealing with Damian’s unrelenting murder attempts. But it wasn’t all bad, Tim got to patrol with Bruce again, hang out with Jason occasionally, and even see Dick from time to time. “Family” bonding at it’s finest.

“Hello?” Tim’s voice was quiet, Kon constantly felt himself turning the volume button up on his phone just to hear a decibel more of his best friend’s comforting tone.

“Hey Timbers how was your day?” Conner felt himself relaxing to the light sound of Tim breathing, he was laying on the floor, spread like a starfish so that no sticky part of his body could touch and create more sweat.

“Nothing much, no patrol tonight- I guess you remembered,” Tim’s voice was filling his ears. I remember everything you tell me. “Yeah, yeah I did,” Conner quickly replied. “Any boring farm chores today?” Conner heard the familiar rustling, he could hear Tim stand up, he’d memorized the sound of Tim taking him off speaker and resting the phone in between his shoulder and ear. He could hear Tim’s hair, that he knew he was probably growing out, brush the mic. I always liked his hair longer.

“Kon?” Tim snapped him back into the stiflingly hot room. “Oh sorry, it’s really hot here, kinda makes me zone out. Um, I’m alright I got to hangout with the cows today which was cool- they don’t like the heat either but Ma says it’ll be over soon,” Conner rambled, all too focused on Tim’s breath in his ear.

“Sorry for making you zone out, I guess nothing interesting is happening here,” Tim sighed, Conner shook his head, rolling over on the floor, leaning down into the mic of his phone.

“Nothing about you bores me Tim,”

Tim didn’t reply. Conner mentally cursed himself, he was really too tired, too hot and bothered to be this flirtatious with Tim, who was a complete wild card when it came to Conner.

And then he answered, Tim’s voice was higher pitched, the way it ascended when he was blushing- he was blushing. “Well that’s not true, I’m very boring. When I’m doing cases or training or-” Conner couldn’t take it.

“Nothing about you could bore me Tim. I’m down to be with you whenever, doing whatever, you know that,” he felt his tone soften, loving the way Tim’s breath hitched with every compliment.

“Be with me?” Tim shot back playfully, Conner could practically hear the smirk toying on the smaller boy’s lips.

“Did I stutter?” Conner heard a loud noise, a thump. Tim’s voice was high pitched again, “Sorry- uh I dropped my phone,” Conner felt himself growing warmer, if at all physically possible. “No problem. So, what are you doing tomorrow with Bruce?” Conner didn’t like pushing Tim too far, hell, he barely knew how he felt half the time. Tim’s voice brightened, “Oh! We’re gonna go to this old ice cream shop I adored as a kid! It’s been too long since I’ve been there, you remember me talking about it?”

Conner didn’t need a second to answer, “Sub 30, you always get the one with the espresso poured over it,” he couldn’t lie, ice cream sounded absolutely heavenly at the moment. Tim’s voice flooded through the heat, “Right as always- I swear they programmed some sort of photographic memory inside of you,” Tim teased, Conner answered honestly, “I just listen when you tell me things”. The night went on, Tim quickly had to go, believe it or not he did sleep when given the opportunity. “Try not to die of heat exhaustion, drink lots of water throughout the day, not all at once,” Conner smiled, “will do, goodnight Timmy,” Tim answered mid yawn, “night Kon”.

And then he was alone. Alone with the heat, with his thoughts, the latter far more dangerous. He’s my best friend, of course I remember everything. Conner found himself staring at the ceiling, Ma had painted constellations on the walls and ceilings of the room, something funny about alien genes liking the stars. Conner used to be able to find every pattern, name every star, but the only shape he could trace was Tim. There were his eyes, they were pools of deep blue, they sparkled when he laughed but could glare bullets when he tried. If he stared hard enough Kon could find his hair, it’s always soft and smells delicious, layers falling effortlessly- cascading to frame his face. Then there were his lips, Conner found himself constantly mesmerized with the way Tim bit his bottom lip when thinking, the way they scrunched together when he said something funny, how they constricted when he bit the inside of his cheek just enough to hide the emotion he was so scared of portraying. They were perfect.

He let the heat take his mind, flowing with the stars as he thought dangerous thoughts about his best friend. His thoughts danced around Tim’s waist, flowing carefully around his chest, wrapping Kon in every layer of Tim’s personality, every smile, laugh, tear, scowl, it was Tim. Kon’s Tim.

And there, on the floor, he drifted to an uncomfortable, sweaty sleep.

Tim was scrolling aimlessly through his phone, Gotham was surprisingly boring. He once found the city bustling and distinctly alive but now it only left him cold, cold and bored.

“Ice cream as good as you remember?” Bruce’s voice lifted him from his device. “Yup! Can’t believe you let me have espresso at like 10, you basically started my addiction.” Tim threw on a smile, glancing down at the half eaten dessert. “Yeah, can’t say I was the best father but, I tried,” Bruce’s shoulders shook lightly, but the laughter didn’t make it to his eyes. Did you really try? Truly? Tim dove back into the creamy sweet, admiring the bitterness the espresso brought the flavor. His phone buzzed.

K: Did you get the ice cream?

T: yeah, you remembered?

K: You literally told me last night

T: have i been off your mind since?

K: No.

Conner always did this, every time Tim thought he’d throw him off guard with something funny or flirtatious just to have a little fun Kon took it and ran with it. And I’m always the one who ends up blushing. Tim thought, shaking his head. It was really his fault he let Conner get him riled up. They were best friends, flirting or dealing out little sexual quips were natural, and often pretty funny.

“Earth to Tim? I’ve got a meeting you wanna head back while I head to the office?” Tim glanced over at Bruce who was now standing up in front of him. “Yeah, I can work on cases back at the manor, you gonna head to the office?” stretching his arms he stood up, noticing Bruce had put on his business face- the one stone cold and dry that only brought back the worst memories. “Yes.” His response was gruff, Tim suppressed the shudder that tried to dance down his spine. “Uh yeah, I’ll head back, have a nice day B,” he smiled, hoping it made it to his eyes.

“You can’t keep calling me while I’m on patrol, it’s not safe,” Tim chastised Conner loosely, appreciating the company as his patrol with Damian was always deathly silent. “C’mon, you’re used to having me in your ear,” Tim gulped, glancing around for Damian who was three buildings over, deeply uninterested. “Kon, oh my god, I’m gonna mute you,” Tim whispered, revelling in the chuckle that stirred in Conner’s chest. It was deep, and warm, so distinctly warm Tim felt the heat budding in his chest.

“So, patrol with the demon? He hasn’t cut your grapple line yet?” Conner’s tone was low and silky smooth. Coughing to clear his throat Tim replied, “nope, he’s most horrific when Bruce is here, when he’s not the punk couldn’t care less whether I live or die,”

“I care,”

“I know Kon,” If only you knew how much I appreciated it.

“Asshole, can you hear me? I said we’ve got a gang robbery on second? You coming genius?” Damian’s disgusted tone flooded over his comm, and Tim quickly turned his attention to the bat-brat who was already grappling towards the alarms and shouts. Conner’s whisper asked, “can he hear me?” and Tim replied, “no, you’re on a separate channel, Dami can only hear me when I unmute. Just be quiet while I take out these thugs,”

“Why? Because my voice distracts you?” Conner’s tone shifted into dangerously flirtatious.

“No, cuz you’re annoying as shit,” Tim smirked, running across the top of a building, letting Damian call the signals so he didn’t get all upset.

“Do I make you uncomfortable Tim? Do I make you forget just exactly what you’re doing, whether you want to use your batarang or bo staff? Do I make you, warm? Because it’s so warm here, so hot, god I’m just so hot I-”

“Shut. Up.” Tim struck the gun out of a scared looking man. Rolling his eyes at the man in his ear.

“Why? Are you too focused? We’ve taken out much harder criminals all while talking. Aren’t we just talking right now?” Kon’s voice was ringing in his head like never before.

“I’m trying to focus but it’s no good when you’re in my ear.”

“And what if I wasn’t in your ear? You remember? When we work side by side, so close- are you an affectionate person Tim?” Tim could feel the heat dripping off of Conner’s voice, but he was taken aback by Conner’s new line of thought.

“Wha- what? Am I affectionate? I don’t know. Sometimes?” Tim almost missed a hit, huffing as Damian blocked what would’ve been a hard blow on him. “Start paying attention Drake,” Damian’s tone was acidic. But he was drawn back into his com as Conner’s voice flooded his ears again.

“Would you be affectionate with me?”

“Yes” Tim’s breathless reply was instant, his brain not giving him a chance to think.

“Good, I like that. You know I’m very affectionate too? I like getting to hold the people I care about close, feeling their warmth. You know I’m very warm right now?”

“I- I know Kon, I bet, are you doing alright? Drinking water?” Tim shook out the thought of Conner lazing out in his room, sweaty, lips parted as he pushed out warm breath- Stop. Focus. Your job is to defend these people. Damian’s doing a good job, You just have to round up the civilians. Tim forced himself back into the real world, taking on one of the gang members with ease, tying him up swiftly before moving on to the next.

“I heard that, I can hear it every time you take out one of those men. This is easy isn’t it? I can’t be that distracting to you. You’re too good.”

