#<- sticking to the tagging system even though i’m mostly normal now

[butchboromir]

look what i got from B :-). i showed up at office hours like 'hiiiii i’m here to bother you about interactive fiction'. and the first thing he did was get up, grab this, and go 'I have a book you might be interested. do you want to borrow it? i ordered a copy for the library too but i don’t think it will be here for a while.' and i went 'Yes of course i would love to borrow this, thank you'

[mypoisonedvine]

Perks of the Job | dark!Boba Fett x reader x (soft)dark!Din Djarin

summary: the only thing worse than one bounty hunter on your trail is two.  the only thing worse than a bounty hunter who wants to abuse you is a bounty hunter who wants to make you into a lesson for his makeshift apprentice.  the only thing worse than a villain is a villain who thinks he’s a hero.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut (noncon, including vaginal, oral m receiving, anal, and dp… so you know, basically everything), a specific kink of mine which I have dubbed "no, not there!" or NNT for short (betcha can guess what that means), din catching feelings lowkey, hair pulling, choking, bondage, forced begging, all the good stuff

Boba had proven to be unendingly useful in bounty missions, even if he was a little bit rough around the edges and slightly more ‘shoot first ask questions later’ in his attack style.  Still, Din was grateful for his aid and was happy to tag along when Boba explained he was tracking a target to Florrum— just a smuggler, wanted by the New Republic for trafficking death sticks all across the Outer Rim, nothing too serious or high-profile.

Turned out Din was less useful than he wanted to be, because only Boba was able to get into the club he’d traced your beacon to, so Din was instead left to wait on Slave I and try not to get into any trouble in the meantime.

After less than an hour of resting his eyes in the cockpit, he heard Boba’s voice come in through the comms system.  “Target acquired,” he rasped, and Din instantly noticed the distant sounds of struggle and the destruction he must have left in his wake.  “Be ready to take off when we board.”

Din leaned forward to hold down the blue button; “Roger,” he replied quickly as he kept an eye on the camera feed of the loading platform, opening and extending it so the hunter and his bounty could board easily.  The man appeared on the visual soon after, dragging a woman by the scruff of her neck.

It was you, with your hands tied behind your back and your mouth restrained by a makeshift gag.  You were putting up quite a fight, but not nearly enough to stop a man as ruthless as Fett.  The second the two of you were inside, Din triggered the loading platform to return to its upright resting place as he started the engines, the ship’s gyroscopic insides tilting against the lift-off sequence.  He turned his attention away from the screen as he saw Boba toss you to the ground, focusing instead on his task of exiting the atmosphere and getting the ship into hyperspace so you could be returned to those who sought you.

Hyperspace was quieter, which meant he could hear the sounds of your resistance more easily even with you in another part of the ship entirely.  Wondering what all the fuss was about (and, secretly, a bit curious about this feisty young woman Fett had captured), Din made his way out of the cockpit and towards the cargo bay where Boba was wrestling with you.

It didn’t really seem like a fight, in the traditional sense of the word, since a fight implies two opposing forces— it seemed more like you were giving everything you had to try to wrench out of his grip (and go where?, Din was forced to wonder, we’re in hyperspace) while your captor was merely humoring you by not immediately knocking you out and freezing you in carbonite.

Your desperate grunts and whines were muffled by your gag, screeching to a halt as Boba used one hand to hold your torso and pull your back against his chest, the other gripping your jaw tightly.  “Stop fighting, little girl,” he hissed, “you’re just going to get yourself hurt.”  That deep commanding voice enough to intimidate even Din; thankfully, Din was on Fett’s good side, for the moment, and was pretty sure his own ‘bounty hunter voice’ (as he referred to it only in his own head) was at least 80% as scary.

You made this little motion like you were considering disobeying his instruction, but your rebellion was quelled by a gloved fist tangling into and subsequently tugging your hair.  You winced, but relaxed a bit as you gave in to the reality that you’d been bested.

Din didn’t understand what was happening when Boba bent your bound-and-gagged form over a console, but he knew it couldn’t be good: not with the way tears were pouring down your face and soaking the cloth tied through your mouth, not with the way you struggled underneath his grip in your hair and on the back of your tunic.

“What are you doing,” Din asked, although it didn’t come out quite like a question without that uptick at the end, his voice firm and steady and deep even as his heart started to race.

“What do you think I’m doing?  I’m taking my bonus,” Boba answered plainly, kicking your flailing legs apart to slot his body between them.

Boba must have seen the younger man’s confusion, even through his helmet, because he took a pause from his work to look back at Din.

“You can fuck ‘em before you chuck ‘em, you know,” Boba informed him, like it was obvious— like this was open secret that he was amazed he hadn’t already acted on.  Truly, the thought hadn’t really crossed Din’s mind before.  His upbringing had been devoid of any sexual education, even to the point of drawing a clear line between right and wrong.  Then again, right and wrong were always a blurry mix in his mind as a bounty hunter: instead of that dichotomy, he was taught that there was the Code and nothing else.  And the Code didn’t have anything to say about this, specifically, even as guilt and fear tingled up his spine along with the sickly addictive feeling burning in his gut— arousal, as he realized with a little gasp.

Fett leaned down to push his helmet against your ear, as if you’d be able to hear him any clearer even though the helmet’s modulator made it all sound mostly the same anyway.  “Don’t try to fight me,” he insisted again.  “Just stay still and keep your mouth shut.”

After a shaky breath, you nodded a little, and Boba sat back up, letting go of you with both of his hands— Din was pretty surprised to see you actually stay still, clearly the threat had gotten to you.  Fear, as the Mandalorian had learned many times, was a much more powerful tool of control than force.  Boba had you beat in both regards.

There was a little grunt from the man behind you as he reached down to fiddle with his trousers, finding the belt and opening which he reached into.  From where he was standing, Din couldn’t really see what exactly his travel companion was doing, but even he wasn’t so naive not to figure it out.

A harsh, cracked sound spilled from your mouth, muffled through the gag, as Boba roughly pulled your trousers down and slid his cock between your legs, teasing you— taunting you.  It wasn’t enough to violate you, apparently; he had to degrade you, siphon every drop of terror as he reminded you what was happening.  You shook your head, and even though your words were objectively unintelligible, it was apparent to Din that you were pleading with your captor to stop.

Din got the sense that he should leave, but his feet were welded to the floor.  His eyes were trained on you, shaking and breathing unsteadily where you were bent over and your head was turned to the side to press on the cold metal.  You closed your eyes tightly, and Din recognized the expression as ‘bracing for impact,’ although in your case, it wasn’t that you were about to be impacted but impaled.  Of course this couldn’t be right, Din knew enough to know that, in fact he was pretty sure it was illegal on some planets, but they weren’t on any planet right now, and Din had done things that are illegal on every planet.  Maybe this really was normal bounty-hunting fare, and he was just too inexperienced to realize that.  Maybe this was a relic of how hunters operated in Boba’s time; and Din, of course, had a lot of respect for tradition.

Maybe, more than anything, Din had lost track of the part of himself that cared if it was right or wrong, overpowered by a much more primal part of himself that had been chained and suppressed for far too long.  The funny thing about monsters is that they get hungrier the longer you keep them caged up.

The way your fists clenched and shook as you were forced to take the hunter’s cock inside you, the way your teeth ground together and a hiss leaked out from between them, the way you whimpered and cried and he could see the shiver run up your spine… Din was obsessed with it, and his chest burned with a foreign emotion that could be described as jealousy, but that wouldn’t explain all of it.  It was more than that, indescribable even to someone much more fluent in the language of feelings than Din was.

You sobbed quietly as your body went limp underneath his tight grip on the back of your tunic, just between your shoulder blades.  He was already moving his hips quickly, chasing the pleasure he stole from your body.  Din could see that he was hurting you, pain unmistakable in the way your expression twisted, even as the rest of your body seemed to have resigned itself.

Din wished, against every instinct of justice still firing wildly in the back of his mind, that he was hurting you like that, and not his companion.  Although, he also fancied himself noble enough that, given the opportunity, he would treat you fairer than Boba would.  And he was right, but then again, to be less cruel than Boba Fett takes little chivalry.

Your cries were sharp, loud enough at times to echo around the ship’s interior, other times completely silent as the brutality of Boba’s movements knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Take her mouth,” Boba offered, “it’ll be a good way to shut her up.”

Din’s head was spinning as he tried to process that.  It was like his body was moving on pure instinct as he stepped closer, his trousers getting tighter as you looked up at him.  Your eyes were pleading for something: mercy, presumably, but he felt helpless to do anything but obey Boba’s order.  It was an order, right?  He had to do it.  

A gloved finger tucked under your gag and pulled it out of your mouth, the fabric falling around your neck as you licked your dry and cracked lips.

“Please,” you whispered.

He kept one hand weaved into your hair as the other opened his pants, his cock bouncing free the moment it was given any space to do so.  He held it at the base tightly, afraid it would all end too soon if he didn’t.  

“Please, don’t do this,” you insisted, whimpering a little as he rubbed his cock around your lips, smearing the clear precum over your cheek.  

The hand he’d tangled into your hair moved to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and he gently pushed his cock inside— barely enough to rub his cock on your tongue, to feel the humid moisture of your breathing.  You didn’t close your lips until he pushed his cock deeper, enveloping him in the silky skin of your mouth as he tried to keep his cool.  How it felt was one thing, but how it looked was another entirely— your lips stretching over his girth, your cheeks bulging where the head of his cock pressed against the inside, your eyes blinking up at him as they brimmed with fresh tears.  He hadn’t even been creative enough to imagine something like this those few times he’d gotten himself off with his hand, those few times basic biological need overcame confusion and naivete and ineptitude.  Now it was going to be the thing he thought about every time, which was why he was doing his best to commit it to memory now.  

Every groan and whimper that Boba forced you to make was vibrating through his cock, making Din sigh shakily and hold your head with both hands.

“Maker,” Din whispered as his head fell back, even though he didn’t believe in the Maker.  At least, he hadn’t before.

“Good, isn’t it?” Boba encouraged, his voice tinted with the curl of a grin.  Din couldn’t imagine what Boba was getting out of sharing his spoils with him, but he wasn’t one to question the nature of a gift when it felt like this, like your hot, wet tongue massaging the underside of his cock.

“Yes,” Din agreed hoarsely.

You yelped around his length when Boba brought a gloved hand down to smack your rear, the sound almost as erotic as the way your flesh rippled and shook with his aggressive touch.  “Go on, suck him harder, give ‘im a real show,” Boba instructed to you darkly.  You whimpered but did as he’d said, hollowing your cheeks and creating the most wonderful pressure as you sucked on Din’s swollen head.  

Boba shed himself of his right glove, tossing it aside to palm at where your flesh had turned red in the shape of his hand already.  Din shivered as he watched Boba’s thumb move inward— he couldn’t see where it was, but he had a pretty good idea based on the way your entire body tensed up, a weak whimper of confusion echoing around Din’s cock.

Instinct told him to take his cock out of your mouth, even if the idea of not feeling you for a moment was unpleasant in so many ways.  Still, he figured he needed to hear whatever it was you had to say.

“Don’t,” you pleaded with Boba.  “Not that.”

“Bet you’ll like it,” Boba assured, and he must have pushed in to the first knuckle because your whole body jolted forward, running from the sensation as you winced.  “Relax,” Boba instructed firmly.

“Stop,” you whimpered, and Din’s heart twisted to see you in pain.

“Do what he says,” Din suggested— not a command, just his best proposal of a solution.  In situations of inequitable experience, Din deferred to Boba liberally; certainly, Boba knew more about this than he did, even if that was a very low bar.

“Please, make him stop,” you whispered to him, more of a conversation than the two of you had had before.  He was almost tempted to honor your request, even if he would never consider standing up to Boba, but his body was pulsing with need and it overrode any sense of decency left. 

“I’m sorry,” was his only consolation as he pushed into your mouth again, and though it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t very useful to you, either.

He held your neck as he pushed himself deeper, his sense of shame deteriorating in favor of pleasure.  It was embarrassing enough to be doing this at all, let alone with Boba right there, watching him— well, Boba didn’t really seem to be watching him, too preoccupied with watching you squirm beneath him, but still, he could see it and that was a fact Din preferred to ignore.  He imagined instead that this was a private, intimate moment the way it ought to be, the way that he had deduced these activities were usually conducted.  He also imagined that you wanted to do this to him, that you were on your knees willingly as opposed to bent over a table by force.  It was so easy to picture you wanting it, begging for it, even.  Let me do this for you, I want to taste you, I want to make you feel good, you would offer as you knelt down, and he would still feel guilty for it but he wouldn’t stop you, either.  Din hadn’t previously allowed himself to fantasize about having a companion of that nature, but as he indulged himself in his imagination now, he decided you would be unendingly generous: with your time, with your love, with your body.  In return he would protect you… from exactly the sort of thing he was subjecting you to right now.  

Renewed guilt seared through his chest as reality hit: you’d never care about him, you hated him, he could see that clearly in the way you looked up at him while he used your mouth.  And he didn’t blame you for it at all, although he wished you would appreciate that it was Boba’s idea in the first place and that his crime was far worse than Din’s.  Fett seemed to get off on your reluctance, relish and savor it, while it was just a compromise to Din.

You closed your eyes with a little sigh through your nose, relaxing your mouth further for him to thrust his hips forward into.  He realized that you were trying to relax like Boba had told you, and for good reason— Fett had replaced his thumb for two fingers, and Din was almost curious enough to lean forward and try to get a glimpse of your puckered hole opening up to him.  You looked pretty with your eyes fallen shut, those eyelashes delicately resting on your cheeks, but it wasn’t as good as being able to gaze right at you.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Din instructed quickly.  When they opened again, he saw your stare dart around his helmet, seeking somewhere to latch onto.  “Right here,” he clarified, releasing one hand from your throat to tap on the tinted visor.  When you looked at where he had told you to, it was almost like you were really looking him in the eyes— although, truthfully, he was sort of glad that you couldn’t because he was sure you would find more there than he wanted you to see.  It would be impossible to hide his nervousness, his inexperience, his fear if it weren’t for the beskar in the way.  Even now, your bright eyes threatened to pierce right through him.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you, girl?” Boba rasped, the closest Din had ever heard him to beaming with pride.

You shook your head against the intrusion in your mouth, and Din pulled out to give you a chance to talk.  (Perhaps it also served the secondary purpose of delaying Din’s orgasm, which he had been holding back for so long now as he found himself oddly insecure about his stamina, but that’s neither here nor there.)  “No,” you denied, but your voice was wavering as your eyes darted to the floor.

“She’s lying,” Din announced.

“I know,” Boba replied.  “I can feel it— on the inside,” he hissed, and Din wasn’t sure if he was addressing him or you but it made a jolt of electricity shoot up his spine either way.  You seemed to react strongly to that, too, although any verbal reaction was lost to him shoving his cock into your mouth one last time— yes, this time he had no intentions of stopping until he pumped his come right into your throat.  

It was all happening so much faster than he intended, due in part to your moans shooting right down through his shaft to his balls, which grew tight with his impending release.  He’d never felt anything like this— he hadn’t realized before that it would feel different when it wasn’t his hand.  I mean, of course everything before the orgasm would feel different, but he imagined that the peak itself was the same.  That assumption was beyond inaccurate— he’d never fucked his own hand the way he was fucking your throat, he’d never moaned the way you were making him moan now, he’d never tightened his fists like he was now, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have meant choking you and hearing all your cries come to a sudden halt.

Without your noises it was only the slapping of flesh and the occasional filtered breath through a helmet.  He missed your moans, and yet he relished his power to take them away so suddenly.

He could feel the shape of his own cock through the thick skin of your throat, bulging into his hand, accentuated by your pulse just nearby.  He could feel you fighting for air.  He understood now why Boba had more fun with this than he did with hookers in cantinas— your helplessness was his power.  Your weakness was his strength.  And Din had never felt so strong.

He relaxed his grip to give you a chance to swallow as he came, pumping into your throat, grunting with each pulse of his cock filling your mouth.

Suddenly the sensation felt like it would become too much, forcing Din to pull his cock out of you and step back.  At the same time, Fett stepped back too, which was odd because Din was pretty sure he hadn't finished: if he had, he was a lot more subtle about it than Din was.

“You want your turn, don’t you?” Boba addressed Din, making the latter feel awkwardly exposed.

“I thought this was my turn,” Din answered.

“With her pussy,” Boba clarified, and Din was sure that he had managed to blush hard enough that it was somehow visible through the helmet.

"And you?" Din asked, not wanting to impose.

"I'll be attending to… another matter," Boba explained with that audible smirk in his tone, and Din had a few ideas of what that could mean, all of which caused him to swallow thickly as Fett grabbed you and pulled you up to stand before unceremoniously dropping you to the floor.  Din joined you there, not quite sure what he should be doing but figuring he should get on with it as the other man knelt down behind you.

Pulling you onto his lap, you spread your legs to straddle him in an unexpected show of submission which Din thoroughly appreciated.  One arm held you up while the other grasped his cock, still hard and hopefully not too sensitive so he could actually do this— he could actually fuck you.  It felt unreal; it felt beyond real, hyperreal as he started to slide his cock through the soaked and swollen intricacies of your sex.  You must have come like Fett said you would, otherwise he couldn't imagine how you'd become so wet… he could even see it glistening on the inside of your thighs. 

When he found the opening he was looking for, all Din had to do was lower you down onto him, gasping slightly as he watched and felt you sink down onto and around him, a little grunt coming out of you as your hips met his.

It was lucky that he’d already come once, in your mouth, because otherwise he would’ve lost it right then and there— you were so warm inside, soaked thoroughly such that his movements were smooth and easy as he instantly started to fuck you, groaning at how perfectly your body accepted him.

“Slow down,” Boba grunted, “I need to get in.”

You cried and shivered as the other man pushed into your available entrance, your head falling exhaustedly onto Din’s shoulder.  He looked down at your face, then, and brushed your hair away so he could see it better, peeling strands from where they had been stuck to your forehead and neck by the thin layer of sweat that covered you.  He wanted to comfort you, to promise that the pain would ease soon, but he couldn’t really think of anything to say; so, he just held you tight as he began to move within you again, and saw the other hunter do the same.

He made a conscious effort to not look at Boba’s cock, for fear of comparing it to his own.  It was disturbing enough to be able to feel it, slightly, through the thin barrier your body provided.  How inconceivable that Din had woken up a virgin and would fall asleep tonight with the memory of this lodged in his mind forever.  In one day of sexual activity he’d gotten more done than many would in a lifetime, and yet he still lacked the most common things: love, passion, consent… perhaps someday he’d find those, even if it could never be from you.

Not worried anymore about an attempt to fight or flee, Din reached back and untied your wrists from each other, hoping he wouldn't get scolded for it by Fett who thankfully remained silent aside from his own restrained sounds of pleasure.  You clung to him instantly, your freshly-freed hands clutching at his back, and he decided to interpret it as a token of affection even if he knew that was a bit of a stretch.  If nothing else, maybe you recognized him as the lesser of two evils.  

He opted to take credit for the way your moans were different from before; even in his wildest fantasies could he not convince himself that he was better at this than Boba was, but he could swing at the idea that you preferred him because you were meant for him.  It was probably more outlandish, yes, but it was so easy to believe that you were made to be his when you felt so good around him.  Din hadn’t even known anything could feel this good.

Something Boba had said earlier gained clearer meaning when Din felt your inner walls seize up and shift around him.  Trying not to be too loud, he resorted to coping with the feeling by gripping your waist tightly.  The idea that he could leave bruises on your skin excited him more than he would have anticipated (if, of course, he had anticipated any of this).

Another tug on your hair from Boba wrenched your head back.  "Gonna come," he grunted at you lowly, "in this tight little ass.  You want it?"

"Please," you whispered, not quite sounding enthusiastic but managing to give him whatever he was looking for, apparently, as another choked noise signalled his release.  Your body reacted strongly to that, clenching down hard on Din's cock.

"You like it," Din posited.  "I can feel it," he reminded you when you tried to deny it with a shake of your head, "from the inside."

Boba took his time pulling out, the most peculiar sensation that made Din shudder a bit.  As tight as you were when you were full in that way, Din preferred having you to himself.

"I'll be in the fresher," Boba announced as he stood up and tucked himself back into his uniform, looking so composed in a way Din envied; he was sure, somehow, that he looked a complete mess even with the armor covering him.  "I'll leave you to your fun.  Don't take too long."

“I— I won’t last much longer,” Din stammered, wondering immediately if it was too much information.

“Not inside,” you begged suddenly.  

Boba chuckled a little as he left, and Din wondered if it was what he said or what you said that made him laugh.  The thought was forgotten as the hunter left, and he suddenly felt a wave of nerves wash over him— the way he always felt when he was alone with a pretty girl.  Not that he'd ever been alone with a pretty girl quite like this.

Not sure what to say, he opted to just not say anything as he held you tight and bucked his hips up into you.  You wouldn't let him off that easy, apparently, as you reiterated yourself: "You can't come inside, please don't—"

"This isn't a negotiation," Din reminded you firmly.

He was too close to imagine stopping now, anyway; the snug grip of your insides was too good to be ignored, his body was incapable of slowing down as he fucked you deeper and faster than ever.  He noticed which angle of his hips made you moan loudest, hoping to feel you come around him just like Boba had.  

“Come for me,” he instructed, hearing an impression of Fett in his own voice as he tried to come across as dominating, “I wanna feel it.”

You shivered a little, whimpering into the crook of his neck before he lifted you by the jaw to look at your face.  You looked exhausted, eyes blown wide and dark, lips swollen and bitten red, hair tangled and unruly from being used essentially as reigns.

“Can you do that?  Can you come?” he pressed, grinding his hips up into yours and watching you whine at the sensation of being filled so deeply.  You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him.  “Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered, “I’ll— I’ll come.”

“Good,” he praised plainly, doing his best to hold himself back until he got his chance to feel you reach your peak.  

Your head fell back as your hands weakly tugged at his shoulders, and Din hoped that tearing your tunic down the front to grope your breasts would speed things along for you.  He hadn’t taken off his gloves, but even so he relished the weight of them in his palms, curiously pinching at a hardened nipple which made you flex around him again.

“Are you close,” he asked, losing that intonation of a question again, focusing instead on trying not to sound exasperated.

“Yes,” you hissed, “I’m gonna— fuck,” you interrupted yourself.

You were moving a bit on your own now, instead of him holding you still and letting you limply take it like a ragdoll— no, you were rocking your hips in time with him, pushing down against him.  You wanted it, obviously, and Din was more than happy to give it to you.  He slammed into you with each thrust, held you down so you couldn’t squirm, groaned when he felt your body pulse around him.  A new surge of wetness gushed between your bodies, your broken cry echoed right against his ear— if this wasn’t a dead giveaway that you were coming, he wasn’t sure what was.  Unable to hold back anymore as you sobbed and shivered on top of him, he finally released into you, everything building up so fast only to snap in a moment, an embarrassingly weak moan slipping from his lips.  

