#but I imagine it was practically impossible for others to get onto the home page and search for the game

[chestersbraincell]

called it btw(tho it wasn't crashed for long, like 40 minutes I think, and only partially)

Im so sure that the Petal dress will crash roblox. Almost certain

[sillyromance]

Good day Ma'am,

First of all I LOVE THE NEW STORY SO MUCH, I really love of it turned out. Second of all do you have some funny/interesting moments of Vincent and Marcella in mind? Like we're someone maid a funny mistake or something? Or do you have some loveble (I hope it's written like this) moments of the two of them? Thank you if you answer and like always have a good day Ma'am!

- Anon L.

Good day dear Anon L.!

Thank you very much for your kind words! I'm happy you like the story❤️❤️❤️

Speaking of funny moments, I can think of only one for now – it’s partially shown on my Marcella’s page. She was quite surprised to learn that Vincent could purr. If you have ever heard how panthers purr (* I've learned that tigers don't purr, but chuff which isn't really what I need), you can imagine what it sounds like. When he revealed his ability for the first time, the girl, confused, asked if there was a cat in the house; yet, once realization struck her, Marcella’s face was priceless! She was questioning her entire existence at that point…

Plus, furniture in Vincent’s house has been made specifically for its gigantic owner; when Marcella needs to take something off the shelves, it becomes impossible without a ladder or her husband’s help. Vincent may turn a bit playful and tease her about her short height; then she makes an adorable pouty face which is practically too hilarious not to laugh at!

🌸 As for fluff and lovable moments – here are a few ideas I can give!

1) Vincent is a very tough and cautious man. He doesn’t like being touched by strangers, and even his best friend Georgy giggles at Nor’s grumpy face every time pulling him into a hug. Yet, Vincent lets his guard down when Marcella is around; she is allowed to do whatever she pleases with him since he feels safe only with his wife of all people, and she is definitely the only person allowed to touch his throat and stomach (from the outside) for those are his spots of extra vulnerability. Also, Marcella loves “hunting” Nor, sneaking behind his back and embracing him when Vincent is sitting at his desk. They both laugh afterwards, but god save you from doing the same! Vincent is a predator, he will instantly feel threatened if approached from behind his back without him noticing!

2) You can imagine, one meter height difference between husband and wife can be a difficulty when things come to communication. Yet, not for these two! Vincent is very attentive towards his precious little princess – when she speaks to him, Nor always bends forward to show he is listening; if she gets overwhelmed in public, it’s enough for Marcella to give his sleeve a little tug, and soon they are already home drinking tea. On the other hand, the girl knows her husband’s stress indicators just as well: Vincent rubs his temples or makes a vague gesture with his hand as if he is searching for something (in fact, he instinctively tries to find his wife’s hand). At home, Marcella makes him sit down and crawls onto his lap to give her man a hug; in public, she skillfully pulls him away from the crowd and leads him somewhere private so he can calm down and vent if he needs to. By the way, at some rare moment Vincent can feel “small” and defenseless despite his great strength and size. The best cure for him then is to lay his head down on Marcella’s stomach and feel his hair brushed by her tiny fingers. In some way, her body sounds give him an illusion of “switching roles” with his wife, allowing him to overcome anxiety and have rest during periods of insomnia.

3) As I mentioned before, Marcella is fascinated by her husband’s musical talent. Once she mentioned it while talking to him and expressed her sadness about not being able to accompany him when he is playing. So, he suggested educating her! She is an eager student while Vincent is a patient, yet demanding teacher; they're already able to perform some simple duets together! She tries to improvise as well, and Nor encourages her on her way for freedom from musical sheets, yet Marcella's experiments have been too shy so far.

4) From her side, Marcella tried to teach Vincent drawing. Let’s say, it wasn’t an easy task😅. Yet, now her husband often makes sketches in his diary when feelings are too hard to bare. The vast majority of his doodles are faces of people he knows, and the ways he portrays them in depend on his emotions. Nor often draws his nightmares, trying to get them out of his mind (Vincent won't admit it, but he gets anxious and suspicious after bad dreams). On top of that, addressing a letter to his wife, Vincent always draws a small lark on the bottom right corner of the paper. No one except the two knows about this habit of his, and that's why the sign serves two purposes: 1) a symbol of his love; 2) protection from fake letters which could lead his wife into a trap. The lark is composed of a calculated number of lines and special items drawn around the bird itself which makes the sign almost impossible to copy.

Thank you for asking and reading! Stay healthy and happy forever ❤️!

[works-of-fanfiction]

“He’s the Best.” - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham struggles with his self-esteem within the band and the reader tries to cheer him up.

Requested by: Anon. I hope you like this <3

Warnings: Swearing (literally once).

Word Count: 3.3k - a bit of a longer oneshot from me! I didn’t mean for it to be this long.

A/N: I’ve been writing this and putting it off for days because I just don’t know if I like it, but I don’t want to restart it. Argh… I hope someone enjoys this cheese fest.

* Gif credits to the linked creator

_______________

No one in this life is born ‘better’ than anybody else. It’s not a competition or a game of comparison. Every single human on this planet has their own unique qualities that make them interesting and most importantly, worthy. However, humans sadly aren’t wired to see those qualities in themselves. They spend the majority of their lives obsessing over others; wondering if they’re as talented as the next man, or if they’ll ever look as good as whatshername. Sometimes, it gets to a point where even the deepest of friendships can become strained due to one or more parties comparing themselves to another’s achievements.

And seeing Graham go through exactly that, has been killing me. There was a time when everything Graham and Damon did together, was truly that - together. Every single melody, riff, lyric - it was theirs. Neither one did more work than the other, neither was more musically talented. They were both kids crammed inside a Portakabin with their very first instruments, strumming and plucking and making probably rather bothersome noise. They had no idea what was to become of their lunchtime jam sessions and after school practices. Both were just excited to have a friend that liked the same things as them, and enjoyed the noise the other was making.

But Graham has since become a shadow of who he once was around Damon - he’s become Damon’s shadow. Or so he thinks.

Being in a band with a boisterous frontman like Damon was bound to become hard work for the other members at one point or another, but I never thought it would affect Graham like this. It’s getting harder to communicate with him, and I know it’s not his fault but I’m running out of things to say to fill the silences. There’s only so many times I can ask if he wants a cup of tea, or tell him about the encounter I had at the bus stop earlier that day. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, so I can’t imagine how he must feel. The silence seems to be the only thing he wants; he doesn’t write anymore, he hardly plays guitar outside of work commitments, and he hasn’t picked up his sketchbook in weeks. He just seems to stare at the TV or sit on the sofa with his head buried in a book that’s stuck on the first chapter. I watched him the other day and in forty-five minutes, he turned the page once. I bet if I asked him about the story he wouldn’t be able to recall a single character’s name, never mind the plot.

Watching him struggle with his self-esteem is crushing, and I don’t want him to live another second feeling the way he does. I know it may take a while for him to find himself again, but if I can do anything to help move things along, it’s worth a try. I’d drop everything for Graham in a heartbeat.

“I dropped those music stands off today. Did you get them?” Dave asks, his voice a little crackly on the other end of the phone.

“I did, thank you!” I chime, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I assemble the very same stands.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried about leaving them outside. I thought somebody would take them… What do you need them for anyway?”

“That’s something for me to know and you to find out, Dave.” I laugh, tightening one last knob on the second stand and straightening it out. I stand back and admire my handy work, smiling at the prospect of what they are to become.

“Alright, alright. Well, I hope they come in handy! I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. See you next week!”

We both hang up and I grab the stands, climbing up the stairs and into the spare room, placing them in their desired places. Grabbing two pieces of sheet music, I slot them onto the stands neatly and adjust them until they’re perfect. With one last thing to check, I turn on the projector I borrowed from an old university friend and let the film play out on the blank wall opposite. I mess with the sound a little, making sure it’s loud enough before rewinding the footage to the beginning and turning it off until later.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turn around and admire everything on the walls. Everything from lyrics to old album art concepts, to still life paintings from Graham’s time at Goldsmith’s. Beside the music stands, there’s crates filled with records, decorated with lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper, some in Graham’s handwriting and others in mine. I of course, couldn’t resist writing them out in various colours and covering them in star-shaped stickers. The finishing touch is a large beanbag against the wall for us to sit and watch the projector from. I fluff up the beanbag for the thousandth time before heading downstairs to wait for Graham to get back.

It takes around two hours for Graham to arrive home. As soon as I hear his taxi pull up outside, I jump up from the sofa and head into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Nerves bubble through me as I anticipate his entry. It’s impossible to predict how Graham’s going to be feeling on any given day. He could come through the door and speak to me as normal, or he could disappear into his studio until he’s tired enough to head to bed. Through the rumbling of the kettle I listen out for the door, fingers impatiently tapping on the counter as my gaze fixates on a magpie outside, shakily balancing on the washing line. A second joins it and I smile, muscle memory taking over as I pour the boiled water into two cups, not taking my eyes off of the birds.

“Hi.” Graham’s voice peeps behind me. Putting the kettle down, I turn around with a warm smile on my face. Despite everything Graham has been going through, seeing him come through that door every day is still my favourite sight. Having him come home to me will simply never get old. I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go out on tour again in a few months.

“Hey.” I breathe, the sides of my face already beginning to feel sore from the ridiculous grin stuck on it. He smiles back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but I know he means well. He’s trying. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring these in.” I gesture to the brewing teas on the counter and he nods, hanging his bag on the nearest kitchen chair and leaving the room without another word. I finish the drinks as quickly as possible, grabbing the stack of takeaway menus from the junk drawer and bringing them with me, the pieces of paper clamped between my teeth as I concentrate on carrying the two steaming hot cups in my hands.

Setting the cups down on the coffee table, I toss the menus onto the sofa next to where Graham is very aggressively, trying to pull his Docs off. “Need a little help?” I ask, laughing as I kneel down and bat his hands out of the way. “It would help if you untied them.”

“It’s easier to leave them tied.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, gesturing to his feet still stuck in the cherry red boots. The laces are a complete mess with three bulky knots in them. I sit down cross-legged on the carpet, carefully plucking and unravelling each knot whilst Graham buries his head in the takeaway menus. “How do you even - “ I struggle, pulling at the frayed shoelace whilst trying not to damage it further, “- get these things on?” With one last tug, the first lace loosens and I’m able to slide the boot off with ease. Graham’s face pops out from behind the menu, a side-smile plastered onto his lips and a cheeky glint in his eyes. I know he wants to laugh.

“Shall we get Indian tonight?” He changes the subject, flipping over the tatty piece of bright orange paper as he squints at the options. He always orders the same thing, yet still insists on reading the whole menu front to back. He does it for every restaurant.

“Indian sounds good.” I nod, pulling the second boot off and shoving them to the side. “I’ll call them now.” Jumping up to grab the phone, I type the number in from memory and hold it up to my ear.

“What’s the rush?” Graham mouths and I hush him when somebody answers. I order the usual along with some extras and give them our address, despite them not even really needing it anymore. The phone call is no longer than a minute and Graham sits staring at me, nose scrunched in confusion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going - “

“Follow me.” I blurt out, stretching my arm towards him and rising onto my tiptoes out of excitement. He stands slowly, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the sofa. “I was going to wait until we’d had our food, but I have to show you now.”

“Show me what?” He asks as I grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs. We squeeze up the narrow staircase, almost tripping each other over a couple times until we stop on the landing, feet overlapping one another’s on the small square of carpet.

“I know you haven’t really been yourself lately.” I start, my fingers slipping from Graham’s wrist to entwine with his. He looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes watch our hands as I lightly stroke the back of his thumb in an attempt to relax him. He has a habit of tensing up whenever I broach the subject. “So I wanted to remind you just how great you are.”

I watch his face intently, the corners of his mouth twitching and trying to smile. With my free hand, I open the door and flick the light on, pulling Graham into the room with me. His hand slips from my grasp and I back up to stand against the wall, watching as he takes in the room around him and everything in it.

He walks to the music stands first, fingers tracing the notes on the pages, flipping them over then back again. He walks towards the canvas on the back wall - a woodland painting he’d won a prize for back in college - running his hand over the textured patch of paint that forms the trees. I nervously bite the back of my thumb as he kneels down to sift through the records in the large black case below, flicking through every Blur album and single released to this day. My favourite lyrics are scattered on sheets of paper all over the ground, and he picks up the second verse from Coffee & TV. “You’ve always loved this one.” He says, turning to me and smiling.

“I happen to really like the guy who sings it.”

“He must be pretty good then.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” Resting my foot against the wall, I kick my body forward and stand straight, joining Graham beside the projector.

“What’s this for?” He asks, hands hovering near the buttons but not daring to touch anything. I take his hands in mine and give them a loving squeeze.

“Sit down and I’ll show you.” I chirp and he sinks down onto the beanbag. I mess with the projector until the sound starts to creep in, stretching over to switch off the light. Graham shuffles to the side to make some room for me on the beanbag and I flop down beside him, nestling into his side.

The image from the projector is surprisingly clear against the wall, although could’ve been improved had I borrowed a screen from somewhere. A variety of different clips play out in front of us, ranging from Graham performing onstage to snippets of his band members talking and praising their guitarist. I try my hardest to focus on the film in front of me, but I can’t help glancing over at Graham to see his reactions. His brows are furrowed, but not necessarily in a bad way - he’s focused, fully concentrating on everything he’s seeing and hearing.

I fidget with my hands, twiddling my thumbs and quietly cracking my knuckles. Graham notices this and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it over to rest in his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I press a kiss onto his sleeve, rubbing my head against him and breathing in his familiar scent. He lays his head on top of mine, but never looks away from the video playing on the wall. Absentmindedly, his fingertips dance on the back of my hand, the drumming following the beat of Song 2 as it plays from the projector. I too can’t help bopping along to the beat, my foot tapping softly on the carpet.

The video closes with one final clip, a message I recorded for Graham. Too embarrassed to watch myself, my focus stays on him as I squeeze his hand a little tighter and snuggle up as close as possible. The picture begins to fade and the sound plays out until there’s no footage left, and the whirring of the projector becomes background noise in the room. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but as I try to stand to turn the projector off, he pulls me back down onto the beanbag and rotates his body to face mine.

“Hey.” I whisper, my right hand supporting his cheek as he leans into me, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a line. Our bodies slot into one another’s on the beanbag, the very little space between us growing warmer by the second.

Graham releases a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening again with a small smile spreading across his face. It’s hard to see him properly in the dimly lit room, but I could never mistake those big brown eyes staring at me. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” He says, his voice low as he leans in close to speak like we’re the only two people who matter inside a crowded room.

“I wanted to show you how incredible you are. You’ve been so hard on yourself and I just - “ As I speak, tears start to well up in my eyes and I look up to the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. I’d already told myself earlier that I wouldn’t cry, because I don’t want Graham to think he’s upset me. I press at my eyes lightly with my fingertips in an attempt to push the tears away. “I can’t stand seeing you this way because you don’t deserve to feel like this. If it wasn’t for you, Blur wouldn’t exist! Everything you’ve all achieved wouldn’t have happened.” My voice begins to shake and I feel Graham’s hand on my arm, rubbing it gently to try and calm me down.

“Y/N.” He starts, before reaching up to turn on the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, before my gaze falls to the ground to avoid his. If I look at him properly, I know I’ll start bawling. “Look at me. Please.”

“I can’t. I can’t because I’ll cry, and then you’ll get upset and I don’t want to make you feel any worse than wha - “

“You won’t upset me. Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve - “

“No, Graham. Don’t apologise.” I grip onto his shirt tightly, my fingers tangling in the fabric. Graham bows his head and nudges it against mine, edging closer until he pushes my head up with his and our noses are almost touching. We both open our eyes, our faces too close that my vision is distorted and I’m seeing double. I pull back, sniffling once and dabbing at my eyes again, still not allowing any tears to actually emerge.

“I’m sorry,“ he starts and I sigh at his words, but he hushes me by holding his finger up to my face, “for putting you through this. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t realise how it was making you feel.”

“Graham, this isn’t about me.”

“But it affects you. Bloody hell, if I had to live with this miserable twat - “ he points to himself and I scoff, slapping the back of his hand playfully. “ - I’d have given up by now.”

“I would never give up on you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Graham goes silent again, staring down at our joined hands and moving his thumbs around. I nudge his head with mine in the same way he did previously and he sniffles, his chest rising and immediately falling again. “Graham?” I bring my hand to his chin and push his face up to find his eyes watery, and cheeks significantly more red compared to a moment ago.

“God, look at me. What the hell are you still doing with me, ay? I’m a bleeding mess.” He sniffs, roughly wiping tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Because I wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.”

“Not even - “

“Ah! Stop right there. There’ll be no more of that.” I take his hands away from his face, holding onto them loosely. “Graham Coxon, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. And I’ll give you a free pass to slap me silly for being so cheesy.” I laugh, his grip on my hands tightening as he awkwardly slides closer on the beanbag, his body sinking into it at a strange angle and pulling me with him. “I love you.”

Within a second, Graham’s hands are on both sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss; the kind of kiss that feels like the person is pouring their entire heart out to you. Like the kiss between the main characters of a movie, when they’ve just ran across a field or a busy road to collide with another at the centre. His lips messily press against mine and I can feel the stray tears running down his face as they dampen my cheeks. My hands rest on his legs, holding on firmly as his thumbs dig into my face a little. It doesn’t hurt, but he soon pulls away and swipes at my face softly as if to apologise for it. He uses his sleeve to dry my face and I do the same for him, small gasps of laughter exchanging between us.

“Thank you for doing this. If you can’t tell, I really love it.” He says sincerely with a genuine smile, the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. The expression is infectious and I can’t help mimicking him as I grin back like the Cheshire Cat. The faint sound of knocking from downstairs pulls us out of our romance film-esque daydream and we both clamber to our feet.

As we approach the stairs, Graham stops and spins me around, pulling me into him. I land against his chest with a huff, before adjusting my hair and looking up at him. “After we eat, can you show me the film again?” He asks, his hand meeting mine to help me fix the loose hairs falling in my eyes.

“We can watch it as many times as you like.”

[benedictscanvas]

sage-coloured glasses - spencer reid x reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: This is just a barrel of soft cardigans thrown in your face, with just the smallest mention of nightmares

A/N: This is technically a 2nd part to ‘a shared heart’, but there are only vague mentions of it and this can easily be read on its own. I simply wanted some soft Spence in his natural habitat and I hope this can be of some comfort to you too, if you’re in need of it <3

---

His hair was oh-so-soft underneath your fingertips but the thought felt forbidden. You hadn’t expected him to have soft hair. It always looked soft, yes, the small, unruly strands that he regularly curled behind his ear looked like the fluffy hair of a man who felt most at home in a library and wore cardigans. But in the line of work you were in, you were used to things having hard edges and sharp corners.

Not Spencer’s hair. It delivered on its visual promise as you slowly wove your fingers through the strands and tattooed the memory of them into your skin, let it sink into your very bones. When his head had hit your lap on your flight back home with a murmured question of permission, it had been like a magnet. Your hand was in his hair before you even gave him your answer, but it was an answer in itself.

“‘Course, Spence.”

A reassurance. His only response was a grateful hum as he tucked his legs up onto the sofa and you shuffled to make as much room for him as you could. You were slightly falling off the end of the sofa, getting cramp in your toes as you put your weight into your left foot to keep yourself in place. The armrest was digging into your hip and it should have been uncomfortable.

And yet, it wasn’t. Not when you lightly scritch-scratched at his scalp and he turned further into you, the curve of his nose pressing into your knee. Comfort wrapped itself around you like a warm blanket and you could only hope he was swathed in it too.

“Sleep,” you mumbled a few moments later, “I’ll wake you when we land.”

Silence. A rustle of fabric as he brought his arm up from his side, graced your knee with a feather-light squeeze then let his hand rest against your knee, right by his nose. A relieved exhale.

Twenty minutes passed. His breaths were deep and even, bordering on a snore every once in a while. Your fingers hadn’t stilled their dance through his hair, although they had slowed down in time with the rise and fall of his chest. Your neck ached and your heart did too.

Emily crept over with some paperwork after another ten. You reached over and took it with a nod and a smile, grateful that she kept silent too as she returned to her seat next to Derek. There was a little nudging and whispering as she sat back down, Dave turning in his seat to glance back at the two of you sporting a smirk that spoke volumes. No matter, as long as Spencer’s shoulder kept digging into your thigh for the rest of eternity.

It was tricky to complete the paperwork over his head without anything to lean on except your own hand. Another worthwhile sacrifice. Cases like this one were difficult for everyone. It was the type of case that set up camp in your mind in preparation for the nightmares that it would guest star in for the weeks to come. When you relayed that analogy to Spencer a few months ago, he’d laughed. Only someone who understood the feeling could laugh like that.

“Sorry I crashed on you,” Spencer spoke up just as you were forging his signature on a document that you’d all have to sign in time. He’d done it for you before, an unspoken agreement to save each other time.

(it was similar to the unspoken agreement to care when no one else had the time to, or the silent pact to share ‘good morning’ muffins whenever they were available, or the wordless understanding that he was your person and you were his)

You glanced down at him and were surprised to see that he’d rolled to lie on his back, just to stare up at you. Your hand was, embarrassingly, still carding through his hair each time you placed your pen between your teeth to read something through and you couldn’t imagine the angle he was staring from was your most flattering. Still, his eyes sparkled under the overhead aeroplane lights, which you wouldn’t have thought possible. It was likely a matter of perspective.

“Don’t be,” you waved him away, focusing your attention back on the paper in your hand before you gave it all away. Your hand fell limp in his hair, if only because you were too stubborn to remove it. Removing it now, after all, would only be an obvious admission of something you had been failing to hide for months now, “I’ve been told I have a comfy lap.”

“By whom?”

“Cats, mostly.”

He huffed a small laugh that travelled right the way up your spine.

“Cats are intelligent,” he mused quietly, resting his hands on his stomach, one on top of the other. A grounding technique that made you blink, “You can’t be comfortable though, doing paperwork like this.”

“What can I say? I’m a generous person.”

He hummed in lieu of an answer, but you could tell he felt guilty for the position he’d put you in. If only he could see that you were practically hanging off the seat, see the ridge that the armrest was definitely imprinting into your side, then he’d really feel guilty, but of course, that was the last thing you wanted him to feel.

(of course, there was also a part of you that dreamt of apologies whispered into your skin, of fingers skimming over fabric, of delicate kisses pressed to your hip-bone. of a guilt that melts away with each murmured confession of adoration. of a blissful atonement for a sin you’d already forgiven)

“Honestly, Spence, you’re fine. I would’ve moved you if I was uncomfortable.”

And you would have moved by now if you really felt that bad, you thought to yourself, relishing in the fact that he hadn’t moved yet, that you could still feel his gaze on your chin as you pretended to skim over the words on the page, once, twice, once again.

“You want me to take over paperwork duty?”

“I told you to sleep,” you said instead, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I did sleep, for at least 30 minutes, which we both know is good for my standards.”

