#multichaptered fic

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Ever in our favour

CHAPTER FOUR

[Table of Contents]

Summary: You find Peeta- but also find others along the way. Warnings: Cannon-typical violence, descriptions of blood Author's Note: I'm supposed to be going to sleep for work right now, but I wanted to get this posted since it's written out completely. I've already started on chapter five, so we'll see how soon that'll get posted (also I'll likely be making a table of contents for this series here soon so watch out for that i guess)

Peeta’s head comes bobbing out of the water with a gasp, his arms flailing on either side of him to gain some sort of purchase. The relief you felt was palpable as you began to run to catch up to him, running downstream to chase him along. You looked for anything to help, a branch or rope of some kind, but you came up empty. Peeta’s head sank under the water before reemerging once more, sputtering and coughing out water.

“Peeta! Just hang on!” You scan with your eyes, running to speed up ahead of Peeta’s stumbling gait. A bend was coming up soon and- There! You ran forward toward a large fallen branch, heaving with the effort to lift it. The other end dragged along the dirt, but you managed to push it into the river. The rushing water tried to take the branch from you but you held tight, pushing it farther out into the river.

Peeta seemed to finally be getting his bearings. He kept going under every so often, but he wasn’t coughing as he emerged anymore which was a good sign. He was facing forward now, downstream, and he seemed coherent enough to listen to you.

“Grab the branch, Peeta!” You screamed as loud as you could, hoping beyond hope that he could hear you over the rushing water. Peeta tried his best to swim against the current, ducking under the water and reappearing a moment later closer to your end of the banks. The river finally pushed him within range, and he full-body tackled the branch you held out. Your grip stuttered and you almost lost hold, instead taking a note from Peeta’s book and tackling your own end of the branch.

You were both heaving breaths, resting against the dead tree limb. Peeta was still very much in danger, but he wasn’t using his full effort to stay alive any longer, and you weren’t sure whether you could move from your position without dipping Peeta back into the water. During this resting period- that’s when it happens.

You’re hit with a sharp pain in your side, calling out in surprise. You turn onto your side to look up, catching a boy maybe a few years younger than you withdrawing a bloodied knife. Fear flashed through you quickly, eyes widening as you stare up at this boy. You hear your name get called loudly, panicked, but you don’t remove your eyes from the current threat. You kick your feet out suddenly, knocking the boy off balance. You crawl up farther on the branch, sitting down on it and trying to kick and push the other tribute away as he tries to crawl on top of you. You would fight back more, push him into the river maybe, but you had to make sure the branch stayed up. You had to make sure Peeta didn’t get lost in the river again.

“Agh!” The boy yelled out, his head twisting to the side from an awful kick you threw. He snarled, tackling you further and pinning you to the ground with a struggle. “Just- fucking die!” He thrusts his dagger down toward your throat and you were only just able to dodge to the side, avoiding the attack. You miss your name being called once more as you dodge another attack, the branch under your body wiggling nonstop. It was rough, trying to hold it down and worry about someone attacking you at the same time.

You finally managed to get your bearings, reaching up to grab ahold of the boy’s dagger arm. He used his other hand on top of it, trying his hardest to push down, as you tried with all of your own strength to push back. Unfortunately, the current positioning was not on your side. As the boy sat above you, pushing desperately down on the dagger, he was gaining ground. The tip pressed against your throat and you swallowed, feeling a shallow cut against your throat. He was going to do it- you were going to die.

You gasped in fear, pushing harder than you thought possible. The dagger lifted another inch before the boy growled, leaning his whole weight down onto you and the offending knife. You cried out, squeezing your eyes closed as you struggled. You could feel tears burning inside your eyes, a few sneaking out down your face and into your hair. You were running out of strength, arms burning and breath coming in heaving pants.

When it happened, it took you a moment to realize you didn’t have to struggle anymore. The boy was removed from your chest, the dagger nowhere in sight as your eyes flew open. Sitting up, you immediately looked to the river, not seeing Peeta anywhere. You quickly scanned the area and- there, behind you, was Peeta sitting atop the boy that had just been about to kill you. You heave your breaths, trying desperately to regain oxygen as you watch. The struggle between the two boys was fruitless, Peeta was obviously stronger as he sat atop the boy. He managed to wrestle the dagger from him, then swipe quickly.

Peeta’s body was blocking your view, but you heard the choked gurgle of the boy. Peeta had killed him. You look away quickly, not wanting to see what you knew was there. You pushed slowly back until you fell off the uncomfortable branch, watching it swing wildly upward, then get dragged away by the river current. The white noise from the water drowned out anything else around you, and you turned to look at Peeta again. He sat there, staring downward at the boy he had just killed. The delayed sound of a cannon shot off, and you swallowed roughly in response.

“Peeta,” You call out softly, watching as his head snaps upward and begins frantically searching for you. Once his eyes lock with your own, he scrambles to get away, dagger still clutched tightly in his hand as he stumbles to get closer. Kneeling next to you, Peeta brings his free hand up to place against your cheek.

“You’re alright?”

“I should be asking you that,” You breathe out, coughing lightly before reaching out toward his leg, remembering where he had been caught by the mutt. You press next to the wound, hearing him hiss and look down at it.

“Ah, that explains why I couldn’t get there quick enough. I kept stumbling on the branch.” Peeta laughs, and you look at him with a crazed look.

“You almost just died, and you’re laughing?”

“Better to laugh than rage,” Peeta shrugs, sitting fully on the ground next to you with a groan. “No one to rage against anymore, right now.” He reaches out, placing a hand on your leg and giving you an obvious once-over. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You think things through, trying to wonder about it all. You take stock of your body, realizing just how badly your back was hurting. Thinking back- hadn’t the fish mutts gotten your back as you ran? Then the boy wrestled with you atop the branch, pushing your back down onto it, with Peeta pushing on the other end to send it upward. You were beginning to worry, unsure whether you should tell Peeta and let him see it. You’re quiet for a moment too long, however, and Peeta immediately catches it. He scoots closer, eyeing you more obviously.

“What’s wrong? What hurts?”

“Who was that boy?” You ask, trying to distract him. You can see in his eyes that he knew what you were doing. He’s too nice to deny you, it seems, as he answers.

“I remember Cato calling him Jason in the training rooms, thinking he stole his knife. He was district six’s boy.” You hum, nodding along. Your eyes jump quickly over to the slumped-over body, but you look away just as fast. You didn’t want to have to see that, but you were exhausted so where else were you supposed to go? “You still haven’t answered my question, Y/N.” You sigh, looking back up into his worried eyes.

“My back hurts,” You mumble, trying to play it off. Peeta, however, immediately moves around behind you. His breath stutters audibly, and you worry about the state you must be in if he has that reaction before even lifting your shirt up. “That bad, huh?”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Peeta was frantic, his hands were shaking as one laid across your hip, the other slowly and carefully lifting your shirt.

“Too busy dying, probably.”

“Don’t joke like that,” Peeta whispers, his hand tightening on your hip. You wondered at the tone of his voice, how the worry seeped through even his touch.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks,” You whisper back, turning your head to try and catch him out of the corner of your eye. Peeta’s gaze meets you, unable to keep the worry and guilt from being obvious on his face.

“It looks pretty bad, Y/N,” Peeta breathed out, and you finally turn, taking his cheeks into your hands.

“Hey, look at me. I’m right here.” He nods, repeating the sentiment. “See? Everything is fine, we’ll be-”

That was the last thing you remembered before everything faded to black.

The train ride was weird, to say the least. The train was outfitted with furniture that likely cost more than your parent’s house and farm put together, and they served food so decadent and different from the bland foods that you were allowed that you were unsure whether you were supposed to eat another bite or mix them with something else. Your district partner stayed in the room assigned to them, and anytime you passed by you could hear their crying within.

Your mentor- a thirty-year-old, blonde and gentle woman who ended up becoming a children’s teacher- tried to answer any questions you had to the best of her ability. She wasn’t as helpful as you’d have hoped, repeating that she really didn’t know how she won. The games really were just pure luck. This didn’t inspire you at all, and you began to wonder if holding out hope for yourself was useless.

