#Accidental Fanfic

[karkatbug]

🦀🕶️🫂

A tight, hot sensation works its way along Dave’s arms and sits at the pads of his fingers, which he taps restlessly against the cool, waxed wood table of their local coffee shop. He continues the motion despite his classmate’s evident irritation, hoping the contact would somehow encourage the feeling to pass through his fingers and onto the table via osmosis. It’s a familiar tension after enduring copious amounts of stress. Assignments, exams, working part-time. His social life, hobbies and habits. College had a knack for narrowing time and forcing life into a bottleneck. If you’re lucky enough to come out the other side alive, you’re left an exhausted shell of yourself, stiffly trying to relax your shoulders and convincing yourself that’s all you need and are totally fine now. Booking a back massage was pussy shit. No way in hell was he ever gonna let some man rub oil on him and get all touchy feely with his nude bod, no the fuck thanks.

Not to mention things were good. He’s quite literally in a better place. There was no reason to be rigid with stress now when he wasn’t going through anything like back then. Sadly logic did little to work out the knots in his shoulders. 

“Mind over matter my ass,” Dave mumbles to himself.

“What’s with you?” Karkat demands. “You’ve been fidgeting all fucking day. All week, actually! Usually I let your human quirks slide but at this point I’m starting to get worried.”

Dave winces at the other’s raised voice.

“I’m fine, dude,” he says quietly, hoping to lead Karkat by example. “Finish your thingy.”

“Our thingy,” Karkat corrects. Dave huffs and glances back down at his laptop screen. A word document is open, and Karkat’s cursor flashes where he stopped typing. “And I’m not writing another word until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, man.” Dave forces himself back into his quiet facade—fixing his calm along with his posture. They work some more. He grits his teeth when a leg begins to bounce. God how he’d love to crawl out of his skin right now. Instead, he sits up straight, grabs the side of the table and twists one way, repeating the motion as he does the other. His back pops both times. He lets out a satisfied sigh. 

It’s still not enough. 

“That’s the third time you’ve done that,” Karkat notes. His eyes are fiery despite the lack of red. Dave is one of the few who know about his blood color. He knows they’ll kick in a few years from now, and yet sometimes Dave can feel the color on him. Or maybe he’s projecting. It is his favorite, after all. The color. Not the troll.

Karkat pushes the screen of his laptop down as he points an accusatory finger at the restless human sitting across from him. “You’ve also rubbed your neck twenty seven separate occasions in this past hour. You’ve kicked me in the shin twelve times trying to stretch those freakishly long appendages you call legs. I’ve heard your back pop more times than Egbert’s fucking “grandma” and I lived with them for an entire year!”

“Why did you put quotations around grandma?”

“My point is what the fuck is happening to you? Are you about to molt? You’re acting like your frail skin is about to rip open.”

“Your inexplicable obsession with me is duly noted, and flattered as I may be that you watch me like a hawk—sorry, a talonscreecher— you can park those observations back at the Target parking lot you were at just this morning along with that awful thing on your wrist that you bought from there.”

Karkat tugs his long sleeve over his wristwatch with a scowl and flips Dave off.

“I usually exercise,” Dave explains, figuring he was one more digression away from Karkat finally deciding to kick him back for all the times earlier, most of which were definitely intentional points of contact on his end. “And I haven’t been able to for almost two weeks now because of—” he gestures to his laptop, the cafe they’re in and the campus visible outside the window they’re sitting by. “Our muscles get stiff and shit if we don’t move. It’s kind of unbearable for me.”

“Well, go! Go run a lap and come back!”

“What did we say about asking people to fulfill your furry kinks? I know our recently established friendship is cool and all but I’m not moirailling with you, dude. Next thing I know you’re going to ask me to get on my knees and bark—” Dave sucks in his breath and clenches his teeth, fighting the instinct to yelp following the sharp pain in his shin.

“Fuck off, Strider! Suffer in that meatsack for all I care.”

“I jog at ass in the morning or in the middle of the night, there is no in between.”

“Those are our peak cram hours.”

“I know! That's why I haven't been able to go!” Dave exclaims. “I hate feeling watched while I workout.” That’s not incriminating to admit, right? Most people hate the gym for the very same reason. There’s no way Karkat’s tragic-past detector would go off.

“‘Cause of your Bro?”

Dammit.

“No,” Dave utters stubbornly while raising his knee for easier access to rub his throbbing leg. “Can’t a guy be a little self-conscious when asked to run around his school in tight jeans and a baggy hoodie at peak hours? Can’t a troll accept that nothing will fix me right now besides getting on my stomach, spreading my legs and praying some forklift certified fuck accidentally gets in a steamroller and runs me over?”

“Jesus, Dave. If it’s that bad… just let me sit on you!”

Dave’s mind is pulled in so many different directions that for once in his life, he’s at a loss for words. The imagery, one he’ll never admit to having, even if burnt at the stake, takes hold. It’s so vivid in his mind that he closes his laptop with an abrupt snap and shoves it into his backpack.

“I think we’re done here.”

“Humans do it all the time!” Karkat continues. “You lie on the couch and your friend sits on your back, right? John and Jade fucked with me like this all the time but they’d make me do it back. They said it feels good.”

“You have got to remember that those two are outliers when it comes to what is considered ‘normal’ by human standards.”

“Right, because you’re a sensible being and should be considered the standard life form for your race.”

“You’re not convincing me to let you sit on my back, dude.”

“Fine, but where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Home?” Dave shifts out of the booth and shoulders his backpack. 

“No the fuck you’re not! We’re not even halfway done with this paper!”

“I’ll bullshit something tonight.”

Karkat follows him, protesting the entire time. Dave tries and fails to shake him off. The sticky heat of the summer has yet to take hold of the city. Accustomed as he may be, Dave never looks forward to it, and the dread along with his current bodily aches makes him clench his teeth and curl his fists. He snapped at Karkat once, two years ago, in the summer. He was in a bad mood. Sweat-slicked hair framed his features. The humidity sat heavy in the air and made his clothes cling to the small of his back. He was tired, his brain had reached capacity after back-to-back lectures. The sun drained what little energy he had left, so when Karkat tried to lecture him about his romantic life, embarrassing him in front of their friends, he was genuinely mad. They weren’t close then, but were in each other’s circle. Dave had regretted it instantly. Karkat was a good dude. Sensitive in a way that made Dave cringe, sure, and outright obnoxious at times, but it was from a place of caring. He was fooled at first, with the way the other talked and typed. Karkat Vantas came off aggressive, loud and arrogant, but in actuality was all bark no bite (though his throbbing shin would argue otherwise). When he apologized, Karkat hugged him tight and everything seemed to magically get better after that. 

Dave’s pace slows to a stop once they round the corner, officially off campus and away from the crowds of students. 

“Sorry,” he blurts when the other stumbles to a stop to avoid crashing into him. “For getting all pissy.”

Karkat raises a brow and tilts his head to the side.

Dave uncurls his fists and tries to relax his shoulders. He doesn’t want to be uncool like back then, two years ago. Not to the troll he now knows well. Someone he genuinely likes despite pretending otherwise.

“It’s not anything you said or did.” Why was communicating so hard? And so fucking awkward? Why did he have to explain his feelings instead of relying on the people around him to telepathically understand what was going on in his head?

“Yeah, I know,” Karkat snorts. “You just need to book a fucking massage.”

“Phrasing,” Dave smirks.

“No, Dave. I know what I said.”

Dave flushes at the other’s nonchalance. He hates when Karkat has the drop on him. 

“I hear you can request a happy ending from some plac—mph.”

Dave gets him into a headlock with one arm, the other going over his mouth. There’s a familiarity to the action. “Be glad there’s no table to suplex you over,” Dave threatens. He releases Karkat the moment he detects the other open his mouth to bite him. Yet another familiar action. 

They tussle for a while longer until they’re giggling as they pull away. The distance between them lasts only a brief moment. On a whim, Dave reaches out and pulls Karkat back in, this time for an embrace. Karkat squeezes him tight. It knocks the air out of Dave in the best way possible. Karkat pops his back and nearly lifts him off his tippy toes. God he loved this fucker’s hugs.

“Did that help?” Karkat asks with a small smile, sharp teeth peeking shyly over his lips.

“I’m not sure,” Dave lies, chest tightening at the sight. Shit. “Can you do that again?”

Karkat embraces him with all he’s got. Shit, shit, shit. Dave fights back the groan. He’d never hear the end of it if he made a single sound in front of Karkat. But he can’t lie, this shit felt good. He wraps his arms around Karkat and hugs back. It becomes a competition. They embrace each other until Dave is certain one of them is going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

They release each other with dizzied laughs and crash back into each other, initiating another round. This time Dave reaches around Karkat’s waist, leading the other to lock his arms around Dave’s shoulders. Karkat squeezes the tension right out of those muscles. Dave strengthens his grip until that tight, hot sensation that had wormed its way along his arms and to the pads of his fingers dissipates completely. 

They stumble apart with dopey grins, wordlessly resuming their walk home with nothing to fill the air between them but the sound of passing cars and chirping birds. He should have known. All it took was Karkat hugging him tight. Everything always seemed to magically get better after that. 

[lupusviridis]

I need this in the anime.

Just as you see here, Gold Ship wouldn't ever think of this idea herself. But if someone just, say, left the mask in her room? Yes, she'd be a little confused and uncomfortable about it for day or two, while trying obsessively to figure out where it came from. By day three, however, she'd have an irresistible urge to try it on …

~ Hijinks ensue ~

Gold Ship's energy levels, and thus her absurd antics, seem to increase exponentially while she has the mask on. Her confidence is higher than ever, and somehow she is actually more deft and graceful, even though she can barely see anything. Gold Ship becomes quietly convinced that it was a divine gift granted to her by fate.

No one is able to get the mask off her for days. Gold Ship takes all her food to eat privately in some secret place, because she will allow no one to see her without the mask. Trainer-san worries he'll have to withdraw Gold Ship from her next race because she refuses to remove the mask in public. He's sure she'll be disqualified, lest she injure herself or another horse girl on the track — or worse, she'll somehow actually win and set some absurd, unfathomable record while wearing the damn thing.

