#i really didn't mean to write this

[pending-dope-username]

(oops my hand slipped)

It had started after the first time he saw him. Eddie was bleeding out in Dustin's arms. Steve had just barely made it in time to see the life drain from his eyes. He felt the heartbreak. He felt the pain and agony. He did his best to carry Eddie out of the Upside Down. He wasn't successful. He had trapped both himself and Eddie's body. But when the bats came back and tore his body to shreds too, he had startled awake, it was that morning. He used his knowledge from day one to help everyone. He made it to Eddie and Dustin faster. He distracted the bats and forced the two back to the Over World. He screamed in pain as the bats tore his stomach. He knew the portal was closed by now. He knew they wouldn't be able to save him. Or even collect his body. He had felt the relief of his family being safe. He knew. As he stared at the sky, he counted the flashing lights. And when he felt himself drifting, he let it happen. Steve died, laying on the ground, covered in his own blood as the bats flew away. When his consciousness finally drifted, he awoke once more in the same way he had that morning. This time he was faster. This time, they weren't pinned to the wall. He had warned them. It kept happening. It kept repeating. Every time he would find new ways to make sure everyone got as minimally injured as possible. He had even managed to make it out of the Upside Down a few times, got to see Max with one broken arm and nothing else before he had collapsed. He wasn't sure how long it had been, how many times he had repeated the day, how many ways he had died. This time was different though. Eddie was holding him in arms, not unlike the way Dustin had first held Eddie.

"Why would you do something so stupid?" Eddie's crying, his tears feel warm where they hit Steve's bare skin.

"Can't let you die." His words accompanied by blood.

"You're such an idiot!" Eddie yells at him.

"Eds? I love you. I would die for you over and over again if it meant you got to live...."

Eddie cried harder before leaning down to press a kiss to Steve's lips.

Steve awoke with a start. He sat there and cried. He mourned the relationship that he never got to have. Eddie came over. "Steve?" He looks up and feels the heaviness of pain wash over him. He stands on wobbly legs before throwing himself into Eddie, crying harder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I tried so fucking hard." Eddie's confused but he wraps his arms around him anyway. "Why are you sorry?" This makes Steve cry harder. Of course, he's the only one who remembers. He knew that. He had tried to tell Robin once, tell her that he was stuck and he had died a hundred different ways. She just looked at him with pity and said she had the same nightmares sometimes about the Russians. He didn't bring it up again. He held Eddie more. When it came time, he hugged Eddie as he bled out in his arms.

"I'm supposed to let you die but I can't, I can't let you die. I'm sorry, I keep trying to save you but I keep ending up here, dying over and over again. I'm supposed to let you die. I'm sorry." He sobs.

Someone finally remembers.

time loop where i keep dying to save you but clearly the loop just wants me to accept your death. im not going to but i can tell that's what it wants

[lazylittledragon]

ok someone please correct me if i'm wrong but am i weird for thinking those 'audiobooks don't count as reading' posts are ableist as fuck????

[obsidianbit]

I love this gay ass show with its literally life ending injuries that heal immediately, but only when convenient to the plot, and its ridiculous use of modern phrases, and its laughing in the face of historical accuracy, and its kissing the face of the fans instead of trying to outwit them, and the way everyone involved in the show seem to go 'I KNOW RIGHT! I'M EXCITED TOO!' instead of mocking the fans

[sheep-turtles-and-pizza]

Really love @beebopurr April prom dress design. Magnificent!

Also like the idea of April being like, super excited for the great ball (even more cuz her mom picked up the dress for her), her last night as an high-school teenager. Last look in the mirror, a selfie to show off to her turtleley besties, and off she goooes.

And then disappointment and all.

It sucks.

She sucks. She thought herself.

...

She needs a call.

