#send positive vibes i kind of want to bury myself into the ground

[madame-fear]

did you catch his attention yet??? give updatessss

honestly idk bc now im too afraid of opening Instagram, and embarrassed lakdkdlfkfflfkffkf but i will let you all know :'')

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 26

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, mention of weapons and gunshots 

A/N:  will i ever write a chapter without a musical reference? no as i literally cannot help myself.

NEXT CHAPTER

The night was like a warm blanket tonight yet the world somehow seemed wider, brighter as she laid against his chest, hearing his heart softly beating against his ribcage. The sound itself sent her in a spiral of her own mind, the sound itself proved he was alive, he was real and he was there. Laying down next to him was just the right thing to do despite it being at the same time the wrongest of all wrong things. Sure, this was the man Gwen had been promised to ever since she was born but at the same time whenever she was next to him he seemed like a completely different person than the mythical mob boss her mind had fabricated over the years. When she was next to him he was her lover and at the end of the day that was what overwhelmed her overall perception. 

     - What are you thinking about? - Sebastian slightly raised his head with precaution as to not disturb her. - You’re very quiet.  

     - Just basking in the feeling. - she looked up to him without really moving the rest of her body, hand remaining in its imaginary circle drawing. - We should probably return to doing what we were doing.

     - I think there’s more boxes in the garage. - he sat up, arms wrapped around her figure so she didn’t fall off his lap and landed on the ground. If it was up to him, he would remain in that position for another hour with his nose buried in her hair smelling the scent of her fragrance mixed with her shampoo. - Maybe there’s something there. 

    - You don’t need to do this for me. - she pushed her hair to the side, cocking her head slightly as her hand searched the ground for her jumper which was colder than she would like due to the winter weather just outside. - I know you probably have your own business to take care of. 

    - I’m a good multitasker, my angel. - he kissed her naked shoulder before she slide her jumper on, shivering at the contact of her warm skin with the cold fabric. Y/N gave him a playful smile followed by a roll of the eyes before getting up, picking up his garments in the process and throwing them at him. 

Smiling like a fool who just won the lottery, and in a certain way he sort of had, he got dressed up in the wrinkled clothes and wrapped his arm around her natural waist before leading her out of his office and into the life to the garage. If there was a room in the house that was always, if not ever since its construction, in chaos, it was the garage. Whatever he didn’t want in his home anymore or anything for which he didn’t have space, he would send it down to the garage which meant the room was filled to the brim with boxes and boxes along with some record books and more contracts, most likely belonging to his father as Sebastian prided himself in keeping an electronic copy of all his contracts, just in case. Y/N couldn’t help herself but sneeze at the amount of dust that had gathered over the years as she grabbed one of the boxes. Surely he had enough money to hire someone to clean it, however it seemed to always escape his mind.

Sebastian took the other side of the box created walls while Y/N started to go through the first box which weirdly was filled with clothes, children’s clothes. She cocked an eyebrow in confusion, but continued to go through the box’s contents, carefully putting the clothing off the box by her side until she reached a silver picture frame of a woman holding a baby whose gaze was somewhere else. She smiled at the warm nature of the photo which looked to have been snapped unknowingly. Her fingers traced the contours of the photo as she wondered who the two individuals were until she felt Sebastian’s hand on her shoulder. 

   - That’s my mother. - he pointed at the woman in the photo. - And that’s me. 

   - Why is this photo here? - she asked, turning her head to stare at him. Y/N knew Sebastian clearly had a soft spot for his mother as he spoke of her like any kid spoke of their parents, something that didn’t seem to occur whenever he mentioned his father whose relationship seemed to be more apprentice-master than father and son. 

   - In all honesty, I didn’t even remember it was down here. My father got rid of most stuff related to my mother after the divorce. - his hand left her shoulder as he took a seat next to her. 

   - You’ve never spoke to me about your mother. At least not a lot. - it was in her nature to be curious, she found the most she knew about people, the best she could connect and help them out. Sebastian normally would’ve taken curiosity at harsh value but whenever she asked him something, he couldn’t help but feel wrapped around her kind nature. 

   - Well, they got divorced when I was 6 or 7. Bad divorce, my mother didn’t have enough money to get a legal team so my father got everything, including me. One visit a year ... she ended up dying when I was 14.

   - I’m so sorry, Seb. - she wrapped her arms around him, kissing his temple, trying to console him the best way she could. Sebastian however had closed that wound a long time ago and instead looked inside the box she was looking at, recognising most of the items as childhood belongings. With a curious look in her eyes, his hand rummaged through the box’s belongings taking an old teared by time stuffed bunny which gained Y/N’s attention. - What’s that?

   - Oreo. - he said nonchalantly. 

   - Oreo? - she giggled. - It has a name? You don’t mean to tell me that the mob boss had a stuffed animal named Oreo. 

   - Mob bosses aren’t born mob bosses. - he put the stuffed animal back in the box. - I thought one of my kids might want it someday but if they’re anything like Gwen, I think they won’t want something this old.

   - Right. - she swallowed her worries which kept telling her that she would never be the one to bore him a child. Mr. Williams words rang inside her mind like terrifying echoes. Mistress. Mistresses don’t get happy endings. - Well, you have good taste, Oreo is a great name. 

   - Good taste ... - his eyes seemed to rewind to a past time, leaving Y/N to look at him weirdly as he jumped on his feet to walk to a little shelf filled with books which turned to be photo albums. Looking through several pages in second-like intervals, he finally stopped in the middle of the album, a smile on his face as his memories proved right. Quickly moving towards the young handmaiden, placing the book in her lap. Her eyes glued to the photo which was of a round table filled with mostly men and little to no women, however, a specific woman stood out in the middle of everyone, a kind smile contrasting with the tight lipped smirks of the rest of the crowd. Around her neck a golden necklace just like the one which was wrapped around the young handmaiden’s neck. - I knew I remembered the name Robin. 

   - What happened to her? - Sebastian sadly couldn’t answer this question as he was rather young and most of the times forbidden to even be close to any of his father’s parties or dinners. Y/N flipped through the pages noticing she showed up in a few more pictures before completely disappearing. - She seems to stop appearing. 

   - Whoever she was, she was no mere worker. My father had a rather elitist taste when it came to who got to attend his dinners and parties. - the theory that her parents didn’t want her screamed at her again. At that point, it just sounded like the most plausible theory. Noticing this shift his attitude, Sebastian closed the photo album, putting it away from her. - You don’t need to keep going, angel. You turned out just fine without them. 

   - I know. - she forced a smile, trying to see if she could fool Sebastian but he was much too familiar with her characteristics to be easily fooled. Sighing, Sebastian took her hands in his, slowly yet surely getting her on her feet.

   - I think that’s enough detective work for today. - he leaned down, pecking her lips two times, a smile on his face. Y/N nodded, thinking it would be best if she didn’t dig in the past and together they returned to the lift which took them back to the penthouse. The lift doors slowly open and Y/N noticed her suitcase standing slightly to the side of the lift. She didn’t think much of it knowing Sebastian to be a man who had man for everything so he had probably gotten someone to grab it earlier than mentioned. Even with that, she felt a somber heavy vibe in the air as she located her suitcase, something that seemed to push her down, like a weight. - Your suitcase is here.

   - Oh ... I guess I should just unpack. - his words took her from the glued, almost hypnotic glare at her own bag. Sebastian shrugged, letting her do her own thing, only offering his help to help her move the suitcase into her bedroom to which she declined. 

Her intuition was telling her to be careful and as such, she closed the door behind her immediately opening her suitcase. There was nothing odd about it, mostly filled with the clothes she had brought to the Forrest along with other objects and personal belongings. Still there was a  heavy weight which seemed to grow heavier and heavier as she folded her clothes and put them back in her wardrobe which hit a climax as she noticed a piece of white like fabric right at the bottom of her suitcase. She took a step back however her hand leaned forward, her fingers lightly tracing the fabric as if the fabric itself were a bomb. 

The fabric itself didn’t feel worn out and as she raised it into the air so she could inspect it better. It was an old fabric which at his prime was white but had started to grow slightly yellowish with the passage of time, the material of cashmere itself however still had the same comfort of a new one, almost as if it had never been worn. However, the most notable feature of the blanket was the cursive embroidery spelling Ella next to the silhouette of a robin. Without much thought to it, she brought the blanket up to her nose, inhaling what was reminiscent of fresh rosemaries on a hot summer day spent in a garden. Then out of the sudden, just as her nose sensed the scent of the blanket, a loud gunshot sound seemed to reverberate from the back of her skull to the front. She let out a scared scream, dropping the blanket on the floor as if the fabric was burning her hands. Her eyes scanned the room, looking paranoiacally for where the gunshot could’ve come for but there was nothing in her bedroom, there was no one in her bedroom. That was until Sebastian broke into her bedroom, black revolver set in the air to which she immediately put her hands up, noticing there were few tears rolling down her cheeks and meeting at her chin. Sebastian lowered his gun, after inspecting her bedroom for any threats.

