#POV you are one of my readers and you have to wait an ungodly amount of time until my mental illness-

[ror-witch]

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[ourstarscollided]

jatp fanworks appreciation - day 1 (writers)

motivation - so in true me fashion and my aversion to brevity, i've made three (3) posts (see also artists, gifs/edits) to celebrate the wonderful people in this fandom who have made my jatp tumblr experience what it is; a community of people who simply shout into the void about their love of a ghost band and their fearless female leader. i've enjoyed simply being on the sidelines admiring everyone's love for the show, but i thought this would be a good time to really show my appreciation for all these wonderful people, because if i've learned anything from this pandemic, it's that there is NEVER a wrong time to tell someone that they are simply ✨the best✨.

disclaimer: i don't interact with most of these people personally and i simply absorb their content from afar and scream about how wonderful they are in the tags.

This list kind of became a fic rec, so if you're looking for some wonderful fics to read (or reread), I've also included my favs from the author here as well.

Okay this is gonna get a little long so please bear with me. But I just wanted to preamble this by saying that the fanfiction written by the jatp fandom is what resparked my love for reading fiction after about 3-4 years of not reading for leisure (be an adult they said. it'll be fun they said.). So I'm really grateful for that? I don't interact with a lot of people, just because it makes me a little anxious, but I will constantly yell about your content in the tags as if I were on a set of bleachers with a megaphone.

I also know there are so many wonderful fic writers out there (on Tumblr and not on Tumblr) that make amazing pieces of work, and this is just a tiny peek into that, and is not at all conclusive.

Without further ado here are some writers who live rent free in my head, in alphabetical order, so feel free to just skip to your name to avoid my rambling:

@bluefirewrites -> your Merry Ex-Mas fic had me on the edge of my seat every single time you updated. I am so in love with how you wrote the characters into this and at how many words you churned out for this fic. This was filled with so much adventure, and it was really welcome during a time when the world wasn't allowed to travel. And I simply love all the other drabbles and fics you write, but I especially enjoy the hilarity of Ray Molina, Crime Scene Photographer and Matchmaker.

@captainkippen -> I'm pretty sure Love Drunk was one of the first fics I ever read in this fandom. Your stories and your writing feel so goddamn real and I find myself so immersed in the worlds that you've created. I have reread most of your jatp fics and I still manage to find myself stupidly grinning at my phone each time. Your stories flow so easily and are such perfect characterizations of the characters we know from the show, but elevated to fit into your verse. I cannot say enough how wonderful your writing is and how talented you are!! (also a slight nudge that I am still very much following along with The Key and the Crown and I hope you continue it!)

@catty-words -> Your???? Exhaustive??? Music??? Lists???? The amount of work and dedication and microanalyzing that you put into pulling out every detail from each scene is so admirable. You not only manage to find the details, but you also give us EVIDENCE via your intricately selected gifs. You could've just put the video of the performance, but no, you take your time to find that specific 1 second shot to emphasize your point. And your little fics that you sometimes throw out into the world? They're so beautiful, and so fun to read and I enjoy them so much! (I am STILL screaming about this band's a snack) Thank you for validating my yelling in the tags, and for feeding my hyperfixation to this show. (I'm sad these lists are ending soon, but it's about the journey ya know?)

@lydias--stiles -> I don't even know what to say here because I've yelled so much about your fics that I feel like there's really nothing else to yell. Your Road Trip AU was also one of the first ones I read in this fandom, and really just made me go absolutely feral. Pretty sure I absorbed the rest of your fics in an ungodly amount of time and I just simply think you are incredibly skilled and talented. Every time you post a new fic I always wonder what it's like to be in your head because the ideas you come up with are so unique and so well thought out. Thank you for all the art you create for this show, I will constantly be in awe of you. (Special shoutout to the 5+1 fic that became a 31 chapter monster)

@pearlcaddy -> This list would not be complete if I didn't mention you. First of all, thank you for suggesting this wonderful week, it has been so lovely to see so much love being spread around today. Secondly, I never thought I'd find myself reading a Buffy or a Wizarding World crossover fic, considering I know nothing about those two things. And yet I found myself on various nights after work at 3 in the morning just silently screaming and/or crying into my phone. Your writing is so insane. Your world building is so insane. Your banter/dialogue is insane. The way you capture the love between Julie/Luke in different universes is so perfect. Thank you for gifting us these beautiful pieces of art, and I hope you know that you have at least made one person (me) a very happy reader. I also really admire your dedication to "this will only be a oneshot", only to write like 4 other POVs for it. (Special shoutout to 100 Bad Days)

@ruzek-halstead -> Literally every single fic you have written lives rent free in my head. The way you've managed to build this universe of different Julies and Lukes, and each one still captures the essence of them is astounding. You've extended their characters beyond what we know from the show and I am just in awe of everything you write. Please know that dead of night is both triggering to me and yet the most hilarious thing I have read. (Special shoutout to the Fake Dating Christmas AU and of course the Cinderella Story AU)

@serendipitee -> Your stories and your writing are absolutely magical. I think Write It Down was one of the first multi-chapter fics that I followed super closely and whenever you updated, I would literally drop what I was doing and read it instantly. You have such a way of building the plot and the characters for all of your fics and drabbles, and making the reader just want more. Please know that I am so obsessed with Oh, She Waltzed With the Dead and I cannot wait to see where you take the story!

@sunsetcurbed -> I have no words for your writing. I am simply in awe every time I read something from you. The way you've got down Alex and Willie's voice to a tee is so crazy good. You write their characters and their stories with such grace and care, especially with how you approach the topic of mental health. Thank you for all the research you do and for also writing in your own experiences. I literally binged the Princes Diaries AU during work and lost a good half day to it, and I regret nothing because that fic left me in SHAMBLES. I secretly adore the way you say you're going to keep a fic short, and end up writing an insane amount of words for it. (I have not yet left my obligated long-ass comment on Chapter 4 of the College AU yet because I am still processing the fate/destiny concept.)

@tangledstarlight -> Gahh. Rosie. Please. This is going to sound a little repetitive considering I just screamed at you last night, but now I guess I will just have to publicly confess my adoration for you!!! Thank you for being my first online friend in a very long time, and for putting up with me yelling at you about everything (and also nothing at the same time). I can't believe all it took was one message about your Royals AU for you to post it, but I will gladly take that credit any day. You are so so so incredibly talented with your writing, and your ability to transport me to another world while I read your fics is unparalleled. I adore the way you can come up with a new story to write every day, and then proceed to throw it into your pot of other WIPs. I am so so so so lucky to have gotten to know you and am incredibly grateful that I now have someone to cry about everything with 🧡 (If you read anything from Rosie, you need to read her Seasons/Long Distance Juke "friendship" fic and the Reggie x Photography oneshot that made me bawl my eyes out.)

@thedeathdeelers -> No thoughts. Just soulmates. Jk jk, you know I love your Reggie x Ray x Carlos fics, and I will scream in the tags about it until the day I get more of those fics from you. This is lowkey a threat, but wrapped in kindness. You are so wonderful to see on my dash (albeit scary at times because of the sheer amount of headcanons and theories running through your head), but you radiate such positive energy that it's impossible to not want to jump in and scream about soulmates with you.

Some special mentions to fics that also live rent free in my head:

@sunsetsandcurves wrote a Willex Cruise Ship AU inspired by a Simple Plan song and it’s something I never knew I needed until I read it. 

@phantom-curve wrote a Juke fic based off of Coney Island and I would just like to say, yes, it did shatter me. (Here’s the fluff sequel that makes up for it though)

@unsaidjulie wrote the Juke dog fic of my dreams and I simply cannot express how much I want the Molina’s to have a dog now. 

