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delimeful · 3 years

Text

you cant go back (2)

warnings: fear, miscommunication, guilt, mentions of theoretical gore/injury, dehumanization, referring to a person as 'it', general angst

For the fourth day in a row, Lady Macbeth had spurned him.

Roman frowned, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his head and tossing it over the back of a kitchen chair.

Lady was old, smug, and occasionally very cranky, but she wasn’t deaf like Ophelia-- she always came prancing over once she heard his keys rattling in the lock, delighted at the opportunity to smear cat hair all over his pants and get her claws stuck in his shoelaces.

Yet here he stood, catless.

For the past few days, too, she hadn’t been in the house at all when he got home. He’d been downright worried that first day, uneasy until she strolled back in at dusk.

They had an expansive backyard that their younger cats took delight in frolicking in, but their second-oldest cat was a rare visitor to the outdoors. Lady was first and foremost a homebody, and she preferred a warm body to sit on. Their squishy heat-generating human bodies were the only reason she hadn’t assassinated them all in their sleep by now, according to--

Roman cut the thought off sharply, feeling familiar grief pit up in his throat. He shook his head, the motion harsh enough to make his neck twinge. There was no time for standing about and pondering! He had a cat to locate!

A determined jut to his chin, he grabbed what supplies he would need for this perilous journey-- cat treats, a catnip toy, even a tempting cardboard box-- and strode confidently out the backdoor.

For the next half-hour, he wandered around the acres of their property, greeting each of the goats and chickens by name as he checked all the most common cat hidey-holes.

He’d almost given up by the time he stumbled across the old barn, pant legs covered in burrs and the beginnings of a sunburn across the back of his neck. Whatever delightful cat secrets Lady was so busy with, surely he could discover them when it wasn’t the middle of summer.

Just before he could turn around, though, he noticed that one of the doors was just slightly ajar.

Roman felt his brow gradually scrunch up the longer he stared at it. It had been locked up after the last of the old supplies had been moved from it, hadn’t it? The last big storm had proved it wasn’t weather-worthy, his dad had plans to take it apart for timber, ones that had seemingly been forgotten after… afterwards.

Petty inconveniences of getting there forgotten, Roman crept closer on light feet, grip tight on the catnip mouse in his hand. The wind died down at an eerily perfect moment, and he strained to hear beyond those old wooden walls.

Not everything is a grand conspiracy, a voice in his head reminded him, sounding suspiciously similar to Specs, it could simply be someone without housing that took the opportunity for shelter provided by the abandoned barn.

Roman sidled halfway through the ajar door, and froze at the sight of an upright humanoid figure only a few meters away. Something about it wasn't right, instantly putting him on edge. He kept staring, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

(“I’m telling you, these lights were strange even by my standards! Almost… alien.” An unsettling grin that was a beat late.)

The figure’s head was dropped forward, but he could tell even from this distance that it wasn’t human, with shiny purple-grey segmented skin and legs with knees facing the wrong way. It had spiky shoulder joints, but its arms seemed to be tucked behind it.

(Roman had shoved him off the couch, sour about being taken in by one of his tales, and he hadn’t brought it up again.)

Most alarming of all, there were four long, spindly limbs stretched out into the air behind it, seemingly spawning from its back. The legs were spider-like in nature, but shiny instead of hairy, and each one ended in a sharp point. As he watched, he could see the limbs shifting slowly, pairs of them lifting and falling in odd synchrony with the creature’s slow breathing.

(Roman had been freaked out, and his brother had dropped the subject. He should’ve asked, he should have known something was wrong--)

“Miaow.” A plaintive voice called, nearly startling Roman out of his skin.

He tore his gaze away from the (alien) mystery intruder, and felt his jaw drop as he took in Lady Macbeth’s current position. Loafing on the feet of an insidious intruder?!

For shame, he mouthed silently at her.

Lady blinked slowly and continued to purr, unbothered by his accusatory stare. One of those spider limbs shifted again, making Roman swallow nervously. He really didn’t want to see what sort of automatic reaction an extraterrestrial’s stabby-arms would have to finding a cat in its space.

He waved the catnip mouse enticingly. Lady gave him the bland look of a cat who had preferred those expensive feather toys for as long as he had known her. Roman resisted the urge to facepalm.

The insanely dangerous method it was, then.

Putting all his sneaking skills to use, he sidled further into the barn, dropping into a crouch and beginning to creep across the dirt floor as slowly as possible. Each step was carefully placed, almost entirely silent, and whenever those freaky appendages twitched, he froze in place for a full thirty seconds.

The alien’s head remained lax (asleep?) as he drew closer, but Lady refused to entertain his desperate motions for her to leave her ill-chosen bed. At this rate, he’d have to pick her up off of it, and hope that she didn’t complain too much on the way out.

He shifted his weight forwards, and suddenly all four of the arms were still, almost taut in the air. Only a couple feet away, the alien’s head bobbed slightly. His time was up.

Clenching his teeth, Roman made a gamble.

He tossed the little mouse toy directly at the space above the alien’s head and dove for Lady.

There was a whistle, like a whip or an arrow sliding through the air, and Roman made the mistake of glancing up as soon as he had his hands securely around Lady’s body.

All four of the spider limbs had jabbed into the same point, skewering the toy from several different angles. The alien was certainly awake now, and it had four times as many eyes as any one person could reasonably need. Between one heartbeat and the next, those huge dark irises went from staring at the poor mutilated toy to staring at Roman.

Terror shot through him and he gave up on subtlety, throwing himself back as hard as he could and hoping that he made it out of range.

He landed on his back with a whomp that knocked the wind out of him, and flinched as that terrifying whistling sound split the air again, ending in a muted thump. He was so wired with adrenaline that he couldn’t tell if he’d been hit or not. Locked in his arms, Lady writhed and complained loudly.

“Not going anywhere,” Roman wheezed, “you little fiend, con-- consorting with the enemy.”

There were several more whistle-thumps, which was either very good or very bad for him. He rolled to his side, pushing himself up on an elbow and taking stock of himself, braced for the worst.

The alien was still standing there against the central support beam of the barn. Half a foot from Roman’s leg, it's very sharp extra arms had left holes pierced in the hard-packed dirt of the barn’s floor.

“But no holes in me,” Roman cheered weakly, and then shifted Lady to the crook of one arm and flipped the alien off. “Nice try, Space Invader.”

The alien made a deep clicking rumble, but stopped trying to impale him. Instead, it moved to hold all those limbs high up in the air menacingly, ready to stab down at any point. The remains of the toy mouse sat near its feet, cotton innards spilling everywhere like a grim warning.

Roman got to his own feet, wincing at the feeling of Lady’s claws poking into his ribs as she attempted to kick her way to freedom. He took a moment to stare once he was back upright.

The alien’s skin plates had gone completely pitch-black, only the slightest hints of purple between the plates to prove that there’d ever been any color to it at all. Roman was abruptly glad that he hadn’t encountered it in the dark of night.

Its eyes were just as dark, with only the slightest difference in shades of black to indicate the difference between iris and sclera. Despite his artistic eye for color differences, even Roman couldn’t tell where its pupils were. If it even had pupils.

It also was still stuck in one place, despite its legs seeming totally operational. Roman slowly shuffled to the side of it, making sure to keep a few good steps clear of stabbing range, and found that it did in fact have normal arms and hands.

Well. Mostly normal. There were five fingers, but they were all way too long and ended in thick, claw-like points. He thought they also maybe had one or two too many joints.

More to the point, the alien couldn’t do anything with these arms because they were bound together at the wrists and tied tightly to the central support beam of the barn. It was stuck there, and going by the aggressive rumbling it was doing, it knew it.

Roman pulled out his phone and managed to take a shaky video of the alien, circling around it to both get a better angle and prompt it to threateningly twitch those back limbs some more. He knew his sci fi tropes, including the one where the alien mysteriously disappears the moment the plucky protagonist tries to tell anyone about the danger. He wasn’t going to be called crazy again.

Once he was content with the amount of evidence he had, he made the trek back to the house at a near-sprint, the cat in his arms protesting all the way. He burst through the back door, letting the screen fall shut behind him, and finally allowed Lady to walk on the power of her own four paws. She beelined for the screen door, stood up on her hind legs, and rattled it expectantly.

“Absolutely not,” Roman told her firmly, nudging her away. “I don’t know what it is with you and courting death via Xenomorph, but you are henceforth banned from the outdoors.”

If angry little kitty looks could kill, Roman would be as dead as King Duncan.

Shaking his head, he went over to the ancient landline phone in their kitchen, lifted the phone from its cradle, and paused.

Who was he going to call?

He’d had some half-conceived notion of calling his parents, or that infuriating police officer, or even just 911. What would he even say? ‘Hello operator, my emergency is that I have an alien in my barn, I promise this isn’t a prank’? Even the dial tone wouldn’t believe that.

And what if they did get someone out here to verify that there was a real alien? There was little doubt in his mind that law enforcement and then the government would quickly step in, whisking the evil version of E.T. away into some distant Area 51 lab. Roman would never see it-- or get any answers from it-- ever again.

He hung the phone up with a solid click, and turned to face the kitchen.

If he was going to interrogate a hostile alien, he needed to arm himself.

---

Shockingly, when he returned to the barn, the alien was still there.

He had crept up quietly again, hoping to catch it unawares, but this time it had been staring unerringly at him from the moment he peeked through the door, those smaller, rounder eyes wide open under its main ones.

He pushed the door open further with a dramatic flourish, pretending like he hadn’t been sneaking at all.

“Alien scourge,” Roman greeted, wincing at the crack in his voice. He cleared his throat, ignoring the way the alien’s dark gaze sent chills down his spine. “I don’t know how you ended up here, but I do know that you’re going to give me the information that I need.”

He pointed the end of his weapon of choice for emphasis, and the alien recoiled with a hiss, quickly jabbing out at it with those back arms.

Just as he’d hoped, however, putting vegetable oil on the already-slick plastic handle of the kitchen broom had made it basically impossible for those single-pronged limbs to stab or grab it. He grinned triumphantly, poking the alien with the end of it. The playing field had officially been evened.

“Now, unless you want me to introduce you to the Earth concept of piñatas, you better tell me what you’re here for.”

The alien was entirely silent, watching him with those shiny, pitch-black eyes. Behind it, its spider arms were vibrating with tension, probably in preparation to stab out the moment he slipped up.

“I’m serious,” Roman warned, poking it a little harder and getting exactly nothing for his efforts, not even a glare. “I know what I saw that night, and there’s no way it’s a coincidence that now you’re here. It was an abduction."

He paused for effect, and the alien let out a series of clicks and low, warped sounds that sounded like meaningless nonsense.

"I don't speak alien." Roman frowned. "Tell me what happened. Why were you-- or, your-- your brethren or your shipmates or whatever, why were they taking people? Where did they take them?”

The alien made what sounded like the same exact series of noises. Roman groaned in frustration.

“In-- In English! You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? If aliens are real and have the technology to infiltrate Earth without being detected, they have to have some way of communicating! An insta-translator or telepathy or math nonsense or something!” He threw his arms out in frustration, making the alien twitch.

He paced back and forth for a moment, before coming to a stop in front of the alien again and leveling it with an accusatory stare. “You’re faking it. I don’t believe that you can’t understand me.”

The alien just kept staring at him, flat plates where its mouth should have been, not a single expression visible on its face. It was about as convinced by Roman’s argument as everyone else in his life, which was to say, not at all. He felt a surge of white-hot anger, and levered the broom at its neck threateningly.

“Tell me, right now!” he demanded, stinging tears building up at the corner of his eyes. “Tell me where my brother is!”

He shoved the broom further forwards, and the alien snapped its limbs forwards and knocked it away, startling him into stumbling back. It hissed at him again, stabbing at the ground like a warning. He scowled, swiping at his face with a sleeve, and swung the broom handle at it sharply.

The swing went wide, more than a foot from touching any of it, but the alien showed the closest thing to emotion he’d seen so far, half of its eyes flinching closed in anticipation. Roman felt a sickening twist in his gut, some odd mix of guilt, anger, and vindication, and he turned away sharply.

Not for the first time, he wished he’d been the one that had been taken.

Remus wouldn’t care if the stupid cops didn’t listen to him, if their parents didn’t believe him, if the whole town thought he was insane. He would know how to convince an alien to talk, would threaten to-- to crush its extra eyes or cut off limbs or do something Roman was too squeamish to even think up.

If it was Remus, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t know what to do. He’d at least do something.

He wouldn’t be going through the motions of life like everything was the same.

Pretending had always been Roman’s specialty, after all.

Roman cast a furious glare over his shoulder at the alien, resentful that it was still staring at him even as he was in the middle of a breakdown, and tossed the broom into the corner.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, swallowing back the thickness in his voice, “and every day after that until you tell me.”

Threat delivered, he stormed out of the barn and slammed the doors shut behind him.

#sanders sides #humans are space orcs #ts roman #ts virgil #space au #humans are deathworlders #ycgb #you cant go back #my writing #writing #sanders sides fic #alien virgil

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tfwlawyers · 3 years

Note

Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I’m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.

#bluefaewren #replies #parent trap au #attempting to write tag

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tangledstarlight · 3 years

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with you i’d dance in a storm in my best dress

this is a super month delayed prompt from @ourstarscollided (”holding hands while running through the rain” for our favourite soulmates, Julie and Luke!”) i will accept the super late fees, this is way over the 3-5 businesses days I promised ghfj anyway! mhwa enjoy 💜

julie and luke go on a first date, it really is as simple as that.

(also on ao3, here)

The day that Luke had asked her out, Julie spilt half her coffee on his shoes and the other half on her maths homework. In her head the conversation had gone a little like this:

“Hey Julie do you uh, wanna go see the new How to Train Your Dragon with me tomorrow?”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds cool. Reggie loves those films.”

“Oh I uh, mean just–– just me. You and me. Us. Just. The two of us.”

“Like –– a date?”

“Yeah?”

And then she’d knocked her cup over. Coffee spreading across the library table and onto Luke’s shoes and seeping into the carpet. Their school librarian had come storming over at Julie’s loud exclamation and ushered them both out of the building with a glare.

In reality there had been a lot of awkward pausing and wide eyed staring and Luke rubbing at the back of his neck as he waited for her to answer and then mumbled apologies and burning cheeks.

So, it was worse. For her at least.

But she prefers the version in her head with the lack of stuttering and blushing, so that’s what she tells Flynn an hour later as she lies on her bed, phone pressed to her ear as she stares at her fairy lights.

“So? What did you say?” Flynn’s voice filters through the phone and Julie can practically hear the giddy edge to it.

“I uh—” she pauses, chewing on her bottom lip as her mind flashes back to them standing in the parking lot of the school, Julie trying to shove coffee stained sheets of paper into her bag and Luke cringing at the squelching sound his shoes made with every step.

He had opened his mouth to say something — Julie doesn’t know what, because her heart and brain had finally caught up by then and where on the same page as she blurted out a, “Yes! To the uh, the movie. And the— the date. If—if that’s still—”

“No! I mean, yes, I mean yeah I—” he stuttered, sucking in a breath before smiling at her, shy and sweet. “Yes I still want to. Have to do worse than spill coffee on my shoes to scare me off, Molina.” And he’d bitten his bottom lip slightly as he’d laughed, and Julie had blushed a little more at the earnest tone in his voice.

“I said yes,” she whispers into the phone, because a part of her is still sitting in the library thinking she’s completely misheard him and doesn’t want to pop this little bubble quite yet.

“Jules!” Flynn squeals and Julie has to pull her phone away from her ear a little to avoid permanent damage, “You’re going on a date with Luke! This is big. This is huge. Okay, what time are you meeting him? We have to find you the perfect outfit and I need a time scale here.”

She lets the bubble pop, lets Flynn’s excitement stoke her own until she’s off her bed and rooting through her wardrobe and making plans for what time Flynn should come over tomorrow to help her get ready. By the time they say goodbye and hang up, Julie is smiling and barely containing her excitement.

Because see, she’s kind of had a huge massive crush on Luke since they were kids. It had come and gone over the years — seeing him shove two whole slices of pizza in his mouth at the age of eleven had done a lot to kill the crush for a while. But then it was freshman year and he’d run into music class late with the biggest smile on his face as he declared he’d finally perfected part of his guitar solo for their assignment. Don’t ask Julie why that had been the moment the crush came back in full force, because she doesn’t know.

They’d always sort of been friends, the way you’re sort of friends with everyone you’ve known since kindergarten, where you’ve been to all their birthday parties and know all the cheesy roles they’ve played in school plays. Julie doesn’t know when they went from being casual friends who said hi in the hallway to being friends and talking everyday.

(That’s not strictly true, Julie knows it happened sometime between her mom dying and music sounding like roaring in her ears and almost being kicked from the music program and the boys joining her on stage without hesitation to help her keep her place. If she really had to pinpoint it, it would be the day he found her crying at a piano in an unused music room and had closed the blinds, locked the door and just sat with her.)

She knows that there’s been— moments over the last few months. Moments where she catches him looking at her, moments where she swears he blushes when she looks at him, moments where their hugs have lasted just a few seconds too long. But Julie hadn’t ever really thought they meant anything. At least not to him. (To her they meant a lot.)

Because he was Luke, with his charming smile and sleeveless shirts and rockstar image, and she was just Julie and they were just friends and why would he ever look at her as anything else?

All she knows is that now they were juniors and in a band and best friends and he’d asked her out on a date.

Julie collapses onto her bed, head hitting her pillows and hair flying into her face as the thought hits her fully, “Holy shit,” she whispers, clutching a pillow to her chest and finally, finally lets a giddy smile take over her face.

She’s going on a date with Luke Patterson and it’s utterly terrifying. He’s one of her best friends, what happens if it goes terribly? Do they have to stop being friends? Do they enter an awkward few months where they don’t know how to act around each other? Oh god maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe she should text him and fake an illness. Maybe chicken pox, the chances of him remembering her having them when she was nine have got to be pretty low.

But, he’d asked her out with that silly little nervous habit of rubbing at the back of his neck and there’s been all the little moments over the last fews months and — it’s Luke. Julie blows out a breath and raises her pillow a little higher to tuck under her chin.

She’s going to go on a date with Luke and it’s terrifying, but it’s the kind of terrifying she feels whenever she gets up on a stage by herself to perform a new song. It’s the kind of terrifying that fills her with excitement too. She decides to focus on the excitement.

Julie manages to push aside all her worries and fears and nerves all day and most of the afternoon when Flynn shows up, lunch in one hand and make up bag in the other. She even manages to forget about it when she’s holding her hair up and letting it drop back down her back, eyebrows raised at Flynn as they try to decide what to do with it. She manages to forget all about her fears as they deliberate between a dress or jeans and argue over what’s considered more casual.

And then Flynn leaves with an air kiss and a thumbs up and Julie is left at the top of the stairs tucking her hair behind her ears and pulling it back as she tilts her head at herself in the mirror. Objectively Julie knows she’s okay looking, knows that her family has always told her she’s beautiful and that Flynn hadn’t even hesitated to say she looked gorgeous before leaving.

But well, they had to say stuff like that. They were her family. Luke was...Julie didn’t know what Luke was right now, but she knew he was important — now and forever — and maybe it made her shallow but she wanted him to think she looked pretty.

Her nerves don't set back in until there’s a knock at her door and Carlos is running for it before she can stop him.

“Luke,” is all she can hear from the top of the stairs, and though Carlos is blocking most of her view she can just make out the cuffs of jeans and a pair of vans. She wonders if they’re still squeaking when he walks.

“Hey Carlos can I—” the sound of Luke’s voice sends a flurry of butterflies into her stomach and she sucks in a breath to try and settle her nerves. Why is she even nervous? It’s Luke! They’ve hung out hundreds of times before, they’re friends, they’re going on a date. Oh god. Okay.

Julie brushes her hands down the skirt of her dress and blows out a breath as she looks at herself in the mirror one last time. They’re just going for food and to see a movie. Something they’ve done hundreds of times before. It’s casual. It’s why she’d opted to wear her favourite sneakers instead of the heels Flynn has dug out of her closet. It’s a date, but it’s a casual date. As long as she keeps telling herself that she’ll be fine.

“Get it together,” she whispers to herself, tucking a curl behind her ear and nodding once. She can do this.

It’s just Luke.

She stops halfway down the stairs at the sight of her dad and brother talking to Luke in the doorway. Luke, who’s wearing a dark blue button down and jeans without rips and–– oh god he’s bought her flowers. Either she makes a noise or he’d been glancing up at the stairs because he’s looking at her, eyes a little wide with a soft smile that makes heat rush to her cheeks. Ducking her head, Julie descends the last few steps until she’s stood in front of him, her dad and brother stepping back to watch them. Fuck.

“You look—”

“—are those—”

They both start at the same time and Julie giggles while Luke rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand.

“You look really nice and um—” he hesitates, eyes briefly glancing over her shoulder where she can only assume her family are watching this awkwardness unfold. “These are for you.”

He holds the flowers out towards her, a collection of pale purples and bright yellows, and if she had time right now she’d try to name each of them. But she can feel her dad and brother still watching them and there’s a red flush starting to show up on Luke’s cheekbones.

They really need to get out of her house before one of them turns totally red.

“Thank you they’re… they’re really pretty,” she turns around, handing the flowers to her dad and quickly turning back, picking her purse and phone up from the table by the door, “Can you put them in water for me please? Okay, bye!”

They make it through the door and almost to the porch steps before her dad is at the door calling out to them, “No later than 10:30!”

“I know dad!”

An awkward silence falls over them as they walk to his car and Julie tries desperately to come up with something to say, finally blurting out, “You’re wearing sleeves.”

Her hands wave at his shoulders and biceps covered in fabric. Julie’s not sure when the last time was that she’d seen his arms so covered. Maybe the winter showcase last year when Reggie had said they needed to dress up and forced him into a suit jacket. But that hadn’t been voluntary.

“My mom said I couldn’t go on a date with my shoulders showing. Apparently it would be rude?” He phrases it like a question, an eyebrow raised as he looks at her, as if she’d have an opinion on his bare shoulders being rude or not. She didn’t know date etiquette. Was it rude?

“I wouldn’t have been personally offended by them,” she shrugs, shooting him a small smile and feeling grateful when he laughs.

This is fine, they’re going to be fine. They just have to get over this awkward start and weirdly charged silences. Maybe it was a good job they were seeing a movie first, no chance for awkward conversation as they tried to find their footing. Julie blows out a breath and smiles up at him.

“So, how annoyed is Reggie that we’re seeing this without him?”

And it's like every other time they've hung out, only her fingers keep brushing against his and he keeps looking at her shyly from the corner of his eye while he drives. Its the same but it's different but Julie thinks it's maybe a good kind of different.

By the time they leave the movie theatre, hands brushing as they walk side by side, Julie’s feeling a little more settled in their date. Or a little more settled in herself at least.

Settled in the shy glances and shared popcorn and the way Luke had left his hand palm up on the arm rest between them and she’d felt brave enough during the second half of the film to lay hers on top.