   - I heard a gunshot. - her breathe came rather harshly through her mouth, almost as if she had been holding in her breathe. 

   - There was no gunshot, angel. - his hands cupped her face, kissing the top of her forehead as she leaned into his embrace. - Your mind’s playing tricks on you. 

   - No, I heard it. - she heard it, she could still hear it ringing in her ears like a never ending sound. Sebastian’s lips tightened as he embraced her tighter, letting go of his revolver on top of her bed. - I heard it. 

  - I know, angel. I know. - he spoke very lowly, whisper-like even. - You’re tired, you need some rest.

  - I swear I heard it. - she looked around, her eyes convincing her that there was no real danger but her mind telling her to keep her guard up, specially when the blanket on the ground caught her attention once more like a cursed amulet. Like a child, she hid from it on Sebastian’s shoulders, the contrasting cedar wood scent almost erasing the soft and fresh rosemary from her mind. She had heard it, she knew she had heard it. - Maybe you’re right, I just might be tired. 

  - C’mon, I can make you a cheese toastie. - he rubbed her arm soothingly, a inviting smile on his reddish pink lips which just always looked so inviting. - It’s gonna be alright, angel. 

  -  Well, I’m surprised you can use a sandwich maker. - Y/N pushed the worries to the back of the brain, that part you only see when you’re trying to fall asleep or too lost in your own mind to visit those darkest parts which you hope disappear with time. 

   - I’m not completely incompetent in the kitchen. - she looked up at him, a seemingly calm smile masking all her worries. - I never set it on fire.

   - What an amazing astonishment. - she giggled, a hand coming to stand in front of her lips. 

   - C’mon angel, let’s get some food in you.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee​ @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater​ @nikkipea​ @madisonpillstrom​ @cevans98​ @thelostallycat​ @sideeffectsofyou​ @anxiousdreamersworld​ @captainchrisstan​ @lookiamtrying​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ @stuffforreferences @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen@nsfwsebbie @strangerliaa @emzd34

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Betrayal

Title: Betrayal (last part of the ‘Reckless’ series!!) Summary: Dean is unconscious, and you and Sam are defenceless against an unexpected foe. You’re not sure how you’ll make it out of this one. Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader Warnings: some swearing, violence, mentions of blood Word Count: 2,000ish

note; here we are, finally at the end ! thank you all so much for all the love and support you’ve shown this series, i hope this is a satisfying ending !! (and yes i know that gif is michael and its not even the bunker but its the vibe im going for so just like pretend pls). anyway, hope you enjoy!!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

“Darren?”

Your Uber driver?

You set your jaw - you should’ve known something was up with him. What kind of person drives a bleeding, dirty stranger to a place ten hours away in the godforsaken hours of the morning?

Darren smirked, sauntering forward as he twirled his gun in his hands before tossing it uselessly aside. He chuckled.

“The one and only, baby,” he said with a wide grin.

“What- what are you doing here? I gave you five stars-”

Darren scoffed. “And that would mean a lot to me if I was actually an Uber driver. I can’t believe you bought it. You really thought a total stranger would just drop everything and drive you ten hours away? Sweets, that tiny shithole of a town doesn’t even have Uber,” he cackled.

“Then how-”

“Magic,” he hissed. “You thought my sister was working alone? Pfft, she was dumb as a doornail. No, I was behind those well-deserved killings,” he informed you. “She was just my scapegoat. Perfect plan, wasn’t it? I draw you to town with a string of unexplained deaths, all of whom happen to be enemies of hers, of course. You go after her. She takes the brunt of your force, so I don’t have the unpleasant task of killing her. She sends you through the escape portal she’d intended for herself in a last ditch effort to survive - now that, that was the only bit left up to chance,” he said, tutting to himself before continuing.

“But I was there, lurking in the shadows, ready to push you in myself if she didn’t. Sheesh, I’d almost thought you caught me when you heard me behind you. Thank god I’d had the sense to put on a cloaking charm. Not to worry - all went according to plan.”

You set your jaw. “So, what? You wanted me to kill your sister and then be sent to the future? That makes literally no sense.”

He rolled his eyes. “I followed you through the portal, kept you unconscious until I’d had time to find a car, and used my magic to… alter the Uber app on your phone. It’s not like there were any taxis at that time of night, and the state you were in? No reasonable hitchhiker would have picked you up. I was your only option.

“Then, you finally call on me to drive you home.” He laughed. “Oh, I deserve an Oscar for keeping a straight face! A custody battle over a cat? How dumb do you have to be to believe that?” he scoffed. “After I dropped you off, it was all too easy to follow you here. Then there was the pesky task of getting through the defences on this nice-here bunker. That took me a beat, but I’m powerful, and these defences are old. It wasn’t too hard,” he sneered.

“I don’t get it - you just wanted to get to the bunker? Why bother sending me to the future?”

“Well, if I just followed you, the three of you would still be armed with witch-killing bullets, wouldn’t you?” he snapped. He nodded to the guns, abandoned on the floor. “Now, forgive me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty certain the bullets in those things aren’t the kind that could kill me,” he smirked. You gritted your teeth, pissed to admit that he was right. Facing a witch tonight had been the last thing you were expecting.

“Fine. You got us - you’re in the bunker, we’re defenceless. What do you want?” Sam demanded, and you jumped, almost forgetting that he was standing beside you.

“What do I want? The Book of the Damned, of course! I’ve travelled in the same circles as the witch Rowena for some time - she’s told us the stories, the raw power that book contains. I want it. And I know you have it,” he said. “Give it to me, and we can forget this ever happened.”

Sam scoffed. “You think we’re just going to give it to you?”

Darren rolled his eyes. “Well, I don’t see that you have much choice,” he snarled at Sam, before glancing to Dean’s unconscious body. “Not if you want your brother to live.”

Sam glanced at you, and then to the guns a few feet away, and gave a tiny nod towards Darren. You blinked to affirm your understanding - keep him talking.

“Let me get this straight. You killed your sister so… what, you wouldn’t have to share the book with her?” you asked, and Darren nodded coolly. “And that whole ride… nothing you said was true? The kids in college, your divorce, that dick Billy from accounting, none of it?”

Darren groaned. “Well, the stuff about Billy was true,” he muttered. “He’ll be one of the first people I get rid of when I finally have that damned Book!”

You spared a glance at Sam, who was slowly but steadily inching towards the guns. Behind Darren, you saw Dean beginning to stir. Your adversary’s attention began to waver, and you quickly brought it back to you.

“So why did you blow open the door, anyway?” you asked loudly, and Darren’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“I left the keys in your car.”

Darren’s expression fell flat. “You- the keys? Were in my car? You mean I spent two hours disabling those sigils for nothing?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. Well, you’ve had a pretty roundabout way of getting here, anyways, so I guess it this works better with the drama of it all. I’m not totally sure all this was necessary, but kudos to you, man. It’s not often we find someone who actually tries to plan anything out this well,” you interjected. Darren smirked.

“Well, what can I say, I’m-”

“Dead,” Dean hissed from behind him, slamming a broken chair leg onto his head. Darren buckled beneath the heavy wood. “C’mon, that won’t keep him down for long - we need witch killing bullets, asap,” Dean instructed, wincing as he pressed his fingers to his temple. It was sticky with blood - Darren must’ve knocked him out with the butt of his gun.

You and Sam jumped into action - Sam collected all three guns from the floor, and the three of you flew down the hall and into the armoury. You were a little slower than the brothers, nursing a limp from the cluster of splinters buried into your foot. When you got inside, the boys were fumbling through drawers until one of them finally found your stock of witch killing bullets.

An angry shout echoed from the library, followed by the sound of pounding footsteps bouncing off the corridor walls. The three of you divvied up the bullets, and you’d just emptied your gun and began to reload it when the armoury doors were slammed open.

If you’d thought you’d seen Darren angry before, he was positively furious now. A wave of his hands had you and Sam flying into the walls on opposite sides of the room as he stalked towards Dean, who was hurriedly loading his gun. Another wave of Darren’s hand sent the gun flying into the corner.

“You little motherfucker,” he hissed, hand shooting forward, and suddenly Dean was thrown into the wall and clutching at his constricted airways. Darren pressed his hand to the back of his head, where a lump was visibly forming and his hair was matted with blood.

“How dare you!” he yelled. Still disoriented from your fall, you blinked a few times, forcing yourself to focus. Your ribs were protesting - definitely bruised, probably fractured - and the bleeding in your wounded shoulder had started up again. Breathing through the pain, you caught sight of your gun on the ground, only a few paces away, one bullet loaded. Any other bullets had rolled out of sight, but they offered no significance to you now - one was all you needed.

Darren was still hurling insults at Dean as you dragged yourself across the floor, snapping the gun into working order. You spared a glance at your boyfriend, who was starting to turn purple as he weakly clawed at his throat. Sam was knocked unconscious across the room. You were the last line of defence.

