#BC YOU WANT ME AND YOU JUST DON'T KNOW IT YET

[dilf-docs]

All Roads Lead To Rome

pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (BARK BARK BARK), smut, p. in v., bit of exhibition kink cause they fuck on his trailer, he swears he's mad but he just wants head, oral (m. receiving), he also uses his armor and skirt while at it bc its hot and not bc i totally want that to happen to me or smth!!!, brat taming, orgasm denial, breeding and daddy kink lowkey, i'm so down bad for him so there's fluff!!! + pedro being whipped cause that's exactly what i want in my men, the cast makes cameos bc i love them!!! use of spanish (i'm latina so don't even try me), pedro wearing a skirt tehee

word count: 3,519 words

side note: i'm about as FERAL and horny as much as one could be!!! damn u pedro, making me walk out in the middle of class and walk on foot to the nearest theather for an early gladiator II screening (bc they're cheaper and i'm a jobless broke student lmao) that mind u it's my first solo trip to the movies but it's okay!!!! nobody interrupt me on my horny dilf hours amirite I TELL U that cinema was almost empty: just me, pedro and hey there's a spot if u wanna join mescal (look at my blog banner IYKYK) so yeah!!!! enjoy this porn lovechild that steemed from it; my pedro renaissance that'd been asleep since tlou dropped AWAKES (u don't get it, i literally watched narcos just for him) i'm so fr i need this man BIBLICALLY!!

"Lemme guess, that's her, right?"

Pedro looks up from his phone, slightly red and embarrassed. He would blame the color on the sun, and as an actor, fake his way out.

"No idea what you're talking about, Paul"

The young man chuckles.

"I mean, every break we get, you take your chair, sit the farthest and pull your phone with the most ridiculous grin I've ever seen. I'm afraid to tell you, friend, you aren't as slick as you think"

He leans back against the chair, covering his face with his large palm.

"At least I tried" he finds no point in lying anymore, "seems like I'm addicted, but if it wasn't for y/n, I wouldn't touch it"

"I'm curious, though" Paul scoots his chair closer, "who texts who? You or her?"

"Me" he answers, but then corrects himself quickly, a bit ashamed of how that makes him sound, "but it's mostly her first".

"Right" he doesn't sound convinced, rather curious and annoyed, something he's too old and tired for, "I don't believe you"

He's about to lock his phone, but the wallpaper (a selfie with you) would probably earn him another mock from Mescal.

"Too bad I don't need you to"

Before he can do so, the irish man yanks his phone away.

"Give it back!" he shouts, earning a few glances from the crew around them, "what are you, ten?"

"No, twenty-eight" they look like kids bickering. "No need to fight me, Mr. Pascal, they haven't taught us the new fighting choreography yet" he mocks, before the phone chimes; they both stop at the sound.

"What does this mean?" Paul asks. "Malta's nice" he reads out loud, "were you talking about possible future vacations? I might have to tag along"

He doesn't follow the man's joke, instead, looking at the message on your chat. Malta's nice, says the little cryptic message, and yes―it is cryptic, because you were just talking about missing each other and some other corny stuff he'd take to his grave. Not vacations, and certainly, not about the european island, which happens to also be the place were he's filming his latest movie.

"No, we weren't" he replies confused, "what do you think it means?"

"Well, obviously, you boys don't know anything" May pops up from behind, laughing.

"Were you eavesdropping?" he asks playfully, albeit, a little offended.

"No, you guys are just too loud" she replies nonchalant. "Besides, you aren't very good at hiding it, either"

"That's what I said!" Paul backs, laughing on his face.

"Stop being misterious and just drop it"

"It means" she pauses―laughing at her own little dramatic effect, "that you're getting a visit soon"

When you met Pedro, you were working in The Last Of Us. Nothing fancy, just part of the technical cast of the show: helping with the filming and stuff.

During those months, it was easy to find yourself falling for the main star (alongside Bella Ramsey), especially when you spent months behind a camera, capturing all of his perfect features; learning them by memory until you could draw them without seeing his face.

Yes, you had fallen for the older man, because it was as natural as breathing; easy as being alive―the fall so gentle and so easy, it was hard to know when the feelings started. You just woke up one day, feeling different.

You liked to act up―always had what you wanted, and times had changed (so it's not like he had to ask first): why not? Which is why during your last day of shooting you took some liquid courage on your veins and went up his way. It was at a little gathering the crew you've grown to call family organized, while wearing your favorite and tightest dress, that you approached him.

It surprised you that he even recognized you, but that's who he was: warm, welcoming and caring.

To augment the surprise, turns out he had eyed you already, but was too shy to do anything. Yes, the worlds most famous Chilean man. It did stroke your ego, and maybe that's why you feel like most of the time, you've got the upper hand on your relationship, despite the years in between.

You know your boyfriend isn't exactly the type to scold or get mad―despite his strong figure, but going against the only thing he asked you might test him. Which is why you feel nervous, despite the happiness around you, everyone in the airport looking straight out of a picture perfect summer edition magazine.

Still, you feel like the last message you just sent was a bit too blunt. Now you sit at the tiny airport, pondering your next move.

And your theory is proven exactly right when you arrive impromptu at the Gladiator II set: making heads turn and guards almost kick you out, thinking you're a fan.

"You don't get it!" you protest, "he's my boyfriend".

"Sure", they laugh on your face. "you're not the first to say that".

"She's not lying" oh, how you love that gravely voice. But not today: not when he sounds like a parent scolding a naive child. Not when his eyes bore into you, slightly irritated.

So now he's dragging you among the set, right to were his trailer is.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" you ask, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. He keeps dragging you by the arm, without sparing a glance in your way. Who does he think he is? "I wanted to tell Paul he made me cry―twice. You know I don't play about Normal People and Aftersun"

"But you do seem to play about my orders" he grunts out, opening the door to his trailer. The sunlight reflects against the white, slightly bothering your eyes with its shine, contrary to your boyfriend's gloomy behaviour.

"Are you being serious right now? You're not my dad to scold me. I just wanted to surprise you" you stand still, refusing to get inside. Pedro knows your character tends to be stubborn, and thought he finds it hot to reel you up sometimes, there are other times where he can't just stand that juvenile spirit of rage you tend to have when things don't go the way you want them to. "What's gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same" he mocks. "Get inside. Now"

"Rude" you scoff, but obey regardless, and he breathes out relieved you didn't do a scene like last time; he still can't show his face on that restaurant to this day.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me" you say a tad bit dissapointed, and Pascal feels the pissed off feelings clouding his brain start to dissipate.

