#i actually meant to post this after my last post but . i got distracted in spotify kjghnfdkgjh CRAZYYY oc brain rot what can i say

[mattodore]

uncharacteristically honest at the party

theo: [slurred, voice barely there at all] mm... you smell good. [mumbling to himself] i feel all warm...

matthias: do i? any other confessions for me, mała myszko?

theo: [a beat] ...i like how you say that.

matthias: when i whisper it like this? [near theo's ear] my darling, mała myszko.

[steddieas-shegoes]

A little thing based on this post because it wouldn’t leave my brain:

“I just don’t understand why you won’t try to read it.”

Steve had heard Dustin say this exact sentence hundreds of times at this point.

“I mean, do you know how to read?”

Mike was an asshole. Steve loved him because he was part of the group and he’d been through the same things, but he was such a dick.

“Yes, I know how to read. I just don’t.”

Dustin rolled his eyes.

“If you don’t wanna read nerd shit just say so.”

Steve threw his arms up in frustration.

Steve was a nerd at heart. As a child, he would beg the nanny to take him to the library and the science museum that had real dinosaur fossils. There was something about the peace of exiting his reality and finding a new one among fantasy and history that was indescribable, even to this day.

But as he grew into his looks, he grew out of that phase. At least around others.

And with no nanny around to take him places, he settled for just being the popular guy who hung out with his friends after practice and threw parties at his forever empty house on Saturdays.

But secretly, he still found himself enjoying books late into the night. Never school books, or his grades would’ve been good enough for college, but always incredible novels that took him to other worlds with the most impressively brave people.

And then he lived a nightmare. A few times over. With concussions at every turn.

Now, anytime he tried to read, his head started pounding, his vision got blurry, and ears would start ringing. He stopped trying altogether after Starcourt, but he’d never really let go his love of books.

He occasionally let Robin read to him, but she would get distracted by a plot or character and go on a tangent, leaving Steve confused about what the actual story was. He hated being confused.

“Stevie, you got a minute?”

Eddie had been watching from his spot at the end of the table, where he’d been cleaning up the mess of D&D. He usually made the kids do it, but he’d let them off the hook tonight when they beat the monster and escaped his trap.

Steve and Eddie were friends, definitely. Maybe not close ones, but friends.

Steve had a little crush, definitely. Or a big one. Maybe.

So when Eddie shows him attention, he somewhat shamefully receives it like he’s dying of thirst in a desert.

Robin is the only one who’s noticed so far, but if he keeps acting like a dog being called by his master anytime Eddie talks to him, someone else will comment on it.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Steve asked as he made his way to Eddie.

The kids took this time to talk amongst themselves about the game and what they think will happen next week, and Steve couldn’t have been more grateful.

“You don’t have to tell me, but.” Eddie was tapping his fingers nervously against his leg. “Do you not know how to read?”

“Uh. No I do. I mean I graduated high school. I know it’s hard to believe.”

“Not judging if you can’t, man. I mean, I took three senior years. I’m the last person who can judge.”

“Yeah, but you’re smart. You just didn’t like school,” Steve replied with a pat to his shoulder.

Eddie glanced down at the contact, eyebrow raising and then falling back to normal quickly.

“Just seems like you’d have read something by now to get them off your ass.”

And that’s a really good point. Maybe he should’ve just suffered through a migraine so they’d leave him alone about it.

But migraines left him out for days sometimes, and he couldn’t exactly afford that right now.

“I guess it’s just not worth the migraine.”

He hadn’t meant to actually say it. He didn’t want Eddie to feel bad or for him to try to make him feel better about it or ask questions or talk about the concussion thing.

Actually, did he even know about the concussion thing? Things?

“You get migraines when you try to read?” Then realization hit Eddie hard. “Steve. Do you like reading?”

Something about the way Eddie was looking at him, like he was sad for him but not pitying him, made Steve want to cry.

“I used to, yeah.”

“Everyone out! Your parents are gonna have to come get you! No questions, no explanations, go!” Eddie yelled to the room.

Everyone stared blankly at him before they started protesting, Dustin loudest of all.

“Steve’s my ride!”

“Not anymore. Hitch a ride with Lucas.”

“But Lucas’ mom always squeezes my cheeks and tells me she hopes I never lose my baby fat.”

“She speaks for all of us. Get the hell out of here!”

Steve was actually impressed. Maybe a little turned on? God, he was a disaster.

As everyone cleared out of the room, Eddie patted the seat next to him. When Steve sat down, Eddie scooted his chair so close to him, his knees were touching Steve’s.

“Alright, so you’re gonna tell me about what books you like and what books you want to read and we’re gonna get started.”

Steve blinked at him. “Huh?”

“You have a list I’m sure.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Okay, then we better get started.”

“I mean, I’ve tried. I appreciate it, but even focusing on one page makes my eyes burn and my head hurt.”

“Got that. I’m not asking you to read.”

Sometimes Steve was worried the concussions had actually knocked some screws loose. He wasn’t getting it.

“I’m gonna read to you, Stevie.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure a lot of them will be movies and I can just watch them.”

“It’s not the same. You know it’s not.”

He was right. Steve didn’t have much patience for movies. And sometimes even those gave him migraines if there were a lot of bright lights and explosions.

“Yeah. But still. You don’t have to do that. You might not even like the books.”

“Ah, this isn’t a completely free service, my liege.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t have extra money to pay you, dude.”

“Not money. I get to pick a book to read to you when we finish the first book you pick.”

“Is it The Hobbit?”

“It is,” Eddie looked so smug.

“Well, that was my first choice,” Steve stared back, equally as smug.

“So, your house is empty.”

“Yep.”

“And I’m assuming you own this book.”

“I do.”

“And it’s getting late.”

Steve looked out the window at the pitch black skies.

“It’s late.”

“So I could stay and read you to sleep.”

“Won’t I miss some of the book?”

“I’ll stop when you’re asleep.”

Steve’s heart was practically begging him to say yes. Eddie reading to him in his bed? Possibly falling asleep together? Maybe even waking up together? It couldn’t be a better proposition. Well. It could.

“Will you stay even if I fall asleep?”

Eddie smirked. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d called Steve that, but it was the first time it felt like he meant it in a non-teasing way.

“Okay.”

So they both changed into some of Steve’s comfy clothes, got into his bed, and Eddie started reading The Hobbit.

Just as he was during D&D and real life, Eddie was animated, providing different voices for different characters and often giving long pauses to let Steve soak in what the words meant.

Steve didn’t even have to ask him to do that. He just did.

Steve fell asleep somewhere between halfway and the end of chapter two, but Eddie stayed.

And they woke up the next day with Steve’s head resting on Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s arms wrapped around him to keep him as close as possible.

They finished the The Hobbit in a week, and because Eddie was now committed to making sure Steve was well-read, they started moving through his list rapidly, falling for each other in new ways every time Eddie turned a page.

Part 2 (Angst)  / Part 2 (Fluffy) /  Part 2 (Explicit)

[avcdgrdn]

── .✦ [ FIC ]: coffee date with ford ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

stanford pines x reader fluff // based off of this headcanon post.

˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

you could tell that something was off as soon as you walked into the house.

the mystery (s)hack has officially run out of coffee beans ... and there's a grumpy grunkle to show for it.

"uuugh..."

six rough fingers moved to wearily rub the forehead of their owner: a sleep-deprived scientist who'd stayed up late last night working on a project. of course, whether the project was actually worth losing sleep over or not wasn't entirely relevant ... ford just didn't want to go to bed and deal with his thought-filled brain. despite his troubles with bill being behind him, there often are nights where he just can't fight the paranoia.

trudging out into the kitchen, the broad-built man leaned against a countertop with one arm, heaving a low and rumbling sigh.

"well, well. good morning, sunshine." a gruff voice called out from across the room, accompanied by the sound of cereal pouring into a bowl. stanley was ' making breakfast ' for dipper and mabel, who waited eagerly at the table. "didja get enough beauty sleep?"

"i'll answer that question after i have my coffee." ford huffed, eyes still half-shut and darkened with exhaustion. upon hearing those words, stan trailed out an 'uhhhh' and glanced towards the coffee machine.

"about that, sixer ... it's all gone. i was gonna grab another bag the last time i was out, but i got distracted."

if, by being distracted, he meant attempting to shoplift a twelve-pack of pitt cola and getting caught, he was technically telling the truth.

"what."

the corner of ford's left eye twitched. no coffee? how could he have overlooked such a possibility? great ... just great.

after a moment longer of taking in the unfolding scene from the open front door, you decided to speak up.

"uh, everything okay?"

everyone's attention shifted to you. you'd only been staying with the pines family for a few days as a temporary fix for your living situation, but somehow, it was beginning to feel like home. mabel grinned brightly upon seeing you, waving her small hands in the air.

"hiya, cutie !! back from your morning walk? how'd it go?"

you met her honey brown eyes, and a smile crept onto your expression.

"it was lovely, thanks." you made your way into the house, closing the front door behind you and promptly taking a seat beside the smaller twins at the table. the grunkles observed you, following suit and each coming over to fill the remaining empty seats.

"i hope ya like cereal, cause i can't cook for my life!" stan grinned, gave everyone a bowl of cereal, and the feasting began.

mabel scarfed down her bowl, akin to how waddles might eat his own breakfast. dipper and stan both ate slowly, while you were somewhere in the middle. the only odd one out was ford, who hadn't touched his spoon at all. his head was rested against one hand, and his eyes were shut, as if he were deep in thought or (more likely) dozing off. still, he looked like he should at least eat something ...

"ford?" you called from across the table, spoon in hand.

"i- wh- ... huh?"

he stammered, a faint shade of crimson tinting his cheeks as he snapped awake and stared at you like a deer in headlights. stan snickered.

"what's wrong?" your voice was concerned, with an undertone of amusement. it seemed unnatural for him to act so disheveled, considering how your first impression of him was extremely put-together and educated. although, you couldn't say you disliked this side of him.

he cleared his throat. "well, you see, we've ... run out of coffee. during days like these, i rely on the caffeine to keep me awake."

"i see." you crunched on another mouthful of cereal, swallowing with a thoughtful hum. "isn't there a good café somewhere near here?"

at that, ford raised his bushy brows. a café? that's a good point.

"it must be relatively new, because i can't say that i've ever been to such an establishment in town." he mused, stroking his chin stubble as he attempted to recall the various changes that had occurred in gravity falls since he'd returned after being gone for thirty years.

"i could take you, if you like."

"...what?"

and now, all eyes were on you.

blinking innocently, you restated your offer.

"i said, i could take you, if you like. i've been there a few times myself, and they've got a lot of good options."

"gasp !! like a date ??" mabel squealed, only to be elbowed by her twin brother. her comment earned a darker blush from ford and a choke from stan.

"u-um ... i wouldn't necessarily say a da-"

"ahem! i accept your offer. it would be good for me to get out of the house, anyway." ford hurriedly interrupted you, averting his gaze as he straightened his trench coat and adjusted his turtleneck. a stifled squeal of joy could be heard from the kids' end of the table.

and just like that, you found yourself strolling down the sidewalk, side by side with the tired scientist. he had freshened up somewhat, having taken the time to tame his bedhead hair and clean his dusty glasses. even while sleep deprived, he looked handsome in the warmth of the sunlight. catching yourself staring, you quickly averted your gaze to in front of you, focusing on where you were walking. ford had most definitely seen you looking, but chose not to say anything about it.

the silence wasn't uncomfortable, per se, but it certainly was not commonplace for either of you. you've been living on your own for a while now, so you're acquainted with silence, but not the kind shared with another person. on the flip side, ford has slowly been learning to cherish peace and quiet again after getting rid of bill's voice in his head.

upon arriving at the café, the two of you took in the inviting atmosphere, inhaling the scent of brewing coffee and sweet pastries as the little bell hanging from the door jingled to signal your appearance. ford visibly relaxed, already pleased.

"you know what you want?" you questioned with a smile, glancing up to meet his eyes.

"mm, i think i'll have the cold brew with vanilla cream." he replied, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a somewhat shy grin. you swore you could feel butterflies in your stomach.

"alright." making your way up to the cashier, you put in your order for two drinks, pulling out your wallet and selecting the appropriate bills to pay for the both of you. ford was somewhat shocked that you had made the move to pay for his drink, and his bashful smile grew as you found a table to sit down at.

"thank you, that was very generous of you." he adjusted his glasses, sitting across from you and giving you a brief once-over. "i could have covered it, you know."

"ah, don't worry about it." now that you thought about it, this was the first time that you were spending one-on-one time with him, apart from the rest of the family ... was this really a date, like mabel had said? your face began to heat up at the notion, but you quickly distracted yourself by looking down to fidget with the edge of your sleeve.

feeling the need to break the silence, the silver-streaked man shifted in his seat. "so ... tell me about yourself."

he was clearly showing interest in getting to know you, which was flattering, and somewhat endearing. given his quiet demeanor, it was obvious that socialization was not his strong suit. still, you couldn't deny that he had a certain rugged charm about him.

staring out the window, you thought for a moment, then spoke. "for starters, you know that i'm working on moving into a house." there was another pause as you mulled over your next words. "i'm interested in the strange phenomenons here in gravity falls. i was raised in another state, but my family relocated here while i was in high school. that's what got me curious about certain ... abnormalities." you smiled softly, fixing your gaze onto him. "i think unusual things are wonderful."

stanford was practically slack-jawed, his dark brown eyes shining with the wonder of a child in love. any previous hesitation was completely abandoned.

"why, that's what i've dedicated my life purpose to for years!" his wide shoulders leaned over the table, bringing his face closer to your own. "i've been keeping journals-"

he was interrupted by a barista calling out your name across the café. regretfully, you had to tear your attention from his enthusiasm, standing to go collect your drinks from the counter. for some reason, the thudding of your heart was very loud.

returning to your seat, you put ford's cold brew in front of him before taking a swig of your own drink. he carefully picked up the cup, observing it from a few different angles before raising it to his lips. he took a long sip, then made a low, content hum. "yes ... this is exactly what i needed." you could already see the caffeine revitalizing him. "now, where was i? ah, yes! the journals."

the next hour and a half consisted of him infodumping about the journals and all of the wonderful things he's seen and done. he earned quite a few reactions from you, each of which inflated his ego even further. by the end of his rant, he was on an energetic and emotional high.

the two of you were laughing at some corny one-liner he'd thrown in, and ford leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his broad chest as it heaved with deep chuckles.

"you know, i haven't talked with anyone like this in a while, besides stanley and the kids, of course." a warm smile graced his features. "i'm glad that you invited me here. and ..." he trailed off, his eyes narrowing. "... i think you're an interesting person. clearly, we share the same passion."

oh, crap. why was he looking at you like that? why was it hot? you could feel yourself slowly losing your composure. why did your type have to be nerds?

"t-thanks. i think you're interesting, too." you blushed, smiling and feeling giddy.

"we should do this again, yes?"

"i would love to."

end (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

author's note:

expect more ford content from me (he's literally my pookie)

also if you give me feedback i love you

if you have any fic ideas, shoot me a request!

[geesenoises]

DnD: dungeons and draco

for @quail-in-red. this is just further proof that if anybody shows even the slightest interest in one of my dumb jokes, i crumble and perform like a silly jester at once. based on this post i made last year and rediscovered today about hp wizards playing DnD.

Dean didn’t give a lot of details when he invited Harry to his weekly dungeons and dragons game, but the last person Harry expected to see at the table was Draco Malfoy.

“We started a game together when we were, er,” Dean trailed off.

“When we were prisoners in Draco's house!” Luna finished for him brightly.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, just met Harry’s eyes stolidly and then went to fuss with the small pile of papers and cards in front of him.

Harry shared a look with Ron, who was already sitting between Dean and Hermione, and then sighed inwardly and took the last remaining seat between Seamus and Luna. He pulled out the premade character sheet Dean had owled him last week. It was wrinkled from having nearly been lost in a pile of post and then hastily shoved in Harry’s pocket before flooing to Dean’s flat. 

Harry looked around the table. Malfoy’s stack of papers was bigger than anyone else’s, even Hermione’s. And why did he have so many cards? There was a little wooden tray in front of him too. The dice in the tray looked iridescent, catching and reflecting the light. Trust Malfoy to have expensive poncy accessories. Why was he even here? Did he even like DnD? He’d grown up around magic his whole life; what did he need to pretend for?

“And so let’s go around and introduce our characters,” Dean finished. Harry had missed his whole introduction. “Since Draco and Luna have played before, we’ll start with them.”

Malfoy straightened up a little, carefully picking up his character sheet even though it seemed like he was so familiar with it, he didn’t need to reference it. “I’m Mike, a level three call center operator. I’m twenty-three years old, originally from Essex and just moved to London. I played football in uni, but am feeling less fit now that I have a job where I sit all day.”

Luna went next and spoke in a surprisingly deep voice. “My name is Archie, and I’m a level six IT consultant. I’m forty-six years old, originally from Norwich, but I moved to London for uni and never left. I’ve been married to my wife, Evelyn, for twenty years and we have two children and a cocker spaniel named Rosa.”

Harry stared down at the character sheet in front of him. He hadn’t looked at it before grabbing it in his rush to get here on time. It told him he was meant to be playing Grace, a 29 year old paramedic who’d grown up in London and recently broken up with her fiance after finding out he had cheated on her. She had a cat named Pomegranate. Harry didn’t know much about tabletop games, but there had been a group of kids that Dudley’s gang would sometimes target instead of Harry who had played. And what he’d overhead from their games didn’t sound anything like this.

“Hang on, these are just normal people; we’re all humans with muggle jobs. I thought we were playing dungeons and dragons, you know, with magic involved.”

Malfoy glared at him. “Weren’t you paying attention, Potter? Dean just explained the premise of our campaign.”

Harry didn’t want to admit to Malfoy he’d been too busy wondering what his dice were made of. He looked away from Malfoy to Dean. “Er, sorry. I was… distracted.”

Dean sighed but looked more resigned than irritated at having to explain again. “When I started the game with Draco and Luna, they got confused by the magic system because actual magic doesn’t work the way it does in DnD, so I made up a slightly different game we could play. We’re a group of Londoners in a recreational dodgeball league.”

“And honestly, Harry, it doesn’t feel right pretending to be of magical creature heritage for a game,” Hermione added. “Think of what kind of hurtful stereotypes we could fall into.”

“Okay…” Harry said slowly. It still felt strange, but now that he thought about it, he supposed he didn’t need to spend his Thursday evenings pretending to be part of a group camping out and hunting evil. Once per lifetime was enough without having to do it recreationally in the realm of imagination.

Harry smoothed out his character sheet again and introduced the group to Grace.

not sure if there will be more, but we're all shipping mike/grace right?

[theygotlost]

good afternoon here's my big rant on my pet peeves for subtitles in movies and tv

This is a post that I’ve thought about making probably for years now but never got around to. I might add more later if I realize I’ve forgotten any

When it comes down to it, the purpose of subtitles is this: to reflect exactly what the audience can hear, precisely when it can be heard. If you fail to do this, your subtitles are bad and you should feel bad. Although I don’t have concrete examples for most of these off the top of my head, I promise I have experienced them all firsthand at least once.