You took aim, breathing slowly to steady your shaking hands. Darren raised his hand, about to deliver the final blow. Your chest constricted in panic.

“Hey, dick!” you shouted, and Darren spun around just as you grunted and squeezed the trigger.

The gun kicked back against your body, the force rocking your already injured shoulder, and you cried out in pain. Darren’s eyes widened in shock, mouth forming an ‘o’ as he reached out a hand in a futile effort to protect himself. But before he could summon an ounce of magic, the bullet sailed home, burying itself in his chest.

He collapsed into a bloody heap; pained, choked cries fled his lips before he finally stilled, mouth permanently open in surprise. Dean collapsed to the floor, coughing, cursing and gasping for air, while Sam slowly stirred in the corner. You ran the back of your hand over your face, wiping away the sweat and the tears of pain you hadn’t even realised you’d shed. You cautiously walked forward, kicking Darren in the side of the face. His head lolled to the side, eyes glassy and staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

You breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing to your knees as the adrenaline slowly seeped from your system. You pressed your hand to your shoulder, ignoring the agony in your ribs as you staunched the flow of blood. Dean’s eyes shot to you, and he quickly stumbled over.

“Hey, hey- stay with me, okay?” he instructed, and you nodded, finding the energy for a breathless smile.

“I’m fine,” you told him. “Couple of stitches and I’ll be good as new.”

Dean examined your shoulder first, before nodding as he realised you were right. He got to his feet, hauling you up with him as he cast a glance at Sam, who was rubbing his head as he clambered upright.

“You okay, Sammy?”

“Yeah… yeah, fine,” he groaned. Dean nodded, turning his attention back to you as he helped you limp down the glowing red hall to the infirmary.

Dean’s hands were shaking as he tore through the cabinets, finding bandages, disinfectant, a needle, thread. You reached out and pressed your hand over his, and when his eyes met yours, he finally began to calm down.

“Dean. I’m fine,” you told him. Slowly, as though hesitant to believe it, he nodded.

“You’re fine,” he breathed, repeating it to himself a few times until it finally seemed to sink in. When he looked up again, he was somewhat back to his old self. “So that was your Uber driver, huh? Think you can get a refund?”

You laughed, wincing as Dean cleaned your wound and stitched you up. 

“Well, I definitely regret giving him five stars, at any rate,” you got out through gritted teeth. Dean chuckled as he nodded, cutting the thread and pressing a plaster over the wound, before securing the area with a bandage. 

After a few moments, the power flickered back on, filling the room with a bright fluorescent light that had you and Dean both blinking in surprise. Sam must’ve fixed the outage - about time. The air reeked of disinfectant and your shoulder stung like a bitch, but even amongst the pain, Dean’s eyes met yours and you felt yourself melting under his gentle, loving gaze.

“There,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You smiled.

“Thanks,” you murmured, pausing a beat and enjoying your small pocket of intimacy before breaking the comfortable silence. “So… I saved you.” Your voice took on a teasing lilt. “Think I can handle myself on a hunt now? Or am I still too ‘reckless’?”

Dean chuckled in spite of himself.

“You’re definitely too reckless,” he said. “But maybe… maybe that’s not always a bad thing. Honestly, it��s kinda one of the things I love about you.”

“Yeah?” You grinned, and despite his best intentions, Dean found himself returning it.

“Yeah.”

fin. __________

Reckless tags: @tmiships4life @justagirlinafandomworld @galileeooh @a-fan-fighting-for-equality @sasbb23 @avengersgirllorianna @thewaywarddaughterblog @2dreamcatcher8 @xlplx @spaghettiwoes @gay-ghost-fights @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car @mrspeacem1nusone @littleraton @transparentparadiseglitterzombie

Dean tags: @polina-93

Forever tags: @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor @stealingheartsswift13 @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe @81mysteriouslyme @castieliswatchingoverme

If you’d like to be added to any of my tag lists, shoot me a message!

[jedimordsith]

Dancer

Have a random (unedited, unrefined) excerpt from a story I started but am never going to finish. (Set during the Rebellion.)

Han tugged at his collar and grimaced. “I don't know how Lando wears this stuff.”

Luke shot a look at the Corellian, and unconsciously smoothed his own borrowed outfit. Neither of them had owned anything remotely appropriate for this mission and, shaking his head in consternation, Calrissian had generously allowed them to raid his closet. Personally, Luke thought they both looked as ridiculous as they felt in the fine, colorful silks and capes, but Leia and Lando had insisted the ensembles were perfect for two wealthy businessmen on a professional trip to Thracla.

Chewie and Artoo remained with the Falcon at the spaceport, and Luke almost wished he were with them instead of casually approaching the door of the lush private club where they'd been instructed to meet their contact. He reminded himself to keep a good attitude. Leia had been incredibly miffed at not being able to go, and relented only when he'd promised to relay everything back to her in exquisite detail when they got back.

Uncomfortable in their borrowed finery or not, both men slipped into character easily as they closed the final distance and stepped into the plush lobby. Decorated in rich reds and royal blues, with a scattering of velvet couches and deep leather chairs, the club dripped sophistication. Luke felt instantly out of his depth; forcibly suppressing the feeling, he pasted a look of polite mild interest on his face and followed Han to the concierge counter.

The impeccably dressed twilek behind the counter greeted them in cool, polite tones.

“Good evening, Gentlebeings,” he inclined his head. “Is this your first time with us?”

Han leaned an elbow on the counter, halfway between bored and arrogant. “Yes, a colleague recommended you and made us a reservation.”

The prissy accent sounded almost funny coming from the smuggler, but the twilek didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

“Of course, Sir. Under what name?”

“Captain Vitiam,” Han gave the name their contact had instructed. Luke felt his friend's tension as the concierge typed it into his data pad. They both gave mental sighs of relief when the man smiled, clearly quite pleased with what he found.

“Ah, yes, Captain.” The man's already polite demeanor had increased in respect several notches. “Right this way, please.”

They followed as he led them down a long corridor, making several turns. Deep in the building, he stopped in front of an elaborate door of real paneled wood. Entering a code into the keypad beside the door, he waited until it clicked, then pulled it open for them.

“You'll find everything you need inside,” he assured them with a slight bow. “Your entertainment will be along momentarily. Please don't hesitate to use the intercom if we can bring you anything additional.” He hesitated, then gave a knowing smile. “I'm sure your colleague mentioned that this room is entirely private. Sound proofed, and well secured against disturbances or surveillance. Please feel free to fully avail yourselves of all the room's offerings.”

Both men nodded, and Luke managed the leering grin he knew was expected before they stepped inside and the door shut behind them. When the lock clicked, they exchanged glances.

“Looks like our contact wasn't sparing any expense,” Han commented as they moved through another door into the main chamber.

Luke reached out with the Force, searching for threats. “He was telling the truth about surveillance. It looks like we really do have privacy.”

“We better,” Solo said, dropping onto one of the deep sofas. “Or this is gonna end badly.” 

Luke wandered to the well-stocked bar and poured his friend a glass of Whyren's. Grabbing a tumbler of water for himself, he walked back and handed Han his glass.

“If this is for real, it could be invaluable.”

Han sipped his drink and considered. “Ain't every day somebody high up in Imperial Intel decides they want out.”

Luke's head came up. “Company,” he warned, edging his glass onto the low table so that both his hands would be free if he needed to defend them. 

Music whispered to life, and a hidden door in the wall slid open. The lithe form of a dancer, draped head to toe in diaphanous, transparent golden silk stepped through. The panel slipped shut again behind her.

Without a word, she dropped into an impossibly deep curtsey, then rose with fluid grace and began to dance. She was breathtaking and Luke stared, unabashed. She wasn't much taller than Leia and, though the swirling spirals of gauze that enveloped her made it nearly impossible to make out much else clearly, obviously possessed an enticing figure with soft curves in all the right places. Beyond that, however, she positively glowed in the Force. She was radiant, like an emerald star, he thought, but bound by black bands that constrained her. It almost physically hurt to see the dark ribbons cut across her Force presence, biting into that beautiful light.

A dancer who's Force sensitive? Here? Now? That thought brought a flash of wariness, but he couldn't sustain it. She was too light; whatever had been done to her to create the strips of darkness, they were outside of her. He knew, in ways he could not explain, that she would not hurt them – that she could be trusted.

The dance took her on a sweeping, meandering path around the room. Luke felt her reaching out, testing and searching, though she scrupulously avoided his personal space in the Force.

Doing the same thing I did, he realized. Checking the room for privacy and traps. Oh kriff, she's the contact!

He felt her tense and realized she'd felt his shock. Immediately, he calmed himself, trying to send out reassuring vibes. It was something he was still working on and he wasn't sure whether or not it worked. Her dance never faltered, and her presence evened out to a quiet, wary intensity. The music faded as she slid back to the ground in the same position she'd begun, a deep curtsy just at the edge of the seating circle.