“You always do this,” Tim felt his cheeks heating up, his steps felt forced, like he had to remind himself to breathe. Tim carefully rounded up civilians, escorting them to safety as Conner started again in his ear.

“Always do what Tim? Tell you how much I appreciate you? How much I miss you? Do you not think you deserve to be missed? To be loved?”

“Conner” Tim’s tone was harsher than he wanted it to be. But nonetheless Conner continued.

“Why not? Why the hell not? You’re amazing Tim.”

Tim scoffed, playing it off as a cough to the people in front of him.

“What do you need to hear Tim? That you’re amazing? Brilliant?-”

“Oh my god Kon-” Tim interrupted, but Conner wasn’t done.

“Talented? Impressive? [his tone deepended] - Attractive?”

“I’m gonna hang up,” Tim was breathing so hard he was practically hyperventilating. The compliments were all that consumed his thoughts, swirling around his brain, packing it full of deep, dangerously flammable thoughts.

And Conner was ready to let it burn.

“You need to be kissed Tim,” Conner murmurs, throat raw, “so hard that you can’t remember your name- maybe then you’ll understand what I mean.”

The batarang in Tim’s hand clattered to the floor. Damian’s head whipped to him as Tim struggled to regain function.

“I’m muting you, see you in a bit,” was all Tim could choke out before he ripped the earpiece out, unable to let it sit, burning into his skull. You’re almost done here, cool down, finish up. Tim told himself as he manually reminded himself to breathe. You’ve got this.

Conner knew Tim ended the call. But he didn’t have the energy to stop the endless beeping from the disconnected phone.

He was laying on the floor of his room, limbs spread out as he clawed for anything that could cool him down, but all he could feel was heat as he stared up at the stars.

He had to admit, he’d pushed Tim further than ever before. But it felt too right to stop, too good. He couldn’t stop replaying the way Tim’s breath hitched after every word, desperately grasping for the feeling budding up in his chest. It was too addictive to not let the words he’d spent too long crafting pour from his lips into Tim’s heart.

Kon didn’t know how long he laid there, dazed in the heat, just trying to relive word after perfect word.

Until his phone rang.

“Tim?” his voice was ragged and raw.

Tim’s was high pitched and tight. “Conner what the hell was that? Was that funny to you? Saying all those things- flirting with me while I’m trying to do my job?”

“Flirting?” Conner mused, staring at the stars with a tattered smirk on his face.

“Don’t act dumb, I don’t know what kind of sick joke it was saying all that while I’m on patrol but I’m glad you think you’re funny,” Tim’s voice was cold. But not the cooling tone, it was sharp, like the way the freeze of ice can feel so painfully hot when applied too harshly.

“I would’ve said it to you no matter what you were doing,” Conner whispered, resting his phone on his chest, wincing at the sticky noise it made as he tried to adjust it’s positioning.

“So that was just all for you? To let you listen as you screwed with my brain?” Tim retorted.

Conner was done dancing around the truth, all forms of control eluding his mind. “Yes,”

“That’s cruel Kon, can you imagine if I did that with you? Told you how you needed to be kissed while you’re out with Jon or something?” Tim sounded exasperated, but at the end of each quip Kon could hear the deep breaths he was taking. Does- Does he like this?

Tim continued. “Don’t answer that. Shut up, I know what you’re gonna say. ‘Oh Tim it’s not the same,’ just- just get out of my head!”

Conner sat up. He was floating. Floating in the middle of his room, the phone on his chest tumbling to the floor as he scrambled to grab it again, feeling his feet touch the ground as he held the phone as close to his lips as he could.

“What do you mean Tim? How am I in your head?” Do you feel the same way I do right now?

“You- you just know me. So well, and when you say stuff like that- when you’re in my ear saying those things your voice, it’s like fire, it burns.” Tim sounded desperate, his voice painfully strained.

Conner’s head was spinning, “I burn you?” he matched Tim’s desperate tone.

“You melt me.”

Conner’s head slammed against the roof of his room, as he tried to regain control of his senses he heard Tim murmur, “does that make sense?”

“More than you know Timbers, more than you know,” Conner could hear Tim let out a sigh, the kind that told him all would be okay.

As Conner took a deep breath, steadying himself for what was to come Tim spoke first. “It’s so late Kon, I’ve been up to long, I think I need to go to bed,” Tim’s tone was soft again, the cooling, comforting tone that Kon was scared he’d never hear again.

"Yeah, I- uh, have chores in the morning anyways.” Conner answered, hoping to give Tim some peace of mind.

“Okay, sounds good. Goodnight Conner,” Tim said quietly, his tone thoughtful and slow, finally letting the sleep crowd his mind.

“Goodnight Tim, talk to you tomorrow?” Conner let too much hope sink into those last few words.

“Yes, night now,” Tim answered easily, quickly hanging up the call, letting Conner sink down back into the carpet of his floor.

“Tomorrow,” Conner whispered to himself, feeling the intense heat start to creep back in as he drifted into a sweaty sleep.

“Tomorrow,” Tim whispered to himself, trying to swallow the nerves he didn’t know Conner could draw out of him.

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

not my usual fic but I really hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @vintageroses10 @idkmanicantenglish @kishony-the-geek @foenixphire @how--are--you @psych0crybaby @romance-is-tragic @birdy-bat-writes @subtleappreciation @officiallydarkgeek also kita cuz i love u and wanted to try writing timkon more in your style hehehe @river-bottom-nightmare

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jojolovenotes · 2 years

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i think a nostalgic thing i wanna show my fo's is all the things that made me wanna be a doctor! (i decided not to eventually, mostly because theres so much more schooling, but little kid me really wanted to!) i had this little doctors coat that i wore all the time that had my name one it (still have it somewhere), a mini crash cart that had a heart monitor, toy stethoscope, bandaids, those little reflex hammer that i had too much fun using on everyone and everything close to me, and little toy syringes. i also had a lot of books about the body, and sometimes borrowed my moms old greys anatomy, though growing up i just looked at the pictures cuz i was too young to understand. i also had a mini microscope that didnt work for shit (along with mini test tubes), a little mini anatomy figure (y'know, the thing that shows where all the organs are in a human), and a stethoscope that my grandma gave me. i also distinctly remember being obsessed with watching e.r. and dr g medical examiner growing up! it would be so much fun remininscing about it, and getting to show them something that helped shape who i am!

Aww! I’m sure your f/o’s would be very interested in hearing stories about your childhood and seeing those items you had as well! Especially Valerie of course, she’d be so enthused at your interest in science no wonder she loves you so much ☺️💕

#received transmission ✨#nonjojo ✨

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primehorded · 4 years

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Biomechanical Horde

I came into watching She-Ra as someone pure and untainted by the old series. Everything I learned about the characters and the universe, I learned from this show, and I wanted to write a breakdown of all the is-he-a-robot-is-he-an-alien evidence we see from Hordak, his brothers, and Big Brother himself, Horde Prime. (IDK if it was in the original but - Big Brother is watching, big brother sees all...inch resting and not at all political. Insert eye emoji)

FIRST we meet Hordak. Hordak appears to be a humanoid of no specified race, sharing some attributes with other races depicted in the show, but having some characteristics reminiscent of a robot. He has hair, he has ears that move and reflect his moods, similar to Double Trouble and Catra in that regard.

He also seems to have some proponents that are distinctly unnatural-looking. There isn’t enough detailing to be quite sure - no metallic glint on his skull-shaped face, for instance. Yet his eyes very distinctly to glow with light, even in darkness, and he has markings on his face and neck that could be where plates of metal/whatever unnatural material might meet, seams between the different parts and pieces he is made up of. However, these neater lines that look like plate seams also flow neatly into curved lines indicative of more natural-looking facial features.

He has very sharply defined cheek-hollows the same darker grey as his neck - but also going into his ears, which do not seem mechanical.

Then we later start to get a better idea of what Hordak is, when Entrapta walks in on him changing (tee-hee). Here his unnaturally white skin seems to be changing color, affected by his declining health, the dark blue spreading like tissue damage. He also is physically frail and dependent on clothing engineered to hold him together and allow him to function. Also, he’s in a halter top here. You’re welcome.

