#looking for beta reads

[scrumpylikesthings]

Looking for beta readers for Meat Cute, a queer horror novel. Its got it all! The undead, worms, pig farms, worm zombies, haunted houses, more worms.

FBI Agent David Whitetree has the uncanny talent to attract the weird, the bizarre, and the supernatural. Freshly returned from a medical leave, David is hoping his life can go back to exactly as he left it. Almost exactly as he left it. Barely 10 minutes back to work and he's assigned to a case where a body has been found: exploded and covered in fleshy worms. In an attempt to outrun his mistakes, David follows the investigation down a trail of pigs, the reanimated undead, and a night full of horror. All leading to a strange little man, standing over a corpse, poking it with a stick.

You don't need to be a pro! I am looking for reader reactions and feedback.

If you're interested and want to know more, please check out this form:

Meat Cute Beta Reader Sign Up

Feel free to reach out, my DMs are open! Reblogs are appreciated!

Header art made by crowzenyogurt

[adobe-outdesign]

forever screaming and crying about the unused Mega Blastoise and Venusaur designs

[traumawhomst]

The Songbird

Yandere Adoptive Fae King Dad & Child Reader

Part One

King Solaris was in a foul mood, today marked three years since his youngest daughter left to go study with the Northern Sea Witch and he missed her terribly. While three years is not much long to a fae, for a father it seemed an eternity. His court was as it always was, laughter and screams, dancing and bleeding, the same faces, the same smells and he was bored of it all.

“Father,” said his eldest son, watching his father’s tail lash back and forth as he sat on his throne, “might I suggest that you might go for a walk? How long has it been since you’ve been in the crossroads? Surely better to patrol them then stay to stew in your restlessness?”

The King sighed heavily, his flame orange cape draped over the left side of the throne. “Your sister hasn’t written yet,” he said, eyes still on the writhing mass of his court in front of him. His hand moved from propping up his chin to covering his heart, “I should go and see her.”

“Father,” said the eldest son, struggling not to implore the sky herself, “She has not missed a single day of letters, we both know that it will come. Stop sitting like a house cat and find something to take your mind off it until it comes.”

The King sighed even more loudly because he knew his son was right, with a flick of his wrist his cape turned into an emerald green hunter’s jacket standing up. He turned to face his son, seeing the crowd in the reflection of his eyes. His son was taller than him now and it brought a great pride to him. “I leave you to watch til I return my son,” he said with a slight head bow.

His son fully bowed his head, laurel green curls falling past sharp black horns, his hand over his heart, “Thank you for the honor father,” he said.

Solaris couldn’t stop a soft smile thinking of the same boy he brought home all those years ago. He reached out ruffling his sons hair, laughing at the slightly annoyed look his son gave as he stood up height again.

“See you soon father,” said Callan, a touch more dry than before. The King laughed again, turning and completely disappearing from the court.

It had been a while since he’d been in the cross-lands where human and fae territory overlapped. The human area changed from time to time, no one knew where the crossroads would be, and when that would change. When he reached the other side, he found it to be in he same place it had been about fifty years, he counted the years in a tree nearby. It was an early summer day where all the birds and insects were singing together but they knew well enough that the King was not in a fair mood and so went silent in respect.

The King stalked forward hands in his pockets as his mind wandered over the state of the forest, feeling how much closer the humans had settled nearby. He could smell them, even this far away and it irked him more with each passing second. It was odd for the boarder to stay for so long, usually half the time it had been here. He hadn’t cursed a town in quite a while. It might be a good way to bring back respect the humans seemed prone to do.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of a thin reedy but full hearted singing. He clicked his tongue out loud, listening closer to realize it was a human whelp that was singing.

A child should know better than to be loud when the forest is silent. Where is it’s guardian to keep it safe? Or do the humans think we so weak to not show our teeth?

It was an easy task, show himself and play with them a bit, see if they were smarter than their parents. Maybe he’d turn them to a songbird since they seemed to love their voice. A lesson to neglectful parents about teaching your child to walk around the forest alone, as if they owned it.

He did admit that the child did have a rather sweet voice, and he had thoughts of shaping them something into more than just a simple songbird, maybe one that could also speak and mimic. Something he could put in a glass birdcage and listen to when he was bored.

The child was bent over in the dirt, singing some old folk song, hair loosely back dirty and sweaty. Who knows when they last had a bath, the King scoffed internally. Their clothes not much better much too big, covered in a thick layer of dirt. It all only strengthened his resolve to turn them to a songbird they would be treated much better than they were currently.

He stepped into the forest clearing, the air around them both growing thick and wild, a smell of hot summer grass hung like a cloud. The King watched motionless with a smile as the hunched figure froze in place, smart child to know when they were outmatched, no grand heroics or disrespect. The child lifted their face, and the King was oddly pleased, it was cleaner than their hair and he could that the child had spent most of their life facing towards the sun. Their eyes looked the same as a fawn caught in the sight line of a wolf, but their mouth was turned into a hesitant smile.

The King cocked his head to the side at the child’s smile, before he could say a word the child spoke.

“Hello,” they said, their voice soft with a slight tremor but a distinct note of hope, “what’s your name?”

With those simple four words, the Solaris knew that this was to be his third child. A neglected songbird, but with a quick wit and curiosity that spoke of greater things than their tiny village. He wanted to scoop them up, and tell of all the great things they would see and do. But this was not his first time bringing a child of his own. So he smiled as he knelt to be closer to the eye-line. of the child.

“You, songbird, may call me, Solaris, may I know what you to call you songbird?”

When the child’s face brightened, any hesitation was gone, this child was his and he couldn’t wait to bring them home.

[walmart-miku]

This panel progression is killing me but I think that it'd actually kill me if yoo joonghyuk and lee seolhwa don't get in here (pls I need a full kimcom panel)

[peachetteprice]

Hi!! I have a request

I have had this idea of singing/hummjng Simon “Ghost” Riley back to sleep after he has had a nightmare or can’t relax enough to fall asleep.

Reader can carry a tune; maybe not a grammy nominee but Simon loves it when they do sing.

Simon doesn’t ask them himself to hum or sing to him, it sort of just happens. No one knows how to calm him down like they do and the way Reader hums/sings one of his favorite songs and gently rubs his back works better than he thought it would.

Thank you 😊💖‼️

Hello! I took some creative liberties with the prompt given. It is only slightly different from what you gave me, but I hope I did it justice! Please let me know your thoughts. @skrubob

(Note: influenced by a sleep disorder my dad has. I don't know, I thought I could relate a bit more with that idea!)

Strangers in the Night

Simon "Ghost" Riley - 1.9K words

It happened again.

It happened again like it happened most nights: without much warning, and for no particular reason.

It wasn't a spectacular night. There was nothing distinct about the moon and its size, neither the thickness of its crescent nor the depth of its craters. It wasn't a notable day for the planets and their stars. Nobody had wished on a comet. Nothing, in fact, nothing had gone on in the day to warrant such an odd happening.

Like every day, whenever Simon was off-deployment, he woke up at 0615. No sooner and no later than the sun rose, did he clambour from the bedsheets with a tired groan and a stretch - only occasionally might he have triggered his shoulder blades to seize up, though, thankfully, today was not one of those days - make his careful way downstairs so as to not wake you, flick the kettle on for a brew and stare out of the kitchen window until its rolling boil turned to a simmer, and it clicked itself off.

The cuppa was perfect.

There wasn't a single thing wrong with it.

In fact, if he could have sampled a half-pint of it, dried it into a powder, dusted it onto a canvas and hung it up on the wall in the bedroom - so that he could have something of a reminder of the most well-balanced cup of tea he'd ever made - then he just might have. Though, that wasn't to say that it was anything extraordinary. Not at all. It was a simple, bog-standard cuppa with a dash of milk, a humped teaspoon of white cane sugar, and all he did at the end, when he pulled the teabag out, was make sure not to pinch the sides of it on the rim; that was all there was to it.

And that was all to re-iterate that nothing at all about Simon Riley's day was unusual.

To insist on that point, as you readied yourself to work, and he gave you your cuppa for the morning - two sugars, a whiff of milk, exactly how you liked it - he made sure to give you a kiss on your lips just as your palm neared the door handle. It lasted exactly three seconds, and there was nothing overtly obscene about the smack that followed or the light tap he gave the rear of your thigh as you left.

When you were gone, he did the laundry. The washing machine finished at nine, so he put the tumble dryer on, too. That finished at eleven-thirty, and everything else was put on the line in the garden, which dried until three. Between then and three, if only to keep himself occupied, he fixed one of the dining chairs that you had leant too far back on and splintered the wooden bar at the lumbar region, for which he had to pop to B&Q to grab another bottle of wood glue, which, by and by, was also nothing peculiar in the slightest.

Once that was fixed, and the washing was dry, he collected, folded - even ironed, if the crinkles needed a spot of flattening, in which case it was one of your work blouses or a pair of his fatigues - then sorted them into the chest of drawers in your bedroom.

And, of course, once that was put away, he had his second brew of the day. Equally as plain. Equally as perfect.

By 1800 hours, you were home, and he gave your lips another kiss. Six seconds, this time, double the length of the one from the morning, with a little more vigour, and unlike the previous, you gave his left buttock a little clench, then a pat, and off you went to check the fridge for dinner.

Spag-bol. Spaghetti bolognese. With parmesan, too. The only thing that could've been somewhat abnormal was the addition of cut-up Cumberland sausages that desperately needed eating up, though it was hardly the monumental incident required to be the reason behind it happening again. It was nice. Dinner. Not your finest work, but then again, weekday meals, especially when Simon was home and you had to cook for two again, never were.

After washing up, you gave him a peck on the cheek, and he held you for a moment against the cabinets, just relishing in the body heat that he missed that morning. And when that was over, you popped the TV on - something completely ordinary in genre, motif, and drama - and fell asleep against him on the sofa.

Perhaps it was why you didn't notice so much. Perhaps if you'd stayed awake, you would have known when, why, or how it came to be.

An hour or two - or some duration of time in between - of light sleep passed, and you woke to the sound of his electric toothbrush whirring away. You joined him in the bathroom to brush your teeth, he slung an arm about your waist and drew circles into your stomach, though you were still some variable of dazed by the sudden jolt from being asleep to awake, but it was all alright, truly, because within two minutes, you were dead asleep again.

It was uncertain how much time had passed between falling asleep and being awake again. That was the terrible thing with sleep. Sleep blurs the lines between seconds and hours. What could have been five minutes could have easily been five hours, and what could have been ten hours often felt no longer than ten seconds. Time becomes an illusion, much like the theory in which, on one planet, it is equally plausible that thirty seconds in passing may equal three days in another, and yet, both planets cohabit the same space, the same universe, mere light years apart.