Taking a deep breath, Luke let it out slowly, bleeding his nervousness and excitement off into the Force as he approached her. He gave a half bow and held out a hand to help her rise. “You didn't tell us you were Force sensitive,” he said, unable to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

“They didn't tell me they were sending a Jedi,” she replied coolly, rising smoothly without taking his hand. She lifted her chin, daring him to reprimand her, and Luke found himself caught and instantly lost in eyes the color of emerald wine.

“She's the contact?” Han demanded.

His friend's voice snapped Luke back into reality and he stepped back quickly, motioning towards the chairs. “Please, sit.”

Mara skirted past the Jedi, willing her heart rate to slow. His piercing blue eyes had burned into her with an intensity she'd never encountered before. He felt inexplicably like sunshine, warm and sweet. To a creature accustomed to cold and dark as she was, his honeyed Force presence was dangerously alluring. It promised an intoxication she could not afford, and she schooled herself to the task at hand. 

Luke's eyes half shut of their own volition as the woman's golden silks fluttered against the exposed skin of his wrists and fingertips as she passed. She smelled impossibly like white tea and spices that he couldn't name, and he had the absurd desire to bury his face in her silks and breathe it in until he was saturated with it. Startled and embarrassed by the realization, he pulled himself together.

Han sat forward now, elbows on his knees, eying the woman as she sank regally into one of the leather club chairs. Luke eased onto a lounger opposite Han, creating an uneasy triangle between the three of them. 

“This is quite the introduction,” Luke noted with a half smile of amusement, hoping to put the contact at ease.

She shrugged a slender shoulder. “It was convenient. I just concluded as assignment here and an additional day was easy to slip in unnoticed.”

“Assignment,” Han picked up. “What's Imperial Intel doing in a place like this?”

“I'm not standard Intel,” the woman said carefully.

“No kidding,” the smuggler retorted with a grin, running his eyes over her attire again. “Most of the Intel guys I knew were ugly as sin.”

“What kind of Intel are you, exactly?” Luke asked gently.

Those intriguing eyes searched his for a moment before she answered. “I am the Emperor's Hand,” she said simply.

Han's jaw dropped. “You actually exist?” he demanded incredulously. “I thought you were a myth.”

She laughed bitterly. “We're very real.”

“What's an Emperor's Hand?” Luke asked, confused.

“Old Palpy's personal, invisible minions,” Han told flatly. “Assassins.”

Luke blinked, astonished. An assassin?

“How many of you are there?” Han queried the woman.

“I don't know,” she told him, the silk rustling almost musically as she shook her head. “He used to tell each of us that we were the only one, until a few of us accidentally discovered each other.” The bitterness was back, and Luke caught a hint of betrayal and hurt wafting through the Force. “So far I found five – but only two still alive, myself included.”

“Trying to get out before you get dead?” the smuggler asked knowingly.

She hesitated, and Luke felt a flicker of something in the Force. Despair? Vulnerability? From an assassin?

“The loss of the others has prompted the Emperor to consider shifting our primary duties,” the woman finally replied, picking her words carefully. “Rooting out and eliminating corrupt sleemos who abuse their power and authority is one thing. Potentially being assigned to whore myself out to buy loyalty to the Emperor because the Hand formerly responsible for that has been lost is an entirely different matter.”

A faint sick sensation rolled off of her and Luke had to physically fight the urge to reach out and squeeze her hand encouragingly.

Han stared thoughtfully between the assassin, still sitting regally tall and swathed in gold, and the Kid, who stared at her intently. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with quite how Luke was looking at the woman, but he'd yet to see the Jedi lose his head. And really, Cracken would probably court-martial them both if he found out they'd had contact with a mythical Emperor's Hand and not secured her for the Rebellion.

“All right,” he said easily, after a moment. “I can see why you'd want out.” He leaned back against the cushions and tipped his head slightly. “The thing is,” he drawled, “High Command is kind of hoping you'll hold off a bit. Feed us information for a while before you drop out and join our ranks officially.”

The woman's presence in the Force plunged, suddenly as icy as the plains of Hoth with unmistakable dread.

“It's all right – you don't have to.” Luke hadn't meant to say it – Leia would kill him – but he couldn't help it. Her response had been so stark he'd been compelled to say something, anything, to soothe her. “I mean, it would help. Tremendously. But if you're going to be assigned to … such horrible things soon, we'll take you with us – get you out - tonight.”

Mara got up and walked to the bar without a word to either of them. Her mind raced as she deliberately poured herself a glass of ruby wine. She could feel the Jedi's concern and his companion's consternation. Logically, a detached part of her mind acknowledged the reasonableness of their request. She wanted to work against the Empire, and staying in and passing information would allow her to do more good for a longer period of time than simply defecting.

But the risk. Even if her assignments didn't change, they had no idea what she'd have to keep enduring as it was.

Han shot Luke a look behind the contact's back and mouthed. “Can we trust her?”

The Jedi nodded decisively. “Completely,” he mouthed back.

Well, that settled it then, Solo supposed. He wasn't ever going to understand how this Force stuff worked, but Luke was always blunt about when he was just guessing at Force clues and from the set of his body and the look on his face, it was pretty much screaming at him right now. He was content not to look the gift nexu in the mouth.

Mara carried her glass back to the conversation circle and set it down on the low table. “How long?” she asked, her voice entirely business-like.

Han's head came up. “As long as you can,” he told her, bluntly. “Ultimately, that'll have to be your call.”

“I assume you have a plan, then?” she prompted.

“You've been doing a good job passing us messages this far,” Han pointed out, refusing to be embarrassed over the fact that they really didn't have a plan. “We can build on whatever you're already doing, right?”

She considered this for a moment, then gave Luke a long, considering look. Turning back to Han, she pinned him with her sharp gaze. “Promise that when I say it's time, you'll get me out or make sure I'm dead. Not reported dead,” she clarified, ignoring the stunned stares of both men. “Verified with your own eyes and burned to ash,” she insisted. “Give me your word on those terms, and I'll do it.”

Luke's gut rebelled against the idea of killing this woman but Han was already speaking. “Done,” he agreed.

He stuck out his hand and the contact took it, silk falling away from her delicate wrist as she shook firmly.

“You got a name?” Han asked.

“Mara Jade.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Jade. I'm Han Solo, Captain of the Millennium Falcon.” Han grinned.

“Informal Consort to Princess Leia of Alderaan, I know,” she replied, with just a touch of amusement.

Han blinked in surprise, then gave in to a smug smile. “That too. Now, current system okay, or do we need to work out something new for getting in touch?”

“I may be able to provide something better. If the Jedi is willing.”

“My name is Luke. Luke Skywalker.” Luke's voice was low and steady, but his heart beat a little faster at the woman's intent gaze. Why did she affect him like this? He had never been comfortable around pretty, elegant women, but hell – he didn't even know if she was pretty. He had yet to see anything but her eyes. Well, that was a lie. She was breathtaking in the Force. But even that shouldn't have accounted for her strange effect on him.

“May I try something, Skywalker?” she asked, her tone unexpectedly formal.

“Of course,” he invited, genuinely curious.

Can you hear me?

Luke started. Her voice had been clear as Alderaanean crystal in his head. “Yes,” he said aloud, automatically.

Try again. In my head this time, she instructed.

He had no idea how to do that. “I'm afraid I haven't learned that yet,” he admitted, chagrined.

“Learned what?” Han asked, suspiciously.

“She can speak into my head,” Luke explained, unable to keep his curiosity or awe from his voice. “Perfectly clearly – it's amazing.” He turned to her. “Can you show me?”

She considered him, slightly uneasy for reasons he didn't understand. Finally, she shifted slightly and held out a hand. “You have to invite me in,” she said firmly. “I won't intrude beyond where you offer.”

Luke looked surprised, but reached out and grasped her hand gently with his own. “I didn't imagine you would.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that why you aren't shielding?”

“Shielding?” He hesitated, then shrugged. “I only know a very little about shielding,” he confessed.

“I see. Well, one issue at a time,” she replied. “First, invite me in.”

Luke closed his eyes and reached out in the Force, easily finding Mara's presence and opening himself to it. He felt the cautiousness in her approach and wondered if she'd had bad experiences with someone entering her mind. He felt her catch the thought and snort.

You have no idea, she told him. Then she was gently picking through his head with feather light touches until she found what she wanted. You're sure you're all right with this?

Please. He didn't know how to project it, so simply thought it fervently instead, hoping it would be enough.

Apparently it was, because he felt her ease into a tiny nook in his mind. With gentle, precise care she rooted tendrils of her Force presence into his mind. He gasped at the intimacy of it, and involuntarily wrapped his own presence around the tendrils, clinging to the warm silken feel of her. He heard her breath catch and he winced, jerked back.

“I'm sorry!” he blurted aloud. “I didn't mean to -.”