He was sure he had never been so exhausted, but it was the most incredible feeling as well.  A little tear fell down your cheek— from terror, maybe, or disgust, or even pleasure… he had no real way to tell.

As he began to catch his breath, he wondered if he should say something; and, if he should, what that would be.  Thankfully, he felt the lurch of the ship leaving hyperspace— the weight of gravity sinking a little heavier as you slumped down on top of him.

He picked you up and set you down on the floor, standing as he delicately stuffed his cock back into his trousers.  “Looks like he’ll bring you in soon,” Din mumbled, but you didn’t really seem to care much, just laying on the floor and staring into nothingness.  He watched his seed leak out of you and onto the steel, making a mental note to clean that up later, hoping you weren’t too angry with him for disobeying your request that he finish elsewhere.  “You’ll need a new tunic,” he noticed as he realized it was probably less than ideal to bring in a target who had been so obviously violated.  “I’ll bring you something to cover yourself with,” he decided.  

Heading for his sack to search for an old cape or blanket that you could wear, he passed by the cockpit where Boba was steering the ship.

“I’m keeping the reward,” Boba interjected suddenly without turning back to look towards him, making Din stop walking, “since I was generous enough to share the… fringe benefits.”

“Of course,” Din nodded, not having expected a share of the bounty in the first place since all he’d done was keep lookout during the actual hunt.  He was ready to walk away, but Boba spoke again as he turned the captain’s chair and faced Din, finally.

“Did you do what she asked?” Boba pressed.

“What?” Din choked, taking a moment to remember what he was even talking about— when you asked him not to come inside, apparently.  “Oh, um, no.”  His face warmed beneath the beskar as Fett chuckled to himself.

“Good,” he nodded.  “Never take commands from a target, or a whore.”

Din shuffled nervously but said nothing, considering he had no idea how to respond to that.

“Besides,” Boba continued as he turned back to the controls of the ship, “if she’s pregnant that’ll be the New Republic’s problem.”

Din figured he was free to go now, taking a moment to glance over Boba’s shoulder at the planet ahead before continuing ahead.  His quest for a cloak for you was nearly forgotten as he tried to clear his mind of what Boba had said so casually.  He needed a shower, desperately, but he didn’t have time before the ship landed— and Fett probably intended on making Din complete the transfer and bring the credits back, since the older hunter wasn’t exactly a friend of the Republic.  

He ended up grabbing an old shirt of his, tossing it at you when he entered the room where he’d left you, finding you standing with your trousers pulled back up.  Silently he wondered if you had made any effort to clean yourself of his come or if it was still there between your legs, but neither of you said a word as he put you in more formal shackles than the rags that Boba had tied you with originally.

The New Republic officer definitely reacted to your appearance when Din brought you forward, all but dragging you as he gripped your arm.  “When’d she get so roughed up?” the young officer interrogated as he handed Din the credits he was owed.  

“Found her like this,” Din shrugged.

He didn’t seem to buy it, with the way he scanned your form and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything else as he motioned for two guards to take you away.  Din considered looking back but decided against it, returning to the ship and immediately surrendering the credits to their rightful owner in Boba.

“Next job’s on Dantooine,” Boba informed him gruffly as he piloted the ship out of the atmosphere.  But Din wasn’t listening, instead watching your new prison shrink and disappear into a dot, hoping to find in himself the carelessness that Boba had already mastered.  He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask his hunting partner— Is this how it always goes?  Will it happen again?  Do you really think she could be pregnant? — but he wouldn’t even consider speaking any of them aloud.  It was almost funny that they had shared something so disturbingly intimate and Din still felt unable to be direct with him, although neither of them had the sense of humor to appreciate it.

“Thank you,” Din blurted out.  “For teaching me about the job.”

“My pleasure,” Boba replied gruffly, and with a jump back into hyperspace, the ship was submerged once again into silence.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 5

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Perma tag: @nathleigh

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever

Marinette listened in on Tim for three days.

Not actively, of course, she didn’t hang onto every word he said. She just let her consciousness drift in and out of the conversations he had while she worked on finishing up the outfit she had designed for Audrey...

And, yeah, she was getting to the point where she was willing to bet on him being an okay guy. Better than okay, even. He was just so… genuine?

The first two days he had come in sick. She knew the signs of working while sick by heart, the trudging around and the groaning and the constant banging your head on the desk when you pass out randomly, and damn she was pretty sure even she wasn’t as bad as him. He probably shouldn’t be working at all, to be honest, he was CEO and there was nothing stopping him from taking the day -- or even just a few hours -- off. But, no, from the sound of it he was drinking ungodly amounts of coffee and calling it okay.

And despite the fact that he seemed absolutely miserable, he hadn’t taken it out on anyone. She had yet to hear him be impolite to anyone, not even the people that worked under him. His secretary had made a scheduling mistake and he had not only assured her it was fine but didn’t even require her to fix it.

Even when he was talking to himself while working he never once said anything questionable. And he talked to himself a lot. It was like a podcast, honestly, just hearing him rattle off numbers and weird business terms she hadn’t learned because she was self-taught. He talked almost constantly and he should have slipped up by now, yet here she was three days later with nothing to show for it except for a whole lot of guilt.

Marinette hadn’t thought much about it on the first day, everyone had their good days from time to time. On the second day she said ‘oh, it’s a coincidence’, but on the third day she had to call it: her paranoia had been a little unfounded.

Literally the worst thing about him so far was that he didn’t seem to care much about his own health… and that wasn’t really a bad thing about him as much as it was a bad thing for him.

So, yeah, it looked like she had no real reason to listen in on him anymore.

… but…

Something about him was nagging at her. He was a nice guy and she’d like to be his friend… it was just that, sometimes, she could swear she recognized his voice.

And it wasn’t like there were a lot of people she knew in America, she knew who he probably was.

Her hand itched towards the tiny device hidden under her window seat. One click (and maybe a little researching) and she’d know for sure who the bats were. The only thing stopping her was the knowledge that, if she did know their real names, she’d accidentally call them by them once and immediately get thrown either into a cell or out of Gotham. She was a meta (kind of), she was already on thin ice. She didn’t need the paranoid idiots that were the bats being more wary of her than they already were.

So, she left it alone.

She kept the bug, though. Mostly just because she wanted to hear it directly from him rather than just guessing by his voice. After all, voices can be similar. If he were to directly talk about bat business while she was listening in, though… that would definitely be a point towards her theory, to say the least.

And, yeah, she knew it was kind of messed up. She could be listening in on some innocent guy for all she knew, but it was… morally kind of okay? The whole thing about stalking is that it makes your victim feel unsafe. If he was Red Robin then he had found the bug and hadn’t felt unsafe enough to remove it and if he was a civilian then he would never know about the bug and therefore couldn’t feel unsafe. Therefore, it wasn’t stalking, not really.

… yeah, that makes sense.

She glanced at her sketchbook and yawned. She really needed to get a new outfit idea soon. Good thing Tim said he was taking her out tomorrow --.

Shit, Tim was taking her out tomorrow.

She jumped up from her spot at the window and ran to her closet. What to wear, what to wear...

Frenchie: where are we going tomorrow

Spiderman: It’s a surprise.

Frenchie: fuck your surprises tim what do i need to wear

She heard his laugh crackle through her earpiece. Rude.

Spiderman: Casual clothes.

Frenchie: there are LEVELS of casual tim

Spiderman: Oh, so we’re breaking out the capital letters. This must be serious.

She scoffed. Of course it was serious.

Frenchie: just tell me what to wear

Spiderman: A t-shirt and jeans is fine.

Kwamis, send her strength. Like she was going to wear a t-shirt and jeans. Did he even know who he was talking to?

But at least she had a gauge on how casual she could go. She picked out a light pink button down and black shorts for herself and then, because she had a little bit of foresight, she added some black tights.

She smiled faintly and dropped back in her bed.

She couldn’t wait to see where he was going to take her.

She found out the next day. Because that’s how things work.

She raised her eyebrows. “There’s no way it’s actually called a ‘space museum’. You’ve gotta be lying.”

Tim shrugged, a grin poking at his lips. “Do you really think I’d make it up?”

“Well, considering your outfit, I’d say you aren’t the most creative of guys so maybe you did,” she teased.

Tim looked down at his outfit and pouted. He was wearing little more than a black turtleneck and pants under a white jacket. “Must you make fun of every outfit I wear?”

“Only the bad ones. Seriously, would it kill you to wear a little bit of color?”

He rolled his eyes. “At least I thought to bring a jacket. It’s thirty degrees!”

She had forgotten that Americans used Fahrenheit, sue her.

Of course, she was never going to admit to this. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Maybe I’m just not a wimp.”

He snickered. “Oh, so you’re not cold?”

“Not at all.”

“Then stop hugging that coffee cup.”

She looked down at the coffee cup that was her only source of warmth and happiness in this cruel world that had two different measuring systems (three if you counted Kelvin). She gripped it tighter. “... no.”

He rolled his eyes again and, after a beat of hesitation, shrugged his jacket off and offered it to her.

Marinette normally wouldn’t give in this easy… but she really was cold and his clothes were far thicker than hers were and she knew that her teeth would start chattering soon which would have been so embarrassing...

So she blushed faintly and slipped the jacket on. It smelled like ungodly expensive cologne. “Thanks.”

He grinned. “I’m taking your coffee as payment.”

“No --!”

~

After dropping by a cafe so Marinette didn’t kill him, Tim took her to the space museum (yes, that actually was what it was called).

He thought she would have missed the night sky. Gotham hardly ever had a clear night due to the thick smog that hung over the city like a curse. And they spent quite a lot of time outside at night, she must have been feeling a little homesick.

So, he rented out the museum for the day. Yes, the whole museum. He was rich and mildly famous and what was the point of that if he wasn’t going to use it to make the people he cared about happy? He doubted she would be able to enjoy the sights as much if people were constantly taking pictures of them and asking about their relationship.

She raised her eyebrows just slightly but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the lack of people.

They slipped through the rooms quietly in search of inspiration.

Many of the rooms were your typical museum things: exhibits showing off different space rocks and explaining stars and supernovas. They didn’t stop much here, obviously, there was little to be inspired by. The most that happened for a long while was Marinette stopping from time to time to take a picture of a nice color that she wanted to try and replicate later.

And then she had stopped to look at a spacesuit. She blinked a few times before breaking into a grin and flipping to a new page in her sketchbook. He could barely make out the name ‘Jagged’ from where he was fiddling with his camera a respectable distance away.

So, Marinette, at least, was having a productive time. Tim was… a little stressed, to be honest.

Tim was having a particularly hard time getting ‘inspired’.

It had been years since he had picked up his camera, which was certainly a problem but it wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that he had never been one to take pictures of locations or objects. Sure, there was the occasional picture of the Gotham skyline, but he had always had a tendency towards taking pictures of people. Batman and Robin working as a team to take out a bunch of thugs, Robin and Nightwing racing each other across the rooftops, Batman and Nightwing stopping for ice cream after a particularly long patrol… and now he wanted to take pictures of Marinette.

But that would be weird because a) the first day he had implied he took pictures of attractions in order to alleviate suspicion about why he just so happened to be on the same rooftop as her and b) she probably wouldn’t think they were close enough for him to take pictures of her.

He kind of wished he could just go back to the old days where his subjects didn’t know he was there and he wouldn’t have to worry about what they would think about him if he took a picture of them.

His fingers itched towards the camera hanging from his neck because she looked so cute with her tongue poking out of her mouth and her orange, yellow, and white colored pencils sticking out from between her fingers like little Wolverine claws and he loved the way his jacket looked on her and --.

“You can stop staring, I’ll be done as fast as I can.”

His brain shorted out and the only response he could come up with was a squeaky: “Sorry?”

She looked up from her work with an awkward smile. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long, I just… if I don’t do it now it’ll slip my mind. I’m working as fast as I can, though.”

He was rebooting. Give him a minute.

Ah, there it was.

Wait, she thought he was being impatient?

“Nononono take your time, it’s fine! I just...”

He trailed off before he could finish the thought because this was the second time they had hung out he couldn’t make things awkward between them already.

… but she was giving him a confused, vaguely concerned, look and he was pretty sure that if he didn’t come up with something soon it would be awkward anyways.

“IwasjustwonderingifIcouldtakeapictureofyou?” He blurted out before he could stop himself again.

She blinked once. Twice. And then a blush spread across her face.

“Oh. Uh… sure?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said.

“It’s fine. A little sudden but… fine,” she said with a tiny smile.

Tim couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.

Not one to be blushy for long, apparently, Marinette flashed a wink. “Should I call up my friend Adrien for modeling tips or…?”

He rolled his eyes and schooled his face back into his usual grin. “It’s fine, just keep working. I’ll figure out angles and stuff.”

She tipped her head to the side confusedly. “Don’t you need me to be still?”

He didn’t look up from messing with the settings of his camera. “Not at all. You’re probably going to be one of my easier pictures.”

“... thanks…?”

“I do mostly nighttime photography. Capturing things in motion without it blurring requires a --.” He cringed. “Sorry, um… basically, when you want to take photos of things that are moving fast, you need a lot of natural light.”

“... you can talk about it more in depth, if you want.”

He shrugged. “I’d bore you.”

“I like your voice,” she said… then she seemed to realize the implications because she cleared her throat and did her best to backtrack: “In comparison to every other American I’ve heard so far, at least. Why do your accents… sound like that?”

“Ah, yes, because everyone knows that French people have the best accents.”

“Excuse you, I have been told by many people that my accent is actually very nice.”

He grinned. “By whom? Half-drunk men on the street?”

She gasped as if offended. “I get my information from much more reliable sources... like drunk women in bathrooms, thank you very much.”

“I see. My mistake. I apologize.”

“As you should.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Don’t you have a design to make?” She looked down at her sketchbook and a silence stretched between them as she squinted at her design.

“You forgot what you were doing, didn’t you?”

She groaned and rested her head in her hands.

He took a picture of her exasperated pout.

~

Marinette ended up with two outfits.

One was for Jagged, based off of the spacesuit she had seen. She had figured that, with all the songs he wrote about being free, there was bound to be one about how he ‘finally had his own space’. It was good to be prepared.

The other was for Cassandra Wayne. Marinette hadn’t thought much about it, to be honest. She just knew that Cassandra liked the color black with designs on top of it, and that the planetarium had a nice star pattern that would work for that. It would be super expensive, what with all the gems she would need, but it wasn’t like the Waynes couldn’t afford it.

… and then she looked up to see Tim pouting.

She giggled, resting her head on her hand. “What?”

“My sister is getting a dress and I’m not.”

Oh, so he was an actual fan. Interesting.

She brushed that conversation aside in favor of teasing him: “You want a dress?”

“Yes! No? Yes? I --.” He huffed and took a seat in the chair next to her. “I have faith anything you make will look nice.”

She felt a blush rise to her face and she rolled her eyes. “Hm. Telling the person in charge of your wardrobe ‘I have full faith in you’ is a terrible idea.”

“Oh? I don’t think you, in good conscience, can make and give me anything bad.”

She squinted at him for a minute before breaking into a grin. “Wanna bet?”

He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing her for a few moments, before smirking. “Sure, how about we put five thousand on it?”

She choked. She’d forgotten he was rich rich.

She was quick to backtrack: “Nah. With all your fashion choices so far I can’t trust you not to wear it to some Gala or whatever it is you rich people do.”

“Damn, there goes that plan.”

She grinned and looked down at her sketchbook. After a few seconds she flipped to a new page. She squinted at his outfit for a few moments before starting to doodle something.

“What’re you making now?”

“I’m making you something with some color.”

He huffed. “Excuse you, I’m a goth in a family of goths. I can’t wear color.”

“Yeah, yeah. Trust me, I know. I’d say Richard is the black sheep of the family in that aspect but he’s the one wearing color.”

He laughed a little. “So Dick is the white sheep, then?”

“Yea --.” She stopped and then squinted over at him. “Dick?”

“It’s what he insists everyone calls him.”

She looked down at her sketchbook for a moment, processing, and then shook her head. “Your brother has a degradation kink.”

Tim brought his hand to his mouth in stunned silence before pulling his phone from his pocket and definitely not informing the family group chat of his discovery.

She snickered and went to work on the outfit again. It was a simple one, because she didn’t want to go too far out of his comfort zone, but there was no way she was going to be friends with a monochromatic idiot.

She leaned over until her head rested on his shoulder. He tensed up just a little before resting his head on top of hers.

~

When she had finished he took a picture of the planetarium to keep up pretenses and they had made their leave.

… but first, they stopped by the gift shop. Because why not?

Tim could have bought everything there for Marinette -- and probably would have, if asked -- but, considering she had freaked out about five thousand dollars earlier, he figured maybe he should keep that more or less quiet.

Instead, he followed her around while idly bouncing a Saturn shaped bouncy ball. It was a terrible shape for a bouncy ball and he kind of loved it, to be honest. Not to mention the little smile Marinette made behind her hand every time the ball would try another mad dash for freedom was pretty cute.

And then they hit the t-shirt section. And her lips twitched as she reached out and picked up a bright blue shirt that said ‘May the F=MA be with you’ in white text.

“It’s awful. It’s perfect.”

He grinned. “Wow, look at you. You know one of the simplest physics formulas by heart, aren’t you smart?” He joked.

She bowed. “I know, I know.”

He held out a hand for it and she stared at him for a few seconds in confusion.

“I’ll hold it until we get to the front desk.”

She squinted at him. “I’m paying for my own shirt.”

“I can afford it,” he said with a sigh.

“So can I.”

“Either you let me pay for it or I’ll keep track of everything you buy while with me and add it to your commissions.”

“... either you let me pay for it or I’ll never make an outfit for you ever again. I know your measurements and style, Timothy, you won’t be able to get past me.”

They narrowed their eyes at each other, daring each other to call their bluffs…

And then his shoulders sagged. “Fine.”

He’d just have to use his connections to lower prices on fabrics for her. Did he mention that he was rich and mildly famous? Yeah. It was pretty cool.

~

She smiled as she leaned against the doorframe to her apartment. “Thanks for taking me out. It was fun.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled back. She was determinedly ignoring the way his smile made little butterflies flutter in her stomach. She patently hated butterflies. They weren’t allowed.

“I had fun, too. Want to do it again, sometime?”

“... sure, I guess you passed my test.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Your test?”

“Oh, yeah.” She waved him off. “If you had made any creepy comments today I would have blocked you.”

He seemed a little relieved by this information, though she wasn’t quite sure why. “That’s a pretty good test to have in Gotham.”

“I know, I’m pretty smart,” she said jokingly.

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

Damn it, now she was blushing. Shit.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you flatter every girl you take to the space museum? Is this your strategy?”

He snickered. “Well, considering you’re the only girl I’ve taken, I’m going to have to say yes.”

She hummed. “I’m glad I’m so special to you, because that means you won’t drop me when I never give you this jacket back.”

He huffed. “You can’t just do that.”

“I can and will,” she teased. Then, because she wasn’t a completely cruel person, she reached up to her coatrack and pulled down a red scarf for him. “Here, take this so it’s more of a trade than stealing.”

“If I don’t?”

“Then you get to walk back to your house in the cold like that.”

He snorted. “What happened to not wanting to steal?”

“At least I offered!”

He rolled his eyes and leaned down so she could wrap the scarf around his neck.

She looked up at him, a blush spreading across her face, and then carefully draped it over his shoulders. “There. Now you have a splash of color.”

He smiled at her. “Ah, I see, this was all just a plot to get me to wear colors. It all makes sense now.”

“Of course.” She tugged him down more by the scarf to press a kiss to his nose. “You should wear red and black more often. They’re totally your colors.”

He smiled a little dopily. “You have no idea.”

She pushed his face away. “Weirdo. Go be cryptic somewhere else.”

“Fine, fine. See you in a few days.”