You were dismounting from your carriage ride, hearing the whispers surrounding you about district twelve’s fire show. You tried to find their boy in the crowd, but his black outfit ended up blending into the background and you couldn’t find him again. A gentle voice brings you out of your stupor, turning to face your mentor.

“That was good, I think you might’ve gained a few sponsors with that smile of yours.”

“Unlikely,” Your district partner murmurs next to you, crossing their arms. “All eyes were on District Twelve.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little hope,” Their mentor scolds, and the three of you begin your way toward the elevators. She ends up leaning in close to you, her blonde hair full of a new scent you couldn’t recognize. “Don’t worry, I’ll find sponsors for you.”

“So, this first training session is going to be the first time you’re allowed to interact with the rest of the tributes.” Your mentor looked up from the steak she was cutting, locking eyes with you, then your district partner. “Don’t show them what skills you’ve already acquired, they’ll keep it in mind and know to watch out for it.”

“Then what are we supposed to-”

“You train in the things you’re unsure of. The things that you’ve never done before, or that you know you need improvement with.” Her advice recently has been improving, and you wondered blandly if she was asking for advice from other victors and parroting it to you. Either way, you took the advice to heart.

“So you said this is the first time we’ll be meeting each other,” You begin between bites, poking your food around your plate, “So shouldn’t we be trying to make allies?”

“No,” She replied in a harsh tone, lifting her steely gaze to lock onto you. “Do not trust any of them or their promises. It’s all fabrication, all lies to lure you into a trap. Everything changes once you step foot into that arena.”

Gasping awake, you move to sit up and yelp as pain stretches across your back. You breathe heavily, looking around quickly. You were outside, in some sort of meadow, it appeared. Glancing around, you try to make heads or tails of where you were and what happened, but everything was coming back foggy. Blinking a few more times and stretching your eyes, you begin to push against the ground to stand.

“I wouldn’t do that,” A soft voice called from nearby, and you fall back onto your bottom to look around wildly. You don’t see the source of the sound, but she sounded feminine and small.

“Who’s there?”

Silence is your only answer, and you hiss in pain, reaching behind you to try and touch the wound. It seemed to be on the centre of your back where you couldn’t reach, but as you pulled your hand away it came back bloody anyway. You wipe the blood on the grass below you, biting your lip and looking around. Everything came back slowly- the cave, the mutts, the river, the boy. Peeta.

“Hey, I had a boy with me,” You call out, turning this way and that to try and locate whoever had been nearby. “His name was Peeta? Do you know where he went?”

“He’s trying to fish,” She giggled out, and you were able to pinpoint a general location of her. “He’s not very good at it.”

“No,” You agreed, studying the trees above you, “No, he’s really not.” You spot a curl of brown hair before it disappears behind a tree and you sigh, finally thankful to have found her. “Hey, you can come down from there. I promise I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Everyone here is here to hurt us,” She replies but starts to poke her head around anyway. She was an adorable little girl, but much too young to have been put into this place.

“What is your name?” You call out first, leaning back and resting your weight against your elbows. This seemed to calm her a bit more, climbing down a few branches until she was on the lowest one. Only after she settled, her feet swinging in the wind, did she answer you.

“Rue. I’m from District 11.” You nod along toward her, turning to scan your surroundings once before looking back at her. “He’ll be back soon. He comes back every hour or so.”

“Thank you.” Your voice was sincere and you could see Rue smile gently in response. “Does he know that you’re here too?” She pursed her lips, then shook her head. Again, you nodded to her, “Will it be okay if I tell him? He won’t hurt you.”

“Do you promise?”

“Absolutely.” Your assured voice must’ve resonated with her, because she nods then. She looked to be gearing up to climb down to join you until you both hear a noise coming from the brush. You quieted your voice, keeping your eyes averted away from her. “Hurry, up the tree, hide.”

You tried to push yourself back to sitting up, groaning at the pain. Patting yourself down, you couldn’t find anything on you that could’ve been used as a weapon. As you begin to search the surrounding area for something suitable- a rock, maybe, since you’ve had such success with that- you start hearing the noises get louder, followed by a masculine voice muttering out curses. Eventually, recognizing the voice once it becomes more clear, you finally let yourself relax and stop searching for a rock that appeared to be nowhere nearby.

“Peeta?” You call out, then hear the foilage crinkle more as he audibly rushes to get to you. He pushes through some foliage and appears in the glade with you, a smile lighting up his face.

“Y/N, oh thank goodness,” Peeta calls out, rushing forward and falling to his knees before you. “I was so worried, you have no idea.”

“Peeta-”

“I tried to press whatever medicinal leaves I could find to your back but it wasn’t working. I wanted to use the medicine-”

“Peeta, hey-”

“But I didn’t want to put it on your back and have you turn over in your sleep and rub it off-”

“Peeta!” You take his face into your hands, forcing him to look you in the eyes. He finally quiets, his fretting pausing for just a second. “We’re not alone.” You watch his eyes widen, reaching and pulling a familiar dagger out of his pants and standing away from your hands to scan the area. “No, Peeta-”

“Where did you hear it? Did you see someone?”

“Peeta, please just listen to me,” You sigh out, your tone defeated. He hesitates, looking back down at you before resuming his previous position. Smiling, and with a small laugh, you reach forward to take his hands. “Do you remember who Rue is?”

“Yes,” He whispers, leaning in closer, “District 11, she was the youngest tribute to get chosen.”

“Well, she’s here. I promised her you wouldn’t hurt her.” At this Peeta immediately nods, pocketing his dagger again. His blind faith in you brings a roaring pleasure to your chest, and you have to breathe deep to try to contain the sudden onslaught of feelings. “You can come out now Rue,” You call out to her, though you were unable to look away from Peeta’s gaze. His eyes really were as blue as the sky back home.

Rue climbed slowly down, and the sound of her boots hitting the ground finally drew Peeta’s attention away from you. You stared at him a moment longer before you, as well, turn to look over at her. She was so small, and you swallowed roughly. What were you going to do? What were you all going to do?

“So,” Rue dragged out the word, a mischievous smile forming on her lips, “Are you two… Y’know.” Peeta’s eyes widen and he coughs, scanning the area and unable to make eye contact with either of you. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, reaching forward to take his hand in yours. Looking back at Rue, you shrug.

“Not in so many words. But, well, I do care for him.”

“And I care for you,” Peeta immediately inserted, tugging on your hand until you faced him once more. “Don’t forget that.”

“How could I? You remind me every second.” Peeta smiles, but also looks confused, so you laugh and elaborate, “You don’t speak it, sure, but you show me in every action you take. You’ve done so much to take care of me already.” His face softens, his shoulders slumping in what looks like defeat.

“I’ll try my best, at least.”

“We can help you too if you need it.” You look over to Rue, raising your eyebrows. She widened her eyes in response, slowly shaking her head. “Don’t worry too much. I know our mentors said not to trust anyone but-” You sigh, shaking your head, “Rue, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re much too young. If anyone is going to survive this, it should be you.”

“We’ll protect you with our lives, Rue,” Peeta adds, facing her with a resolute expression. You were glad he was jumping on board. You were willing to look after her by yourself if you had to, but it was nice to know you still could have Peeta there to watch your back.

“Okay,” Rue agrees quietly, taking a few steps forward. You reach your other hand out to her, and she takes it gently. You pull her slowly forward, then sit her down in your lap, wrapping your arms around her. She snuggles into your chest, and you wonder if she might’ve had an older sibling back home that used to comfort her like this.

“Stay like that,” Peeta whispers to you, circling around to your back. “I’m going to apply that medicine now.”

[venator-signum]

kamala khan would have the most horrendous ao3 author's notes known to man

"hey guys sorry the update is late i switched places with an avenger (ajdgrhsh literally crying) and a really cool space scientist lady and then got into a fight and some alien dudes wrecked my house and then I met Nick fury and I was literal space it was crazy and I had to help save the universe and saw said scientist lady give up her life to save all of us... anyways hope you like the new fic, branching out with an arranged marriage au for this one!!!"