She was feeling that much more confident about their date that, as they walked towards the entrance talking about the film, she was seconds away from closing the gap between their brushing hands and linking their fingers together. Which is of course when they both notice it’s raining.

In LA. Which, well Julie doesn’t know if she believes in signs or omens, but she’s pretty sure this classes as one. And she's not sure if it's a good or bad one.

“Fuck,” Luke mutters as he looks outside at the falling rain before looking down at her, a small furrow between his brows. The two of them both clearly remembering how he’d parked six blocks away because it was cheaper. And how neither of them have a coat or a jacket or even a bag worth holding over her hair.

“Guess we’re going to have to run,” she shrugs, shooting him a quick smile before making sure her phone is stashed safely in her purse.

“Or we could wait it out?”

“What? Scared of a little rain?” she teases, eyebrow quirked as she looks up at him.

“No,” he huffs out a laugh, one hand coming up to tug playfully at one of her curls letting it stretch out before springing back, his hand left hovering next to her shoulder, “But your hair?”

Her eyes soften a little as she shrugs one shoulder — and maybe it’s the one under his hand, and maybe she only does it so his palm and fingers will brush against the exposed skin of where her neck meets shoulder and maybe she stands a little awkwardly to prolong that concat. It’s all maybes. There’s no proof that’s why she does it — and smiles, “I was going to wash it tomorrow anyway. Come on Patterson, I bet if we run fast enough we can dodge the raindrops.”

“Not to sound like Alex but I don’t think that’s possible,” he bites his bottom lip slightly as he laughs and if she was feeling a little braver right now, Julie thinks she might have kissed him. But she’s not feeling brave enough for that. “You sure you don’t want to wait it out?”

“You ready to run?” She asks instead, turning towards the doors and holding her hand out to him. Maybe she’s not brave enough to kiss him, but holding his hand as they run through the rain? That feels doable.

She wiggles her fingers up at him a dare, a challenge, a question, all wrapped up together as she waits to see if he’ll take her hand. And she only has to wait a heartbeat before his palm is slapping down on hers, fingers slotting between each other and he’s tugging her towards the door.

“Oh I’m ready to run. I’m not sure you’re ready to keep up.”

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he’s pulling open the door and Julie is squealing as the first drops of rain hit her head and splash against her bare shins.

“Thought you knew how to dodge raindrops,” Luke teases as he pulls her along and Julie squeezes his hand before tugging him towards a puddle in the pavement to kick water up at him.

The indigent squeak of protest that leaves his lips makes her laugh in response, that only grows at the pout on his lips as he pulls at their joint hands until she has to stumble away from the puddle and into his side. And Luke lifts his arm until she gets the idea of ducking under it until her back is against his front and his arms wrap around her waist, picking her up off the ground and laughing into her hair at the startled squeak she makes, fingers cold even through her dress as he carries her away from the puddle with a huff of breath in her ear. “Oh I’m going to get you back for that.”

She doesn’t doubt him, and is kind of giddy in her excitement about what he might do. There’s something about the rain falling around them and the way it makes the empty streets and parking lots look that makes her forget she was ever worried in the first place.

Because she’s Julie and he’s Luke and she forgets sometimes, that things that are supposed to be scary are easy with him. The first time she sang after her mom, the first time she drove without her dad, the first time she snuck out her bedroom window. She feels like she can do anything as long as he’s by her side. She feels pretty fearless.

The second her feet hit the ground again she turns around his arms, trailing her own cold fingers up his wrists and forearms to circle around his biceps, tucking her fingers under the hems of his shirts sleeves and chooses to decide the shiver that runs through him is due to the rain that’s starting to slow around them and not the way she’s starting tracing idle patterns into his warm skin.

“How are you going to get me back?” She whispers, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks up at him. At the way the rain has plastered his hair across his forehead, at how his eyes dart from her lips to her eyes and back again.

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he says softly and she feels his fingers flex against her back and Julie definitely can’t blame the shiver that runs through her on the rain or the cold air because while they’ve been staring at each other it’s stopped raining and now they’re just standing in a parking lot in each other arms.

If it wasn’t quickly becoming her favourite place she might feel a little more embarrassed.

“Jules,” he whispers and she’s momentarily distracted by the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips that she almost misses his next words, “I uh I had a plan. We were going to have a picnic in that park you like? But I— well. I didn’t plan for the rain.”

She blinks at him, pulling her thoughts away from his lips and how they’d feel against hers and back to the moment and— a laugh bubbles past her lips, leaning her forehead against his shoulder as she lets his words fully register. She can feel a chuckle rumble through him where she’s pressed against his chest and his fingers dig slightly into her sides.

“In my defence, it’s LA. No one ever plans for rain,” he mutters into her hair and that makes her laugh again.

Pulling back just enough to look at his face she shakes her head at him, ignoring the way droplets of water fall down her back from her hair as teases him, “Wow and here was me thinking you’d prepared for everything.”

“If you don’t hold it against me I promise to prepare for rain for our next date,” Luke says it casually, but his fingers have started tapping lightly on her back and his eyes are wide and hopeful, looking so much like he had the day before that Julie can’t stop the smile that pulls at her lips.

“If you don’t show up with umbrellas and raincoats I’ll never trust you again,” even as she says the words she knows they’re a lie. Julie’s pretty sure there’s no one she trusts more. Fingers tapping against his biceps she offers, “We can eat in your car?”

“Mhm sounds like a plan,” he agrees but makes no move to let her go and she doesn’t do anything to move away either. He looks like he’s working himself up to something and it's then that Julie realises that he’s just as nervous about this as she is and that if she has to wait for Luke to make the first move they might be standing here for a long time.

So she lets that feeling of fearlessness from earlier flood back in, lets her fingers slide out from under his sleeves and wrap around his neck, pulling herself up onto her tiptoes until they’re almost eye to eye. Their height differences has never been so obvious to her as it is right now and she can’t decide if she likes it or wishes she’d worn the heels.

“Luke?” she whispers.

“Yeah?” his breath blows across her lips and she’s so close she can almost hear the way he swallows.

“Are you going to kiss me now?”

Julie doesn’t realise she’s been holding her breath until it wooshes out of her when he pulls her even closer with one arm around her waist and the other traveling to cup the back of her head as his lips finally touch hers. It’s messy and rushed and wet with rain, but Luke’s lips are soft and careful until she pulls herself up just a little higher and can deepen it. Teeth catching and lips pulling into smiles and soft groans as she scratches lightly at his scalp.

She’s kissed boys before, pecks on the lips and a disastrous seven minutes in a closet with Nick last year and an awkward first date with one of the boys from her maths class who had transferred the next year. None of them had been perfect or great or even good and she’d wondered if it was her. If she was the bad kisser.

But standing in an almost empty parking lot with the street lights reflecting off the wet tarmac with Luke’s arms around her, holding her, his lips chasing after hers as she pulls away to breathe? It’s imperfect and perfect and everything she never knew she’d been missing.

“That was—”

“—god you’re beautiful, did I tell you that earlier?”

Luke’s words cut her off as he presses his lips to the corner of her mouth, to just under her ear, to her jaw.

“I—” but she doesn’t know how to finish her sentence, a furrow between her brows as she leans back a little in his arms so she can see his face, shaking her head with a small laugh, “I’m soaked through with rain and my hair is a total mess. I don’t think beautiful is the right word here.”

“Bullshit,” he states, the hand that had been holding the back of her head, fingers tangled in wet curls, comes around to cup her cheek, calloused thumb brushing across her cheekbone once, twice, as his eyes roam around her face before focusing sorely on her eyes. “You’re the most beautiful person in any room or parking lot or space on earth. In the whole universe. Rain soaked hair doesn’t change that.”

“Oh,” is all she can get out as a blush rushes into her cheeks and she knows that Luke notices because his thumb strokes against it again and his lips pull up into a half smile that she knows means he’s about to say something incredibly dumb that will ruin the incredibly sweet moment. So she leans forward and presses her lips against his before he gets the chance.

They drape the blanket Luke had bought for the picnic across the back seat of his car and try their best to get dry without losing any clothing or soaking the seats. He pulls out a basket from the trunk filled with her favourite soda and slightly squashing sandwiches and cookies she knows his mom must have helped him bake and unevenly sliced carrot sticks that scream of Reggie throwing them in at the last minute. Luke passes her the aux cord and she skips through a playlist until she finds something she likes and they let his terrible car radiator try to warm them up while they eat their picnic. Though really it’s his arm around her shoulders and his hand covering her knee and her fingers trailing up and down his arm that do most of the warming up.

At 10:25 he walks her up to her front door, biting at his bottom lip as he bounces on the balls of his feet and glancing from the door to her and back again.

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. For band practice,” Luke says, his eyes still going from the door to her and back again and it’s starting to make her a little dizzy.

“Mhm,” she mumbles, taking a half step towards him, hoping it’ll keep his eyes in one place. Which they do. On her lips. And she doesn’t even try to stop the smile that pulls at them when she realises it. Pushing up on to her tiptoes again she kisses him once, quickly, sweetly and starts to step away. She only makes it as far as lifting one foot up before Luke is wrapping a hand around her waist to pull her back to him, lips moving together in a way that’s different from the kisses they’ve already shared. When he pulls away to breathe she presses a kiss to his cheek and finally manages to step away while he’s looking a little stunned. “Text me when you get home okay? I’ll see you tomorrow Luke.”

She opens her front door and slips inside before she can change her mind and stand on her front pouch kissing him all night. Because she could do that. Spend a whole night just kissing him. Julie presses her fingers to her lips as a giddy smile takes over her face, twitching aside the curtain that covers the window next to the door in time to see Luke getting into his car and driving away.

For their next date three days later they go to the arcade by the pier, and she doesn’t even care about the odd looks everyone around them shoots their way at the peeling laughter that erupts out of her when he pulls a bright yellow umbrella out of the trunk of his car with a wink.

#julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #julie molina x luke patterson #jukebox #jatp #jatp fics #still have no clue what to tag fics as on here sos ghfjd #god this really did take me a whole month huh. but i like it. i think. idk about the ending #it could be worse. okay anyway. goodbye enjoy.#*fics #this tehcnicaly counts as a promot so!!!#*prompts

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allthebooksandcrannies · 3 years

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Life With You Makes Perfect Sense (You're My Best Friend)

TimKon Fanfic

Read on AO3 or Read my other works here

For context: this takes place during the time when Stephanie Brown was Robin after Tim's dad figured out his identity and made him retire. In the comics, Conner finds this out by coming to Gotham to look for Tim when he fails to show up at Titan's Tower and bumping into Robin Steph. Batman refuses to give Conner Tim's address but tells him that he has all the same skills Superman has to find him himself. Conner tracks down Tim's voice and confronts him in his bedroom. In the comics, he ends up leaving and doesn't appear to hear from Tim again until he comes back to the Robin role. This fic takes place as a sort of "what-if" to fill in that missing time.

I took the dialogue in italics from the first and last scenes directly from my copy of the TPB Teen Titans: Beast Boys & Girls (2005), though the body language that goes with the dialogue and everything else in the fic is mine.

Title comes from Tim McGraw's "My Best Friend"

Tim woke up clinging to the whisps of a dream that fled from the screeching of his alarm. As he blinked himself back to consciousness, he grasped vainly for the subject of the dream and was left feeling inexplicably wistful.

His fumbling fingers managed to silence the alarm, but there was still the unfortunate matter of having to heave himself out of bed, his limbs feeling heavier and more uncooperative than they had in weeks. Apparently, all the extra sleep he’d been getting since he retired still wasn’t enough to make Monday mornings suck any less.

He pushed away the traitorous voice in the back of his head that suggested that maybe his exhaustion had something to do with his conversation with Conner the other night.

Conner had shown up unannounced and asking questions Tim hadn’t expected to have to answer again. “Why didn’t you show at the tower yesterday? And what’s with this new Robin? The girl?”

“Last week…” Tim paused, trying to decide how best to make Conner understand. “My dad found my costume. He found out I was Robin, and he went a little—” Tim paused, unsure, “—overboard. I’ve been wanting to tell him for months anyway.”

Conner turned his head towards where he could hear Jack moving around, easily locking onto his vitals. “He seems totally relaxed now. His heart rate is normal and—”

Tim glanced back at Conner nervously, but still refused to look at him head on. “I quit.”

“You what?” Conner exclaimed.

“I’m not Robin anymore. I gave it up.”

“Why?” Conner couldn’t wrap his mind around what he was hearing.

Tim tried to explain, needing Conner to understand. His approval felt vital in that moment. “I never liked living two lives. I never planned on doing it for this long. And I never wanted to lie to my dad. Now I don’t have to anymore.”

Conner shook his head in denial. “Come on. You can’t do this to the Titans. That girl isn’t… She’s not Robin.”

Tim wanted to stop thinking about that night, but no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t. The look on Conner’s face when Tim told him he wasn’t coming back to the Titans, how Conner refused to meet Tim’s eyes when he talked about how much he and the other Titans needed Tim, not just Robin. All of it. After all, what right did Conner have to come in and tell Tim how to live his life? Conner was born into this, he didn’t have a Before to compare the hero life to. He didn’t understand what it was like to be torn between two halves of himself.

At that thought, Tim paused about halfway through pulling on a shirt, and immediately felt guilty for even thinking it. Conner had just found out he was half Lex Luthor after all. He was probably the only person Tim knew who would understand exactly how Tim felt being stuck between his Dad and Bruce since the truth came out.

Tim pulled the shirt on the rest of the way with a mental sigh. He wasn’t really mad at Conner. Things had changed really quickly, and the other boy had made a lot of good points. As he ran through the rest of his morning routine, Tim’s mind continued its highlight reel.

“Let it go.”

“You’re my best friend, Tim. How can I? The Titans aren’t the Titans without Robin. They just aren’t.”

“Just because I’m not wearing a cape doesn’t mean we can’t hang.”

For the first time since Tim had explained his motivation, Conner finally met his eyes again. The resignation there made Tim’s throat tighten. “It won’t be the same. I’ve heard that from too many friends. Friends I never talk to anymore.”

And Conner wasn’t wrong. When was the last time he had talked to Cissie? Sure, he still got the occasional update on what she was up to from Cassie on Titans weekends, but that wasn’t the same. It was so easy to lose touch with people who left the hero game. Hell, he hadn’t even spoken to Dick since he quit, and they had supposedly been brothers.

Conner had every right to be worried. But what else was he supposed to do? There was nothing else he could have done to protect everyone’s identities, and it wasn’t like his Dad was about to let him go to group hangouts with a bunch of superteens.

Tim mulled it over as he mechanically choked down a bowl of cereal. His dad had been pretty adamant about the no contact thing, and Tim was trying to be the respectful son his dad deserved. But Conner wasn’t something Tim was willing to sacrifice for his new mission. Besides, what was the harm in just staying touch, it’s not like he was putting himself in danger.

Still, it was probably better safe than sorry. If he got his hands on a computer at school, it wouldn’t be hard to track down the Kents’ phone number. Then it was just a matter of waiting for Dad and Dana to be out long enough for him to have sole access to the landline.

Yeah, Tim thought as he threw his bowl and the sink and headed out to catch his bus, that would work. It would be enough. It had to. Tim just wished he didn’t feel like he was betraying his dad all over again.

-0-

If anyone could read his mind right now, they would be impressed by the amount of self-restraint Conner was exercising to control his strength as well as he was despite how frustrated he was. Unfortunately, poor Lottie the Cow could not read his mind, and, unlike Krypto, she wasn’t hiding any secret Kryptonian powers of her own.

After the third time he used just a tad too much pressure in his attempts to milk her and she shied away from him yet again, he had to concede defeat. As he swapped out with Pa (who was all too willing to pass off the stall mucking), Conner let himself feel the indignation he hadn’t been able to get out of his head since he spoke to Tim.

It just wasn’t right! Anyone with eyes could see how much Tim loved being Robin. Conner knew how much pride he took in being able to hold his own against some of the most powerful people on the planet. How Tim’s heartrate still sped up with excitement every time he swung off a building or when he flew with Conner.

His dad wanted him to be normal so bad? What was more normal than a teen managing to sneak out without their guardian knowing or taking their dad’s car out for a joyride with their friends. So what if the car was a Batmobile or if the adult he was sneaking past was a Tamaranean princess?

And the worst part was that he wasn’t even mad at Tim, not really. Sure, he had been pissed in the moment, but mostly he was just hurt. They had all finally gotten back to normal, and now Tim was leavingagain. It just wasn’t fair. Conner just wanted his best friend back, but every time they got over one hurdle another one showed up. And this was something Conner couldn’t punch.

“If you shovel any harder, you’re going to snap the end off again.”

Conner whirled around, barely managing not to break the poor tool in his surprise. Martha just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, a full basket of chicken eggs resting on her hip. “You want to tell me what’s eating you?”

Conner didn’t meet her eyes, just grabbed the now full bucket of manure to take it to the compost. “It’s nothing, Aunt Martha.”

Her brow wrinkled in concern, which was not what Conner had wanted at all. She took another moment, clearly choosing her words carefully. “Well… I know you don’t owe me your thoughts son, and I don’t pretend to know what it’s like to do what you and Clark do.” She started walking alongside Conner before continuing. “But I have raised one Kryptonian and I can listen with the best of them. So, if you need to get something off your chest…”

Dumping the bucket into the compost, Conner almost refused out of habit. Instead, he hesitated, casting his eyes to the side as he grasped for an answer. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. “It’s kinda a long story…” the note of disappointment in his voice seemed to surprise both of them. Martha didn’t miss a step as she steered them back towards the house. She too glanced at the rising sun and then sent Conner an appraising look. “hmmm… School is important. It would be a shame if you had woken up ill this morning and couldn’t attend.”

Conner felt himself gaping like a fish as he followed her inside.

-0-

Tim was pretending not to notice Dana hovering when the doorbell rang.

And wasn’t that a fun situation. Tim wasn’t quite sure how much Dana knew. He knew his dad hadn’t told her about Robin, as per the arrangement. But he wasn’t sure what story she’d been given instead, or, more likely, if she’d just been left to draw her own conclusions.

Regardless, she clearly knew Tim had been hiding something because she had been acting strangely ever since. Making excuses to keep him in view, asking much more probing questions about his day and who he was spending it with, checking out parenting books on “troubled teens.”

She hadn’t said anything to Tim about whatever it was she thought was going on, but she had always been over-protective of Tim. Sure it could occasionally cross over into infantilizing, but, after a lifetime of people only worrying about Tim’s wellbeing when it affected them, it was kinda nice to have a parent care so openly.

Still, this was starting to get ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was running a drug empire from the kitchen table, and writing an English essay while someone keeps sneaking glances at you while cleaning the stovetop wasn’t exactly easy.

So, the doorbell was a welcome distraction.

While Dana rose to answer the door, Tim tried to focus back on his paper, as if he could make it write itself with the force of his glare. However, there was no amount of effort that would ever keep him from recognizing that voice.

He was at the door before he even realized he’d made the decision.

“—don’t know why he didn’t mention it, ma’am, we made these plans last week.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m really comfortable with letting you boys go without clearing it with Jack fir—"

Tim peeked around Dana’s shoulder to see Conner Kent, glasses and all, staring up at his stepmom with an almost comically earnest expression. “Dana?”

She glanced back at Tim, not letting go of the half-open door. “Your friend—”

“Conner,” the boy in question supplied helpfully.

“Right,” she said with a forced smile, “Your friend, Conner, was just telling me that you two made plans to get together to study tonight? Tim, honey, you know your Dad wants you to let him know before you make plans to go out with people we don’t know.”

Tim did know. It was one of many new rules that his dad had decided to implement after he found his Robin gear. The restrictions chafed, but, as his dad pointed out, he definitely deserved the lack of trust at this point.

But when he caught the cocky “play along” grin over Dana’s shoulder, Tim stomach filled with warmth at the familiarity. He quickly schooled his expression into an appropriately sheepish smile. “Sorry Dana, I guess it just slipped my mind.”

Dana softened, her grip on the door slackening just a tad.

“If it helps, Mrs. Drake,” Conner broke in, “we can just study here.”

Tim wondered if Conner had learned the earnest and polite young man routine from watching Clark or if it was just natural talent. Either way it was enough for Dana, leading her to relax and open the door completely.

“Oh, that would be perfect! Tim, honey, why don’t you get you and your friend set up at the table? Will you be staying for dinner, Conner? We’re having Chinese tonight, and it’d be no problem to order an extra serving.”

“That would be great, Mrs. Drake!”

Dana headed back towards the kitchen, presumably looking for the takeout menus, leaving Tim and Conner in awkward silence. Tim decided to break the tension first.

“I’m sorry, Conner, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I know you were just trying to help.”

“Wait, that’s supposed to be my line! I’m sorry, Tim. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I didn’t think you could make your own decisions.”

“So, still friends?”

“Please! You didn’t think I’d come all the way to Gotham to ditch you now, did you?”

“Why did you come? If that was it, why not just come in the window?”

Conner shifted his weight, hand tightening minutely around the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Well, I was talking to Ma earlier, and she helped me realize that even if Robin can’t hang out with Superboy, that doesn’t mean Conner Kent can’t spend time with Tim Drake.” He looked up from his shoes, his blue eyes putting the Gotham sky to shame. “That is… if it’s okay with you?”

If you had asked Conner, Tim’s answering grin could have lit up even the darkest Gotham alley.

-0-

Fifteen minutes later found Tim and Conner side by side at the kitchen table, various homework from various subjects strewn out about. Leaning over under the guise of checking Conner’s math, Tim murmured under his breath for only Conner to hear: “So Conner Kent wears flannel now?”

Conner snorted. “I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing they sell in Smallville,” he whispered back. “Why? You a fan?”

“To be honest… I miss the leather,” he replied thoughtlessly.

“Is that so?” Tim realized what he’d said out loud a moment too late. “I guess I’ll have to keep that in mind,” he smirked.

“Oh, shut up,” Tim replied with a little shove that did absolutely nothing but prompt Conner to break out into full body laughter so loud it drew Dana in from the living room to see what was going on.

When she found a blushing Tim whispering back furiously and sending her embarrassed looks, she let out a chuckle of her own before leaving them to it. She had a good feeling about this kid.

-0

It quickly became routine for Conner to come by after school to do homework a few days a week. Tim had worried that it might have been getting Conner in trouble, but Conner had assured him that he had worked things out with ‘Ma so that he still got all his chores done in spite of the extra hours he was putting in Gotham. And as for Batman, well, if he didn’t want him coming to Gotham to see Tim, he shouldn’t have told him how to find him.

And at least he wasn’t dangling the latest Robin in mid-air anymore.

Whether by fate or weird coincidence, however, he still hadn’t managed to run into Jack Drake while he was monopolizing his son’s time yet. The first night Conner stayed for dinner had ended with them all waiting for half an hour after the food arrived before Jack remembered to call and let Dana know he would be working late. It wasn’t the last time either. And the nights he did come home for dinner were the nights where Conner had already planned to head home early to have dinner with his own family.