-> Watch for spelling and typos. Obviously.

-> Syncing issues.

This should go without saying, but the captions should be synced as closely as possible with dialogue and sound effects. Subtitles that are out of sync are worse to me than no subtitles at all. They’re unbearably distracting and I have to turn them off. I’m fortunate enough that I can keep watching without them, so imagine how frustrating this is for someone who needs to keep them on no matter what.

-> Jumping the gun.

This is basically an example of out-of-sync subtitles that are slightly too fast, but it gets its own category because it ruins the viewing experience in its own unique way. In particularly dramatic scenes, actors will often draw out their lines or pause between phrases. Captions sometimes fail to reflect this by displaying the entire sentence all at once, allowing the audience to read what someone is about to say before they actually say it, which deflates all the dramatic tension of the scene.

-> Phantom captions.

This one is less self explanatory, but it’s kind of similar to syncing. Sometimes there will be significant intervals of time between lines of dialogue, especially after a scene ends and a new one begins. The interval may include music, sound effects, or complete silence, but what I’m calling a “phantom” is a caption that stays on the screen after that last line of dialogue is delivered until the next line is spoken. I don’t remember what I was watching, but there was one that was glued to the screen for SEVERAL MINUTES over what was supposed to be an atmospheric break between scenes and it drove me nuts. In my experience this happens more often with older subtitling for DVDs and some old videos and less with modern streaming. 

-> Straight up spoilers.

Sometimes, a character will speak whose true identity has not yet been revealed to the audience. If I’m not supposed to know the character’s name yet, don’t just… tell me right there in the captions whenever they say something. Descriptors like “disembodied voice”, “man”/”woman”, “mysterious figure”, etc. will suffice.

-> Lack of musical descriptors.

It usually helps to describe the genre or emotion of the music that’s playing rather than just writing [music] or 🎵. That being said, if there is a song playing that’s particularly well known in the mainstream, I think it’s useful to actually include the name of the song. This one I do have a concrete example for: in Arrested Development, Gob always blasts The Final Countdown during his acts. But the captions on my DVDs for the show always describe it as [stagy pop]. Like yeah I would say that song is some pretty stagy pop, but I think a lot of the humor comes from knowing that it’s specifically The Final Countdown by Europe because it’s such a perfectly corny selection that Gob would make.

Another musical failure is not transcribing pertinent lyrics. If the song is playing in the background, then that’s understandable and it can be kind of distracting if there’s dialog happening on top of it because the audience isn’t actually meant to be paying close attention to the song. But if the song is front and center, like for a musical number or montage, then the lyrics can be pretty important. Last year when I watched Arcane on Netflix with my family (a recent, high budget production from the biggest streaming platform ever), the show had the nerve to write [man rapping] over a musical sequence. Imagine if all subtitles ever just said [person speaking] for the entire movie.

-> Affectations.

If a character starts using a silly voice or accent, or if the sound of their voice changes in any way, describe that. If the audience can hear the difference, the subtitles should reflect that difference. And they should reflect it informatively and accurately; for example, don’t just say [mock accent], but specify [mock French accent]. 

-> Paraphrasing.

I don’t even know why this is an issue, but it’s alarming how many times the subtitles just… straight up don’t match what the characters are actually saying. It’s like the transcriber was forced to write all the captions from memory, so they kinda sorta say the same thing, but the wording is different and some sentences or phrases are missing. When I brought this up with my mom she theorized that the transcriber was working off the script for the movie because hey, that’s all the dialogue already written down, right? But it completely fails to account for revisions, improvisation, or actors delivering their lines even slightly different than how they were originally written.

And last but certainly not least, one of the biggest offenders in bad subtitling…

-> [Speaks foreign language]

If someone says something in another language, please, for the love of god, do not just write [speaks foreign language]  and call it a day. Specifying the actual language is an improvement, but this descriptor only works if the audience members are truly not meant to know what’s being said (which is sometimes the case). If a character is only saying a single word or phrase in another language, transcribe it. As in, write down the actual words that they said. If you don’t speak that language, find someone who does. You are insane for transcribing a character saying “hola” or “abuela” in an otherwise English sentence as [speaks Spanish] (real examples I saw respectively in Rango and JANE THE VIRGIN. THERE’S SO MUCH SPANISH IN THAT SHOW). 

If the audience is supposed to know what someone is saying in another language, English subtitles will usually be hardcoded. DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, LET THE CAPTION SAYING [SPEAKS FOREIGN LANGUAGE] COVER THESE UP. This is actively impeding understanding, not helping it. Jesus christ

* Please keep in mind that I’m not deaf or hard of hearing and I don’t have auditory processing disorder; I almost always watch movies and tv with subtitles whenever the option is available because it helps me absorb information better. If I don’t even strictly NEED subtitles and these are issues for me, I can only imagine how much more difficult it is for those who rely on them more heavily. I invite you to add your own perspective!!

[moodymisty]

(This isn't a request, just some Konrad daydreams driven by 4am insomnia that had me screeching and I just have to share with someone while I wait for my meds to kick in!!)

Your recent post about the stinky rat man got me thinking of something truly, hilariously awful: Konrad's favorite meow meow is a PERPETUAL.

Maybe he watches her die. Maybe he accidentally kills her himself. Whatever happens, he'd probably be losing. his. fucking. mind.

..And then she comes back. Oh god, I'm loving imagining at how truly deranged he would be over that. I know he tortures Vulkan SUPER HARD after finding out he's a perpetual, but that seemed driven a lot by "You think you're good and noble(and sane)? I'll drag you down to my level."

I wonder if he'd mistake her as some kind of phantom/delusion brought on by grief and madness at first. Extra comedy: he accidentally(purposely?) kills her again while freaking out over her showing back up alive LMAO. Meow meow can't catch a fuckin' break with this man.

Now I'm wondering how a few other primarchs would react to something similar though

Sanguinius and his sons in mourning and his dead wife just shows back up like "Why did you bury me alive?!" completely unaware she DIED.

Perturabo's shitass sons being like "I told you it was a waste of time!" and then the horror of realizing they didn't escape their step-mom after all.

I'd assume all the primarchs would try to find out what the fuck happened, and maybe go to Malcador for information once they start drawing blanks? Idk.

Fulgrim would so cute, just hyped as fuck. "I have a wife? That won't get old and die before me?? I don't have to lose this one???" Bonus points if she's the last one he was going to marry because he got too heartbroken seeing his wives get old and die over and over 😫 the queen and her corgis vibe forreal

I can't really figure out Mortarion even though he's one of my faves. On one hand, WITCH!! On the other hand,he'd be so relieved the One Good Thing in his life isn't actually gone forevet..

Oh my g o d. Lorgar. Thefucking goddess shit would go CRAZY. Kor Phaeron slamming his head against a wall because he thought he finally WON. HOW DID SHE DO THAT? Some of his followers getting spooked about being rid of her because s u r e l y it was the Powers who orchestrated such a miracle... So maybe she is meant to be here? Uh oh.

Guilliman is another one I'm just like ????. All I can think of, is he'd quietly go find Emps/Malcador and be like "whattheFUCK? explain?please?how?"

It might be because I'm heavily sedated but it's all sO funny to think about. Some legions quietly rejoicing because The Distraction is gone and shejust. Comes back 😭

But can you imagine the parties thrown by the ones who really loved their legion mothers?! And you thought theFUNERAL was extravagant..

Im not sure what time it is there but I hope you slept well and have a good morning! Sorry forcthis stream of consciousness garbage by theway LOL but you always have such cool takes on things I couldnt help muself

This a joy to read friend, I have nothing to add.

Lorgar in particular with a perpetual beloved would be fucking INSANE. His whole religious trauma would be going wild as well as even some of the more apprehensive Word Bearers might be a bit more, respectful.

Imaging Vulkan's wife ends up coming back a few weeks after they desperately mourned her loss, and it's time for the galaxy's largest hug. They form a line.

[quicksilverlightning]

So I binged Centaurworld and have spent the last week processing and need to get it out of my system because I havent seen anyone else with this take -

I find it weird that the crimes of the General and Elk are laid at the feet of the Elktaur. After the split, the Elktaur no longer existed; the Elk and General may have each encompassed a half of who he was, but became separate entities by splitting.

The Elk and General were of the Elktaur, but weren't themselves the Elktaur. It's entirely possible I'm digging too deep into what was meant to be a Y7 kids show, but it really bugged me because intention, potential, and action aren't the same things. The Elktaur may have always had the potential to become what the Elk and General did, but he didn't commit any of the actions. Because he no longer existed. We can argue about intentions all day long without getting anywhere; partly because the show never really got into that aspect, but mostly because, in the end, what matters is action. You can intend to cause hurt without ever actually doing so - intention and potential do not make one evil/ a criminal/ etc.

Like, if I clone myself and that clone goes on to become an interdimensional war criminal, am I supposed to be punished as well? Of course not - the copy was me, until it wasn't.

This is a classic Mind-Body Problem and fits the scenario around the Elktaur - can his two component parts really be considered to be a single entity? But if they actually were a single entity, none of this would be happening at all. If we brought a whole version of the Elktaur to stand before his components, would he also be considered part of that conglomerate?

Is one not the sum of their experiences? How then, can two beings with very different experiences be said to be the same? Isn't that why, post-unification, the Elktaur has two voices?

Just to be clear, I'm totally on board with the actual events of the ending - I think killing the guy was a mercy, but that's a different discussion - but I find the reasoning to be questionable. I blame Netflix and thier pattern of canceling shows too early for the writing team not being able to delve further into some really interesting philosophical conundrums surrounding the plot. I did enjoy the show overall, but the Elktaur and his pieces were by far the most interesting thing going on. I totally understand that the juxtaposition of wacky and serious was 100% the point, but that plot thread was simply too good - it made everything else feel like a distraction 😂

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Inspired by that previous snippet of yours, write one where in the bathroom Villian is taking care of their hero's numerous hickies they gave them all over their body? Post frickling frackling?

The villain’s fingers slid down the hero’s exposed back and even though the hero was a little more than just tired, their body flinched.

“Easy,” the villain murmured and the hero could see their eyes piercing into their back in the mirror. Subconsciously, the hero’s gaze fixed on the villain’s, observing with the same intensity the villain used to observe their back. Once they actually looked at each other through the reflection, the hero was quite flustered. “Sleepy?”

“Yeah,” the hero answered. The hero didn’t know where the villain got their stamina from but it was impressive to say the least. Most of the time, the hero fell asleep immediately but the villain could last several rounds and go after their day five minutes later.

Their fingers travelled down the hero’s back again.

“I overdid it.”

“I like it,” the hero said. “It’s like putting paint on a canvas.”

“You’re a masterpiece without my artistic efforts.” They kissed the hero’s shoulder very softly. “You don’t need me for that.”

The villain put their flat hand on the hero’s shoulder, trying to cover as much space full of hickeys. The hero felt the familiar warmth as the villain attempted to get rid of the blood beneath their skin with their powers.

As always, the villain traced the long, deep scar on the hero’s back. Sometimes it was distracting, especially when the villain was under them and the hero tried to concentrate. But the hero guessed it was their subconscious telling them to obey.

“You know that happened years ago, right?” Their shoulder got hot and the hero knew that was the only comfortable pain they had ever experienced.

“Hm?”

The hero reached the scar and let their fingers go over it.

“Oh, yeah…” The villain let go of their shoulder and found a new place to heal. “You were still so young.”

“You were young, too, you know. I forgave you.” The villain looked at the hero’s reflection and despite their attempted smile, they seemed to feel guilty.

It had been painful. To get stabbed in the back felt horrible but being betrayed? God, the hero hadn’t been able to leave their house for months. They hadn’t eaten, had barely slept…all of it had pulled them into a depression that sucked on them like a parasite. Forgiveness had taken its sweet time.

“You made a mistake. People make mistakes. Especially at seventeen,” the hero said. They wanted to take the villain’s hand but they knew they couldn’t reach it.

“We didn’t talk for years. We lost too much time,” the villain said. “I feel like all I can do is apologise over and over again but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Hey…” The hero turned around and hooked one finger into the villain’s pants to pull them closer. “We needed that time for ourselves. We didn’t lose anything.”

The villain didn’t seem to be satisfied with that answer.

“I hate hurting you,” the villain said. “I hate that I can’t heal that scar. I hate that…I hate what I did to you.”

“I’m not something broken you have to fix, darling,” the hero said. They smiled and cupped the villain’s face gently.

“I know…but I carved myself into you. I forced this onto you and it’s a reminder for both of us what kind of monster I used to be.”

“You have changed, though. And I forgive that kid who followed orders blindly because they were scared.” The hero stood up on their tiptoes, now the same height as the villain. “And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.”

They grabbed the villain’s jaw and kissed them very gently. Although they knew the villain needed more time, the hero would repeat these words for centuries if it meant that their partner would finally accept this.

[sallowsunshine]

love triangle between reader, sebastian, and garreth weasley? Maybe things come to a head during a “friendly” quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor

LOVEEE THIS- Year 6, things have smoothed out. It’s a normal year so far and quidditch is back! I’m going to use Hufflepuff as the house for reader, just so she’s not pulled to support one or the other based on house loyalty (Also posted here)

By Your Side (Sebastian SallowxReader)

The Great Hall was buzzing louder than usual, the students chatting excitedly with one another. Quidditch was back after being canceled last year, and the first friendly match was today, between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Tryouts ended early last week, and you were the backup seeker for Hufflepuff. You wouldn’t see much playing time until you could prove yourself, but you understood. It was only really your second year at Hogwarts, and your second year flying on a broom.

You were sandwiched between Poppy and Adelaide at the Hufflepuff table eating breakfast. “Who are you going to cheer for today?” Poppy nudged your shoulder with a smirk on her face. “Team Garreth or Team Sebastian?”

You roll your eyes. “I’ve decided I’d be a bad friend if I picked one or the other, therefore I am cheering for both of them.”

The doors open with a bang and the Slytherin table starts cheering as their Quidditch team enters. Some boos come from the Gryffindor end. You join in on the cheers, clapping your hands while you search for your friend amongst all the green. You finally spot Sebastian, his eyes searching the Hufflepuff table until they land on you. You smile and give him a little wave. He grins widely and gives you a big wave back. This is the first time you’ve seen him in his uniform. He’d grown a bit over the summer, now standing almost a foot taller than you. You’re glad to see him smiling, as it was so rare these days, after what happened last year. You were the one to suggest trying out for Quidditch. He had made the team his fourth year, it was canceled his fifth, and after everything that had happened, he wasn’t going to try out again, but you insisted if he had something like a hobby to practice and improve at, it would be a welcome distraction.

Before the team even finishes taking their seats, the doors are thrown open again, cheers erupting from the Gryffindor table. You clap again, and immediately spot Garreth’s Weasley red hair from the Quidditch players entering the Great Hall. He catches your eye and winks.

“He’s coming over here!” Poppy smacks your shoulder.

“Ouch! Poppy, quite it.”

Garreth approaches you with one hand behind his back. “How’s my favorite potions partner doing?”

“Hi, Garreth.” you stand up and smile. “Are you ready for the game today?”

“I am, indeed. I’ve brought these for you, hoping your good luck will rub off on me today.” He pulls his arm out from behind him and presents her with a small bouquet of red and yellow roses tied with a gold bow. Some of the girls around the tables gasp.

“Oh Garreth, that is very kind of you.” you smile and take them from him.

“I’ve got to join my team now, but I hope to see you out there.” he winks again and leaves.

You sit back down, a bit embarrassed he gave you flowers in front of your entire house. You knew Garreth liked you, based on the relentless flirting, but he had yet to ask you out. You also had a feeling Sebastian liked you too, but he was a bit harder to read. The two of you had been through so much together from the moment you met, and you cherished your friendship with him beyond anything else. You didn’t want to jeopardize it by telling him you had feelings for him if he didn’t reciprocate them. If Garreth actually asked you out, you would decide to come to the conclusion that you and Sebastian were only meant to be friends.

“How cute!” Poppy gushes in your ear. “Oh, don’t look now, but Sebastian’s watching you.”

You feel even more embarrassed to know that he saw Garreth give you flowers.

-

Sebastian entered the Great Hall with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team, the adrenalin from excitement and anticipation pumping through his veins. His eyes scanned first to the Slytherin table where he sees Ominis and Anne sitting together. They still had not been able to find a cure for Anne, but they found a spell that eased her pain enough to come back to Hogwarts. She still had to take days off to rest, but Sebastian was just glad she could be back at school. They still weren’t on good terms, but he knew it would take time for her and Ominis to come around. Next, he gazes over the Hufflepuff table. He finds you in the mix of black and yellow and sees you. You smile and wave, and he grins and waves back. It’s been hard, his best friend and his twin giving him the cold shoulder. But you- you were a light in the shadows. You were the warmth of the sun. You hadn’t given up on him. He knew you were still hesitant with your trust, but you stayed by his side despite what he did.

Sebastian takes his seat and boos with the other Slytherins when Gryffindor’s team enters the Great Hall. He sees a redhead break off from the others and head toward the Hufflepuff table. It’s Garreth Weasley. Sebastian’s eyes narrow. Weasley is headed straight for you, and from his angle, Sebastian sees the red and yellow flowers behind his back.

Sebastian bought his backup quidditch top in hopes that you would wear it and show your support for Slytherin (and him) but it looks like Garreth beat him to it. He tucks it away, no chance he’ll be able to give it to you now. He eats his breakfast, trying to think about the game and not about you.

-

“Sebastian, wait up!” You call out. The two teams were heading out to the Quidditch Pitch to start warming up. He stops and turns, looking for who called him. You jog to catch up.

“I didn’t get to wish you luck!” you say bashfully, avoiding eye contact.

“I saw Weasley give you flowers”, Sebastian blurts out. “Did you wish him luck, too?”

“Oh, yeah, he did. And I did. There’s nothing wrong with wishing both of my friends luck.” you say, a bit defensive.

“Well you might as well cheer for Gryffindor, those half-witted gits,” Sebastian grumbles.

“Okay, Sebastian, that was not necessary.” you cross your arms. “You’re my friend too. One of my closest friends. Of course, I’m going to cheer for you.”

“I- thank you.” Sebastian backs out, cooling down for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get upset. Imelda’s got the whole team worked up over this game.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” you smile, and before you can chicken out, you move forward up on your tiptoes to kiss him softly on the cheek.

“That’s for good luck,” you say, backing up. “See you after the match!” you run back towards the castle.

-

The Hufflepuff is gone before he can find his voice, but he moves his hand to his face, fingertips brushing where her lips touched his cheek. A smile graces his face, and then he mentally smacks himself when remembers the uniform top he meant to give you. That would have been a perfect time.

-

The pitch is practically shaking from all the cheering, stomping, and yelling. Gryffindor and Slytherin are tied, the golden snitch nowhere to be spotted. Sebastian and the other Beater have been playing good defense, Sebastian sticking by Imelda, their best Chaser (probably the best Chaser to come from Hogwarts), and protecting her from the incoming Bludgers.