After Entrapta nurses him back to consciousness, he admits to her that he is a clone, and reveals a series of pods where more clones seem to be growing. He says he was created with a defect, and cast out because of it. It is unclear if the clones are still growing or if they were failed experiments, but I’m leaning towards failed experiments. It is also not specified if Hordak was intending to clone himself in order to add to his army, or if he was trying to create a new body to somehow transfer his own consciousness into later. Horde Prime is shown to have gone through many vessels himself, and also states his brothers “lend their life force to him” so that he can live indefinitely. Considering how expendable Horde Prime’s “little brothers” are to him, it seems doubtful that he would even bother allowing them their own indefinite lives through some sort of life-force taking or vessel changing. There is a possibility that Hordak might know a little bit about how Horde Prime’s process of doing so works, seeing as he seemed to be a clone closer to Horde-Prime before his defect was discovered. We are not given any clear answers on this. (I tried to find a cap of Hordak’s attempted clones but typing in anything like “Hordak’s Clones” into the search engine didn’t work cuz, ya know)

The only creation he seems to have successfully cultivated is the imp, pictured above in the lower right-hand corner. The imp also seems to have some biological properties - ears, hair, even eyebrows, as well as a distinct nose shape and seemingly natural wings. Flesh wings. Not metal wings or whatever. I don’t like referring to stuff as “flesh” though, my overlord says it really blows my cover. The imp definitely has mechanical properties as well though - glowing eyes similar to Hordak’s and, most notably, the ability to kind of tape-record things he can hear. When he catches Catra sharing some secrets and brings them back to Hordak, he doesn’t repeat them as if remembered or even imitate them, but just opens his mouth for the duration, like to allow access to a speaker in the back of his throat, and a tinny voice-recording of Catra’s voice can be heard. He also uses this ability to mock Hordak, because he’s a little asshole. Otherwise, the Imp doesn’t speak, other than a few vague noises like hissing. Do we ever find out what happens to the imp? I feel like we don’t. Rip

Entrapta creates a new kind of suit for Hordak, this time built like an exoskeleton to allow him to move and function beyond the ability and energy his original body can give anymore. It functions like part of his body, but isn’t surgically connected to him or anything. At least, that we see. Entrapta do be a freak like that tho.

When we finally meet Horde Prime, he too seems to share a mix of biological and mechanical aspects. He has the same snow-white skin, with markings that could resemble creases between plates/materials. He also has glowing eyes, as do his other clones, but he has white pupils that show in any body he inhabits when he moves his control/consciousness, as he seems to be able to fluidly among his clones and anyone chipped.

He has a few attributes that his clones do NOT share. He has extra eyes on his right side, with pupils of their own that are often looking other directions. This is the only part of him that is not symmetrical, and all of his clones are created and dressed in symmetrical clothing and features. He also has metal finger attachments on his index-fingers, which is very sexy but seems to cover a finger rather than replace them.

The other attribute he has that none of his other clones bear is them GLORIOUS, GLORIOUS LOCS. I mean I’ve heard of cyber locks, but this is ridiculous. Bad joke. At the crown of his head, his hair appears white, the same as his skin and the hair on the heads of all of his clones. There appears to be two beads or sections, one on each side at the parts of his hair that frame his perfect evil face. Further down though, the pseudo-dreads turn a medium grey, and then are capped off with sharp tips that DO reflect light the same way metal drawn in the show does. So do the metal creases under the tops of his shoulders - cheeky off-the shoulder armor, or metal joint?

He also has the ability to travel in the hive-mind network of every chipped being (including his clones), and access information like a file. Entrapta later “hacks” it like a software. Can you uninstall Horde Prime? Does he have ad-blocker?

We also see him utilize an unspecified green liquid, a pool of which he uses to make Hordak “pure”. Hordak alights in sparks when he enters it, like a toaster in a bathtub. This obviously effects him though in a very natural physical way, crying out in pain, and Horde Prime remarks that his suffering is necessary for his purity. If he was just throwing some water on him to short out his mechanical processors for a HARD hard reboot, he wouldn’t have any reason to have this lime green pool of...whatever. And whatever this substance is, it’s important enough to be the only color in or on Prime Horde or any of his clones. I’m gunna call it Horde Juice. It’s not the quenchiest.

Back to the hair. His “hair” is kept back and tied out of the way for most of the time, except for in the finale, when we see it being used to kind of funnel the Horde Juice straight into his brainicals. Horde Prime’s hair tubes connect into his back, with a few pieces left down cuz he’s a stylish ho. Now you can see very clearly some of the locs are actually CLEAR TUBES that only appeared light grey against his dark grey (skin?) and now they are pulsing with Horde Juice. However, we can ALSO very clearly see that not every tendril of his hair is alight with The Juices, indicating that some part of his hair are just that - hair, like his clones. It also has lit up a technical looking pattern along some creases in his body. His arms, his neck. His boobs.

There isn’t really a good point I can end this on, other than to say I thought it was a really creative and interesting design that was incredibly effective. It’s not easy to make a universe make sense with advanced futuristic weaponry and also medieval fantasy magic. The amazing design of the characters, weapons, architecture, and fighting styles made it look seamless, and Hordak’s design in particular really lead well up to introducing an insanely high-tech spaceship full of mind-controlled clones, dropped into a world filled with and dependent on magic. This was a spotlight specifically on Hordak/Horde Prime’s...race? Race.

I’m really curious for more information about the universe, even though from what I’ve heard the new She-Ra has changed a lot and the old She-Ra didn’t much prioritize world-building specifics. If I learn some more looking some stuff up on this series as well as the old one, and anyone is interested, I’ll add a part two and link it below!

#Also the only reason I really noticed all of this stuff is because I’m working on a cosplay for Horde Prime which is NOT easy.#Horde Prime #SPOP #spop spoilers #hordak #imp #she-ra #she-ra spoilers

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omgnsfwisnsfw-blog · 5 years

