#so i had to copy paste my whole fucking paper into an email to my profs bc i literally had no other choice

[radioactivetirade]

genuinely the lowest ive been in years rn. one of those extra shitty days where it literally feels like the world is out to get you yknow :/ shit went wrong from the second i started my day to now 18 hours later . god and i cant even do drugs about it

[tundrakatiebean]

I posted 10,162 times in 2022

1,028 posts created (10%)

9,134 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ghostsinthecellar

@mrdreadful

@a-polite-melody

@tundrakatiebean

@mind-altering-bugs

I tagged 8,660 of my posts in 2022

Only 15% of my posts had no tags

#queueneiform - 5,768 posts

#katie is rambling 2k22 - 870 posts

#riddle me this - 150 posts

#anon - 141 posts

#dracula daily - 83 posts

#our flag means death - 53 posts

#ofmd - 52 posts

#long post - 48 posts

#i laughed - 42 posts

#scheduled reblog - 41 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#number two i wonder if i don’t actually get hives from my anxiety and the anxiety is actually connected to an allergic reaction to something

I sent 2 gifts in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

See the full post

151 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

#4

The new Pokémon game really came for my whole fucking life. If you want to check out my handwritten and color coded pokedex lists for past games check out my “Katie makes lists” tag or just find me crying behind the nearest couch ✌🏻

186 notes - Posted November 18, 2022

#3

Love that every time the guys are like “we have this covered. We won’t tell Mina anything” after like a day and a half they walk up wringing their hands like “ :((( Mina help. We’re stuck. We need a hint.”

480 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

#2

Judging from the Daily Dracula tag a lot of people don’t know how copies were made with a typewriter - which is totally fair but is something I know so it’s grating at me.

Carbon copy paper existed and was used to make copies. The letters from a typewriter hit the paper hard enough to transfer the letters to another paper beneath and it was common to do two layers so you’d make three copies in one go. Mina, being a modern and clever woman with professional level typing skills, was most likely implementing this to make three copies at once while typing all of the information. One copy with ink letters directly from the typewriter and two copies made with carbon paper.

Fun aside the CC on emails comes from ‘carbon copy’ which stems from this practice of making immediate copies of handwritten or typed documents and giving someone a copy.

928 notes - Posted October 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

“Thank God! this is the country where bribery can do anything, and we are well supplied with money.”

Jonathan, babe, you just bribed like thirty people in London last week.

1,595 notes - Posted October 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Mr. Komaeda’s Lesson

THE FILTH ARRIVES

Summary: You should really proofread your assignments before submitting them... AKA: Professor Komaeda fucks you over his desk (literally my dream) Word count: 4258 Contains: she/her pronouns, explict sexual content, unsafe sex, professor/student relationships, gentle dom nagito (he’s very gentle i swear) Read on AO3  ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

The soothing smell of camomile lemon tea wafts around the small office. The blinds are half open, casting the orange light of the setting sun across the smooth leaves of a peace lily that resides in a pot hanging in front of the heating unit. The warm air rocks it gently back and forth. The atmosphere in the room is light and pleasant, but it does nothing to ease your nerves. 

“Do you want some?” Professor Komaeda asks as he pours himself a cup of the aforementioned camomile lemon tea. He has a little teapot sitting on his desk, it’s very cute. 

You clear your throat, fidgeting in your seat, “No thank you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, let’s get started then, shall we?” 

You’ve been dreading this meeting for weeks now. Your professor had been very insistent that this wouldn’t be a discussion about the quality of your work, but more about what he could do to help you maintain focus in lectures. There was also a brief mention about your most recent assignment, he said that he wasn’t concerned, but did want to run through a few things with you. 

He was very polite about it, which makes the true nature of your distraction only more reprehensible. 

“So, first I want to start with a simple question. How are you doing?” 

“Uh, fine?”

He nods and takes a sip of his tea, “No problems outside of our classes? You don’t need to answer if you aren’t comfortable.”

“No i- uh. I’m fine outside of classes too.” You fidget again, twisting your hands in your lap, “I’ve been...tired? But that’s my fault, I stay up too late.” 

He hums thoughtfully and rests his chin on the palm of his hand, “Could that be having an affect on your focus? I can see that you have been distracted in our most recent lectures and just want to make sure it isn’t a fault of myself or my material.” He laughs a little to himself, “I know I can be a little boring sometimes.” 

Professor Komaeda is not boring. He’s probably the most engaging lecturer you’ve ever had, passionate about his subject matter and very enthusiastic about class participation. He also wears really tight trousers and has long dexterous fingers that you can't help imagining inside of your-

“I mean, being tired could be the problem?” A bold faced lie. 

“Well in that case there isn’t much more I can suggest than a good night's rest.” He gives you a long look that makes you squirm in your seat, “I only graduated a few years ago myself, I understand the urge to make the most of your day, but you can’t keep burning the candle at both ends.” He takes another sip of his tea, a drop misses his mouth and rolls down his chin. He catches it with his thumb, which he then brings up to his lips and sucks. You swallow deeply, tearing your eyes from where his lips are meeting his skin. Your knee starts bouncing. Nerves. 

“Would it help if you sat a little closer to the front of the lecture hall?”

It wouldn’t. Especially not on warm days when he loosens his tie and undoes the first three buttons on his shirt. You spent a whole lecture transfixed on the dip of his collarbones once. Not great for your note taking, “maybe I’ll give that a go next week” you say. Another lie.

“Okay, try that out and let me know if it helps.” He gently sets down his teacup and starts working his white hair up into a bun. His fingers are so delicate as he combs through the strands, pulling his hair up and away from his pale throat, exposing the length of it to your hungry eyes-

A noise escapes from your mouth. Almost a whine, but not quite. Professor Komaeda doesn't say anything, but his intense eyes meet yours for just a moment. You clench your thighs together.

“Are you ready to talk about your assignment now?” He asks, picking the teacup again. It’s decorated with sunflowers, almost criminally cute, “No reason to be nervous. I want to make it clear that this matter hasn't had any affect on your grade, just some advice for next time.”

You nod shakily. Despite all of his reassurances, you are still very nervous. Partially because you wanted a good grade, partially because you had worked on that essay day and night with the intention of impressing him. So stupid. 

He gives you a pleasant smile and rifles through his desk for a moment, pulling out what you quickly recognise as a printed copy of your essay, “Take a look, i want to see if you can figure it out first.”

“Um...okay…” You skip past the title page and into the meat of the essay, reading through all of your points and making sure there weren't any obvious spelling mistakes. There wasn't anything that you could see, “Sorry...um...what page is it on?”

His teacup clinks when he sets it down again, leaning forward on his elbows and resting his chin on his hands. You can feel your heart fluttering in your chest, your palms are getting sweaty, “It’s on the title page actually. I’m surprised you didn't notice it.”

You shoot him a quizzical look and flip back to the first page. Your stomach plummets. 

Titles have never been your thing, summing up an entire essay in just a few words isn’t easy, so you usually use a placeholder right up until you submit it. You remember changing it, you remember triple checking it was changed before you emailed it through. But something must have gone wrong because in big bold capital letters, the title of you assignment reads: 

ESSAY SO GOOD PROFESSOR KOMAEDA WILL FUCK ME OVER HIS DESK 

Your hands are shaking, the edges of the paper crinkling under your tight grip. You are going to fail...you are going to be expelled...you are going to-

“Ah. I see you’ve realised your mistake, hm?”

Your head shoots up, forgetting for a moment that he is still sitting across from you. 

“Professor...I-I’m...obviously I’m…” you can’t get out a goddamn sentence, your mouth has all dried up, “I don’t even...I can’t…”

You are taken aback, when Professor Komaeda giggles. It’s a light little sound, he covers his mouth with a hand, “You are very bold, aren’t you?” 

“I….” 

“No need to worry, I’m not reporting this to the dean or anything like that. I see no reason to expel you over a silly little mistake like this one.”

“You...You dont want me to drop you class?”

He laughs again, you shrink under the intensity of his green eyes, “I’m not going to make you, no. If the situation isn’t going to make it even harder for you to focus during lectures, you can still come to class. I won't stop you, it is your choice.”

He is being remarkably cavalier about all of this, it’s almost unsettling, but you don't want to drop his class so you can't help being grateful, “Thank you so much, I...I promise i won't do this again.”

Professor Komaeda hums aloud, eyes half lidded as he looks at you from across the desk, “Won’t do what again?” he asks, though honestly its more of a purr, “Won’t think about me fucking you, or wont make the mistake of writing it down?”

Hearing the word fuck drop from that perfect mouth of his sends you into overdrive. Your thighs are clamped so tight together that your legs are shaking, you can feel yourself breathing hard, “I...uh...I....” you swallow, “I won't do...either?”

“There's no need to lie to me.” He breathes, standing up from his chair and rounding the desk. You can feel yourself quivering in his shadow, he towers over you. Your breath catches in your throat when one of his hands makes contact with your chin, slowly lifting your head up until you meet his eyes. His expression is positively hungry, “I want to make something very clear. This is your chance to leave, if you do we will never speak of this again. If you don’t, well…”

All you can do is stare at him, mouth going dry with realisation. 

“Your essay was very good, by the way.” He leans down until his nose is almost pressed against yours, you can smell the tea on his breath. You can feel the warmth of his skin, you can count his eyelashes, “Good enough that i’ll fuck you over my desk if you still want me to.”

In a moment of hungry lucidity, you grab him by the tie and tug his lips down to yours. Colliding in a positively ferocious kiss. You feel him laugh against your mouth before he slips his tongue in between your lips and traces your upper row of teeth, his tongue is wet and warm, your thighs are rubbing together as you grow desperate for any sort of friction. Professor Komaeda must be in a similar state, because he grabs you by the waist and tugs you up to your feet. Pressed firmly against him like this, you can feel the evidence of his arousal through his slacks, a moan escapes you when you feel his hips buck. 

He laughs again, pulling away from your mouth to press a hot kiss to the side of your throat. You feel his long fingers toying with the hemline of your skirt, slowly slipping up underneath it, “These pretty little things…” he whispers, tugging on the top of your thigh high stocking and releasing it with a snap, “do you wear them for me?”

There’s no point lying anymore. You can’t stop shaking, “I...yes…”

You feel him moan against your skin, sinking his teeth into the join between your neck and shoulder, “Did you really think I wouldn’t take notice? Of the way you undress me with your eyes in class, of these tiny little skirts you started wearing?” He grabs a handful of your ass and you squeal, “you’re so gorgeous. You could have anyone in that class if you wanted, but here you are with me-“ he grinds up against you, cock warm and hard through his slacks, “-I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve this.”

His voice is so soft and gentle, even while he’s palming your ass and grinding his hips against yours, he still talks like he’s giving a lecture on historical literature. It’s hot, how easily he is able to maintain his composure while you are little more than a quivering mess beneath him, but still...you want to see him come undone.

You hear more than feel your knees colliding with the wooden floorboards. Professor Komaeda is unable to give little more than a surprised look before you have his slacks and boxers shoved halfway down his thighs and his cock in your mouth. He lets out a shocked little moan, burying his long fingers into your hair as his hips stutter forward. Now that was the reaction you wanted. 

“Oh...ohhhh-“ he whines, slowly moving himself in and out of your mouth as you tease his head with your tongue, “ahh...your mouth feels so good, angel.” 

You were not expecting him to call you angel. It’s like a bolt of lightning to your cunt, your hands jump up the dig deep into the meat of his thighs as you moan downright salaciously around his cock. 

“I can feel you moaning.” He whispers, “I can’t believe how much you’re enjoying this” you look up at him through your lashes and see his cheeks are red, his perfect lips are swollen from his biting them incessantly. You moan again just from the sight of him, he hisses and his hips cant forward deeper into your mouth, “wow. You...You really like doing this don’t you? Wrapping your perfect soft lips around my filthy cock?” 

Filthy? That makes your eyebrows jump. You could always tell that your professor had some sort of inferiority complex, but you didn't realise it was...this intense.

“S’pretty.” You managed to slur around him, “Tastes good.”

He laughs again, it explodes from his mouth and shakes his shoulders. Unbridled, almost wild. He grins down at you, “I’m sure it doesn’t taste as good at you.” He purrs, tucking your hair behind your ear, “get up on the desk.”

Well, you weren’t going to say no to that. You give his cock one last long lick before standing back up from the floor, just before you hoist yourself up on the table, Professor Komaeda grabs you by the wrist, “Panties off, please.”

You feel yourself turn crimson, but dutifully shimmy out of your panties and let them drop to the floor. He smiles at you, hands curling around your waist as he leans into your ear, “that’s my girl.” He whispers, and lifts you up onto his desk. His hands are cold on the bare skin of your thighs peeking out from the top of your stockings, your stomach twists and curls as he slowly edges your legs open, and drops to his knees between them.

“Oh my god…” you squeak, he’s staring up at you with a look that is downright sinful and he doesn’t break eye contact, even when one of those perfect fingers slips inside you, “agh!” 

He chuckles warmly, gently thrusting his finger in and out of you, “you’re so wet, angel...I can’t imagine why someone like me is making you so aroused, but I’m not complaining.” 

His finger curls inside of you, and your hips jolt, “Mmph! Pro-Professor I-“ 

He smiles saccharinely as a second finger pushes its way inside you, “Nagito.” He corrects, pressing a hot kiss to the inside of your thigh, “We’re well beyond the need for formality. Don’t you think?” You cover your mouth to muffle a squeal as he adds a third finger. Your knees are wobbling and you can barely breathe, he’s just sitting between your legs and grinning at you, “Now let’s see if you taste as good as i imagine, hm?”

He pulls your clit in between his lips and sucks. You have to bite down on your hand to keep yourself from screaming, “F-Fuck...Nagito...I--hng!” 

“It is after hours, you know.” He whispers, you can feel his breath on your cunt and you shiver, “There’s no reason for you to restrain yourself.” He licks your clit again and moans, “Haa...It may be selfish of me, but i want to hear you. If you’ll let me.”

“Oh god-” You hiss out when his tongue starts circling around you, “-keep doing that, and you’ll hear me alright.”

Nagito giggles and peers up at you, “Then I suppose I'll get back to work.” He hoists your thighs over his shoulders, and starts eating you out in earnest. You lean back on your elbows, and watch his soft white hair bob between your thighs as his tongue works it’s magic, he alternates between running the flat of his tongue up the length of you and focussing directly on your clit. Your toes are curling, mouth wide open with a constant stream of moans and whimpers that you have no hope of stopping. It feels so good, you had dreamt about this alone at night in your bed and even in those fantasies it hadn't felt this good. 