"I do, amor" he sighs, "just hate to see you do things I tell you not to; waltzing in here like you own the place".

You don't see the mistake, though. What's wrong with wanting to do a little surprise? It's not like you were a stalker or something; just a very clingy girlfriend who happens to miss her boyfriend.

"So, you're not mad?" you venture, "tell me you're not embarrassed"

He looks at you, the fondness of his gaze betraying him.

"I'm not the one wearing a skirt while trying to sound intimidating" you joke while caressing the crook of his nose, knowing you always get on his good side. Being mad isn't something that lasts, "if anyone should be embarrassed, that's you"

"Are you saying I shouldn't wear one because I'm a man?" your boyfriend looks offended, "Have you forgotten the movie I'm starring in? People feared the skirt-wearing Roman army"

"Well, I'm not intimidated" you stand defiant, and something dark tints his brown eyes. You can feel the excitement begin pooling in your stomach.

"You're not?" he grips your wrists and yanks you to him, then holds your chin, tilting your head between his calloused fingers. "Well, cariño, you should be"

Your body slams against one of the trailers walls, and you have to suppress a whine.

"You must be punished for what you did today"

You give him a doe-eye look, pretending to be all innocent, as if you weren't enjoying the punishment.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a good girl"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about" he clicks his tongue, "don't play dumb with me"

"I just came to visit you" you murmur, voice husky against his ear. He grunts, and with the proximity, his hard-on rasps against your bare legs, only partly covered by the flowy summer dress you're wearing, "is that so bad?"

"It is. Has sido mala, cariño" his hand travels down under your dress, carresing with his large palm the silhoutte of your ass. The rings on his fingers create a shock, cold metal against your warm sun-bathed skin. "Naughty girl"

"I promise I'll be good, papi" you purr, using that honeyed voice of yours that makes it hard: hard to say no and hard between his pants.

Pedro sits on a small couch he has inside the trailer, guiding you with his hand enveloped around yours, motioning you to follow with a care so soft, you'd doubt he's about to do to you what he is about to do to you. He pulls you across his lap, smiling (God, you love his smile) as your stomach presses against his tights.

"Don't worry" he breathes low, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make you a good girl. Tell me, aren't you?"

You swallow, "I am"

He moves the panties easily to the side, rubbing your pussy a little. He then spanks it softly, making you mewl at the sting.

Pedro continues to trace over it, "Are you sure about that?"

"N-no" you shiver in delight, resolve dissolving as quick as it came. "I'm naughty"

"It's good to be aware" he murmurs, "Dilo otra vez"

"I'm a naughty girl"

He lifts your head by your hair. "Tell me what you did"

"Disobeyed your orders, coming to the set" you whisper. He lets go of your hair, his hands traveling down again, slowly teasingly rubbing your pussy while he humms.

"You were a little brat, amor"

You whimpered and mewled in delight. "I was a very naughty brat"

He pushed his fingers inside you, plunging his fingers into your pussy.

"Look at you. You're soaking wet" he pumped his fingers in you, making you moan, "Is that why you came to see me? Couldn't wait any longer for daddy to be inside of you?"

You bucked a little, making him stop. He drags his fingers out, causing you to beg for him to go back.

"Answer my question you greedy thing" He leaned closer to your ear. "Did you need my cock this much?"

You whimper, "I do! Missed you so much"

He pushed his fingers back into you, provoking a moan out of you.

"You're always so needy for me" your core tenses, making you shiver. "How badly do you want me? Tell me"

You whimpered "Badly, papi"

"Say it" his face contorts in satisfaction at your pathethic display; crying little mess, "Who's cock, fingers and mouth make you feel good?"

You can't think at this point, your brain fuzzy and pussy hot, leaking. You kiss his lips, moaning against them, "you!"

"Just me, yes? Nobody else can make you feel this good?"

"No one!"

You involuntarily roll your hips to aid you in pleasure, yet Pedro stops you just before you can reach your orgasm.

"Little brat." he tuts, making you groan. "Did you think I'd let you? You were naughty today, baby"

You huff in annoyance, used to having your way.

"That's your punishment"

"But I'll behave" you mewl against his ear, "I promise"

“Good, because I'm planning on fucking your brains out” his hot breathe whispers in your ear seductively, trying his best not to slur the words at the drunken haze that your arousal provokes in him, "but you have to help me first"

You get on your knees, looking at the garment he's wearing. The skirt and general costume makes this all the more hot, mouth watering at the sight. You raise the skirt, glancing at the briefs; just seeing his dick strained against the fabric makes you wet in anticipation.

He sees the pleasure bore into your orbs, and before you do any dirty idea of yours, he's already warning:

"You have to take this off, what if we-"

"Alright" you cut him off, "but the skirt stays"

"Sigue, pues" he growls, voice low yet demanding, following you in your little game.

As you pull the briefs down, his erection springs out enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.

"That's right" he chokes out, "show me how much you missed it"

You give him a proud lick, and Pedro hisses at the moment his preseminal fluid goes in between your hungry lips.

Your tongue darts to the head of his cock, running over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. He keeps praising as you pump the base of his cock with your hand. Your head bobs, yet you peek up to hear Pascal's little sounds and facial expression, a motivation so intimate in the way his brows furrow and eyes roll, mouth agape at your movements while his lip suck on those pretty lips of his. It makes you keep going. With every bob you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. A throaty moan escapes the man above you when you now focus on the final lick, making him closer to coming, all while maintaining eye contact the entire way through.

"Don't do that" he rasps, yanking you by the hair again, as of punishment, but he knows you enjoy it, "you promised you'd be good"

You can't answer, so instead, you reach the head of his cock again, and now his eyes roll back, mumbling profanities that sound like heaven.

"Do you want them to hear us, brat? Qué necia eres" he manages to chastise while moaning.

You feel his dick stuck in your throat, and the way he's about to come; you think that after some time dating, you know him well enough.

You're about to leave with your mouth when he stops you.