She cut him off with silent reassurance, and he started at how clear and close the feeling was. It's all right. I just didn't expect you to catch on so quickly. Not a mistake I'll make again.

He felt a nudge, and tentatively entwined himself around her again, sighing in sweet relief as the warm, contented feeling returned.

“Your turn,” she said aloud, and he felt a tremor of uncertainty under the cool demeanor she projected. “Just tread carefully. My head is a little more… volatile than yours. But I'll show you a safe place.”

Luke nodded, forgetting that she couldn't see him, but apparently she got the message anyway. He watched, in a manner of speaking, as she rose from inside his mind and pulled back. Part of her, he noted with delight, remained embedded where she'd settled in his mind. Reassured, he followed the rest of her Force presence out along a glowing thread in the Force and into her mind.

He paused at the edge of her mind, staring blankly for a second. He'd never done more than skim the surface of another's thoughts and feelings before, but he could tell with instant clarity that hers was not a normal mind. It was fiercely ordered and regimented, trained both physically and mentally in ways he knew he wasn't yet prepared or equipped to understand. She waited patiently, and he quickly moved to catch up. Her mind was soothingly cool, and he slipped through it behind her, trying not to get distracted by the patches of darkness or the walls of scarring. He didn't want to think about what had caused them, or how much pain she must have endured getting them.

As promised, she led him to clean, secured nook. You'll be safe here.

As she had done, Luke sank to “floor” and carefully extended tendrils of his Force presence into her. The feeling nearly made him giddy, and he struggled to keep his composure and watch his motions. He didn't want to go too deep or too fast and risk hurting her. He stopped when he felt her slide her own presence up to embrace and merge with his. Secure, he rose unsteadily and let her lead him back out.

Drifting into himself again, Luke slumped back against the cushions. “Wow,” he muttered, suddenly both tired and elated. He grinned. “That was amazing.”

Mara let out a shaky breath. “You're very good, Jedi.” Her grip on the arms of her chair tightened. “But we'll need to work on your shields before you go. You can't go running around unshielded with me in your head.”

“She's in your head? Han asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It's incredible, Han,” Luke gushed. “I've never felt anything like it.”

“It's a simple Force bond,” Mara explained. “Usually used for training.” She glanced down at her hands, now folded together tightly in her lap. “It's also my area of gifting. I can maintain bonds and communicate clearly across vast distances.”

“That's why the Emperor likes you,” Han caught on.

“One of the reasons, yes,” she admitted.

Luke jerked upright. “The Emperor is in your head like this?”

Even through the veils he could see her wince. “He won't know you're there,” she assured him.

The Jedi grabbed her hand. “That's not what I meant.” His thumbs stroked gently over the soft skin of her wrist. “I just… it must be awful for you. To feel him, like this.”

Mara looked up in surprise. He's worried about me? She couldn't think of the last time anyone had shown genuine concern for her comfort, and had no idea what to say.

Han interrupted, waving a hand at them. “Can this – bond thing be undone?”

“Of course,” Jade replied promptly. “Skywalker can kick me out any time he wishes.” She shot a look at Luke. “Though I'd appreciate some warning. It can be unpleasant if it isn't done correctly and with mutual participation.”

“I would never do that to you,” Luke said at once, already fiercely protective of the woman he now cradled inside him.

“I was thinking more along the lines of 'Ol Yellow Eyes,” Han told them. “You're gonna want him out of your head before you get out, I imagine.”

“I won't endanger any of you by defecting while still linked to the Emperor.”

Han nodded. “So, what, now you can talk directly to the Kid, uninterrupted through your own private channel?”

“Essentially, yes. I'll still need to use other methods for large quantities of data, but I can check in and relay codes and such directly to Skywalker. It will ease communications significantly.”

“I'd say so,” Solo agreed, pleased. He tipped his head. “You gonna take off that veil at some point so we actually know what you look like if we ever meet up again?”

She appeared to consider this for a moment, then stood. Reaching behind her, she undid a hidden clasp and pulled the head veil away. A second later, the longer veil draped around her shoulders followed, both tossed over the back of her chair.

Han blinked, completely unprepared for what he saw. She's just a girl. She couldn't have been any older than Leia and the Kid, and probably not even that. He suddenly felt grimly guilty for what they'd just convinced her to do. Everything in him abruptly wanted to drag her to the Falcon and whisk her as far away from monsters like Palpatine as he could.

Luke gaped. Mara's lithe curves were sheathed in a thin film of gold material with the faintest hint of a shimmer. There didn't appear to be an ounce of spare fat on her, and while her hands had been firm and slightly callused from her work, the now exposed skin of her shoulders was invitingly soft and creamy. Above enticing red lips and those sparkling green eyes, red gold hair had been plaited into a fastidious braid and wound around her head in an elegant coronet.

He understood with horrible, glaring clarity why her Force presence was bound with such tight, dark bands. A spirit as strong in the Force as hers, housed in a body like this, with the training she had, was impossibly dangerous. Of course Palpatine had sought to control, confine, and use her. An ache blossomed in Luke's chest at the thought of how magnificent she would be unchained and fully trained.

“I'm not that strong, Skywalker,” she said, picking up on his thoughts. “I have my giftings, but I'll never be as strong as you.”

“Who told you that?” he demanded, angrily. “The Emperor?”

She looked at him strangely. “Of course. Who else would have assessed me?”

Luke stood and gripped her arms. She stiffened under his touch, entirely unaccustomed to being touched at all, except clinically or by fumbling, drunken targets. He ignored her response, catching her gaze and holding it firmly, blue eyes burning.

“He lied. You are far more powerful than you imagine.”

“I don't want to be powerful,” she argued sharply. “Power in the Force in dangerous.”

“You are already dangerous,” he pointed out, frowning.

“To others, not myself,” she shot back.

“Force users are more dangerous – to everyone- untrained,” Luke objected. “There's more risk of crossing into the dark side if you aren't trained.”

Mara snorted and jerked free of his hold to cross her arms over her chest. “Believe me, I know the dark side. I won't ever cross into it accidentally.”

“No,” he said, considering her. “I guess you won't. But you of all people ought to embrace all the power you have to protect yourself from the darkness you're surrounded with every day.”

She looked away, her chin ducking towards her chest as she unconsciously tried to make herself smaller. To cringe away from memories of what dark Force users did to those who couldn't protect themselves.

Luke's heart clenched and his hands fisted at his sides as he felt her shy away. “He hurts you.” It was a statement, quiet and saturated in grief.

“Of course,” she snapped. “He's a Sith. He hurts everyone.”

The Jedi's hand came up and rested lightly on her arm, just above the elbow, his thumb sweeping in easy, soft strokes over the tense muscle. “Let me train you, Mara. At least a little, for your own protection.”

She regarded him warily, indecision and caution seeping from her. Eventually, she gave a single nod. “Fine. I have to train you on shielding anyway, and it might not hurt to have a few extra tricks up my sleeve if I'm not leaving right away.”

Luke beamed at her, his relief evident. “Thank you.”

“Speaking of leaving,” Han interjected with a grimace. “Our time here is about up.”

Mara immediately took a step backward, gathering her veils, and Luke felt the loss. He was comforted, however, by a quick check inside himself. She was still there, nestled safely in his new “Mara-place”.

In seconds, Mara was once again completely concealed by her diaphanous veils. “Where are you docked?” she asked Solo.

“Bay 61F,” he told her. “We're not scheduled to leave until tomorrow afternoon.”

She nodded. “I'll come in the morning to teach the Jedi how to shield.” She shot a glance at Luke, then back at Han. “I recommend not telling anyone about the bond. For everyone's safety.”

“We'll have to tell Leia,” Solo objected. “And Chewie. But I agree – nobody else.” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “That goes for you too.”

She snorted. “Who would I tell?”

He looked at her. “I dunno. You don't have any trusted servants or best friends or anything?”

“No,” was all she said, but the single word and flat, empty tone spoke volumes.

“You do now,” Luke spoke up, determinedly.

She shook her head. “You're my contact, Skywalker. Eventually, you'll either be my evac or my killer. You needn't feel obligated to be my friend, as well.”

He caught her hand as she turned away. “I want to, Jade.”

She looked pointedly at their hands, then back at him. “Touching me like that normally causes people to lose an appendage.”

Her expression said he should be worried, but he felt no malice in her Force presence, so he simply smiled unrepentantly. “I'll keep that in mind.” Still, he released her. “Do you have a preferred code name?” he asked, changing subjects. “Using your real name probably isn't wise.”

“Almost no one knows my name,” Mara said, thoughtfully, “but you're right.” A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face before she smoothed it away. “Call me Dancer.”

Until tomorrow, Jedi, she said in his mind, inclining her head slightly. “Solo.”

Then she was gone.

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

asks (20)

@winchdean said: Hi. I'm sending you this message to ask to reblog my friend's post because her parents kicked her out for being gay and now she lost her job and she doesn't have money for meds, food and rent. Can you do that? Thank you! 

