A blog specifically for my writing, usually fanfiction, may or may not get used often.
I'll try to keep everything sfw though I will add warnings regardless.
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Hartley's voice was quieter than it had been but no less harsh as he glared at the older man through the glass. He knew it was well after hours - that was the only time Harrison bothered to come speak to him, when he could shut off the security cameras and talk openly without worrying about his team hearing their conversations. So Hartley didn't feel it necessary to hide his emotions either. The man had seen him naked, after all, it was hard to get more vulnerable.
"No. I didn't."
Hartley had expected some more bullshit lies about how he had loved Hartley, would always love Hartley, or something similar. The blunt statement hit him like a physical punch and he looked away, fighting the lump that formed in his throat. He'd cried enough over this man, he definitely didn't want to cry in front of him. He let out a forced, miserable, pained laugh.
"So, what, I was just...just stress relief? An easy fuck?"
"Yes."
Hartley felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. God, it hurt. The rejection, the cruel dismissal, it hurt so damn much. He knew it was true, but he'd still thought…he'd thought maybe there had been something real between them. That Harrison cared about him, even just a little. But of course that was too much to ask for, far too much to hope for.
"Hartley." God, that condescending tone was grating. "Does that really upset you? You knew it wasn't anything more. I cared about you, as one of my best employees. You were my guy. Not my partner."
"Who's your 'guy' now? Ramon?" Hartley spat, trying to override the overwhelming grief with venom and anger. It didn't quite work, his voice shook and his hands were trembling, but at least the tears stayed back.
Harrison removed his glasses, completely unbothered. "I'm not sure what you want me to say. I got what I needed and now we're done."
Another knife straight to the heart, Hartley wasn't sure how much more he could take. But he managed to not crumble right then and there, breathing through the pain.
"Does your pet Flash know this side of you?" Hartley sneered, his tone bitter. "How long until he figures out who you really are now that he knows I warned you about the accelerator?"
Harrison's face hardened a bit, the first sign of real emotion he'd seen from the man...maybe ever. But the flicker of emotion was gone as quickly as it had come.
"Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit. I made a horrible mistake but Barry will see that it was just that - a mistake."
Hartley tsked. "Factum fieri infectum non potest."
"Indeed." Harrison replied, turning away from him. "Goodnight, Hartley."
The moment the door to the pipeline closed, Hartley fell back against the wall of his cell and slumped to the ground, feeling broken and empty as he choked on a sob. Harrison Wells had taken everything from him - his future, his career, his heart - and for what? Nothing. Harrison had given him nothing. He was nothing to Harrison.
-----
translation:
Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit.
No man is wise at all times.
Factum fieri infectum non potest.
It is impossible for a deed to be undone.
Warnings: blood, internal organs not inside the body, implied SA of a minor
OC info: link
Blood doesn't sparkle in the setting sun the way water does - it shines, wet and dark, and stains everything it touches leaving behind red-orange blotches that never seem to quite go away even after a deep clean.
"I...oh-oh my god-" Berrie couldn't breathe. The blood felt scalding as it ran down her trembling forearm, soaking into her rolled up sleeve at the elbow. God, there was so much blood. "W-why did I...I..."
Berrie dropped the heart suddenly as though it had burned her and it landed with a sickening squelch on the linoleum as the blind range shifted into horror at what she'd done.
"No. Nonononono- what did I-I didn't mean to- oh god-" Berrie stepped backwards, her pristine white sneakers nearly slipping in the rapidly forming pool of blood. The metallic scent was overwhelming, making her stomach churn and she covered her nose and mouth with her clean hand.
She'd killed him. She'd killed her chemistry teacher, Mr. Abbott, the one who always made corny science jokes, the one who everyone liked. The one who had tried to assault Shun when he was alone in his classroom for detention after school. So...so then it was fine, right? Berrie had just been protecting Shun.
But even as she tried to rationalize it, her mind was racing. She'd never meant to do this. She didn't know how it happened. She just remembered feeling a sudden moment of blinding rage and then...then the heart was in her hand. And Mr. Abbott was on the floor. Dead.
A locker clanged outside the classroom and Berrie jumped before taking off in a flash of orange. She needed to get home. She needed to...to...she wasn't sure. Her dad would know what to do. He always did. She skidded to a stop in the hallway of her home, near hyperventilating.
"Berrie? You're home late-" Eobard entered the hall as well and paused, taking in his daughter's appearance before crossing to her and taking her arm, gently leading her to the kitchen. "Why are you covered in blood? Are you hurt?"
"No, I...it's not-not mine. I..." Berrie struggled to put her thoughts into words as she processed what had just happened.
"Did anyone see you?" He asked, still inexplicably calm as he wiped her arm clean. How was he so calm? He should be freaking out. He should be angry or-or worried or something right?
Berrie shook her head, feeling like she might be sick.
"Good. I'll clean things up and then we'll deal with the rest." Eobard said before dropping the rag in the sink and running off in a flash of red lightning.
Berrie stared at the blood-soaked rag in the sink without really seeing it, her mind racing. She couldn't seem to contain her panic, it felt like it was suffocating her, desperate to be released; she couldn't stay here, she needed to go somewhere, do something. She needed to leave. She needed to run. So, Berrie ran.