This goes on for most of a week, until, at practice one day, the mask finally tears, right up the side, from all of the abuse it takes in the course of Gold Ship's mania while wearing it. You can just make out the horror on Gold Ship's face through the tear in the rubber, as if it's her true face that has just torn and revealed an impostor beneath. She stands frozen for a long moment. Abruptly, with a piercing but throaty wail, and clutching at the split rubber to cover her exposed cheek, Gold Ship spins to flee toward her dorm, but the spell is broken. She slips as she tries to round a line of bushes and instead tumbles right in to the foliage. When she emerges almost instantly, the mask is no longer on her head as she dashes back to her room.

Gold Ship's roommate can't get into their room that night, and Gold Ship doesn't respond to any knocking or pounding on the door. The next morning, the door opens easily and the room is immaculate, but Gold Ship is nowhere to be found — though all of her things are still there, including her Go set and even her Rubik's cube. She is not seen in class or anywhere on campus for the entire day. Her teammates are worried. Trainer-san is sincere when he says he doesn't know where she is, but the rest of the team notice seems oddly reluctant to contact anyone to report her missing.

The day after that, Gold Ship appears at breakfast as usual, apparently back to normal, acting as though nothing had happened. When questioned about her absence, she seems genuinely confused and denies that she went anywhere. Her teammates finally ask her what happened and where the mask went. Gold Ship looks at them blankly and asks, "What mask?" Special Week begins to explain, but trails off at Gold Ship's quizzical look. McQueen becomes annoyed and goes on a rant about how Gold Ship spent the last week bouncing around like a lunatic wearing a horse mask and causing all sorts of trouble for Trainer-san and her team, but Gold Ship just falls over laughing, hysterical over the absurdity of a horse girl wearing a horse mask. "I may have some crazy ideas," Gold Ship says, "but even I couldn't come up with something like that!"

The mask is never seen again, and no one can get Gold Ship to admit to its existence or the events of that week.

[namig42]

I like to imagine that the group of friends find the sleigh on the roof and think "holy shit." One of dudes hops into the big, red sleigh and grabs the reins, and Blitzen turns around with a scary, smug look. "Hey, you ain't Santa."

Everyone in the party looks baffled, trying to recollect if they had anything tonight to make them hear talking animals, but no. The reindeer can just talk.

"Uh..." The guy with the reins mumbles, "Santa's a bit... Tied up right now."

Cutaway to Santa just lounging in an armchair and staring at all the lights on the Christmas tree downstairs like he's never seen one before. With the most jolly, out of this world look on his face, he softly breathes out a, "ho ho ho..."

Cut back to the party on the roof. Dancer chimes in from in front of Blitzen, "we don't take orders from anyone besides the boss."

"C'mon guys, it's Christmas," a second guy chimes in. He's standing at the top of the ladder that they used to get up to the rooftop. "We just wanna help."

"You wanna help?" Blitzen chimes in, "then go get the jolly guy and tell him to get his keester up here. We were just making good time too."

"Wait Blitz," Cupid cuts in from next to the hostile reindeer. "I don't think they're lying."

"Cupid, for jolly goodness' sake," Blitzen rolled his eyes.

"I know a way they could help!" Rudolph added from the front of the line.

"Rudolph, keep quiet!" Blitzen yelled while gritting his flat teeth.

"Maybe we can't pull the sleigh without Santa, but if we pull something else that they have a lot of love for in their hearts, we can still have Christmas!"

Blitzen groaned, but Cupid nodded his head. "Ru is right." He turned to look at the blond man in the sleigh. "Do you all have a vehicle like that? Something that holds a lot of memories?"

The guy looked down at his shaggy brunette friend on the ladder, and the two locked eyes and felt the same idea click instantly. "Yeah," the blond guy answered, "we have something like that."

Already from down below, a feminine voice called from the driveway, "I already got the keys, Freddy!"

Everyone on the roof looked down on the snowy ground and saw two girls waiting by a blue and green van. The one that was waving and had called to them was in a thick orange sweater with heavy black glasses, and the other was leaning against the car door in her own purple, highly and tastefully ornamented sweater dress.

"Let's get going! Christmas won't save itself!" The girl in purple called cheerily.

Cupid looked to Blitzen. All the reindeer were ready to jump in on this idea, it was only Blitzen now. With a loud, whinnying groan, Blitzen caved in. "Fine, but if we get deernapped, I'm never letting you live this down."

"Deal," Cupid smiled before turning to the guy named Freddy, "now just unhook the sleigh and we can get a move on!"

"Uh... Yeah, sure" Freddy answered, glancing at this friend on the ladder. "Shaggy, can you help me out?"

"Uh... Gosh man, I can try?"

The two bumbling guys did their best to undo the complicated rig system, all while Blitzen scolded them for ruining Christmas and being the most incompetent bastards this side of the equator. Eventually they got it undone, and the reindeer flew down to the street with shocking levels of unspoken coordination. The girl in purple drove while the one in orange directed her. "Careful Daph! Take it slow!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Daphne answered as the car stopped with a harsh jerk. "I wasn't planning on driving tonight, you know!"

With some tedious turns and a poke at the reindeer in the back of the line, the party managed to somehow get the reindeer hooked up to the Mystery Van. Once it was secure, the party of four and Shaggy's dog stowed inside the car with Freddy behind the wheel.

"Okay gang, let's get the job done!" Freddy cheered.

"And get some more snacks for later!" Shaggy called from the backseat. With a vroom of the engine, the reindeer began to pull and the Mystery Van miraculously began to take off into the Christmas night sky.

The Mystery Gang was off to save Christmas.

[words-and-threads]

I've been reminded of this so now I have to yell about it.

Community's "drow face" joke is actively anti-racist. It's practically a goofus and gallant cartoon. It could not be more obvious without stopping the show so jeff could come forward and say "we've had a lot of fun here today, but seriously don't do blackface. People will yell at you for being an insensitive jerk."

Then Britta chimes in with "And Jeff knows aaaalll about being an insensitive jerk."

And then Shirley walks in like "why are you the one giving this speech anyway?"

And Jeff goes "I am...a more experienced public speaker? Look, come on, you know these knuckle-draggers are only going to listen to an authoritative sounding white guy."

"Well then I should be doing it!" Pierce announces as he strides in. "What are we talking about?"

Shirley and Jeff try to stop her but Britta answers "blackface, which even YOU know is wrong, right?"

And Pierce looks confused and goes "since when?"

And then Abed unpauses himself in the freeze frame behind them and says "as much as I appreciate the use of a classic storytelling device, we're losing the pacing of the episode. Wrap it up."

Then he re-freezes and they all grumble off screen and the show resumes.

[mihawkhugs]

i’m writing up a twisted wonderland oneshot BUT IT SPIRALED ohmygod it’s kinda a fic now HAHAHA

[breesperez139]

Dc x Dp Prompt #6

“I’m a twin”, Damian said one night. He could feel the narrowed eyes of his family drilling holes on his back in disbelief. Not that he could blame them. Damian had never so much as implied being raised with a companion, much less a sibling.

“I had a brother”. Damian paused to recollect himself. He had not said his brother’s name out loud in over 8 years.

“His name was… Danyal”. Damian hated the way his voice wavered, but he could not help it. Danyal was everything to him, his other half. Their heart beat as one and when one heart stopped beating, the other one died with it. At least until his family put his heart on metaphorical life support without ever realizing.

“Where is he now?” His father asked, voice filled with knowing grief and a hint of betrayal. It had in fact been 6 years since Damian first showed up on his doorstep.

“Up there”. All eyes shifted towards the specific star he was pointing to. “Right before he died, he promised me he’d guide me from the stars. Unfortunately, the stars are not visible in Gotham, so my brother is unable to be of much help unless I leave the city.”

“Your brother is Polaris, the North Star?” Tim questioned warily, most likely in attempts to not offend him. Damian was aware of how stupid it sounded, but Danyal had promised, and his brother never broke his promises.

“Yes. Danyal is with the stars now, just as he always wanted”

[chaos-bringer-13]

Vlad, Dan and Dani move across dimensions to Gotham because of some bad stuff happening in their own dimension. Vlad has a lot of his money with him in cash, and they quickly get themselves fake id's as father and his two children. Vlad's plan is to keep low profile, wait it out and then return. Dan and Dani don't care about Vlad's plan.

Vlad is shady, Dan and Dani are causing shenanigans, and a bunch of coincidences leads to people believing that they're some sort of mafia family.

Some idiots try to rob Dani and she blurts out "Do you know who my dad is?". Dan emerges from the shadows, sends Dani off and makes extremely specific and detailed threats of slow and painful death to the would-be robbers. He finishes the speech by adding that they would be wishing for him to do all of that if his and Dani's father found out about the robbery.

Then Dan accidentally recruits a group of goons by beating up their boss and feeling kinda responsible for the henchmen.

Then Dani steals the talons.

Dan has a fight over territory with one of the smaller rogues.

Dani steals Scarecrow's chemicals.

All the while they keep convincing people that this is all a part of some bigger plan of Masters family. First it's just a misunderstanding, then they keep doing it to annoy Vlad. Some people think that Masters is just a surname, some think that Master is a rogue's name. After a while everyone knows that there's an up-and-coming crime family.

Vlad is entirely oblivious. He doesn't know shit. He ends up making a small organisation (restaurant? car repair shop?) to hire people who keep coming to him. He's not sure why his children tell all these people that he can help but they are in trouble, so he helps. And then helps again, and again. All the places he opens look like crime fronts.

Vlad is still unaware that he's a mob boss.

Maybe at some point Dan and Dani think that Vlad figured this out (because its obvious) but doesn't say anything because the police has bugged their house or because he wants plausible deniability.

Obviously all of this ends with the Bats deciding to confront Masters. It's also the perfect moment for Danny to enter.

Here, have a shitty meme showing the moment.

Danny: I left you here fOR ONE MONTH

Vlad: It's not my fault!

Danny: I figured. Dani, if I give you a candy, will you tell me what the hell you've done?

Dani: What kind of candy?

Danny, handing out a Yellow Lantern ring: A Ring Pop.

Dani, snatching it: We accidentally started a mob family :D

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 2

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 4.9k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

After weeks of all-nighters and cramming for finals, sleeping in on your first morning at the beach house felt incredible. It was only 9:30 when you finally stirred in the comfy bed, but it felt late in the day.

Coming down the stairs in your pjs and slippers, you smiled at the sound of your sister’s voice, joking around with her old friends. Your goal this trip was for her to have a good time, and despite the emotional rollercoaster of seeing Rafe yesterday, at this moment, you were glad you decided to stay. You entered the room to see half the house was awake, though neither Rafe or Tom had made an appearance yet.