His fingers slip out of you, but before you even have a chance to complain, they are replaced with his tongue. You moan so loudly that it rumbles through your chest, your hips rise up to meet his mouth and his hands curl around the soft flesh of your thighs, tugging you even closer. He groans. The wet muscle is slowly thrusting in and out of you when he presses down firm on your clit with his thumb, “I--mmph...Nagito m’gonna cum…” your hips are grinding relentlessly up against his face and you can feel your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat. 

“Cum for me, angel.” He whispers, thumb rubbing your clit in brutal circles, “I want to feel you squeezing around my tongue.” 

You throw your head back in a howl as his tongue slips back inside, the desk rattling with the force of your quivering hips. You can hear the slick sounds his mouth is making against your cunt, the way he is panting and moaning just from the taste of you. The tightness in your stomach grows unbearable, then he curls his tongue upward, and it snaps. You see whiteness behind your eyes, thighs shaking with the intensity of it. You can feel the vibration of Nagito’s moan inside of you and his fingers dig tight into the meat of your thighs. He’s enjoying your orgasm almost as much as you are. 

When he finally pulls away from you, the lower half of his face is glistening with your wetness. He gives you a pleased smile, eyes half lidded as he brings his wet fingers up to his mouth and licks them clean, “I knew you would taste good.” He whispers, wiping the mouth with the back of his hand, “Think you can cum again, angel?”

Just watching him suck on his fingers is enough to get you going again, “Yeah, I definitely can.”

He laughs and stands up from the floor. His cock is flushed red and dripping, you suddenly realise he hadn't touched it that whole time, he must be painfully hard at this point. You lick your lips, you can't help it. He follows your line of sight and smiles, “Be a good girl and bend over the desk for me, please.” 

You slide down off the desk, ready to follow his orders but quickly stop yourself, “Oh. One second.”

“Hm?”

You grab the teapot from the desk and quickly rest it on the windowsill, “Sorry. That was a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Ah, yes. You’re right.” His hand slips up to your cheek, thumb resting on your lips. He smiles when you pull it into your mouth and suck, “I’ll have to thank you for saving my carpet. Unless you see any other hazards, i would still like to fuck you.”

That word again. It sounds doubly filthy when he says it, the way his lips mold around it is downright sinful. A shaky moan drops from your mouth as you turn around and do as he asks, your breasts are squished up against the sturdy wood, and the desk is a little too tall for you, your feet are dangling just above the floor. You’re shaking with anticpation, and it grows even worse when you feel the warmth of Nagito’s palm caressing your ass, “For my own peace of mind…” he whispers, his other hand running a finger up the length of your sex, “When do you graduate?”

You laugh, “It’s a little late for that, isn't it, Professor?” you feel his hand still on your ass and you clear your throat, “Uh, this is my last semester. A few months.”

He sighs pleasantly, “Ah, that’s good. This has been very fun, though i'm not sure we should do it again.” You feel the head of his cock kiss your entrance and hiss through your teeth, “At least...not for a few months.” You can hear the smirk on his face.

“I’ve waited this long.” You say, grinding backwards into his cock, “I can wait again.”

He leans down until his mouth is right beside your ear, “Good girl.” He whispers, and finally thrusts inside of you. It feels so good, he fills you so well. Your cheek is pressed firmly against the hard wood of the desk and a pathetic little mewl escapes your mouth at the feeling. You cunt already dripping from your last orgasm, you take him so easily, so smoothly. It feels like he is meant to be inside you. 

You feel a hand on your lower back, pushing you further down onto the desk and Nagito hisses through his teeth. Pumping slowly and deeply inside of you, like he is savoring it, “You’re doing so well, angel. I--fuck...You’re so warm.” his breathing is laboured, the rhythmic sound of his hips hitting your ass is echoing around the room, “I still can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you. I must be the luckiest man alive.” 

“Please...more!” you whine, trying to force him deeper inside of you with the movement of your hips. 

Nagito lets out a strangled moan and starts pounding faster, one of his hands slipping down between your legs to circle your clit, you cry out at the extra stimulation, toes curling inside of your shoes. The desk is shaking with the force of his thrusts now, there's a cute little statuette of a frog that falls down to the carpet with a clatter, but he doesn't stop. 

“You feel so good, darling...I--I don't think i can-” a groan rips through him and you can feel his thrusts growing sloppier, “-you’re so good for...so perfect...I can't hold--ah ahh” he swallows, “Please, angel, i want to feel you cum again.”

You’re close, mouth raw from panting and moaning, legs going numb from behind suspended in the air. Then, the finger on your clit presses down firm and his cock grinds up against your g-spot. That is all you need, you come unraveling under him, the walls of your cunt clenching impossibly tight around him.

“Ah, yes!” He cries, grabbing your hips and pounding you desperately, relishing in the feeling of your hot, tight cunt. Milking him dry, “Good, girl. So good for me.” Then, he cums, you feel his cock throb deep inside of you as his hips stutter and slow. 

It is only now that you are hit with the realisation. You just fucked Professor Komaeda. Holy hell.

All you can do is lay there while he slowly pulls himself out of you. Wincing a little at the wierd feeling of emptyness. You manage to roll yourself over, laying flat on your back with your legs still dangling from the desk. Nagito laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek, “Are you alright?”

You laugh weakly, “We’re going to get in so much trouble.”

“Not if no one finds out.” He tucks some of your hair behinf your ear, “Don’t worry about it, I’m very lucky with this sort of thing.”

“I just dont want you to get in trouble.”

He giggles, “That’s very kind of you, but this was as much my choice as it was yours.” he runs his fingers down your cheek and gives you a gentle kiss on your lips, “I meant what i said, about meeting up again.”

You manage to pull yourself up until you are sitting upright, you give him a sleepy smile, “Yeah, me too. I like you a lot.”

“How very sweet of you to say, angel.” He presses his forehead to yours and tangles your fingers together, “Let’s get you cleaned up now, hm? Can’t have you walking home like that”

To be honest, you aren’t sure you can walk at all.

____________________________

A few months later, you are sitting in the local cafe and applying for some jobs on your laptop. You did well on your final assessments and graduated with flying colours. It’s only a few more days before you need to officially move out of the dorms, and finding a new apartment (along with a job to pay for it) has not been easy so far. 

You huff and push your hair back from your face. Your phone pings, and you ignore it. It’s been pinging for the past few minutes and you are not in the mood to check it. The job you are currently applying for made you retype all of the information in your resume even though you just uploaded it, and you are not happy. 

The phone pings again and you groan, grabbing it and flipping it over. It looks like it’s just the group chat, as loud as always. As you go to close the message notifications though, you see one from about ten minutes ago that isn't from your group chat. Your heart is racing. 

Hello!

I still have your number from when you asked for an assignment extension at the beginning of last semester. I hope you don't mind me using it. It’s been a few months, I'd like to see you again, if you wouldn't mind.

-Nagito

Oh shit. Your heart is beating a rapid tattoo in your chest. You had been so caught up in the job hunt and apartment hunt that you had all but forgotten about...this. You swallow and manage to force your shaky hands to type.

Oh hey!

It’s nice to hear from you. I’m free this weekend if you want to meet up, I still live in the dorms though, so it’ll have to be your place.

It's only about a minute before you get a reply.

Lol! I was thinking we could start with coffee, but I'm not going to lie and say i wasn’t hoping it would end up in my bedroom. 

This weekend works for me. I can pick you up around 11?

You smile at your phone, cheeks turning crimson.

Sounds good. I’ll see you then.

You quickly update his contact details in your phone from Professor Komaeda, to Nagito <3.

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time-Ch 5

I'm back! lots of things to come, and a slightly longer, Tim centered, chapter! and...the build-up to the Timari subplot! 

Yay!

 I know that is what everyone is actually here for lol.

Tim was tired of looking for Jason.

He wasn’t at any of his normal safe houses, and none of his usual contacts had heard from him in the last few weeks. Three weeks after the ridiculous scandal had broken, the press had all but forgotten Tim for the time being. As he ducked through alleyways, the teen couldn’t help but be thankful as he climbed back on his bike and sped back towards Wayne Manor.

He was done waiting for his brother to show up. There was something sketchy going on in their city, and if Jason wasn’t going to show up, then it was no longer his concern.

When he got home, Tim found Bruce waiting for him in the study looking over the side gardens. The older C.E.O.’s face was grim.

When Tim approached the desk, Bruce handed him a stack of papers. As Tim started to page through them, he had a flashback to when Jared Stone had brought the pile of tabloids.

As he flipped through the new stack, Tim realized that it was Jason’s credit card statement. And-was that…? “did he buy a ticket for Paris? Why didn’t we get notified about his passport passing through customs? Why is Jason in France of all places?” when he looks back at his adoptive father, the man’s face was grim.

“I don’t know, Tim. But we sure as hell are going to find out. Go to his apartment. I know you have a key. We need to see if he left anything out from before he left.” Bruce paused before adding, “he’s been gone for two weeks. There has to be a reason.” Tim nodded as he moved to stride from the room before Alfred spoke, shocking both Bruce and Tim.

“Maser Bruce, did you by chance call Master Jason? Last I remember, his cell phone was still working.” The father and son froze, before turning to the family Butler, slack-jawed.

“We really are stupid.”

 Damian didn’t see anything wrong with Todd being gone. It was quieter around the Manor and it meant that the 13-year-old was allowed to patrol through Crime Alley by himself, something none of his predecessors had been able to do at his age.

As the young teen flew over the city, his mind raced. He found this the most relaxing part of his time with his father.

At the manor, there was always something going on and there was always someone looking over his shoulder. Here, as he went rooftop to rooftop, arching over this city, the boy was able to finally find some peace.

A sound over his earpiece broke Robin from his quiet elation. “Robin, how are you doing? Is everything clear?” oracle’s voice filtered through, bringing him to relax. Oracle he could handle.

“it’s a regular night, Oracle. A few of the regulars. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“perfect. Finish up and head back, B wants you back before 2 because you have school tomorrow.”

The annoyed “Tch” that came down the line made the redhead laugh from where she sat at the computer.

 Tim had texted Jason before he had left for patrol. When he got back, there was a response waiting for him.

Jason: in Paris. I’ll be back soonish

Tim: Jay, what’s soonish?

Tim: there’s a situation we need your help with.

Jason: kid, I'll be back when I can.

Jason: if B cares, tell him Gina kidnapped me. I’m staying with her right now.

Jason: otherwise, just wait. It's personal business.

Tim: Jay, we are your family. Doesn’t that make it our business too?

Jason: in this case, no. fuck off, replacement

Tim: See you when you get back Jay

 The teen sighed. It was just like Jason to try and handle everything himself. This time, Tim couldn’t play interference either, he was stuck across an ocean. He just hoped this Gina person wasn’t as impulsive as his older brother. If she was, they would all be in trouble.

 As he made his way to his room, having showered and gotten himself ready for the next day, Tim paused by his desk.

He had taken the time to compile a file on the girl from a few weeks ago but hadn’t read it yet. He knew that if he was to read it, it would be violating her privacy, but he did that every day, so was this any different? To Tim, the only difference was that this girl wasn’t someone to watch or take in. she was just a normal girl with a normal life, who had run into him for a split second.

It wasn’t like he was going to meet her, right?

The teen shook his head and flopped onto his bed. It wasn’t worth it tonight. He could have the moral debate with himself when he was properly rested.

 Maybe he should have called in sick. Tim was definitely finding a way to leave early, as he looked at the list of meetings that he had been scheduled for.

Why had he agreed to this again? He could have sworn that he had told his assistant that Wednesday was his day to go home and work on his college classes. Instead, Tim had a feeling that he was going to be at the office late.

On his off night too.

 Partway through the day, he noticed an email that he didn’t recognize in his personal inbox. The inbox that he probably shouldn’t have been checking on the company computer but…

After a moment of hesitation, the young C.E.O. had clicked on the new email and blinked at what pulled up.

  From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Mr. Drake,

My name is Marinette Dupain Cheng. I believe that we ran into each other quite literally a month and a half ago, approximately. As I am sure that you have at least seen the fictitious stories floating through the media, I assume that you are aware of the interaction that I am referring to.

Originally, I had no intention of reaching out, but a friend of mine encouraged me to reach out. (had actually was the one to give me your email. Does the name Jason Todd ring a bell?) I do hope that this whole press fiasco hasn’t hindered you too terribly.

Kindest Regards,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Tim blinked once before rereading the short email that the girl had sent. No. no way. She knew Jason? And what did she mean, Jason was the one to encourage her to reach out? Opening up a new draft, Tim hesitated before flicking his wrists to rid himself of tension and trying his reply.

 From: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

To: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

Miss Dupain Cheng,

I was surprised to receive your email, but it seems that it came at a fortunate time. Yes, I do know Jason Todd. I know him quite well, actually. He and I were adopted by the same man, Bruce Wayne. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you meet my brother?

I must apologize, for the whole scandal from last month. I know that neither of us were directly responsible, but I do feel bad for any trouble it may have caused you. If it is not too much of an intrusion, I might also ask, how were you able to respond so quickly? The only reason I knew about the incident was Bruce’s old friend Jared. The man came into my office in a fit about the nerve of the photographer.

(if you ever meet the man, you will understand what I mean when I say that he never does things halfway. He had picked up a copy of every magazine or tabloid that ran a story about it. When he came in, he actually brought his crocodile as well. Fang scared the lobby staff more than anything has for the past bit, I believe.)

I hope this finds you well,

Timothy Drake Wayne

 After reading through his email one more time to make sure it sounded professional enough, Tim hit the send button and let out a deep breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that this was the start of something important.

Suddenly, Tim was very glad he hadn’t read the girl’s file.

 As he was preparing to head to yet another meeting later that afternoon, Tim glanced at his personal email again. To his surprise, the teen was met with another email from the French girl.

 From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Mr. Drake (or is it Drake Wayne?)

Jason was sitting next to me when I opened your last email. Imagine my surprise when he panicked. Apparently, he had decided against informing any of his family of his departure. I must say, his reaction was quite entertaining.

Onto your question from your email, Penny Rolling, a good friend of mine, dropped off a box full of the tabloid trash that her husband, Jagged had shipped to her as soon as she got it. After my initial reaction, the two of us got a good laugh out of the whole situation. Especially when we heard that Jagged tried to bring Fang into your office! I guess to you, he would be Jared, but to me, he will always be my Uncle Jagged.