She gathered all of her speed, pushing herself faster and faster until the world around her started to morph. Colors blurred together, buildings shifted and changed, street sounds mingled in her ears. She ran faster than she ever had before, orange lightning flashing around her, pushing past all the limits she had until suddenly in a flash of light she was careening into a dumpster as her speed cut out without warning.
Barry really hadn't meant to get so drunk. He hadn't intended to go to the party at all, really; he'd planned to spend the evening studying but Iris had told him he'd been working too hard and that had led to him agreeing to attend for a couple of hours, just to socialize. Then, one beer turned into two and then a handful of shots and now he was stumbling along behind someone he didn't recognize, pulled by the hand into a vacant bedroom.
Barry felt woefully inexperienced as the person kissed a burning trail down his neck and he squirmed slightly at the feeling. He'd hardly ever got past the making-out stage before, he'd had only had a handful of girlfriends, and he'd never been with another man - he was pretty sure the blond person making quick work of his clothing was a man, at least, though he hadn't gotten a good look and every glimpse he had caught had revealed a face that was eerily, uncomfortably pretty as though every feature had been hand selected. He was almost hard to look at.
"Relax, Barry, I'm not going to hurt you."
Oh, his voice was a very nice baritone that sent heat directly into Barry's lower stomach. Still, Barry was pretty sure he was way too drunk to do anything about it.
"I...I don't know if we should-" Barry started but the man shushed him, kissing him until he was breathless and had forgotten his protest entirely.
When they finally broke for air, Barry's pulse was raging and his head was swimming. Somehow they'd ended up on the bed though he didn't recall moving.
"That's it," the man soothed, running a hand up Barry's chest. "You know, you're almost sweet like this. Docile."
The way he said it sent alarm bells ringing in Barry's ears and he tried to shift away. The man seemed to read his thoughts and his hand moved faster than Barry could track, grabbing Barry's wrist in a vice grip.
"Don't be afraid, Barry, you won't remember any of this. It'll all be just a vague, hazy memory, like a dream." He purred and Barry wriggled to get away again.
"No...stop-" Barry protested weakly. He shoved at the man with his other hand but he was too dizzy to put up a good fight. A wave of nausea hit him, making him turn his head to the side.
The man chuckled but it wasn't a nice sound. This time he kissed Barry hard, their teeth clacking together and his tongue pushing into Barry's mouth to swallow up any further attempts at protest. Barry's eyelids fluttered as he fought to stay awake - the last thing he needed was to pass out. He didn't want to know what the man would do with his unconscious body. Though, he seemed pretty determined to do whatever he wanted with his conscious body too.
Barry got a leg between them and kicked clumsily towards the man but the man only caught his leg and used the opportunity to tug Barry's jeans off.
"You're not going to get anywhere like that." The man scolded, flinging the jeans to the floor haphazardly.
Barry felt his eyes closing again and a grogginess settling over him. Maybe he should just let himself sleep, at least then he wouldn't be conscious for whatever the man was planning to do with him...
The next thing Barry was aware of was Iris shaking him awake.
"Barry? Come on, Barr, let's get you home." Iris sounded worried and Barry groaned, sitting up slowly.
"Where's the...blond guy?" Barry mumbled, scrubbing his hands over his face. He was fully dressed again and he'd have been glad to consider it just a nightmare but everything hurt in a way he was pretty sure it wouldn't if the man hadn't done exactly what he'd lured Barry away for.
"Nobody was in here when I came to find you, he must have left before." Iris said with a frown. "Are you okay?" She sounded so worried that Barry didn't have the heart to tell her what he vaguely remembered happening.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just...a little nauseous. I think I drank too much." He lied, pushing to his feet unsteadily. "Let's go home."
@alittleflashvibe Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy :)
Ficlet based on this ask
Warnings: vague sexual references, nothing explicit
Barry felt like he was on fire.
He wasn't, he knew that, but something had to be wrong because whatever the meta he'd been fighting had done made his normally already warm temperature unbearably hot and the first thing he did when he stumbled into the Cortex was change from the stifling leather Flash suit into the nearest t-shirt and jeans available. It didn't help. In moments it seemed, the gray S.T.A.R. labs shirt was nearly black, soaked through with sweat. God, why was it so hot?
"Barry? Is everything alright?"
Barry spun to face Dr. Wells, feeling light-headed, and when he tried to find the words to explain what was happening, he found that all his thoughts disappeared as quickly as they came.
"I...no. I don't think...something's wrong." He finished lamely. "Where's Caitlin?"
Dr. Wells frowned, giving Barry a concerned look over his glasses. "She's already left for the day. What happened?"
Barry tried to focus on Dr. Wells' words, but it was getting increasingly difficult with every passing second. He felt like his mind was foggy, like he couldn't think straight. He could feel his heart racing, his palms sweating, and his thoughts becoming more and more consumed with the man. He needed to leave before he did something stupid but he couldn't make his feet work.
"There was a meta...they did something but I-I don't know..." Barry tried to explain, his mouth dry.
Without realizing it, he'd moved closer to Dr. Wells. When had that happened?