"No" your eyes open in shock, "what? Did you think your punishment is over?" Pedro laughs, "don't look at me like that. Like you have never done it before"

He keeps you in place by the hair, the rings prickling against your scalp. You feel his muscles tense up, and before you can think anything else thick and hot shots of cum invade your mouth, making it sticky and warm.

"Don't pretend you don't like it" his voice goes dark, husky. "Swallow it all. Te han enseñado a no desperdiciar nada, ¿verdad? Show me your good manners, then"

When you pull out, your throat feels raspy.

"You gotta reward me" you cough out.

"I promised, didn't I?" his fingers trace your face delicately, with adoration.

"It's all about duty, General Acacius" you purr, and the dick springs out again. Hard.

"Princess..." he warns.

"For the glory of Rome" you joke and laugh, then cough, as your throat is still sore.

"Have you been reading my script?" as you avoid to answer, he just chuckles, "ay, nena"

"C'mere" he motions, and you sit on his lap again. Pedro lifts your dress, exploring the curve of your ass. There's anticipation as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to access your core.

"Fuck" you squirm at his touch, grinding your freed cunt against his hard cock. He grabs you by the hip, adjusting you right on his lap.

"You taste so good" he kisses down your throat, ending at the chest were your tits peak.

"Want them?" you offer, pulling your dress down. He kisses them, gently nipping at your perked up nipples.

A wave of pleasure courses through you, and with whines and moans, you show how desperate you are, the hunger making the meal taste better. After all those weeks missing him, you just want him to fuck you senseless.

His lips are rosy and swollen against yours, mouths clashing; starved of the yearned contact. Truth is, no matter how much you know how to touch yourself, it'll never be the same as having his hard cock tear through your tight folds.

Pedro easily aligns his leaking cock with your uncovered pussy, all while mantaining the kiss. He pushes down on you, your dripping cunt taking all of his rock-hard cock, fingers holding onto the soft brown grey sprinkled locs.

"Pedro" you cry out his name, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His low grunts only fuel your desire.

You trace with your eyes his body, now bare without the upper part of the costume: his pecs and abs, flexing with every pump. With now free hands, your fingers travel to softly caress his stomach, even if your tits are jiggling and the pace frenetic.

"I miss your tummy" you pout.

"I miss eating too" he whispers out, tiredly. He's reminded of his old age, forgetting about it as soon as you two kiss, because you bring out a stamina he thinks he doesn't have anymore; almost animalistic. His bones creak and adding the tiring filming day under the hot sun, he feels his body start to give up, the orgams closer and closer.

"No matter how you look" you clash your lips onto his, the adoration translating through the smile you press against, a trail of saliva that symbolizes how interwined you are, "you always look so fucking good"

He blushes, feeling like a stupid school boy with a crush. What did he even do to deserve you? Never thought a pretty young wild thing like you would even spare a glance on his way, but now you're taking all of his cock inside with such greed yet loom into his eyes with a love he's only dreamed of.

You're real, and his.

As soon as those words leave your mouth your orgasm spills over him, some of it dripping onto the skirt, making him curse. You can't stop, still meeting his thrusts halfway, despite your trembling body after reaching your high.

"Mierda" he groans against your mouth,

You feel yourself collapsing on top of him, the weight of the jet lag catching up.

"Getting tired, baby?" he coos. "Shit, and I thought I was old"

"You are" you reply back; you can never not have the last word. And he lets you, because, God, doesn't he love you? He pretends to look offended by it, but the way your eyes shine tell him you didn't mean it that way. "You and your white hairs" tracing over his moustache, a soft hand combing through his locks, "These wrinkles... don't you know how much I love them? how much I love you?"

"And you have no idea how much I love you" he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it coming through. "God, wanna make you mine. Sólo mía" his pace slows. It's coming, and yes, you will take it all. "Wanna make you a baby, mami. Want you to take it all like the good girl you are"

When he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you're numb. But there's a feeling so content that pools warmth in your chest, that you can't say anything else, resting your head against his bare chest, both covered in sticky sweat.

"No sé cómo voy a explicar esto" he speaks through ragged breathes, and you can only smirk, "a squirted and cummed roman skirt".

"That isn't my problem" he scoffs, and you feel your head rise against the movement, earning a laugh out of you, "I'm not part of the movie"

"You'd sure think so, with the way you walked in here"

You roll your eyes, face hidden against his chest, "can you let that go?"

"You're right" he pulls you closer to him, hand enveloping you behind your bare back. The quiet doesn't bother you as you lie closer to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to be at peace, "I think punishment time is over. Think you've learned your lesson"

"Then, how about we go out? I've heard Malta's beaches are pretty"

"Relájate, cariño. Seems you've gotten your energy back" he quips, then kisses your forehead. "We need to wait for everyone to get out"

"That embarrased you are of me?" you joke.

"No" he can already imagine his fellow cast members making fun of him, starting with Paul and Joseph when they see you and Connie who she totally notices the fun sticky stains on the costume, "but embarrased of the explanation I'll have to give"

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 5

Masterpost Ao3

“So hypothetically,” Superboy begins, glancing over at Robin. “Say I met another meta, and they, like, needed a civilian identity...” He trails off, listening intently. Trying to get anything from Robin's expression is pointless - between his skill at maintaining his composure, and the expression obscuring mask, there's not a lot to be read on his face. Instead Superboy focuses on his heartbeat, which speeds up the smallest amount as Robin turns away from the tablet he'd been working with, and settles his full attention directly onto Superboy.

“Hypothetically,” Robin repeats.

“Yeah. You know, in theory, if that ever happened.” Robin stares at Superboy for a moment, presumably reading everything that's missing from his own face in Superboy's.

“Well. In theory, the Justice League has the means to grant any meta hero a full identity. Is this about you? Because honestly it's insane that they haven't bothered yet, and I will straight up make you one right now if you-”

“No, it's not about me,” Superboy interrupts. “But like, you could do that? Without the Justice League’s support, I mean?. Like, say if this hypothetical person really didn't want the Justice League knowing about them?”

“You met a meta who doesn't like the Justice League.”

“I don't think it's really about the Justice League specifically. I mean, they definitely don't exist, but if they did, then I would say that the second I showed up they were bracing for a fight. Like before they even saw who I was.” Robin sets his tablet to the side without looking, and leans just a touch towards Superboy as he talks. It's honestly wild, he thinks, how the other boy can manage such intense eye contact through white lenses, but, well, that's the bats for you.

