Bdubs awoke to the sound of breathing in his ear and something wet against his cheek. He flinched, heart pounding, until he realized what it was—a horse’s tongue, warm and familiar, licking his face.
He blinked, disoriented, and then froze. Standing before him was a gray stallion he knew better than anyone. Clime Ten. Alive. Whole. Breathing.
“No… no, this isn’t real,” Bdubs whispered, his voice trembling. His mind reeled, convinced it was a hallucination born of grief. But the horse’s body was solid, its warmth undeniable, the rough tongue dragging across his skin too vivid to be imagined.
His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone, nearly dropping it. With a swipe, he scanned the barcode tag he had attached to every horse for tracking. The screen confirmed it: Clime Ten.
Relief surged through him, but it was short-lived. His eyes caught something new on the tag—tiny letters scrawled in red beneath the name. Clime Ten's Ghost . Bdubs stared at it, praying it was marker ink and not blood.
He didn’t recognize the handwriting, but suspicion gnawed at him. He led Clime Ten back to the stable, careful not to place him in the spot where blood and bone had stained the earth. His chest still ached from the memory.
When he turned toward his cabin, he saw it. A sheet of paper taped to the door, fluttering in the breeze.
“Hey! I pulled a prank on you! Did you like it? Don’t worry, all those horse sounds were downloaded from the internet, and the images were AI. Ha ha! Your horse is alive and well (and cute—I can’t believe I’m saying that about a horse, but…). Hope you enjoyed it! And if not, don’t worry—I’ll make you love me eventually.
—Joel.”
The handwriting matched the tag.
Bdubs ripped the letter apart in rage, the paper tearing between his fists. Then he stopped, realizing it could have been evidence. With a bitter sigh, he let the scraps fall to the ground.
He stepped inside his cabin, the weight of fury pressing down on him. His voice was low, venomous, as he muttered to himself:
“I’ll keep hating you, you son of a bitch. No matter what.”
Or, Stormy pouts and rants about her love and few key dislikes of Pokemon, fave characters and which ones can DIAF. Beware drama (my own), hysteria (also my own), and complaints (....my own but echoed by others too!), also be warned, I am high as a kite on both oil and flu medications which means it’s long, and probably babbling at three different parts because I am rewatching XYZ and now I have feelz over the characters.
Long post is long.
Ash was ripped off
Tobias was a clusterfuck of a match that you just know was specifically written to ensure Ash didn't progress, because he otherwise would have won in Sinno. There was no one else left that could pose a threat - unless the anime whipped out a new OC at the drop of a hat that could somehow beat Ash withOUT a Latios or Darkrai equivalent.
His victory in Alola..... I have such mixed, convoluted feelings. My boy won a tourny! He's a champ! But to win, he only had to battle a handful of kids, most of whom only had 1 or 2 pokemon, a rival he'd faced several times before, a scientist that had no business being there, a gang leader who was certainly no Giovanni - and the only full 6 on 6 match was the FINAL????? I hate to say it but I can understand why a large faction of the fandom still didn't see him as a real champion that day.
Except, that last match happened.
All I can say is I was thrilled when his match against Kukui went down as it did. He and Pikachu fucking beat a legendary flat out, 1 on 1. SERIOUSLY?!?!?!? I didn't think we'd see that in the series yet but on what was proclaimed to be worldwide broadcast. I think. Anyway, I thought beating a legendary on tv would be champion status inducing but it wasn't the popular vote. Not a main legendary I guess? *shrugs *
Anyway, Ash did it in Sinno too, but Darkrai wasn't a 'main' Legendary either, you know? He'd been seen several times in the series and was never shown to be all that powerful. I mean, yes, to a normal trainer competing, right? But Tobias got put down hard by Cynthia and I certainly don't see him OR his Latios making a dent in the army of Dragonites Lance would bring to a battle.
So for Ash to beat Tapu Koko was a HUGE FUCKING THING and it kills me SO FUCKING HARD that he lives with a goddamn professor who OBVIOUSLY has not taken five goddamn minutes to look into this child's history, or even ask Oak about it, or even WATCH THE GODDAMN MATCH ON TV FOR EVEN FIVE MINUTES.
/end flailing
*chips consumed *
*Peace resumed *
Love that they tried to carry continuity over but they mucked it up in so many ways. I don't even think they planned for Ash to win the Coronation series in the beginning. Feel free to ignore, I've come too far, I am posting thoughts as they come now for I am high and do what Sabrina’s Alakazam foretold:
Ash fresh off XYZ? Champ material. He looked older, wiser, more mature. He did more specialty training with his pokemon, he was a true leader for the first time in the entire series - he had come into his own and he was glorious! I have so much love for the XYZ series making Ash really come into his own!
Then fucking Alola. I don't care how much I came to enjoy the series and acknowledge that it wasn't as bad as I had imagined - I will NEVER forgive the show developer's for backtracking Ash's design to make him look like a goddamn EIGHT year old (he didn't even look 10, fuck dat).
I MOURN for XYZ.
Anyway, then comes Journeys and they started over and yet kinda didn't. Because now we had confirmation that they didn't forget Alola in the first episode b/c we saw his trophy and all his past awards and it was like - BAM - CONTINUITY REACHED!
And they tried, I will admit, to have Ash seem like the more practical-knowledge type person to kinda guide Goh, but then they backtracked it as well by upping his child-like demeanor to make him even younger and it's not until midway through the 2nd season that you see him change a bit drastically - his battles are sharper then they've ever been, his dialog starts to sound a bit more like XYZ (in some battles, not all) and you can see by the 3rd season it's been decided, Ash will win. And what I mean by ‘Ash will win’, I mean, that’s likely around when studio execs (back when originally planning this shit out) figured - ‘let’s retire the kid after this season. Like, let him win and start fresh with a new hero.’
But my main rant is that it's all so surface level! Since Alola, Ash has been dumbed down to season 1 and 2 levels in anything not match-related, and Goh is the most irritating little brat that I can't fucking stand until season 2 when he starts to grow up. But CONTINUITY - right?
Hell no.
Lugia doesn't know Ash.
Mewtwo's past with Ash is barely touched on - the nuance and depth of their friendship, something unlike any other relationship in the entire franchise - is all but discarded.
The kid who in front of an entire castle full of trainers, castle staff and the fucking government - released an ancient pokemon hero, saved their territory, and brought back the solved mystery of what happened to Sir Aaron - you know, that big mystery unsolved for thousands of years? No sweat, Ash solved it, here ya go.
I love Pokemon so much, I just wish writers and creators weren't so afraid to pull on past bonds more, especially since it would absolutely thrill every single fan to see it. Seriously, a kid in RL with Ash's resume (topic-suitable equivalent, anyway) would be a fucking rock star.