"Are you hurt?" Dr. Wells' voice was gentle, but his eyes were sharp and assessing as he scanned Barry from head to toe. Barry was suddenly very aware that his jeans were growing increasingly uncomfortable.
"No, no, just...I can't think...maybe I have a fever?" There, those words made sense together and sort of explained what he was experiencing. The thick fog in his head only seemed to be increasing and words were getting harder and harder.
Dr. Wells nodded and wheeled towards the medbay.
"Come lie down, I'll have a look." He instructed calmly and Barry found himself following on autopilot.
Barry watched Dr. Wells, willing himself to listen and understand while the man checked his vitals and took his temperature, but every word seemed muffled and far away and he found himself staring at the older man's lips more than anything. He wanted to kiss them, to feel them on his own, to taste them - when had he moved closer? Dr. Wells didn't seem to mind and if Barry was in his right mind, perhaps he'd have found that weird. But right now, all he wanted was for Dr. Wells to kiss him.
Cisco's low whistle snapped him out of it and he whipped his head around to look at him as he crossed the room.
"That's a high number. You feeling okay, man?"
Barry...thought he'd answered but he couldn't be sure, he was far too busy staring at Cisco. Had he always been so pretty? Cisco and Dr. Wells spoke for a moment but Barry couldn't follow the conversation and all he got out of it was that Cisco was even prettier when he was frustrated. Dr. Wells wheeled out - to call Caitlin maybe? - and then it was just Barry and Cisco.
Barry needed to get out of here, before he did something he couldn't take back. He stood to leave but Cisco stopped him with a hand on his arm that only made the burning sensation worse. Cisco had opened his mouth to say something but before he could, Barry kissed him - so suddenly that Cisco almost stumbled backwards in his surprise.
Barry's eyes widened when he pulled back.
"Sorry, I...I don't know why I did that-" He started to explain but then his eyes met Cisco's and he couldn't stop himself from going back in for more. And more. And more.
Why wasn't Cisco stopping him? Why wasn't Cisco pushing him away and telling him that this was wrong and that he needed to stop? Then, Cisco seemed to regain his senses and moved away.
"Barry, you're not...yourself." He said carefully; Barry noticed he was slightly breathless and it only increased the heat in his stomach. "We should wait until you are."
'We should wait'. That wasn't a rejection like Barry had been expecting and the realization made his head spin. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Cisco was probably just being kind.
"Right." Barry said, taking another deep breath to try and clear some of the fog from his head. "Right. We should wait."
He didn't want to wait though, it felt like if he didn't do something he'd burst into flames spontaneously.
"Maybe I should just go home." Barry said suddenly, wanting to get as far away from here as possible before he made another mistake.
"No way, dude, you're almost at 40 C. That's high even for you. You're gonna need to hang out for a bit until we know you're not gonna boil your brain." Cisco insisted and Barry could only nod in agreement.
"Okay, okay. I'll stay." He mumbled, feeling embarrassed and foolish for his actions but also unable to stop staring at Cisco.
"Good boy." Cisco teased and Barry bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep from letting out the most embarrassing sound of his life.
Cisco definitely did that on purpose; if he remembered later he'd have to get him back for it...somehow. But right now all Barry could think about was all the other ways he could get Cisco to praise him like that.
Thanks to @ftl-faster-than-life for inspiring this ficlet!
The word of the day on the kitschy calendar on the desk was 'worship'. Noun: from the Old English 'weorthscipe.' The feeling or expression of reverence and adoration for a deity. Synonymous with veneration, reverence, or adoration.
How topical, Wells thought wryly, watching the object of his obsession flit out the door, no doubt late to something important. The boy could move faster than Hermes himself when motivated.
Barry Allen was no god.
Eobard tried to remind himself of this, tried to hold on to the loathing he had for the man and remind himself why he'd returned to the 21st century in the first place, but as he mentored Barry under the guise of Dr. Harrison Wells it was hard not to fall for him all over again. It was hard not to watch Barry's abilities grow and flourish, to watch him save life after life, to witness his drive and determination, without being reminded of his previous adorations. It was hard not to let the affection he'd once felt for his past self's mentor and friend take on a life of its own again, to let it rekindle the spark.
Barry was the only person Eobard had ever felt...well, anything for really. For so long, he'd seemed untouchable and unattainable - a god he could only pray to and hope he answered without ever knowing if he'd even heard. From a young age, Eobard had been Barry Allen's most loyal acolyte; hopelessly devoted before he'd ever met the man, and meeting him hadn't changed that, not initially. If anything, perhaps it had made his devotion stronger - now he could say his prayers to his god's face and Barry would answer immediately. It was everything he'd ever dreamed.
But now...now, something had changed. He didn't view Barry as his god anymore, not really. Eobard's powers were stronger, better, how could his god be weaker than him?
Maybe that was it. Eobard didn't have his powers in this century, not at this moment, not for the last 15 years. Yes, that had to be it, that had to be the reason - Eobard had simply forgotten what it was like to be so painfully weak and human and when Barry was honing his powers so rapidly it was hard not to think of him as something greater. He seemed god-like but it was all perspective, of course.