Not to say Conner minded. He had some thoughtsabout Jack Drake and the way he treated his son. It was probably better for everyone that Conner spent as little time with the man as possible.

But there was only so long that could last, especially since Tim was practically dying to get out of the house for more than just school or Jack’s father-son excursions.

Unfortunately, as time went on Jack had only gotten more paranoid about where Tim was going and what he was doing, not less. Lately, Tim was practically on lockdown since it was such a pain to get permission to go anywhere without his dad or Dana. The last time he had gone out to the diner with Bernard and Darla his Dad had “just happened” to stop by for a to-go coffee. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he had been making sure Tim really was where he said he was.

His only saving grace was Dana. While she still enforced his dad’s rules (apparently not wanting to undermine his parenting), Tim had overheard her arguing on his behalf with his dad on multiple occasions, insisting that Tim was a good kid who had earned a little bit of freedom. Granted, these conversations rarely accomplished much besides getting Jack to dismiss her concerns as a lack of understanding due to not having children of her own. Still, Tim appreciated the support. Particularly since Dana had clearly decided that she liked Conner and essentially left them to their own devices while they were “studying.”

Now in addition to actually doing their homework, they were able to spend time talking about the rest of their lives, especially the normal civilian stuff they never seemed to have time for during Titans weekends. Everything from friendships, to TV shows, to their relationships with their parents was fair game. Tim had felt like he knew Conner before, but this was a whole new level. And the more he learned, the more he wanted to know.

And that’s why he had recruited Dana.

It hadn’t been hard. For once in his life, being completely honest with an authority figure about what he wanted was enough. It probably shouldn’t have felt as weird as it did.

Dana had given him a strange look when he mentioned he wanted to hang out with Conner outside of studying, but she had agreed that she didn’t see a problem with it. After all, if his father was alright with him spending time with Bernard (who Dana knew firsthand was not exactly the best of influences) then surely he would be okay with Tim spending more time with “a nice young man” like Conner. He just needed to meet him first.

It would be fine. Probably.

And that was how the two of them had ended up setting the dining table while Dana put the finishing touches on what she assured Tim was Jack’s favorite meal.

“Dude, you’ve got to take a breath,” Conner whispered as he reached around Tim. “I’ve heard your heart beat slower going up against literal mercenaries.”

Tim snorted. “I’ll take Deathstroke over this any day.”

“Hey now,” he shot back with a scandalized hand to his chest, “I’ll have you know I am delightful company!”

Tim’s futile attempts at a mock glare were interrupted when he could no longer hold back the urge to giggle at the absurdity of the situation. He could go up against the worst the world had to offer without thinking twice, but the idea of his dad and his best friend in the same room had him on the verge of a panic attack.

He shot Conner a grateful smile. “I just really need this to go well.”

Conner slung a careless arm around Tim’s shoulder but spoke with a level of seriousness he rarely let people see. “And it will, I promise. We make a good team, remember? We can handle this.”

Tim nodded and drew in some deep breaths to calm his racing pulse. Conner didn’t say anything else, just let him take the minute he needed. Just as Tim had gotten a hold of himself and was about to gently shrug off Conner’s arm, Conner pulled away of his own accord with a parting squeeze of Tim’s shoulder.

“He’s here,” he explained, gesturing to the front door with his chin as he finished off the last place setting.

Sure enough, a moment later Tim heard the telltale click of a key in a lock. There was a very slight possibility that his breathing may have quickened again just a bit if the bemused look Conner sent him was any indication.

Tim most definitely did not stick his tongue out at his friend before heading to the entryway to take his dad’s coat.

Conner and his snicker followed a beat behind Tim. When Jack’s gaze finally landed on Conner, Conner felt his spine straighten involuntarily. Jack didn’t say anything at first, and in the stretching silence Conner felt himself trying to channel every bit of the big blue boy scout he had in him.

Jack’s eyes cast over every bit of Conner’s appearance, from his glasses to his button up to his clean but scuffed sneakers. Conner was uncomfortably reminded of being a literal lab specimen under observation.

Suddenly, Jack’s expression morphed into a charming smile Conner didn’t trust for an instant. He stuck out a hand, and Conner was so caught off guard by the sudden transition that he almost forgot to shake it.

“You must be Tim’s friend. Carter, right?”

“Er—”

“It’s Conner, Dad.”

Jack waved Tim’s correction away. “Right, right, Conner then.” He started walking off to the living room, clearly expecting them to follow. “Dana tells me that you’ve been coming over to study quite a bit lately. I hope your grades have seen a better uptick than Tim’s have.”

Conner sent a questioning glance Tim’s way but didn’t get a response other than the visible tension in the other boy’s jaw.

“Not really sure what the point of a study group is if it doesn’t actually raise your grades any,” Jack continued.

Assuming that the biting comment was rhetorical and feeling supremely awkward, Conner didn’t respond right away. But as the three of them each pulled up a chair, Jack’s impatient expression clued Conner in on the fact that he was actually supposed to answer.

“Er…yes sir. I’ve been really lucky to have Tim’s help getting caught up.”

Jack was saved from responding beyond a noncommittal hmm by Dana’s arrival with the food. As she placed the casserole dish of what looked like enchiladas on the table, Dana gave them all a forced smile.

“And it’s been so nice getting to know one of Tim’s friends, Conner.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Drake.”

“So how did you and Tim start hanging out?” Jack questioned absently.

They had prepped for this question. Conner used the opportunity to launch into an overdramatic retelling of a group project they had worked on together and how they realized that they worked well together. Like all the best lies, it included just enough details not to be suspicious while still having a kernel of truth.

His story succeeded in breaking the ice enough to get conversation started, and Conner felt himself relaxing. He had meant what he said to Tim earlier, but he didn’t exactly meet that many new civilians. But Tim had prepared him well, and this wasn’t his first undercover op. He skillfully navigated around dangerous truths and gave the performance of his life as the perfect All-American teen.

Maybe he should have felt guilty about lying to these people who had opened their home to him. Clark probably would have had something to say about it. After all, on paper Jack had every right to be upset. His son had literally been throwing himself in front of bullets for strangers for years behind his back. Not only that, but he’d been doing it alongside another adult he had trusted to have his son’s best interests at heart. Surely any good parent would have been just as upset, right?

But Conner was very aware that Jack Drake was not the parent he believed himself to be.

Good parents didn’t ship their kid off to boarding schools from the minute he was old enough to attend, and then never show up for the few weeks their kid is home.

Good parents don’t look at everything that makes you you and try to sand it away so that you’ll fit some perfect ideal they have in their head of what you should be.

Good parents don’t look at the emotional scars and bruises they’ve given to their child and tell them that its their own fault for making them do this, for not being enough or for being too much.

Jack Drake may not have laid a hand on his son, but he’d still done plenty of damage, and Conner was forced to watch Tim thank him for it.

So, no. Conner didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for lying to the man who constantly left his favorite person more confused and conflicted than any mystery Batman had ever handed to him.

Tim may not realize that he deserved better yet, but that was alright. Conner would flatter and charm and play meek and responsible without feeling a single thing if it made Tim’s life easier.

As the conversation shifted to what was new with Dana’s sister and her kids, Conner met Tim’s eyes again. Tim subtly tipped his glass approvingly toward Conner, and Conner sent back an answering wink.

Well, he corrected internally, maybe he’d feel one thing after all.

-0

Gotham wasn’t exactly known for its tourist attractions. It was kind of a risky financial decision to try to open anything that encouraged a lot of people to congregate in a city where crowds drew Rogues like killer moths to a flamethrower. And that went double for anything that could be construed as children’s entertainment.

Luckily, Gothamites were both stubborn and spiteful, so there were a few places, like the traveling carnival currently set up near the harbor, that popped up every now and then with that brilliant fuck you energy that so clearly defined the city.

After last week’s dinner got off to its admittedly awkward start, Conner had hit his stride. Seamlessly switching between the perfect “aw shucks, me?” smile when asked a question about himself and then an earnest “tell me more about…” to turn the conversation back to Jack’s interests, Conner would have earned even the Batman’s reluctant approval.

By the end of the night, Jack was riding the high of getting to speak about himself to a willing audience for so long. It was all too easy to get Jack’s permission for Tim to hang out with Conner outside the house… as long as he still made sure to call and check in on the hour, of course.

Tim hadn’t hesitated to get them tickets for the second night the carnival was in town (not wanting to tempt a Rogue’s attack on the first), and the night had finally arrived.

Now, sharing a seat on the ferris wheel with the other teen, Tim couldn’t understand why he’d been so worried. He’d always been the first to insist that there was so much more to Conner than people gave him credit for.

Tim found himself glancing at Conner out of the corner of his eye. Luckily, the other boy was too busy leaning over the railing to watch the sun set behind the city skyline.

Most people looked at Superboy and saw a brash, arrogant, and (if he was lucky) comical teenager. They dismissed him as the brawn to other Titans’ brains. They couldn’t understand how he could be so different from Superman.

Tim knew better than that. Sure, he could be all those things, but what teenager wasn’t? Especially considering all the shit the authority figures in his life had put him through. And yeah, he was funny too.

But Conner was also a damn good friend. He was loyal and brave and empathetic and fiercely protective of the people who had earned his respect. He paid attention to people, and he cared so deeply, even though he tried to cover it up with nonchalance and a confident façade. He might be bulletproof, but Tim would protect that vulnerability he saw until the day he died.

“Alright. Where’d you go?”

Pulled back into the moment rather suddenly, Tim was startled, but he didn’t have to worry about coming up with a suitably mysterious response here. “What?”

Conner snorted and raised one hand to slide his sunglasses just far enough down the bridge of his nose that he could meet Tim’s eyes.

“You’re looking at me weird. What’s up?”

As Tim tried to decide how to answer in a way that wasn’t completely cheesy, the ferris wheel paused again, this time with the two of them at the very top.

“I just—I’m just really glad you’re here. Thanks for coming to Gotham.” He didn’t just mean today either. He meant all of it. The first time he came to find out why Robin wasn’t at the tower, the time he showed up at Tim’s door even what would have chased anyone else away, and every other time they had hung out since.

He didn’t have to specify that though. The blinding smile that broke out over Conner’s face made it clear the message was received.

Conner took a moment, trying to school his expression into something a little smoother, but it was a lost cause. Eventually he just settled for clearing his throat. “You don’t have to thank me, Tim. There’s no place I’d rather be. Besides,” he continued as he casually threw an arm across the back of Tim’s seat, “everyone knows Gotham has the best sunsets.”

His heart pounding, Tim took a deep breath and let himself sink into Conner’s side. For a second, Conner stiffened and Tim worried that he’d made a horrible mistake, that he’d ruined everything.

It was only when he felt the comforting weight of Conner’s arm move from the seat to wrap around Tim’s shoulders, pulling him closer, that Tim let himself believe that this could be okay. They could have this.

The leather of Conner’s jacket was cool against the side of Tim’s face. The sky was a brilliant mess of golds and reds and purples. And Tim was with the person who made him feel safer and more himself than anyone else on the planet.

“Yeah, I suppose we do, don’t we?”

-0

That evening, Tim sat down on his bed, pulling his camera out of his bag. He was looking forward to developing them. Maybe he’d give Conner a few of the shots if they were any good.

knock knock

Tim looked up to see Dana leaning up against the doorframe she had knocked on.

“Hey, Honey. Did y’all have a good time?”

Tim couldn’t have held back the smile if he’d tried. “Oh yeah, it was awesome!”

Dana smiled back just as warmly. “Oh, I’m so glad!” Tim believed her. That was the best thing about Dana, she was one of the most genuine people he knew, and for some reason Tim couldn’t fathom, she had always seemed to care so much about Tim.

“Do you mind if I come in, sweetheart? There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about…”

-0

“I swear to god I used to be good at keeping secrets,” Tim groaned as he allowed his head to thunk dramatically against the diner table.

Conner didn’t look up from his menu, but he did use his TTK to save their waters from tipping over. “Sure you were,” he deadpanned.

“I was literally trained in deception and resistance to interrogation by one of the best detectives in the world.”

“Yup.”

“She still doesn’t know I was Robin. Neither of them have made the very obvious connections between you and a certain Boy of Steel for some reason.

“It’s the glasses.”

“It is not the glasses.”

“It is,” he said. “Conner Kent wears glasses, and Superboy doesn’t. Therefore, obviously different people.” His forehead crinkled. “Do you think a sweet potato milkshake would be any good?”

“It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve ever eaten.” Tim squinted back up suspiciously from where he was still sprawled on the table. “Also, I feel like you are not being nearly sympathetic enough to my plight.”

Conner finally gave up the pretense of looking at the menu and dropped his chin to rest on his hands on the tabletop, so his face was only a few inches from Tim’s long-suffering expression.

Unfortunately for Tim’s dignity, Conner’s crooked grin was infectious. “How long did it take her to figure it out?”

“Ugh, she apparently she knew the minute she saw me, but at least she promised not to tell Dad.”

Conner snickered.

“Don’t laugh! She tried to give me the talk, Conner!”

That just sent Conner into full-body cackles. Tim watched him throw his head back and couldn’t help but feel proud. He did that. But he wasn’t done pouting yet either. It was the principle of the thing, after all.

“Sorry—” Conner gasped, “Sorry babe!” He leaned forward to place a kiss to Tim’s forehead, reveling in the way his boyfriend blushed so immediately. “You can hide just about anything else, sure, but you’ve got absolutely no poker face when you’re happy.”

Tim grumbled good naturedly like the absolute gremlin he was before finally deciding to sit up when a rather unimpressed waitress stopped by to take their order.

When she walked off, Conner turned back to Tim, casually taking one of Tim’s hands in his as though they weren’t both still completely in awe of this new development.

“So…” Conner started. “You were supposed to get together with your Wizards & Warlocks friends over the weekend, right? How’d that go?”

Tim’s eyes lit up as he started telling Conner about the most recent developments to their current campaign. Conner did his best to make sense of all of the characters and jargon he had no reference for, since it clearly meant a lot to Tim. Though that was made a little trickier by how much fun he was having just watching Tim.

He rarely got to see him so animated, due to the expectations constantly heaped on Robin and Tim Drake alike. When talking about something he enjoyed, however, Tim came alive. So, Conner listened, asking real questions that sparked off another tangent every time he started running out of steam.

Conner wondered if Tim’s eyes had always sparkled that much when they were hidden behind a mask. He didn’t think so, but either way he was just grateful Tim trusted him enough to let him see.

-0

“So then Ives—oh, Dana, can you pass the bread? thanks—Ives ended up rolling a Nat 20 on persuasion, which completely messed with my pla—”

“Alright, alright, I’m about tapped out on Witches & Wizards—” Jack interrupted, his hands raised in a timeout gesture.

“Jack!” Dana admonished.

“It’s actually Wizards & Warlocks, Dad.”

“Whatever it’s called! There’s only so much of this I can hear before my brain rots.”

Tim forced an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Dad.”

Jack waved away the apology with his buttered roll. “Forget about it. Hey, how’s your school’s basketball team this year? I was thinking we would go to the game this Friday, just the two of us.”

“Oh,” Tim said, “I don’t really know. Umm… what time is the game? Because I already made plans to go see a movie with Conner on Friday before he has to go away for the weekend for some family stuff.”

Jack frowned and Tim found himself straightening up involuntarily. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with that Conner kid. What’s up with that?” he asked accusatorily.

Wary of stumbling into a trap he couldn’t see, Tim tried to feign a casualness he didn’t feel. “I don’t know, I guess I just realized we have a lot in common, but I hang out with a lot of people. Why do you ask?”

This apparently wasn’t enough for Jack because he didn’t let it go, even putting his fork down so he could make sure his full attention was on Tim. “You don’t though! You almost never talk about Bernard anymore, or that Darla girl! The wizards thing was weird enough, but now if it’s not that then it’s Conner this or Conner that! If you’re not careful, you’re gonna give people the wrong idea about the two of you.”

The tightening in Tim’s throat would have been painful if it weren’t for the numbness he felt sinking into his bones.

“And now you’re suddenly too good to hang out with your dad anymore? I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I’m concerned about the person you’re becoming lately.”

“No! No, Dad it’s not like that—”

Tim looked at a wide-eyed Dana desperately for help. Ever ready to defend Tim when he needed, Dana didn’t disappoint.

“Oh, Jack, honey,” she laughed a little too loudly, “leave the poor boy be. He’s a good kid, and it’s healthy for a teenage boy to want to spend more time with his friends! I don’t see the harm in it. Honestly, shouldn’t we be proud of him for honoring his commitments?”

Jack’s glare was as hard as steel and just as cold. “Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t be proud of. I think I know how to parent my son.”

Dana broke eye-contact first, and Jack seemed to be the only one immune to the rising tension. Eventually he paused his meal consideringly. “Though I suppose you do have a point, Dana. Tim and I will just have to go to the next game, hmm?”

Grateful for the out, Tim nodded quickly. “Sounds great, Dad.”

-0

Tim had been looking forward to seeing this movie since he’d seen the first preview, but he hadn’t been paying attention at all for the last ten minutes. Oh well, he could come back and watch it again later, maybe with the guys in his W&W group.

In the meantime, it was definitely worth the sacrifice. Kissing Conner in the back row of the theatre, Tim had never felt more like a normal teenager in his life. This might be just as fun as running over rooftops.

-0

Conner swung Tim’s hand back and forth between them as they walked, feeling a bit like a little kid. Most people probably would have been on edge walking through the streets of Gotham right after sunset, but most people weren’t literally bulletproof.

As it was, Conner would have been content to stay out there all night if it meant he got to keep holding Tim’s hand while he chattered about the photos he had taken on their last outing to the botanical gardens and how they had turned out. Conner had learned more about camera lenses in the last ten minutes than he had in his life, and he was loving it.

Unfortunately, the Titans would be expecting him in an hour or so, and Tim’s dad would probably take exception to his son being out all night under mysterious circumstances. So, it was with a heavy sigh that Conner finally arrived at the Drake’s brownstone.

The boys came to a stop before reaching the front steps, neither ready for the night to end. Conner leaned forward to press his forehead to rest against Tim’s.

“You know,” he whispered, “I know I said I wanted Robin to come back to the Titans —and don’t get me wrong, I would still love that— but I’m also kinda loving having you all to myself.”

Tim chuckled and when that laugh turned into a crooked grin that made Conner’s stomach flutter, he couldn’t resist kissing it back off.

WHAM

Tim and Conner jumped apart as the door to the brownstone slammed open. Jack glared down at them.

“Tim. Get in this house, right now.” When Tim hesitated to move, Jack’s tone only grew even more demanding. “I said get in this house Timothy Jackson Drake.”

The sound of his full name seemed to spark Tim back to life, as he scrambled back towards the house. Conner gently caught one of Tim’s hands just before he was out of reach, and the other boy looked at him like a started deer.

“Do you want me to…” Conner trailed off with a meaningful hand wave at the side of his head. Do you want me to listen in, he was asking.

Tim thought about it for a second before shaking his head. “But maybe don’t go far?”

Conner nodded decisively before meeting Jack’s hateful gaze defiantly for just a moment. He shoved his fists into his jacket pockets before storming off to the corner. As soon as he was out of view, however, he took advantage of Gotham’s perpetual lighting problem to fly up to the roof of the house next to Tim’s, ready to be there the minute Tim needed him.

He settled in to wait, trying to focus on anything but the shouting coming from the Drake residence.

It was probably took longer than it should have for Conner to realize he wasn’t alone, but, hey, he was distracted. Sue him.

“You can come out. I can hear your heartbeat.”

Black Bat unfurled from where she had blended perfectly into the shadows cast by the air-conditioning unit.

“What are you doing here?” Conner asked.

Cass joined him in sitting on the edge of the roof to watch the brownstone. “A while ago…there was a killer…hunting the last robin. I still check in.”

“Every night?”

“No…but most nights.”

Conner considered that for a moment. “So, I’m guessing you saw…?”

“Yes.” Conner thought he could detect a playful edge to her voice. “You are not very subtle.” Okay, no, he was definitely being teased.

trying to play along, he bumped her shoulder with his own. “Well, we can’t all be bat-level sneaky. The universe couldn’t take it. Some of us have to be showy enough to balance the rest of you out.”

Cass hummed consideringly. “That’s fine. Batman will… train it out of you.”

Conner let himself fall back dramatically in mock horror, and Cass giggled. The sound did not match the mask at all, but somehow the juxtaposition seemed fitting for a member of the bat family.

“It’s how he shows his love, promise.”

Conner smiled, the tension of the moment briefly eclipsed by the mental image of the Batman trying to mother-hen a super. Clark would never let him live it down.

Suddenly, movement drew his eye, and Conner saw Tim. Ready to hear the verdict, Conner rose to fly back down.

“Thanks,” he turned to say, only to find himself met with an empty roof.

Bats, man.

-0

Tim followed Jack into the house, his heart pounding so hard Clark could probably hear it in Metropolis. His lips and fingers felt weirdly tingly before going slightly numb. His brain was going a million miles an hour but his body just felt slightly distant.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He wasn’t ready for this, it was supposed to be on his terms. But it was happening and it was happening now.

Jack stormed into the living room where Dana was half-risen in concern. She froze at the thunderous expression on his face as Jack being to pace the room like a caged lion. Meanwhile, Tim was a stone statue standing just in the room’s entrance. He felt a little bit like one of the artifacts his parents had brought back as souvenirs from their travels, just another relic meant to show off to friends that just ended up cluttering an empty house. And were Tim’s ears ringing?

“What the fuck did I just see, Tim?!” Jack burst out.

“Dad, I—”

“Don’t you fucking dare try to talk yourself out of this. Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?!”

“No! Of cour—”

“Jack, honey, whatever this is about, maybe we—”

Dana’s attempts to calm Jack only seemed to enrage him more, and she was cut off by the CRASH that came from Jack pitching one of her vases across the room. She froze, her eyes darting between Tim and Jack.

“Do you want to tell her what you’ve been doing behind our backs, Tim, or should I?”

“I—Conner and I--We” Tim sputtered unintelligibly, but Dana got the gist. She closed her eyes for a moment too long in sympathy, and Jack’s fury turned on her in an instant.

“You knew? You knew what was happening, and you didn’t put a stop to it?”

“Jack! There’s nothing wro…”

Her voice trailed off as Jack stalked closer and closer to her chair until he towered over her. She shrunk down. Jack leaned down over her and braced himself on the arms of the chair, effectively trapping his wife.

“Do you even care about what this could do to us?” His voice had gone low and picked up a dangerous quality that reminded Tim of the way Batman spoke to criminals he interrogated. But Tim had never been afraid of Batman.

He went on, his head tilted mockingly. “Or, are you just too stupid and selfish to realize how this reflects back on me?”

And, as he watched Dana start to shake, something in Tim snapped.

He was across the room in an instant, wrenching Jack’s arm behind his back so that he was forced to step back and turn around to keep it from breaking. The second Jack let go of Dana’s chair, Tim shoved him stumbling in the opposite direction.