Sure thing! Here’s the donation post right here if any of y’all can help 

Anonymous said: Hey! I just, I've been so desperate I'm from Mexico but because of some papers I have to stay in US, I've been here for 6 months and it's not that much to hear but it feels like a year I haven't see my friends, i really miss my life and I feel like I need to talk without just texting, I'm really getting crazy I feel so angry and emotional But there's something I always question myself, am I right to feel this way? Or am I just been exaggerating?

I think it’s important to remember that the reality of a situation doesn’t always matter. If something hurts, if you feel bad, if you’re in pain, it doesn’t matter whether that should be true or not. That’s how you feel. You’re hurting, and you’re forced to deal with that. It makes the situation hard, no matter the reality of the thing.

But for the record? That does sound terrible, and I’m sorry you’re in that position. Let me know if I can help with anything <3

@fernandidilly-yo said: This might be a really stupid question, but I was wondering, is it canon that Damian goes to school, or is that fanon?

That one is fanon! Damian is homeschooled. He did attend Gotham Academy for about a week one time as part of a mission, but that’s the only school he’s ever gone to.

The homeschool thing has been repeated in multiple series, but I don’t really feel like tracking the other panels down just now. Here’s Damian getting expelled from GA though. Look at my boy being all noble

Anonymous said: Hi. I'm a new-big-fan of the batfamily and especially the realationships between the siblings! From what I've gathered Dick and Tim had a good brother run (pre52? I've no clue in the new52 or rebirth it's still very confusing to me) but as for now Dick has a very close relationship with Damian, which is great but I'm like what about Tim now? Are they still close? What's going on?

Ughhhhhhhhh okay here’s what happened. Yes, Tim and Dick were super close in the preboot, and that relationship was well-developed over decades of material. They were brothers, and even before that, Dick was a big part of Tim’s life-- Tim discovered Batman and Robin’s secret identities when he saw Dick as Robin execute the signature move of Haly’s Flying Graysons... which Tim recognized because he was in the crowd the night Dick’s parents died.

Tim spent years watching Dick and Bruce before he stepped forward, and when he did it was to talk to Dick. Dick was Tim’s childhood hero. They were extremely close.

But then came Scott Lobdell, one of the few writers I’m prepared to openly shit-talk around here. Lobdell wrote the n52 origin stories for both Jason and Tim. Both of them are terrible, horrible failures, but we’re going to limit ourselves to Tim’s right now. In Teen Titans #0 (n52), Lobdell completely rewrote Tim’s backstory, and one of the worst things he did was completely remove Dick from the equation. In Lobdell’s version, Tim never discovered Batman’s identity on his own, and he never knew Dick at all. 

Now this has presumably been retconned (I think) (please let it be retconned) by Rebirth, and there was an unpublished issue of n52 Nightwing that included the old version of their introduction, but in the n52 Tim and Dick’s relationship got screwed. Lobdell also decided that Tim’s closest sibling was Jason, which is.... wow oh boy that’s something else, and although Tim and Dick did interact every once in awhile, they never seemed particularly close. I will note, however, that emotional distance between the n52 Batfamily is pretty damn normal.

Anonymous said: WONDERWOMAN WAS SO GOOD

IT REALLY WAS I cried real tears when she stepped out of that trench..... it was just.... so majestic and wonderful

@almost-puzzlesme said: ERMAGHERD DID YOU SEE IT

I forgot to answer this message!!! I’m so sorry!!! Yes, I saw it, and I’ve been screaming about it ever since

Anonymous said: So apparently Jason is a role model and Dick is Damian's other dad. Thanks Rebirth.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Anonymous said: Crap! How do I keep missing your giveaways by less than five minutes?!

Ah that’s really more my fault than yours :/// I used to do dignified giveaways where I gave everyone enough time to reblog the post and enter as many times as they wanted, but I got tired of keeping track of all of that. The way I do it now definitely rewards the people who are always online, which is an unfortunate bias

I hope you win eventually <3

Anonymous said: I don't need a plush I just wanted you to know you're very sweet for offering to make them :D

Oh thank you! You’re very sweet too

@arabian-batboy said: Thanks a lot for doing that request, I actually almost forgot that Jason would look older than Bruce last saw him, it makes me wonder if maybe one day some computer-person (maybe Tim?) close to Bruce would photoshop a pic of Jason to make him look as old as if he was still alive so that they would give it as a gift to Bruce and how Bruce would react to that (assuming this was before Jason came back)

Hmmmm that would be something I could see Bruce doing himself, but I’m not sure it would be a good idea for anyone else to spring on him. Bruce was pretty possessive of Jason’s memory while he was gone, and I don’t think he would react well to that particular surprise

@glorytommy said: This is a tumblr hug. 💕 (Send this to your ten favorite blogs)

@nightwinglover said: Thank you for existing. 💗 Send this to 10 people who you think deserve a sweet and kind message in their inbox ❤💛💚💙💜

@novelty--night said: Thank you for existing. 💗 Send this to 10 people who you think deserve a sweet and kind message in their inbox ❤💛💚💙💜

Thank y’all :)

Anonymous said: I was just thinking about your post about how Gotham thinks Damian killed Tim and I was sad because while Damian is probably outwardly like 'tch Drake's death just proves he truly was inferior' he's probably actually pretty messed up about it. And he hears the whispers and rumors and sees the glances at meetings and galas and regardless of his past attempts on Tim's life it still makes him a little sick to his stomach to know people believe he truly did murder him in cold blood just for money.

Right?? It would be super messed up for a couple reasons, the first being that Damian super did try to kill Tim that one time, so even though he wouldn’t try it now-- and that growth is very important in how he sees himself-- he can’t exactly claim the high ground on this particular accusation. Plus it can’t be easy to have thousands of people add to your grief by accusing you of murdering someone you love are related to

Anonymous said: Please bury me in your Jason Todd plushies. Thank you.

Have you considered the chance that those plushies might crawl out of your grave, as they once did themselves

Anonymous said: What do you think would happen next after your catatonic Jason fic? Do you think Bruce would realize he wasn't hallucinating? When he does dies he assume this is just a homeless not that looks too much like Jason? That fic killed me and I would love any other thoughts you have on it

Hm assuming that we’re maintaining the proper timeline, Bruce can’t realize that’s really Jason-- if he did, Jason wouldn’t have ended up with the League, and we’d be looking at a very different fallout. I suppose we’ll have to say that Bruce never did figure it out, which is only believable if that kind of thing happened to Bruce all the time. And I think it did. He saw Jason everywhere, and the first few times, he investigated. That might really be Jason, maybe he isn’t dead, maybe this isn’t in my head.... but all of those times, it wasn’t. Eventually, he accepted that, so by the time that story happened, he didn’t look too closely.

Anonymous said: but what /is/ the actual dignified wayne family motto when translated into english

Well I’m not getting any canon results for that one, and I don’t want to try to make one up, but here’s something I found for the historical surname “Wayne”

“Time and chance occurs for all”

That seems to be a variation of Ecclesiastes 9:11: I have seen something else under the sun: “The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.”

That would be King Solomon of Israel saying that victory is unpredictable; you can prepare as much as you want, but time and chance can give the battle to the person that should logically lose. That’s an amazing motto for the batfamily considering that Bruce’s #1 rule is “be prepared.” On the one hand, the passage seems to go against Bruce’s philosophy, but on the other, in the context of the superhero world, the batfamily usually is the one that should logically lose. I’m super willing to accept this motto.

Anonymous said: fellow college station resident here; I understand how you feel completely. sending good vibes for your drive tomorrow, and I wish you all the best

I made it home! I’m still really upset about leaving though :/// I’m not even moving that far away, but it’s a whole three years of my life ending, you know? And I’m going to miss my friends and my roommate and my apartment

Anonymous said: witch comics are you reading right now?

Ahh I’m super behind on everything right now, but all the batfamily titles and superman

@shewritestochangethefuture said: Hi there! Just wanted to let you know how much I adore your blog :) I just found it recently and have spent /hours/ looking through it already and liking all your headcanons/ original stories. Everything you write is absolutely /hilarious/, and so spot on with each and every characterization. The way you've put so much research into some of the requests/asks you get is honestly super impressive. Way to go! I'm such a big fan of this blog, thank you for sharing it with the rest of the world!!

This message made me so happy <3

[jiminfinity]

when truth serums work better than love potions

Pairing: Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin (Namjin)

Summary: Seokjin and Namjoon down truth serum by accident and then get forced to play a game of Truth or Dare.

Words: 3254

Type: One-shot, Crack, Fluff, Potions and Magic, Confessions

Read it now on AO3!

Seokjin knows there’s something very wrong with himself when he begins blurting out things he doesn’t actually mean. Okay, he does kind of mean them, but he wasn’t going to actually say them out loud. He’s grown up enough to know about social cues and he’s always been careful not to hurt the feelings of the other party so he’s kind of freaking out as to what the hell happened to the filter in his mouth.