And yet, it was still hard to look at him and not feel...something. It wasn't a worshipful love anymore nor a quiet reverence, it was something more intense, more possessive - the need to protect Barry and make sure no harm ever came to him that wasn't of his own creation filled Eobard's very being. He knew, deep down, that it was more than mere obsession now.
Regardless of how much he tried to deny it, Eobard knew that Barry would always be his personal deity, no matter when or where he existed.
Barry was no god. But Eobard still loved him, nonetheless.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Barry Allen/Cisco Ramon
Characters: Barry Allen, Cisco Ramon
Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Spaghetti, Recreating a scene from a movie, romantic dinner date, Food Kink, Hair-pulling, Dom/sub Undertones, All very very light, Boyfriends in love
Summary:
It’s date night, Barry and Cisco have a nice dinner at home, some delicious homemade pasta, and have their own version of the spaghetti kiss from Lady and the Tramp.
"Tim, you don't have to carry me." Bernard protested for the umpteenth time as Tim fumbled for the keys to their apartment, refusing to put the taller man down. "My ankle is sprained, not broken."
"Humor me, baby, you twisted it because I threw you off." Tim said, unlocking the door finally and pushing it open before shifting his hold on Bernard to a more stable one.
"You were supposed to throw me off, we were sparring." Bernard reminded him. "That's the point. If we didn't throw each other off we might as well be doing a choreographed dance. Besides, I'm the idiot who miscalculated the step and stepped on the damn deadlift bar."
"It was my bad too, I didn't realize we were getting so close to the weight rack." Tim said, setting Bernard down on the couch carefully and propping his swollen ankle up with one of the throw pillows. "I'm gonna get you an ice pack and some ibuprofen, okay? Is that elevated enough?"
"It's fine." Bernard responded, leaning forward and untying his shoes. Tim didn't miss the wince when Bernard tried to tug his left sneaker off.
"Easy there, I got it." Tim said, kneeling and taking the shoe off Bernard's foot. He tossed it by the couch and began palpating the lanky man's ankle gently. "Baby, I'm not convinced this isn't broken."
"It's fi- ow!" Bernard yelped as Tim prodded his achilles.
"Shit, sorry. This is definitely worse than just a sprain. We should get you to the hospital." Tim said with a frown. Bernard waved off his concern.
"It's not an emergency. We'll ice it tonight and I'll have someone look at it at the lab in the morning."
Tim sighed. "Are you sure? I don't want you to make this worse by waiting-"
"I'm sure. If you really want to help you could make dinner after you've gotten the ice." Bernard suggested.
"You got it, baby." Tim said with a smile. "Italian and some wine?"
"Please." Bernard nodded, leaning back against the couch cushions and closing his eyes with a sigh. He smiled when he felt Tim's lips press against his own. "I love you. You're too good to me."
"I love you too. Wine and an ice pack coming right up." Tim promised before disappearing into the kitchen.
"Cabernet Sauvignon is in the-"
"Already got it." Tim called back with a laugh.
He reappeared shortly after with a cold compress and a glass of chilled wine. He carefully draped the pack across Bernard's ankle and handed him the glass.
"Don't get too wine-drunk tonight." He teased.
"You're the one controlling the bottle, Mr. Drake." Bernard countered good-naturedly. "Besides, you usually like it when I get wine-drunk."
"Because you get handsy and cuddly." Tim said with more than a hint of fondness. "It's cute, but I don't want to take advantage of an injured man."
"It's just my ankle, Tim. Take all the advantage you like." Bernard said, taking a sip. Tim ducked his head, cheeks coloring as he retreated to get to work in the kitchen.
An hour later they were both comfortably full of garlic penne and red wine, laughing their way through the movie they'd picked out for the night. Despite the teasing from earlier, Bernard had indeed gotten quite drunk and was now laying his head in Tim's lap, his swollen ankle propped up on the back of the sofa as he sprawled out.
"We should get married." Bernard slurred as the main characters of the romcom finally said their vows.
"Baby, are you proposing to me while drunk?" Tim asked with a soft laugh.
Bernard hummed thoughtfully. "Don'have a ring. Sorry."
"That's okay. We should probably wait until you're sober to get engaged anyway." Tim said with a grin, combing his fingers through Bernard's short hair.
"I thought you wanted me to be more spontaneous." Bernard teased, reaching up to take Tim's hand in his own and rest them both over his heart.
"Well, yeah, but I get the feeling sober-you would be pissed he missed out on such a big moment." Tim replied fondly.
Bernard hummed again. "I suppose so. Still, Mr. Timothy Fitzmartin has a nice ring to it."
"Maybe I want to hyphenate." Tim teased.
"Hm...Drake-Fitzmartin also sounds ni - ice." Bernard said, yawning on the last word.
"Go to sleep, baby. We'll talk about it when you're sober."
Tim grunted as he woke to a stinging pain in his arm and a slightly duller one in his stomach. He didn't know why it hurt, just that it did, and tried to pull away.
"Don't." Bernard's gentle voice roused him further and he finally registered his boyfriend's fingers holding his wrist and the feel of a cold cotton swab slipping up his arm. Oh. He was probably hurt then. Why couldn't he remember last night?