Sebastian can’t believe Garreth made Beater for the Gryffindor team.

All game, he’s been taunting Sebastian, knocking brooms with him, or swatting the Buldger at him. It’s thrown his focus totally off, but luckily he has yet to make a major mistake. It’s difficult to do when Imelda keeps threatening him with violence if he doesn’t straighten out and do his job.

Imelda calls out a code for one of their formations and he zips over to line up with his teammates and protect her as she flies with the Quaffle toward the three rings. She scores easily and the crowd’s roars are deafening. The adrenaline high brings a smile to Sebastian’s face. A flash of red zips up by him- Weasley.

“Nice trick, Sallow, but it won’t win the game for you.” Weasley taunts. “Speaking of tricks, I’ve got one that I think our little Hufflepuff friend will like, if you know what I mean, eh?” he chuckles, and Sebastian fumes.

“Don’t you talk that way about her, Weasley. She’s not your girl.” Sebastian calls over.

“I’m only having a bit of fun, lighten up, Sallow. If you care that much, you’d make her your girl before anyone else finds the guts.”

Sebastian’s grip on his broom tightens. “Sallow, on your right!” A teammate calls out, and he barely reacts in time to hit the flying Bludger away towards the Gryffindor Chaser in possession of the Quaffle.

“Pay attention, Sebastian,” Imelda growls from behind him. “We need you at your best if we’re to beat Gryffindor today. Just then, the crowd erupts into cheers, and the two Seekers speed by. They must have spotted the Snitch.

“Go! We need to stop them from catching the Snitch” Imelda commands, and Sebastian pushes forward to pick up speed, his bat at the ready.

Weasley is once again by his side, matching Sebastian’s speed. “You think she’ll give me a congratulatory kiss when Gryffindor wins this match?”

“Bugger off, Weasley.” Sebastian leans in and knocks his broom against Garreth’s.

Chaos erupts with the two Seekers being mere feet ahead, also knocking into one another, their arms extended forward, grasping for the Snitch. Sebastian tries to focus on the task at hand, but Weasley’s struck his last nerve.

His eyes are so focused on Weasley, he misses when everyone else ducks down. Panic raises as he yanks himself down, but he doesn’t quite make it, the tip of his broom catching one of the barriers of the pitch. It throws him off his broom, and he’s falling ten feet to the ground. Everything goes dark.

-

You’re in the stands with Anne and Ominis, binoculars at your eyes, giving Ominis a verbal playback of everything that’s happening.

“They’ve spotted the Snitch!” you say, grabbing Ominis’ wrist in excitement.

“Who?”

“Sorry, both Seekers are after it. There goes Sebastian and Garreth, I think they’re going to try to clobber the Seekers! Oh- no, I can’t see them anymore, they’ve disappeared underneath the Pitch- oh there they are again- oh wait- I’ve lost them, nope- there they are- and-” You stop suddenly and gasp, wordlessly watching as Sebastian loses control of his broom. You pull away your binoculars but you still see his body fall and crash toward the ground.

“I’ve got to go!” You race out of the stands.

“Wait what happen-” You don’t hear the rest of Ominis’ question, you’re pushing past students, taking the stairs down to the bottom two at a time, hopping over the railings.

You reach the entrance to the pitch, the game continuing since no foul had been called. The crowd’s uproar is deafening, one of the Seekers must have caught the Snitch, but you don’t care. Pushing your way on to the pitch, you’re by Sebastian’s side in an instant.

“Sebastian!” You cry out, scared to touch him, scared of how injured he could be. He doesn’t react, his eyes closed, but he’s moaning in pain, curled up in the fetal position. He stops moving, probably passed out from the pain.

“He needs the nurse! Someone get Nurse Blainey!” you scream, but only a few are paying attention, everyone is focused on the win and the end of the game.

-

Sebastian wakes up in one of the beds of the Hospital Wing, his ribs and one arm bandaged up. The windows are dark, it must be nighttime. His mind is hazy, and it takes him a minute to recall the last memories before blacking out. The impact rushes back fresh into his mind and he cringes in pain, squeezing his unbandaged hand. It startles him when he realized that his hand isn’t empty, but another is gently holding his four fingers. He turns his head, and there you are, curled up in a chair next to his bed, your hand extended out, holding his. You’re fast asleep, still, wearing the previous day’s clothes, but there’s another addition Sebastian didn’t see that morning. His house scarf is draped around your neck. You had a bad habit of stealing his scarf, claiming it to be warmer than your own, but he didn’t believe you. He never asked for it back the last time you borrowed it, and you must have worn it for the match.

It brings a smile to Sebastian’s face. Garreth was wrong, he’d already made you his girl. Sebastian just hadn’t realized it himself, until now, seeing you stay by his side throughout the night. Until now, seeing you wearing his scarf.

Sebastian squeezes your hand, trying to wake you up gently. Your eyes flutter open.

“Sebastian?” you whisper. “Oh Sebastian, are you okay? How do you feel?” you sit up quickly. “That was a nasty fall.”

Sebastian tries to speak but finds his throat too dry to get words out. Instead, he grunts in pain, trying to sit up.

“Don’t- No, don’t move. Or speak. You might hurt yourself further.” You jump into action. “Let me get you some water.”

Sebastian lays back and closes his eyes. There’s so much he wants to say to you, but he’s in too much pain. Those words will have to wait. For now, he lets you take care of him, and he feels a weight off his shoulders, knowing with you by his side, everything will be okay.

[lovechrissturniolo]

reading & answering

"weird" fan questions leads to more

* friends with benefits *

built up & foreplay

ends before the actual sex

short review

Y/N and Chris had been close friends for a while, but a week ago they had - by accident - become intimate: Y/N had spent the night at the Sturniolo's place after a party because she couldn't get a cab.

They both had been longing for physical contact. In Chris's cosy bed, cuddled up under the covers - the desire for each others touches had overcome them.

They agreed afterwards that it should remain a one-off incident. Their friendship meant a lot to both of them and nobody should get hurt.

now

Chris had just posted a story on Insta when the two of them were on the couch, Y/N lay on her side, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Can't wait to see the weird shit." Chris smirked, stretching and making a growling noise.

Y/N enjoyed the view as his body tensed:

his upper body in a black tank top

his stomach briefly to see

the waistband of his boxers peaking out

the outlines on the grey sweatpants

"I can't believe you're up for this right now." Y/N yawned, trying to distract herself from staring at his lap. "It's been such a long day!"

Chris slid a little deeper into the sofa and sighed deeply. "I don't know. I have so much pent-up energy in me - and my head's all over the place right now."

"Maybe I should go soon, it's pretty late." Y/N murmured as she saw the time on his lock screen.

"Nooo, you can't go now!" he replied, jokingly upset. "You have to go through this with me!"

Chris always became very cuddly when he was exhausted and hyper. It brought him down to feel her so close.

Y/N unconsciously put her leg over Chris' lap as she tried to find a more comfortable position. It was not unusual for them to lie cuddled up together, but Y/N immediately realized that it was risky now.

The tension between the two became more intense every day since they slept with each other a week ago.

"Look." he murmured, pointing at the screen. "I knew it wouldn't stop at one!" and pointed to a fan's question:

Favorite position sexually?

"Well, answer then!" Y/N said jokingly and looked up at him. "That's a fair question!"

"Pah," Chris felt a little awkward and rubbed his eyes to avoid eye contact. "I wouldn't even answer that to my friends!"

Y/N smirked. He looked so damn cute when he was a little bit irritated. "Maybe I already know."

Chris eyes got back to hers. "Because we had a drunken quickie once, you think you know everything, huh?" Her eyes being fixed on his lips as he spoke made him slightly nervous.

"Can I take a guess?" Somehow she liked it to tease him a little right now.

"Go for it."

"Regardless of my personal experience with our 'quicky' - I'd say you're the doggy kind of person?"

"Not bad!" he replied in a hoarse voice and cleared his throat. Their faces were so close together that he could feel her breath on his neck. "What's yours?"

"I like the way we did it the other day. Spooning cuddle sex-" Y/N realized that her teasing had the price of becoming increasingly aroused herself.

She lay her head back on his shoulder and took a deep breath. "But it depends, you know?"

Chris swallowed a lump in his throat. "Depends on what?" and wondered why he was even asking. He hadn't been able to think about anything else since they fucked last week. This conversation certainly wouldn't make it more bearable.

"To the mood, the situation, probably?" she mused. "I mean, I love cuddle fucking, but for harder sex, doggy style is wonderful. So rough and animalistic somehow..."

"Fuck yes." Chris rasped, leaning his head back and exhaling deeply, trying not to get too worked up.

"You should pick a new question." Y/N suggested to break the tension a little and leaned on her forearm.

"You pick!" he replied quickly and held the screen in front of her face. Y/N should be in charge of where it would lead, what she started.

It was only fair!

Y/N surrendered to the fact that she was dying to sleep with Chris again since they did it last week and chose another one of the "weird" questions:

Oral - giving or receiving

"Jesus, Y/N!" Chris groaned with a flustered laugh and put his forearm over his face.

Her squirming around, with her leg on his lap, while asking these questions started to make him crazy. "How about you start this time?"

"The questions are for you, not me." Y/N smirked and bit her lower lip.

"Alright." Chris returned somewhat desperately. "Hold on." He took a deep breath and his hand subconsciously reached for her leg to hold it in position.

Y/N's mouth went dry with excitement as she felt his clearly hardening member against her thigh.

"That's actually easy. I love both," he whispered, looking her straight in the eye.

"Same for me." she replied husky and glanzed at the screen again.

Tits or ass?

"That's a shallow question!"

"Why?"

"Because I don't look at tits or ass first."

Chris licked his upper lip with the tip of his tongue. "A nice neck is hot for me." and ran his finger along her neck.

"Waists are sexy, too." he added, tracing hers with his fingertips.

Y/N's pulse began to race and she got goose bumps from his gentle touch.

"Your mouth is beautiful." he added in a quivering voice and pressed his lips to hers.

Y/N put her hand on his chest and pressed herself against him while their mouths opened and their tongues met.

Chris pulled her on top of him and moaned softly from the pleasant feeling of her abdomen on his lap.

"Tits or ass?" he groaned between their kisses, put his hands on her breasts and pressed them gently. "Whatever I can reach..."

Y/N moaned from pleasure burrying her hand in his hair.

length of your dick?

she added breathless, "was one of the questions!" while her free hand wandered between his legs.

"Fuck, Y/N!" Chris moaned as she gently grabbed his cock and tilted the head in his neck from pleassure.

"One more exception wouldn't hurt, right?" she moaned in his ear.

"Fuck, you don't even have to ask!"

I love describing the built up/foreplay part more than the actual act, so I leave the rest to your imagination.

Hope you like it! 💕

⬅️ more

[yellowocaballero]

ok, i just have to ask about the good and insane naruto fics. what's going on there?

What isn't going on there. [I am so sorry I am answering this ask late. In my defense, I had to get the good fic out in time for Pride month. Yes, this was incredibly important to me.]

I just posted the good fic onto AO3. It's about Obito experiencing somebody else's time travel fix-it and having the most normal possible reaction (kidnapping a child, installing her as a puppet kage, undivorcing Kakashi).

It's actually a fic with Historie (TM). LazuliQuetzal & I first had the idea in fucking 2021, and I wrote a pilot story then. Decided it would never go anywhere, didn't do anything else with it. Came back later after reading butter_peanut, intrigued by Obito, and decided I really wanted to do something with it. I've been putting it down and picking it back up for ages, and it feels bizarre that it's actually off the to-do list. I think I meant to start fully writing it in JANUARY before I got incredibly distracted by like 300k worth of other fics.

I feel like I haven't put any actual good effort into a fic in a while, and Sakuragakure's the first time in a bit that I was really deliberate while writing. I believe that it's okay to write post cringe on main (to an extent.), but if you do then it has to be really good. So I told myself that I'd only write Naruto fic if it was really good. I don't know if this is good, but it is funny and stupid. Which takes the greatest effort of all.

The insane fic is what I worked on to destress from actually writing something good. It exists because I discovered that writing Tobi was incredibly unbelievably fun and I wanted to just write Tobi forever. So. Um. Obito & Kakashi roleswap fic. I know it's been a whole checks watch five hours since I last wrote a roleswap fic, and we all waiting for it, obviously...haha...imagine me going more than five hours without writing a roleswap...

It's highly engaging and interesting to me. I can't see myself posting it as it is, so I may come back and majorly rework it to be something that's remotely postable. I'm not sure I could stand the shame of posting Naruto and my fucking. Fifth? Roleswap fic/series? My fucking fifth? My Fifth? What the fuck? I can't post this. I can't post five roleswap series on AO3. What the hell. What -

Actually, I'll post this on a separate post. I feel like I'm sneaking it in here if I just put it on this post where I ended up talking about something completely different. I'll post a snippet in another post and link it here in a minute. If you want to spite the Jujutsu Kaisen fans and goad me away from working on JJK fic onto that instead then I won't complain (they might).

HERE'S the opening scene of the insane fic.

[luckykiwiii101]

hey wii, just wanted to let you know I tried your distraction method for fun I felt so peaceful and actually felt the symptoms like floating last night but I woke up since I didn't want enter the void anytime soon now, this is alot for me because few days ago I was obsessively asking bloggers on how to enter the void easily because I felt so lost and thought void as the only source of instant manifestation is embarrassing when I myself made the loa and void overcomplicated but now I worked on my self concept for few days with the help of few bloggers advices and your posts (I still spiral sometimes but I'm way better with controlling my negatives thoughts now) and what motivated me a lot to stop thinking void as the only way to manifest instantly because I kept persisting and visualizing I lost weight like half of the day while not minding about the 3d (no I didn't ignore the 3d I just dismissed it and said to myself I lost weight, I look so slim) later i noticed after I woke up from a nap I felt light so I checked my weight, I lost 2kgs I was so happy because for months I was only gaining weight. And I know we manifest even if we don't have good self concept but personally for me it made me realize that I was still in victim mindset and been anxious or desperate about my dream life is not how I will achieve it, self concept post by @babygothprincess mainly helped me alot I suggest to read it if you're desperately trying to see any changes in 3d, so anyways sorry for the long message I just wanted to let everyone know, guys it's so easy (😭 I know every loa blogger said this but please listen to them!!!!) just try to saturate your mind for few days and try again we are complicating the law when it's supposed to be easy.

I didn't meant to overshare 🥲 but I got a bit too happy and excited to share my experience since I used to scroll through Tumblr reading success stories and get disappointed and depressed whenever I think about my loa and void progress, when I finally got off Tumblr for few days and worked on my self concept, it's literally a game changer and made me (actually) shift to the mindset that I'm the one in the control of my reality not 3d, not void or anything

💗💗💗💗 exactly. You are in control.

[moon-mage]

SNIFFLES ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Summary: Vil realizes he's falling ill to the common cold and can't girlboss his way out of it. Luckily, Rook and Epel are there to care for him but naturally they have to be dramatic about it too.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Rated: SFW / T+ ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Characters: Vil Schoenheit | Rook Hunt | Epel Felmier ๋๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tags: Sickfic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, RookVil can be interpreted as platonic or romantic, Soft Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt Being Rook Hunt, Pomefiore being A FAMILY, Vil Schoenheit-centric, Epel and Rook are the only ones allowed to dance on Vil's nerves, if anyone else tries it they will be destroyed ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Warnings: None ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ A/N: Finally got some courage to post some writing. This is actually based off the time I got real sick in college. Mix that with my normal feelings toward Vil Schoenheit and you get this self-indulgent fic! You can read this as platonic or romantic with Rook and Vil. This is a two parter and Epel comes in the next part. Please enjoy ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ Wordcount: 1667 | AO3 | YOU ARE HERE | Part II | Part III (TBA)

๋࣭ ⭑⚝

The morning had started off as any other. Vil had completed his morning ritual with time to spare. The run he had with Jack was fulfilling, his protein shake was extra satisfying, and he was even impressed at how symmetrical his eye makeup was today. If anything, today seemed to be going pretty strong and Vil was content with this.

It was the end of the week and Vil had nothing particularly planned for the upcoming weekend. The last thing Pomefiore’s housewarden was going to do was laze around when given rare and precious freetime. So he was going to find a way to utilize that time to be efficient. The dorm WAS in need of a good cleaning…and he was sure no one was going to be absent this weekend. He was going to run that idea by Rook during lunch but he was most certain his vice housewarden would agree with the plan.

Currently, Vil was in study hall getting a head start on next week’s lesson. The blond had sat in his usual corner tucked away from unwanted attention. With his water bottle full, his mechanical pencils filled, his highlighters organized, his airpods in and playing his favorite concentration ASMR, and his space free of extra clutter…he was ready to rock this.

About an hour went by when Vil realized something was off.

Was the AC broken or something? It was unusually cold in the library today. Vil felt a slight shiver as he buttoned up his uniform blazer. He reached for his water bottle and realized…he was incredibly thirsty. He sipped through the straw at the cold water while convincing himself that the reason why he was chilled. He then realized that no matter how much he drank, he felt strangely unsatisfied. His throat felt tight and achy, no matter how much cold water he consumed.

Vil found himself just sitting there staring at his textbook after a while. The sudden malaise became distracting to the point he couldn’t focus properly. The slight shiver was turning into an ache that wracked up his back. The blazer doing nothing to help…not even his gloves provided much warmth to his hands.

Being a firm believer in knowing his body, Vil takes off his gloves and places them on the table. He let out a slight sigh and relaxed his posture, allowing his body to go on auto so he could have a better idea of what could be happening right now. The model notices that he starts to shiver much more intensely than he thought he would. The ache in his back intensifies, his mouth is incredibly dry despite having downed most of his water, and he just generally feels weak. He lets out a gasp in shock when he realizes his teeth are even chattering a bit.

“That’s enough of that.” Vil mutters to himself quickly as he straightens back up, reigning in control of his body with ease. He knew it would be a matter of time before he wouldn’t be able to hide his symptoms and the thought made him uneasy. Vil HATED being sick…being sick meant he had to rest. Resting excessively meant a lack of productivity. Forcing himself to work through illness was foolish and the housewarden scolded anyone else who tried to do such…

The only times Vil found being sick to not be the worst thing on the planet were the times he and Rook had fallen ill from saying out in the cold during one of their in depth conversations. That just meant they’d be stuck in the infirmary together the next day continuing the conversation slowly while slipping in and out of consciousness until they were forced back to their dorms after the school day.

Though that hasn’t happened since Rook joined Pomefiore.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝

It’s lunch time as Vil steps outside to head for the cafeteria. The sun shines bright in the sky. It’s supposed to be a hot day today…but Vil felt absolutely chilled to the bone at this point. The ache in his back seemed to make its home right in between his shoulder blades and now he felt fatigued from simply walking from the library to outside.