@pawprinterfanfic managed to get me incredibly invested in a Star Wars AU even though I know absolutely nothing about Star Wars. I just know that I would die for two (2) space boys. 

@sanssssastark  your Later universe made me realize that I do very much want there to be more mature content for this fandom (and you constantly deliver).

@theobligatedklutz wrote a Tangled Willex AU that makes me screech every time there’s an update. Just read it.

@alexthedrummerboy your talent knows no bounds when it comes to your Social Media AU. Also she’s written ORIGINAL songs for Alex and Willie?!?!?! 

@gennified has this really wonderful modern take on pride and prejudice for Willex and I’m so obsessed with how much miscommunication there is.

@bananaleaves okay, I just found your Tumblr today, and I know you don’t know me in any capacity, but allow me to scream about THIS FIC RIGHT HERE. If anyone in this fandom is to read ANYTHING, it’s this fic. This was one of the best things I’ve read in a long time and absolutely wrecked me. Please just read this.

This turned out WAY longer than it was supposed to, and I’m SO SORRY. (I also tried to make sure I got everyone’s pronouns right, so PLEASE let me know if they’re wrong!) A final sincere thank you to everyone in this fandom who writes. Your talent knows no bounds. Gonna stop talking now before this becomes an essay....

[brittledame]

Pairing: Semi Eita/Reader 

Tags: Teen and up audience, Post-timeskip, Canon divergence, Coffee Shops, Meet-cute, Fluff, Musician Semi, University student reader, POV changes

Word Count: 6.6K

Summary: In which a broken coffee machine leads you to meet an attractive musician also inhabiting the only coffee shop near campus open at an ungodly hour. The lack of sleep and the stress of your assignment are eased by the nonsensical tunes the unknown musician struggles to compose a significant song. Unknowingly, you both indirectly help each other through mental roadblocks and inspire him to write a hit song. It wasn't until your next fateful meeting that you were able to thank each other.

Current situation aside, you were usually a diligent student. You preferred to finish an assignment at least a full 24 hours before editing and submitting it, rather than leaving it to the last minute and handing in a half-assed attempt. However, this one particular assignment that had crawled from the bowels of hell was the exception to your characteristic conscientiousness. The assignment had blindsided you, slipping under your radar as other more pressing assignments drew your attention away from it. Much like an ignored weed problem, under your wilful neglect it compiled into an unimaginable mess. There was no possible way for you to get this done without pulling a soul-sucking all-nighter.

Another exception to your quickly spiralling out-of-control life was the fact that your prized coffee marker in all its shiny black plastic glory after five long years has finally turned in its resignation of being used and abused by you. So not only were you frantically rushing this twenty-one-page report due in not even eight hours, your one source of liquid determination is completely off the books.

Standing before the hunk of useless machinery refusing to even turn on, you stood there in silence as you mourned the loss of a good friend and an alright cup of coffee every morning. This did not help your current situation and you knew that you would not make it without some form of caffeine and you refuse to take the final dive into the uni student life and take no-doze tablets.

No, you refuse go that low just yet.

Although they are starting to sound tempting as the harsh wind tugs at your clothing and nips at your skin like you weren’t wearing two layers in the middle of normally warm Spring night to make a trip to the only local coffee shop you knew of open at this ungodly hour of 2 am. A faint orange glow grows steadily larger with each hurried step. You rushed to both get out of the wind and continue the futile act of completing your assignment to a decent enough standard to pass the subject.

The high expectations you entered the semester with had all but been eviscerated at this point. You would be outrageously thankful to pass at this stage in the semester.

As you push through the door, you crush the unwanted thought of your academic score plummeting. Oh well. Que sera, sera.

Glancing around the small and dimly lit establishment, you were surprised to note that it wasn’t deserted. In total, there were three people inside, excluding yourself. Two being workers and the other being a figure sequestered to the distant corner of the small cosy shop.

Behind the counter sat a bored-looking barista scrolling on his phone and a person with a very familiar face wiping down the benches.

“Jin! I didn’t expect to see you at this hour.” You exclaim while walking up to the counter while simultaneously fishing out your purse from your bag.

Said brunette turned at your voice, smiling when he sees that his ears didn’t deceive them.

“Hey! Didn’t expect to see you right now, either.” He grins amiably.

You had to give it to him, even at 2 am, his friendly smile put your stressed heart at ease. That was the true power of one Jin Soekawa, asides from the heavenly caffeinated ambrosia he concocted.

“Yeah, well if my coffee machine didn’t abandon me in my darkest hour, believe me when I say I’d be at home in my pajamas.”

Jin laughs as he rings your total up without question and starts the process of making your usual order. A perk of visiting at least three times a week was getting to know the friendly day baristas. Placing the exact amount of change on the counter, you move down the counter to catch Jin’s words.

“I never took you for a night-owl.” You scoff and shake you head at him, noting the teasing glint in his dark eyes.

“I’m not,” you bemoan, “this is punishment for putting off a big assessment and thinking it wouldn’t take long to finish. And to top it all off, my main source of night-late fuel ditched me.”

Jin nods sympathetically at your whining, not wanting to disturb the other regular shop patron in his also stressed-fueled all-nighter.

“No one with sense would be up at this hour working.” The angry-looking brunette you’ve never seen before mutters loudly.

Jin looks at the male, thick eyebrows furrowed reproachfully. You raise your eyebrow at Jin, wondering if he always had to burn the midnight oil with someone that looked like they were ready to quit and walk out at any second.

“Don’t mind Yunohama, he’s just pissed that he got tricked into the graveyard shift by the manager along with me.”

His cheery tone contrasted greatly to the gloom surrounding Yunohama. Smothering the laugh that wanted to come out at their polar opposite personalities, you instead turn to cough quietly into your hand.

Your gaze locked with chocolate brown irises that even at this distance, you could tell were mesmerising. The male’s eyes widen as he realises he was caught staring at you and quickly turns away and busies himself with the papers littering the table.

Well that was odd.

You stared at the back of his head full of shoulder-length ash-blond hair, waiting for him to turn back around. After a beat, you shrug to yourself and turn back to a busy Jin.

“Do you mind if I grab a seat and start on my work?” You point a thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the seating area.

Jin nods his head and gives a cheery smile that didn’t fit the sleepy night-time atmosphere.

“Sure! I’ll bring it over when it’s done. It shouldn’t be much longer now.”

Shooting him a thumbs up, you hike the bag strap further up your shoulder and select a table to slowly lose your mind at. You end up choosing one that was about three tables away from the stranger, not wanting to intrude upon his stressed-out vibes. From the short glimpse you caught of his face, he seemed quite attractive. If you weren’t as tired or stressed as you currently were, you might have had the guts to sit closer and sneak subtle glances, but the sword of Damocles currently swung menacingly above your head.

As you walk over, you notice a dark blue Ashton-branded acoustic guitar leaning against the chair on his lap. You also notice him frantically scribbling down on paper, pausing and then staring at the paper like it insulted him. You file this in the back of your mind, saving it for a later time.

You almost felt sorry for the odd guy. If it weren’t for the burden of your laptop holding an unfinished assignment due in exactly seven hours now, you would spare some sympathy. Sighing, you plop yourself in the seat and quietly go about setting yourself up. Logging into your laptop, the not even half-filled word document met your weary gaze. God, even with the smell of coffee and warmth surrounding you, no motivation welled up like you hoped it would. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for a long night-slash-morning.

Focused on your work, you failed to notice Jin coming over with your order, sitting it out of the way of your work with a quiet “good luck” . The cup of hot coffee was left forgotten as a decent-sounding ideas flashed through your mind unprompted. It was safe to say that by the time you did notice and started drinking it, it was lukewarm.