“Ladies and gentleman, it’s Kerri Walsh Jennings!” Topper deepened his voice like a sports announcer when you entered the kitchen. The few people who were up all turned to you, playfully bowing and applauding like you were a true Olympian. You grinned and rolled your eyes, surprised at how comfortable you felt with the unprecedented attention.

Topper was at the stove flipping pancakes for everyone’s breakfast, wearing an apron that said “kiss the cook.” As you approached the kitchen island to grab a stool next to your sister, he leaned over, holding the spatula like a microphone.

“So tell us, Kerri, now that you’ve won the gold what will you do next?”

“Well, Top,” you played along. “First, I’m going to get some coffee…then I’m going straight to Disneyland!”

Everyone in the kitchen laughed, making the tips of your ears turn red. No one ever laughed at your jokes in high school, not that you were confident enough to make many. Rafe would tell you sometimes that you were funny, so long as no one was around to hear him admit it.

“Well I can help you with the first part,” Topper said, grabbing a mug and the coffee pot.

“Wow, so domestic of you, Topper,” you teased as he poured your steaming coffee in front of you.

“He’s our house mother,” Carter said, smiling wide at Topper who did a jokey little curtsy motion. Clearly this was a running joke between them.

Topper handed you a plate of pancakes, which Kelce promptly reached over your shoulder to steal. 

“Since when are you such an athlete?” Kelce asked, his mouth already full with your breakfast.

You told them all about your team at school, surprised out of your mind that everyone was actually listening intently.

Rafe woke up groggy and sore, ducking his head as he walked through the basement and made his way up the rickety steps. As he reached for the handle of the door which opened into the kitchen, he smiled at the sound of your voice on the other side. His smile quickly faded when he heard Kelce interrupt you with, “Yeah and you kicked Rafe’s ass, too, made him your bitch.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” 

Every head in the kitchen whipped towards the sound of Rafe’s voice as he emerged, except for yours. You shuffled slightly on your stool and sipped your coffee. Rafe didn’t miss the way you were ignoring him, his eyes grazing quickly over the smoothe skin of your shoulders before redirecting to anything he could find. 

“Cute apron, Top,” he landed on.

“Thanks man,” Topper said, ignoring his mocking tone. “Want some flapjacks?”

“Ew, who calls them flapjacks?” Carter burst out laughing. 

“Well now you don’t get any,” Topper scolded, pulling her plate away from her and handing it to Rafe.

“I don’t want ‘em if Carter’s put her mouth near them,” Rafe mocked. “We don’t know where she’s been.”

“Says the guy who licked the gym floor in seventh grade,” you said quietly.

The entire room came to a halt, everyone surprised at the sound of you joining in on the teasing. No one had actually heard you address Rafe yet. The awkwardness hung in the air, all eyes going wide as they waited to see if the notorious hothead was going to be able to take what he was dishing out. You just picked at your pancakes with your fork and hoped everyone would move on, but Rafe smirked at you, a playful twinkle in his eye.

“That was on a dare,” he defended himself.

When you finally looked up at him, your stomach twisted into a knot as you noticed how cute he looked in his white undershirt and grey sweats, messy bedhead and sleepy eyes. You immediately regretted acknowledging that you remembered something he did so long ago. Now, he was looking at you with something like excitement, smug that you were talking to him, like your big triumph the day before had never happened. 

“Oh, I didn’t remember that part.” It was a lie, you remembered everything he ever said or did.

Rafe’s face dropped at your impassive tone, his brief window of hope that all was forgiven slammed shut.

To your great relief, Tom chose that moment to enter the room, drawing the attention away from you and Rafe. He had apparently been out on a run, and his under armor shirt, wet with sweat, clinged to his form to reveal a sculpted chest below.

“How we doin’ everyone?” His cheery voice boomed. He slapped Topper on the back before giving Kelce a frat bro handshake across the counter. “What do we have here?” He whistled appreciatively at the spread Topper had put out.

As Topper rattled on about the many flavors and shapes of pancakes he could offer, Tom looked over at you with a cheeky smile and mouthed “good morning!” You smiled back with a little wave, butterflies erupting in your stomach at the way he was singling you out. 

After the volleyball game last night, you’d all gone to a seafood restaurant on the water. Tom had chosen the seat next to you, and made extremely pleasant dinner company. He asked you all about yourself, about school and what you were planning for the future. He was a great listener, and you were so glad to have someone to chat normally with without the baggage of your childhood hanging over your head. You hoped the week would hold many more cozy conversations with him.

Unbeknownst to you, Carter was watching as you smiled at him in the kitchen, and so was Rafe. They had very different looks on their face as they realized at the same moment that something was happening between you and Tom.

After Topper and Kelce reclaimed Tom’s attention, talking over each other about their plans to go fishing later, Carter squeezed your elbow and motioned with a nod for you to follow her out onto the patio. 

“Ummm, okay, what was that?” Carter asked with arched eyebrows once you were settled on the patio couch next to her.

“Oh my god I know. I shouldn’t have said anything, do you think everyone will think it’s weird I remember something he did in seventh grade?” You asked worriedly.

Carter scrunched her brows in confusion for a minute before waving you off with her hand. “Oh, no not Rafe, he’s old news. I’m talking about your little moment with Tom!”

“Oh, uh,” you cleared your throat, embarrassed that you were still lingering on Rafe when she clearly wasn’t. “I don’t know, he’s nice.”

“He’s fucking gorgeous is what he is,” she fanned herself theatrically.

“Are you into him?” Your stomach dropped at the thought that she might be interested. In your eyes, Carter always had first pick, and surely if Tom thought she was interested he’d choose her over you in a heartbeat.

“No,” she shook her head. “I’m having too much fun messing with Topper.”

You laughed hard at that, “yeah, I noticed. Are you two back on again?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “You think if I play my cards right I could get him to propose?”

“I think you could probably get him to do just about anything,” you chuckled.

“Okay, then it’s settled, I’ve got Topper and you,” she poked at your side and you swatted her hand away, “will make a move on Tom.”

“I don’t know about ‘make a move,” you took a long sip of your coffee, suddenly anxious.

Carter eyed you curiously, recognizing the insecurity she hoped you had left behind now that things were going so well. She didn’t understand how you still couldn’t see how amazing you are, but she was determined to prove it to you by the end of this trip.

Rafe did his best not to stare at you through the sliding door, but when he heard your melodic laugh float in through the screen, he couldn’t help the way his head snapped toward the sound, wishing desperately that it was him making you laugh like that. You used to laugh at all his jokes, and he’d taken it for granted. The sad thing was, he actually loved hanging out with you. You had a great sense of humor, and he always felt so comfortable when it was just you and him. He knows now he should’ve just called it what it was, been with you in public too. But he had so many eyes on him back then, and he was worried what people would think. Plus, he knew you’d stick by him even if he treated you like shit, and he took advantage of that. He kicked himself mentally, feeling like a Grade A chump while you sat there, looking beautiful in the ocean breeze, smiling through the window at some guy you’d met yesterday.

As he lost himself in his thoughts, Topper noticed him staring at you, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“She looks good, huh?” He asked Rafe.

“What?” Rafe shook his head as if he could erase the thoughts that were plaguing him. “Who?”

“Oh, come on,” Topper nodded towards you and Carter on the deck.

“I dunno,” Rafe tried to play it off. “She looks the same I guess, a little different.”

“Bro,” Topper gave him an incredulous look. “She’s a fucking smokeshow. You’re into her, don’t even try and fool me.”

“If you're so into her, why don’t you go for her?” Rafe snapped at him.

Topper shook his head, “maybe because I’m not the one she was obsessed with for a decade.”

“She wasn’t obsessed with me,” Rafe protested. “We were friends.”

“Right,” Topper said sarcastically. “And I was a number one draft pick. Dude, she was in love with you, everyone knew it.”

Rafe leaned forward on the counter, propped on his elbows, looking down at his uneaten pancakes with a frown. His stomach twisted with guilt. Of course everyone knew, he knew it too. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t use your adoration of him to his advantage from time to time. Okay, all the time. He couldn’t really blame you for still being mad at him, he was a dick. But he liked to think he’d grown some since then, not that you had any reason to give him a chance to prove it.

“I think she’s into your buddy, Dom, or whatever his name is,” Rafe grumbled.

“First of all,” Topper pointed the spatula at him, “you know his name is Tom. And second of all, I love the guy, but he’s got nothing on you. Give me one day, she’ll be back.”

“Don’t do anything weird, man,” Rafe warned, cringing at the thought of what kind of damage an unsupervised Topper could inflict.

“Don’t worry dude, I got it handled,” Topper assured him.

Rafe just chuckled and sipped his coffee, knowing this was a losing battle, “whatever you say, Top.”

The door slid open and you and Carter reentered the kitchen. Tom stood from his place at the little breakfast nook when you walked in, and you were relieved that he ended his conversation with Maddie and Sabrina so abruptly at the sight of you. He smiled down at you before heading into the kitchen to help Topper clean up. Rafe was noticeably not helping, sitting at the counter scrolling on his phone.

“No phones,” Carter said, swiping it from him. 

“Give it,” he held his large hand out to her, jaw ticking with annoyance.

“C’mon Rafe, don’t you want to live in the present?” She badgered.

He tried to grab it quickly, but she lifted it above her head, tossing it to Kelce on the other side of the counter, who tossed it to Topper, and the game of hot potato continued, much to Rafe’s chagrin.

“Y’all are children,” he scowled, sitting back on the stool in defeat.

“Who are you even texting? All your friends are here,” Carter jeered.

“I was looking up directions to the grocery store, seeing as there’s no fucking food in this house besides beer, and apparently pancake mix,” Rafe explained.

“No need,” Topper said. “Tom, Kelce and I are spending the day on the water and we’ll grab some stuff on the way back.”

Carter frowned at the thought of both of your boys being gone the whole day, leaving little to distract you from Rafe. This wouldn’t do.

“No, you can’t go out today, we're having a cookout!” She announced to the room.

“We are?” Kelce scratched his head.

“Yes, we are,” Carter nodded confidently, wrapping her arm around Topper’s waist, which you knew was all it would take to get him to agree. “And mom here is going to grill for us.”