His rebuttal was punctuated by his hands both reaching up, making grabbing motions towards the stack of papers you were pouring through. Knowing how much faster he would be at getting through whatever was left, you heaved the pile into his hands with a sigh and watched as he held them up in front of his face and began reading, blocking your view of him entirely. It was impossible not to feel cheated.

When he reached a section he had to write in, he held his hand up for a pen. You gave him one from your jacket pocket rather than the one that had been in your mouth, knowing that he would be grateful if he knew. When he’d finished scribbling, you’d take the pen back from him, lean your head against the headrest until the cycle repeated. Occasionally he shuffled his head in your lap and your hand would slide a little further into his hair, but nothing was said. You took it as a cue to stay right where you were.

As expected, he finished the paperwork far sooner than you would have done. When he reached behind his head to put it on the table next to you, you took it from him before he could pull a muscle in his shoulder and he muttered his thanks. Now you could see him again, it was difficult to fight off a smile. Maybe the paperwork in the way had been more beneficial than you thought.

Briefly, you wondered how many of your signatures he’d forged in the documents he’d gone through, wondered how much better he was at forgery than you, but you didn’t check the paperwork in case he thought you were checking his work was up to par.

“You just saved me an hour’s work,” you sighed happily, “My angel once again.”

It was a nickname that had stuck around. From the time he’d shared his muffin around a month ago, you couldn’t shake the sentiment off. Not only had you grown closer - bolder - in that time, you’d also adjusted your language accordingly. Angel made a regular appearance, if only to bring the dusty pink to his cheeks that you treasured.

“It’s nothing, you know that,” he insisted, that very same pink blooming up his neck as you basked in the glow, “Besides, you’d done half already.”

He was being ridiculously kind, because you’d be surprised if you’d made it a third of the way through. There was no use arguing it, because compliments were far from Spencer’s strong suit and you’d already got the upper hand using the word angel. Better to agree to disagree.

“Thank you anyway,” you decided would be a good compromise, and from the smile on his face as he stared up at you, it seemed he agreed. It was funny that agreeing to disagree with Spencer mostly just felt like being on the same book, same page, same line. Unfortunately, you couldn’t quite tell exactly which word he’d gotten to, because if you did, you might have kissed him a long time ago.

(and goodness had you thought about it enough times)

When he abruptly sat up from his place in your lap, you suppressed your whine of disapproval as best you could, but there was still a small noise of disappointment that you couldn’t contain. He smiled at the sound, face the right way up now with lines and grooves in all the right places, around his eyes, his mouth, his cheeks. Smile lines are notoriously pretty on people whose smiles are the highlight of your very existence.

“I’m not as comfy as you thought, hm?” you teased, mainly to prevent him from seeing any of the hurt shining in your eyes. He saw it anyway.

“Nope,” he said easily, already sliding all the way over to the other side of the sofa, each inch of distance deepening your frown, “Now I, on the other hand, have it on far better authority that I provide a comfortable lap experience.”

“And whose authority would that be?”

“Henry, of course, and I know you trust his judgement above all others. Come on.”

He actually patted his lap and the swooping of your chest was enough to make you slightly lightheaded.

“Are you sure?”

He gave you a withering look that gave you no choice but to scoot over towards him. Lying down, you mirrored his previous position as your head came to tentatively rest in the little dip between his thighs, as near to his knees as you could get without becoming uncomfortable. He was unspeakably warm and it seeped into your very soul.

“Better?”

“You’re not that comfy.”

A lie. Blatant to both parties as you snuggled into him a little more, allowing his leg to take the weight of your neck. Before you knew it, his hand was resting in your hair too and even though you knew it wasn’t as soft as his, you hoped it was enough. It didn’t move, save for the sporadic slow sweep of his thumb through the strands, but it didn’t matter. He was always more than enough, after all.

“Sleep. I’ll wake you when we land.”

His words were an exact repeat of your own. There was no chance of a long sleep, not with your nerve endings flaring at each and every point of contact between the two of you, but there was also no use arguing. Rest, in place of sleep, was better than nothing. You smiled up at him one last time before closing your eyes, drifting into a half-slumber that consisted mostly of vague musings about the individual notes of his cologne.

Occasionally, when you simply couldn’t help yourself, you’d open one eye, maybe even two, and peek up at him. He looked ethereal, even from this angle. It was likely a matter of perspective.

(it just so happened that spencer thought you looked positively celestial from all twenty seven of the angles he had painstakingly catalogued into his memory. that was likely a matter of perspective too)

---

if you made it this far, thank you for reading! i’m not currently tagging people, since i was away for a while and i don’t want to tag people who are no longer interested - if you would like to be tagged in my fics from now on, send in an ask and i can add you to a main taglist or a character-specific one <3

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1  -  Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it.  To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth.  But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me.  What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them.  A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen.  What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining.  Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance.  You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me?  I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such  a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee.  Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.”  (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence.  The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way.  And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty.  To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[internalsealpanic]

Respectful Cannibalism

Summary:  Watching mystery movie with a bunch of detective was a bad idea

A/n: While this is part 3 to my Space Case series, you’re not required to read Art Gallery Smile or Cosmonauts to understand the context to this. The only note I do have is that Dick and Steph are friends with Reader much to Tim’s everlasting horror.  Special thanks to @littleredwing89 and @glorified-red for proof reading this mess.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff and a confusing amount of batkids in one scene.

Main Masterlist

Tim Drake Masterlist

Tim coughs, loud and ragged into the speaker. You find yourself wincing at the phone tucked against your ear. Tim sounds like he’s dying or, at the very least, he’s on his way there. 

“I’m so-”

“Fucking tired of saying sorry that you decided to go skinny dipping in Gotham Harbor? Yeah. Great, I’m sick of hearing it too. Glad, we’re on the same page, Space Cadet.” You exasperate, pulling on your jeans violently enough for Tim to hear the angry shuffling of fabric. 

“Skinny dipping?” Tim huffs, a fond smile playing on his lips as he drinks in the timber of your voice. Even when you were absolutely exasperated, your voice was still soothing or maybe he just misses your company. God, he’s such a sap. 

You shake your head in disbelief. That was his take away? “Yes, Timmy, Buck-ass skinny dipping,” you laugh, coming out derisive and sharp. Tim groans this time filled with guilt. The first few sounds of another ‘I’m sorry’ form in the back of his throat as he runs his hand through his bed head. For once, you’re thankful that you’re nowhere near Tim because you are one apology away from decking him and you’re pretty sure that that’s a terrible thing to do to a sick person, especially one with no brain cells to spare. 

“I- You were really looking forward to this (Y/n), don’t try to deny it.” You weren’t going to. He was right. You were looking forward to this date. You were impossibly, unreasonably giddy over the prospect of going to the planetarium with Tim this afternoon. WITH Tim. Sure, you’re pretty down about it but you were the tiniest bit more  concerned about the fact that your boyfriend had water in his lungs and almost died of hypothermia for a hot second. You pinch the bridge of your nose, hoping that worry and murder radiate off of you in equal measure.  “I was also looking forward to my letter from Hogwarts,” you sneer, pausing dramatically to look at your watch, “and it’s been roughly a decade.”  You hear Tim swallow and the hairs on your neck bristle in petty satisfaction. 

Tim chortles, a lively sound that startles you, then coughs but the sound comes out somehow sounding doubtful and teasing. Embarrassment flares up in you. “You were too!” you protest, hackles drawn to full height. A short breathy laugh leaves Tim and you feel the flush on your face ease into something softer and more rounded. All the sharpness in your veins dissipates as the flash of fondness for that stupid laugh takes over. You can imagine him warm under the covers smiling at the phone at your blunder. “Please, (y/n), my hopes were dashed when I was 4  and still not in the Jedi order.”

“Bullshit, you were never a child,”  you snort, sharpening the grin on your face into something vicious. “I refuse to believe you were ever a child! You probably sprang out of a textbook fully formed- Wait, I’m getting off-topic. ” Tim hums innocently and you narrow your eyes at the phone, hoping he can feel the ‘I am revoking your breathing privileges’ look.  “You always are.” Tim says before falling into a coughing fit. 

“Sorry, Cosmo, I just keep getting lost in your eyes,”  you whisper, pitching your voice rich and caramel smooth. There’s a sound on the other line. Tim is babbling you realize. You hear a shuffle of fabric and a body rising. Tim sucks in a breath, red-faced and caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. He can practically see the cocky grin playing on your face, the light of the sun reflecting as golden flecks in your eyes.  “You can’t even see them!” Tim stammers, glowering at you through the phone. You cackle at him as if sensing the venomous look he’s giving you. “You can barely open them!” Tim rolls his, very much, open eyes, falling back into an unnecessarily large pile of pillows that Alfred insisted was necessary for bed rest with a loud ‘fwoof’. “Yes, I can,” Tim mumbles, sounding young for once. You do your level best to smother a grin on your face. “I’m just really drowsy from the chamomile tea Alfie gave me.” You stop dead in your tracks, one hand half in your coat the other on the doorknob. You blink. “You’re at the Manor?”

Tim pauses, making a frustrated noise. He shouldn’t have said that.  “Dick and B… insisted.” This draws another one of your sharp laughs. He says insisted as if it was ever negotiable. “Did they ‘insist’ before or after they blow-dried and hung you out to dry?” Tim squawks and you hear shuffling again. Tim tries to remember why he doesn’t hate you. “Tell me again how you found out about me getting sick? Steph? Cass?”

“Hmmmmmm, Dick.”

“THAT TRAITOR”

“Funny way to pronounce older brother,” you hum smug. You can feel Tim glaring daggers at you. “You-”

“There’s a home theater, yeah?” 

Tim pauses, this time longer. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“Answer the question, Space Case.”

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Great! It’s a date then,” you say, mentally preparing a route to the Manor from the vague directions Steph told you once. You could just use the maps app- 

“NO!” You freeze. Tim flinches at the volume of his own voice. He  whispers an indiscernible  ‘I’m sorry’. You turn it over in your mind before speaking. “No?” You ask, trying your best to sound hurt instead of amused. Maybe you should have pitched your voice higher, more shaky. “Look, Tim, I-” Tim heaves a loud sigh. “-(Y/n), you’re fine-” Well, you aren’t, you think. You bite your tongue, physically to make sure you don’t say anything unnecessary. “-It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s- It’s just my siblings...” Tim knows that his siblings have been talking about you.  

“Timmy, I can take whatever shovel talk they can give me,” you say with the confidence of someone who has never been dangled over the edge of a roof top. Ok, to be fair, YOU had nothing to worry about. Tim, on the other hand, was going to get roasted alive. Maybe he can persuade you into not- Tim hears the tell tale sputtering of your bike’s engine and he feels his blood pressure spike. The engine genuinely sounds like a death rattle. 

“You’ll get sick.”

You swear and he hears another sputter of the engine. “You’ll get sick,” he croaks again, louder this time hopefully over the dying engine. Maybe if your engine dies right now, he’ll be spared from a slow agonizing death via siblings. “Relax Cosmo, I have the strongest ward against whatever you got,” you say, giving the engine a light kick. Tim hears a few metallic clunks then the engine stutters to life. Tim looks up past the ceiling trying to glare at whatever cosmic being resurrected your engine. 

“Which is...”

“Being broke. It does wonders for your health.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works,” Tim says, shifting burying his head against the too soft pillows. The soft fabric makes his eyes feel heavy. He yawns. He hears the sputter or your laugh. It’s hard to tell from the sudden drowsiness making his head swim. 

“I promise I’ll explain to your typical rich kid ass when I get there, Tim.”

“That’s not how it works,” Tim slurs, face pressed into a pillow. 

You laugh, he’s sure this time. 

“I’m-” Tim’s mind unfocuses and the words you say garble together ”-Tim. ”

Tim blinks, mouth moving to ask you to repeat that but the last thing he hears is a soft click. 

On the bright side, it would just be him and Alfred at the manor.

_________________________________________________________

Batmanisfake: I heard (y/n)'s coming over😶

Nightwingingit:👀 How do you even know that?

Batmanisfake: What are you? A cop?

Nightwingingit: say that again but slowly 🙄

Batmanisfake: ...

Damian: He bugged Drake's phone. For blackmail purposes, of course. 

Nightwingingit: JASON

The Cool One: Shush Dick! He's onto something

Batmanisfake: Thank you 

The Adult: I for once had nothing to do with it😌

Theactualbatman: I'm assuming we're all coming home tonight?

The Cool One: I'll bring popcorn

Damian: Nonsense Pennyworth will likely have some prepared

The Cool One:😭 We really do not deserve that man

Nightwingingit: Definitely

thesaneone: We're recording Tim's face when he sees us, right? 

Batmanisfake: From all angles

The Adult: You're all horrible

Batmanisfake: Please like you're not hacking into the cameras as we speak, Babs

The Adult: You have no proof👀

_________________________________________________________

Tim’s head felt thick and gooey like one of Alfred’s custards. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s in a fish tank. There’s a sickly Chlorine smell clogging his nostrils; it smells powdery and sterile and reminds him vaguely of aspirin. Tim blinks. His eyes hurt; they feel puffy and sore and hot. His vision is further obscured by a thick layer of fleece blankets Alfred had piled high over him. He shuts his eyes still feeling too overwhelmed by the low light coming from the window.

Tim thinks he hears his window open with a soft click. Tim quiets his breathing. His hearing is too muddled to process anything beyond it.  There’s a soft thud of heavy boots in the room; it’s imperceptible and dreamlike the way it reaches his ears that it has him shifting under the covers trying his best to discern the sound. A dozen lighter footsteps follow it and he can sense 6 shapeless bodies hovering over him.

“Should we wake him up?” asks a voice that vaguely sounds like Cass. 

There’s a shuffling sound. Leather, he thinks. “Wait, lemme take a picture.”

“Red, why? It’s not like you can blackmail him with pictures of him sleeping.”

“Because, flashlight, I need proof that Timbo sleeps. ”

“Because?”

“Ok, how many times have you seen him asleep?” 

“Uh...”

“Exactly!”

Tim hears a laugh that distinctly sounds like Dick. “Does it count if Alfie drugged him?”

“Maybe?” Steph says, shrugging. 

“It doesn’t, Brown.”

“Damn it.”

“Does that mean B doesn’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

Maybe if Tim keeps sleeping, they’ll go away on their own. Tim wraps the sheets tightly around himself, hoping the large stack  of fleece would be enough to muffle his siblings. 

“I’m pretty sure I have dibs on waking him for opening the window for you shits.”

“Red, anyone could have opened that,” Duke laughs, stepping slightly behind Cass, who at the moment was paying more attention to the moving pile of fabric. Maybe if Tim stays really still she’ll turn her attention to something else. 

“Cass and Dickface would have just broken it.‘

“I would not!”

“Sorry, Cass, you would.”

“Steph, whose side are you on?”

“Why is no one defending me?” Dick sighs. 

“No one cares, Dickface. And Blondie’s clearly playing for the right team-” Steph cackles. “-none of you have any finesse.”

“Not all of us can be drama queens, Todd.”

“You’re like the third to the last person I wanna hear this from.”

“Third? You’re ranking us now? Who gave you the right?”

“Alfred,” Jason deadpans, “And yeah. Bruce and Dick are first and second.”

“Hey!”

“Can it Mr. Pretty Man Down.”

“That was one-”

“What rank am I?”

“uh … fifth.”

“Fifth?!”

“Sorry, Blondie, Cass has you beat with that ballet kick thingy.”

“Ok, yeah I can accept that. What about Babs?”

“What about Babs? The woman can kick my ass six ways to Sunday. ”

Tim’s head throbs all over. There are soft pin pricks pressing on the sole of his left foot; his leg jerks involuntarily. He wants to scream. Tim swears under his breath. A gloved hand pries the covers away from Tim’s face. Tim squints his eyes open only to be greeted by Dick’s kind, but still very punchable, face. Tim takes a long rasp, pinching his features in a mix of annoyance and despair. “Why are you-” Cough! “-here?”

There’s a slight quirk to Dick’s smile.“They wanted to meet (y/n),” Dick explains in a sweeping theatrical motion of his hand across the room directing Tim’s attention to the expressions on his sibling’s expressions which were all a variation of devious scheming. 

“How did-” cough. “- you even know-” cough. “-(y/n) was coming?” Tim asks, shooting up from his pile of pillows causing a couple of blankets to topple to the floor to the ground. Tim’s lightheaded.  He suddenly feels a shift in his balance, a feeling of vertigo.   He nearly topples to the ground, his blood not quite catching up to his movements, when feels hands wrap around his shoulders. “Woah there Baby Bird, slowdown.”

“Answer-” Cough!

“It was Todd.”

“You mutant sperm!”

“Jay, aren’t we all mutant sperm?” Steph laughs, slinging one arm over an irate Damian’s shoulders and another over a fuming Jason’s shoulders. Tim groans, sounding pained. “How much do I need to pay each of you to get all of you to go away?”

“A lifetime of IOUs,” Dick says, casually. 

“NO!”

“All of your share in W.E.,” Duke says, laughing. Steph elbows him lightly, also laughing. “You’re shooting prelow there, Slick,” Steph teases. Duke shrugs still grinning. “Gotta  keep it realistic, yanno?”  Steph and Duke keep bickering. 

“Drake, kindly, pay with your life.”

Tim scrunches his nose. “I’m already on my deathbed, you know, dying. What else do you want from me?”

“A more agonizing death.”

Jason grins, tilting his chin. “C’mon, Timbo, we can help with your little impromptu date.” Tim groans, placing his face in his hands. “Please just help me dig my own grave.”

“What would be the fun in that, Timbo?”

“For you or for me?”

“Come on, Tim, it’ll be fine,” Cass says,  clearly not believing the words herself. All seven of them dissolve into another round bickering. Damian, Jason, and Steph hellbent on giving Tim an aneurysm.  Duke and Cass playing at being neutral; Duke leaning on Tim’s side but laughing way too hard at Steph’s well placed jabs; Cass is only mildly siding with Tim to spite Jason. Why this time? Tim has no clue. 

The string of banter is broken up by the echoing the doorbell. Tim’s heart seizes as they all fall silent, enraptured by the odd sound of a doorbell filling the hallowed halls of Wayne Manor. The chiming of bells ends with the creaking of the large oak doors in the front of the manor. 

Before Tim’s sluggish brain could even formulate a thought, all of his siblings are all bounding towards the door, bouncing off the walls and flipping over obstacles. Tim scrambles, lagging, after the hoard of vigilantes barrelling towards you. Tim tries to shout after his siblings but his voice is drowned out by raucous laughter and bickering. 

You stand at the door, head haloed by the pale afternoon light as the sky catches fire, flecks of snow sparkling in your hair. You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear as you sheepishly thank Alfred as he takes your coat.  

Tim struggles to breathe an he genuinely doesn’t know if it’s because of his lungs, you, or the fact that of all his siblings, Babs was the one who got there first and Tim genuinely doesn’t know if Babs is there to hold off the gaggle of vigilantes or to scare you off. From the jovial grin wrinkling your features, Tim’s pretty sure Babs just gave you some blackmail material instead of putting you through the ringer- an equally scary outcome. For your part, you don’t look even slightly phased by the fact that Babs is in a wheelchair or even by the way she’s clearly sizing you up. All of this rolls off of you with an easy motion of your shoulders as you answer her questions in the most frustratingly oblique way based off of Babs’s expression. Tim can’t help the curve on his lip as you blatantly dodge another of Babs’s questions with a smile. You spot him, winking, and the tips of Tim’s ears flush. 

Your cocky demeanor fades when a gaggle of batbrats crowd you; nervousness creeps into your form, ironing out your posture into something unnatural and defensive. “Is this a bad time?” You ask through a tight lipped smile. Babs glares at them but doesn’t make any effort to hide the satisfaction at your shaken demeanor. “Don’t mind them, Sweetie,” Babs says, patting your back and guiding you away from the gaggle. You shuffle awkwardly, trying to coax your spine back into a more natural curve. 

“(Y/n)!” Tim manages between gasps for air. Making a person with non functioning lungs run has to be some sort of human rights violation. His voice is  louder than he anticipated. He realizes, but the apprehension in his body flits away when you beam at him-a  wide cheeky smile that has his body vibrating with delight. He made you smile like that, Tim thinks, heart swelling almost enough to soften the impact of the next few words. “Hey, Duckie!” you chirp tilting your face in a cute lopsided smile. 

“Duckie?” Jason sniggers. 

Duke’s face passess from confusion, realization, then amusement in a matter of three seconds.“Duckie? As in ‘quack quack’?” Duke asks, pretending to still be dumbstruck. 

“Yes, Duckie, Tommy Terrific,” you say, the lopsided smile curving into a playful grin. The dumb nicknames earn you a loud, surprisingly nonthreatening, approving laugh from Jason who then says “We’ll keep those nicknames in mind” which just drags pained looks from both Tim and Duke. Dick and Damian on the other hand look absolutely delighted. 

“(Y/n), tell them about the other nicknames,” Steph says, grinning savagely. Your eyes widen and you wrinkle your nose, mouth twitching from side to side, trying to pretend away the heat rising from your cheeks. “Not on your life, Stephie.”

“Aaaaaw! Not even for lil ol’ me?” Dick pouts, throwing his arms around you. The familiarity of the action has Tim bristling. “Pleeeeeaaase,” Dick whines; a smile hidden in your hair, “not even for Alfred’s cookies?” You make a noise caught between a laugh and a groan. “Hmmmm… maybe? Throw in some candy.”

“Deal.”

Tim blinks. “You’d betray me for sugar?” 

“Cus I ain’t getting any while you’re sick,” you cackle, grinning along with Dick who looks way too pleased with the outcome of the conversation.  Tim desperately wants to melt into the floor. Looking at all his siblings who are eagerly awaiting for the litany of nicknames, Tim cuts in. “Let’s just go watch that film.”

“What are we watching?” Cass asks, leaning to look over your shoulder, clearly shoving Dick out of the way. Dick does his best to not budge. 

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

“We are under a communist regime, Timbo. We’re all watching it together,” Jason says, slinging Tim over his shoulder. 

“Have a heart, Drake. We only want to spend family time together,” Damian says, somehow still looking imperious even from where Tim is dangling. A dull ache starts spreading across Tim’s like his skull is being squeezed. 

“Hope you guys like Clue,” you say, fishing it out of your cornucopia of unhealthy junk food. “I figured you detectives would like a good mystery.” Dick snorts taking the disc from you and reading over the contents efficiently. “Bet you I can get the ending even before any of you.”

“No, you won’t,” Jason barks, setting off a long winded argument about who the best detective is. 

“Didn’t you say you would eat me if I spoiled another mystery movie for you? Are you planning to eat my entire family?” Tim croaks quietly. You scrunch your nose, twitching your mouth four times to the left and four and a half times to the right.  “Technically, what I said was ‘I’ll respectfully go back to juvie for cannibalism if you spoil another movie that night’,” you hiss low, trying not to draw attention to your conversation. Unfortunately for you, his siblings have good hearing.  