Grimacing after taking the first sip, you lean back in your chair and look at the ceiling to give your eyes a break. A soothing tune of random string plucking fills the air. For a brief second, you were confused as to when background music started playing, only to realise it was coming from the hot guy you caught staring at you earlier.

Attracting your attention, you glance over to his table. The guitar was now propped against his lap and lovingly cradled in his arms. The position accentuated his biceps partially concealed by white cotton V-neck tee, not that it stopped your appreciative looks. Fluorescent pink guitar pick in hand, the ash-blond musician continues to strum a few nonsensical tunes that your stress-filled mind failed to name.

As if remembering your existence, he whips his head around to meet your interested gaze. Flustered at finding you already staring at him, the male holds his hands out in a placating gesture.

“I’m so sorry! I should have asked if you were okay with me playing. I mean the baristas said it was okay but that was before you came in…” He rubs awkwardly at the back of his head.

Giving him a friendly smile, you shake your head.

“No, don't apologise. It’s fine.” You assure him. Immediately, the tension drains from his features. Man, the poor guy must have dealt with his fair share of assholes to respond so visibly at the prospect of pissing people off by playing out loud. That had to suck.

“Besides, who am I to deny the arts?” You continue, lazily waving your hand in the air.

He laughs at your unusual response, hands settling back into their designated positions on the instrument. The sound was completely unexpected. You sat there in shock as the rich-sounding rumble rolls through the air. Sure he was good-looking but damn, to have a nice deep voice on top of all that? He was truly blessed. To top it off, he gives you a smile that should be outlawed for how attractive he is.

Damn, awkward music guy was hot.

The belated thought had you flustered. Hiding behind your hand as you brush back hair out of the way, you recompose yourself. Meeting his gaze once again, you notice a twinkle that you didn’t spot before, confirming your initial suspicion of his eyes being mesmerising.

Blinking yourself out of the stupor, you inwardly scold yourself for staring at the poor dude that didn’t come here to get stared at by someone dressed in comfy clothes and a whole collection of lilac bags under their eyes.

Ignoring the questioning look you receive at your odd facial expression you unintentionally made, you turn back to your laptop and dive head-first into the report. It was a nice escape from the embarrassment that wanted to choke you at acting like you’ve never seen an attractive person before.

God your tired self was an embarrassment.

He continues on playing the guitar, now strumming out a soft lingering song that soothed your frazzled mind and weirdly energised you to keep going.

From the very moment that you stepped across the threshold, bringing with you a wisp of chilled air that nipped at his nose, Eita could pick that you were an overworked university student.

Your lilting voice filled his ears as you had a friendly chat with the amicable barista. He ignored the noise as he stared at the blank manuscript paper before him, frustration bubbling within him. This was the seventh attempt at writing the final song for their break-out album in just as many days. An invisible clock hovered over his head as the hours tick by, closer and closer to the deadline their production manager had set.

The other songs came so freely to him - serving as an outlet for the experiences he’s had or heard about from close friends and family. But this last song? It fought against him tooth and nail, refusing to be put on paper. Eita had a vague concept and a tune, but the words evaded him. That was the most frustrating part really, but it happened to the best musicians so it shouldn’t surprise him that writer’s block finally hit him like a truck on a foggy night. Hard and seemingly out of nowhere.

Eita wanted the final song on their first album to be about his last relationship, as conceited as it may sound to some. He found it was the best way to close that messy chapter of his life. It was never fun to be strung along whilst your partner was looking at - loving - another, and yet refusing to let him go. Plus, people love break-up songs and their up-and-coming band needed something to round out the alternative rock songs they usually played.

Fragmented and incomplete thoughts filled his mind as you continued chatting, now with the mean-looking barista joining in. Easily pulling his attention from the anger-inducing blank white space, Eita gets a good look at you now that you're standing closer. Wearing comfy-looking clothes and a tired expression, you looked like the poster child for the average student and yet Eita felt inexplicably drawn towards you like a magnet to its opposing pole.

Unexpectedly, you turn towards him, catching him in the act of checking you out. Eyes clear despite the tired lines etching into your face, lips pulled into a slight smile that had his heart miss a beat. Okay, wow. Maybe he’s been out of the dating scene for far too long to react like that. Breaking the eye contact, Eita whirls back around in his seat and starts messing with the papers spread before him to feign being busy.

A hot blush seared across his cheeks as he mentally groans at his inappropriate behaviour. The cute university student probably thought that he was a creep now, great. While Eita wanted to do nothing but bury his head into his hands and scream until his throat was raw, the blank page laying innocently there taunted him.

God damn it. He hadn’t felt this frustrated and inadequate since high school. No one wanted to revert to their high school selves. Scrubbing at his eyes, all Eita wanted from tonight was a simple song, that was all. Nothing more. Nothing less. Yet it still felt like a herculean task. The picture of his ex with a fake expression of hurt rises to forefront of his mind unbidden.

Ah yes, there were other times he'd experienced this intense frustration. It hurt to walk away from the first real relationship he’d been in, but she was bad for him in a lot of ways that he was blind. That was until his friends lifted the rose-tinted love goggles and pointed out each and every red flag he had missed.

Suddenly, Eita was struck with the perfect words to encompass the maelstrom of emotions within him, namely bitterness and helplessness.

Not wanting the words escape him , Eita captures them with frantic hands. Scared of their ephemeral nature, here one second and gone the next. Those few words grew into a verse, much to Eita’s elation. He still needed a chorus and an outro, but the intro was looking fine and Eita knew not to push his luck.

Reaching for his guitar and pulling a pick from his jean pocket, he gives his prized possession a quick strum. Judging it in-tune, a few warm-up melodies are played as his hands move without much thought.

Looking back at the sheet of paper sitting before him, incomplete but much better than before, he suddenly notices that the sound of your rapid typing in the background has stopped. Panicked at annoying yet another person angry at the world, Eita turns around quick enough to instill the fear of whiplash.

Met with your inquisitive look, he’s glad to see that you’re not frothing with rage like how some of the less-forgiving people get with his playing. After awkwardly apologising, he concludes you’re not mad in the slightest, instead giving him a weird response and shrugging off his disjointed apology.

There was definitely more than meets the eye with you. Even while being obviously exhausted, you were still kind to him, a stranger, while rushing to complete what he can only assume to be an assignment of some sort. From the short conversation, he couldn’t get a proper gauge for your personality, although he somehow just knew that you would have the most fascinating stories to share.

Eita fails to notice your flushed cheeks due to his laughter, instead he was admiring how your eyes wrinkled at the corners as a smile lit up your entire face. It was entirely too cute for him.

Abruptly, you turn away from him and return to your work, eyes fixed on the screen and furiously typing and clicking away across the room. Bewildered at your sudden change in mood, Eita leaves you be. Following your example, Eita turns back to his own business. There was a reason that he was in a deserted coffee shop in the dead of night, or more like morning at this point. He had work to do and a lot of it.

Despite that, he couldn’t help his eyes straying towards your figure as he strums out one of the first songs he learnt on guitar. From the corner of his eye, Eita notices at how the harsh light of your laptop highlights the exhaustion the soft lights of the shop smoothed out. Concerned at how tired your eyes looked, Eita knew that the coffee you sipped at was not doing its job to chase away the threads of tiredness that threatened to pull you under.

His examining looks go unnoticed by you, surprise, surprise. From what he overheard earlier, it’d make sense that a final assessment would take precedence over one’s self-awareness, not that he knew what that felt like. From how exhausted and slightly panicked you looked, he was glad he didn’t submit to his parents pestering, instead filing straight into the work force while he worked on his aspiring music career.

A sudden scene took his mind hostage, not letting him go until he payed it attention. Muses were odd like that, one minute he was daydreaming about his life’s choices and the next he sees you physically deflate in your chair as you hit a mental roadblock as he blows past his.