One of the saviors of Kalos? That kid who was on TV falling off a TV tower, the kid that was runner-up at the Pokemon League? Who went head to head with a monstrous statue - again on live TV -alongside their new champion? Not a flicker of recognition from a single person aside from the 'main characters', not a single acknowledgment of what Ash did for their entire country.
I just want more ACKNOWLEDGEMENT, dammit. There were so many good story lines from past adventures I would have loved to have meaningful follow-up for. So many characters I would love to see expanded on or brought back in more detail. And of course, characters I would love to see DIAF and never return.
I have surprisingly few of those in this fandom. Pokemon did something I liked, all right.
Lilly annoyed me for a few reasons but many have nothing to do with her actions in the anime (and a lot to do with her English VA which is like fucking nails on a chalkboard to me) and she was nowhere NEAR as annoying as Iris so i can tolerate her much better. And I did like the idea of a poke-phobic trainer, not to mention her family history IS fascinating. I thought it was surprisingly well done for a kids show, particularly since they had started the season so syrupy sweet that it was boring in a lot of filler episodes before the main plot came into play.
As for the other companions, yeah, I would have liked to see Kiawe develop a bit more of a personality. He seems like an amalgamation of Iida Tenya’s strictness (BNHA) with a (very) mild version of Sanji from One Piece. He only felt like a 'person' when he was around his family, ya know?
But at least he got better as the series went on. What exactly did Sophoclese contribute to this series, exactly? He could have been written out entirely and nothing would have changed except there might still be an ultrabeast half-buried in the mountains but that's easily fixable. I have nothing against his character, I just feel he was an afterthought in the writer’s plans. Mallow was obviously meant to appeal as the female 'Brock', amirite? Lana had side-thing about telling lies about catching legendaries but otherwise meh… her voice was cute at first but became monotonous very quickly.
I had a few issues with Clemont but I'll not hear a word against my adorable, accepting, loving, loyal and devoted cheerleader Bonnie! I love her far too much. Clemont was much better once he got some confidence (I hate meek, wimpy characters).
Bonnie, for me, was designed really well - she could have easily been annoying, but her genuine friendliness, open mind and love of pokemon was done in a way I could relate with, and truly, of all the people Ash has traveled with, she, Dawn and Brock are my dream team I wish we could have but really can’t, due to A) the reboot, and B) I can’t see how those 4 would come together anyway (unless Brock and Ash decide on one more journey before Brock opens his own clinic, Dawn hears and asks to join, and Bonnie calls to see if she can travel with Ash because she’s finally 10 and she wants adventure and now I’ve been attacked by another plot bunny, send heLP*–)
*thuds in the background*
*panting* Am back.
Yeah. Bonnie is the eternally cheerful Luffy-like character, the never give up of Naruto, the Goku of Dragonball Z. She’s no innocent, but she’s also not a drop-of-the-hat crier (* Seinfeld voice* “Hello, Sailor Moon.”) nor is she a bratty character meant to torment their sibling in eternal bickerhood. I love the fact that she outwardly loves and trusts her brother, and it’s obvious he adores her right back. Their bickering is rare and short-lived and shows compromise or apologies when necessary, something I think kids today should see more of.
Serena can DIAF. Ever since Ash gave her a handkerchief at 8, she has exhibited disturbing stalking behaviours as well as trying to claim ownership over Ash and policing his emotions. Ash has never given off anything more than friendship vibes to ANYONE if I'm being honest, no matter I'm an original pallet-shipper (aged-up, let me assure).
I did not like May until well after the whole Manaphy thing was underway. It took me a very long time to warm up to her and she will never be my favorite but she is far preferable to Misty whom I dislike almost as much as I dislike Iris and Serena.
Misty I despised on a visceral level. I have never liked characters that beat up people as a way of showing their displeasure for any slight, regardless of offence level. Same reason I wasn’t a huge fan of Akane in Ranma ½ at first. May was too air-headed and well… lackluster so to speak. She was better once she found her ambition through contests and developed a spine but the initial first dozen episodes soured my first impression of her, and while I grew to like her later, there were other characters I liked far more.
Misty’s strident tones in the English version (the VA was great - really good at making Misty sound condescending [which she was] and annoyed at the world in general [which she also was]). In Japanese, she was, um, shall we say…. Nearly as arrogant as her sisters? I only watched one season subbed before I was compelled to return to the dubbed. Though I do miss the casual swearing among ten year olds.
Iris was the most condescending, rude, impatient and mocking little brat that had ever been on the show, and we had seen Paul at this point. It didn’t help that Ash had been ‘de-aged’ again despite following a continued storyline (my god, he had one busy year - from rookie to World Champion and all before puberty).
Paul… I am tempted to watch this series subtitled. I want to know what his character is actually supposed to be like - because I can’t fathom why TF the writers went with such an aggressive, abusive, substitute for pet abandonment.
I get that Paul was supposed to represent the fans of the game - the perpetual ‘grinders’ and the ones who spend money to get special packs and stack the decks because the only thing that matters is stats and winning and I do love how it might show kids that the way some adults treat animals is wrong and ingrain that in them young. But it leaves Paul as a character I dislike very much. Some fans have called him the next ‘Brandon’. I don’t know if I see it… but I also don’t know if I don’t not see it… shut up it made sense to me.
Max was the same in that know-it-all fashion I despise writer's using because many people tend to fail with that trope and make the characters 1 dimensional instead of balanced with other, more positive traits. Max became the info dumper for a while, the ‘audience-explainer’ - I am sure there is a proper term for this trope but I don’t know what it is and I am too busy ranting like a crazy thing to stop and go google. Also, fuck google.
It took a while for me to admit to liking him and I didn't feel it at all until he helped save that Raltz. Okay. Maybe a bit when he helped Poochyena evolve. Or when he rescued Shroomish. Hey, I said it took me a while to ADMIT, didn’t I?
I adore Dawn. Ash's twin sister he never knew he had. These two had such BF/sibling relationship vibes it was ASTOUNDING and I LIVED for it. Two headstrong, pokemon-crazed dingbats that threw themselves 150% into everything they did and somehow did not give Brock an aneurism in the process. Those high fives between them - he never had anything like this with the other girls. That physical intimacy (minds out of the gutter, they are CHILDREN) of high fives, casual touches, the equally wide grins with scrunched eyes and everything symbolic of siblinghood or childhood friendship was just so on display with them.
They read each other’s minds! Their pokemon adopted each other! Seriously, the cutest thing ever was when their pokemon actually began to properly mingle. Before, they always kinda stayed within groups close to their trainers. But Diamond&Pearl was when we saw Pikachu with a co-Leader who took on as much responsibility as Pikachu did (though requiring a bit more help, as determined maturity apparently does not equate actual life experience and thus resulted in some hilarity…. Well… you had to have seen it.), Ash’s Gible’s attack only singling out Dawn’s Piplup, Buneary’s crush on Pikachu, Brock’s baby Happini who was mothered over by Buneary (Dawn’s) and fathered over by Pikachu (Ash’s).