In other news, I thought it would be polite to pass on that Jason will be returning in the next few days. He has been fretting over a family emergency, not that he will tell me what it is but, there is only so much I can do. However, I thought it might be prudent to forewarn you that he will be bringing my grandmother back with him. Nona said it was something to do with one of his ‘side hustles’. Knowing those two, however, makes me think that Jason has gotten himself into something significantly illegal this time.

No need to apologize for something that neither of us could control! You did not ask for the photographer to take that ridiculous photo, nor did you ask for the fiction writers who work for the tabloids to write a piece of the photo. That said, I do feel that it has opened many new avenues. I know that Jason and I reconnected because of the photo, and it has given my lawyers something to focus on while we wait on proceedings for other matters.

Have a good day,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Jason was coming home sooner than he planned. It seemed like Tim’s text had actually gotten through to his older brother.

With a sigh, he marked the email as important so that he would remember to respond to it before he started on his homework.

The teen C.E.O. snagged his thermos of coffee on the way out the door, he had a meeting to go to.

And...there it is! this week I'm going to try and work out my posting schedule. what did everyone think of the emails?

  i know that there are a lot more people in the Wayne/bat family, so I'm going to work them in a little bit at a time. as far as Dick Grayson is concerned, btw he knows about the scandal but not about Jason's sister or that he's not in Gotham.

MasterPost

Tag List

@moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter 

@trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh @m0chick0furan @susiej1118@t1dwarrior-of-earth

[rheallsim]

After the impromptu wedding, they rush to City Hall and sign the relevant papers; it’s now official!

Travis moves in, and immediately gets to work on his programming skill using Gabby’s computer. He brings with him his meager savings of $3000 simoleons; enough for a few fish bowls for the fish friends and a vacuum cleaner! Finally Gabby won’t be living in dusty squalor anymore…

She also gives herself another little makeover, and goes back to her original hairstyle. (What can I say, I’m weak. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

[There’s lots more under the cut… this is a big one, folks. Apologies in advance. I love you all! 💕]

Needless to say, these two goobs are very happy together.

“Hey, Gab,” Travis whispers, "What do you think about kids?”

“Whoa, slow down there hot shot!” She laughs. “We’re barely past the honeymoon period. Why don’t we save that kind of talk for a little later, huh? We have our whole lives ahead of us.”

The next day, they both go off to work. Gabby gets home earlier than Travis, and that’s when she remembers something…

“Oh, fuck… the money!”

She immediately gives the strange executor of her distant family’s estate a call, and explains that she’s married, and will forward them a copy of their marriage certificate as proof.

“You’ll get the inheritance soon,” the strange voice replies. “Congratulations!”

She immediately rushes to the computer to start drafting the email, her marriage certificate attached. Her fingers shake in anticipation of the money. Maybe she’ll be able to treat Travis to a real honeymoon with it!

Travis finally arrives home. He had a very good day at work; he’s now officially a Code Monkey! Excited to share the news, he rushes inside to find Gabby.

“Hey Gab, guess what—!”

He stops short when he sees what’s on the computer screen:

Subject: Inheritance Money You’ll find attached my marriage certificate as proof that I satisfied your conditions within the time allotted. I await the deposit of the money with gratitude for your patience and generosity. Yours truly, Gabrielle KcKinley

Subject: Re: Inheritance Money Proof of marriage received. I’m impressed you managed to get married in only 5 days; you must be quite the minx! I have deposited the §150,000 to your savings account, as directed. Take care, and enjoy your newfound riches. Sincerely, Executor

“What’s—” He hesitates, “What’s all this about marriage and money?”

Gabby hastily closes the window, but it’s too late; and that action may have been more incriminating than she intended.

She starts to panic. “This… this isn’t how I wanted you to find out…”

“Find out what?” Travis asks, his voice tight. “That you married me just to get this money?

Gabby’s horrified. She tries to explain, but their emotions are already reeling out of control, and she stumbles awkwardly through her words.

“So if I’m hearing this correctly,” Travis says a minute later. “You got a phone call saying you were entitled to a shit-ton of money… but only if you got married within seven days. And you got this phone call, when?”

“Last week… just before I met you at the gym,” Gabby winces, knowing this was going to sound bad.

“That was the day we first started flirting with each other!” Travis wails, pain in his voice. “Do you know how this sounds, Gab?!”

“But, it wasn’t like that!” Gabby pleads. “I love you!”

“This isn’t the kind of thing you hide from someone you love!” He retorts. “I can’t believe you did this… after all we said about only needing each other and nothing else, and you married me just for the money!”

Gabby tries to argue, but Travis is furious, and won’t listen to her.

“No! I’m not listening to your excuses!” He shouts. “You can keep your fucking money, I want none of it! And I want none of… whatever this is!”

He gets up and storms out of the bedroom. “I can’t live like this. I’m moving back in with my friends. I can’t even look at you any more.”

Now Gabby can’t help but get angry. “Well, fine! If you can’t see that I did this for us, that’s your problem! Get out, go back to sharing a dingy flat with your stupid friends, see if I care!”

The words were said. They couldn’t be taken back.

“Goodbye, Gabrielle.” Travis says. “Don’t call me.”

“Fine, go! Get out!” Gabby shouts after him, her voice shrill and cracking. “And don’t come back!”

Her anger slowly fades and she’s left alone. This… this was a nightmare.

She barely sleeps. She sends a text to Travis asking to talk, but gets no reply. She wakes up that morning feeling sick, and goes to the bathroom, hoping that what she was expecting wasn’t true…

But it was. She was expecting. “Shit.”

She takes the day off work, knowing it would be useless to go. She spends the whole day full of misery and regret, but there was nothing she could do. Travis wasn’t returning her calls.

“I’ve got to get out of Willow Creek… I can’t stay here any more.”

[of-another-broken-heart]

I’m just going to copy/paste this because it took me hours and I’m drained. 

I guess I have to format it again if I want it to show up at all... 

I couldn't even make it back home before breaking down crying again.

Driving while chronically sleep deprived, exhausted, fatigued, and dissociating is bad enough. Doing it with all that AND without being able to see? How special. 

I barely had time to sit down, my phone rang. I answered it, begging for someone to hear me. For thirty straight seconds. "Hello? Hello? Hello???" Finally someone spoke, but they couldn't hear me. I'm sobbing. They hung up. I scrambled to call back, from my computer, because at least then I'm not fighting a lack of reception as well as my anxiety. They called again. I didn't answer. I waited for my computer to ring through instead. I'm put on hold.  I'm sobbing. It was just to ask what my pharmacy is. Which I already answered on my paperwork. Which I answered, again, at check-out. And I was forced into a third confirmation via a pointless, needless, anxiety-attack inducing phone call hazing. For something I already answered. 

It's not fucking fun. People don't choose this. I didn't choose this. But does it matter? "Call," the command comes. "Just call." "Call to confirm." "Call to ask." "Call." "Call." "Call." 

I want you to think of something that takes physical hold of your body and brings to you to tears. I want you to hold that and sit with it until it does those things. I want you to choose to reduce yourself to a sobbing mess, struggling to breathe, alone. And I want you to picture a world where you are commanded, demanded, required to do this. For virtually everything. Imagine needing help - but you must first re-traumatize yourself with your most painful memories until your nose is running and your eyes burn from crying. And you're exhausted for the rest of the day, too. Maybe multiple days. Absolutely exhausted. So fucking depleted that taking yourself to the bathroom is almost impossible. Feeding yourself - even eating something out of a can, or microwaved - is a herculean effort. Does that sound fun? Of course not. 

As for the appointment itself: It's the same. Much better bedside manner. But it's the same underlying capitalism-serving "care" system. It's my fault. I'm not trying hard enough. I'm not blacking out alone on the side of the road enough. I haven't dissociated hard enough and/or blacked out while driving yet, so it can't be that bad, right? Not until I'm maimed or dead, right? Why address the root of a problem when we can just plaster on endless band-aids instead? When we can blame you for hurting, instead of the environment that's poisoning you? I'm not medically sedating myself into an obedient little wage slave, and that's the real problem. I should aspire to produce capital for someone with most of the remaining hours of my life. That's the purpose of living, that's the reason for "health"care - not to care about health, no, just to keep the wheels of capitalism well-oiled with wasted human life. Inherent human value? Quality of life? Nah. 

They refused my medical history. I brought the 72-page pdf on a flash drive. Because that's how I was given it. Because I can't afford to buy and operate a personal fax machine and/or print out a chapter book's worth of pages of medical records. I went through the trouble of getting the files, and it took over a month - only to be told "we can't take anything but paper or fax." I filled out a file release form as best I could. But I didn't have the phone number or address memorized. Not even before that place became synonymous with medical neglect and trauma for me. So now they're going to go through the ancient months-long ritual of requesting the self-fucking-same documents from LISH, either by mail or fax, because they "can't" access a flash drive or a pdf or use email. Welcome to 2021. We're back to "normal" and teleheath never existed and the internet is fake and technology is a myth and why do anything efficiently when you can waste time and do damage to people instead? My Aunt called to check in on me during her lunch break. (Thank you again) She offered to get the file printed and try to hand it in for me. I'm too tired to hope. I'm too exhausted to think they'll accept it without fuss. Anything and everything to make things harder.

Top priority order of business is the whole "diseased for life" thing. Hashimoto's thyroiditis. Hypothyroidism. Daily hormones for every day of the rest of forever, gatekept behind eternal doctor visits and prescriptions and pharmacies and copays and and and and did I mention this is forever? I've got a referral to have a thyroid sonogram done. Haven't ever had one of those before. Need to make that appointment. I was able to have my blood drawn for the thyroid testing without needing an additional appointment, which was a nice change of pace. Normally you're supposed to fast for that, but I wasn't expecting that could be done during the visit. Three years of having to make additional trips to the lab for blood work. I ate immediately before getting there, so hopefully nothing had a chance to metabolize and skew the results. Even though it was great not to have to juggle yet another appointment for health shit, it was stressful. The nurse took three tries before she had all the supplies she needed in the room. I already have anxiety spikes (which also raise my blood pressure and heart rate) for all doctor visits now. (White Coat Syndrome, I learned, it's called) I didn't need to have a rubber cable tied around my arm, popped off, tied again, popped off, and tied a third and final time to make it worse. A pro to that con: she was incredibly accurate and gentle. I normally have sub-dermal bleeding and some bruising after having blood drawn, and keep the bandage on for a day or two. The bandage didn't last even an hour after I got home - but there wasn't a single spot of trapped blood, and I almost couldn't even tell where she stuck me.

I have another new diagnosis to add to my growing collection. Hypertension. High blood pressure. I used to have slightly low blood pressure. It stunned the first doctor I ever saw (you know, because I'm fat, so that sort of thing is supposed to be ~impossible~) and it frustrated my last doctor at first, too. But now, with years of building stress and anxiety? It's almost like living with your most basic human needs barely provided (food, shelter, healthcare - let's not bring up social needs LMAO those don't count anyway, right?), and at constant risk of being taken away, for months (years, in some cases) on end, is some form of stress. It's almost like being constantly dismissed and told "you're just not trying hard enough" (WHILE TRYING YOUR BEST JUST TO SURVIVE EACH DAY) is some form of stress!It's almost like perpetual, ongoing, worsening stress has a negative impact on your heart! It's almost like there are decades of data that spell this out, plain as day!It's almost like I noticed my elevated heart rate back in NOVEMBER and mentioned it out of concern to my last doctor - who dismissed it outright because my reading in-office wasn't *that* bad, and also shouldn't I be on 5487 psych meds instead? If I was sedated out of my mind, I wouldn't be physically capable of feeling stress in my body despite the presence of real-world stress factors. That's healthy, right? Don't bother to solve the stressors, just neuter the body's response to them. Super healthy response. (Not) My GYN took note of my concern in December, when my vitals DID show as high in-office. Not that my GYN had the jurisdiction to do anything about it. I'm being put on another medication to try to mitigate this, and potentially also address some anxiety. I haven't picked it up yet. I don't know the name. I don't know if I'll be able to afford it. "Your copay is only a dollar!" Yes well, when you don't have a dollar, you can't afford a dollar, can you?

I was given a list of psychiatrists. To "Call!!"Precisely none of them are a reasonable distance away. Nearly half aren't even in my insurance network. Some explicitly exclude Medicaid. Others are exclusively for children. I was suggested a medication for depression and anxiety. I can't remember which one. Either Abilify or Lexapro? I declined it for now, either way. I wanted to be able to research it. Lexapro is just another SSRI and I already know those don't work for me. Adding a chemical bouncer to my brain to make sure the happy chemicals stay out to play doesn't help when there are no happy chemicals in the first place. A quick search for Abilify doesn't address anxiety at all so it was probably Lexapro. In which case, I am not interested in repeating a different-flavor-Prozac experience. It was not good. I didn't get any notes with that medication, regardless. I got a sticky note with "Valerian Root Extract (tea or tincture)" and "Magnesium Glycinate 2 capsules" scribbled on it, instead. Out-of-pocket home rem-maybes. I can't afford to experiment with snake oils, so mostly I'll probably just spend a bunch of time looking for data and research and studies for those substances, and that's it. If I get around to psychiatric care, I will have to start from scratch in my insurance's shoddy search tool, again. And, frankly, it's not a priority. My mental health struggles are the result of a lot of physical factors and external/social factors, and no amount of artificial chemicals bullying my brain is going to solve any of it. When your car starts leaking oil, you don't just commit to buying more oil forever and dribbling it all over, wherever you go. You fix the fucking leak. If your house has a gas leak, you don't invest in gas masks. You fix the fucking leak. If you end up with a burst pipe, you don't commit to wasting water and money and damaging your environment. You fix. The fucking. Leak. But in these comparisons, I'm getting prescribed oil and gas masks and infinite water damage/waste/bills as long-term care.

I mentioned my fatigue. It was the final straw that made me give up with the last doctor. It just keeps getting worse. It's been getting worse for over 3 years. And I'm so, so fucking tired of it getting pinned fully on the fact that I'm not on psych meds. I WAS on psych meds during part of those 3 years with my last doctor. And it didn't fucking make any difference! A daily chemical lobotomy does not address or restore my lack of physical energy. My decades-old medication-resistant insomnia has never vanished with psych meds before, and it's not likely to do it now. Especially not with yet another of the same family of chemicals that I already know don't work. I want my concern to be taken seriously. I don't want it just brushed into the mental health corner, again. Being too tired to even do the things you used to enjoy - no one fucking wants this! I don't want this! I miss being able to go for walks. I miss going to the gym. I miss seeing how much I could do, and feeling good, and feeling strong. And I can't do any of that now. Not without risking harming myself in the process. 