[erinwantstowrite]

every time i start panicking about the small details (like how i don't know near as much marvel lore as i do DC, etc) i remind myself that LoF wasn't supposed to get super popular and im just having fun and practicing writing for my own books and suddenly that anxiety goes away. like it's not gonna be perfect and it was born out of me and my friend being goofy

[kettlefire]

A Panic in Time (DP x DC)

This is all thanks to the awesome @tkiesai for basically being the foundation of this idea! This is probably going to be long, and probably won't delve that deep into my ideas about this idea. Largely so it's not insanely long. But here I go!

��•°•°•°

Bruce's head felt like it had been shoved through a straw and spit out on the other side. The throbbing was annoying, but it wasn't anything the man couldn't handle.

His mind was muddled, memories of what happened prior to him awaking was blurry and unsure. Bruce knew it wasn't something good.

He vaguely remembered a league meeting, a threat, something looming. It wasn't world ending, or at least that's what Bruce remembered. It should have been something they could handle.

But now, here was Bruce. Waking up in the grass of some random park. He was dressed in casual attire, something he'd wear in public as Bruce. Although last he remembered he was in the Batsuit.

The sun felt too bright in the sky. The sound of families filled the air and children's laughter. No one seemed to blink twice at Bruce as he pulled himself together.

It took a moment to steel himself, to gain composer again. It took a few sweet lines, and a charming smile for a nice mother to slide him a few painkillers. The lies rolling off his tongue like second nature.

To his luck there was a newspaper at the top of the trashcan. He was in some town called Amity Park, and the year... the year was the problem.

It was 1996. Whatever had happened had sent Bruce back in time. There was a few suspects Bruce can think were the cause of this. But something in his gut kept drawing his train of thought to the Flash.

It seemed like each time the League had any time related problems, Barry was in the center of it. Which also leaves Bruce with the question if he was the only one sent back in time.

God, he could only imagine the nightmare if the others were sent back in time. Yes, they can be professional. They understand the risk of changing things in the past.

But Bruce also understands that his team can be less than... intelligent at times.

Despite that, Bruce needed to find a way to get back to Gotham. He might not know for sure where everyone was right now, but he knew Alfred was the safest bet.

A plan laid out in Bruce's mind, a list of people he knew wouldn't be a risk to approach. He just needed to find a way to get to them. He had barely made it to the gates of the park before a shrill cry pierced the air.

There was just one loud outcry, before it quieted down. Bruce glance around the space, spotting a young boy curled on the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's chubby cheeks.

And no one even moved to the boy's aid. Not a single mother spared more than one glance in the kid's directions. No parents came rushing over to the boy's side.

Bruce almost walked away, he really did. This wasn't his time, anything he does can cause immense damage to the timeline. But when Bruce caught sight of blood bubbling from a scrape on the boy's knee, Bruce couldn't ignore him.

Maybe it's just the father in him, but Bruce barely even notices when he's crossing the small distance. His mind zeroing in on a hurt child that needed help. Kneeling before the small boy with a gentle smile, and pulling his handkerchief free from his pocket.

"You're alright there, buddy. It looks like you took a bit of a tumble there." Bruce slipped into the same tone he used to use when his kids were young. Gentle and understanding, as he pressed the handkerchief to the small scrape.

The boy sniffled, tears slipping from his eyes. Bruce was more focused on the way the kid was looking at him. Like he couldn't fathom someone coming to his aid.

That look had Bruce's heart breaking slightly. He's seen a similar look before. The few times he's come to the aid of a hurt child that wasn't used to getting help.

Something no child should ever feel or experience.

"Where's your parents, kiddo?" Bruce asked after a moment of silence from the boy. He had waited until the kid's breathing settled down when the boy's chest stopped pumping so quickly.

Except his question only seemed to bring a new wave of tears to the boy's eyes. The small child just seemed to curl into himself further, ducking his gaze away from Bruce.

And as much as Bruce didn't want it to be true, it was clear the kid didn't have the support he needed. It might not as be as far as some of Bruce's kids have had in the past.

But it was clearly not good.

"That's okay, it's alright. What's your name?" Bruce tried again. The boy's silence was leaving an uncomfortable pit in Bruce's stomach.

"D-Danny..." The boy spoke out his name between sniffles, and Bruce felt a wave of relief hearing the boy speak.