[driftingdreams]

New life series fanfic idea where lifer winners remember the games but because Joel is Joel he doesn't care, so everyone is surprised when he continues to act the same, if not a little more egotistical about winning. Potential for some angst but it's all a comedy now. He's built another car on Hermitcraft.

[heavenlyraindrops]

“ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | { ɪ }

☆ Warnings: profanity, sports!photographer!reader, fem!reader, afab!reader, for future chapters: social media au, eventual smut

☆ 1.3k words | Available on: Tumblr, AO3

A career in sports photography was never something your parents wanted for you- they had decided your career path since the moment you were born. A surgeon. Bound to make them plenty of money, to make them proud. They wanted it more than anything else, and…

You decided that wasn’t your problem. 

You researched the job, the career path, and began building a portfolio. Taking pictures of athletes at games, major ones and others such as college games. Mostly baseball. In fact, it was almost all baseball.  

Oh. College games. Baseball.

You’d attended college in the States, attending the baseball games and snapping pictures. And, for some reason, you seemed to gravitate towards one specific player. 

You had no idea what his name was.

You didn’t share any classes. You saw him around campus occasionally, but you weren’t one for parties so you had no chance of running into him at one of those. Your circles barely even touched. You didn’t know each other at all. 

Correction: he didn’t know you at all, and you only knew him as the hot athlete guy you took pictures of. 

-

“Another one?” Your friend, Taika grumbled, another one of your posts coming up on her feed. “[name], this is the fifteenth time you’ve posted this guy.”

You rolled your eyes, laptop balanced on your thigh as you edited a picture. “I’m just building my portfolio.”

“No one’s gonna hire you if your portfolio is just a million pictures of the same guy.”

“It’s not, there’s other pictures too.”

“Yeah, like, two.”

“Hyperbole much?”

Taika sighed aggressively, setting her phone-face down next to her as she leaned forward, face turning serious. “[name], is this some weird fetish? Kink?”

“What?” You almost threw your laptop at her. “You’re so dramatic. Obviously it’s not. What kind of kink would that even be?”

“Just admit you think he’s hot.”

You pressed your lips together, slamming your laptop shut. “Okay, get out.”

“But-!”

“Out!”

-

And that was that. You kept taking pictures of Mysterious Hot Athlete Guy,, eventually veering away from him in the end to expand your name. Your portfolio grew, you gained jobs, and your parents got increasingly frustrated until the point where they threatened to cut contact with you. 

You didn’t care. This was your passion. You’d much rather be on a pitch, capturing the essence of exhausted yet still exhilarated camaraderie than in a sterile surgeon’s scrub, brandishing a scalpel, cutting into flesh to expose your patients innards. 

Unfortunately they went through with the threat. Oh well. 

With the little savings you had, the weight of college debt for a degree you’d never use on your shoulders and your rather expensive camera equipment for which you’d somehow managed to scrape together the money for, you decided to follow Taika back to Japan.

“There’s plenty of opportunities for you there,” she told you.

Taika, being a trust fund baby, had more than enough of her parents' money to support herself, and you in Japan. You slowly grew your career and by a couple of months, you could afford to move into your own apartment. 

And now you were a- somewhat-well known sports photographer in the industry, despite never actually having a stable job, and… that was that. 

That was your story. 

But not the end of it.

Because after a good few months deep into your path of sports photography, a baseball player rose to stardom. 

Kenji Sato.

-

“Oh my god!” Taika grabbed onto your arm, nails digging into your skin and making you yelp as she thrust the phone in your face. “Dude! That’s the guy you had a crush on in college!”

Your face burned with embarrassment, and your voice was grating. “I didn’t have a crush on him.”

He just had a nice… bone structure.

Maybe I should have taken pictures of models for magazines or something. 

You looked at the article. Newest player on the field sparks talk of the rise of a new baseball legend. 

Oh damn. Maybe he should have been a model. 

“Kenji Sato,” Taika read out the name. “Dude, I swear this is the guy.” Pulling up your instagram account, she scrolled all the way to the bottom, at your earlier days of shooting. “Dude. That’s him.”

“It’s him,” you said weakly. She grinned at you, a knowing smirk that made you want to tear her hair out. 

-

Another stretch of time passed, until the days where your life was immediately thrust into a direction it did not give consent into going. 

Firstly, Ken Sato made headlines by coming back to Japan. Secondly, you’d landed a job at a baseball game in the Tokyo Dome. Thirdly, it was the game which the Yomiuri Giants were playing. 

You were now on the corner of the pitch, equipment set up, game in full play. The heat of the crowd pressed down on you as you angled your camera at a figure all too familiar. 

Fucking focus, [name].

The ball whizzed through the air. He hit it, arm and bat lashing out, and-

“Fuck!”

You cursed, jerking away from the camera set up and throwing your hands over your head. It fell to the ground, shattered, and the ball rolled across the ground, hitting your knee. 

You looked up. The crowd was roaring. Your head was ringing, feeling faint as you stared at the broken camera lying on the ground. Oh jeez, you were going to faint. Fuck, those players hit the ball hard.

You looked up and saw Ken Sato hurrying towards you. 

And that was when you fainted. 

-

Kenji Sato was going to fucking jump off of a bridge.

Pacing his living room, he dragged his hands through his hair, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “Mina, I’m so screwed.” He paused, looking at her hopefully. “Am I? Screwed, I mean.”

“That would be an interesting topic of debate, Ken.”

“Give me a proper answer, dammit!”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What about the girl?” He stopped suddenly, freezing in place. “I feel awful, you know.” Mina stared at him. “Yes, I can feel regret. Shocker.” He ran his hand through his hair, again. “I already replaced her broken stuff, right?” He looked sick. “Should I apologize? In person? Over text?”

“You could apologize over text,” Mina said.

Kenji immediately fell into the couch, pulling out his phone. “What’s her instagram account name?” Pulling it up, he scrolled through the photos. “[name] [surname], sports photographer,” he read aloud, eyes flicking down to the pictures. 

“She has taken photos for teams, articles, and even major sports magazines.” Mina flew down, hovering near his head as he scrolled curiously. 

“How many photos do you bet she’s got of me?”

“Would you like me to run a search?”

Ken looked up, surprised. “I was just kidding.” He dug his nail beneath his other nail, considering the offer, but Mina was already doing it. 

“Approximately ninety-seven out of two-hundred and twenty-nine images posted on her professional account include your face,” Mina concluded. Ken stared at her blankly. She remained silent for a few more seconds, letting it sink in, then spoke again. “I suggest scrolling to the very bottom of her account, her earliest days of photography, Ken.”

“Ninety-seven?” He asked incredulously, and Mina simply repeated her previous statement. Scroll down.

He did. It took him a while, but he finally managed to hit it, and-

“I’m in college in these.”

His eyes scanned the pictures on the screen- most of which were of him. College games, every one of them. He’d never noticed her in the crowd. Had he?

And there were so, so many.

He could feel heat creeping up his neck. He didn’t find it creepy, or stalkerish- not at all, but instead dared to feel a tiny bit flattered. 

Oh, she was obsessed with me. That’s kind of cute. 

He wondered if she still was. 

Taglist: @moonjellyfishie, @lovingyeet, @aise-30, @scarasw1f3, @v1ennie im only doing taglist this once but I’d prefer it if people just followed me instead because they’re such a hassle

[stiltonbasket]

If you do Bingyuan prompts:

Bingge discovering/realizing that his children’s beloved head teacher is the friendly Shizun from the other world would be a delight!

(Shen Yuan with a miniature army of tiny heavenly demon children who adore him is just super cute!)

By the age of twenty-five, Luo Binghe possessed—or thought he possessed—all the wealth and treasures in the world that a man could want. His vengeance upon the Cang Qiong Mountain sect was complete, the mountain range burned and its peak lords slain but for the master of Qian Cao Peak and Qi Qingqi, whom he had spared for Liu Mingyan’s sake—and he had long since established himself as Emperor of the demon realm, with no small amount of influence in the world he was born to by virtue of his marriage to the Little Palace Mistress, Hua Zhihan. 

But then—half-way through his twenty-seventh year, and three years after the construction of his great fortress close to Huan Hua Palace—he stumbled through a rent in the very skin of the world and found himself back upon Qing Jing Peak, cradled in the arms of a man who wore the face of Luo Binghe’s hated shizun. 