Actual bonding mimicking the lives of their trainers in various ways that they hadn’t before. At least, not to this extent. My absolute favorite series for sibling shenanigans!
I want more Brock. And Gary. I want them both back. And Ritchie.
Instead we had Goh. >.<;;;;;;;; My feelings on him could end up with this turning into a freaking college term paper so I'll stop here, take some deep breaths and try not to flail wildly. :D
Sigh. Fanfiction does exist for a reason.
They could have done the callbacks (MewTwo, Lugia, previous gym leaders) with a bit more respect for what happened during past adventures.
Almost everyone Ash came into contact with, nine times out of ten, came out of their meeting with Ash’s friendship and some form of PTSD. Ash stopped a LOT of bad guys. LOTS. And he got a lot of people involved, usually by directly involving himself.
Anything that would clear the way to bring back everyone from the past in story lines that could be much more developed and nuanced and beautiful because the backstory is already done. Just....*siiiiiiiighs wistfully *
“I have an idea, why don’t you two stay here for the night?”
Daily Doodle 342! Screen cap redraw (05:10) of Witch Sheep and Pumpkin Rabbit, the power couple 💜💛💜💛💜💛💜
If I were to ever get invited to their house for a sleepover I promise you I’m not coming back out. For whatever reason that may be - murder, natural causes, or [REDACTED] by the [EXPUNGED] when I [REMOVED FOR YOUR SANITY], Or by fucking the robots, who knows!
Warnings: Death of minor characters, fainting, some swearing, heavy talk of tsunamis, power containing restraints, bickering, hydro-powers
A/n: Here is the first chapter of my new series Levels of Intimacy! It is quite a long chapter, but I hope you enjoy it anyway:) I am so so so so so so sorry this took so long. I had to figure out the other chapters because I wrote 6,000 words of the first "level of Intimacy" (emotional) so I figured I would put it in different phases:) ANYWAY hope you like this series I have been working on! (Reposted because of blog deletion)
Control…
Something you wish you were capable of. When you were angry, or sad, panicked in any way there was nothing that you could do to stop the water. Not just from your eyes, but everywhere. It started small, just after the tsunami hit. A bright light filled your vision once the water calmed down. Never before had you seen such a beautiful light.
A buzzing, electricity, floating? It all happened far too fast for anyone to see or feel or embrace. But it was slow motion for you as the power surged through your veins just like water rushes through a river, never fully stopping until it reaches a calm body of water. Even when it does stop, it never really does. A current flows beneath the surface of the water giving the fish below a place to swim instead of freeze. What is truly beautiful about this, is a phenomenon that not a lot of people think about. Water is everywhere. In puddles, in drinks, rain, snow, ice, even the cement that builds our work places, and homes. It’s everywhere.
Whats even more amazing is the fact that water is connected. The water that can be drank by other people is most likely connected to the early times such as dinosaurs or even the water that flooded your home town off the island of Tahiti, where you, your mother and father lay un-peacefully rested. The wave not only of water but dread grew bigger and bigger as time went on, as time went on, so did the lives of thousands of people. You being one of the only survivors.
As time went on, so did your life and your dreams. The survivors guilt that hit you the following weeks and months after the disaster kept you from going to work, showering, taking care of yourself. You felt as if you should have been the one to die, not your parents. Or the friendly neighbor just down the street. Even your enemies who have passed on. You felt the guilt ripping away at your skin every morning when you woke up. Woke up… Something that felt so wrong.
As time went on, you move to a different country. You were American born anyway, and living in Tahiti was something your parents had always dreamed of. Going back to the US for some comfort of a big city with no ocean in the center, felt like the next best option. However, the country side did no good. It was too dry, and boring in your opinion. You needed the ocean. Something you dreaded, but needed. It was almost a sense of control, not being so close that you could touch it, but being so close that you could control never to go near it.
Giving you a sense of control also Brought you to the tower that most would call a beacon of light. Some would call a magnet of death. But to you, it was a place that you felt you belonged. With the freaks. The moment you walked into the tower sporting the large “A” at the top, you knew it was a regret, but you pushed through anyway. Setting your mind on finding Tony, or Steve or anyone who had a decent idea of what you could do was your goal.
The woman at the front desk was… difficult. Not letting you get one word in. “Ma’am pl-” Once again, cut off by the woman at the desk. You anger was rising, and you were afraid you would cause something horrible. Pounding your fist on the desk, you demanded you see Mr. Stark. “I need to see him! It is very important, and at this point, life or death. Just get me an appointment with him, or Mr Rogers. Anyone!” You glared at the blond woman, glaring back at you with a stare so sharp it could cut through a layer of tempered glass.
With a sigh, she nodded. “You have ten minutes. Do you understand? He is a very busy ma-”
“Yes! Im fine with that. Where do I go?” You proceeded to interrupt her this time. Pointing to the elevator, you immediately run to them, not even noticing the flood of security guards after you. Once the door closed, you let out a breath you did not know you were holding. “Dear god, how hard was it just to point me in this direction?” You ask aloud to yourself. Clicking the button labeled with an “S” at the very top, you assumed that was Starks office.
The small ding once the elevator stopped moving up, and up, and up made you jump slightly. The water in your water bottle starting to bubble. When you entered the room, there were people already sitting on couches but they did not look like normal civilians like you. They were thee Avengers.
“Can we help you Miss?” A strong, deep voice asked you as you rushed into the lobby, quickly stopping once you noticed everyone. “I- I- I need to speak to Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers. The receptionist said I had ten minutes and the security guards I fear are already here. Please this is urgent.” The begging in your voice was something that Steve recognized. He nodded to Tony, and gestured for you to follow him.
“What on earth is so important?” You slam your water bottle onto the table, and you sit down. Concentrating on making the water start to bubble and soon the small bubbles exit the open top of the bottle. “This. This is so fucking important. I don’t know what happened to me, and I’m scared I’ll hurt someone.” Your voice cracks, sending a small shiver down Steves spine. Wanda was just the same way, Steve thought. Scared and unknowing of the danger of not being able to control something. Instead, being controlled by it. “Whats your name?” Steve asks, looking at you with a pitiful yet genuine smile. “Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n. I was struck by the tsunami that hit the shores of Tahiti and after everything, th-this curse was given to me an-and I don’t know what to do.”