“And this is different how?” Tim asks, this time not bothering to control his volume. 

“You’ll never figure out the ending,” You say smiling innocently. Tim rolls his eyes and huffs a ‘we’ll see’. It doesn’t wipe the smile off of your face. 

As it turns out, the Wayne Manor theater is less of a theater and more of a bean bag storage closet with a large screen. Jason tosses Tim unceremoniously into one of the random bean bags in front of the couch before gracefully pirouetting into the couch. You chuckle and continue your search for something to put your Bluray in, just now realizing that you should have probably just asked for their Netflix password or something. Alfred appears out of nowhere handing Jason and Cass each a bowl of buttery popcorn and scolding Jason about manhandling his brother in front of  a guest. Jason looks unrepentant. No surprises there. With a swat on  the back of Jason’s head, Alfred turns to you, gloved hands extended out to you.  “I can take that."

“Oh… Uh thanks- Thank you,” you stammer. To your left, Tim snickers and your hand slip, somehow the blanket Babs handed you finds its way to Tim’s face. “Shut up, Ducktective. He’s practically your grandpa and I kinda wanna make a good impression,” you hiss, cheeks warming. Tim coughs, a little dumbfounded. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that you were nervous about this. 

Tim checks if his brain is on straight before speaking. “Relax, you haven’t physically assaulted me or any of my family yet so you’re immediately at the top of Alfie’s list.” You open your mouth to speak then curl it into a frown, looking appalled and concerned. Apparently, his brain wasn't on as straight as Tim thought. "Am I going to have to fight your exes? At some point?" 

"No!" 

"Yes!" Steph says, handing you a red bean bag. Tim scowls at Steph as he watches the color drain from your face. She just shrugs and goes off to annoy Dick. 

“Mr. Boddy?” Damian asks incredulously, reading the box summary again. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you laugh, setting your bean bag next to the one Jason dropped Tim in. Damian rolls his eyes. “This is a stupid movie. Do people really consume this drivel?”

You scrunch your nose but don’t put too much heart into glaring. Thankfully, color is now returning to your face. “The movie hasn’t even started yet!”

“Relax (y/n), the tiny mutant sperm is just playing elitist,” Steph says, plopping next to Jason and eyeing his bowlful of buttery popcorn. 

“As long as it isn’t as bad as the Happening-”

“Dude, you live in a city with Poison Ivy. That thing is pretty much a documentary,” Duke says hesitantly taking the spot between Steph and Cass. 

"Please, for the love of Alfie, please, talk about something else," Dick whines, plopping a bean bag next to Tim. Jason’s face twists in confusions before his eyes light up and untwists into an expression with amusement. "Is it because of the-" Dick hits him square in the face with a pillow, all the while screeching "Think of the children!"

"Where, Dickface?" Jason ask, prompting Dick to point(jazz hands)  at Damian who rolls his eyes. Jason does the same, looking younger than the toughened exterior suggested. "That's a gremlin, Dickface. Not a child." 

"He is-"

"SHUSH! The movie is starting!" 

You giggle, curling into Tim's side and placing your head in the crook of his neck where you usually like to put it. Tim's insides shiver from the contact and his hands automatically coil around you, pressing his nose into your hair. 

"Jeez, her melons are big," Babs says flatly taking another handful of Dick's popcorn from Damian. Cass snorts and Tim feels embarrassment creep into his skin. He flicks his eyes to you, only to find you smiling into his side. 

"They're almost as big as Dick's," you chuckle. 

"Nah, Jason is bigger," Cass pipes. 

You eye Jason openly which makes the large man cross his arms over his chest.  "Huh, you're right," you note with more confusion than anything. 

"Bruce has moobs too!" Jason protests, red-faced. 

"Son, why?"

The chatter falls silent when the figure at the edge of the room settles itself into the large leather recliner in one corner of the room. You squint your eyes to distinguish its features from the rest of the shadows in the room; only to be greeted by the solemn features of Bruce Wayne. Your breath catches and you feel your skin jump twenty feet in the air. Everyone else in the room seems to have about the same reaction even as he pulls a lever to raise the foot rest.  You all follow his movements with interest. 

“Is Bruce trying to relax?” Duke whispers to Cass who shrugs in response. Steph rolls her eyes, reaching over Duke to try and snatch some popcorn from Jason who just raises his bowl higher. “Shhhhh, Duke, let the B man try to play human,” she says, snatching at the popcorn til the bowl just falls on Jason’s head. 

“He’s trying I guess.” This draws a startled chuckle out of you that you try to press in Tim’s neck. The vibrations against his skin has him shivering. 

“B, are you ok?” Dick asks. This makes Bruce’s features move in a slightly concerned fashion which in Bruce speak is very concerned. “Yes, why?”

“Ooooh, no reason, old man.” He turns to Babs. “Yeah that’s not Bruce. Five bucks says it’s a robot.” Babs snickers, grabbing a ten from her purse. “Ten says it’s an alien.” You twist to look at them, taking out a twenty. “Twenty says it’s just Mr.Wayne.” Jason sneers at you, taking your money. “You clearly don’t know the old man.”

“Can we please just watch this film in peace?” Bruce groans, running a hand over his face, finally looking more like the long suffering single dad of eight kids that he should be.  Babs looks over her shoulder, slinging Bruce an absolutely disbelieving look. “Do you even know your children?”

“Yes, father, have you even watched us bond?” Damian asks, using his free hand to do air quotes for the word ‘bond’ while using the other to try and swipe some popcorn from Cass. It doesn’t work. 

“That definitely isn’t Bruce,” Dick hisses, trying to shield his own bowl of popcorn  from an irate Damian. 

“SHHHHHH! I can’t hear the movie!”

“It’s definitely the butler,” Dick declares.  Damian scowls, throwing a pillow at him which Dick catches with ease. “Grayson, the movie has barely started.”

“It’s definitely the butler. It’s gotta be. It’s always the butler.”

“That’s very offensive to Alfred, Dick,” Cass says, grinning. Alfred sniffs poshly in his own recliner. Dick recoils but Jason piles on. “Very classist of you, Dickiebird.”

Duke snorts. “Nah, I think he’s just saying it because Tim Curry was Pennywise the Clown.” 

“Why would you trust a clown?” 

“Oh my god, why are you guys comparing Alfred to a clown?”

“We are not!”

“This conversation is a trainwreck,” Tim groans into your hair. “Dunno, Tim, it sounds like a success,” you laugh, pressing closer. His eyes flick between you and his siblings. “You planned this.” You look up at him, failing to flatten a smile. “Nope.”

“I say it’s Ms. Scarlett,” Bruce says, rubbing his chin contemplatively. 

“You’re just saying that cus she reminds you of Selina,” Tim huff, grinning and you’re half tempted to pinch his cheeks. Bruce cuts him a scathing look that has you shrinking; the grin on Tim’s face just broadens which just makes the playful scowl on Bruce’s face deepen. “Need I remind you who pays for the internet?”

“Alfred?” Tim asks, innocently. 

“Careful Tim, B man might actually do it. Hell, he’ll probably do it if he finds out what you did last Thursday.”

“Do you mean the explosion on Fifth?” you ask, turning to Steph.  Steph gives you a firm nod; in the corner of your eye, you can see Bruce arching a brow. Tim gapes at you looking absolutely gutted. “What happened to snitches get stitches?” Tim protests. 

 You shrug, grinning. “Sorry, Duckie, I stand by my cookie dealer. Who do you think sneaks Duke and me cheetos in Western Civilization? I stand by my fellow barbarian.”

“You know Duke?”

“I pay him to-”

“Shhhhh!” 

“You guys are talking too!”

“At least, it’s movie related!” Damian hisses. 

You throw up your hands with an exaggerated flail. “Fine!”

“I say it’s the shifty looking lady,” Jason declares, reaching over Duke and Steph to try and snatch some popcorn from Cass. You wonder why Jason doesn’t just snatch some from Alfred since he’s closer. You try to ask Tim but he just shakes his head at you.  “Ms.Peacock?” Cass asks, shoving Jason’s face away with butter covered fingers.  Duke tries to snatch a few kernels in the confusion only to get his hand swatted. “I think he means Mrs. White,” he says, waving his hand.  “Yeah that one.”

“It’s the butler! It’s always butler!” Dick protests. 

“I will fucking riot if it’s the butler!” Steph shoots back.

“It can’t be the butler.”

“Why not, Dami? He has motive.”

Damian rolls his eyes.“Gordon, why are you siding with Grayson?-” Babs opens her mouth to answer but Damain continues before she can get another syllable out “-nevermind. He doesn’t have as much motive as the rest of them. Besides, does he really look competent enough to hold a gun left alone with a knife?”

Tim raises his chin from your head. “Demon Spawn, your standards for butlers is too high. Alfred is-”

“You say this like you have plenty of references.” 

“Oh, Tommy Terrific, Duckie here is a posh bastard,” Jason sneers ruffling Tim’s hair. From the way, some of his hairs stick up you could guess that he still had some butter in his hand. Tim makes a face of disgust; you try your best to help him with his hair. “Jay, you say that but you’re like Mr. I need the correct type of wood for my bookshelves,” Steph laughs.  “Just because I’m not a slob like the rest of you walking disasters doesn’t mean I’m posh.”

“Yes, it does. You lived here. Yanno with Alfie,” Dick says, pulling out another pack of snacks he’d managed to snag from your bag. You’re not gonna ask at this point. Tim gives you a look which roughly translates to ‘I am very sorry for my trainwreck of a family’. You snort at him before turning towards his sibling. “I mean look at Cass. She’s still feral.” If looks could kill, the look Cass give you would melt your bones. Thankfully, Damian opens his mouth. “They’re all feral.” You have a sense that you’ve also been insulted. You hear Babs to your right laugh derisively. “You say this like you’re any less feral than the rest of us.”

“I am-”

“Are any of you still watching the movie?” Bruce asks and for the second time that night, your body tries to divorce your soul. You had almost forgotten that yes, you are watching Clue with the fucking Batman. You shift in your seat suddenly feeling a twinge of nervousness. Before the discomfort could nestle in you, Jason speaks up. “No, Bruce, we’re just watching Cass vacuum the popcorn into her stomach. What do you think?”

“You guys didn’t ask,” Cass says through a mouthful of popcorn knowing full well that’s a lie. 

“How can any of you be watching it? All you’ve done is talk over the dialogue.” You almost laugh at how exasperated he sounds. Beside you, Tim just snickers and shakes his head. 

Damian just looks at his father from his bean bag next to Dick. “Father, we can talk and listen. ” Dick, like the mature adult that he is, slaps his knee laughing. “I don’t think B is capable of that.”

“PREACH” was followed by a chorus of AMENs. 

"Alfred, what have I done to turn my children against me?" Bruce asks, tiredly leaning back into his recliner. 

"Master Bruce, how would you like me to list it?" 

"Alfred not you too," Bruce groans, putting his hands in his eyes. 

"Yeah! Alfie's on our side!" Jason cheers. 

"Quite."

"Alfie is always the sensible one," Cass chuckles sensibly between bites. You hear varying noises of agreement and Bruce ages from suave debonair to extremely tired single dad. 

"I assume Alfred is actually the boss here."

"Yeah, Bruce is actually on the bottom of the food chain here," Tim says. You tilt your head in  contemplation. "Yanno that makes Batman so much less scary." 

"B-man's just a giant softie," Steph chirps, slinging her legs over Duke and Cass's laps narrowly missing the nearly empty bowl of popcorn. 

Dick turns to you winking. "Yeah, just give him the puppy eyes and he'll  get you anything you want in 2 seconds flat." 

"Dick…" 

"It's true!"

"Even a carnival?" 

"Can we please just watch the movie?" Bruce says, in an almost pleading voice. 

"I wouldn't hold my breath, old man," Jason chuckles, earning a glare from both Bruce and Damian. "It's not like you know how to shut up, Todd." 

"Sorry, I don’t speak gremlin."

"That's bull Jay!" 

"MOVIE IS STILL GOING ON! SHUT YOUR CAKE HOLES." 

“I TOLD YOU IT WAS THE BUTLER.”

“Yes, yes, it has been publiced and noted, Birdie,” you giggle into Tim’s side, shaking your head. He wraps his arm around you, pressing a kiss into your hair, winking at you. “Does it count?” Tim asks over his shoulder. A look passes between him and Cass. “I don’t think so,” she says grinning. 

“It so does! It’s one of the endings,” Dick protests vehemently. Jason’s mouth flattens then curls into a grin. “By that logic, the old man is right too.”

Dick thinks for a moment, tapping his chin. “Well, we can’t have that.”

“Why not?” Bruce protests. 

"I'm still sticking with the butler. I'm sorry this is the only logical conclusion." 

"He wasn't even an actual butler you butter brain!" Steph protests, throwing a pillow at Dick. 

"I'm sorry but can we address why you're all mounting a mutiny against me?" 

"Teenage rebellion!" Dick answers. 

"Chum, you're not even a teenager." 

"Father's right. At most, Grayson is five years old," Damian pipes from beside Dick seemingly unaffected by his brother's pout. 

"Alfred, you're going to have to check my blood pressure before patrol." 

"Quite, sir."

“They’re all so dramatic just like you said,” you whisper into Tim’s shoulder. 

“I AM NOT DRAMATIC”

“Ah, yes, because the pretty man pose is so pragmatic.” Damian deadpan.  

"That was one time, you assholes!" 

"Hey, what else did Timmy say?" 

"Well he- Oh wait!" You fish out your phone and Tim snacthes it away faster than you can blink. "No-" cough "-you don't." Cough. 

Jason snatches it from him, snickering at the photo of Tim kissing you on the cheek. You're pretty sure Tim has a matching photo with you kissing him on the cheek. "Nice lockscreen, (y/n)."

"Oh, you should see the homescreen!" 

"No. Please don't. You might need eye bleach." 

"Relax Space Cadet, it’s not that one." 

"Ohohoho, what didn't you want big daddy bats to see? Haaa, Timbo?" 

Tim turns every shade of red before settling on fire hydrant red. "None of your business!"

Bruce clears his throat, looking at a stupidly expensive watch. “It’s time.” Dick springs up, stretching and showing off.  “Is it really that time already?” Steph asks in almost a whine. Duke and Cass take the opportunity to shove her off and sadly, she lands with a loud thud and a mangled curse. You wince but laugh unsympathetically which simply earns you a face full of dust covered popcorn. You frown at her and she grins at you as Jason hauls her up by her hoodie. “C’mon Blondie. Let’s leave the love birds alone.”

“It’s not like they’re actually gonna be alone. Alfie’s here. So is Babs.”

“I’m going back to my place. You people give me a headache.” 

“You say that like you weren’t having fun,” Dick teases, walking after her. 

“I’ll be down in the cave if you need me,” Alfred says waving at both of you. “Will do, Alf,” Tim yawns, nuzzling into your hair. 

Cass pops her head back in. “Make sure Tim doesn’t do anything stupid,” She calls back. You grin, bright and wolfish. “Don’t worry! He can’t do me while he’s sick.” You hear Bruce choke in the hall and you just know that you’ll mentally kick yourself for that later. Luckily for you, Tim physically kicks you now. “What the hell?!” Cough. “Sorry, got caught in the moment.” You huff, trying to look a little sorry. Tim just glares more. “You’re not even close to sorry.”

“Ok. Yeah.”

“I have no idea why I love you sometimes.”

“My amazing personality?”

“Sure.”

“Love you too, Tim,” you chirp, kissing him. Tim’s lips feel hot after the quick peck and he pulls you closer. “I love you but I was pretty sure my family was gonna eat you alive.”

“They would have done it,” you hum, pausing before adding, “respectfully.”  

  Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell   @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

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Tales from the SMP Presents: The Pit

Another Tales, another Kingdom Hearts comparison post! “The Other Side” is a mix between the soundtrack The Other Promise and the cinematic “Another Side, Another Story” (both of which come from Kingdom Hearts, of course), which evokes a very specific KH character that... yeah. So let’s get into it.

Karl gets stabbed by the king’s new general and finds himself back in the Inbetween. A cool new logo pops up as we enter the Inbetween, which actually is a... very typical example of a Kingdom Hearts world logo / intro card / name card? I honestly don’t know what it’s called, it doesn’t have a name, it’s just a thing that happens every time the character enters a new world.

Castle Oblivion is just one (1) example, but if you just look up “Kingdom Hearts worlds” and scroll a bit, you’ll see what I’m talking about, haha. This doesn’t really change anything, it’s just another little wink and nod to the Kingdom Hearts series.

... Except, of course, the fact that there’s a title placard for this world implies the existence of other worlds. Which we eventually find out is, in fact, true. Fun! There’s a number of associations I could make based off the aesthetic of the logo (the castle reminds me of Radiant Garden, etc) but honestly they’re not worth much without more information.

So, the Inbetween is vividly aware of Karl’s straying from “the path”. It makes a huge attempt to still be pleasant and “nice” and whatever, but we can tell quite obviously that there’s an undercurrent of threat under all those pretty quartz blocks and smiles :]

Speaking of the :] smile, the reveal of Quackity’s previous lore stream actually doesn’t push me to think that it’s directly related to him in any way. It’s not impossible that c!Quackity achieved such heights as... becoming? The Inbetween? Because he’s got reason to be invested in Karl’s powers and keeping him in line. But it’s a reach or long-term thing at best, honestly, so I’m shelving the Quackity-smile association until further evidence appears.

(I could go bonkers and say that this is the culmination of c!Quackity’s ascension after ripping Information out of Dream or even XD, but that’s well into AU territory, so it’s all just shrug emojis for now.)

Which, of course, leads to the question of who that smile actually is associated with, and I think as clear an answer as we’re going to get is... The Inbetween itself. Clearly.

There’s a lot of meaning I could take from that; is it associated with Dream or XD then? Or maybe is it tapping into Karl’s memories of c!Dream doing the :) thing and it’s appropriating that for itself? Why? To intimidate Karl into obeying it?

Mayhaps. Mayhaps!

Anyway, Karl goes up to the tree, and as he approaches, the video feed distorts as the game abruptly switches to a higher-level shader like BSL or something.

Now, I haven’t confirmed it, but the way the audio shifts makes me think it suddenly started playing backwards, too. It’s just the way it sounds; it’s got that... sucking effect that’s pretty typical of musical tracks played backwards.

Karl swims down to the hidden room, which is very dark now. There is a book that tells him to go up the ladder for a surprise.

Also, by the way, I’m back on my wither rose pot association brainrot, because I can’t help but notice that there isn’t one here. There was one in the previous Inbetween segment, but it’s gone now. Now there’s a new book with the :] smiley, which of course should set the audience on edge, since we just saw the first book use it in a... mildly threatening manner.

We know that in Dream SMP it’s a pretty common thing to use redstone as blood. Other characters have used it in bits, some more seriously than others, and I think that’s what this room is trying to emulate.

If I had to guess, I’d... hm.

A part of me wants to say that the blood is probably from the different versions of Karl wandering around. Nobody’s going to notice if a few abruptly take a swerve to bleed themselves out in a room or something, right? But that carries a lot of implications, namely that of control so perfect it borders on possession. So either the Inbetween can control Karls, or it has some other agent capable of dragging something into this chamber to bleed it all over the room.

Neither of those options are particularly nice, I’ll admit!

There’s no Kingdom Hearts associations here, by the way. Due to being so closely tied with Disney, KH is deathly allergic to portraying blood in any way lmao. Not so many messages carved into the walls.

Or painted onto the walls with blood, if that’s what that is. Color correction gets a bit odd with shaders, so I’m not saying anything for certain; the closed books don’t look enchantment-purple, for example.

What does catch my eye are the torches, which will later be the flickering lights that guide Karl to the portal. The fact that they are here makes me think that this was definitely the scene of either a battle or some other conflict between the two sides to this story (haha, get it, Another Side, Another Story, because that’s a Thing in KH—), or at least proves that an influence from The Other Side was here at some point in time.

Karl quickly gets the fuck out of there, and when he swims back to the surface the shaders/music switch back to normal.

Oh, and for all you people who like to point fingers at anything vaguely false and scream “that’s gAsLiGhTiNg!!!1!!111″ about it, here’s an actual attempt at gaslighting. Note the language used here: “Your mind seems to be playing tricks on you :]”. It’s explicitly trying to convince him not to trust his own senses and mind. It’s saying, let me think for you. And that is a very dangerous thing.

Wither rose pot exists again, yay. Definitely a Inbetween voice, this book.

More wither rose book, this time in the, uh, grand entrance hall? The lobby? Yeah.

This book basically goes on a spiel about how the Inbetween is so great for Karl (a declaration, by the way, rather than a hope) and says that he is doubting himself or being less like himself, which is odd, because what he’s really doing is doubting the Inbetween and the path it has laid out for him. In a way, by questioning the Inbetween, Karl is being truer to himself than anything else.

The malicious way this place frames its words becomes more and more obvious with each passing page; it again reminds him that it’s a place to be “feel at ease”, which is super sketch that it has to tell him outright rather than actually being that place. It continues attempting to gaslight him, telling him that his imagination is getting away from him and that he can’t trust himself or anything else but this “path”.

I’ll get back to the “path” thing in a minute, but I really want to drive home that this is the truest instance of gaslighting we’ve ever had on the Dream SMP. Nothing has ever so clearly declared that it must be trusted over the victim’s own senses, practically infantilizing the victim’s concerns and trying to make them think that their worries are just flights of fancy. Please, please keep this in mind any time you want to accuse a character of gaslighting in the future; not all psychological abuse is a form of gaslighting. Sometimes it’s just... abuse. It’s not any more or less worse than gaslighting, it’s just different.

Anyway, about the “path” that the Inbetween is so obsessed with. No idea what the fuck that’s talking about.

In Kingdom Hearts, the only paths that are really of import are is a specific character’s “road to dawn” (redemption without fully yielding his edginess, essentially) or the “paths” that characters take to traverse between different worlds. I really don’t think the Inbetween has anything to do with either of them, but I’ll leave the options there if you want to peruse the possibilities.

What’s more likely, I think, is that this is a vaguely more subtle version of control/possession. The “path” is just “whatever the Inbetween wants you to do”.

Our next book is from the other side, and is plastered nonchalantly but boldly against the wall with no flower pot or anything.

Karl picks it up, puts it in his inventory (which probably indicates that he’s keeping this particular route close to his heart, rather than whatever the Inbetween is trying to make him do), and then the video stutters and he teleports back to the main entrance.

There’s a new book. It’s spooky as fuck, and hilariously hypocritical.

The tone shift is immediate, of course, aided by the abrupt change in background music since he got teleported back here. (I can’t quite nail it down; I assume it’s a slowed KH track like the others, but it doesn’t quite ring any bells for me.) The way the Inbetween speaks through these books has changed too, though; it addresses him by name without any attempt to cover up its intentions with flowery softness.