“Oh am I?” Topper asked, eyebrows raised in amusement, not exactly protesting.

“Yes, so someone else will need to go get the food,” Carter continued. You knew her well enough to see that a whole plan was unfolding in her head. “Sissy, why don’t you go?”

“That’s…fine,” you agreed reluctantly, narrowing your eyes at her, trying to figure out her play. “I need someone to go with me though, we’ll need a lot of stuff.”

Carter and Topper smiled in sync, both thinking they’d just come up with the best idea anyone has ever had.

At the same moment that Carter blurted out, “Tom can go with you!” Topper loudly suggested, “Rafe can take you!”

Your lips forming a tight line, you gave them both an exasperated look. Their heads snapped toward each other, eyeing each other suspiciously. Rafe scratched the back of his neck, annoyed at Topper for butting in and hating himself for hoping you’d choose to go with him and not Tom.

Tom, meanwhile, was watching all four of you from the corner of the room, never more confused in his life.

“It’s cool,” he said hesitantly, the awkwardness palpable. “All three of us can go.”

“Fine, but I’m driving,” Rafe stood from his seat. “Can I have my phone back now please?”

He reached his hand to Kelce, who was the last to have it. Kelce panicked, wanting to keep the game going, and tossed it to you. You very nearly dropped it, letting it bounce between your hands but eventually securing it before it fell.

You just looked at it in your hands, then up to Rafe and Tom, searching for any way out of what was sure to be an uncomfortable outing without being rude. You came up with nothing.

“I guess I’ll go get dressed,” you handed Rafe his phone, making Kelce shake his head at you in disappointment.

The hum of the truck’s engine was the only sound in the car for a solid five minutes. You sat in the front seat, Tom having opened your door for you, while Rafe drove. You suddenly couldn’t remember what people do with their hands when they’re not driving. Where the hell do you put your hands? Tom’s voice cut through your internal panic.

“So, uh Rafe, Top says you went to Chapel Hill?” He inquired, sitting forward in the backseat so his head appeared between you and Rafe,

“Still do,” Rafe said curtly.

You looked at Rafe for the first time since pulling out of the beach house driveway. You wanted to ask him why he hadn’t graduated on time, always more invested in his academics than he was, but you were trying to pretend you didn’t care.

“Nice, man,” Tom tried to keep the conversation going. “I applied there, it’s hard to get in.”

“I guess I just hit the books a little harder than you then,” Rafe shrugged.

A scoff escaped you before you had the chance to stifle it. Rafe’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“What was that?” Rafe looked sideways at you for a moment.

“Nothing,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“No, please share,” he prodded. You couldn’t believe he was copping an attitude with you.

“It’s just, I’m sure your last name had nothing to do with your acceptance,” you quipped.

Rafe’s jaw clenched and you smirked in satisfaction, pleased that you had gotten under his skin. Tom’s eyes flicked between the two of you, trying to decipher the vibe.

You were glad he didn’t try to attempt any further small talk. Once you got to the grocery store, you divided the shopping list three ways and split up to your designated aisles. You filled your cart as fast as you could, eager to get this shopping trip over with.

After checking everything off your list, you rounded the corner of the produce section toward the registers, your cart nearly crashing into Rafe’s. His entire shopping cart was filled with alcohol. You laughed at the sight. 

“What?” Rafe asked defensively.

“What are the rest of us gonna drink?” You smirked.

“Shut up,” he grinned. “It’s not all for me.”

“Okay but where is the stuff you were supposed to get?”

“It’s under there somewhere,” he mused.

“Sure,” you just shook your head with a smile and kept walking towards the register.

“Shit, wait,” Rafe rolled his cart to you and ran back down one of the aisles.

“No don’t worry about me, I got it,” you muttered to yourself bitterly.

You started pushing both carts but Rafe appeared quickly at your side again.

“Got it,” he breathed, adding one more thing to his cart.

It was a case of Redbull. You shifted on your feet uncomfortably, looking down into his cart. Redbull was his drink of choice in high school, you used to buy him one every day and bring it to him after practice, like a puppy fetching the morning paper. Rafe eyed you nervously, your soured expression leading him to believe you remembered just as well as he did. 

“Old habits die hard, huh?” You joked, trying to break the tense moment. 

“Yeah, can’t seem to kick that one,” he replied, relieved that you were the first to acknowledge it.

Tom caught up with you at check-out, his cart actually full of the things he was supposed to get. The three of you unloaded your goods to be rung up by a 16-year-old cashier who could not have been more annoyed that you had chosen his register.

Tom jumped in to help bag the groceries, chatting happily with the bag boy as he assisted. Rafe, however, stood there staring at his phone. 

After you finished emptying your cart, you watched Tom with a smile while he charmed the grocery store staff. Rafe looked up from his screen with a frown, stomach dropping when he saw that you were watching Tom with an affectionate smile.

“Is that everything?” The cashier asked hopefully.

You were about to say "yes" and also maybe "sorry" when Rafe cut you off.

“No wait, these too,” he reached toward the shelf and grabbed your favorite candy, looking at you expectantly as he handed it to the cashier.

“Your favorite,” he explained bashfully at the sight of your furrowed brows.

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed. “Just surprised you remember. Thanks.”

You looked at him for a moment longer than you should, your eyes lingering on each other’s as you shared another silent memory. You felt a twinge of nostalgia that you knew you shouldn’t.

While you and Rafe looked at each other, Tom pulled out his black card and entered it into the machine. Rafe noticed a moment too late and scrambled to pull his wallet from his pocket, fumbling for his credit card.

“Oh no, hey man, I was gonna get it,” Rafe finally pulled out the credit card he was looking for but Tom was already signing the screen with his finger.

“No worries dude,” Tom brushed him off politely. “You can get me back later this week.”

Rafe was the most competitive person you knew, and the richest, surely he wasn’t going to let another guy pay for everything and walk away. He opened his mouth like he was going to argue with Tom, but with a glance back at you he closed it again. Then he carried as many bags to the car as one person could possibly hold, mumbling something like "multiple trips are for pussies." 

Another fifteen minutes of painful silence might just make your head explode, you thought. The second you were back in the truck, the bed overflowing with groceries, you asked Rafe for the aux.

“What are you gonna play?” He sideyed you as he held it just out of reach. You leaned across the console to snatch it from his hands, and he felt pins and needles where your hand had brushed him. He wondered if you realized it was the first time you'd touched each other in four years.

The two of you had always fought over the aux, you’d eventually give in to his pouting and listened to his shitty house mixes and soundcloud rappers.

“Don’t worry about it,” you waved him off with a grin.

Four years ago, you would have been way too nervous to play what you truly wanted to listen to, afraid Rafe wouldn’t think it was cool enough. But now, you pressed play on your go-to playlist with gusto and beamed when your absolute favorite song started booming through his subwoofers. 

Rafe tried to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn’t stop them from dancing back over to you as you sang along happily to your music. You rolled the window down, letting the humid Florida air raise your hair in a wave around you. You giggled and tried to tame it, eventually giving up and letting it whip around your face.

There was something so light about you. Something joyful and at peace. He placed both hands on the steering wheel, trying to ground himself, jealous of your carefree spirit. Whatever intangible thing you had managed to capture in your years apart, he wanted it. And it hit him like a lightning bolt, a bittersweet truth he had fought for so many years - he wanted you.

One song rolled into the next, and Rafe searched for something to say to keep up the almost-friendly banter you had begun in the store, but before he could come up with anything, Tom sat forward suddenly.

“Oh hey I love this song!” Tom informed you.

“Me too!” You turned to smile at him, and Rafe listened enviously as you and Tom chatted about the many favorite artists you have in common the rest of the way home.

The house was quiet when you returned, everyone either taking their daily hangover nap or down lounging by the beach. Rafe’s hands turned white from once again carrying as many plastic bags as he could. You tried not to laugh, and tried not to notice the way his biceps bulged under his tight t-shirt, but you failed at both.

“Are you laughing at me again?” He raised his eyebrows in amusement, placing the bags on the counter. “What is it this time?”

“Sorry, you’re just so helpful all of a sudden,” you pointed out with a smirk.

“Well bag boy over there wasn’t helping,” he nodded towards the patio, where Tom was taking a phone call.

“He said it’s a work call,” you defended him. “He just got a job in New York apparently, a Wall Street thing.

“Whatever,” Rafe mumbled. What he wanted to say was “since when are you two best friends?” but he had already been fairly gruff with you today and he was trying to refocus on his goal of getting you to like him again.

You and Rafe put the groceries away in silence for a while. You tried to find the right way to approach the question you were dying to ask, failing to convince yourself you didn't care about the answer.

“So,” you started nervously. “You didn’t graduate this year?”

Rafe’s shoulders tensed as he tried to make more room in the pantry.

“Nope,” he said shortly.

“Did you take some time off?”

He was torn between being glad that you were talking to him and mad that this was the topic you’d chosen to break the ice with.

“No, I-uh,” he cleared his throat. “I failed a couple classes my first year so I’m still a few credits behind.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, leaning down to put the ribs for the cookout in the large freezer.

“It’s my own fault,” he shrugged. “I was an idiot back then.”

When you stood from the freezer to grab another rack of ribs, you were surprised to see Rafe standing close, his body looming as he looked down at you.

“I was an idiot before then, too,” he continued, voice low and uncertain.

Everything in your mind went fuzzy as the blood rushed to your face. This was the first time you could smell him, and it familiarity of his scent made you feel like you were being transported back in time. You fought the urge to inhale deeply, greedy for the rush of him filling your senses.

“Before then?” You blinked up at him.

Rafe struggled to find his next words. It took everything in you not to fill in the blanks for him, like you were back in high school slipping him the answers to a test he hadn’t studied for. But this time, you needed him to find the answers all on his own. You swallowed hard, leaving silence for the words he was searching for. 

Before he could find them, Topper and Carter came barreling into the kitchen, mid-argument as always. They stopped short when they saw the scene in front of them. Rafe stepped away from you so quickly you could feel a woosh of wind in his wake. It was eerily reminiscent of your teenage years, Rafe separating himself from you as soon as there was anyone around to see you together.

“Everything okay?” Carter asked tensely, noticing the way your shoulders had fallen.

“Fine,” Rafe said, tossing the rest of the plastic bags in the trash and heading down the stairs to his basement bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Damn, you two did good,” Topper said, admiring the cornucopia of food you’d brought back.