He had hardly been there an hour before he discovered that that Shen Qingqiu had been nothing like the jealous fiend who tormented Luo Binghe in his youth. On the contrary, he had welcomed Luo Binghe into his home and bed like a new bride reuniting with her husband at the end of a long day’s work; and for several months after Luo Binghe returned to his own palace in the demon realm, he found no satisfaction in his endless riches, or the tens of wives in his harem. 

He spent a full season hunting for that Shen Qingqiu in his own world afterwards, for he knew somehow that the living Shen Qingqiu who had married the other Luo Binghe and his own former Shizun were not one and the same. The Shen Qingqiu Luo Binghe knew had nothing in common with that man other than his face, and even that had been so altered by the spirit living behind it that Luo Binghe had not recognized him as Shen Qingqiu at first sight; but the other Luo Binghe reminded him a great deal of his own child-self, and how single-mindedly he had loved Ning Yingying in those early days at Cang Qiong. 

But years went by, and Luo Binghe found nothing—no shadow or trace of that gentle Shen Qingqiu, whether living or dead—and at last, he drank himself sick on dragon-blood wine and unburdened himself to Ning Yingying, confessing that nothing under the sun had brought him joy since that one jewel-bright day with Shen Qingqiu three summers earlier. 

Of course, he did not breathe a word about what had actually happened—for Yingying and the others believed that the strange, bewildered husband who stumbled into the hougong that day was none other than Luo Binghe himself, and he had never seen fit to disabuse them of the notion—but she seemed to understand that the better part of his life’s joy had left him, and said:

“A-Luo, if we sisters can’t make you happy as we used to anymore, do you think—do you think a child might make you happy? We’ve been married for nearly ten years, and I hoped…”

Luo Binghe thought for a moment, still dizzy from the six pots of wine he drank with his evening meal; and amid the soft haze clouding his thoughts, he realized that he would have died of envy if the poor imitation of himself from the other world had had a child with his Shen Qingqiu. 

But the only children he had seen on Qing Jing Peak that day were a handful of young disciples in their early teens, far too old to belong to that pitiful Luo Binghe. It struck him that this was something that other Luo Binghe could never have—must never have, lest Luo Binghe know what had happened and find his way back to that dream-world to quell his jealousy by ripping his other self limb from limb—and then—

“It might not be a bad idea,” he heard himself say. “What about Yingying? Would you like a child?”

“Very much,” Yingying whispered, taking Luo Binghe’s hand. 

Their first daughter, Suoxin, was born the next year; and when the head taiyi placed her in Luo Binghe’s arms, a tiny mote of the tumult in his soul grew calm, and never returned to trouble him again.

The birth of Suoxin’s younger sister Changying followed exactly a hundred days later, for Hua Zhihan had demanded a child of her own as soon as she heard that Ning Yingying was pregnant, and Luo Binghe saw no reason to refuse her. Several of his lesser wives had attempted to follow suit, but he was adamant that no children should be born to them until the children born of his five chief wives had safely reached the age of about three or four: especially after the tragedy that accompanied the birth of Luo Binghe’s first son. 

The taiyi later discovered that his mother—Qin Wanyue, who had suffered a miscarriage at Sha Hualing’s hands some six years earlier—had been born with a deformation in one of the chambers of her heart; and due to her general good health and the strengthening effects of her cultivation, Wanyue never noticed it. But her cultivation was not sufficient to protect her from the strain of childbirth; and scarcely five minutes after the baby took his first breath, Qin Wanyue drew her last, dying without knowing anything more of her child than a single, snatched glimpse of his small red face.

The infant was given the name Luo Nianzu, in remembrance of his mother, and handed over to Liu Mingyan to raise. Mingyan had not wanted a child of her own, though she was more than willing to bring Nianzu up in Wanyue’s stead. 

And in the wake of Qin Wanyue’s passing, Luo Binghe vowed to himself that he would never sire another child. He had been the instrument of her ruin, wittingly or not: and with three healthy heirs, of whom one was a boy, he refused to risk a second death in the harem. 

But his resolve had not hampered Sha Hualing’s plans: and in truth, Luo Binghe should have known better than to expect otherwise. One night, she took Xin Mo from the stand beside his bed and stabbed Luo Binghe straight through the shoulder—rather more ferociously than usual, he thought—and absconded from the palace with three phials full of his spilt blood, returning a fortnight later with a fat baby boy swaddled in one of her own silk veils. 

“Did you give birth to him?” Luo Binghe frowned, after he tasted the child’s blood mites and found that they were nearly identical to his own. “You were only gone for two weeks.”

Sha Hualing only laughed at him, and asked that he give their son a name. Luo Binghe named him Shunlei, with the shun for obedience and the lei for thunder; and though Hualing took the hint at once, she was so well-pleased with Shunlei’s name that Hua Zhihan spent the next month sulking about it. 

The three years that followed Shunlei’s arrival were peaceful ones, for the demon realm had been brought to heel with Sha Hualing’s aid, and Mobei-jun grew more ruthless towards Luo Binghe’s enemies with every passing day. Yingying and Mingyan governed the harem both kindly and firmly, calming any disputes among the lesser wives and punishing those whose bids for favor put their sisters in danger; and they never faltered in their duty to the little ones, so that Luo Binghe went untroubled by the children’s needs until Liu Mingyan declared that Suoxin and Changying were old enough to begin studying with a trained taifu.  

“I already have a candidate in mind,” she said to him over dinner one evening. “Will my lord permit me to look after the arrangements myself?”

“I don’t see why not,” Luo Binghe replied. “Do what you must. Only ensure that the taifu is well educated, and knows how to teach little children without frightening them.” One Shen Qingqiu was bad enough, after all.

And so, preparations went forth for the children’s education. Liu Mingyan wrote to the prospective taifu, who accepted the offer of employment and asked for a month to settle his affairs before moving to the palace; and Yingying began teaching Nianzu and Shunlei how to read, in the hope that the taifu would agree to instruct them alongside Suoxin and Changying. 

Luo Binghe, having nothing further to do with the matter, left for the northern desert with Mobei-jun and Sha Hualing. 

Linguang-jun had decided to rebel against his nephew’s rule again, and Luo Binghe was weary of indulging him. In the aftermath of Shang Qinghua’s betrayal, he and Mobei-jun had both decided that Linguang-jun’s continued existence was far more trouble than it was worth. 

All told, he remained away from the palace for over two moons. When he finally returned, in midsummer, he went straight to his own courtyard and slept for three days without moving a muscle. 

And then he awoke, and heard a soft strain of qin music issuing from the other side of the wall.

Luo Binghe froze.

That courtyard was meant to be empty; it had been empty since the day it was built, eight months after he met that other world’s Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe had filled its four rooms with books and bamboo furniture, and even the double bed in the inner chamber had been a replica of the one the other Shizun slept upon—and the courtyard’s little garden had a pavilion with a built-in table for a qin, since the construction of that Shizun’s house and garden made it plain that he liked to practice out of doors.

Who had dared set foot in that courtyard while Luo Binghe was absent?

Hua Zhihan? Qin Wanrong? Certainly not Yingying or Liu Mingyan; it resembled the living quarters at Qing Jing far too closely for either of them to find any peace there. 

Trembling with fury, he pulled on the robes he was wearing last night and rushed over to the adjoining courtyard, where he stopped short at the threshold of its white-painted moon gate and gaped at the spectacle awaiting him within. 

There was a man sitting at the qin table in the pavilion—a man, in the compound where Luo Binghe lived with his wives—playing a rearrangement of “Flowing Waters,” with Luo Shunlei on his lap. Suoxin and Changying were seated on either side of him, armed with child-sized guqins of their own, and Nianzu was nestled against the man’s shoulder, asleep.

And his face—

Luo Binghe had never seen such a face before. It was not the face of Shen Qingqiu—not the Shen Qingqiu he knew, at any rate—but the light in his eye and the warmth of his voice as he spoke to Suoxin were very like that Shen Qingqiu’s, though Luo Binghe noticed that there was a shade of difference between the two. 