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Game #3: Dirty Laundry

“OH MY GOD. OH MY FUCKIN’ GOD. I CAN’T BELI— ACTUALLY NO. I TOTALLY CAN BELIEVE IT. I NEVER DOUBTED YOU FOR A SECOND.”   The way Mike McGuire was acting, you’d think that she was the new TV Champion. But she wasn’t. Her partner, John Bishop Church was. That seemed completely irrelevant though. He’d won a hard fought victory over the legendary veteran Ruthann Hunter, gone the distance, and prevailed. She’d stood beside him in his moment of triumph and, as she looked to him then, he shone. As if for a moment, all the misfortune he’d borne was gone.   Now, though, a lot of that shine had been knocked off. His brow was furrowed in concern for his opponent, and still as before, his partner was beside him. She settled down, her own jubilation dropping a bit. You never wanted to see this sort of thing happen to a peer, especially not due to a match you were in.   “…you okay?” “This is what I mean. Inside there, Mike, you turn it off. But what I saw afterwards. That didn’t feel right.” “Course it doesn’t. It sucks when this sort of thing happens. But don’t start blaming yourself for it, okay? I know you. Turning it off or not, you’d never hurt somebody in a way they couldn’t bounce back from.”   She patted him on the shoulder, then fidgeted a little.   “I got you something. I knew you were gonna win, I’ve known for a while. We’ve worked too hard, YOU’VE worked too hard. So I got you a congratulations present. You… still want it? I get it if you want me to sit on it a bit.” John looked down at the title and stared at his own reflection in the silver plate. “You’re right. And a part of me wants to wait until later but this is special. And I couldn’t have done this without you.” She smiled at him, and reached into her bag. Shuffling some things around, she pulled out a box wrapped in shiny green paper, tied up with an orange satin ribbon. Reaching out, she handed it to her partner. “It ain’t much. Just somethin’ I thought you could use on the tour comin’ up.”   And much to her amusement, John neatly removed the ribbon, removed the tape on either side of the gift, and carefully undid the wrapping paper. John stared at the box and she knew this wasn’t disappointment, it was just him. “What is it?”   “It’s a Kindle Fire. Kinda like an iPad, sort of, but this one’s special. Cuz it does the stuff a tablet does, but at heart? It’s an e-reader. You can buy books on Amazon and they get downloaded right to the Kindle, and then you can read ‘em on here. I can get it set up for you later, and there’s even a gift card in the box so you can get a couple e-books to get you started.” She rolled her shoulders a little, smiling.“Figured it’d save you from having to pack extra to bring your books along.”   “This is really neat. Thank you.”   So they’d spent their first evening with one of them as champion playing with the Kindle- getting it set up, picking books out, learning how to navigate the pages. Picking out which apps to add and which to avoid, at least for now. Church was still trying to get the hang of it a while later, but Mike was certain he’d learn. He always picked things up eventually- after all, he was ridiculously smart. But with that out of the way, it was time to look forward. And oh, what a forward they had to look toward. Finally. At long last, after ducking and dodging them for weeks, Rob ‘Cherry’ Garcia was finally going to be standing across the ring from them. Granted, he had a friend- a turncoat, no-good piratey friend- but still. This is what they’d wanted. Title on the line or no, it was well understood between the upstart members of NSFW that they wanted to test their mettle against the best. They had stood toe to toe with the Trinity in a match that Mike could barely remember- being dropped on one’s goddamn head onto steel will do that- and had come out on the losing end, but had proven that they weren’t going anywhere.   She’d felt awful, though. And not just in the physical sense- her head had been splitting for two days, during which her partner insisted she stay down and rest- she’d felt that the failing had ultimately been hers. After all, through her hazy memory she could distinctly recall she ate the pin. She’d been slumped against the cold painted cinderblock afterward, holding an icepack to the opened goose egg on her head, trying to keep blood from dripping into her left eye.   “…sorry, dude. Really. I shoulda done better.” John, who was sitting on the well-worn wooden bench, drenched in sweat and slumped against the concrete wall of the now emptied out locker room, shook his head. “Why are you apologizing?”   “…I dunno. Fuckin’ can’t remember the last fifteen minutes so good. Pin was mine though. Musta been me who fucked up.” “We are a team. One perceived setback would never shake the foundations of this partnership. A million of them, even.” “Jeezus, you’re sweet.” She smiled a little before wincing in pain, hissing softly through her teeth. “Okay. Won’t… beat myself up anymore. Reckon I got beat up enough, huh?” And she didn’t. She’d felt plenty terrible over the next couple days, but none of it was from guilt. By the third day she’d been on the mend, and now she only had a scab under her hairline that she supposed would wind up forming a pretty righteous scar. A lesson learned and the rest of it left behind them, their eyes now firmly focused ahead on what was shaping up to be the most exciting week of their young partnership.   Her eyes flicked over to her partner, nestled in the window seat, clouds and blue sky drifting past. He had been messing around with the Kindle she'd gotten him for a while, but eventually opted to stop playing with it, stuck it in the magazine pouch, and was now deeply focused on what he was doing, pencil scribbling away in a notebook- one she recognized right away from the slightly rain-warped cover. It wasn’t just any notebook- it was the one he wrote his prose in. His really, really good prose. She’d read a piece of it- not exactly on purpose- and Church'd caught her. It’d been late- way later than she thought it was. She had to have read the entire thing four or five times, though she at least had the tact to not venture elsewhere in the notebook. She was captivated by this story, but part of her knew she really shouldn’t be reading it. In fact, she should probably stop altogether. Just as soon as she finished this read through…   “…what are you doing?”   It was a soft inquiry, but it nearly made Mike jump out of her skin. It was 1 in the morning- holy shit, had that much time passed?- and he usually got up for a drink of water around now. But here she was, her hair still mussy and a little damp, clothes likewise, sitting in the dark by tablet light. All she could muster was a very sheepish smile and a statement in the tone of someone who knew they were in some degree of trouble.   “…it’s really really good?”   “Okay.” Church pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “It’s just … something to pass the time.” “I still don’t think I oughta’ve read it.” She closed the notebook, sliding it across the table to him. “I’m sorry. I just… I saw it was out in the ring when it started raining fuckin’ buckets, and I didn’t want it to get ruined, so I ran out and got it but it still got wet so I opened it to make sure the words didn’t get all fucked up and kinda got sucked in.” She was rambling a little, and she scratched the back of her head, looking down at the tabletop, fingers fidgeting with each other. She might not have felt so guilty about it, but something told her that what she read hadn’t been ordinary prose. The name of the spaceman was a big clue, and the entire series of events just rang way too familiar. No, she’d accidentally stumbled on some sort of fictionalized diary or something. Had to be. “It’s okay. Th-thank you. I would just like if you asked. That one. I didn’t have access to a pencil so when the lights went out and I couldn’t read anymore I’d think of my own stories. But I think I forgot most of them. They all got replaced with stuff i don’t like to remember.” “Hey. Just so you know, if that ever happens here- like if the power goes out again or somethin’ and you can’t sleep and it’s too dark to read… you can wake me up. It’s okay, I won’t be mad’re nothin’. I don’t want you t’ have to have nothin’ but thoughts you don’t wanna think. Cuz I know what that��s like and it sucks.” A brief vision of a hospital room in the dead of night passed through her head. She shook it out and sighed, her fingers fidgeting a little more. “So… you really almost left, huh? I thought I heard the front door open and shut in the middle of the night, but I was also half asleep. Thought I dreamed it.” Suddenly, the power flicked back on, the AC sputtering a bit before kicking back to life and the lights illuminating the previously dark kitchen in a sudden flash of brightness that made Mike blink. She’d felt suddenly exposed, though, her expression more pensive than she’d really wanted to be revealed. Church looked at her and at first it was the same blank expression he always seemed to give her. Sometimes when when they conversed, she imagined a complicated set of cogs, pulleys, and levers working in his mind to put together a careful calculated response, but here it seemed very different. His fingers pinched at the corner of one of her green plastic placemats. His mouth was slightly agape. Church looked down for just a moment but when his face raised up to her hers, the normal expression resumed. “Yes. I guess I did. My life has been for public consumption for a long time now, Mike. I thought it would have gotten better but at that time I had been made to feel like I was nothing. And then you come along. You’re the first person to come along and lend a helping hand.” Church shook his head. “It was a shock to the system. And I hated it. I just wanted to have what i had before. I know, I know that sounds weird. Because it was nothing. But it wasn’t, Mike. It was all I had. But then even, you appeared in my door way and brushed away all of that pity. You wouldn’t allow it. I’d been thinking about that a lot recently. I wanted to tell you but sometimes I can’t figure out how to say. I feel so frustrated sometimes. I can’t seem to put the pieces together.” “It’s okay. You don’t have to. If it’s meant to come, it’ll come. And if it ain’t… you don’t need to say stuff out loud for me to get it. I mean I ain’t psychic or nothin’, shit no, but… heh. I guess that don’t make a lot of sense either but, eh. I dunno. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, even if I ain’t really some super cool space hot-rod rescue ranger, I think I’m really startin’ to get you. Maybe. I’m trying anyway. But either way… I’m glad you changed your mind, bud. I’m really… really glad you did.”  Stretching, she stood up, striding along the aisle and swishing aside artfully to avoid a flight attendant pushing a minibar. First class had its perks- they’d decided to treat themselves. The big cushy seats and special amenities were fantastic, and Mike had to say that even the staff even seemed cuter. Allowing herself a slightly longer than necessary glance at the liquor-serving blonde’s firm posterior, she loped along the length of the aisle before turning back. Comfy chairs or not, this was a long flight- both she and Church’s first overseas. She’d never dreamed of going someplace like eastern Europe, and yet, here she was, on a plane bound for Minsk- not quite the dramatic, romantic setting of Moscow, with its distinctive colorful onion domed cathedral and palace-like seat of government where Putin made late night overtures to his favorite tangerine puppet, but still. A country she’d never been to. Sights she’d never seen. There was a serious thrill in her gut that had nothing even to do with wrestling, and it harmonized well with the thrill that absolutely had everything to do with it.   She was so happy and excited that she could almost forget about that morning. She’d been all packed, with Church putting his last few odds and ends in his suitcase. She was pacing around the house, giving everything a once-over- lights off, back doors locked, tarp over the ring, et cetera- when she saw a figure through the front door window.   It was too early for the Uber she’d sent for and she didn’t think she recognized his face. Slipping out front, she narrowed her eyes, folding her arms, sizing up the unfamiliar man standing before her. Dark hair. What she’d call an outright punchable face, with a big awkward looking grin and almost weaselly looking eyes. He looked, in her opinion like a complete shitheel, and she squared up a bit. One would get the distinct mental image of a ferocious guard dog, set to rip any perceived threat to hearth and home to fucking shreds.   “Who are you an’ the fuck do you want? Make it snappy, bucko, we got places to be that ain’t here.” “David Hodges. I’m a reporter.” the suit looked past her and eyed the house number plate that was drilled into the wall beside the door, “Miss McGuire, I presume?” “You certainly fucking do. News hound, huh? Unless you’re here to tell people about the greatest fucking tag team the world’s ever seen since the goddamn Hart Foundation, you don’t got shit.” However, he didn’t react to that all. “I see. Miss McGuire, do you know a Melissa Perez?” “Yeah, she’s a feckless fucking cu*t. What about her?” Mike’s stance didn’t start out warm and welcoming, and was getting more hostile by the second. She didn’t seem to have any intention of backing down. David looked down at a sheet of paper clutched in his head, “Melissa recently tweeted that you, an employee of…” The paper rustled.