“Roi du poison~”

Vil stops in his tracks when he hears the familiar ring of Rook’s voice calling him from behind. Vil let out a sigh…there was no way Rook wasn’t going to notice. The hunter notices EVERYTHING about Vil. Though Vil was sure he couldn’t have looked that noticeably ill this quickly…Rook would be able to tell with his supernatural ability to just notice the slightest change in anyone or anything from the last time he had seen them.

“Rook.” Vil turns to face Rook as he approaches. The hunter stops when he gets close enough to take a good look at Vil. His green eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh, Vil!” Rook steps close to take a closer look at his queen. He tuts and shakes his head, his blond bob moving with him dramatically. “My poor, poor Vil. You are falling ill, are you not?”

“It would seem so-ow.” Vil deadpans as Rook gently smacks the back of his un-gloved hand against Vil’s forehead. Any other time Vil would scold Rook for putting his hand on his face..but frankly he didn’t have the energy and he understood the sentiment behind it….even if Vil knew checking temperatures this way was rather inaccurate and outdated. “You done?”

“Mon dieu! Are you not…hot?” Rook asks Vil concerned as he feels the heat radiating off Vil’s forehead. His eyes wonder down to Vil’s uniform and he raises his eyebrows when he notices Vil’s blazer buttoned up and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Quite the opposite…and it is hot outside Rook. That is a poor way to check my temperature.” Vil says nonchalantly as he reaches up to pull Rook’s hand off his forehead.

Rook’s hand adjusts to take Vil’s gently and he squeezes it. He gives the housewarden a look of sincere concern.

“Allow me to escort you to the infirmary so it can be accurately checked, s'il vous plaît?”

Vil gave Rook that annoyed frown when he truly didn’t want to do something…but Vil knew that eventually he was going to run out of steam and he’d rather not be caught lacking during class in front of everyone when he can just quietly slip into the infirmary.

“Fine. Take me away.” Vil sighs in defeat while Rook smiles in delight to be able to assist his queen. He keeps a hold of Vil’s hand and escorts him with almost a pep in his step to the infirmary…Vil walking beside him much less enthusiastically.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝

“Sevens, we picked the worst time.” Vil mutters annoyed as he sits beside Rook in the waiting area of the infirmary. It was rather crowded today with students. Most of them were waiting to get their medications for the lunch hour. Some of them were genuinely under the weather. A few were probably just trying to get out of afternoon tests.

“At least we are in the perfect place were you collapse out of sheer exhaustion, oui?” Rook asks cutely as he turns from a random magazine he found on the table and smiles brightly to Vil.

Vil gives him a death glare and even scowls a bit. This does not phase the hunter in the slightest.

“Rook, I am not DYING. I wouldn’t suddenly just collapse from having a cold.” Vil’s voice is hushed but still more dramatic than he meant to be.

“Ah, but your condition is not improving. You are already losing your composure ever so slightly.” Rook says in an almost sing-song voice, pointing out Vil’s slightly more dramatized demeanor. This was an indication to the hunter that Vil was becoming so unwell he couldn’t keep his polished demeanor up as he usually did when his hunter teased him so merrily.

“I’m leaving.” Vil threatened with narrowed eyes.

“Non. You must stay and be assessed by the practitioner. I promise I will be kinder to you since you are in such a state, my Roi du Poison.” Rook sets the magazine down and takes off his blazer.

“What are y-” Vil pauses when Rook places his blazer over Vil like a blanket. Vil blushes slightly at the warmth of the blazer over him. He was still chilled to the bone but Rook’s blazer provided such a warm and security that it calmed him down considerably.

“Rest. I will wake you when they call for you.” Rook’s eyes and voice softened as he guided Vil to rest his head on his shoulder. “No one will bother you. I will keep you safe.”

Any other time, Vil would insist that he needed no protection and that he wasn’t going to sleep in a waiting room where he would be susceptible to possible vultures waiting to take come candids of him so off guard….but this time he didn’t.

Vil nods slowly and rests his head on Rook’s shoulder, pulling the hunter’s blazer up cover some of his face before he closes his eyes. He let his body relax, shielded by the blazer. He really was tired wasn’t he? And achy…and cold…now his mind was a bit hazy. With a tired sigh, he snuggles closer to Rook and allows himself to drift to sleep.

Rook smiles warmly at the sight of Vil falling to sleep so quickly on him. The hunter casually picks his magazine up again but not before looking around the infirmary. His green eyes individually scanning every person in the waiting room as he wore an overly polite smile…he was very much warning everyone to NOT try it. Anyone who was watching the two quickly looked away and some people even hurried out of their seats and left the infirmary entirely.

Yep, no one was going to bother his sweetly sick sleeping queen.

[britcision]

OKAY FRIENDOS

This chapter fucking fought me, not least because I wasn’t actually sure what exactly Danny wanted out of meeting Waylon… and then I realised that was because Danny wasn’t sure either

I did consider just letting this one run long and posting in two parts when all was said and done, but this was where I’d have had to break the chapter in two for Tumblr anyway, and it’s actually a really good place to end… so one more chapter for Waylon!

And then tumblr mobile decided not to let me fucking paste the chapter in, and I am fucking DYING with the laggy piece of shit that is the mobile website. I crave death. Let me join the boys.

First Chapter and AO3:

Previous Chapter:

——————

A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence 

Jason wasn’t exactly expecting to roll up to Danny’s dorm to thumping stripper music, and yet as he turned off the bike… that was definitely what was happening. 

Flicking the visor up, he soon caught sight of the cause, a visibly frazzled Danny hurrying over. His pocket seemed to be having an independent party that Danny himself was not invited to. 

“I have sinned against the almighty Tucker and am being punished for my crimes with an endless loop,” he explained flatly without being asked. 

Jason snorted, reaching back to unhook the new helmet from the back of the bike and hand it out. 

“Oh? And what did you do to upset his highness?” He teased, a smile tugging across his lips in spite of himself. 

In spite of the certain knowledge that Tim would absolutely be latching onto this form of punishment the second he found out. 

He’d not really felt like smiling since he got in last night, yet the second he saw Danny his anger eased. 

Didn’t hurt that the pit was practically vibrating in smug satisfaction, clearly appeased that he also wouldn’t let them be kept apart. But there was still an open happiness all Jason’s own in watching his new friend suffer. 

Danny sighed, pulling out a heavily wrapped sock-sausage that eventually contained his phone, and scrolled to show Jason some messages. 

Jason scanned through them quickly, because the music was fucking loud entirely unmuffled, then passed the phone back to be reburied. 

“You knew what you were doing,” he told Danny entirely unsympathetically, and Danny snickered. 

“Sometimes he needs to be told when he’s being a dramatic bitch. So were you there for the whole,” he waved a hand vaguely, the other stuffing his phone back into his pocket. 

Which meant Jason had to think about the cave again. And the phone call he’d gotten an hour after ignoring Bruce’s summons. 

:::

Jason was actually on his way to bed on time for once in his life, the early end to patrol and lack of crime lord duties giving him a chance to get a full five hours sleep. 

He should have known he wouldn’t get lucky two nights in a row; Constantine wasn’t around to distract Bruce anymore. 

He’d contemplated not answering. Contemplated trying not to shoot Bruce in half an hour if the fucker showed up at his window. 

The pit growled. 

It was the worst thing he’d ever heard. The worst thing he’d ever felt. And he did feel it, vibrating in his very bones. 

It sent shivers creeping up and down his spine, muscles tensing as if to run away from something inside him. 

He answered the call, hoping it wouldn’t show in his voice. 

“What.” Flat, unfriendly. Not encouraging conversation. 

“You didn’t come to the cave.” B’s voice was equally flat, but in his case it sounded like a condemnation. An accusation. 

Jason gritted his teeth. 

“I have shit to do in the morning. Make it quick,” he snapped, giving his bed a glare it definitely didn’t deserve. 

His pillows had never done anything to hurt him. 

There was a momentary pause before B audibly decided not to push it. 

Good. 

Jason was in a mood to bite. 

“We have intel on the Infinite Realms. I’ve sent the report. You need to stay away from Danny Fenton, for your health,” B said, still cold, still clinical. 

Like he didn’t care. Like what Jason wanted didn’t matter. 

Jason’s grip tightened and the phone case cracked. 

“Yeah, no. Fuck off.” He spat the words, adding “get new phone” to his list of chores for the morning. 

He’d been doing so well with this one. Of course B had to ruin it. 

At least the old man didn’t seem surprised by his reaction. 

“Jason. It… he. His abilities may affect your condition,” he said slowly, sounding tired. Old. 

The pit snarled, sensing weakness, and Jason kinda wished he was still lost in its rage. Back when he was, it was easy just to hate those moments. 

B showing signs of humanity fucking hurt. 

“He is. He’s making it better,” he shot back, brooking no argument. 

“We don’t know that, Jason. Please, just… just for a few days. Until we can talk to the League, understand what he’s doing to you.” 

Was. 

Was that Bruce begging? 

It froze something small and soft in Jason’s chest, stuck him in place. And did nothing to stop the flood of icy rage from filling him up. 

Filling his chest, crushing his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Because of course, anyone and everyone else’s judgement was worth more to the man than Jason’s. 

Begging Jason to listen to him, when he would never, ever, fucking ever listen to Jason. When it didn’t fucking matter if Jason begged. 

“And why the fuck would the League know better than a doctor from the Realms?” He finally snapped, ignoring the way his throat tightened. 

There was a long silence. 

“A doctor?” Bruce asked softly, his voice still so flat and emotionless that only his kids could have read the confusion. Jason rolled his eyes. 

“Danny brought me to a doctor. I’m gonna be fine,” he ground out reluctantly, part of him resenting Bruce’s constant insistence on knowing everything. 

But… well. If it got the guy off his fucking back. 

There was a long silence, one that Jason was fully aware B was likely spending working this new information into his latest paranoid fantasy. 

Jason seriously considered just hanging up and going to bed. He was about to do it when Bruce spoke again. 

“Would this doctor be willing to speak to the League?” And there it was again, Batman voice, clinical and distant and always, always fucking suspicious. 

Jason rolled his eyes harder. With emphasis. Willing to be interrogated by first the Justice League and then separately also goddamn Batman. 

Actually, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure B wouldn’t get anywhere with Frostbite. Frostbite took his work seriously and was, yeah, king of a full realm of yetis. 

None of Bruce’s pointed silences, menacing looming, or vague growls would bug the guy who got Danny through Fucked Up Ghost Puberty. 

(And would probably be helping Jason through his own Fucked Up Ghost Puberty… joy of joys.) 

It might actually be fun to see him try. If just being here wouldn’t put Frostbite in danger, because hell fucking no that wasn’t happening. The guy may not be his king but Jason would still die first.

But of course, in all his paranoid bullshit about the Realms influencing Gotham, B had somehow conveniently missed what America was doing to the Realms. 

Like Jason hadn’t even done the full write up. 

“Not while the fucking League are required to hand him right to the US government for torture and experimentation. Which, by the way, did you read my report on the Anti Ecto Acts?” Jason asked sarcastically, doing his very worst fake concern. 

And again he was met with silence. Fuck, maybe Bruce hadn’t read it. Jason had dropped it in the day before all this gala bullshit had started, and it had been a busy two days since. 

Maybe B deadass hadn’t put the pieces together.  Might as well hammer it home for him. 

“You know, the one that says you, me, Cass, and Damian are all non-sentient because we’ve been exposed to the pits?” Jason added, eyes narrowing. 

Which wasn’t technically true, since it was the resulting liminality and ability to process ectoplasm that made them count, but Bruce didn’t need to know that yet. 

Finally he spoke again, voice gruff and clipped. 

“I’m looking into it. But for now, Jason, please-” he said again, the cover of Batman beginning to slip. 

But Jason was done. No fucking chance Bruce was giving him orders when he hadn’t even bothered asking for Jason’s opinion. 

He wanted to spout off about dangers of the Infinite Realms after talking to some wet paper bag of a man who hawked his soul like it was a pokemon card. Hard pass. 

And even after hearing that Jason knew what was going on a damn sight better than Bruce did, he still wanted to push him around? 

Fuck that. 

“Sorry B, legally non-sentient, guess I can’t be blamed for my actions,” he drawled, then turned his phone off and dropped into bed. 

He had a lot of shit to do before picking Danny up in the morning. 

:::

Jason shook his head, partially to clear it but also in answer to Danny’s question. 

“Hell no. Tim told me he was being a paranoid old fuck again so I went to bed,” he growled, a little surprised by the sudden rush of anger the memory brought. 

It must have been strong enough that Danny noticed it, because he could feel Danny’s worry too. 

He sucked in a sharp breath, pushing the anger back down. He still hadn’t turned his phone back on. 

Actually it might still be beside the bed in his apartment. It didn’t really matter. 

Danny took the new helmet from him, leaning up against Jason’s side in a soft wave of comfort-sorry-amused. 

Amused? 

Before he could ask, Danny had turned the helmet over to look at the visor. 

“So I’m guessing, from what we talked about in the car, what Tucker told me, and what you’re not telling me, that Bruce thinks you should be far, far away from me?” He asked innocently. 

The pit fucking growled again, raising the hair all along Jason’s neck, and Danny trilled soothingly to it. 

Even knowing what to expect, the sudden and complete lack of rage still made Jason shiver. 

“Thanks,” he said before Danny could apologise. 

For managing Jason’s unstable emotions for him when Jason couldn’t. Although… 

If they actually were the pit’s all along, that’d explain why it had been so hard to push through. It was weird that the idea was actually starting to feel comforting. 

Danny gave him a slightly relieved grin, nudging back. 

“Yeah, well, not like you recently bound your entire soul and afterlife into keeping me safe. Not like either of us know what the fuck that’s gonna mean,” he said, all flippant and glib, and… 

Yeah, he’d almost have a point, except Jason had put himself on the chopping block to keep others safe since he was thirteen years old. 

He shook his head, chuckling softly. 

“Oh, I didn’t get on with the old man long, long before you came into the picture,” he assured Danny with a dry smile, rolling his eyes. 

Danny snickered, spinning the helmet and looking “innocently” up to the sky. Whatever the fuck came out of his mouth next, Jason was ready for it to be a doozy. 

“Yeah, well… if I’m the bad influence boyfriend your dad wants you to stay away from…” and that sentence alone almost made Jason choke, without even the kicker, “can I drive your motorcycle?” 

At least it stopped Jason from coughing. He shot Danny a sudden suspicious glare. 

“Do you even know how to drive a motorcycle?” He asked with a full awareness of what the answer would be. 

Danny shrugged, giving Jason his best “innocent” smile. 

“Definitely motorcycle adjacent?” He offered sweetly. Jason shook his head firmly. 

“Nope.” 

“Oh come on!” Danny pouted, tossing both hands into the air, his new helmet held tight despite the dramatic gesture. 

Jason shook his head again, in case Danny had missed the point. 

“Nnnnnnnope,” he drew the word out, popping the p, and Danny rolled his eyes at him. 

“It’s not like a crash would kill either of us anyway,” he huffed, and while he may have that kind of confidence in his ghost powers, Jason’s core hadn’t formed yet. 

He wasn’t about to fucking risk it. 

“That doesn’t mean it’ll be a fun experience. They’re called “donor-cycles” for a reason,” he told Danny archly, definitely not moving from astride his girl while this was “up for debate”. 

Glanced back to find Danny staring at him, clearly holding back a snicker. 

“That sounds waaay more like something the Disapproving Dad Who Doesn’t Like His Son’s Hot New Motorcycle Boyfriend would say,” he pointed out, rising on tiptoe to rest his chin on Jason’s shoulder. 

Jason licked him. Mostly on the cheek. 

It was a stupid impulse, the kind he usually didn’t even get with anyone but Dick, and he might have regretted it immediately if it hadn’t fucking worked. 

Danny jumped back, cheeks flushing, and while Jason was pretty sure his own had pinked up, well, behind him Danny couldn’t see that. 

But he pulled on his helmet just to be doubly sure. 

“Yeah, well, protecting your ass includes not letting you kill us both in a fiery wreck. Or maim us,” he added before Danny could voice the protest Jason could clearly taste. 

Silence from behind him, and then Danny sighed and pulled his helmet on, climbing aboard behind Jason again. Who decided to throw him a bone. 

“I’ll teach you how to drive it first,” he promised, and Danny cheered loudly, thrusting both fists into the air as they pulled out. 

Neither really noticed that Danny’s background music had changed to Radar Love. 

** 

When they’d finally dragged themselves to bed, Tim had offered to let Tucker use one of the manor’s nearly infinite guest rooms. 

They’d picked one out and everything, changed into pyjamas (Tucker borrowed an old pair of Dick’s), and sat on the bed in Tim’s old room talking about technology until they both fell asleep. 

Probably around 8am. 

Tucker hadn’t had a proper slumber party since leaving Amity Park, but he was kinda getting used to waking up tucked next to a still-sleeping Wayne adoptee when his phone buzzed around 10am. 

Foul treachery from Danny. As usual. 

Tucker barely woke up, hand crawling from the pile to rest against the PDA, and that was all he needed. His awareness slipped from the device to his phone, always linked. 

From his phone to Danny’s. Into Danny’s music app, where he picked a suitable vengeance even as he slipped back into sleep. 

Watched Danny through the phone as if it were a dream, easily filtering out the sounds of his own music as Danny flailed around, trying to turn the music off, trying to turn the music down, failing on all counts, and flailing his way out of the dorm. 

Down to meet Jason, his phone now buried in six layers of socks that did nothing to stop the music from being heard, or Tucker from watching. 

Tucker cranked the volume a little more anyway. The thought had to count for something. 

If Danny wanted to call him petty, well, Tucker Foley could redefine “petty” all on his own. 

Providing his friends with a semi-mocking soundtrack really was the least of his abilities; he was literally doing it in his sleep. 

**

Honestly, driving in Gotham wasn’t even all that exciting from Danny’s perspective. After being tossed around the GAV despite the seatbelts, a couple of cranky fellow drivers just didn’t register. 

If they hadn’t been going through the city, maybe going highway speeds it might have been different, but he’d kind of worked out how loud he had to be to be heard. 

By Jason snickering when he screamed at pedestrians. 

If they didn’t want to be screamed at they shouldn’t be trying to loom menacingly. 

Of course, that just meant now was the perfect time for him to use his new power for evil. Danny flipped his visor up, straining as high as he could to yell to Jason. 

“SO, THAT CONSTANTINE GUY?”

There was a sudden click in his ear and he jumped as Jason’s voice came through, quiet and definitely amused. 

“There’s a radio in your helmet, Danny.” 

Oh. 

News to fucking him, he was pretty sure that wasn’t standard in motorcycle helmets, but not from any lived experience. Johnny 13’s dead experiences were a little out of date. 

Poking around the sides of his helmet, Danny soon found a button. 

“Sweet. Looks like you finally forgot to mention something,” he teased, and heard Jason snort loud and clear. 

Didn’t have to hold the button to talk then. Good times. He’d get Tucker to take a look on the way home after he ecto infused it. For now he flipped the visor back down. 

“Looks like,” Jason agreed dryly, swerving them around a cluster of traffic. 