“See you then.”

~~~

Bonus Batfam group chat stuff

Timtamalam: What if Dick makes everyone call him that because he has a degradation kink?

LetMeLeaveTheChat: i fucking hate this family.

BloodSon: This is exactly the kind of lowbrow humor to be expected of you, Drake.

Timtamalam: I’m unappreciated in my time.

CAss: :0

Timtamalam: See, this is why Cass is the favorite.

YouDontSeeMe: DickJoke please respond

DickJoke: I raised each and every one of you and this is the thanks I get

LetMeLeaveTheChat: sucks to suck, dickwad.

DickJoke: That’s it when I get through all this dumb Heartless stuff I’m coming back to the manor and we’re all going to have family time

CAss: :(

ItsEggplantNotPurple: damn it

YouDontSeeMe: crap

LetMeLeaveTheChat: fuck. and an extra “fuck” on duke’s behalf.

BloodSon: Look at what you have done, Drake.

Timtamalam: Sorry guys.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Category: Body

This may or may not have been written while listening to Body by Megan Thee Stallion on repeat. At me all you like! Female Reader Insert--more Black reader too. But I don’t completely specify. 

Enjoy my masterlist!

______________________

Things I want to consider and talk about is what happens when you put on your nasty jams. And they’re not the slow ones, ones you’d play while giving into pleasure, I’m talking the ones you put on to hype yourself up, tell yourself you sexy and deserve everything you’re getting, ones that make you feel like a bad bitch. 

And maybe you’re playing them over the stereo, without realizing that Calum would be coming home so early in the day. You normally have a couple hours to yourself after you get home and while those hours are normally spent doing in work, or scrubbing something in the house, you take the time this time to hype yourself up for the night out. 

You weren’t too sold on it, but Calum had to go out for something work related and didn’t want to go by himself. You agreed to go with him on the stipulation that at 12:30 that you got to pull the plug. Calum agreed whole heartedly, know that his social battery would most like start to drain around 11 or 12 as it stood. Having each other as an out wasn’t something that was new for the two of you. If you wanted to go out, and Calum tagged along but was running low, you could also call it a night for him. And if you were out with him, and you were running low on energy, Calum would call it a night excuse the both of you. It was a system and it worked. 

But right now, you needed to get into the right mindset to even consider going out. The week had been long and because this was a work event for Calum you’d suck it up and go. So the two hours, you thought you had before Calum would be home, you were going to strut in front of the mirror in your hottest outfits, miniskirts, mesh tops, bodycon dress. 

The speakers rattle just a little to the bass as you bounce to the beat trying on a bodycon dress. It’s baby blue and a favorite of Calum’s. You don’t think you’ll be wearing it out tonight but it’s always a good standby just in case you don’t know what else to wear. As you secure the back to your earrings you bend your knees, twerking for just a moment to the beat. The lyrics fall over your lips as you rap to yourself in the mirror.You know it looks crazy but it’s also put you in a good mood. 

Straightening you look at the dress and think, it’s not the call for tonight, but it still makes your ass look great. You sway for another beat or two and then saunter back over to the closet. You truly feel like playing tonight lowkey, so you find some pants--jeans, or the shiny vinyl ones you’re not sure about but you figure today is a pants kind of event. 

The next some comes onto the shuffle just as you hang the dress back onto the hanger. In just your undergarments you dance for a moment, laughing as you fumble through the lyrics. It doesn’t matter. You compose yourself and slip into the vinyl pants and find a shimmery top to pair with it that you can top off with a leather jacket.

Tongue sticking out for a moment you allow yourself to dance. It doesn’t matter, just feeling the beat. The pants are more comfortable than they look but they’re still not something that you can do too much in. It’s just enough for a whine and that’s all you need. So lost in the beat you don’t even hear the front door open and close, nor do you catch Duke scampering down the hallway. 

When Calum stands from petting Duke, Calum wonders what in the world is in store for him when he enters the bed room. And there you are in the middle of the room, hands on your knees as you rap along to the song, slowly winding it back up to a standing position though your hips and ass still bounce. This is a side that comes out--just not a lot. He takes pauses and watches you move along to the music, now bouncing your whole body as if rapping to an audience. 

“I can see you Calum,” you laugh, spying him in the mirror. Though he hadn’t heard him come into the house, you did see him round the corner to the bedroom and lean up against the molding of the door. 

“I’m just watching the show,” he grins, a smirk on his lips. You emphasize it by back up right against him, ass right against his crotch. “And enjoying it,” he laughs, arms slipping around your waist. 

You giggle but cup his cheek and stretching up to give him a quick kiss. Calum winks at you as you pull apart. “I needed to hype myself up and figure what the fuck I was wearing.”

Calum nods at the comment but soon his hips join yours in the rhythm you’re setting. “Well, I can’t complain at this at all.”

As a joke, you bend at the waist, leaving your butt flesh against his crotch but only shake it against him for a moment before popping back up and twirling out of his hold.  Calum laughs, part of it shock, the other part knowing just how you can get. “Oh, not fair,” he huffs.

“Put a shot or two into me and you’ll get the rest tonight.”

“That better be a promise,” he laughs and then toss his jacket to the bed. “Light dinner before we go out?”

“Sure. What do you want?” you ask, finding your t-shirt you changed into after getting home. 

“I’m cooking tonight. So you tell me what you want?” he states. His hands squeeze at your sides before slipping down to your ass over the vinyl pants. 

“Spaghetti? I don’t know. I just want pasta.”

“I can do that.” Calum presses a kiss to your cheek and then turns on a socked foot to walk back out of the bedroom. You turn off the speaker and peel yourself out the pants and leave the outfit out knowing you’ll need it again soon. 

The bar isn’t too crowded or loud when you first arrive but because of your paranoia you know it’s mostly because you’re super early. Acquiring a booth to settle at until more people arrive, you and Calum relax, laughing at the story you’re telling about your day at work. Soon though Ashton arrives and he then dominates the conversation which you’ve learned to give over at some points. Though you do take it back over to finish up your story very quickly. 

The music coming over the speakers makes you bounce and sway in the seat just a little. You sit across from Calum His fingers rest over yours on top of the table and every so often he runs the tips of his fingers over the pads of yours and your palm and it’s calming, a slow and methodical reminder that he’s close by. 

“Wanna dance?” Calum asks nodding out to the dance floor. He’s noticed you dancing a little in the seat and the last thing he wants to do is keep you from the thing that seems to be keeping you preoccupied. There’s still a couple hours left before you two know you’ll be leaving. 

“Sure.”

You and Calum slide out of the booth and instead of beelining directly for the dancefloor, Calum takes you over to the bar first. He rounds two shots and you glance at him. “You leaving your car here then?” He drove, saying he wasn’t going to drink and you’re not mad if he changed his mind. 

As the bartender drops the clear glasses to the counter and pours the dark brown liquor, Calum turns to you. “Nah, baby. You said put two in you and I’d get the rest.”

You laugh, lightly slapping at his chest. “Really Hood?” You purse your lips together and wait a moment for the bartender to leave. “You know you could get it without the two.”

He grins. “Oh I know, but I’m making you keep your word.”

“Keeping me an honest woman Hood?” you laugh grabbing the glasses. 

“You’re already honest.” He watches you down the two back to back without even a flinch. “Okay, look at you.”

It’s Calum’s turn to be dragged as you pull him away from the bar counter and to the dance floor. Two years into this and Calum’s still always a little shocked at the way you take alcohol. Though you aren’t a party animal you can handle the liquor well. Calum settles in behind you as find a spot suitable to dance. His hands are immediately on your waist. 

You recline into his chest, immediately getting hit with the scent of his cologne as he ducks his head to kiss your cheek and neck. You think you’re setting the cadence, the bounce and sway, but all you’re really paying attention to is the way Calum molds against you, he moves when you move and it’s like two magnets. Never pulling too far apart before the gravitational pull of other snaps you two back together. The tips of his fingers graze over your stomach and it makes your spine shiver. It’s crazy to think how Calum’s smallest touches light you on fire. You can feel as your heels click down on the floor and two of you step and bounce to the bass. 

It only feels like two songs, but you counted at least five or so before you finally pull away from Calum and turn to face him. He doesn’t keep you far before he’s slotting up against the front of you. Your arms slide around his neck. Your skin is warm, in part to the alcohol and in part to Calum, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[thefanficmonster]

And My Heart Burned In That Lodge

Michael (Mike) Munroe x Reader (female)

Warnings: Death, Grief, Dealing with loss, Heartbreak, Swearing

Genre: ANGST

Summary: None of them will ever be the same, who knows if they’ll even heal. However, the case is different for Mike. He’s left to be dealing with the guilt, grief and the haunting memory of his friend’s death. He’s angry with himself for all the wrong things he did and all the right things he was too much of a coward to do. Now, his only closure is talking to a gravestone, hoping the wind in the graveyard will pass the message onto the person who the words are meant for.  

Requested by Anon. Wish I could tag them, they have such amazing ideas ❤

PS - Sorry this is hella long, I got carried away LOL

I stand aside, watching as my friends place their flowers on her grave. I can hear their cries. For some odd reason I can’t find it in me to feel sympathy or the need to go over there and be with them. I can’t see how that would do anything but make me feel more miserable. Standing here, seeing this scene unfold in front of me, I can’t help but be reminded of how it all started.

Fuck Mondays, man. Fuck them from the bottom of my heart. Even worse, this is the first week of school after winter break so no one wants to be here. Even even worse, this is the first time I’ll be seeing Emily after out breakup. We broke up over text and while I’m aware that’s the worst way to break up with someone, I must admit it was the only way for a lot of arguing and awkwardness to be avoided. 

It’s the first time I’m coming to school alone in a while. Without Emily, the car was pleasantly quiet aside from the songs on the radio. Not gonna lie, it felt a bit lonely. Being single for the first time in what feels like forever is both liberating and oddly melancholic. I try to push the self-loathing and the depressing thoughts away as my eyes scan the hallway, looking for the group of familiar faces. My gang. We used to be ten people but we lost two girls during our winter getaway at the Washington lodge. Josh’s sisters, Hannah and Beth, went missing and are presumably dead, all cause of a stupid prank Jess, Emily and I concocted, convincing Matt and Ash to go along with it. In retrospect, I don’t know what we were thinking.

‘Seriously, Mike? From one depressing thought to another? Is your brain lacking serotonin today more than usual or what?‘ I mentally scold myself just as I spot two familiar faces - Sam and Ashley. 

It doesn’t take long for me to notice the rest of the gang - Matt, Jess and Chris - all standing near by, surrounding a girl I have never seen before. She sticks out immediately with her long H/C hair and shiny E/C eyes. Jess has her arm linked with the girl, a gesture really out of place for Jess. I mean, her and Emily are pretty close and I’ve never even seen them hug.

“Hey, man. How are you?“ Matt notices me first, lifting his head and smiling at me. His greeting leads the others to look in my direction as well, including the girl. I catch Jess lean down in and whisper something to her. I can’t hear what she’s saying but it clearly aggravates her. I have never received a dirtier look from a girl in my entire life. I usually have the opposite effect on women but I guess there’s a first time for everything. 

“Mike...” Jess steps away from the girl and towards me, “this is my best friend, Y/N. She just got transferred here.” She turns her attention back to the girl, “Y/N, this is Mike.” 

Y/N looks unamused as she outstretches her arm in my direction. “Nice to meet you” is what she says, but her expression clearly tells me she would like to see as little of me as possible. At least she’s polite, right? 

“Likewise.” The handshake is brief and, despite her obvious distaste for me, she still gives me a firm handshake. 

“Wait, you were transferred? I thought Jess said you came here cause you moved.” Sam furrows her brows in confusion. 

“Well, it’s really a chicken and the egg type of situation.” Y/N laughs, rubbing the back of her neck almost nervously, “We moved because I had to transfer.”  Yikes.“ Ashley comments, “Not to pry or anything, but why did you have to be transferred?“

Y/N looks me dead in the eyes, as if she’s sending me a message that I better not overlook, or so help me God I’ll be dead. ”Noses randomly broke when I was around.”

It hurts so much to look back on those times and not pick up on what I was feeling. I foolishly decided that if I can’t give the feelings a name or find them a purpose I should turn a blind eye. I wasn’t that ignorant, I could tell she was the cause, but I could never admit it.

And then there’s the situation with Jess...

“You hurt her, and I’ll kill you.“

I found Y/N by the bleachers and let me tell you, she’s quite the paradox. She’s a straight A, no nonsense, intelligent beyond her years girl. With all these characteristics, you’d think she’d know better than to smoke cigarettes. Wrong! She’s a smoker. Jess can never not complain about the smell of cigarette smoke, it’s a miracle these two get along.

To my ‘hi’ she responded with what looked to be an eyeroll and an annoyed release of smoke through her nostrils. Even though I know I’m not welcome to be in her proximity, I still decide to sit down a little ways away from her, for personal space and all that. Definitely not cause I’m slightly afraid of her. No way.

We just sit in silence until she hits me with the aforementioned threat. I am caught off guard. All I can do is stare straight ahead of me like a deer in headlights. After maybe thirty seconds of absolute confusion I manage to turn my head to look at her. “What are you talking about?” The question is supposed to sound harsh but compared to the way she spit out that death threat it sounded more like a whimper.

“You are such an ignorant asshole.“ She shakes her head, throwing her cigarette on the bench below her. She stomps on it and walks away. I can’t help but stare at her until she’s out of sight. I feel like I’m watching something non-human. A phenomenon you can experience once in a lifetime - if you’re lucky. 

She’s the complete opposite of Jess: grounded, smart, rational. The only time I’ve seen her be so unpleasant is around me. I catch her interactions with the rest of the gang. From afar, she seems like the nicest, friendliest girl. And then she catches a glimpse of me and her mood changes. I don’t know what’s her problem with me but I know it most certainly isn’t something I’ve done to her. She’s been like that since the first moment we were introduced, so either Jess has talked a lot of shit about me or she just hates people named Michael. I may never know.

I had no idea what she meant at the time and only found out three weeks ago. Speaking of three weeks ago, the group once again headed for the Blackwood Pines, trying to hide their uneasiness with make excitement. I was pretty hyped when I heard we were going because that also meant our friend Josh was finally starting to get better. He hadn’t been in a good mindset since his sisters went missing and we were all really worried for him but weren’t allowed to show it because he always insisted he was fine.

He wasn’t. He was as messed up as ever and served as only the prologue to the nightmare of a night we had to live through.

But before all that could happen, the night started off well. Better than expected. The eeriness of the mountain combined with the bad memories we had of the place we still there, we could all feel the tension, but we did a good job masking it with jokes and whatnot. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really looking forward to go and not only because of what happened the year prior.

“Wait, wait, wait. Y/N’s coming too?“ I ask, looking at Josh with wide eyes.

The guy is clearly confused by my overdramatic reaction to him counting down the names of the ones who had already RSVPd ‘Yes’. “Is that a problem or something?”

I sigh, hiding my face in my hands. It’s embarrassing to admit, really. “She doesn’t like me, and that puts it mildly. She hates me.”

He looks even more baffled than before, “Why? What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing, for fuck’s sake. Not a single thing. I haven’t even had a proper interaction with her.“ Talking about this matter exhausts me, mostly cause I can’t even express half the things I’m feeling.

There’s been a time or two I’ve caught her looking at me but her eyes weren’t filled with that distrust I’m used to. She looks away quickly when we make eye contact, as if she can’t put the mean mask on in time and she has to look away to do a system reset. I sometimes catch myself looking at her without realizing. I try to tell myself I do it for the purpose of solving her. 

‘Who are you kidding, Munroe?‘

                                                                  * * *

And here I am, climbing up the mountain to the Washington lodge. I’ve made it a goal to use this getaway to mend things with Y/N. It’s the only way for me to get back to normal. To get my mind back since she’s recently been living in my head rent-free. I’m bullshitting, not just recently. She’s taken over my brain since day one. I can’t place what’s going on with me, I can’t find a term to label it with and I most definitely can’t find a way to stop it. So, I’ve come to the conclusion that if I can’t stop it on my own, she’ll have to do it for me.

Another thing - I’ve never felt nervous or self-conscious around a girl all my life. Never. My friends joke that I’m a ladies’ man and I’d say that’s pretty true. So I have a tough time understanding how I turn into an awkward turtle that’s missing confidence when she’s around.

Once we all get settled in and there’s a fire going, giving the lodge a cozy atmosphere, it’s every man for themselves. Everyone picks a activity they want to occupy themselves with and the living room of the lodge empties out, leaving me there alone.

I scroll stare at the screen of my now useless phone. The thing has no reception and no way of keeping me busy, leaving my attention to wander to the voices that are getting more and more distant as my friends walk out of the room.

I can’t help but overhear Jess say to Y/N, “You haven’t even set your bag down yet and you’re going for a smoke? Jeez, Y/N.”

“You say as though you don’t know me.“ Y/N laughs, the sound of a door opening following after her voice.

It’s such a nice sound, her laugh. I’ve never heard it before. I’ve seen her smile and seen her chuckle at someone’s joke, but it was never actually a laugh. Seems she keeps those for special occasions. 

If she’s in the type of mood to laugh, she’s in the type of mood to be civil with me. Before I can talk myself out of the on-spot decision, I mentally slap myself and get off the couch, walking to the door to the side deck.

“You’ve got this, she’s just a person” 

“Who’s just a person?“ her voice cuts through the silence of the outdoors.

‘SHIT I SAID THAT OUT LOUD‘

I decide to carry this all the way, no shortcuts. No backing out. Somehow, now that she’s standing in front of me - a cigarette between her fingers, her shoulders tense from of the cold - I find it easier to get the words out. She’s just as human as everyone else. The cold causes her to shrivel up. She’s addicted to tobacco. She’s not some riddle I need to solve, just a person I need to talk to in order to understand.

“You.“ I reply, “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?“

She shakes her head, her shoulders trembling a bit, “It builds the immune system.”

“No, it makes you suffer.“ I shrug my jacket off, cautiously approaching her and wrapping it around her.

Surprisingly, she accepts it with a nod and a murmured ‘thanks’, holding onto it with the hand that’s not holding her cigarette. “Why were you reminding yourself that I’m just a person? Do I not look like one?” She scoffs, facing away from me to look at the snowy hills ahead.

“No, no, not that. You just make me nervous that’s all.“ 

She whirls around, giving me this look as though she has no idea what I’m talking about.

“Really? Why’s that?“ she puts out her cigarette on the wooden railing, focusing all her attention on me.

My hand instinctively goes up to the back of my neck, feeling my face start to heat up. “Well, you’re not really fond of me. And I don’t know why, and....” I trail off, sighing in self-disappointment, “And I wanna know why.”

Her expression turns the complete opposite, a smile spreading across her face. “It’s not about something you have done. It’s about what you might’ve done.”

Despite feeling slightly relieved, I am no less confused than I was a minute ago. “And what is that?”

“Break my best friend’s heart.“ She looks a lot more serious now, “You really had no idea she was head over heels for you just a month ago. You were so oblivious and she was so whipped...“ frustration radiates off of her, “I just didn’t want her to get hurt.“ She closes her eyes, stabilizing herself before finishing her statement, “I didn’t want to hurt her.“

“Wait, what?“

The hurt that paints itself on her face is contagious. I feel it too and I don’t even know what’s causing it. “She always told me about you. Mike this and Mike that. She made you sound like the best guy in the world. And...I really wanted to be let down when I met you, but you were nothing but nice to me and to the other people in the group. But you were also such a jerk from time to time. You are just too...Fucking forget it.” 

In a blink of an eye she puts my jacket over the railing and runs inside the lodge.

“Y/N, wait!“

Needless to say, running after her was the best decision I’ve made. I didn’t get her to admit to anything, but at least we lied down the armor and agreed to give each other some time to get to know one another. Drop aside the assumptions and give a this acquaintanceship the chance to become a friendship. 

Sadly, all good things come to an end way sooner than we want. The rest of that dreadful night I witnessed her transform. When everyone was freaking out, she held them and comforted them. I saw the fear in her eyes but she never let it shine through in her actions. She was the one still holding it together even after she saw that disgusting creature. Her and I were the ones to turn that sanatorium upside down. We were with Josh in the mines. We were the ones to see the Wendigo first. We were by each other’s side the entire time. We had each other’s backs. 

I’ve never felt such a connection with someone. I was experiencing the most intimate understanding with a person in the worst moment of my life. It was bittersweet. The poison mixed with the cure.

Even when she knew her death was approaching, her only reaction was a single tear. A single crystal drop running down her cheek.

We can make a break. We can run right out of this hell hole and turn it to ash, all we need is for this fucking to focus its attention elsewhere. Thankfully Chris, Ash and Emily have made it out already and they’re safe. However, Sam, Y/N and I are trapped. The silent looks we exchange are laced with fear and panic. We have to calculate our next moves down to a millisecond and we don’t even know what those next moves should be.

Suddenly, a sharp pain starts spreading from my hand shoulder. My adrenaline is no longer doing a good job blocking out the pain of the fingers I had to sever. I slip up, letting out a hiss. The pain is just that unbearable.

That thing turn at the speed of light, letting out a screech and heading in my direction. My whole body is tense I couldn’t move if I wanted to but my arm is in such a horribly painful position, I think I’ll faint if I don’t readjust it.

“HEY!“ The voice comes from opposite me and my heart drops.

Sam’s next to me. It’s not her. It’s Y/N. 

The Wendigo loses interest in me as soon as it hears her yell turning and heading straight for her. It all starts sinking in. Now that it’s facing away, Sam and I can make it out. But she can’t. It’s over for her. There’s no way she’s leaving this lodge.

I catch her eyes from across the room. Her posture says a fighter, but her eyes scream ‘petrified’. She knows it too. She knows it’s game over. A single tear rolls down her cheek, shattering my heart.

That’s the last vulnerable moment, however. She turns her head, deciding to go out without showing a glint of fear to that piece of shit. I don’t have to look at Sam or tell her what to do. We’re both aware that we’re about to make it out, losing Y/N in the process.

It happens in a split second. Y/N spits at the Wendigo and then next thing I see is her laying on the ground in a pool of blood. 

The dash out of the lodge is a blur. The last thing I remember is sitting outside of the burning building, staring at the flames. The lodge wasn’t the only thing burning. Years of memories; history; wendigos; and my heart burnt in that lodge.

I see the group leave the graveyard. I struggle to move forward, my limbs heavy. I feel gravity is a lot stronger all of a sudden. 

I didn’t go to the final goodbye. I knew it wasn’t her. There was nothing left of her to bury. Sam told me they buried things that reminded people of her and objects she cherished. 

Well it’s time I give my goodbye.

I shrug my jacket off - the same jacket from that night - and put it around the gravestone like I put it over her shoulders. There’s a box of the cigarettes she smoked in the inner pocket.

“I hope you felt what I felt, Y/N. I hope I didn’t have to say it for you to notice it. I wish I knew...cause now it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.” I can’t stop the tears, I’m too weak and I’ve been holding them back for far too long. “I’ve never believed in an afterlife. But I really hope there is one, just so we can meet again.” I scoff, shaking my head, “Who am I kidding, I’m probably going to hell.”

I believe that’s where I deserve to go, anyway. I’m the reason she died. And I will never let myself live that down. I will never forgive myself. A flame like no other burnt out so mine could keep burning.   I will make sure it haunts me till the day I leave this world behind.