Hand possessed with words that filtered so fast through his mind, he couldn’t afford to process them as he messily tries to immortalise them onto paper before they leave him forever. Like the opening of flood gates, abstract scenes flash before his mind’s eye, constructing an intricate life for the unknown person before him and likening them to moments in his own life. You looked tired, overworked and under pressure to complete whatever you were toiling over.

Eita vaguely wonders what brought you to this coffee shop at this god forsaken hour. Was your roommate being too loud? Were you working through a bout of insomnia? Maybe you wanted to get some decent coffee while getting ahead in your course?

Whatever the reason, Eita is thankful for the pure happenstance it was for fate to place you before him. Before you showed up, exasperation was clouding his mind and creating minute tremors his hand. It was never a good mindset to have when puzzling together a significant song for both his band and his own closure.

Slowly, the disjointed verses and chords became stanzas and melodies, forming a fully-fleshed out song before his eyes in what seemed like a blink of an eye, but was most likely a few hours. Reading over the words and chords, Eita mentally sings the verses and then hums the chords out loud, checking that it flowed and it wasn’t a chaotic mess like the last iterations turned out to be.

Smiling at the fruits of his labour, Eita mentally pat himself on the back for persevering and not caving into his band mate’s insistent offers of assistance. They were all versatile in this industry and each had multiple roles within their rag-tag group. The least Eita could do was offer to compose the songs for them to play. Writing them was also a good outlet, he found. Since high school, he’d composed a few short jams, not that they would ever see the light if he could help it.

Pushing his joy back to regain focus, his eyes flit over to your hunched over figure. Even after all the hours that have passed, your fingers still tirelessly flew across your keyboard before pausing and correcting a few spelling and grammar mistakes as you go. Sending you a telepathic “good luck”, Eita once again picks up the instrument with the intent of playing what hopefully will be the final version of this song.

Now knowing that you wouldn’t mind his playing, he went ahead without holding back. Eyes following along with the keys written down, fingers plucking and strumming away at the strings. The notes blend together and softly swells and peaks with each repetition of the chorus. While he knew that you didn’t mind his playing, he didn’t want to distract you, so he mouthed the lyrics as he played.

The last chord hung in the air before fading into nothing. There were a few places that could use a few alterations, either a change in pitch or pace, but all in all it was a decent song accounting for the fact that it was written in less than a night. Now all it needed was a name.

Coming up with an appropriate name was always the hardest part of the process, Eita thought. Typically, if an artist wanted their song to be found easily, it was best to name it after the chorus. Scanning over verses and chorus, he pauses over the words ‘honey go home’.

Eita didn’t even have to turn around to know that you were running on fumes. If he had the confidence to strike up a proper conversation, he knew he would voice this sentiment to you. Pushing aside the thought, he writes the potential name in the top margin with a query next to it.

The song itself needed approval by the rest of the group and by their production manager, but he was overall very proud at completing it under the pressure of a dreadfully close deadline and the absence of a muse. That was, until you walked in.

Without even realising it, you served as the catalyst to the intense emotions that Eita felt in that futile relationship.

That wasn't to say that you reminded him of her. From what he could tell, you weren’t like his ex in the slightest. In fact, he was tempted to say from your short interaction and mannerisms that you were the polar opposite to the stiff and stand-offish demeanour his ex possessed. Still, you somehow triggered a part of him that he’d been unknowingly out of touch with since his break up. it was freeing in a sense, a weight lifted off his shoulders.

Calling it a night, Eita begins to pack up his mess of papers and stack dirty coffee mugs. Organising the sheet music into neat piles, he tucked the newly composed song in a sleeve separate to the half-baked songs written earlier on in the night. Throwing the folder and other miscellaneous items into his tote, he briefly wonders about when would be an appropriate time to message the team and notify them of his success. Checking his phone, Eita was not surprised to see that he stayed up so late from how groggy he felt. It definitely feels like almost six in the morning.

Tucking his phone away in his pocket, he grabs the bag and slings his guitar strap over his shoulder. Without even realising it, Eita looks back over to your table. Still in the exact same position, now with a half-empty cup of coffee cooling by your elbow as your emptily stare drills into the word document before you click something and fix whatever mistake you could find. From your unhurried pace, Eita assumed you were in the editing phase of the assignment, close to the end.

He was tempted to walk over to your table, to both say thanks and to get your name. You didn’t know how thankful he was of your presence obliterating his two-week long writer’s block and he wanted to make you aware of it. If he just so happens to offer to thank you over a drink or dinner and you accept, then that'd be a bonus of getting to know you.

As Eita walks towards the exit, he still tosses up whether to approach you or not. As he nears, you sigh heavily and message your temples, signalling that maybe you weren’t in the best of moods to make friendly conversation. That’s alright, Eita thinks as he bypasses your table at the last second. He really didn’t want to be the cause of breaking your focus, especially when you looked so done with life right now.

Like a fool, Eita lets the opportunity slip trough his fingers. Sparing you once last look over his shoulder, he pushes the door open and leaves the shop just as the sun kisses the horizon with her golden rays.

As he makes his way home, in the back of his mind he hopes that you get to go home soon to get some well-deserved rest.

Watching the monster document upload slowly on the café’s slow wifi was torture in and of itself. Sipping the last dredges of the cold coffee, you stare unblinkingly at the loading bar, hoping that it wouldn’t pop up with an error and terminate the upload. If that happened, you were going to scream. And maybe break something. You’re sure Jin wouldn’t mind so much. He knew you would pay for whatever damages you caused in your hysteria.

A small green notification confirms the upload and gives a receipt of your submission. The time stamp was enough for a cold sweat to break out along your skin. Ten minutes longer and it would’ve been late and you would've receive a big fat zero for it. The professor was an asshole to have that stipulation, but you were well and truly too exhausted to be angry at this point.

Shutting down the device, you recline back in the chair and swivel your neck that was stiff from holding it in a weird position for hours on end. God, your whole body was aching from unconsciously holding tension for the entire night.

The faint sunlight filtering through the windows suggest that it was time to pack up and get some much-needed sleep before your class today. Mid-day classes were the best, you cheered. Thankfully you’d be able to get at least a few hours before having to survive the rest of the day. You still had other assignments and module quizzes after all.

After neatly placing all your stuff away, you turn to seek out the attractive musician. At the sight of the empty chair he once inhabited, your heart sinks. You hadn’t even seen him leave, too wrapped up in rushing to submit before the rapidly approaching deadline.

Dismayed at the musician’s absence, you crush the unwarranted thought of being lonelier than you thought to fall for a stranger after a short conversation. If it could even be called a conversation since it was mostly him apologising.

Sighing out loud, you grab your bag and wave at Jin as you stand.

“Thanks for the coffee. You’re a miracle worker I swear.” Your compliment made him smile as he continued to sweep behind the counter.

“Good to hear that you enjoyed my coffee even though they were probably cold when you drank them.”

You chuckle at that and give a good bye as you leave the shop. The trip home was a blur in your mind. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow. As blissful unconsciousness enveloped you, the image of the ash-blond musician pops in your mind.

Eita was torn between cursing ever meeting you or thanking every god that existed. No that was a lie. He definitely didn’t regret meeting you. What he did regret was telling his prying room mate about the unexpected form his muse appeared as, after being asked how he pumped out a song so quickly.

Satori had a field day about his incompetence in asking for a someone's name.

“You have the looks and charisma of a modern day Adonis and yet you are the most awkward person I know when it comes to flirting.”

Eita had no grounds to defend himself. He knew he was hopeless when it came to dating. That was probably why he stayed so long in his last one, knowing how hard it is to put himself back on the dating scene.