When you did manage to fall asleep again after brushing your teeth, and when it did happen again, it was a mere three seconds.

There was shouting. Some rambling. It bled into your unconsciousness until, with a rather heavy dip in the sheets, a bolt from the blue, you were left wide-awake.

"Simon?" You said into the void. There wasn't much to be seen at night.

"Where? Where is it? There's a--"

--You were awake now. That was for definite. Three seconds had passed, and Simon was awake, too. There was something odd about the frenzy in his eyes. If it wasn't for his blown pupils, you would have been convinced there was an intruder somewhere in the house. But he looked delirious. Three seconds had passed, and he hadn't slept a wink for something more like three days. But in the same breath, he was barely awake.

He was somewhere in between, mumbling under his breath about a spider and how it was somewhere here, in the bedroom, and it wanted him.

He wasn't making any sense - Simon Riley was not afraid of a bloody spider.

Twenty-two hours, eighteen minutes, and three seconds had passed. Nothing pertubing had happened prior, and yet, it was happening again.

"Simon, love, go back to sleep." You enveloped the shadow of his waist and pressed him back to the mattress - luckily, he hadn't left the bed yet. He was in and out of it, then. Ever-mumbling, eyelids still bursting wide every few seconds with the type of fear that should have only been present in somebody murdered. "It's alright."

It didn't happen often.

A few times since you'd been together, all countable on one hand, which, at this point, was years. He'd told you it might happen the first night you'd slept together in the same bed. Not the first time you'd slept together, full stop, but when he moved in and co-opted the king-sized bed in the bedroom. It was real, then. The relationship.

He never remembered it in the morning. Never did. Never will. You know he never did - he would have apologised if he did. Never asks if it's happened, but he's sure it has, because he notices the way your eyes never leave him the morning after, as if you're worried he might start yelling obscenities again and you have to hold him.

You always have to hold him. Like his mother did. One arm along his belly, stroking his stomach, and the other around the curve of his head, petting his hair like he's a little lamb. He would never be embarrassed about it, what you have to do to calm him, but if he were to ever ask if he'd ever woken up in a state, looking half as scared as a little boy in the dark - you wouldn't tell him. No. It's only a memory for you, and you'd rather like to keep it that way.

"It's alright." You cooed.

Sometimes, you sing to him. If he needs it. You sung that night, actually. He needed it that night. God, you must have sounded awful. Part of you was pleased at the fact that he never remembers it once he wakes up, because you'd quite like to avoid the conversation about how you can only just about hold a tune, and not with much fluidity.

It was Etta James' I'd Rather Go Blind.

The DJs on Smooth Radio played it during crawl traffic on the M60, rattled on about how incredible of a voice she had, they did, which was salt in the wound, really - there was an accident that morning on the hard shoulder, it took all of fifteen minutes to clear - and it was all that was stuck in your head at work, on the toilet, in the break-room and in the car on the way home.

It was the only song that came to mind as you started singing. A few wobbly notes here and there, nothing but of jumble of lyrics where it was certain you'd said more than one of the pre-chorus lines in favour of getting to the chorus itself, and you could hardly stop yourself from whispering some notes that you knew you wouldn't be able to reach at a murmur.

Simon settled a little at that. You were sure there wasn't much cognition behind those eyes - he was nothing but a walking zombie whenever it happened - but his hands clasped the one on his stomach, his pupils pinched back to normal, and by the second chorus, he was calm again.

You held him for a while. A long while. Until daybreak came in. Just to make sure it wouldn't happen again.

And at 0615, when the sun crept in to cast its shadow along the foot of the bed - and it would still be another hour until you rose - Simon awoke, stretched out his shoulder blades - though, this time, they did seize up - and faced your conked-out body.

Simon did notice something peculiar, then.

Your arms wrapped around his torso - which were often the other way around - should have been clutching the covers. There never meant to be a kink in your brow. Never was. Never should have been. Only on the mornings when you looked at him with too much empathy - when something had happened the night before that you never wished to talk about, was there ever such concern knotted into them.

And, in that moment, Simon knew. He leant a kiss to your lips, later joined them at your earlobe, too, before whispering;

"Thank you, love."

And there actually was something anomalous about that day, irreverent of the last. For some reason, whether because of the stars, the moon, or the planets, Simon had an Etta James song stuck in his head. How bloody weird.

| Masterlist |

[hartlesshart]

5/14

how we got here -> Page 1

If you wanna stick with this story -> Page 6

it's. my. comic. i. get. to. add. unhinged. action.

[animentality]

special announcement time

alright everyone.

at long last, i have finished polishing my latest writing project, a horror romcom fantasy novel (94k words), and am looking for beta readers to tell me what they think of it.

but not only that...

i am also interested in beta swapping.

sooooooooo.

if you got an ongoing fanfic, if you've got a novel of your own...or any other kind of big writing project, or web comic even, that you want eyes on...dm me or send me an ask (or reply to this post, I'll reach out).

i have turned on dms and replies for this purpose.

it can be pretty much any length and any genre, about anything. i don't mind any experience level either, whether you've never written anything at all, or have been doing it for years. i can help aspiring authors (trad or indie), fanfic authors who want to participate in fan events/post to AO3, people who don't want to share their work with the public...

i'll read sci fi, fantasy, horror, historical, contemporary, romance. porn. any genre, with any audience (YA, MG, adult, whatever).

but also, you know. we don't have to swap. if you just wanna read it, that's perfectly alright too. summary here, so you can see if you'd be interested.

Warnings: Graphic violence, child death (death of an infant), self-harm (because their powers are blood-based, and they need to self harm in order to use them), implied sexual assault/incest (not graphic), animal death (a lot of it), and oh yeah, sex scenes. this is an adult romantasy. adult.

anyway.

here:

In a world ravaged by war between the old gods and the new, demigods sow chaos and discord wherever they go, destined to be either legendary heroes or fearsome villains. But Marrow is not like other demigods. They are the child of the god of blood and slaughter, born with only one purpose: to kill in their savage father’s name, and bleed the entire world dry. The one problem? 

The only living creature they want to kill is their father.

But Marrow has been imprisoned within their temple for their entire life, unable to realize that dream…until now. A deal with a devil allows them to escape, making their way into a hostile world they know little about- and matters are not helped by the fact that their father can use their eyes to see what they're seeing at any time. To keep him from seeing their location, Marrow must remained blindfolded. But Marrow, an eternal optimist, won’t let their lack of vision stop them from fulfilling their lifelong dream. 

The demigod hunter might, however. Arlo Ren is a member of the Razor Watch, a religious order dedicated to the goddess of the hunt. He is clever, but impulsive, eager to prove himself to his goddess by capturing powerful prey. Soon after meeting Marrow by chance, and discovering what they are, he sees his opportunity and refuses to let it go. Literally. The demigod hunter handcuffs the demigod to his side, and swears to sacrifice them in his god’s name. Luckily for him, Marrow is an inexperienced, blind pacifist, who needs him to guide them through a dangerous, unknown world. They fully intend to escape him eventually. But perhaps a demigod and a demigod hunter have more in common than they might think. Perhaps they might even need each other...but they will, at the very least, need to learn how to live, work, and fight together as they are relentlessly chased by Marrow’s powerful demigod siblings, all hoping to kill their youngest sibling and please the god they abandoned. 

So yeaaaah. DM or replied or whatever if interested. We can chat some more in discord or on Tumblr (but I'm faster on discord).

[little-pondhead]

[inspired roughly by this post. My brain snails started going nuts so I thought it'd be easier to post this separately :)]

…

It was a lovely day in Gotham. Well, as lovely as it could be. The sun was up, peeking through the overhead cloud cover and making the buildings gleam in the rare sunlight. The air was fresher than usual, and faucets ran clear of strange and unusual toxins.

Somewhere in the Upper East Side, in a little neighborhood tucked away from the rest of the city, marched around the new boss of the area. She was a young girl, just barely in high school. But despite it being the middle of a work day, she wandered around her chosen streets, content to do whatever she wanted. Above her, a pair of siblings watched on and discussed the unique situation.

"So let me get this straight: that fourteen-year-old goth girl is a crime boss?"

Mia smiled at Leon, her older brother, and his dumbfounded expression as they rested on her balcony. "She's fifteen, actually. Her birthday just passed. We all got together and threw a block party for her!"

"You know how insane that sounds, right?" Leon turned to her, a bit miffed that she dared to say those words to his face. "She's a kid. Why do you all listen to her?"

Mia shrugged and sipped her beer. "She does good work. Holds her own pretty well, and the kid has connections. Good ones, too. That can be the difference between life and death in Gotham."

Leon rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I just don't get it. How did she end up in this line of work? Do child labor laws even apply here?? Why aren't the Bats doing anything?"

"Don't think about it too much, dipshit." Mia crushed her now-empty beer can in her hand and tucked it into a paper garbage bag hanging off of a hook on the balcony rail. A familiar set of green arrows was printed on the side.

"And now you're recycling?!" Leon realized. "When did you start doing that, Mia??"

The woman shrugged and got up, stretching. "Probably around the time Brambles absolutely reamed out Mrs. Zalinski for littering at the park."

"Wait, who's Brambles?" Leon scrambled upright and followed his sister inside.

Mia laughed. "Brambles is our fifteen-year-old crime boss!"

...

"I can't believe you got a cool name right off the bat," Danny grumbled, flopping onto Sam's bed face-first. Sam smirked and shoved him off with her foot. Danny just squawked and let himself ragdoll to the ground.

"It's your fault for not having a better gimmick." She said to his prone body. "Besides, it could've been worse."

"I think Inviso-Bill is the worst possible nickname for anyone." Danny groaned. "But you got something cool immediately. Who even thought up 'Brambles'? That's such a unique name!"

"Well the kids call you Grim; that's pretty cool."

Danny flopped over, twisting himself much farther than any human was supposed to just so he could glare at her face. "They only call me that cause one of the is obsessed with Harry Potter." He grumbled, pouting.

Sam just rolled her eyes and went back to sorting through piles of papers scattered all across her duvet. Since moving to Gotham several months ago, Sam had taken it upon herself to turn the experience into something useful rather than just moping all the time, as she originally wanted to. That 'something useful' had landed her as the newest crime boss in Gotham, with about a third of the Upper East Side as her current territory.