“Theoretically, I could absolutely make this person an identity, if they did exist. But I would want to meet them first.”

“Cool, cool,” Superboy says leaning back into the couch. “I offered to introduce you and they said they'd consider it. I think, maybe they don't trust adults very much, bc they asked if you were our age.”

“Theoretically?”

“Exactly.”

* * *

Though the specific details as to when the founding member first became acquainted, it was only after multiple incidents of near-worldwide devastation that they realized the necessity of an organized front.

The details of the forming of the Justice League should be fascinating, if only for the revelation that world-ending disasters are, apparently, relatively common in this universe. In a way, it’s a comforting thought. Memories of Dan sit as heavily as ever in Danny’s mind, especially now that he’s effectively lost his family, just like in Dan’s timeline. Of course, here there’s presumably no risk of him getting fused with Vlad, so probably that specific threat isn’t likely, but - well, if it comes to the worst and Danny does go mad, there’s at least a reasonably good chance that the heroes here will be able to stop him.

On the other hand, this also means that if the heroes turn out to actually be evil or whatever, he has less chance of getting away. Of course, Superboy hadn’t really seemed evil, but Danny really has no clue if he would even be able to tell. Sure he’d known Vlad was a nightmare from a mile away, but Vlad wasn’t exactly subtle about his obsession with Danny. Evil steeped in calculation would surely be harder to spot, wouldn’t it?

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” someone says from behind Danny. “But are you going to be using that computer for much longer?” Danny blinks, staring back at the teen who’s looking at him nervously. Danny glances over at the clock, but it’s now reading 2:30, which means that he’s been here for like three hours already,and he really hasn’t read much of anything in all that time.

“You can have it,” Danny says, pulling back to shove his notebook into his backpack.

“You sure, man? I don’t wanna chase you off, but I really could use it. Physics project, you know?” 

“Yeah, I get it. Wasn’t really making much progress anyway. Might as well take a break.” Danny says. He never got to take physics in school, but he remembers struggling with lit class enough to understand the sentiment. And he really isn’t making any progress, if he’s been staring at the same Justice League page for multiple hours.

“You working on a history project or something?”

“Yeah.” It’s close enough to the truth.

“What teacher d’you have? It’s pretty cool that they’re letting you do it on the Justice League.”

“Oh, uh,” Danny quails for a moment, focusing on closing the tab so he doesn’t tell the kid he’s not going to school. After all it’s probably reasonable to assume the laws about delinquency are the same here. “It’s more about the meta protection acts than like, the Justice League itself. And I’m not really local, so...”

“Ah, that explains why I don’t recognize you,” the other teen grins.

“Yeah,” Danny says, stepping back so the other teen can take over the computer. “Well, good luck with your physics project.”

“Thanks, man, and good luck with your meta-acts essay.” The other teen turns his attention to the computer as Danny steps away, heading for the library exit. Clearly research isn’t going well today, and Jazz would definitely yell at him for trying to force his brain to focus when it clearly doesn’t want to. He pauses outside for a moment, trying to remember what Jazz said to when your focus was shot. Obviously part one was to take a break, but he’s certain that she’d had more to say than that.

He thinks he remembers her going on a rant about monotony, and boredom, but he doesn’t really feel bored. Actually more than anything he feels wired and anxious. And anxious means he should...

“Turn slow tigers into fast tigers,” Danny mutters, gaining a deeply confused look from the couple other patrons standing outside the library. He ignores them, though, and starts heading for the nearby park, so he can do some stretches. Fast tigers means he has to exercise, which he would usually complain about but- well, his routine has definitely been a lot less active since he got here. Other than the train crash the other week, Danny’s been spending most of his time sitting and reading, and while it’s been insanely nice to have nobody hunting him, honestly the idea of exercise sounds almost horrifyingly nice.

He does his best to run through the kind of stretches he remembers doing in PE, warming himself up as best he can before starting to jog the little looping path. The jeans make it a little more annoying than he remembers in PE, but luckily they’re kind of loose, so they’re not too terrible to run in, and Danny has no intention of going very fast. There’s too many people around even if he wanted to, and he does his best to be polite and not in the way as he jogs. it doesn’t take long for his breathing to go heavy with exertion, and as he finishes his second circuit, Dannyt relaxes into it, and just lets himself run.

Thirty minutes later, Danny is feeling markedly more tired, and he lets himself slow to a walk. His heart is thudding rhythmically in his chest, the occasional stutter only more prominent in the heightened pounding, and his legs feel a little wobbly, but he keeps walking, The sweat he’d worked up feels gross against his clothes, so probably he could’ve gone about it better, but Danny figures a whole thirty minutes without worrying about his existential situation is more than worth feeling gross for a bit. His usual tactic of sneaking into the local gym while it’s closed isn’t gonna cut it during the day, so he’ll have to wait to shower, but in the meantime, he can walk off the remaining adrenaline, and decide what to do for dinner.

* * *

“Hey, did you really mean what you said about me having a civilian identity?” Robin looks up as Superboy sits in the air beside his work desk.

“I have four different identities, ready for you to choose from,” Robin says.

“Wait do you just keep possible identities around in case anybody needs them? Is that, like, a Bat thing?” Superboy leans over to examine the tool Robin had been working on. Like everything else he uses, it’s emblazoned with a bat insignia, not that the marking does anything to help identify what the little machine even does. It’s ridiculously small, definitely not any kind of weapon, unless Robin’s been tinkering with the idea of murderous nanobots, which honestly wouldn’t be that shocking. Of any hero Superboy’s ever met, Robin seems uniquely predisposed towards mad scientist-type stuff.

“I keep exactly two emergency identities on hold, but those are separate. I was talking specifically about identities for you.” Superboy freezes, turning his eyes back to Robin, who looks at him like this is a perfectly normal thing to say. Superboy is at least ninety percent sure it isn’t, but what the hell.

“What the hell,” Superboy echoes his own thoughts. “Why would I ever need four identities?”

“You don’t need four, you need options. There’s no point in giving you an identity you hate.”

“Okay, but people don’t get to choose their names? So why would I care.”

“Most people don’t choose their names because most people receive them when they’re babies, but everyone has the ability to change it later if they decide they don’t like it. You have the unique advantage of being cognitively developed enough to have a say from the beginning, and you should have the opportunity to use it.”