No one wants this. I keep talking, but it feels like no one listens. At the earliest opportunity, we're back to repeating the same tired old shit that doesn't work. I try to come prepared, and the stress and time and system make sure I fail to stand up for myself anyway. I didn't get to document my disordered eating history. The relapse this year. Restricting, sometimes to the point of not eating at all. I declined to be weighed, because I want my care to be based on relevant data, vitals, blood results - not the shape and size of my body. But I was too tired to realize I needed to dodge a verbal ask for the same information. Which, it turns out, is nearly as bad a trigger as having the scale spit it out for me. Being your own advocate for equal care, when you're already tapped out? I'm not winning that challenge. 

I'm frustrated. I'm not giving up, but I am frustrated and beyond tired. I don't really expect anyone to read this mess. But it's here.

[swordarkeereon]

Tech Review for Writers: reMarkable2

I got myself a piece of interesting tech this year in hopes it would get me from out in front of a computer screen more often. Meet the reMarkable2, a distraction free (i.e. it’s not connected to the entirety of the internet) e-ink tablet workhorse that’s easy on the eyes.

The reMarkable2 Tablet

First things first. The reMarkable2 tablet is not for everyone and your average person probably won’t find it the least bit useful. So let’s talk about why you don’t want this tablet first.

reMarkable 2 is not for you if: 

– You want an eReader.  eReaders have a VERY DIFFERENT function than the reMarkable2. Yes, you can read PDFs on a reMarkable, but it’s more for *marking up* a PDF and commenting in the margins of a PDF. Not just reading. eReaders like Kindles and Nooks often have built in dictionaries, ways to bookmark pages or passages of text, etc…  that the reMarkable2 doesn’t have. You can search your documents for specific phrases and words and also highlight things in a light gray, but if you’re just looking for an eReader, I suggest a Kindle.

– You want a full functioning tablet that you can put apps on and surf the web with- If you’re looking for a full functioning tablet, you’ve missed the whole point of the reMarkable2. The main point behind reMarkable2 is so you can go to your creative place (wherever that may be) and brainstorm, free from ALL distractions. You can’t stop to surf FB or your Twitter feed on a reMarkable2, thus making it more likely you’ll stay on task and get more done.

– You want something with color so you can highlight because what you really want is a fully functioning ebook reader or tablet. This tablet is really more of a no frills brainstorming and note-taking tool for entrepreneurs, professionals, academics, and creatives (including engineers, writers, musicians, possibly artists if they like to sketch in black and white) who use a lot of black pens and plain paper.

I bought the tablet for the following reasons (which I wrote down BEFORE I received the device):

– I wanted an electronic notebook (not a tablet). I’m one of those people who goes through 3 packs of sticky notes every month, and countless notebooks every year. I am constantly jotting stuff down to keep myself focused and on track while running my own business and helping out at the family business.  My notes can be anything from putting together presentations, classes, and meetings, to extensive to-do lists for the day. Sometimes it’s just me keeping track of sales figures. As a result, my desk is always filled with papers and notebooks and I’m constantly searching for shit. The electronic notebook cleans up all this clutter and helps me organize my brain. (Have you seen my brain!? It’s a mess in there.)

– I  like to write freehand, especially when I’m plotting the next book or writing a blurb, or even writing a chapter – and it must be distraction free. This is something only fellow authors will understand. The fact that the reMarkable2 can convert handwritten notes to text sent via email has me excited because, if I’m lucky and it works, I won’t have to go through and transcribe all my handwritten notes. It basically saves me time by eliminating a step. I can copy/paste the note from my email into the appropriate file on my laptop. This will also save me the clutter and weight of carrying countless notebooks.

– I am involved with projects that require me to sketch out ideas for marketing and/or artwork. I do have tablets that can do this, but nothing that does it *well*. The closest is my Surface tablet, which can do a lot of things, but it still doesn’t feel like paper or allow me the fine detail paper allows. I’m hoping this tablet is a bit more responsive in this area. – I am forever printing out rough drafts of manuscripts for markup – wasting a ton of paper and toner in the process. All because I can’t edit on a backlit screen. My eyes get tired and I miss too many errors. If I can transfer my PDF drafts to the reMarkable and mark them up there with minimal errors left over, I could save some $$. I am actually estimating that I could easily save the cost of the reMarkable2 in 6 months to 1 year’s time by not having to purchase the paper, pens, and toner I usually go through in that time frame.  Plus, these marked up manuscripts often end up in a stack on my office floor for 6 months to a year after publication. 

– I am forever having to read PDFs of laws and regulations for the family business, and while I usually use them on the computer, I sit in front of a computer 8-13 hours a day. I need a non-backlit screen for reading in the evenings just to give my eyes a break.  Yes, I imagine I could do the same with a Kindle paperwhite, but I may just want to jot some notes in the same way I’d mark up a paper copy. I’m still a pen and paper girl. I’m really hoping the reMarkable is my replacement for that (most of the time anyway).

reMarkable2 test to sample the pen styles.

Some considerations I took into account before purchasing:

A lot of customers complained that it took too long to receive the reMarkable or to get support. From all of the research I did, and in reading their website, it’s clear to me that this company caters to academia and businesses. I ordered my reMarkable2 on January 16, 2021, and had it in my hands by January 25, 2021. 9 days. I also ordered it and paid for it through my business. I don’t know if that’s actually why I got mine so fast, but I wouldn’t be surprised. That said, I do think the company should work a little harder to increase their customer service efficiency. 

With regard to customer support – the website clearly states it can take up to 10 business days for support to get back to you. And a lot of the things people seem to be complaining about have troubleshooting instructions on the website. Clearly people weren’t going to the website to try to look up their issue through the support FAQs, which likely would have helped them out sooner.  They were just contacting support immediately, and angry when they weren’t getting a response after 3 days, when it’s clearly stated on the website that it can take up to 10 days due to the fact that reMarkable is a small company. But like I said earlier – they would be smart to increase their customer service team.

reMarkable’s folios are a custom fit and really pretty, but a bit pricey. I made the tablet more affordable by skipping the upgrade on the pen, because a friend of mine got the eraser feature and she wasn’t digging it initially (she loves it now), and I purchased a relatively nice folio from Amazon for under $30 (with no magnets – research told me magnets can cause dead spots in the screen of the reMarkable2). You can also just buy a 10″-11″ tablet sleeve and it would work much the same. There are also universal tablet folios that will fit 10″-11″ tablets that are free of magnets and will likely work just fine. All for under $20 bucks — even a few in faux leather. Remember that a case should protect your investment, not just make it *look* sharp. 

Right out of the Box.

Right out of the box I set the reMarkable up and started using it for brainstorming. Here were my first impressions:

1. It really is pretty damn close to writing on paper.

2. You can rest your damn hand on the screen and it won’t fuck things up or make it wobble as with traditional tablets.

3. My handwriting actually looks like my handwriting and you have almost the same control with this as you would with real pen and paper.

4. The interface is simple and intuitive and anyone who uses computers and tablets day and in day out will have no issues figuring this out.

Now some thoughts on the features:

Handwriting to Text: As an author who likes to occasionally spend time writing the old fashioned way, one of the things that attracted me to this tablet was its ability to translate handwriting to text. No writer wants to have to transcribe their written notes and waste all of that time. So of course I tested it with my horrific handwriting, vs purposefully trying to be neat, and the reMarkable2 was able to convert my chicken scratch into actual text that I could read. I was able to turn the handwritten notes into a PDF, but I was also able to send the handwriting converted to typed text as the body of an email, where I was able to cut and paste it into any program I wanted. I took it further and wrote 1000 words (about 8.2 pages) longhand. It converted all the pages to text in one swoop and I was able to copy/paste it into my manuscript. While there was a little formatting and editing involved — it was a lot faster than retyping handwritten notes. WIN! 

Handwriting for conversion test.

Conversion successful

PDF Transfer, Markup, and Signature: Transferring PDFs to the reMarkable is easy. You simply download the app on your phone and your desktop, and you can take any pdf from either device and import it onto your reMarkable, which you can then markup. I sent myself a slew of PDFs that I had to read and markup. It’s amazing how much more focused I am on a screen like this. I really got the same experience with editing on a digital PDF as I did with editing on a paper copy. My only caveat is that I don’t have more space to make notes since the margins are a bit small on the screen and there’s no “back of the page” to carry notes over to. I can likely manage. Despite that – what a great experience. Goodbye manuscripts all over my office floor!  Hello being able to drag editing work with me wherever I go!    

You can also transfer your PDFs that don’t have an electronic signature option to the device, sign them, and send them back. Talk about HANDY since I do that a few times a month by default. This just eliminates the print/sign/scan. Now I just have to transfer it to the device, sign the document, and email it straight back to whoever sent it. 

Digital Planners may be something I look into for 2022 because reMarkable actually makes them feasible. I tried a tester digital planner, courtesy a friend, on my reMarkable and I have to say – it offers just as much satisfaction as a paper planner. Plus, you can SEARCH large pdfs. It won’t find search terms in your handwriting, but it will find it in your PDF. That’s definitely a handy feature when you’re working with 500 page PDFs. That said, the tablet saves your place (last page you visited) as you’re navigating a PDF, so no need to search for the place you left off. However, there is no way to bookmark multiple pages.

ePub Reading: suppose I could sideload books as ePubs, but I really have no use for this feature. If I want to read ebooks, I use my kindle or the Kindle App on my tablet or phone. Unless I start doing editing of ePubs or want to check out an ePub format for something?  I didn’t buy this as an eReader, and it is terribly lacking as an eReader. Where the reMarkable excels is as a tool for marking up documents. So my guess is it would be great for that if you have a lot of files in ePub format that you have to go over. You also can’t change font sizes for easier reading. You can zoom in and zoom back out to regular size. That’s it. (And this is another reason this is not an eReader.)

Storage: Storage is a little over 6GB (you do not pay for the reMarkable website cloud-sync). But even with about 15 PDFs (some of them really long) on my reMarkable at any given time, I was only at .38 GB. 

reMarkable2 Storage

File System: Like I said earlier – the system is highly intuitive and easy to use. I made folders for my most common notebook uses, then I moved the appropriate PDFs to those folders, and created any notebooks I needed for those folders.

Exporting: You can export as .PNG, .SVG, and PDF.  Handwriting to text can only be sent as text via the body of an email. This is actually great for writing because then you just have to copy/paste from your email into your Word Doc, Google Doc, or Scrivener.

Importing: Imports PDFs and ePubs.

Templates: The templates are great. I generally only use graph paper, plain, and lined paper myself. But I could see how a lot of these would be useful to people. The to-do list is a crappy template just because it requires you to hide your menu to use it (you can’t tick the the checkboxes until you do this). To hide the menu tap the circle in the upper left top of the menu bar. So if you want a partial page to-do list, you can easily make your own checkbox lists using the graph paper option. There are also dot pages for the folks into bullet journaling.

A small sampling of reMarkable2 Templates

Search Feature: You can search within a PDF, but not through your own handwritten text. You must be in the PDF to search it, otherwise you can only search for file names. You can not search across documents for a phrase or word. So if you’re looking for something with the same search capabilities as a laptop or possibly a tablet, you won’t find it here.

Zooming: You can zoom in on PDF documents and write on them while zoomed. However, you cannot change font sizes to make reading easier.

Battery Life:  On days where I used it heavily (about 4-5 hours), I was using around 15% power in a day because I didn’t put it in airplane mode. Three days of 4-5 hours a day use drained my battery to 50%. So me, as a heavy user, not in airplane mode, will likely get 6-7 days out of a single charge. Possibly more since clearly not every day will be a heavy use day. The device does go to sleep after 10 minutes of inactivity.

Pen:The pens are a bit pricey. I did not buy the expensive pen with the eraser and I’m okay with that. But $60 for a pen is still a bit — ouch. 

Pen Nib: I am expecting I will be one of those poor unfortunate souls who will be replacing pen tips every 3-4 weeks during heavy use. Luckily the pen itself doesn’t use batteries. The pen nibs seem reasonable in price, just be sure to order a new pack with your device and when you start that pack, order another as shipping times on those can take a week or two depending where you are and how efficient your mail service is. You don’t want to accidently run out and find yourself without a pen. Yikes.

Security: You can add a password to your reMarkable to keep prying eyes out. But if you’re like me and self-employed, that’s not really an issue. Your remarkable has Wi-Fi, yes, but you can put it in airplane mode to cut the connection. Plus, it only syncs to your cloud storage. There really aren’t any entry points for viruses or people hacking into your device. But then I’m also not a tech person. Let’s just say I highly doubt security will be a huge issue on this thing. Besides, anyone who wants to take a peek at my tablet would likely find themselves bored stiff, unless they like reading really rough first drafts of speculative fiction.  LOL

Backup/Download: You can easily transfer your files back to your computer by opening the app and simply exporting your finished documents, etc… to your computer, backup drive or cloud drive. You can also just email yourself a copy to make it super easy.

My Wishlist:

1. I wish I could add or append new, handwritten pages to an existing PDF. That would definitely solve the space issue. Now, I just make notes in a different file and jog back and forth between the PDF and the notes, which is a little annoying, but doable. One way to solve this issue would be to save all your PDFs to double spaced. It might make markup a little easier. I’ll try that with the next books to go under the editorial knife.

2. I wish there were cheaper alternative covers. My $17 cover looks great and protects my tablet. reMarkable could easily come up with a few additional low-cost choices here. The ultra professionals are still going to buy nice leather folios. 

(I may add to this list in the coming weeks, but right now these are the two main things jumping out at me.)

Overall Review Summary

For writers, reMarkable2 truly is a remarkable distraction free device that can help improve your concentration and organization, give you the freedom to write out longhand and convert it to text without the tedious re-typing, and help you mark up drafts with ease. This would probably serve prolific and professional writers more liberally than the writer who takes a few years to pen a book. Plus, it will probably save you a lot of printer paper, toner, pens and notebooks. For business owners/users – reMarkable will likely save you pounds of sticky notes and legal pads, and hours of time transcribing your notes. Plus, it’s a great on-the-go working tool for content creators and people who review a lot of PDFs. 

Have some thoughts on the reMarkable2? Feel free to leave a comment below!

[thejanewestin]

Gravity, chapter 1 (Mirandy)

Andy Sachs was not a scientist. 

 She felt that this was an important point to make, particularly in the weekly staff meetings, when the scientific editors’ discussion of the latest endosymbiont or cytokine or whatever devolved into semi-hysterical PubMed searches and emphatic data-set thumping. Eventually, after they’d worn themselves out squawking at each other, they’d turn to her to tie-break. 