So many problems had popped up in the last year, and the group had decided that taking it on alone would never work. The GIW had been trying to close Amity's borders, Danny's parents had a scientific breakthrough, tensions in the Realms were high, etc. There was a lot on their plate! Sam's solution was to create a foothold in Gotham City. She would lay the foundations for Jazz to work in Arkham and forge a safer environment for the residents of Amity Park to sneak off to if the GIW went too far. She was essentially weaving a cushion for everyone to fall back on.

Danny, using the power of duplication, was splitting his focus between foiling his parent's plans and resolving issues with his rouges to create a united front. He was the main distraction, and Sam's own heavy hitter when she needed help establishing dominance.

Tucker planned to gather intel with the help of Technus and Jazz. They were trying to gather as much evidence as possible so they'd be in the clear when the whistle blew. The GIW would crash and burn, legally speaking. They were the bugs of the operation, spreading themselves thin and hoarding information like it was candy.

Dani was their wild card, their jester. She was keeping the JLD's attention focused solely on her and all the supernatural hijinks she was stirring up. When the time was right, she'd point them in the direction needed and let them loose. After winding them up so much, the hope was that the Justice League Dark would descend upon the GIW like hellfire.

But those were their future plans. Right now, Sam was in possession of specific files from Arkham Asylum and the GCPD. She was looking for anything to give her an edge in the upcoming meeting with a few other crime bosses. Some annual thing they host to renew Goonion contracts, see who's still alive, and examine how much the territory lines have changed. Stuff like that. Red Hood was supposed to be there, and she knew she needed an ironclad defense against him and his nosy colony of Bats.

Danny untwisted himself all of a sudden, making a weird face. "Sorry, got to go." He apologized. "Vlad just showed up to my house."

Sam waved him off. "Go, I'll be fine for today. Just be on time for the meeting on Friday. And I want you, not a double."

"You got it!" Danny did finger guns at her and promptly melted into a pile of green goo. Right on her bedroom floor!

Sam sighed and got up to throw a towel over the puddle. The ectoplasm would evaporate eventually, returning to the original Danny little by little. But for now, this would keep anyone from asking about it until it was all gone.

Sometimes she really hated living in student dorms. People always felt the need to burst into her room for no reason.

Who even made dorm rooms for high schoolers in the first place??

...

Jason couldn't help but stare at the new recruit.

Well, 'new recruit' wasn't exactly accurate. 'Potential to be the most headache-inducing supervillain' was more like it. Standing at a solid 5'10" with platform boots, Brambles, the newest crime lord who had taken over half of the Upper East Side in under four months, was almost tall enough to look him in the eye straight on. Which she tried to do anyways, tilting her chin up oh-so-slightly (in that stupid way aristocrats do when they want to look down at you) and glaring at him with open hostility.

Brambles was young, way too young to be in this line of business. At the start of the annual underground crime meeting (yes, they couldn't come up with a better name), she had announced that she was fifteen, went by she/her, and would snap the dick off of anyone who looked at her funny. Most everyone laughed at her, thinking it was an empty threat. Brambles proved it wasn't by sucker-punching a younger lieutenant who tried to get handsy with her five minutes into the meeting.

When the lieutenant's boss protested and threatened a gang war, Brambles had snapped her fingers and summoned what could only be a fucking pit demon from the depths of hell to threaten the man back. The creature looked like a teenager, just like Brambles, at first. But it was...off. The longer you looked, the worse it got.

It wore a draping black cloak that covered most of its body, with the ends turning to mist when it reached the floor. It had a pale, young face and white hair. Its eyes glowed just like Brambles', except they were a toxic green that made Jason's heart skip a beat in fear. The creature was snarling, with a fucking muzzle on it to keep its sharp teeth away from wandering fingers.

With a nod from Brambles, the creature bounded forward and knocked the guy to the floor, its arm elbow-deep into the guy's chest. The dude looked terrified, and a little sick "Would you rather lose a lieutenant or your life?" She had snarled, sounding almost a bit demonic herself. The other boss had backed down without another word, writing off his subordinate as dead and gone.

Instead of killing the guy, however, Brambles simply banished her little guard dog to a corner of the warehouse to play with its new toy in peace.

"Is she allowed to do that?" Someone whispered.

"They weren't unionized, so the Goonion won't say anything." Another answered.

It was the most awkward meeting in the history of the criminal underworld. No one even died since they were all focused on the newcomer.

Jason could feel a headache forming as the meeting came to an end. Brambles was still sitting in her chair. The creature had grown bored of its toy and was leaning against her, sprawled out lazily and barely flicking an ear at the onlookers in acknowledgment. A few people were idling around her, mostly women, trying to talk some big game and get on the kid's good side. Brambles was humoring them, taking tight control of the conversation when they got too prying.

Jason sighed. He knew he'd have to go over and have a talk with the kid, even if it was just for Bruce's files. He hauled himself upwards and stalked over. "Pardon me, ladies and gents, but I'm going to borrow the kiddo here for a moment."

The creature hissed at him, tensed at his approach. Brambles kept a tight grip on the back of its muzzle, keeping it grounded. The other criminals scattered like flies. They were the only two (three?) left in the warehouse within minutes.

Bramble rose to glare at him. "What." She spat. "If you're here to convince me not to get involved with anything, I will set Grim on your ass after lighting it on fire."

The creature, Grim, growled in agreement. The sound echoed strangely like he was hearing it from underwater.

"Relax, I'm not here to do any of that." Jason raised his hands in surrender, immediately abandoning that possible line of thought. "I'm just here to talk business. You're young, and while you don't want to admit it, inexperienced."

"Stop the fancy words, Red Hood." Brambles' eyes glowed again, and she released her hold on Grim's muzzle. "If you want to make a deal, say it to my face. If you're here to dig for information, either ask me or hit the road. I prefer honesty over flower talk, so tell me what you want before I take over your area, too."

Jason bristled. His vision was tinted green as he snapped, "What the fuck is your problem, kid?! I just wanted to make sure you were safe and not being forced to do this. I was even going to offer my support and protection if it was too much! I know you aren't going to stop, but that doesn't mean I want a kid to die just because they got into something they shouldn't and they think their fancy guard dog will always be there to protect them!"

Brambles' eyes stopped glowing, and her stare softened a bit. Grim went deadly still, just floating there, staring at Jason. His heart beat like crazy in his chest. What was he saying? It was all true, but he could've been nicer about it. Dick would've found a way to be nicer.

-krrrk- "Ibis, reporting in. I think you can trust him, guys. Even if he's a Bat, his connections and experience would be useful in our plans. Ibis out." -krrrk-

Jason flinched from the sudden noise, looking around to find the source. It sounded like it had come from everywhere, even inside his own helmet. Brambles immediately switched out her hostile look for an annoyed one, tapping an earpiece he hadn't noticed before.

"Ibis, you really have to stop opening up our comm lines to the public." She snapped, but there was no real heat to it. "And I thought I told you to stop eavesdropping!"

-krrrk- "Sorry, can't help it. I'm everywhere now! You shouldn't have given me this power." -krrrk-

Grim hissed.

-krrrk- "Don't hiss at me, young man! You were the one who suggested this!" -krrrk-

"I'm sorry, time out!" Jason made a T with his hands. The green from his vision had completely disappeared now. "What the FUCK is going on now?"

Brambles sighed, rubbing her temples. "You know what? Fine. We'll trust you. My name is Sam. Nice to meet you, Jason Todd."

Jason stepped back, immediately reaching for his gun. Grim darted forward and promptly flew through him, stealing all his weapons in one go. "I'm Danny!" Grim-Danny?-chirped in a human voice, giving him a shit-eating smile. "Sorry for the act, Mr. Hood. And sorry about the name drop, I'm the one that told them."

-krrrk- "I'm Tucker! There are more of us, but they're busy. I have literally so many questions for you, Mr. Hood." -krrrk-

"Now that introductions are over-Danny don't eat his smoke bombs, you're not gonna look like Dorathea-we'd like your help."

Jason squinted at them. "You understand this is all suspicious as fuck, right? And how did a pit demon find out who I am?"

-krrrk- "Yeah, we know. But lives are on the line here, and I think you'd really be a help!" -krrrk-

Brambles-Sam-sighed and pulled out a flash drive. "I was going to use this as leverage, but I guess it'll have to be useful in other ways." She tossed it to Jason, who numbly caught it. "Look over it if you want. If you don't, then just burn it. Do not try to plug it into the Batcomputer. Don't try to send it to the Batcomputer, either. A virus will target that specific IP address as soon as it makes contact. Any other computer is fine."

"Look it over, and we can go from there," Danny added, spinning in midair while chomping on one of Jason's knives. (His good one, too!) "And I'm not a pit demon, but I am dead. That's how I knew about you. Whatever brought you back to life gave the Realms a real headache for a while. It wasn't hard to look you up in the records."

"This is so much information. Lives are on the line? And two, three kids are dealing with it? By becoming crime bosses?"

-krrrk- "Technically, Sam's the only crime boss here. And that was kind of an accident. She was supposed to create a safe foothold in Gotham in case we needed to evacuate our town. But we all got cool nicknames out of it! And you're the only adult we've told this stuff to!" -krrrk-

"I'm what?"

"The only adult." Sam's unwavering gaze seemed to pierce his soul. "There are quite literally no other adults that can help, Red Hood. None that we trust, not really. Any adult intervention needs to be planned carefully so it doesn't backfire on us. We're trusting you here, Jason. Not only are you like us, which technically puts you in danger too, but you have power and connections to support a whole town of people the government wants to eradicate."

Jason looked at the little green flash drive in his hand. He didn't want to ask. "And this...?"

"A fruit basket," Sam said simply. "Originally, it was supposed to be blackmail. But instead, this is a present to show our goodwill and faith. To show you our skills. That drive contains information on other gangs, upcoming rogue attacks, chemical breakdowns of Joker Venom and Fear Gas, unfinished antidote formulas, etc. Tucker and his team scoured the underbelly of Gotham and gathered dirt on every single prominent figurehead. Including Bruce Wayne, should you choose to use it."

"I would never-"

"But you've thought about it." Danny cut in and scratched his neck. Jason's hands shook. "It's not a bad thing. It's just the nature of the dead. Wanting to right the wrongs left over from their time with the living. Even if you walk and breathe now, that doesn't mean desire disappears."

"The point is, we need help. Even if I'm loathe to admit it." Sam rolled her eyes, and suddenly, Jason didn't see a potential supervillain in the making. He saw a teenager trying her best, shouldering the responsibility of hundreds of people, both in Gotham and her hometown. Danny looked the same, no matter how other-worldly he was. What battles were they facing? Why weren't there any adults to turn to? What kind of lives were they leading if they immediately trusted a known crime lord with their lives upon the first meeting?