“Huh...” That’s actually kind of sweet. “Do you like your name? I mean, like, that’s not why you don’t want to tell us, right?”

“My name is adequate,” Robin answers slowly. “It’s mine and I am... accustomed to it. The reason I haven’t told you my name is because it... implicates the other bats, and Batman considers that to be a significant security risk.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess that’s fair. Could I see the names you were thinking of?”

“Certainly,” Robin says, pushing back from the desk. “Let me get my tablet.”

* * *

“Uh, Superboy?” Danny shouts, trying to ignore how fucking ridiculous this feels. “Are you, like, free to talk? I think I want to meet your friend.” He’s hovering in the sky about a mile out from his town, in as close to the middle of nowhere as he could manage. He’d done a bit of looking into Robin this morning, before making his decision, and what a wild discovery that Robin was a name that had been held by multiple individuals. It makes him think of Dani, and he almost hopes that wherever she ends up, she might use the name Phantom too. After all, if anyone else rights to it, it would be his genetic clone.

Danny has no clue if time is flowing the same here as back home, but with any luck his friends have managed to orchestrate Dani’s escape too. It was always going to be a little more dodgy than Danny himself- his death being inherently tied to the portal had meant it was a bit more responsive to him than it otherwise would be, and that detail had been pretty quintessential to the rewiring that had needed to be done in order to send him to an entirely different universe, but they’d been hoping that her nature as a post-portal clone would mean that she had a close enough tie to the portal to send her through as well. Not that Danny would likely ever get to know for sure.

The soft rush of air alerted Danny to someone’s arrival, and he just managed to keep himself from falling into a defensive posture as he turned to look at the newly arrived Superboy, and the other teen being carried in his arms. Danny recognized the other boys outfit as that of the current Robin, who was now staring at Danny through a pair of disconcerting white-lenses set into a domino mask.

“We were free so I figured we’d just come meet you?” Superboy says with a nervous grin.

“Yeah, that’s, um, kind of obvious. Should we land?” Danny’s pretty sure that none of the Bats have flight, and like, as much as flying is cool as hell, Robin doesn’t look particularly impressed by it.

“That would be preferable, please,” Robin says, confirming Danny’s thoughts. He nods, and heads for the ground. Superboy follows just as quickly, and a moment later they’re all gathered on a gravel road in farmland.

“So, uh,” Superboy begins, once he’s deposited Robin on his own two feet.

“You told him about me before,” Danny says. Superboy may have had plenty of time to fly over here, but there hadn’t been enough of a delay to have explained the situation to Robin just now.

“It was an entirely theoretical conversation,” Robin offers dryly, before Superboy can respond.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that he was asking if I could theoretically help a meta acquire an identity if they were uncomfortable with the Justice League. Nothing of it was mentioned to anyone else and he told me no details about who any theoretical metas might be.” Danny blinks, taking a moment to process Robin’s explanation. In a way it makes sense, and he can see why Superboy would want to make sure that what he was offering was even possible.  Besides, it’s pretty obvious already that they both really trust each other.

“Okay, sure. I guess I get it.”

“I would like to know why you’re concerned about the Justice League, though, if you’re willing to share. If there’s anything illicit happening-”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” Danny cuts in as soon as he realizes where Robin’s going. He’s suddenly glad he’d already decided to explain his situation in more detail. “It’s like, I’m not from here so my shit is entirely unrelated? It’s just, they’re -you’re?- associated with the government, you know?”

“And your government is a threat to you.”

“Honestly, everything was. But they can’t get to me here. It’s why my friends- that’s why I’m here.”

“Okay, but are you sure you’re safe? Because like, space travel is a thing, and if you need protection...” Superboy trails off, looking concerned.

“I mean, it should be fine? Even if the GIW did manage to figure out inter-dimensional travel, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to figure out where specifically I went, so yeah.” Danny really doesn’t want to think about a GIW that’s gone inter-dimensional.

“Well if they did manage to make it here, they would be breaching the meta protection acts if they tried anything, so I hope if that does happen you inform myself or Superboy.”

“Yeah,” Danny laughs. “It’s honestly been kind of crazy trying to wrap my head around the idea I have protections here?”

“That’s understandable. Plenty of meta-individuals have complicated feelings about them, even if they grew up here.”

“Oh?”

“Well, just because it’s illegal to exploit or discriminate against someone doesn’t necessarily mean it doesn’t happen. And metas who have been treated poorly often have trouble trusting in the protection acts.”

“Or sometimes you just didn’t get that info programmed into you and then you have to adjust to your understanding of history being manufactured,” Superboy mutters under his breath. Robin doesn’t react at all and Danny’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it either. The implications are a bit concerning, but Danny’s not about to press him on it.

“Yeah, I mean that’s kind of where I am, I guess. I think I’d like it if you’d be willing to make me a legal identity? I’m basically homeless at the moment, so I’d like to be able to get a job or something. But I’d really rather not end up on the Justice League’s radar yet. You guys seem nice, but databases are- a lot.”

“Easy enough. I can actually do it all with my personal resources, so the info never goes anywhere near the Justice League’s databases. We just need to determine what name history you want to have.”

“I mean, I’d like to keep my name, if possible?”

“Sure, What’s your name?” Robin tilts his head.

“Danny Fenton.”

[star2fishmeg]

im gonna need you to elaborate on inexperienced!sub!Luke x inexperienced!reader PLEASE bc u don’t get it u created a new need

I love the idea of just reader and Luke being each other's firsts and figuring shit out together, like they're all nervous and giggly about it, finally getting to confess their desires. They're not fussed if it's not perfect, they're trying things and seeing how it feels, reassuring each other with no pressure at all. One of them wants to try a kink? Sure. New position? Cool. Switch roles? New location? They'll take it slow and build confidence. Practice makes perfect, right?

Elaborate? It's sweet, sexy teamwork! You and Luke being each other's first times, figuring sex out together comfortably at your own pace, with love. You've fooled around before, sure, foreplay, prep, making out, all that but neither have, as they say, lost your virginities. He knows he likes when you pull his hair or suck him off, you know you like his fingers plunging deep inside your cunt and when he devours you out. But you and Luke don't know how good sex can feel when it's laced with passion and love.