It does a cool fun thing where it says that it knows more than Karl, and knows what’s right, and then goes on to say that those visions shouldn’t dictate his opinion on the inbetween. (I’m keeping an eye on that lowercase, by the way. Not sure if it’s a typo or intentional, since it’s still one word, but.) As though he should trust the Inbetween’s opinions of itself rather than his own brain? A’ight. Sure, Jan.

Again it tries to tell him that it’s safe here. The lying is getting more transparent now.

He puts this book back, the previous book back, and runs after a double of himself until the shaders and music glitch again.

Fun thing about shaders is that they make dark areas... much, much darker. Especially since we saw that Karl’s got night vision (the effect, for cinematic purposes) on.

The music has a few notes that again sound as though they’re being played backwards.

The book on the tree in this courtyard does not come with its own little wither rose pot, and neither does it seem to come from the Inbetween, since it’s telling him some awful things about these other versions of himself.

It confirms a few things about the mystery other selves, namely that they’re definitely condemned to walk the castle forever, but it doesn’t really tell us why this happens or why the Inbetween (probably) wants this to happen. What’s the end goal?

We’re probably a bit early in the story to figure that out, but they’re questions worth keeping in mind as this storyline progresses.

Karl gets teleported back to the main lobby, which looks very dark and spooky, though in the transition we do see a glimpse of that portal. There are torches around the wither pot book pedestal, and the audio really kicks into high gear with the creepy notes and the visuals get stretched and glitch quite a bit as he opens the book.

Funnily enough, the audio kind of reminded me of some pokemon encounter music, but I think that’s just because I’ve got those notes wired into my brain from years of playing those games. Anyway! The book tells him this is not a warning, and that they’re gonna fucking come for him to make sure he sticks with their path.

“We”.

Who is “we”? Is the Inbetween a collective? Is the Inbetween just part of a different whole? Maybe it counts all the different Karls as a part of it.

Either way, it’s creepy and threatening. Karl starts running; the screen glitches and tells him to follow the torches, which at first I was kind of leery about trusting, but the next series of words helped clear up exactly what side those words are on.

Also, you’ll notice that some other text kinda skitters across the screen before the English, like it’s getting translated. I think it’s Galactic, which is something different from the thing that Ranboo uses for Ender? I think Ranboo uses the Alien language thing or something? I’m not 100% sure on that, feel free to correct me and I’ll fix this portion.

It certainly implies that the speaker isn’t communicating in the server equivalent of “common”, however. Not sure if they’re translating into English or if Karl inherently understands it and it’s translated into English for the audience’s convenience, but either way, the other speaker might be linked to something completely different.

Karl runs on with encouragement and creepy music until he finally arrives at the portal, which is not barred off like it was last time. Thanks, whoever’s responsible for that!

The music dies for this final book.

The Inbetween’s last-ditch attempt to make him stay. It calls him silly a couple of times, and smiles at the end with a :]

Problem is, we and Karl already know that staying with the Inbetween will keep him from his friends. And the voice tells him to leave for his friends.

Karl looks around at this place that calls itself his sanctuary, and makes his decision.

He arrives at The Other Side.

The music appears to be drawn from parts of either The Other Promise or Roxas’ Theme, both of which are heavily tied to the character known as Roxas. The version that Karl uses is slower and lower, the same as with the Dearly Beloved track he uses for his Inbetween segments.

Honestly, I’m not as certain on this as I could be, because I couldn’t find the exact variation on Youtube and there are parts that could just be Emotional rather than Roxas-related, I’m not sure. I’ll probably come back and fix this if it’s untrue.

EDIT: Yeah, uh, it’s Ven’s theme, not Roxas’, but the world itself is still heavily associated with Roxas in naming themes.

For now, I’m going off the assumption that the decision to make both the name and the theme of this world relevant to Roxas is purposeful, which means I’m... going to attempt to explain who Roxas is and what his story is.

Oh boy.

To grossly oversimplify the situation, Roxas is a “part” of Sora who develops his own sense of identity, is betrayed, gets coerced into murdering his best friend, gets kidnapped, gets memory wiped, and then—when he gets his memory back and realizes he super hates his captors—is convinced by those same captors to give up his existence because he “isn’t a real person” and if he lives then Sora will never wake up. So he “dies” and becomes a part of Sora again until later.

(Sora, by the way, is asleep due to the events in Castle Oblivion, which you might recognize as That Place I Keep Associating The Inbetween With.)

He’s also a fan favorite lmao. Take from that as you will, and, I don’t know, flip through his wiki page or something. Can’t guarantee it’s all understandable though.

My point to bringing Roxas up is that his arc... kind of parallels Karl’s. He did his job working for superiors he didn’t really understand in a white castle, with the higher-ups trying to control him, until he realized he was losing his friend/s to them. At that point, he defects. I think this is the point that Karl has reached, in his own storyline. He’s pulled away from the thing that’s made itself known to him, and now he’s wandering down something that hopefully isn’t as awful as the beast he’s just left behind.

Roxas also doesn’t get his happy ending for a long, long time.

Let’s hope Karl is different.

Off the top of my head, I can tell you that the mood this world creates is very reminiscent of some areas that the Kingdom Hearts games explore in 0.2 (yes, zero point two, that is the number of that game. This fucking series, man), specifically Castle Town, in which the player character has to smack a bunch of clock gears to make time go backwards in order to proceed, which is fun. But no exact inspirations come to mind the same way that Castle Oblivion did for the Inbetween.

Until we get a better look at the interiors, I’m going to gently claim that this build is more original and doesn’t take inspiration quite as directly from a Kingdom Hearts source, so there might not be an exact parallel. There isn’t a black castle in Kingdom Hearts that I can think of, honestly.

Also, I will say that I’m going to take this episode as confirmation that the wither roses are associated with the Inbetween and appear next to books that come from / are related to the Inbetween, especially since The Other Side associates itself with a completely different flower: the white tulip.

Anyway, The Other Side tells him he’s home, and that they’ll explore more soon.

This... eerily parallels the Inbetween, which told him that he’s safe, and has lots to explore.

I can’t say that I immediately trust The Other Side, but neither can I say that I inherently distrusted it the same way I did with the Inbetween. We’re going to have to wait and see how this place behaves in future episodes to get a good grasp of it. Who built these places? Are they alive, and writing the books, or is there a mastermind behind them? We still don’t have a lot of the answers, but that’s okay.

For now, I’m content to know that Karl is away from the more obvious perils of the Inbetween.

It could still be a trap, but for now, it’s a refuge.

[shotosgaychangemymind]

_____________________________________

One day

Oikawa x Iwaizumi

T/W: suggesting suc!de/major character death, angst x10

(I'm sorry for your emotions :))

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Iwa-chan, one day you're going to fall in love with me," Oikawa said as he strolled along the sidewalk next to a quiet street.

"Yeah right, Shittykawa. You've got a personality that's impossible to love," I shot. Never in a million years did I think he was going to take that to heart. It's Oikawa after all, everything just rolls off his back like a duck in water.

That seemed like forever ago, now. The days had blended together ever since the proposition was made, my mind running in circles trying to figure out where everything went wrong.

When Oikawa had said that, I never really thought anything of it, as it was kind of just his personality. He would joke like that from time to time, claiming everyone was going to praise him at some point. I hadn't thought about it much, until that night. Laying in my bed, Oikawa on the floor next to it, I found my gaze shifting to him. My thoughts were going a million miles a minute, trying to figure out what was going on.

Since he had put it out in the open, I started noticing all the little details about him and our friendship. His soft features, the way his eyes lit up when he noticed I had come into the gym, how is body always found itself right next to mine. It had seemed so normal before, but it all started to look more like a relationship as I thought about it.

But, I realized I wanted it to look like a relationship; his words haunted my brain, making me want something more. I fought against them for such a long time, trying to convince myself it couldn't be true.

"One day, you're going to fall in love with me."

In the months that followed, I drifted towards him more and more, letting him mess with me how he does without retaliation. I never complained when he called me "iwa-chan," nor did I ask him to stop messing with me. I let him rest his head on my shoulder when he was tired, cry in the crook of my neck when we lost, and comb through my hair with his fingers when he saw fit.

It was my way of telling him what he said was true, without actually having to speak it. Voicing my feelings out loud wasn't something I let myself do in this case, horrified of what could happen if I did. After all, he had said it as a joke. He didn't really expect me to fall in love with him, but here I was, heart aching over my best friend.

Just as planned, he never figured out I was in love with him. It hurt to see him in other relationships, looking back at me and asking for advice. It hurt to know that somewhere in him, he might feel the same love for me, but we would never let each other know. There was too much at stake, too many memories to lose if we weren't as right as we thought in our assumptions.

I took every opportunity I could to touch him; hug him every time he seemed down, push his hair out of his face after he had messed it up in practice, grab his hand to drag him away from a group of fans. Every brush of his arm against mine when we walked home was something I cherished more than I could've ever imagined, engraving the feeling in my skin.

I should've told him. I should've risked it all just so he would've known.

"Iwa-chan, one day you're going to fall in love with me."

"You've got a personality that's impossible to love."

Now, I'm gripping onto his letter for dear life, all of his feelings written on the page being soaked in my own emotion-filled tears. The handwriting etched onto the paper expressing his desire for love and his inability to find it.

I should've told him; should've held him a little longer everyday, talked to him a little more. But, he's gone now, and nothing is going to bring him back into my life.

I placed my own letter atop the stone that adorned the hill, Oikawa's named carved into the rock. My handwriting expressed every single word I wish I had said and didn't get to. The only difference between ours was that mine wasn't a goodbye.

"One day, you're going to fall in love with me."

[mxvladdy]

True Form- Mammon

The boys are cute in their devil forms I’ll give them that. But I want something more monstrous lol. Here are some headcannons of mine of what the boyos look like outside of their glamours. 

I’m not doing the gang in any particular order, all will be accounted for in due time. Just my favorites come first :p

No, I regret nothing and yes I would still 10000% smooch the monster.

Next up: Asmodeus 

Mammon

- Interestingly enough, his human glamour shows none of the wounds he bears from the celestial war. But his true form? It is a testament to his strength and a stark reminder that he is the second strongest of the cardinal sins. 

- Mammon takes the shape of a great winged beast. The original number of his wings have been lost to time but old records speak of ever shifting numbers. Should he lose one two would grow in it’s place type deal. All that remains of their splendor are three mismatched ones on his back. Since they are not even he is incapable of flying, but he can still glide for quite some distance and with tremendous speed. 

- He resembles a mixture of a crow and Strix. He has four large taloned feet that can carve through rock and slice though even demon flesh with ease. His multitude of eyes are bright and simply mesmerizing. Like the twinkling of stars in the night sky. His eyes are the only physical trait left of him from his time as an angel. 

- Old scars pepper his hide under his oily sheen feathers. When he shifts they flash the briefest hints of silver and faded pink. But, the most noticeable wound on him is his beak. The upper mandible is broken, the front half blasted away leaving behind a jagged mess of bone. The magic used against him makes it impossible for him to regrow it. He remembers clearly the blow that marred him. It is one of his recurring nightmares. 

- He keeps a den, hidden from the other brothers deep in the Devildom forests where he hoards all his most precious items from over the millennia. Whenever things get too much at home he will come here to lay amongst his treasures and reminisce of simpler times. 

Mini fic 

Mammon could feel the need brewing deep within him. The gnawing emptiness slowly eroding at his psyche till it was all-encompassing. His brothers possessions calling to him like a sirens song day in and day out. Goldie simply wasn’t going to be enough this time. He needed his cave, his little sanctuary, carved out in secret so many years ago.  

He sighs lovingly. Just imagining the feel of currencies from empires long since fallen and priceless treasures offered to him in sacrifice under his talons feet was euphoric. His second skin ripples under his glamour in anticipation. Humming under his breath, Mammon takes the steps to the main door two at a time. In his excitement, he almost collides with the latest item of his attention. 

“Oi!” He barks, skidding to a halt in front of you. He makes a grab for your shoulders stopping you before you toppled down the flight of stairs.  He can’t help the smile forming on his lips to match yours. His human looks up from the files overflowing in their arms. The emptiness inside rattles its cage. Add them to the horde. His molars crack under the strain of his clenched jaw.

“Oh! Sorry, Mammon! It’s kinda hard to see around all this.” You smile sheepishly, scooting off to the side for him to pass. “Are you well?” You notice his stiff posture, hands clenching, and unclenching over your school uniform. He hadn’t let you go yet. 

Unsurprising really, he was one of the clingier brothers. Not that you minded. It was nice sometimes to feel so wanted. Though it was different this time. You could feel the ebb and flow of his magic rippling in the close space. Usually, he had the best control suppressing it in your company. It would have been terrifying if it had been another one of the brothers. Last time one of them ‘lost their cool’ had ended badly for you. “Mammon?”

“What?” He twitches, head jerking to an odd angle. His eyes turn sharp as he looks at you appraisingly. Hungrily. “Oh right, sorry.” The demon releases you. “I’m fine, just need to stretch my legs is all.” He pushes past, for once trying not to give into temptation. 

“Can I join? I need a break from all this paperwork. I know I said I’d help Lucifer, but damn.” You laugh placing the stack down on an end table. He chokes on the idea. Yesss~ his inner beast coos in delight. You were making this too easy. He could keep you all to himself, tucked away where no one else could have you. Lucifer would never know.

“I-I don’t want the company.” He grits out, rolling his shoulders in agitation. At himself or you, only the devil would know. “Ain’t a place for little humans.” His response is short and sharp. He could feel his talons growing under his nail beds. Mammon hisses in irritation, he didn’t want to scare you away. Not after everything else you’ve been through. 

“Oh…” It hurts him to hear you so dejected like this. Perhaps- you had handled a lot so far. One more thing won’t kill you. 

“Look-promise not to tell and you can join.” Mammon turns scratching at his neck. "I don't need my brothers knowing where I go. Our little secret?" 

“Our little secret.” You take his hand with a coy grin. 

It wasn’t a long walk. It was pleasant your warm hand wrapped in his. The connection quelled some of the avarice brewing inside. He approaches the edge of the cliff with satisfaction. The precipice looks down into the wilds of the Devildom. It was a beautiful sight really. The heavy gloam of eternal twilight cast a purple haze over the treetops. In the distance, the downtown district twinkle. Mammon exhales happily into the breeze. The wind was picking up. Good. 

Mammon turns to you taking in your apprehension. You lean over the side, looking down into the abyss. "This isn't much of a walk." You chuckle nervously eyeing the deadly drop. A strong gush upsets your balance. Squeaking, you grip onto his sleeve. Your little human nails dig into the leather of his jacket. Cute. 

"Not done yet." He sheds his glasses and coat folding them neatly by the ledge. "It ain't much farther, but it is a ride." He could shred the pants and shirt. Luci owed him a new wardrobe as is. Stretching his arms over his head he grunts. His remaining wings practically vibrate in anticipation. "Promise not to scream?"

"Scream?" Your question is lost in the ruffle of feathers and creak of bone. You gasp back away from the massive beast in front of you. Mammon stood beside you, his body almost blending in with the darkness around you. Dozens of eyes blink owlishly at you, they glimmer like diamonds. They are bright and breathtaking, the depth in them almost sucking you in. He clicks the remnants of his razor-sharp beak expectantly. "Mammon?" You approach, palms outstretched. 

He cocks his head to almost disappearing into the night as he closes all his eyes at your touch. He adjusts himself as you pet down his large head. Overly carful of where your hand was to make sure you are not in danger of cutting yourself with his damaged beak. "How many more layers to you brothers are there?" He laughs in relief, cawing loudly as you bury your hands in his feathers. "Ok. So what's the plan?"

Mammon crouches low bumping his shoulder to you. You take the hint and clamber onto his broad back. Shifting awkwardly he squawks as you pull some feathers. “Sorry! Sorry!” He turns and pecks at your hand gently. Pulling at your sleeves, he makes sure you have a good grip at the base of his neck. Feeling you settle he leaps. 

Bounding for the ledge, his strong wings flex and catch the wind. He glides on the gust with practiced ease. Years of plummeting and failure made this success all the sweeter with you there as he carries them higher. He could feel your laughter through his body. Your shouts of elation get swallowed by the howling around them. Oh, how he revels in it. He wants more of this.

The flight was quick. Before long he descends, unfurling his legs as he lands. Long talons cut into stone as he grasps the side of the cliff. Effortlessly he slinks up the side. The hard coils of muscle on his back and legs bunch and pull under you body. The sinuous roll of it causes you to grip him tighter lest you fall off. He purrs at the feel of you clinging to him. Perhaps he should keep you here, all to himself. Mammon reaches his destination and allows you to slide off of him to look about. 

The mouth of the cave was cast in heavy shadows from surrounding trees. The moon covered by clouds flashing briefs glimpses of deeper in. You follow as the Great Mammon lumbers past you to delve deeper.  Jogging after him, you place a hand on his flank trusting him to guild you. What did he have here? This looks nothing like a place Mammon would go to. He chirps and caws trying to talk though it was impossible to understand as he lead you down deeper. His tail swooshing excitedly behind him. It was sweet, his palpable joy rubbing off on you.

As you reach the inner depth of the cave you left go of him to shield your eyes. The sudden light accosting you. The inner cave was huge, eternal sconces lighting as he entered to reflect off of a dazzling array of items. Mammon crows smugly leaving you to gape at the entrance. 

The demon crawls into a nest made of gold and bolts of expensive fabrics.  Yawning widely, he wiggles himself deeper into the coins. Large crystalline eyes drooping pleasantly at the warmth of his cave. While he dozes you walk around the large treasure trove. You run your hands over no doubt priceless jewels and sets of armor. Clothes and jewelry litter the floor as maps and pieces of art cover most of the walls and ceiling. Their golden frames glowing from the light of the sconces making the space glow richly. He even had some tomes stacked neatly in the corner, each cover embossed with gold and silver. You pick one up intrigued by the design of the cover.

"You sure you were a dragon in a former life? " You ask flipping though a few pages before putting it back. Mammon snorts rolling his eyes. You grin eyeing his bed of treasures. "Can I join you?" It looked rather comfy and he obviously wasn't going to be moving anytime soon. Knowing Mammon there was no way you could leave this place without his help. So might as well get comfortable.

Mammon is silent for a moment before clicking his beak, wings opening to invite you in. You scramble up close grabbing a few stray pillows as you go. Making a mini nest of your own beside him you tuck yourself in. 

If a bird could smile he would be beaming at the feel of your body resting against his feathered side. Draping a wing over you he settles in for a nap.

Yes, you would be the perfect final piece to his collection.

[refriedweeb]

I MISSED YOU QUITE TERRIBLY (SHINSOU + FEM!READER FLUFF)

A/N: I’ve been feeling sad af about my love life lately so the next few pieces are gonna be fluff and love and soft feels bc I need

Prompt: You had a long, sad day for absolutely no reason. Shinsou picks up on this the second you’re through the door and knowing what it’s like to be on the outs mentally, he takes care of you.

Word Count: 2,183

There were some days where you were just sad. For no reason at all. There didn’t need to be one because sometimes the mind was just cruel, and there was nothing you or anyone else could do about it. It hadn’t mattered whether you had a good day, a great day, or even an okay day. Sadness was something that didn’t care about how happy you were in the moments before, it only cared about showing up to pull your day down like an metaphorical rain cloud over your sunny day.

Today had been one of those days for you. Nothing had gone the way you planned or expected, and it seemed like one thing after another just unraveled any survival of a good mood. The media was full of such negativity, what you consumed warping into negative thoughts about yourself. Those negative thoughts about yourself transformed into reliving sad pieces of your life in the years prior, lost friendships and loved ones that always made your heart feel a little heavier. It’d been a slow day at the agency for you, thankfully your district’s criminals seems to know that you needed a day of simple rest. The paperwork you had done droned on and on, however, and you felt trapped in the proverbial vortex of negative thoughts, emotions, and experiences.

By the time you left your agency, you’d been fighting back tears. Nothing had happened specifically, and maybe that was why you were so frustrated by the overwhelming emotion you felt. If there was something you could pinpoint as the reason for your sadness, for the tears that bit at the corner of your eyes, you could have fixed it. But it didn’t work like that, and you were stuck with the emotions you didn’t know how to handle. The trip back to the place you shared with Shinsou Hitoshi was a long one, a lonely one. All you wanted to do was fall into your bed and sleep away the remainder of a shitty day, and fall right into his arms.

Shinsou might not have been the best at speaking to his emotions, or even getting you to talk about yours, but he never judged you for the bad days you had. Never asked you to explain anything that didn’t come easily. He never better than most the weight of a bad mental health day and how it could change the trajectory of anything positive you had going for you. He had spent most of his middle school career and time at UA dealing with the crisis of his desire to be a hero with the conflicting public opinion he was bound for a path with villains. It’s warped how he viewed himself, how he presented himself and interacted with others. Such a way of seeing himself was something he’d been trying to unlearn, especially now as he was a hero, but taught perceptions of yourself never lifted as easily as you’d expect. So, yes, Shinsou understood that some days were just worse than others and your brain could be an awfully cruel thing when you’d done nothing wrong to provoke it.

He’d been home for a while by the time you returned, seated in the large love seat of your place with a book he was idly picking through. He’d lazily just finished turning the page, one finger moving the ear of it when you walked in. Shades of lavender and amethyst colored eyes flickered up to look at you, his expression narrowing as his brows pulled over his sunken eyes. “Welcome back, love.” It wasn’t hard to pick up on your dejected emotion. It practically hung over you in the physical realm, and he closed his book. He uncrossed his legs, leaning forward in his chair. When he spoke next, his voice was soft, absent of the usual snark that you usually greeted one another with after a long day away from your security. “Everything alright?”

You finished hanging up your coat and turned around. The expression on your face was one of a pout, and Shinsou couldn’t help but think you looked like a little child who had been told they couldn’t have a cookie before dinner. A moment of pause lapsed between you before you answered. “I’m sad today.”

Shinsou let out a little hum and pushed himself to his feet. You, on the other hand didn’t move as he strode over to you, your lower lip starting to wobble with the tears you’d been holding back on the commute home. Wordlessly, Shinsou wrapped you into a hug and pulled you close to the well defined muscle of his chest. Immediately, you were overwhelmed with the comfort of being close to him. The smell of soap, sea salt, and smoke. It was a smell that was so intrinsically him you didn’t think you’d be able to associate those smells by themselves without thinking of him. His hand wrapped around your waist, the other smoothing down the back of your head. A sniffle escaped you, only causing him to squeeze you tighter against his form. “I know, love.” he whispered, his head turned in to kiss at your temple. “I know it’s hard.”

You clung to his shirt, the material fisted in your hands. Unable to hold back the tears any longer, you buried your face into his chest and dampened his t-shirt. Shinsou didn’t say anything, but kept you cradled tightly into his chest for what felt like a lifetime. He rocked you from side to side, shh-ing you when you tried to talk to explain yourself, to apologize for being such a mess. It wasn’t anything he wanted to hear, because he wasn’t bothered by it. Your emotions to him were valid. Anything you felt regardless of why you felt it mattered to him, and he wouldn’t have dreamed of trying to nullify any of what you were feeling in that moment. To Shinsou, you were one of the most important people he’d ever had in his life. Anything he could do to help you, to continue loving and supporting you, he’d do in a heartbeat. His head rested on top of yours, a small smile on his face.