"I'll think about it." Jason finally said. Danny trilled in excitement, and some tension bled out of Sam's shoulders. "If the situation is bad enough, however, I'm calling in someone else for help."

Danny shrugged. "As long as it ain't Batman! I don't think he'll appreciate us smuggling a town of liminals into his city."

Sam poked Danny's shoulder, prompting him to look at her. "Let's go, before you break his brain with more info-dumping. Bye Red Hood!"

"Uh, yeah. Goodbye!" Jason stuttered. He watched the two kids walk towards the exit door, before shimmering out of sight before they even touched the handle.

What the fuck.

[sweetsuo]

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬

Toji Fushiguro x F!Reader

Cw. afab!reader. Cheating. Infidelity. Dacryphilia. Temperature play. Burning. Fingering. Smoking.

 Genre. [ fic. Smut. See tags for notes.] You're Megumi's girlfriend and his father is not someone you thought you'd catch the eye of in the kitchen.

Wc. 3.6k

This was fucked up. It was fucked up and you knew it was. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, but it’s the only way your heart squeezed in that sickeningly pleasant way – the only reason you wanted to sleep over any more.

You looked up at him, eyes dancing over the serenity in his features. Handsome. Somehow boyish in the length of his lashes and the way his lips parted in a slight laugh. He made you feel like an endangered animal – preciously encaged for safety and sanctuary yet never letting you see home again.

Your breath fluttered and you were completely certain he could hear the way your heart swirled in your eardrums. It was evident in the way his head tilted slightly as his deep gray-blue eyes went from your chest, to your lips, to yours eyes. You held your breath, rolled your lip between your teeth, and averted your eyes.

The tile of the kitchen floor was cold against your bare feet and Megumi’s shirt was big enough to graze your knees. The chill of the counter against the side of your hand reminded you of everything outside of the one in front of you.

“W-what?”

“Can I have the milk?”

Toji leaned his hip on the black marble countertop, hand laying over yours on the cardboard milk carton as he took it from you. It was a slight graze of a touch, but you felt the calluses of his fingers trickle across the delicate skin of the back of your hand. You repressed a shudder. Your chin dipped down. Your hand let go of the carton.

“Thanks. What’re you doing up so late, Princess? Gumi kick you off the bed again?”

You felt the warmth of his body as he shifted, bicep grazing onto your upper arm as he poured the milk into the coffee. The nickname always peeved Megumi in a way he couldn’t fully explain. You would reassure him it was fine, it’s just because his dad was a dick. Toji said it was because Megumi spoiled you.

“No,“ you watched as black espresso turned to a pretty caramel. Suddenly your tea wasn’t as appetizing anymore. For a moment your brows furrowed and you were aware that it was 3:15am, “why are you drinking coffee?”

Toji laughed. It’s deep and gruff and sounds like tires over a gravel driveway. This time you can’t suppress the shudder. It’s been this way since Toji came back from his business trip. You never met him up until the last semester. At least not in person. He was usually away. Megumi never knew what he did or how he afforded the house. 

Either way, whenever classes let up or between semesters, you’d come to his suburban home and basically live with him. You loved Megumi very much and you have for the year and a half you’ve been dating. You’d kiss him goodbye whenever you left to see your parents, but there was something about his dad that kept you coming back.

Maybe it was the first night you woke up in the middle of the night. Megumi had kicked you off the bed by accident. There was only so much room for two 20-years-olds and a large dog. It was bound to happen one day or another. It was simply unfortunate that you scraped your arm on a bent piece of metal from his bed frame, leaving a long scratch that pebbled red. You traversed down the steps and having forgotten your glasses on the nightstand, had to rummage through the drawers to find a band aid.

Toji was there, leaning on a counter by the sink, gazing out the window. The sweet scent of cherry tobacco lingered despite the open air. At first, your throat cinched around your thumping heart. You thought he was an intruder. You couldn’t see his features, but the way the moon abstractly bounced off them, you immediately knew who he was just by shape. Megumi got his good looks from someone and that someone was right in front of you.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated blandly, only taking a second to look at you from the corner of his eyes.

“I am?” You knew you were. That’s why you had your arm up like an injured paw and a hand in a drawer full of homeless kitchen appliances, “I am.”

“So you are,” he chuckled. Toji stood at full height and you swore you nearly gasped. The corner of his scarred mouth curled then flattened as he turned to you. He grabbed a paper towel, fingers grasping onto the tips of yours. His palm was warm, soft, tender on the flesh of your arm. The paper towel pressed to provide a temporary fix as he guided you along to the bathroom to pull out a bandage.

You remember every moment of that night; how the sink felt pressing against the small of your back and how his thigh leaned almost too heavily onto yours as he meticulously took care of the minor cut. In his defense, the bathroom was small – one of the ones that fit awkwardly under a staircase and only had a toilet and a sink. It didn’t excuse the way his hand brushed your hair back when everything was settled. You still felt guilty that you tilted your chin to better feel the backs of his fingers against your neck.

For as often as you felt guilty, soon to follow was an echo of his parting words.

“Mr. Fushiguro takes care of his guests – especially Gumi’s Princess.” His smile was strangely sweet when he exited the bathroom, leaving you to collect your staggered breath.

It was that night, and plenty of nights after, that you woke Megumi up by putting his hand on your cunt and asking if daddy could take care of you. The kisses he’d press to your forehead lingered warmly, lovingly. Bitterly.

Brought back by the metallic thwip of a bic lighter, Toji cupped his hand to the flame, lighting the cherry cigarette you would smell when you were lonely in your dorm. It overpowered the familiar scent of eucalyptus you’d once loved.

“For the same reason everyone drinks coffee,” He laughed once through his nose, expression slackening as his gaze lingered on yours. He dragged on the cigarette and exhaled for longer than usual. The swirl of smoke passing over the curve of his lips was beautiful. He quirked a brow, curiously entertained, “Withdrawal?”

You dry swallowed. He offered you the cigarette with an offhand comment you couldn’t quite hear. The end of the cig faced you and you leaned, wrapping your lips around it. The subtle graze of his fingers on your lips tickled. You never smoked before. Through thick lashes, your gazes met and you swore something passed over his. You sucked. You coughed. You secretly loved the taste of burnt cherry.

“That’s not how you do it,” his voice was dark navy and for a moment, as small tears welled from the remaining spasm of your lungs, you thought he would scold you for lying. Hushed, he pressed the cigarette back to your lips, “Try again.”

Obediently, your lips found their way around the stick. You had Toji’s attention on you in the same way a starling bird had a peregrine falcon’s. You felt wanted by something hungry.

You waited patiently for his order, looking up to him with those pretty, expectant eyes. You barely noticed his hand slowly pulling the cigarette. Your lips stayed connected. He felt your breath fan the backs of his fingers.

“Are you going to suck it, or what?” There was a bite to his voice and you took a long, nervous drag. The crackling burning paper filled the space between you. You tried to inhale it all and the burn made your eyes water. Toji’s head tilted by a minuscule as your lips detached, leaving a small string of saliva attached to the end. Bleary eyes matched his, desiring his approval. His free hand cupped your cheek, giving a slight tap, “I’m not going to spoil you like Megumi does, Princess.”

Strong hands grabbed under the thickest part of your thighs, hoisting you up and onto the cold marble counter. Megumi’s shirt was disregarded and hiked up to the crease of your hip. The hiss of hot ash sprinkled on your thighs matched the heady hiss your tongue made against teeth. Toji smirked. The burn was replaced by his rough hands smoothing over the supple flesh. He gripped your ass, hauling you to the edge of the counter.

This was wrong.

Your heart throbbed in your chest and even more between your legs. Your Thighs squeezed together as Toji leaned into your neck, biting hard. His thumbs dug into the junction of your thigh and hip, keeping you sat firmly on the counter top.

Megumi was upstairs.

Toji’s mouth trailed down your neck as the tips of his fingers traced up along bare skin. You could feel him smirk against your neck. Surely the warmth of his lips could feel how fast the blood pumped through you. You felt light headed, impatient for the touch of his chilled fingers. The man before you nudged his cheek onto yours and you felt the subtle graze of his spudding 5 o’clock shadow.

He said nothing, but you heard the change his breathing. Hiis middle finger slipped between your glossy lips - the touch was so cold, you gasped and your cunt clenched on nothing at all. The pad of his middle finger moved slowly in a circle, then traced down. It was so slow that your body writhed for more. To try and coax the digit in, your entrance throbbed. He headed to call to its beck. Rather than satiate your starving sex, Toji brushed up to your clit. Totally in control of you, his fingers dance in cruel repetition.

His spare hand trailed up your torso, pulling his son’s shirt up to expose you bit by bit. The shirt never came off, no. It’s not like he needed it to when you wore nothing underneath it. He’d be lying if he didn’t notice how your nipples perked and your stance shifted when he entered the kitchen. He felt your eyes on his back when he opened the fridge. Deliberately (and with the goodness in his heart), he allowed your longing gaze to linger on him. It was laughable that you were pressing your bare chest into the palm of his hand, The tissue malleable and molten under his touch. It was euphoric. You gave into his touch so desperately.

Toji’s grin widened, Cheshire-like against you. His breath was hot against your ear and the baritone of his voice was enough to make you swallow a whine, “Maybe Gumi doesn’t spoil his Princess like I thought. You’re really this cock hungry? I barely touched you,” his finger tapped on your swollen clit and you jerked in response, curling forward and trembling digit gripping onto his impossibly tight shirt. Practically on the brink of tears from the way he teased you, you wondered how hands so cold could feel like they burned like the ash on your thighs.

Fuck. Fuck.  

The hands gripping his shirt slapped the cold counter when you pulled your torso away to back on your forearms. Your brows knit and your chin tilted back. Megumi’s shirt draped over your tits like fine silk. What a fucking delicious sight. Desperate. That’s exactly how you looked with your nose scrunched and lips drawn in a tight line. Your fists were balled and legs spread wide, separated by his body. He admired that the first thing spilled on the freshly installed black marble was the drool of your cunt.

Toji persisted despite the painful ache of his cock. He wanted you to grovel for him, prove his suspicion that his son lacked the same skill to make you a drooling mess. Why? The answer was simple instinct to him. The aftermath of his divorce left him in shambles. But then again, papers were filed the second he fucked his sister-in-law on wifey’s new BMW (and doubled down on when she found the recording of him with the couple’s therapist). Validation, maybe. He had nothing to prove or no need for it. He just wanted to know that he could fuck anyone he wanted anywhere he wanted, no matter who they were.