In hindsight, Bruce can see how strange the scene might look. A slightly disheveled man comforting a lone young boy in a park. It wasn't exactly perfect.

But with the lack of reactions from the parents around, Bruce had a feeling the town had an idea who this boy was. The whole situation just didn't feel that right for him.

It took a few more comments before Bruce managed to get the boy to crack a smile. A laugh had felt like breaking a massive wall.

Before long, Bruce had Danny actually like any other boy he's known. Carefree and happy, just like a child should be.

"You didn't tell me your name, mister." Danny had suddenly cut down the relaxed moment they were in. A pout laced the boy's lips as he looked up at Bruce, almost accusatory.

"I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne." Bruce responded without missing a beat. He knew this might cause problems in the future. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But when his gut is telling him something, he can't just ignore it. He checked his pockets, finding no business cards anywhere. So, Bruce fell back in plan B.

"No matter how long it's been from now, you can come to me for help. Just look for Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and when you find me... just say Fairbanks sent you."

Bruce wasn't sure if he'll ever see Danny again when he goes back to his own time. Wasn't even sure if this was the same universe as his own. But he couldn't walk away without at least offering the boy help in some way.

When Danny's eyes filled up with tears again, Bruce thought he said something wrong at first. That was until the boy was suddenly clinging to his shoulders in a tight embrace, muttering 'thank you' over and over again.

Bruce felt himself almost close to tears just from that alone. His heart was aching for the small boy. Even if Bruce couldn't help Danny anymore than this, he was hoping the boy would have a better life.

One where he wasn't clinging to a stranger for comfort that family should be providing him.

THWAMP

It didn't hurt, but it did cut their hug short as Bruce suddenly pulled away. Turning his head to see a young girl wielding a wiffle bat, and another young boy standing behind her.

Her purple eyes glared at Bruce like he had done the worst thing in the world. Her grip on the bat was threatening and ready to swing again. Her knuckles white from the tight grip alone.

Maybe leaving this time era might not be as easy as Bruce thought as the young girl probbed him with angry and scolding questions. Not that Bruce could blame her.

He just hoped this hiccup didn't get back to the league. They'd have a field day hearing about how Batman got scolded by a child with a wiffle bat.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Danny wasn't sure if this was the best idea. It's been years since he met Bruce Wayne. So many years. Danny had just been a kid, not even ten, when Bruce had introduced himself.

When he had an adult, actually check in on him. Yet, it was a memory Danny couldn't forget. Maybe it was just the kindness that Bruce radiated.

Or maybe it was when Sam came to his "rescue" near the end. Regardless, it was cemented in his mind. A core memory that Danny cared with him through the years.

Now, here he was, roughly seven years later. Standing in front of a manor that put even Sam's place to shame.

It took a lot of courage for Danny to knock. Barely a second later, an old man answered the door, an accent Danny was certain Bruce hadn't had.

A stuttered explaination of being here to see Bruce Wayne, that the man knew him, barely left Danny's mouth before the old man ushered him inside.

The man, Alfred, told Danny to wait by the door before vanishing further into the manor. It took a lot for Danny to not just vanish.

Being half ghost nowadays had its quirks, Danny could just vanish, and no one but Alfred would know. But he couldn't.

It had taken a lot for Danny to make the journey to Gotham City. He hadn't even thought to look up a current picture of Bruce either. Which was probably a big mistake on his end.

Danny didn't even know if Bruce was offering this kind of help. But Danny didn't have many allies to turn to. He needed help.

Not just for himself but for his family. For Amity Park. He couldn't be afforded the ability to run away. Not now.

Danny felt all the air leave his lungs when Bruce entered the area. The man didn't look a day older than what Danny remembered. Bruce looked a bit more put together, not like he had just jumped out of a moving car, but it was Bruce.

"Uhm... I don't know if you remember me. But my name's Danny... we met when I was a kid." Danny started trying to explain himself before Bruce could speak. He recognized that confused look anywhere, and Danny didn't have the guts to go through with this if Bruce asked any questions.