“Yeah. I know.” He replied, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. It did nothing to alleviate the headache he felt coming on.

“Have you tried going back there to meet them again?” Satori looked at him questioningly while upside down from where he had his head thrown over the back of the lounge.

Yeah, Eita has tried going back there. All at varying times that he was out and about and had succumbed to the urge to go back there and see if maybe you were there. On his tenth visit there, he was sorely tempted to ask the barista with the thick eyebrows that you spoke to on that fateful night for your name. Common sense was quick to convince him out of that idea, he really didn’t want to come across as a creep.

Satori didn’t have to know all of that, though, so he stayed vague with his answer.

“Yeah I have, but they weren’t there.”

“Well,” Satori dragged the word out for longer then necessary and Eita felt his eyebrow tick in irritation. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Like Romeo and Juliet but with less death.”

Shaking his head at the analogy, Eita silently agrees with the flamboyant red-head. Maybe meeting you once was enough of a miracle that he should be thankful for and just accept his star-crossed meeting with you.

Still, he had a lot to thank you for. You served as a catalyst for became the most popular song in their first album, 'Honey Go Home' shooting up in the charts every passing day. Since then, they’ve been booking gigs left and right. Not that you ever knew it, nor would you ever since he hadn’t seen you since that fateful night.

A text from their manager pulls him out of the bittersweet reverie, notifying him of an impromptu meeting to cover the packed schedule for the next month. Running a hand through his hair, he contemplates if he had enough time to get dressed and grab something to eat along the way.

Judging that he could, but it’d be a tight fit, Eita shoots off into his room to chuck on random articles of clothing before heading out. He hears Satori snort at his outfit combination and ignores it in favour of beating the lunch-time rush.

By the time he makes it into the business district, Semi had a handful of minutes to spare to grab lunch before what he assumes is going to be a long meeting. Spotting a takoyaki stall not far from him, he was soon waiting in line with others that were won over by the delicious savoury smells permeating from the stall.

The order turnover was pretty quick, still he eyed the time on his phone’s home screen with worry. His band mates wouldn’t let himself live it down, hell he himself wouldn’t let it go. No one wanted to be that guy holding everyone up from going home to their lives. Generally, they all got along like a house on fire but with their recent schedule, it was hard not to want to spend lost time with friends and family.

Hearing his order called out, he rushed to collect the bag. There was no time to eat it now, so he’s have to eat during it, which wasn’t the worse thing to ever happen. Picking up his pace whilst answering a text, he doesn’t see the person he ends up crashing into, too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

They gasp as he slams against their back and start to tilt forward before he reaches out and pulls them by their shoulder to get back their footing.

“Sorry! Are you okay?” His eyes sweep down the person’s body, ensuring he caused no physical damage. As the person turned around to face him, Eita met the  face he'd least expected to see. Taken aback, Eita stared at you in shock as you mimicked him.

It was a humorous twist of fate that he would quite literally come crashing back into your life, after trying to find you for entire week.

It took you a moment to recognise him, trying to place his face to someone you met while his eyes roam your face. Once you do remember, you flushed at the close proximity of your bodies, his hand still clasped on your shoulder.

You both stared at one another as the world passes by, unknowing of the second fortuitous second meeting of the pair. Shock was the predominant emotion reigning inside of Eita, followed by gratefulness.

He suffered a full week of teasing from Satori and his band for acting like a hapless fool in love with some nameless person. There was no way in hell he was going to let you slip through his fingers again without at least getting a name.

“Hey, I know this sounds weird, but can I ask for your name?” He cursed the way his voice cracked at the greeting, wanting to scream at how awkward he was being again.

For whatever reason, it seemed that you were charmed by his latent charisma trumping his stiff question and you respond with your name. Testing it, he says it back to you and you respond with a nod at his pronunciation.

“What’s yours? I can’t keep calling you hot music guy.” You query in kind.

A light blush covers his cheeks at the compliment. He knew he looked good, people never failed to remind him, but it was always an ego boost when someone that made his heart flutter gave a compliment.

“I’m Semi Eita.”

He realises he was still holding your shoulder as they jump up as you silently laugh at his adorable blush. As if you burned him, he snatches away his hand as the blush intensifies. Eita was sure his face was bright red now.

“Well, hi Semi. I’m glad I got to meet you again. I wanted to thank you for playing that night, it really pushed me to keep working.” You glance off to the side, not meeting his surprised expression.

A soft, warm feeling fills him at your words. The power music possessed was a mysterious thing. To know that his playing had such an effect on you was incredible. It was extremely flattering.

“That's funny, because I actually wanted to thank you.” The words pour out of his mouth before his brain could catch up.

A curious look lights up your face and urges him to continue.

“In a round-about way, you inspired me –“ The shrill ring tone of his phone cut off his explanation.

Giving you an apologetic look, he looks at the screen and grimaces when he sees the contact name of his manager paired with the time. He was late already, so what was a few more minutes? He might as well shoot his shot, Eita concludes as he denies the call and meets your beautiful gaze.

Under the sunlight in light clothing for the warm spring-time weather, you looked stunning. The lack of tired lines etching your face and eye-bags soothes his heart, knowing that you got some decent sleep last night. It was weird how he barely knew you and yet he wanted to know if you got some sleep. Eita barely knew you and he craved being able to take care of you on those long nights when you were unable to do so yourself.

“Was that important?” You tilt your head at him and Eita had to refrain himself from visibly showing how much the cute action affected him.

“Ah, yeah, it kind of was,” Came his stilted reply. You bit at your cheek as Eita wanted to bang his head against a wall. What was it with him losing his cool with you around? Usually he was pretty good with small talk, or so he was told. His phone starts ringing again in his hand and he doesn't even bother to look at it.

Time had run out, it was now or never.

“Can I have your number? I’d really like to thank you when I’m not being rushed.” The words rushed out of him in a single breath, the split second of courage proving to be his downfall. As he regained that breath, he realised how fast he spoke. It was highly likely that you might’ve not caught them. Okay, now he was ready to bury himself alive.

R.I.P. Semi Eita.

Cause of death: trying and failing to ask for your number.

You stared at him blankly, mind taking a moment to process the word vomit, unknowingly watching him as he has an internal melt-down. His question suddenly hits you and it takes everything in you to not blush at the thought of a kind and talented musician asking for your number.

“Oh! You want my number?” You ask, pulling out your phone and pointing at it in question.

Relief sweeps away the embarrassment that threatened to surpass all logic and just leg it away from you and forget about ever meeting you entirely.

Not trusting himself, Eita nods. Pulling up a new contact and handing over his phone, you wordlessly do the same. Standing there filling out contact details, his accomplishment didn’t strike him until he thanked you and promised to text you soon after you urged him to get where he was needed.

While it wasn’t exactly the way he envisioned your first proper conversation to go, it did end with your name, number and a promise of a future meet-up. It was hard to keep the grin off of his face as he enters the room filed with unimpressed people. Once he explained his tardiness, the mood turned on its head as they gave him encouraging pats on the back and a few hair-ruffles that he batted away.

The entire time he sat there, his phone felt like a lead weight in his pocket. It took all his self-restraint to not text you right then and there.

In the end, it turned out you were the one to send the first text. If anyone saw the way he reacted to receiving that text as he walked out the building, he would refute any and all claims of him lighting up like a Christmas tree until the day he died.

Unlike asking for your number, it took a while for him to gather the courage to ask you out after a few easy-flowing conversations. With your enthusiastic response, he felt on top of the world.

Eita never made a habit of looking back at the past, arguing there was nothing one could possibly gain from doing so. Although, after the short few months since meeting and consequently dating you, he found himself often looking back to that quite night in the dimly-lit coffee shop. By all means, that stress-filled night should not have lead to him finding his other half. But as Eita had come to learn, even the mundane becomes extraordinary with you by his side.