“You three,” Carter corrected. “Tom went too.”

She walked up next to you and lowered her voice, a sly smile on her face, “and how did it go with Tom?”

You didn’t match her playful mood, completely preoccupied thinking about the moment you and Rafe had just shared. Was he about to apologize to you? What would you have let him do if your sister and psuedo-brother-in-law had entered the room just a minute later?

“It was fine,” you said distractedly, closing the fridge and heading upstairs to your room.

Carter turned on her heel and looked at Topper with a frown, shocked to find him beaming back at her.

“What are you smiling for?” She snarled.

“Oh nothing, seems like my plan is working is all,” he grinned. “They were standing awfully close when we walked in.”

“Your plan?” She stepped closer to him, arms crossed. “What are you up to Thornton?”

“Just playing a little Cupid,” he smiled proudly.

“Okay well you can go ahead and put down the bow and arrow, because I’ve already got that covered,” she informed him.

“Really?” He asked in surprise. “I thought you hated Rafe.”

“Rafe? Ew, no, I’m talking about Tom, obviously,” she snapped.

“Your sister and Tom? Nahhh, do you not see how she and Rafe have been looking at each other? It’s so obvious,” he scoffed.

“You know what else is obvious? That Rafe’s still a dick and he doesn’t deserve her,” Carter argued.

“He’s actually grown up a lot,” Topper said, surprising Carter with the serious shift in his tone. “He’s been through some stuff, college hasn’t been easy for him. He could use a win.”

Carter considered this, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the years of bitterness she held for Rafe.

“Well, he had his chance. He had millions of chances with her and he fumbled every one,” she said.

“I know he did, but under it all he’s a good person. And I think good people deserve second chances,” Topper explained.

“Not when they hurt my sister,” she concluded. “I won’t allow it.”

Topper's eyes creased with his smile as he looked down at her, loving her steely look and pursed lips as she put her hands on her hips. 

“You’re still so bossy,” he smiled, sliding closer to her until their chests were nearly touching. “I know we’re supposed to be fighting, but it’s kinda hot.”

He leaned forward to plant a little kiss on her lips, like he’d done a million times before. Carter leaned back, leaving his puckered lips hanging.

“Oh no,” she pushed him back, making him frown. “You don’t get to touch me until you join Team Tom.”

“Nuh-uh! Team Rafe for life baby,” he crossed his arms to match her stance, recovering quickly, more than used to being rejected by her.

She studied him suspiciously, wondering how quickly he’d crack if she actually withheld their inevitable beach trip hook-up. But he didn’t budge, he was as serious about this as she was.

“Fine,” she said. “The game is so on.”

(Chapter 3)

a/n: so tell me... are we Team Tom or Team Rafe?

please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[awhoreintheory]

Circus Boy

Directly inspired by @erinwantstowrite 's art!!! post

Request from awesome amazing cool Anon

Over the years, circuses have lost their spark.

Dick would know— he’d literally grown up in one. Back then, the circus was a symphony of effort and artistry. Weeks, sometimes months, were spent perfecting routines. Performances were designed to dazzle, to inspire awe, no matter the country or culture of the audience. The comedy sketches weren’t just filler— they were genuinely funny, capable of drawing laughter even from the most reluctant parent dragged along by an excited child. Every act had a rhythm, a purpose, and above all, passion. The performers took pride in their craft, and the audience responded in kind, feeding off the energy, cheering and clapping until their hands were raw and their throats sore. 

Now? Now they were dull. Predictable routines recycled ad nauseam. Costumes that looked like they were bought in bulk from a clearance rack. Tents and stages slapped together with the barest effort to resemble grandeur. The magic, the joy—the soul of it all—had been replaced with a singular, glaring goal: profit. No one cared if the audience laughed, gasped, or even paid attention, so long as they paid their entrance fees.

But recently, whispers of something different had started making waves in Gotham: a circus gaining a reputation for being... well, different.

Dick’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t planned to go, at first. But the memories of his youth, of what the circus used to mean, stirred within him. Before he knew it, he’d wrangled (read: blackmailed) together as much of the family as he could to go see it. Which, wasn’t a whole lot considering quite a few were out of state currently, but it was enough to make him smile.

“Why must I come along? I do not see the point,” Damian groused, arms folded tightly across his chest as the group approached the circus grounds. Despite his protests, he made no move to make a stealthy exit.

“You’re coming because it’ll be good for you,” Dick said, ruffling Damian’s hair just to annoy him. Damian promptly swatted his hand away, glaring daggers at his adoptive brother.

“You don’t even know if it’ll be good,” Tim chimed in, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “What if this thing is as boring as all the other ones you’ve complained about?”

“Then we’ll all get funnel cake and call it a night,” Stephanie said brightly, making it clear where her true excitement lay. “I’m in it for the food, anyway.”

Dick pouted. “You didn’t have to say the quiet part out loud!” 

“Don’t underestimate funnel cake,” Duke added with a smirk. “It might be the only thing saving this trip if the show’s a flop.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t waver. “You’re all so cynical. Just... trust me, okay? I have a feeling about this one.”

Sure, a lot of the decorations seemed cheap thus far, but Dick can’t blame them. They’re clearly low budget, with only two shows a week, versus the seven to ten a week Dick was used to. The difference was the genuine passion and excitement in the eyes of the performers. And they were just doing pre-show stunts on the street to rouse excitement! 

Tim hummed thoughtfully. “This place has been gaining rapid popularity,” he said, the subtle edge in his tone making it clear he was already analyzing every detail. Dick saw his fingers twitch as if to take a picture. 

Dick glanced over at him but didn’t comment. He recognized that tone— Tim was in detective mode, quietly piecing together threads no one else could see yet. He did, however, take the opportunity at his siblings' distraction to subtly herd them in the direction of the tents, eager to get a good front-row seat. Damian noticed, but he didn’t do much more than roll his eyes.

Steph, however, rolled her eyes dramatically. At Tim, not Dick. “Can you just enjoy one thing without looking for a criminal conspiracy, Tim?”

Tim matched her with a roll of his own eyes, the two slipping into a bickering match that’d put an old married couple to shame if they weren’t so aggressively gay. Meanwhile, Dick let his attention wander to the stage, studying the equipment with the practiced eye of someone who’d lived this life.

Suspended high above was the trapeze rig, its bars wrapped in worn leather, the steel cables taut and secured to thick iron frames. The safety net below, while a little faded, looked sturdy enough to do its job. Not brand-new, but serviceable.

To one side, a highwire stretched across a dizzying height, its slim cable shimmering faintly under the tent lights. The rigging showed some signs of age— slightly dulled bolts and scuffed counterweights—but nothing that made Dick worry. It would hold, even if the daredevil walking it would need nerves of steel.

A teeterboard sat center stage on the ground, its spring mechanism ready to launch performers into flips and vaults. Nearby, a stack of brightly painted crates and barrels hinted at comedic skits. Clowns would probably tumble over them with exaggerated flair, while a sturdy seesaw-like prop suggested slapstick gags involving plenty of unintentional (and intentional) falls.

The whole setup had a charming scrappiness to it. The equipment could use a little TLC, sure, but Dick had no doubt it would hold up under pressure. He could tell the performers had put their trust in it, and that meant something.

For a moment, Dick felt a flicker of nostalgia. The way the crew moved, the crisp efficiency with which they handled the gear— it reminded him of home, of the way his parents had always treated the stage with reverence, as though it were sacred ground.

“Do you see how high that wire is?” Duke muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension as he followed Dick’s gaze.

“I see it,” Dick replied softly, his heart tightening. He couldn’t help but wonder who had the guts to walk that cable, let alone pull off any stunts on it. He’d definitely have to stick around and chat them up, maybe have a little friendly competition. 

“Awe, man,” Duke sighed, visibly disappointed. “Guess we weren’t excited enough.”

Turns out “early” wasn’t early enough because the seating area was packed. The whole first three rows were aggressively claimed, forcing the group to settle for seats in the middle of the fourth row.

Steph and Duke promptly excused themselves to grab popcorn—or, more accurately, for Steph to scout for funnel cake. Dick had to respect the consistency.

Damian glanced at Dick, then at Tim with a withering look. “Drake, cease your ramblings. They sour my mood.”

Tim blinked, clearly taken aback. “Wait, just me? Steph was talking way more!”

Steph, who had been halfway out of earshot, whirled around with mock offense. “Excuse me? I wasn’t the one turning this into an episode of ‘True Crime: Circus Edition.’” 

“Yeah, because you’re too busy planning how to steal funnel cake from children,” Tim shot back, crossing his arms. Damian’s eyebrow twitched. Dick wondered why peace was but a mere illusion. 

“Oh, please,” Steph quipped. “You’d be the kid I steal it from, Drake.”

Before Tim could come up with a retort, and Damian became a convicted felon, the lights dimmed, cutting their bickering short. A hush fell over the crowd as the familiar low hum of a drumroll began to build.

The ringmaster strode into the center of the stage, clad in a dazzling coat of crimson and gold that shimmered under the spotlight. If you looked any closer than that, you’d see how tacky and cheap it was. His booming voice carried effortlessly across the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to a night of wonder, daring, and delight!” the ringmaster announced, his voice ringing through the tent as the steady drumroll built the tension. “Prepare yourselves for the extraordinary, the astonishing, the absolutely unbelievable! The show begins... now!”

The drumroll reached its peak, and with a dramatic flourish, the spotlight swept upward to reveal the first performer perched high above the stage. A man in a sparkling gold costume waved grandly to the crowd before swinging onto the trapeze. The audience clapped politely as he performed a few rudimentary tricks— basic flips and graceful swings that showcased control but lacked flair.

Two more performers joined him, each clad in similar glittering costumes. They moved with confidence, transitioning through formations and passing between trapezes, but the moves were predictable and lacked the edge Dick was hoping to see. Certainly, nothing that would make this rinky-dink circus as popular as it got so quickly. 

Tim leaned toward Dick, his tone flat. “You dragged us here for this?”

“Underwhelming,” Damian muttered, his expression neutral but his tone sharp.

Dick didn’t respond immediately, though he couldn’t disagree. The tricks were technically fine— safe, practiced, polished— but there was no spark, no passion. No magic. He resigned to going home disappointed and also to the inevitable flaming via siblings. 

But then, just as one of the performers finished an awkward landing on the platform, the ringmaster’s voice boomed again.