You're both kind of shy about it, nervous. You're both embarrassed at how old you both are and still haven't fucked. Yet it's supposed to be fun, so neither of you pay much mind to the social constructs around it, you're just smiling and showering each other in compliments and reassurances the more the clothes that land on the floor.

You both having a basic understanding of sex but neither practising until now. Luke's sat against the headboard with you straddling his lap, like you've done many times before where you've gone no further than dry humping, but this time you're both stark naked, taking the beauty of each other in and he can feel your arousal seeping onto his skin, his dick rubbing against yours and it takes everything in you to keep your hips still, hands tracing over the ridges of his abs and v-line.

You're both figuring it out together, piecing together things you've watched and read and finding your feet. He's shy at first, confessing how the thought of you riding him turns him on so fast, his cheeks flushing instantly as his large hands caress your thighs in downwards motions, just to glide back up again and knead into the flesh. You're slightly smirking, ego shooting through the roof knowing he wants you to be the boss, as if he knows you fantasise about calling him your good boy just to have him melt in the palm of your hands.

"Are you sure you don't wanna try missionary first? I mean, what if I ruin it? You know I've never done this before..." you mumble, his hands gliding from your thighs to gently hold yours.

"You're not gonna ruin it, angel," he leans over to press his lips to yours, "I want you to follow your instincts, and you're gonna know if I like something, believe me. Just want you to tell me what you want."

And you do because once you both get started and find your rhythm, he's sinking down into the mattress, throwing his head back into the pillows with his hands grabbing your ass. He's whining pathetically about how good your pussy feels, gummy walls squeezing his pulsing cock tight, and his heads dizzy, heart pounding and reverberating in his ears. His stomach's tossing and turning, oddly tight but he's in heaven, and the fact you're moaning his name so airily, telling him how he's such a good boy for you doing as he's told just makes your rocking so much more arousing. You feel like your're floating, thighs aching and burning but Luke's hips are snapping up into you at a brutal pace, one that makes your tits bounce and has raw gasps slip from your lips, nails digging into his chest and you're so close. After all, he loves when you boss him around, whatever his baby wants, his baby gets.

"Lu, faster, fucking need your cock," you breathe out, his eyes opening, and you notice how blown out his pupils are, "M'gonna cum. Be good 'n make me cum."

"Yes ma'am," his groan's raw from his chest, like he's holding back his release for you, "M'gonna make you cum, gonna cum with you, fuck-"

"Cum, pretty boy, cum for me, show me how I make you feel. Wanna make a mess on your cock,"

And while you both may not have lasted long; you were together and that was the main thing. Together, comfortably and fell asleep cradled in each other's embrace with soft giggles.

[hexite-nightmares]

My very unorganized thoughts on S2 of Arcane but only about Viktor

Alright I finally had time to think and write everything down so here we go. I want to preface that I have been weary about this season ever since I watched the act 1 leaks. Mainly because it was very clear he was never going to be a machine, and they didn't give him enough screen time to develop his motivations into ACT 3 Viktor being convincing enough

LET'S START WITH THE FALSE PROPHET VIKTOR

Alright so he has about 11 minutes ish of screentime. Aside from the glaring issue of Jayce reviving him and not destroying the hexcore, taking away agency from a disabled character. It was clearly a false prophet situation, but it was so fucking confusing on whether he could feel like a regular human, if he was under the Hexcore's control which makes the agency issue worse or just jaded. He all of a sudden starts speaking like he's reading Deuteronomy passages ?? We don't know for sure if he's aware that he's basically creating a hive mind now, did he start his plans of making everyone into one right here? Sky seems to encourage him to do this, what does she know about it since shes been in the hexcore ALONE for a little longer? (writers didnt confirm whether it was the real her or not) . Act 1 Viktor's issues are mostly about agency, and a seeming full abandonment of his identity as a scientist, his personality does a full 180. He doesn’t seem to question that the object that revived him and killed Sky is giving him healing powers, but he’s angry at Jayce so we have no clue if he’s being controlled or not.

The show doesn't seem to care to spend time with him bc Isha and Ambessa I guess.

Anyways lets move on to not even act 2, but ep 6, his only episode in this act.

I had huge gripes with this episode, mainly because whatever the fuck was going on with Viktor trying to "keep" Vander's humanity, when he clearly was taking it away from everyone he touched, does he actually believe what he's saying or is he under the Hexcore's control still?. Obviously the glaring issues of Sky being there without any actual input, they're cosmic friends I guess but with very generic lines, and the fandom has to fill in the blanks with whatever Amanda Overton feels like saying about Sky in the moment(if we don't see it in the show I don't take it as her development, sorry). So Viktor builds Colloidal silver drinking Joshua tree and ppl think it's fucking Eden, Jinx calls him a Machine Herald when there's NO SIGN OF MACHINERY JUST PURPLE MAGICAL METAL LOOKING FLESH. We get a whole ass different realm with no explanation other than, oh yeah Viktor is inside there. Jayce comes in and almost kills him. The only option there is at this point is for Singed to start his MH era. The choice of becoming MH is nonexistent now, other people have to jumpstart things for him. I know some people interprete this commune as Viktor achieving his dreams, thinking he was being himself, that he was in paradise with Sky and.. that wasn’t the case for me.. it was extremely sinister. Worst part of this Act, is that MH was seemingly a damn trial experiment for Orianna.

BONUS:

So it seems that Christian Linke has confirmed Sky was the hexcore using its influence to manipulate viktor into the glorious evolution. He said it was meant to be as a misdirect. So to everyone who got dunked on here for “wanting to be spoonfed” or “not reading into it deep enough” for thinking he was being mind controlled, you were right about it being the hexcore. Viktor has been confirmed to have no agency until episode 9 I guess. He also mentioned Viktor’s goal was getting the most power/influence… we never saw a fucking glimpse of this in season one I’m sorry.

ACT 3

First awful problem here is obviously Singed having to jumpstart things. Viktor is aware for his choice of whatever is happening with the egg thing. Yet....there's still no sign of machinery. We get a scene where Sky fucking dies again, he refers to her as Ms Young, which im guessing is a parallel to the other time he dismissed her in S1. But of course we get the double fridging in the show, cuz making female characters just for the sake of advancing her crush's plot line is sooo amazing. Here lies sky, the character who is barely a character. Well after that we get the sequence of his transformation and we get that butt ugly mask. His personality does another huge change again. So we know the hexcore is not influencing him anymore as the hexcore completed its goal of the glorious evolution.. so I guess viktor really does think this is the right way?