He is older, Luo Binghe realized at once, as his heart thundered inside him. The other Shen Qingqiu was young, judging by his manner—perhaps forty, at the very oldest—and my Shizun never even reached the age of fifty. 

The other Shizun had worn green, he remembered. He preferred the same clean-cut style of dress that Luo Binghe’s shizun liked to wear, and of course their bodies and faces had been the same, as well; but this man wore s different face entirely, and his worn silk robes were a clean, stark white, like the garments of the wandering rogue cultivators who used to pass through Luo Binghe’s hometown when he was a boy. 

The trappings of his flesh made no difference, however.

Luo Binghe knew him for what he was at first sight. 

It struck him then that this must be the taifu Liu Mingyan selected for the children. He could not fathom why she would have housed an imperial tutor in the hougong, of all places: but now that he was here, Luo Binghe would rather walk through the Endless Abyss again than permit him to leave. 

Luo Binghe could have stood in the doorway and stared at him for a lifetime; but then the taifu looked up and clambered to his feet, tugging the little girls along with him. Shunlei remained where he was, gripping the soft front of the taifu’s gown like a baby monkey clinging to its mother’s back; and Nianzu, securely balanced on the taifu’s hip, slept on without noticing that the man had moved at all.

“My lord,” the taifu said, bowing. “This humble servant offers his—”

“Xin’er greets Father!” Luo Suoxin cut in, glancing up at her teacher for approval. “Did I do it right, Shizun?”

“Yes, except for the part where you interrupted me first,” the taifu laughed. “Go on, Changying.”

Luo Changying nodded and stepped forward. 

“Chang’er greets Father,” she said, rather more gracefully than Suoxin. 

“Well done,” said the taifu. “Now, Shunlei…?”

Shunlei blinked and tightened his grasp on the taifu’s robes. 

“A-Shun is hungry,” he complained, refusing to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes. “Shizun, snack time.”

Luo Binghe bit back a smile. This man was somehow more indulgent with his young charges than the other Shizun had been, and the sight of him holding Nianzu and Shunlei was so desperately sweet that Luo Binghe nearly reached out and touched him. 

“Daozhang is the new taifu, I suppose?” Luo Binghe asked instead, taking another step forward. “Your name?”

The taifu nodded. 

“This one is called Zhu Qinglan, my lord,” he replied, trying in vain to coax Shunlei down to the ground. “Now, A-Shun, my good little disciple…”

“Shunshun won’t look at him,” the baby insisted, his little voice muffled in the folds of Zhu Qinglan’s coat. “I want to eat cake, not see Fuqin.”

To Luo Binghe’s astonishment, Zhu Qinglan sat down on the steps below the pavilion and drew a wrapped package of sesame cakes out of his sleeve. 

“Your imperial father has come back to see you after two months, and you act like this?” he chided, placing one of the cakes on Shunlei’s outstretched palm. “Now, eat your cake like a good child; and then you must get up and greet your father properly, like Xin’er and Chang’er.”

Luo Binghe lifted his hand. 

“No need,” he said mildly, watching with half-crazed eyes as Zhu Qinglan stroked Luo Nianzu's fluffy hair. “Shun’er is always upset after this lord returns from his travels abroad. I do not see the children as often as I would like; but I try to dine with them at least once a week, and that little demon in your arms refuses to speak to me for days on end if I ever dare to arrive late.”

With that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the courtyard. He could not stand in Zhu Qinglan’s presence any longer, lest he do something that would terrify his children and turn their Shizun against him forever; and as it was, the little demon servant who brought breakfast to his quarters ten minutes later nearly died of fright at the sight of him. 

“Zhu Qinglan,” Luo Binghe said to himself, after the petrified lackey made his escape. “The name suits him, whether it is a false one or no.”

He drained the last of his tea, and smiled. 

“I’ve finally caught you, Shizun.”

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 25

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: it's time for a training montage! minor injury, guns briefly mentioned wc: 2.1k

Chapter Selection

“I can’t believe we’re doing this…” Jason grumbled softly, starting his bike.

“I told you; you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. Bruce said he'd send a car for me.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, gently squeezing.

“Absolutely not. If you’re joining Thursday training sessions, I’m going with you.” We flew down the street, Jason’s voice continuing in the speaker in my helmet; “I just don’t understand why you want to do this at all…”

“Training with more people will give me a more well-rounded experience. And while you are a very good teacher, you’re also my boyfriend. Somehow I feel like Bruce will be a harsher critic of my abilities.”

“And that’s a good thing??” He took a sharp turn toward the wealthy side of town.

“When we’re talking about possible life and death situations, yes. And I don’t really want you to have to be harsh with me, so why don’t we make that Bruce’s responsibility, since that relationship is already tense anyway?”

Jason sighed softly, gently squeezing my hands. “... I guess. … He can be a … tough teacher though. If he’s too hard on you, you don’t have to take it.”

“I know, baby. And he knows I’m not looking to be added to the patrol schedule, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Jason grumbled more, but continued driving to Wayne Manor. We parked in a large garage, and he led me to an elevator. After pressing several buttons we were headed down to the Batcave, where the entire Wayne family met us.

Damian spied us first, walking over. “Sister?”

“Hey kiddo! You gonna help train me?” I grinned, holding my hand out to him. He hesitantly squeezed my hand once, dropping it quickly.

“... I thought Father was attempting to make a joke when he said you were joining our training sessions…” he frowned deeply.

“Nope, no joke. … Is that a problem?” I raised an eyebrow.

“... I suppose not. … You will spar with me.” He gestured for me to follow him toward some mats.

Jason cried after us; “hey! Be gentle, demon brat. She's still new to this stuff.”

���I am not a fool, Todd. I am not expecting her to be a black belt.” Damian nodded; “stretches first.”

I took a seat and pulled my shoes off before stepping onto the mat, doing our usual pre-workout stretches. Eventually Bruce came over, watching us with vague interest on his face. “Alright, let's see what we have to work with.”

I nodded, and Damian and I put on some padding. We bowed to each other, and began. He started out slowly, letting me get in the flow of things. The others watched, periodically calling out instructions and encouragements. After a while I caught a glimpse of Jason in the corner of my eye, chewing on his lip, and Damian took that moment to sweep my leg out from under me.

“Oof!” I grunted softly as I landed on my back, blinking a bit.

“Don't get distracted. Your opponent will use that moment to their advantage.”

I nodded, accepting Damian's offered hand to get back up. “Go again?”

He nodded, and we went again, and again, and again. Every time, I ended up on my back, and he had another note for me. “Don't watch my face, watch my shoulders.” “If you aren't willing to hurt me, you will never win.” “Follow through, or none of this will matter.” “Focus on your footing; you're off balance.” “Breath with your attacks.”

Eventually, Jason stepped forward. “That's enough, take five.”

I nodded, letting him help me up, and bowed to Damian again. “Thanks for training me, Damian.”

He nodded, smiling a little, and bowed back. “You're not entirely hopeless, considering you're a civilian. If you take this seriously, you'll be a proper martial artist in no time.”

I grinned, nodding, and Jason led me to the side, getting me some water. “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine, baby! Damian is an excellent sparring partner.”

He frowned a bit, massaging my shoulders. “I dunno, some of those throws were unnecessarily rough…”

“Jace, do you think the next mugger I run into is going to be more gentle with me than that?”

He sighed, kissing my neck. “... No. … I just don't like watching you get knocked around.”

“I know, you're so protective of me~ it's sweet, but we gotta power through this part so I can get good.”

He sighed, holding me close. We watched the others pair up for more intensive sparring practices, and Bruce came over. “You did well out there. I want you to work on your balance for a while, Jason can walk you through that. And you should do at least an hour a day of simple exercises; stretching, strength training, and balance training.”

I nodded. “Got it. Thanks Bruce…”

He nodded, pointing out the equipment he recommended I use today, and went back to observing the others. Jason eventually led me over to the equipment, and we started working on my balance.