"S'appening?" Tim slurred, forcing an eye open to look up at Bernard. The older man's brow was creased in worry and Tim wanted to kiss the frown right off of his face.
Bernard took a shaky breath and turned his attention back to cleaning Tim's wounds. "You came home around half an hour ago, bleeding out and unable to speak. I was able to stop the bleeding for the most part but we need to get you real medical attention as soon as possible."
"Oh, baby," Tim said, reaching up to stroke Bernard's cheek clumsily. "M'sorry, you must've been so worried."
Bernard let out a watery chuckle. "I was certainly anxious." Distraught, more like, Tim thought.
"H'bad is it? Can you sitch- stick- dammit. Stitch. It."
Bernard shook his head. "I've got the wound on your stomach packed and as soon as I've got pressure applied to this one I'm taking you to S.T.A.R. Labs." He replied, picking up the gauze and beginning to wrap Tim's forearm.
Tim finally turned his attention to his arm and his stomach dropped. It looked like Killer Croc himself had tried to chew the entire thing off. He swallowed as he clenched and unclenched his hand, grateful that it seemed to still be attached. Thank god.
"I don't think it's as bad as it looks." Bernard said quietly, moving his hand from Tim's wrist to lace their fingers together and stroke his thumb across the back of Tim's knuckles. "Most of it appears superficial. It'll scar but I don't think you're going to lose your arm or anything."
Tim shot him a tiny, grateful smile and Bernard leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead before taping down the end of the gauze tightly and wrapping an arm around Tim's shoulders to help him up.
"Do you think you can stand? You lost a lot of blood, I don't want you passing out on me again."
Tim nodded and allowed Bernard to help him to his feet, dizziness and nausea rolling through him. He took a deep breath and smiled at his boyfriend reassuringly. "I'm ok; just a little woozy."
Bernard looked him up and down with a small frown and moved his arm to Tim's waist to hold him a little more securely. Tim took a step forward and his vision dimmed suddenly, his knees giving out as he rapidly approached unconsciousness but never quite reached it.
"Oh, god, Tim-"
He knew Bernard was stronger than he looked but it was still slightly surprising and very hot when the older man caught him and scooped him up bridal style near effortlessly. Tim let his head drop onto Bernard's shoulder and enjoyed the feel of his man's strong arms around him, feeling light-headed and delirious.
"So sexy, baby." Tim slurred, nuzzling Bernard's collarbone and making a disappointed noise when he was set in the front seat of Bernard's tiny blue electric Mitsubishi.
"Is now really the best time for flirting?" Bernard muttered, fastening Tim's seatbelt gently.
Tim tipped his head back and shot him a little grin, feeling heat rising in his cheeks. "Can'help it. I have the bes'boyfriend. You'worth it, baby."
Bernard huffed a laugh and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before shutting the door and running around to the driver's side. He slid in and buckled up with an amused look on his face before pulling out smoothly and joining the early morning traffic towards S.T.A.R. Labs.
"We'll get you patched up soon, I promise." He said, reaching over to take Tim's hand. "Just stay awake until we get to the lab. Tell me about your night, what do you remember before...whatever the hell happened?"
Tim smiled a little and tried to remember, starting to drift in and out of wakefulness and desperately fighting it, not wanting to worry Bernard further. "Not much. Had to meet up with...with Jason early on. Don'remember why but we split up after and I...think it was somethin'bout stopping a trafficking ring." Tim mumbled, struggling to concentrate.
Bernard squeezed his hand. "That's okay, how about we talk about something easier to focus on? ...Tim?"
Tim grunted in response and let his head fall back against the headrest, feeling Bernard increase their speed a little.
"Tim, sweetheart, stay awake for me. Please." Bernard's voice was filled with worry and Tim fought hard to stay conscious, trying to focus on the beat of his heart and the hand in his own.
"I'm...'m still here, baby." He slurred softly, his eyelids drifting closed.
Bernard cursed softly just before Tim lost consciousness again.
Tim woke again feeling floaty and disoriented, an IV drip filled with morphine in his left hand, his right arm entirely numb. He forced his eyes open and felt his heart squeeze almost painfully when he saw Bernard there, dozing lightly in a chair next to him in the most awkwardly uncomfortable position.
"Baby...?" Tim muttered, his throat dry and painful.
Bernard blinked awake and rubbed the back of his neck to get the kinks out. He smiled tiredly when he saw Tim was conscious and moved closer, shifting the chair so that it was next to the bed.
"Hey. You're awake." He said softly, brushing a stray hair back from Tim's forehead and pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. "You had me worried for a while there."
Tim smiled a little and tipped his head back to give Bernard access to his lips which Bernard gladly accepted.
"M'sorry, baby." Tim said once the kiss had ended, Bernard resting his forehead against Tim's own.
"It's okay, you don't have anything to apologize for." Bernard replied, something in his voice making Tim think he may have been thinking that this would be the last time he'd see him alive. Tim reached up with his good hand to cup Bernard's cheek, pushing the thought away before it could take root.
"M'okay now. It's okay." He said softly, trying to reassure the older man. "Promise I won't make you worry like that again."
Bernard chuckled and pressed a tired but fond kiss to Tim's lips. "You will, because I'll always worry about you, but I wouldn't have it any other way."