You stare at the water bottle that now sits empty, the water in a sphere just above the desk. Losing focus, the water was dropped, sending the liquid everywhere onto the floor. With a sigh, Tony groans as he sees the mess. “Ok, ok. Let me get you some water, that you’ll drink I hope. And then I’ll get someone who might be able to help.” Steve says as he instantly thinks of Wanda once again. The woman going through the same thing. Finding her inner peace with herself, and her acceptance of her abilities.
As you help Tony clean up the mess you made around the floor below you, a woman comes in. A small smile rests on her face as she sees you, and your heart tugs at something. Something you have never felt before. You look up, and your eyes meet the woman eyes. If the energy coming from between you and the woman alike, the connection would be visible. The strong feeling that pulled you to look at her also pulled you to stand up. The beautiful woman standing above you looked like a goddess that had just lost her crown, but was still the rightful ruler of a kingdom. She looked like she was glowing…
She smiles and holds her hand out to you. “Im Wanda Maximoff, but please just call me Wanda.” Her voice is of a nightingale in love with its mate, the beautiful sound filling the sky when the two lovers are together. It’s soft, gentle and could even sing someone to sleep if she really tried. As you shake off your thoughts, you hesitate when you see her hand. Slowly taking a hold of it, she shakes it softly and pulls away.
“Whats your name?” She asks, sitting down in the chair next to yours, smiling as she watches you sit down next to her. “I- Im Y/n.” You hide your hands in your lap, scared that if you move anything something might actually happen. “That is a beautiful name.” She whispers, feeling the connection herself that was felt not even minutes earlier.
“Thank you, I- I really like your name too. Is it Sokovian?” You guess, your mind some how feeling connected to her name as well. She nods her head yes, her smile widening as you recognize where she is from. But you mostly recognized the accent, putting her somewhere in the middle east.
She slowly reaches for your hands, and you jump; Your hands flying away from her. “Hey, Im not going to hurt you…” She whispers, giving you a smile as she holds onto your cold and shivering hands. “You were in the Tahiti tsunami, weren’t you?” She asks, having no knowledge of this before. She could sense that you used to love the ocean, and loved swimming and playing in the waves. But once mother nature became too powerful, and you became too comfortable, all of that was destroyed by her and the city slowly rebuilt itself. Yourself included.
You had to rebuild going outside again, getting up in the morning, eating, showering, even sleeping. Day in and day out was staring at the picture of your mother and father and the only thought on your mind was when the next natural disaster will hit you next. It was a trauma shake and Wanda knew what it was like. She was reading you like a book and was not hiding that she was reading your mind. Her eyes glowed a subtle red as she dug through your memories to the day that took everything from “Your mother and father… they loved you very much, I know they did.” Your brows furrowed as you watched her. “Y-you didn’t know my parents. You don’t even know me. I was just some victim of something I can’t control and I just have to hide myself away from the world. I thought if I came here I could get help, but it just makes me look like a freak.” A sigh exits your mouth as you pull your hands from Wandas soft
Wanda frowns as you pull away, her eyes going back to the warm, green color it originally was. “You’re not a freak, you have a gift Y/n. Did you know that you can heal people too?” You tore your eyes off of the water bottle in front of you and looked at Wanda. “Pardon?” You asked, more confused than ever. She nods and calls Bucky in from outside of the room. “This is Bucky, and as you can see he has kind of been roughed up on our last mission. Why don’t you try healing his right arm?” You look at the big, burly man above you, and back down to his arm. Gently, you take his hand and concentrate on one skin abrasion.
Not knowing where to focus your powers, you start with your heart. Seeking out every molecule of energy you had, your eyes begin to glow a light purple as do your hands around Bucky’s hand. As you feel the power surge through your veins and out of your hands, you pull away from Bucky and you look at his now clean and unharmed hand. He smirks at you, and turns to Steve. Not-so-subtly he says “Can we keep ‘er?” You brush off the comment, and turn your attention back to your hands.
“D-did I just fix his hand?” You whisper, Wanda looking at you with a satisfied smile. She nods as she holds your hands, pulling you gently. “Y/n? What do you think about joining the avengers? We- well, I could help you control your powers, and you could help restore what Thanos and other villains have destroyed. You can help people.” Your eyes water as you stare at your hands. The hands that are both capable for hurting, yet helping people all at the same time.
Without answering, gathering your things, or looking at anyone, you stand up and make your way out of the room to the nearest balcony. You needed fresh air, and even if it had to be salty fresh air, then so be it. Tears fell down your cheeks as you stared up at the clouds. “Why did you do this to me? Why me??” Shouting at the sky, you tried to gather your thoughts only ending up in panic attack. One that you might not be able to control as well as your other ones.
You could hear your name, but it was an echo, and a muffle. It was there but it wasn’t. Quickly, the world around you was getting darker by the second, and the people shouting your name felt as if they were a million miles away. As your body hit the floor, the one person who was there to catch your head was Wanda. She was quick and agile as she reached you, being so caring and loving towards you. “We have to get you to med bay.” She says as she picks you up, sliding her arm under your legs and just under your back. As Wanda walked, the swaying of her body made your head roll to the side and you landed right on her chest; Her heartbeat calm and collected, and soothing to count in your head.
Med bay came quicker than anticipated and you were lowered onto the bed, your head softly landing on the pillow and a blanket covering your body. Subconsciously, you hand is drawn to Wandas once again and a small whimper leaves your throat as she pulls away. Bruce notices this, and tilts his head. “I think she likes you, Wands.” He chuckles and prepares his things for an IV and other fluids. Wanda laughs along with him sending jolts of joy through your body as you listen to her voice. But you still would not wake up from this dreadful state you fell into on the balcony. As your breaths even out, Bruce holds your arm and Wanda holds your hand as the needle punctures your skin enough to find a
Bruce smiles as he enters your vein first try, and he brings the needle back, keeping the small tubing inside of your arm. A small groan sounds from your mouth, and you roll onto your side. The blanket keeps you warm but so does Wandas hand holding yours. “Its going to be ok, I promise you.” She whispers as she looks down at you with a small smile on her lips.
Tim & Dick, Tim & Jason, Angst, Arguing, Canon Divergence, Upset!Tim, Big Brother Jason.
Summary: Upset and angry, Tim doesn't react well when Dick asks him to give up the Robin mantle. After arguing with Dick, Tim storms away and bumps into an unlikely person who surprisingly supports him in the way Dick doesn’t.
A/N: This idea came about when I thought ‘what if Dick asked Tim to give Damian robin’ and this is the result. It’s canon divergence and while Jason doesn’t necessarily get along with the bats he’s not completely separated from them. Title is from ‘Saviour’ by Onerepublic.
Enjoy! :D
For a moment Tim wonders if he had heard things right. There’s no way his brother is suggesting what Tim thinks he’s suggesting. Like hell was he giving that demon child the Robin mantle!