[juuten]

The Time With You | Tasuku Takato

My first fic is for Tasuku! It’s quite long, but please enjoy your time with him (and shower some love for him)! 

As the audience gave a deafening round of applause, Tasuku felt the surge of his never-ending passion for acting. No matter how many times, this was the feeling he always chose to relish on.

But he won't deny that he wanted to go back to the dorms, taking a warm long bath before going to bed. 

Maybe he should also text you. It has been months since you had a date, weeks since you two met up, and days without a call because of work. He felt guilty whenever he rejected your plans mostly because he needed to practice.

However, what he didn’t expect as soon as he arrived at the entrance was a familiar voice greeting him in the lounge.

“Welcome back, Tasuku!” 

His eyes widened a fraction before returning to their normal sizes. Tasuku slipped off his shoes while asking you, “(First Name), what are you doing here?”

It wasn’t rare for you to visit the dorms as you usually tag along with him after watching his performances. Tasuku even invited you to celebrate with them after successful closing night. However, it was a first for you to go here by yourself.

“Look!” You proudly showed him a plastic container filled with various colors of small rubber bands.

“That is…?”

“It's a loom bands kit!”

“Loom...bands?” Tasuku repeatedly slowly.

“They’re rubber bands that you can use to make bracelets, but they're not limited to that,” you explained while putting the container on the coffee table.

Tasuku slowly approached the table to get a closer look. He noticed that the container did not only serve as storage for the rubber bands. It also had a section wherein some small tubes were placed, some only half-cylindrical. Tasuku also saw a thin stick with a curve on the edge on top of the tubes section.

“What made you bring them here?” He asked while sitting himself beside you.

“I saw it in my room! I wanted to do it with a lot of people, so I went here." You grinned. Then it suddenly disappeared. "But for some reason, no one’s available.”

When Omi answered the door before, you excitedly invited him to use the loom bands kit with you. With an apologetic smile, he informed you that he has an errand to do. He even told you that a tutoring session with the high school kids was happening in the courtyard since Tsumugi wanted them to have a nice change of environment to study. You were about to leave but Omi persuaded you to stay in the living room by offering you his scones.

“So that’s what happened.” Tasuku sighed. You really couldn't resist Omi’s scones.

“Yep!” You passed him your plate with a pair of scones left. “You want some?”

“No thank you.”

“As expected of my fitness nut of a boyfriend.” You giggled while placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. 

“You could say that more nicely, you know,” Tasuku said, though he fought back the blush blooming on his cheeks.

You giggled. Then you asked, “So how’s your day?”

While Tasuku told you his experiences from his several guest appearances, you had a smile on your face the whole time. Whenever he talks about acting, he looked so happy. It may so happen you forgot your initial goal as to why you went here, focusing on your boyfriend rather than anything else.

After Tasuku shared with you his stories, he felt the fatigue he was unconsciously holding back during his performances enter his system. He felt his eyes drooping, and you noticed that. So you stood up, bringing with you your stuff. “Well, I probably should go on ahead-”

Tasuku’s eyes shot open and he reflexively grabbed your wrist. “Didn’t you say you waited for me?”

“Yes, but I know you’re tired after making several guest appearances for today.” Making accessories or charms with your boyfriend sounded like a lovely idea, but Tasuku’s health always came first. And you knew his body clock was telling him to sleep already.

“Yes, I’m tired, but that doesn’t mean I won’t spend time with you.” 

You twiddled your thumbs. “But you don’t have to go out of your way for me. We could do this some other time.”

Your statement irked him. After days of separation, you could still say that? Though he knew he was partly to blame since acting was only on his mind, that changed when you came. Besides, he didn’t enter a relationship just to label someone as his significant other. “You could wait for another time?”

“As long as it’s for you, Tasuku, then yes.” You tenderly smiled. You knew ever since you entered a romantic relationship with a man who solely thought of theatre that you weren’t always on his mind. That fact shattered your heart before. But when he invited you for the first time to his performance, you saw his eyes gleaming with joy. You realized that if he would show that expression, then you were fine being not his priority.

Tasuku harshly raked a hand on his hair. “I can’t accept this.” 

You furrowed your brows, unconsciously slamming your kit on the table. “What?” 

“I’m offering you the time you deserved, and yet you’re pushing me away.” 

“But you’ve been acting left and right these days, so you need to rest.”

“Don’t dictate what I should do,” he lashed out, making you jump. But that didn't stop you from glaring, offended at his assumption at your concern.

“I’m not telling you what to do!” I’m thinking of your wellbeing!

“I doubt that. You always say it’s for me, but is it?” Why can’t you understand that it’s my choice to spend time with you?

“Of course it is!” You’re my priority.

“Just go back.” You’re not considering my feelings.

Your lips quivered. With a last glance, you mumbled, “Then I’ll go home. Good night, Tasuku.” Then you shut the door outside. 

On the way back, you tried to keep your tears from spilling. Arguments sometimes happened in your relationship, but this fight in particular shook your core. You always decided with him on your mind, and yet why was he so mad? Have you been misunderstanding him all this time?

Tasuku sat on the couch, a deep sigh escaping from his lips. He put a hand on his forehead and closed his eyes. He didn’t mean to steer the conversation in an argument. However, the lack of time with you made him reach his peak. And you cancelling your plans again because of him added fire to the oil.

“Tasuku?” Someone called out.

Tasuku opened his eyes to see who called him. It was Tsumugi who looked like he just recently entered the living room, the pile of textbooks still on his hands. “What?”

“You just arrived?” Tsumugi asked. Tasuku nodded, though he didn’t say anything else.

Tsumugi was confused at the lack of response. Whenever Tasuku arrived at home, he immediately told him about his guest appearances. Seeing him all quiet and staring at the floor was odd.

‘Something must have happened.’ Tsumugi’s eyes searched the living room to see some clues that might lead him to Tasuku’s current state, and he saw the rubber bands you unintentionally forgot to bring home with you.

“I guess (First Name)-san dropped by,” he deduced. But why was his friend sulking even though he saw his significant other?

Tasuku sighed. “And it didn’t go well.”

Tsumugi frowned. “But you just saw each other again today.”

“I worsened it.” 

Tsumugi approached the living room, setting loads of study materials on the table. He was careful not to let the loom bands kit fall on the side.

With no words needed to tell, Tasuku began spilling everything that happened when he arrived here - you leaving, him (indirectly) asking you to stay, both of you arguing and him lashing out. The guilt and resentment that he felt resurfaced, further crushing his heart.

When Tasuku ended his story, Tsumugi nodded. “I understand your side, but (First Name)-san supports you in acting. It shows how much they care for you.”

“I know. That’s why we argue,” Tasuku replied. “They don’t think about themselves at all.”

Tsumugi patted his friend’s back in a comforting manner. “You just need to talk to each other.”

Tasuku rolled his eyes. “That’s only easy to say.”

“Then you need ‘something’ to start a conversation.” Tsumugi gave the loom bands kit a meaningful glance.

Tasuku followed his glance. The gears in his brain turned before an imaginary lightbulb appeared above his head. He immediately grabbed the loom bands kit and stood up. It wasn’t like him to use others’ stuff without permission, but this time was an exception. He hoped that you would forgive him for this (and for lashing at you too).

“Don’t mind me if I’m still awake at night.”

The next morning, the first thing you felt was panic.

As soon as you saw your desk empty of your kit, the events that occurred yesterday resurfaced in your mind. You were so focused on trying not to cry at the fact that you left your loom band kit at the MANKAI dorm.

You slapped your palm on your forehead, cursing yourself for feeling overwhelmed at that time. Now you need to go to the dorms just to get back your stuff, and the chances of bumping on Tasuku were most likely. 

You thought of texting Tsumugi to bring your stuff here, but you hesitated. You didn’t want him to make way just to retrieve your loom bands kit, and above all, you never desired for the kind man to be involved in your argument. 

You sat on the edge of your bed, weighing your choices. You could just head there and face your boyfriend's wrath or leave the loom bands in the dorms that may be put in the storage room.

You sighed. Nevertheless, you needed to confront him soon enough. Based on your experiences, you were sure it would be difficult. Tasuku never backed down on what he believed unless he was really in the wrong. But for Tasuku, for this relationship, you prepared yourself to go to the dorms. 

You held your breath as you stood at the front door, the resolve you had remaining in your home. Your anxiety on the possibility of encountering Tasuku and making your relationship worse gnawed at you. The passing neighbors gave you concerning looks as they saw you just standing still with our brows furrowed.

You were already here, so why wouldn't you go for it?

Your trembling hand knocked on the door three times, making your anxiety increase tenfold. When the door opened, you let out a relieved sifh when you saw Tsumugi. “Oh, Tsumugi-san!”

The man warmly smiled at you. “(First Name)-san, what brings you here?”

You wringed your fingers. “Uh… I left my loom band kit yesterday in the living room. Did you see it?”

“It’s in my and Tasuku's room. Tasuku brought it there.” 

So your boyfriend decided to put it inside their room, huh. Though you were thankful for the action, the awkward circumstances you two were in made you uncomfortable. “I see. Could I, perhaps, get it back?”

Tsumugi stepped aside to unblock your way. “Of course. It’s yours after all, (First Name)-san.”

As you removed your shoes, you greeted some of the boys present in the living room. The energetic bunch even wanted to talk to you longer, but Tsumugi gently stopped them and said you had an errand to do. You were a bit relieved when Tasuku wasn’t in the living room. You would feel bad for crushing the wonderful atmosphere because of tension between you and Tasuku.

“Is Tasuku… inside the room?” You asked as you followed Tsumugi on the other side of the dorm.

“Don’t worry about that,” Tsumugi ambiguously answered. Damn it, why did he have to leave you in an unknown situation? You couldn't be mad at this gentleman though because he always helped you with everything, especially with Tasuku. But you always felt guilty at that because you felt like you were using him.

As the two of you were nearing the door to their room, your heart rate sped up, almost choking you from the intensity. Tsumugi twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. There was no backing out now.

Tasuku flinched when he heard the door creaking open. He almost pushed his work off the table. But when he heard his roommate's voice, he quickly stopped himself.

“What is it, Tsumugi?” He asked while looping together a bunch of rubber bands with a stick-like tool.

“I’ll be downstairs tutoring the high school kids. Call me if you need anything,” he said. Then with a knowing smile at you, he mouthed ‘this is your chance’ while gently pushing your (frozen) state inside their room. 

Tasuku was confused as to why Tsumugi told him that, but he replied, “Yeah.” Then he silently resumed his work.

When the door shut, you slowly took deep breaths as quietly as possible. Then with a little courage you had, you softly called him, “Tasuku…”

The man stiffened, his hands stopping at his ministrations. Were you behind him all this time? Because of the lack of sleep and the stress at the fact that it was too soon for you to arrive here, he unconsciously glared at you.

Your heart was smashed into pieces as you saw his expression, his eyebags adding to the grumpy look on his face. You looked down, your fringes covering your eyes. 

You’re not glad to see me, huh.

Tasuku’s mouth went agape when he saw your crestfallen state. He knew from that that he glared at you even though it wasn’t his intention.

“Wait, (First Name).” You’re here. Please don’t leave again.

“You don’t need to force yourself.” I should go.

Tasuku always responded, but this time he left your statement in the air. You felt your heart sink further in the abyss. If he wasn’t glad to see you anymore, what was the point of having this relationship? It was painful to force yourself to do something that you didn’t like, after all.

But that thought slipped away when Tasuku gently said your name. You reluctantly looked up, seeing him pushing his chair to the side of his desk that revealed the work that he has been doing.

You gasped, seeing your loom bands kit on his table. You weren’t sure if Tsumugi kept it vague to hide Tasuku’s plans, but here it was, being used by your boyfriend. But what caught your eye was the small rubber band figure on the edge of the desk. Although half of the face was missing, you recognized the mini person with their long-sleeved shirt, denim pants, and yellow rubber shoes.

Tasuku scratched his head. “It’s still not done yet, and that’s why I’m bothered. I’m not upset-”

He stopped at his statement, surprised at the sniffles emitted from you. When he looked at your face, he saw tears spilling from your eyes. 

Thinking that you were overwhelmed at the potential danger your relationship was in (again), he lowered his head in apology. “Hey, I’m sorry for being angry at you yesterday. I was just frustrated since we’re barely spending time with each other anymore.”

A sudden weight on his lap made him go ‘oof!’, reflexively putting his arms around your waist. When he felt his shirt dampen, his heart was torn in half. Were you that upset with him?

“Tasuku, you idiot!” You wailed, more tears trickling on your cheeks.

He gently wiped your tears with his thumb, kissing your forehead. “I know.”

You sniffled. “You… you already started without me!”

“...You were crying because of that?”

You weakly punched his chest. “Don’t belittle my sentiments.” Then you buried yourself in his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“...I’m sorry. I understood what you meant by me yesterday.” You squeezed him tighter, wanting to feel him closer, hoping for him to feel your sincerity.

He kissed your temple and caressed your back. “I’m sorry too. I know you’re always thinking of my health. I’ll fix my temper.” 

You shook your head, looking up to meet his eyes. “But you had a point yesterday. I know that my decisions involving you should include you.” 

Both of you gazed into each other’s eyes, drowning in the overwhelming feelings you had for each other. You felt your heartbeat increase as Tasuku’s eyes softenened - something rare to see especially in public but reserved only for you.

His lips looked sweet for some reason. You glanced at his lips then eyes, silently asking for permission. When he leaned in, you closed your eyes. 

Your unexpressed feelings were poured into a passionate kiss. His lips were a bit chapped but you didn’t care as this kiss meant you reconciled with the man you love. You felt Tasuku pulling you closer, making your chests touching. You hoped he could feel how fast your heartbeat wad because you wanted him to know what he let you feel.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, brushing your fingers on the hair a little below his neck. “Tasuku…”

Tasuku hummed but made no effort to reply as he only sealed your lips again with a searing kiss. He wanted to savor this intimate moment he had with you. He realized that he truly longed for you, that he craved for your affection despite not verbally saying it.

When you felt that you’re out of breath, you parted from him (though you felt Tasuku linger a bit more). You heavily panted as your lungs cannot last in such an intense kiss. Tasuku, on the other hand, was still breathing normally thanks to his stamina.

When you recovered, you rested your forehead on his and grinned at him. “That was a good kiss.”

Tasuku smiled. “Yeah, it was.”

“But you should probably ‘finish yourself’ if you know what I mean.” You winked, glancing at his mini self made from rubber bands.

You were about to stand up from his lap, but his arms suddenly locked you in your place. You blushed at the sudden action of your boyfriend.

“Why don’t we make these together?” Tasuku suggested, tilting his head to your loom bands kit.

You pouted, puffing your chest. “But you already started without me.”

Tasuku lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you!” Then you picked up some bands, followed by the loom hook. “As an apology and remembrance, I'll make myself too.”

“Stop saying it like that.”

The rest of the morning was spent making loom bands of yourselves, the quality time you both missed gradually restoring.

[jbbuckybarnes]

Advice for getting started & making friends 💕

Since Tumblr ruined the original answer post to the ask: Hi!!! Thank you. I’ll go a little more in-depth with the answer and I hope you don’t mind.

1. Always know that no matter how good or bad you think your writing is: There are Wattpad books that were made into movies, so there will always be someone that will like what you write.

2. Tagging. Is. Important. Even though Tumblr is incredibly bad with its tagging system it’s always good to use tags so people following them can see your work. Try not to tag stuff wrong though. Did that a few times without noticing it and people were not happy about it. Understandably so.

3. Also always have warnings on your works and if there is something trigger warning worthy put it in the tags of the post with “xyz tw” and/or “tw xyz”. Also put age warnings in case you write 18+ content.

4. Utilize the option to block tags in case you wanna follow someone but you don’t wanna see certain fandoms/celebs. That also works for trigger warning tags.

5. Don’t feel bad about low reblog numbers. I have this amount of followers now and most of my works get 3-8 reblogs.

6. Don’t be afraid to tag some friendly bigger blogs in your first works. They might love what you do a lot. I, personally, am always up to be tagged in stuff.

7. Join writing challenges. Usually 50% of the bigger blogs have some kind of writing challenge going on. Those are great to get exposure and find other works to interact with. My current one is HERE.

8. When it comes to making friends it really depends. I think interacting frequently is a good start, but I found actual Tumblr DM’s to be the most helpful. Write your favorite writers that you liked a particular piece of their work or if you know you both have another shared interest, you can send them a Tumblr post about that. Example: I send baking enthusiasts cool looking food posts. But sometimes even DM’s don’t lead anywhere. Some people on here just don’t really want to make friends.

9. Interact with people’s personal posts. You’ll learn a bit about them from those. For example: I know that @buckyland​ has a cute cat and prefers greenery in pots and not vases (lmao).

10. Self-promo: I made a Discord server for MCU writers and it’s still going steady. Link for that is in my bio. We’re always excited for new people on there.

11. Asks are a great way to support writers beyond reblogging. Ask games are a great way to interact. Sending Requests is also appreciated by most people having open requests.

12. Decide if you want your own asks to include anons or not. But be prepared that if you enable anon asks, that you might get some dumbass spewing bullshit in there every few weeks (at least if you interact a lot w others). Vividly remember my first hate for interacting with my favorite writer.

13. Depending on how much you write you can plan your fics ahead. I, for example, publish most of my chapter based works once a week and only start publishing once they are at least 75% written. Others have ongoing works but I feel like the consensus on it is mostly “wait until you have a good idea of the ending or a rough outline.” @captain-kelli for example, writes her 'Call Sign: Renaissance’ series as an ongoing work but knows where it’s going and plots it out accordingly.

14. Know where to get inspiration. I personally have just trained myself to create everyday. Fiction, non-fiction, art, graphics, etc. It’s a good habit to have, but if you don’t have it you might wanna start an inspiration list or a side blog where you spam all your inspirations. Pinterest also is a good place for that.

15. Research how to link something in the mobile bio to put your masterlist there. There is this wonderful error Tumblr has, where you can’t change your profile on mobile or those links will vanish, so be aware of that. Just save that HTML code in a document lol.

16. Speaking of documents. I suggest writing your works in Google Documents, since it has a document history to refer to in the awful case of someone stealing your work. Preventative measure.

17. If you want a specific theme for your blog on desktop, you can DM me, I have tons of resources saved on another blog of mine.

18. For a nice mobile theme, you can visit @whimsicalrogers, search for headers and icons on Tumblr or request them from talented people per ask or DM. *cough* I make some too. *cough*

19. Oh, I also almost forgot this, but ALWAYS put a “Read More” break after more than 500 words in your posts. On desktop it mostly works in the normal editor, but there are also HTML codes in case it doesn’t work or you are on mobile. Basically, learn a few HTML basics for Tumblr in general, they always come in handy when this hellsite decides not to work.

Bottomline: Don’t be afraid to interact with your nickname being there front and center. Let yourself get seen. If your fandom blog is a side blog you can link them to each other in the bio like I did.

PS: The main reason why I got so many followers very quickly was for writing 31 smut pieces early on and tagging them well. Please know that follower count doesn’t mean much on here as long as the algorithm is trashy. Stick with interacting with people you wanna befriend and don’t let yourself get down too much over little reblogging.

But, of course, always try to find and reblog new people. That keeps the community alive and also spreads your name a bit, as well as the names of others.

If you need more advice or have any questions feel free to DM me or another blogger you trust.

To all my fellow bloggers: Feel free to leave more tips under this post. I’m sure I forgot at least one thing lol-

[spockandawe]

HEY THERE, you have me interested in The Untamed but I'm a little lost as to where to start, there's both a 50 episode normal version and a 20 episode special edition, which should I watch/start with? Also WHAT does your svsss tag stand for? I'm seeing "The Untamed" and "Chén Qíng Lìng" and "Mo Dao Zu Shi" and "Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation" thrown around as synonyms or related pieces of media, but nothing with svsss!

Sure thing!!

Okay, to start with, I’d definitely go with the 50-episode version. It’s a Lot, and there is some padding added to the story compared to the original book, but twenty episodes seems really, really short to do justice to the central plot 

(a quick skim of google tells me that the special edition leans harder into the original novel’s gayness, which the show has to be coy about, because china. i think there are expanded scenes featuring the two leads, which is awesome, because their acting is AMAZING, but that just means the plot scenes are even more compressed. I saw at least one person recommend that you not do the special edition unless you’ve consumed the story in at least one other more standard format already)

Also! Iirc, the show is available on youtube and netflix, among other platforms, though those two are wonderfully accessible. However, comma, I do hear from people fluent in chinese that the subtitles sometimes are inaccurate in unnecessary/unfortunate ways. From what I hear, viki has the best complete set of subtitles (I think there may be fansub projects in progress, but I am not at all in touch with those. I still haven’t watched the show myself).

And the general summary of my current webnovel fixation! There’s this webnovel author who goes by mxtx, who currently has three complete books out, which have all been translated into english. Then after I finished those, I started branching out into other authors and webnovels, though I’m not too deep into that end of the pool yet. I’ll break each book into a separate paragraph for clarity. 

Oh, and. Each of these books is explicitly gay, and set in ancient fantasy china, in a wuxia/xianxia setting, which I’m not too familiar with myself, but I believe it functions a lot like how authors will use ‘ancient fantasy europe’ as a playground where they don’t necessarily need to match up to established countries/cities/etc, but they expect readers to recognize certain conventions, like I’d be able to recognize a western author writing a basic feudal setting, or recognize witches and wizards, without them explaining the whole thing from the bottom up. Since I’m not familiar, it raised the difficulty level a little for me to get into the genre, but the webnovel translators tend to use footnotes and I picked up a lot as I went on.

(if you are interested in any of these, novelupdates.com is a good central resource collecting links to various fan translation projects)

So! Mxtx. Her earliest book is The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System (SVSSS), which is also the shortest and most linear of her books. The general premise is that a guy who’s been hate-reading this (straight) stallion harem webnovel with a dark protagonist. He goes to bed, and wakes up in the novel, as the protagonist’s dickbag teacher, who is doomed to eventually die horribly. He wants to not die, and is also a decent human being, so the book follows the “original” novel derailing from its intended path, and accidentally getting super duper gay. This one is about to come out in donghua form, but I think that may be its first non-book adaption.

Her second book, which was adapted into The Untamed/Chen Qing Ling (CQL), is also known as The Grandmaster Of Demonic Cultivation/Mo Dao Zu Shi (MDZS), which really manages to be the hardest of her books to summarize. Wei Wuxian, the grandmaster of demonic cultivation, dies. Thirteen years later, he wakes up in someone else’s body. Most of the world would like him to stay dead, tbh, but he’s a good egg, and he and his old friend(????) go forth and solve a necromantic mystery together, and also there is romance-romance and ten million family feelings. This one gets nonlinear, with several extended flashback sequences, and the story STARTS at about the midway point of the plot. This has been adapted into an audio drama at least once, a manhua, a donghua, and now a live action show, so it goes by a million different names in its various formats.