After weeks of gym days with Jason and BatFam training sessions, I really expected to see myself slimming down a bit. But when I looked in the mirror, I was still soft and curvy. My arm and leg muscles were more pronounced, and I was certain my core muscles were getting stronger too, but my tummy was still round and squishy. It didn't bother me, and Jason seemed rather pleased to not be losing my softness; he tended to nuzzle against my chest and stomach at night, like a big cuddly teddy bear.

Seeing my training progress wasn't making him any less protective either; every time I stepped onto the mat with one of his siblings I could hear him growling at them. It didn't deter Damian, or the girls, but Dick and Tim were particularly hesitant to give me a proper training session. They mostly stuck to helping me with warm ups, and shouting suggestions from the sidelines.

All of the bats were master martial artists, but each had their own preferred fighting styles. Damian taught me to fake out my opponent, and had a proclivity for taking out the leg. Stephanie preferred to mix up her fighting style, keeping her opponents off guard. Cass taught me to anticipate an opponent's moves, watching for the slightest movements that might tell me how to take them down. When Dick and I sparred, he mostly stuck to the basics, not wanting to risk injuring me in front of Jason. Tim mostly helped me work on my blocks and defensive strategy. Bruce stuck to observing and instructing, never actually entering the ring with me. And with the lot of them training me in various martial arts, Jason turned our gym days into gym-and-range days; we would do some stretches and basic core-building, and then we went to the shooting range to work on my aim.

One day before training, Damian had me kneel. Once I was on my knees, he held out a yellow sash with little black bats on it, saying something in a language I didn't know.

I took it, smiling softly; “what's this?”

“Your yellow bat-belt. You've leveled up in your training. Put it on.”

I grinned, nodding, and tied it around my waist; “yes, Sensei.”

Damian smiled at that, nodding once. Once he was happy with how the belt was tied, he led me to the mats for our sparring session. Tim snorted softly, watching from the side.

“What's with the belt? You know the mish-mash of martial arts she's learning wouldn't count at a proper school, right?”

Damian glowered at him; “she has leveled up in the School of the Bat. That is what matters here.”

“Well how come the rest of us don't get bat-belts then?” Tim smirked a bit; “you gotta make them for everyone, Damian!”

“You would not like a physical indicator of what level I deem you to be at, Drake.” Damian smirked at his indignant noises, and turned to me. We bowed and started our sparring session.

In our fourth spar of the day, I landed my first ever hit. One second Damian was in front of me, fists up, and the next he was sprawled out on the floor in front of me, looking up at me in shock.

“Oh my god, Damian! Are you ok??” I fell to my knees next to him as he sat up slowly.

“... I'm fine. … Well done, sister.” He smirked a bit; “now do it again.”

I could hear the smirk in Jason's voice as he called out; “way to go, babe! Kick the demon brat's ass!”

“Language.” Bruce frowned at him, and I helped Damian up.

“Sorry, B. Let's try that again,” he cleared his throat, putting on the most happy-go-lucky voice he could manage; “holy guacamole, bat-babe! Gee golly, can ya do it again, pretty girl?” 

Dick wrinkled his nose, groaning softly. “Dear god, I forgot you used to talk like that. Never do that again.”

“Agreed.” I laughed softly, sticking my tongue out at him; “that was horrible!”

He chuckled, winking at me. Damian frowned, snapping at us; “Enough! No flirting during training! Sister, let's go again.”

My head was ringing. Hands grabbed me, and I was carefully brought into a seated position. I blinked slowly, touching the back of my head gently. No blood. That was good…

“-idn't mean to! Fuck!”

“Well you did! So back off, Grayson!” Damian spoke sharply next to me. His small hands held the sides of my face, making me look at him; “... No dilation, that's good.”

I blinked slowly, frowning. “Wha- … what happened?”

Jason held me against his chest, frowning deeply. “You don't remember, baby?”

I started to shake my head, but the pounding in my head put a stop to that. “Ohhh fuck … ow…”

“Shit …” Dick whined softly from somewhere behind Damian. “Shit, I … I'm so sorry! I swear, I didn't mean to!”

“Dick, just shut up.” Jason growled, holding me closer. He carefully lifted me, holding me against his chest as he carried me toward a long bench.

“She's probably got a concussion. Don't let her sleep.” Tim frowned, bringing an ice pack.

Jason took it, carefully pressing it to my head. “Yeah, no shit…”

“What happened?”

“Dick threw you off the mat.” Jason growled softly, holding me close. “You're done for the day. Time to rest.”

“Ugh… ok. … Rest sounds good…” I frowned, closing my eyes.

Dick hesitantly mumbled my name; “I'm so sorry!”

“It's all good, Dick. I'm not dying.” I groaned softly, leaning against Jason.

Jay growled softly. “It's not all good. I told you to be careful. I told you not to hurt her!”

I shushed him softly, leaning in more. “No yelling…”

He sighed softly, kissing my forehead. “Sorry, baby girl…”

Bruce checked my eyes, frowning a bit. “... Nothing else she can do today. Take her home, have her take a few days off.”

Jay grunted his agreement and the next thing I knew, I was in his arms again, being carried to the elevator. Damian ran after us, bringing my bag along. I smiled softly, reaching down to stroke his hair. “Thanks, kiddo…”

He leaned in to my touch for a second before pulling back; “I'll come over tomorrow after school to check on you.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Damian.” He smiled a little at that, setting my bag in the car. Jason got me situated, making sure I was buckled, before getting in and driving me home.

“Fucking Dick…” he grumbled softly.

“Relax, baby. It's just a minor concussion. I'll be fine tomorrow.” I smiled softly, watching the scenery.

“Should never have happened…’’

“It was an accident, they happen. Don't be too harsh with him.” 

He sighed, resting a hand on my knee. “... This ok?”

I smiled softly and nodded, turning toward him; “Yeah, that's ok.”

He smiled a little and gently stroked my knee with his thumb; “when we get in, you're gonna rest on the couch. I'll get you some water, and aspirin, and I'll make something light for dinner.”

“Ok. Thanks, Jay~” I sighed softly, closing my eyes for a second.

“Don't sleep, now. You gotta stay awake for a while.”

“Ok, I'll stay awake.” I slowly opened my eyes, blinking a bit. “... So bright though…”

Jason pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his center console and passed them to me. I grinned, kissing his hand, and put them on. “Much better. … Takin' such good care'a me…”

He chuckled softly. “Anything you need, doll. Always.”

Next ->

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[nb-octopus-writes]

once you're in the hive, the other bees assume you're supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Summary:

Virgil accidentally gets absorbed by his best friend's brother's polycule.

In his defense, they keep feeding him every time they see him, and Patton's cooking is really good.

Chapter 1: Halloween Party

Wordcount: 1.9K

~

There are a lot of people Virgil doesn't know at this party. Remus is here, somewhere, and Virgil needs to find him again before the party ends, because Remus was his ride and he doesn't want to get left here. Janus is here too though, and Virgil doesn't think Janus would let Remus leave without him, and he's sure Remus wouldn't desert Janus, so he's trying not to worry too much about the fact that he doesn't currently know where Remus is.

But that's it for people Virgil knows, and Remus didn't even bother to introduce him to anyone before fucking off to who knows where, and Virgil’s certainly not going to walk up to a random stranger and introduce himself, so he's currently appreciating the snack table. If he's eating or deliberating on what to eat next, he can't be expected to talk to anybody, right?

“’Scuse me, itsy bitsy,” someone says from behind him, and Virgil turns to see a vaguely familiar man in a dazzling prince costume holding a fresh plate of deviled eggs.

Virgil moves so that the prince dude can set the plate down on a clear spot on the table, and frowns. “I'm taller than you, Princey.”

Prince dude shrugs, plucks one of the eggs up, and takes a large bite. “Lucky you, or we'd've had to ask you to vacate the premises,” he says. “No little spiders allowed, real or fake.”

Which, yeah, now that he's mentioned it, Virgil had noted an extreme lack of spider-themed decorations, which is unusual for Halloween. Usually there'd at least be spiderweb cupcakes, but the cupcakes at this party are mostly cute ghosts.

There's probably a good reason for that, Virgil realizes with a sinking feeling. “Should I change?”

“You got another costume handy, or were you planning on spinning a spider-silk cocoon and metamorphosing into a butterfly?”