"You told me if I ever needed help, to come find you. Bruce Wayne in Gotham City... you, uh, told me to tell you Fairbanks sent me?"

That came out more like a question than Danny would have liked. But it did ease his nerves a bit as he watched Bruce's slightly confused expression turn to alarm and surprise.

Danny wasn't sure what this would do. If Bruce could truly help him. But he was out of options. Just seeing Bruce recognize something he said was enough to calm the teen's anxiety slightly.

"I'm sorry, Danny... I don't remember you. But I believe you and I want to help you. Come inside, have a seat, and tell me what's going on."

That response was enough to have Danny's eyes fill with tears. His chest filling with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in weeks now.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

[flwrkid14]

A Love That Hurts: Tim and Danny’s Toxic Tango

It didn’t start like this.

In the beginning, their love had been easy. They found comfort in each other—a soft place to land when the rest of the world felt too sharp. Tim loved Danny’s laugh, the way it lit up a room even when everything else felt dark. Danny adored Tim’s quiet strength, the way he always seemed to know how to pick up the pieces.

For a while, they were each other’s saving grace. Tim helped Danny feel grounded, giving him the stability he hadn’t known since Amity Park became more battlefield than home. Danny made Tim feel alive, like he wasn’t just another cog in the Bat-machine—like he was someone worth loving.

But that kind of love is hard to hold onto when you don’t know how to nurture it.

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

The cracks started small: an offhand comment here, a tense silence there. They chalked it up to stress, but the arguments began to escalate, unraveling the love they’d built. Neither of them knew how to fix it, so they didn’t try.

One fight bled into another. Danny’s voice was sharp. “They’re my friends, Tim. Something you’d know about if you still talked to yours. When was the last time you even answered Cassie or Steph? You’re too busy trying to fix things that don’t need fixing.”

Tim didn’t hesitate. “And when was the last time Val actually came through for you? She’s got her own problems—why does she need to patrol with you? Are you just keeping her around for the nostalgia? Or are you afraid of letting her go?”

Danny’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Right, because you’re the expert on letting go. How many of Kon’s clones are you going to try to ‘save’ before you realize it’s never going to bring him back?”

Tim flinched, his voice low and venomous. “At least I don’t run back to my exes when I feel like I’m losing control. What’s next, Danny? You calling Sam and Tucker to bail you out?”

Danny laughed, hollow and sharp. “You really think I need them? I’m here, Tim. With you. Maybe if you spent less time in your spreadsheets, you’d see that.”

The fights always ended the same: one of them storming off, slamming doors, followed by hours of silence. When they apologized, it wasn’t about fixing anything—just avoiding another explosion.

Neither could admit the truth: they weren’t protecting each other—they were just too afraid to let go

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

Danny didn’t just distance Tim from his friends; he actively cut them out. He deleted Cassie’s texts before Tim could see them, until eventually, she stopped trying. When Tim noticed, Danny shrugged. “She’s probably busy,” he said casually, though his tone left no room for argument.

Tim didn’t push. After all, he wasn’t innocent. When Val invited Danny to patrol with her, Tim was quick to sow doubt. “You really think Amity Park can’t survive one night without you? Or is it just about her? Seems like you don’t trust me to be enough.”

Danny hesitated, his frustration visible, but he stayed. Over time, Val’s invitations stopped, and Danny didn’t ask why.

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

Sam and Tucker’s visit to Gotham was no different. Danny had been excited to see them, but when the weekend came, Tim hit a low point.

“Do you really need to see them right now?” Tim asked, his voice soft but pointed. “It’s been rough lately. I thought you’d want to focus on us.”

Danny faltered, guilt creeping in. “They already planned the trip…”

“And what about me?” Tim pressed, his voice taking on an edge. “Am I supposed to just sit here and wait while you run back to them? Is that what this is?”

Danny canceled the plans. He didn’t explain, just sent Sam a curt text: Can’t make it. Something came up. He ignored the flood of concerned messages that followed, shoving his phone into a drawer.