Summary - Trapped in an abandoned house with his partner, Edward is quick to find out that not everything is truly as it seems.
This fic is part of a stunning collab with the wonderful and thrilling artistic talents of both @enigmamuse and @plushievash as part of a fun Halloween exchange. Their amazing artwork can be found using this link 🎃
The scent of damp tickled Edward’s nose as he sought refuge in the smallest of the upstairs bedrooms, one which neither he nor Jonathan seen fit to visit before due to the scale of the weathered damage in the old walls. Having stepped into the bedroom, the ghostly sheets which covered every inch of the meagre possessions drew a sharp shudder from Edward’s lips as his left palm pressed into his right shoulder harshly.
“Does it hurt?” Jonathan asked. Pulling his mask free of his face and tucking it below his armpit, Jonathan dipped his head slightly to investigate the source of Edward’s wound. The metal had torn through the suit like butter, leaving a messy hole in its wake.
Edward pulled his palm away, the skin disturbingly wet and coated with crimson. “Yeah, but it’s not too deep. A few inches possibly but I still have full mobility. I’m more concerned by the rust that coated it and what, exactly, knocked me onto it.”
“You should be thankful,” Jonathan muttered as he stood with a collected calmness which made Edward’s panicked state even more clear, “that it was only the shoulder which you clipped. Had you fallen more awkwardly, we would not be having this conversation. A fall can be a terrible thing.”
Remaining stubbornly silent as the fear which simmered in his chest recalled the unnatural strength of the shove which had sent him sprawling to the floor, the only noise to escape Edward’s lips was a pained grunt as Jonathan tore free a length of his shirt used the length of fabric to wrap his shoulder as best he could. His hands were firm and clinical, taking care not to aggravate the wound while also sparing very little care to ensure that he avoided the worst of the pain.
It was a touch Edward was familiar with, very similar to the type of affection which Jonathan often deigned to give him, and Edward felt oddly dizzy as he pressed the back of his head against the wall.
“Do we have a plan for escape?” Edward asked.
“The doors and windows are all rotted, incapable of being opened without a key. You may have to search for something heavy to smash through one of the weaker doors.”
Having sought refuge in an old farmhouse after a plan gone horrendously wrong, the pair had passed out on the moth-eaten furniture which sat in the living room. Awaking in the dead of night, Edward had been the first to notice the changes to the house – panic making his voice loud enough to draw Jonathan from his restless sleep.
An agreement to split and search every inch of the house had started out well, but things were brought to a screeching halt when something attacked Edward in the living room, pushing him to the floor and causing a discarded metal frame to pierce the front of his shoulder. His yell had echoed throughout the house and Jonathan had appeared immediately to investigate.
“Smash through?” Edward scoffed. “With my shoulder in tatters and your meagre strength? We might as well take two of the kitchen knives and end it all now. Would be preferable to being attacked by that thing again.”
Thing.
Edward himself wasn’t even sure what it had been.
“Are you worried something terrible will befall you, Edward? Some terrible accident? Something to splatter those vast brains across the floor?” Jonathan’s lips settled into a fine line, his tone playful in a way which made Edward’s spine stiffen. It passed quickly though, as Jonathan was quick to gain his composure. “But now is not the time for petty squabbling, Edward. All debts are paid in the end.”
The words were simple yet something in them chilled Edward’s blood and he narrowed his eyes at Jonathan – who only watched him back with a blank expression.
A crash, the cadence like something dense being knocked to the floor and shattering into parts, made Edward startle in place as he pressed against the wall of the small bedroom - the noise sounding as though it came from the attic, high above.
“Do you think we’re alone here?” Edward whispered, using a great amount of control to keep his voice even and without tremble.
“No.” Jonathan answered. “Something is coming, and you will need to face it at some point, I fear.”
Edward paused, anxiety striking at his chest like a glancing blow. “You?”
“We.” Jonathan corrected with a mirthless smile, one which exposed the slightest hint of teeth. “It was my mistake.”
“Then we should check the next bedroom.” Edward insisted, ignoring the tickle of guilt which snared itself around his neck. An odd feeling which made his footing feel light as he shifted forward. “There is nothing here we can use to so much as create a dent in the walls.”
Baring his teeth, Edward opened the bedroom door slowly to prevent the creak of the rusted hinges. The floor beneath their feet was old and in the early stages of rotting; every floorboard feeling less stable than the last as he crept to the nearby room with all the tension of a church mouse who sought to escape a particularly furious cat.
In the corner of the hallway lay a spider web and Edward watched with bright eyes as the sizeable creature skittered across the wall to safety – all the while seeming to watch the pair with unseen eyes. Opening his mouth to comment on it, Edward’s words caught in his throat as a harsh thump sounded out from the space behind his back.
Whirling in place, Edward turned to see an empty hallway.
A look of uncertainty flittered through Edward’s panicked expression – his boyish features twisted into something that did not sit well on his face – as he paused long enough to stare between Jonathan’s vacated space and the stiff door of the next bedroom.
The darkness of the hallway took Edward’s breath away as his eyes widened in the gloom, determined to seek out anything which he could focus on as his panicked fingers scraped at the wall space beside the door – desperately attempting to locate the light switch.