He wasn’t exactly sticking to the letter of the law, they were definitely half again over the speed limit, but they hadn’t gone on a sidewalk so it was nothing to a Fenton. There was even an empty slot in the lane he merged into. 

“So what about Constantine,” he prompted, and while it broke Danny out of his musings, it also reminded him of the exact thing he’d planned to do to make the trip more interesting. 

“Oh, I own his soul. Like, a dozen times over,” Danny chirped perkily, grip tightening just before Jason had to slam on the breaks to keep from hitting the car beside them. 

They sped off again before the sudden swerve caused comment, and passed a block or two in silence. Then Jason sighed. 

“Of fucking course you do that for everything and not just Mariokart.” He mostly sounded resigned, so Danny allowed himself a snicker. 

“What, it’s not like we’re gonna die. You’re even still on the road,” he dismissed easily, waving a hand to show just how unconcerned he was. 

Did not expect Jason to huff, reach back and grab his hand, and pull it back around himself. 

“I’m reconsidering teaching you to drive,” he told Danny flatly, and Danny pouted but took the hint and held on. 

“Oh come on, you can’t say that, you haven’t even seen me try!” Danny protested. 

Jason made an unimpressed noise. 

“Your town’s weather includes reports of if your parents will be on the road.” 

Which, by the way, was totally unfair of him, since he’d never have known that if Danny hadn’t told him. Or Tucker hadn’t told Tim. 

Same difference. 

“My parents, not me,” Danny argued anyway, shrugging, “and it wasn’t their driving that killed me.” 

This time he was close enough, snugged tight to Jason’s back, that he felt the guy’s whole body shiver with a loud and rumbling growl. The same growl he’d heard and soothed earlier. 

Something had really riled up Jason’s pit ghost. 

Danny hummed another quick soothing trill, stroking his aura gently across Jason and his extra passenger. 

Sort of trying to do it unobtrusively; he would actually really prefer that they didn’t fully crash. It kinda worked, in that Jason managed to unlock suddenly solid muscles enough for them to make the next turn. 

“Sorry,” Danny said quickly, kind of to both of them, “guess Pitty doesn’t like the death jokes today.” 

They passed another few buildings in silence, and Danny had definitely noticed by now that they weren’t heading for the manor. Didn’t matter so long as Jason knew where they were going. 

Danny waited him out, long enough that he almost wanted to make another joke and lighten the mood. Again though, Jason broke it first. 

“Pitty.” He did not sound impressed. But he didn’t feel mad. More what the fuck just came outta your mouth. 

Danny gave him a quick squeeze, and almost felt the pit purr. 

It was kinda getting stronger the longer they hung out. Technically that probably meant that both cores were making progress. 

“Well, technically you probably get to name it, but until you come up with something I’m calling it Pitty,” Danny explained, and rather felt that Jason should be grateful. 

Unlike the rest of his family, Jason had seen the full list of how Jack Fenton named things. Danny preferred to think he took after his aunt. 

He coulda called it the Fenton Pit Friend or something. Really, it wasn’t hard to think of anything worse. 

From his aura, Jason now seemed to be intentionally ignoring him. 

Stewing in indignation-disbelief-confused-confused-confused. Well, that was his call. 

Anyway. 

“Back to Constantine though, I wasn’t kidding. I do actually own his soul,” Danny said casually, since they’d gotten distracted from his previous attempt to make the drive more interesting. 

For a moment he wasn’t sure if Jason would rise to the bait this time either, and then another sigh came over the radio. 

“Y’know, somehow, that’s the least surprising thing you’ve said. Man sells his soul so much everyone seems to have a chunk,” Jason grumbled, and Danny snickered. 

“Oh, pretty much. He’s the Caterpie of human souls. He never made a deal with me directly though,” he added quickly, without being fully sure why. 

He was pretty sure Jason wouldn’t jump straight to “Danny is a soul trader”, but honestly he’d gotten used to getting ahead of wilder trains of thought. 

“Oh? How’d you get twelve then?” Jason shot back, clearly warming back up to things. 

Mission accomplished. Danny grinned. 

“Well, previous Ghost King was in nappy time for a couple thousand years, but he had this whole thing about collecting souls to add to his army of thralls, so basically anyone could sign their soul over for a chunk of power. Real charmer,” Danny snorted, rolling his eyes. 

It was so far from the worst thing Pariah Dark had ever done, but so far it was definitely the longest lingering annoyance. 

“I got the impression,” Jason agreed in pretty much the same tone, prompting Danny to continue. 

Which. Yeah. Was more fun than thinking about the mountain of thrall contracts still awaiting their owner’s deaths, which the Observants were still fussing over. 

Nobody wanted more thralls, souls wiped clean of everything that made them, well, souls. Just unliving batteries. Even ghosts found them creepy. 

On the other hand, there was nothing the Observants loved more than rules. And the rules said a signed contract had to be honoured. 

Really they shoulda expected Danny to ask who the fuck signed for Pariah, since he was (again) in nappy time prison. He hoped nobody else died while they sorted that out. 

“Danny?” 

Ah. Yup, he did it again. Danny shook his head and sighed, kinda missing the wind in his hair. It kept him more present than the enclosed space of the helmet. 

“Sorry. So, John Constantine, clever bitch, wrote himself a contract that signed his soul over to the Ghost King, not Pariah Dark. Got through whatever screening was in place no problem, and now he’s my problem.” 

A problem that Clockwork had presented Danny with on his fucking birthday no less. 

That had been part one of the soul screening process; who was stuck with Pariah by name, and ho boy that was a depressingly long list… and still growing, though it had slowed recently. 

News of Pariah losing his crown was slow to spread, and frankly Danny himself could be doing more to help that, except. Well. 

Not taking the damn crown himself until he had to. Not wanting to give the creeps of the world anything to call him. 

There were a lot of good reasons, okay? And Clockwork had specially singled out Constantine’s contract and delivered it to Danny himself as a birthday present. 

“Well, that explains one,” Jason agreed with a snicker, pulling to a stop in front of the police station, “but what about the other eleven times?” 

Danny snorted a laugh, sliding off the bike and stretching. As much fun as hugging Jason at high speeds was, he didn’t like being still for too long. 

“Tax season,” he explained cheerfully, pulling off the helmet and looking around, “I guess we’re meeting Harley here?” 

Snickering to himself, Jason pulled off his own helmet and tucked it into the storage on the back of his bike. Danny passed it over, noting that Jason had also had to get a second little pod for the other helmet. 

He wasn’t gonna ask. Maybe they were in storage? 

“Yeah, we’re meeting Harley here. Better not to swing by the manor for a while,” Jason added, his expression souring. 

Which did make Danny feel a little bad actually. He didn’t want to cause trouble for Jason with his family… 

But before he could say anything Jason ruffled his hair roughly, shaking his head. 

“It’s not your fault, Danny. This kinda shit happens every other week, Bruce gets on his bullshit and I steer clear. He’ll calm the fuck down eventually and remember to mind his own business,” he explained dryly, nodding towards the doors. 

Danny hesitated before moving to follow. It felt true, he could feel Jason’s sincere-exhausted-familiar-still over it clear as day, it just. 

“I’m still sorry I wound him up though,” Danny finally decided, heading after Jason up and in. Jason who rolled his eyes and held the door open. 

“Danny. He winds himself up. You could be a literal angel and he would not fucking care. You couldn’t unwind him even if you miraculously found the key. We’ve all tried,” Jason said with a sigh, though at least the anger seemed to have burned off into just… 

Tired. 

Jason just felt tired. 

Probably cuz he was off fucking around with Cass last night, but Danny wasn’t about to call him out on it. 

Not when they’d just walked into the police station (ew) and the wild sight of Harley Quinn, hair in pigtails and dressed in her signature red and black, sat on the duty officer’s desk with a bat. Filing her nails. 

Total silence filled the room, broken only by the swing of the doors opening as Danny and Jason stepped through. 

The whole room was watching her in a kind of terrified awe, like she was a particularly dangerous bomb waiting to go off. Danny’d swear they weren’t even breathing. 

She looked up as the door opened, grinning broadly at the sight of them and waving in a large, exuberant gesture. 

“Oh, there’s my boys! Hey boys!” She called in obvious delight, and half the room flinched. 

Didn’t seem to matter that she hadn’t even been in Gotham for ages, let alone being her former roguish self. She had the kind of presence that left a lasting impression. 

No wonder Danny liked her. She coulda fit right in with his ghost friends. 

Maybe she’d come join them for fight club. 

** 

Pulling himself slowly from sleep just a little past noon, Bruce had to admit he was feeling better. The headache had dulled to a low throb but he felt clearer. 

More aware of himself, and after a glass of water, more like he could take on the day. 

It was far from his first concussion and he was well used to navigating the symptoms over the next few days. So long as he didn’t get any serious memory loss he wasn’t going to worry about it. 

He had far more serious things to worry about, but even they seemed more manageable after almost nine hours of sleep. 

Honestly… he wasn’t surprised that Jason hadn’t come to the cave. Hadn’t agreed to stay away from Danny when asked.  

It had felt like a reasonable request at the time, like the bare minimum of common sense. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore. 

Jason didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust Bruce’s judgement, in how to deal with criminals or anything else. 

Jason hadn’t been the boy who’d looked to Bruce with such trust, such wonder and awe, even before he’d died. 

Sometimes Bruce wondered where he’d gone wrong. 

But there was no use dwelling on the past. Bruce would like to re earn Jason’s trust some day, but he wouldn’t ignore their present relationship. 

Jason wouldn’t trust that Danny was a danger to him without proof, so Bruce would find that proof, if it existed. Hopefully before Jason’s condition became proof itself. 

The first and most obvious step would be to consult the Justice League Dark at today’s meeting, and then make arrangements for this doctor from the Infinite Realms. 

He’d have to look into those laws Jason mentioned ahead of the meeting. Perhaps bring them up to Constantine, see how it might affect matters with the Infinite Realms. 

A bitter part of him mused that he wouldn’t be surprised if the magician was completely unaware of most international laws, let alone the ones of the various lands he travelled, but still. 

The man had been so adamant that the Infinite Realms were completely beyond their ability to handle. That they should cut and run at any cost. 

Bruce could hardly imagine he’d be pleased that the US had apparently declared its inhabitants the targets of its newest genocide. 

Of course, changing the laws and having them struck down would take time, but Bruce still hoped that the act of beginning might be enough. 

Enough for him to visit Jason’s doctor in the Realms or some other neutral ground, since the doctor couldn’t come here. 

Jason had said that he would be fine, not that he was already fine. Bruce wouldn’t have believed him if he had, not really; Jason hadn’t been fine since he’d been dunked in those damn pits. 

Their poison had stuck with him far longer than anyone Bruce had ever heard of. 

Hells, Bruce had had his own dunking. He could just barely remember the rage that had forced itself down his throat, into his lungs as he was brutally thrust back into the land of the living. 

He had controlled it, had mastered it quickly, and now it was nothing more than a faint scrap of memory. Even that was still enough to grant his deepest sympathy to Jason’s struggles. 

If the rage had never left him… 

But no, he decided, going through his morning routine like he was still the young playboy Brucie who never showed his face before 3pm. 

There was no point in indulging those thoughts either. He had mastered the pit’s fury, and it released him. For whatever reason, Jason hadn’t. 

And now they all had to deal with the consequences. 

Still, Bruce let himself hope for the future instead. 

If his children were right, if Jason was right… if Danny or this mysterious doctor from the Infinite Realms could help him with the pit rage… 

He might one day see that little boy again. The boy who looked at Bruce like he’d hung the stars, who could fly because Robin made him magic. 

There was nothing in this world or any other that Bruce wouldn’t give to see Jason whole again. To see him happy. 

The United States government were going to learn (again) what it meant to come between the Batman and the safety of his sons. 

The Justice League’s meeting would be in another four hours. He had plenty of time to do some research and amend their presentation. 

So long as Jason was right. 

And speaking of Jason… there was just one other thing he’d like to do this morning. Heaving a sigh while he had the privacy of his room, Bruce pulled up his phone again. 

He didn’t quite indulge himself as far as making a face as he punched in Constantine’s number, because concussed or not he was an adult. And he was going to need the man’s help. 

Surely Jason wouldn’t object to a single check in with a trusted practitioner? 

As the phone rang, Bruce once again cursed the circumstances that kept Zatanna off world. He was about 75% sure that Jason actually liked her. 

But maybe the extent to which Constantine annoyed Bruce would also cheer him up. 

The call went through, and Bruce snapped his wandering attention back. Maybe he’d take the rest of the day off after the meeting. Heal up a little more. 

Alfred would be proud. 

“Constantine. A moment of your time before the meeting?” It even sounded like a question, not a command. Sleep really had done him a world of good. 

**

Part of Jason wished he could say he was surprised that Harley had taken GCPD HQ hostage just by showing up, but he honestly wasn’t. 

Part of him wished he didn’t think that was exactly her intention, but… he didn’t particularly like lying to himself. Harley was fun. 

And got results, even if she also tended not to end lives. He could respect that. 

And promised not to rat him out to Danny, even if she made no promises about Waylon, who definitely also knew both his identities. 

That… Jason wasn’t really surprised by that either. They’d never talked about it, but Waylon had definitely known he was the second Robin for some time. 

A few of the rogues did, or at least assumed as much from the way the Batman would either obsessively chase or obsessively avoid him in mask. 

Jason personally preferred and egged on the side that thought Red Hood was Batman’s evil twin brother. Or clone. Mostly because Bruce hated them. 

Knowing civilian identities was a step beyond that Bruce would certainly never admit that more than one or two knew, but Jason had (slightly) less issues. 

It was kinda an open secret among the rogues who’d been around since the glory days; Bruce Wayne is Batman. As Danny so rightly said of Dick, the butts matched. 

(Jason was considering adding more padding to the body armour in his pants, if only to change the silhouette, because that was a fucked yet accurate identifier apparently.) 

Most of the rogues didn’t fucking care, Joker and Two Face especially, but it was something that no one talked about. 

And that they all specifically agreed to keep from Riddler for as long as possible. 

(It was his punishment for being obnoxious at trivia nights in Arkham; no one bothered to suggest banning him or asking him to behave.) 

For rogues like the Gotham City Sirens? Hadn’t been a secret since Bruce took off the mask for Selina. 

Killer Croc probably wasn’t technically one of the sirens yet (and wouldn’t that be fun?) but he hung out with Harley, and despite his size he wasn’t stupid. 

The only thing Jason was a little worried about was Waylon mentioning his current alter ego in front of Danny, but honestly the fact that they were at a police station would probably keep his lips closed. 

All vigilantes were illegal. 

Red Hood was illegal and a serial killer. 

And probably couldn’t get the silent and terrified reverence Harley currently held over the station even if he walked in with a rocket launcher. 

She beamed at them, hopping down off the desk with her bat over her shoulder. A little closer, Jason noted that this bat was also bedazzled, but in a different pattern from the one she’d had last night. 

Or the same bat, redone, but he wasn’t putting money on it. 

She hopped down off her desk and skipped across the room towards them, and Jason wished for half a second that he could command half as much menace doing something so… well, innocent. 

But no, he just put heads in a bag, that wasn’t scary apparently. Fucking Gotham. 

He obediently bent down for Harley to kiss his cheek, not wanting to be yanked around in the cop shop (even as a civilian), and still managed to be surprised when Danny also accepted a cheek kiss and then returned it. 

Harley squealed in delight and ruffled his hair, then pinched both Danny’s cheeks. 

“Awww, ain’t you all cute and cosmopolitan! So, shall we go see my big green bestie!” She declared happily, releasing Danny and turning back to lead the way out of the room. 

Didn’t go for the keys. Didn’t address the question to anyone who should have been leading them down. Just got going, the way Harley always did. 

No one moved to stop them. 

** 

Surprising precisely no one, Harley absolutely knew the way down to the cells at the GCPD. Not from a lotta personal experience, o’ course. 

Nah, Harley usually went from crime scene to Arkham back in the day, but she’d known people and busted people out of holding before. 

It had taken a couple real big favours to get Waylon kept here instead of shipped back to Arkham, but that was what favours were for. No one liked having a Harley-debt over their heads. 

And Brucie’s word was gonna get Waylon released on her recognizance, once she scooped some shivering copper out from under their desk. 

He’d have to actually behave this time though. No big bat-centric events, nothin’ above ground. 

Honestly… she might ask him ta head home. Being in Gotham wasn’t good for either of them. Too many old patterns and bad habits, and Waylon had been doin’ a real good job keeping his nose clean. 

If he wanted ta head back to Coney, they could get ‘im a ride. And if he didn’t, well, she’d have someone to watch the new show with.

Her two baby birds were following her like good little ducklings too, absolutely adorable. Although… she paused for a second, cocking her head. 

“Is there a reason we’ve got theme music?” She asked with a delighted giggle as the song clicked. 

It was a little muffled, but Styx’s Renegade? Ballsy choice for a trip to the cop shop. 

The question seemed to surprise both boys though, and then Danny sighed, reaching back to pat a weirdly bulging pocket. 

“Yeah, I upset my techno-god bestie this morning. Apparently my punishment is a soundtrack of my life,” he said dryly. 

Jason paused, a slight frown on his face as he listened too. 

“Wait, it changed? I thought you were on a loop?” He asked, and that was an interesting development. 

Danny just shrugged. 

“Yeah, he’s probably keeping an eye on us and changing it up when he thinks it’s funny. I think I know this song,” he added with a slight frown, brows furrowing as he listened. 

Jason listened a moment longer, then snickered and shook his head. 

“Tuck’s got good taste in music,” he said simply, and yeah, Harley remembered Tucker from dinner. Another lil cutie, all tucked up with Timmy in their own little world half the time. 

Damn good at Mariokart and Spiderheck too. 

Danny snorted and flipped Jason off. 

“Suck up.” 

And immediately the music changed, flipping straight to Pink’s Slut Like You, suddenly louder… although that mighta also been the song. 

Danny groaned as his pocket loudly declared that he was not a slut, and Jason laughed at him entirely unapologetically. 

“And that’s why I’m not the one with the soundtrack,” he declared smugly and Danny sighed, raising both hands in unequivocal surrender. 

“Yes, yes, I’m a bad and naughty boy and I’m getting my just punishment. Can we just get going?” He asked almost rhetorically. 

The music changed again, sultry twanging of a guitar before Lil Nas X began to sing Montero. It took Harley a moment longer to place it than the boys, both of whom now looked confused. 

“I can’t tell if he’s encouraging you or not,” Jason said finally, and Danny sighed. 

“Well I’ve pole danced into Hell before, so I’m taking it as a compliment either way,” he decided with a shrug, trying to shove what looked like an overstuffed sock deeper into his pocket. “I swear the volume shouldn’t get this loud.” 

“Joys of a touchy tech friend,” Harley opined with a snicker, glancing around to see if there were cameras Tucker could be watching from. She blew both she found a kiss, then spun to continue their quest. 

And realized that neither of the boys had followed her, both now watching her warily. 

“What?” She asked, frowning and turning to see if she’d stepped in something. Nope, just clean floors. 