Her third book, and the LONGEST, is Heaven Official’s Blessing/Tian Guan Ci Fu (TGCF), and oh my god, it’s so long, and I love it so, so much. This gets into high fantasy much  more than the other two, including the idea that as people develop their cultivation and powers, they may eventually achieve immortality and ascend to the heavens. The story follows Xie Lian who achieved immortality and ascended to heaven! And then fell. And then ascended! And fell again. Eight hundred years later, he ascends for the third time. He meets Hua Cheng, the ridiculously powerful ghost king, who most of the other immortals are terrified of. But Hua Cheng seems to like Xie Lian! And Xie Lian thinks Hua Cheng is a sweet boy! (hua cheng is a sweet boy, but only for xie lian). This also has extended flashback sequences, but is a more linear story than MDZS, I think. Also it made me cry, which, wow, rude. I love it so incredibly much. This also exists as a manhua, but I think it’s still being published? I haven’t read it yet.

NOW. Mxtx is working on a fourth book, but it’s not out in chinese yet, never mind english. But I needed More. I was getting some SVSSS vibes from this one other book, which, *wobbly hand motions*, but I am enjoying the hell out of this book purely for its own sake.

Meatbun is an author with other books that I haven’t read yet, but I am currently in the middle of The Husky And His White Cat Shizun/Er Ha He Ta De Bai Mo Shi Zun (Erha/2ha), which is at this moment being adapted to a live action tv show called Immortality. There are MANY warnings that go with this book, though the google docs translation files do a good job of placing warnings at the front of every document and in front of relevant chapters. The general premise! Mo Ran basically conquered the entire world, put down all resistance by force, and was a super powerful but Kinda Dumb emperor. As part of this, he took his old teacher, who he despised with a burning passion, prisoner, and abused him a Lot. The story starts as rebels try to mount an assault on his palace, and Mo Ran’s cousin gets impatient with how slowly things are moving and runs ahead of the group. He finds that (suicide warning:) Mo Ran has... taken poison, and is in the middle of dying. This doesn’t stick. He wakes up as a teenager, apparently having traveled back in time, and starts living through events again, with the knowledge of his past life. It took me a while to warm up to this story, but ohhhh my goodness, it’s so TASTY. The translation for this one is ongoing, and I am in AGONY waiting for further updates.

So those are the ones I’m currently into and mostly blogging about! I also read Dreamer In The Spring Boudoir, mostly because feynite wrote an SVSSS fic set in the universe of that novel, which was good in some ways, left me cold in others (and the original novel is straight, with a society with rigid gender roles, so making it super gay in the fic made the setting much more interesting to me). Meatbun has other writing, which I haven’t sampled yet, but I am definitely interested in doing that sometime soon. 

Sorry, I know this is a LOT, so if you have any other questions feel free to ask me!! I got into these mostly via being interested in the untamed, so I read them as 1) mdzs, 2) svsss, 3) tgcf, 4) erha, which was an order that worked well for me. But if someone was looking for a general order to read them in, independent of that, I might suggest 1) svsss, 2) mdzs, 3) tgcf, 4) erha. They’re all really good, and scratch different emotional itches, and each of them has at least a few characters who sucker-punch me RIGHT in the goddamn heart. They’ve been a HUGE help for me dealing with the restlessness and/or apathy of quarantine, so I’ve been evangelizing them to pretty much anyone who will listen to me, hahaha

[tran5rightsos]

My Systems are Critical

Summary: Luke and Calum meet a friendly gleth on Zsashos V who just wants to help.

Genre: Sci-fi

Relationships: Luke/Client

Word count: 1711

Tags and Warnings: Blood and Gore, Prostitution, Alien Sex, Body Horror, Angst

Leave Kudos?

“Fuck, you’re big,” Luke whined desperately.

It was basic, but the quovroli seemed to like it anyway, grunting proudly as they fucked Luke into the bed. They panted, showing off wickedly sharp teeth and a pointed tongue. Luke could feel their hot breath on his chest, their claws on his thighs, and if he’d known the fear of being eaten by a client was this fucking good, he would have offered his services to quovroli a long time ago.

Even without the unfortunate reputation the human meat trade gave them, this quovroli was a surprisingly good fuck. Luke had had his fair share of prehensile dicks and aphrodisiac cum, but there was a simplicity in just getting fucked hard that he liked.

The quovroli’s grip on his thighs tightened, claws digging in painfully. Luke gasped and let go of the bedsheets to jerk himself off. He vaguely thought that he should remind the quovroli to be gentler, but he was so close.

As he came, so did the quovroli, growling and shoving into him one last time. Panting, Luke felt the whitenoise slowly fade from his head and he watched them pull out, realising that he was bleeding where their claws had been holding him. Oops.

The quovroli leaned down and Luke watched with bated breath as they drew their tongue up his inner thigh, along the wounds their claws had left.

“Relax,” they laughed as they straightened up, “I’m not gonna eat you. Just wanna know what you taste like.”

Luke exhaled and sat up, pulling his pearlescent white shirt back onto his shoulders and doing up two buttons. His wristcom, a sleek silver band he’d treated himself to when his old one finally kicked the bucket, beeped with the credit transfer tone and he checked it to see the rest of the quovroli’s payment and a surprisingly good rating, given that Luke had mostly just laid there while the quovroli did all the actual work. They must have appreciated the post-orgasm snack.

“I’ll be back,” the quovroli promised, eyeing the mess between Luke’s legs satisfactorily.

“Anytime.”

As they left, Luke got up and smoothed out his skirt. It would need a clean, but would be fine until he got home. He’d be wearing his coat over the top of it anyway, so it wasn’t like anyone would notice anything they couldn’t smell already.

Once he’d cleaned up a bit, Luke let his human friend, Calummintha, know that he was on his way home. Calum tended to worry for his safety, which made Luke feel just a little bit guilty about some of the clients he chose, but he liked the element of danger too much to stop allowing them.

Calum replied that he’d meet him on the way there and Luke headed out. He found Calum at the marketplace they often frequented, snacking on something smoky-smelling as he waited.

“How was work?” Calum asked, eyes falling and widening, “Shit, are you okay?”

Luke looked where Calum was staring, at the blood running down his legs.

Luke groaned and lifted his coat and skirt just enough to see the wounds. “Shit.”

They were deeper than he’d thought. Probably still not enough to be dangerous, but they weren’t going to close on their own.

“I was gonna clean them up when I got home…”

“Luke,” Calum snapped, “What the fuck happened?”

“Are you okay?” someone else asked.

Luke looked up at the gleth that had stopped to stare. Even being over a head taller than Calum, he still didn’t match the height of any mature gleth.

He lowered his skirt. “Yeah, they’re not as bad as they look. I can close them at home.”

“They should be checked for infection,” the gleth fretted, “I have specialised equipment for humans at base camp.”

Luke shared a look with Calum. Normally he wouldn’t go to a client’s home, but it might be okay if Calum stayed with him. If this gleth really did just wanna help, Luke could possibly get a lot of credits out of them and whoever else was at their base camp. Hopefully they had plenty of Storm so he wouldn’t get tired.

“Okay.”

The gleth’s antennae lifted happily. “I’m Kakkin. What are your names?”

“I’m Tekka.” Luke never gave clients his real name.

“Daxun,” Calum said, apparently coming up with a fake name on the spot.

Although Luke was willing to walk, Kakkin looked scandalised by the suggestion and begged to be allowed to carry him there. Luke immediately switched into poor injured human mode and said that he was feeling lightheaded from seeing all that scary blood. Although Calum rolled his eyes hard, Luke would play into whoever Kakkin wanted him to be and he had to admit that he liked that they kept patting his head and telling him it was gonna be okay as they headed for their base camp.

Their camp was only a few corridors away from the marketplace, what looked like a collection of life pods surrounded by temporary fencing with some kind of logo printed on it, though the pods were in much better condition than the run-down one Luke and Calum lived in.

“Guards?” Calum observed as they passed the two armed gleth at the gate.

“Zsashos V is a bit… infamous,” Kakkin explained apologetically.

They took Luke and Calum to a large medical pod with green crescents printed on the walls and Luke stared as they went in. A human was inside, cleanly dressed and watching them expectantly. At least three more were lying half submerged in tanks full of greenish liquid on the far corner, making for more humans than Luke had ever seen in one place in his life.

“This is Tekka,” Kakkin told the conscious human as they took Luke to an examination table, and gently set him down, “His legs are bleeding, poor thing. Not badly, but the wounds looked deep.”

“I’m Athiid,” the human told Luke and Calum as she took some insanely clean medical stuff from a shelf.

“Could you open your legs, please?” Kakkin asked, pulling gloves onto two of their hands.

Luke obliged.

Kakkin lifted his skirt enough to see the goods. “Your clothes may get in the way. Would you like some clean undergarments to cover yourself with?”

“That’s okay,” Luke replied as he hopped off the table, unzipped his skirt and pushed it to the floor, giving his freed tail a seductive wiggle.

Calum rolled his eyes.

Kakkin helped Luke back onto the table and used a wet cloth Athiid had brought over in a bowl to dab around the claw wounds. “Can you tell me what made these?”

“Quovroli client.”

Calum frowned deeply.

“They weren’t trying to hurt me,” Luke rushed, “We just got kinda carried away.”

“You’re a hybrid human?” Athiid asked, tapping at a tablet she’d set on the exam table.

“Yeah. Gleth-augmented.”

“And you do sex work?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “We’ll check for damage and run some infection tests along with genetics.”

“Oh, I test myself at least every rotation,” Luke assured her, but she was already moving on.

“What about you?” she asked Calum.

Calum answered her questions as Kakkin cleaned and sealed Luke’s wounds. When they were done, they told them to wait while they prepared the tests.

“If you start fucking anyone, I’m leaving,” Calum threatened quietly as Luke pulled on the clothes Kakkin had left him. They were much cleaner than anything he’d ever worn before, even though he took a lot of care in keeping his work clothes tidy.

“I don’t think they want to,” Luke said with a pout, wandering towards the humans in the corner, “Looks like they actually do just wanna help.”

“They could be working for a kitchen,” Calum said lowly, “Speaking of which, why the fuck did you take a quovroli client?”

Luke rolled his eyes, then gasped. “Mikey!” He ran to the nearest tank and stared at the human lying there.

There was a mask with a bunch of tubes attached to machines over his mouth and nose, bandages covered half of his face and it had been longer than Luke could remember, but it was definitely Michael.

“You know that human?” Athiid asked, hurrying over.

“His name’s Yovamaikle.” Luke looked down at his legs. His thighs were almost bone-thin and there was skin missing around the middle of them, almost like a messy strip had been dissolved away, exposing what remained of the muscle underneath. “What happened to him?”

“These three were found in a quovroli kitchen. They were being kept in cloning tanks.”

So it wasn’t just his legs and face. They could have been cutting away and regrowing pieces of him this whole time and Luke had had no idea.

“Luke,” Calum said gently.

“I thought he was dead,” Luke choked out, gripping the edge of the tank.

“We found him,” Athiid assured him, “And he’s doing very well now. How long has he been missing?”

“I don’t know, since we were kids,” Luke told her, tears spilling over.

“He could have memory problems when he wakes up,” Athiid said gently, “But if you knew him and want to assist with his recovery, seeing and talking to you may help.”

“How long will it take?” Luke asked her.

“To fully get his memory back? Could be the rest of his life, if ever.”

Luke sobbed.

“We can get him walking again, though,” she told him, “And we can take all of you to a sanctuary on a gleth planet. You can spend as much time as you need helping him heal and remember there.”

Calum put an arm around Luke. “We’ll think about,” he promised, “This is a lot, though.”

“There’s plenty of time,” Athiid told them as she turned to leave, “If he wants to stay here, we’ll stick around until he’s well enough to survive on his own.”

Luke mashed at his eyes with his palms. “I thought he was dead.”

“Me too,” Calum said quietly as Luke bent down to bury his face in his shoulder, “We’re gonna help him, though, yeah? As much as we can.”

Nodding, Luke peered at Michael again. “Is he gonna remember us?”

Calum squeezed him tighter. “We’ll find out when he wakes up.”

[vicunaburger]

Imperfect and Inhuman, are we?

Fandom: School of Rock: The Musical (AU Verse) Chapters: 3/? Pairing: Dewey Finn x OC (Magdalena Newton) The Players: Dewey Finn, Magdalena Newton, Ned Schneebly, The School of Rock Students Word Count: 1,618 Warnings: M for Future Things

Notes: I’m just gonna sit here like it hasn’t been 2 months since an update

Chapter 3 - Late Night - Taxi

It was 1:30am.

There was a light drizzle all day, which turned mostly to slush due to the drop in temperature the last few nights. Not enough to soak through to the bone, but enough to make one excessively damp, which was arguably worse depending on the type of clothing one sported.

Unhappily, Magdalena sat outside on the fire escape, her umbrella doing little against the wind whipping the rain around her at such a height. Something was wrong, and it was gnawing away at her nerves by the minute. Dewey was supposed to have been home hours ago, so why wasn’t he going into his room? His van sat parked in its usual spot, having been there when she arrived, but she didn’t see him go into the apartment building. Faint noises through the apartment caught her ear, but they weren’t his sounds. Lighter footsteps, a softer touch on the light switches and refrigerator door.

Even though they had been meeting every night for the past three weeks - sometimes only a few minutes at a time - they had not reached the point where she could venture in and out of his home as she pleased. Dewey often met her on the steps outside, or as he got home from band practice. Never the right time to invite her inside.

What if something had happened to him? He could be lying in an alleyway somewhere, beset upon by local vandals. Maybe he was tutoring one of his students and lost track of the time?

What if he was on a date?

Magdalena pulled herself into the fur collar of her coat, resembling an unhappy feline as she stared holes into the window glass. If he was on a date, without her, she was going to be extremely distressed to say the least. She wouldn’t be too angry with Dewey; perhaps she was too old fashioned in her attempts at courtship. Too slow to reach the intended result. Truth be told, she was rusty in the art of new-age courtship; the very idea that she was pursuing him without reciprocation was almost too much for her to handle. It was unladylike, but so was this entire century.

The soft sound of the window being opened in front of her brought her attention back to the present, finding herself face to face with Dewey’s roommate. He blinked at her, which she mimicked, and cleared his throat with an awkward grumble.

“Uh… can I help you?” He asked, giving her a suspicious glance.

“I take it Mr. Finn isn’t home?” Magdalena adjusted her posture, trying to put on a more intimidating air. “Why would that be?”

Ned’s eyes seemed to glaze over briefly, “He’s at the bar on 5th.”

“5th and what?” She fought the urge to roll her eyes, not wanting to risk breaking the tenuous hold she had on his subconscious.

“Matinee. It’s open mic night, he’ll be there for a while until someone drags him home. Usually me.” He explained, seemingly unbothered by her on the fire escape.

Nodding, she took a deep breath, standing in preparation for descending to the ground below, “Don’t worry about him tonight, I’ll take care of him for you. Go to sleep or… whatever you do at night. If needed, you’ll recall this conversation happened in the hallway like a perfectly normal human interaction. La revedere”

—

Magdalena stood just outside of the bar under an awning, shaking out her umbrella and doing her best to put herself in a more presentable state. Offkey caterwauling of drunken patrons made her regret her sensitive hearing, wincing as she opened the door to the chorus of an 80s love ballad.  

She weaved her way through the small bar like a serpent through the grass; the small room filled to the brim even so late into the night. It didn’t take her too long to find the musician, hearing his distinct laugh and following the sound to the far side of the bar. He was surrounded by empty beer bottles and a few random patrons - female, she noted - his face flushed with laughter and alcohol.

Dewey caught sight of his neighbor immediately; sticking out from the usual crowd wrapped in her fur trimmed coat.

“Snow! Wha- what’re you doing all the way here?” Dewey stumbled his way through the girls surrounding him, “I wanted to c-call, ya know. But I need your number… so I can call you and stuff. How’dya know I was here? Are you magic?”

He was trying to be subtle but having to yell over the noise made that rather impossible. Magdalena reached out her hands, grasping his shoulders to steady him as he wobbled in place. Dewey, perhaps misunderstanding the gesture, pulled her tight to his chest, engulfing her petite frame in a hug.

His body was so warm, she thought she might melt.

Magdalena wasn’t going to let his opportunity slip away, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the mixed scent of his soap, sweat, and the blood sluggishly running through his veins. Even when they would sit side by side on the front steps of his apartment, she had yet to be this close to him. Social convention dictated that a certain amount of distance must be kept between people of small acquaintance.

Technically, since he was the one who broke that social boundary, she felt comfortable enough to start showing him more physical affection, and not just hidden wordplay.

“Not magic, I’m afraid, just well informed. Your roommate told me where to find you, and warned me about how inebriated you might be.” Magdalena allowed herself the small victory of sliding one hand behind his back, patting him gently. “It’s late, Mr. Finn, don’t you have practice tomorrow?”

Dewey’s gasp was audible even with the noise around them, his grip tightening around her, “Oh… oh… OH SHIT. I gotta go to sleep. Gotta go home. Not in that order. Mags!”

He let her go, placing his hands on either side of her face as he struggled to see her clearly. She could feel him adjusting the placement of her head within his vision, trying to keep her head steady as he wobbled around.

“Mags, do… do you have a car? Did you drive?” Dewey leaned forward as though they were sharing a secret. “Can you take me home? Maaaaaaags, you’re my only hope.”

Magdalena didn’t answer him at first, completely thrown off kilter by his incredible closeness and his use of a new nickname for her. “Mags” was a new moniker in her history; often being reduced to “Magda” by close friends and family only. Was he being sincere? Condescending? His logic being muddled by the amount of beer in his system?

Eh, she would take what she could get.

Magdalena nodded her head, watching him follow the movement with his own, “Come, we’ll go home, Mr. Finn. No cars, but the walk will sober you up in no time. Get your things.”

It took a while to get him out of the bar; Magdalena made sure his tab was paid, and that he had his coat on before the stepped outside. Even walking halfway down the block was a struggle, but not because he had a few pounds on her and thought it was “a great idea” to lean on her for support. It was struggle because she could very well

It wasn’t the fact she had to support him; it was the fact she had to do so without using near her full strength. Truth be told, she could have easily lifted him off his feet and carried him over her shoulder, but that would have been terribly suspicious given her small stature. It didn’t help that he would start slumping over, tripping on something or other on the sidewalk and narrowly avoiding splitting his head open on the cement.

Magdalena managed to subtly put him back on his feet, thankful that he was too muddled to notice. Suddenly, Dewey stopped cold, wobbling in place as she kept him steady.

“Maaaaags. I can’t walk anymore. My legs are bad.” He whined loudly, “How far?”

She winced at the volume, knowing it was probably the result of him unable to hear himself clearly, “We’re not even halfway to your apartment, Mr. Finn. Come on now, if you can stand, you can walk.”

Pouting, Dewey slipped himself to the ground with dead weight, sitting down on the sidewalk with a huff, “Too far.”

For a brief moment, she questioned her mental faculties in regard to her affection for him, “Ahh… I see. Would you like me to leave you here out in the rain and call transportation?”

“…no.” Dewey’s pout became more pronounced.

“Then we find ourselves at an impasse,” Magdalena bent down to be eye level with him. “Tell you what, my home is about a block away. If you can manage that distance, I will offer my sofa for the night.”

He eyed her suspiciously, “Do I get a pillow?”

She nodded, getting up and extending him a hand, “Yes, and you’ll be next to a fireplace, Mr. Finn. I am nothing if not hospitable.”

At once, Dewey leapt up from the ground on his own, seemingly catching a second wind at the prospect of a warm place to sleep. He threw his arm around Magdalena’s shoulders, squeezing her tight to him with a goofy smile plastered on his face.

“C’mon, Snow White, take me to the cottage~” He waggled his eyebrows at her, earning him a soft bit of laughter from his escort.

“Cottage isn’t the word I would use, but do as you will, Mr. Finn.”

Writing Tags:  @hoodoo12 @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @a-subconscious-manifestation @asriells @missihart23 @heknowshisherbs @mrgeuse @amywright @beetlebitchywitch

[chyrstis]

Hana/Sharky or Hana/John for the Ultimate Ship Meme?

@raisinghellinotherworlds

I’ve got Hana/Sharky here, so let’s give Hana and John some attention, especially since this next fic I’m working out should give them a lot more to work with. :D

--

Hana Vao / John Seed

General:

Rate the Ship -  

Awful | Ew | No pics  pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do  it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all  other OTPs - I’m a bit quieter about this one due to wanting to develop it more, but it snuck up on me and I love it)

How long will they last? - There’s a hell of a lot that the two need to work through and work out, but once they do, they’re in it for the long-term.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - It’s not love at first sight by any means of the word. John eyes her during the initial arrest, but is dismissive. Hana’s only set on looking at Joseph once his attention starts boring into her, and hardly registers that the other siblings are in the room. After that, and once Hana really starts laying into John’s operation, he’s infuriated and intrigued, and Hana’s all too glad for the opportunity to piss him off. But John does fall first, and it’s not too long after she tries to capture him that feelings start entering the mix. Hana’s much further off, but by the time John does start finding ways to ‘help’ her and they seem genuine, any feelings towards him start warming faster than anticipated. There’s a bit of a rift that forms before the two go underground, but over the next few years they’re able to repair it, and start a relationship on much more even footing.

How was their first kiss? - Their first is incredibly ill-advised. It’s during an attempt to capture him, and Hana’s injured and desperate and in the middle of grappling with John when a thought pops into her head. ‘Sharky said he’s into me. Maybe I can use it to weasel out of this? No big deal.’ So, she kisses him. Kisses him and goes, ‘Oh, shit, he’s actually pretty into this’, and then punches him in the dick right after. Their first real kiss is a different kind of desperate later on down the line, and luckily for John, doesn’t require any dick-punching. He does make sure she actually wants this before continuing, however, and once she does confirm that, proceeds to pour every feeling he’s tried burying into it.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Hana! It’s honestly something that they never sat down to discuss officially, but she has no doubt in her mind that she wants to ask John once the idea’s been planted and she has a ring to do so.

Who is the best man/men? - There’s no ceremony for them, and considering John’s previous role (and the amends he’s trying to make), he would find it difficult to fill this position. Sharky would 100% try to volunteer, though and at that point would just be dragged into participating in the actual wedding himself, so....

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Hana would also find her hands a bit tied, and understandably so.

Who did the most planning? - Hana, though by planning it’s more ‘get John alone so she can talk to him’ and luckily for her manages to catch him working in his room. Then when she’s about to get the ring out, fumbles it, and has to dig it out from under his desk while he’s sitting by it. She doesn’t hesitate to propose once she gets her hands on the ring after that, and John’s honestly left speechless for a good minute once he realizes just what she’s doing.

Who stressed the most? - John. Up until that moment he’d drawn a few conclusions he shouldn’t have, and Hana’s glad to prove him wrong.

How fancy was the ceremony? -

Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. -

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - N/A - Technically no one was invited since there was no official ceremony, but I think it’s safe to say that Joseph’s invite would've been lost in the mail. Or set on fire by Sharky.

Sex:

Who is on top? - They do tend to switch, but there’s been plenty of times where Hana’s put John right on his back, and he’s hardly tried to stop her.

Who is the one to instigate things? - They’re both pretty awful teases. It’s entirely a game of how much extended eye contact they can hold across a room and during conversation before the other cracks or gets the hint. John also enjoys trying to see how much innocent innuendo he can come up with, while Hana goes for small touch after small touch, seeing how close she can get to him before trying to leave the room. If it’s in an isolated area, she usually doesn’t have the chance, but if not, John’s usually not far behind.

How healthy is their sex life? -

Barely  touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple  weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other  on the couch right now - It would be a ten here, but their moments together are a bit more spaced out at the start of their relationship. Once they’re officially living together, though...