“Leave her alone.”

Jack spun back around. “Did you just shove me?” he asked in pure outrage.

Tim’s chin raised defiantly. “I told you I could, didn’t I?”

At the reminder of the night Jack found out about Robin, Jack’s face twisted back into something ugly.

“So what?! I risk my life to save you from those freaks the first time, and this is the thanks I get? How the hell is anyone supposed to take me seriously when my son is—”

“I didn’t ASK you to save me, Dad!” Tim shouted. Years and years of bottling his resentment and frustration had led to an inevitable explosion, and Tim didn’t care who got burned. “I loved being Robin, I loved getting to help people, and getting to show what I can do. I worked so hard to earn Robin, and I gave it up to make you happy and I still can’t do anything right for you. I am so sick of pretending to be someone I’m not in the hopes that maybe someday it’ll finally be enough for you.”

“Tim—”

“No! It’s my turn now!” Tim’s words were acid. If he didn’t get them out now, they would burn him from the inside out. “I will never be the perfect kid you and Mom thought you deserved. I get that now. But I am enough. Bruce thinks so. Dick thinks so. And Conner thinks so too. I am more me with him than I am with anyone else. You already took Robin from me. I won’t let you take this from me too.”

Jack puffed up in rage. Seemingly having forgotten his lesson, he stormed into Tim’s space. Tim took a few steps back on instinct before he came back to himself and planted his feet, forcing Jack to stop to avoid a collision. Their faces were only a few inches apart as they glared at each other.

Tim realized he was almost as tall as his father.

Stubbornly trying to regain the control he could feel slipping through his fingers like water, Jack summoned every bit of authority he had in his body into his tone. “You aren’t seeing him again. This never happens again. Do I make myself clear?”

It was a good effort, but Tim had fought the Justice League. He regularly stared down the worst Gotham had to offer and said not here, not today. There was a lot he was willing to do to keep the peace. But Tim was fed up, and this was one thing he refusedto compromise on.

“No.”

There was nothing as immovable as a Bat who had made up their mind.

Maybe Jack finally recognized that because, for just a moment, Tim thought he saw something like sadness in his father’s eyes before they hardened like steel.

“Then get out.”

Tim blinked, his confusion enough to break through the bubble of anger that had been clouding out all else. “What?”

“I said get out of my house. And don’t come back.”

“Dad—”

“I don’t know who you are anymore. But you aren’t my son. I guess Batman ended up killing him after all.”

Tim’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure whether it was the grief or betrayal that cut worse, but he kinda wished the numbness would come back. He drew in a deep breath, pulling what was left of his anger around him like a shield. Or maybe a cloak.

He spun around on his heel and marched back toward the front door.

The movement seemed to break the trance of confused horror that had held Dana like a vice as she watched the argument unfold like a demented tennis match.

“Tim!” she called after him. She reached out vainly as if that would be enough to close the distance that had opened up between them like a chasm. “Tim, sweetheart!”

Tim couldn’t turn around, but that didn’t make Dana’s heartbroken tone any less painful to hear.

He didn’t stop once he was out of the door until he was halfway down the street. And then, it was only because Conner landed right in front of him.

“Hey, what happened?”

Tim couldn’t answer. He couldn’t make eye contact right now either. But Conner didn’t press him.

“Okay,” he reassured, “that’s okay.” He raised one hand for Tim to take if he wanted. “Can I give you a lift then?”

Tim took the hand.

-0

Tim directed Conner to touch down at the Manor’s front door, not wanting to risk the possibility of Bruce having changed the security codes by now. Even still, he was certain they had tripped some sort of alarm when they flew over the property.

He was proven correct when Alfred pulled open the door before he’d had the chance to knock. If he noticed that Tim still hadn’t let go of Conner’s hand, the butler didn’t say anything.

“Master Timothy! What an excellent surprise!”

Despite everything, Tim found his mouth pulling into a fond smile at the old man. “Hi Alfred. Is Bruce home? I need to talk to him.”

“Right this way, sir!” Alfred said, already pulling the door open, and Conner allowed himself to be pulled along with nothing but a supportive hand squeeze.

Tim felt his heart pounding as he followed Alfred towards what he quickly realized was Bruce’s study. Suddenly unable to bear the silence anymore, Tim burst out: “Alfred, have you met Conner?”

Alfred’s face twitched into what only the bats would recognize as the butler suppressing a fond smile of his own. “I have not, sir. Though I must admit I had guessed.” Addressing Conner directly this time, Alfred continued, “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kent.”

“Oh, uh…” Conner stammered before Martha Kent’s training kicked in. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Pennyworth.”

Alfred hmmd approvingly but left it there. Luckily, Tim was saved from further attempts at small talk by their arrival at the study doors. Alfred bid them goodbye before slipping away with a subtlety Conner had only thought attainable by bats.

Tim drew in a deep breath before knocking hesitatingly on the ornate doors. The “come in!’ came barely a moment later, and Tim pushed them open with the resignation of a convict approaching the gallows.

On any other day, Conner would have been looking around at anything and everything in the office appreciatively. But today he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Tim who had gone ramrod straight, his own gaze locked onto the man standing up from his desk at the other end of the room.

Bruce Wayne rose from his desk, in that moment somehow managing to look twice as intimidating in a tailored suit as he ever did as Batman. His eyes roved over both boys, taking in everything from their still intertwined hands to Conner’s civilian garb to the way Tim looked like he might be on the verge of passing out. His face was inscrutable the whole time.

Eventually, Bruce’s gaze met Conner’s own defiant glare. “So…” he drawled in perfect deadpan, “are the glasses genetic, or is the entire caped community conspiring to drive me prematurely gray.”

Tim let out a sudden laugh so strangled Conner was mildly concerned he was choking. Conner could empathize.

Apparently amused by their reaction, the Batman smirked,and Conner’s soul left his body for a moment.

When it became clear that they weren’t going to say anything on their own, Bruce continued. “Well, Conner, something tells me that Tim and I need to have a conversation. Will you be joining us, or do you have somewhere to be,” he asked mildly.

Conner gave Tim a sideways glance, under no delusions about who’s comfort Bruce was really concerned with here. Tim squeezed Conner’s hand one more time before finally letting go, and Conner took that as the dismissal it was.

“Actually, sir, I think better head to San Francisco before Victor starts to wonder where I am.”

Bruce nodded turned his attention to Tim. Conner made sure to supportively squeeze Tim’s shoulder back on his way out. He tried to ignore the part of himself that made him feel like he was abandoning Tim to the lions.

-0

Once Conner had pulled the door shut behind him, Bruce let go of the bit of Batman that had made its appearance the minute the proximity alarms had let him know that someone had flown over the property boundaries.

“Tim.”

Tim still wasn’t making eye contact, his gaze getting no closer than Bruce’s mouth. Bruce resisted the instinct to drop into the Batman voice. While it would be a sure-fire way to get Tim to look at him, it also would do nothing to actually make the kid more comfortable. Tim would assume that it meant he’d done something wrong, and that would just make everything ten times worse.

Instead, Bruce fought to keep his tone as even and gentle as possible. “How about we sit down,” he asked with a gesture toward the twin armchairs by the fire.

Tim nodded stiffly but still wouldn’t speak. Bruce held in his sigh. Just as he reached his own chair, there was another knock on the door, and Alfred pushed his way in without waiting for a response.

“Forgive me for interrupting, Master Bruce, but I thought some soothing tea might be helpful.”

Bruce smiled at the older man. “Thank you, Alfred. That would be great.”

Alfred nodded and brought his tray over to the side table before pouring each of them a cup. As he turned to leave, Tim’s quiet “thanks” was almost inaudible, but Alfred caught it anyway.

“You are most welcome, young man” he replied, making sure to send Bruce a pointed don’t screw this up glance on his way out.

Bruce settled down into the chair next to Tim, their knees almost close enough to touch. Tim’s hands were wrapped so tightly around his teacup that Bruce worried he might shatter it, but he didn’t take so much as a sip.

“Tim. Can you tell me what’s going on, son?”

Tim finally looked up from his cup again, his gaze settling on Bruce’s mouth again.

“I’m not really sure where to start.”

Okay, Bruce could work with that. “Does your Dad know where you are right now?”

Tim snorted humorlessly. “I really don’t think he gives a shit where I am or what I do at this point. He—” Tim broke off to clear his throat before trying again. “He kicked me out.”

There was pure defeat in Tim’s voice, as if he’d always known it was a matter of time, but he still managed to be disappointed anyway. That more than anything filled Bruce with a level of rage rare even for him while simultaneously breaking his heart.

Not trusting himself to speak at first, Bruce instead gently pulled the poor teacup out of Tim’s grasp and took his hands in his own. Tim’s fingers were trembling.

“Because he found out about you and Conner?” he clarified softly, not wanting to risk a faulty assumption when everything was so fragile.

Tim nodded again anyway. “We fought about some other stuff too, but… yeah, it was mostly about that. He saw us together, and—”

Again, Bruce really wanted to shake Jack Drake senseless. It was bad enough he always seemed to take this wonderful kid for granted, but to see a father intentionally hurt his child over something so inconsequential? It was unforgiveable.

“I’m so sorry, Tim. I know how much you wanted this to work out.”

Tim’s eyes filled with tears, and Bruce was pulling him against his chest even before he consciously recognized what he was seeing. As his son fell apart in his arms, Bruce found tears coming to his own eyes as well.

It had always been obvious how desperate Tim was for his father’s affection and approval after being starved for it for so many years. This was the final deathblow to the hope that one day it would be enough.

So, Bruce held his son, running his fingers through his hair. Eventually, Tim had cried himself out and pulled away, his embarrassment clear on his face. Bruce pulled a clean handkerchief (courtesy of Alfred, of course) from his pocket and handed it to a grateful Tim. Once he had pulled himself together, Tim looked back at Bruce, finally meeting his eyes.

“Does this…Does this mean I can come back to the Manor?”

“Oh, chum…” Bruce reached out to cradle one side of Tim’s face in his hand, his thumb reaching out to brush away another rogue tear. “I promise, you will always have a place in my home. Got it?”

“But what about Stephanie? You already have a Robin…”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Well, first of all, your place in this family is not contingent on whether you’re wearing a mask or not. And I’m so sorry if I’ve made you think otherwise. You are just as welcome here if you never put a mask on again as you would be if you went out tomorrow.

And secondly,” here he grimaced, “I may or may not have fired her for putting herself in danger after I told her to stay put. So… Robin’s yours if you still want it.”

“And you’re really okay with me dating a guy?”

Bruce chuckled. “Tim, I’ve taken in three boys by now. You think I never considered the possibility that at least one of you might bring home a boy someday? Granted, I would have put money on Dick being the first, but the point still stands. It makes absolutely no difference to me if you’re gay, buddy.”

“Umm… I think I’m bi actually.”

“Alright then, but my point still stands. I trust your judgment, and I don’t care who you date, as long as they make you happy.”

Tim gave a watery smile. “Thanks, Bruce.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” Then fully out of emotion points, Bruce cleared his suddenly tight throat. “Now, mind coming with me to the cave?”

Confused, Tim cocked his head, but rose accommodatingly. “Sure, what do you need?”

Bruce shook his head as he spun the clock hands and opened the secret passage. “It’s not what I need, but what you need.” He beckoned Tim to follow him down the steps, which he did obligingly. “I need to grab some more Kryptonite.”

“Bruce!” Tim squawked in shock and indignation. His brain immediately went into panic mode, thinking about all the ways Bruce trying to shovel-talk Conner might go horribly wrong, or at least be horribly embarrassing.

Bruce turned back, completely baffled by how adamant and unexpected the refusal was. “Tim,” he started. And oh no, that was his I don’t know why you’re arguing with this perfectly reasonable request voice that always managed to piss Dick off.

“If the two of you are going to be spending time together in Gotham as civilians, you need to be prepared in case the two of you get caught up in one a Rogue attack.” He turned back around and continued on over to the vault where he kept the Kryptonite. “Oh, and don’t let me forget to give him one of these new rebreathers I’ve been working on next time he comes over. The last thing Gotham needs is a Kryptonian getting dosed with Fear Toxin or Joker Gas.”

Kryptonite in hand, Bruce spun and nearly walked into a frozen Tim who was looking at him with a dumbfounded expression. “What?” he asked, the smallest bit of defensiveness bleeding into his voice.

Tim’s voice turned slightly skeptical. “And that’s the only thing you want the Kryptonite for?”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to be confused. “Yes???” he asked, mind whirling to figure out what he was missing.

Tim realized he had definitely misread where this was going and felt torn between laughing at Bruce’s complete confusion and the urge to hug him.

He decided to go with the second one, and if Bruce still had no idea what was going on when he hugged Tim back, well, that just made it better.

-0

Conner was happy enough to take the call that saved him from having to help seed the backfield. He was twice as happy to hear it was from Tim, who he hadn’t heard from since Conner left him at Wayne Manor three days ago.

“Tim?”

“Conner…”

“Tim, is that…you?”

“It’s me.”

“What’s up? What’s going on? I hear gunshots.”

“Tell the Titans not to give up my room. Tell them I’m back.”

Conner grinned. “I knew it.”

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theleftovertaco · 4 years

Text

April Fools

I’ve always wondered if April Fools existed in the wizarding world. I’ve come to the conclusion for this fic that it doesnt so the reader can introduce the Weasley twins to it. Chaos ensues. This takes place in harrys 3rd year and the twins 5th year. Technically you would be in 5th year as well, but your gender nor house are specified.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

You were writing your potions essay in the quidditch stands when an identical set of loud voices brought you out of your trance.

“Hey, short stack.” Fred and George flew up to your section.

“Oh look, it’s the demonic duo.”

George smirked, “Because we’re so devilishly handsome?”

“No, because your both so ugly that even Jesus couldnt save your face so satan had to take you.” You heard two squawks of indignation but continued on.

“Also, I’m not that short. Y/H is average.”

“Ah,” Fred sat down to your right, “but your shorter than us, so your short.”

“Everyone’s shorter than you two beanstalks.”

“You’re still short.” You stuck your tongue out at George and he mirrored you.

“What do you two want?”

“I’m hurt... always assuming we want something..” Fred trailed off.

“Yeah, we can’t have a conversation with our best friend?”

“I feel betrayed.”

“Depressed.”

“Cheated!”

“Is our friendship a lie?”

“Enough!” You giggled out.

“You don’t have to need something, but you stopped in the middle of practice for a reason.”

“Well... Gryffindor team likes to listen to music when we practice right?” Fred leaned in and put his chin on your shoulder.

“Ok and?”

“Well, all we have is Celestina Warbeck music and your muggle music just is much better than ‘a cauldron full of strong, hot love’”, George sung that last bit.

“So we wanna know if we can borrow your CDs and player?”

“Flawless impression. Yes you can use them, I’ll bring them out next practice. Though honestly, I really ought to get you one of your own so you don’t have to keep asking every time u want to listen to music.”

George hummed in agreement next to you.

“Maybe that’ll be your birthday gift. When is it anyways... I’ve known you two for almost a year and you never told me.”

“It’s in about a month. April 1st.” George confirmed.

You let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, that checks out.”

You got a rare pause of silence.

“What do you mean ‘that checks out’?” Fred looked honestly confused, and so did George.

“Are you both messing with me? You have to know what holiday is on April 1st right?” They shook their heads no.

“Really? Hold on a second let me ask Hermione if she knows anything. ‘Mione!” You got her attention from a few stands over and she jogged over to the three of you.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, can you answer a question?” She nodded and you continued, “ without saying it out loud, you know what holiday is on April 1st, right?” She nodded again.

“Yea, why is that relevant?”

“Because they don’t!” You motioned frantically to the twins behind you and Hermione shook her head.

“Do not tell them they don’t need another reason to go around causing more chaos.”

“Oooh,” Fred lifted up his head in interest, “this sounds interesting. What holiday is on April 1st that we don’t know about?”

Hermione shook her head as Harry flew over and dismounted. “What’s going on, practice is over, why aren’t you lot leaving?”

You turned to him quickly, “Harry, without saying it, you know what holiday is on, April 1st, right?” He nodded before realizing what was going on and started laughing.

“Don’t encourage them Harry!” Hermione pushed him slightly.

“Why not? It would be funny to see what they do with that.”

Fred and George were getting frustrated, “With what?”

“Don’t tell them, Y/N!”

“Tell them, Y/N!” “Tell us, Y/N!”

“Ok ok I’ll tell you!” You conceded and Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation and left to collect her bag.

“On two conditions!”

Fred and George whispered to each other for a second before turnin to you and nodding.

“Of course.” Said George with a sly grin.

“What are these conditions?” Fred finished for him.

“Number 1. When I tell you the holiday, I get full immunity from the days effects.”

“But of course.” They spoke in unison

“Number 2. Anyone asks, I had nothing to do with this.”

Fred shrugged, “That’s fair. So, what holiday is on April 1st?”

You grinned before replying, “April Fool’s!”

“What is April Fool’s?” George’s eyes went wide.

“A holiday dedicated to playing pranks on people. Muggles prank their friends, family, teachers, principal. In my primary school one of my friends put a bunch of live chickens in a teachers car.”

They looked at you with pure glee.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” Fred and George each planted a kiss on you cheek and ran off.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Fred and George dropped into the library chairs in front of you two weeks later.

“So we were thinking.” Fred grinned from the chair closest to you.

“And since you were the one to tell us about this glorious holiday, you should be part of the celebration.”

“No.”

“Why nooooot?” George whined, setting his chin on the table and looking at you with his best puppy eyes.

“I’m not going to get in trouble for a holiday and besides, its your holiday. You don’t need me interfering.”

“But we want you there so you should do it, right? And you wouldn’t be interfering. Please?” Fred joined his brother in puppy eyeing you.

You sighed and nodded in agreement.

“Yay! So we were thinking that maybe we could pull something minor on each of the teachers and then something major on the whole school. What do you think?”

“It could work, but you would have to tailor it to each teacher. Snape can’t stand background noise and high pitches, McGonagall hates being even remotely interrupted, Flitwick can’t stand his bookstack being messed with, and Lupin, for whatever reason, doesn’t like fish.”

“Fish?” George tilted his head like a confused puppy.

“Yeah, he thinks they’re gross or something.”

They both nodded before Fred spoke up, “Ok, so what are you suggesting?”

You thought for a moment before responding, “For snape, I have this little old transportable music player. We could charm it to follow him around and play a bunch of kazoo noises in the background. The more he tries to get rid of it the higher pitch and louder it gets.”

“Ooh, I like that. What else?” George nodded for you to continue.

“We could find a spell where every time McGonagall tries to speak, she gets interrupted by, I don’t know, a horn or something? Flitwick I don’t really have anything.”

“I like the way you think.” Fred grinned and added in, “ . We could turn Lupin’s class into a tiny lake and fill it with fish while he’s up in his office?”

George nodded, “And we could make Flitwick's stack fly around the room while he’s on it?”

“You’re both evil. It’s fantastic.” You high fived them and the three of you left to enact your plans.

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The next two weeks were a never-ending whirlwind of prank planning and late night kitchen runs, but finally the three of you were done. The plans were set up and now all there was to do was wait.

First class of the day was McGonagall’s and the three of you walked in trying to wipe the grins off your face.

“Good morning class, please turn to-” *HONK* Your professor whipped her head around to see where the sound was coming from to no avail. She shook her head and continued on.

“As I was-” *HONK HONK* “Where is that noise coming from?”

The class stifled laughter as she ran around looking for the origin of the honking.

For twenty minutes.

“I swear to” *HONK*

“Oh for the love of” *HOOOOONK*

Eventually McGonagall grew tired and dismissed the class half an hour early.

Snape was next on the hit list.

Your professor strode into the classroom, looking obviously annoyed. A tiny radio followed after him playing a nonsense tune with kazoos. The class burst into laughter but was promptly shut up by a particularly harsh glare.

The next hour was trademarked by Snape repeatedly trying to destroy the radio physically or through magic while he had the class make a healing potion. The noise just got louder and louder and when the bell rang for the last class before lunch Snape barked at everyone to “GET OUT NOW”.

At lunch, you, Fred, and George each grabbed a sandwich and an apple and were about to rush out to have time to set up Lupin’s prank when Harry, Ron, and Hermione stopped you.

“The radio in Snape’s class, who’s bloody idea was that?” Fred and George pointed to you and Ron responded with a high five.

As you three left you could hear Hermione reprimanding Ron for encouraging you.

Lupin’s class took time to set up, but he always took lunch in his office and rarely opened the door.

The three of you placed a tiny device in the center of the floor, rushed out of the classroom, and waited.

You heard a loud BANG and then a stream of curses before running off to hide.

By the time you three returned for class, a student had opened the door to find Lupin taking refuge at the staircase and yelling that class was cancelled for the day and to read Chapter 17!

This brings us to Flitwick’s class.

The plan for his had already been enacted. Since when the three of you stepped into his class, he was clutching onto Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and yelling out instructions while also asking that someone help him down.

You three took pity halfway through class and found a ladder for him to use.

The four pranks had gone off without a hitch, now you just needed to pull of dinner and everything would be perfect.

Fred and George snuck into the kitchens and as food was being prepared to go out, they placed a few drops of a specialized potion on about half of the platters.

So they reconvened with you at dinner.

You each sat there, and then you waited as people dug into their food.

After about thirty seconds the chaos you had been waiting for occurred. Half the Great Hall turned into various zoo creatures, all frantically running around the tables and crashing into people. The human half of the hall was torn between laughing and running.

They ultimately settled on running.

As everyone cleared out of the hall, the students were ushered back to their respective dorms, and the three of you escaped to the kitchens.

As soon as the portrait entrance was closed, the three of you looked at each other before bursting into laughter.

“AHAHAHAHA- OH that was BRILLIANT!” You half screamed.

“Did you see the look on Sprouts face when Snape turned into a peacock? A PEACOCK!” Fred screeched, nearly on the floor.

“I don’t know if we could ever outdo that!” George replied, who was on the floor.

Eventually the three of you calmed down and you caught your breath to reply.

“Knowing you two, you could. Before we leave, come on. I got you something.”

You brought them over to a table in the middle of the kitchens where two cupcakes and a CD player was set up, along with around 10 CDs next to it.

“I completely forgot about that!” Fred exclaimed.

“Thank you so much!” George and Fred leaned down a little to hug you at the same time.

“Uh, guys, getting a little crushed here.”

“Right, sorry.” George detangled himself from the hug.

“I’m not, gonna keep crushing you.” Fred squeezed tighter.

You laughed and hugged him back.

“Happy Birthday.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley imagine #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley headcanon #george weasley imagine #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Text

Impersonator

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, death of minor character.

Words: 1953.

Summary: Meeting a cosplayer in Berlin isn’t a big deal, really. You don’t actually know why you are drawn to this guy in his stunning horned helmet, standing on the train with a seidr in his hand.

P.S. I own the plot of this story to amazing @caffiend-queen and my determination to write it to lovely @kinathewolf <3 Although I changed the story a little (this post made us discuss the idea), I hope you will like it!