A huge issue I have again, is the lack of agency. In this particular scene Jayce goes "My partner died in this room" yeah..Viktor didn't fully choose to become this right? it all started with Jayce using the hexcore on him, it’s been manipulating him the whole ass season…Kinda wish there was some sort of acknowledgement from Jayce that he’s basically the catalyst of this.

He gets his laser because...fanservice. There's no way he went all the way to the lab and magically attached it to himself just to cut off a wall. He keeps going on that choice is false, but a few minutes before he said he’d evolve all of those willing?

In the cosmos, beautiful sequence. I don’t love Jayce’s dialogue choices(about his disease) here and then it all being about viktor hating himself.. since the hexcore was leading to all of this, his motivation for it all being self hatred feels a bit eh. The sequence is beautiful and Jayce and Viktor destroying the anomaly with the rune shard is nice, that part was cute. But then they kinda disappear and we only know that viktor is alive so far, no clue about Jayce. The sequence is touching towards the end and I’m a sucker for characters finding each other in every timeline/universe but it can’t make up for all the other things that are bothering me. This seems to be the one time Viktor has some sort of agency I guess.

Then obviously the worst part that will bother me forever. The thing that made me almost slam my laptop shut

This retcon is just awful I shouldn’t even have to say why, it makes things fucking weird and it’s frankly stupid. Also viktor can’t rock a beard like that.

Anyways this is very disorganized, fuck you riot I felt like an insane former this whole time but I was right.

[mzannthropy]

Long post or whatever, OP seems to be an inactive account so they won't mind.

Thanks 💌

If I say I'm afraid to post what I feel like and you ask me why, I wouldn't be actually able to answer (but it's like that with fear--what are you afraid of?) Like, nobody will die bc of what I posted. I can't keep it inside either so I put like million caveats so that no one gets offended... lol. (I have a bit of a baggage wrt to things I like, from my teenage years.)

When I became an active Sam Claflin fan, during the pandemic, I looked up his name on social media, and on here too, and saw how everyone only cared about Me Before You and Finnick. So I knew I would have to be on my own. Don't get me wrong, Finnick's cool, doesn't matter how I feel about Hunger Games--which I will always battle with--but surely there's more to Sam than that? For general public, okay, after all Sam keeps himself low-key, but when even his own fandom can't recognise how fantastic he is in everything else he does? Journey's End was one of the first films I watched after I started following him and was mindblown, like that's an Oscar winning performance--and yet not a peep from anyone. So I started posting about him myself, eventually @jesstasticvoyage found me, but last year, everything around DJATS made me retreat back into my shell and I even questioned whether I should continue. Heck, I questioned my own sanity, I thought I was having a psychosis or something... Soccer Aid was a life saver, then we heard about Monte Cristo and all was well again. Though the crisis comes back every now and then (and I don't mean the one I had over not being able to watch Bagman, bc I took that with humour and took a trip to Haworth to touch grass and came face to face with a road named Dimples Lane... clearly sign from the universe. And I got to see Bagman in the end anyway.)

But what I wanted to say, regarding your last tags: women definitely need to stop fucking apologising for everything AND women need to get some fucking audacity. Like you say, men always confidently proclaim what they think. It's not a skill you just wake up with one day, so it needs work. I've been thinking about how to make myself less sensitive, actually I'm contemplating posting on twitter again, but this time not about politics (that's how I used it before) but about things I like, like Sam and films and books and cats and quotes etc. I'll see.

Oh and what are the Spanish and French words used instead of "chemistry"? Both are such pretty languages! One user here suggested "alchemy" which sounds good. I know "chemistry" is a real term in acting (also in music, apparently) but it's not used the way shippers think it is. Actors need to have chemistry with everyone, not just the ones that play romantic interests. It's a disservice to both of them to reduce their performance to just "chemistry". Sam learned to play a whole fucking instrument, lost a lot of weight, learned a new accent... and yet all these clowns have to say is kemmystreeee. And that's if they're not ageist about him. Someone reblogged one of my Sam Monte Cristo posts with "thank god he is looking hot again" in the tags... just. Headdesk.

Sam Claflin and Holliday Grainger in ‘Any Human Heart’ (2010)  

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[lotus-pear]

mourning black and the death of ideals

[inkskinned]

there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)

i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.

i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.

and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.

HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.

now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.

my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.

i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.

by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!

keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"

similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."

the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"

if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.

the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.

godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.

the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.

[accirax]

the entire fandom rn

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

jon val jon or something

[isthatacalzone]

me: *seeing people yell about how they did Glintshore & Percy's death in the show*

also me: ..................anyway

[mamawasatesttube]

timcassie is so compelling to me. they were not into each other even a little bit. it was such a messy coping mechanism fuelled entirely by grief. they were making out with each other because they were both substituting each other for kon. cassie was far more aware she was doing this than tim was. unironically, dating a girl here is one of the gayest things tim has done

[anticidic]

since Dazai was technically too young to drink during Dark Era, do you think anyone ever just casually walked up to him, oblivious that he had any mafia affiliation, and was just like hey, kid, aren't you too young to be here.

And Dazai actually goes along with it like yeah, you know what, you're totally right.

And he just goes back to spinning around in his chair in circles while sipping whiskey.

The bartender already knows to keep his mouth shut, and all the other patrons are just giving this random dude who approached Dazai the Look.

[noeggets]

Dude come off it, if you hate Ian flynns writing don't consume sonic content anymore Jesus it's all you have to do. Don't like it just don't say it cause your causing ppl who don't know any better to agree just to agree

[princess-of-purple-prose]

Fish, 7 (For your prompts! ❤️)

Hi, anon!! Thank you for the prompt, you were the very first one to send one in! 7 was, again, the wildcard, so I randomly generated a different number to land on Yue Qingyuan (from Scum Villain)! I have no choice but to dedicate this to @bytedykes, because I told her about this prompt and she said “yqy pet fish mental health speedrun” and we went, uh, a little insane about it. Enjoy some yuefang, folks!!!!

“Mu-xiong,” Yue Qingyuan says. “I’m sorry to bother you. Are you available?”

“Yue-xiong is never a bother,” Mu Qingfang says warmly. “And I am, actually, yes. Is everything okay, Yue-xiong?”