 “Guys,” she’d say. “I am not a scientist.”

 But she was the managing editor, and despite having a pay grade significantly below that of the Ph.D.s in the room, it somehow fell to her to figure out which of the six nearly-identical Figure 1s to use. 

 “Your problem is you’re too capable,” Trixie said, examining the underside of her coffee mug with an expression that was half interest and half revulsion.

 “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Andy closed her laptop and scrubbed both hands over her aching eyeballs. “Are you ready to go?”

 “What do you suppose this is?” Trixie held the mug out to Andy, bottom-side first, where a wad of something grayish-blue was firmly affixed.

 Andy made a face. “Walt’s gum,” she said.

 Trixie shuddered. “I was afraid you’d say that,” she said. She reached over and put the mug onto Walt’s desk. “That dude is a sociopath. I can’t believe I dated him.”

 “Stop.” Andy let Trixie pull her to her feet. “I can’t handle any romantic navel-gazing tonight. I need ravioli.”

 They stopped at Trattoria Giulia on the way home, stomping their feet on the cracked sidewalk in a vain defense against the icy night wind as they waited at the window. 

 “Whoever thought a spaghetti counter was a good idea—” Trixie started.

 “Was a genius,” Andy finished, tearing into her bag and finding a breadstick. She crammed half of it into her mouth while they walked the rest of the way home. 

 “SVU?” Trixie asked, once they were ensconced in their apartment. 

 “Nyet,” Andy said, finding a spoon in the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and wiping it on a dish towel. “Too tired. Going to eat ravioli in bed and pass out.”

 Trixie flopped on the couch. “Suit yourself.”

 Andy managed to splatter minimal tomato sauce on the bedspread, which was pretty good for ten o’clock at night, she thought. She scrolled through emails as she chewed. Submission, submission, submission, submission. The journal was pretty successful, even though its impact factor would never break the threes. And she liked her job. It wasn’t the hard-hitting journalism career she’d envisioned when she’d graduated from college, but it was good, satisfying work. 

 It was a little funny, actually, that she’d taken such a roundabout route to end up right back in New York. It had started with a little job in Boston—editing press releases for a medical journal—and when she and Nate had ended it a year later, she’d moved back to Ohio. A colleague from the Boston journal had put a good word in for her in Cincinnati. Eighteen months after she’d started, the whole publication had moved to Queens, and they’d taken her with them. Trixie’s claim that she was too capable had served her pretty well, all things considered, and she’d been promoted to managing editor just before her thirty-first birthday.

 Submission, submission, submission. All things that could be handled at the office tomorrow. She scrolled faster. 

 And then she saw a name. 

 Andy’s thumb slammed on her phone screen so hard she accidentally minimized her mail app. “Fuck,” she muttered, opening it again, and there it was, in bold Helvetica Neue. 

 Every cell in Andy’s body seemed to turn to ice. 

 EXTERNAL, the email said. Submission. 

 And the name above it:

 Cassidy Priestly.

 ***

 They’d be twenty-two now. It was hard to fathom—her brain had put them into a kind of temporal lock, freezing them eternally as bratty twelve-year-olds. She’d spent more time than she cared to admit Googling Miranda, but she had sort of forgotten about the twins.

 Cassidy didn’t have a LinkedIn, but Caroline did. She was following in her mother’s footsteps, apparently—her current position was listed as Photography Intern, Elias-Clark. She looked like a younger, freckled Miranda, all cheekbones and chin and that aquiline nose. Heavy eyeliner. No smile.

 Andy flipped back to Cassidy’s submission. It was a PDF, too small to read on her phone, so she put the ravioli container on her nightstand and reached for her laptop. Cassidy was the first author, so she would have done the bulk of the writing. The last name listed was a Ph.D. at Columbia. It was a name she’d seen in print a number of times, although never at Cellular Function. 

 Andy read. For a moment, absorbed in the text, she allowed herself to forget the paper’s author. It was a descriptive study on regulatory kinesins in microtubules, and although it was quite a bit more specialized than what the journal usually published, the writing was good and the design seemed solid. She skimmed enough to decide which of her colleagues should review it, deidentified it, and forwarded it to Rashad. Her hands, she realized, had become ice-cold. 

 She felt nervous. 

 It was a strange, foreign feeling, like someone had whooshed her consciousness back into her twenty-three-year-old body. She felt exactly like she had for the entirety of the almost-year at Runway, and she knew exactly why.

 Miranda.

 She wouldn’t be the one to decide whether or not the paper would be accepted—that was Rashad’s job, and he’d review it blindly, without knowing the authors. But it would be her name on the letter. She could just imagine Cassidy presenting a rejection to her mother. Would she remember Andy?

 She wondered, briefly, if it was possible to recuse herself from a submission, as an attorney might recuse herself from a case in which there was a conflict of interest. Oh, God. If the paper got rejected, she was going to have to quit her job. 

 No. She shook herself. What was she thinking? Cellular Function had nothing to do with Runway. There was absolutely no overlap between scientific journals and fashion writing. Miranda reigned over Elias-Clark, sure; her reach might even extend to print media beyond New York. But Andy would bet her left pinky that no one in her current sphere—besides Trixie, of course—even knew who Miranda Priestly was.

 She swallowed her anxiety with a few more bites of her now-cold ravioli. Old habits, it turned out, died hard. 

 She showered, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed, but sleep was a long time coming.

 ***

 The paper did not get accepted. 

 Andy had known it wouldn’t. Upon closer reading the following morning, it really was too specialized for their applied-science journal. More suited for Experimental Cell or Developmental Immunology. Three weeks after she sent it to Rashad, she got the email back that it had been rejected. Fuck.

 She copy-pasted the rejection template into an email reply to Cassidy and her coauthors, staring at it for a long time as she chewed on her thumbnail. It was a good study. It would surely be accepted at a different journal, and she could come up with four or five off the top of her head. 

 Cassidy’s mentor would know that. She was undoubtedly accustomed to rejections, and would have a list of next choices to which the article would be submitted. 

 And yet.

 It wasn’t exactly forbidden to deviate from the standard reply, nor was it exactly forbidden to give recommendations for future submissions. But in her seven years at the publication, Andy had never done so; had never seen the need. Now, though, she wanted to, and she had the uncomfortable realization that it wasn’t because she worried about Cassidy’s disappointment. 

 It was because she was worried about Miranda’s.

 She didn’t want Miranda to see Andy’s name at the bottom of that letter and think that Andy was responsible for her daughter’s failure to appear in the journal she’d selected. After all this time, after everything Miranda had put her through, she didn’t want to let Miranda down.

 She sent the template off to Cassidy, just as she’d done for the past seven years, with no additional commentary or suggestions.  Then she did something that was either exceptionally kind or exceptionally stupid: she opened her personal email and sent Cassidy a message. 

 Dear Ms. Priestly:

 Thank you for your submission to Cellular Function. Although your work was not accepted, the writing was — what? Andy thought. Good? No, it was better than good, although Cassidy’s youth and inexperience showed. The writing was more than acceptable. Please consider submitting to the following journals.

 She listed the five she could think of—she had friends at three of them—thanked Cassidy again for her work, and sent the email before she could think better of it.

 Probably exceptionally stupid, she decided, immediately after the soft whoosh of the message zooming away. She had no doubt that her boss would have something to say about her endorsement of journals other than their own. 

 She wondered if Cassidy would tell Miranda about it. The thought made her feel unsettled and uneasy—and, although she didn’t like to admit it to herself, just the tiniest bit hopeful.

 ***

 Cassidy’s reply that afternoon was just one sentence, and Andy’s burst of laughter was so loud that Trixie jumped and glared at her.

 ANDREA SACHS IS THAT YOU?

 Well. Maybe not so stupid after all.

 It’s me, she typed back. Surprised you remember.

 The response this time was almost instantaneous. Of course! Harry Potter! Are you still in the city? Let’s have coffee. And her phone number. 

 The immediate familiarity, such a stark contrast to her mother’s standoffishness, took Andy slightly aback. At least the brevity was familiar. 

 Sure, she sent back. Which was why, two days later, she was sitting in a Starbucks on the Columbia campus, waiting to greet someone she had thought she’d never see again.

 Cassidy arrived at precisely five-thirty, saw Andy at once, and beamed. “Oh my God,” she said.

 Andy got to her feet. Cassidy didn’t quite hug her, but she took Andy’s hand in both of hers and pulled her in for an air-kiss near Andy’s cheek. The residue of high society, Andy supposed.

 “I can’t believe it’s you,” Cassidy exclaimed. Her blue eyes were sparkling behind outsized tortoiseshell glasses. Her bright copper hair had been cropped into a shaggy lob, and she was wearing clothes that Andy was fairly certain Miranda would hate: a gigantic Columbia sweatshirt, leggings, and beat-up Ugg boots. A messenger bag with a seat-belt strap was slung over her shoulder. She looked every inch the graduate student. 

 “I’m sorry about your paper,” Andy said by way of greeting.

 Cassidy waved a dismissive hand and dropped into the armchair across from Andy’s. “Don’t worry about it. Aisha has a publication plan that’s sixteen journals deep for everything she puts her name on.”

 Andy felt a little silly at that, since in her mind’s eye, she had only really seen the disappointed face of a young adolescent. “Oh. Good,” she said lamely.

 “Your email was so nice,” Cassidy added quickly. “I really appreciated it.” She slid her bag off her shoulder and dropped it on the floor, and as she did so, Andy saw the flash of a small diamond on the ring finger of her left hand.

 Cassidy followed her gaze, and for a moment, Andy saw the impish twinkle of so many years ago. She held her hand up and waggled her fingers. “Two months ago,” she said, grinning wickedly. “He’s an engineer. Mom was pissed.”

 Andy laughed, even as something in her chest twinged at the mention of Miranda. “I can only imagine.”

 It was a nice visit—really nice, Andy thought, after Cassidy had left for class. She’d learned a lot about the twins’ lives. Cassidy was, as she’d assumed, in a Ph.D. program in microbiology. Caroline had graduated from the Tisch photography school. They didn’t live together, but their apartments were three blocks apart, and Cassidy was thinking of moving in with the fiancé after her lease was up. 

 What she didn’t mention—what Andy desperately wanted to ask, but didn’t dare—was anything about Miranda, other than a brief roll of her eyes when she mentioned “cohabitation.”

She didn’t say if Miranda was still in the townhouse, if she’d remarried, if she was happy. She’d be fifty-six in November; was she still the formidable figure of a decade ago, or had she softened with age?

 Cassidy hadn’t said; had carefully avoided the topic at all. Andy had the feeling that there was a lot about Cassidy’s life these days that Miranda didn’t know. So she doubted, very much, that Cassidy would mention their meeting to Miranda.

 And she couldn’t quite decide if that knowledge brought relief or disappointment.

 ***

 Cassidy texted her the following week—favor to ask. It turned out she was writing two other papers and wondered if Andy would look over them before she submitted, if she had time. 

 Andy didn’t have time, but she had liked seeing Cassidy and wanted her to do well. And she had to admit, it gave her a sort of gleeful satisfaction to see the apple falling so far from the polished-gleam tree. 

 They met two more times at the Starbucks, this time for revisions. The engineer fiancé, Patrick, stopped by the second time. He was sweet to Cassidy, and cheerfully greeted Andy, and for a moment Andy remembered how in love she’d been with Nate at twenty-two. She hoped Patrick and Cassidy would last. 

 The fourth time they met, Cassidy arrived looking pale and terrified. “I’m sorry—” she got out, just before the door swung open and Miranda stepped inside.

 Andy froze. 

 The Chanel sunglasses rotated slowly and stopped at Andy. One eyebrow crept up. 

 “I don’t know how she knew it was you—” Cassidy hissed, as Miranda took slow, deliberate steps toward them. Her cheeks were bright pink. “I’m really sorry.”

 “Andrea.” Miranda’s voice, cool and aloof, unchanged in ten years. 

 Andy realized she was standing. When had she stood up? Her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her toes. 

 Miranda looked—well. Miranda looked amazing. It was still cool enough, in early April, for outerwear, and Miranda’s black fitted coat cut a silhouette far too classy for a college campus coffee shop. A white silk scarf was knotted at her throat—Hermès, no doubt. Her lips were pale pink, a shade entirely at odds with her terrifying deportment. Heads turned. 

 “Miranda,” Andy managed to say. Her voice sounded strangled. 

 Miranda lowered herself elegantly into the chair next to Cassidy’s, as though it was completely normal for the editor-in-chief of the biggest fashion magazine in the industry to be hanging around with graduate students and aspiring playwrights. She tipped her chin down just a little—just enough for Andy to meet her ice-blue gaze. “So you’re the mysterious proofreader,” she murmured, her expression entirely unreadable. 

 Cassidy collapsed back into her chair and put her face in her hands. “Why are you like this,” she groaned.

 Miranda appeared not to notice. “Sit, please, Andrea.”

 Andy sat. 

 “Cassidy, bobbsey,” Miranda said, removing her sunglasses and placing them on the crumb-dusted table, “be a darling and get Mummy a latte, won’t you?” 

 “Oh my God,” Cassidy said, with an adolescent flounce, but she got up and went to the counter. 

 Andy couldn’t think. Literally couldn’t think. How many times had she imagined this scene—reuniting with Miranda, apologizing for her phone-tossing temper tantrum and for her epic Parisian storm-out? Garnering Miranda’s forgiveness? Maybe, heaven help her, even earning a little of Miranda’s respect for the place she’d carved out for herself in publishing? She was, after all, an editor now too. 

 But despite herself, she was just sat here, dumbly staring at the woman whose presence loomed so large in her life even now, and she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

 Fortunately, Miranda didn’t seem to require much of a response. Or any, for that matter. 

 “Cassidy’s happiness is of utmost importance to me,” Miranda said softly.

 Well, duh. “Right,” Andy said blankly. 

 “She is an extremely driven young woman.” Miranda’s eyes darted momentarily toward her daughter, who was now nibbling on a pink cake pop as she waited for the latte. Then they fixed back on Andy, “And her drive has taken her into a field about which I know very little.”

 I’ll say. Still, Andy was surprised that Miranda was willing to admit any gap in her knowledge, no matter how obvious. She tried to keep her expression neutral, to avoid reinforcing Miranda’s assertion and possibly causing offense. 

 “You, Andrea,” Miranda continued, not quite meeting Andy’s gaze, “are in the unique position to influence my daughter’s career more than I.”

 Ah.