When Tim noticed the tension, he didn’t comment. Instead, he doubled down. “You’re better off without them. They don’t understand this life. Not like I do.”

Danny nodded, even as the distance from Sam and Tucker grew into something he didn't know how to bridge.

Tim wasn’t immune to Danny’s tactics either. Bruce invited Tim to family dinner, but Danny’s reaction was immediate. “You’re seriously going to leave me here? After everything?” he asked, his tone more accusation than question.

“It’s just dinner,” Tim said weakly, but Danny’s narrowed eyes stopped him.

“Right. And how long before you’re ‘just’ staying overnight at the Manor? Before Bruce drags you back into his plans? You think they care about you? They care about what you can do for them.”

Tim stayed, sending Bruce a quick excuse. When Dick called the next day, Tim brushed him off with a clipped, “Busy.” Danny noticed the tension but said nothing, a smug satisfaction flickering in his eyes when Tim didn’t bring up the family again.

When Damian later referred to Tim as “too busy playing house,” Danny felt a pang of guilt that he quickly buried under pride. At least Tim was his, now.

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

They were each other’s shields against the world, but it came at a cost.

Danny missed Sam and Tucker fiercely but couldn’t bring himself to reach out, not when Tim would undoubtedly notice. Tim felt the growing distance from the Bats like a weight he couldn’t shake, but he didn’t try to repair it—not when Danny so clearly needed him more.

The truth was simple and ugly: they weren’t protecting each other. They were controlling each other.

Danny missed the Tim who made him feel safe. Tim missed the Danny who didn’t flinch at “I love you.” But neither of them could stop. Because if Sam and Tucker weren’t there for Danny, and the Bats weren’t there for Tim, they only had each other.

And maybe that was the point.

[sysig]

You're still standing off to the side. Somehow, center stage has shifted from under your feet without you realizing, and you're standing in the wings, performing to no one.

Starring Role (Patreon)

[epickiya722]

Seeing someone say they hope Gege gets hit by a car and others going "good" because he's sick was just... look, hate or love the story but it's extreme to wish harm on some guy over FICTION.

You know, one reason why some people stop creating is because people do shit like that.

Imagine being someone who writes a fic and someone comments how they wish harm on you. OVER WORDS. THAT THEY DIDN'T HAVE TO READ.

Ridiculous, isn't it?

[willowser]

ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴀʟʟ ғᴏᴜʀs. werewolf kiri au.

you wake up under a mountain of furs.

light comes flickering from the hearth and, warm and welcoming as it is—you've no idea where you are.

you don't recognize the inside of the cabin; it's certainly not yours, nor is its layout that of any you’ve seen in the village. it's rather plain, with a singular window and table and chair and small fireplace, empty enough that you wonder how anyone could live comfortably with so little.

outside, the winter storm rages on, and there's a howl that cuts through the air that strikes bone-deep.

all at once your memories come back to you: dragged through town with bound hands and ankles, in only a thin night dress, screaming with all your might as the physician that delivered you into this world tied you to an old pine, along with the priest and the man that sold you blueberries in the spring.

people you knew and loved. had trusted.

the memories become hazy after a while, darkening with the night that crept in. you remember your body losing its feeling, but not its fear. you remember the violence of the storm, breaking trees and branches and uprooting the forest floor. you remember the horrible and hulking shape of something rising in the moonlight.

the door shoves open then, with enough force to send you scurrying back into the corner of the room. the blizzard tries to rush inside, but a man stands in its way, leaning back against the wood to keep the wind and snow out where it belongs. he's—big, as tall as the frame and just as wide, with thick hair that he's tied back, messy and low.

he's rosy in his cheeks and on the tip of his nose, as bright as the eyes that snap to you the moment you dare to breathe.

he doesn't say anything, at first. the bag of firewood he sets at his feet settles as he turns to you in interest, eyebrows raised. the clothes he's wearing look—old and worn, certainly not suitable for the storm roaring outside, with the holes and tears in the fabric. the boots he has on, however, seem heavy, have his steps echoing when he moves further into the room.

you pull your knees up to your chest and try to shrink away; beneath your thin dress, your skin has pebbled up, reminding you of just how vulnerable you still are.

your fear translates; the man stops on the other side of the little table, breathing in deeply before raising his hands up in what reads as surrender.