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Waking up when it was barely six, you kept yawning and rubbing your eyes while sitting on the train. You worked for one of the thousands of start-ups in Berlin, and your boss always liked to start pretty early. Well, despite waking up when it was still dark, you didn’t mind, really – the U-Bahn was much less busy now than thirty minutes later, and you didn’t have to stand the whole way to your station.

Today was a bit different, though. Not that there were too many people, but that one guy with his horned helmet looked so fantastic you simply couldn’t take your eyes off him. He had entered on the Bismarckstraße station, and since then you had been staring at him shamelessly. He was the spitting image of Loki, that god from Asgard, the one who had been released by Avengers not so long ago for his aid in protection of Earth from an invading alien force. Now Loki had his own fan club, and this guy was probably one of the squad. Seeing him in a full suit wasn’t surprising either – tomorrow was the first day of Comic Con, so he was probably going for a cosplay catwalk rehearsal before the event.

No one was really paying attention to him as he stood silently near the door with his seidr, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Come on, he was probably the most handsome guy you had seen in years, not even mentioning his gorgeous costume. Although you had never been Loki’s fan – for God’s sake, you still remembered that day in Stuttgart – this guy’s passion for cosplay was admirable.

When you reached Wittenbergplatz, a group of cheerful tourists entered the train, and the guy had to move further, taking a place close to yours. Of course, you still stared at him in awe, and he quickly noticed you. His piercing gaze finally made you realize it was unacceptable to gawk at someone like this, and you averted your eyes, feeling your cheeks growing hot. The cosplayer chuckled at your reaction.

“I’m so sorry!” You muttered, clenching the fabric of your jacket. “I just- ugh, I mean, your cosplay is stunning!” Now that you said it, you were just too humiliated to add anything. Why couldn’t you be like all other people who didn’t harass the poor guy with them staring? Of course, no one would be comfortable with some creepy girl watching over them.

But the guy didn’t look worried or embarrassed even the slightest bit. When you saw his face, you realized he was amused as he looked at you with a grin on his face. Now you even felt a little scared because there was something animalistic in his gaze.

“Thank you. I was spending day and night crafting this costume.” He was smiling, and you realized he was probably playing the role of Loki now.

Oh damn, of course. Being a cosplayer meant not only wearing a costume of your character but being this character, behaving like them, speaking like them, sometimes even moving like them. This guy was doing exactly this, and, to be honest, he was really good at acting since for a minute you believed he wasn’t just a mere human.

“I’m sure you will be the winner of the contest this year.” You smiled shyly at him, still embarrassed at your behaviour earlier, and the guy laughed at you a little. God, you felt so terribly awkward.

“Thank you. If my brother won’t show up, I’m sure I’ll have a chance.” For a second you thought there was something bittersweet in his eyes, but then it was gone, and the cosplay rose to his feet, shining in the electric light of the subway. “This is my stop. Have a good day, my lady.”

Of course, you barely nodded at him, felling like you’re gonna explode from the way he called you and how the guy bowed his head a bit at you as if you truly were some Asgardian goddess. Minutes later you would curse yourself for being so stupid to not even ask his cosplayer’s nickname – how on Earth were you going to find his profile on Facebook now? Since you were in the middle of a new marketing campaign, your boss would never let you leave tomorrow to visit Comic Con, and that was your only chance to ever see that amazing guy again.

Ugh, living with that useless brain of yours was quite a challenge.

You had already bid farewell to the cosplayer since you knew meeting him by chance again in a city as big as Berlin was impossible – especially if without his costume and wig and makeup the guy would be unrecognizable. The next evening you were sitting in the train just like all other evenings when you were coming late from work, a bag with a chicken sub in your hands along with an already cold cup of tea. You sighed, thinking of Comic Con and all the fun people were having there. Damn, next year you would definitely take a short vacation to finally visit the convention. Maybe you would have a chance to meet that mysterious guy again.

“It smells nice.”

You immediately raised your head, staring at the cold blue eyes of the guy you met yesterday’s morning. He was still wearing his horned helmet and shining golden armor, the Scepter in his hand. He sat close to you again, and you suddenly found the courage to smile at him widely. God, it was happening. He was really here, with you.

Was he coming back from Comic Con? You thought they finished way later, but maybe he was just tired to spend the whole day in this outfit – you could imagine how heavy it was – and left earlier. You couldn’t blame him, thinking of how many people probably wanted to take a photo of him during the day, too, and it was definitely tiresome as hell to pose in front of tons of people for hours.

“Would you like some?” You handed him your paper bag. “It’s a sub with chicken. I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Ah, it’s a very generous offer. It would be rude of me to decline it.” His smile sent chills down your spine, but you reminded yourself he was still playing his role. Anyway, what could he do? Follow you to your apartment in this outfit? Seriously? He would be stuck in the hallway with those horns of his.

You watched like the Loki-guy took a half of your sub and returned the other half to you, then taking a bite and chewing slowly. To your delight, he nodded, telling you he liked it without words, and you chuckled at him. Now he looked almost cute with his puffed cheeks as he kept biting more and more. Apparently, the sub wasn’t bad, and you dug in it enthusiastically, caring little for a few other passengers. No one was looking at you two, anyway.

Halfway through finishing his part, the guy stared questioningly at your paper cup of tea, and you smiled at him with confusion.

“You can have it, too, but it’s already cold, sorry.”

Now he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Did he think it was funny? Was it because he thought real Loki would find it funny? You were too confused but decided not to ask. You looked silly enough yesterday when you were gaping at him with wide eyes. No more of this today! You couldn’t blow it if you wanted to ever see the guy again.

“It’s quite alright. Let me help you.” He carefully lowered his seidr so it touched your cup, and in the next moment you saw a soft blue glowing surrounding it. It was coming directly from the Scepter, and you literally opened your mouth while staring at it wide-eyed. Wait, did this guy put something inside the seidr? Like, a light bulb or something? God, it was beyond your imagination!

But before you started throwing questions at him, you suddenly saw a wisp of steam coming from your tea and felt how the cup grew hot in your hand. Oh shoot, it definitely wasn’t just some light bulb! His Scepter was a real machine!

You probably looked like a little kid, your eyes shining and jaw dropped at the sight of something that looked like a miracle to you, and Loki-guy chuckled softly. He was seemingly content with your reaction as you even sniffed your tea a little bit to feel it really was hot again. But when you brought the cup to him, thinking he wanted to drink, he gently refused it.

“Thank you, but you have already given me enough.” His smile was much softer, and your cheeks grew hot again at his kindness, though it was you who shared your food with him. Strangely, it was like this stranger had some effect on you, and you smiled back at him, lowering your head to have a sip of tea.

However, the next moment the guy furrowed his brows, looking somewhere behind you, and you saw him lifting his seidr again, pointing at something behind your back. You missed his concerned gaze, but not noticing the blinding light coming from the Scepter was absolutely impossible – for a second you almost lost your eyesight, squeezing your eyes shut and clenching the paper cup in your hand. What was that?! But before you got truly scared, the light had disappeared, and all you saw was that Loki-guy sitting close to you with a piece of chicken sub wrapped in a napkin in his hand. His Scepter looked the same as before, no blue glowing coming from it. Wait, you didn’t imagine this blinding light, did you? It was here just a second ago!

As you tried to turn back to see what was happening, the stranger suddenly stopped you, his warm hand on your shoulder as he leaned closer to you, smiling, “Your tea is going to be cold again.”

“Yes, b-but-“ You gawked at him and then stared at his seidr, unsure what to say. “I-I mean, have you seen that light? Did it come from this thing?”

You heard someone behind you letting out a sudden scream and smelled metal and plastic melting. It was disturbing enough as it was, but then you realized you smelled the burning flesh searing from someone’s bones.

The Scepter. The guy’s resemblance to the Asgardian God of mischief. Shit.

Before you tried turning again to see what was left of the seats behind you, Loki’s grip on your shoulder became painfully strong. You watched him leaning even closer to you in slow motion, the world around you slowing down as the man whispered to you in a dangerously low voice, “Don’t look back. You don’t want to see what is left of that creepy man who was staring at you all the time, do you, dear?”

Frozen on the spot, you barely nodded, your eyes not leaving Loki’s pale face as he smiled, letting go of your shoulder and touching your arm surprisingly gently instead. You heard the sounds of crying and whining, people around you scattering to the different part of the car to be as far as possible from a man in the horned helmet. But you just couldn’t move from your place, glued to your seat, an Asgardian God looming over you.

“I am grateful for you sharing your meal with me. I’d like to thank you properly,” he said softly, and you swallowed your tongue instead of letting out a loud scream. “Let’s leave on the next station. I know a few nice places in Mitte.”

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Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight

#loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x reader #dark loki #dark loki x reader #yandere #loki of asgard

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summerofpinecestcontest · 3 years

Text

Birthday Wishes, Birthday Kisses

Second place

by @penningpines

{ I know they turned 21 last year, but getting drunk for the first time on 21st birthdays is like v special to me }

Grunkle Stan guided the blindfolded twins into the kitchen, a hand resting on each of their shoulders.

“Alright, kids, you can take them off now.”

“Hardly kids now,” they heard Wendy laugh. They removed their blindfolds to find her, Soos, and both their Grunkles standing before the kitchen table, which was lined with brightly colored bottles and cans.

Mabel tilted her head. “What is—”

“Alcohol!” Stan exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. “Booze! Man’s great equalizer!”

Ford, standing at the other side of the table, chuckled warmly. “He may have already had a bit. Happy birthday, kids! You are officially of legal drinking age now, so enjoy yourselves! But go slow. And hydrate!”

Soos raised a bottle in the air and beckoned Dipper over to him. “You’re a man now. Come try this shit.”

The dark brown glass bottle in Soos’s hand didn’t look like it contained anything terribly appetizing, and the closer Dipper got to it, the worse it stunk of yeast. He reached out to take the bottle from Soos, who was now holding it in front of him, and with another small sniff and a grimace, he reluctantly took a sip. Immediately after, he began coughing and sputtered out a, “this is disgusting!”, shoving the bottle back into Soos’s hand.

“That’s the taste of manhood,” Stan said proudly, clinking his own beer bottle against Soos’s. “It’s an acquired taste, like coffee and cigarettes and lake water. You’ll get used to it.”

“What was that last one?”

Stan narrowed his eyes. “Cigarettes?”

“N-no, after that,” Dipper replied, grabbing a bottle of water off of the table and chugging it down to get the taste of stale bread and dead dreams off of his tongue.

“Don’t worry about it,” Stan said, waving a hand dismissively.

Mabel watched in slight horror as the interaction went on. “Do I have to drink that, too?”

“No, thank fuck,” Wendy cut in, handing a colorful, foamy, multicolored atrocity to her. “I took the liberty of making you something a little more… you. It’s gonna be a total sugar rush, and you won’t be able to taste the alcohol at all, so be very careful.”

Mabel’s eyes widened as an excited gasp left her. She eagerly took the glass from Wendy, placing her lips on the colorful twisty straw she had stuck into it, and took a big sip.

“Dipper!”

A disgusted look remained on Dipper’s face as he turned to face his twin. “What?”

“You have to try this!” Mabel pushed the glass into his hands, eyes sparkling in anticipation as she waited for her brother to taste it.

Dipper raised an eyebrow, observing the foamy pink mess, before taking a small sip.

“What do you think?!” She asked enthusiastically.

He grimaced yet again. “This is so… I can feel my teeth rotting…”

“Sorry,” Wendy laughed. “I may or may not have literally poured like an entire cup of sugar in there after all the sodas and juices.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Mabel boasted, snatching her drink back from Dipper and taking another swig.

“You’re used to running on sugar and boybands, Mabes,” he chuckled. “Of course it doesn’t bother you.”

“Try something straight with a mixer, then,” Ford suggested, tapping a finger against the lid of the vodka bottle closest to him. “Any soda or juice will mix with it.”

Dipper eyed the table, grabbing a peach Pitt Cola and an empty cup.

“You’ll wanna measure the hard stuff,” Soos advised, handing a shot glass to Dipper. “And use more mixer than alcohol, otherwise that’s all you’re gonna be able to taste.”

With an appreciative nod, Dipper filled the shot glass, poured it into the cup, and filled the rest with Pitt Cola. A single sip and he seemed satisfied with the mix. “Thanks, Soos.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” he smiled. He then deadpanned. “I am the keeper of alcoholic knowledge.”

Stan playfully slapped a hand against Soos’s back. “Sure are, big guy.”

“Oh, on that,” Wendy piped up. “Carbonation will filter the alcohol into your blood quicker, so be careful with your mixers.”

Soos cleared his throat as he stood from his spot and offered it to Dipper, Wendy mirroring the same action for Mabel. “Go on. Sit down. Drink. Talk about stuff.”

The twins took a seat, offering each other a smile across the table.

“Here’s to 21,” Mabel smiled, raising her glass to meet Dipper’s.

“21,” he repeated, tapping his glass against Mabel’s.

They each took another sip or two.

“Who do you wanna bet is more of a lightweight?” Ford asked, working away at his own bottle.

“Mabel,” Wendy responded instantly. “Definitely. No offense,” she laughed, turning her attention to the accused. “It’s just… in my experience, for some reason, alcohol tends to hit the bubbly ones first, and I’m pretty confident you’re a happy, giggly drunk.”

“What kind of drunk do you think I am?” Dipper inquired.

“Hmm…”

“Conspiracy theorist,” Stan offered easily. “I am fully expecting you to go on about lizard people once it kicks in.”

“Hey,” he laughed. “Not fair! Don’t conspiracy theorists sound crazy? I don’t think—”

“To be fair,” Soos interrupted, taking another swig of his drink. “Your book of crazy monster stuff sounds like some conspiracy type stuff a lot of the time.”

Dipper scoffed playfully in mock offense. “Gravity Falls is full of crazy shit. I am merely documenting and researching said shit.”

This time, Ford slapped a hand against Dipper’s back. “That’s my boy! Carrying on the family business, eh?”

Mabel giggled into her drink, lips pulling at her straw, perhaps a tad too fast. “You still need to find me a unicorn. Like a good unicorn. Not one that’s all full of themselves.”

“What if I find you a caticorn instead?” He offered.

“Even better!” Mabel laughed, raising her glass, which was now halfway empty.

Wendy raised hers to meet Mabel’s this time. “Slow down there, birthday girl,” she laughed, reaching for a bottle of water to offer her. “I told you this one was pretty strong, and you don’t want to make yourself sick.”

“Pshhh,” Mabel laughed. “From sugar? I don’t get sick! My body’s built up a tolerance! A-after that whole Smile Dip incident…”

“From alcohol,” she smiled, pouring one of the water bottles into Mabel’s drink until it reached the rim. “This will help, trust me.”

Soos followed suit, pouring water into what little Dipper had gotten through on his own drink.

“Take it from someone older and wiser, little dudes,” he said, grabbing his own bottle to chug. “Hydrate or diedrate.”

“Or,” Wendy laughed. “Less drastically, hydrate or get super sick and have an awful hangover in the morning.”

“Speaking of,” Soos said, turning his attention to Stan and Ford. “Do you guys remember the first time you got drunk?”

The older twins exchanged a glance, and Ford was the first to speak.

“Times were different. Laws were different, too. We were 16, and—”

“—and you got fucked off of three beers,” Stan interrupted, pointing and laughing at his twin. “And then you got sick, but I never did. Alpha Twin!”

Ford rolled his eyes playfully. “You are not the Alpha Twin just because—”

“Ha!” Now Mabel was pointing at Dipper. “You’re the Ford, I’m the Stan! Alpha Twin!”

“Yeah!” Stan cheered, thrusting his fist into the air. “I got Mabel!”

“Hey!” Dipper laughed. “What about me?”

“I got you,” Ford proclaimed proudly. “Together, we will discover all the mysteries of Gravity Falls!”

“Like whatever the hell is living at the bottom of Stan’s sock drawer,” Wendy loudly half-whispered to Soos, who stuck his hands up in defense, chuckling, “I don’t even wanna know!”

“Grunkle Stan and I will… hmm…” Mabel chewed at the tip of her straw. “Take over the world!”

“Quite a tall order to fill, little miss.” He moved in closer to ruffle her hair. “I don’t know if my back can keep up with that.”

“Oh, shit, wait!”

They all turned their attention to Wendy, who was taking hold of Mabel’s hand and helping her to her feet. “You guys need to stand up for a minute. If you sit the whole time, the first time you get up, you’ll fall over. Happened to me my first time! Robbie started freaking out for a minute, but I thought it was hilarious!”

“I’m sure it’s not so— whoa!” Mabel clutched onto Wendy’s arm, trying to stabilize herself. “Okay, maybe it’s a little bad right now.”

Soos did the same for Dipper, helping him up, though he was much more stable on his feet.

“One to ten,” Ford said, addressing the twins. “On a lev- uh, a scale, I mean. How drunk do you feel?”

“We don't…” Mabel started, to which Dipper finished, “…have anything to compare it to?”

“That was a dumb question for such a smart guy,” Stan cackled, shaking his head at his brother.

“Yeah,” he agreed, matching his twin’s joviality. “Pretty dumb!”

“What was your first time being drunk like?” Wendy asked Soos, reaching out to playfully pluck the bottle out of his hand.

“It was fun,” he snickered. “…until it wasn’t. I got, like, mega sick, dude. But before that, I was having a good ass time!”

“First time sickness buds!” She exclaimed, reaching out for a high five with the hand that wasn’t supporting Mabel.

“Is it, uh,” Dipper, who had just been released from Soos’s grasp, chuckled nervously. “Is it possible to, um, not get sick your first time? Or ever?”

“Hydrate or diedrate,” Soos repeated.

“Hydration,” Wendy giggled, thumping Soos’s bottle against his arm before handing it back to him. “And pacing yourself, and eating before, during, or both. After is kinda debated but it seems to help me, so I do it after, too. Fresh air can help.”

Mabel looked up at Stan. “Is that why you had us each so much before this?”

“As is tradition,” he winked.

“Okay,” Dipper nodded, reaching for another bottle of water with a slight quiver in his legs. Still steady so far.

“Especially you,” Wendy playfully punched Mabel in the arm, causing her to stumble. “You’ve been going at that thing way too fast.”

“The Alpha Twin,” Mabel giggled, “does not get sick. I simply transfer all my sickness to Dipper. When we were little, I had chicken pox. As soon as mine went away, Dipper got them. I haven’t gotten them since, and if that doesn’t prove my theory, I don’t know what will!”

“Mabel, I’m pretty sure chicken pox—”

“Shhh.” She pressed a finger against Dipper’s lips. “No.” Her finger dragged down his body, quickly swiping it over his chest and arms and grabbing at his hand, which she pulled down with her as she dropped to the floor. “We’re gonna sit here now!”

The room, if only slightly, steadied once Mabel had to focus less on keeping her knees from buckling or her legs from otherwise taking her down. As she looked across to Dipper, though, he seemed to be swaying a bit. Or maybe she was— she couldn’t tell.

Stan began telling a story above them, but from down on the ground, and with her lack of focus, his voice sounded small and distant.

“I’m… mmm… mm… tired.” She yawned and reached out for Dipper, who was already staring at her. “Are you tired?”

He shrugged his response. “You wanna go to bed?”

“Yes. No. Mm-may—yes.”

“Okay,” Dipper laughed. “Then let’s go to bed.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Mabel repeated, now loud enough for the rest to hear, holding onto Dipper’s arm with one hand and Wendy’s leg with the other. She maneuvered herself onto her feet, tugging Dipper up with her, and just about shoved her face into his chest as she stumbled forward and clutched onto him more completely. “We are going to have a meeting. It’s about our twin telepathy.” She turned slightly to face the rest of the room. “And only s-s-twins who are under the age of… seventy-b-billion are allowed,” she slurred. “Okay, bye!”

“That means bedtime,” Dipper laughed, supporting Mabel as he helped move her over to the staircase. “This… may present a problem.”

Mabel stared intensely at the staircase for a moment, studying it, before she looked up slightly at her brother and pressed her hands against his chest and pushed to distance herself from him. “I am the Alpha Twin. There is no obstacle too large.”

“You’re gonna hurt yourself, Mabes. Come on. One step at a time.” He took hold of her arm which, honestly, she hadn’t noticed, and began helping her up the stairs.

“I’m doing it!” She exclaimed excitedly. “I’m doing it! I’m—” she looked down and noticed Dipper’s grip on her arm. “Oh. Well, we’re almost up there anyway!”

“Mabel, we’re only three steps up the—”

“We’re almost u-up there anyway,” she repeated, lifting an unstable foot, setting it down, lifting it again, moving it to the side, and fumbling closer to Dipper.

Wendy came up behind them, placed a hand on each of their backs, and helped push them forward. With some slight coordination issues, more than a little bit of random ‘whoaaa!’s, and Mabel tripping over her own feet not once, not twice, but three times, they made it to the top of the staircase.

“Should be able to handle it now,” Dipper giggled to himself, pulling Mabel against his chest once again and guiding her (pulling her, more like) to their shared bedroom.

He got them to the door, which, of course, was shut. He fumbled with the doorknob for a moment before the door swung open, which startled Mabel, and got them inside. He led Mabel over to her bed, which she managed to get into without too much trouble.

“Perfect birthday,” she mused, “almost.”

“Almost?” Dipper questioned, kneeling beside Mabel’s bed to keep himself from falling down. He had managed to keep it together enough up the stairs, but now his legs were threatening to give out and deprive him of his favorite pastime of walking in a straight line.

“There’s oooone birthday wish I didn’t get.” She stared up at the ceiling, clutching onto one of her stuffed animals.

“And what’s that? Maybe I can help?”

“Mm…” she thought for a moment. “No. Never mind. Too embarrassing. G’night!”

Dipper laughed, shaking her shoulder. “Come on, Mabes.”

“Nope.”

“You can tell me! I’m your twin. Come on, use the telepathy!”

She closed her eyes, placed a hand on Dipper’s forehead (well, mostly, and after a few tries), took a deep breath, and whispered, “I… wanted… a birthday kiss.”

Dipper scoffed, amused. “Is that it?”

“What do you mean ‘is that it’?!” She sat up quickly, opening her eyes and turning to look at him, face flushed. “It’s embarrassing! Aren’t you embarrassed?!”

“Mm… nope. Come on, you’ve admitted to me before that you’ve thought about it.”

“Thinking about it and actually doing it are two very different things, Dipper!”

He raised his hands up defensively with a soft laugh. “Alright, alright, just thought I’d offer.”

Mabel groaned playfully. She fell back into her mattress with a soft thud. “Okay… fine… come here.”

“What?”

“Come here! I’m gonna close my eyes so it’s not so… weird… and you’re gonna kiss me like I’m a princess.”

She could feel the weight on her bed shift, signaling that Dipper had sat down next to her. His next question came softly, softer than she expected, and she had to strain her ears to hear it.

“Like you’re a princess?”

“M-mhm…” she felt a little shyer about it now. It felt more real than when she had proposed it. She kept her eyes shut, but she felt her body tighten and flinch as he moved closer to her.