How many times had you done this for him? It seemed like an endless string of times he’d come home just as dejected and sad as you were. And each time, without fail, you wrapped him up in your arms, having pushed him down onto his knees so you could embrace him fully, get into the same positioning you were in right then. Whisper the words of affirmation that he needed, that he wasn’t wasting his time, that he mattered, that what he did in the world mattered. He’d always thought it was impossible to be loved in a way that existed for everyone else because of his quirk. You’d come along and changed everything about that within a matter of months, and since then Shinsou hadn’t looked back. Didn’t want to. He let out a low breath, pulled back so that he could look at you.

His thumbs grazed over your cheeks, under red and puffy eyes from the tears you’d cried. The sight of you, someone who he respected and thought was so strong and indestructible looking so innocent and small, made him smile. “Come on, kitten, let's get you into bed.” His voice was gentle, and he leaned in to press a chaste kiss against your forehead. He waited until you nodded. Once you did, Shinsou scooped down and hooked an arm around the back of your knees, picking you up bridal style. 

As he walked you to the bedroom suite, you buried your face in against the juncture of his neck. Breathed in that lovely smell of him once more, fingers idly playing with the lilac hair at the nape of his neck. This was all you’d wanted, all you’d needed after having such a down reason. With Shinsou, you felt safe. You felt protected and cared for in a way you hadn’t experienced with relationships past. Frankly, you couldn’t imagine your life with anyone else. 

Shinsou dropped you onto the bed with an uneventful plop, before he motioned for you to lift your arms up. You followed his command, unable to look away from him as he took the hem of your shirt and hoisted it above your head. Tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor. He pressed a kiss to each of your collarbones as he reached behind you, unhooked your bra and did the same toss over his shoulder. The nonchalance of his actions pulled a small smile accompanied with a small burst of laughter. His heart fluttered, and he leaned in to kiss you on the mouth before he went to his dresser and pulled out a worn in t-shirt of his that he saved for working out. Shinsou walked back to where you had been situated, taking a slow moment to appreciate the form of your body. One of the things he loved about you, but not the thing he loved about you. The t-shirt fell over your head and arms, the opening hole of the top getting stuck over the top of your head. A chuckle passed between the two of you as he gave it a tug before it fell shapelessly around your torso.

“Up, love.” You obeyed, Shinsou squatting down to undo the button and zipper on the pants you wore. As he pulled the material down over your legs, he kissed the fronts and sides of your thighs. He wasn’t trying to initiate anything, that subject matter the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. The pants were also tossed without a care. You flopped back on the bed, clad in one of his shirts and your underwear, staring up at him as he ran his thumb over your cheek before disappearing into the bathroom. He returned a short moment later with a warm, wet cloth that he ran gently over your face. “Because I know you hate sleeping in your makeup and waking up feeling gross.” he murmured, lavender eyes leaned down to your level as he reached out with it. One hand held your chin gently, the other massaging the cloth of your eyes, cheeks, and forehead as the makeup wiped away. Bare faced, cheeks and eyes still pink from the tears you’d been crying, Shinsou didn’t think you looked any better. 

“There,” he said, also tossing the wash cloth to the side. Then, it was his turn. He pulled his shirt over his head, leaving you to watch the contortion and pull of  the chiseled out muscles of his torso and arms. He caught you staring, and shook his head as a blush crept over his cheeks. His pants followed shortly after, leaving him in a pair of cotton boxer briefs the color of deep teal. You reached out a hand, your fingers trailing over the smattering of indigo hair that ran from his naval and disappeared under the waistband of his underwear. The muscles of his abdomen constricted, and Shinsou reached out and took your hand from where you’d been tracing, kissing it instead. “Not tonight, yeah?”

He already knew you weren’t up to the usual ruckus you two caused when having sex. Tonight he just wanted to be gentle with you, to hold you and all that sadness you’d carried around during the day. And you knew you weren’t exactly up for a wild night spend between the sheets, either. You just liked to touch him. Not disappointed, you crawled under the duvet of your bed, looking behind you as Shinsou crawled in after you, the duvet tucked behind him as he settled in. Pulled you back against his chest and enveloped you in his warmth once more. His hand melded with yours, fingers intertwined as he pulled you closer. The warmth of his bare skin ran through the shirt you wore, and you started to feel the heaviness from the day melt away. It wouldn’t eliminate it by any means, but it certainly lessened it. This was something Shinsou knew, and he pressed a kiss behind your ear, nuzzled in against you. 

“I love you,” you said, cradled in the warmth and safety of the person you loved. The person who loved you back just the same. Your eyes started to grow heavy, and soon you were fighting to keep them open. 

“I love you most.” Shinsou murmured in your ear, his tone one that was fighting off sleep just the same as you were. 

Moments later, you were asleep. Shinsou, though growing more and more tired himself, still awake. But he didn't mind listening to the sound of your breathing as it deepened, as you relaxed against him entirely. He was more than content to just lay there with you in his arms, satisfied with life in that moment that he’d been able to help you in some way. Eventually, his eyes lost their battle to stay open, and he drifted into a dream world all his own. 

[seducing-a-vampire]

Day 24: Song

@carryon-countdown​

In my defense, I have none For digging up the grave another time But it would've been fun If you would've been the one

--The 1, Taylor Swift

Agatha reflects her relationship with ex-boyfriend Simon and on breaking free from the roles she's been expected to play.

***A million thanks and blushing frog emojis for @snowybank​ for beta reading!!!***

Rating: T  //  Word Count: 1040

 The 1

I wake up alone.

I mean, I always wake up alone. I’ve never actually spent the entire night sleeping next to another person, unless you count the few times Simon and I fell asleep on separate couches in my living room at home. That was years ago, stuffed full with Christmas cookies, Dr. Who playing softly on the TV as our conversation faded into an easy rest.

I’ve often wondered what it would be like, to lie beside someone like that, to breathe so close to another person for seven or eight hours. Watching their chest rise and fall steadily.

Sometimes, I find it impossible that you could ever get used to that. Would that ever feel completely comfortable—another person next to you, an intruder to the rhythm of your own breathing?

Read the rest on AO3 or under the cut!

I remember watching a movie with Ginger one time soon after we met, a cheesy American rom com. She was giggling at the sex scene, which occurred approximately 0.2 seconds after the meeting of this blandly attractive white couple. (They panted and moaned for a bit, and then fell asleep together, naked. Listen, I’m not a prude, but I can’t imagine ever feeling confident enough to forego my pyjamas at night.)  In between the peals of her laughter, she was telling me about her recent hookup with the barista she’s been seeing.

An image popped unbidden in my mind, then: Ginger, in her little navy pyjamas with yellow moons all over them, curled up next to me in my bed.  I didn’t even know if I actually liked that thought, but it was, well, interesting to think about.

Oughtn’t I have figured this out by now? Figured out myself ? I dated Simon for far too long, I snogged Minty in the park across from our old primary school last time I was home, and I fled to California, the land of possibility and no judgement. Still I feel like I’m trapped in a cage of my own making.

I take up very little space in the expanse of my bed. I can stretch out my whole body, feeling the muscles flex and then relax, pointing my toes down like I used to practice for ballet. My soft white linens (with teeny pink flowers dotted all over) feel cool against my body.

My apartment in San Diego is bright and sunny. I like living alone, and I know I’m being honest when I think that because I don’t have the little tense knot in my stomach that I get when I suppress my true feelings. I pour myself a bowl of cereal and curl up on my couch, scrolling through my notifications on my phone as I eat.

Fourteen unread emails, mostly for school organizations that I signed up for and then never participated in. I delete them.

I open up Instagram, and first up on my feed is a picture Baz posted of Simon. Simon’s wearing my old Watford lacrosse sweatshirt. I can’t believe he still has that. He’s in the middle of talking (probably waxing poetic about scones); his hands are blurry from being caught in motion, and his eyes are soft. I know he must be looking at Baz. The caption is just “My idiot.”

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d see Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch posting almost-mushy things on Instagram, let alone that the object of the almost-mush would be Simon.

A few weeks ago, I FaceTimed Penny, and she said they’re still all heart-eyed for each other. It’s easy to admit that even when things were good between us, Simon and I never really had heart-eyes. I’m happy for them.

Goodness knows Simon deserves some happiness of his own. I always thought I’d be the one standing next to him— or sometimes, I thought I’d have to be the one grieving him. Then I tried to break free from that, break up with him, play a different role. The closest I came to actualizing that was when I first came to California. Now, I feel like I’m tripping over my lines again.

Simon was most of my childhood. Talking to him, going to dances with him, studying with him and Penny, walking around Watford with him, rolling my eyes when my parents fussed over him when he was at home with me for the holidays.

I have this funny feeling, looking at the blue-eyed boy in the picture. My fingers move of their own accord as they tap onto my own page and scroll down to the last picture I posted of Simon and me. It was the winter solstice ball, the year before last. I was wearing a divine dress, cream colored with pearls covering the bodice.

My mother and I got into a row the night before over my hair. I wanted to leave it down— straight, elegant, simple. But she insisted I had to do something more elaborate. In the end it turned out rather fine. The entire evening of the ball Simon looked at me as if I were Aphrodite herself. He kissed me that night: chaste, pleasant, perfunctory. Like all of our kisses. It wasn’t bad. It was never bad.

That night, I would’ve bet my wand on Simon and me. We belonged together. We made sense. But in that relationship, I think we were both stunted. Held back.

I tap back to the photo of Simon with his soft eyes, and I know it’s true.  I hadn’t noticed before, but in the bottom of the picture, you can see someone’s long and slender hand resting on Simon’s knee.

I look around at my apartment: quiet, peaceful, especially in the mornings. There are palm trees bending gently in the wind outside my window, and the sliding door next to my couch leads me to a small balcony from which I can see the bright blue of the ocean. A different ocean than the one I spent my summers visiting as a child. But even fuller with possibility.

It might’ve been easier if Simon had been the one. But he’s not. And I’m not that to him, and I don’t want to be. I suppose I’ve got to keep figuring out what I am to myself.

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter eleven. 

wc: 2,526. original publish date: october 23, 2020.

"Vincent," JFK says, leaning back against his pillow. He and Van Gogh are in the bedroom with the balcony, Vincent sitting cross-legged at the far corner of the bed and Kennedy at the headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"Hm?" Van Gogh mumbles in response, barely looking up from his sketchpad.

"How come you never let me see what you're drawing?"

Vincent pauses for a second to look up at the boy. "How come you never let me see what you're drawing?" He volleys.

JFK laughs. "Because I can't draw."

"Can't, or don't?"

John shrugs. "Same difference?"

Van Gogh sighs, chewing on the end of his pencil. He nibbles off some of the yellow paint, flaky and crinkly against his tongue. "No, not really. Maybe if you drew more often, you'd get better at it."

JFK pulls himself away from the headboard, folding his legs underneath him and walking on his knees to the edge of the bed, where Van Gogh is sitting. He tilts the top of the boy's book down, peering at the graphite curves etched onto the paper.

"How long have you been practicing that for?" Kennedy asks wryly, snickering up at Vincent.

Van Gogh snatches the sketchpad away, embarrassed to admit how long he's really been drawing JFK for. "I've been drawing people for years. I've mastered them."

John smiles softly, and Vincent nearly melts. "You have."

Van Gogh closes his sketchbook and places it on the bed next to him, away from JFK. He places his pencil down on top of it before brushing some hair out of his eyes and looking up at Kennedy. He smiles sweetly, a soft look in his eyes. JFK smiles back, feeling free under Van Gogh's gaze.

"You know what I really like, Jack?" He whispers.

"What do you really like, Vinny?"

Vincent's smile widens, and his insides are set ablaze by the nickname. In an instant, he is transported back to his childhood. It wasn't good -- at least home life wasn't -- but to feel so simple, so uncomplicated and happy with JFK. He'd do anything to have it back, to leave all of his sadness behind.

"I like candles."

"That's not at all what I thought you were going to say," JFK replies, his tone light like the clouds in heaven.

"But aren't they fascinating?" Van Gogh challenges, sinkhole brown eyes widening. The corners of his mouth tick up, up, up, until he's grinning so wide Kennedy can see his teeth.

"You're just fascinated by fire," he says.

Vincent shrugs, but he's unapologetic. His smile hasn't faded, and JFK imagines pulling him in by the collar of his shirt, kissing him hard and deep, deep, deep. "Aren't you?"

"It's mesmerising," John replies, his voice hushed.

"Do you have a match?" Vincent asks.

Kennedy smirks. "It would be useless without a candle, don't you think?"

"Okay, then do you have a candle?" Van Gogh laughs, leaning in closer to JFK.

"There's probably one in this house that no one lives in," Kennedy volleys, leaning closer as well.

"We live in it now."

"You'd want to live with me?"

"It can't be any more of a sacrifice than you living with me."

JFK and Vincent sit with their noses touching, eyes darting down to mouths and back up to eyes. Van Gogh opens his mouth and his eyelids flutter shut. He wants for Kennedy to close the gap, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls his face away and slides off the bed. Vincent opens his eyes and frowns, closing his mouth and holding his jaw shut tightly. He swallows.

"I thought you wanted to find some candles," JFK grins deviously, and Vincent rolls his eyes in response.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. But I'm going to get you back for that," Van Gogh promises, sliding off the bed himself and following John out of the room.

Kennedy turns around, the same devious grin still lifting his face. "I'll be patiently awaiting that, my dear."

Van Gogh rummages through some of the drawers in the kitchen while JFK searches the rest of the house, both looking for candles. Kennedy manages to find a few tapers, magenta and coated in petrified wax droplets. Vincent finds two tea lights in the back of a drawer, one with no wick and the other with barely enough wax to burn. In the same drawer, he finds a box of matches.

"What do you intend to do with these candles, Vincent?" John asks, setting the tapers down on the kitchen table.

Van Gogh strikes a match and it fizzes, the sound searing like carbonation through the air. He watches the flame on the match grow, flickering before licking the thin wood and charring it black. He turns the match sideways, letting the fire grip onto the blackened wick rising out of one of the tapers before it burns to life. He lights the other with the same match before blowing it out in one breath, precisely and with no struggle.

"I don't know," Vincent replies. He shifts his gaze from the lit candles to JFK. "I just like the smell of fire."

***

That evening, Vincent sits on one of the plush outdoor chairs set on the balcony. He has a novel opened wide in front of him. He sits quietly and unmoving, concentrating hard on the words in front of him. The fog is cold and wet against his nose, his ears, his fingertips. The bandages around his head are getting soggy. He'll need to change them soon. He probably won't get to wait until the morning, thus throwing off his normal routine. He ignores the moisture in the air, immersing himself in his novel. He can't remember the title of it or the main character's name. He just likes the story, the way he feels while he reads. Silent and composed, with a hint of sophistication unparalleled. Van Gogh doesn't even notice when JFK climbs out the bay window and sits down on the chair next to his. It's a matching set.

John watches Vincent as he reads, breathing deeply through his nose. He blinks slowly, a shy smile turning up the corners of his mouth. He unfolds a novel of his own on his lap. He'd pulled it off one of the bookshelves in the living room. It's old enough to not have a cover -- the title isn't printed across the front, only on the spine. It's written in old English, and the author is clearly British. He thinks the protagonist's name is Eleanor, but he's only been paying half attention to the text. He likes to read, but he's slower at it than Van Gogh. He can sit in uninterrupted silence for hours, whether it be to paint or read or write. That's one of the many things JFK admires about the boy; it's also something he can't do himself.

"Vincent, can I ask you something?"

The boy jumps, nearly dropping his book. "Jesus, John, why didn't you warn me?"

He laughs. "Because you looked so peaceful."

Van Gogh smiles. "Sure, you can ask me something."

"Why don't you write a book?"

Vincent looks taken aback. He shakes his head, a nervous smile twisting his lips. "I couldn't write a whole book."

"Why not?" John asks in his soft tone, closing his novel and marking his page with his finger as he leans across the armrest of the chair.

"Because I don't have the stamina for something long-term."

"But you do write a lot," JFK states.

Van Gogh shrugs. "Yeah. But, like, poems and letters and stuff. Journal entries. None of that is intended for public consumption."

"Would you let me read any of it?"

Vincent blushes and looks away, pretending to be fascinated by the fog. All it ever does is hang in the air. Van Gogh wonders if Marshtown ever isn't foggy. It seems impossible to never see the sun. "I wouldn't want you to go into it with high hopes and then be disappointed. I'm not as good as you think I am."

"Then I'll set my expectations low and be presently surprised."

Van Gogh closes his own novel and leans across the armrest of his chair, his face inches away from JFK's. He stares into the boy's eyes, a raw smile spread across his face. Kennedy returns it. "I haven't anything to write about."

"Then I'll give you something to write about."

Vincent stifles a laugh. "I'm not writing about you, JFK. Love stories are tired out."

Kennedy looks down at the balcony floor and shrugs before meeting Van Gogh's eyes again. "I wasn't talking about me."

Vincent sits back in his chair and looks out into the fog, thinking instead of avoiding. "So show me." He turns back to the boy. "Show me what you were thinking of."

"So get in the car, and we'll go."

"No," Vincent shakes his head. "No more driving," he pleads. "I like it here. Let's stay here for a while. I want to stay here for a while."

JFK smiles. "We're getting in the car, but we're not leaving Marshtown." He reaches out to rest his hand upon Vincent's. "I like it here, too."

***

"So remember when I told you that this town was built to look abandoned?" JFK asks once they're in the car. They're driving down a line of houses; the residential part of Marshtown. Neither boy knew there was a non-residential part.

"Theorised. You theorised that Marshtown was built to look abandoned," Vincent corrects him.

JFK waves him off. "Yeah, yeah, same difference. Well, I was right."

"You have no proof."

Kennedy turns to look at his passenger, grin so wide it crinkles his eyes.

"Watch the road!" Van Gogh laughs.

"Marshtown isn't actually a residential town," John says, peeling his eyes off of Vincent. "You know why it was on that sign by the freeway exit?"

"No. Why was it?"

"Because..." JFK prolongs the word, pulling into a parking lot Van Gogh has never seen before. "It's actually..."

"Just get on with it!" Vincent demands with a smile.

JFK stops the car and twists the keys out of the ignition. He and Van Gogh get out of the vehicle, closing their doors at the exact same time.

"Come on," Kennedy says, interlacing his fingers with Vincent's. The smaller boy's breath catches. He forgot that there's romantic touching without kissing, and that romance is much more than just kissing. He squeezes JFK's hand, feeling the warmth wash over his skin. Vincent's hand is cold against John's, but he doesn't say anything. It's a comforting kind of cold; not clammy or sweaty.

"So, while you sent me off to look through that ginormous house for fucking candles-"

"You did that at your own free will," Van Gogh reminds him.

"-I stumbled across a book that had a map of Marshtown on the cover, so I was like, hm, let's see where this leads us..."

"Oh, so that's why you took so fucking long?"

"And, as it turns out, Marshtown actually used to be an amusement park!" JFK exclaims, a childish twinkle burning in his eyes. Vincent can't help but kiss his jaw.

"What do you mean 'used to be'?"

"Well, it's shut down now, but I guess all the houses used to be, like, activity centres in one way or another."

"So you brought me out into a grassy field in cotton-thick fog... just to tell me that Marshtown used to be an amusement park?"

"Well, I'm also going to tell you that our house is probably haunted because it's the only one that was built with the intention of having tenants."

Our house. "You could've just told me that back at the house, Jack."

"No, no I couldn't have," JFK squeezes the boy's hand, still walking. He seems to be leading Vincent somewhere.

In a couple more seconds, the fog thins, and Van Gogh understands why they had to get into the car and drive to the far end of the town. In front of them is a rollercoaster, rusty and paint-chipped. There's no cab, only a track, that seems to be missing pieces. Disappearing into the fog, it seems to go on forever. Most rollercoasters only run for thirty seconds -- it can't go on for that long. But the fun of this particular track, without any loops or steep drops, is probably that it plunges into the grey-white abyss. It seems like a perfect place to come and lose your mind.

"It's a rollercoaster track," Vincent states.

JFK grins and lets go of the boy's hand. "Yes."

Van Gogh takes a step toward it and rubs his hand along one of the metal pillars, the once-white paint tainted with water-stained rust. "How long has this been broken down for?"

"Since the early 1980s," JFK replies.

"You really did your research, huh?"

Kennedy flashes his giddy grin, Colgate teeth piercing through the limitless blanket of fog. "I wasn't gone for that long, now, was I?"

"I guess not."

Vincent continues to feel around the track, skeptical of its reality. Marshtown is a dumb name for a town, but an even dumber name for an amusement park. Everything about it seems so surreal, so made up. He doubts that it was really abandoned as soon ago as the late 1980s.

"Do you wanna climb up?" John asks hopefully. Even through the fog, Van Gogh can make out the burnt orange of his letterman jacket.

"It doesn't run anymore, Jack."

"We could go for a walk," he suggests.

Vincent looks up to the track and then down to the grassy floor, considering. "What if I fall?"

"I'll catch you."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes, but can't suppress his smile. "Jesus, so this is what it's like dating you."

"We're dating?"

Vincent's smile falls. "No."

JFK frowns, the twinkle flickering out of his eyes.

"I mean, yes. I don't know. If you want us to be."

Kennedy takes a step closer to Vincent, and wraps his arms around the boy's waist. "How much clearer do I have to make it that the answer is yes?"

Van Gogh swallows and resists the urge to wrap his arms around JFK's neck. "You have to say the word."

"Yes."

"No, I mean... the one that you call a person when you're dating them."

"You mean boyfriend?"

"Say it."

"Vincent."

Van Gogh tilts his head up, catching Kennedy's eye. He knows this is childish. He knows it's stupid to want to be someone's boyfriend -- even the word sounds juvenile. He's always known that he's same-sex oriented -- that was never something he had to question twice. But hearing JFK say it out loud, to know in his head where he stands once and for all, would make it real. "I'm waiting."

Kennedy hesitates, but before Van Gogh can look away in defeat, he says, "Vincent, I want you to be my boyfriend."

Now, Van Gogh lifts up his arms and wraps them around JFK's neck, pulling his head down and kissing his lips. "Good, because I want you to be my boyfriend, too."

[time-to-cause-chaos]

the sunny parts

Webpril, day 5: MIT

AO3 link WC: 1, 543

There are papers littering the floor of Peter’s room that have been there for the past month, he can’t bring himself to pick them up, just looking at them gives him a headache.

It’s a real pain though that every time he wants to cross the sea of chaos and forms that is his room, he has to take painstaking measures to make sure they don’t mix up or crinkle.

May’s voice echoes as she yells from somewhere across the apartment, calling him for dinner but he’s not hungry.

Instead of going out and finding May at the table with some take-out, he grabs a pillow from his bed and plants it right in the middle of the room, the eye of the hurricane.