You opened your mouth to scream in frustration. Your legs shook, every part of your body wanted something to fill you. Empty. Empty fucking. Empty satisfaction. The slap was followed by the sound of skittering upstairs.

You paled and your heart threatened to burst with anxiety. Complete silence took over the kitchen and your mind emptied, listening for the familiar sound of your boyfriend’s footsteps. Eyes looked over your shoulder and suddenly you were very aware of the fact that every entrance leading to the kitchen was an open walkway.

The man between your legs had paused then, lips slack as he listened. He had good hearing. Good senses. His fingertips sprawled on top of your mound, palm pressing against your fluttering entrance absent-mindedly. It was merely the dog. He trained it to only bark or alert of certain triggers. This was certainly not one of them. Your reaction though- he could work with that.

His fingers circled your clit and you feared he would continue his cruel tease. Toji could see through your expression like the Bermuda seas. He leaned forward, hand slowly tipping over your entrance as his words filled your mind, “What happens if you’re caught?”

Your breathing stopped completely. Dread, excitement, and two long digits filled you. Just as you had expected, every second of teasing coated your walls. Every nerve ending had been meticulously prepared for something to touch them, trigger them to ignite. Your walls spasmed readily and your knees gripped the sides of Toji’s hips. He experimented with you for a while, salivating when tears pinched past your lashes. In the back of his mind, he needed you to break before you got his cock. He was getting slightly impatient. His hands were cold and you could feel every single motion of his fingers in you. Your mind could paint a picture of every ridge his digits had to offer simply from his temperature.

He leaned over. His tongue was hot. With a single broad, strong, and long open-mouthed lap along your clit, you unwound. A free hand slapped over your mouth, muffling the near animalistic yowl you let out. He smirked.

Bet Megumi never heard that sound.

As soon as your walls slowed and your voice died out, Toji shoved the band of his sweats under his cock. He could tell by your blissed out glaze that you weren’t entirely processing what was to come. He could fix that.

Hands pulled you half-way off the counter. You yelped, shivering at the slick on the surface beneath you. Toji held you under your knees, practically forcing you to prop yourself up on your elbows. He cooed, “Good girl.” The way you stared at his cock like it were god itself had a dribble of precum roll down his length. A bare minimum of 8-9 inches stood at attention, positioned right under you. Your arousal drizzled over him and if your mind worked, you would’ve offered to lick it off like one would a warm sugar glaze.

He adjusted his arms so that the underneath of your thighs were supported by his hands and your knees hooked over his arms. Your own arms wobbled and shook. The muscle ache was blunted by his thick tip pressing onto your entrance. You had no option but to give him the reins. His focus was entirely on the junction between his tanned cock pressing into you. It was almost endearing, how this look of fascination came over his harsh features, enrapturing your gaze like a renaissance painting.

He guided your hips in a circle, bending his knees slightly to swirl against you. The scar at the corner of his lip twitched in gratification when you throatily let out a long high note. He lowered you onto him in bit by bit. Slight thrust in. Draw back. Slight thrust in. Draw back.

Every. Single. Time. He drew out, you wanted to cry out. You could take it. Toji continued to carefully make his way into you. He was large and he learned from mistakes of drilling in too soon. Sure, he slipped in easy enough, but he still met resistance to the stretch. He didn’t want to hurt you. Or at least that was until you opened your pretty mouth.

“Stop fucking around. I can take Gumi’s dick, I can take yours.”

Your lips formed into a pout and the words backhanded his ego. So this is what Megumi dealt with. Oh no, he couldn’t have that. You were obviously trying to get a rise out of him like the brat you were. Toji darkly chuckled, “So this is what’s got him around your finger, huh? You want me to ‘stop fucking around’?”

He pulled your right leg across his chest so that it rested along his left shoulder. The left leg was guided around his waist. “By your command, Princess.” He thrust in hard, shoving his cock through the tightness. The pace was relentless. Harsher, meaner, heavier than even Megumi’s was at his roughest. Your mind erased the fact that you were in the kitchen of a house. It erased the fact that your arms felt like they were going to tear. It erased the sweat under your palms as you white-knuckled the edge of the marble. It erased Megumi, peacefully asleep upstairs.

All you felt was the hot vibration of your clambering walls and the searing hot brand of his cock burning into your core. Everything fuzzed, scattered with every near full pull, then came crashing back with every push. The position itself allowed for the force of your own weight to freely bounce back on him without him needing to do much. He still gripped your limbs with such force there would be bruises.  He wrapped your other leg around his waist patting your thighs to grip him as he changed his thrusts to slow, deep. Toji peeled off the shirt, a glisten to his every muscle under the dim light as it reached over his head. Arms were up high as it was shimmied off, but his thrusts were controlled. Abs worked, tensed in a motion so beautiful that you were absolutely certain that this was and would be your only religious experience.

The shirt hit the floor. Toji licked his thumb. The palm of his hand rested along your pubic bone, tilted so that he could graze your clit in such a gentle, yet effective way that you reeled. You bucked with him, using your legs to draw him in more until you felt a sharp pleasure rake your cervix, claw down the up-side of your walls. He dragged out. He thrust in.

He was close and was grappling for why the hell it was taking you so long. He felt how you squeezed his cock over and over. Your breathing slowed whenever it happened and there was a certain flicker going off in your half-lidded gaze. Your walls got tighter each time, but never released. For once in his life, Toji Fushiguro thought he had met his match in stamina. There was a click of his tongue, “What the fuck are you waiting for? Are you a dog? Only can cum on command, bitch?” His words came from annoyance and impatience.

You nodded.

Trained her like a bitch, didn’t you?

“Cum.”

There was finally release. The hot iron brandish pressed hard into your walls, your abdomen, your throat. Your walls shuddered so violently, Toji nearly lost grip. A beat behind you, his cock thrusts jerked. You’re mouth opened with a silent moan, all muscles tensing in response. Hot. He was hot and fast and you felt each rope melt along your walls and drip off.

Pulling out his softened cock, Toji looked to the dark tile ground beneath you coated in a mix of a translucent glaze and thick white. He took mercy on you then, leaning and looping an arm under your back and pulling you to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and for a sprinkle of a second he could see what Megumi saw. One hand held you up under your ass while the other pulled his sweats up. The house was quiet once more as he grabbed paper towels to clean you up.

After all was said and done, Toji sat on the couch with you on his lap, nestled into the crook of his neck. His hand supported your back as you sniffled your way back to the present day. He wasn’t great at aftercare and if he were being honest, any quick fuck had ended when he came (which was usually last). He was indifferent to the sniffles and indifferent to the way you made little sounds of comfort to yourself. You were doing what you needed to to keep yourself together. If that included reliving each moment Megumi placed a loving hand to your cheek and cooed at how well you did, then so be it. Who you craved at the end of the night wasn’t him. 

Toji wasn’t one to be possessive - yet he rubbed small circles on your back, believing that he could be. 

[nikeiyomiurioverthinker]

Chapter 4 if Syobai retained his beta personality probably

[lampochkaart]

A work inspired by another fanfic that I can't stop thinking about.

"The Lucidity of the Descent" by devicing on AO3

This fic is so well written and the setting itself is interesting. Even though I'm not familiar with TWEWY it was easy enough to get understanding of all the rules. I highly recomend to read it!

Some context for this drawing (plus bonus doodle with SPOILERS)⬇️

What I love most about this fic is how Kaito and Kokichi just can't seem to get along. One second it seems like they're finally finding common ground and finally coming to a truce, and the next they're either angry again (Kaito) or running away (Kokichi).

+ bonus doodle

[fukcnoplease]

Things always go wrong pt5

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4

 The man immediately rushed to correct her, tripping over his words as his hands moved wildly, too fast for her to see. Dani knew this wasn't any kind of kidnapping or imprisonment. They couldn't catch her if they tried, not without ghost equipment, but it was kind of fun to mess with this giant of a man. Who clearly had super speed as his hands and words began to go so fast she couldn't understand either. Concerning, sure, but not enough to thwart her thirst for chaos or the urge to poke fun at this seemingly superpowered teddy bear. 

“Am I gonna die here?” She asked, putting on her best scared kitten act. The man froze as he made an interesting set of noises in response to Dani’s question. She wasn't entirely sure they could be made by humans but she wasn't too worried. Her vague understanding of the superheroes around the world did mean she knew at least a few aliens existed in their ranks. She didn't know any of them by name though.

“I hope you understand that no one, no one, on this station would ever try and harm you.” The man said after taking a deep breath. A little rich since Batman had only recently tried to stick them in a lab but it was the thought that counted she supposed. He seemed to get more uncomfortable if she just stared at him silently though, so she kept silent in her scared little kitten act. Honestly it was kind of a riot seeing the man panic over things she knew were unimportant.

“Look! I’ll bring you to Batman and he can explain everything. How about that?” He said and Dani frowned. Batman likely wouldn't be as much of a help as Wonder Woman but if this guy wasn't going to bring her to the lasso lady then might as well go to Batman. Maybe she could even convince him to let her leave. 

Dani nodded, shyly as she could muster, at the big man and he relaxed. He went to pick her up but she stepped away, not even as an act, and he fumbled with his hands before nodding briskly and turning towards a hallway. She followed him a little ways in a big meeting room, extra long dining table with too many chairs and another big, massive computer at the end of the room. It was a little scary how many way too fancy computers Dani had come across in only 24 hours. 

Well, only two, but that was still more than the average person would in their lifetime.

Batman stood at the computer and typed at a raised keyboard. Dani had seen Jazz use a stand up desk, she said it was good for back posture and stress. She always talked about how posture was important and how it could affect you when you were older. Probably didn't mean much with ghost genetics so Dani never cared. 

“BR-” The red caped crusader almost shouted as he walked in but was cut off by something hitting him directly in the forehead. He cried out when it exploded in his face as well. Dani would be lying if she said it didn't make her flinch, which is why she didn't say anything.

“Batman.” The man said again, rubbing his blackened forehead, “I wanted you to explain to- well, this child? That she was not in danger while on the station nor that she was kidnapped or imprisoned.” 