"hello," he finally says, and when you don't respond, he places a thick hand to his dark-haired chest and introduces himself as, "eijirou."

he nods emphatically and then repeats himself, as if to reinforce the name. you only grant him a small nod in return—and he smiles. it's wide, stretching across his face, and friendly, authentic enough that you question whether you're as damned as you thought, or perhaps saved.

how did you even get here? the question finally thaws out from the recesses of your brain and you take another look around the room as if the answer lies between the wood or nestled into the furs. this place looks too hand-crafted, you realize, all of it—and the man before you looks like he could move mountains, if he wanted to.

the chains that had bound you were iron-strong and didn't once budge in all your thrashing, before things went dark—but now you are inside by a well-maintained fire, warm and free, and all that remains of your ill fate are the indentions worn into your wrists.

he's still staring at you, the man. eijirou. he's not moved any closer, either, and when you meet his curious gaze, his lips twist and his eyes narrow. a thoughtful noise comes out of his mouth, like he's thinking of what to say or how to say it, and you're reminded that you don't recognize where you are, nor do you recognize him in the slightest.

big as he is, you don't think he could have carried you too far in a snowstorm such as the one still raging outside; are you still somewhere deep in the forest? in a cabin at the heart of the wood? saved by a man that somehow survives with so little out in the middle of nowhere?

"eijirou," you test the name on your lips and he perks up at the sound, attention snapping back to you instantly. you don't know if it's winter seeping through the floor, or if it's in the way that he watches you, that makes you shiver.

finally, he asks, "cold?" and when you nod, he slowly makes his way over to you, carefully, as if approaching a deer ready to run.

—and then he sheds his shirt with a quick shrug and holds it out to you.

you should want to look away, for decency sake, but you're—stunned by it, by him. there's a litany of scars that paint him in odd and worrisome places, but he stands tall and strong before you, unbothered by his own state. unbothered by the eyes that run over the expanse of his bare shoulders, the dark, thick trail of hair running down from his belly button, the ripples of muscle his loose shirt did well to hide.

you take it from him carefully and it's so warm, almost hot, that you press it to your face immediately to chase away the chatter of your jaw. the material itself, however ragged, is big enough to drape over your curled form like a blanket, and so you do just that. it carries the earthy smell of the woods, deeply woven into the fabric; pine and musk and something smoky.

with your cheek still pressed to his shirt, you look up to thank him, at last, but the words still in your throat at the minute changes of his face: still smiling, though sharper now, somehow, and his eyes are still wide with that keen, rapt interest—but the crimson to them has set like the sun and they've grown just as dark as the night outside.

[courtesanofdeath]

[ranticore]

in tha story building process again... i think the transition from "here's some stuff i like all put in a blender" to "here's what i want to say" in the process is pretty cool. sometimes the stuff i like has to come out of the blender because it won't contribute to what i want to say

[lazylittledragon]

right now i'm very torn between "taking critique is important as an artist and it's not an attack on me personally" and "people commenting about my same face syndrome under my posts upsets me an unreasonable amount and i wish they would stop doing it"

[deliriousblue]

i was totally expecting a wedding(s) scene but i'm personally quite happy we didn't get it! i wouldn't have been bothered by it necessarily but i also think weddings can be a bit of a shorthand to suggest a happily ever after without needing to say anything too specific about what the future of the relationship looks like.

and what we got instead felt very genuine and personal to the relationships in question. style spends his years saving to buy back the diner for fadel; they've been building a stable life around one another (see: double burial); they're clearly heading toward marriage soon if not just yet.

on the other hand kant and bison have been about experiencing with one another the adolescence that neither of them got to have the first time around, and we end the show on them sharing a dream that bison only ever expected he'd see alone and pulling kant right into the magic of it along with him.

and those make sense to me in the context of the relationships being different and the characters needing different things! and it grounds me in what those relationships (and characters) might look like going forward. it's an open ending but in the sense of possibility.