“Danny’s sin was calling Tucker overdramatic,” Jason explained, and oh. Yeah, that explained the looks. 

Harley waved a hand cheerfully, deliberately brushing it off. 

“An’ now he’s givin’ ya life a soundtrack, so I dunno that he disagrees,” she said lightly, skipping back towards the stairs, “c’mon!” 

And when no new burst of music began to switch out Lil Nas, the boys got to following again, Danny grumbling about unfairness. 

Harley liked Danny. He had a refreshing lack of fucks to give, a good sense of humour, and he doted on Jason, who fucking deserved it. 

They’d be so good together, and Harley was gonna have the time of her life watchin’ them work that out. 

Which, now that she thought of it… 

“Hey, by th’ way, ya said ya didn’t wanna meet at the manor?” She prodded, turning to walk backwards down the steps to the cells, frowning at Jason, “what’d Brucie do now?” 

And watched the ease in Jason’s face freeze, muscles tightening, and Harley sighed. Yeah, a trip back to the manor was definitely in order. 

“Just his usual bullshit,” Jason grumbled, running a hand through his already wild helmet hair. Danny snickered beside him and gave her a broad grin. 

“Jason’s officially banned from hanging out with me,” he explained far too smugly, since there wasn’t a chance Jason would have listened to any Bruce-ban. 

But, he was beside the tall and handsome stud he had a crush on, so Harley wasn’t gonna argue. She grinned back at him, just as her foot nearly slipped on a step. 

Before the fall could fully start, she pushed off harder with the other foot, dodging both startled hands grabbing for her, and turned the fall into a backflip down the rest of the stairs. 

Taking gymnastics as a kid really should be a prerequisite for villainy. Especially with the Robins flipping around all over the place. 

She landed almost perfectly, stepping onto her back foot and then raising both arms and giving the boys a little bow. Then she sighed, resting her bat over her shoulder and mock pouting, tapping the side of her jaw. 

“I guess I’m just gonna have ta go back and give ‘im a lil percussive maintenance… bet he hasn’t been restin’ right since he got that concussion either. Maybe I’ll call Selina ta keep ‘im in bed for a week,” she mused. Jason mock puked. 

“I thought you wanted him to rest,” Danny snickered, earning himself a glare from his one true love. A consequence that did not phase him in the least. 

Harley laughed and waved a hand lightly, skipping ahead to get the door into the hall that held the actual cells while they descended the rest of the stairs. 

“Oh, she’s a big girl, Selina can do the work,” she teased, laughing louder when Jason groaned like his soul was being sucked out. 

There was a cop still sat behind the desk just inside the door, an older man whose stocky frame had started softening with age. 

He didn’t quite jump out of his seat as she entered, but dark eyes widened and ruddy skin paled when he saw her. Which, yeah, she had that effect on people. 

“Why are you here?” He demanded, voice only shaking a little. 

Harley gave him a sceptical once over. 

Not someone she’d run into personally, though probably on the force when she’d been active. Off the streets now, probably not far from retirement and trying to make it all the way there. 

Not a lotta Gotham cops did these days, in spite of the rampant corruption. Being in the Penguin’s pocket did sweet fuck all to protect ya when Scarecrow was having a hissy fit. 

This old bugger had probably joined back in the bad ol’ days when they could just ignore mob crimes, hassle the homeless, and look the other way if a situation got violent. 

These days between Gordon, the bats, and the increasingly dramatic rogues (among which she still counted herself even if Batsy didn’t, she had a reputation to uphold)? 

Lookin’ the other way wasn’t the protection it used ta be, and bein’ conveniently “late” to a crime scene didn’t help much either. 

This guy? Probably folded like cheap laundry at the first sign of trouble, but he’d stayed in place. That’d make her job easier anyway. 

Smiling sweetly at him, Harley strolled forwards and propped her bat on the floor, both hands on the handle as she leaned forward over it. 

“Pickin’ up a friend,” she told him sweetly, nodding to the line of cells down the hall, “Uber for Mr Waylon Jones?” 

The guy (Officer Perkins, said the name tag, but he’d not really proved himself memorable yet) swallowed visibly, hands shaking but still visible above the desk. 

Not going for a weapon. Not surprising. 

No one who’d seen a gun pulled on Harley before tended to try it themselves. Just like the Robins, she was a tough target. You had to be real sure. 

“Do you have the appropriate paperwork?” He rasped, a Gothamite accent still prominent despite the quiver. 

Harley raised an eyebrow, letting her smile go deadly sweet. 

“Would ya stop me if I didn’t?” She cooed, rocking forwards on her toes and grinning when his chair slammed back almost two feet. 

The shaking had progressed to a full body shiver, sweat dripping down a blotchy brow as he slammed a ring of keys on the edge of the desk, as close as he was willing to get. 

Harley scooped them up and straightened, tipping him a wink as she sauntered past. 

“Thanks bud! But yeah, I do actually have the paperwork, Judge Thompson’s gonna fax it all along this afternoon,” she told him brightly, twirling the ring of keys around one finger as she skipped back towards the cells. 

The judge’d fax it after she had another lil chat with Brucie. They’d cut things short last night, apparently too short for even their actual chat to finish sinking in. 

Gotta fix that. 

And remember to mention Waylon. 

And maybe see if he had any info on her own little issue. Though she might hit Barbara up for that first, bring some treats down library way. 

It was gonna be a busy day for ol’ Harley, but at least she got to spend time with the kids first. 

“Was that really necessary?” Jason asked with a raised eyebrow, following her down the hall with barely a glance at their shaking audience. 

“Necessary?” Harley asked sweetly, glancing into the first couple cells and skipping on. “No. Fun, yes!” 

“See this is why I like her,” Danny decided with a sage nod, and Harley shot him a wink, “she knows how to have a good time.” 

“I know how to have a good time,” Jason said immediately, and holy shit that was just sooooooo cute she nearly dropped the keys to go pinch his little cheeks again. 

Just all pouty and defensive and they weren’t even talkin’ about him! It was too much, Harley couldn’t stand it! 

“Yeah, and I like you too,” Danny replied in what he probably thought was a cool way, but no, that was just fucking adorable too. 

Too. 

Cute. 

Harley was gonna die. 

And maybe get herself a cool glowy transformation sequence apparently, which would be kinda cool. She’d always kinda wanted a magical girl moment. 

She could be their fairy-ghost-mother! 

And, to be fair ta Waylon, she had definitely gotten side tracked again. Almost forgot who she was here for. 

But really, it did not mean he had to make a grab for her when she almost walked right past his cell! She coulda done him an injury! 

He released her arm before the bat came down though, chuckling in that growly way of his and raising both hands. 

“Hey. Didn’t want you goin’ right past,” he said innocently, and Harley sighed fondly and reached her bat through the bars to bonk him gently on the head. 

“Hush you, I’m not that distractible,” she scolded him, completely ignoring any disbelieving noises from her two little love birds, “an’ anyway, you gotta be nice to me. I’m bustin’ yer ass out.” 

She jangled the keys at Waylon instead, then began swiping through them for the right one. 

The big guy obediently stepped back to let her look, his attention shifting past her to Danny and Jason. 

“An’ you brought company,” he growled, a wry grin on his face. She had to wonder if he’d noticed how dang adorable they were already at the gala. 

She’d missed soooo much! But he’d catch her up, because that’s what besties did. And cuz she’d kick all the kittens out of his room if he didn’t. 

Jason shrugged, coming up behind her to lean on the bars. 

“I had a passing interest in why you wanted to use me as bait for Two Face. We’re not exactly close,” he explained, the edited down version for their legal listeners in. 

“Ya got balls for a rich kid,” Waylon chuckled just as Harley found the key. One quick victory fist pump and she got to work on the lock. 

Really, there was a reason modern stations had one key ta open all the cells. Or electric locks. What if there was a fire? 

But then, it was Gotham. They’d happily let all their perps burn. An’ probably keep usin’ it as an excuse why they all needed a fat budget increase. 

“Victory! An’ he’s my adorable lil nephew, Croccy, so you’re gonna play nice,” she warned Waylon sternly, swinging the door open and wagging a finger at him sternly. 

Again, for the benefit of their audience, but also because she enjoyed putting on a little panto. A bit o’ show. 

(She’d have to remember to tell him Danny wasn’t in on the whole Hood secret though. She’d slip it in somewhere.) 

Waylon grunted in amusement and stepped through the door, stretching to his full height and breadth in the hallway. And stopping. 

“Who’s playin’ music?” He asked, head cocked as he tried to trace the muffled sound. 

Honestly, Harley’d kinda forgot it was playing until he said it. 

Danny sighed again, at his most put upon, and raised a hand. 

“I have offended the technogod and am being punished by soundtrack,” he explained in a tone so dry it desiccated. And didn’t exactly help. 

Harley patted the now-more-confused Croc on the elbow. 

“He’s upset one of his lil nerd friends by callin’ him dramatic, so his friend hacked ‘is phone to make it play music,” she explained much more helpfully for sure. 

Again, Jason and Danny took slight steps away from her. 

Again, nothing continued to happen. 

Harley’s smile grew more smug. 

“An’ apparently said friend still can’t get inta mine,” she declared brightly, shooting another glance up at the security camera and tapping her pocket. 

Waylon grunted again, clearly not needing to ask further because her explanation was perfect, and gave Danny a nod of recognition. 

“An’ is that why you’re here? Mood music?” He asked, heading off down the hall back towards the doors. Which, yeah, they had places to be. 

Danny brightened right away, grinning up at Waylon and moving to let the big guy pass. 

“Unless you want a rematch? I haven’t been tossed around like that in a while and I could use the exercise,” he snarked, and yeah, this was why Harley liked him. 

Waylon clearly did too, snickering and clapping a massive hand on Danny’s head on his way by. 

“Mouth like that’s gonna get yer killed one day, kid,” he grumbled, ignoring the still cowering cop as they made for the stairs. 

And Danny, bless him, angel of timing, just laughed and followed along, shooting Jason a wicked grin. 

“Oh, it’s way too late for that,” he said light as air, making Jason let out a snort of laughter. 

Waylon glanced down to Harley again, fully aware he’d missed something. She gave him another pat on the elbow. 

“Jason an’ Danny met at Dead Kids Anonymous. Kid’s got himself a ghost transformation an’ everything,” she explained simply, which didn’t have to be completely true to get the point across. 

It made Waylon snicker again, even as Danny cackled along behind them. 

“Now THAT is what we’re telling everyone else. We might as well have,” he rasped between laughter. 

His pocket music seemed to have changed to Thriller. Appropriate. 

Jason rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. 

Harley didn’t think she’d seen him smile this much the entire time he was alive again. It was nice; most of the times she’d seen him as Robin they’d been fightin’, but he’d always been havin’ so much fun. 

At least he looked like he had. Poor kid deserved to smile a whole lot more too. 

Waylon was taking the news of Danny’s lack of mortality pretty well, giving the kid a thoughtful look. They’d made their way mostly out of the station now, their little bubble of terrified silence moving with them. 

That’d get old one day, but until then Harley was gonna take advantage. 

“Maybe we’ll have another tussle then,” he agreed with a low chuckle, holding the door for the others to leave through. Real southern gent. “Good t’know I won’t break ya.” 

Danny bounced through the door as chipper as Harley herself, giving him a beaming smile. 

“Hell yeah, we’ll find somewhere nice and out of the way. Oh, we had some questions too though,” he added almost as an afterthought, giving Jason a sheepish look that again: too cute. 

Maybe that was how he’d really died. Too cute to live. Though she’d let him make that joke himself. 

Jason didn’t seem bothered, though he did look a little more tense. Not sure where they’d be taking this, more’n likely. 

“Once we get somewhere private,” Waylon agreed, glancing between Jason and Harley himself. 

That probably meant it was on her to pick a destination then. Well, Harley had a place in mind that (while not technically private) wouldn’t involve onlookers. 

“Yeah, I know a spot! I’ll send ya the address, Jayjay, an’ we’ll meet ya there. Don’t think we’ll get four on that bike,” she teased, pulling out her phone. 

She knew the perfect spot, and it’d give her a chance to loop Waylon in. All good news. 

Jason held up a hand quickly.

“Not got mine on me. Text Danny,” he called, and Harley waved her phone over her head in acknowledgement. It might give Tucker a way to jump into her phone, she wouldn’t know.

Tech wasn’t her shtick. Just a good thing they’d all exchanged numbers the night before.

** 

It was a weird feeling to have his body shaken while his consciousness was so far from it. 

Feeling his face pull into a frown not quite mirroring what he felt it should be. Tucker could never have explained precisely what part of him entered his devices; just that it was him. 

Quintessential, pure essence of Too Fine. Everything he was without the meat he was born in. 

But then he did have to slot back into that meat, and trying to do that without matching positions always left him feeling weirdly off kilter the next day. Like he’d put on a shirt but the shoulders were skewed too short. 

So despite not being conscious of a face on his extended form, Tucker tried to form it into a frown anyway, sliding back under his own skin like a teen sneaking back through a window after curfew. 

Hadn’t those been heady days? 

Eyes slowly opening, it took Tucker a moment to remember how to focus them. That they weren’t cameras. But then Tim Drake-Wayne came into focus, and the frown changed to a grin even before he fully “woke up”. 

“Morning,” he mumbled, rolling and stretching, getting used to the feeling of a body again. It was a little weirder each time, which he might have worried about if he didn’t see himself as an extension of his PDA anyway. 

“You were singing in your sleep,” Tim told him without preamble, returning the smile. 

Tucker hesitated for a moment, suddenly embarrassed. If… well. If he’d been singing along, that… 

Look he’d picked songs that’d embarrass Danny, he wasn’t gonna give a fuck about it. The only actual question was, did he tell Tim? 

Who else would ever understand better just what it meant to interact with tech the way he could? Could get excited with him about how cool it was? 

He wasn’t fucking gushing to Technus. No way. Tuck was easily the one winning that ongoing hackathon, but it was the principle of the thing. 

To the zone with it. Tim knew about Amity Park, he knew about the ghosts and the liminal tech. And while they hadn’t exactly discussed liminal people, it’d come up. 

Tim could have a sneak preview. As a treat. 

Decision made, Tucker gave the younger man another broad smile because yeah, bragging about your super powers to a very cool and impressive person? That felt good. 

Tim might be a vigilante too, but Tucker was pretty sure Jason was the only souped up Robin. Most of the bats were famously power free. 

“Oh, yeah. I was bullying Danny,” he explained with a light chuckle, glancing up to find his beloved PDA, Ida. She was half under a blanket now, so he tugged her back out. 

Tim chuckled softly, leaning back and stretching himself. 

“Good dream?” He asked and Tucker snickered, stroking gently across the screen. 

“Danny wishes it was a dream.” Tucker paused, frowning a little at the confusion on Tim’s face. “So you remember we kinda talked about the whole liminal thing?” 

That seemed to jog Tim’s memory, confusion fading into an analytical frown that Tucker was already becoming familiar with. That good ol’ geek face. 

“The humans with budding ghost powers,” he agreed, and Tucker had to wonder if maybe he just hadn’t put the right pieces together yet. 

He hadn’t exactly said that most of Amity Park were liminal, but it was a little hard to remember he had to. Like, they lived on a portal to Hell. 

Maybe he shoulda. 

Well, at least it was a cool way to introduce it to him. 

Tucker pulled Ida into his lap, flipped her over, and tapped the plain plastic backing to demonstrate. 

“Mine’s a low level technopathy at the moment,” he explained as the PDA hummed and then began playing… well, still Montero, so he flicked it again and changed it immediately to Country Roads. 

Tim was watching him with a kind of hungry fascination, and Tucker turned the music off with a thought, then passed her to Tim so he could check for secret touchpads. 

“It’s not something I can do with anything,” he explained with a modest shrug, grinning with pride as Tim immediately got to scanning the casing. 

All simple plastic, not even biometrics; what would be the point? Even touching the PDA was pretty much a formality at this point. She was a part of him. 

“Technopathy? So you can control it with your mind? Why not with anything?” Tim asked eagerly, hands stroking over the plastic, eyes darting between it and Tucker. 

Like he wasn’t sure which was more interesting, Tuck or tech, and Tucker absolutely took that as a compliment. 

“It has to be a device I’ve really gotten into. Like, down to the source code, or something I’ve cracked before a couple times, and then I can just feel how all of it works.”

Tucker wiggled his fingers demonstratively and the PDA beeped to life under Tim’s hands, making the other man gasp. And yeah, totally envy in those cute blue eyes he turned all balefully on Tucker. 

“How many of the functions can you use? Anything the PDA can do, or…” Tim trailed off, clearly thinking of everything he’d already seen the PDA do. 

The real question would have been what couldn’t Ida do. And honestly? Yeah, Tucker remembered the trial phase. 

He gave another shrug. 

“Technically? Yeah, anything she can do, but I still prefer hacking the old fashioned way. Most of the network stuff too, cuz I’m only really “in” the PDA. Or Danny or Sam’s phones.” 

Tucker hesitated, wondering how best to really explain the difference. Danny had never been any good at it, Tucker’d had no idea what he was talking about from the video game thing right up until he’d been sucked in himself. 

Which… was probably gonna be a next-hangout adventure for Tim and the bats. And Oracle, if he could swing it. 

For now he gave up, giving Tim a hopeless grin. 

“Honestly it’s something you’ve really gotta feel for yourself. Danny’s great at the transition from real world to code, but he always just punches things, y’know? Turns out knowing how code is actually supposed to work doesn’t translate well to being part of it,” he added with a sigh. 

Because frankly? It was bullshit unfair. Tucker could code an entire other galaxy around Danny with his eyes closed, but put them in the same metaphysical layer as a firewall and Danny could just. 

Punch it. 

Which, theme for the week, was also not how firewalls fucking worked. At some point Tuck figured he’d either gain a new level of understanding through liminality, or give up and ask Technus a couple questions. 

Technus was currently Tucker’s subject instead of Danny’s anyway. They’d made a bet. 

Which meant Technus shoulda told him about their shenanigans in time, which was probably what Tucker would hold over his head for the whole firewall thing. 

It was so nice when things just worked themselves out. 

Tim looked a little disappointed, but mostly still intrigued. Tucker could see his fingers just itching for his own tablet to take notes. 

“Do you think that’ll change?” He asked, blurting it out like he couldn’t hold back now that Tucker stopped talking, “I mean, if you become more liminal? Or just practice your abilities more?” 

And see, this was what Tucker loved about Tim Drake-Wayne. They were on the same wavelength. He grinned back. 

“Probably. But I mean, it’s kinda cheating too. For now I kinda like that I have to do things the way I always used to first, before any ghostly powers kick in. It’s more me, y’know?” And like hell he’d let anyone think his code skills were just some meta ability. 

He’d worked damn hard for those skills, and he was damn good. One of the best, and he was also good enough to know he still wasn’t actually top of the charts. 

That was the Oracle, although knowing they still hadn’t cracked his servers felt really good. 

Tim was all but vibrating, clearly full of questions, but they were both interrupted by a loud growl from Tucker’s stomach. Immediately echoed by Tim’s, so at least he wasn’t alone. 