Batman looked at the man then at Dani and scowled. Now that Dani was feeling better, and a little distracted from her brother dying, she started to notice how rude Batman was. He always scowled whenever they interacted and while she wasn't the best person in the world she certainly wasn't that bad. Well, not according to her anyway. “I want to leave.” She said. The caped man, she was really struggling not to just call him Teddy, looked shocked at her sudden firmness but Batman just stared her down. She racked her brain for a way to sound regal and vague when Batman cut her off with a simple answer. “No.” He said. “What?” She and Teddy said in unison. “No. Its been established that you are not safe on earth. We had medical bays if you need them and we have yet to confirm your royal status. There are heroes on the way to help with that. You will stay here.” He said. Dani could feel her ectoplasm churn and her core thrum with anger. “You don't have the right to refuse me passage back to earth. My allies can aid me more than you can and I will force my way to them if I need to.” She growled. Batman’s scowl only deepend. “There is no way we can confirm your allies are safe and until we can confirm your status you are as much of an unknown threat as they are. The Watchtower has all the facilities needed to help you. You will stay here.” Batman said before turning back to the computer. Dani was fuming, if Danny wasnt potentially withering away in another room she would have destroyed this place. “Batman, I know you feel the need to protect them but they are just kids. Can't we at least hear them out?” Teddy said and Dani felt immensely grateful for him. Maybe she would even lighten up on her bullying. Maybe.

“Kids can be more dangerous.” Was all Batman said and Teddy huffed.

“Yours, maybe, but we can't hold every kid to the standard of a robin, can we?” Teddy said and Batman finally looked back at him.

“Not every kid is a meta either.” He said and went back to work. Dani could feel Teddy flex as he grew more agitated.

“Batman.” He said lowly, and Dani instinctively took a step away from him. Batman didn't respond, but he did pause at where he was typing. There was a silence before the clack of keys started up again. Teddy took a deep breath before pressing something on his wrist, a light flashed red and he spoke into it. “Wonder Woman? Can you please come to the main meeting room? There is a young child who wishes to be escorted home.” He said. Dani looked as shocked as Batman did but she recovered faster. “Thank you!” She cried as she launched at Teddy and hugged his neck. He stiffened in shock but relaxed quickly enough to hug her back before she pulled away.

“Superman.” Batman said, he sounded angry but not enough to concern Dani. She did spin to do a double take at Teddy though.

“Wait, Superman? You’re superman?” She asked incredulously as she looked the man up and down. His costume made sense for the name, both the S on the front and the absurdity of it. “Yes?” Superman said, confused by why Dani was so surprised, “Did you not recognize me?” “Well, I guess I just expected Superman to look more… I don't know. Super?” She said. Someone laughed from the entryway and they turned to see Wonder Woman laughing at the doorway. “Praytell, how did you think he would look?” The woman laughed as she entered the room. Batman gave a grunt but was ignored in favor of the child now deep in thought. “I guess like, red skin? Fire hair? Maybe extra arms?” She said, “A cooler outfit?” Superman looked like a wounded puppy at her words and she felt a little bad. Wonder Woman started laughing again and quickly closed the distance between them, which Dani was surprisingly OK with.

“I suppose that truly would have been super,” She chuckled before composing herself, “Now what was this about a child wanting to go home?” Batman stepped forward this time. Dani felt the humor wash out of her as she glared down the man now officially holding her prisoner. “Until royal status can be confirmed both the metas will be staying on the Watchtower until further notice.” He said. Wonder Woman hummed as she looked at him, hip cocked in a friendly but challenging stance.

“And you?” She addressed Dani and Dani fumbled to find the right words. Batman couldnt look more sour if he tried.

“My friends are in Gotham, they can help more than you can but I need to get to them.” Dani managed as Wonder Woman watched her. It didnt feel as challenging or doubtful as it did when she was looking at Batman but it was still intimidating. “I see. And would you let us meet your friends?” She asked. Dani blinked. She hadnt thought of that. If they were in Gotham they would end up on Batmans turf regardless so the chances of him meeting the phantom gang was already pretty high. If they initiated though, maybe it would be easier when they eventually cause problems in the city? Or it would be worse because Batman would already know where to find them. “I can ask.” Dani said as she pulled out her phone from her torso, which shocked the heroes present. As Dani began typing, Wonder Woman turned to Batman. “I appreciate your desire to ensure there wasn't a dimensional war threat but there is an ill royal ambassador. Having an ambassador die under our care would have a similar effect to attacking them directly. Especially if we were denying them what could be life saving treatment.” She said. Batman grunted and stepped away from Dani, creating a small circle of just the heroes. Too far for normal hearing perhaps, but not for Dani’s enhanced hearing. “We have a medical bay on the Watchtower.” He grumbled and Wonder woman sighed. “Yes, but we cannot force them to use it. If they wish to use their own medicine that is their choice. Especially since we know nothing about them.” She scolded. Dani could have sworn Batman almost winced at her words. She sped up typing.

TravelerOfWorlds

Ok so 1) the heroes want to meet you guys

2) I think Wonder Woman is my favorite hero

3) Batman is my least favorite hero

EcoTerrorist

Why do the heroes want to meet us?

TravelerOfWorlds

Unclear. I think its just to establish you are real and not going to kill us.

EcoTerrorist

We are real. Depends on what Danny did to end up more dead.

But I am willing to meet a hero if thats what it takes to get Danny here.

TravelerOfWorlds

As in just one?

EcoTerrorist

As in just one. 

And only if we get Danny first.

Dani squinted at the screen and sighed. She had lost where the heroes conversation was going but that just made it easier to interrupt.

“Excuse me?” Dani waited for Wonder Woman to hold a hand up to silence the arguing men as she turned to Dani and nodded for her to continue. “My… allies decided that they are willing to meet one hero. Just one. And only if my ambassador gets dropped off first.” Batman grunted but it was Wonder Woman who stepped up to talk. “Would you be willing to settle for a hero helping you drop off the ambassador?” she asked and Dani nodded.

“Yeah, I think that will work. They just need to get to the ambassador as soon as possible. I dont think they care about much more than that.” Dani said. Batman shifted behind Wonder Woman and Superman glared at him.

“Thats fine then. Do you know where you need to be dropped off?” Wonder woman asked and Dani sent another quick text asking for the address before nodding. “Somewhere in Gotham. I have the address if that helps.” Dani said. Wonder Woman paused thoughtfully before smiling, a bit too wide. “Well, Batman knows Gotham the best. Im sure he can help you and I think it would be best if he was the one to meet your friends. If your staying in Gotham, its probably best to know the local hero you can call upon.” She said. Dani scrunched her nose and Batman scowled. There was no way Dani was going to be asking Batman for help. Not if she had anything to say about it. 

Except she didnt, because just as she was about to argue a crackling static filled the air around them. It sounded like tv static but layered underneath was the high pitch keen of electricity and a faint scream. Dani would recognize Danny’s ghost speech anywhere and was moving before any of the league had recovered from hearing the eerie sound. 

Batman was first to recover, closely followed by Wonder woman and Superman as they followed the young, alleged monarch through the hallways of the watchtower. Dani didnt struggle to find her way back to the small room, Danny’s call for her being something of a homing beacon.

She slammed her hand on the keypad and the door opened to a tangled-in-sheets Danny who was face planted half off the bed. When he saw her the keen of electricity shifted into the pops and bangs of fuses blowing and he reached a hand for her.

She was quick to grab it and help him back onto the bed, untangling him as her own ghost speech layered on his. Her static overlayed with the sound of bubbles escaping liquid and splashes of something more viscous than water.

Once Danny had her in eyesight and her hand in his he started to calm down. The static dimmed and eventually stopped but he never stopped looking at Dani. It would be disconcerting if Dani wasnt freaking out about Danny using his ghost speech so publicly. 

Some weaker ghosts used ghost speech regularly because it took less energy than projecting feelings core to core, distinct words were even more taxing, but Danny was powerful. He was the King of the Infinite Realms. He hated broadcasting the sounds of his death and he always had the energy to project entire paragraphs into someone's core. 

“We need to get him to Gotham now.” Dani said and she moved to try to pick Danny up but was pulled back by Wonder Woman. She wanted to growl or hiss or something but Batman was already moving to pick up Danny, who was still carefully watching his little sister.

Dani moved quickly to stay with Batman as he made his way to the boom tubes. Behind them she caught the barest whispers between Wonder Woman and Superman.

“He is an impressive warrior. He never let his gaze waver, even in such a state.” Wonder Woman commented. 

“Still worrying. With all the powers she has casually shown, I have to wonder what got him in such a state in the first place.” Superman added. Dani lost the conversation as they moved away and towards the metal cones.

The journey back was moderately better than the journey there, especially now that she knew what to expect. She still made sure to grip Danny’s hand tightly and send comforting thrums to his core as they passed through.

His eyes flashed a brighter green and he shuddered when they exited the swirling vortex but that was all and Dani was going to count that as a win.

The crazy batcar rolled up in front of them before they had even stepped off the boom tube platform and the doors popped open. Batman carefully put Danny in the back and Dani climbed in after him. The doors closed as Batman got situated in the drivers seat and they were off. Down the same path they used to enter, the crazy bat cave shrinking behind them until it was swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel.

Batman didnt pull up any directions for the address, didnt even give it a second look, he just drove in silence, which Dani was grateful for. She didnt have much choice but to go with him since Danny needed help sooner rather than later and arguing with Batman would have taken too much time. Time that Danny desperately needed. It didnt mean Dani had to be happy about it though.

They exited the tunnels into the dingy light of a clouded sky, blinding Dani. Huge gothic buildings towered around them, modern skyscrapers awkwardly built in between the historical stone. It was actually kind of endearing. The mish mosh of styles and buildings and the giant gargoyles on every building. If it was under different circumstances Dani might have loved visiting Gotham.

As it were they pulled into an alley next to a nicer skyscraper, one that was clearly trying to bridge the gap between modern and historic. Batman parked by the dumpsters and went to pick up Danny. “I can carry him.” Dani said, pulling the dazed halfa towards herself. Batman paused, a frown permanently pasted on his face, but stepped back. He moved to the nearby staff entrance and opened the door for Dani. After some cajoling and awkward shifting, she had Danny in a piggyback hold. It wasnt the most comfortable but after a few years Danny had stopped being the small teen and grown into a lanky young adult. Sure he weighed nothing to Dani but his awkward length made him unruly to carry with her smaller body. She still wasnt going to let Batman carry him though so she could suck it up.

The door was clearly a staff entrance so Dani was a little surprised it had been left unlocked but elected to not focus on that. Batman led them through the staff walkways and to the elevators, thankfully no one was around. Dani might have keeled over if someone had seen her getting into a fancy elevator with THE Batman. 