(and i mean. clearly i think kant and bison are staying together and really good for one another. i just think that doesn't need to be synonymous with 'marriage' and certainly not 'marriage immediately'. i don't think they're completely settled but. in a good way? they're learning alongside one another they're figuring themselves out. sometimes teenage love is two men in their thirties. and i think that's beautiful <3)

[aquanutart]

She is offering water to any lost travelers! However, it's so hot that the water has become tea, so she's adjusted accordingly!

[viperwhispered]

Too Hard

Woop part 2 of the trip inside Jamil's head. Part 1 here.

The next time Jamil caught sight of you on campus, his first instinct was to turn around on his heel.

What a stupid thought to have because of you.

Besides, that would only make him more conspicuous, not less.

So, when your eyes met his, Jamil gave you a short nod in greeting. He would’ve left it at that and kept on his way, had you not walked up to him.

“Hi Jamil! How’s it going?” you said with that impossibly disarming smile of yours.

Why was it so difficult to look at you like he normally would? You had no right to make him feel so stiff, so unnatural.

On autopilot, Jamil exchanged a few pleasantries with you - those lessons from his parents had been instilled too deep in him for him to falter too badly in a simple exchange such as this. Still, Jamil quickly excused himself by telling you he still had to find Kalim before his next class.

Jamil didn’t miss the way your smile faltered. Had you hoped to get something out of him?

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you two later, then.”

Something about that irked him, though Jamil did not allow himself to dwell on it further.

His heart really had no business still racing as it did when he walked away, unaware of the frown on his face.

Just act normal. That’s all he needed to do.

After all, he had no time for dwelling in silly fancies.

If Jamil had been acutely aware of you before, it only seemed to worsen now that he was making a conscious effort to not act any differently with you. In fact, the harder he tried to keep you out, the more you invaded his thoughts, unsettling him.

The most innocuous words from you looped in his mind, and even the simplest actions caught his eye. For goodness's sake, he’d found himself staring at you while you were queueing up in the cafeteria the other day, not even doing anything other than standing around and looking bored!

For once, Jamil found himself grateful for all his duties. At least they provided him with something else to occupy himself with.

After all, if he was busy enough, it was difficult to think about those bright eyes of yours, your sweet laugh, or the way you bit your lip while thinking.

Still, sometimes it felt like no matter which way he turned, you were there, ready to throw him off-kilter. Not like it was his fault that often the most convenient route to class intersected with your daily routines. Or that your face seemed to jump out from any crowd, catching his attention.

Which certainly did not help his basketball performance. Jamil certainly did not recall you having such an interest in sports before, yet suddenly you were always there, distracting him. What had changed?

Could you possibly-

Jamil scoffed to himself, forcing his thoughts back on track for the nth time that day.

He picked up the tray of food and started taking it to Kalim. After dinner, he’d need to help Kalim with his homework, there were some housewarden tasks that would need dealing with, not to mention the preparations for the next-

Jamil froze in his tracks.

The voice he heard was quiet, but it was unmistakably you.

Really, it should not have come as such a surprise to him. You had become a rather frequent visitor to Scarabia, and Kalim often invited you to stay for meals. In fact, Jamil had started planning the dorm’s meal prep with your tastes and dietary restrictions in mind, just in case.

Jamil rounded the corner with strange exhilaration, his heart fluttering needlessly.

Yet, his mood evaporated when he saw you.

Why did you stop talking and look so guilty as soon as you caught sight of Jamil?

Jamil knew that look you gave to Kalim, had used it himself a thousand times. The one telling Kalim to keep quiet about something.

What could there possibly be that you would be comfortable sharing with Kalim, but not with him? That would give Kalim reason to sit so close to you, a comforting hand on your shoulder?

Jamil's mind raced with possibilities, yet could not settle for any single explanation.

He’d have to ask Kalim about it later.