“I think I need help.” A bit dramatic, perhaps, and Yue Qingyuan hates to trouble Mu Qingfang on a rare day off, but Yue Qingyuan and impulse have never been the best combination, and he would appreciate a second opinion.

Mu Qingfang’s voice turns hard. “Where are you? I'll come right away.”

“What—?” Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone like the blank call screen will tell him why Mu Qingfang suddenly sounds so serious. “I'm at home, but—”

“I'll be right there,” Mu Qingfang says, and hangs up.

Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone for another second, then lifts his gaze to his sparkling new aquarium. His new betta, white and black and resplendent of fin, stares back. Was his crisis of faith about his viability as a fish owner really so deserving of such urgency…?

—

“So,” Mu Qingfang says. “This was your emergency?” He looks about as unimpressed by the betta as it does by the two of them.

Yue Qingyuan feels obscurely like he’s being scolded. Mu Qingfang is one of the nicest men he knows, but that just means that his censure takes the form of a blunt instrument of mass disappointment.

“In my defense,” he points out meekly, “I didn’t say there was an emergency. Mu-xiong just assumed.”

“That’ll teach me,” Mu Qingfang huffs, but at least he looks amused. “Yue-xiong should get used to asking for help more so this gege doesn’t have to panic every time he does ask.”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth almost drops open. He can only hope his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “Er—well, I asked this time, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Mu Qingfang allows, looking something horribly close to fond. Yue Qingyuan swallows and tries to hurry on.

“So—not an emergency, but I do want your opinion,” he coughs out. “I’m having… doubts. About the fish.” Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows contract. Yue Qingyuan rushes it out. “Do you think I should keep it?”

“Yue-xiong…” Mu Qingfang looks politely incredulous. “Why does my opinion matter? The fish is already yours, isn’t it? If you don’t think maintaining its upkeep will be feasible, that’s one thing, but… Surely Yue-xiong did the research before getting it?”

He doesn’t sound judgemental, but Yue Qingyuan feels his cheeks warm. “I did, but I wasn’t planning on getting a fish; I was only admiring the tanks. There was a salesperson who was… very insistent.”

Mu Qingfang regards him doubtfully, which is fair. Yue Qingyuan towers over most people he meets, and his bulk only further adds to the impression of immovability. It’s only when he opens his mouth that it becomes clear how spineless he actually is.

Yue Qingyuan falters. “I had thought… I thought it might be nice.” The bettas had seemed so majestic in their tanks, iridescent monarchs of false grass and plastic coves, and Yue Qingyuan had thought, wildly, that one might be rewarding to keep, might breathe a touch of life into his immaculately sleek living room. The whole affair hadn’t even been expensive by his shiny new standards, forget difficult to physically arrange. It was only when installation and set-up for his new aquarium had finished and he was left to watch that jewel-bright being swim disaffectedly through its new home that doubt had seized him, all-consuming and black. He had, admittedly, panicked a little after that.

(Yue Qingyuan’s apartment is very large, and very clean, and very empty. It holds the barest amount of decoration and muss to qualify as lived-in rather than a snapshot from a magazine ad. The fish may, in fact, be the only thing in the entire place which really qualifies as his. No wonder Yue Qingyuan wanted to jettison it from his life as soon as he got it.)

Mu Qingfang’s expression hovers between concern and simple confusion. “I’m sure Yue-xiong will be a more than adequate caretaker,” he says, more gently than Yue Qingyuan and all his neuroses probably deserve. “What’s this really about, Yue-xiong?”

Ah. There it is. Being the mildest person of Yue Qingyuan’s admittedly sharp-tongued social circle doesn’t preclude Mu Qingfang’s wit from being as keen as the scalpels he works with.

“I don’t…” Yue Qingyuan falters. How to express to Mu Qingfang how manifestly unfit Yue Qingyuan is to care for any living creature at all? He changes tack. “I think he hates me,” he admits dolefully.

Mu Qingfang stares at him for a long time, long enough to imply that he’s reevaluating certain opinions about Yue Qingyuan’s intelligence. “Yue-xiong, with all due respect to your new pet—it’s a fish.”

“Fish have emotions!” Yue Qingyuan argues. He flushes at the volume at which it comes out, and at the way Mu Qingfang’s eyes go wide-eyed in startlement. But the salesperson had been very insistent about that, as well. “Bettas are intelligent animals. They dislike certain colors, apparently, and they’re very sensitive—ah, to environmental disruptions, that is. And—”

Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows are still high, but his face has relaxed into a smile. “It sounds to me like you like it quite a bit already. Isn’t that reason enough to keep it?” His tone curls with sudden mischief. “Have heart, Yue-xiong—you’ve hardly known each other for a day! Give it time to adjust to you, and I’m sure you’ll win it over as surely as you do everyone else.” And he grins, sure and easy in his trust that Yue Qingyuan won’t fumble and shatter something so small and monumental as a life that he could cup in his palms.

While Yue Qingyuan is still dazed by that, Mu Qingfang’s eyes alight with interest. “Ah, Yue-xiong—what have you named it?”

“...”

Mu Qingfang’s face falls as devastatingly as it had lit up. “Yue-xiong…”

“Mu-xiong is aware that I was unsure of whether or not I’d keep him!” Yue Qingyuan is terribly aware that his ears are now heating up to match his cheeks. Mu Qingfang’s ensuing laughter does not help with that matter.

Yue Qingyuan is not very good at holding onto things. More often than not, he makes a mess of whatever he’s set his clumsy hands to, lets it fall right through his scarred fingers. But Mu Qingfang’s words ring through his head: Isn’t that reason enough to keep it? And, well, isn’t it? Surely Yue Qingyuan is adult enough to follow through on this. Maybe happiness can be look like his new betta swimming up to the tank to observe the new colorful form moving in front of it, can come as easy as Mu Qingfang quipping that his knowledge about fish is clearly lacking and vowing casually to read up on bettas to be a better fish uncle.

Yue Qingyuan buries a smile and walks over to let Mu Qingfang know that bettas can be trained to follow fingers around. The betta’s clear preference for Mu Qingfang over Yue Qingyuan is as good a marker of intelligence as any fun fact the pet shop worker could have given him. Yes, Yue Qingyuan thinks with a smile—he thinks he’ll be keeping this after all.