“And now, prepare yourselves for the prodigy of the skies, the one and only Amazing Arach-Kid!”

The spotlight shifted upward again, revealing a much smaller figure poised on a separate platform, high above the others. It was a boy— young and wiry, dressed in sleek crimson and black, his face obscured by a half-mask (not dissimilar to their domino masks, actually) that glimmered faintly in the light. For a moment, the crowd was silent, uncertain what to expect.

Without warning, the boy leaped.

The gasp from the audience was audible as the kid— Arach-Kid?— launched himself into a dramatic triple flip, his body twisting gracefully through the air before he caught the trapeze with flawless precision. The crowd erupted into applause, the energy in the tent shifting instantly.

He didn’t stop there. Swinging with a force that sent his trapeze soaring higher than any of the others had dared, he released at the peak of his arc and spun into a double somersault. Instead of catching the next trapeze, he landed neatly in the arms of one of the adult performers, who looked genuinely startled by the boy’s precision. He grinned, waving excitedly at the audience as they roared with applause. 

From there, the routine transformed. Arach-Kid became the centerpiece of the act, seamlessly incorporating daring flips, twists, and transitions between trapezes. He was passed between the adults with perfect timing, their previous mediocrity eclipsed by his sheer skill and energy.

“Whoa,” Duke murmured, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s... good.”

“Who is that kid?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Better than the rest of them combined,” Damian said bluntly, though his tone carried the faintest hint of approval.

The boy ended his routine with a jaw-dropping quadruple somersault, catching the final trapeze one-handed and hanging upside down with effortless control. Gasps and cheers erupted from the audience, their applause thunderous as he let himself swing for a moment, letting the crowd bask in his daring. Then, with a fluid motion, he swung back, releasing the trapeze bar for one final flourish.

Dick leaned forward, his breath catching as the kid’s body twisted into the unmistakable maneuver— the signature move of the Flying Graysons.

The crowd roared as he executed the technique perfectly, his form flawless, his timing impeccable. He landed with a clean dismount, arms raised triumphantly, and offered the crowd a playful bow before darting off to the wings. Even with the stage empty, shouts and applause echoed for a long time after the boy left. 

For a moment, Dick couldn’t move. His stomach churned as memories of his parents on that same trapeze flooded his mind. No one else knew that move. No one could. His parents had created it, and Dick had learned it from them. It was their legacy— his legacy.

So how, in the name of all that made sense, did this random kid just pull it off perfectly?

The lights shifted again, smoothly transitioning to the next act: a somewhat clumsy but undeniably entertaining tightrope routine. One performer started with a wobbling walk, arms flailing for comedic effect. Another joined, balancing precariously with a broomstick for support. The final performer added a unicycle to the mix, pedaling shakily across the thin wire as the audience laughed and clapped in delight.

It was… objectively funny.

But Dick barely noticed. His good mood had evaporated, replaced by a heavy knot of unease in his chest. At this point, they must have a hive mind with how they immediately filed out of the tent without a single word exchanged. 

“That was—” Tim started, breaking the tense silence.

“Dick,” Steph interrupted, her voice low, “did he just—?”

“That was your move,” Tim finished firmly, his eyes locked on Dick’s.

“It’s not possible,” Duke added, glancing at the now-empty trapeze rig. “Right? It’s your family’s thing. There’s no way some random kid from Gotham knows it.”

“I am more concerned with how he knows it,” Damian said, his voice cutting. His eyes darted to Dick. “This is your domain, Richard. You must have answers.”

Dick didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. In disbelief, he muttered, “I don’t.”

Steph frowned. “Okay, well... what do we do? Do we just ignore the fact that some kid pulled off your impossible secret family move?”

“No,” Dick said sharply, his voice colder than any of them expected. “We don’t ignore it. We find out who he is, how he learned it, and what the hell is going on.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Do you think someone’s trying to get your attention? Like, deliberately?”

Dick shook his head, though his face betrayed his uncertainty. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s... it’s possible, but...” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “I need answers. This isn’t something you just pick up on YouTube.”

The group left the small but packed circus, their earlier excitement replaced by a shared tension. The cool night air did little to clear their heads as they walked in a tight huddle, glancing over their shoulders as if the boy would materialize out of the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim snapped. “Moves like that— you don’t just do them. It takes years to learn without a teacher.” He glanced at Dick. “You’re sure no one outside your family knew it? Like, absolutely sure?”

“Positive,” Dick said firmly. “The only people who knew it are gone. Except me.” His voice dropped as he added, “Or at least, they’re supposed to be.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks, about both the situation and Dick’s reaction to it. It takes quite a bit to rattle him, so to see him, well, rattled was weird. Beyond weird. It was downright wrong. 

“Either way,” Duke said cautiously, “we’re going to figure this out. Right?”

“Oh, we will,” Dick said, his voice grim. “We don’t leave things like this unanswered.”

As they disappeared into the Gotham night, paranoia settled over them like a second skin. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t going to stay a mystery for long. 

[justaz]

Where’s that one person who said Arthur should’ve been a genuine Christian following the teachings of Jesus to spread love and acceptance and peace vs his father who embodies the mega churches and false Christians who spread hate and division bc omg Arthur thinking Merlin’s secret is that he’s gay so when Arthur becomes king that’s like one of the first laws he works on repealing so his friend doesn’t have to hide who he is anymore but Merlin just sorta stares at him like “…That’s your first decision as king?? Alright I guess. No complaints from me.” And then continues to hide some secret from Arthur who now is a little miffed that he was wrong (he wasn’t wrong but being gay was never really a secret of Merlin’s, he thought he was pretty open about that but sweet summer child Arthur thought he was just super observant). So Arthur just weeds through the restrictive and oppressive laws and repeals each of them one by one to see if Merlin ever acts any different until he’s down to the last one - the anti-magic laws. He’s a bit more hesitant on that one and sits on it for a bit before deciding to go through with it and then BOOM Merlin is just a fucking mess and Arthur is so distracted by the joy of finally figuring it out that he forgets to be mad.

[karkatbug]

🦀⛽️🕶️

They've rented a cottage for the long weekend. It's a bunch of them, they're college kids so they lie about the number of guests, of course, but it is the only way they can afford the place. There was plenty of room if people didn't mind sharing beds. Dave wasn't that close with most of the trolls joining them, but he's chill about it. He'd stick with his friends and give whoever looked in his direction an aloof nod of acknowledgment or whatever the fuck. The occasional awkward interaction was to be expected.

What he doesn't expect is one of the few trolls he did know well to pester the group chat and ask for help. The dumbass apparently slept in. He was also supposed to drive Terezi and Sollux, both of which found last-minute rides when he didn't answer them in the morning. He was on his way on his lonesome, which, fine. Glad Shouty McGee was going to make it to lunch with zero complaints, surely, but whatever. What catches Dave off guard is the fact that he's on his phone. Karkat was pretty fucking anal about texting while driving.

Apparently, he's stuck in the middle of the highway. Out of gas? Seriously? How unprepared could a guy be for a trip he had personally put so much effort into planning! That was like forgetting to attend your own birthday party. We're all here with our silly hats, Karkat. Get it together, man.

Dave is voluntold by his friends to buy some gas at the stop they're currently stretching their legs at and make the arduous trip to wherever the hell Karkat was stranded. That's what being physically fit got you, apparently. He eyes the Buc-ee's begrudgingly, wondering how much brisket it would take to forfeit him from his role.

No amount of gas station beef would ever be worth the sacrifice of his bowels, he concludes.

It takes him a bit of illegal jogging along the side of the highway, a few cases of being honked at and resisting the urge to flip them off, and a lot of time (an hour and twenty-four minutes to be precise), for him to make it to Karkat sitting on the roof of his car dejectedly.

He is uncharacteristically silent when he and Dave fill his tank. He thanks him and they're off to the rest stop they planned to meet at.

"What's up? You definitely crapped the bed at about every turn you made today, but you usually don't let that shit stop you from verbally assaulting my hear ducts."

"Just say ears," Karkat mumbles. His bags are darker than usual. Hair messier, frown deeper, brows furrowed and grip on the steering wheel turning his gray skin translucent. Dave eyes the veins on the back of his hands curiously.

"Are you okay, dude?"

Karkat quickly glances at Dave then back to the road, eyes momentarily widened by, what, surprise? "Like you give a shit, Dave. Let's just try to remain civil until the fucking cottage and then we can fuck off to our sides of the forest like some bad re-enactment of... of—"

"Oh fuck you can't even come up with an indiscernibly pathetic excuse of an analogy. I'll find us the nearest hospital."

"Fuck off, Strider! I'm just tired."

"Yeah, no shit. You like, never sleep in. You never sleep period."

Karkat hums. The sound has Dave putting down his phone and observing the other carefully. This is probably the first time he's sat alone with the other. This is definitely the first time he's given him his undivided attention. Something aches in him when he looks at Karkat.

They make it to the rest stop and find out that their friends had met up and left together to accept the key from the Airbnb owner at their previously agreed time. It's not ideal for Dave. Part of the trip he most looked forward to was being on the road with his friends, not fucking Karkat Vantas, but he was out of options and he wasn't about to be a wet blanket about it. They get some human slash troll fuel in the form of sandwiches and coffee, and head back to the car to fill the tank. Dave leans against the side of the trunk while eating his breakfast and simultaneously talking Karkat's ear off about the things he learned that morning, sensing that the other needed a distraction.

Jade's TA broke his tailbone and canceled lab on the day of the exam review, and may or may not have given his students the test bank as an apology, which Karkat is going to appreciate during the next semester when he takes the course. Karkat definitely perks up at that, which is good. A first sign of life behind those defeated eyes!

Dave also tells him Rose keeps talking about Kanaya's thesis which Karkat grumbles Jesus, same here, with the suffering being in reverse. He gets some grade-A Karkat complaints out of that one, which is fan-fucking-tasking. We're almost back to normal.

Finally, Dave drops a bomb. Turns out John dropped out of school? Like, a month ago?

"What?!"

"Yeah, fucking join the club, dude. We're still trying to figure out what the fuck happened there."

"Why? He wasn't failing out or anything! He always had his shit together too. He was doing better off than most of us fuckheads."

"You're preaching to the choir, man. I'm thinking we give him some pure vodka and speedrun getting an answer out of him this weekend."