 So that was it. Miranda wanted to make sure she didn’t fuck up Cassidy’s trajectory. Of course that was what it was. She had no interest in Andy’s apology, no interest in Andy’s life. 

 Caught between dismay and indignation, Andy straightened her spine. “Look, Miranda,” she said, “I may not be walking the red carpet, but I’m good at my job. I’m not going to crash her plane into the mountain, okay?”

 Something that looked like surprise flashed across Miranda’s face, but before she could respond, Cassidy appeared at her elbow. “Your latte, your majesty,” she said, setting the cup onto the table. 

 Miranda’s expression morphed into a gracious smile. “Thank you, my love,” she said, reaching for her sunglasses. “I’ll let you two work, shall I?” She stood without a second glance at Andy, taking her coffee, and kissing the air beside Cassidy’s head before gliding out the door to her waiting car.

 Cassidy looked mortified. “What did she say? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

 “It’s fine.” Andy’s heart rate was starting to come back down into the normal range. “Don’t worry about it.” Although she still felt flushed and angry at the implication that she was going to —what? Get Cassidy blacklisted from Cell? Keep her from a tenure-track position? 

 “I’m sorry,” Cassidy said again, miserably. 

 “Seriously,” Andy said. “Stop. Let’s just finish this draft, okay?”

 ***

 Andrea,

I would appreciate a meeting. Wednesday at The Modern, 8pm?

 “What the fuck,” Andy muttered.

 What did that even mean? I would appreciate a meeting. “Well, I would appreciate a raise and an extra six weeks of vacation,” Trixie said, when Andy spun the laptop toward her emphatically. “Are you going to go?”

 “I mean—” Andy flopped her hands helplessly at her side. She didn’t particularly relish the idea of an encore of the Starbucks conversation. At the same time, the brief interaction had reminded her why she sought—why she craved—Miranda’s approval way back then. 

 Of course, a few other things had come to light in the past few years, as well.

 After she and Nate had reconciled and she’d made the move to join him in Boston, he had been so happy. The new job. A bigger apartment. He’d brought her flowers every week on his way home from the restaurant. Andy had blamed her diminishing interest—and libido—on depression: she’d been unable to find a position with any of the local newspapers, not even in Classifieds, and she refused to call Runway for a reference. Miranda had already handed her one favor and she would not be further beholden. When she finally landed the little position at the medical journal, she did feel better, but something with Nate had been irrevocably lost. 

 There was a girl at the journal. Her name was, improbably, Logan, and she had close-cropped hair and graceful wrists. 

 Andy would gaze at the ceiling while Nate groaned and sweated against her, and she would think about those wrists. She started to close her eyes when Nate kissed her. The feeling of his stubble against her skin made her flinch.

 Nate wasn’t obtuse. “Is there someone else?” he’d asked.

 No, of course not, she’d said, and there hadn’t been, even though her thoughts had wandered long ago to arms, and shoulders, and the brush of short auburn curls against the curve of a downy neck.

 He asked, and she protested. Again and again, for months, until one day he stopped asking, stopped trying to touch her at all. When she told him she was leaving, he didn’t look surprised.

 She kissed a woman for the first time two days after her twenty-sixth birthday, both of them happily tipsy in the middle of the dance floor of a downtown Cincinnati nightclub. Andy hadn’t even gotten her name, but the following morning, lying in bed with a screaming hangover, she thought a lot of things in her life had just become a whole lot clearer.

 It had taken Trixie’s droll observation after her third date in a week—“You definitely have a type”—to make Andy realize that there was a huge, terrifying reason that she had tried so hard to curry Miranda’s favor.

 “I wanted to sleep with my boss,” she told Trixie over the phone, at three in the morning on a Wednesday. 

 Trixie’s voice was thick with sleep, but she sounded shocked nonetheless. “Cheryl?” she said.

 “No.” Andy put her hand over her eyes. “Miranda.”

 “Oh.” The shock dissipated. “Yeah, dude, you and everyone else.”

 Andy blinked. “Really?”

 “Yes.” Trixie sounded like she was rolling her eyes. “Hot and mean? Duh. I’m going back to sleep.”

 ***

“So are you?”

 Andy blinked. “What?”

 Trixie pointed at the screen. “Going to meet Miranda.”

 “Oh.” Andy turned the laptop back toward herself. “Um. I don’t know. I guess so. Yeah.”

 “Good thing you have two days to make up your mind,” Trixie said, sounding amused, and turned back to her own computer.

 Would she go? Of course she would go. Any uncertainty was pretense. 

 She sent back one word.

 Yes.

[prorevenge]

Boy meets girl

I often pressed V for information on how she earned income but she would give conflicting answers about grants and scholarships until one day.... About 6 months after our first meeting, she finally tells me and IT. IS. NOT. GOOD. I was interviewing at a professional school when I receive the call, she's in trouble, BIG TROUBLE, and needs my help. She tells me she earns money by doing others' assignments for them. $200 to write a paper and $800 to complete an online class, usually a 100 level introductory course. She describes the method she uses to circumvent the ITs detection of others completing others assignment and how her client wasn't doing his part to copy/paste and submit from his own computer. He is failing the course and blames her. He threatens to turn her in. Her plan is to refund his money and wants me to 'follow him to see if he goes somewhere alone and take his phone' because that has all the evidence of their communications. HOLY SHIT! SHE WANTS ME TO COMMIT STRONG ARMED ROBBERY, a FELONY for her! I'm not going down for this or with her and I know nobody would believe me. ENTER: military experience - if there's no record, it didn't happen. So, I agree to help her, somehow, as soon as I return to town. I go to V's dorm the next night and she shows me EVERYTHING. Her list of clients, their blackboard passwords, how she meets them, how she defends them during honor code violations, etc. So I tell her not to worry, I'll handle everything on the day she refunds his money. Relieved, she goes to bed but before she lays down I ask to use her computer for on assignment and she says "sure do whatever you want". In my state, if you let someone use your electronics, its called "having privilege" and anything you do with their computer which may harm them is legal as if it your own computer. So, I took screenshots of her conversations with her clients, I open google settings and screenshot all the blackboard users and passwords stored on her computer. I go to her messenger and screenshot their conversations. Back home, I compiled our recordings and saved our facebook conversations. A week later, I made up an argument about an upcoming New Years Party and broke up with her. Then sat on the information I had on hand for 2 more weeks thinking about what I should do.

I remembered how she has a history of arrests from high school to freshman year for stealing from outlet malls and selling their loot online. Never formally charged. She, of course, omitted this from her application into professional school. How she admitted "finding a mark" and using them to pass her courses. How she denigrated others who were completing courses through hard work. How she used her position as honor council to get her friends out of trouble while helping to expel others for doing exactly what she was doing. How she cheated on me multiple times, used me, manipulated me, tried to make me commit a felony and ruin my life. SHE HAD TO BE STOPPED.

Knowing she was friends with the faculty on the honor council, they often bought each other gifts, I had to go above their heads. I gave names and descriptions of the events to my program director. He then goes to the honor council, anyway. I was called into the honor council's head office of "Corrupt Administrator" CA. CA tells me I should delete the information I have because it could become a civil matter and I should consider my "self preservation." She schedules another meeting with me a week later. I return and she asks if I want to make a statement about V. Guess what I said, I tell her "no, I deleted everything and I don't remember" because I was in the military and I know how to 'play ball' when superiors tell you to shut your mouth. But the most important reason I decided to not file against V directly was due to the fact I was applying for a military scholarship to pay for professional school. Since I did not follow through, the program director filed an honor code violation complaint against V on a date [suggested by CA]. A month later they tell me their investigation was inconclusive and they will close the case due to the director waiting 1 day too long to file according to the school's academic policy. CA set us up! However, since the director used my name as a source, they must notify V because students have rights to know their accusers. FUCK.MY.LIFE. CA fucked me and ruined any chance for a case against V based on a technicality. Now I fear for my safety because V tried to get me to strong arm rob someone now I just implicated a dozen cheaters who have as much as her to lose. CA schedules a meeting with V and tell her about an ongoing investigation and tells her she will be kept up-to-date. I know the investigation is over and now they are just doing formalities. V requests the information of the investigation and they promise to email it to her. V calls me for support even though we aren't together. She is crying and talking about killing herself. She tells me her dad had been paying for her college this whole time and starts coming clean with other lies. I feel bad and almost regret everything. Maybe she is not a sociopath, maybe she is really sorry. She stays at my house the next few days, I'm watching her trying to keep it together. THEN HER FUCKING CLIENTS START COMING TO MY HOUSE. She is still doing their assignments! She NEVER LEARNS!

Finally she gets the investigation info and there's my name. She calls me 130 times in 3 days, sends her friends to my classes to tell me to come to her house, finally I do. But I don't go into her room because she will trap me. She takes my phone so I can't record. She tries to get me to sign a paper saying I fabricated everything and its all false. I tell V, "They already closed the investigation, you wont get in any trouble why should I implicate myself and get in trouble? It wont solve anything!" And she pleads, "Do you still love me?" I shake my head and walk out. Two days later, police are waiting at my house to serve a 72 hour emergency protective order (EPO) commanding me to stay away from V. I know what she is up to. She is trying to get me to violate the protective order, discredit me, and send me to jail. Its very easy to lie to create one and lie to say it was violated.

NOW ITS NOT JUST REVENGE TIME, ITS WAR

Here's the plot twist: I never really deleted the files as I told CA. TYVM, Google drive.

After the 72 hours EPO expired, another EPO arrives which lasts two years but requires a court appearance. This is a huge problem because I am in the US Army reserves and it requires the handling of firearms which is illegal under an EPO. Her lawyer calls me and threatens me not to "participate in anymore investigations against her" and sends a paper tiger. I get a lawyer, lets name him "Folds like a lawn chair". He tells me "who will they believe: a pretty girl or you?" I fire him. Get a better lawyer, a trial lawyer, called "Miss Badass Esq." and prepare for war. Miss Badass requests a copy of V's EPO from the court. It essentially says I was blackmailing her, threatening to beat her up, and I broke into her room to steal incriminating information against her. All lies. I provide my lawyer the entire history of our relationship: 600 pages of facebook and text messages showing she is the aggressor, the abuser, in the relationship, phone call history, all the recordings and screenshots of her cheating ring. I make a poster sized chart of her room and the events that transpire there the day in question when she tried to trap me into signing a statement taking responsibility for her actions.

Courtdate: We made V and her lawyer look REALLY stupid. They were going with the 'pretty girl' strategy. But the dorm gave us records showing she was signing me in and out of her room, so it discredits the need to break in. The call logs: 130 times in 3 days and aggressive texts showed she wasn't actually afraid of me adn it was her, not me, being aggressive. And when he asked what I had to use to blackmail her, her lawyer said "just some tutoring papers" for which the judge said, "that doesn't sound like anything wrong. What power did that give him over you?" They had no response. My turn to speak, I explain how she tried to get me to rob a guy, how she wanted me to write a letter to take the blame, how she used her position as honor council chair to break state law and violate academic policy. And summarized we were only there because she wanted revenge on me. I watched V and her lawyer stutter and squirm uncomfortably under the judges questioning, case dismissed.

All that information I gathered to defend myself was not going to go to waste. I took it to a newly hired honor council investigator called "Meg" who had no affiliation with V. I told her what CA had done to defend V. A week later, I was told the by Meg there had been a meeting with the school police, the provost, their legal team, then the provost himself decided filed a complaint against V. I had to meet with the police to file a statement about V trying to recruit me to rob someone but other than that I was out of the loop. I later learned the results: V lost her her slot at that school's professional program, her program director yelled at her at the top of his lungs, "YOU WILL NEVER GO TO ********* SCHOOL, I KNOW ADMISSIONS AND I WILL SEE TO IT", she got expelled, her TWO degrees (biomedical engineering and biology with a minor in chemistry) were withheld for 6 years and her transcripts would carry a permanent mention of an honor code violation, her clients who graduated had their degrees retracted with similar mentions on their transcripts, and current clients were also expelled. The school changed its policy on reporting date requirements to like 60 or 90 days. Me? I am in professional school. V had her chance to get away with all of this until she tried to get revenge on me. I reduced this super villain from owning a fleet of beta male minions, being the most connected person in the university, and having a lucrative future in ripping people off in the medical industry to the last time I saw her: riding a fucking scooter.

(source) story by (/u/Apophis1942)

[starkerforlife6969]

Secretary Peter, Boss Tony. With a twist ;)

Tony’s the best goddamn salesman in the office. Hell, in Wallstreet. He can move stocks, he can sell stocks, he can throw a life raft to the drowning man or sink the ship himself. 

He’s charismatic, handsome, and about as in style as his tailored three piece suits, which is to say- very and always in style. He’d graduated from desk jockey to cubicle drone to glass corner office in three short years and he has a floor full of people desperately in awe of him, vying for scraps of attention or pieces of wisdom. 

And Tony loves his job. He loves talking to people, he loves working his charm, he loves winning and he loves money and he loves not having to answer to anyone. 

And he doesn’t answer to anyone, except from- aside from that one pesky exception- in Nick Fury. 

He owns the whole company, so technically Tony reports to him, but Nick’s practically never here so Tony’s the one in charge. 

Apart from this week, apparently, because when he walks in on Monday morning it’s to see Nick in his office, that trademark furious glare that’s really poorly concealed behind what Tony supposes is meant to be a welcoming smile. He doesn’t break stride though, just saunters into his desk and grins. “I see you helped yourself into my office.” He says cheerily. 

“It’s not your office, Tony.” Nick growls, closing the door and standing in front of it like he thinks Tony might run out. “They’re all my offices. Every thing in this building is mine, do you understand that? Even those ugly ass lion statues in the lobby, they’re mine.” 

Tony sighs and eases into his leather desk chair. “That’s unfortunate. Maybe give ‘em to charity or something.” 

“Stark.” Nick’s tone is flat, unamused, and Tony looks up at him with his best ‘I’m listening’ face. “I was able to just waltz into your office because I notice- you don’t have a PA.” 

Tony’s eyes flicker to the desk just outside his office. Sure enough, it’s empty. “I wondered why I wasn’t getting any messages.” 

Nick is, again, unimpressed. 

“Pepper’s off on maternity leave,” Tony shrugs, tossing his stress ball into the air and catching it again. “I can go without a PA for a year, Nicky.” 

“Don’t you ever call me that again, and no, you can’t. Do you know why I’m here-” 

“-I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me-”

“I’m here because none of your sales have been recorded and stored, none of your hours, none of your billables. I haven’t had a hard copy receipt of any of your transactions and that makes you liable, Tony. And you may be one of my best workers, but I do not give a shit about you. But you being liable, makes me liable, which makes my company liable. And we wanna work as a team, don’t we?” 