“Actually…” she opened her eyes to find Dipper’s face about a foot away from hers, watching her with a loving gaze. A slight smile was pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay,” she breathed. She couldn’t help but smile, reflecting her twin’s. “You can… you can do it now.”

She let her eyes flutter shut again, and he followed her lead, closing the space between them slowly, anticipation building.

His lips hovered above hers for a moment, soft breath matching her own, tension in the room building to a climax when he slowly, softly pressed their lips together.

Though anticipated, it took both of them a split second to process what was happening. Quivering lips steadied as they pressed against their matching pair, and for a moment, they were stuck there, until Dipper pressed his harder against his twin’s before awkwardly pulling away.

He opened his eyes, almost hesitantly, and watched as Mabel did the same. She blushed deeply before breaking out into a fit of giggles, forcing her head to the side so her hair would fall into her face and offer even the slightest bit of concealment.

“Perfect birthday,” she mumbled into her pillow. “For real this time.”

Dipper moved in again to plant another kiss against her face, this one a soft, loving peck on the forehead. “I’m glad,” he grinned. “I agree.”

A comfortable silence filled the room, until he whispered, “goodnight, Mabel. Happy birthday.”

She felt the weight of her mattress shift again as he stood up, crossing the room to get into his own bed.

“Um, Dipp?”

“Yeah, Mabes?”

Mabel rolled over onto her other side to face him. “Can… um… can I get birthday cuddles, too? Like old times?”

He simply chuckled, turning and walking back to her bed, which she had begun moving stuffed animals and pillows off of to give him space to lie down.

“Thank you, bro bro.” She nuzzled her face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head, breathing in her scent.

“Anything for the Alpha Twin,” he murmured, earning a giggle from his sister as she nuzzled closer to him.

“Best birthday ever,” Dipper repeated, mumbling into Mabel’s hair, arms tightening around her midsection in a protective squeeze.

Not bad, 21. Not bad at all.

#Pinecest #Summer of Pinecest contest #Gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fanfic

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faustonastring · 4 years

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How would the main six react the the mc wanting to start a family?

Thanks for requesting I hope you like it!

My request are open!

Main six reacting to Mc wanting to start a family!

Psa! Please read before reading!

Heheh hi, so I’m like halfway through writing this and I just want to say, that there are two voices that go into wanting to start a family, just because you want too, doesn’t mean your partner may want to (atleast at the moment) I pride myself on writing the main six as accurately as I can, so I’m keeping this in mind while writing it, they still will all follow the prompt, but I’m also writing the bumps in the road that happen along the way (hopefully this makes more sense when you read it) also like half of them have some sort of childhood trauma sooo... read with an open mind.

Asra

Are you being serious? Like really serious? This is t a prank is it? If it is he’ll cry. Don’t make asra cry. Tell him your being serious. Tell him you want to start a family with him. It makes his heart flutter everytime.

He’s waited years for you to tell him this. Decades even, (depending on your time line) and yet your here. Asking him to start a family. He never thought he’d get the chance. He never thought he’d ever get the chance... but I guess all his hard work is really paying off huh.

I mention this a lot, but Asra has a lot of trauma. It doesn’t just go away when you both say I love you, or get married, or decide you want a kid. Sure it gets better over time, but it will probably take atleast a decade for those wounds to fully heal (and that’s being generous) so, as excited as asra is to want to start a family with you, if it’s too early in your relationship, he might have to decline for now. Ask him again in a year or two.

But if you do manage to get Asra ‘Commitment issues’ Alnazar to agree, he want to do it right. He wants his kid to have a better childhood than he had, so he obviously goes to his parents for help. Often. They obviously don’t mind though, they are thrilled to be having a grandchild. (also if your going to adopt, asras gets very sentimental, and wants to adopt all the kids, in the orphanage (let’s say Nadia builds one after the uprights-) and leaves crying, everytime.)

Nadia

Are you sure? You do know how much time and effort you need for kids right? Don’t worry about the money though, the money isn’t the problem, the problem is: is she going to have time in her schedule to raise one or more kid(s)

I mean her parents did it what? Seven times??? And they were ruling over a whole country weren’t they? How hard can it be???? She’ll be fine. Yep. There is nothing to worry about, she’s decided. As long as your on board for it, she’ll make room for as much time as you need. Besides, it’s much easier to rule with you with her.

She has books on top of books, on top of books on how to be a good mother. I mean she had a good mother, and great sisters sure- but she doesn’t want to mess this up for you. She knows how much it means to you, and besides, being a good mother is much more difficult than being a good ruler. Any one can rule, but only a select few can properly raise a kid.

As soon as her family finds out that your planing on starting a family, they book it to vesuvia to give the both of you all the support and tips you need. And when the kid does get here, they always find it hard to part ways. It’s been a while since a new Satrinava has entered this world. Also having her family near reminds Nadia that she doesn’t need books to be a good mom. You’re here with her the both of you are going to do fine. Hopefully.

Julian

He thinks you’re joking at first. Him? Really??? Bold of you to assume that a no good drunk like him would make a good father. Am I right? It’s not like he’s canonically great with kids, helped raise his baby sister and protected her from a shipwreck, or anything. Hahaha. You my friend. Are very bold.

Julian needs a moment or two to think things over, it’s nothing against you, no no no it’s not that! You’re his love! His light! His one and only! His darling! He’d never mean to offended you! He just needs to think it over, figure out if this is the right time to start something this big. If he’s in the right mental state for it. If he’s not? He’ll let you know when he is.

But if he is ready? Ohhohoho buckle up baby because you got a long journey ahead of you! He’s reading up on child development, digging up old notes he has from the very few times he’s had child patients (he’s also researching more about pregnancy, if you can and want to go down that road with him...but I wouldn’t let him deliver the baby if I were you....if you asked him he’d probably reluctantly do so....but...it’s probably best if you leave that to a professional)

Mazelinka and Portia give you and Julian are the best recipes they can find, and Portia will knit or sew, or crochet, he’ll maybe all three- little toys for your kid when the time gets closer. They will one hundred percent be on board with this, and volunteer to baby sit everytime the two of you need some alone time

Portia

Yes. She doesn’t need to think to long or hard about it. The answer is yes. One million times yes! Yes, yes yes yes yes yes! She is over joyed to be honest! She is also going to be a great mom.

As long as the time is right, and you are alright, everything is going to be alright! Every thing is going to be great! She’s going to be a great mom....right? She’s never really had a mom....well she’s had grandmas that counts right? What if she isn’t a good mom? What if she screws something up? Or her kid hates her? What if they like her brother more than her? (*looks at camera like in an episode of the office*)

Tell her you believe in her. That she’s going to be a great mom! That you’ll be there to help her. Portia has a lot of insecurities and self doubt, so it really means a lot to her. And as soon as she’s mentally prepared- everyone and their mother knows about your plans.....”sorry! It just kind of slipped out....and then people started telling their friends and families...and...uhhhhh”

Julian would not only be a good dad, but a pretty decent uncle too! (Also again, if your pregnant...he gives you his card ;)....but not only for your safety but for your babies safety please throw it away, he’s not professionally trained to deliver-) While your waiting for things to get settled, get ready to hear an ear full of stories from when Portia and Julian were kids!

Muriel

Him? When you first ask him he actually does a double take and looks around to make sure you were asking him. But who else would you ask? The chickens? He just doesn’t see why you would want to do that with....him. Him of all people. You chose him.

He isn’t sure what to say at first, he’s going to need about three to five buissnes days to think it over. No matter how much he wants this....he just isn’t sure. It has nothing to do with you really. He tries to make that as clear as possible but...can he trust him self with a kid? Obviously you trust him, and you know he won’t do anything, but this isn’t about what you think. He needs to figure it out on his own.

In three to five business days, if he says no....ask again in maybe a year or two. ( I know it’s long but you’ll have a higher chance of him saying yes if you wait longer, you can’t push things onto him, that never works.) but if he says yes? Well he doesn’t. You’ll catch him whittling things like toys, or a crib, or a bed, and if you ask what it’s for, he’ll say “for our kid/baby” Our.

He asks asra like a million questions, he gets books, and starts going out into town more to get the softest blankets and clothes. He grew up thinking he was a burden. A waste of space. He grew up thinking he was t alowed to have nice things. He doesn’t want his kid to ever go through that. His kid is going to grow up in the most loving and safe house any one can grow up in. I swear by it.

Lucio

What do you mean by start a family? Like adopt more pets.....or.....the other kind of family. Oh you mean the other kind? Like the human, fleshy kind? Are you sure? Kids are so gross aren’t they? They cry and throw up and you have to take care of them for soooo long-

Look, lucio is a very.....complex..character. I don’t think he’s totally evil but he does have a lot of problems that would take a lot of time to go through before I think he’s mentally prepared to have a kid. What’s intresting about lucio is that he has a lot of layers to him. Like ogres. Which makes him very difficult to write, especially when I don’t know where we’ll end up at the end of his route so- I’m sorry lucio stans, but unless you’ve been together for like 20-30 years...

this is just how I headcanon it, other people I know will disagree and say he’d love to have a mini him running around which is valid.... but...I think he’d be scared to have a mini him running around, because of how bad he turned out, and he wouldn’t want to raise his kid like how morga raised him, but we tend to follow in are parents footsteps when raising a kid, wether we like it or not, so...

I’m sorry this is more of a meta than a headcanon I just don’t really know how to write it....lucio would be against it. He isn’t ready. Not ready for the responsibility, not ready to take the risk of the mistakes his kid is going to make. Once he cleans up all his oopsies, and quite possibly gets on good terms with his mother, then maybe just maybe you’ll have a standing chance, besides... he does want an heir ya’know (but if the two of you make an oopsie together and you want to keep it, go ahead. He needs to start taking more responsibility when it comes to his mistakes, so what a great place to start! besides who would he be to tell you what to do with your body.)

Thanks for reading! I can redo Lucios if some one wants... I really just need ideas because it’s too early In his route to really be able to tell how he handles it, so I’d love to hear your opinions on it!

Next headcanon: main six reacting to Mc’s sleepy voice! (5/23)

Request are open!!!!!

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codythecheshirecat · 3 years

Text

Is This The Start, Midpoint, or Finale? Chapter 4: Passing Time

Codywan Merman/Modern AU

Story Summary: Cody has spent the last several months recovering from a car crash that completely upturned his life. When spending a day on the St. Lawrence River, he finds something that should be impossible– a merman. An injured merman. And, well, there’s not much to do except bring him home and fix him up.

Read on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33756109/chapters/85388758

A week passes. They quickly make a schedule. Breakfast at nine, lunch at noon, dinner at six. Early on Cody has to run to the store to get things for Obi-Wan’s liquid diet-- he’s an omnivore too, so Cody doesn’t have to worry about finding replacements for meat, exactly. Which is good. They make an agreement about their respective recoveries, too; Obi-Wan won’t overexert himself so long as Cody doesn’t, they’ll take their medicines at the same times (dosages allowing, at least), and having someone to talk to makes it easier to ignore their respective pains and aches, anyway.

Two days into the week, Obi-Wan asks for some softer blankets. Cody doesn’t actually have any, so he runs to the store and buys some of the fuzziest throw blankets he can find. He buys some other things, too, just in case-- a pair of boxers, a single cotton shirt, a pair of mesh gym shorts, and a knee-length plaid skirt with an elastic waistband. He’s not entirely sure they’ll fit Obi-Wan, but he’s pretty good at eyeing sizes and it’s better to have them just in case he needs to cover up.

He gives the blankets to Obi-Wan, but keeps the clothes hidden for the time being. He also has to help Obi-Wan get situated with the blankets-- one to cover the couch (so Obi-Wan can lay on it rather than the couch, which he also calls scratchy) and one to cover him (despite Cody’s protests).

Obi-Wan finds himself enraptured with the TV. News, cartoons, soap operas, and everything in between. Cody supposes it must seem pretty strange; a box with hundreds, thousands of different stories to watch. They watch Jeopardy every night, and while Obi-Wan rarely knows the answers, he seems to enjoy it.

Cody also answers every question Obi-Wan has, and he has a lot. Sometimes he has a question about a word or phrase-- he hadn’t learned English in an academic setting, or even by being surrounded by English speakers. He’d had one person teach him what he knew, and so he has plenty of gaps in his knowledge. Sometimes Obi-Wan has questions about technology. Other times he has questions about animals. At one point they have a two hour discussion on American culture, with short interludes into other world cultures.

Another thing that takes up their time is the realization that Obi-Wan can’t read. He can read in his own language, sure, but the person that had taught him to speak English hadn’t taught him to read it. The English Alphabet is an utter mystery to him. So, Cody spends quite a bit of time teaching him the alphabet.

Despite all of their talking, though, Cody notices that Obi-Wan rarely talks about himself. He’ll reference things, sometimes, people, and Cody’s aware enough not to pry. If Obi-Wan doesn’t want to talk about his past, then he probably has a reason. Cody’s just happy he’s talking, honestly. It gives him someone to talk to, instead of wallowing in his own misery.

Another week passes. Kix stops by, checks up on them-- both of them, and Cody gets treated to a ten minute lecture on how to properly take care of himself so he heals correctly. Cody doesn’t tell him that Obi-Wan can’t walk so Cody has to help him get around when he has to use the bathroom. Obi-Wan also gets cleared to start eating real food, so long as they slowly reintroduce him.

One night while they’re eating dinner-- chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy-- Obi-Wan turns to him. “You never told me how you got hurt.”

Cody pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. He sets his fork back on his plate. He doesn’t look at Obi-Wan. “You didn’t tell me how you got hurt, either.”

Obi-Wan frowns. “Fair enough.” He goes back to eating.

Somehow, that only serves to make Cody feel worse. He sighs. “Car crash.” “Do those happen often?” Obi-Wan says.

Cody looks at him. There’s nothing but genuine curiosity on his face. “Yeah, but with the amount of people using cars it’s not unexpected, I guess. It’s not enough to make people think driving isn’t worth it.”

“I see.” Obi-Wan tilts his head. “I assume it was fairly bad, or recent, if you’re still recovering.”

Cody sniffs. “Both. I was in the hospital for a few months.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

Cody leans over and sets his plate on the coffee table. He isn’t hungry anymore. “I’m fine. The others involved weren’t so lucky.”

Obi-Wan sucks in a breath. “Oh, dear. I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have said anything. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

Another look at Obi-Wan shows that his ears have turned red. He’s watching Cody with a devastated look on his face; a pursed mouth and wide, wide eyes. Cody sighs and shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. You didn’t know. I didn’t even know the others involved.”

“Still…” Obi-Wan says. He reaches out and wraps a hand around Cody’s wrist. “I understand. Sometimes… sometimes it’s hard being the survivor.”

***

“What books are those?”

Cody sits on the couch by Obi-Wan’s feet. “They’re kid’s books. When I was looking for my old wheelchair for you I found a whole bunch in the series in a box in the basement; I used to read them when I was a kid, same as most of my brothers. Rex must’ve kept them as we grew out of them.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to read a kid’s book?”

Cody shrugs, grinning. “I want to see if they’re any good now that I’m an adult. Probably not, but it’ll be funny to reread the books that used to terrify me as a kid and now realize that they’re incredibly ridiculous.”

He holds up the four in his hands so Obi-Wan can see the covers. “These were my favorites. Werewolf of Fever Swamp, Say Cheese and Die, A Night in Terror Tower, and Night of the Living Dummy.”

He lets Obi-Wan read them at his own pace. He’s learning quickly, quicker than children do, but then again, he is a full-grown adult. Obi-Wan hums. “So they’re supposed to be scary? And for children?”

“Yeah.” Cody sets the books in his lap. “They aren’t that bad, or they wouldn’t have been marketed for kids. And honestly, they aren’t always scary-- I don’t think I was scared by Werewolf of Fever Swamp once. It was more of an adventure than anything else.”

“Intriguing.” Obi-Wan leans forward. “Could you read one to me?”

Cody grins, suddenly elated. “Which one?”

“Surprise me.”

Cody opens up Night of the Living Dummy and starts reading.

***

With a grunt, Cody sets Obi-Wan in the half-filled bathtub. He stands.

“Thank you, Cody.” Obi-Wan says. His face is pink.

Cody shrugs, his own face hot. “It’s no problem.”

“You’re always helping me get around, even with that wheelchair. It seems a tad unfair.” Obi-Wan runs a hand through the water. He sighs. “Oh, it’s nice to be in the water again.”

Cody rubs the back of his head. “Sorry your whole tail won’t fit.”

Obi-Wan smiles at him. It makes his stomach swoop. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll deal.”

Cody steps back as Obi-Wan’s tail begins to transform. His legs morph together, become red, and grow-- and Obi-Wan’s long tail spreads across the tiny bathroom. Now that he’s able to get a better look at it, Cody decides that it’s definitely eel-like. There are rosettes of darker red patterned across it, with flecks of yellow here and there, too.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Cody says, catching himself staring. “Uh, I know you said you don’t need soap, but I put a washcloth over the faucet in case you wanted to scrub yourself down. To empty the tub all you have to do is flick the lever below the faucet. If you want to refill, just flick the lever again and twist the handle to the left. The further left you go, the warmer the water gets.”

“Thank you, Cody.”

Cody smiles. “Just call for me when you’re done.”

He steps around Obi-Wan’s tail and heads for the door where the wheelchair waits.

“Oh, Cody?”

He stops. “Yeah?” He turns to look at Obi-Wan.

“Ah… do you think you could teach me to walk? I hate making you carry me around.”

Oh. Huh. “Yeah, I can do that.”

***

Cody sits on the edge of the coffee table, facing Obi-Wan. “Are you ready?”

Obi-Wan nods, jaw set. “Yes.”

Cody leans forward. He tucks his arms under Obi-Wan’s and wraps them around his back. Obi-Wan grips Cody’s shoulders, and slowly, Cody stands, lifting Obi-Wan with him. For a few moments, they wobble as Cody supports the two of them. At least he’s wearing the skirt I bought him.

All in all, it’s probably not the best way to teach Obi-Wan to walk. But he doesn’t have all the equipment that his PT does, and Obi-Wan isn’t relearning to walk after an injury like most people do. Babies learn to walk from trial and error, so… Obi-Wan can do that too. Still, it’s a somewhat awkward position, and Cody won’t be able to hold them both upright forever.

“Balance, Obi-Wan.” Cody says.

Obi-Wan snorts, tilting his head forward. His forehead almost touches Cody’s. “My knees do not want to cooperate, Cody.”

“They’re no different than your elbows.” Cody looks down. His feet are planted, firm, but Obi-Wan’s… he’s standing pigeon-toed on the balls of his feet, knees shaking like a scared cartoon character. Cody chuckles. “You’ve stood before.”

“That was weeks ago.” Obi-Wan says. “I was more injured, yes, but my legs had much more muscle than they do now.”

It’s true, but it’s not like Obi-Wan’s been doing nothing with his legs. He’s crawled several times, for various reasons mostly due to Cody not being around, and he hasn’t been immune to restless leg syndrome, either. But, well. Eventually Obi-Wan’s legs straighten out and his balance improves.

“Think you can take a few steps?” Cody asks him.

Obi-Wan huffs. “You’re doing all the hard work. Yes, I think I can manage a few steps.”

Cody grins. Obi-Wan does the same. Carefully, Cody maneuvers them around and takes a step back. Obi-Wan takes an uncoordinated step forward. Then they do it again, and again, and again. He takes another step back, and-- his leg locks up. He has a brief moment to think oh no, and his leg gives out. They collapse in a heap on the ground.

His head bounces (fairly lightly, in Cody’s opinion) off the floor. His back hurts, his leg hurts. Obi-Wan rolls off of him with a groan. Cody turns his head to look at him. “Are you alright, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan rubs his still-bandaged side. “Yes, I’m fine. I don’t think I reopened anything. Was that your leg?”

“Guess I overtaxed myself.” Cody sits up. He sighs. “You’d think that after all this time I wouldn’t still be having issues like that.”

“Recovery isn’t a straight line.” Obi-Wan says. “But, you know, that could have been worse. At least we didn’t fall onto the coffee table?” “That’s fair.” Cody says, and with another sigh, he flops back on the ground as dramatically as he can. “I think I’m just going to stay here for a minute.”

Obi-Wan snorts. “Well, allow me to join you.”

***

Cody rubs his eyes. He’s fucking exhausted; he’s been awake for far too long at this point and he’s still got several hours to go before he can sleep. And, of course, he’s driving, which really creates just a terrible situation. He rubs his eyes again.

Twenty more minutes and he’ll be home…

Cody snaps awake. Oh, thank god. His heart beats faster than is healthy, but he knows it’ll go away soon enough, as long as he doesn’t get caught up in a panic attack. He rolls out of bed. Somehow, it’s nine in the morning. He rarely sleeps this late, waking up around seven-thirty, eight o’clock. He may not be working right now, but that’s no excuse to be sleeping this late.

He makes his way into the living room. Unlike every other day before at this time, Obi-Wan isn’t on the couch. Hm. “Obi-Wan?”

“In here!” Obi-Wan shouts from the kitchen. His voice is strained.

Cody walks into the kitchen. He finds, caught between amusement and trepidation, that Obi-Wan is holding himself up at the counter. The wheelchair is right behind him. Obi-Wan grins.

“...having fun?” Cody asks, walking over. He stops in front of the wheelchair.

“I’m making coffee.” He says pleasantly. “I only need one arm for that, so I can use my other to hold myself up. I was going to wake you.”

A smile stretches across Cody’s face, unbidden. “Thank you.” He puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But please, sit down before you fall.”

“I’m fine, Cody.”

“Get in the wheelchair. Please.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and sighs. “Yes, alright. Help me?”

Cody guides him back into the wheelchair, and together they wait for the coffee to brew. Obi-Wan wheels himself to the fridge to get milk-- Cody prefers his coffee black, and Obi-Wan prefers tea, but when he does drink coffee, he uses a lot of milk. Coffee made, they retreat to the living room. Obi-Wan gets himself settled in his spot. Cody sits next to him and hands him his coffee.

“Perhaps I could start with the walker.” Obi-Wan says.

Cody gives him a look. “I think you have some time still. Your legs-”

“-my legs are in fine shape.” Obi-Wan protests.

“The muscles have atrophied. And your side still isn’t healed.”

“Cody.”

“Obi-Wan.” They stare at each other. “After Rex gets back, at least.”

“Well I didn’t mean tomorrow, Cody.” Obi-Wan huffs. He turns serious. “Cody.”

Cody raises an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“Thank you for being so kind to me. You had no reason to.” He sighs. “And you get nothing out of teaching me to walk, yet you’ve been supportive in every way.”

Cody gives him a gentle smile. “It hasn’t been a problem. You needed help, and I wasn’t going to turn my back. Besides,” he grins, “now I can focus on you instead of my own problems.”

“I’m glad I’ve been of help in that regard.” Obi-Wan says dryly. Without warning, he leans closer.