She might keel over just having to be in the fancy elevator with the Batman. It was a long elevator ride to experience in complete silence, excluding Batman’s breathing. Damn, Sam’s parents for getting them a penthouse on the top floors of a skyscraper.

~~~ Hey gang sorry for how long this took, lots of stuff happening hopefully the next bit will be out sooner than later

thanks for waiting and for all the positive feedback this isnt beta read so sorry about the grammar

[hexxter]

If Player2 getting their memories back isn’t an emotional breakdown I don’t want it

Also my Chirithy won’t be there right.. 😔

[mappingthesky]

angst prompt idea: they get into a fight and nymphia says ‘just leave me alone’ in the height of emotions but doesn’t really mean it, and jane would actually leave thinking that’s what she wanted, making nymph cry even harder

basically miscommunication at its finest

i said leave (but all i really want is you)

It’s been building in the way that all breakdowns do.

Everything accumulates. The things that are all manageable in the moment - the insecurities, inconveniences, odd interactions and instances of discomfort - start to stack up, sticking to each other like snow, feather-light flakes amassing into unmovable drifts, and suddenly they’re an avalanche crashing down upon her. All at once it becomes unbearable - the weight of the world which Nymphia has fought so hard to remain soft in spite of.

It’s not the first time that Nymphia has hit a rough patch, but it’s the first time Jane is here to see it, and for some reason it’s making Nymphia spiral out, like swerving to avoid the ice and driving them right off the fucking road.

It could be because she’s used to dealing with this alone. That she’s used to everyone assuming she’s alright, used to disappearing until she can find it in herself to be sunny and bright once more. It could be that she’s scared to let Jane see her like this, scared that every day she remains sullen is doing irreversible damage to Jane’s vision of her, whatever it is, and replacing it with this - the slow blinking, soft-spoken, unsure, shell of a girl that Nymphia is lost somewhere inside of. It could be that Jane is being so sweet about it, that every one of her tireless attempts to lift Nymphia’s spirits so clearly comes from her heart, that she’s so obviously willing to do whatever it takes. It could be that, because with every one of Jane’s displays of affection meant to make her feel just a little bit better, Nymphia feels guiltier. More frustrated with herself and her inability to pull herself out of the hole she’s in. More afraid that it’s their grave. More afraid that she’s dug it herself.

Maybe that’s what’s scaring her into silence now, as Jane tries to will her to open. She’s been rattling off things they could do for a few minutes now, trying to coax Nymphia out of the apartment with the promise of a walk around the park, or a trip to the thrift store, or slurpees at 7-11. It’s been days of this, and Nymphia wants it to happen just as badly as Jane does - for something to light her up, to pull her from the place on the couch she’s content to spend the rest of her life wallowing in, for some miraculous gleam to pierce through the low-hanging fog that’s clouding her vision. Jane sighs, and Nymphia feels too heavy to hold.

It’s not Jane’s fault. She’s unfamiliar with the freezing over of Nymphia’s feelings, unprepared for her aloofness after the bright, sparkling fizz of the first few months. She’s doing the best she can with absolutely nothing to go off of. Jane asks for the second time if it’s anything she’s done, and Nymphia feels worse than she did the first. “It’s not you,” Nymphia says, and can’t quite admit the other half of it out of some newfound fear. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why I feel this way. I don’t know how to stop it.

“You would tell me if it was me, right?” Jane asks and it’s like a knife, her voice a thin blade of worry. It cuts right through Nymphia - that Jane thinks she could be to blame, when Nymphia has created this hurt all on her own. The truth is that there’s nothing Jane could do that would hurt her quite like this, in the specific way that Nymphia hurts herself. She doesn’t know how to confess something like that, isn’t sure she would want to even if she did. All she can do is nod, and the hot tears spill over as the thoughts completely overwhelm her.

Jane’s oh, Nymphia is crushed with concern, and she moves to comfort her so instinctively that it makes Nymphia’s heart break all over again, because it’s Jane we’re talking about -Jane, the girl who was too shy to make the first move or say the first I love you or shed the first tear is now breaking through her own emotional barriers to comfort her, coming to Nymphia’s aid like it’s as natural as breathing, and Nymphia is the one that’s too emotionally tapped to know how to respond to that. She feels Jane wrapping around her even though she’s unsure, can feel her wondering how to go about putting her back together, and all Nymphia can manage in the face of Jane’s bravery is to cry into her hands.

“Baby,” Jane says, and Nymphia can hear it in her voice - the mounting desperation, the options she’s running out of. “What can I do?”

Nymphia doesn’t know why it happens - why she goes cold when she so desperately wants to be warm. Why she becomes so irritable, why she leans so hard into her roughness when she knows what she really is - patient, kind, loving. The truth is, she’s exhausted. It’s hard work to be so soft-hearted. Sometimes it’s too much to ask.

So all she does is shrug, mumbles that there’s nothing Jane can do. She hears the words come out of her mouth in slow motion, and doesn’t know why she can’t stop them, why she can’t seem to say this is enough. Just hold me until I stop feeling like this. Just see it through with me.

“Hey. Talk to me, Nymph,” Jane says, soft and urging, like she can sense the words Nymphia can’t seem to bring to the surface. It’s more of a plea than a command, but all Nymphia can hear is the frustration buried at the back of it - the part of Jane that surely must be exhausted from her unrewarded efforts, exhausted by Nymphia’s inability to keep it together.

“I can’t read your mind, baby,” Jane reaches out to brush Nymphia’s hair from her face like it’ll reveal something, like she’ll find some semblance of an answer there. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” Jane says as gently as possible, but it still sounds like a cue, like she’s begging for something to go off of.

“Okay,” Nymphia says, because she doesn’t have anything at all. “So go.”

She can feel it - the moment of impact. The moment Jane pauses, still mid-reach, still tucking Nymphia’s hair tenderly behind her ear. The moment lightning strikes, the moment the air goes electric.

Jane’s eyes go wide. She looks startled, dumbfounded, afraid to move. Her lips ghost open, breath visibly hitching in her throat. “What?”

”Go home,” Nymphia hears herself say, her voice a scrape against her own soul, a contradiction to everything she cares about. She sees Jane wince, watches as the reality sets in, and the right words feel farther away than ever.

“Nymphia,” Jane shakes her head, scrambling to find her footing amidst the shaking of the ground they’ve been standing on. “I don’t think I-“

”Just go, Jane,” Nymphia forces the words through her teeth and can’t seem to figure out why she sounds so angry.

She watches the pain rippling out across Jane’s face, the searing flare of her eyes. The way Jane watches and waits for Nymphia to change her mind, the way she looks like she’s going to reach out again but doesn’t, the way she awkwardly rises from the couch and looks around the room like she should have more to take with her. Like it’s wrong to leave without Nymphia beside her. The way she so obviously doesn’t know what to do with herself - whether to fight or to flee. The way she’s never sounded quite so meek as when she says goodbye and tells Nymphia to call her if she needs anything. The way she shuts the door so gently, like she’s trying to be silent, like she’s scared to upset Nymphia with something so insignificant as the click of the door even as she’s being shoved away. The way she pauses on the other side like she’s waiting for Nymphia to change her mind. The way that, when Nymphia doesn't move, her steps sound different as she walks the length of the hall - heavier, somehow. And then Nymphia knows why she’d sounded so angry - because she’s doing this to Jane. Because she’s doing this to herself.

There’s a few moments where she can bear the quiet, and then it all comes crashing down, because Nymphia is utterly, completely alone. Because she didn’t have to be.

-

Nymphia misses Jane from the moment she lets her slip away.

She spends most of the night sulking in it, recounting everything that led up to the moment when it all went wrong while the sun sets on her and what feels like everything else. She stays there until the room has gone dark, illuminated only by the far off glow of the hallway light, the blinking power button on the television, the electric green of the clock on the stove.

The night passes, and the sun rises whether she wants it to or not. She knows how this goes. She’s weathered this sort of storm before, knows that there’s nothing to do except feel her way through it. She’s done it before, but it’s not until she wakes that realizes she can’t do it again. Not in the same way she’s done it before. The ache is bigger now that she’s let someone in and shooed them away, and Nymphia desperately wants Jane to hold her hand through it, wants to go back in time and undo the thing that she thinks could do her in for the rest of forever.

She does it more times than she cares to admit - types out a long text message to Jane, deletes it, types a shorter one, deletes that too. The various iterations of the apology doesn’t matter. They all boil down to the same thing. i love you, i’m sorry, do you still love me?

They don’t matter, period, because Nymphia never sends them. She’s scared to see the damage she’s done, to inevitably take inventory of what survived her most recent storm. She hopes beyond belief that Jane will be the first to reach out, that she’ll magically know just what Nymphia needs in the way that all star-crossed lovers supposedly do, and is reminded fifteen times that afternoon that there is no such thing - that star crossed lovers are doomed from the start, that’s what makes them so. And just when Nymphia starts to think that Jane must truly hate her, that she must have already moved on and left Nymphia in the dust to chase after happier, more stable girls, she remembers that she’s the one who sent her away.

-

It’s on the third evening without Jane that Nymphia is forced to reemerge. She’s sat in the dark for longer than she cares to admit, has doom scrolled far past the point of finding anything interesting, and has effectively run out of anything remotely appetizing in the pantry. And so she rises, drags herself into the shower and lets the hot water remind her that there’s something inside her that can still be warmed. She pulls on something she can disappear inside of, sweeps her still-drying hair into a ponytail and slips on her headphones. When she emerges from her apartment building and onto the city streets, she’s reminded that there’s still a world out there - a world that will carry on with or without her, a world in which anything can happen. It doesn’t matter that she’s doing it on her own terms, replacing the noxious whirr of the world with her own personal soundscape - as she walks the seven minutes to the supermarket, she’s meeting that world halfway. It’s a win in itself.

She’s only feeling so brave on this particular trip, so she sweeps through the aisles quickly, eager to get home and label today a success, if only for her brief stint in human interaction. She plucks a few things off the shelves, whatever sounds remotely appetizing, and finds herself thinking of Jane; her insistence on satisfying Nymphia’s sweet tooth, on coming home with brown paper bags of flaky pastries or chocolate-covered confections or sweet, doughy balls of mochi. Missing Jane and all of the sweetness that comes with her, Nymphia rounds the corner, and nearly runs right into her.

Jane’s at the end of the aisle and reaching for a bag of those dark chocolates that she’s gotten Nymphia into, because of course she is. Her blonde hair is in a top knot and she’s dressed for comfort much like Nymphia is - leggings, a t-shirt, a cardigan slipping down her shoulder. She gasps ever so slightly, tugs the airpod from her left ear and looks back at Nymphia, a little awed and a little afraid. She looks so soft, so warm, so much like home that Nymphia just wants to curl into her, to give in to her completely.