It starts off with Taehyung asking him about what he thinks of his new Christmas sweater, and Seokjin replies readily with a scoff, “I think it looks awful, Tae,” before slapping a hand over his mouth in horror.

“Oh my god,” Seokjin whispers in mortification. “I’m so sorry, Tae. I don’t know what came over me.”

To Seokjin’s relief, Taehyung breaks into a breezy laugh and looks more than delighted.

“It looks awful? Really? That’s great! It’s exactly what I was going for. You know, the so-awful-it-looks-cool kind of vibe,” Taehyung goes on to explain, admiring the atrocious mismatch of loud patterns on his wool sweater.

And then when Jimin slips away a few minutes after Yoongi disappears from the party, claiming that he needs “a breath of outside air,” Seokjin finds himself snorting and calling after Jimin, “More like the air that Yoongi’s breathing.”

Jimin leaves with his ears burning as the whole crowd roars with laughter.

Seokjin realises that he’s kind of a jerk when he tells the truth.

“Namjoon, I think there’s something wrong with me,” Seokjin whispers frantically as he pulls the tall, dazed guy aside.

“I think your eyes are really pretty,” Namjoon answers instead, a dreamy smile surfacing on his face before it twitches back into control and positions itself into a flat, embarrassed line. “Shit, I did not mean to say that — okay but seriously though, your eyes really are bea—” Namjoon lets out a long, intentional cough as if to clear his throat from the words bubbling out uncontrollably. “I think there’s something wrong with me too, Jin.”

A normal Seokjin would have been amused enough to allow his lips to curve into a smile. A normal Seokjin would have fought away the heat of a blush rising on his cheeks. A normal Seokjin would have been flattered. After all, it’s not every day that your crush tells you that you have pretty eyes (even if it’s a widely acknowledged truth).

But it’s not every day that your synapses short-circuit and you find yourself being unable to say anything else but the truth either.

Seokjin’s body can only house one emotion — panic. “You too?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon continues, eyes darting around worriedly. “It’s like my mouth is independent of my brain or something. Just now, when Yoongi demanded to know who broke the toilet flush, my mouth just blurted out, ‘Me!’ “

“But you did break it, right?” Seokjin deadpans, not even surprised at Namjoon’s clumsy antics anymore.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t going to admit it,” Namjoon confesses sheepishly.

“Namjoon.” Seokjin rolls his eyes. “When something’s broken, we all know you’re the culprit. Your name is practically synonymous with that word.”

Namjoon lets out a pitiful whimper as his mouth sinks into a pout.

“God,” Seokjin groans as he drags a hand over his hair. “Please stop making that face. It’s seriously distracting me.”

Oops. Again — not supposed to actually voice that out loud. Heat crawls up his neck and he cringes inwardly.

Thankfully, Namjoon’s too dense to read between the lines and he takes it literally. “Sorry,” he apologises, absentmindedly worrying his bottom lip instead.

It’s so sexy that it’s almost a criminal offence. Another guttural noise slips out of Seokjin’s lips before he can swallow it down.

Okay, his lack of self-control over his lust for Namjoon is getting out of hand. He kind of wants to flush himself down the toilet now. But wait — the flush’s spoilt. Right.

“You okay?” Seokjin finds Namjoon dipping his head down slightly to meet his eyes. With concern creasing his face into a frown, Namjoon nudges a cup towards Seokjin.  “You want a drink?”

“No it’s okay,” Seokjin refuses nicely though it comes out as a dry croak. He gestures towards the cup in his own hand before cupping his throat with his fingers. “I still have the drink you mixed for me.”

Something clicks in his mind.

“Namjoon…” Seokjin starts cautiously, his tone low. “What exactly is in this drink?”

“Some Sprite, some beer, and a little of this cool liquid I found in the cabinet.”

Seokjin pales, and he struggles to maintain the calm in his voice. “Which cabinet?”

“The one with the tinted windows,” Namjoon raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “Why?”

A stone drops painfully in Seokjin’s gut.

“Oh my god, you idiot,” Seokjin growls exasperatedly, panic fluttering in his ribcage like a trapped bird. “That’s where Yoongi keeps all of his potions for his clients.”

“Potions?” Namjoon practically cries out.

“That’s probably truth serum you added into our drinks,” Seokjin buries his head in his hands. Dread spreads in his heart like poison.

“T-truth serum?” Namjoon’s pacing along the hallway now, hands deep in his hair. “Couldn’t he have kept it in some place that’s safer? That cabinet isn’t exactly out of reach from children, you know?”

Seokjin narrows his eyes and laughs humourlessly. “It would have to be kept in storage compartments on the freaking ceiling in order to keep it out of the way of an 180 cm child like you.”

Namjoon flinches, head hung low. “The truth serum...it’ll wear off, right?”

Sighing, Seokjin nods his head gravely and explains, “Yes, but it depends on the dosage. How much did you mix into our drinks?”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in Namjoon’s wavering eyes as he avoids Seokjin’s interrogative, piercing stare. He puts his thumb and second finger together and gradually begins to widen the gap between them. The gap continues to grow, and the pit in Seokjin’s stomach grows wider too.

“Around this much?” Namjoon smiles wryly.

Seokjin’s jaw drops. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Unfortunately...I’m not. Because technically...I can’t.” Namjoon presses his lips together in a flat line as his eyes fall to the floor. He drags his shoe around the carpet, making weird shapes on it as he braces himself for whatever comes next.

Seokjin opens his mouth, and Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut, and —

— They’re rudely interrupted by Taehyung’s loud exclamation of “Let’s play Truth or Dare!”

Just when things couldn’t get any worse, it does. Of course. There’s always the surprise existence of a hell beneath rock bottom.

“We’re fucked,” Seokjin tells Namjoon matter-of-factly. Namjoon simply gulps.

Taehyung herds everyone to the centre of the living room. It’s a small party, so there’s only a grand total of seven guests. Seven is still a significant number of people for Seokjin to potentially embarrass himself in front of.

“Sorry, I think I’ll opt out,” Seokjin says, plastering on an apologetic grin.

“What? Whyyyyy ?” Taehyung swivels around, looking disappointed.

“I—uh—I think I’m going home, because, uh…” Seokjin wrecks his brain for some excuse but comes up with none. Of course. Because his brain isn’t exactly conditioned to churn out any form of lies at the moment.

He can feel the truth falling out of his lips, and he can’t do anything about it. Sewing his lips together isn’t even an option. And thus, to his utter horror, Seokjin finds himself admitting, words rushing out almost eagerly, “I have absolutely no reason to leave. I just don’t want to play because Namjoon accidentally flooded our circulatory systems with truth serum so we’re putting myself at serious risk if we involve myself in the game.”

There’s a fraction of a second where everyone’s frozen in place as they take in the situation. A moment of silence where Seokjin’s whole body combusts into flames of absolute mortification.

And just as expected, the roaring laughter ensues.

Seokjin contemplates death.

He’s in a house of potions, isn’t it? There should be some lethal poison somewhere. Or maybe some charm to help him sublime into oblivion.

His feet remains tragically rooted on the ground.

“Okay, wait. Let me get this clear,” Yoongi wheezes in between laughter. “You and Namjoon drank my truth serum?”

Helplessly, against his will, Seokjin nods.

“Fuck!” Yoongi claps his hands together and keels over. “This is fucking gold!”

“There’s no way we’re letting both of you escape from this,” Hoseok points out, wiping away stray tears of incredulity. “We’re definitely playing Truth or Dare now.”

“No,” Jungkook corrects with a devilish smirk hanging on his face. “Better still, ‘Truth or Truth’.”

“Everyone gets a turn to ask one question,” Taehyung pips in, rubbing his hands together in glee with an almost comical expression on his face.

“Guys…” Namjoon steps in to try to amend the situation. He glances at Seokjin once, and Seokjin returns with a withering look that could kill.

“I’m going to kill all of you. But I’ll probably torture Namjoon first.” Seokjin threatens.

And then the truth serum kicks in. “I meant that metaphorically.”

That sends another ripple of laughter coursing among everyone.

“Of course,” Taehyung teases, wiggling his eyebrows provocatively. “You’ll have so much fun torturing Namjoon, right?”

Seokjin’s body betrays him with a blush that flushes across his face.

“I have potions that can bind the both of you to chairs for prolonged periods of time,” Yoongi is clearly enjoying this. “That’s normally effective in getting even the most tight-lipped individuals to speak up.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Seokjin snips.

“Try me,” Yoongi shoots back a Cheshire-like smile, jutting his chin towards Seokjin.

“Please spare us,” Namjoon pleads. He swallows hard, then adds, softly, “For my sake.”

“You’ll thank us,” Hoseok pats him on the back instead.

Namjoon looks like he’s going to cry.