Cody swallows. “I was thinking. Rex should be home by the end of the week. I’ll have to introduce you. But before that, I really should go grocery shopping. Do you want to go with me?”

Obi-Wan blinks. A smile stretches across his face. “I would love to.”

***

“What is this?” Obi-Wan asks, pointing at a pear.

“That’s a pear. It’s a fruit, like apples.” Cody says. “I’ll get it for you, if you want to try it.”

“Oh, no, I was just curious as to what it was.”

Cody rolls his eyes. “If you say so.”

They move on to the meat section, Cody pushing the cart with Obi-Wan wheeling behind. Later, cashing out, Cody sees a singular pear sitting on the belt, and grins.

#Star Wars #The Clone Wars #TCW #Commander Cody #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Codywan #Merman AU #Modern AU #Magic

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magnoliasinbloom · 5 years

Text

Crash Course Love

In between classes (which I’m still doing online with my lovely 7th graders, no sarcasm), here’s another chapter of these two fools. And it’s looooong!

As always, infinite thanks to @anna-swims and @lcbeauchampoftarth for being awesome betas.

AO3 :: Previously

9: Lallybroch [Jamie]

“We’re here,” I said, glancing through the Jeep’s windshield.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t think the ride would feel so… short,” Claire said, peering up at the house. It was kind of intimidating, I supposed; a giant stone manor in the middle of rolling fields. Like something out of a fairytale.

Except the wolves were waiting inside, ready to pounce on us.

“Are ye nervous?”

“A little. I’ll be fine.” She turned to me and gave me a smile, shouldering her black purse. I smiled back and ducked out of the Jeep to open her door. Claire climbed out, stepping carefully. “Wait! The flowers!” She turned to the backseat door and pulled out yellow lilies wrapped in butcher paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Slamming the door behind us, we walked up the steps to the door.

I wondered if we should hold hands to make it seem more realistic. When I’d picked her up at her flat—my eyes darting around like mad in case Annalise appeared—and I saw her dressed up, I’d wanted to reach out and take her hand immediately.

We had driven over in comfortable silence. Claire had mentioned she didn’t know what to expect from lunch, so she’d had a small breakfast—more Weetabix. I laughed when I thought of the amount of food Mam always cooked. She commented occasionally on the songs from my Spotify playlists, and we kept up an easy conversation.

My hand was halfway to the doorknob when my mother appeared, and immediately engulfed Claire in a hug. I stood there like an idiot while my mam practically suffocated her; all I could see of Claire was her bewildered expression over my mother’s shoulder.

“Um, hello?” Claire managed.

“Oh, Christ, I’m so happy to meet ye, Claire! Ye are Claire, aren’t ye? Oh, do come in, ye must be freezin’! Can I take yer coat? What’s this?” My mother interrupted her gushing welcome as Claire tried to press the flowers into her hand.

“Aye, Mam, good to see ye too,” I grumbled, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Completely ignoring me, she patted my back and turned to Claire once more.

“They’re just flowers, you know, as a thank you for the invitation,” Claire stammered, blushing. She gestured with her hands as she spoke, clearly nervous. “Sorry I didn’t bring a vase.” My mother hugged her again tightly.

“They’re beautiful! Ye shouldn’t have!” Mam sniffed the lush blooms and ushered us further into the house. I trailed behind them, all but forgotten. I took off my own coat and followed them into the living room.

Mam was introducing Claire to my Da, William, and Jenny. My siblings, in turn, presented each of their partners. Jenny lost it completely and practically hurled herself at Claire in a vise-like hug. Claire couldn’t seem to lose the bewildered expression when confronted with the whole Fraser clan at once.

“Jenny, let the poor lass breathe,” I called out. I gave my Da a one-armed hug and clapped William and Ian on the back. I gave Jenny a gentle shove to get her to release Claire, which she returned twice as hard. “Ifrinn, Janet, that could bruise!”

“Jamie, language!” Mam warned. She led Claire over to Mary, who gave her a peck on the cheek and a warm smile. Jenny glanced over at me and gave me a discreet thumbs-up. I rolled my eyes at her approval.

“Where are the children, Jenny?” I missed the sounds of my rambunctious niece and nephew.

“Oh, off with Ian’s parents this weekend. Give us a bit of a break, ye ken.”

“When’s lunch then, Mam?” William asked.

“Will ye leave anything for the rest of us, Willie?” Ian joked, leading Jenny into the dining room. They both traded quips and insults while everyone made their way to the table.

“Here, Claire, sit next to Jamie.” Mam pointed out her seat and raised her eyebrows at me. I immediately stood behind the chair and held it out for Claire. She sat with a soft murmur of thanks. Da took his seat at the head of the table and winked at Claire, who smiled back and seemed more at ease.

“I’ll just bring the dishes in,” Mam called over her shoulder as she walked to the kitchen.

“Can I help with anything?” Claire asked, half-rising from her chair. Jenny and I both reached out to stop her.

“Nah. This is my mam’s thing. She doesna like for people to interfere with her cookin’. Even if it’s just servin’ it,” I said, while William nodded in agreement and stuffed a roll into his mouth.

“Really?” Claire looked around the table. Da leaned over to explain about Mam’s love affair with cooking, engaging her in conversation.

Mam came in with multiple dishes and trays, all laden with meat, chicken, salad, fresh bread, ham, and vegetables. It was all artfully arranged, in true accordance with her Cordon Bleu education.

Everyone dove in, while Claire watched in horrified fascination as food was served. I reached for her plate when she showed no inclination to dig in herself; she regarded me gratefully when I got her a bit of everything, unsure of what she’d like.

There was no silence at the table. Forks and knives clattered on dishes and conversations sprang all around. Mam gave Claire the third degree about her life; she tried to answer as politely as possible around a mouthful of food. Da insisted Claire call him Brian and asked about her flower shop, being somewhat of an amateur gardener himself.

Finally, after everyone had eaten their fill (and then some), my mother moved in for the kill. “So, Claire, how did ye and Jamie meet?”

Claire looked at me, and I nearly choked on the last bite of carrots. “Um, well…”

“It was at a coffee shop. She spilled her drink on me and offered to buy me another.”

“Yes, that’s it. And then we got to talking and exchanged numbers—”

“I asked her out and she said yes, that was a few weeks ago, and now here we are!” I added hastily.

My mother seemed on the verge of spilling joyful tears and Da positively beamed. Claire squeezed my hand under the table while we regrouped.

“Mrs. Fraser, everything was delicious. Could I help you clear up, make some tea or coffee?”

“Dear, please call me Ellen. And no, ye may not make the coffee, ye are our guest! Let's leave the dishes to the men, shall we? Ladies, care to join me in the living room?”

“Should I be worried, do you think?” Claire asked as she looked at my mother and the women.

“I think I’m the one who should worry,” I muttered, as Jenny and Mary pulled Claire away from me. Next thing I knew, Mam would pull out old photo albums of me with braces or as a toddler in the bath.

I was dragged into the kitchen to help wash up. The rule was, since Mam cooked, the rest of us had clean-up duty. Seemed only fair—except my mother used a ridiculous amount of kitchenware and appliances which had to be left spotless again. I kept my hands busy scrubbing away, until William sidled up to me.

“Sawney, a brathair,” Willie said, using my old nickname and clapping me hard on the shoulder. I jerked and he laughed, mussing up my hair.

“Stop it, ye eejit, I’ll break something,” I growled, spraying him with water.

“Well, I can certainly see what ye saw in Claire, she’s lovely,” Da commented, setting empty glasses next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt.

“Aye, Jamie, she’s grand,” Ian agreed, leaning against the kitchen island. “Ye look good together. Ye have a real connection.” I couldn’t tell from his tone if Jenny had appraised him of the truth.

“Have ye slept with her yet?” Willie asked.

I dropped the glass I was rinsing and it bounced in the sink with a clatter. I turned to gape at William, who was grinning.

“Willie, that is none of yer business!” Da chided, glaring at his firstborn.

“Arsehole,” I mumbled under my breath. Ian cleared his throat behind me.

“We understand if ye dinna want to tell us, it’s yer private life and—”

“I’m not telling ye anything about my sex life, aye?” I finally said, chucking the scrubbing sponge at Willie’s head. “And you!” I turned to Ian. “We could hear ye and Jenny in yer room at Christmas last year, and man, for Christ’s sake, it’s my own sister!”

They both had the good grace to look abashed for a moment, before offering apologies and heading back to the dining room for more dirty dishes. Da frowned, but said nothing.

I fetched the sponge from the floor and got back to scrubbing a frying pan before he spoke up.

“So Jamie, lad, are ye being safe?”

- - -

In the living room, Claire was perched on the big couch, with a photo album on her lap.

“Jamie, these pictures are amazing. Your mum has saved all these memories of you,” she commented, obviously delighted with the albums. Fortunately, Mam had updated the technology and newer photographs were stored in ‘the cloud’.

“Aye, she keeps one for each of us, full of birthdays, Christmases, all of it,” I said, casually claiming the space next to her. Claire bit her lip for a moment, misty-eyed. Having lost her parents so young, I didn’t imagine she had much in the way of photographs. A peek at her expression confirmed it. I touched her hand lightly in sympathy and she smiled.

“You’re lucky, you know. To have all of this. Your parents, your brother and sister.”

“I do know. They seem to really like ye, too.”

I realized that my family had left the room, and there was only Claire and me, our hands touching on our laps. I turned to look at her, and I could catch her scent—something like growing green things and jasmine. That strange spark from the coffee shop surfaced again, vibrating in the empty room, and I felt the urge to lean in and kiss her like I had almost done before. I was drowning in her amber eyes and they seemed to get closer and closer…

“Oi, it’s snowing!” William called out suddenly, and Claire and I sprang apart in shock.

The family all crowded around the windows in the living room, watching fat flakes fall in a white flurry.

“Well, the roads will be impassable,” Da said with a frown.

“There’s a snow storm headed this way, according to BBC,” Ian commented, scrolling on his mobile.

“Och, weel, ye’ll just have to spend the night here,” Mam said briskly. “Ye can sleep in yer old rooms.”

Ifrinn! Share a room with Claire? My parents would expect that? A hint of panic welled in my chest.

“Oh, Mrs. Fraser,” Claire began, glancing at me with worry in her eyes, “I can take the couch right here. If you have a few spare blankets—”

“It’s Ellen, dear, and please, dinna be silly! We’re all adults here. Ye can sleep wi’ Jamie in his own room.”

- - -

A/N: Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy out there! Thank you for your likes, reblogs, and comments - they mean the world. <3

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #jamie and claire #CCL9 #and there was only one bed #!!!!!!

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benevolentsam · 4 years

Text

Fine

TW for graphic descriptions of eating disorders

WC: 2000, also on my Ao3

This is how Sam found himself on his knees in a rest stop bathroom in bum fuck nowhere.

His fingers were halfway down his throat and he was retching. He hadn’t eaten anything in the last day and a half, only drinking coffee and energy drinks. Jess might come to him in his sleep again and he didn’t know if he had the heart to face her. Since seeing her on the street, white gown hanging in the wind, Sam couldn’t control his thoughts. Angry thoughts.

You killed her Sammy.

And of course Dean would tell him otherwise, tell him that he’s a good and kind and selfless but he’s not. His mind wouldn’t stop saying awful things to him, so he had to do it.

He was in control of his own body; he was vomiting bile and stomach acid and that was his choice.

“Hey, Sammy, what’s taking so long?” Dean’s rough hands were knocking against the splintering door. If he pushed any harder, it would fall off its hinges and Sam would be exposed in all his bulimic glory. He gave a weak grunt, so Dean knew he was still alive. “We set off in ten, so hurry it up.”

Sam blinked back the tears, swallowed the slime in his mouth and stood. The ground was moving underneath him, he was certain, or maybe it was just him. He spat out the remnants of vomit. There was a bottle of water in the car he could use to wash his mouth out with. Dean would never know.

He sank into passenger seat, taking slow sips from the lukewarm water. A quick side glance from Dean told him he wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was being.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Sam since he sat. “You’re looking a lil green.” Sam hummed, but Dean was looking for something else.

“I’m fine, dude, I promise,” Sam smiled shakily. “The whole thing with Bloody Mary freaked me a bit, but I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

The car pulled out of the rest stop parking lot, and Sam let the sound of Dean’s tape fill the air. It was better than Dean knowing.

They left another hunt, the Hookman, and Sam felt okay again.

It had been a week since he’d last made himself sick. There hadn’t been the familiar clawing in his throat, no acid sloshing in his stomach. He was managing with coffee, milk and sugar as well, and one meal a day. His stomach was still angry, growling, but Sam was managing.

They were in the car when the rumble happened. It was early in the morning, checked out of their motel at sunrise, and Sam was starving. The front cab shook as his stomach grumbled, and Dean just gave him a look. Maybe he was worried, Sam could understand. Sleep had been running away from him and Dean. Dean noticed things he’d never let onto.

“You hungry, little brother?”

And Sam wanted so desperately to say no. That this was the best he’d felt in weeks. That he’d finally managed to find a way to make himself feel whole, food and all.

“Yeah.”

“What for? I’ll stop wherever you want, dude.”

They pulled into a diner in the next town they drove through. It was bigger than what they were used to, but the waitress was nice – flirted with Dean – and they served oatmeal as well as grease and meats. So Sam ate oatmeal, strawberry jam, tried not to run to the bathroom and cry.

It wasn’t enough.

When they stopped off at a gas station, Sam offered to pay. He bought as much candy as he could fit in his pockets, Dean oblivious in the front seat. Chubby little Sammy, still with his baby fat and all. The chocolate melted in his pockets while he waited for Dean to look away. Sneaking bites between stop lights and bathroom breaks.

And when they stopped for the night, a no name motel off the highway, Sam was so full of sugar he felt sick. He threw up in shower and hoped to Hell Dean didn’t hear him.

There was something evil inside of him, Sam was sure.

That was the only reason that Sam had for his premunitions. On the way to Lawrence, Sam made Dean stop every few hours so he could make use of the bathrooms. The knees of his jeans were starting to turn dark with dirt every time he knelt over a toilet bowl.

Their first stop, Dean had insisted on them getting food. More than anything, he insisted on Sam getting food because he skipped dinner the night before. They caught the lunch rush at a drive through Burger King. Thank God, because when Sam said he didn’t want fries he could pass it off as not wanting to wait.

When they stopped for the fifth time, Dean started to get suspicious. Sam’s hands were starting to shake every time he got back in the car.

“You know I’m not mad at you,” Dean told him.

“Huh?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Dean repeated, “for having these visions or whatever. I wish you’d've told me but, you’re not bad for having them.”

Lying, Sam, he’s lying. Evil little monster you are.

“Okay.”

“So you can stop going to the bathroom to cry or whatever.”

“I’m not crying,” Sam said fast. Too fast. He coughed. “I’m not, I just feel sick, okay?”

“Not okay, you’ve been feelin’ sick a lot lately,” Dean said. He took one hand off the steering wheel and slapped it on Sam’s forehead. “Are you like sick sick? We’ll stop off at a drugstore and get you some meds.”

“Dean, I’m fine, it’s just the visions, they make me feel nauseous.”

Dean nodded, because he couldn’t dispute it. Lying would keep Dean off of him for a while.

There were dark spots in his vision. Splitting migraines and shaking skin, field of vision narrowing so fast it sent the world spinning.

It should have been a simple salt and burn.

And there Sam was, half collapsed to the floor, stomach lurching at the emptiness. Starvation and sickness went hand in hand, and Christ, Sam was sick.

Dean was still off with him, you hurt him, Sam, of course he hates you, and Sam was clinging to a grave to hold himself up. Simple salt and burn. Sam was pathetic, he knew because Dean could manage just fine, and Sam was staggering along. Body empty and bones weak.

He hadn’t eaten since the asylum. The words he said to his brother were still running around his head. If he ate, maybe he would forget but. He didn’t deserve to forget, or to eat, because he had to be the best brother he could be to Dean. Had to prove himself. Had to-

And when his legs gave up underneath him and when the ground became home, he thought that maybe this is what he deserved. Face down in the dirt, in pain. He deserved it.

Dean caught up with him, eventually, saw Sam collapsed and decided that the ghost did it. Sam was too exhausted to tell the truth. So Dean dragged Sam home, watered him, fed him chicken noodle soup, hoped his little brother would regrow.

Sam had to regrow, didn’t he?

When Dean nearly died in Nebraska, Sam nearly died with him.

Sam should have been there to save him. Sam should never have brought him to the shady faith healer. Sam should have been better. Better, Sam, you can always be better.

The food at the hospital was bland. Easy to wolf down without a second thought. While Dean was holed up in his hospital cot with scratchy sheets, Sam was in the corridor feeding dollar bills to a vending machine. He’d emptied his wallet before he was satisfied with how much junk food he had. Empty calories. There was just enough guilt gnawing at his stomach, that he left a few candy bars on Dean’s bed.

It’s a small condolence when you’re going to die.

Sam spent the next few days hunting a reaper and scraping his insides. Dean, barely healed, was doing everything Sam could and more. Sam was hunched over a porta-potty, fist in mouth. There was only so much he could bring up, slime and chocolate, before he started bringing up blood.

He spat it out and pushed his fingers further down.

And at the next motel they stopped at, there was bloody bile when he brushed his teeth.

Sam wasn’t like Max, he wasn’t. But they had something in common with their powers. Dean would never say anything, but Sam noticed he’d been looking at him differently. And why shouldn’t Dean be scared of his own little brother, the freak.

Sam was leaning on their motel toilet, too weak to carry himself.

Evil Sammy. There’s something so evil inside of you.

Maybe if he broke himself, pulled his insides out of him, he could get rid of it. And so he heaved again, hoping to find whatever black sludge was tainting him.

“Sammy?”

Dean was stood in front of him, blurry, three Deans, vision spinning. But Dean was there and he knew that Sam was evil and that he couldn’t get it all out and. He was babbling, Dean shushed him so gently.

“You got it all, Sammy, there’s nothing left inside ya.”

The grip on Sam’s arm was vice tight and he couldn’t move as Sam pulled him away from the toilet. They were sat on a bed, Sam’s vision coming back to him and he could see how angry Dean was.

“I’m sorry.”

And Dean didn’t say anything for a while, just blinked. If Sam didn’t know him, he might’ve thought Dean was hiding tears. But Winchesters didn’t cry, and that was just another reason Sam felt like he didn’t belong. Not like them, Dad doesn’t want you back-

“Sam, are you listening?” Dean asked, voice hoarse. Sam shook his head clear. “You’re all skin and bones, man. I thought it was Jess but it’s not, is it? Why can’t you just eat something?”

The guidance counsellor at Stanford had asked the same thing. His first-year dorm mate, Jess, that one really nice English teacher. Just eat something they’d ask with desperate eyes. And Sam, so broken, would pretend - eat something that he could purge later, and everybody would be happy again.

“Sammy, say something.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t,” Sam begged, but Dean looked at him like he answered wrong. “I don’t know how to eat normally anymore.”

“It’s not hard!” Dean was shouting and Sam was flinching and suddenly it was quiet again. “I’ll help you but, man, you gotta help me too. I don’t understand all this anorexia shit, I thought it was a girl thing. How do I fix it?”

“I’m not anorexic, and you can’t fix it. Sometimes I just don’t want to eat.”

“Why though? There's gotta be a reason.”

“I don’t know, it’s just nice to know if I don’t want to do something, I don’t have to do it. Everything’s just bad and this, this feels safe.”

“Listen to me, if anything’s keeping you safe, it’s me. Not your fucked-up brain that thinks eating is bad. Me. If you need control over whatever bad things are happening, I’ve got you, little brother, okay?”

And Sam didn’t want to talk about it anymore, because his stomach was growling and angry again. So, he said okay.

“Awesome, now we’re grabbing food. You can choose where, but you are eating. And I’ll be dammed if I catch you chucking up in a toilet again.”

It would be fine, Sam decided, if Dean knew. He was tired and fucking hungry and things would be fine. Dean was there to hold him if things span too far out that Sam had no control. Even if Dean didn’t understand, he was there and that’s all Sam really needed.

They took off in the impala to a diner downtown, so Sam could finally eat.

#Sam Winchester #Sam and Mental Health #sam winchester angst #Spn #Sam #Sam and trauma #TW ED #Eating disorders #My writing

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nukyster-blog · 4 years

Text

Changing course, chapter 1:

I started writing this story because I love Ivar, but disliked what he became. I loved him up to where Ragnar died, after that he became more of a villain than an anti-hero. For that, I wanted to give him a good hit of karma and figured making him a slave for Christians would be his worst nightmare. Before you continue reading, I’d like to address that the story will be graphic in the blood/guts/death/violence sense. I’m also aiming to get things as historically accurate as I can, but this is my hobby so if I make horrible mistakes, bear with me.

Chapter 1) Changing Course .-.-.

Ivar had always been plagued by pain. Since the day he left his mother’s womb and drew his first breath, life had been an endless road of physical suffering. As a nursling, those insufferable muscle aches and stiff joints made him cry relentlessly. Endlessly. It would drive his brother’s up the walls; send their father overseas. He’d weep in his mother’s arms, only silenced by the warmth of her breast; his pain absorbing strength which turned him hungry. He’d endured remarkably, survived the first crucial years and eventually managed to tolerate the pain as part of his life. He learnt to see the inevitable suffering not as foe, but as an unwelcome acquaintance that needed to be ignored in order to get through the day. That mindset, combined with his stubbornness and willpower made it possible for him to keep his chin up and get through the day. It did not lessen his self loathing and envy towards his brothers. Blessed with strong and healthy bodies, their mere existence were three thorns in Ivar’s eye; the youngest son of Ragnar Lothbrok. The black sheep, the boneless; deformed from the waist down.

His handicap planted a seed deep inside his chest and it spread all throughout his ribcage like poison ivy. It was blinding hate towards the world, to all who were capable to roam free and looked down upon him. Burdened by his physical limits his rage would at times rise high above his handicap, withstanding the pain to solemnly focus on destruction.

Not a single soul forgot Ivar’s first victim. How he’d embedded his axe into the skull of another child. He remembered vividly how his tiny fist had trembled around the handle, how his mother pulled him tightly against her chest and rushed him inside. Hush dyrbare, she’d soothed him, her voice soft and warm, it’s not your fault, don’t feel regret, you are the son of Ragnar Lofthbrok, it’s only right for people to fear you. Her response was the only validation he needed. Ivar took the reassuring words of his mother to heart and smothered all forms of empathy. He was entitled to lash out to others and from that very young age Ivar found a coping mechanism; hurting the less fortunate. It wasn’t physically torture per se; his mother’s smothering grip enabled him to actually torture their thralls and peasants. He might be a useless prince, but he was a prince. His royal blood burdened him to keep their name up to certain standards, so purposely torturing their slaves was inexcusable.