Sitting criss-cross on the cushion he takes a long - exhausting - look around him. Picking up the packet of papers directly in front of him he glances at the corner, this one’s NYU. Shuffling through the pages are his applications, guides, and other papers he hasn’t decided are good enough to look at.

He’d already applied for colleges last year and it had been so fun, him and May had applied for a bunch of colleges so he had alternates and other options in case the other ones didn’t pan out well.

Most, if not all of them, had already replied back and he’d gotten into great ones so that wasn’t a problem.

Nope, the problem now was that with finals and studying, he hadn’t actually chosen which one he wanted to go too. There were so many options and they were all amazing, but each of them had different things and perks.

At first he’d been leaning towards Harvard, May and Ben’s university, that they’d talk so much about when Peter was younger. That’s where they had met and since they both used to speak so highly of it, it seemed like the best option. There was sentimental value as well as academic, and that made it special.

Then there was Stanford, MJ had gotten in yesterday and she’d told Ned and Peter over the phone. For the MJ-standard, she looked practically exhilarated, her eyes were practically glowing and she kept pausing her sentences before starting again. Ned had also gotten into Stanford but he was still undecided.

It was mostly narrowed down to 5 places and frustration boiled over as he looked over the list again. He could read it as many times as he wanted, at this point he had it memorized, the names running over and over in his brain, NYU, Harvard, Stanford, MIT, and UC Berkeley.

NYU, Harvard, Stanford, MIT, and UC Berkeley.

God, this was exhausting. When he’d submitted those applications oh-so long ago, it was thrilling and exciting. He would do anything for that feeling to come back now to replace all the dread and anxiety he currently felt.

MJ was always talking about how great Stanford was, May about Harvard, Tony about MIT, and Ned about all of the above.

Peter didn’t know which one to choose, and he knows he should just do it, but it’s pretty close to impossible.

He needs some air, he isn’t going to make a decision right now anyways, that’s for sure. Peter leaves a note on the door in case May comes looking for him, and uses the fire escape to leave, clambering down with muffled steps. He didn’t take his web shooters and just strolled down the streets, dodging people and dogs was second-nature to him.

It wasn’t till he actually focused that he realized where he was, he’d gone to a park. The same one where Ben would push him on the swings until Peter felt his stomach flip every time because he was so high. When he was much younger he called it “My Park”, mostly because it was hidden from the public eye with the trees that surrounded it. No one was ever there and he’d brought Ned once in 3rd grade, it was much easier to have fun when there weren’t random little kids taking up the slide and parents watching like hawks. It was practically his own.

Reminiscing, he ran his fingers over the chains for the swing and sat down, lightly kicking his legs just enough so that he was a few feet above the ground.

The sun was setting and Peter watched as orange light filtered through the trees, making half his face warm. The other half was still cold in the shadows as swift breezes brushed over him and he ran his fingers through the bright spots in front of his eyes.

He tried not to think about the decision waiting for him at home, but it was inevitable.

He knew he was picking college for himself, it was his future, but he really didn’t want to make the wrong decision.

Tony always told him stories about MIT with Rhodey and all the fun they’d had there. The time Rhodey had broken a wrist and Tony an ankle because of a stupid dare that they were foolish enough to try. The time they’d sent the sprinklers off and everyone had to evacuate. Sometimes they were said in the kitchen with everyone around laughing at the stories that you’d expect to be exaggerated, other times they were said in whispers as Peter fell asleep, probably in medbay after an injury during patrol.

Peter hunches in on himself as the sound of Iron Man flying, he already knew it would only be a matter of time before May sent the cavalry his way.

Peter doesn’t even glance at the suit as it lands on the faded playground mulch with a crunch. For his credit, Tony doesn’t urge him to, instead sitting on the swing next to him, hands placed carefully in his lap.

Peter hates when they all do this, when they all act worried and get cautious, treating him like a bomb about to explode with one misplaced movement.

The two swing in silence next to each other for a few minutes, letting the cool breezes as they whistle through the trees, speak for them.

There’s no movement from either one of them until Tony twists and faces Peter, throwing one leg over each side of the swing.

Peter does the same, watching Tony warily, pressing his nose in the chain.

“What if I choose wrong?”, Peter asks, shifting his eyes to the ground, avoiding Tony’s.

“Impossible, no chance” Tony immediately shakes his head, “First of all, trust yourself, you know yourself better than anyone. Second, you’ll be a force to reckon with for any college or university you go to. I don’t even want to try and imagine the crazy stories you’ll be telling me as I get grey hairs.”

“What about Spiderman?”

“Don’t refer to him as another person, Spiderman is Peter Parker and Peter Parker is Spiderman. You’ll always have Spiderman, even if you decide to take a break from it for a little but”

“No, no, I won’t do that. I’m going to be Spiderman” Peter insists.

“Your choice, Petey. You know, you could also take a gap year”

“I feel like that’d just make me more stressed”, Peter’s eyebrows crinkle, in thought.

“Then go for college, Peter. Be great, and get a degree, and make me and May cry at your graduation, just make sure you’re doing it for yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll probably be crying too.” Peter laughs, “Isn’t it weird though? To think that after everything that’s happened in the past few years, I’ll just go, go away from you all and,” Peter doesn’t air the last part of the sentence. All the fear that everything he’s had is going to be gone, all to waste and forgotten as he’s off somewhere else. The thought makes him queasy.

“You know, as the Tony Stark who actually used to go to MIT, I could apply for work there.” Tony smirks, “We can go to coffee shops and I can meet all your friends and embarrass you” THe last part is said as a joke as Tony smirks, Peter smiles and cringes inside.

“Maybe...no?”

Tony gets up and pulls Peter to his feet, “Let’s continue this lovely conversation at your place, we can talk over burnt asparagus, or some take-out”

Peter nods as he glances around, the wind’s stronger and it’s getting colder as the sky gets darker. Peter shivers and he melts into Tony as the man wraps an arm around him.

Tony holds onto Peter in the same park Ben did, building sandcastles that were really just piles of sand with him. The same park where May had chased him down the slide and wrapped her arms around him and she slid behind him. The same park where Ned and him had lost a bunch of lego pieces as the built model broke and the parts got lost in the sand.

It’s nice, he realized. As terrifying as it is to leave something behind, there’s a secure feeling you get when you know it’s always going to be there for you, forever a shield for you to hide behind when you need to.

Peter just wraps his arms back around Tony, face buried in his shoulder.

It’ll be okay.

[sj-thefan]

Big Hero 8 and a Half (Tadashi Hamada)

Tadashi Hamada x reader

Recommended age: 18+ (reader is college-age)

Warning: Doesn't follow canon (Tadashi doesn't die in the fire), unplanned pregnancy (I don't know why I write this so much), angst, blood, fire, it's long (like +10,000 words long)

Masterlist

This wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a night filled with laughter and congratulations, at worst, maybe a few happy tears. There was a lot of events happening. Y/n had received a confirmation on some big news that she had to tell her boyfriend, Tadashi. Plus, Tadashi had somehow managed to get his brother, Hiro, to quit bot-fighting and try and win admission into their school, the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology, by entering the student showcase.

Y/n was there when Hiro came up with his great idea. She and Tadashi were relaxing on his bed as they studied. Hiro was at his desk, same as when Y/n had first come over, ignoring reality to try and think of a mind-blowing idea that would blow professor Callaghan away.

After ripping another page from his notebook, Hiro began banging his head against the desk, accentuating each bang with a comment. "Nothing!" Bang. "No ideas!" Bang. "Useless" - bang - "empty" - bang - "brain!"

"Wow," Tadashi commented sarcastically, barely looking up from the textbook in from of him. "Washed up at 14, so sad."

Y/n had nudged his shoulder with a playful grin, making him turn to her. 'Go help', she mouthed, nodding her head towards the young teen.

With a silent, over-exaggerated sigh, Tadashi reluctantly stood up and made his way over to Hiro.

"I got nothing!" Hiro was exclaiming. Y/n readjusted on the bed so she was lying on her stomach, she had started to get stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. "I'm done. I'm never getting in."

"Hey." Tadashi turned Hiro's chair around, gripping the handles so his brother couldn't escape. "I'm not giving up on you." He dragged Hiro out of the chair causing him to let out a yelp. Y/n giggled quietly as Tadashi sent her a wink as he hoisted his brother onto his shoulders and jumped around the room.

"What are you doing?" Hiro was uncomfortable bouncing around upside down and Y/n didn't blame him. Her cheeks flushed just thinking about it happening to her.

"Shake things up!" Tadashi yelled, jumping in circles. "Use that big brain of yours to think your way out." He paused, standing in front of Y/n and giving her a cheeky smile.

Hiro, grateful for the pause, squinted his eyes in confusion. "What?"

"Look for a new angle."

Aunt Cass came stomping up the stairs a few minutes later, wondering why there were loud thumps echoing in her cafe. The kids all burst into laughter, Tadashi letting Hiro down and everyone returning to there previous activities. Something must have clicked in his head because Hiro was writing in his notebook with newfound vigour.

Y/n left soon after but returned the next day to hear all about Hiro's idea. He was going to create microbots that could all be controlled remotely. They would be able to do countless things - transportation, construction, the possibilities were endless. He was so enthusiastic about it that she couldn't help but smile as the young kid talked.

Over the next several weeks, Y/n, Tadashi and some friends helped Hiro put together his microbots. He developed a way for the bots to be controlled using a neurotransmitter making his project even more amazing.

Tadashi was more proud and amazed than anyone. Even when they were at her house, Tadashi was often gushing to Y/n about how talented his little brother was.

It wasn't as if Y/n didn't know already, she spent practically every day at the Hamada's. Her parents often spent time away from home, leaving her and her brother, Fred, to find their own source of entertainment. Fred liked to spend his time hanging around his sister. Near the start of her time in Post-Secondary, he followed her to school and became fast friends with her classmates and friends, giving each of them a nickname, Wasabi, Go-Go and Honey Lemon. He annoyed them all, claiming to be a "science enthusiast" and asking for things that were not all that science-related. They didn't mind, he was funny and provided relief from the stress of classes. Fred was asked to be the school's mascot since he already spent all his time there anyway.

When Y/n and Tadashi got together, they went to Tadashi's place most of the time. It took a while for Y/n to actually bring him over to her house. It was big and extravagant, and she didn't want people to think she just got into the school because she was rich. Once he did come over, he was in complete awe, he couldn't have imagined this as her home, let alone Fred's.

They still preferred spending time at Tadashi's. It was warmer and comfier, plus there was always freshly baked goods downstairs.

Y/n loved Tadashi's family. His aunt had insisted Y/n call her "Aunt Cass," the day they met. Y/n was always greeted with a smile and occasionally a donut. Aunt Cass was the best baker in town, and Y/n told her that every time she bit into one of her baked goods.

She loved Hiro just as much. He was a super smart kid, revealed by the collection of discarded robot parts scattered around the bedroom when Y/n first came over. Hiro also gave her a quiz to make sure she was, as he put it, "smart enough" to date his brother - she passed. They were a close family, something Y/n very much envied.

It didn't take long for Y/n to feel very much like part of their family. She was invited to birthday dinners and special nights in the cafe, she even went to Hiro's early graduation. She loved going out with all of them and this night was supposed to be no different.

They were supposed to go to the showcase, watch Hiro give his presentation, and then go out celebrating. She had been the first to throw a wrench in that plan.

It's supposed to be impossible when you use protection - which they had, every single time. But something must have gone wrong or not worked properly without them knowing because there she was, sitting on her bathroom floor with less than two hours till she had to leave for the showcase, a little stick in her hand, an unmistakable "Pregnant" written on it.

She hadn't planned for this or even thought about what she would do if it did happen. She knew she didn't want to get rid of the child but what would Tadashi want to do. She was quite sure he wouldn't be angry or upset, but she didn't know if he wanted kids. She needed to tell him tonight.

Things started off well. Y/n helped place the bins full of microbots around the room before standing next to Aunt Cass. Hiro did amazing on his presentation, everyone in the room eventually came to watch. A bit of tension rose when Alistair Krei offered to buy Hiro's tech, but it was quickly diminished when Hiro received an admissions letter from Callaghan.

The group was headed to Aunt Cass's cafe when Tadashi pulled Hiro aside with a promise to catch up in a minute. Y/n sent him a smile before joining the rest of the gang in the parking lot. Honey, Go-Go and Fred left with Wasabi in his car to the cafe. Y/n and Cass were left waiting for the boys.

A sudden alarm in the distance snapped both of their heads towards the school. Y/n took off quickly, running towards the building to make sure everyone was okay, especially Tadashi and Hiro.

She saw Hiro first. He was looking at the building as if debating whether he should go in or not. Y/n followed his gaze, keeping her eyes open for the love of her life.

Just inside the entryway, she could see a body trying to get past the growing flames and get further into the building. It was Tadashi. She would know him anywhere.

"Tadashi!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping - no, pleading - that he would turn around and come back out. She couldn't lose him.

She tried to move closer, by her arm was caught by someone. She presumed it was Aunt Cass but she couldn't bring herself to turn away from Tadashi.

"Let me go," she pleaded. "I need to save him!"

Aunt Cass's words were lost to Y/n as she tried to move closer. All she could hear was the roaring fire.

Hiro started running towards the fire causing Cass to let go of Y/n and run towards her nephew.

As soon as she was free, Y/n started towards the building.

An ear-shattering blast shook through the building, throwing everyone back.

Y/n felt her head hit the ground and the heat surround her like a blanket but she pushed it all away. She had to get to Tadashi.

She couldn't muster the energy to stand. She crawled towards the last place she saw him. Each stone under her body was ignored and the pulsing at the back of her head was pushed aside to the best of her ability as she kept his name at the front of her mind. Tadashi.

The stairs leading up to the building were littered with glass and other debris from the blast, but Y/n pushed on, groaning out in pain with each glass shard that pierced her skin. Tadashi.

He was lying just a few feet from the door. He hadn't been able to find a way through the flames.

"Tadashi?" she whimpered, hoping for a response - despite knowing she wouldn't get one. His skin was covered in cuts and burns. His hair was damp and stuck to his forehead.

She crawled till she was right beside him. Weakly, she lifted her bloodied palm to check for a pulse. When she felt one - although weak - she started screaming for help. He was alive and could be saved.

She put all her energy into her screams until she could barely keep her eyes open; the pounding at the back of her head consuming her.

Finally, when she could see the flashing lights and hear the shouts from the emergency workers, she let her eyes fall closed.

Five weeks. Tadashi had been in a coma for over a month and Y/n had been by his side nearly every day. The first couple of days, she had her own hospital room. She had a mild concussion and had to have some tests done to make sure everything else was okay. She was very happy when the doctor told her that the baby - even though it didn't really look like a baby - was okay, although her parents were very shocked to find out their little girl was nearly two months pregnant.

They hadn't talked about it since. They insisted they would wait until Y/n was out of the hospital, but Y/n got released and still insisted on going to the hospital every day (often leaving before they could wake up), they decided to let her handle it and went back to the family island where her father could work without the loud noises of the city.

Tadashi had been lucky, the doctors said. He might not have survived if he was further in, but he hadn't made it past the entrance so he was left with just some brain damage. Y/n nearly laughed when they said that. Just some brain damage? He was in a coma with a chance that he may never wake up. He wasn't lucky, he just wasn't dead.

Everyone came to visit a lot for the first few weeks, but that soon stopped. They had things they had to do. Aunt Cass had wanted to spend every day by her nephew's side, but Y/n insisted that she could go. Someone had to run the cafe and that was her only source of income. They both knew if Tadashi woke up and found out his aunt had lost the cafe because she was too busy sitting with him, he would be heart-broken. So, Aunt Cass went back to work but still visited as often as she could.

Once school started, Go-Go, Wasabi, and Honey Lemon came at least once a week. Y/n had talked to the school and decided to take a year off. She was over three months pregnant now and would need to take time off school when the baby came and she didn't really want to go to school knowing her boyfriend and the father of her child was lying alone in a hospital bed.

Hiro was the only one who didn't show up after the first week. Y/n talked with Cass and found out Hiro thought he was responsible. He thought he should have stopped him, or done something to help. Instead, he had done nothing and Tadashi was stuck in the hospital, in a coma he might not wake up from. Hiro didn't want to come to the hospital to see the sad look on Y/n's face or see Tadashi lying motionless. He couldn't bring himself to leave his room; everything reminded him of his brother and his "failure". He didn't even think about signing up for courses at school. He had gotten his letter and everyone wanted him to go. Y/n even showed up one day to remind him that Tadashi wouldn't want him to waste his time doing nothing.

Y/n couldn't blame him for being upset. If Tadashi had died, she would probably be acting the same. As it was, she didn't know what she would do if he did pass away. She couldn't even think of the possibility.

It was the start of the sixth week when Y/n got an email from Baymax, Tadashi's robotics project. Baymax had sent a message that Hiro needed support and attached a link to a GPS tracker that Y/n assumed was either for his own system or Hiro's phone. She was going to go see Hiro when visiting hours were over, which was only a couple hours away, so it would be okay if she left now. She stood up from her chair right beside Tadashi's bed and, giving him a kiss on his forehead and whispering an "I love you," she left.

While waiting for the elevator she got a call from Fred.

"What's up, Freddie?"

"Did you get an email today?" She could hear other voices in the background, meaning he was probably with the rest of their friends.

"That's very general, I got loads of emails today, most of them junk." She could hear his snarky reply before it came so she quickly continued. "-But, yes. I got one from Baymax."

"We're almost at the hospital, you coming?"

The elevator dinged as the door opened. "Was planning on it before you even called."

It was dark when they found Hiro. They had all piled in Wasabi's van. Y/n was sat in the middle with Fred and Go-Go while Honey sat in the front beside Wasabi. They were at the pier, more specifically the loading docks where all the cargo was piled. Hiro was still with Baymax although the robot had been dressed in some sort of armour. The two froze as the van's headlights flashed over them.

"Hiro?" Honey called as they all piled out of the van. Something was very off.

"No," Hiro glanced over his shoulder towards the water before quickly walking towards them, shooing them away, "no, no! Get out of here! Go!"

"Dude, what are you doing out here?" Wasabi asked the question they all wanted to know. No one came out here unless they worked for one of the transportation companies. It was a weird place to find anyone, especially Hiro.

"Nothing, just out for a walk," Hiro stammered, obviously hiding something. "It helps my pubescent mood swings."

Y/n squinted her eyes at him. "Seriously, that's what you're going with?"

"Is that Baymax?" Wasabi asked just noticing the familiar robot standing behind Hiro.

"Yeah, but you really-"

"-Uh.." Go-Go walked around Hiro. "Why is he wearing carbon fibre underpants?"

"I also know karate," the robot chimed in moving his hands in a chopping motion.

Hiro turned back towards the majority of the group, his eyes locking with Y/n. "You guys need to go."

"No," Honey sighed, stepping towards the boy, "don't push us away Hiro. We're here for you. That's why Baymax contacted us."

"Those who suffer a loss," Baymax spoke, "require support from friends and loved ones."

"Okay, but I-" Hiro started but was cut off by the robot.

"Who would like to share their feelings first?"

"Ooh!" Fred eagerly raised his hand and stepped forward causing his sister to roll her eyes. "I'll go." He cleared his throat, jumping away from his sister so she wouldn't hit him like she usually did when he said something stupid - which was often. "My name is Fred, and it has been 30 days since my last - Holy Mother of Megazon!"

They all followed his gaze to see a guy in a mask lifting one of the cargo containers with what looked like Hiro's microbots but couldn't be because they had been destroyed in the fire. The same fire that had almost killed Tadashi.

"Am I the only one seeing this?" Fred asked.

No one replied, but Honey slowly lifted her phone to take a picture. The flash seemed to make him even angrier and he quickly threw the container down at them.

Wasabi screamed, turning away and protecting his head. When no hit came, he turned back around to see Baymax had stopped the container.

"Go!" Hiro yelled at the group. Everyone started heading for the car except Baymax, Hiro and Y/n. She ran towards Hiro. "Baymax, get him!"

Y/n grabbed his arm and pulled him with her to the car.

"No, no, no, no," he whined all the way to the car. "What are you doing?"

Y/n pushed him in the open door before crawling in behind him and slamming it shut. "Don't argue with me on this Hiro! I'm not losing you, too." She whispered the last part to herself.

Honey Lemon had taken the very back with Fred, leaving Y/n and Hiro in the middle.

"Baymax can handle that guy!" Hiro yelled in protest.

A loud bang caused everyone to look forward. Baymax was falling through the air, headed straight for the car.

"Oh, my gosh," Y/n whispered as Baymax landed on the top of the car, half of his body on the inside just narrowly missing Y/n and Hiro.

Baymax called the groups attention back to the situation. "Oh no."

"Wasabi," Go-Go pleaded for the man to start driving as the man in the mask rose above the cargo boxes with a wall of the microbot-things and started towards the van.

"Ah, goodbye!" Wasabi put the van in reverse and started driving away as fast as he could.

"Hiro!" Go-Go yelled, her eyes still glued to the man in the mask. "Explanation, now!"

"He stole my microbots. He started the fire." Hiro stuttered over his words. "I don't know who he is!"

Y/n felt her eyes fill with angry tears. This was the man responsible for Tadashi's current state. This was the man who may make their child grow up without a father. This was the man who destroyed her world. She wanted him to feel the pain she feels. To know what it's like to not know if a loved one would live or die.

She was quickly pulled out of her thoughts when the car spun around, causing her side to be thrown into the car door. Instinctively, her hand went to her stomach. She caught Fred's eye as they shared a worried look.

The rest of the group didn't know yet. Y/n would have to tell them eventually, but she had wanted Tadashi to be the first to know. Things didn't really work out how she planned. Her parents had found out at the hospital and Y/n thought it only right to tell her brother too. He was a little too happy at the news but it was better than him being upset. She also told Aunt Cass. Tadashi may not have been her biological son, but she treated him like one and Y/n too. Y/n was like her daughter and it was important that she be given the news. But those were the only people who knew. Y/n still wanted Tadashi to be one of the first. Fred was a little upset at having to keep the secret, but Y/n promised it was only until she was showing, which hadn't started yet. Then he would be free to tell anyone he wanted.

Y/n kept her back pressed into the car door so that if she did get pushed to the side during a turn, she would hit something softer than metal. Her hands gripped the seat, trying to keep her steady.

"That mask, the black suit..." Fred caught her attention. "We're under attack from a supervillain, people!" His voice rose in excitement. "I mean, how cool is that? I mean, it's scary, obviously. But how cool!?"

"Fred." He turned towards his sister, an excited smile on his face. "Not the time." She shook her head at him.

The car suddenly lurched forward as it came to a screeching halt.

"Why are we stopped?" Go-Go snapped at Wasabi.

"The light's red!"

"There are no red lights in a car chase!"

As the light turned green, the car quickly resumed its pace, the man in the mask a lot closer.

"Why is he trying to kill us?" Wasabi asked before rolling down his window and asking the man in the mask.