“Extreme Wrestling Corporation, are living with a fellow employee John Bishop Church. The same John Bishop Church that was exonerated for the murder of his wife Christina. And their unborn child. I’ve talked to her. She has texts between you two that prove this connection. It’s one thing to appear at the work place together. That’s a job. It’s another thing all together to … well, I’m not going to say what Melissa says you’re doing with him. I think it’s quite obvious.” “Yeah, if you’re a fuckin’ rube.” She took a deliberate step forward. “You don’t know shit and I ain’t telling you shit, and I’ll tell you why, fuckwad. You said the magic word with your own stupid mouth. Exonerated. The whole fucking thing is online. The facts are right there on any public fucking record, black and white. Anything else ain’t your business, or anybody else’s business, and you’re almost lower than rat shit if you came all the way over here for dirt based on a tip by my FUCKING EX GIRLFRIEND.” He smirked in the face of all of this anger. “Is John in there right now? I met him a few months back. Not too talkative, is he?” “I wouldn’t want to talk to your stupid weasel-lookin’ ass either.” She deliberately avoided the question, though her poker face was immediately wrecked by a flick of her eyes to the door behind her. Stay in there, buddy. Just stay put for a little while longer, you don’t need to get mixed up with this. Just stay there. Please. “So you mentioned exoneration, Miss McGuire. He confessed. Quite vividly. It’s all there for the public to listen to.” It’s at this point that most people would have acted shocked. Or, perhaps, began to germinate a seed of doubt. But Mike was not most people, and if the reporter expected her to waver at all in her stubborn refusal to cooperate, he was about to be sorely disappointed. She bared her teeth in a snarl, and the emeralds of her eyes could cut glass. “People confess to a lot of shit. Drill into somebody long enough an’ they’ll tell you they’re fucking B.D. Cooper just to get you to lay the fuck off.” “He said he did it.” “Piss fucking Christ, are you deaf and stupid? Did you not hear what I just fucking said? What, you want me to toss you in a room for thirteen fucking hours and ask you the same questions over and over and not let you eat or fucking sleep till you answer ‘em in a way that suits me?” “Right. Detective Ray Geschkes was in charge of that interrogation. I’ve listened to the whole thing. He was on the force for thirty five years. 13 hours or not, that interrogation was by the book. John confessed. He wrote it down. He signed off on it.”   “By the book. By the FUCKING BOOK. Don’t you dare say that. That fucker planted evidence. And it was STUPID evidence. You know how I know? Church doesn’t fucking drink. At all. Made margaritas yesterday afternoon cuz it was fucking hot. Regular for me, virgin for him, and he still didn’t have any. So Mister By-The-Fucking-Book is a nasty little mental midget for planting DNA on something that Church wouldn’t have fucking touched to begin with.” Another step forward. “Go ahead. Say one more stupid thing. I fucking dare you to not just turn around, get in your ugly-ass car, and leave like a decent human being.” He raised his hands defensively. One hand clutched a pocket-sized tape recorder. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Miss McGuire. Speaking of saying stupid things - they’re all right here. And you’re right. But that doesn’t explain everything else. Decent human being, huh? You fell for that dopey aw, shucks act hook, line, and sinker, didn’t you?”   Her movements were whip-quick. One hand jutted out like a striking cobra and grabbed ahold of the reporter’s necktie, dragging him with it halfway across the yard before stopping. She was just a few short inches from his face. “Listen up. You know what I have to do? I get up at five in the fucking morning. I filter through hundreds of fucking Facebook and twitter comments and delete the vilest shit you could ever imagine. Small, cruel little fucks like you, calling him the worst kind of names and tellin’ him to do shit that you oughta be doin’ yourself. But I delete it. All of it. Because he don’t deserve to see that. He gave you fucking people twenty fucking years. That’s enough. That’s more than fucking enough. Now get off my fucking property before I get all Stand Your Ground on your pathetic ass.” And the reporter backed away slowly. “That’s alright.” And he was half way into his tan Corolla when he shouted over the roof of it, “Miss McGuire. Send me a DM when John becomes your next Steve. Maybe then we can work together to shine a light on this whole ugly ordeal.” And seconds later, he was gone.   Mike was speechless. She was absolutely livid. Her hand was shaking as she checked her phone. Five minutes. Not a ton of time. She ran to the driveway and threw Alundra’s door open, slammed it behind her, and screamed. She screamed for about a solid minute. She would’ve very much liked to hit something but she’d recently finished repairing damage to her baby- she didn’t want to cause the Mustang any more. Panting, she slipped back out, and opened the front door, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand and trying to sound chipper.   “Hey buddy, Uber’s gonna be here in three. You ready?” “Yes. Hey, who were you yelling at outside? Another salesman? It seems a common occurrence these days.”  “…nobody. Nobody worth a pint of horse piss. Doesn’t matter. Next couple hours, we’ll be headed to motherfuckin’ Belarus. … Fuck, you know what? Let’s do something ridiculously indulgent. We deserve it. Let’s upgrade our tickets to fuckin’ first class. Cushy seats, leg room, open bar, and no dickfucks allowed.” Church nodded. “I trust you.” She bit her lip, paused, leaned forward, and gave him a quick but firm hug. As brief as it was, there was something fierce in it, something incredibly protective. She pulled back just as a lime green Volkswagen with an Uber sticker on the back windshield pulled up in front of the house. She locked the door behind them.   But that was this morning and thousands of miles away. And as she headed back to her seat, she couldn’t help but pause, a huge grin crossing her face. The gangly teenager in the aisle seat was likely the child of one of the wealthy people occupying one or two of the other cushy chairs. Or maybe they’d gotten a cheap upgrade and decided to fly in style. But either way, one eye was covered by a deliberate shocking violet comb-over of bangs, their grin had the telltale silver gleam of new braces, and they were wearing an NSFW t-shirt. And fiddling with one of their ridiculous fidget spinners. Good to know at least one of those things sold.   “Holy crap, you're Mike McGuire. Awesome.”   “Nope. YOU’RE awesome.”   Mike gave the kid a clicking wink and a double finger point, and found her seat next to her partner, closing her eyes. It was still a long way to Minsk. A couple hours’ nap later, the camera clicked on. Two mildly jet lagged but happy travelers grinned into it- one muted, one big and toothy.   “Say hey, EWC faithful! It’s ya boys, NSFW- one of us, who I really need to mention, is YOUR NEW REIGNING AND DEFENDING EWC TELEVISION CHAMPION- and we are currently on a plane- IN FIRST CLASS, BAY-BEE- headed to Belarus. It’s our first trip overseas, and frankly? We’re pretty fuckin’ hyped.” “I am ecstatic.”   “We’re gonna be landing before long, but before we have to fasten our seatbelts, put our tray tables in the upright position an’ turn off all electronic devices, we thought we’d take a couple minutes to say… Jesus fucking Christ last week. The so-called top of the pops around here may have got the better of us, but at the end of the day, does anybody really give a shit? Same old rhetoric, different fuckin’ day. Yeah yeah, I know we didn’t come out on top and I got knocked fuckin’ loopy for my trouble, but our opposition totally failed to live up to our expectations. And they’ll totally be crowing their asses off about it too, dollars to fuckin’ doughnuts. They’ll come out with their cool music and awesome pyro and toss a couple Benjys to the monkeys in the truck for some nice piped in crowd noise, and go on about how they put down a couple of big-mouthed upstarts. IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE PROPHECY. VOLUME 2 COMING SOON. Maybe Reid’ll even get a new Xbox One from his parents for doing an extra good job.” The camera panned to Church’s blank expression towards his partner. “The Trinity. They’re in our rearview mirror. Mike, some would say that we are the masters of foreshadowing.” “And why is that, my erstwhile compadre?” “Our friend. And I am being insincere when I say that. Our friend found himself a partner after all.” Mike gave a curt nod.   “He did indeed. Or should I say- a pARRRRRtner.” “You’re allowed one of those. Only one.” “Noted. It was fuckin’ worth it. But somethin’, no pun intended as I’ve hit my limit, smells real fuckin’ fishy here. Cap’n Darkwater isn’t supposed to be the kind of pirate that would associate with a bilge rat like Cherry Garcia. Ain’t he supposed to be a nobler breed of buccaneer? What, did his morals and sense of fucking decency walk the goddamn plank? And don't think that sad line about being keelhauled into this is gonna make us shed a fuckin' tear for you. Who in their right goddamn mind would believe a fuckin' pirate, one who's obviously just proven he's a fuckin' moral degenerate?” “Seems like that charade of his burned to cinder when his greatest opportunity blew up in his face.” “Bitter, bitter pirate. So now he’s back in fighting form, and he decides to put the screws to Nostalgia and get in bed- oh, sorry, was FORCED into bed- with Garcia. Come on, dude. I kinda really hoped you were better than this.”   She shakes her head and looks, if briefly, sincerely disappointed. John’s reaction to that isn’t the same. It’s unflinching. “I’m not surprised. His charming roguish qualities seemed to be an act. It’s easy to mug for your adoring public when everything seems to be going his way. There is no explanation. No excuse. No wiping away the cowardice he displayed. Many eyes were opened that evening to his true nature. But his transformation was a long time coming. He has weathered the storm of his would-be challengers and when they seemed to be out of play - here he comes to take possession of something he never earned.” “What a combo. A guy handed a belt and a guy who had to fucking make one up.” “They do have something in common, though, don’t they?” There was a plain sense of amusement plastered on Mike’s face as she looked up at her partner, brows raised inquisitively.   “What’s that?” “Delusions of grandeur. One’s obvious enough. It drips out of every word he says. The other. The big guy. Mike, I want to level with you on something. The virtuous marauder act only suited him when he needed it. He’s a charlatan afforded the privilege to buy his way into this fantasy of his. He’s a stereotypical romanticized idea of a pirate and believe me, it’s easy to rationalize the crimes committed against the oppressors that were the English and Spanish. But like that matters to him. If he stopped playing pretend and looked into the mirror, he’d see that he’s become the very thing that his predecessors fought against.” “What he oughta do, frankly, is use those big bucks of his to buy a DeLorean, slap a Flux Capacitor in that son’bitch, and head Up North circa 1995. He’d be right at home with all the plumbers, clowns, and garbage men. But before you go and do that, Cap’n, some food for thought. See, Garcia here. You know why he is, or was before you sailed into the picture, a tag champ all by his lonesome? I’ll tell you. All his buddies fucking ditched his sleazy egomaniac ass. How long before it grates on you too? And once it does, then what’ll you be left with? Your reputation’s fucking shot, dude, and you’ll have pissed it down your leg for nothing, and that, me hearty, is just sad.”   She shook her head, tisking. “See, we are pretty good at foreshadowing because what waits for us at the end of this journey?” “A decisive victory over the tag champs, that’s what. The belts may not be up for grabs this time around but that’s okay. Ain’t nothin’ new for ol’ Cherry Garcia. We ain’t ruffled. Us beating you is gonna send a big fat message to the guys in the front office. If they ain’t noticed us yet we are gonna MAKE ‘em take notice by swabbing the deck with the goddamn champions- not too tall an order considering one was just handed the belt out of nowhere and the other’s too lazy an ass to ever defend the fucking things.”   She leaned forward.   “Speaking of tall orders. Don’t think I’m scared of you, Captain Kangaroo. You’re a big guy.” “For you.” Mike held up a finger and tilted her head off camera. There was audible snorting before she rejoined the shot. “God Bless the fucking internet. But yeah. You’re way bigger than me. Maybe even a tad bigger than my partner, but that ain’t stopped him from chucking guys about as big as you around. How about he sends you sailing for real? I’d sure like to see that, but not before I take a nice chunk out of your pirate’s booty myself.” “With his looming visage, it’s so easy to forget the other part of this equation and just what he is capable of.” “What… IS he capable of? Making his own belt and pretending it’s a fucking accomplishment? Perpetually coming up shorter than he says he will?” Church smiled at her. “She means that it’s a constant part of the remnant’s makeup. There is something that he is good at. He’s gonna take one look at NSFW and he’s gonna laugh. We’ve got ourselves an easy night, he’ll say. That’s the delusion kicking in. This newly minted duo, they’re going to overlook us. They’re the superstars here and we are their tune up. That about cover it?” “Other than him being a delicious nut-free ice cream? Nope, that’s it. But, oh dear team of Pirate and Puss, you’ve got us pegged all wrong. This won’t be a night off. This may well be the worst fucking night of your lives. Because we want this. We’ve been trying to get your attention for weeks, and now that we’ve got it, we ain’t lettin’ you take your eyes off us. We’ll be haunting you like the fuckin’ Flying Dutchman from here on out. And there’ll be a whole fuckin’ fleet behind us. Do you hear that? The dead ships are comin’ up from the maelstrom and they’re comin’ for your stern. You’ll come out and they’ll be chanting our name. The people who want something different, somethin’ to fuckin’ believe in. Like this awesome kid right here.”   She swung the camera around. The purple haired teenager across the aisle and a few seats back, suddenly realizing they were in an honest to God NSFW promo, waved a skinny arm wildly and gave a whoop.   “NSFW, YEEEEAH!”   The camera swoops back onto them, Mike giving a smirking nod.   “Just like that. Every fuckin’ week. Louder and louder until you’re left with one single solitary question.”   Her face splits into a huge jawbreaker of a grin.   “What’s cauuuusin’ all this?” “It’s us. In some small way, we quantify the idea that the time for polite discourse is over. Whether it’s bigots, wanna-be fascists, ideological frauds, or text-book case of narcissism and a scalawag who talks out of both sides of his mouth, we are going to show the world how to take them down.” “By playing fair… and maybe a little dirty too.” Church opened his mouth to object, or at least that is what Mike anticipated. “Just a little.”   That huge grin grew a little more devilish. “But how we do it ain’t as important as the fact that we are. Don’t look behind you for us, mates. Look beside you, and later, look in fucking front. Cuz we’re Not Sailing in your Fucking Wake.”   There was a tinny voice over the intercom that they were approaching their destination, and the camera cut out.  