“That seems like a rhetorical question.” 

“You are so backed up and you don’t even have a clue.” Nick growls, massaging his temples like he’d very much like to annihilate Tony right on the spot. 

Tony feels a little bit bad. He may have forgotten about those pesky little paper trails. “It’s not like I’m breaking the law, Fury, c’mon-”

“Oh, I’ll just tell the bank that you’re not breaking the law and send them on their merry fucking way, shall i? Or, should you get a secretary?” 

“Hire me one, then,” Tony rolls his eyes, bored with the conversation and reaching forward to grab a random sheet of paper off his desk. He peruses it idly. It’s a shopping list, and scanning the items, he’s not entirely sure what for. A baby shower? There’s too much alcohol for that- someone’s birthday? Whose list even is this? Is it in here by mistake?

“Do you know how many secretaries you went through before Pepper, Tony? Over a hundred. You have to hire one yourself. I do not want to be sued for abusive language again-”

Tony looks up sharply. “She was being an imbecile, Fury, and I stand by what I said-”

Nick lifts a hand to cut him off. “Hire a secretary before the week is out, Stark, or it won’t be such a friendly visit next time.” 

He leaves in a whirlwind of leather and disapproval and Tony stares bemusedly. 

He doesn’t even have to touch his phone before it buzzes and he sees the text from Pepper. Heard someone got a nasty visit. I’ll have someone for you before Friday. 

Tony smiles softly. He misses her, he should buy her something- 

suddenly, he remembers what the shopping list is for.  

When Tony gets into the office on Friday morning, he’s riding on a bit of a high. Everything’s been going so well recently. He’s signed more clients than ever in a three day span, one of his biggest competitors missed a big meeting and Fury hasn’t left any menacing phone calls. Pepper had liked her presents, people still stare after him, and- life all around is good. 

He’s in his office, just taking a moment to savour how triumphant and successful he is, when he reaches out for a sip of his coffee. 

It’s a fucking delicious blend. Expensive and Italian and the stuff that you can only get from a very pretentious cafe on the other side of New York and-

He pauses in his drinking. 

He never got himself coffee. 

He looks at the cup in his hand and lowers it marginally. It’s hot and just the way he likes it. He looks around his office then too, and suddenly all the differences appear and slap him in the face. His desk is clear- not just clear, clean, and his laptop keys are shiny and polished like new. His papers are organised and there are highlights and annotations and his certificates are hanging on the wall and not crammed into a box in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet where he left them. In fact, his whole fucking office looks professional and goddamn nice. 

His dry cleaning is hanging neatly in the corner too. He gets up, and looks at the desk outside his office. 

Sure enough, there’s someone sitting there. 

A male from what Tony can see, with short brown hair and a headset on. He's typing into the computer and diligently scribbling onto a notepad. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. 

Who the hell is he?

Tony’s laptop pings and he looks down to see a new email from Fury. 

Well done, Stark. Everything looks to be in order. I knew you could be reasonable. 

He clicks on the attachments, already knowing what he’s going to see. All his backlogs, all his logged hours, all his receipts, ordered and neatly filed and chronologically placed and there are even little notes underneath each one with extra details and- how the fuck does his new secretary know that yes, actually, the Milton case had required an extra emergency meeting when they’d discovered a conflict- Tony hadn’t made a note of it anywhere. 

Curiosity truly peaked now, he takes his perfect coffee and saunters out, walking around the front of the desk. 

His new secretary looks up and Tony’s penis twitches a little. Okay, yes, Tony Jr approves. He’s young, maybe twenty, with brown hair and big brown eyes, cream skin and a delicate nose. He’s slender, but in shape, in a white shirt with the top few buttons undone, giving a lovely view of those sharp collarbones. He’s wearing black trousers and the the microphone wire against his cheek and in his hair contrasts nicely with his pale skin. 

He looks up at Tony and smiles pleasantly. “Mr Stark, is there something I can help you with?”

Tony spots a calendar on the corner of the desk. He picks it up and flips through it. His meetings and deadlines for the next six months are all neatly pencilled in. The most important ones are starred with a red pen. He sets it down carelessly and watches as the young man straightens it without a word. “So, how long have you been here, Mr...” 

“Peter Potts, Sir.” Peter says, and ah, this makes sense. The only way Peter could be so clever was if he had the Potts gene. “I started on Tuesday.” 

Tuesday, fuck. No wonder things have been going so well. “Pepper’s little brother?” 

“Half brother,” Peter corrects, “and soon to be uncle.” 

Tony can see the resemblance. The soft skin, the sweet eyes. “Well, Peter and Pepper. That’s cute.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything to that, but his pretty pink lips twitch in amusement. 

But Tony doesn’t have any qualms. Peter is quite clearly capable, he’s related to Pepper, he’s eye-candy, and he’s gotten Tony his favourite coffee. So, the older man simply tips his head and goes back into his office. But as soon as he’s sitting down, his curiosity flares up again. He presses the button on his intercom and clears his throat. “You go to college, Peter?” 

He watches through the glass as Peter’s chair swivels around, and the boy talks into the microphone with an intrigued smile. “Yes, Mr Stark. Top of my class at Harvard.” 

“What did you study?” 

“I majored in Engineering with a minor in Journalism. Graduated last year.” 

An early bird then, Tony can relate. That Potts gene really is something else. “And what have you been doing for the past year?” 

“Odd jobs,” Peter says evasively. “But when Pepper said she needed my help, I was all too happy to oblige. I’m a very big fan of yours, Mr Stark. There’s no bigger name in Wallstreet.” The phone rings and Peter shoots Tony an apologetic, but polite smile, as he picks up the phone. “Tony Stark’s office.” He nods, turning to the computer as the person talks. “Yes, I can see that here. No problem. Thank you. Yes, yes, Mr Butler, I will let him know.” Peter chuckles and Tony stares: amazed. “Alright. Thank you, goodbye.” 

“Mr Butler?” Tony shakes his head, “That was Jerry on the phone?” 

“Yes, Mr Stark. Would you like me to get him back on the line for you?” 

Jerry Butler is the coldest man in the world. He doesn’t laugh with secretaries. He’s no reason for any smile ever. But Peter had chuckled like he was talking to an old friend. Not even Pepper had achieved that. “No, no.” Tony frowns, “you carry on.” He clicks off the intercom and strums his fingers against his desk thoughtfully. Something doesn’t feel quite right- if something seems too good to be true...his mind warns. 

Maybe the catch is that he can’t sleep with Peter and the more he talks to the boy, the more he wants to. 

He does his best to ignore it for now. 

Things continue to go brilliantly. Life is even more effortlessly amazing than it was before. Nick even drops the hints of a promotion in the future if things keep going like this. When Tony gets to work, his favourite coffee is waiting, sometimes even a bagel or a croissant like Peter magically knows when Tony hasn’t had breakfast. He eats or drinks in his office as he checks emails, before Peter comes in with a notebook and a rundown of the days events, and then Tony gets to work. Peter comes in throughout the day, silent and unobtrusive and sets down water or coffee or occasionally- an apple- and sets it by Tony’s elbow and leaves again. 

When Tony steps out to meet a client for lunch, he sees Peter taking his lunch break at his desk- his headset is still on, and he’s still scribbling away, but it’s into an old worn science textbook. In his other hand is a sandwich he’s nibbling on. 

Tony prods at the book as he pulls on his coat. Peter had it dry cleaned specially and waiting in his office before Tony even knew he'd be out for lunch. There’s probably already a cab waiting downstairs. “What’s this?” Tony asks, trying to peek at the cover. 

Peter lets him easily. “It’s a bio-chemistry textbook. I’m thinking about taking some night classes. Work towards a masters, or if I don’t qualify- a second degree.” 

Tony may not have much pull in the science world, but his father sure did. He knows that name and money can go a long way, and Peter’s been exceptional. “I can get you in for a Masters anywhere you wanna go.” He assures, and Peter looks up at him with wide eyes. 

“Mr Stark-”

“It’s not a problem. Now, who am I meeting?” 

“Mrs Aberelle. She loves shrimp and it was her granddaughter’s birthday last week.” 

Tony’s not sure whether he wants to ruffle Peter’s hair or give him a filthy kiss on the mouth. He settles for neither. 

Mrs Aberelle practically gushes and swoons in her seat when Tony orders her the shrimp platter and asks how her granddaughter’s birthday was. She makes a higher bid than Tony even asked for. Peter’s a godsend. 

The next day, the CEO of of another major competitor comes down with the flu, and Tony’s pitch goes down brilliantly. 

He’s on cloud nine. 

Careful, a voice warns, when you’re this high, there’s only one way to go. 

It sounds suspiciously like his father, but he listens to it. “Hey, Peter,” he greets one morning as he strolls in. Peter’s in his office, just setting down his coffee and a- fuck, a danish pastry. He might be in love. “I got you a little something.” 

Peter blinks in surprise, but smiles sweetly, and crosses his hands in front of him as he waits. Tony sets his briefcase down and clips open the gold clasps and lifts out a brand new, just released bio-chemistry textbook. Peter takes it with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Mr Stark...” he whispers, shaking his head, “this was- I know for a fact that this was over a $100. I can’t accept this-”

“Kid,” Tony chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s pocket change. Besides, I’m not giving it to you for nothing.” 

Peter’s eyes flash to his and Tony’s a little surprised by what he sees. Peter looks almost-fuck, almost dangerous- but it’s gone in a flash, replaced with that sweetness and hardworking, subtle smugness that’s usually there. 

“I want you to attend the meeting with Lawson tomorrow. As a sit in, alright?” 

Peter nods immediately, but frowns. “Is there any particular reason why, Mr Stark?” He’s clutching the book to his chest almost reverently. 

“Not really,” Tony admits, rubbing his chin, “just wary. You up for it?” 

“Always.” Peter murmurs, and Tony thinks he must be imagining the demure little almost-wink he gets. 

It doesn’t stop him from thinking about it again that night. 

He shakes Lawson’s hand in the morning as the man and his associates sit opposite him at the large oakwood table. Tony and Peter on one side, Lawson and his men on the other. Peter has his notebook out and is writing away- he always seems to be writing, Tony has no idea what- and then they start talking. 

Tony’s not sure what he was worried about. The contract is brilliant, more lenient than expected and has nothing but benefits for both sides. He’s giving Lawson a hard time, but that’s just part of the game, and he’s about to seal the deal when-

Peter slides a piece of paper over to him without looking up. Tony frowns at him, but Peter doesn’t make eye-contact, continuing to write, and Tony looks down. 

He’s lying. Don’t sign. 

Well fuck, that’s a fucking thing to write. What is Tony supposed to do with that? He sets it down and tries to look unaffected as they keep talking but when Lawson’s side slide over the contract, Tony pauses with the pen in his hand. Peter isn’t making a sound. 

“Let me just talk to my secretary real quick,” Tony grins, wearing his best winning smile, “why don’t you fine gentlemen wait outside, take five, catch a breather, and then we can come back and sort this out.” 

They look a little confused, but they leave and then Peter and Tony are alone. 

“What the hell is this, Peter?” 

Peter looks up bravely, his jaw locked. “I don’t trust him, Mr Stark. There’s something not right-”

“I’m gonna need a little more than your hunch, kid. No offence, but I’ve been in this game a lot longer than you. You don’t know the contract, it’s a good deal-”

“It’s too good a deal,” Peter insists, lifting the thick contract up. “I’ve read through it, Mr Stark. I read through all the contracts you’re about to sign and there’s something about this that doesn’t add up. Why would they offer such a beneficial claim with us? Why not one of your competitors?” 

Tony shrugs a little smugly. “My competitors haven’t been stepping up to bat, lately.” 

Peter shakes his head. “I’m serious, Mr Stark. When things or people are too good to be true, they usually are.”

There’s something in his tone. Something...something Tony’s unsure of. 

“Did you see anything in the small print that can back up- what is at the moment- just a feeling?” 

Peter’s shoulders slump in defeat, and he shakes his head. “No, Sir.” He whispers. 

The older man sighs, rubbing at his eyes. Only Pepper or Peter could ever make him feel like this- torn between the rational, sensible option, and listening to their fucking hunches-

“He knows!” A voice outside the door hisses, and both Peter and Tony look up sharply. 

“He doesn’t know, Lawson-”

“He must know! Why would he tell us to leave like that? He knows about our deal with Oscorp! I knew Norman couldn’t make this go away, the dirty son-of-a-bitch-”

“There’s no way Stark knows, just calm down-”

The voices disappear again, down the hall, and Tony stares in amazement. Peter just looks earnest. “Do you believe me now, Mr Stark?”

“How the hell did you know?” He whispers, collapsing into one of the chairs.

Peter bites his bottom lip. “Sometimes i just get these feelings,” he says, as he scribbles on the paper in front of him. 

Unfortunately, knowing that Lawson has a back door deal with Oscorp is not something that can be easily proven, and when Fury finds out that Tony blew would could be one of the biggest contracts of the year, he reacts with, what is understandably, a lot of anger. 

Tony does his best to get Peter to screen all his calls as the two of them work all night to try and find a way to prove what they heard. Tony wants to think that maybe his word will be enough, but Nick’s always been a stickler for the rules and Tony...has not. 

Even as absorbed in papers and numbers as he is, Tony can still appreciate Peter here beside him. The kid’s saved him a huge one here. And he’s still here, when he should probably be at home sleeping or watching Netflix, helping Tony try to prove the unprovable. He’s smart and quick and for someone who’s never worked with stocks like this before, he sure knows his way around it. 

“Hey,” Peter whispers when it hits three am. “I bet they keep a hard copy of all their emails in a data storage room.” 

Tony looks up and rubs the bleariness from his eyes. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Peter breaths, getting to his feet, more energetic now, “a lot of stock companies do it. It’s an automatically backlog, it can stop you getting into a lot of trouble. All we have to go is get in.” 

Tony shakes his head, but gets to his feet, knees groaning. “How? I’m the most recognisable face in Wallstreet.”

“But I’m not.” Peter insists, already heading for the door. Tony’s hot on his heels. “I can talk my way in.” 