Finding none, he instead focused on the flashlight in his hand; breathing a sigh of relief as the light flickered to life, a single beam of light offering some scant illumination to the decaying space.
Heart thudding in his chest, Edward watched with horrified eyes as the flashlight in his hand stuttered after a moment and went out. His throat tight, he shook the plastic hard and almost sobbed out his relief when it shot back to life. However, his peace was short lived as a sharp crack of screaming floorboard sounded in the darkness of the corridor behind him and he whirled around in an instant.
Edward, his hand as heavy as steel and yet unable to stop shaking, brought the flashlight up to the gloom and the frantic rhythm of his pulse stopped for a moment as the light illuminated the deep void of blackened eyes to reveal the beast which had attacked him earlier and continued to stalk him through the old house.
The tendrils of fear which crept around his heart chilled him from the inside out as wide eyes watched the beast approach.
Its face was inhumane, bearing a terrible hint of familiarity within the look of pure hunger which radiated from its dark eye - the black void of iris only punctuated by a slight orange tinge where the dim light caught it. The other eye was missing, replaced by a ragged hole. Skin, translucent and grotesque, sat around it and it lay over flesh so pitted that certain areas appeared littered with holes, giving a peek of the raw, pulsing flesh below.
A mockery of hair sat atop the beast’s skull. The straw-like material thin and a shade of deep brown which made something within Edward's stomach turn as he gazed at it.
It almost looked the same shade as-
No.
It was impossible.
Denial stabbed at Edward’s heart, but his gaze could only remain frozen on the ragged hair for so long as the humanoid beast opened its maw to expose what lay beneath.
A single row of sharp teeth, like a collection of short swords, jutted free of the creatures’ gums and their off-white colour was contrasted by the vivid red which stained the tapered end of each tooth – the evidence of a recent violence which made Edward’s stomach lurch. Just above, a hole sat where the nose should have been and only the slightest hint of cartilage remained.
Its movements were a twisted mess. The heft of the creature moving jerkily; almost like a human dangled on the end of a marionettes string as each limb appeared to fall limp in the moments where it was not required for immediate use as its extremities crawled along the floor.
Something in the uncanny flexibility made Edward's stomach turn and bile rise at the base of his throat. It was a living corpse - puppeteered by a darkness which made the air dank and stale, every breath making his lungs recoil. It pulled itself along the floor, shambling without thought as each limb moved of its own accord towards its prey.
Jonathan's movements had always been jerky and unpredictable. A talent which accented his thin frame and kept his victims in a decent state of anxiety as he used his uncanny frame to his advantage.
But this.
This was a mockery - something profane - and every nerve in Edward's body screamed just how wrong it all was.
"Edward."
A single word and yet the terror which shot through Edward's chest was almost enough to pause his heart. The voice did not seem to come from the lips of the creature, but rather from within in; somewhere deep inside its rotten chest where no air could naturally flow.
His eyes dragging themselves up from the stomach, Edward gripped the flashlight so tightly that the faintest crack of the plastic trembled through his fingers.
“Jo-Johnathan?”
Holding his attention, the skin of the Jonathan-shaped creature seemed to shift and roll, eventually splitting open at the scalp to reveal a dark cavern where the skull should reside. Cracked open and revealed, the revulsion in Edward's stomach reached a new peak as the scent of blood pressed at his nostrils.
“You did this.” The beast accused, continuing its painfully slow movement through the corridor. “You did this to me.”
“What?” Unable to stop the tremble of his hand, Edward watched the beam of light shiver against the rotted skin.
“You left me. Like this.” The beast tilted its head, showcasing the tear in its skull with a grim determination. “You saw me fall…heard me scream…and left. Ran…coward. You ran here…to hide.”
Every short, broken sentence was a death rattle; the words grotesque but alluring in a way which Jonathan was very skilled at. A spider attempting to lure in a very sophisticated fly.
The echoes of a scream, something filled with genuine terror, ripped through Edward’s mind. A scream of surprise. A sharp crack of metal. A horrified yell ended by a definitive thump which Edward had not investigated.
A sound of a plan gone horribly wrong.
A sound of a lover, lost to the smashed skull from which his life cracked free.
The stench of death - reeking from the breath of the beast - washed over his face and, unable to stop the fuzziness which pressed at his senses, Edward felt his knees give way as his vision dimmed and his mind rejected the fragmented memories and collapsed into blissful unconsciousness.
In the spirit of encouraging people to comment on fanfics while also making it easier to do so, I feel obliged to share a browser extension for ao3 that has quite literally revolutionized the comment game for me.
I present to you: the floating ao3 comment box!
From what I've seen, a big problem for many people is that once you reach the comments at the bottom of a fic, your memory of it miraculously disappears. Anything you wanted to say is stuck ten paragraphs ago, and you barely remember what you thought while reading. This fixes that!
I'll give a little explanation on the features and how it works, but if you want to skip all that, here's the link.
The extension is visible as a small blue box in the upper left corner.
(Side note: The green colouring is not from the extension, that's me.)
If you click on it, you open a comment box window at the bottom of your screen but not at the bottom of the fic. I opened my own fic for demonstrative purposes.