That did not mean Ivar would let any change go by to destroy the little belongings their thralls valued, pinch his nursemaid up to the point it left bruises, sink his teeth into ankles and throw a fit over the littlest of things. It was interesting to see that over time, he became quit infamous to the poor and powerless population of Kattegat. They saw him as a monster and that was much better than to be perceived as a crippled. So Ivar willingly took on the role of something dark and disgusting, he embraced being a monster.

His second act of bloodthirst happened during his pre pubescent years. The Seer had condemned a Christian to death by starvation.

Curiosity made him crawl to their city centre in the middle of the night where he first observed the haggard form of a man, fiercely praying to it’s false God.

It was an offense, openly performing such devotion for it’s Christian God. Although the slave never laid an eye on him, Ivar resented the man with every fiber of his being. It wasn’t the poor man per say, that set him off, the poor thing simply represented defiance; praying to it’s Christian God in the centre of their town. What he later claimed as hate for the Christian, had simply been an excuse to unleash his rage. The wrath towards the entire world had been sprouting all throughout his chest and some of the roots must have reached his brain. Because what he did with his bare hands was inhuman. He destroyed the Christian, with his bare hands, knuckles and teeth. Like a meek lamb the man, awaited his death and did not fight when he was being slaughtered. It had been Ivar’s first intentional murder and it was hypnotic, addictive. Without empathy, it was easy to perceive the human body as a gigantic canvas; with endless possibilities. Destruction and pain was the purest form of art, of life itself. By ending it. Ivar loved every moment, every hair, teeth, every fiber of it. The iron taste of warm blood, the warmth of it running down his hands, chin and chest. He welcomed it, all of it and bathed in it. All for glory, all for Odin. All to make the world forget the crippled boy that wept for his mother’s warmth and see him for what he wanted to be. A monster, because he failed to perceive himself as a man, as an equal to his brothers. No, his weak legs would never place him in the same line as his brother’s. So, a monster then, was the second best choice.

Ivar showed Kattegat another form of Boneless. At the first lights of dawn, the centre filled itself with exclamations of horrors and awe. The cobblestones were painted crimson and a flock of chickens were pecking at the intestines of the Christian. They lay spread throughout the centre, attracting flies and more bystanders. Ivar had just ripped out the tibia bones, leaving the muscles and skin lay wobbly and in a strange angle now that it’s inner skeleton had been removed. Ivar had been scraping the last bits of flesh from the bones with his fingernails when his mother appeared from the crowd and cried out in horror, falling down on her knees.

From that day, his brothers looked at him differently. With disgust, yes, because he mauled the body of the Christian like a starved wolf. Which wasn’t far from the truth, honestly, he’d been hungry. Hungry for blood. And validation.

From that day on, there was a hush whenever Ivar entered the Great hall, or any other place. Folks turned their head, acknowledged his presence. It was enough clarification for Ivar that being ruthless and malevolent paid off. Instead of being the handicapped son of Ragnar Lothbrok, he was the Christian slaughterer. Ivar the Boneless, now he was able to wear that byname with pride.

He’d carved pawns from the Christian’s bones and used them for his tafle game. During a game, he jokingly commented that he should’ve taken a knee bone too, it would have made an excellent king. Hvitserk chuckled uncomfortably, Sigurt’s eyes widened and Ubbe walked out. He’d loved it, pressing everyone’s buttons, making them uncomfortable and on edge. But eventually, his prepubescent act of monstrosity faded.

That was why he felt blessed when their father asked him to join his raid in Wessex. Him, only him; Ivar the Boneless, joining their father on a raid. The Gods never favoured him and instead of glory, Ivar found despair. Their father, Ragnar Lothbrok willingly walked into the belly of the beast, with his hands raised high, unarmed and broken. Like a loyal dog, he’d crawled after his father, knowing full heartily in the castle of Wessex lay nothing but doom. Still, he’d rather die by his father’s side then end up dead in a ditch, from hunger and thirst. His father broke his promise, or rather King Egbert’s son did. The safe passage back home, which had been arranged turned out to be a lie. When he was dragged away from his father’s cell, a blunt object collided to the back of his head and pain temporarily blinded him. Quite helplessly, he’d been listening to Prince Aethelwulf arranging his deposit. The pain in the back of his head was severe. Pain throbbed so violently around in his skull that he wondered why it didn’t just crack open.

For the first day, the nausea was overwhelming, he could not keep anything down. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he lost track of time and place. Curled up, cradling his damaged skull he wished for his mother. Any form of light ravaged his brain, pounding, throbbing, like a rotting tooth right between the eyes. It took his sanity away, his coordination. The few altercation he had with Saxxons made him whimper and plead for salvation. But no relief came to his pain. Without power to fight back, Ivar found himself tossed into a ship hold, as if he were a sack of potatoes; nothing more than damaged cargo. The circumstances below deck were horrendous; human cattle packed up and wedged together as tightly as the overseers could cramp in. Ivar, half aware of his surroundings and halfway sliding into a deep pool of endless nothingness, flinched when fingers reached for his oath ring. A fist formed itself around his wrist like a bear trap and with that, the last bits of his hereditary was ripped off of him. The leather protecting his fragile lower limbs, gone, taken too. His necklace, also gone. Even his shoes and tunic were worth taking. The overseers sniggered at the sight of Ivar’s weak attempt to intervene and shoved him aside, like a thing. Like a nothing.

Their journey overseas started although Ivar wasn’t aware, which in his case was a good thing. The onerous space was filled up to the max, with minimal resources. There was barely any light, no personal space. Water was scarce and so was food. Hygiene became a problem after the ship set it’s sails and some of the unlucky ones got seasick. It did not take long for the cramped out area to turn into a sewage; the stench and heat insufferable.

Ivar withstood the trials in silence, cradling his head in a fetal position. The pain in his head was all consuming. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed the pain to go away. Over and over, until in the end, the rest of the world became detached.

He could barely hear the people around him. Some prayed in foreign tongues, others whimpered. Somewhere afar, a young child cried.

Eventually, he drifted into sleep, waking up by a sudden toss aside. Cries were lost beneath the thunder that rolled overhead. Their cage of wood and sails was mercilessly thrown into a storm. The waves resolutely grew in size. Their vessel rode the mighty swelling sea like a child’s toy, no longer controlled by the hands of men.

The inhabitants below deck were violently thrown from the far end of the hold to the other. Bodies were being trampled, panic spread like the plague, festering into each and everyone’s head. Violence roamed among the poor souls in captivity in order to breathe.

At one point, Ivar found himself suffocating. Never had he wished more for land, to feel the sweet green grass of his home against the palms of his hands. The sea, it felt like his rage from within. Like punishment, ready to tear itself through the wooden construction to claim their souls. His mother’s prophecy would come true. He would drown and never enter Valhalla, because there was no honour in this poor death. To be dragged down to the bottom of the sea with countless slaves. There was nothing heroic nor royal about this death. This was not the end of a Prince, yet it seemed inevitable. And although he fought the feeling with every last bit of strength he could muster, Ivar was petrified. For the cold water to seize his body, for his lungs to fill up with water, to feel his life slowly ebb away.

In between the lightning, darkness prevailed. In between the darkness there were flashes of his fellow unfortunate souls, their faces overcome with terror.

‘Is it Odin’, Ivar thought, ‘fighting with the Christian God?’ Was this his fault, for it was him who’d coldly, bloodily mauled a defenseless Christian?

‘Please Odin, the All-father, do not allow a Viking prince to die such an unworthy death,’ Ivar pleaded, ‘if I survive this storm I promise you, I will make it worth your while.’

As sudden as the storm erupted, it disappeared. Along the dawn of morning, the ship anchored ashore.

Sunlight burned his eyes, blinding Ivar momentarily as the portholes were pulled open by the overseers. Orders were being shouted in unfamiliar tongues, for those who weren’t familiar with the language, there was the beating of a whip. The human cargo was expected to exit the ship, rather sooner than later.

Few bodies remained lifeless, passed away due to suffocation. One by one they were removed by the overseers; by simply being thrown off the ship. There was no honor, nor time to bury a slave.

When one of the overseers took hold of Ivar’s curled up body, he was surprised to find the slave to be alive. Surprise was rapidly replaced by irritation. Lashing his whip he struck Ivar across the face, making the poor young man hiss and hide his face.

The overseer signaled another member of his crew to lend out a helping hand. Both grabbed Ivar underneath his armpits and dragged him up his feet.

Both men grunted in annoyance when their slave immediately dropped back on the floor. One chuckled and nudged against Ivar’s deformed legs. The other one let out a long impatient sigh and kicked Ivar’s arms right from under him.

Ivar’s chin merely had time to hit the wooden floor, before a familiar boot planted itself onto Ivar’s spinal cord, taking his breath away.

The other overseer sank down on his knees, a knife playing between his fingers. Though rust had set on the handle and blade, it was strong and jagged, enough to cut a throat.

The tip of the knife pressing against Ivar’s Adam’s apple prevailed the pain in his head, the stiffness of his limbs and the heavy weight on top of him.

“I can crawl you croaked-nosed bastard,” Ivar snarled, his hands bracing to carry his upper body. The overseers must have found it amusing, seeing him squirm on the floor like a spider being squished. To exaggerate Ivar’s deride, the boot placed on his back moved up to in between his shoulder blades, pressing him down firmly.

The boiling rage inside of him, swept through his system, like an old favoured friend patting him on the back.

In effort to remain silent Ivar gritted his teeth, his knuckles turned white from clenching his fists too hard. His eyes squeezed closed as his face contorted and he placed his palms down onto the splintery floor. Arching his back, the pain rushed through his body like an igniting fire, but he would withstand it, even if it was the last thing he’d do. Inch by inch, he pressed himself up while another man’s weight pressed him down. With every inch, his demolished resilience sparked back up and inwardly he roared when the overseer took the boot off his back, allowing him to carry his crippled arse out of this hellhole.

Crawling like a worm from a bird, he climbed up the steps, one by one, while sweat trickled down his face and his right eye twitched from the explosive pain inside his damaged skull.

On the upper deck, he briefly sank against a barrel, allowing his lungs to fill up with the salty fresh breeze. Grey clouds roamed freely above – hindering the sun and its warmth.

Once Ivar caught his breath and expelled the headache to the far end of his brain, he risked a peek over the railing.

Dejection curled around his chest with the grip of an iron straight jacket. The ship had anchored at a small harbour, bedded near a murky dirt road. A long line of future slaves were staggering towards carts pulled by mules. One man’s sanity must have drowned during the storm, the poor bastard broke the line and made a run for it.

He did not get far, an armed horse rider strode after him, stabbing a spear through his neck. There was no escape, at least not now.

And so Ivar the Boneless, son of King Ragnar Lothbrok, found himself obeying the commands of Christians, lost in a faraway land while his father was at the mercy of a mendacious king. His mother presumed him to be dead, lifeless at the bottom of the sea. So there wouldn’t be a soul looking for him.

He came to Essex as a Prince, for fame and glory; yet resurrected as a nameless, crippled slave. Oh, the Gods played him the most lousy cards of all.

.-.-.

A/N: So this was chapter one of my Ivar fanfiction, I’m thrilled to hear what you think of it so far. As I’m still very much on Ivar’s side, I’d like to point out that yes he murdered a person in a gruesome way, but he basically did it for validation. Ok, yes that fact might make it even worse, but the way I see it is that Ivar desperately wants to become ‘something’, that he’d rather be a monster than be the person he is.

And now he’s not even a monster anymore, now he’s just a slave, that’s karma baby.

Xoxox Nukyster

#ivar fanfic #ivar the boneless #viking fanfic #ivar as a slave #karma

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sankt-brekker-the-demjin · 4 years

Text

You Know, For Research Purposes - Tom Holland x Reader College!AU

Summary: Working on their research project, group mates Miles, Ned, Haz, Betty, Tom and Y/N grew closer together over the course of a few months. Also, how does Cheetos and ice cream taste together? ;)))

Word Count: 2,433

A/N: (gif not mine.) lolz hi! Look what boredom did to me.. I made a fanfic... [first time doing this idk what to do so there's that moving on. Hope u like it! Geronimo.]

Tom ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands with force. He banged his head lightly on the table. He looked back at his Lit folder and saw he still had half of it to finish. He closed it and decided he would do it later. Managing the research project and studying for exams were taking a toll on his body and his sanity. He got up and went to the get some water.

It was halfway through midnight. His parents and brothers were asleep on their rooms. Miles, Haz, Y/N, Betty and Ned - his Qualitative Research applied subject classmates were sprawled all over the living room, laptops shoved to their faces, bond papers in hand. It was a typical students' night. The group had gotten together at Tom's house, and planned to stay overnight.

Miles and Y/N have History 1 together, while Betty and Haz had Calculus. But other than that, this was the only classes they all had together. Being in college is no easy feat, proper time management was necessary.

Ned had assigned each member to a specific part of the paper, and they've been at it since 8 pm. They all have to multitask and manage their time. Tom had almost finished his part of the paper, so he tried to do his Lit homework now.

Tom heard footsteps stomping on the floors. He turned and saw Y/N marching up to him with an annoyed look on her face and was about to speak but he cut her off.

"If you complain about the heat one more time, I'm give you a real reason to sweat," Tom set the cup of water with a smug look on his face.

She halted on her tracks and smacked the paper she brought on his arms. Tom chuckled, but didn't move.

"No, you idiot," Y/N rolled her eyes. "You might wanna fix that paper before you go off scaring people to death with that annoying face of yours."

His mouth twitched in amusement and took the stapled papers from her hands. "So you admit you've been looking at my face."

"You're so full of it," Y/N stepped around him and grabbed another glass, getting water from the tap.

Tom looked at the incorrect charts and tables he had made on the paper. He cursed under his breath. He had been working on it in the wee hours of last night. Spontaneous typing, no pit stops on spelling errors and everything else, just got it done.

"The original file is on my computer upstairs," he groaned. "I'll have to re-do this again."

"You do that," she clicked her tongue. "And I'll just chill here by your fridge for a moment."

Y/N opened the fridge and took the remaining slice of cake laid on a plate.

"That's mine -" Tom protested.

"Not anymore." Y/N ate the cake.

He scowled and moved to close the door of the fridge. Y/N leaned her back on the door. There they were, a few inches away from each other. Tom stood seething; Y/N chewed the cake with an amused expression. She wiped the frosting on her lower lip with her tongue reflexively. Before he realized it his eyes wandered to her lips.

Tom inched his face closer, eyes darting over to her eyes and lips. "If you don't stop biting your lips ..."

"What are you gonna do?"

Tom remained quiet but clenched his jaw.

Y/N chuckled, "You're all talk and no action."

Heavy footsteps echoed on the hallway to the kitchen, gaining both their attention away from each other. Tom whipped his head to the of the voice and shot him a look.

"I told you 7000 times, a chicken is a bird -" Haz bursted into the room with a phone clutched to his ears, pausing when he caught sight of Tom and Y/N. "D'you have a charger I could borrow?" Haz covered his phone with his hands.

"I have one in my backpack." Y/N said.

Haz nodded, talking again to his sister on the phone about chickens. He walked back to the living room, waiting for Y/N to follow him.

Y/N stopped by the table where Tom had been working on, and pointed at his paper. "I can't finish my part if you can't finish yours." Seeing as his paper's original file was on his computer upstairs, she grabbed his laptop without waiting for him to reply. "Imma borrow this ... Thanks."

She went back to the living room, laptop on hand.

"And don't look at my browser history!" She heard Tom call back from the kitchen.

"Wouldn't dare," she countered in a mocking tone.

As the weeks passed, they started collecting data on the field. They went through one institution to another, gathering reports and statistics, and validating it with professionals. Then after that it was all a blur. They submitted the paper to Mrs. Luxley and was graded, only given back to them for minor revisions.

The gang decided to spend that same night they passed the assignment on Tom's house again, just like they did when they were still making the paper. Tom's parents had gotten used to them staying over, and Sam always tried to flirt with Betty when he was around.

Ned and Haz raced to Tom's bedroom. Ned threw himself on the bed first. "God, I've never felt the bed being this good," he sighed and melted with pleasure. All those sleepless nights they've had finally paid off.

Haz hit him with a pillow. "Move over!"

Y/N laid on the couch, feet perched on top of Tom's lap, getting comfortable. Betty and Miles slept on the carpets of Tom's living room. They just sort of crawled to the floor in delight and just stayed there, too tired to move anywhere else. Haz came back to the living room, holding a bottle of champagne on his hands from the Hollands' cupboards.

He cheered. "Let's celebrate!"

But they celebrated the victory by sleeping out for an entire day spread all over the Hollands' house.

Even though their project was finished, the lot still remained close with each other. They spent times at Miles' favourite diner by the corner of the campus during their collective free time.

And last week, Haz's sister gave birth to a pretty baby girl. Haz invited them over and they all came to join the little house party his sister threw. The group counted on this as the official celebration of their hard work.

It was a Thursday afternoon. Family and friends chatted and caught up with each other in the Osterfield's backyard. Dream by Fleetwood Mac could be heard playing on the living room speakers.

Tom was talking with his dad. Betty and Ned sat at the garden chairs talking to one of Haz's brothers. Those two really were people persons. Miles and Y/N laughed at a hilarious history joke their professor rambled about. Tom tried to pay them no mind, though his glance drifted to them every now and then. His dad eventually noticed the shift in his mood, but decided to ignore it because his mum came to them, carrying Haz's niece. Tom accepted the baby to his arms while his mum and dad went to the kitchen.

Lily, the smol bean's eyes crinkled with joy and giggled. Her chubby little hands reached out to him. Tom stuck his tongue out affectionately her. He turned his head to the low whistle he heard.

"Wow... Daddy," Y/N smirked.

That day was all fun and games, but by the end it they still had school stuff to catch up on. A few weeks later, they decided to cram in the library.

Nothing feels better than suffering with acads together friends.

The group sat in a table by the corner, immersed in their own world. Tom went to the bookshelves to look for an autobiography book his proffesor suggested. Ned was compiling essays on his laptop. Miles was reading a book by Neil Gaiman. Haz and Betty were doing their Calculus homework.

Y/N's chin rested on her hands, staring blankly at her laptop screen. A straight line blinked repeatedly on the ends of the only sentence she typed.

What the fuck |

She just needed a head start on this critique paper. Nothing too heavy, just one paragraph to kick it all into place. That's where it's always hard. The first line. So now she's stuck with cursing. Before Y/N realize it, she's slumped her face down to the wooden table with a light bang. The group lifted their eyes to her, asking if she was alright. She shoved her thumbs up above her head, and they went back to what they what they were doing.

Haz who sat on her right, patted her back. "Same here, sis," he fought back a yawn.

Her eyes felt heavy. Then she groggily looked up to the little 'thunk' dropped on the table.

"Oh, great you're alive," she muttered before setting her face back on the table again.

Tom pulled his chair beside her. "Miss me already? I was barely gone for a few minutes."

"I'm so blessed to be with your presence," she stated in a monotonous voice.

Tom snorted. "Your professor is really gonna give you an A+ with those colorful words. 'What the fuck,' short but sweet."

She looked up and stuck her tongue out. Seeing his face has started to get old ... she tried convincing herself that, though.

They did their business. Ever so often, Y/N and Tom's elbows would brush against each other. Y/N had her earphones on, listening to her shuffled playlist on Spotify. Tom heard muffled tunes, and turned his head closer.

"What are you listening to?" He whispered; his breath fanned the side of her neck that sent chills up her spine.

She didn't look at him and instead continued to write key points to make on her essay. She spoke, her voice low. "This one's called Uncomfortable by Wallows."

He grinned and leaned even closer. "Can I listen?"

From across the table, Ned took 10 bucks from his wallet and shoved it on Betty’s hand. She pumped her fist in a silent triumph.

Y/N shifted her head to look at him, only to find his cute, devilishly handsome face inches away from hers. If she would tilt her head a little... their lips would touch. They locked eyes for a second, before she plucked one earphone and gave it to him.

He cocked his head, liking the song. Minutes passed. The only noises were from turning book pages, soft patter of keys on the laptops, and bits of hushed voices encompassed the area.

An hour later, Y/N felt herself getting hungry and went out to buy food, Betty tagging along. They ate outside since the library was strict on the 'NO eating policy.' Not even other drinks are allowed, only water. The others stayed behind. Then Betty came back to her seat.

"Where's Y/N?"

Betty sat on her chair, "She's outside, still eating."

Tom nodded and felt himself getting hungry, too. He opened his backpack and took a bag of Cheetos he stashed. He stood and said to them he was gonna eat outside. He went out, and spotted her leaning on a pillar, scooping ice cream out of a cup.

"I'm starving," he stood beside her.

"We've been there for ages," she scooped another spoonful of mint chocolate ice cream she got from the shop across the street.

Tom munched on his Cheetos. He turned to look at her happily savoring her ice cream. He moved for Y/N's ice cream cup but she swerved it out of his reach.

"Get your own," she swatted his arms away.

A thought crossed his mind. It reminded him of the last time they did this at his kitchen, over a slice of cake. And how they've been so close...

For the past few months, he's gotten a strange feeling whenever Y/N was around. Like there's an electric buzz in him, his heart would warm up at the sight of her. He couldn't stay away from her, and he wants to know her better, and feel her and just be there right beside her. He couldn't explain it.

Tom grinned at the memory, chucking a piece of Cheetos on his mouth. He stepped forward. "D'you wanna know how Cheetos and mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like together?" he leaned closer to her face; his breath hot against her skin. His gaze shifted down to her parted lips. "You know, for research purposes..."

"Hmm?" She held her eyes up on his own gleaming brown ones. "Probably good. Anything's good with mint chocolate ice cream."

"Yeah?" His hands reached out to move the strands of her hair away from her face. "Wanna test it out?"

She shrugged.

Tom found his hand on the back of her neck and slammed his lips to hers. Y/N's eyes fluttered shut. He tasted full of that cheesy goodness. And her, a heavenly taste of vanilla and the aroma of mint. Her arm stretched out to keep the ice cream cup away. She parted from his lips to set the cup down onto the pillar. He wrapped his arms to her waist, pulling her flush against him. With her now empty hands, she ran her fingers on his soft brown curls. She tugged at the strands, eliciting a low guttural sound from him muffled by her mouth on his.

He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead on hers, breathless. "We should get back inside to do ... stuff."

"No no. Don't care." She pulled the back of his neck and closed their distance again. He chuckled.

Y/N loved the way their mouths danced to a rhythm, flavors mixing together from the forgotten taste-testing session, now a different kind of session.

A hand still on her waist, the other cupped her cheeks and tilted her chin to give him more access. She wrapped both her arms around his neck, welcoming warm the feelings burning inside her.

They parted, but still inches away from each other. Y/N bit his lower lip. Tom hissed in surprise but she kissed it better.

"So ... what do you think?" He murmured in a low voice.

"Mmm, I like it." Cheetos and ice cream forgotten.

"Yeah?" He grinned at her. "Me too."

Seconds lapsed. Neither of them moved, still stuck in a more romantic version of a staring contest.

"I like you." Tom's heartbeat raced.

She grinned back at him. "I like you, too. Like 3000. I like you that much."

Roll the end credits.

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