Virgil grimaces. “No,” he admits.

Prince Dude considers him. “It's not very realistic,” he says, which is true. Virgil hadn't been going for realism, he'd been going for passable costume I can make on short notice. He's wearing black jeans and a black hoodie, and he'd cut some pool noodles in half and wrapped them in more black cloth and stuck them to his back for the other four legs. It had been a pain to get them to stay in place properly, actually, and he'd ended up sewing their wrappings to the back of his hoodie in order to keep them where he wanted them. He'd been pretty proud of it, given that Remus had dropped “we're going to a costume party at my brother's house” on him like an hour beforehand, but now he's wishing he'd come up with any other idea. He could have put a sheet over his head and been a ghost, or something. Granted, that would have required him to have a sheet that was both white and that he was willing to cut holes in, which he didn't, but still.

Prince Dude continues to quietly scrutinize Virgil, and he wants to squirm under his gaze. Eventually, the guy shrugs and says, “Might be best to ask the scaredy-cat himself. Wait here, I'll be back.” And he saunters off before Virgil can answer.

For lack of anything better to do, Virgil picks up a deviled egg and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. It's really tasty, actually, and now he's wishing he'd taken smaller bites rather than horking it down in one.

Virgil had thought that Princey was just being mean with the “scaredy-cat” thing, but the guy he's talking to now actually is dressed as a calico cat. Prince Dude points back at Virgil, and Mister Calico Cat glances in his direction, then turns back to Princey. Virgil can't hear what they're saying, but he supposes Prince Dude must've asked Calico if Virgil’s costume was too creepy crawly scary.

They talk for way longer than Virgil had expected, and he can't tell if Calico's response was more like “No, he's fine,” or more along the lines of “Yes, that's terrifying, please have him removed immediately from my sight and also my home.”

He occupies himself with another deviled egg. If he's going to get kicked out, he might as well enjoy some more of this tasty food first.

Oh, fuck. Remus.

Remus isn't going to want to leave early just to take Virgil home, and Virgil still doesn't know where he even is! Fuck!

Well, Remus could have warned him not to be a spider, so if Virgil gets kicked out of the party it'll be at least partly Remus's fault. Virgil doesn't know anybody here, but Remus knows at least half these people, and if Calico’s spider aversion is enough that there are no spider-themed decorations in the house on Halloween, that sounds like the kind of thing Remus would know about.

Granted, Remus revels in being gross and annoying, but still! He's not a total dick. He should have told Virgil.

Fucker.

Calico vanishes into the other room, and Prince Dude comes back over to Virgil. He doesn't look like he's about to kick Virgil to the curb, at least. Virgil braces himself anyway.

“Good news!” Princey says with a grin. “Li’l Mister Muffet says you don't look like a creepy crawly death dealer and he doesn't have the urge to remove you with arson!”

Virgil blinks. “...gooood?” he says slowly. He hadn't even considered kill it with fire being a potential response to his costume. That would have been worse than just getting kicked out of the party, actually.

“Honestly you're much more Doc Ock in silhouette, Spider-Man,” Princey continues. “That helps a lot.”

Virgil glances back at where Prince Dude and Calico had been chatting. “So he didn't leave the room because he can't stand the sight of me?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, he wanted to make another plate of horse devours,” Princey says, reaching past Virgil to grab a cupcake off the table. This one has a little frosting bat.

“A plate of what?” Virgil says, because surely he didn't hear that right.

“Little snacks,” Prince Dude clarifies instead of repeating himself. “Our fridge is crammed with delicious bits and bobs. It's been so hard to resist the temptation to eat them before the party.” He bites appreciatively into his cupcake, then adds with his mouth full, “You'd think he wouldn't notice what with how much he made, but nooo, sneak one chocolate covered cherry before party time and it's a lengthy scolding for you!” Princey sighs dramatically, then cheerfully devours the rest of his cupcake.

“...hors d'oeuvres?” Virgil says hesitantly.

“Yeah, a couple ordervs of deviled eggs, cheese and crackers, and those scrumptious little pinwheel things,” Princey says. Virgil’s not sure if Princey actually doesn't know how hors d'oeuvres is pronounced, or if he's messing with him, but then Princey gives him a mischievous grin that one, confirms that yes, Princey does know what he's doing, and two, is so familiar that it freezes Virgil in place as the pieces click together in his brain.

The lack of a mustache makes Prince Dude's face look different, and so does the way he did his makeup, and he carries himself differently, but it's undeniable all the same: Virgil knows that grin.

This is Remus's twin brother.

Now that he's connected the dots (you haven't connected shit) the family resemblance is clear even to Virgil’s honestly rather faceblind eyes.

This is Remus's brother, and it's his house they're partying at.

… Virgil doesn't remember the guy's name.

Fuck, he should've made sure he at least knew who the party hosts were, especially the one related to his mischief goblin of a best friend.

Well he can't exactly ask now, can he?

“Also like, five types of cupcakes,” Princey continues, oblivious to Virgil’s inner turmoil. “Seriously, have you tried the cupcakes? Chef Boiardelightful made multiple separate batches of different flavors, from scratch. And they're all delicious!”

Virgil smirks. “And did you try to snitch them before the party too?”

Princey gasps theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “How could you accuse me of such a thing!?” he protests with exactly as much dramatic emotion as Virgil would expect from Remus's twin. “For your information, I did not! I merely sampled a portion of the batter left on the spatula after the cupcakes had gone into the oven. Also some of the frosting.”

“He means that he licked the bowls clean,” says a new voice, and Virgil does not jump out of his skin, thank you very much. And even if he did jolt a little, it's nothing to the startled squawk Princey emits.

Calico's back, holding a platter of little finger sandwiches on toothpicks. He offers them up to Virgil, who takes one. “Thanks.”

“No worries, kiddo!” Calico says cheerfully, and puts the rest of the platter down on the snack table. Princey plucks up two sandwiches by their toothpicks, and gets a stern look in response. “Make sure to leave some for the guests,” Calico scolds.

“My delightful and beloved Patissier,” Princey says, cupping Calico's face gently with his free hand. “I assure you that each of our guests could have a heaping plateful of food and we would still have leftovers until next Tuesday. No-one will be going home hungry.”

It really is an impressive spread. Everything Virgil’s tried has been really good. Remus really could have played up the ‘free food’ angle more when trying to convince Virgil to come. If he'd known the food would be this good, then overriding his usual party-related reservations—it's gonna be loud, there will be a lot of people, I don't know anybody, etc—would have been a lot easier. Then again, Virgil probably wouldn't have believed him. He'd mostly been expecting pizza and cheap beer, honestly, not– not homemade delicacies.

The tiny sandwich Calico gave him is lightly toasted, with some kind of sliced-meat-and-cream-cheese filling, and a little green leafy garnish on top. It definitely looks much fancier than most things Virgil eats, and he can understand why Calico doesn't want Princey to eat them all. That probably took a decent amount of effort. He almost feels bad eating it himself, except that Calico had offered it to him specifically, and it would probably be more rude at this point to not eat it.

“Are you sure my costume is okay?” Virgil asks, interrupting the minor squabble Princey and Calico had fallen into.

“Oh, yes, you're fine,” Calico assures him. “Trust me, if you were pinging my brain as an actual spider I wouldn't be in the room right now, let alone standing next to you.”

“Really, cause most cats I know would eat a spider soon as look at it,” Virgil quips, and is rewarded with Calico laughing.

“That wouldn't be very good host-ly of me, now would it?” he says. “I would never eat a guest!”

“Not unless they're a reptile with scallions,” Princey teases, and Calico flushes.

“Hey!” he protests, swatting Princey's shoulder with one hand and trying to cover his extremely red face with the other. Virgil wonders what the reference was, exactly, but doesn't think it's his place to ask. It seems rather personal, from how hard Calico is blushing.