How kinky are they? -

Straight  missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff  and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a  horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - At least a couple of rounds depending on how much time they’re able to have together. Ideally there would be no rush at all, but they don’t always have that luxury.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - It’s certainly something they try for, but John would enjoy casually losing count whenever she'd try to tally them up. And would likely be in the process of trying to get an extra one out of her just on principle. The jerk.

How rough are they in bed? -

Softer  than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking  and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so  vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could  collapse the next time they do it. - They really have two speeds here. Some night’s John’s softer, caught up in the fact that she’s actually there with him and wants to be, and he can’t help but want to look at her, touch her gently, and take his time. Others, it’s only a matter of waiting for a second of privacy before they’re trying to tear the other’s clothes off.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -

No  touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the  couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more  often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory. - John gives her a little space from time to time, but it’s hard for the two not to touch each other in bed, and he won’t hesitate to wrap himself around her. It’s reassuring to have her that close, and more often than not, he’ll actually start drifting off due to the level of contentment setting in. But most affectionate gestures remain behind closed doors for them, so there’s no heavy doses of PDA going on, no matter how badly they’d want to express it otherwise.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - One, which John was nervous about to start, but relaxed as time went on. I’m thinking William (Will? Billy?) for his name, mostly because John didn’t like Theodore (if she can’t honor Ted, she’d honor Bill), both Bruce and Wayne were also shot down, and J-names were right out. (and Hana might’ve shed a tear that night over how many of her action heroes were actually named John)

How many children will they adopt? - N/A

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - At first it’s Hana due to John’s nerves in handling the baby for any period of time, but he’s able to adjust and let go of that fear once they talk their way through it.

Who is the stricter parent? - They’re even at first, but as John gets more comfortable with the idea of parenthood (and makes more peace with the fear that he’ll be just like his parents), he’s able to be more of a disciplinarian. But it really takes very little for him to crumple like a wet paper bag.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - John. He doesn’t have to try too hard with Will, but has a cautious word to share just in case Will thinks of ever being half as much of a daredevil as his mother.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - John’s got a system down, but Hana’s there to sneak in added things to boost their kiddo’s day, like extra fruit, or a cookie.

Who is the more loved parent? - They’re both evenly loved, but Hana’s laid-back nature definitely leads to more partner in crime bonding opportunities (and good-natured pranks on John).

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? N/A – In a No-Cult situation John would be able to     finesse his way through these in a way Hana never could. And she’s all too glad to skip them entirely.

Who cried the most at graduation? - N/A, but Hana would be swiping at her eyes, and trying to badly hide the fact that she’s sniffling.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - John. John 100%.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - John will try to get her out of the kitchen to bear the brunt of the cooking, but never fully succeeds. 

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - John, if only because he’ll actively try to stick to a balanced diet.

Who does the grocery shopping? - John would probably take the reins here if only to get specifics, but Hana would definitely want to tag along and sneak a few extra things into the cart.

How often do they bake desserts? - It’s not a common thing at all, but the minute Hana mentions missing desserts and cakes, John might make it one of his priorities. Even though he’s terrible at it.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - If Hana had her way it’d be mostly meat, but John gently twists her arm into getting a bit more variety into her diet.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - John, and it’s a struggle at first learning to do without a lot of the items he kept in his kitchen, but he slowly learns, and goes as far as thinking of mood lighting, music, and the like. It’s a brand of romance that Hana would call ridiculous at first glance, but secretly swoons a bit over.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Hana would for ease, really. John can stress a little too much about making sure every last part of the meal’s perfect, and no matter how many times she’ll tell him it’s fine, he still tries to go that extra mile.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? - It’s actually about 50/50 for these two. 

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - John, mostly because he seems like the type to stress clean and reorder things as a means of centering himself, and poor Hana has no hope of ever being that neat.

Who is really against chores? - Neither’s against chores, but Hana does draw a line with the extent she’ll deep clean things.

Who cleans up after the pets? - These two don’t have pets at first, but the cats that Hana ends up attracting lead to more than a few guests sticking around, and she tends to keep up with them.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - This is a rare case of neither, unless Hana’s exhausted and wanting to put it off until tomorrow and John’s back is turned.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - John. Things must be in order and staged well, even if the guest in question is a human tornado.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Hana. She’d probably pretend to do a magic trick with it afterwards, being incredibly obvious about where she’s trying to pull the money from (his pocket, behind his ear), but John would play along, using just enough fake awe to get her to crack and start giggling.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - John. With the shower he used to have, it was the ideal environment to relax and think in.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - These two don’t have a dog, but there have been times when Hana’s been out (or John), and a few of the cats will just start following them. That totally counts, right?

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Hana loves decorating, but John turns it into an event, and he’s so over the top elaborate with it she can’t help but laugh and love it all at once.

What are their goals for the relationship? - To build and keep trust and respect between them. To try harder, and be better.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Neither normally, but John’s odd sleep schedule might leave him sleeping until noon if he was up until 3-4 AM getting work done the night before.

Who plays the most pranks? - It’s actually closer to even than Hana expected it would ever be, but she wins this one.

[today-only-happens-once]

the only exception

Title: the only exception

Word Count: 4,549

Summary: College!AU, Musician!AU. Patton shows up to a music festival that Virgil—along with his twin brother, Roman—is headlining, hoping to surprise him. Turns out, it’s Virgil that surprises him first. Romantic Moxiety, brief background Logince. Song-fic.

Warnings: lots of fluff and softness and sappiness, mutual pining elements, declarations of love, description of crowds, cursing, discussion of anxiety, mention of anxiety attacks, kissing, Virgil “writes” a song that’s actually written irl by Paramore but ssshhh Paramore doesn’t exist in this AU, please let me know if I forgot anything.

A/N: Someone on tumblr once made a textpost that said “The Only Exception” was a Moxiety song, and weeks later I listened to it and realized they were right. And then I had this image in my head that wouldn’t go away for like. Months. And then eventually I decided to write this. It’s basically a song-fic. Crazy self-indulgent, heh. Also, I’ve never written Romantic Moxiety before, nor have I written a Patton-POV focused fic. So writing this was a whole boatload of new. I hope it turned out okay! Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

You can listen to the song Virgil sings at the end here! 

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, and also @randomslasher because moxiety! ^u^

…

Present. March. Junior Year.

Patton shoulders his way through the crowd as rock music blares loudly over the speakers. The late March air is cool, and the breeze tugs at the COLLEGE-PALOOZA MUSIC FEST banner hanging from the amphitheater’s stage. A few people he recognizes from his classes wave to him as they nod their head to the music. Patton slows as he finds a small gap in the crowd, not particularly keen on getting into the tightly packed mosh pit that had formed right in front of the stage.

The sun is beginning to set, casting the sky in a light purple hue. Perhaps ironically, it reminds Patton of the guy he’s actually here to see perform. Patton glances at the stage, but there’s no sign of him. He checks his phone for the time. The group was supposed to be on now, but perhaps he’d missed them already.

He looks at the guy beside him—leather jacket and sunglasses, holding a Starbucks cup—and asks over the music, “Which group is this?”

The guy takes a long swallow and then jerks his head towards the stage. “Planets Align. They had trouble getting the sound system working, so they’re running behind.”

Patton nods his understanding, smiles, and thanks him. Planets Align was scheduled to go on right before them, if the pamphlet he’d found on Virgil’s desk was anything to go by. He’d felt terrible at the time when he realized that the band Virgil had formed with his twin brother, Roman, would be headlining a music festival the same day Patton had already promised to help with a group project.

But the other members of his group canceled the meeting earlier today and rescheduled it for next week. So Patton really didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t come support Virgil. And if he maybe didn’t tell Virge in the hopes of being able to surprise him… well.

Besides, he had a feeling Virgil could use a nice surprise. He’d seemed really nervous about the festival when Patton was talking to him about it when he found the pamphlet. Virgil often seemed nervous, but… more nervous than even Virgil’s normal.

Patton smiles a bit to himself when he remembers when they first met.

…

September. Sophomore year.

“For the purposes of this research presentation, I will allow you to choose partners. We will need one group of three, but that certainly seems manageable.”

Patton glances around the stuffy lecture hall. It was only the third time the class had met, so Patton hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to many of his classmates yet. On top of that, it was a pretty big class. Patton had a feeling that he wouldn’t know everybody even by the end of the year. The professor waves her hand to indicate that they should select a partner and begin discussing the project.

Chatter rose up—most people leaning over towards people they were sitting next to, a few calling to friends across the room—and there was shuffling movement and the scraping of chairs as students milled about to find a research partner. Then Patton caught sight of a black and purple hoodie in the back row.

What was his name? Patton couldn’t remember, despite the ice breaker during their first class. He does remember the snort the guy had released when Patton had made a pun about his name when introducing himself. He also remembers the way he’d immediately ducked his head a second later when Patton grinned at him.

Patton gathers his things and squeezes through his classmates. “Hey,” he says. The guy in the hoodie looks up, seeming startled. “Wanna be partners?”

The guy blinks at him, then shifts in his seat and motions to the empty chair on the other side of his desk. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“I’m Patton, by the way.”

“Virgil. What, uh, what are you studying?”

Patton pulls his laptop out of his bag. “Oh! I’m an early education major. What about you?” As he asks, Patton casts a quick glance at the laptop in front of Virgil and notices the stickers on it: SANDERS in messy black scrawl, a thundercloud with a bolt of lightning, a small circle with a paint-smear style gay pride flag, and a few music notes.

“Graphic design with a minor in music,” he replies. Patton notices him glancing at the buttons on Patton’s backpack that he threw in the empty chair beside him—some about cats, some about dogs, a heart with glasses that he thought was cute, and a pride pin from last year’s Pride week.

“That’s pretty cool. You play music?”

Virgil lifts a shoulder. “With my brother, mostly.”

“Wow. That’s… really awesome,” Patton says, sincerely impressed. He’d always loved music, but really only dabbled in the ukulele. He’d always thought musicians were cool: having skills like that took a lot of work, and a lot of dedication. That seemed pretty admirable to Patton.

Virgil smirks. “If you say so.”

“I do. I mean it.” For a fleeting moment, Virgil looks taken aback by the insistence in Patton’s voice. “What do you play?”

…

Present.

“Roman is totally the hot one,” Patton hears a girl behind him say to her friends.

“Elliot thinks he has a crush on Logan Berry, you know.”

“He’s gay?” The girl sounds surprised, but not hostile.

“Ace, I think. Panromantic, if the stickers on his laptop are anything to go by.” Patton recognizes that voice as one of the girls in the LGBTQ+ club that Patton was secretary for.

“You have class with him?”

“We had English 100 together freshman year. Elliot’s in class with him and Logan, though, and says they want to gag literally any time the two so much as talk to each other.”

Patton grins to himself. Subtlety when he had a crush had never really been Roman’s strong suit. That was another place where Virgil was markedly different from his twin brother. Both Roman and Virgil had ways of keeping their distance from others, but where Roman put up a front of fearlessness and confidence and friendliness… Virgil seemed more likely to withdraw into himself.

Patton had learned that, and many other things about Virgil, slowly as meetings for the research project gradually developed into hanging out regularly and casually. Patton picked up on things about Virgil relatively quickly. He gets quiet and irritable when he’s actually anxious about something. He tends to catastrophize, especially when it comes to academics. He hasn’t yet learned how to accept compliments—something Patton didn’t let deter him from giving them. He hopes that the more he’s able to expose Virgil to them, the easier it will eventually get for him to accept them.

Patton learned that Virgil is fiercely protective, too. The fastest way for Virgil to overcome his anxiety about a situation is usually when it’s related to someone he cares about. He still remembers the fire that had alighted in his eyes when someone had started harassing Roman when he, Patton, Roman, and Logan had been heading back from a party on a Friday night a couple of months ago. Logan had been the one to diffuse that particular situation, but Patton hadn’t missed the way Virgil hovered closer to his brother and looked ready to fight when he’d seen the shaken look in Roman’s eyes.

But then there were the softer moments from Virgil, too. The fleeting moments when Patton saw something gentle and relaxed from him that a secret part of Patton liked to believe were just for him. They were a sign of trust from Virgil, and Patton had always cherished that trust precisely because it was so rare.

   …

April. Sophomore year.

“What time is it?” Virgil asks with a yawn. He’s sitting on the floor of his dorm, his guitar in his hands. His back is leaned up against the drawers of his desk. Patton sits on the floor across from him with his back against the cinderblock wall and his legs stretched out in front of him.

Patton digs his phone out of his pocket and checks. “Almost 1 in the morning.”

Virgil nods and strums a few chords softly. “You’re welcome to stick around, Patton, but… y’know. It’s chill if you’d rather go home.”

Patton shakes his head “I like it here,” he says. For reasons he is still figuring out, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Patton watches him; he watches the way Virgil’s bangs fall in a soft sweep across his face, the dark eyeshadow smudged under his eyes, the slight parting of his lips as he mouths unheard lyrics. He always loves watching Virgil play guitar. There’s something about watching him hold the light brown acoustic instrument—like it steadies him, like it’s a shield that protects him—that Patton can’t help but love. Virgil seems to… breathe easier when he has a guitar in his hands.

“Virgil? Can I ask you something?” Patton says suddenly.

Virgil glances quickly at him, then back down at the guitar in his hands. Avoiding his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.” His voice sounds oddly tight to Patton.

“Why do you play music?”

The question seems to catch him off guard. Virgil stops short for a moment, glancing back up at Patton. His hands still against the instrument, his eyes flit away in thought.

Then—to Patton’s surprise—he sets the guitar aside.

“It… gives me a space where I can… connect, I guess?” He rubs the back of his head, glancing at Patton as if unsure whether or not his own words made sense.

“Connect?”

“Well,” Virgil pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on top of them, “Yeah. I’ve never been good at… at the whole…” He waves a hand and sighs. “At the whole ‘words’ thing that’s required for making friends or helping someone or… whatever. I’m always afraid I’m gonna say the wrong thing, or make them feel awkward, or… shit, I don’t know. But music is different. It…” He huffs a frustrated sigh as the words escape him. Then he tosses Patton a wry smile. “See what I mean? Words aren’t really my thing. Music is different, though.”

Patton nods. He glances around at the MCR and Dear Evan Hansen poster on walls of Virgil’s side of the room. “I think I get it. Music lets you speak from where you are emotionally at a given moment, and people can come to you—or your music—to find that connection and community. It… lets you express yourself, and by doing that, lets you connect to other people.”

When Patton looks back at Virgil, he’s looking at him with something like disbelief. But there’s a softness and light in his eyes that makes Patton’s stomach flutter. “Yeah,” Virgil says eventually. “Exactly.” Patton meets his gaze with a small smile, even as he feels suddenly like Virgil can see all the parts of himself that he wants to hide.

The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks slightly and he digs a small purple leather notepad out of his back pocket. He grabs a pen from the top of his desk and scribbles something down.

“Whatcha writing?” Patton asks curiously.

Virgil folds it and slips it back into his pocket. “Nothing, Pat.” He still has that soft kind of smile and look in his eyes even as he grabs his guitar and pulls it back into his lap.

…

Present.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Planets Align!” The emcee shouts into the mic as he runs on stage and the band waves as they exit to the cheers of the crowd. Patton applauds them and briefly considers moving closer to the stage before deciding against it. He’d never done well with tight crowds.

The sun has dipped below the horizon now, the sky darkening quickly. The lights from the stage bleed out onto the grass clearing, providing some lighting of the crowd itself as well. The air is a bit colder now, but Patton doesn’t mind. Besides, all the people around him moving and dancing have helped keep it from getting too cold anyway.

“Next up, the ones you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s hear it for… SANDERS!”

Patton lets out a cheer as the crowd screams. He sees Virgil’s twin brother—though you’d never know it from how differently they do make up and their hair—run on stage with his arms up to encourage the crowd’s response. The cheers get louder, and Roman grins and strikes a hero pose. He’s energized. Patton smiles at his evident excitement.

Virgil follows behind him, an electric guitar strapped to his back. Even from his distance from the stage, Patton can see him shaking his head at his brother’s antics. He gives a small, appreciative wave to the crowd. His eyes scan it, and a part of Patton can’t help but wonder if he’s looking for him someone.

Reasoning, though, reminds him that Virgil said he always tries to get a feel for the size of a crowd when he goes out on stage at a venue for the first time. It had started as a nervous thing—how many people might see me fail?—but as Virgil’s confidence in performing grew, it had mostly just become a habit.

“What is UP, everybody?” Roman says into the mic. He’s wearing a bright red leather jacket with a white shirt underneath, shiny gold skinny jeans, and red high top converse. “We’re so glad you could come out tonight. How about this awesome weather, yeah?”

More cheers. Patton watches as Virgil pulls the guitar from around his back with a smile. He’s in his familiar hoodie, purple shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, and his black sneakers with purple laces. At first glance, he doesn’t seem too nervous—Patton had long ago gotten in the habit of glancing at him to check if he’s okay when he knows Virgil might be getting anxious—but it’s hard to tell from this distance.

“My brother, Virgil, and I thought we’d kick things off with an original song. How’s that sound, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals?”  There’s louder cheering, and the two of them waste no time starting a song that Patton remembers from previous concerts of theirs he’d attended.

…

November. Junior Year.

Patton’s phone dings while he’s eating lunch in the student union and flipping through an education textbook to study for his quiz tomorrow on Vygotsky’s Zone of Proximal Development. Exams are quickly approaching, and Patton had always struggled to remember theorists’ names for some reason.

It’s a text from Roman. Is V with you?

Patton frowns and types back quickly. No. It’s Tuesday. Then he sends a second text. Why?

The student union is bustling with students breezing through to grab lunch before rushing off to the library or their class. Groups are clustered around tables to hash out the details of final projects as their deadlines approach in the next week or two. Exhausted English majors slump over their stale coffee cups and computers as they edit their final paper for the eighth time. Engineering students running on caffeine and spite chug another energy drink before hurrying off to the lab building. A couple others that Patton can see are watching Netflix in a desperate attempt to give themselves a break before plunging back into the grind of end-of-the-semester assignments.

Roman’s reply comes almost immediately. He sent me a single letter text which usually means he’s freaking out but idek where he is

Patton stands up and forgets his half-eaten sandwich, dropping it in the compost bin as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and hurries out of the building. Have you tried calling him?  He texts quickly.

R: Yeah. No response… just lemme know if you see him or if he texts you or something ok

Patton rolls his eyes. As if he’s just going to go about his day and not try to help. Especially if V might be freaking out. We’ll find him, Roman. You check the science center and I’ll check the music floor of Stokes Hall.

R: ok.

R: Thanks

Patton turns his ringer on at full volume and braces against the cold air as he hurries to the building beside the Student Union. The November air is biting. Students bustle with their noses tucked into their scarves and red fingers curled around coffee cups. There was no snow on the ground, but the grass still crunches under Patton’s shoes as he hurries across the quad towards Stokes Hall. His light blue beanie is pulled low over his light brown hair.

He’s wishing he had a scarf to hide his nose in—instead opting to try to tuck it into the sleeves of the sweatshirt tied around his shoulders—when he walks straight into someone.

“Shit! I’m so sorry—”

“Virgil?” Patton asks, immediately recognizing the voice. He looks up, and Virgil seems frozen for a moment. It only takes Patton a second to realize that his eyes are red and sunken slightly. His usual sweep of hair is a disheveled mess under the hood of his sweatshirt that engulfs his frame.

If Patton’s being honest, he looks… rough. Concern twists in Patton’s chest.

“I’m so sorry, Patton. I’m an idiot, I just wasn’t watching where—”

“Hey, it’s all good, Virge,” Patton says, quickly but sincerely. He places his hands on Virgil’s shoulder to anchor him. “Breathe.”

Virgil laughs but it’s humorless and shrugs out from under his grip. Patton frowns. “I’m fine. I know I look like a mess, but really. It’s fine now. I was just. Um. Coming outside for some air.”

Patton considers the deflection and decides to meet Virgil half-way. “I could use some too.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Honest, V. The cold air is kind of nice.” Patton slips his phone out of his pocket and sends a quick text to Roman. Got him. He offers a small, reassuring smile to Virgil.“ You wanna take a seat?”

Virgil meets his gaze, then glances away. He seems to think about it for a moment, then relents with a slight sag to his shoulders. “Sure. Fine.”

Patton wanders over to a bench across the pathway and takes a seat. He looks around as students rush quickly towards their classes, smiling brightly as a service dog trots dutifully beside his owner and pushes the button to open the door as the student hurries inside. He intentionally keeps his gaze from lingering on Virgil, even as he hesitates before sitting beside him.

Virgil waits until most of the students have rushed off before breaking the silence between them. “You aren’t going to ask?”

Patton glances over at him. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and you seemed reluctant to talk about it…. Should I ask?”

“No. Yes?” Virgil groans, zipping up his hoodie against the chilly air. “It wasn’t anything like. That bad. Y’know? I just get… anxiety attacks sometimes, and sometimes they get…” He trails off. Patton senses more than sees the way Virgil glances quickly at him. “Anyway. I’m fine now.”

Patton isn’t sure what to say. He’d known for a long time now that Virgil struggled with anxiety. That Virgil had anxiety attacks doesn’t exactly surprise him, and it definitely isn’t off-putting or anything of the sort. But Patton hates the way Virgil keeps trying to deflect… something. Judgement. Concern. Patton suddenly and fiercely wishes Virgil would just let someone care about him. Let someone love him.

Patton thinks maybe he already does.