"It's classic villain," Fred explained. "We've seen too much!"

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Honey Lemon chimed in, trying to stay positive.  "We don't know he's trying to kill us."

"Car!" Fred yelled as the man in the mask threw a car at them.

Wasabi turned, avoiding the flying vehicle as Honey yelled: "He's trying to kill us!"

Wasabi and Go-Go started arguing again when Wasabi put his blinker on. Go-Go was fed up as she pushed his seat back all the way and crawled onto his lap, taking the wheel. Y/n was kind of squished, but her legs were already on the seat from he position and this made her feel a little more protected.

Go-Go's driving was a lot different. She took more risks. There were a lot of sharp turns and squeezing through tight spaces and they even jumped over the microbots at one point. Y/n was sure Wasabi's van was going to need some work on it, especially when Hiro climbed into the front seat and used the door for support. The door fell away with the slightest of pressure causing Y/n to cry out when Hiro almost fell with it. Luckily Baymax caught him, putting him back into the seat and buckling the seatbelt.

Finally, the man disappeared.

"Did we lose him?" Honey asked as she looked around.

"Look out!" Wasabi screamed.

The microbots slid under the car, controlling its direction. It didn't take long for them to create a tunnel that started to close.

"Baymax, hold on," Hiro warned.

Y/n felt Fred's hands on her shoulder, keeping her steady. She shook her head, trying to tell him to keep himself safe, but he made no move to stop.

"We're not gonna make it!" Wasabi cried.

"We're gonna make it!" Honey Lemon replied.

"We're not gonna make it!"

"We're gonna make it!"

"We're not gonna make it!"

"We're gonna make it!"

The tunnel closed as the car drove right through it without much force.

"We made it!" Wasabi cheered. "Yes!"

Unfortunately, the tunnel had taken them to the edge of the pier, leaving them with no room to stop the car.

They all screamed as they braced themselves for impact. They hit the water hard, jolting everyone forward.

The car quickly filled with water as they all searched for a way out. Baymax's armour started coming off, so everyone grabbed ahold of the robot as he started to float to the surface.

They burst through the water, all of them gasping for air. Y/n's hand went to her stomach, worriedly thinking about her child.

"I told you we'd make it!" Honey cheered happily.

"Your injuries require my attention," Baymax stated. "And your body temperatures are low."

"We should get out of here," Hiro suggested quietly as if the man was still there.

"I know a place," Fred said.

They all got out of the water, following Fred as he walked down the road. Y/n stayed near the back, preferring to be alone. So many emotions were flying through her brain. She had just encountered the man responsible for the fire. He was the reason Professor Callaghan had died and Tadashi was lying in a hospital bed. It wasn't fair. She hadn't thought about this possibility before. The fire was an accident, that's what everyone said. But if what Hiro had said was true, someone had done this to Tadashi, and they needed to pay for it.

Y/n's arms crossed over her stomach. She needed to go to the hospital. She wasn't in any pain but she had been shaken up quite a bit tonight and needed to make sure her baby was okay. Although, now that she thought about it, Baymax might be able to tell her if anything was wrong.

She glanced up to see that she had fallen behind. She knew Fred was leading them to their house but they were all stopped in front of the house talking. Y/n had to run a bit to catch up.

Just as she joined them, Heathcliff, the family butler, opened the door.

"Welcome home, Master Fredrick," he said keeping the door open. "Mistress Y/n," he nodded to the girl when he saw her in the group of people.

Everyone turned to look at her with confused looks. All she offered was a small smile before walking up the steps.

"Heathcliff! My man!" Fred greeted. "Come on in guys. We'll be safe in here." Fred gave the butler a fist bump before entering the giant house. Slowly, and still with looks of complete confusion, the group followed the siblings inside.

Baymax, seeing the butler still with his fist in the air, gave him a fist bump. "Ba - da - la - la - la - la."

"Freddie, this is your house?" Honey Lemon asked.

"I thought you lived under a bridge," Go-Go confessed. Y/n looked over at the girl. "Not you. Sometimes I forget you two are related. You're so different."

Y/n smiled as they continued walking. "Well, technically it belongs to our parents." She gestured to a family portrait on the wall. She remembered sitting for the painting. Her mother had dressed both her kids in the fanciest clothes they had but Fred, of course, insisted on shorts. They had stood there for what felt like hours until they were allowed to go and play again. It was her parent's favourite picture of them all, though, so it was worth it.

"Yeah," Fred sighed. "They're on a vacay on the family island. You know, we should totally go some time. Frolic." He clapped his hands causing the door to their shared common room. Both their bedrooms were off of this room. Y/n let Fred decorate it as long as her books were there and she had somewhere to sit. Fred had gone a little overboard, filling the room with as much superhero stuff he could find. It was a little overwhelming the first time she saw it so she knew exactly how her friends were feeling now.

She stopped near the door, gesturing to Heathcliff and asking him to bring hot cocoa for everyone. When she turned back around, Baymax had turned his heater on and was leaning over Hiro. She joined her friends in laying on the robot, soaking in the heat.

"Does this symbol mean anything to you guys?" Hiro asked, holding up a piece of paper with a bird-like drawing on it.

"Yes!" Fred shouted excitedly. "It's a bird!"

"No," Hiro sighed. "The guy in the mask was carrying something with this symbol on it." He pushed himself up from under Baymax.

The robot, standing back up to his full height and turning off his heater, began explaining. "Apprehending the man in the mask will improve Hiro's emotional state."

"Apprehend him?" Go-Go asked sarcastically. "We don't even know who he is."

"I have a theory," Fred chimed in enthusiastically.

Heathcliff came in with the drinks then, and everyone took one and sat on the couch, letting Fred explain his theory through comic books. Y/n, not to worried about the 'presentation,' pulled Baymax aside.

"Baymax, can you tell if my baby is okay?" she asked quietly so only they would here.

Baymax took a moment to scan her before stating in what must be his only volume, "I detect no signs of fetal distress, but I do not have the proper pregnancy tools. I would suggest asking a doctor."

Her eyes widened as she heard a cup drop behind her. Slowly, she turned around to find all five pairs of eyes on her.

"Y/n," Go-Go hesitantly spoke, "are you pregnant?"

Y/n bit her lip as she nodded her head.

"Oh my goodness!" Honey Lemon cheered excitedly, jumping up and running to give her friend a hug. "Congratulations!"

Slowly Wasabi and Go-Go made their way over and congratulated her too. Hiro was the only one to remain on the couch, staring at the picture of Alistair Krei Fred had put on the TV.

Y/n made her way over to him. She sat beside him, before putting her hand on his shoulder. He looked to her, his eyes flicking to her stomach briefly. Her own watery eyes mirrored his.

"Tadashi - ?" He didn't need to say more before she was nodding and pulling him in for a hug. They stayed like that for a few moments, soaking in the comfort of each other. Both were letting the tears fall freely. "I'm sorry." Hiro's voice shook.

Y/n pulled back, grabbing his face. "Hiro, it was not your fault. It was the man in the mask that is responsible for all this."

"The man wanted my microbots!" Hiro stood up. "My invention is the reason for the fire. I was with him when he ran in there. I should have stopped him."

"We can't focus on the shoulds. We don't know what would have happened if we had done something different. I should have told him I was pregnant as soon as I found out. But I didn't. I waited. And that night he almost died. I've thought countless times: 'if only I had told him sooner. He may not have gone in'. But I can't change that. No one can." She sighed, wiping away the tears. "I can't change what I didn't do. But I can make sure I'm there for him whenever I can. And I can live like he wanted me to."

Hiro looked down, knowing she was right.

Fred moved to sit beside his sister, wrapping an arm around her. She leaned into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder.

"So what do we do?" Honey Lemon asked as she and the others made their way back around the couch.

"I don't know," Hiro confessed. "We don't know anything about the guy."

"His blood type is AB-negative." Baymax's voice rang through the quiet room. "His cholesterol levels are..."

"- Baymax," Hiro ran to him, "you scanned him?"

"I am programmed to assess everyone's healthcare needs." An image of the man in the mask appeared on the front of the robot along with the details from his scan.

"Yes!" Hiro shouted before laughing. "I can use the data from your scan to find him."

"Uh, you'd have to scan everyone in San Fransokyo. And that might take, I don't know, forever."

"No, no, no, no, I..." Hiro said as he thought of what to do. "I just have to look for another angle." He walked around, his eyes landing on one of Fred's figurines. "Got it! I'll scan the whole city at the same time. I just have to upgrade Baymax's sensor." He pressed a button on the toy, making it light up. "Actually, if we're gonna catch this guy," he turned away from the shelf, looking at everyone, "I need to upgrade all of you."

"Upgrade who now?" Wasabi asked as his eyes widened.

"Those who suffer a loss require support from friends and loved ones." They all turned to look at Baymax.

"Oh," Fred chuckled excitedly. "Okay, I like where this is heading!"

"We can't go against that guy!" Wasabi protested. "We're nerds!"

"Hiro, we want to help, but we're just us."

"No," Hiro said, stepping onto the couch. "You can be way more."

"Tadashi Hamada is our best friend." Go-Go stood up. "We're in."

Y/n followed their gaze. They were looking at the superhero photo Fred had put on the wall. "I can't," she stammered. "I want to, but tonight was bad enough. I can't risk losing another piece of him."

Hiro smiled sadly at her. "I know. I'm not asking you to. I don't want you to come. It'll be too dangerous."

Y/n smiled as she let out a breathless laugh. "I should be the one telling you that."

Fred chuckled as he stood up. "Can you feel it? You guys, do you feel this? Our origin story begins." He pumped his arm in the air as he shouted: "We're gonna be superheroes!"

Y/n smiled at her brother's eagerness. They were going to become superheroes. It was his dream. She wished she could help - honestly, she'd love the chance to be a superhero - but the baby was too important to risk.

Fred kept Y/n updated over the next few weeks. She continued her daily visits to the hospital and talked to Tadashi about what they were doing. She wasn't sure if he heard her – or if he'd be happy his friends and brother were putting themselves in danger – but she found comfort in talking to him.

Every day, Fred would send a picture of their progress on the super suits. It took a while to make them, they used some advanced tech, but they all looked amazing. Fred was super excited to be turned into a fire-breathing monster. When she got home the night after he got the suit, she found him still wearing it as he watched television. She took a picture before he noticed and sent it to all their friends.

She always found herself laughing at the pictures Fred sent her. He couldn't seem to take a flattering picture of anyone. There were a lot of pictures of Heathcliff. He had been chosen as a practice dummy for everyone to test their suits – without hurting him of course. She felt bad for him but it meant their suits worked and that was more important.

The baby was okay, thankfully. She had gone to the hospital early the morning after the car chase and got seen by one of the doctors who had a spare minute. They told her she needed to take an easy, which meant no more car chases or dealing with bad guys for the next 5ish months. She had almost reached the 4-month mark, which meant – even though it was still tiny – she had started to show.

Fred was super excited when he saw it. Still in his pyjamas, he ran out the front door screaming "I'm gonna be an uncle!" She couldn't get mad at him, she had told him he could do that as soon as she started showing, she just hadn't expected him to do it now that their friends all knew.

She had gone down to the cafeteria to grab some supper when she got another text from Fred. Baymax's suit was finished and they were going to catch the guy.

She wished him good luck and made him promise to stay safe.

As she made her way back to Tadashi's room, only ten minutes later, she had a smile on her face. They were going to catch the guy. He was going to be brought to justice.

As the elevator doors opened, Y/n heard the unmistakable sound of an alarm beeping. She ran forward, needing to make sure it wasn't Tadashi. She reached his room to find it swarming with doctors and nurses.

The sandwich she had grabbed for dinner slipped out of her hand as tears filled her eyes at the sight before her.

"Awesome!" Fred cheered as the group landed on the island which Baymax's scanner had picked up the man in the mask. "Our first landing together as a team."

"Guys," Hiro whispered, starting to lead the group forward. "Come on."

" 'Quarantine,'" Wasabi read one of the signs around the building. "Uh, do you people know what 'quarantine' means?"

" 'Quarantine,'" Baymax recited. "Enforced isolation to prevent contamination that could lead to disease, or in some cases, death."

"Oh! There's a skull face on this one." Wasabi turned to the group that was ignoring him. "A skull face!"

"Be ready," Hiro whispered again. "He could be anywhere."

A sudden ringing echoed behind them making them all jump and use their new super suits against the unseen enemy. When they stopped, the ringing was still going and nothing was behind them.

"Oh, my bad guys," Fred apologized as he grabbed his phone. "It's Y/n." He flipped his suit's head off answering the phone on speaker. "Sup, buttercup?"

"Fred," the voice was full of static as it tried to get through. "Are you there?"

They could barely hear her but it sounded as if she had been crying. "Y/n, what's wrong? We can't hear you very well."

"It's Tadashi." Hiro felt his throat get dry as everyone looked at him. "He ... couldn't breathe ... ventilator ... took it out ... he's ... frozen." All they could hear was static for a few seconds none of them daring to say anything. "You should come ... Hello? Are you-" Her voice cut out as the line went dead.

They were all silent for a few moments. "Hiro," Honey Lemon tried to console him.

"No," he snapped, taking a few deep breaths. "This guy is responsible for Tadashi's death. We end this now."

They all nodded sadly before entering the building.

Y/n stood in the entrance to the hospital. She was waiting for Aunt Cass. She had called her right after she hung up with Fred and the woman had screamed into the phone.

Tadashi had woken up. He was still drifting in and out of consciousness, the majority of his body staying frozen in place. When he first woke up, he panicked. He was alone in a place he didn't recognize and there was something in his throat. He tried to breathe by found he couldn't do it himself. That was when a nurse had come in and, finding him awake, pressed a button that called the doctor and a few nurses. Together they worked on calming the boy enough for them to take the ventilator out.

That was when Y/n came upstairs. She rushed into the room, her eyes locking with Tadashi's. She smiled, letting a few happy tears fall. Tadashi was still a bit confused. He sat still as the doctor explained what had happened and that it would probably take a few days for feeling to return to his legs and arms and even then he would still probably need physical therapy.

Y/n stood to the side while the doctor talked, but as soon as he was gone, she was at his side.

"Tadashi," she said, moving her hand to rest on his cheek. She couldn't hold back any of her tears. They were flowing too much for someone who was happy. She blamed the pregnancy. "I've missed you so much."

He smiled tiredly at her. "I heard you."

"What?"

"Sometimes, when I was lying here but couldn't talk or see, I would hear your voice. It was never a lot. Mostly just telling me how much you missed me and wanted me to come back. I'm sorry, Y/n. If I could have woken up sooner, I would have." He tried lifting his arm, but couldn't. A few tears sprung to his eyes as he realized he couldn't move them.

Y/n noticed grabbing his hand and bringing it to her lips. "It doesn't matter. You're awake now. I have so much to tell you." He smiled sleepily at her. "But I'll tell you later. You need to rest, get stronger. I'll be here when you wake up."

He nodded, letting his eyes close. In less than a minute he was out again. Putting his arm back to his side, Y/n stood up. She grabbed her phone and dialled Fred's number.

"Sup, buttercup?" he answered.

The connection was terrible. She could barely hear him through the static. "Fred? Are you there?"

"Y/n, what's wrong? ... can't hear ... very well."

"It's Tadashi! He woke up. He couldn't breathe with the ventilator so they took it out. He's still pretty frozen but he'll be okay. You should come and see him." She paused. When she got no response she called out, "Hello? Are you there?"

The line went dead. She decided they didn't have a good connection, so they would call her back when they did. She quickly called Cass and told her the same news. She was much more excited to hear that her nephew was waking up, and quickly promised she would be there as soon as she closed up the café.

Y/n waited a few minutes, making sure Tadashi was truly asleep before heading downstairs to wait for Aunt Cass.

The woman had brought donuts and sandwiches from her shop, reminding Y/n of the sandwich she had dropped and that hadn't eaten anything since this morning. "I thought the others would be here."

They started walking towards the elevators. "I called them but they were in someplace with a bad connection so I don't know if they got the message. They'll call back if they didn't and if the did, they should be here soon."

"How is he, dear?" They stepped into the elevator, pushing the button to take them to Tadashi's floor.

"He's okay. Asleep right now, he was very tired. He was a little upset when he figured out he couldn't move his arms or legs yet, but the doctor said he should regain full function in a few days."

They had reached his room, Y/n opening the door for Aunt Cass.

"Oh, my sweet boy," Aunt Cass said seeing her nephew. She set the bag of treats on one of the tables before moving to his bedside. He still wasn't awake, but she could see his face fully now, no ventilator blocking it.

She looked glanced up as Y/n pulled another chair to the other side of the bed. "Did you tell him, yet?"

Y/n shook her head. "I didn't want to keep him up too long. He'll wake up again soon and this time there shouldn't be so much panic."

Cass nodded her head in understanding. She turned her attention back to Tadashi, brushing his hair away from his face.

Y/n woke the next morning to that sound of the TV. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see the news channel on. She lifted her head from where it lay on Tadashi's bed. She had never stayed over; she wasn't supposed to. Aunt Cass wasn't in her spot anymore.

"Hey, sleepyhead." Y/n turned sharply to see Tadashi wide awake. Someone had lifted the top of his bed so he was sitting up slightly. "How'd you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well for a hospital," she responded with a smile. "Where's Aunt Cass?"

"Hiro and the others haven't come yet or called, so she went home to find him."

Y/n felt his fingers tap against her hand. "You can move your hand."

He shrugged, "Just the fingers."

"Still," she smiled. "That's an improvement."

He narrowed his eyes as his face turned serious. "I think it was your kisses." He tried to keep a straight face but Y/n could see the corners of his lips twitch up.

"Oh really?" He nodded, letting the smile form at her playful tone. "I'm pretty sure I kissed your other hand."

"I don't think so."

Y/n laughed. She stood up so she could sit on his bed and be face to face with him. She leaned in. "You're lucky I like you enough to give you kisses." She placed her lips on his.

He responded eagerly, humming in agreeance. She had missed this. Just his presence was enough to make her feel like everything was going to be okay.

She pulled away after a few moments, taking his hand in hers. "I have something I need to tell you." His eyes narrowed at the swift change in mood, but he still nodded for her to continue. "I was going to tell you the day," she took a deep breath, "everything happened."

"What's wrong, Y/n?" She was beginning to worry him.

"I'm pregnant." She let the words hang in the air watching his face for any sign of emotion.

A smile slowly spread across his features. "Really?"

Y/n bit her lip as she nodded. "Almost 4 months now."

"That's amazing." He tried to move his arm again and Y/n, knowing what he wanted to do, placed his hand on her stomach. "We're going to be parents."

She nodded, leaning in to kiss him again.

"I love you so much," Tadashi mumbled against her lips.

She pulled away keeping their foreheads together. "We have a lot to figure out but that can wait till you get out of here, okay?"

He nodded. "I just can't believe it. My brothers in university, I'm going to be a dad; everything's changing."

Y/n pulled back slightly, realizing that he didn't know. "Tadashi, Hiro didn't sign up for any classes this semester."

"What?" He frowned. "Why not?"

"After that night, Hiro blamed himself. I think he thought that because he hadn't stopped you or saved you, that meant he shouldn't get a reward. So he didn't go. We all tried to get him to go, but for the longest time, he was depressed. When he found Baymax, he started getting better. Your robot did exactly as it was supposed to."

He smiled at the thought of Baymax helping Hiro feel better. "He's going next semester. I don't care if I have to drag him there."

"I know." Y/n smiled as she tucked his hair behind his ear. "He'll be so happy to see you."

"I'm excited to see him too. It doesn't feel like I've been away for long, but at the same time, it feels like years." He smiled sadly. "I mean, the last thing I remember is Hiro getting into school and then there was a fire and Professor Callaghan was still inside and I tried to get in, but then nothing. And now I wake up to find out I've been unconscious for – what?" He paused, thinking over the times he had been told. "Almost two months."

Y/n smiled sadly and nodded.

"I missed so much. Hiro didn't go to school. You're pregnant – I missed the first scan. I wasn't there for you, for our baby, for Hiro."

"Tadashi," Y/n grabbed both his hands, "you can't blame yourself for any of that. You did one of the most heroic things I can think of. You ran towards the danger to save someone you cared about. And, yeah, maybe this time didn't work out, but you tried, and I love you so much for it. You have the biggest heart, of anyone I've ever known. And, if it was possible, I know you would have been here for everything you missed."

"I love you so much," he said, tears filling his eyes.

"I love you too." She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

They stayed that way for several minutes. Y/n was sure, Tadashi would fall asleep again, she was about to herself, but her phone rang. Slowly she lifted herself from Tadashi, reaching towards the table for the phone.

"Hello?" she answered without looking at the caller ID.

"Y/n." It was Aunt Cass. "Is Hiro there?"

"No, is he not at home?"

Tadashi watched her with worried eyes, trying to listen to the conversation. Y/n noticed and put the call on speaker.

"No," Cass sighed. "I don't know where he is."

"I can try calling around, but I'm sure he's fine, Aunt Cass."

"You're probably right. I'll be back in a little bit. Does Tadashi need anything from home?"

"No, I'm good Aunt Cass," he responded.

"Okay. I'll see you two soon."

The call ended and Y/n moved to sit back on the bed. She noticed Tadashi seemed worried. "It'll be okay. He's probably with Wasabi, Fred, Go-Go, and Honey Lemon. They'll keep him safe."

He shook his head slightly."Why are you so smart?"

"I'm not," she smiled back at him. "I just learned how to calm myself down, so I'm pretty good at calming others now, too."

She dialled Fred's number. It rang a couple of times before going to voice mail.

She furrowed her brow as she tried Go-Go. Voice mail.

Honey Lemon and Wasabi also went to voice mail.

"That's weird." Tadashi raised his eyebrows, wondering what was going on. "They all went to voice mail."

He took a deep breath, trying not to work himself up.

"Why don't you try to get some more sleep?" Y/n asked him.

He frowned. "Will you stay with me?"

"Of course," she promised. She stood up, pushing Tadashi over just a bit (so he wouldn't fall off), before sitting beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. Her eyes kept drifting to the phone in her hand, wanting something to come through to tell her they were okay. But nothing did.

"Oh my god," Tadashi gasped.

Y/n threw her head up following his gaze to the TV. The news channel was showing live footage of the new Krei Tech building, only it didn't look so new. There was a giant, metal circle thing above it sucking in different pieces of the crumbling building. The man in the mask was there as well. If Y/n had to guess, she'd say he was the one responsible for the destruction.

As they watched, a blue smoke filled the courtyard blocking their view. The man in the mask rose above the smoke. That's when she saw him. Baymax was there, which left no doubt where the rest of them were. "Oh no," she whispered.

"What's 'oh no'?" Tadashi asked. Y/n turned to face him again, a guilty smile on her face. "I don't like that look."

"There's one more thing that happened while you were asleep."

They did it. They stopped Callaghan from killing Krei and even managed to save his daughter in the process. They had lost Baymax, but they knew Hiro and Abigal would not have made it without his sacrifice.