Jimin, always the kindest and most sensitive of the lot, steps forward with brows knitted together. Breaks his streak of silence. “Maybe we shouldn’t…”

“Finally a voice of reason,” Seokjin sighs, feeling drained. “Thank you, Jimin-ah.”

“We’re not going to do anything to them that they’re going to hate,” Yoongi placates convincingly as he casts a winning smile in his boyfriend’s direction. From the corner of Seokjin’s eye, he thinks he catches Yoongi wink meaningfully at Jimin.

“Really?” Jimin’s expression softens.

It’s going to be a very long day.

“The effects of the truth serum should be the strongest right before it wears off, actually.” Yoongi folds his arms together as he explains. “Kind of like drugs or alcohol. At first, you’re in control. Then it seeps in, and you start to lose your bearings, and then there’s a final kick.”

“That doesn’t sound good at all,” Namjoon mutters to himself, face paling.

“I’ll give you a final kick,” Seokjin whispers back menacingly. He doesn’t add “metaphorically” after because he really does think he will. He starts chanting food recipes under his breath like a cooling down mantra.

“Normally, once the serum wears off, you’ll feel it quite evidently.”

“Can’t wait for that to happen,” Seokjin sobs desperately.

Jimin goes first.

“Um…” Jimin looks a mixture of apologetic and amused as he thinks of his question. Finally, he settles with, “Namjoon-hyung, were you the one that broke my headphones the other week?”

Everyone simultaneously breaks into a united chorus of groans.

“Jimin-hyung, that was a total waste of a question,” Jungkook cries. “We all know Namjoon broke them.”

“I feel bad taking advantage of their poor situation, okay?” Jimin sniffs in protest.

“It’s true, I did break them.” Namjoon chimes in, wearing a sorry yet resigned expression. “I apologise.”

“That’s okay. That means you were the one who secretly placed new headphones on my desk too, right? How did you know they were the ones I wanted?” Jimin asks innocently. He goes over to hug Namjoon from the back. “Thanks, hyung!”

“That was me, you blockhead,” Yoongi declares, eyes rolling skyward.

“...Oh,” Jimin says blankly, quietly retracting his hands from the embrace and walking over to his boyfriend instead, falling into the latter’s lap gently and nestling his head in the crook of Yoongi’s neck.

“Thanks, hyung,” Jimin repeats meekly, reaching up to kiss Yoongi’s temples.

“Is Jimin under some love potion you concocted?” Seokjin sticks out his tongue spitefully.

“Don’t be jealous, but I won over Jimin fair and square.” Yoongi smirks. “Do you need some love potion to boost your love life though, hyung? I can always make it for you, free of charge.”

Seokjin makes an indignant noise. “No thanks, I won’t be needing any help. I’m pretty sure I’m doing well even without any magical assistance.”

“Oh?” Yoongi’s eyebrows climb up beneath his bangs. “You sure? And does that mean you have someone you like?”

Yikes. Fell right into that trap.

“...Yes.” Seokjin answers truthfully but vaguely, keeping his expression as blank and stoic as possible.

“Ooooh!” Taehyung shrieks excitedly. “Is it someone in this room?”

Oh my god.

Seokjin gnaws his lip as hard as he can, and he thinks he can even taste the metallic tang of blood. Unfortunately, the truth serum wins the battle, and the answer leaps out of his mouth, along with his heart.

“Yes.”

Jungkook slaps his hand against his thigh as he cracks up. “I knew it!”

The blood is so loud in Seokjin’s ears that he can barely hear anything else. Also, his body is on fire.

After regaining his composure, Jungkook threads his fingers together and leans in, resting his chin on his knuckles. “Could you, perhaps…” he begins to bat his eyelashes mock-innocuously, and Seokjin’s fear is on overdrive. He already can hear the question in his head before it’s even sounded out.

“Could you perhaps tell us who it is?”

Seokjin fights against the truth bubbling up within him, but it revolts and it rebels and it resists, and the name — those three dreadful syllables, ones that Seokjin’s mouth can form so easily, so familiar and sweetly — is whispered even before he can reel it back in.

Words taking a life on its own.

Words belonging to a life of its own.

A life in the form of a human.

A human that Seokjin finds rather handsome, rather endearing, in spite of his clumsy and foolish ways. A crush harboured and nurtured for quite a few years, displayed in lighthearted chastising, subtle touches and subdued flirting.

A human named —

“Kim Namjoon.”

Seokjin wishes he could say that the world came to an abrupt apocalyptic end, with the earth fracturing apart and swallowing them all and saving him from the goddamn humiliation, but dramatic sequences like that exist only in really bad cartoons and chick flicks….so.

Surprisingly, everyone looks oddly calm, as if they had already expected this to unfold.

Well, everyone but Namjoon. Of course.

“Y-you like me?” Namjoon stutters, and he untangles his limbs from the floor as he awkwardly stands up and stumbles before Seokjin.

Seokjin has to physically clutch his chest to tame his wildly beating heart. He’s pretty sure his face is as red as lava. It feels as hot as lava if that counts.

“And now…” Taehyung stage whispers, eyes as wide as his boxy smile. He hushes an imagined audience before him and gently grabs Namjoon by the cheeks, pulling him down as he breathes, “What is your answer, Kim Namjoon? How do you feel about Seokjin hyung?”

“This is very dramatic,” Jimin giggles softly. He snuggles further into the fabric of Yoongi’s oversized hoodie and gazes up dreamily at Yoongi. “I love it.”

Namjoon searches for the words as his mouth gapes open and close. They’re right there, at the tip of his tongue. After all, he can’t tell anything else but the truth. Knowing Namjoon, he’s probably just trying to express them more eloquently. Drape the truth in better robes and all that. In fact, he looks like he’s in pain from trying to keep them in.

Seokjin’s heart feels like it’s going to mould a permanent shape on his skin from how hard the muscle is crashing against his chest. He holds his breath.

“I like you too, Seokjin hyung!” Namjoon exhales as if he’s been holding his breath as well, and then he inhales sharply as his face twists in regret. “Damn it, I couldn’t hold it in long enough to make it more romantic.”

“ Yayyyyy !” Taehyung cheers wildly.

“And I—will always love youuuu !” Hoseok and Jungkook sing, rather badly, Seokjin might add.

In spite of himself, Seokjin dissolves into laughter. He tells himself it's the truth serum that’s making him lose his cool, but everyone knows it’s relief.

“You do?” Seokjin asks as he gazes at Namjoon dreamily.

“Y-yeah…” Namjoon replies shyly with his cheeks tinged pink.

“So how did you guys fall in love with each other?” Yoongi prompts, a knowing grin spreading across his lazy features.

“It was love at first sight!” Namjoon erupts. “I fell in love first!”

“No, you didn’t!” Seokjin finds himself debating in protest as he yanks himself off the ground to face Namjoon. “ I fell in love first!”

It’s the truth serum, okay? He can’t help it.

Namjoon snorts and inches closer to Seokjin. “No, you hated me at first.” he licks his lips and pouts petulantly. “It was horrible.”

“I never hated you!” Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“You avoided me at first!”

“Because you were such a distracting sight, okay!” Seokjin confesses. “I would have never gotten any work done because of you!”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Seokjin echoes back. “Because you’re so gorgeous, that’s why. Look at that—look!” His eyes fall to Namjoon’s lips and he gestures to it just as Namjoon runs his tongue across the bottom curve and Seokjin let's out some base animal noise he never knew existed in him, though he’s too worked up at this moment to be embarrassed anymore. “Do you know how goddamn distracting that is? I’d just want to kiss you all day!”

The room falls silent. Seokjin heaves heavily as whatever had exploded out of him sinks back into his mind.

What the fuck. He’s gone completely mental.

“I would really like that.” Namjoon suddenly whispers.

“What?” Seokjin breathes.

“Please kiss me.”

Seokjin breaks into the widest smile as he flings all his self-restraint and shame out of the window. “I would love that.”

And then they’re kissing, right in front of the five stupid friends that they’re admittedly kind of thankful for now. Some part of Seokjin knows they’re never going to let Namjoon and him live this down, but for right now, he’s relishing in their stupefied looks.

Adrenaline courses through Seokjin like electricity and his whole body feels lightweight, free.

They detach to catch their breath, foreheads knocking against each other.

“That was...some kiss,” Hoseok says, stunned.

It’s at that moment that Seokjin realises the lightness he feels is because the effects of the truth serum have completely worn off.

Finally.

The ordeal is over.

And Seokjin thinks he has a boyfriend now.

It's kind of a lot to handle.

“I’m going to go outside for some air,” Seokjin declares and walks away.

Then he turns around and clutches Namjoon by the collar of his shirt. “You’re coming with me.”

From behind, he catches Taehyung and Jungkook sniggering about something resembling “sharing breaths”, so just right at the door, Seokjin pivots around one last time. “For the record, I’m really going to kill all of you. It’s not a figure of speech.”