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unproduciblesmackdown · 7 years

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ooh one fun fact i forget about sometimes is in early childhood i used to have semi-voluntary Nocturnal Yet Totally Awake hallucinations i mean, hallucinations are a fairly common occurrence for literally everyone, and apparently it might be common in young children, nobody's sure cuz nobody's exactly asking. but kid's brains are doing their own thing. but anyhow, i had shadow people, which is apparently also fairly common. but luckily not the sleep paralysis kind, ive never had that problem, which is lucky, because i am a weenie and dont imagine i'd do well with that. not that anyone enjoys hostile hallucinations but anyhow! i distinctly remember one time when i was younger than four because we hadnt moved into our second house, which is the only specific memory i have of having shadow people when it wasnt dark. there was already sunlight and the room was a little dim because the blinds were closed but it wasnt really dark. and i had a parade going around the strip of paper that went around the center of my walls, i distinctly remember an elephant and the figures having very defined shapes and smooth movement and being able to look directly at them. though this memory is so old those details easily couldve been exaggerated but all other times i remember it in our second house and when the room was either lit only by a dim nightlight or by nothing—to an extent it feels like i made them out of the shadows/darkness that already existed, kinda like pareidolia. in any case, i never saw any in broad daylight, or daytime at all. and i think usually i would start seeing them when i started imagining i could, and kind of start pulling them together, but i would still be able to see them externally. i think they were almost always people, just silhouettes. and generally i would even give a kind of narrative to it, like imagining the first one looking in the door or being in the corner by the doorway, as if me revving them up into existence was equivalent to waiting by the literal doorway to come in that easily sounds sinister but i didnt think of them that way, to me it was something fun to do when i was little enough to take a while to go to sleep. i dont think i was creative enough to think of really scary things at that point. so, lucky for me, i personified them as kind of timid but playful and friendly. just as i could kind of summon them in the first place i could also generally decide what they were doing, and the movement was usually repetitive, like a gif, and slow, and sometimes a little slomo frame-by-frame than smooth. though as i got going i could pick up multiple figures and have the movement be a bit smoother and more complex and kind of find new people just by looking at a new spot and seeing one rather than trying to concentrate and pull one together a lot of the times i think i'd have them playing basketball or really just kind of hanging out, doing nothing. the edges werent always very distinct but the form could be made out and i could look directly at them most of the time, or close. i had a bunkbed so sometimes my sister stayed in my room and at some point we would both talk about seeing the figures, obviously i dunno if she was just playing along with 100% internal imagery or if it was at all external for her too, but it was still purely fun for both of us and we would have a guy slam dunking in the corner or whatever it varied a bit when i got it going whether i would be deciding what each figure was doing or if it felt like i was "finding out" when i looked over to see, generally in the latter case it was like they had some idle animation. but i could seize control if i wanted to, which was useful later when it started to occur to me that it might be creepy if one of them did something threatening or unusual, like approach me. the figures had no depth but they grew in size as they got closer, and though they were mostly like projections on the wall, i did imagine it would be creepy if i thought of one say crawling over or suddenly looming large in my field of vision. and because i was projecting my own imaginations instructions, even thinking "it sure would be unfortunate if this guy im looking at started doing something eerie instead of jumping rope or eating broccoli" would interrupt the broccoli rope jumping and run a risk of starting to change towards whatever i was trying not to think about. but i could focus the figures into doing whatever so it never got too alarming. but as i was getting older and my capacity for Wouldnt It Be Scary If became a lot larger and darker and more important, that concern of "i hope these people dont become scary or threatening" became more common which meant i had to spend more time reining in any stragglers who looked like they shouldnt be left to their own devices too long and it became less fun in general. they'd still kind of occur semi-automatically out of habit, but it died down as i lost interest, and i cant tell how much just losing the ability in general was a factor either nowadays i suppose if i looked at a dark room i could maybe imagine a darker silhouette if i really really tried to trick myself into it, but i imagine it would be static, and it would be more difficult with a spot i was looking at directly, and also i wouldnt want to do it because that would just be horror movie fodder to me now. also, i do get peripheral visual shadow hallucinations when im sleep deprived, say approaching 40 hrs since i last slept. those are very peripheral, very fleeting, and a bit startling but so temporary theres not even a chance to be scared. on avg i just have occasional audio hallucinations, and nothing at all comparable to ones i can "turn on" and alter and focus on so thats a shoutout to my bball playing buds. thanks for being friendly, my own hallucinations

#despite being at times slightly unwelcome and slightly unsettling because i worried they might become scary; they never were actually scary #shoutout to my distinct formed; moving; mostly responsive; observable visual hallucinations of my Youth #long post ////#hope i havent made myself Nervous coz now i gotta pee a-fuckin-gain

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starspatter · 7 years

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Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 3

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 3,853 Previous Chapters: 1, 2

Also on ff.net and AO3.

One, two boys by the river Down by the water tellin' riddles in the dark With fireflies under the moonlight Carvin' the insides of a tree with a knife You ever hear the one about the boy's big sister His best friend come along He tried to kiss her

-The Wallflowers, "The Difference"

Now.

Dick rolled over in bed as his cell’s ringtone blared loudly, glaring and groping for the obscene noisemaker. Checking the time, he squinted blearily as he noted the Caller ID, unsurprised by the label listed. Though he briefly considered the option of ignoring, he was conditioned to respond to every evening page as if it were an emergency (and, considering the extending party’s “extenuating circumstances”, it could very well be something important; he’d never forgive himself for not being there a second time when his younger sibling needed him). In fact he was rather used to being awoken at odd hours by now – or sometimes the other way around – even if he’d also since ceased his other “nighttime activity”. …Still, old habits tend to die hard.

He flipped open the phone and greeted groggily, speech slurred somewhat.

“Hey, bro. Whassup?”

His hearing was immediately hailed by a jumble of words, tumbling from the receiver like a drunken tirade (which, in his heavily inebriated state, didn’t help the matter of his own increasing headache).

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. What’s this about you and Steph?”

A curved shape stirred under the comforter next to him, wrapping naked appendages around his shoulders. He could feel an ample pair of voluptuous volumes pressing against his back, alcohol and cherry-scented lips nibbling sensually against the scruff of his neck. Feminine fingertips concurrently tracing contours of collagen craters over hardened hide – gradually fading but forever permanent – circular scars pockmarking his skin. Within. Teasing broad blades and spine (where a bullet remained lodged, buried evidence of a decisive battle that felt so long ago – but still stung like yesterday). A cloying query purred, sickeningly saccharine:

“Who ya talking to?”