Notes: I wrote this in a night and had to stop myself from posting it without editing because I have no self-restraint sometimes. Critiques, Comments & Notes are always welcomed!

[the-cryptographer]

I know you probably get asked this a lot, but I can't help myself. You can tell me to fuck off if you don't want to answer, though. Do you still want to finish Lottery Ticket? Because it's one of my favorite YGO fics and the idea of you dropping it makes me so very sad.

It’s fine anon. I mean, I appreciate the recognition that I don’t owe you an answer or free content or anything, but I don’t get asked too often so it’s not a bother. And I’m not gonna tell you to ‘fuck off’.

Short answer is that - No, I’m not dropping Lottery Ticket. I still want to finish it. And, although I’m moving at a glacial pace, I was working on writing the next chapter as recently as sometime last week.

I’m going to give a longer answer though - Yeah, I also get scared I’m not gonna be able to finish it sometimes too. Not in the sense that it’s not important to me, but in the sense that I’ve been writing it for over two years, am over 100k words into it, and I’m not even halfway through the the planned story. I hope that I’ll be able to pick up the pace at some point, but moreso I hope that two or four or however many years in the future I’ll still care as much about finishing it as I do now. I’m kind of lucky I had some experience under my belt when I first started writing LT, enough to be able to know that I need to have a rather concrete understanding of my plot and story structure to see a long project through. But what LT has really driven home is that I have a very poor understanding of how many words and chapters (and how much time) it takes to execute the ideas in an abstract outline.

Also, yeah, idk how obvious it is, but Lottery Ticket is pretty personal to me. Not in the sense that I grew up with a gambling alcoholic dad, started a long distance relationship with a classy older woman straight out of my teenage years, or worked as a gofer for the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. But a lot of the themes it deals with - feeling trapped in a household with a deteriorating abuser, class struggle through the lens of the more personal relationships between employers and employees, codependency and not being able to trust that people love you bc they depend on you, the intersectionality of poverty, racism, and crime, etc. etc. are all pretty heavy themes that I care deeply and personally about. And you’d think that that would make this story easier to write at times, but it mostly just makes it more difficult. It often feels a lot easier to rattle off oneshots about characters and ideas that, while maybe not entirely without emotional gravitas for me, certainly don’t hit as many soft spots so consistently.

And, in a more immediate sense, yea- next chapter is killer. I recently complained on twitter about how the draft for it cracked 8k, and I didn’t feel it was remotely finished. I like to divide the chapters so that they individually have a crescendo of rising and falling action - or at least that’s what I tell myself - so, having established the previous chapter that the next chapter is going to be about dealing with this problem where Jou owes an ungodly amount of money to yakuza affiliates and has no paycheck to pay with, I don’t think it really makes sense for me to post until I’ve reached a resolution to that conflict eleven days later. But, in addition to the mad scramble for cash, the chapter also has to include Jou dragging an unconscious Kaiba home, Jou negotiating with his landlord, scenes with Honda and Yuugi that establish how Jou feels about relying on them, an extendend flashback with Mai (& Anzu) that does much the same thing in addition to giving more background on Jou’s living situation, all that foreshadowing, etc. Also, I was kind of up in the air about whether or not to include this scene in this chapter or next - because there is /so much/ this chapter and I have very little concretely planned for next chapter - but I’m increasingly coming to think that Jou should confront his dad about the stolen paycheck this chapter instead of next one. Like- Jou’s kind of avoiding coming face to face with his dad and directly asking him for the money back. And the idea is that Jou’s been in situations similar enough to this in the past, that he already knows what the likely result of such a confrontation is and that it’s probably a dead end. So he’d prefer to wait until after the situation with Kyoutarou is dealt with to speak to dad. But the more I think about it, the more I realise the audience doesn’t have the same information that Jou does, and would probably benefit more from seeing the outcome of that confrontation firsthand. And to see it firsthand while there is still a hypothetical possibility for Jou’s dad to somehow influence the outcome when Jou goes to pay his debt, instead of after it’s somewhat of a moot point.

And, yeah, that brings me to the last part, which is the anxiety for what comes after the next chapter. As I’ve said, the fic is plotted out pretty heavily, but the two-three chapters after the next one are the part of the fic I have planned out the least in terms of their concrete events. I know the scene that the chapter after next ends on, but I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to fill the first part of it in with beyond the extremely vague ‘need to have a scene with Mokuba and start filling in more foreshadowing before the shit entirely hits the fan’. This isn’t explicitly a problem, per se, because Lotto Ticket has a big cast and there are a lot of threads I can pick up with Mai, Anzu, Shizuka, Honda, Yuugi, the other secretarial staff, etc that will hopefully fill out the pacing gaps in a way that will hopefully be entertaining and insightful, before I get back to the more solidified chapters directly preceding and including the climax of Part 2.

And, mmm, in addition to the anxiety related to chapter planning or lack thereof, there’s also just anxiety about what I’m going to have the characters say, do, and think? Next chapter is going to start dropping some pretty horrible headcanons about Jounouchi’s misogyny and his criminal record that I think should reasonably turn some people away from a fic featuring him as the protag. Following this he will spend a while comparing Seto rather unfavorably to Mai, and I mean that in an extremely intimate relational sense. And while I, as the author, know this is him struggling with his own homophobia and that it’s not meant to reflect negatively in a meta sense on Seto or JouKai, it takes a while before Jounouchi even starts to get over himself. Also, like, I’ve dropped some hints already that Jou and Mai have an open relationship (and that it’s a setup Jou’s not very happy about and kind of considers cheating anyhow). But I think the further progression of the “cheating” as it exists in this fic has the potential to be increasingly upsetting for readers, and it’s also the first of multiple issues regarding Jounouchi not really having a very good understanding of consent. And, finally, although I started the fic with a rather stark and controversial picture of Mokuba, and have since tried really hard to communicate that he is the same kid from canon that loves his brother to death, we have absolutely not reached the worst in his conflict and anger with his brother and I’m sure at least a few people won’t like it. And, mmm, I’m not really willing to compromise any of these things or tone them down. Even the few that aren’t directly baked solid into the plot structure of the fic, even the ones that I’m really not going to be able to frame in such a way that I can address them in detail given Jounouchi’s POV, I think they’re all extremely thematic and pointed towards the story’s idea of the situation Jounouchi grew up in, what he learned from it, and how much is at stake or not at stake, when he tries (or doesn’t try) to escape the poverty and abuse that (at least in part) defined him. But, yeah, idk. Even though I’m decided in that ‘this is the story i’m gonna write and no other’ it’s still anxiety provoking to think about readers being upset with me or dropping the fic even if I think their reasons for doing so would be completely justified - you know what I mean?

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to ramble about writing (or not writing) one of my favourite fics, anon. I hope I’ll be able to get the next chapter out sooner rather than later.

[runmilder]

Henchman

AO3 link here

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen Relationships: Dick Grayson/reader Tags: coffee dates, Mind Control, And Romance, oh my!, POV Second Person

Summary: 

Sometimes you’re the hero. Sometimes you’re the victim. And sometimes… sometimes you’re just the overpaid lackey.

Living in Gotham is a bit like living in the eye of an infinite hurricane. Sure, it’s calm for now, but you can see the wall of the storm on all sides, and you’re left to wonder if you have enough time to make it to the 7-Eleven and back before the next wave hits. Except instead of rain and wind, it’s going to be clowns or cultists or whatever the villain flavor of the week happens to be.

This week, it’s… eldritch creatures?