Tim blinks at Dick, utter disbelief written across his expression. “You’re joking right? This is just – wait, no. There’s no way you just asked me to give Damian Robin.”
Opposite him, where Dick is stood by the bat computer wearing the Batman suit with the cowl down, Dick lets out a heavy sigh and sends Tim a pleading look. “Look Tim, please listen to what I’m saying-”
Tim cuts Dick off before he could finish that sentence. “I don’t need to listen to what you have to say Dick! I won’t listen to you while you try to justify why you want me to give up Robin, I have put my heart and soul into this and now you’re asking me to give it up, to throw away everything I have worked for. It’s not happening!”
“Tim.” Dick’s voice now has a hard edge to it, his brother coming close to losing that infamous patience of his. “I understand why you’re upset about this but think about it rationally. We all have to move on. You are no longer a little boy who needs guidance or a mentor, you have the skill and experience to be more than a sidekick.”
“This has nothing to do with that.”
Dick, however, continues speaking like Tim never said anything. “I can’t look at you and see you as my protégé, I want you by my side as my equal. Damian, on the other hand, he’s going to-”
“It’s always about fucking Damian.” Tim shouts at him, throwing his hands up in disbelief. He starts pacing, his hands and arms moving erratically with each step. “It’s always about that snot-nosed brat. Ever since he's come into our lives it’s always about him. Are you forgetting when he almost killed me? Damian would never, never, understand the meaning of Robin, not in the way we do.
“I had to work my ass off to be accepted as Robin, I had to earn the right, Bruce was adamant about me not taking it on but I proved my worth. Now you want me to pass it over with a bow on top to someone who will abuse it.”
“Well Bruce isn’t here!”
Dick’s shout freezes Tim on the spot. The words washing over him like ice water chilling him to the bone. Opposite him Dick’s face is flushed and his hands are clenched at his sides, he’s looking at Tim with an expression he couldn’t read but Tim could hear the pain and defeat in his voice.
“Bruce isn’t here,” Dick repeats quietly, “not anymore. We all have to move on and this is the way to do it. I become Batman with Damian as my Robin. And you Tim, you on my other side as my Nightwing.”
The silence that settles around them is thick and suffocating. Tim could hear the way his heart is pounding inside his chest and he could hear every breath he takes. His hands are shaking and there’s sweat building up across his forehead. Inside himself Tim could still feel the rage stirring, despite Dick’s words and the meanings behind them Tim cannot accept them.
Deep down he knows this is wrong. Dick is wrong.
Tim shakes his head. “No,” he declares firmly, “you’re wrong. Bruce isn’t gone. How can you accept that? He isn’t gone.”
“Tim, please, we’ve been over this,” Dick sighs, running a hand down his face. “He’s gone, we’ve seen the footage. You’re in denial, a lot has happened over the last few months and I get why you are but see the facts.”
Gritting his teeth he sends Dick a dark look. A lot has happened, Dick isn’t wrong about that. Tim’s lost two of best friends, his girlfriend, his biological father and now, supposedly, his adoptive father.
“We can get you help Tim,” Dick says carefully, his tone purposefully soft and gentle as if talking to a frightened animal. “We can get through this.”
“Help?” Tim scoffs at the notion. “I don’t need help, what I need is to prove to you is that Bruce is alive. Damian isn’t getting shit from me. No matter how much, or how sweetly, you ask me to hand the mantle over.”
“You need to accept Bruce is gone!” Dick cries at him. “I don’t like it any more than you do but we can’t sit here doing nothing. He’s dead! He ain’t coming back!”
Tim scoffs again and decides he’s had enough of this conversation. They’re going around in circles simply riling each other up. Neither of them are going to achieve anything at this point. Dismissing Dick’s presence Tim turns and stalks away, he needs to go before anything else happens.
“All I’m asking you is to think about it Tim. Give Damian Robin and you can forge your own hero.”
Stopping in his tracks Tim turns back around and glares at the man. “I don’t need to think about it. The answer is no. I’m Robin and it’s going to stay that way. I can’t believe you’re asking me to give up something I have worked so hard for and something I have shaped to be my own.”
“Stop being so selfish!”
For a third time that evening Dick’s words make Tim freeze. First the question. Secondly how Dick truly seems to believe Bruce is dead. Now this.
“Selfish? How am I being selfish? I own Robin, I am Robin, I don’t have to do shit. And least of all I don’t have to give that demon child anything. He doesn’t even know Bruce, what right does he have to suddenly become an integral part of the family?”
Dick huffs out a sardonic laugh with a shake of his head. “I can’t believe you just said that. I’m not even going to answer that. I ask you to do one simple thing Tim. You’re blowing this completely out of proportion.”
“Simple? I’m blowing this out of proportion?” Tim repeats. “You’re the one insisting Bruce is dead.”
“Because he is!” Dick explodes again. “You’re being delusional Tim! Listen to what you are saying, look at the evidence we have. Why are you insisting otherwise, you’re causing us more pain than what we already have.”
“You know what Dick,” Tim says, having had enough. It’s more than clear he’s alone in his corner, his brother choosing a psychotic ten year old over him. “Go fuck yourself.”
With that Tim turns and leaves. He ignores the calls Dick makes behind him and heads for the vehicle bay. He needs to get out of the cave as soon as possible or risk another argument with Dick. Not wasting a second he grabs his helmet, straddles his bike, turning it on he reeves the engine before zooming out of the cave. He has no destination in mind other than the further away the better.
Sometime later he’s speeding through the streets of Gotham, his mind completely occupied on what occurred in the cave earlier. He repeats their spoken words and instead of seeing the argument logically, it only riles Tim up more and his anger at the situation increases.
A piercing scream cuts through his thoughts and Tim jolts, with a wrench of the handlebars he swerves his bike to the side and narrowly avoids hitting a group of girls standing on the sidewalk. Once he's stable and back on the road Tim takes a deep breath and steadies himself. After almost causing an accident he knows he’s in no state to drive. Working out where he is in the city he comes up with a good hiding spot nearby in the back alleys between buildings, navigating himself there Tim turns off the engine and takes a moment to breathe in attempts to calm himself down.
He shouldn’t have been driving angry. It’s reckless and dangerous. He almost caused an accident because he isn’t in the right head space to be able to fully concentrate on what he’s doing and on his surroundings. Yanking off his helmet Tim climbs off the bike and begins to pace, unable to stay still any longer.
Dick’s words repeat themselves in his mind and they make it difficult to focus on anything else. Tim can’t believe Dick wants him to give up the Robin mantle. After everything he’s been through, Dick wants him to give up the one thing that’s keeping him sane. Tim's lost his father, Kon, Bart, Steph, and Bruce (no, he hasn’t, he’ll find him) and now Dick wants Tim to lose Robin too.