“Hold on,” Dick murmured into the speaker as he gripped the hand spider-crawling light across his chest, slowly snaking down to his waist. Gently but firmly, he pushed the owner off, sliding to a stiff sit on the edge of the mattress. Balancing the phone in a semi-awkward position (which most people who weren’t as flexible would probably find pretty difficult to maintain, even if his own elasticity was halved compared to before), he hurriedly pulled on his pants and rose, staggering to the door.

“Sorry babe, I gotta take this.”

“Mm, hurry back, hot stuff~”

Swaying slightly, he lumbered out into the hall and down the stairs from the loft, making sure to put a secure measure between himself and the bedroom. (Though navigating around the familiar furniture and gym equipment was a fairly easy task, he had to be extra careful descending the last step, as even without the spirits in his system, he was still getting used to the whole “reduced depth perception” thing.) Once he was sure he was out of eavesdropper’s range, he resumed the call.

“Back. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Were you… with someone just now?”

“Maybe.”

“I wasn’t interrupting anything, was I?”

“S’fine.”

“Sounded like a girl.”

“Jus’ some lady I met at a bar last night. …Come to think of it, I don’t think I got her name.”

He could virtually hear the shaking head on the other end, more than mildly exasperated.

“Unbelievable.”

“Hey, last I checked, having a healthy sex life isn’t a crime.”

“And you’re totally not overcompensating for a lack of the latter in your life.”

“Look, are we gonna talk about my issues with women or yours?”

“…”

More soberly, he asked:

“Do you need me to go over there?”

“No.”

“Then talk to me, Tim. What happened.”

The silence was stark as opposed to the initial outpouring. Dick lowered his tone, softening to a hush. Tentatively, he prompted again via the one clear bit of info he had caught from the earlier conversation before it was cut off.

“You said she’s the Spoiler.”

Just to be safe, he cupped his palm to contain the whisper. Again, old habit.

“I… confronted her about it. Tried to get her to stop. And I- I ended up telling her. About us.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“Tim.”

“Look, I just mentioned the fact that I used to be… you know. I didn’t say anything about ‘that’. …I couldn’t.”

“And? Then what?”

“She kept asking about it… About why I quit. I couldn’t tell her the whole truth. I mean, how could I? There’s just no way.”

Dick sighed, scraping a hand through his hair. He could understand where the kid was coming from, sure, but based on personal experience, taking the easy way out had never worked out well in terms of keeping long-term commitments before (at least any of his actual attempts at them). …Especially when it came to withholding secrets from each other.

“Listen, Tim, if you’re really serious about this girl, then you’re gonna have to make some compromises. Take it from someone who knows, honesty is key to being in a relationship.”

“…Says the guy who takes advantage of his disability by using it as a way to get laid.”

“Hey, what can I say, chicks dig the patch.” Dick shrugged, eyeballing his half-masked appearance in the window’s reflection.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I prefer to think of myself as an ‘equal-opportunist’. …Anyway, like I said, this is about your love life, not mine. ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ and all that jazz.”

“Except I’m not like you. I’m not some super pick-up artist, I can’t just go gallivanting around broadcasting my ‘condition’ to the world to garner sympathy.” The air quotes in the dialogue were distinctly audible. “It’s not exactly something I can pretend to boast proudly about, unlike your ‘stupid sexy eyepatch’.”

Dick clenched his fist, trying not to get riled by the bitter sarcasm rolling off the other’s barbed tongue. As much as he generally avoided overreaction to insensitivity, it was still a sore subject – especially when the instigator in this case couldn’t contend obliviousness – ignorant bliss – about the actual origin of his wounds (and vice-versa).

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Sorry, low blow. It’s just… What the hell am I gonna do, Dick? There has to be some other way to convince her.” A pause, followed by a swallow. “I never wanted her to get involved in any of this. How can I even break it to her without her wanting to break up with me?”

“Sometimes that’s a risk you have to take if you want to make progress.”

“…It’s too late now anyway. I already messed up big-time. We got into a fight afterwards. Like, an actual fight. Dick, I… I almost hurt her.”

He sounded scared, like he was about to cry. Growing concerned, Dick reached for his pocket, fumbling for the keys to his cycle as he tried to remember where he put them after returning home in such a stupor.

“I’m coming to get you.”

Maybe they were still in the ignition, or his jacket. Crap, he forgot to put on a shirt. He’d have to go back upstairs for that as well. And then he’d be forced to explain to the erotic nymph draped over his blankets why he was bailing in the middle of their “date”. …Just like old times. It was almost nostalgic.

“No, I’ll… I’ll handle this.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cuz I can come pick you up, no prob.”

“Yeah, right. You’re intoxicated right now, aren’t you?”

“…Okay, you got me. Frankly it’s a miracle I didn’t get into an accident earlier. Almost crashed into a pole actually.” He sank onto a balance beam with a groan, rubbing his brows. “…I may or may not be seeing spots at the moment.”

“If Barbara knew you were driving drunk around Gotham city she’d have you arrested in a heartbeat.”

“You really gotta bring her up now?” The furrows of his forehead deepened as Dick frowned. “Anyway, she’s off-duty today.”

Sharp as a razor, Tim seized smoothly on the discrepancy.

“…How do you know that?”

Dick flinched, grip tightening on the cellular.

“I just do, okay?”

There was a moment of quiet, before Tim’s voice continued.

“Dick. When’s the last time the two of you spoke?”

Dick heaved a long exhale. Somehow, talking to Tim when he was under influence always seemed to land back on this topic. Curse whatever was in that mix for making him maudlin.

“What happened between us is our business. It’s got nothing to do with you. Besides, it’s ancient history now. She moved on, and so did I. These things happen. You should just focus on maintaining ties with your girlfriend. …Actually, maybe you should go see her. Babs, I mean. She’s closer to you, and she can probably help you out better than I can.”

“…I’m already on my way there.”

“Ah.” A beat. “Good. Let me know how it goes.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

“…Tim, wait.” Dick stood up again, feeling frustrated at his own uselessness, restless and remorseful. He hobbled, wobbling to the wall, leaning with one arm against it for support instead. “I know I haven’t been the greatest role model to you, especially recently. Hell, it’s practically my fault you wound up this way. If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own affairs, if only I’d looked out for you more…”

“Dick, we’ve been over this. I don’t hold any of what happened in the past against you. Like you said, it’s ancient history. You’re the one who wanted to put an end to the blame game when you got… ‘injured’. We’re even, remember?”

“I know, but still. Here I am, supposed to be the responsible elder relative, and yet it feels like I’m the one constantly getting lectured.”

“Are you kidding, you’re the best big brother I could’ve asked for. You’ve always been there for me since then. I’m grateful for the effort, really. …Even if I haven’t always acted like it.” As if embarrassed by his own admission of sentiment, Tim added: “Plus, you’re a perfect example of what not to do when it comes to dealing with angry females.”

“Har har. Touché.”

Despite the jab, it relieved Dick a little, that Tim was still able to josh like this on occasion. He’d been doing it more often ever since he met the female in question, actually. Dick had discreetly observed the difference over the past several months, and truth be told he was a mite jealous at times. Watching those two together reminded him of days spent hanging out with another certain tenacious gal who refused to listen to his warnings, and kept tagging along on various dangerous assignments, impressing him each time with her capabilities…

“I’m joking, but… I meant what I said earlier. You didn’t have to stick around Gotham after that whole ‘fake Joker’ fiasco, just to keep an eye on- watch over me, you know. You’ve got less reason to want to be here than me, what with ‘that guy’ and Barbara both being nearby… I mean, considering the entire mess that followed the first… ‘incident’, everything that happened between you and her… For you to move back on my account… Sometimes I feel like I ruined both your lives, like I’m dragging you all down with me…”

Dick wasn’t about to allow Tim to start wallowing in self-pity again.

“Look, I made the decision on my own. Those two had nothing to do with it. I was worried about you, so I stayed. Simple as that. …Besides, it’s not like there’s much I can offer Blüdhaven at this point.”

“Yeah well, maybe you should let others worry about you for a change. I still wish you would’ve let me come with you that time. …Maybe then at least one of us would still be doing the hero gig.”

“Trust me, it was a long-time coming. My wake-up call just happened to occur a little later.”

“But-”

“Tim, I appreciate the concern. But right now you’ve got bigger problems to deal with, don’t you? Listen, you’ve got a good thing going for you. You should hold onto it, and… Don’t let go, because once you lose that chance… It’s gone. Don’t screw it up by making the same mistakes I did. …Believe me, if any one of us deserves a shot at happiness, it’s you.”

For a minute, his partner remained mute, perhaps debating whether to protest further. Dick held his breath, prepared to shoot down any deflecting arguments. Finally though, Tim simply stated:

“I gotta go. I’m at the door.”

“All right. …Say hi to Barbara for me.”

“I will.”

“Good luck, Tim.”

“Thanks.”