“Oh, for the love of—” You dodge a whip-like tentacle and stumble into the brick siding of the convenience store. There’s nothing particularly convenient about it when its barred windows shatter and shower you in a fine hail of glass. You cover your head, eyes shut, and wish you’d just eaten what was in your fridge.

Somewhere nearby, sirens wail.

Today, it seems, you’ve been caught out in the storm. And unlucky you, you forgot to bring your umbrella and Lovecraft survival guide.

Another dark, writhing shape launches itself at you, suckers flaring, and you lunge into an alley at a run. You’ve seen this anime. Doesn’t end well for hapless schoolgirls.

Ordinarily, dark alleys are a huge no-go in Gotham city, but “ordinary” doesn’t really cover this situation. Besides, if there’s a gun-toting thug behind a dumpster, you hope the many-limbed creature—creatures?—go for them first.

Something flies over your head, close enough that you can feel the downdraft. You duck belatedly, knees hitting the pavement. There’s a sound like someone hitting a wet sack with a bat, then a crackle, a shriek, and a smell of charred meat. And over it all, the pervasive scent of garbage.

Eau-de-Gotham.

You turn to see the broad back of one of the city’s many costumed crusaders, and if you had the breath to spare, you’d sigh in relief. Nightwing wails on one thick tentacle, batons lit up and buzzing.

“Keep going!” he shouts back at you, hurtling into the heart of the mess. From the mouth of the alley, you see someone in red joining the fray.

Calvary present, you waste no time in booking it the rest of the way down the alley, resolving to take the long way back to your apartment.

Back home, the news blathers on about a science experiment gone wrong or some shit—what else is new—and switches to an aerial view of shadowed figures just going to town on equally dark, inhuman shapes. You can see your local junk food stop to their right, its windows shattered. You bet if you open your own window, you’ll be able to hear some of the commotion.

Your microwave shrills, and you flick off the television with a long-suffering sigh.

Just another Tuesday in Gotham.

Wednesday brings with it a fair number of actual storms, and a date with your sort-of boyfriend.

“You look rough,” he says, taking in your rain-ravaged form.

“Dick,” you say as both address and acknowledgment of his entirely uncalled-for observation.

He grins. “I bought you a coffee.”

“You’re on thin ice, buddy.” You take the proffered cup anyway.

Dick is sitting by the window of the coffee shop, legs stretched out under the small table. You sit across from him and try to figure out how to arrange your own limbs without disturbing him. He takes a sip of his drink, clearly amused, before trapping your legs between both of his own and settling back with a smug look. You consider struggling for a moment, but you can feel his muscles flexing beneath the denim, and hoo boy, that’s not a battle you’d win. You lean back, adopting what you hope is an impassive look, but from the way Dick continues to radiate smug satisfaction, you think it’s a loss.

“So,” you say, hoping to guide this interaction back to neutral ground. “How’s work?”

“Work’s good.” He shrugs, and you try not to stare at the way his shirt tightens around his shoulders. “Routine stuff. Uneventful.” He never wants to talk about work. “How’s class?”

You groan. That question has hounded you for the past four years.

“I just signed up for my last semester. Can’t come soon enough, honestly.”

Dick nods. “You continuing with that internship in the spring?”

“Mhm.” You jiggle your cup, feeling the liquid slosh. “Dr. Irving wants to keep me on. Says I’m “good with the kids.””

“The “kids” being…”

“Her plants,” you say.

You both share a smirk.

Dick sobers. “Listen,” he says. “I was thinking—”

“Dangerous.”

“Seriously.” His legs tighten around yours. “What if you had another offer?”

“Paying what she does? In this economy?” Your laugh is only half mocking. “Honestly, I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop there, but until then…” You raise your cup in a salute.

Dick leans forward. “What about double?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What if you were offered double what you’re making with the good doctor to… what? Water her plants and stay out of her way?”

Your mind blanks. “Uhh…”

Sounds shady as hell. You already feel like you’re getting away with highway robbery with what Dr. Irving is paying you. Or, at least, what her research lab is paying you. And also, rude, you do more than water plants and make yourself scarce.

You also make ungodly amounts of herbal tea.

“I… like all of my organs?” you finally say.

“I said a job, babe, not a back-alley procedure.”

“Actually, you said “offer,” which sounds infinitely more ominous.”

His eye-roll is more of a full-head-roll, and when his neck stretches, you catch sight of a discolored spot on the skin beneath his jaw.

“Is that a… hickey?” you say slowly. It doesn’t really look like a hickey. It actually looks like he was shot in the neck with a giant suction cup dart.

He claps a hand over the spot. “Um. N-yeah.”

“Nyeah?” You narrow your eyes.

This isn’t even about the possibility of Dick necking another person—a person with a lamprey mouth, apparently—as you’re not exactly clear on the parameters of your relationship. Such as it is. It’s just that the spot on his neck is niggling at something in your brain. His reaction is equally suspicious, although he locks it up pretty fast.

“Sorry, I—” He looks pained. “Stuff… happened last night. It was… electric.” The flat tone of his voice belies his words.

You open your mouth. Close it.

Is this where you ask for clarification about the two of you? Broach the topic of exclusivity?

…Why does this feel like one of those situations where a guy claims to have been watching porn when he’s really been watching something weirdly hard to explain, like Teletubby conspiracy theories?

“Dick, what’s really goi—” you start, but a low-tone buzz interrupts you, and Dick already has his discrete work phone in hand, eyes flicking over the screen.

He mutters something under his breath. “Look, I have to—” He looks at you, grimacing. “I am so, so sorry. I don’t mean to ditch you after—” He waves a hand to encompass the tense air between you.

You frown, confused and frustrated. You definitely feel like you’re missing something.

Dick slides his chair back, his legs detangling themselves from yours in one deft movement.

“Can I call you later?” he asks. The expression on his face speaks volumes for what answer he expects.

You surprise him by nodding. You’re still staring at the angry mark.

He lets out a short breath through his nose. “I—okay. Good.” He bends over you for a second, hesitating, before pecking you on the head. “Stay dry.”

And then he’s gone.

You’re left with half a cup of cooling coffee and a head full of questions.

Dr. Paula Irving is a little prickly, but also mostly absent, so she’s pretty much the best boss ever. When you were flipping through internship applications, S.T.A.R. Lab’s jumped out because—hello, “paid.” Right there in print. You weren’t sure what pittance could be expected for a botanist’s undergrad assistant, so when you interviewed—first with the lab, and then with the scientist herself—and she told you the sum, your jaw nearly hit the floor.

“It’s an incentive,” she said, eyes looking through you. “Treat them well.”

You didn’t care at that point whether her plants required only the blood of virgins—you were getting this internship, dammit.

Thankfully, the lab’s greenhouse inhabitants need only the usual upkeep: sunlight, water, and occasional pruning. You spend the first week learning the ins and outs of plant care under your employer’s watchful eye, and after that, you are left to your duties in silence. It’s calm, methodical work, and the green space is always nap-weather warm. It’s nice.

Sometimes, when you’ve finished tending the plants, you’re to help Dr. Irving with… whatever it is that she’s doing. It mostly involves you wearing protective gear in the little white tent she’s erected and keeping the temperature steady on the vials of plant extracts that she’s examining. Occasionally, she even trusts you with a small knife, and you dice what looks like diseased plant pieces and put them on microscope slides. She never bothers to explain what she’s working towards, and you’re not getting paid to ask questions.

It’s kind of a soap-bubble existence.

That being said, you don’t expect it to pop as it does.

“Hey, Doc, sorry I’m late. There was a guy with sonic weapons on my normal route, and my taxi had to—” You stutter to a halt, taking in the scene.

Normally, your employer is dressed to kill—business skirts, heels, the whole nine yards—but today she seems to be taking the saying a little more seriously.

“I’ll just...” You make a grab for the door handle, looking to make a speedy exit.