“Virgil….” Patton says softly, looking at his hands folded between his knees, “It’s okay. You know that, right? You can talk to me about it. And I’m not gonna judge you or think you’re weird or that there’s anything wrong with you.”

“I… I’m fine.”

Patton lifts a shoulder. “Okay. But… it’s okay if you aren’t, too. And either way… you’re definitely not alone. You know? You know Roman’s there for you, but… but I am too. I care about you.”

In his peripheral, he sees Virgil look at him. “Patton—”

“There you guys are!” Roman exclaims as he jogs up to the two of them. Patton smiles at Virgil—who looks, for all the world, like the ground has shifted underneath him.

Patton wants to ask him why. He never does.

…

Present.

SANDERS has played through five songs, which means they’re nearing the end of their set. Patton is beaming. Virgil and Roman play off each other so well, and their music seems to be a blend of both of them in a way. They balance each other on stage. They’re fun to watch. Patton can’t help but think, though he may be biased, that if they really wanted to… they could make a career out of it.

But then they do something that surprises Patton, and apparently everyone else too from the way the crowd starts to murmur.

Virgil trades out his electric guitar for his light brown acoustic one. Roman grabs a wooden stool from one of the wings and sets it in the middle of the stage. Virgil adjusts the strap of the guitar around his shoulders, nodding his thanks to Roman.

“So I hope you all don’t mind if we close out with something a little different than our usual pace,” Virgil is saying into the wireless mic attached to him. “But I lost a bet against Roman, and that means I gotta do this.”

“If I lost I was gonna have to wear jorts for this concert. You all should be thanking me,” Roman quips back through his own mic. There’s a chuckle from Virgil as well as the crowd.

“Yeah, well. This is a song I wrote over the course of… probably about a year. It’s about someone very… important to me. He couldn’t be here tonight, but… he’s pretty great. Anyway, it’s a little different, so uh.” Even under the stage lights, Patton thinks he can see Virgil flushing slightly. “I hope you all like it.”

Virgil starts strumming and all Patton can do is watch him, transfixed by the sound of an acoustic guitar and the sight of Virgil under a spotlight on stage. It’s a much softer song already than any other song in their entire set. Virgil ducks his head slightly, his black sneaker tapping out the ¾ meter. And then Virgil starts to sing.

“When I was younger I saw my daddy cry, and curse at the wind.

He broke his own heart and I watched as he tried to reassemble it.

And my momma swore that she would never let herself forget.

And that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist.

But darlin’ you are the only exception. You are the only exception…”

As Virgil sings, Patton can’t help but feel rooted to the spot. Virgil sitting and playing his acoustic guitar reminds Patton suddenly of that moment again back in Virgil’s dorm room. That moment of honesty and openness from him that always felt so rare. Patton feels like he’s experiencing that again, despite the crowd and the spotlights. Because this is not performance-Virgil, this is just…. Virgil. At his most honest. At his mot exposed. And it’s breathtaking.

Patton doesn’t even fully realize that he’s moving closer to the stage until he almost trips over a girl that’s swaying and holding her phone with a flashlight up in the air.

Virgil breaks into the second verse, and Patton feels his stomach fluttering all over again at the sound of his voice.

“Well maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts.

And we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone or keep a straight face.

And I’ve always lived like this. Keeping a comfortable distance.

And up until now I had sworn to myself that I’m content with loneliness,

‘Cuz none of it was ever worth the risk.

Well you are the only exception. You are the only exception…”

And a part of Patton—a part he’s afraid to admit to—suddenly starts to grow insistent with the realization that he might be really, truly, unequivocally in love with the person singing on the stage in this moment. The one with his bangs falling into eyes that had always looked to Patton to be a little bit afraid and a lot brave.

This song, this moment, is no exception to that. Music, for Virgil, had always started from some place deeply personal. It is what allows him to connect to others, after all. And Patton doesn’t know if the song is about him, but he wants it to be. Because that deeply personal space that Virgil is singing from resonates with Patton in a way that leaves only one thought repeating in his head. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Almost as if he hears the thought itself, Virgil looks up and starts scanning the crowd again as he reaches the bridge.

“I’ve got a tight grip on reality  

But I can’t let go of what’s in front of me here.” He’s scanning, scanning, scanning…

“I know you’re leaving in the morning. When you wake up,

Leave me with some kind of proof it’s not a dream. Oh…”

And then his eyes settle squarely on Patton, and Patton swears he hears the very faint catch of Virgil’s breath through the mic.

Patton gives him a small, faint smile. There’s a brief moment where uncertainty flickers through Virgil’s dark eyes, and then something sets firmly in them. As if he’s made some kind of split-second decision. Virgil stands up from the stool and starts making his way towards the stage stairs, continuing to play and sing as he does so.

“You are the only exception. You are the only exception….”

Patton loses sight of him as he steps down to ground level, the crowd blocking his view. But Virgil keeps singing that line over and over, you are the only exception, as if imploring Patton to hear it and understand it and know it is meant for him. As if perhaps Virgil has to repeat it himself to fully believe in its truth, but each time he sings it, Patton can hear the conviction growing. Far ahead of him, Patton can see people shifting around in the mosh pit in front of him.

Patton doesn’t move. He doesn’t think he knows how to.

And then through the crowd of people in front of him steps Virgil, still playing. Still singing. And Patton can’t help but notice his eyes look wide and scared and vulnerable—but unwavering—as he sings the final line.

“But I’m on my way to believing…”

He plays the final chord and stands there, looking up at Patton. He’s so close. The guitar and a few inches is all that separates them. Patton swallows past the lump in his throat and brings a hand up to cup Virgil’s jaw before leaning his forehead against Virgil’s and whispering.

“Can I kiss you?”

His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see Virgil’s relieved, crooked grin. But he feels it when Virgil presses his lips to his own.

[tisfan]

Earth Girls are Easy

@rarepairsevents

Prompt: #8 - Carol comes across a truly lost human on her travels. Darcy was just doing her job when the bifrost went off. Now they’re on the weirdest intergalactic road trip. Bonus points if: bed sharing while mutual pining on an alien planet.

Carol Danvers/Darcy Lewis

Tag: Meet awkward, earth girls in space

Summary - Carol gets contracted to give a Terran a lift home. Cons: the pay sucks, Quill is an asshole, and the Collector’s been giving the girl a place to stay. Pros: She’s damn cute.

“Vers!” Someone bellowed across the Promenade. 

Carol Danvers resisted the urge to immediately blast him. She’d been Vers for a mere six years with the Kree, and working under her own name -- or sometimes Captain Marvel, named after her Kree mentor and friend -- for almost twenty. You’d think some aliens would get the fucking memo already.

“Vers, hi, how are you?”

“Carol,” she said.

“What, no, my name’s Peter--”

“MY name is Carol.”

“Oh, right, okay, yeah, the-- the thing, with the Kree, yeah, you know, I really hate those guys,” Quill said.

“What do you want, asshole?”

“So, like you’re from Terra and I’m from Terra, and I thought, maybe, one Terran to the other, you could do me a little, tiny favor.”

“No.” That was easy. She started to walk away.

(more below the cut)

“Look, no, I’ll give you a cut,” Quill said. He was jogging to keep up with her, because her leave-me-the-fuck-alone stride was pretty damn fast. She had to give him credit for perseverance, but out of a perverse sense of humor, she kept walking until he was out of breath and sweating. He still hadn’t gone away.

“Of what?”

“The job,” Quill said. “Look, I got us a job, and then a really sweet opportunity fell into our laps and--”

“You already made a commitment and then something bigger came along, you can’t do both at the same time, even though you’ve already said you would, and now you’re hoping that I’m an idiot and I’ll do your first job for you, for half the price. Keep dreaming, Star Lord.”

“It’s an easy job,” Quill protested. “Look, you can have seventy percent, consider the other thirty a finder’s fee.”

“I’m gonna break your ‘finder’ right off and shove it someplace unpleasant if you put your hand on me, so don’t,” Carol said. “What’s the job?”

“Just drop this girl off on Terra, okay? She’s super lost.”

It had to be a girl, right? It couldn’t be some white male asshole lost in space that she wouldn’t feel a hint of guilt at neglecting. Carol sighed. “Where is she?”

“Great, you won’t regre--”

“Zzzt. Shut up. The only thing out of your mouth better be a location and the amount of units you’re going to be handing me. Otherwise, I’m gonna blast you into next week, and then you’ll miss out on both jobs.”

“She’s at the Collector’s,” Quill squeaked. “And fifteen Asgardian urus. She didn’t have units.”

“Urus will do,” Carol said, practically. Urus had a better trade value in some of the outer rim systems. “And what, do you not like her? Why leave her there?”

“You said not to talk!” And Quill smacked his faceplate down, clicked his rocket boots, and flew off like a slightly paranoid Dorothy Gale. Asshole. Honestly, Carol was never sure if Quill was an asshole on purpose just because it kept people from having expectations of him, or, if like, his emotional growth had gotten stunted at age eight.

Decided she didn’t care, Carol changed her trajectory just enough to be pointed in the general direction of the Collector’s. 

At least she was one of the few people who could just barge in on him. He wasn’t exactly afraid of her, but she wasn’t afraid of him, either. They were sort of, not quite, equals in a way where both of them thought they’d win if it came to a throw down, and neither of them disliked the other enough to try it.

“Hey Taneleer,” she bellowed, slipping lightly between the displays. “I hear you got a package for me?”

“Do I? I was just thinking I might keep her. Earthlings are so delicate, they just don’t survive very long.”

“Yeah, yeah, your coat is lovely by the way, where did you get it?” She pushed into Taneleer’s personal space. “Give me the girl.”

“Right, one human woman, coming right up--” the Collector said, brushing down his coat, which appeared to, in fact, be alive. Gross. “Miss Lewis, if you please. This is Captain Marvel. She’ll be taking you home.”

The woman who Taneleer coaxed out of the corner was pretty in a coffee-shop, slam poet, studying to be a CPA on the side, and volunteering at the dog shelter on the weekends.

Oh, I am in so much trouble.

“Miss Lewis,” Carol said. 

“Darcy, Darcy is fine, I’m-- yeah, nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Carol.”

Both Taneleer’s bushy eyebrows went up.

So much trouble.

*

“So, you’re a human,” Darcy said. Like when she was walking near Thor -- she never walked with Thor, Thor was a one man show, and sometimes he let other people accompany him -- she had to practically run to keep up. “Do I even want to know how you got to space?”

“I was kidnapped,” Captain Carol Marvel thingie said, not looking around. 

“Lot of that going around, that’s the same thing that Star Guy said, and I know Jane’s been to space a few times, but usually Thor takes her. It’d be nice, I think, if there were some humans who got to space by themselves, don’t you? I feel so-- unadvanced.”

“Humans are, compared to the larger galaxy,” Carol said, “rather primitive.”

“Fuck you. We have great margaritas,” Darcy sniffed. “Around here they have random varieties of ‘we distilled this shit next to our power core and it probably won’t kill you.’”

“I’ll give you that much,” Carol said. “I haven’t been to a decent bar in… well, probably longer than you’ve been alive.”

“You don’t look that much older than me,” Darcy said. She was, however, familiar with gods, and their age issues. Thor was something around fifteen hundred years old, or the rough equivalent of a soccer mom. Of course, by that notion, Loki was all of sixteen or so, and the more Darcy thought about that, the more logical it seemed. Loki had all the sense and restraint of an angry white boy with daddy issues and a gun, and the Asgardians did seem to be the primeval angry white boys.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Carol said, “although, not possibly as old as you’re now thinking. I was born on Earth in 1966, standard planetary time.”

“There is exactly no way you’re twenty years older than I am,” Darcy spluttered. “Not with an ass like that.”

Carol looked over her shoulder. “What’s wrong with my ass.”

“Not a damn thing,” Darcy said. “And I’ve seen Tony Stark up close, so believe me when I say, I know a fine ass when I see one.”

“Tony Stark? Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Iron Man? Earth’s greatest defender? How long have you been gone?”

“Since ‘89, with a brief visit in 1995 to deal with some alien issues.”

“We had aliens back in the 90s? Well, that explains some things,” Darcy said. Really, nothing surprised her anymore.

“Quill is half alien,” Carol said, “and his mom popped out that delightful ass in the eighties or thereabouts. So you’ve had aliens on Terra that I personally know about since the mid seventies. And the Asgardians were there centuries ago. Face it, little green men are a thing, and probably always have been.”

“What even is my reaction to that supposed to be?” Darcy demanded, trotting to catch up, because Carol had stopped listening and was striding off toward… well, Darcy hoped it was her ship, or something. She was used to it, though. Being left behind. Forgotten. She wasn’t very interesting, or very smart, or very beautiful. She was a mostly normal-thank-you-very-much human grad student who was going to have a lot of freaking college loans to pay off. Which was why she kept putting off actually graduating, because at least being Jane’s assistant paid some bills and kept her in kitchen and booze funds.

It also ended up with her being accidentally zotted to the other end of the galaxy when one of Jane’s experiments either went drastically wrong, or incredibly right. Hard to say, and she wouldn’t really know until she got home and found out of Jane had just popped off to a different party of the galaxy. And rest assured that Thor probably knew where she was and went after her. Which, it might not occur to them for a while that Darcy also needed to be rescued.

To be fair, Jane often managed to find trouble when she was out of line of sight, and getting popped of, she might have, for instance, immediately have stuck her pen into some swirly goo and gotten infected with Bad Space Things. You know, just saying.

Not like it had ever happened before.

“So,” she said, when she finally caught up, panting for breath, because, damn, in addition to having a killer ass, Carol also apparently had increased lung capacity. Well, Darcy might be able to make use of that if she was going to entertain the idea of getting funky with a space diva. And she just might consider it. “Sounds like you’ve been missing the bar scene for a while, and maybe a drink or two, and cheese sticks? Want to hit the Applebees when we get back? I mean, I know it’s basic and everything, but I don’t get paid all that often and their happy hour is--”

“Don’t you have fifteen Uru? At least?” Carol stopped walking and Darcy slammed into her, and they engaged in a little rocking back and forth before Carol steadied them out.

“Well, yeah,” Darcy said. “I’ve got hundreds of them, Thor gives them to us all the time for stuff. But there’s no exchange rate on Earth for god-money.”

“How many do you have with you?”

“A hundred or so,” Darcy hedged. She’d told Quill she only had twenty because he’d looked very… untrustworthy.

“Right, we’ll hit up the exchange on our way out of the port,” Carol said. “Minus my delivery fee, of course.”

“Of course. Does that mean yes to a date?”

“If you have a hundred uru, you could probably buy the bar,” Carol said. “So, yes. Date. sounds fun. Do they still do karaoke on Earth?”

“Yass, Queen,” Darcy said, holding her hand up to be high fived and after a moment, Carol seemed to recall the custom. “What’s the exchange rate?”

Carol swiped a few gestures over her wrist, popping up a display holograph, which Darcy would think was really cool if she wasn’t actually in Goddamn space and had seen some actual motherfreaking aliens, thanks very much. “About six and a half to one.”

“Six hundred dollar’s isn’t bad, but it’s hardly buying real estate--”

“Six and a half thousand. To one Uru. So, about half a million dollars, or so, after processing fees.”

Darcy almost stopped breathing. “I have hundreds of those things at home,” she squeaked.

“So, yeah. Date?”

“Date.” She could think about the rest of it later. Like, when she was writing a check to pay off her student loans.

fin 

A/n - in the book, Dorothy Gale had silver shoes, and she could use them to fly, which is what Carol is thinking of here.

Earth Girls are Easy is an 80s movie staring Jeff Goldblum, so... make of that what you will

[notveryglittery]

star light, star bright

it’s @blinksinbewilderment‘s birthday!!! you know what she likes a lot? romantic analogical and brotherly prinxiety :) it’s a quick little bulletfic with lots of extra bonus background ships. i really treasure our friendship, blink, i hope you have a day that shines as brightly as you do, and that you feel as much happiness as i do whenever i get to talk to you <3!! 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

brotherly prinxiety 

big bro ro 

virgil goes to roman for advice on how to ask out his long-time crush logan

roman initially teases him relentlessly because anyone with eyes can see logan has liked virgil back for at least three quarters of that long-time 

when roman realizes the two are in fact blind pining oblivious dummies, he jumps at the chance to help this ship sail as smoothly as it can from where it’s been docked for far too long 

roman is obviously a Professional Matchmaker - look, his name is in the word “romance”

(never mind the fact that patton is the one who swept roman off his feet with a romantic declaration at the top of a ferris wheel underneath a bright full moon)

(they’ve definitely let roman live this down. absolutely no one brings it up at every given opportunity)

so roman teaches virgil all of the important things to woo one’s true love (“he isn’t my true love,” virgil gripes, hoping roman doesn’t notice how hard he blushes. roman notices.) this includes: practicing of poetic confessions, the perfect combination of flowers in bouquets, romcom movie marathons. 

to virgil’s mortification, roman invites patton to one of their lessons. to virgil’s further humiliation, patton’s brother declan tags along, and it turns out virgil’s to practice his confession on declan because he’s got that same dry wit and humor as logan, and surely he can offer the best reactions. 

(declan thinks this is very stupid but he and virgil are also kind of frenemies and so declan will take any blackmail he can get his hands on) 

it goes about as well as you think it would 

meanwhile, one logan sanders is trying to smother himself with a pillow

“babe, you of all people should know how physically impossible it is to do that” 

logan throws the pillow at his queer platonic partner 

by some miracle, remy dodges it and manages not to spill a single drop of his starbucks 

so as we all know, logan has been pining for virgil for quite a few years now, and as we also all know, he is a blind oblivious dummie 

remy is surprised his ears haven’t fallen off yet with how much logan gushes about virgil

it would be cute if it hadn’t gotten really old like a year and a half ago

(okay, it’s still pretty cute but remy thinks a lot of things about logan are cute) (like, hello, the utter look of concentration on his face when he’s deciding which tie matches his outfit best?)

remy wants logan as happy as he can be, of course, but virgil is… well, remy and virgil kind of had some issues sophomore year that they never really resolved.

it doesn’t really interfere with their relationship now given the dynamic of their friend group. they kinda tolerate each other. but remy’s gotta give virgil the Talk - you know the one, “you so much as even think about hurting logan and they’ll never find your body” 

remy and roman definitely haven’t been texting each other updates over the months, why would you even insinuate something so devious 

after many shenanigans and montages of:

roman helping bolster virgil’s confidence

big bro ro helps virgil to perfect all the makeup tricks he’s learned on his own over the years. virgil understands now just how good winged eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man can make you feel. 

he really does get better with pick up lines and flirting; he stumbles sometimes but it feels effortless and that’s the important part.

declan jokingly threatening to steal logan away if virgil didn’t get on with it

while virgil knows declan’s aroace ass would never, virgil does not know that logan likes him back, and so this still seems like an entirely plausible thing to worry and stress about 

sometimes, declan drapes himself over logan and heckles him into a debate; partially to see virgil get all flustered over logan all worked up, partially to encourage virgil to hurry up already, wouldn’t he like to be in logan’s space like this?

remy dropping hints around virgil about logan’s newest interests

virgil and logan might be close friends who have been mutually pining over each other for years, but there’s still things they don’t tell each other, or don’t get the chance to share. if remy happens to let slip that logan wants desperately to visit the new exhibit at the observatory, well, that’s neither here nor there.

and he does give virgil the Talk, a few nights before the plan is set into motion. in the same go, they mostly remedy their past issues. by the end of it, virgil wonders how it’s possible for someone to be so threatening while using pet names like “babe,” “sweetie,” and “honey” every other sentence. 

eventually, virgil is deemed Ready. it is Time. 

halloween is virgil’s favorite holiday and because logan loves virgil, he also loves halloween. sure, all the sweets are a health hazard, and trick-or-treating really isn’t the safest tradition, and ghosts do not exist - but virgil glows during this season. he adds autumnal colors to his wardrobe and it really is not fair how good he looks in oranges, and browns, and deep greens. 

(in case we aren’t all on the same page yet, logan is Very Very Gay.)

everyone is at remy’s house. it’s definitely one of the biggest homes in their small town and so this is where a lot of the holiday parties tend to take place. the dormir family is also generally just really well liked. which means more people than invited show up but if anyone knows how to throw and manage a party, it’s remy. 

anyway the plan is that virgil and logan finally get together at this party so that they can finally go trick or treating with the gang in matching costumes 

it is so lame and virgil would rather forsake trick or treating completely but also he may or may not have been planning couple’s costumes for like four years now

everything is going really well! 

roman and patton are social butterflies, flitting from the dance floor to the kitchen to the backyard. they’re dressed up as she-ra and perfuma, respectively. roman’s even threaded led lights into the underskirt and cape so that he’s actually glowing. patton’s flowers aren’t just a crown atop his head, they twist and weave along his arms, around his torso, and down his legs.

remy wears the same thing every year to the party: pajamas and a ridiculous pair of slippers. he saves the extravagant costumes for halloween night. he truly is a spectacular host, making sure drinks and snacks are restocked, that nothing’s being broken, and checking in on those who don’t handle the crowds too well. 

logan’s dressed in a very impressive le petit prince costume - it’s so good, it might as well be a full on cosplay. (virgil definitely isn’t swooning, what?) logan sticks close to the edges of rooms, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

(in, for example, virgil’s arms, on the dance floor, swaying to a slow song.)

virgil is dressed as jack skellington and declan in a creepily accurate oogie boogie - everywhere he goes, plastic insects fall out of his costume. patton’s shrieks of terror at seeing the fake spiders keeps startling the party guests. 

eventually - totally not by plan or anything - logan and virgil end up in the backyard together, on the old wooden swing bench on the porch. it’s nearing midnight and the crickets are chirping and there’s an owl hooting nearby somewhere. the moon is obscured on this cloudy night. 

virgil thinks it’s perfectly spooky and atmospheric 

logan doesn’t need to see the stars in the sky when they’re sparkling so brightly in virgil’s eyes

logan’s feet barely reach the floor and so virgil uses his heel to push them back and forth. thankfully, both of their costumes keep them warm enough in the chilly fall weather. (though they, of course, could always do to be a little bit warmer.) 

virgil’s breathing is measured and it’s super obvious he’s counting them in his head. logan scoots closer and lays a hand over virgil’s. his breath hitches.

“there is something i would like to tell you,” logan begins. 

the record scratch in virgil’s head sounds loud enough that everyone at the party should be able to hear it

“for the… last couple of years, i have harb-” 

“hold on,” virgil interrupts, loud and sudden. “hold - wait a seco - there’s no way you’re -” 

logan normally finds all manners of virgil’s speech patterns endearing but right about now, logan has a finite amount of courage and it is quickly running out

“- going to tell me right now-”

“of course i love you.” 

virgil’s jaw promptly snaps shut 

(he’s been working so hard on this and all this time??????) 

virgil isn’t really aware of the high-pitched noise he’s making until logan reaches out and firmly presses a hand over his mouth. 

“it is my fault that you have not known it all the while,”

(and the way logan says it, like a treasured line from a fairytale. virgil’s sure he’d recognize it if he could think at all.)

“i understand if you do not reciprocate these feelings and i apologize if i have made you uncomfortable with my confession,” logan is saying now while virgil’s still working on rebooting. logan lowers his hand. “i hope that this will not negatively impact our friendship. i care deeply for you and-” 

virgil’s systems spark back to life and he interrupts again, this time with a short bark of laughter. 

“l, oh my god, no offense, but i’ve been building up to this night for months and you just-” he has to pause to stifle his laughter. he’s equal parts giddy because logan likes him back and frustrated because logan’s liked him back for years and neither of them had done anything about it until now.

logan looks confused. 

virgil wants nothing more than to kiss him. 

“i’m in love with you” bulldozes over his brain-to-mouth filter instead