The website also gives explanations on how exactly it functions, but I'll summarize regardless.
insert selection -> if you highlight a sentence in the fic it will be added in italics to the comment box
add to comment box -> once you're done writing your comment, you click this button and the entire thing will automatically copied to the ao3 comment box
delete -> self explanatory
on mulitchapter fics, you will be given the option to either add the comment to just the current chapter or the entire fic
The best part? You can simply close the window the same way you opened it and your progress will automatically be saved. So you can open it, comment on a paragraph, and then close it and keep reading without having the box in your face.
Comments are what keep writers going, and as both a writer and a reader, I think it's such an easy way of showing support and enthusiasm.
For the domestic prompts…1 and/or 4 for Westallen?
1. "I love this." "What?" "Us."
4. "The house doesn't matter, you are my home."
"Maybe you should just stay," Iris said. "You wouldn't have to pay rent. What does a forensic assistant get paid anyway?"
"Enough to cover rent on a studio apartment," Barry said.
"If you stay, Dad can drive you to work."
"The next apartment on the list is right outside the bus stop and it's the one that goes by the precinct. I have a license, I could get a car if I wanted to."
"But you won't."
"Why would I spend all that money on a car when there's a perfectly good bus? I'm literally less than an hour away, I just spent three years in Florida."
"Exactly," Iris moaned. "I thought the point was you're home now, but you're not coming home."
"I am home." Barry impulsively grabbed her hand. "The house doesn't matter, the people you're with are the things that make it home. I could be anywhere in the world and if you were next to me, I'd be home."
Iris leaned into him.
"I'll miss you," she said.
"The offer to split rent is still open," Barry said.
"Forensic assistants definitely get paid more than baristas," Iris pointed out, "and not all of us managed to get fancy scholarships, Mister Know-It-All."
She smiled and Barry knew she was just teasing, even if she was still a little grumpy the scholarship had offered a place at Sun City University specifically instead of Central U with Iris like they'd always planned.
Barry still didn't actually remember applying to that one, but no one else had ever sent back replies.
"Besides," Iris said. "I'll just come over to steal all your ice cream anyway."
"Hands off my ice-cream," Barry mock-protested like he wouldn't always make sure to have a tub of mint chocolate in the freezer just for her.
"I'll miss you too," Barry said. "I love you, and I do love Joe, but I've liked having my own space too. Just for a while?"
"I get it," Iris said. "Just promise not to be too on your own."
"You wouldn't let me," Barry said.
"And don't you forget it," Iris said, wagging a finger and grinning now. "You're stuck with me for good, Barry Allen."
"Good," Barry said. "I love-"
He gulped.
"I love this," Barry said instead. "Us, I mean. I love being with you. Barry and Iris, best friends forever, right?"
"Forever," Iris promised. "I'll drive you to your next viewing so you're not late if you want."
"What would I do without you, Iris West?" Barry asked, both relief and regret at yet another failed attempt to tell her.
"Be late everywhere, probably," Iris said. "Come on."
domestic prompts 2, 7, or 14 with thallen or snowest? :)
Snowest my sweethearts! I combined them all into one for this:
“Happy anniversary!”
Caitlin blinked. “It's not—”
“It’s the one-year anniversary of when we moved in together!” Iris reminded her, grinning. “Come on, it's a special occasion, Cait.”
“Every day’s a special occasion with you,” Caitlin retorted with a smile.
“Flatterer,” Iris tsked, though her eyes twinkled at Caitlin's words. “Now here’s what I'm thinking: let’s get dressed up for dinner tonight.”
“But we just cooked earlier today,” Caitlin reminded her.
(Admittedly, Caitlin had cooked, while Iris watched, but she'd paid very close attention and Caitlin had even caught her taking notes...which, in Caitlin's opinion, was incredibly sweet. Especially knowing that Iris showed her love through acts of service more than anything else.
Caitlin was convinced she could teach her girlfriend the ways of cooking, even if Barry and Joe hadn't quite managed that. It would take time, but...Caitlin was patient.)
“We don't have to go out!” Iris insisted. “We can reheat some of the lasagna you made on the stove...maybe pull out some other leftovers. We can make a feast out of it, I'm telling you.”
Caitlin smiled, unable to look away as Iris presented her idea so passionately.
“What?” Iris tilted her head. “What's that look for?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing, huh? You look two seconds away from laughing at me,” Iris teased.
“Not at all,” Caitlin said, her smile turning wistful. “I just...when you get going like this, I remember why I fell in love with you.”
“You...really?”
“Yeah, of course. You remember, I used to be super intimidated by you, but really...” Caitlin blushed. “Really, I just had a mega crush on you and didn't know how to feel about it.”
“I remember,” Iris agreed. “You told me a little while after we got together.”
“Yeah.” Caitlin reached over and squeezed Iris's hand. “You're amazing. I've always known that...I just didn't always know I meant it in an I-love-you-and-always-will sort of way. But it's true. Even this place...it looks so different with you here. I can't imagine it without you.”
“Aww, Cait.” Iris smiled, squeezing her hand back. “For the record, I feel the same way.”
Caitlin blushed again. “So,” she said, “reheated leftovers?”