Dick’s told him he can come up with a new persona but he doesn’t want to, a new one wouldn’t be the same. He’s not ready for that.
He's not giving up Robin.
Tim feels the need to hit something as another wave of anger flows through him. With his fists clenched impossibly tight by his sides Tim ends up taking his anger out on his bike, the force of the kick he strikes the vehicle with causes it to fall over with a loud clatter. In the moment the damage done was the last thing on Tim's mind. As he steps back from the bike his eyes get drawn to an old metal pipe propped up against the wall, stalking over to it he grabs the pipe and weighs it in his hands, figuring it'll do he walks back to his bike and takes a swing at it. As the pipe collides with the rear breaks a loud clang could be heard. Tim swings again before moving to the front of the bike.
He loses track of how long he spends whacking his bike with the pipe. With every swing he lets out a swear followed by a curse against Dick. All of his anger and emotions bleed out in an unforgivable manner, all of the tension he’s been holding for months finally spilling out of him like water bursting through a broken dam.
By the time Tim is done he’s feeling exhausted. His arms and shoulders ache, his fingers are cramping from where he’s held onto the bar too tightly and for too long, his head is pounding and he’s breathing heavily.
Tim slumps down onto the ground and ducks his head to his chest as he tries to get his breathing under control. He doesn’t feel any better, his temper tantrum hasn’t solved anything because all the same problems will still be there when he goes back to the cave. All he’s achieved is damaging his bike which will likely take weeks to repair.
A loud thump coming from his right gets his attention. Despite feeling exhausted his body is still working through the adrenaline, instinctively Tim is back up onto his feet before he even thinks about it, his staff in his hands and he’s automatically in a defensive position facing an opponent.
It takes him a moment to realise who it is opposite him. Standing casually like Tim is no threat at all is the Red Hood. The man is stood in the middle of the alleyway with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and his red helmet in place, Tim could see guns and weapons stashed across his body but what Tim couldn’t work out is why he’s here.
Red Hood steps closer to him and Tim doesn’t soften his stance. “When one of my snitches told me there’s a disturbance in the area, I certainly didn’t expect it to be you, replacement. Done with your temper tantrum?”
Tim grits his teeth and stays quiet. He’s not in a good mood and seeing Jason Todd, another supposed family member whose tried to kill him, that day is souring his mood even more than before. He’s not falling into Hood’s baiting games.
“What no snarky comeback?” Hood taunts. The man comes even closer and peers down at his bike, taking in the damage Tim has done to it. “Isn’t that what Robin’s all about, witty comebacks and the sense of humour?”
At the mention of Robin Tim snaps. “Shut up and fuck off.” Tim knows he fell into the trap, it didn’t take much, but he couldn’t help it, it was the mention of the exact thing that’s caused his bad mood.
Hood whistles. “Oh, the little birdie has a bite after all.” He stops walking, choosing to stand opposite Tim with the bike between them. “Oh relax replacement, I ain’t going to do anything. You can put that stick of yours down.”
Tim narrows his eyes at the man and doesn’t move.
“Alright, whatever,” he hears Hood sigh with a shake of his head. The man then crosses his arms, “so what’s got you in the middle of the city throwing it down with your bike? Not like you to lose your temper easily.”
“It’s none of your business.” Tim says, his voice hard and cold. “There’s nothing to see here so you can bugger off back to where you came from.”
There's a pause and Tim could count every second that passes in silence by his rapid heartbeat. The man stays quiet as he crouches down to the vehicle and examines it more closely, fiddling with bits to see how bad the damage is. Tim allows him to do what he wants and he even drops the defensive stance and puts away his staff.
“Let me guess,” Hood drawls out while looking at the breaks, “you got into an argument with goldie? Or perhaps it was the new kid, Bruce’s biological one, that’s caused you to lose your shit? Maybe it was both!”
Tim has no idea how the hell Hood’s been able to hit the nail right on the head but Tim doesn't confirm or deny anything, he stays quiet and keeps an eagle eye on the man’s movements.
“Not going to answer that?” Hood enquiries, the man looks up and even though he’s wearing the stupid helmet, Tim could tell he’s looking straight at him. After a moment Hood snorts and shakes his head yet again. “Both it is then.”
“It’s none of your business.” Tim repeats his earlier words in the same cold tone, but there’s an underlying shakiness to it. It’s nerved him on how right Jason’s been able to guess the reason behind his mental breakdown.
“If you’re wondering how I guessed well most of it was a lucky guess. However the fact your half dressed also gave it away. You’re lucky no one else has come to check out what the noise was all about.”
Tim blinks before frowning. He looks down at himself and noticed for the first time the attire he’s adventured out in. He's still got his armoured pants and boots on, his utility belt is wrapped around his waist however he’s only wearing a thin cotton jumper he had put on once he got out of his Robin tunic. A surge of panic hits Tim and he reaches up to his face, the panic intensifies when he doesn’t feel anything but skin there. His eyes widen and he feels sick. He’s been out here in his robin gear openly showing his face. Anyone could work out his identity! He’s fucked up big time.
“Jesus christ, relax, replacement,” Hood’s robotic voice cuts through his thoughts. “I’ve already disabled any cameras nearby and have wiped out any footage of the last hour since you’ve been here. Whatever happened really fucked you up huh? Reckless driving. Vandalizing your own vehicle. Swearing as bad as a sailor. Almost blowing the whole family’s secret.”
“Yes, thank you!” Tim cuts in, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed at Hood’s response to list off everything he’s done wrong in the last hour. “How would you like it if I listed everything you’ve done wrong Hood? Have you got time, because we’ll be here all day.”
Jason’s own response was to snort in amusement. Obviously he’s not as bothered by it as Tim is. Huffing Tim walks to where his helmet lies on the floor, picking it up he dusts off the dirt and puts it on, at least no one will be able to see his face with this on.
“What do you want Hood? I’m evidently having a shitty day and you’re not improving it.” Tim says with a sigh, he’s tired and done with everything, all the fight having now left him. “If you have nothing to do and you’re only here to annoy me, can I ask you to do it on another day. I don’t have the energy.”
Now standing up right Hood stares at him and Tim stares back. When the man doesn't relent Tim looks away first, he changes his attention to his poor bike and starts to feel the regret of his childish actions.
To his surprise though Hood bends down and picks the bike up, using the handlebar to keep it balanced and steady. Miraculously it’s somehow standing, perhaps Tim hadn’t too much damage to it after all. Wordlessly the man starts guiding the bike down the alleyway leaving Tim blinking in confusion behind him.
“Uh Hood? What you doing?”
“Well you can’t get anywhere with the damage done to this. We’ll go to my garage and fix her up. Then you can go off and do whatever it is you need to do.”