"I'll hold him down while you funnel it in his mouth," Karkat answers seriously. They snort in unison. It's not that serious. It's sad, yeah. There's that silent understanding that John wasn't okay at all, but Christ what can you do in these kinds of situations but cope with a little humor? Karkat returns the pump and takes the sandwich Dave offers him without a word. They move the car to the parking lot and eat in silence for a moment. It's surprisingly nice. The sky is blue, the morning chill is still there since Karkat has his windows down, and they can hear excited chatter among chirping birds in the background. It was still the road trip experience Dave sought. It was nice. Even if it was with Karkat. Dave looks over to him, and can't get that aching feeling out of his heart.

"How are you doing with school?" he asks.

Karkat glares down at his sandwich. Dave thinks he's not going to get a response, but the fight seems to leave Karkat with the exasperate sigh he lets out. "I'm okay. I'm not about to drop out or anything. Just tired."

"Yeah, I feel you."

"It's a lot to fucking juggle."

Dave nods. They eat the last of their sandwiches and sip their coffees. The smell of diesel fills the air, but it's easy to ignore now that they've sat in it for so long.

"I just wish I was doing it better."

"It?"

"Everything! Academically, socially, fuck, romantically. I thought I'd be doing it all so differently."

"Your romcoms have poisoned your brain, Karkat. Elle Woods isn't real, dude. She can't hurt you."

"She'd never hurt me."

"You'll never be her, either."

"Fuck you! Now I want to watch Legally Blonde but I have to sit with you for another hour and stare at nothing but concrete and play is it garbage or roadkill?"

"Okay, first of all, it's always roadkill."

"Eugh."

"Secondly, I can reenact the movie from memory on our way to the lakehouse if you want. I'll even do different voices."

"That sounds awful," Karkat says with a smile. Dave catches himself grinning too. The ache has settled when they take one last bathroom break and stretch their legs. Dave sees Karkat's exhaustion for what it is, a tired nineteen-year-old who needs to catch a break, and insists on driving them the rest of the way. Karkat, for as good as he thinks he is at debating with others to get his way, stands no chance to Dave snatching his keys out of his hand and holding them out of reach above his head. Take that, you petite little idiot. You absolute fucking fool.

Dave takes his rightful seat behind the wheel and waits for Karkat to begrudgingly join him.

"Before we go, I have two rules," Dave mentions casually when the other puts on his seatbelt.

"Tell them both to go fuck themse—"

"Rule number one. You gotta try to catch some Z's man. It's fucking freaky when you're all quiet and despondent. Nobody's gonna sit with Mr. Doom and Gloom at the bonfire."

Karkat doesn't have a rebuttal, which only proves Dave's point. "Jesus, at least pretend to be offended that I dare have the audacity to claim that you aren't going to be the life of the party."

"I'm fucking not, why would I pretend I am? I'll be lucky if my friends remember that I'm there."

Oh. The ache is back. Karkat's wobbling voice certainly doesn't help. Dave places a hand on Karkat's shoulder and squeezes, hoping to get his attention. He's stubbornly turned away from Dave, looking out the window.

"They don't actually care if I'm there. I slept in and no one thought to come to check on me. Or to drag me out of my respiteblock! They all readjusted so fast. I think they were hoping I'd turn back. I probably should have—"

"Hey. They love you. I don't know where this shit is coming from but all your friends ever do is talk about you. Like. Fondly. Fuck, even my friends got the Vantas infection. I can't go two minutes without someone bringing up how something I said reminded them of you."

More silence. Well, and a sniffle.

"Damnit, Karkat." Dave reaches over and cups the other's cheeks, forcing him to turn and meet his gaze. "Your sleep-deprived pan is playing some cruel tricks on you. Trust me, I'm the king of having Mean Brain Syndrome and silent breakdowns."

"Really?" He sounds so small. He looks small. Wide, watery eyes, flushed cheeks and messy locks of jet-black hair accentuating his youthful features. "I can't imagine you of all people..." he trails off, piercing gaze seemingly looking through Dave's shades and straight into his soul.

Dave releases Karkat's cheeks a little too fast, but the other doesn't notice as he sniffles and wipes his nose with his sleeve.

"Yeah, dude. Of course. It's not all smooth raps and sick beats up in here." Karkat scoffs. Dave gently punches his arm. "I'm just saying, man. None of us got our shit together. We all have stuff going on and sometimes we get so tunnel-visioned we don't see the people around us."

Karkat sniffles again.

"Terezi went with Vriska."

"Ugh. That explains it."

"And Sollux somehow decided the fun van with Fef, Aradia and Eridan was the play."

Karkat laughs. It seems that understanding dawns on him as he nods at Dave. He punches him in the arm as well, none too gently mind you, the prick, but he's smiling again, which is good. Fucking day saved by the Dave-meister, master of unflipping shit and returning life to the way it was supposed to be: with an angry little troll and his volume control issues.

"So yeah, time to abide by rule number one."

"Fine, but—" Karkat pulls Dave into a hug that neither expect judging by how stiff Karkat is at first, which is hilariously ironic. Karkat was a hugger. Dave, not so much. Karkat hugging Dave was fucking absurd, but hey. Maybe they could blame this weird turn of events on the gasoline fumes they've been inhaling for the past half hour.

Dave melts into the embrace. He gets why everyone tackles Karkat for these. He's warm and sorta just... slots perfectly into your arms.

"Thanks, Dave," he says quietly enough that Dave almost misses it. "Seriously."

"No probs, dude. I know we aren't that close but fuck me if we can't trauma bond through the bullshit that is undergrad."

Karkat huffs a small laugh. Dave pats his back. They're about to pull away when Karkat quickly adds, "You're really nice."

"Yeah, the nicest. So about that going to sleep so that I don't have to hear you talk rule, hm?"

"No," Karkat says, jostling Dave for emphasis. He then squeezes him tightly. "You can't dry-humor your way out of this sincere one-to-one with me, Strider. You're kind-hearted and I need to make sure you know that."

Now that's funny. Dave is a lot of things. He's lucky most do think of him as cool. His closest friends call him a dork, but hey, that's fine too. But kind-hearted? His Bro would have laughed in his face if he heard that. He'd then proceed to beat the shit out of him for making him hear something so fucking atrocious. Dave pulls away from the hug with a crooked grin. He has nothing to say to something so absurd. Instead, he turns his attention to twisting the key in the ignition and pressing his foot down on the brake as he puts the car in reverse.

Kind-hearted.

Yeah, okay dude. Sure. Fuck. His chest tightens. He hopes the other doesn't notice the little spiral he's having. He focuses on his breathing, and on his exhale; he's good. All he needed was to breathe out and he was back to normal. Easy peasy.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah, fuck. I'm going to try to sleep. Wake me up when we get there. Or if I talk in my sleep."

"No way dude, that sounds like some prime fucking entertainment."

Dave checks behind him to make sure no one is walking by. He slowly releases the brake just as Karkat asks "What was the second rule?"

"Oh yeah. We need some tunes," Dave says as he presses what he thinks is the radio button. Music plays, but turns out it's from whatever playlist Karkat had been listening to on his way here.

Dave slams on the brake.

"Dave, what the fuck! O—oh. Um."

It's from Dave's mixtape. He has a collection of his music that he sometimes drops in the big group chat. He never expects anyone to listen to it more than once, let alone at all. Some of their mutual friends were so polite with their responses. "It's so good, Dave!" was always appreciated. He knows how hard it was to get someone to listen to a song recommendation, let alone a song you put out, period, so he takes those kind comments with the utmost grace.

But knowing someone liked his music enough to listen to it again, on repeat, on a long drive out of town. To have his music chosen as the dedicated theme song to a long road trip, something people tend to argue over, debating over which songs should be played, something that he personally takes pretty fucking seriously, breaks something in him. The ache he thought he felt for Karkat comes back tenfold. He realizes it's a pain he's only ever harbored for himself, but kept deep within the pits of his chest, that comes bursting out of him.

"What the fuck?" Dave laughs. His voice cracks as he says it. His eyes sting, for some reason. Why was this like a punch in the gut to him? He should be flattered, and he is, but this turn of events is so unexpected he can only feel emotional.

"What? It's good! Fucking sue me for unironically liking something my friend made."

Dave laughs again. Fuck! He wipes his tears with his sleeve, bumping his shades out of the way as he does. Friend? He's only ever been flippant to Karkat's entire existence! He's only ever complained about his raucous laughter and teased him about his sleep-deprived fits. He's only ever poked fun at his abhorrent tastes in movies and dismissed his multiple attempts at pulling some form of sincerity out of Dave. Kind-hearted? Dave was the opposite. Those words should be used to describe Karkat, if anything.

"Uh oh. I broke you too. Great! I knew I was cursed."

Dave laughs again, teetering on the edge of hysteria as his song's beat changes, transitioning to an uptick of those snares he loves so much.

"Fuck. No, I'm good. I'm fine," Dave says as he wipes the last of his tears. "You have awful taste, dude. In movies and music and friends."

"Fuck you. Everything you just listed is something I can confidently say I have superior taste in. Your primitive human puzzle sponge couldn't absorb a fine understanding of the arts and friendship the way I do even if you lobotomized yourself trying!"

"Lobotomizing myself sounds like the exact thing I'd need to do to get to your level."

They banter some more. It seems Karkat is choosing to help Dave get over his brief emotional meltdown by acting like he never noticed it to begin with. Their teasing arguments eventually transition to pleasant conversation, then nothing at all. Karkat falls asleep, head resting against the window, his hood tucked between his ear and the hard surface acting as a cushion. Dave can admit, in the deepest recesses of his mind, that Karkat looks cute like this.

He also thinks he's safe from those thoughts and whatever the fuck is going on in his stomach (sword-fighting moths, he concludes) when they make it to the cottage. He parks the car next to John's and looks out at the lake. A few of their friends were on the deck, already unpacked and settled in. Dave turns to Karkat's sleeping figure and gently shakes his shoulder. The other only groans in response, which, fuck. Okay. He's cute is a thought that apparently refuses to go back into those mind recesses they came from. They've had enough of running around on the field and going down the stainless steel slides that burn your skin in the unbearable Texas heat. Those intrusive Karkat is cute thoughts want to stay at the forefront of his brain, ever the studious student working toward a 4.0 GPA.

Dave looks at Karkat, and again at their friends, who haven't noticed their arrival.