The two shared sheepish grins, and then Tucker stretched. 

“So, breakfast and then Twenty Questions?” He offered cheerfully, and Tim nodded at once, thrusting the PDA back and rolling off the frankly massive bed. 

“We can start while we eat, everyone else has probably gone out by now,” he said over one shoulder, stripping out of his clothes from the previous night and hurrying for his closet. 

Ah hell, Tucker had only brought the one change of clothes… which Alfred had laundered yesterday after the snowball fight. Which would mean they were. 

In a place. 

Probably in the manor. 

Maybe in the room they’d talked about setting up? 

He looked to Tim, and only then noticed that his tech idol was shucking off his boxers in exchange for new ones, entirely unselfconscious. 

Tucker frowned back down at his current borrowed shirt instead, waiting til he at least heard both feet on the floor before looking over again. Tim might not care, but in case he did, Tucker could be a gentleman. 

And then he could ask the important question. 

“Speaking of Alfred… my clothes?” He asked hopefully, and yeah, the way Tim’s mouth dropped open and his brain visibly blue screened? 

Just like Danny. They were gonna get along great. 

** 

Of all the top secret, private places in Gotham to go and have a villainous chat… Danny never would have expected a milkshake bar. But like he’d said last night, that was kinda what made it perfect. 

Who’d expect to find Harley Quinn and Killer Croc, properly Waylon, sat in a pastel pink corner booth in the back of the bar? 

Honestly, none of the staff seemed surprised. But they might not have been to see all the bats walk in; it was Gotham. Rogues happened. If no one pulled a weapon, don’t be the reason that changes. 

It made him feel right at home, really. Just like Amity Park. 

And they made a damn good milkshake. Danny took another deep slurp of his, cookie butter and cheesecake was definitely a combo he’d been sleeping on. 

If pressed, he couldn’t really explain what he’d wanted out of this meeting. 

Something in what Harley had said last night had struck home in a way he hadn’t expected, but with Waylon in front of him now… well, for one thing he seemed a lot more like just some guy who happened to be green. 

And who was just adorably happy with his cotton candy milkshake, complete with little umbrella. 

At the gala, he’d been big and menacing and monstrous, all things Danny was very used to and meant “friend” more often than they meant anything else. He’d still take a rematch, but he just… 

Well, that was just it, wasn’t it? 

Waylon really wasn’t all that monstrous, if you looked the faintest scratch past sharpened teeth and scales. He was polite to the servers, a happy straight-man to Harley’s jokes, and he could have teased Jason more for Danny’s tastes but it was definitely effective. 

Jason was much more at ease here with two rogues than he’d been any time his adoptive dad was around. That… well, Danny knew full well he didn’t know much about Jason’s life. 

It felt like he’d learned a whole lot more just today already, though again, it’d be hard to explain exactly what. 

The conversation had been light, easy, and full of banter so far, and Danny really wasn’t sure how to segue from that to “so you were called a monster all your life”. 

Because while for the most part Danny now only had to deal with the GIW calling him a monster (and they’d been quiet for years now, still rebuilding after the whole “bomb the ghost zone” bs)… the things his parents had called him still hurt. 

The things people thought he was, ghosts and living alike, he just… he didn’t know what to do with it. These days he could mostly ignore it, and unlike Waylon he could even pass for living. 

(Never for a ghost though. He’d never be able to stop any ghost from seeing him and knowing immediately, instinctively, that he was other.) 

In some ways it felt like meeting Vlad all over again, but without the crushing disappointment. Well, what it might have been to learn there was another halfa if he hadn’t preceded it by being a massive creep. 

It was… complicated. And all tangled up in his feelings around Jason, because Jason actually was like him and really did get it, or would soon. 

And Jason clearly liked Waylon, for all he grimaced and bitched about the deadpan teasing. Waylon had a lot of interesting stories about Jason’s cape days, most of which Jason hurried to try to interrupt. 

Harley had more, and they’d sat at opposite ends of the table before the boys had arrived, almost certainly so Jason couldn’t shush them both at once. 

If he clapped a hand over Harley’s mouth, Waylon would either take up the tale or start one of his own, and vice versa. There was just no way Jason could win. 

It reminded Danny of his own rogues, though maybe more Fright Knight than Ember or Johnny. The ones he got along with, but more respectfully than just his friends. 

Kinda like watching Harley with the rest of the bat-brood. 

Danny was very nobly doing his best not to enjoy it too much; within a week or two it’d be his turn roughhousing with his rogues, and he was hoping Jason would return the favour. 

There was no way he could get any kind of ghost fight club going without his usual players, and those were the ones with all the most embarrassing stories of his early days. 

Johnny and Kitty especially had blackmail material for days, so as much as Danny was loving the lil baby Robin stories (carefully never actually mentioning the name, since no one was masked)… no, his feeling was kinda more impending doom. It’d be his turn soon. 

And Ancients help them if Harley and Waylon met Johnny and Kitty… nope, not thinking about that. Suppressing a shudder, Danny deliberately tuned back in to Waylon’s story about the time he’d kidnapped Bruce Wayne. 

At least Jason was having fun with this one. 

Of course, it couldn’t have the obvious ending; whether or not Waylon had known at the time that he had Batman, you couldn’t mention the punch line out in public. It’d be rude. 

He left the story at the Robin beat down instead, declaring that the big Bat himself hadn’t even bothered to show up. Didn’t quite go full stage wink, but it was pretty much the next best thing. 

Danny laughed along with the table and Jason shook his head, settling back into his seat with a low huff. 

“Fun as this is, we did have some questions,” he said, voice just a little lower than before. 

Danny was a little surprised he’d bring it up in such a public space. Right up until Harley glanced around, nodded, and settled back into her seat. 

“Clear too. Any o’ the gawkers ‘ve been seen out,” she agreed with a slight nod. 

Danny startled, looking around himself. The milkshake bar was… about half as full as it had been when they arrived. His confusion must have been obvious, because Waylon snickered. 

“It ain’t the Iceberg Lounge, kid, but this is one of Dr Freeze’s more self sustaining operations. Can’t all be heisting diamonds,” he added with a slight shrug. 

Not noticeably less confused, Danny turned to Jason instead. Jason chuckled softly, shaking his head and giving Danny a grin that was almost proud. 

“Shit, you’ve lived in Gotham a year and it’s a fucking miracle how little you know. Iceberg Lounge is the Penguin’s upscale club. This place is run by the guy we talked about last night, freeze rays and diamond heists,” he explained quickly. 

Harley snickered, draping her arms over the back of their booth. 

“An’ if some o’ his ol’ Arkham buddies come in ta chat, his people know ta clear out anyone tryin’ to listen in too hard,” she added, nodding to one of the servers. 

Well. 

That tracked. 

Danny had also definitely thoroughly demolished his “keeping away from rogues” spree, which kinda sucked. But then, since he’d basically gone from one extreme to the other? 

Maybe that’d be fun to tell his classmates about too. It definitely tracked more with Danny’s understanding of his own luck. A whole year, no trouble? More like no chance. 

Also meant this had to be a safe place to talk, apparently. What was it about rogues that made them so eager to get on with each other but nobody else? 

Well, Danny got on with most of his now. But still. 

Jason leaned forward, arms folded on the table. 

“So what’s going on with Two Face, Waylon?” He asked quietly, still apparently aware of eavesdroppers. 

Waylon glanced around the bar, then shrugged, settling back against the booth. 

“Hard to say, with ‘im. Coulda been a coin flip, coulda been somethin’ else, but he wasn’t just gunnin’ for the gala. Somethin’ about you specifically put a bug in his ass, kid,” he added with a frown, nodding towards Jason. 

Something in Danny tensed, not liking the idea of anyone targeting Jason. Of course, it must have happened before… when he was Robin. 

And he’d died. 

Danny hadn’t even noticed he was clenching his fists until Jason nudged his foot under the table. 

Safe-worry-you okay? Jason’s aura was getting clearer, and Danny did his best to smile back. Sometimes his Obsession still snuck up on him. 

Forcing himself to relax, he grabbed his milkshake instead. It felt warm, which was odd until he realised his hands were icy cold. 

Not quite literally, but closer than he’d come in a while. 

Neither of the rogues seemed to have notice, Harley playing with her milkshake while she frowned at Waylon. 

“An’ you decided the best thing ta do was hit the gala first?” She asked dryly, her tone neatly conveying just what she thought of that idea. 

Waylon shrugged. 

“Not like I coulda swung an invite to get in nicely. Sounded like he had somethin’ real nasty planned, kid,” he added, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat. 

Jason frowned, giving Danny another soft kick on the ankle as he leaned forward. Unnecessarily, for sure, Danny totally had his shit under control now. 

“But no one said anything about why? I don’t think I’ve even met him,” Jason asked and yeah, that probably meant as Jason. Maybe even post Robin. 

Waylon shrugged again. 

“It’s fuckin’ Two Face. Maybe he ran outta matching targets and figured two lives had ta count?” He offered, though it looked like it was still bugging him too. 

Harley huffed and shook her head, blonde ponytails bouncing. 

“I’ll keep an ear out too.  There’s a couple people who’ll prefer talkin’ ta me over you, sugar,” she teased Waylon as he grunted, a tinkling laugh falling from her lips. 

Waylon snorted, but a reluctant smile curled his lips. 

“More likely to spill to ya,” he agreed in a low grumble, poking his straw around a mostly empty milkshake. 

Harley nodded brightly, clapping her hands. 

“Exactly! ‘Specially if they don’t want any of their own special lil secrets told,” she agreed with a truly wicked smile. Then she paused, a slight frown curling her brow. 

It was still a little weird to be able to see the moments where her brain revved up. Danny had to assume it was having been raised by Jazz; it was clearly easy for people to get lost in the bubbly exterior. 

Fingers drumming on the table now, something had clearly jogged her memory. 

“Might be somethin’ ta do with Black Mask too,” she said more quietly, gaze unusually serious as she caught Jason’s eyes, “he’s been quieter ‘n I like lately. Keepin’ ‘imself out of trouble.” 

Danny might just ask if Jason could get him a rolodex of the Gotham villains to match the server Danny had provided for the Zone. 

It did not help that they all had their own wild code names. He was used to dealing with people who had a lot of personality, sure, and theatrics. But ghosts usually just had the one name. 

Except apparently for Frighty, or Halloween as Danny would have to start calling him now. It’d take some getting used to. 

Jason noticed his desperately pleading puppy eyes and sighed. 

“Look, I’ll give you the rundown on everyone tonight. Black Mask is a whole ass problem. Crime boss for the False Face Society, really likes skinning peoples’ faces. Red Hood kicked him out of Crime Alley a couple years ago, he firmed his grip on the rest of Gotham, and him being quiet is never fucking good.” 

And as if that didn’t sound bad enough… 

“An’ he really doesn’t like Jason,” Waylon growled, shoulders tightening and straining his shirt. 

Something in Danny tensed again, and he forced himself to take a long, deep breath. Closed his eyes and took another. 

This was why he’d avoided the whole subject. Until now. 

He could taste Jason’s concern like a tang in the air as he spoke up. 

“There’s fuck all he can do while I’m in the Alley though. Unless something’s really changed he can’t challenge Red Hood,” he explained quietly, leaning in until their shoulders brushed. 

Harley heaved a dramatic sigh, raising a hand and waving to one of the servers. 

“Yeah, yeah, you jus’ take care of yaself, kid. Roman’s a pain in the ass an’ if ya let him kill ya again he’ll be intolerable,” she grumbled, the tone at odds with the cheery smile she gave the first server to glance over. “Another round!” 

“Anything different?” The server, a young man with shaggy blond hair asked. 

Danny considered it, since the menu was both extensive and interesting, but really? It’d complicate things, and he didn’t want to think about something else. 

Just the idea of some asshole gangster trying to kill Jason was bad enough. But he sucked in another deep breath and reminded himself that this was pretty much all speculative. 

Black Mask was quiet, not actively threatening, and Gotham had an army of vigilantes to keep an eye on him even before Harley and Waylon got involved. An army of vigilantes who all seemed to like Jason. 

Jason wasn’t worried. Danny wasn’t gonna go all protective mama bear on the guy just because rogues existed. 

The one thing he’d always promised himself was that even with a Protection Obsession, he was never gonna be as bad as Jazz at her clingiest. 

He loved his sister, she meant well, but he’d hated her constant fussing. Danny had actually died sure, but he’d come right back and she hadn’t noticed for months. 

Jason didn’t have a scratch on him. Or any reason to put up with a clingy almost-stranger, Danny reminded himself as he accepted his new milkshake, hiding a smile behind the glass. 

Hell, if Jason being Fright Knight meant he’d sense if Danny was in danger, maybe that could work both ways. That’d be worth asking Frostbite about, and they had to see him for Jason’s core checkup soon. 

Having survived one Clockwork encounter without a lecture, Danny wasn’t pushing his luck. 

And if it turned out that it wouldn’t be that easy… well, there were other ways Danny could know if Jason was hurt, and unless they had a way to change dimensions? No Gotham rogue could take Jason anywhere that Danny couldn’t find him. 

The feel of another halfa was still faint for now, barely noticeable unless Jason was in the same room, but it was already stronger. 

Or Danny was more used to looking for him. More used to the feel of his energy, the boiling rage of the pit tangled up in everything else that was Jason. 

Kinda a lot still angry, but tempered. Mixed in with that wonderful sense of humour, dry sarcasm and death jokes, and determination. 

Danny was pretty sure he could find Jason pretty much anywhere on Earth right now if he had to. And it would only get easier. 

With the question of Harvey Dent settled as much as it would be (and if a flip of a coin was all he needed, maybe as much as it could be), the conversation turned lighter. 

Harley and Waylon stayed off the topic of rogues, probably to minimise the need to keep filling Danny in. They also mostly avoided embarrassing baby Jason stories though. 

No, instead they filled Danny and Jason in on what they’d been up to down on Coney Island. 

Danny had never expected to enjoy another circus story again, let alone an actual freakshow, but somehow? Hearing Harley tell it, he almost wanted to drop by. 

Not see the damn show. Nope. Hard pass. 

But hanging out with the performers, Harley’s tenants? That sounded like fun. They were just ordinary people, if a bit to the left. 

Roller derby sounded great, even if Danny wouldn’t play it with humans. In the Ghost Zone though? They could probably make a rink. And baseball bats. 

Waylon’s stories were way more domestic too; there was just something about a 7’ crocodile man telling you about his efforts to finally hold the skittish little grey kitten upstairs. 

It was just… well. Like hanging out with Kitty and Johnny, or Wulf. Maybe the only people who could understand what it was like to be a vigilante were the rogues who fit the other half of the mold. 

They all lived lives skewed away from the normal, didn’t fit in. The more they talked and shared stories, the more Danny settled. Relaxed. 

Which was when the last piece finally fell into place. He knew what he wanted to ask Waylon now. 

** 

Still on edge from the night before, Constantine wasn’t exactly thrilled to bits to be hearing from the Big Bat again so soon. 

Honestly, why couldn’t he have a nice, normal emergency? Just the world ending, some arch demon jumping for the throne of Hell, a wayward amateur magician or cursed artefact? 

Why did it always have to be Amity fuckin’ Park? 

Still, after they’d given the whole League the rundown, John was planning on washing his hands of the whole affair. They’d be up to date, they’d have his recommendation (leave well enough alone), and whatever they did after that? 

That could be Zatanna’s problem. Or Shazam’s. Which didn’t really matter. 

So of course there was just one more thing that Batman wanted from him first. 

“A health check on yer revenant?” He asked skeptically, arms folded as he scowled at an annoyingly refreshed and rejuvenated looking Batman. 

Who just nodded patiently like he hadn’t said anything crazy. 

“Nothing strenuous. Just a check in, and then we move on to the meeting,” he agreed blandly, watching John from behind the cut outs. 

Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a heavy breath. Let it out. Decided not to think about all of the things that could go wrong tangling with a fuckin’ revenant. 

Bats was still here, hale and healthy, so the kid was clearly used to extreme provocation. How bad could John’s company be? 

Way, way worse the little honest part of him supplied, but… 

Well. The worst of it all was, no matter how damn annoying the man was, how fucking insistent on poking into shit that’d get ‘em all killed? 

Constantine liked him. 

Just a bit. The tiniest, littlest bit, that he firmly ground under his heel at every opportunity, and especially when that poking was getting close to end-of-the-world levels. 

It was the only reason the League had his number at all, because John Constantine sure as shit was not a hero. He liked the world not ending, yeah, but he coulda had Zatanna call him for those. 

He just. Had maybe the very smallest soft spot for how earnest the Big Three all were, deep down. Wonder Woman especially, there was a lady who’d been in the game longer than John himself, and yet it never fuckin’ touched her. 

They still looked at the world, at an old shit like John Constantine, and saw something worth saving. 

So even when he was tired, stressed, and wondering just how deep he should dare to probe to check the Bat’s explorations in Amity Park hadn’t garnered the wrong kind of attentions… 

He huffed another reluctant sigh. It did not help knowing that even if he refused, the Bat would just argue him down until John gave in, or the meeting started. 

It was three hours before the meeting was due to start. 

Constantine would rather jump straight through the damn Fenton portal. 

“Fine,” he growled, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his trench coat. If the revenant got cranky, he could always hide behind the big Bat. 

The bastard didn’t even bother thanking him, just nodded like he’d expected John to agree all along, and made for the exit. 

Were they fuckin’ going out in full costume? In the middle of the day? 

Well heavens forbid Bruce Goddamn Wayne do anything subtly. 

** 

Tim’s afternoon was going great. Thanks to Tucker, he’d had a full and hearty brunch, which made Alfred happy. 

Tim wasn’t much of a gourmet himself, probably as a result of having to survive on what he could find in the house between his parents’ visits. So long as it went down his throat and kept him alive, he was happy. 

He knew Alfred’s cooking was great, it always tasted fantastic, he just… didn’t get excited about food. 

Tucker though? Tucker gushed enthusiastically over every bite, moaning loudly as he dug into pancakes, sausages, bacon, and even black pudding. 

He enjoyed his food almost as much as Wally, and Tim found himself savouring his own a little more as he watched. Usually he’d swallow half of it whole, just to get back to work. 

But he didn’t have a new case today. Sure, there was still work to do on Amity Park (and rewriting all of the Justice League reporting protocols, ugh). 

But he had Tucker here to help, and really, today could be about getting to know the guy. He’d more than learned his lesson from the last few days. 

It turned out that food tasted a whole lot better if he actually stopped to chew it. 

They’d talked while they ate too, Tucker often with his mouth full like he just couldn’t stop and wait to swallow. 

It was kinda adorable. 

Tim had shared some stories about the missions he’d been on with Young Justice, Tucker had told him more about Technus. There may have been a secret side trip to Amity Park in the works so Tim could meet him. 

And introduce Cassie to Pandora. 

There may also have been a secret side trip to the Ghost Zone being planned too. That one was gonna have to be extra-double-top-secret though, since Constantine put a bug in B’s ass about the Infinite Realms. 