As he disconnected, Dick’s partial vision lazed, traveling hazily towards a poster on the partition he was propped against. In its center displayed an image of his junior self in circus garb, surrounded by his smiling mom and dad: The Flying Graysons, in all their erstwhile glory.

He wondered, idly, if his parents would be proud of what their son ultimately turned out to be: a drunken and debauched bachelor, hung over and hung up on muddled memories, making up for current paucity of meaning or purpose with an abundance of casual hook-ups. A disgrace to the Grayson title, prodigy turned prodigal. Who went from valiantly saving citizens with a wink and grin (not like he could even pull off the former now) to sleeping around on a whim, “swinging” from clubs at night rather than rooftops – trying in vain to fill some void, a hollow hole left in his heart. Tim was right; he was just seeking to sate a starved hunger for attention, a voracious need for validation he’d long been denied. Appetite for affection. Acknowledgment. Acceptance. Substantiate some sort of worth after everything he (thought he) knew was stripped – stolen – from him (literally and metaphorically – in more ways than one), for the sheer sake of sustaining his existence.

Unlike Tim, it wasn’t the first time he’d been betrayed by his ideals. …Hence all the more reason he’d stormed out in a huff (seemingly for good), thanks to the final straw – or rather bullet – that broke his back (which he’d already been stabbed in once before). …And yet, no matter how many times he endeavored to completely break away, set sail on his own private path, he kept coming back to the same place, somehow ending up exactly right back where he started. Desperate for other forms of contact after cutting nearly all ties to “family” and friends (not just within the gloomy house where he grew up, but foregoing second sanctuary, his summer “haven” as well), he found himself drifting aimlessly since then, treading water and clinging to wreckage just to stay afloat, now that so many bridges were burnt beneath his feet. …Harboring hatred towards ‘that man’ most of all – maybe moreso than Tim.

To keep from sinking in a sea of longing and lingering regret, he quickly discovered a different method to dispel wrath in place of punishing felons (which in turn had progressively become a surrogate for rage-punching a fraud of a foster “father”, whose loathsome face he still sometimes visualized when he sparred in solitude). Where Tim eventually took to literature as a diversion (even if Dick was unfortunately just as aware of other, more abusive addictions – although those had steadily been improving as well of late), instead he turned exclusively to liquor to escape loneliness, slake an insatiable thirst for vengeance and quench resentment. Quell fury without resorting to fists. (Even if firewater sometimes fueled violent urges further instead of dousing ire.) Simultaneously satisfying desire for warmth by throwing himself into an endless series of one-night stands, (self-)disgust disguised as lust. Hate replaced with fervent heat, tangling and tangoing under sweat-stained sheets. Ravenously ravishing, savoring strangers’ touch. Relish in passing pleasure. …Easing exhaustion and envy (over an ex dumped years ago, an old flame gone cold – even though he’d extinguished the last spark himself) through empty embrace. To console a weary, guilt-ridden soul by trading duty and sacrifice for decadent vice. From Robin to Bluebird to Cardinal sin. Downing his own woeful sorrows and demons by drowning them in sex and tonic and gin.

Granted, most days he managed to uphold a relatively respectable impression, fronting as a well-adjusted and decently functioning member of society despite debilitation (even if his was more physical than psychological). In contrast to Tim’s total retreat into depression – regression – going through the minimal motions in order to survive, he told himself he needed to be strong – to be the dependable brother he never really was (at least when it counted). Still, his insecurities merely manifested in different ways, relying on showboating and overindulgence as an invisible crutch. Resolutely rejecting the rigorous manner (nevermind manor) in which he was sternly brought up and raised – trained to remove empathy out of the equation for the objective of the so-called “mission” – out of staunch determination not to become like him.

…For all his resolve to resist such strict teaching techniques though, even he recognized the suave playboy in the mirror nowadays was as much a persona as his previous mentor’s was. Hiding hostility and apathy behind an altered ego, a modified mask. Concealing consciousness over obvious flaws beneath another façade, exuding false confidence. Even if outwardly he wasn’t as gruff or tough as his former instructor (or rather false “idol”) – certainly nowhere near as mean and demanding in demeanor – underneath the fortified exterior was essentially nothing but a spiteful shell. His real self had become just as brooding and detached – deflated – suppressing jaded cynicism beneath dry wit and humor. Honestly, who was he even to give counsel when he could barely claim to be any better at coping with his emotions?

Things changed – were changing – for Tim and for Barbara. For the better. …Meanwhile, where did that leave him? A part of him felt cheated, like he was being left behind – abandoned in the same way he (ironically) once did to them – and it made him afraid. The truth was he was the only one who stayed the same by declining to let go the past, bearing grudges beyond their prime to the point they festered deep within his rotten gut. Rancid rancor. Sour and stagnant, just like…

“God, I really am starting to sound like him.”

He muttered as he realized he was no longer mentally making excuses, but apologizing aloud to his folks’ memorial portrait. He seriously was smashed.

To distract his buzzed brain, he shifted concentration to a more menial matter.

“Keys, keys… Where the hell did I leave those damn things.”

“Looking for these?”

He rotated to find his guest poised suggestively against the entry frame, dangling the chain from her digit. She was wearing his top too, go figure (though her bottom half was still clearly undressed). She pouted as he approached and made a grab for the brass ring, withdrawing the prize behind her back.

“You weren’t planning on leaving me here and running off, were you?”

Dick hastily put on debonair airs, flashing a signature winsome beam that would make any damsel melt. He slipped his hands over coyly cocked hips, causing knees to weaken as he drew her in close (subtly stimulating lower regions).

“’Course not. Why on earth would I want to leave such a gorgeous goddess?”

Duh, I live here. Where the hell would I even go.

She gave a giddy, high-pitched giggle (almost grating), greedily eating up the compliment as she arched into his grip, linking limbs around his collar.

“Good. Shall we head back upstairs then?” She mewed demurely whilst playing with a lock of red as she pawed at his breast, thoroughly admiring the rough ruggedness of solidly well-built muscles, rippling beneath bare pecs. Still sturdy and studly (even if somewhat out of shape compared to past prime’s peak). “You said you were going to show me your ‘love nest’, and I don’t think I’ve seen nearly enough yet.”

Dick winced inwardly at his own lameness. Sometimes he couldn’t believe the dumbass phrases that spouted out his own mouth.

She inclined forward to seal said mouth with an intensely intimate kiss, and he let her libido lead him up the stairwell. (He sensed she was trying to keep considerate of his blind side, insistently guiding to prevent any potential bump or blunder – and wasn’t sure whether to be obliged or offended.) As they walked, half-wavering, half-waltzing, she inquired curiously again:

“So who was that?”

“Just my little brother. He needed some advice. Girl troubles.”

“That’s sweet that you care about him.”

“Yeah.”

Bored of the discussion already, she steered impatiently towards the bedchamber, eagerly shutting the door behind them. Animalistic hormones raging and roaring, raring to pick up right where they left off; rid any remaining decency by delightedly ripping dress off.

“Now then, where were we?”

Like a stage, she dimmed the lights to arouse an amorous atmosphere. …And yet, despite the dark ambience and scantily clad, seductive beauty growling, prowling before him like some exotic creature – a primal lioness primed to leap on his loins – he couldn’t bring himself to express quite the same enthusiasm as before. Mood mismatched to setting or pace. Mind in alternate place.

Rather, he felt suffocated, trapped inside a stuffy, sultry cage of his own creation (as much as he accused the ringmaster of orchestrating from the start, manipulating and pulling puppet strings for his own selfish benefit). Grounded avian prey, unable to fly away – waiting to be devoured by some carnivore, a carnal carnival. Like his own innocence (whatever was left of it) was about to be deflowered.

Because he knew the drill by now. Relentlessly rehearsed the same routine, practicing – perfecting – perfunctory performance over and over, too many times to keep track of. They’d share a few wild nights of tender passion, tearing through clothes and covers and countless condom wrappers with reckless abandon. (For all the uncomfortable scoldings his allegedly appointed legal “guardian” – let alone purported “parent” – gave him on using protection, you’d think the old man would at least be able to follow through with his own recommendation –especially when it came to the most significant person his ward – “son” had cared about since college. …Whom he’d planned to make his own proposal to, planned a whole lifetime together with – only for her to weep over crushed dreams and canceled wedding bells – before settling down as someone else’s happily ever after instead when he stubbornly – stupidly – wouldn��t take her back. Turned his back.)

Then. She’d start to get too clingy, too close – and he’d dodge and dismiss – distancing – fleeing on frigid feet, promising to call her – only to break that promise and her heart. Afterwards, when she finally manages to get ahold of him – maybe she’d stumble into him in the street, or, if she were persistent enough – already in bed with another – she’d cry, scornfully slap his (im)perfect visage, yell that he’s a dick (as if he hadn’t heard that line a thousand times before), and when she tearfully demands an explanation for such abrupt rebuff, all he can sincerely answer – from the bleak bottom of his blackened integrity – is the same tired failsafe he’s fallen back on for years:

“Things change.”

One boy lives in a tower With bow and arrow and the artificial heart With his girl, maid of dishonor He loaded the cannon with a jealous appetite They say that children now they come in all ages And maybe sometimes old men die with little boy faces

The only difference that I see Is you are exactly the same as you used to be

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