“Hi,” Nymphia says and her voice wavers, because it’s the first word she’s spoken in two days, the first thing she’s said since she sent Jane away.

If the last Nymphia saw of her was Jane’s complete and total collapse, this is exactly the opposite. Jane’s eyes flash, her chest fills, and Nymphia wants to pour into her again and again. “Hi,” she says, and it’s almost a whisper, almost a smile on her lips.

Nymphia looks at Jane and doesn’t know where to start. There’s a breathlessness between them, a brink that they stand on together. Somewhere between uncertainty and sureness. Nymphia looks at Jane and knows where she wants to end.

Her eyes fall to the bouquet of sunflowers that peek out of Jane’s basket, pretty and plastic-wrapped. Nymphia has a horrible, gut-wrenching thought. Jane interrupts it.

”I, um,” Jane stammers, looking down and shaking her head at herself, mouth closing momentarily, a little ashamed of herself but admitting everything anyways. It’s a little sad, somehow still endearing. “I was gonna drop them off for you,” she shuffles her feet, avoiding eye contact. “And some other stuff,” she says, and Nymphia notices the things at the bottom of the basket. All of Nymphia’s favorites: the instant noodles, the hot chips, the loose leaf teas that Nymphia can never justify splurging on, and the strawberry bubblegum, and the dark chocolates with chili that Jane had been reaching for (because of course she did).

“Sorry. If that’s weird,” Jane sputters in the way Nymphia knows she does when she’s nervous. “I was going to call you. Or text. Um. But I didn’t-I didn’t know if you wanted to talk.”

“It’s not weird,” Nymphia blurts out, and Jane’s head snaps up. “It’s nice,” Nymphia hears herself say, but it’s so much more than that. “I wanted to text you.”

Jane blinks through the disbelief, and Nymphia wonders for the hundredth time what the last forty-eight hours have been like for Jane. Whether she spent them hoping beyond hope in the same way that Nymphia had. She thinks maybe she did, because:

“You did?”

It’s the shyest Nymphia has seen Jane since the very start, when both of them were so unsure and so obviously smitten in the way that women who fall for each other so often are: both so in love and so unwilling to believe that it could be possible.

”Yeah.” Nymphia suddenly feels like she could cry, and is suddenly aware that she’s feeling again. All at once she’s swept up in the exhilarating thrill of risking it all, of surrendering so completely to someone else. “I wanted to text as soon as you left.”

Jane’s breath sort of hitches and the look in her eye is so many things at once -hope, fear, relief, worry. They open their mouths at the same time, both start with, “I didn’t-”, both sort of gasp and start to laugh at each other, and it’s the best sound in the world, because Nymphia didn’t know if she could ever laugh again, if she’d ever hear that sound she loves so much - Jane laughing just for her.

“You go first,” Jane nods, and she could be giving Nymphia a second chance, except she doesn’t quite have to. Nymphia could never fail her, would never need a second chance. Jane would never write her off in the first place, would keep choosing her time and time again.

“I didn’t want you to go,” Nymphia says, because she wants to be honest with Jane; she feels that she owes her that much. So she speaks softly, slowly, making sure that every word is as close to what she means as possible. “I don’t know why I told you to leave. I was scared, I guess. I’m sorry.”

Jane shakes her head, “I didn’t want to go, Nymphia, I swear. I only did because I thought that’s what you wanted.”

”I know. I thought that’s what I wanted too.” Nymphia’s bottom lip is curling out and her eyes are starting to mist and she’s in the middle of a fucking supermarket. “But it’s not.”

Jane swallows. “No?”

“No,” Nymphia shakes her head, can barely get the words out without choking up, but she’s determined. She wants to. She doesn’t care who knows, just as long as Jane does. “I want you there with me.”

Through the first of the tears that are welling up in her eyes, Nymphia can see Jane resisting the impulse to reach for her, just barely holding herself back long enough to ask. “Can I-”

Nymphia sputters, half-laughing. “Please.”

This is the part that makes all the work of letting Jane in worth it - the part where Nymphia is completely enveloped by her, slotting so perfectly into place against her, because she isn’t meant to be alone. She’s meant to be with her. They aren’t star-crossed lovers destined for some ultimate doom, and they aren’t the stars of some great tragedy. They’re something so much simpler. Something so much better. They’re just each other’s people.

“Are you okay?” Jane says against her hair, not daring to let go, not even wanting to, because this is all she’s wanted from the start - to know what to do.

”I will be,” Nymphia squeezes tighter, eyes shut, savoring her return to safety. “Are you okay?”

”Yeah,” Jane says, and Nymphia can hear her smiling. “I think I will be too.”

[eddie4bat-president]

I'm not a writer but i had this thought so- bear with me, yeah?

For months Eddie hears all about how cool and badass Steve Harrington is, yeah, but you know what he also hears about? How Steve and Robin are made for each other and how cool and pretty Robin is and how stupid it is that they're not a couple for some dumb reason, like Steve not wanting to be with a band geek and still clinging to high school hierarchy. And in all of the things Dustin says about Steeeve Harrington, that last part is the only thing that fits into the Munson Doctrine, so obviously everything else Henderson is saying is what's skewed in his little shrimp world view.

Steve Harrington thinks he's better than a band geek and that's why we won't look twice at a girl that would be perfect for him (according to Dustin Henderson, so... still questionably trustworthy information). Eddie probably assumes Dustin is talking up how close Steve and Robin actually are, just how he's exaggerating how close Dustin himself is to Harrington (like that would impress Eddie and the rest of Hellfire??? He really doesn't know how to get through to the little sheep that his worship of Hawkins' most notorious square is a detriment to his character and not something Eddie would find impressive. If it was real. Which it obviously isn't. Anyway-)

Turns out? Steve Harrington? Actually a cool dude. Not cool as in popular but cool as in "holy shit did he just bite that thing's head off???? Oh and he's not even gonna brag about that, it's just nbd, yeah sure, cool cool cool be fucking cool Eddie, oh god he's talking to me why is he talking to me" and just, chill to hang out with. After the whole shit show went down. Who would have fucking thought, huh? (except for Dustin Henderson, yeah yeah yeah, shut up)

So now Eddie has to reevaluate some other assumptions he made. Maybe Dustin was right and Steve actually is cool and badass, and he and Buckley actually are as close as he had said (and they really fucking are! He has seen them give Keith eerily matching bitchy looks for trying to schedule them on opposing shifts and basically bully the guy into changing the schedule around so they can spend as much time as possible in each other's presence. It's enough to make a guy question his own friendships when sometimes a few hours of band practice are enough to make him want to never see any of those chucklefucks again. Of course, that feeling abates but seriously, how are those two never sick of each other??)

So if they're as close as advertised but not a couple (and after meeting everyone Steve cares about and they're basically all nerds so the "Harrington thinks he's too good for a band geek" thing can't actually hold true-) what is the hold-up? Why aren't they a couple? And somehow, somehow Eddie comes to the conclusion that Steve is in love with Robin. Steve is a serial romantic (emphasis on romantic) and while his love life isn't the talk of the town post-earthquakes as it would have been before, people do still talk about the fact that he hasn't taken out a girl since it happened.

Which brings us to a day in summer, maybe fall, after Eddie has seen Steve look wistfully at a young couple with a baby, that he shows up at Robin's door step.

"Eddie? Hey what's up?"

"Good, good, how are you? Uhh can I... can I come in?" There's a nervous energy around him that is immediately infectious and she leads him to the living room where he immediately starts walking back and forth in front of the couch. She watches him for a moment, hands fluttering through different motions trying to find one that might calm him down before giving up on that. Instead Robin swerves around him, clambering onto the couch and wrapping her arms around her right leg, putting her head on her knee. She follows Eddie's path with her eyes and decides to wait before quickly realizing that she can't, actually.

"As riveting as it is watching you walk a groove into my parents' rug, do you maybe want to say something? I mean I can definitely talk enough for the both if us if that's what you want it's just that I have the slight suspicion you've got something you need to get off your chest" Eddie stopped walking halfway through her monologue and starts nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah yeah yes you're right it's just- I haven't a hundred percent made up my mind about saying something", Eddie has one arm wrapped around himself and uses the other to alternately play with his hair and gesticulate at her, "because on the one hand it's a little bit driving me crazy, maybe, but on the other hand this is none of my fucking business" And Robin who was worried at first just because Eddie is nervous, then for a second because she was scared he was going to confess to a very ill-advised crush on her, is stumped. What the fuck is this about and why did it bring him to her of all people?

"Just say it you weirdo", is what decides to comes out of her mouth but it doesn't even matter because half of her sentence is layered with his "Are you aware Steve is in love with you?"

[here we're facing the issue of me not actually being a writer and pretty much running out of steam but we also haven't reached the part that sparked this whole thing yet, which is wild - let's just pretend I wrote a very funny dialogue between those two in which Eddie confronts Robin for stringing poor Steve along ]

There's a moment when they're both silent and there's a moment when they're both talking and then there are steps coming down the stairs. They make a smirk grow on Robin's face that is starting to worry Eddie when not a parental figure but Steve Harrington steps through the doorway. He's wearing sweatpants and a shirt that might be Robin's and there's a headband pushing his hair away from his face.

"Don't yell at me for coming downstairs, you took forever and the first layer... is... dry....", he stops in his tracks the moment he looks up from his bare toes and sees Eddie. Then he very quickly rips off the headband and slings it somewhere to his right into the unknown of the hallway.

"Hi Eddie. What's... up" Eddie is going to sink into the floor and never come up for air again.

In the meantime Robin stood up on the couch to sit cross-legged on the back of it for a better vantage point and is steepling her fingers in front of her face. Eddie is getting the distinct impression he's missing some crucial information here.

"Stevie, babe, platonic love of my life-", Steve nods for her to go on, "you know how we decided I get a veto on your romantic life because we realized droves of suboptimal dates actually make you miserable so we're going for quality over quanity for the first time in your small-town Casanova life?" Steve has that cute little crease between his eyebrows while he's looking back and forth between Eddie and Robin, trying to figure out what's going on but he rolls his eyes at the end of her sentence, back in familiar territory. "Yes, Robin-"

She interrupts: "And you know how I also reserved the right to give a shovel slash molotov cocktail talk to anyone we deemed worthy of being a potential future partner?" Steve's face somehow shows an emotion that can only be encapsulated by "?!" as he glances to Eddie before shifting back to Robin with just the "?" remaining.

"First I have to say I'm personally very pro, I loved this experience; Eddie here really made a fool of himself, very worried for your delicate sensibilities and how I'm breaking your sweet little heart." "...what...?"

"So: what's the verdict on a potential future partner giving me the shovel talk?"

[curtwen-week]

There is but a whole week left until the first day, so I'm checking in! How is everyone?