logan looks confused, elated, overwhelmed, stunning, he blushes so prettily, virgil thinks, and all of his practice must pay off, because the next move he makes is easy. 

at some point, they’d turned towards each other. virgil’s hand cups logan’s face. leaning closer, virgil’s gaze lowers to logan’s lips, and then back up. who knew eye contact alone could be this electrifying?

“can i kiss you?” virgil murmurs. 

“i can’t think of anything i’d like more,” logan responds. 

(back in the house, declan grumpily shoves a twenty dollar bill into roman’s hands.)

a week and a half later will find virgil and logan in matching costumes. for their shared interest in astronomy, they’ve lowkey always been called the “starlight gays” amongst their friends, and their costumes certainly help solidify it. 

logan is wearing dark jeans and a navy button down. with roman’s help, he’s lit up like the night sky; led lights form constellations that, if asked, logan will explain in a heart beat. from his shoulders trails a glittering black cape that catches the light just right (it’s impractical for trick or treating but the way virgil keeps wrapping himself up in it, snuggling close to logan’s side… well)

virgil’s the opposite in whites and greys, though he’s glowing as well, a near match to the full moon in the sky. he seems exceptionally pleased with the makeup he’s done for the costume, silver and blue and sparkling. 

(they look like they should be at a con, honestly, instead of out for one night collecting candy, but it’s cute, and that’s all that matters) 

and of course, they live happily ever after

(with only the slightest of teasing for the rest of their lives about their slow burn romance) 

[fatcatsarecats]

Xavierine witcher ficlet! Inspiried by my screaming at @gerec‘s askbox and @traumschwinge’s xavierine ficlet. i hope you guys don’t mind me tagging you guys in as well!!!

Many thanks to @irelise and @jackyjango who helped bunscheme this into shape!!!

—

If Charles knew Logan well, and he very much did, then the reason Logan hasn't answered any of his summoning Ravens is because he's been mucking around in some dingy cavern on either a treasure hunt or a Witcher Contract. Indeed, a quick location spell and a portal later, and Charles finds himself sinking his boots into a pile of hairy, but thankfully dead, arachnomorph legs. His nerves almost jumps out of his skin, but he doesn’t let himself cringe until he’s carefully climbed his way down the pile.

Times like these he’s grateful for his leather gloves and his study of magic. An enchantment sharpens his eyes to the darkness, and he finds Logan crouching by the mutilated body of an arachnomorph, holding a knife as he palms through its spilled innards.

"Watch your left."

Charles ducks fast enough to miss a small section of an arachnomorph leg sailing through the air. A thin silver, line of its blood splashes on his arm. He stifles a shudder, and with a burst of magic, waves his clothes clean again.

Lord, the sodden smell of algae is nothing compared to dead, squished spiders.  

Logan doesn’t pay him any mind. He’s probably already smelt Charles coming the moment he stepped out of the portal. Even though he’s tied his hair, strands have plastered itself to his forehead, drenched he is from the cave waters and… other things  

Which simply won’t do. A burst of magic thickens the air, and Logan grunts when he finds himself clean again.

“You could’ve washed away some precious extract, you know,” Logan grumbles.

Charles stifles a chuckle. “If they were as precious as you claim it to be, then it wouldn’t be splattered all over your clothes.” He walks to get a better look at dead the spider. "Charming," Charles says, scrunching his nose. "A contract, is it?"

“Ealdorman’s son went missing. Tracked his body down outside the cavern.”

“That poor boy,” Charles mutters. “So they sent you out here.”

“Nah, just thought I’d clean place up and maybe stock up on supplies while I’m at it.” Logan bags a couple of sticky, bright blue mutagens, before getting to work on it’s heart. "Can't let good ingredients rot to waste."

"Joy."

"Scuttly little bastards they are," Logan says. "Could've used your help when they were ganging up on me."

Charles raises one eyebrow. "If you had answered my calls, then I would have been happy to help. But, of course, you had to make it hard and camp inside a cavern."

Logan huffs in amusement .“All my fault, huh.”

“Always,” Charles says, his lip twitching. “Although, consider yourself forgiven if you save some of that saliva for me.”

Logan thinks on it, then he dips his finger into a pool of saliva. He scoops out a thick glob and offers it to Charles.

“In a vial, Logan.”

Logan barks out a laugh. "I forgot how sticky and pungent their webbing is. Wouldn’t be surprised if wads of the shit has slithered under my chainmail."

Charles shudders, batting at Logan’s hands, and Logan laughs even louder. As he always does when he purposely grosses Charles out.

"As... engrossing as it is," Charles says. “Aren't you going to ask why I've called on you?"

"Can't it be for my pleasant company?"

“Ah, yes. Because you are quite the conversationalist, my friend,” Charles says. “Well?”

Logan folds his own arms and stares at Charles. When it doesn't look like Charles is going to offer his reason—because really, he can be just as stubborn as a mule if he puts his mind to it—Logan sighs.

"Alright, I'll bite.” Logan tosses a pair of arachnomorph fangs in his palms. “What brings you here, Charles?"

Charles rolls his eyes. "I've detected residues of magic in Skellige. Ones that came from a big spike of power. There's a high chance that it could be Laura and her friends… but my report is quite dated. They could be long gone by now, so there’s no rush. I’d like to investigate the site, nonetheless.”

Logan's eyebrows dipped on his head. "I'm surprised you haven't checked it out yourself?"

Charles hears the unspoken, ‘With Erik,’ in his comment, and gives Logan the grace of ignoring such thing. “I was heading in that direction and I was wondering if you'd want to come with me."

“Why?”

“I thought it’d be nice to bring her father along if we do come across her.”

Logan doesn't say anything for a minute. He just scrutinises Charles with his unnerving stare. His cat eyes are infamous—known to discompose even Mages and Sorceresses—but Charles is used to them; he used to the myriad of expressions which crosses those cat eyes—both Logan and Erik’s.

"You could've just gone," Logan mutters. "You know how I hate portals."  

Charles waves his hand. "Nonsense. I'm due for some quality time with my horse, anyway."  

“You could have gone with Erik.”

Charles forces himself not to stiffen. “I didn’t think to ask. We’ve gone our separate ways.”

"Hmm," Logan says. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Darling,” Charles sighs, “when normal people skirt over a subject, it usually indicates and unwillingness to talk about it."

"But we're not normal, yeah?" Logan says. "You look upset."

Charles purses his lips. "You are as tact as ever, my friend."

“I’m one hell of a wordsmith in my own right,” Logan says. “But I don’t give that much of a fuck for Lehnsherr. He lands on his feet more fucking times than I can count. It’s you I’m worried about. Not to mention, the last time you and Erik tried to do anything with a Djinn, half of Rinde almost felt its wrath.”

Charles looks away. On instinct, he rubs his face (‘It’s better than crying.’) and exhaustion settles in, as it usually does whenever he thinks about the situation with Erik.

Logan’s face softens. There’s only silence between them as Logan rummages through his satchel.

“Here.”

Charles looks down. In Logan’s hand is a vial of monster saliva. He touches the vial almost gingerly.

He must think Charles to be so pathetic. Things didn't work out with Erik, so he runs to Logan crying about it. Isn’t that what he’s doing anyway? But then, Logan is much kinder than to call him out on it. Much kinder than what Charles deserves, probably.  

"Things with the Djinn didn't stick?" Logan asks gently.

"No." Charles sighs. "It did. That's the problem."

Erik wasn't supposed to be his, Charles knows. Erik was his by a lethal combination of pure stubbornness and a disastrous accident. He was Magda's first, and Charles fooled with a Djinn when he wasn't ready and they ended up bonded. The next few decades were spent bouncing between passion, love, and resentment—the kind that’s thick enough to choke on.  

Charles was ready for the latter. He took away Erik's choice in his love for Charles It was his fault for releasing the Djinn and putting them in a position where Erik’s life was compromised. When he used his last wish to save their lives, he invoked the Djinn’s mischief, and the Djinn tied their destinies together.

They spent all those years fighting, and Charles spent all those years hating himself for ruining one of the only good thing he's found in decades… Charles wondered why he spent so long waiting to find another Djinn to break their bond. Maybe he could have spared himself the current heartbreak.

Because to find out that their feelings were their own. To find out the Djinn had nothing to do with their hearts—and certainly nothing to do with their proximity from all the times either of them have stormed halfway across the world in their anger...

That… Charles was not ready for.

All the pain, the resentment, the hurt.

All for nothing.  

They ended things there, so they could start fresh. It was more so Charles's decisions than Erik's, but Erik has other business to sort out himself. Magda is a fellow sorceress. It could be as if no time had passed at al.

It was—is—better this way.

"I'll tell you about it one day," Charles says, tucking his vial into his rucksack. "Are you done here?"

Logan stares him again. This time, Charles blinks back at him, tilting his head in question. Logan brushes some blood off his shoulder plates as he stands up. He offers a hand and pulls Charles up with him.

Charles chants a quick cleaning spell on Logan’s gloves. He’ll thank Charles for this, he’s sure of it.

"Still got one or two nests to go," Logan says. "Want to come with?"  

“Why is it whenever I visit you, we always end up in some dark, smelly cave?”

“Should’ve kept better company then.”

That pulls a laugh out of Charles. “At least it was treasure last time,” Charles says. "But why not? Two heads are better than one, I suppose."

Charles gathers a ball of light in his hands. He holds it out, and the ball floats near his head, illuminating a soft blue on their surroundings.

“Speaking of...” Logan says. "Aren’t you going to..."

Charles tips his head in question.

Logan taps the side of his forehead.

Surprised, the ball of light beside his head blinks out momentarily. He could count the handful of times Erik has invited him into his head. Logan has long surpassed both fingers of his hands. It’s how Charles got the inkling that too had a past with a fellow mind reader. He’s simply too comfortable having someone in his head.

He forgot how nice it could be when someone else takes the initiative.

Logan’s head feels like it always does. A glass of whisky warming his systems in a lowly lit pub. He’s thinking about Laura, mostly. Worrying about her. Wondering what forms of trouble has she and her friends been up to.

“Comfortable?” Logan asks.

If you don't mind, Charles says. Remember that it goes both ways. I’ve fine tuned the spell as such. And if you need space...

“I'll tell you, bub,” Logan says. “Just don't go looking into places you're not supposed to be. Unless you want to see a bunch of alghouls fucking around the place.”

As far as he knows, alghouls do not mate or reproduce with each other, but he doesn’t doubt the imaginative powers of Logan’s mind.

Charles shudders. You have an odd and macabre sense of humour, my friend. Shall we get going?

[violetsmoak]

Pieces of April [16/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Author’s Note: Here’s your daily dose of JayTim and baby for your quarantine reading pleasure! Stay safe, wash your hands and support your local healthcare, waste management and retail workers!

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

The rest of the afternoon is spent on the phone, fielding calls from various departments and sorting out production complications. Interspersed are texts and Facebook messages from friends and family—Dick, wondering if dinner is still happening on Friday, Bruce wanting updates on the mob case, the Titans wanting to know if he’s coming to San Francisco that weekend—

Tim is evasive with all except the last one, informing Bart that there’s some family drama going on that will keep him home for a while. Once the speedster knows, everyone else will know, so it’s about as effective as sending a group text.

He resists the urge to phone Jason and see how he’s doing; he’s rather sure he won’t pick up.

(“I ain’t a damn kid that needs checkin’ up on, Drake.”)

Not that Tim is checking up on him. He just knows that whenever someone in the family is going through a personal crisis, that’s usually the time when Gotham’s rogues decide to act out.

So really, ensuring Jason’s stress levels stay manageable is a public service.

“Because that sounds like logic,” he chides.

Damian shows up around 3 o’clock and spends the next two hours alternatively disparaging everything about Tim from his too-long hair to how he organizes his filing system, to discussing WE resource allocation for an animal shelter he wants to open. The conversational whiplash is enough to make Tim’s head spin, and he makes a note in his phone to talk to Bruce about whatever it is that’s going on between them that’s so bad Damian prefers Tim’s company to his father’s.

Either Bruce put his foot down about another of Damian’s strays, or he still won’t agree that Robin should have a private prison to lock up rogues. 

Whatever the reason, Tim is very much out of his depth at the youngest Bat’s newest tactics for taking his frustrations out on Tim.

Though I guess workplace inconveniences are a huge step up from swords to the gut. Could always be worse, I guess.

It turns out he’s not the only one learning new and interesting coping strategies. Upon arriving home at six, he finds Jason tweaking the tech in his gear on the kitchen table, baby carrier three feet away.

His entire body is tense, like a spring ready to snap.

“Was she up all day or something?” Tim asks on the way in, putting his bag on the floor and loosening his tie.

Jason shoots him a baleful look. “She’s been crying all day. And she’s still barely eating. I think she’s starting to look a little yellow—Tim, why is she yellow?”

And Jason sounds—dare he say it—almost frazzled.

Right. Time for more damage control.

“I’ve got her,” Tim says, easing into Jason’s personal space and taking the baby. “You go to sleep. Or shower. Or watch TV or something. You’re starting to go batty.”

That earns a disgusted look, and even Tim winces because that was just bad.

“Did you seriously just say that?” Jason asks.

“No, you’re sleep-deprived and hallucinated it,” he replies.

“I’ll allow it,” Jason says, yawning. “But only because it could be true.”

Jason shuffles off upstairs and Tim heaves himself onto the couch, pulling out his phone to check his usual online haunts for potential cases or clues for his current case. Social media and forums are pretty good sources once you learn how to weed out the sensationalist crap.

After thirty minutes of nothing, he gives it up and wanders over to the dwindling pile of baby items. Jason hasn’t returned yet, so he’s either passed out from exhaustion in the shower or actually made it to bed. Since Tim can’t hear the water running, he supposes it’s the latter.

It won’t kill me to go without the pre-patrol nap today, I guess.

Studying the pile, he notes that the boxes with the crib, changing table and whatever else needed assembly, have all gone missing. Presumably, Jason set those up this morning in a fit of boredom or paranoia.

The only things that haven’t been touched are the blankets, soft toys and garments, other than whatever Isa’s been changed into already.

There are only about twenty different pieces of clothing, and according to his not-so-new best friend the Internet, that’s not going to be nearly enough given infant propensity to upchuck. Especially since it’s not all the same size. Tam had to guess how big Isa was, so at least half the onesies here won’t fit her for another month or two, which isn’t supremely helpful for right now.

Back to fiddling with his phone, Tim goes online to order some more supplies and discovers, to his delight, that there’s an entire line of pop-culture related babywear. Star Wars, Star Trek, Doctor Who, Superhero logos…

He grins as he orders one of everything for next-day delivery, wondering whether Jason’s more likely to complain or find it funny.

Under normal circumstances, he’d probably find it funny. For someone else’s kid.

There’s still no sign of Jason after sunset, so Tim feeds and burps the baby, then sets up his laptop and tablet in the kitchen to check some of his surveillance feeds for the mob case. However, Isa protests every time he tries to put her down.

“What’s wrong with you now?” he asks. “You’re warm, you’re fed—” He takes a pause to check and change her diaper, during which time she continues to mewl at him, “—and you’re dry. Which means now’s the time you got to sleep, okay? New babies are supposed to do three things: eat, poop and sleep. So get on that.”

Once again he attempts to wrap her up and place her in her carrier, but the whimpering becomes flat-out crying, her tiny face becoming purple with rage and her eyes pinching shut.

“Okay, okay—putting you down is a no,” he sighs, tucking her back in his arms to rock her gently. He watches his computer monitor balefully, knowing if he’s holding the baby, there’s not going to be any hacking of Gotham’s CCTV tonight.

Could text Babs and ask her to do it. Except then she’ll want to know why.

Which is also a no.

One-handed, he searches out his phone again, looking up possible reasons for Isa’s current temper and potential solutions online. One thing jumps out at him and he brightens. A quick trip to the Nest and back, and he has what he was looking for.

Which is how Jason finds him when he finally comes back downstairs around eight o’clock, showered, rested and altogether more human-looking than what Tim came home to. He pauses at the foot of the stairs, squinting at Tim. “Is that your cape?”

“My cape is made out of state-of-the-art piezoelectric fabric substrates that can become a weapon with the right electrical frequency,” Tim retorts, trying not to feel entirely self-conscious from his seat at the kitchen table, wrapped in a makeshift mei-tai with Jason’s daughter drooling into his chest. “Also, that thing’s filthy.”

“And this is…?”

“My old cape,” Tim replies, going back to his computer. “Sometimes newborns just need to hear a heartbeat to calm them down. The best way is skin to skin, but I’m kind of in the middle of something, so this is the next best thing.”

Jason tilts his head to one side in consideration. “That’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, I looked it up online.”

“Of course you did,” Jason groans, rubbing his temple. “Because that’s what normal people do. I didn’t even think of it, I was too busy trying to get her to stop crying.” He huffs, almost rueful. “Why the hell am I surprised that you’re good at this? You’re good at friggen everything.”

Huh. A compliment. Those are almost as rare coming from Jason as they are from Damian. He must really be out of his comfort zone.

“Maybe it’s just because I have a certain measure of distance from it all,” Tim suggests, standing up to leave his temporary workstation. “If I suddenly found out I had a kid, I don’t know how I’d react.”

“Bull. You’re just like B. You’d just stick it in the back of your mind and forget about how to feel about it until you’re ready to deal.”

Tim feels a sudden flare of anger. “Is that actually how you think I am?”

“You going to tell me you’re not?” Jason challenges.

Tim opens his mouth to do exactly that, only to wrinkle his nose at the sudden stench arising from the lump of baby tucked against his chest.

“Ugh. Someone needs a change.”

Again. Guess I wasn’t so far off about the ‘eat, poop and sleep’ thing.

Jason snorts. “As far as conversation enders, that’s a pretty good one.”

Tim carefully unwinds the fabric from around his body and deposits the slowly waking baby into her father’s arms. “Tag.”

“You suck.”

“Serves you right for being a dick.”

He feels almost no guilt leaving Jason to deal with the soiled diaper and cranky baby this time, still smarting a bit about the resentful accusation that was lobbed at him.

Just because I can compartmentalize doesn’t mean I forget about things. Or that I don’t feel them.

He’s just not like Jason, or Dick, or Damian, who get angry and lash out as loudly and as viciously as they can. And he’s not like Bruce, either, since Bruce really can flip a switch and put something difficult out of his mind if it interferes with the all-important Mission.

Tim’s tried doing that, and as successful as he was in his quest to locate Batman when he was lost in the time stream, that period of Tim’s life was the most desperate and hopeless he’s ever felt. It was painful in a way that was different from losing his father, or Connor, or Bart—mostly because he was forced to bottle everything up to get the job done.

It was months after Bruce returned before Tim started processing things normally again.

Not that I should expect Jason to know that, he muses as he grapples through the rooftops of Gotham. He might know about me from my files and when we occasionally work together, but he’s never stuck around long enough to get to know anyone who came after him.

The night is at its darkest, cut through only by the Bat-signal in the distance. He won’t be running into Bruce tonight then unless the GCPD is bringing him in on the Gazzo case. It’s unlikely since there hasn’t been any retaliation yet. GCPD protocol dictates they’ll pass it off to Homicide until orders from on high turn it over to Major Crimes.

Red Robin ends up stopping two muggings and a drug deal before making his way to Gazzo territory to take some surveillance photos of his own. Security images are helpful in general, but he has camera tech that will let him focus on details the CCTV won’t pick up. 

It’s another relatively early night for him, returning home just after midnight to upload his findings to the servers and shower off the grit and grime of the city.

The apartment is silent, and he expects Jason and Isa to be upstairs in the newly built nursery, but upon closing the secret door again, he notices the faint sound of breathing. Creeping over to the sitting room, he finds Jason passed out on the couch beside Isa’s carrier. The television is on but not showing any channel, instead casting a solid blue light across the room.

Tim can’t help noticing how Jason’s habitual frown has eased in slumber. There’s no trace of a sneer or growl on his lips right now, his mouth parted only to breathe.

He has never seen the older man like this.

There are pictures of him at the manor, of course, most of them hidden away in dusty boxes. It’s only recently they’ve started cropping up at the manor again, though Tim isn’t sure whether it’s Dick or Alfred that’s been putting them there.

Hell, maybe it is Bruce. It’s the exact kind of gesture he’d make to try to tell Jason he wants him around more, without actually having to tell him directly.

Whoever’s responsible for them, Tim’s memorized all of those photos. The boy in those is always grinning or making silly faces or not paying attention to the photographer because he’s busy doing something he shouldn’t be.

If there’s a picture of Jason looking so calm and peaceful, it’s hidden away in Bruce’s personal files where no one can find them.

Tim can sort of see why given how vulnerable his predecessor looks right now. This is the Jason that Bruce remembers, the one he’s built up in his memory that’s different from the Jason once enshrined in the much-maligned class case in the Cave. This is the Jason Bruce is trying to find whenever he squares off with Red Hood and mourns as lost when he can’t find him.

Which is stupid since he’s still right here. I wonder if anyone else will ever realize that?

Tim decides not to wake Jason; he might have been a jerk before, but he should sleep while he can.

Instead, he settles in on the other couch with his laptop to review the surveillance shots he took himself and from the security feeds. If he can figure out just which of these mobster muscle heads is the easiest to break, he can get a better idea of what might have happened to the teenager in concrete.

I’ll just do a quick scan tonight, and study them in more detail tomorrow.

Of course, as usual, he gets invested in his work and doesn’t look up again until about four o’clock, when Isa’s sharp cry pieces the silence. Tim jumps, having completely forgotten her presence, but that’s nothing on Jason, who vaults upward from his spot on the couch, body tense and prepared to react to whatever caused the noise, friend or foe.

His hand is already reaching for a gun—one that Tim is thankful to see is no longer there.

“It’s okay, it’s just time for the next feeding,” he says quietly, trying to sound both casual and soothing at the same time. Based on the bleary look he’s getting from Jason, he’s less than successful.

Jason glares at his empty hand, clenched as if to hold onto something, and Tim must be on the verge of falling asleep himself because for a moment he imagines he can see the outline of a sword.

Great. Hallucinations. Tomorrow’s going to be a triple-shot of espresso day, I can tell.

And it’s suddenly occurring to him that babies and their sudden loud noise-making skills might not be the best thing for someone that’s suffered the kinds of trauma Jason has.

He makes up a mental note to look up some strategies for that. He’s not quite sure how he’ll bring up the subject with Jason. While Jason is adamant that Tim’s the most like Bruce, when it comes to avoiding problems, he’s the one that has more in common with the man.

For now, he decides to just act as normal.

“You know there’s a perfectly good bed upstairs?” he quips. “Thousand thread count, fluffy pillows, solid mattress…”

“Shut up. I was watching something. Guess I fell asleep.” Jason swings around and makes a move toward the baby, but Tim makes a motion to stop him.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it.”

“You already took her when you got back.”

“How do you know? You were sleeping?”

“I was resting my eyes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Go to sleep or you’ll be face-planting in your coffee tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine, I—"

“This isn’t your responsibility, Replacement. Go to bed—I’ll handle this.”

Jason is clearly not someone to be reasoned with when sleep-deprived; Tim always suspected that, of course, but he’s never had the up-close-and-personal experience. It doesn’t make him any less frustrated.

“The whole point of you staying here is for me to help,” he reminds him. “So would you just accept it already?”

“You’re also the one with a nine-to-five job and actually need the friggen sleep.”

Tim grimaces. “Fine. But I’m going to make up a schedule for us tomorrow so we can divide the babysitting more equitably.”

“You do that, boy scout. Why don’t you make a chore-wheel while you’re at it?” Jason jeers, taking the baby and heading for the kitchen. “This isn’t kindergarten.”

“Are you sure about that?” Tim shoots back, scowling in frustration.

Just for that, I will make one. See if I don’t.

⁂⁂⁂

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