Tim doesn't know what part of that to try and comprehend first.
“Why do you want to help me? Not long back you were trying to kill me.”
Hood shrugs. “Well today I fancy being a good Samaritan, sue me. Well, you could try but you can’t sue a dead man,” the man then pauses, “or can you?”
Tim is the most confused he’s been all night. “What? I don’t know. That’s not an answer.”
The other man doesn’t offer anything up so Tim quickly darts forward to catch up to him as Jason leads them through the narrow alleyways. The other part of what he said also sits in Tim’s mind, it’s like Jason already knows that Tim is planning on doing something about proving how Bruce isn’t dead. Like he knows Tim may go off to prove his point. Tim decides to not think about how well the man seems to read him despite them hardly ever interacting unless Jason’s actively trying to kill him.
The two of them remain silent the entire way to Jason’s garage. Tim should be weary of him and the situation but after the day he’s had he couldn’t quite bring himself to care, if Jason wants to try and kill him then he could go ahead, it’ll just be icing on the cake at this point. Hell Damian will end up having the Robin mantle if Jason kills him, then Dick will also get his wish. Two for one. Lucky them….
“Whatever it is, it’ll pass,” Hood mutters to him, it’s said so quietly Tim almost misses it, “I don’t know the situation or what’s happened between you and Dick but things have a way to sort themselves out.”
Tim doesn't offer a response to his words although Jason didn’t seem to be after one. The two of them eventually make their way to Jason’s garage and they instantly set up the bike onto the racks. Together they start making a log of what needs to be replaced and what can be fixed. It should scare Tim how well they work together when they’re not engaged in a fight but it doesn’t. In a weird way it feels right, of course he doesn’t comment on the situation, instead he silently accepts the helping hand Jason is offering.
No one needs to know how later that night, when Tim falls asleep on the old recliner Jason has in his garage, how Jason covers Tim with his jacket and leaves him to sleep while he works on the bike. The two of them in a comfortable silence like they’ve never experienced before.
Jason may or may not be starting to develop protective feelings for the kid who looks like he’s wearing the world on his shoulders. Learning to get past his previous feelings Jason figures that if the Bats are going to treat Tim like shit then he’ll will do his best to make sure the kid remembers that he isn’t alone.
So after episode 11 … do you think you could write anything not angsty please
I got you ✊ Mindless, tooth rotting fluff to make us all forget about the pain! This is Pat and Pran slow dancing in their new apartment. I hope you like it 💛💛💛
(Also, this is slightly AU. I decided Pat and Pran didn't break up, but decided to stay together after their beach trip.)
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"Dance with me, babe"
"Shit," Pran swears, and he angrily looks down at the half-assembled coffee table in front of him as if it personally offended him. Something doesn't fit, and Pran is pretty sure he followed the instructions in the manual perfectly, so it's absolutely the furniture's fault, and not his. There's definitely a screw missing, and the pre-drilled hole is off-center. So much for quickly putting the table up so they can host a small housewarming party for their friends later.
Pran doesn't know why he has to be the one to assemble the furniture for their new flat when his engineering boyfriend, who knows much better how to use tools, is right there, but Pat is too busy unpacking boxes in the kitchen and happily putting away mugs to notice Pran's struggle.
Pran sighs, puts the screwdriver down, and lets himself fall back into the cushions of their new couch, just watching Pat for a moment.
He notices that Pat's hair is getting long, tickling the back of his neck and falling into his eyes, making Pat run his fingers through it again and again to push it back. He's wearing one of his annoyingly small tanktops, leaving his broad shoulders and toned arms exposed, and Pran can't help but admire the way his muscles bulge beneath his skin when he moves. He's dancing as he works, and singing along to a terrible American pop song that's playing on the radio. Pat has many great qualities, but singing is not one of them. In fact, it's awfully out of tune, off rhythm, and his English isn't good enough, so he mumbles along every few words when he doesn't know the lyrics. Still, Pran smiles at his exuberant goofiness. For the whole week before the move, Pat had been giddy and excited. And for once, he was the one planning everything meticulously, packing boxes and labeling them almost lovingly, and getting excited whenever they'd decide what to throw out and what to keep as theirs.
"I can't wait to have our own life together," he said while cuddling close to Pran on the couch one night, hugging him too tightly and rubbing his face against Pran's chest as Pran combed his fingers through his hair.
Pran is excited, too. Of course he is. But to him, it's just a new place. To him, they had a life together long before today, and it doesn't matter to him that his plates are now their plates, and Pat's comforter is now their comforter, or that their names are next to each other on the doorbell. To him, their life together started when they chose each other, to hold onto each other, to never let go. He can't pinpoint the day, if it was their first kiss, the day Pat confessed his feelings to an auditorium full of people, or the one at the beach where they decided to not give up and weather the storm together. Or maybe it was long before that, because in some ways, their lives have always been so entwined, it's difficult to tell where to separate them neatly without taking away a vital part.
Still, seeing Pat's happiness, the excitement radiating from him, was contagious, and Pran fell equally in love with the idea of having their own little place, just for the two of them. The flat isn't big, just two rooms and barely more space than their dorms. But it's their own, and it has a lovely little balcony and a bathtub, and when the light filters through the windows, it looks like a place where they can love each other in peace. It's all they really need after years of hiding, years of fighting for this, for them, against their friends and their families, and sometimes their own fears. Pran doesn't know how he deserves someone like Pat, who stood by his side so fiercely through it all, even when Pran doubted they could make it. But somehow they did. They graduated, they'll both start working in a few days, they're still with the same group of close-knit friends, and they're even talking to their parents again.
It's still awkward, uncomfortable, every interaction tinted by a year of radio silence and countless arguments following it. But they're coming around now, slowly and begrudgingly, and Pat and Pran know they're at least trying. They're not at the stage where Pran can invite Pat over for dinner yet, but his dad greets Pat now when he sees him around town and burrowed him some tools a few weeks ago when Pat had to fix their fence. After more than three years together, it's not much, but definitely more than either of them expected. But they both stopped making their happiness dependent on their parents' approval a long time ago. Maybe they had to grow up a little too fast because of it; maybe it wasn't always easy, and there are moments where Pran still wishes he could hug his mum and have her pet his hair gently like she used to do. It's better than living without each other, though.
Pat crumbles up the last piece of wrapping paper and looks at his work, then over his shoulder at Pran. He grins, wiggles his brows, then walks over to the stereo and cranks up the volume, blasting another cheesy pop tune. He shimmies over to where Pran is sitting, lips pursed and his head bobbing up and down, still singing and his eyes shining, doing an elaborate but completely arrhythmical choreography with his arms. He's also a terrible dancer. Pran finds it endlessly endearing.