Jamil gave you a short, polite greeting, his eyes lingering on you in an attempt to read what you were hiding.

“If I’d known you were coming over, I would’ve prepared something for you to eat as well,” Jamil said, already thinking about which parts of the dorm’s dinner to spruce up for you.

“Oh, no need, just figured I’d pop by. I’ll get out of your hair soon enough,” you said, something sheepish about your expression.

As expected, Kalim asked you to stay and dine with them, and with just a bit more persuasion you agreed - though not before telling Jamil that he should join you too and have himself a breather.

And since Kalim agreed with you, Jamil soon found himself sharing a meal with you and Kalim. Yet, even as he sat down with the food, his mind raced.

Had you been getting particularly close to Kalim lately? But surely Jamil would’ve noticed such a thing. Maybe someone from the dorm had been giving you trouble? But if that was the case, then surely you could let Jamil know about it, too. Unless for some reason you did not want to? But if it was something that concerned Kalim, then sooner or later it was bound to concern Jamil, too.

All the while, Kalim was talking to you about this and that, the latest topic being the animals kept on the Asim estate.

“I’ve got some pictures, let me show you!” Kalim said with an excited grin.

Only, a thorough patting of his pockets and a look around confirmed that Kalim’s phone was nowhere to be seen.

Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. Where had Kalim left it this time?

Before Jamil even had the chance to say that he would handle it, Kalim sprinted off. Jamil hesitated for a moment, automatically halfway up from his seat, before he decided that leaving a guest unattended would be a worse offense than not helping out his master.

Jamil slumped back down with a sigh, mentally tracing the path Kalim took today, trying to recall the last time he saw Kalim handle his phone.

“Breathe. He’ll manage,” you said. There was the faintest of smiles on your lips, and Jamil could not decide if it was knowing or amused. Perhaps both.

Somehow, despite his frustration, Jamil’s own lips wanted to curl up too.

“Hmm. Maybe he will.”

Sure, Jamil could’ve called Kalim’s phone, to make it easier to find, but it was not that urgent, was it?

Jamil took another bite of his food, keeping an eye on you from the corner of his eye.

How was his mind so empty and so buzzing at the same time?

“You know-”

“So-”

You looked at each other, both just as surprised that the other had spoken up at the same time.

Even your surprised look was so-

“You first,” Jamil said. The way you bit your lip... Jamil had to raise a cup to his lips, slowly sipping his drink.

“Just… Feels like it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you be still, you know. Or exchanged more than two words with you,” you said. You were attempting a light, joking tone, yet it was quite clear there was more to it.

“You say that like it would be unusual for me to be busy.”

He was not prepared for the way your soft sigh tugged at his heartstrings.

“No. It is not.”

You were both quiet after, poking at your meals. Normally, Jamil would’ve cherished such a moment of peace, yet this particular silence between you two was decidedly awkward.

Where was your usual chatter? Why weren’t you looking at him like you usually did?

“If you’re worried about me, don’t. I’m fine,” Jamil said, some softness creeping into his tone despite his best intentions.

“That's what Kalim said too,” you said. Yet the way you looked at Jamil made it clear you were still skeptical.

Wait.

Had you clammed up earlier because it had been Jamil you had been talking about with Kalim? That Kalim had comforted you about?

The thought twisted his stomach into knots.

Eta: you can find part 3 here, part 4 here, and finally part 5 here. Hasdhfsdf the way I fought with that last scene I swear. I don't even want to know how many versions I went through, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted without rubbing it into your face or making it too veiled. The joys of trying to convey things through a limited pov. Hopefully it came out reasonably balanced in the end. Rip to all those sentences that were lovely on their own but didn’t work for the whole. Hopefully I can rehome y’all one day. I do have thoughts for part 3 and part x (might be some chapters between those two as well, who knows at this point), so maybe we'll see those at some point, too. Tag list: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @twstgo If you'd like to be tagged for future works, let me know! (Just be aware that sometimes I do also write nsfw, though you can certainly ask to be tagged only for particular kinds of works.)