A vine darts out to cinch your arms to your waist. You suck in a shallow breath and wonder what it is about you and tentacle-like things lately. At least the vine doesn’t have suckers on it.

Wait—

“Now this is unfortunate,” Poison Ivy née Paula Irving says, shattering your thoughts. She glides closer, plants blooming in her wake. You feel like you’re looking at some carnal painting of Eve, all leaves and bare skin. “I had hoped to avoid complications like this. Keep my work and home life separate, if you will.”

You knew this job was too good to be true. Science credits and competitive pay? You should have just taken out a loan.

“Look, I won’t tell anyone—” you say, the words tumbling out before you can catch them. You really don’t want to find out what it feels like to have vines grow up your sinus cavities and into your brain.

“Of course not, sweet thing.” The woman has a smile as poisonous as her name. She strokes a hand down your face. “We’re going to make sure of it.”

The puff of pollen isn’t what you’re expecting. You sneeze, once.

Then things get a little… hazy.

“Now we have a lot to do today, and I’m going to need you to be a very good helper.”

You find yourself nodding. You can be a good helper. You can be a great helper.

Something soft pats your cheek. “That’s what I like to hear.”

There’s something wrong.

Dr. Irv—Pam—seems unfazed, and she would know—she knows everything—but there’s still… something. You pause in your fiddling with a line of heating concoctions, head spinning. It’s like a ringing in your ears. Like a ringing in your whole head.

“Don’t let that extract burn,” Pam says sharply, and the moment is lost.

You adjust the temperature, happy to be of help.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been here, but it’s not important. Pam says you’re close—so close—to completion, and it would be a shame to stop now.

You agree. Why leave when you could be here, helping?

Some distant message in your brain pings, but you send it straight to voicemail. You have the brief thought that maybe you should sit down, but there are no chairs here, and you can’t just leave. Pam says you should stay in this room, and that seems reasonable. There’s too much to do.

Something pings again, and this time it’s not in your head.

“Be a dear and turn off your phone, would you? It’s bad lab manners,” Pam says. She doesn’t look up from her slides.

You float over to your shoulder bag, feeling mortified. You didn’t turn off your phone! Pam must think you’re so rude. Maybe you should throw your phone in the garbage.

Yeah, that seems like the best course of action.

You reach for the power button, but the screen lights up again, another message coming in. You blink. There are… a lot of missed messages. That seems important, somehow.

“Something wrong?” Pam asks, suddenly beside you.

You start, and the screen goes black. You stare at the dark shape for a handful of seconds, unseeing, before giving a shrug and tossing it into the waste bin.

“It’s not important,” you say, smiling up at the woman.

“Hm.” She peers into your eyes for a moment, and you smell something cloying, like roses and overripe fruit, before she turns away. You waver in place, the ground bucking beneath you.

It’s not importa—

You’re happy to hel—

You pitch forward, losing the battle with your own equilibrium.

Something warm catches you around your waste.

“Easy there,” a vaguely familiar voice says in your ear.

The room around you shifts again. You feel like you should tell someone that you’re feeling a little under the weather, but your tongue grew wings and flew away, and you’re not sure about the state of your vocal cords. There’s suddenly a lot more green in your field of vision, and that seems cheerful.

“I can’t say I’m glad to see you, little bird.”

Oh, but Pam doesn’t seem to be cheerful at all. Your fingers twitch in sympathy. You can’t seem to manage much more than that.

“”Little” from whose perspective, Doctor Irving?”

No one seems very happy, actually. Such a shame, because other than your general inability to do anything, you feel great.

“I’m surprised it took you so long, honestly,” Pam says. “I thought one of your kind would come flying in here half-cocked weeks ago.”

There’s some maneuvering, and you’re lifted so that Pam is no longer in your line of sight—you’d frown if you still had lips, but you think they hitched a ride with your tongue—and you are instead looking up at a man in a mask.

Or, more specifically, you’re looking up at a masked man’s jaw and mouth.

“’ey,” you slur.

Blue eyes blink down at you, momentarily distracted. “What did you do?”

You’re not sure what he means. You’ve only been helping; he doesn’t have to sound so harsh—

“Just a little plant coercion,” Pam says airily. “Nothing permanent, if you’re so concerned.”

Oh. No one’s angry at you. That’s good.

The lips continue to frown. The shape of them is familiar, and you feel like you’ve thought about them before. At length.

“Dick,” you say muzzily.

The look now aimed at you is one of alarm.

“Are you kidding me?” your sort-of boyfriend hisses through his teeth.

You wonder why he’s wearing the mask. You like his face. It’s a good face.

Some of that thought must find its way out of your mouth, because there's a shushing noise—rude—and suddenly you’re in motion.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with this, Ivy,” Dick throws over his shoulder.

There’s a feminine scoff behind him. “You think you can just come and go as you please, don’t you? Men.”

Your free ride gets a lot rougher when vines start snapping toward Dick’s feet. He dashes out of the lab, dodging encroaching flora, and you resolve to close your eyes and hope for the best. You’re sad that Pam’s upset, but Dick is here now, and you really like Dick.

“I r’ly li’e you,” you say, because it’s important that he knows.

“Your timing,” Dick pants, tucking you in closer, “leaves something to be desired.”

“Mm.” You’d say more—something about his mouth, maybe—but something is tugging you down, down, down into darkness, and you see no reason to resist.

Dick will keep you safe.

“—orked for Poison Ivy for months without suspecting her, and I show up and get pegged in minutes. Even after the drugs!”

You’re not sure what death feels like, but you think you might be experiencing it.

“Eugh,” you can’t help but groan when you go to scrape your eyelids open. Too bright.

There’s the sound of footsteps and a hand on your forehead.

“Hey, take it easy, you’ve been out for a while.”

“Dick?” you ask, eyes still firmly winched shut. Your mind’s all jumbled, and your sinuses feel like they’ve been hit with spring allergies.

There’s a pregnant pause.

“…Yeah. About that.”

You crack an eye open.

“Oh,” you say, mouth dry for a whole host of reasons. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Nightwing says with a wry grin. “We have a lot to talk about.”

The coffee shop is sunny today, and you have a disposition to match.

“Well someone looks chipper,” Dick says when you come strolling in, grin wide enough to split your face. “The interview went well, I assume?”

You bend and smack a kiss against his cheek, but when you go to take your seat, he snags an arm around you and reels you back in for a proper greeting.

“Mm,” you breathe against his mouth. “So good.”

“I know I am.” He winks and lets you go.

You roll your eyes. “I meant the interview, you doof. I swear, if your ego gets any bigger, we’ll have to roll it behind you in a wheelbarrow.”

His ankles stretch out to link around one of your own. His smile is entirely unapologetic.

“So, you got the job?”

“Dick, your dad runs the company. Of course I got the job.”

“Nah, he didn’t have to pull any strings for this. You did it all on your own.”

You have to look down to avoid the warm look in his eyes. You might be blushing.

“Wanna celebrate tonight? My treat.” He waggles his eyebrows invitingly, as if you need coercing to accept the offer.

“Sure you don’t have any other dates tonight? Any eldtritch creatures you wanna get real personal with?”

Dick groans. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“I could be convinced to drop that particular instance. That I was so callously and impersonally seduced to out a super villain?” You give a haughty sniff and flip your hand in a so-so gesture. “Jury’s still out.”

Dick grabs your wavering hand and rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m sorry it’s such an imposition for you.”

“Every day I suffer.”

He laughs, then. “Free up your schedule tonight,” he says, leaning in. “I’ll make it up to you.

The way his voice drops at the last has you shivering.

“I’ll… make some adjustments,” you say.

Gotham may be a hurricane, but you’re feeling weatherproof today.