When he finally stands before Pran, he bends down to peck his lips, mouthing the lyrics against Pran's smile until he can't keep the giggles in anymore. Pat is ridiculous, and Pran thinks he might burst from happiness. So he leans forward, pulls Pat in by his tank top, and kisses him again, softer this time, drawn out and languid. His hands find their way around Pat's neck, holding him close and not letting go before he gets his fill. He knows the satisfaction won't last long, and that he'll crave this closeness again soon. But unfortunately, Pran has obligations that unfairly prevent him from spending all his days in Pat's arms, kissing him, holding him, and making love. And right now, it's a coffee table with a missing screw demanding his attention.
So he sighs against Pat's lips as they separate, ready to get back to work, but Pat chases him, peppering kisses over his cheeks and brow, the tip of his nose, and his eyelids, still humming along to the song. Pran pulls back, pretends to half-heartedly swat him away, but he knows Pat can see right through him, that he knows every miniscule twitch of Pran's expression from years of studying him. Pran gives in as soon as Pat cups his face in his hands, holding him with aching tenderness and nuzzling their noses together.
The song changes again, this time to something slower and softer, the words of a lover serenading his love filling the room, a gentle voice and the quiet strum of a guitar.
Pat takes a step back then, holding his hand out as an offering, asking Pran to take it in his. "Dance with me, babe," he says, his voice soft and his eyes hopeful.
"No," Pran says, shaking his head and raising his brows, but his defense is thin at best, and he's already laughing at Pat's exaggerated pout and the way he wiggles his hips.
"Please?" Pat whines, looking up at Pran from under his lashes, and Pran still doesn't understand how a guy of Pat's size can look so utterly adorable.
"I have a table to build, and…." but Pran doesn't have a good excuse, because the table doesn't matter, but Pat does. He's the only thing that matters. Still, Pran rolls his eyes. "You're ridiculous," he says, but his face is hopelessly fond at the same time.
"You’re the one who chose me," Pat points out smugly, and Pran can't deny that it's true. He chose Pat, and Pat chose him, and it’s still the best decision Pran ever made. And he can't really deny him anything. So he takes Pat's hand, allows himself to be dragged up and against Pat's chest, and lays his free arm over Pat's shoulders.
Pat wraps his own around Pran's waist, pulling him in, putting their clasped hands against his chest and pressing his face into Pran’s neck to smell him. Pran feels Pat's lips against his skin, feels the smile tugging at Pat’s mouth and how he nuzzles against him, and he shivers when Pat's breath tickles against his collarbone, before they start moving.
They're simply swaying with each other, cheek to cheek, moving in slow, mindless circles to the music that's floating through their tiny living room. Pran lets his nose run along Pat's cheek, kisses the hinge of his jaw, whispers "I love you," into his ear, and Pat’s hold around Pran's waist tightens in response.
Pran still knows no place as safe and comforting as the circle of Pat's arms, and he melts into him now, grips his shoulders tighter, and buries his face deeper into his neck, feeling sheltered and protected in the way only Pat can provide. All his life, Pran felt like a little boat lost on the high seas, unequipped for its vastness, and too small to withstand the crashing waves and raging storms, the world seemingly too chaotic for his anxious mind. So he plans, sorts, and organizes; anything to combat the constant feeling of being pulled under by a force of nature far greater than himself. But Pat is his anchor, tethering him to the ground, breaking the waves for him, and keeping him afloat even in the worst of tempests.
Sometimes, when his anxiety threatens to consume him, Pran wonders if he gives Pat enough in return, if he deserves all of it, if he deserves him. But then, he remembers that this, their love, is not a competition. They tease and challenge each other, still engage in little contests, simply because it’s what they’ve always done, and they wouldn’t be Pat and Pran if they didn’t. But Pran has learned over the years that Pat's love for him has no exchange rate, that he gives it freely and endlessly, and that with him, for once, Pran can just be. And Pran is endlessly grateful for it.
He draws back a little to look at Pat, at the man he loves, his handsome face and sparkling eyes, crinkled at the corners from his wide, happy grin and the laugh lines that are starting to burrow into his skin permanently. Somehow, they make him even more beautiful. Pran lifts their entwined hands up, presses his lips to Pat's knuckles, and watches as his smile softens and his eyes fill with that gentle expression that is reserved only for Pran: an open, unguarded adoration that still takes Pran's breath away.
"What are you thinking of," Pat asks quietly, his thumb stroking over the small of Pran's back.
"You're getting old," Pran teases as he lets his fingertips run over the crunched up skin. Pat's nose scrunches up in offense, and then his brows rise high, the glimmer in his eye changing to something more mischievous.
"Can an old man do this?" He asks, and dips Pran over until all that's keeping him from falling to the ground are Pat's arms around his waist, holding him securely. Pran squeaks, grabs Pat's hand tighter, and Pat uses the leverage to pull him back up again, back into his embrace, before twirling him around by his outstretched arm.
Pat spins Pran around, again and again, until he's dizzy from it and tumbles right back into Pat's arms, happy and drunk on all the love that's bubbling up inside of him. Pran throws his head back and laughs, stretching his arm out to twirl Pat in return, delighting at the sight of him, the childlike glee on his face, this simple moment of happiness and freedom they took out of their day just to be with each other for a few minutes.
Eventually, as the song slowly peters out, they find each other again, Pran's arms wrapped securely around Pat's neck, and their foreheads resting against each other, both of them with their eyes closed, just feeling each other, basking in their shared warmth and comfort.
Until a loud crashing sound and a colourful string of swears break their moment of quiet intimacy.
Pran turns around in Pat's arms, but he's not ready to leave them yet. He presses his back against Pat's chest, wanting to feel this warmth for a little bit longer, and holds onto Pat's arms that are still securely wrapped around his waist, as they watch Korn and Wai struggle to get their dresser through the apartment door.
"Korn! Damnit, don't put it down yet. I'm still on the stairs!" Wai yells, his face red with anger.
"Fuck off, it slipped out of my hands," Korn grumbles, furrowing his brows and pulling a face over Wai's tone. "Can you lift it up again?"
Wai's face reddens impossibly more as he spits out: "Do it yourself, asshole."
"I fucking hate you," Korn groans, but he lifts the drawer up again to relieve Wai of some of the weight.
"Love you, too, babe," comes Wai's sarcastic reply, and not for the first time, Pran wonders how they can stand to be with each other. But he knows that their love simply has a different shape than his and Pat's.
"I still can't believe they got engaged before us," Pat whispers into Pran's ear and chuckles. "They'll beat us in achieving all the milestones."
"All you have to do is ask," Pran says, and finally pushes himself out of Pat's embrace to help Korn and Wai with the dresser, leaving Pat stunned and speechless in the middle of their living room.