…maybe he'll ask Remus later if he knows what the story there is.

~~~~

Chapter 2: The Morning After

[wwillywonka]

hello lgbt community. i just wrote over 2000 words of a star trek fanfic in two hours

[planetwaynez]

FLOWERS AND GOLDEN STRINGS

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

SOULMATES AU!

Synopsis: Jason is certain that he is meant to help others, not just as a vigilante but also as some sort of twisted cupid. He thinks he is meant to only watch other fall in love and never find his forever and always, however after buying Lian some flowers for her birthday and a sucession of events envolving soulmates, he can't get the flower shop girl out of his head. Y/N thinks that the Red Hood is so hopeless in love with his soulmate but why does this fact bothers her so much? Why she wanted to be the center of his affaction? After months helping the vigilante, she meets her soulmate, Jason, but she can't forget the Red Hood. How will she deal with all those new and complicated emotions?

Warnings: SMUT! Canon-divergent, violence, foul lingauge, jelousy, complicated feelings, angst, fluffly, miscominucation, slow burn, injuries, kidnaping, paranoia and more to be added.

CHAPTERS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

[totheidiot]

that little element of grief in lawlight has got to me. it crawled itself into my brain. i have started to work on this ghost!L au where he haunts light after he died but really, it's all just a metaphor for grief. if i had a nickel for every time etc etc etc

[lupinmoonlight]

Between Classes

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You visit Remus Lupin in his office during school hours. Ever the caring and overprotective boyfriend, he questions you about your self-care habits. He notices your exhaustion and, despite your deflections, gently scolds you for skipping meals and losing sleep over studies. Don't worry, though, you're still his good girl (839 words).

Warnings - teacher/student relationship, age gap, kissing, discussing self-care, mention of stress, mention of snape (love him tho), fluff, mention of eating, some "good girl", my grammar (english is my 2nd language), not proof-read.

Notes - I don't know what this is guys. I'm tired. I submitted two papers in two weeks. One to a journal, one to a conference. I needed to write something soft and fluffy I guess. I need him.

Remus was gazing out at the grounds from his office, a sigh escaping his lips. The day had been relentless, a blur of staff meetings, frantic students, and the gnawing worry that loomed over him when the full moon approached. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to relax before his next class.

His peace, however, was interrupted when the heavy door of his office burst open. He tensed momentarily, but relaxed as the sight of you. His sunshine, his secret, his love. As soon as you entered, you ran to him and jumped into his arms. Remus caught you easily, closing the door with a flick of his wand and warding it. He wrapped his arms around you properly, holding you close.

"Hello, love," he greeted you, kissing the top of your head. "You know you shouldn't be here between classes…" he admonished gently.

"I missed you," you murmured, burying your face in his chest.

"I missed you too," Remus replied softly. He lifted you gently and sat you down on his desk, then leaned in to kiss you.

"How is your day going?" he asked, his eyes filled with love and concern as he noticed how exhausted you looked.

"Ugh, it's so stressful" you admitted, your shoulders slumping a bit dramatically. "I'm swamped with homework and exams. I barely have any time to breathe."

Remus stroked your cheek tenderly as you spoke, his touch grounding and soothing. "I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart," he said gently. "What's got you so swamped in particular?"

"Essays, mostly," you huffed. "Snape's essay on the Bezoar is probably the worst. I swear, this man thrives on making everything miserable."

Remus raised an eyebrow, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "Professor Snape is not so bad. He's just a bit…ah, passionate?"

You mocked a glare but it was quickly subdued as you leaned into his hand. "If you say so, Professor," you teased.

Remus kissed your forehead. "Have you been at least taking care of yourself?"

You fidgeted under his gaze. You knew you hadn't been. Sleep had become a luxury you couldn't afford. Your body was running on hurried bites of toasts and gulps of pumpkin juice. And Remus knew that. He knew you too well. And it was slightly annoying.

"I'm trying, honestly," you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. You hated disappointing him.

His brows furrowed, and he gently held your chin, tilting your face up so he could see your eyes. "Trying isn't enough, love," he said firmly, although his voice had remained soft. "You're running yourself ragged. You'll burn out before exams even start, and then what good will it be?"

You sighed. He was right. As always. But time management wasn't exactly your forte.

"I know…" you admitted in defeat.

"Have you eaten properly today?" he pressed.

"Yes. I mean, I had lunch. But I skipped breakfast because I was running late."

Remus frowned slightly. "Good girl for eating lunch, but you need to do better with breakfast. It's important."

"Yes, Professor Lupin," you said, playfully rolling your eyes.

"Very good," he praised with a soft chuckle.

He tilted your chin up to kiss you. "And what about sleep? Have you been getting enough rest?" He knew you haven't been, but he wanted you to admit it.

You hesitated, then shook your head. "Not really. I've been up late studying."

Remus sighed softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. "You need your sleep, sweetheart. Promise me you'll try to get to bed earlier tonight."

"Okay, okay. I promise," you said sincerely.

"Good girl," Remus murmured, kissing you again. "You need to take care of yourself, for me and for you."

"Yeah yeah yeah," you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck in an attempt to distract him.

"Alright, love, it's time for you to get back to your classes. I don't want you to be late," he said as he pulled away reluctantly.

You pouted, clinging to him for a moment longer. "But I don't want to go. Can't I just stay a little bit longer?"

Remus chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted the wards. "No, you can't. You've already broken our rule about no visiting during school hours." He tapped your nose playfully. "Besides, I don't want you getting into trouble because of me."

You rolled your eyes again but smiled. "Fine, Professor. I'll go."

"Good girl," he said with a grin. "Now, off you go before I change my mind and keep you here for detention myself."

You giggled, giving him a quick kiss. "I wouldn't mind detention with you."

"You're impossible, you know that?" he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yep," you replied, "but you love me anyway."

"That I do," he said, pulling you in for one last kiss. "Now, get to class, Miss."

You sighed dramatically but turned to leave.

"Don't forget to eat breakfast tomorrow! And remember, early bedtime tonight."

"Yes, Professor Lupin." you replied teasingly.

Remus shook his head with a smile. "See you later, love."

[cottoncandysprite]

Another AU because they're the only thing keeping me sane rn

[ajcrawly]

NOW COMPLETE!

Because I am of unsound mind, I've skimmed through HtN through the satirical and wildly unreliable eyes of our friend Augustine. Please find within:

Fifth House snobbery re the Third House and its efforts

Intense, codependent and psychologically unhealthy relationships with not one! not two! but (at least) three denizens of the Mithraeum

Just astonishing amounts of ennui

A simply unnecessary number of footnotes that add to neither plot nor characterisation but do vastly add to my enjoyment

In summation: pls <3

[cy-fi-theansweris42]

So I know I keep talking about the Old People Of All Time from Psychonauts 2 (the Psychic 7) but right now I'm replaying the first game and going through all the memory vaults again and like

I'm sorry but now can I be normal after this slide in Milla's memory vault? Look at their little smiles!!!

And in Psychonauts 2 they tell us about how Sasha and Milla have a telepathic link and how they're always talking!

We don't know how long they've been partners or exactly how they met (there's always the lipo document but that's honestly pretty outdated information) but we know that they're close and they have offices right next to each other and the other Psychonauts gossip about them and just like

[shakes the universe] I need to know more about them 😭

[andaniellight]

Hey has anyone made a fic where in the first weeks of being a straw hat crew Sanji and the others discussed about the importance of celebrating birthdays on the going merry and of course out of the five of them it's Zoro who couldn't care less about his birthday except if they're going to celebrate it with lots of alcohols and no sweets, cakes, whatever the hell those kinds of atrocities. But because Sanji was only 19, raised by Jeff for years which means he's petty as hell, he took that as a challenge to make mosshead obsess with his own birthday for the rest of his life.

He even told the whole crew to plan it with him. The kind of special birthday that can be make Zoro want to stay sober enough to enjoy without feeling guilty bullshit. All of the straw hats are onboard of course—hah! Onboard. Obviously they are. Mainly because they will all get to feast on so many meals and desserts prepared by their insanely skilled chef. All Sanji's got to do is prepare the most Zoro-kind of birthday cake and a banquet that will alter Zoro's remaining braincells forever. Maybe even make a bunch of pavlovas that taste like alcohol also. Won't hurt and worth to try, right?

[ethosiab]

meant to be asleep? Quick, post warden from minecraft