"Hey," he says quietly. He shakes him again, but Karkat is stubbornly refusing to open his eyes. Fine by him. Dave unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over. "Hey, Karkat," he repeats. No response. Dave squeezes his shoulder and experiences the most pathetic attempt at someone wriggling away from his grasp ever. A fucking toddler could fight him off better.

Karkat frowns as he's gently jostled from his slumber. His pouting lips are a little dry from the air conditioning, but his cheeks are plump and rosy from his hour-long slumber. Dave finds he can't stop himself from trying to find out what it feels like. He uses the back of his index finger to caress the skin and confirms with some degree of glee that it's exactly what he thought it'd be. Smooth and warm and inviting. Without a second thought, he leans over and presses his lips to Karkat's cheek.

Eyes fly open. Long lashes flutter and incoherent sounds of confusion escape dry lips, but Dave isn't processing any of it. He couldn't if he tried. His heart is hammering so loudly in his chest that it feels like his brain produced white noise just to protect his eardrums from it. He's out of the car in an instant, telling Karkat that they made it and he'd see him around before shutting the door behind him and rushing inside to meet with his friends.

Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck.

"Hey! You made it in one piece!" John laughs.

Dave jumps and whips around to the voice.

"Yeah, more or less," Dave nods, trying his damnest to seem nonchalant. His friends are in the kitchen, distracted with lunch preparations. He hovers for a bit, catching them up to speed on the ride: totally boring and uneventful, by the way, (I didn't just kiss Karkat and run away), and tries to offer his assistance wherever possible. He's only met with polite rejection and a mean smack to the back of his hand for trying to snack on some of the appetizers. Eventually, he is dismissed to collect his belongings from the living room since the couches are claimed by two. He's instructed to put his overnight bag in the one bedroom they have left, a single Twin XL bed.

"Hey, sorry I tried to save you a spot with us but everyone sort of first come first served the place," John says with an apologetic shrug. "You and Karkat are gonna have to share."

Fuck.

[redstonedust]

if we're pitching our own minecraft movie ideas heres mine:

keep it an isekai, make it animated, the main characters are siblings of different age groups (youngest hasnt played the game because her brother tells her videogames are for boys, middle kid is a bratty 13 year old obsessed with roblox and minecraft and fortnite, oldest kid is teen/college age and thinks minecraft is a lame game for babies)

start with all the obvious minecraft stuff, reacting to floating trees, trying to go in a cave and getting scared off by a creeper, etc. they find their way out onto an online server, play minigames and meet mcyt cameos and players with specific niches. throw in a 2b2t reference, make a mob vote joke, whatever. at some point it turns out that the oldest kid actually does have a history with minecraft and just didnt want to admit it because she grew out of it and theres a bonding moment.

they run into another player who yes fine can be voiced by jack black and hes like. a dude who was also isekai'd into minecraft years ago but lost his way out. he thinks if the kids beat the ender dragon they'll be allowed back into the real world so they assemble a team and convince them they wanna beat the game because their little sister has never done it before.

yada yada the rest of the movie is just the normal progression of beating minecraft. eventually its whittled down to just the kids and jack blacks character. he sacrifices himself to give the kids a chance, they land the final hit, they wake up in the real world. epilogue is the older two kids introducing their little sister to gaming.

idk i just think you could make a movie thats 80% references to minecraft community jokes and 20% a story about a videogame bridging generations and it'd be fun. its a simple formula.

[thevoidstaredback]

Danny couldn't tell you what he expected, but it most definitely wasn't this.

Time and Space were weird in the Infinite Realms, both bending to the will of their masters and no one all at once. They didn't follow a line or a path. Time and Space did as they wanted. Fitting, considering who their masters are.

The first time Danny was ten years old, his Grandfather killed him. He remembers that, in an effort to save him, his mother submerged his body in the Lazarus Pits he and his brother had been warned about ever going near.

As it was explained to him, the Infinite Realms has a base level of sentience at the very least. She allows herself to peak into the worlds She cradles to keep an eye on them. She found Danny when his mother had lowered him into the water and She claimed him as Her own. She bent Time to Her will, making Danny a toddler again, before bending Space to drop him in the world that would most allow him to grow. She promised that She would come back for him when the time was right.

The first time Danny was fourteen, after the second time he had been ten, he died. The parents he had learned to accept as his own tried to open an unnatural gateway into the Infinite Realms. He was the one to turn it on. The electricity of the mortal world killed him, but the energy from the Infinite Realms revived him.

He remembers the whispers barely heard under his own screams. Whispers and imprints of "I'm sorry" and "I do not mean to hurt you" and "You will only grow stronger" and "Welcome back, my champion".

Danny can count on one hand the number of times he's felt safe between the first time he was six and the first time his was fourteen. He can tell you the names of exactly two places he has never felt the need to hide from.

The day Danny turned fifteen for the first time, he told his parents what happened to him. He knew, instinctually, that they would not understand, that they are researchers before they are parents. But he held onto the hope that had been trained out of him when he was first four years old. He had hoped that they would go against all odds and accept and help him.

He shut down the portal the very next day. He destroyed it and all of his parents' lives work. He would not stand by and let them hurt his people when he could not be there to interfere. He escaped back into the embrace of the Infinite Realms through Vlad's portal, giving him the Order to destroy it. The only way for the citizens of the Realms to enter the mortal worlds was to use natural portals, as unstable and unpredictable as they are. He would not risk them again.

He finds himself wandering listlessly, letting the Realms take him where She wants him to go. Sometimes She takes him to places that are completely empty, places where he can mourn what he lost without anyone finding him. Sometimes She takes him to his mentors and friends. Sometimes She takes him where he needs to be.

Danny finds the boy just as the natural portal closes behind him, the sickly green and black oozing like a festering wound.

The boy looks similar to Danny. His hair is spiked, his clothing dulled shades of a hero's costume under a black cloak, a mask covering his eyes, his body being more filled out to match his age. But Danny, on every level of understanding that he is and ever will be capable of, knows that this is his brother.

"Damian?" he whispers. The Realms push him forward. "Damian!"

Danny cradles the body of his brother, slowly sinking to the ground the Realms produce for him to land on. He carefully peels the mask from his face and lays it beside the katana on the ground.

As expected of anyone who finds their way into the Infinite Realms without proper protections, Damian has no pulse. He is not breathing. He is cold. The wound under his sternum is not bleeding.

Danny brushed his thumbs under Damian's eyes, his hands on his cheeks. "What did they do to you, ahki?"

Despite having no mortal ability to do so, Damian's eyes opened. He started ahead, blinking when his green eyes met Danny's. "Danyal?"

Tears fell from his eyes as he nodded. "Hi, Damian. You're here early."

Tears fell from Damian's eyes as well. He knew where he was. There was only one explanation. He couldn't feel himself breathing, nor could he hear his heart beat or his blood flow. There was no pain from where his mother had run him through.

"She killed me!" Damian cried into his brother's shoulder.

Danny held him tighter. "I'm so sorry," No one should ever have to go like that.

"Father couldn't save me."

"It's okay."

"Dick and Tim and Jason and Cass-!"

"Shh, ahki. You will see them again. I'll make sure of it."

The brothers held each other as they cried. The Realms wrapped Herself around the boys, comforting them as she could. Her champion and his brother, both children She had claimed and would protect.

Part 1 Storyboard

@anarinette

[zephyrchama]

Raphael is a modest guy. Especially in comparison to the seven brothers, who will seize any opportunity to flaunt their charm points off to their human.

He prefers to settle things with magical spears instead of fists, so once you get used to hanging around him, it gets easy to overlook the way his daily wear highlights his biceps. His outfit hardly changes. What first was an impressive sight becomes mundane, just another part of who Raphael is.

Except when he's getting ready to embroider. The start of each new sewing project is a rare and unpredictable gun show.

The silent, unassuming angel takes his fabric and lines it up neatly in his embroidery hoop. He takes his time aligning both circular pieces of wood, then starts to tighten the screw at the top. He wants the thread tension to be even and for the fabric to not slip while working, so he has to really ensure everything is as tight as possible.

Raphael's muscles go on full display for a hot minute whenever he's tightening that embroidery hoop screw. His face is stoic, full of the same serious concentration he pays all of his actions.He flexes his arms and the black fabric covering them starts bulging. He may let out a quiet grunt. He pulls the fabric so taut, you could beat on it like a drum and it would stay perfectly in place.

Sometimes part of the hoop slips or gets misaligned during the process, and he has to start all over. You don't mind. You're too busy admiring the way his abdominal muscles ripple each time he twists the screw. He really puts his core into it.

[quarterlifekitty]

Soap with a girlfriend who gets a lot of nosebleeds. And not just like the single trickle, like the heavy ones. Like the kind that make you want rare steak.

He’s never really thought of blood in an erotic context, to tell you the truth. He sees it at work all the time, and usually the circumstances are pretty gnarly and high-stress to say the least.

So color him surprised when you jerk forward, cupping your hand to your mouth and nose, blood dripping through the lines of your palm and between your fingers— onto the floor…. And he starts chubbing up a little, to be honest.

He plays the doting boyfriend role, running to get you a pile of tissues rapidly pulled from the box, helping you blot at your face and pinch your nose so it slowly down. He keeps looking to see if it’s stopped. It’s not because the way the blood pools in your philtrum and spreads into the seam of your lips.

He can’t fucking help himself. He gently pulls his hand from your face, unobstructing the flow. You barely have time to look at him in confusion before he’s smashing his face into yours, licking into your mouth to taste the blood. It smears red and warm between your faces— his nose, cheeks, jaw— all blushed up with your ichor. It goes down his chin, a little bit even drips onto his own shirt. Your heady, sweet, personal vintage.

His fingertips are rusted with what soaked through the tissue, and he uses them to paw at you the same as he would if he’d just seen you get out from the shower. He sucks at your Cupid’s bow, swallowing down as much of your azoth as he can stomach, grinding his hips against yours, drinking from the spring of eternal life until it runs dry.

When Johnny parts from you, he looks like a fucking hyena. Face stained with carrion, a manic grin on his face, a mixture of blood and your combined spit shining on his mouth. Your faces look like twin Rorschach tests.

If you keep a humidifier in your room, he’s unplugging the fucking thing while you’re asleep. He thinks your next vacation should be to Arizona. He wants you naked next time so he can wrestle you like you’re a fresh kill he’s trying to get inside of.