But honestly, how bad could it be if three completely untrained teenagers could just hop in and out on a whim? 

Sure, there were risks. Some of the bigger, scarier ghosts that Tucker told him about. And just the air of the realms itself, which wasn’t great for humans in the long term. 

That, Tim was a little less sure about. Tucker could say it’d never done him any harm all he liked, but he was kinda half dead now. Dead enough for super powers. 

Not that Tim wanted super powers. It’s not like he’d ever needed them to keep up with his super friends. He didn’t need them, not even to interface his brain with his computer… 

Nope. 

But that was also how they got around to how Tucker would be getting home, because Tim finally twigged. 

“Wait… when you say Danny flew you here, you didn’t actually mean what you said about the plane, did you?” He asked cautiously when they’d migrated back to the bat cave (with a plate of cookies and juice. Alfred was totally taking advantage of a chance to feed Tim). 

Tucker grinned sheepishly and shrugged. 

“Well, I didn’t know Danny was gonna just go off like that right away. But yeah, he just came and grabbed me and we flew through the Ghost Zone.” 

He seemed to think Tim might be upset with him, but honestly? This was great news. They might be able to wrangle a little extra time. 

“So… needing to go home today was because of Danny?” He asked hopefully. 

Tucker caught on at once, like the genius he was, tracking Tim’s grin and beginning to smile in return. 

“Well, technically I do also have classes on Monday, but so long as I’m back tonight I can fake it if you have another way to get me home, like… say, a bat plane?” He asked innocently, head cocked to one side. 

Tim snatched up his phone, sending a quick text. Of course, there was always the chance Connor wouldn’t answer. Or that he’d be busy. Or that he’d have school. 

As if he wouldn’t have dropped pretty much anything when Tim called him. God Tim loved his boyfriend. 

“I was actually thinking of something a little more discrete than the bat plane… especially since you have some experience being carried.” 

————————

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[thyme-in-a-bubble]

sunflower, chapter nine

summary: after Y/n freaks out because Spencer got injured on a case, he just wants her to understand that he’s okay…

warnings:  references to 9x18, realisation of love, injured Spencer, kissing, crying, fingering, (comforting) dirty talk

word count: 1885

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You were on your way back up the stairs from your great adventure to see if there was any mail in your post-box. There wasn’t. But your trek up the steps was slowed down a bit by the distraction of a funny text from your sibling. Being too caught up in typing out your reply, you didn’t notice the figures that had caught up to you.

“Hi, Y/n!” you looked up to see Spencer, not in his usual choice of clothing, but instead in a red hoodie, some small navy shorts, and as a cherry on top, a matching sweatband around his head. Dare you say, he looked athletic today.

“Spencer, hey! You look,” trying and failing not to laugh, “great! I didn’t know it was casual Friday at the FBI headquarters today.”

“Oh, no, I just had to do a fit test,” his voice went up slightly at the end, making it almost sound like a question.

“A fit test? I would have loved to see that.”

“Yeah, pretty boy did about how you’d expect,” a man you hadn’t noticed till now interjected. He was helping a wobbly blonde woman up the last few steps, before turning to her with a smirk, “you did amazing though.”

“Aw, thank you, Derek, I’d hope so because I’m gonna be so sore tomorrow,” then looking to you and perking up a bit, “Oh, hello! Reid, who’s your friend?”

“Um, this is Y/n.” sounding a bit unsure of how to introduce you.

Trying to help, you added nervously, “I’m his neighbour.”

“Yeah,” Spencer agreed slowly, “she’s my, neighbour.”

“Well, I’m Derek Morgan, this is Penelope Garcia, we work with him,” the man named Morgan reached out his hand to you, “it’s nice to meet you, Y/n.”

Shanking both of their hands, you smiled politely, “it’s nice to meet you too.”

“You are just too cute! And this dress is amazing, where did you get it?” Garcia complimented.

Looking down at yourself, “I, um, actually don’t really remember. It’s really old.”

“Well, point still stands, you look gorgeous.”

Giving a tight-lipped smile, “thanks.”

Almost like a Freudian slip, Spencer agreed quietly, “yeah, you look really pretty today,” catching his eye, your smile grew more genuine.

“Um,” Morgan looked between the two of you, “baby girl, how about we leave these two lovebirds alone?”

“Sure, let’s go,” she agreed with a smirk, “see you tomorrow, boy genius!”

“Yeah, see you,” he replied, and then they left the two of you alone in the hallway.

“Do you wanna come in?” he asked, “I was gonna take a shower, but you can come in if you want.” Nodding, you followed him inside.

Almost as soon as you heard the door close, his lips were on yours, catching a quick kiss, “hey,” he whispered.

You were about to reply when your face fell. Being too distracted before by the way he was dressed, you had failed to notice the small cuts and bruises on his face, “what happened?” your voice shook slightly from the worry.

“What?” he asked, not knowing what you meant.

Lightly grabbing his face to inspect, “you’re hurt!”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not! What happened?”

“It was nothing. Just got a few superficial cuts and bruises on the last case,” he explained, trying to calm you.

“Superficial? That does not look superficial!” you yelled, not noticing the few tears that had rolled down your cheeks.

“Y/n, I’m okay,” he reassured, reaching out for you, but you shrugged him off.

“Why did you do a fit test while injured? What if you just aggravated something?”

“I didn’t, I promise I’m fine.”

“How do I know you’re not just putting on a brave face?” you accused, “you might have a broken rib or something, and you’re just not telling me!”

“You want me to prove it to you?” grabbing onto your wrist, he pulled you into the bathroom. Opening a cabinet below the sink, he pulled out a first aid kit, “here, you can help me, see for yourself, I’m okay.”

Agreeing, you sat him down on the edge of the tub and took off the colourful band around his head. Starting with the cut on his right brow, you carefully removed the two steri-strips, crumbling them up and placing them on the sink.

Placing a finger under his chin, you turned his head to inspect the bruise on his cheek, and to detect if there were any other injuries to his face. Not finding any other, you let go and motioned down to his torso, “can I?” you sniffled. Nodding, he raised his arms, letting you peel the hoodie and the white t-shirt he wore under it off.

He was very much okay under there. But still, you reached out and touched him with a cold hand just to be sure. After a few moments of your poking and prodding, he caught your darting eyes, “see, I’m alright.”

Lip quivering, you pulled him to you, hugging him tightly, not even caring that his face went straight into your boobs.

“You really scared me,” you sobbed.

Stocking his palms up and down your back, “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t ever do that again,” you mumbled into his hair.

“I’ll do my best.”

For minutes he just hugged you back, letting you squeeze him as tightly as you need to understand that he was broken, whispering repeatedly into your skin that he was okay.

You really liked him. Like, really really liked him. The thought of him being injured was obviously a terrifying thought to you, but why did it scare you this much?

He was hurt, how could you make it better? How could you make him feel better? He placed a few gentle kisses on your collarbone, and you suddenly noticed just how naked his upper body was in your arms. And then, an idea popped into your head.

Lowering yourself onto your knees in front of him, you cradled his head in your hands and kissed him deeply. Parting, you whispered against his lips, “let me make it better, let me help you feel good.”

Letting go of his face, you let your hands fall to his thighs, rubbing them lightly, slowly moving further up. “Y/n, you don’t-“ his sentence was cut short when your hand met his already half-erect dick.

Palming him gently through his shorts you pleated, “please, I want to,” you felt his dick twitch at your words, rapidly growing completely hard, “please Spencer.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and he let out a low moan, the sound making you rub your thighs together for some form of relief. Then, almost shaking it off, he caught your wrist, “no.”

“What? Do you not want me to?”

“No, no, I do, I just-, you don’t have to,”

“But I want to. I wanna make it better.”

“Y/n, you don’t have to do that to make me feel better,” he tugged some of your loose hair behind your ears, “how can I make you see that I’m alright?” then pulled you towards him and began littering your face with kisses.

Getting up from the cold tile floor, he pulled you with him, running his hand down your body as you caught his lips with your own. Backing you up, you bumped against the sink, making your lips part, and letting a small gasp out. Lifting you up, with surprising ease, he settled you onto the counter, parting your legs and settling himself in between them.

Kissing your neck, he ran his soft fingers up your thighs, thus pushing your dress up with it.

“Please let me do this,” he whispered, “let me prove to you that I’m okay.”

Pulling back to see your answer, you looked into his dark eyes, knowing what it was he was asking for permission to do, you bit your lip and nodded nervously.

Letting out a whimper, you squirmed slightly as his hand came into contact with your covered center. Your lips parted as he rubbed his fingers up and down, using a little extra pressure every time he brushed over your clit.

You grabbed onto the edge of the counter, “let me know, at any time, if you want me to stop, okay?” he breathed out, “you’re in full control here.”

Quickly nodding again, you reclaimed his lips, and he dipped his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, groaning into the kiss as he felt how soaked you already were. Drawing tight circles around your clit, you pulled away from his lips with a whimper.

Holding you close, he whispered, “I’m okay, Y/n. I’m right here.”

You then felt his fingers move up and down your slit but always ending each motion with a teasing touch to your clit. After doing it an agonizing number of times, he finally plunged his middle finger inside of you, making you moan.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he cooed, pushing his digit in and out of you at a slow pace. Releasing your grip on the sink, you clutched onto his biceps for support.

Adding his ring finger to the party, stroking your walls, and curling them slightly, he planted a hand in the roots of your hair and kept his lips right at your ear. “I’m okay, I’m right here with you. Trust me when I say, you make me feel so safe. Even if I was seriously hurt, just having near me takes all my pain away.”

Bringing his thumb up to stimulate your clit, your eyes struggled to stay open, giving in, you let them flutter to a shut. “You take my pain away, Y/n, I’m okay.”

In that rapturous moment, it surprised you what you had to stop yourself from blurting out. You didn’t just like him. If you just liked him, seeing him hurt like that wouldn’t have been so painful for you. You didn’t like him. You loved him. You loved Spencer Reid. That was all you wanted to respond with to his wonderful, sweet words. Instead, you just buried your head in the crook of his neck and let out a string of pornographic sounds as you road out your orgasm.

“I would do anything for you,” he groaned in your ear.

Hips jerking from the high, Spencer retracted his didges from your throbbing pussy. Keeping yourself close to him, you just stayed there a moment, trying to catch your breath. He wrapped his arms around you, hugging you even closer. Fuck, you loved this man.

“Hey,” he pulled back, “are you okay?”

Looking up into his eyes, you hummed in response. God, he was pretty. Standing there, studying your face. When he was certain that you were in fact alright, he smiled and brought his fingers, the very same fingers that had just been inside of you, up to his mouth and started sucking them clean. The sight honestly made you a little dizzy.

Pulling them out with a small pop, he asked, “do you understand now that I’m just fine?”

Biting your lip, you nodded, and then your eyes flicked down to his shorts, then up into his eyes again.

“Do you-,” you breathed out, “want me to…?” making a discreet motion towards his neither region.

“No,” he said calmly, with a warm smile, “I’m okay, trust me.”

next chapter

© 2022 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[astranite]

Edges of the Universe: Part 2

Scott and John :)

Part 1 // Ao3

The tags in summary: Hurt/Comfort, this is what it is fundamentally but we do dive into the angst and the fluff, Autistic John Tracy, Scott Tracy has ADHD, Scott Tracy Has PTSD, Autistic meltdowns, References to Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Chronic Illness, that's how i'm treating John's space issues, this is all written from a disability and neurodiversity lens and lot of my own experience, there's alot going on but there's also alot of love here, and acceptance, its about hope its always about hope ultimately, things are hard and they wont just fix themselves but it does get better, we just have to keep hanging on. all of us you and me together, its not a straight line there are alot of up and downs and emotions in this fic, as in life and everything because thats whats its like but its not impossible

@idontknowreallywhy thank you for all.

---

“You alright?” Scott asked, “And I’ve brought takeaway if you’re feeling up to it.” 

“‘S only a headache,” John mumbled.

Scott’s hand gripped his shoulder more firmly. “Seems like some headache, Johnny.”

“Don’t.” 

John couldn't handle even the gentle ribbing right now. Or Scott needling him about what the hell was wrong with him to make him admit to it, which was pretty hypocritical coming from Commander ‘I’m actively bleeding out but I’m Fine.’

John sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. That wasn't fair on Scott. He was getting better at letting them in when it was needed. All the smothering came from a good place of looking out for little brothers prone to getting themselves into trouble, and John also had a history of being less than honest about exactly how ‘Fine’ he was.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard of the bed as the blurry dark crowded in at the corners of his vision at the rush of his blood pressure dropping. Because he, Thunderbird Five, head of communications for IR and an astronaut breaking records for space hours and expertise, had really pushed himself today. Went totally wild with it. He had, he checked his mental notes, landed on Tracy Island yesterday evening, sat in the passenger seat of Tracy One as Scott did all the flying to get here and immediately clocked out as soon as they got to the hotel. Then attempted to attend a meeting today. Wild, he bit out in sharp, sarcastic thoughts. Maybe that ignored the busy week he’d already pushed through. Even if he usually had to rest the day after the rough descent down from orbit because that was what his body needed and that was meant to be okay.

John reached over to flick on one of the bedside lamps to make it easier on Scott. He squinted in the brightness but it was better than the main light. In the background was the rustle of biodegradable bags and the distinctive snap of takeaway containers being opened: Chinese, from the place he and Scott had really liked the last time they were here, predictable so he wouldn't have to deal with trying something new.

Objectively, the food smelled good but John’s stomach turned. He spent several amusing minutes poking at his noodles, trying to figure out whether it was merely his usual space issues or he was coming down with something.

Scott bumped his shoulder ever so gently. “I got the not too spicy ones for you in case you weren’t feeling so good.”

“Thanks, Scott.” John’s voice came tiny and squeezed out. 

He picked up a mouthful and they were okay, it was him that was at the point of so hungry he was nauseous, and Scott had realised that he hadn't had lunch or dinner and made sure to bring back food John would like. Because he was thoughtful and he cared, and John had the best big brother so why did that make him want to cry?

They ate in silence. Companionable silence. It was kinda nice actually, just sharing space with Scott.

John did not cry all over his brother and his noodles. He would’ve gotten his tablet to read on and distract himself except he’d need his glasses which were in his bag, though he could turn up the font size, except the headache made staring into a bright screen currently unpalatable, so the entire point was moot.

He tipped his head back, resting it on the wall, then turned to Scott.

Scott had scoffed his entire meal far too quickly, shovelling noodles into his mouth with his set of chopsticks, whilst scrolling on his phone. Hair falling out of its careful gelling, top buttons of his blue business shirt undone, meeting out of the way and laughing at something inane, he seemed far more relaxed than this morning. Share space with Scott was nice because he too rarely got to.

John looked away. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping an arm around them, rocking slightly before it made him too dizzy. He stared off around the room, mostly to keep himself from giving in to the urge to worry at the numb, hollow wound in his thoughts. To map out its shape and form, going over it like the hole left by a pulled tooth. To not drag himself into a John classic overthinking spiral, and attempt to ground himself or whatever. 

The room. Too much beige. Carpet, curtains, walls, really what were they thinking? 

John liked colour. He’d chosen the stripes running throughout Thunderbirds Five and his bright orange baldric with the matching narrower lines through his uniform on purpose. They broke up the monotony of whites and greys space stations were far too prone to and he soaked it up, everything from the stickers and few books in his little room to the colour coded holotabs that displayed each of his siblings’ vitals. Bright and vivid, they reminded him of alive, alive, alive. 

Here, even the abstract painting was nearly monochrome. Virgil would have a lot to say but John could only muster a vague disgust towards it. Or maybe it was mostly his mood turning to harshly critical.The place was nice enough, clean and neat, nearest to TI. They didn't need fancy. 

Hints of the darkened evening view shone through the gaps between the curtains in the form of city lights. John had watched the sunset in hours previous briefly paint the dimness of the room through slitted eyelids. 

There had been the colour he wanted, but he’d ignored it instead of opening the curtains up to the light like he usually would in lieu of visible stars. He had stared at the wall, drifting in his thoughts amongst the achy pain and exhaustion instead of choosing to do literally anything else.

And here he was overthinking, doing exactly what he wasn't supposed to be doing. Fantastic job, John.

Doors to the hallway and bathroom, both shut, John listed. Lamp on Scott’s bedside table, dark grey, not black, switched off.

The blue blanket Scott brought everywhere lay as a bright splash on top of the covers of Scott’s bed, a familiar sight no matter where they were.

They didn't have to share a room, with the large beds on each side where John took the one nearest the window under claim it would be better for the stargazing he wouldn't do because of the light pollution but would make Scott edgy from feeling too exposed and too far from the exits. His brother’s face had crumpled in relief before he’d gleefully bounced on his bed like he was totally still five, as John laughed with him. 

With their money they could easily afford two, could get the frankly a waste of money whole penthouse suite of rooms, but they didn't need to. And it was nice to be close.

He and Scott hadn't regularly shared a room since before Alan had been born, and John was fully aware that as adults it would drive them both mad within a week, but on the occasional business trip or even rarer holiday, it was nice. Waking up disorientated and jet lagged in the middle of last night, he’d fallen back to sleep to big brother’s calm, even breathing. Plus Scott could look over and reassure himself at least John was here and okay, as substitute for checking in on all his little brothers before he turned in.

…it had actually been a bit after Alan had been born that the rooms had been shuffled. When it had been Mum and Dad and baby Allie he had to sneak past to go stargaze outside for a few months until Alan was big enough and got the cot, sharing a room with Gordon. Then it was him and Virgil so Scott as the eldest, encouraged by Dad, could have his own room. 

Virgil was a lot quieter and less prone to dragging him into crazy schemes, and John had loved sharing a room with him, of course he did, but something had still ached as he helped take Scott’s aeroplane posters down from between his glow in the dark stars to put them up on bare blue walls that smelt of new paint. Virgil had never woken up when John went to stargaze, no matter what he tripped over or how much he swore, so he never came with him on those forbidden midnight trips either. Scott had. 

But after Mum, because John was evidently all for following miserable trains of thought tonight, Scott technically had still shared a room with them. Just when no one, especially Dad, would notice. John had woken up to the door opening after everyone else was asleep each night to Scott tiptoeing in to curl up on the floor between his and Virgil’s beds, wrapped in the blue baby blanket that had been Allie’s until it was put away but had originally been knitted by Mum for Scott.

John had always shuffled over to make room for Scott beside him. Scott shouldn’t be alone, he wasn't meant to be alone but everyone had known that evidently except for Dad. He’d always woken up at dawn when Scott left too…

Scott’s hand back on his shoulder startled him, and between the flinch he barely processed the worried, “Earth to John?” 

A wave of dizziness hit and John buried his head in his knees. 

“Sorry,” John mumbled.

“No apologies needed.”

Scott gently took the container of noodles out of his hand which he was holding and had kinda forgotten about, even as the pointed edges dug into his palm. John’d only managed half of his before he had to put it aside. Maybe later, if he got over the nausea. 

Scott held out an arm, giving John the option of being pulled into a hug. He swallowed and shuffled closer, then leant against Scott.