The group made sure to leave before the police and ambulance got there. They hadn't been injured enough to go to the hospital and they didn't want to get in trouble from the police which they probably would have if they stayed.

As they were walking away, Fred's phone rang.

"Yellow?" he said into the phone. "Yeah, sure thing." He turned to Hiro and handed him the phone. "It's Y/n."

"Hi, Y/n," he said meekly.

"You're pretty lucky, Hiro," she said seriously. "You could have gotten really hurt."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, I have someone who wants to talk to you."

"- No, please don't put Aunt Cass on!" he pleaded but the voice that replied wasn't either of the women he had expected.

"Your fly was down."

"Tadashi?" Hiro felt his eyes fill with tears. It wasn't possible. He died. He was gone.

The group around him suddenly moved closer, all trying to listen to the conversation.

"I can't leave you alone without you doing something with robots," Tadashi laughed. "Seriously, every time."

Hiro was speechless. He just stood frozen as he listened to the voice he thought he would never hear again. When he noticed the stares of his friends he pulled the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker.

"Tadashi?" Go-Go questioned into the phone.

"How's it going Go-Go?"

"Oh my god!"

Everyone started freaking out. Hiro was crying while most of the others cheered. When it finally quieted down, Y/n came on the phone. "Did you guys not hear what I said when I called?"

They were all silent. "You said he couldn't breathe," Hiro recounted.

"Yeah," Y/n laughed. "With the ventilator."

"I can't talk with it in either," Tadashi added, "but if you prefer, I'm sure I could convince the doctor to put it back in."

They all were quick to protest.

"That's what I thought." Y/n and Tadashi's laugh echoed through the phone. "So are you guys coming? Aunt Cass is bringing food."

The group was off to the hospital as quick as they could.

About seven months later

Hiro hopped down the stairs and into the café, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

The room was loud, filled with the sounds of people grabbing their morning coffee or just chatting. Hiro weaved through the tables until he found the one he was looking for. All his friends, including his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law, were sitting at one of the tables near a window. They smiled as they saw him approach.

"How's the bedroom?" Tadashi asked with a smile.

"Better now that all your junk is gone."

Y/n and Tadashi had found an apartment just down the street. They wanted their own place to live with their baby. They couldn't stay at the café because Tadashi shared his room with Hiro and it wasn't fair to him if they suddenly added two more people to the mix. Y/n's parents had told her she could stay, but her house was too quiet. They wanted to be closer to the city.

It took a while to find the right place, but they did. Unfortunately, baby Kai was born just two weeks after they signed the lease. They knew he would be coming soon, so they had made sure to set up his room first. Hiro was the odd one out, left to store Tadashi's things until he could find time to come grab them. The last box had just been brought to their home last night.

"Last week," Y/n said happily as Hiro sat down beside her. He tickled his nephew that was sat on her lap as he nodded. "You nervous?"

"No, why would I be nervous?"

It was the last week of his first semester which meant exams would be starting.

"He's totally nervous," Honey Lemon chimed. "It's okay, Hiro."

"What? No. I said I'm not nervous."

"That's even more concerning." Tadashi winked at Y/n before continuing. "I was absolutely terrified for my first college exams, in fact, I don't think I know anyone who wasn't scared."

Everyone nodded as they looked to Hiro. "Okay, fine. I'm a bit nervous, but I know I can do it."

"That's the spirit!" Tadashi cheered standing up. "Now get children. It's time for school."

Everyone left the café, saying goodbye to Y/n and Aunt Cass. Tadashi followed them out before returning a minute later.

"He good?" Y/n asked.

"Yep," Tadashi smiled. "He's got it."

Tadashi had decided to take the semester off. He knew that he would want to take time off when their baby was born and it just made sense for him to take the semester so he could help prepare for the baby. Plus, although he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he needed the time to heal. He had a few small scars on his face and arms, and it had taken a while for him to get used to walking again. Stairs were difficult at first.

He missed school. He liked working on a project and perfecting it, so when Hiro said he found Baymax's chip, Tadashi jumped at the chance to rebuild him. He wasn't technically in school, but he would visit and work on the robot any chance he could. With Hiro's help, it didn't take long for Baymax to return. As soon as they turned the bot on, both Hamada's gave it a hug. Tadashi wanted to thank the robot that saved his little brother's life.

"Someone's hungry," Y/n commented as Kai started to squirm and whimper. She passed the baby to Tadashi's open arms before grabbing a bottle from the baby bag hanging on the stroller beside her and heading to the back to heat it up.

The group had made it a routine to meet at the café before everyone headed off to school. Y/n and Tadashi would stay and finish their drinks, check to see if Aunt Cass needed any help (some days were busy), and head home. A lot of the time, Kai would get hungry when they were there, so they made sure to pack a bottle every time.

Aunt Cass was more than happy to let them use the kitchen, especially if it meant she got to see Kai. She adored the little boy and had already started spoiling him despite being only a few months old. She had got them the stroller, as well as several books he would be able to read when he was older.

Y/n loved how their life had turned out. Hiro and the others had continued their hero work and when Tadashi and Y/n heard, they wanted to help. They had to wait until the baby was born and Tadashi was completely healed, but in the end, it was worth it. They got to be superheroes, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, Y/n was as excited as Fred.

They were lucky Heathcliff adored Kai as much as Aunt Cass. Any time they both went out, Heathcliff came over to babysit. They would have asked Cass but she didn't know about their nighttime activities and they didn't want her to freak out.

The bottle finished heating up and, after testing to make sure it was the right temperature, Y/n returned to the main room. She handed Tadashi the bottle leaving her hand on his arm as she sat. She moved her chair closer so she could rest her head on his shoulder as they watched their baby drink.

Tadashi looked down at Y/n, his eyes caught by the ring resting on her finger.

He had proposed only two weeks after he got out of the hospital. They had been together for over three years and talked about getting married before. They both thought it best to wait until school was over, but with a baby being added to the mix, Tadashi couldn't wait any longer. Neither could Y/n as she said yes before he even got all the question out.

They decided they would get married after the semester finished, that way, they would be sure the baby would be born and everyone would be available. Unfortunately, they hadn't really worked out the details yet.

Tadashi's eyes drifted up from the ring to Y/n's eyes. They were watching his own. "You're so beautiful," he confessed causing her to blush. "I'm serious." He smiled as she laughed. "I can't wait to marry you."

"Speaking of which - " she began before Tadashi cut her off.

"Oh no," he groaned sarcastically. "You're not breaking up with me are you?" He smiled again as she shook her head at him.

"You're such a child sometimes."

"Is that a yes? Because you should know it's bad luck to break up with someone who's holding your child."

"Stop it," she laughed. "I'm not breaking up with you."

"That's a good idea."

She sighed, leaning her head back on his shoulder as they both turned their attention back to Kai. "My dad needs a definite date. Apparently, 'the 25th or 26th' isn't good enough for him. He needs specifics."

Tadashi hummed as he thought about his answer. "You choose. It doesn't matter to me."

"It mattered a month ago when we last talked about it."

"Things change." He smiled down at her. "I've decided I don't care when or where I marry you. All I need is you and Kai to be there, and I'm good."

"Really?" She glanced up at him.

"Yeah." They both returned to their previous positions. "Although, maybe we should have Hiro and Fred, and if they're coming we should have the rest of our family, and three more isn't much more, so Go-Go, Wasabi and Honey Lemon should come...."

Y/n found herself smiling as he droned on, content with her little family.

[cowboisadness]

Hang Em’ High {FemOC x Arthur Morgan} Chapter 7

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summary: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

. . . . . 

Bear hide, a deer and deer hides along with a few rabbits and many herbs thanks to Charles means we will all be eating well for the next week or so. It was a successful hunt, given what happened.

This morning had been slow, helping Pearson prepare today's meals, reading, and laundry. I was trying to think of other ways I could contribute, to prevent myself from going mad doing the same things every day, I don't know how the other girls do it. 

Doing laundry with the other girls, Tilly and Mary-Beth, helped the time go by a bit quicker than a snail's pace.

They reminded me a lot of my childhood friends that I grew up with, daughters of the neighbouring farm.

I missed them terribly and hoped wherever they were, they would be safe and happy. I miss our conversations, talking about boys, the latest clothing that was in fashion in New York, Paris and London, politics, women's rights, you know, the usual girl talk. Conversations with the girls at camp were not much different, just a bit more impure and harsh than I was used to. It was all fun and games until they started asking if I had my eye on anyone in camp.

“Don't be shy, Bella. Must be someone you find easy on the eyes here.” Mary Beth giggled

“After my experience, I wouldn't say no to never involving myself with a man again.”

“There are good men out there, finding the right one just takes time. If only it was as simple as it is in the books. Bumping into them one evening and then riding off into the night together.”

Me and Tilly share a humorous look, stifling our laughter.

“Anyway, life ain't just about finding the one and settling down. You can always have fun...and rob them after.” Tilly says, causing the three of us to burst into laughter. “What’re you three gigglin’ about?” Arthur interjects from behind us, causing all of us to jump in surprise.

“Just lady things Mr Morgan” Tilly replies, Arthur letting out a doubtful huff before turning his attention to me.

“You still wantin’ that shootin’ lesson Miss Bella?” 

“Of course. Now?”

“If you're free” I looked over to the other girls, silently asking for permission to leave them with the rest of my chores. Thankfully they did. 

“Yeah, I’m free now” I smiled up at him.

“Get sorted and I'll meet you at the horses.” He smiled back and walked off towards his tent.

Turning my attention to finish off washing the shirt in my hands as quickly as possible, I could feel eyes boring into the back of my skull, waiting for me to look over to them. I couldn't, I just hoped they couldn't see the sudden blush forming on my cheeks.

“Don't get any ideas. He's just teaching me how to shoot.” Keeping my eyes on the shirt I was working on with haste and earning myself more doubtful hums and giggles.

I changed into pants and holstered my gun before making my way over to Arthur and his horse. He helped me up in one swift motion before mounting himself. 

As we were leaving camp we passed Tilly and Mary-Beth, now working on the few garments I had left. Both watching us as I shook my head at them. 

“Don't forget to have fun Bella” Tilly shouted over as we left, shaking my head again, thankful to be sat behind Arthur but hoping he wouldn't look back as I was blushing once again.

“What she talking about?”

“Oh, i don't really know.”

. . . . .

We stopped off in Valentine to buy more ammo before heading towards the heartlands, finding a hilled area away from any roads. Arthur had brought along loads of empty beer and whiskey bottles and set them up in a line on a large rock. He handed me his carbine repeater and pushed me forward slightly, starting a few feet away from the bottles.

“Let’s see what you know then.”

I held the gun up, placing the butt onto my shoulder and tilting my head down the sight, gripping with both hands. 

Taking a few breaths and aiming for a large whiskey bottle, I pulled back on the trigger quickly as I let out a breath. 

The repeater shot back into my shoulder abruptly, pain shooting through my arm and neck, knocking back a few steps. No shattering of glass was heard, just my gasps of pain and Arthur's laugh at my spectacular failure. 

“You ain’t standing right or holding it right.” he starts walking over, positioning the gun to sit snugly against my shoulder, away from my collarbone, then moving my hand further down the forestock, telling me not to grip too tightly and to rest my cheek on the stock naturally. 

He then moves to stand behind me placing his hands on my shoulders, gently turning me to the right a few degrees. He barely removes his hands as he trails them down to my hips, tightening and turning me slightly to the left, then kicking my feet further apart, placing them in a more steady position.

My eyes are focusing on the bottles down the sight, my mind on his hands, still gripping onto my hips. 

“Steady your breathing, pull the trigger with empty lungs.” 

Steady my breathing? Impossible when I can feel his breath on my neck. But I will try. Try to focus on my breathing, to keep my feet planted firmly. All while taking in how warm his hands are through my clothing, his grip not faltering. Inhale… Exhale… Shoot…

Glass shatters ahead of me. The Whiskey bottle now no more.

Lowering the gun I looked over to the rock to confirm I did actually hit it, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Well done. Now the others.” He finally releases his hands but remains right behind me.

We carry on till no bottles are left, which took a while, missing more than I hit with each round but getting better each time. Arthur would correct my stance whenever needed, his hands seemingly calling themselves at home on my waist each time he did so.

Before long there were no more bottles left to be shattered. It was harder than I originally imagined with having to focus on more things than just aiming and pulling the trigger. I’d need to practice more, that's for sure. Thanking Arthur for his help, returning his gun to him we decided to relax beneath a large tree nearby to escape the afternoon sun, sharing a chocolate bar between us as we talked. 

“Ya still planning on leaving since you're all healed now?”

“I don't know. Not sure where i would go anyway.” He hummed in response and took another piece of chocolate, handing the last two pieces to me. “I do have a brother in New York somewhere. If he's even still there i wouldn't know where to find him.” I took the last piece of chocolate into my mouth, letting it melt on my tongue to savour the sweetness. “Ya could always stay with us. Sure ya won't always have a soft bed or grand meals but we can keep you safe.”

“It's funny...i feel safer with a gang of outlaws than i did in a grand house with personal security.” I said as I gave a hollow laugh.

It was true I did feel much safer. I didn't need to sleep with one eye open or feel like I was always walking on eggshells, waiting for the inevitable crack. I don't care about having a soft bed, given that recently has been the best I've slept in months, apart from the odd nightmare that wakes me. They have always been the same. I’m standing out in a lush valley, the sun is shining, the breeze is cool and the birds are singing. The camp behind me filled with the now-familiar chatter and laughter from little Jack. It's peaceful for a moment until the clouds turn black and the sun seems to die. Fog across the once heavenly horizon growing bigger with a familiar silhouette drawing closer. They call my name like venom in my ears. Voices from the camp change from laughter to shouts of my name too, urging me to get to them but I can't move. No matter how much I try I can't turn and run, feet stuck like they are encased by hardened mortar, my eyes fixed on the one ahead. It's Frank, his face distorted and covered in blood, his eyes burning with rage. He lunges towards me, his hands constricting around my throat like a Python that hasn't eaten in months. Then I wake, jolting upright and my breathing staggered till I realise where I am. Arthur moves to his satchel, pulling out a worn book and a pencil, flicking absentmindedly through the pages for a moment. I watch with curiosity as he brings the pencil to the page, making quick strokes, his brow furrowed in concentration. Watching him for a few moments I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of serenity and wanting to bask in it’s feeling forever. His gaze on the page does not falter, determined to convey whatever he intended to perfection. “What are you doing?” He keeps his eyes on the task in hand. 

“Nothin’ really. Just ramblings and drawings I do to pass the time.”

“Can i see some?” 

He looks hesitant and at that moment I regret asking him to share something that is obviously meant to be private. But he nods his head to beckon me closer and murmurs a quiet “Sure” 

I sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder as he flicks through the pages, a blur of white and charcoal grey. He stops to show me a few pages, they are littered with small drawings of plants and animals, telling me what each of them are if they don't come with an already written name.

Other pages include strange buildings and stranger people he has encountered, each of them so detailed and beautiful I could imagine what they looked like as if each subject was placed right in front of me. He returns to the previous page he was working on, a half-finished drawing of a woman, her back turned but holding up a gun, aiming at a row of bottles perched on a rock in the distance. I look up to him once I realise but he doesn't look back. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to explain or apologise for not seeking my permission but before he could say a word I look at him again. 

“I’ve never had someone draw me before.” I smile, hoping to ease any worry or embarrassment he may have.

His eyes finally meet mine as he turns, those blues i swear i could still drown in if i look for too long. My heart starts racing and I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins when I realise how close to each other we are, our faces mere inches away. His scent filling my nose, warm and inviting. My eyes dart down instinctively to his lips then back up in the hopes he didn't notice but it's evident when his pupils flare that he did. He saw. I don’t know what's happening, don't understand what i am doing until i start leaning in towards him and he follows. I can almost feel him against my lips, I can almost taste him as a shot rings out in the air not far in the distance, accompanied by shouting. We both jerk backwards instantly, our eyes tore away from each other as we scan the area around us. He stands to look around, hand on his holstered gun, telling me to stay put as he goes to check it out, hoping for no danger. As he leaves I feel like I can finally breathe, no longer drowning and I try to think about what just happened, what was about to happen. Was I trying to recreate what happens in them god awful romance novels? I'm not a child anymore, I can't be getting myself involved with bad men in that way. I needed to get a hold of myself. A voice in my head telling me I can't deny he's the first man to show me this sort of kindness in a long time. He's gone out of his way multiple times to help me and to make sure I'm safe. But he does that for the other girls at camp, he cares about them too and does everything in his power to make sure the whole gang can sleep safely. He does it all and denies himself the right to gratitude. Frank isn't a fraction of a man that Arthur is. I was still lost in thought when Arthur came back into view but he wasn't alone. Accompanied by a horse, a beautiful Chestnut Kentucky Saddler. 

The creature was visibly shaken, it’s body tense, ears pinned back and tail swishing from side to side, Arthur offering constant words of encouragement and pats on the neck to help calm it.

“Robbery gone bad, fella is dead.” He handed the reins over to me delicately “Here.”

I took the reins in my hand, looking to him with obvious confusion.

“Didn't want to leave her there.”

I extend my free hand out towards her nose to show I'm no threat as I study her overall form, ears not forward. She seems fit and strong, obviously cared for and loved.  She presses her whiskered nose to my palm tenderly as I look into her eyes, hoping she knows she can trust us. She can trust me.

[kieraelieson]

Dollhouse

G/t 42/100

Masterpost

••^*^••

42

Dollhouse

••^*^••

(Continued from 4,5,6,11,12,13,15,23,38, and 39. Roman can now get around a bit. He still has a splint on, but he has some makeshift crutches and can move around with them a good bit. Virgil is now back in his own room, and Patton is very happy that everyone seems to be getting along.)

“You want what?”

“I want a dollhouse. And other supplies.” Roman said.

“What for?” Virgil asked.

Roman crossed his arms as much as he could while holding onto crutches. “Does it matter?”

“Well, kinda. If I’ve got to be the one to buy it.”

“Well, I don’t want to tell you.”

Virgil frowned, but it was more confusion than annoyance. “I mean, I guess.”

Roman pushed while he was ahead. “I found one when you let me on your computer, and I want that one.”

Virgil’s frown deepened, but he pulled up the page on the laptop. “Oh. Well, it’s not that expensive. Yeah, I can get it for you. I just… never would have imagined you’d prefer a dollhouse to—“

“I said I don’t want to tell you what it’s for.”

“So you don’t want to live in it?”

“No.”

Virgil squinted suspiciously at Roman.

“Gonna need glasses if you keep that up,” Roman muttered under his breath, turning around to leave.

••^*^••

The dollhouse arrived. And soon after came the supplies. Roman started work immediately. He knew his skills, and what he could and couldn’t do with a leg still in a cast. So he began with pulling out all the ‘wallpaper’ and started painting the walls.

He took the fabric he still had, and cut and sewed it into rugs. He made curtains for the windows, and made curtain rods out of a toothpick and the ends of a popsicle stick, painted, of course.

Roman painted the outside of the house as well, though that was more difficult. He was a good painter, though he’d never in his life had as much opportunity to practice as this.

Patton helped as much as Roman would let him, and got more and more excited about the house every day.

It took several weeks to finish, and by then Roman was able to put a little weight on his leg, as long as it was still in the brace they’d made.

Roman waited until Patton was asleep, and went to find Virgil. Virgil was never asleep first.

“Virgil?”

“Hmm? Oh. Hi, Roman. Need something?”

Roman sat down on Virgil’s bedside table. His jaw was clenched tight, and he could barely open it to speak.

“The house is finished.”

“Yeah, I saw. It looks amazing.”

Roman swallowed heavily. “I’ve seen on your computer, and you could probably take it, and a few of the outfits I made, and sell them for anywhere between $500 and $1000.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything.

“I want you to take the money and let Patton go. I-I know I’ll have to stay here. And what could $500 compare against a life anyway? But it’s a start, and I’ll do more. Once my leg heals I’ll be able to do it faster too.” Roman felt tears building up, and he kept talking, trying both to convince Virgil and to not let the tears fall.

“Roman, Roman, hey. Calm down.”

Roman scrubbed at his face angrily. “What’s calm about this?!” He growled out.

“Roman, I promise, I’m not holding either of you here. Anytime you want to leave, you can leave.”

“Yeah, and you’ll keep saying that right up until we actually try to leave!”

“No, I mean it. You can leave tomorrow. You can leave right now, if you want. I’ll miss you, but I won’t come after you. You can sit in that wall my whole life, and if you want me to ignore you and leave you alone I will. Or you can leave completely, and I won’t try to stop you.”

Roman’s guard against the tears broke. “You can’t do this! You can’t give and give and not expect anything back! It’s not how it works, I don’t believe you!”

“I have gotten paid back,” Virgil said. “I get to talk with you and Patton every day. You’re my friends. And if I ever even thought about money, that house would over and above pay back every cent I’ve spent on the both of you. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I-I don’t— I can't—“ Roman covered his face with his hands.

“Roman, I promise, you don’t owe me anything.” Virgil repeated.

“Why?” Roman asked, his voice cracking horribly, even in only one syllable.

“Because you’ve already paid me back more than enough just by staying and being friends with me.”

Usually, Roman would’ve made some kind of ‘are you that desperate for friends�� joke, but this was not a usual situation. “But I wasn’t your friend. I’ve been scared of you this whole time.”

Virgil’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”

Roma pounded his fist on the dresser. “You didn’t do anything!”

“Maybe not then, but I can now. Roman, would you want to be friends with me?”

“I don’t know.”

Virgil’s face fell again. “That’s alright. I can leave you alone.”

••^*^••

The next morning both Roman and Patton were gone. It was lonely, and far too quiet. Virgil almost wished he had never promised all he had the night before. But, since he promised, he didn’t look for them, and he didn’t knock on the walls. But he left the makeshift home they had made in the corner, just in case.

It was three days later when a voice called his name.

Virgil spun around to see Roman standing on the kitchen counter.

“I— if you’ll still have me, I think I would like to be friends with you.”

“Yes.” Virgil said, while his brain was still stunned.

Patton rushed out from a hiding place. “Yay! I knew you two could get along!”

••^*^••

Logan’s niece was having a birthday shortly. And if he was going to bother with a present he was going to get a good one.

Finally he saw it. Even just from the first picture the superior quality was evident. He clicked on the listing, and with every picture he was further convinced that the $800 asking price was an insult to the artist who had made the dollhouse. Some of the details on the walls must have been painted with the tiniest brush, and were painted in rooms small enough to barely allow for a hand to move, much less paint so accurately. He bought the dollhouse, and the clothes that came with it.

When it arrived, he couldn’t help but take a closer look. He didn’t care much for dolls, but this was simply incredible. He would be very curious about how it was done.

And then he saw something. He had to use a magnifying glass to see more clearly, but then he was sure. There were impossibly small fingerprints on the curtain rods.

Logan looked up the person who had sold the house.

Virgil Storm.

He would have to find a way to pay Virgil a visit.