“Not that I doubt your ability, because you’re a Potts, but do you really think you can just waltz in and-”

Yes, as it turns out. Tony just stares in awe as Peter plays the apologetic, desperate intern who just has to get this work done for his brutal boss Norman Osborn. Tony’s hiding behind a potted plant as he watches Peter’s performance. “I’m so sorry,” Peter weeps, eyes shining with tears as the large, female security guard clutches at her heart through her shirt. “I’m such an idiot, and it’s only my first week and I forgot my keycard and- I’m gonna get fired and I deserve it and-”

“Oh, no, honey,” the security guard croons, already unlocking the barrier for him. “No, baby, it is not your fault, okay?” 

Peter sniffles, eyes red and smile grateful. “Thank you so much, I-you have no idea what this means to me and-”

She blows him a kiss. “Go, honey. Go.” Peter waves at her, and jogs around the corner. 

They have to wait about fifteen minutes till she goes to the bathroom, before Tony runs out and Peter lets him through. “How did you- wait- how did you even unlock the door-”

“I pickpocketed her,” Peter whispers, as they get into the elevator. Tony stares at Peter in shock. 

“Shit, kid. Where’d you learn to do that?”

Peter gives him a look. “We’re breaking into one of the most famous companies in the world, Mr Stark. I don’t think now’s the time.”

“Sure- I guess-” Peter grabs his hand and tugs him out of the metal doors as soon as they get to the right floor and shit- how did Peter even know what floor- before Tony knows it, Peter is picking the lock of a storage room and- seriously, what the hell-

and then he’s hacking into a computer and downloading a memory stick onto it. 

Tony is staring in slack-jawed awe. “Seriously, Peter.” He whispers, as Peter scans through emails. “What the fuck?” 

“Tony,” Peter murmurs, a little irritated, as his eyes flicker across the screen as he scrolls rapidly. “Not the time.” 

“Not the time? You- you cried on cue. You knew all this stuff about me, you pick-pocketed her- you got into that locked room, you just hacked into a computer and a memory stick, are you- were you a criminal or something? Like a tech-whiz kid? You can tell me, I won’t judge-”

“I know you won’t,” Peter says softly, and suddenly there’s that doe-eyed, cocky secretary who smirks whenever Tony ends up liking whatever weird type of sushi Peter brings him when he’d insisted he wouldn’t. “But not right now. Later, I promise- ah! Look!” 

There’s the email. It’s not explicit, but it’s interaction between Norman and Lawson which can’t easily be dismissed. Peter sends it to the printer and the two of them are waiting for the damn thing to connect, when footsteps sound along the carpeted floor around the corner. 

Peter shoves Tony into a stationary closet and Tony watches through the crack as a middle-aged man comes around with a stack of papers to photocopy. The man blinks at the sight of Peter, surprised, and Peter half smiles. “Hey,” he greets casually, and Tony is seriously in awe of this kid’s acting. “All nighter for you too, huh? Osborn’s a real dick.”

The man chuckles, nodding, and comes to join Peter by the printer. “Yeah, I know. I’m Barney,” 

Peter takes his hand. “Lucas,” he says easily, “It’s nice to meet you. You couldn’t help, could you? The damn thing’s not working.”

Lucas peers at the printer, and smiles good-naturedly. “You have to enter your user access code.”

Tony pales and if Peter panics at all, he doesn’t show it. “Fuck,” he sighs, smacking his forehead, “I forgot mine. I keep it written down on this post it- shit, I’ll have to run downstairs, unless-” he looks up at Barney hopefully, “I could use yours? Save me the run.” 

Barney looks torn. “We’re not supposed to...”

For a second, Tony thinks Peter might pull the same crying act he used with the security guard, but he doesn’t. 

Instead, Peter steps forward, lifts his chin and catches his plush bottom lip between his teeth. 

Shit. Shit. Tony and Barney are both hypnotised. “Maybe we could forget the printer altogether,” Peter murmurs, his hands drifting to Barney’s belt as he fiddles with the loop. “Working for Norman gets me so stressed, you know? Sometimes you just want some-” he sighs a little, and the sound goes straight to Tony’s dick. “-some stress relief. You ever feel like that, Barney?” 

Barney looks utterly besotted, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. 

Peter pushes impossibly closer, tilting his head up more. “You can touch me, if you want,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I want you to. Right here.” He grabs one of Barney’s hands and places it on his perfect ass. 

Tony’s leaking in his pants. 

Barney grunts with desire, grabbing at Peter’s ass gracelessly, his other hand coming to do the same as Peter presses their groins together. “What’s your access code?” He whispers into Barney’s ear, palming at his crotch. 

Barney looks like he might cum any second. He’s probably a virgin, Tony thinks. Or maybe Peter is just that hot. Either one is plausible. “A-ah, it-it’s 4598-”

Tony lets out a cry of surprise when Barney falls heavily to the floor. 

Peter turns and taps in the code to the printer as Tony bursts out of the closet. “Holy shit,” he whispers, staring at the man. There’s no blood which is...a relief? “Is he dead?”

Peter rolls his eyes as the printer starts chugging out paper. He grins victoriously. “No, Tony, he’s not dead. I don’t kill people. He’s just unconscious.” He gives Tony a look like the older man is acting a bit slow. 

There’s a wet spot on Barney’s pants, Tony feels for the guy, but there’s more pressing matters. “Peter, what the fuck, seriously-”

“Oh, come on, Tony.” Peter snaps, whirling on him with righteous indignation. His pupils are blown wide and Tony wants him so bad it hurts, but he’s also- he’s also confused out of his mind. “You’ve known this whole time. What- you think it’s coincidence that all your competitors have been missing meetings? Falling sick? You think these new clients are just falling into your lap? I’ve been doing all of this for you. You know that.” 

Jesus Christ. Tony stares. “I-I don’t- how-”

“I like seeing you succeed. It gets me even hotter for you than I already am.” 

Tony can’t form words. 

“I know you like me too. I’d have to be blind not to- aha!” He lifts the papers happily, all printed and sorted. “As much as I’d love to have you fuck me right here on this printer, we need to leave.” 

Tony’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to form words, but fucking Peter is something he’d very much like to do. 

“We’re gonna go back to your office, and you can do me right up against the glass, okay?” 

Tony has to pinch his arm to not cum right then and there. Peter notices, and smirks, tiptoeing to kiss him lightly. 

“Come on, Mr Stark,” he grins, his eyes twinkling with a satisfying mixture of innocence and mischief, as he guides them towards the door. “You have work to do.” 

[inyournightmares97]

Unsolicited (1/3) (M)

Jackson Wang is a perfect gentleman and he thinks it’s extremely vital that you understand... that is not his penis. 

Warnings: Fluff. Crack? Adult topics, mentions of sexual harassment (but not too serious) and plenty of swearing. College!au. Please don’t ask when I’ll update. There are three parts and the next one will come when it’s ready. 

Word Count: 4.8k+

It was perhaps an unfortunate set of circumstances that led you to become acquainted with Jackson Wang’s penis long before you ever saw his face. There had been multiple opportunities for your life to take a different turn. Had any of those events occurred differently, you would never have learned who Jackson Wang was.

But the idea that we have any control over our lives is an illusion. Life is simply a set of circumstances thrust upon us.

Not too different from how Jackson Wang’s male organ was unceremoniously thrust in your face one bleak Tuesday afternoon.

You were tired and miserable after spending all night finishing your Economics paper and attending a full day of classes, but you still had to trudge over to the student government building to handle your appointments. It was one of the aforementioned unfortunate circumstances that led to you being elected into the student government body of your university. You had been appointed as student advisor to the Sexual Harassment Response Cell six months ago.

The Sexual Harassment Response Cell was a small student-run organization. It had been hastily approved by the university authorities after an ugly incident involving a professor assaulting a female student. The student body had been enraged and taken to the streets in a passionate protest. To prevent such incidents from recurring in the future, and in order to handle the bad press, the authorities set up the SHRC. The SHRC was a place where students could come to share their experiences of sexual harassment on campus and learn about the appropriate avenues for recourse.  The Cell’s responsibility was to provide victims with counselling, support, and if they wished to file a formal complaint with the university, then to make sure they had the right evidence and that their accusations weren’t unfounded.

How did you end up being a student advisor for the SHRC?

Well. You might have attended the protests last year and punched a guy in the face for saying something sexist about the matter. The sound of his nose cracking under your fist was extremely satisfying.

The ride to the police station in the cop car was not.

You made it out of jail in a few hours but the reputation stuck with you. You were now the chick who punched a dude at the protests and somehow you became a poster-girl for the cause. Bambam nominated you for the student government elections and Yugyeom published a picture of you punching the sexist guy in the front page of the monthly student newsletter. You won the election by an overwhelming majority.

If only you had known what you were signing up for.

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

“You’re late. My appointment was at 3 pm,” the freshman girl waiting in your tiny counselling office informed you haughtily.

Her eyelashes were long and fake and didn’t match her hair color. You tried not to make a snap judgement; she was supposed to be a victim but the disgusted look she was giving you made that difficult to believe.

You glanced at the clock. It was two minutes past 3.

“Uh, I’m sorry. I had a class all the way on the other side of campus-”

“Whatever,” she cut you off. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You nodded and sat behind the desk with a forced smile. You were supposed to be patient and understanding with the victims because they were usually going through a hard time. You were also supposed to listen to them if they cried and help them find ways to deal with their trauma. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself that the girl in front of you had suffered something.

“I see on the form you filled in that your name is Nari, and you’re a Fashion studies major?” you asked her kindly. “That sounds interesting. Are you having a good time here at university?”

Nari raised an eyebrow at you.

“Fuck all that. I don’t want to chat. I’m here to report cyber-harassment. This dude I met at a frat party two weeks ago managed to get hold of my number and he’s been harassing me through text messages ever since. He’s also a senior and he’s the founding member of the basketball team on campus … so there’s like a power parity-”

“Power disparity,” you mumbled.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever it’s called. Basically he could make life extremely difficult for me because he has a lot of power and stuff. I hear that makes it even worse because he’s abusing his position?  Are you writing all of this down?” she demanded suddenly.

You blinked. “Uh, I’ll make a note after our meeting. I’d rather focus on listening to you right now.”

“Anyway, he sent me a bunch of creepy messages threatening to rape me if I didn’t go out with him and he keeps trying to sext me. I have all the screenshots right here. Yesterday was the last straw because he just crossed all lines by sending me these. Want to see?” She thrust her cellphone at you and you could see screenshots of a text conversation.

“Uh….”

“Read them!”

You did. The screenshots were pretty bad; the guy talked about how he would go to any lengths to make the girl go on a date with him, and how badly he wanted to fuck her. The conversation went on in multiple screenshots. You had just reached the third screenshot when you saw it. A large, close-up image of a man’s penis.  

You flinched. “Oh god.”

The girl smiled at you smugly. “See? Exactly my reaction. Unsolicited dick pic. That counts as harassment, right?”

You returned the phone to her, not really wanting to look at the penis or come across more pictures of it. It was large, you thought, but you hadn’t seen enough penises outside of porn to make an informed judgement. Maybe the angle was just flattering.

“All of it counts as harassment,” you reassured her.

Nari looked relieved. “Okay, good. Because I want him off the basketball team and preferably suspended.”

“I understand that you’re angry and want justice but let’s take this step-by-step. If you want to file a formal complaint with the university against this guy, then it’s going to be a long process. University authorities will give him a hearing and you’ll have to present your evidence before them. I’ll be there to guide you through it all and support you but we also need to consider the chances he will manage to prove his innocence, and the amount of trauma that this whole process might put you through. I want you to consider the pros and cons of taking this step.”

Nari blinked. “They can’t just kick him off the team right away?” she demanded.

You stared at her in disbelief.

“No. No disciplinary action can be taken against anyone without giving them a fair trial.”

She groaned. “Unbelievable. Victims like me have to go through the harassment and then all this bullshit as well. How long will the whole process take once you file the complaint for me?”

“It could take a couple of weeks.”

Nari looked unimpressed. “This senior, Jackson Wang, is harassing me. I’m an innocent girl and I didn’t come all the way to university to have guys send me pictures of their ugly dicks, okay? I want him off the basketball team as soon as possible. What are you going to do about it?”

You felt tired.  

“Alright, look. I’m going to call this Jackson guy in and have a chat with him first so I can give him a heads-up about the accusations that he’s facing. Then I’d like you to come in again so I can share his response with you and I’ll help you file a complaint with the authorities if that’s what you still want to do in a couple of days. Does that sound good?”

“You can’t file it now?”

“I feel like it might be a good idea to wait a few days. Being too hasty about these things usually backfires. Let’s build a solid case first.”

Nari looked annoyed and then tucked her phone into her purse

“Fine. I’ll email you copies of the evidence and I’ll be waiting for you to call me in again.”

“Okay. Have a nice day!”

She rolled her eyes as she sauntered out of the room. “Whatever.”

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

“What is it with men and sending dick pics?” you wondered.

The cafeteria adjacent to the library was crowded and noisy on a Tuesday night. Bambam stuffed an enormous spoonful of rice into his mouth. He munched thoughtfully and swallowed before giving you a cheerful smile.

“It’s sexy. Who doesn’t like getting nudes?”

You frowned and poked at your noodles. You had thought that you were hungry but seeing the picture of Jackson Wang’s dick had ruined your appetite. The sausages on your plate were not helping the unpleasant image that kept flashing through your mind.

“Anyone who’s doing anything except masturbating?” you demanded as you used your chopsticks to transfer the sausages to Bambam’s plate. He bit into one while you continued your rant. “At no point during the day have I ever thought oh I’m horny I wish I had a picture of a dick to look at. Dicks are ugly.”

Bambam frowned mid-chew. “Hey. Can we be a little nicer to them? I happen to own one of those too and my boy enjoys the camera.”

You glared at him. “Please don’t tell me you send unsolicited dick pics to women.”

“Of course not. I only send them when the mood of the conversation is getting sexy and I’m sure that the girl is into it.  I have girls who text me saying ‘show me how turned on you are for me’ and that’s basically code for ‘send me a dick pic’. Sometimes girls actually ask for them, you know?”

“And a lot of the time they don’t.”

Bambam shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. There are always those guys.”

“But what’s the logic?” you demanded. “What is the thought process that goes into snapping a dick pic in the middle of the day and sending it to some poor girl who's going about her business? Do men think their dicks are that attractive? Are they assuming that the girl will get so uncontrollably turned on by the close-up shot of their penises that they’ll drop everything and run to desperately fuck them? What sort of weird male delusion is that?”

Bambam sighed. “I doubt it goes that far. I think these guys are just hoping for nudes in return. You know? Like I showed you mine now please show me yours?”

“Gross.”

“Men likes receiving nudes. They just assume girls feel the same way.”

You rolled your eyes. Maybe you shouldn't be letting Nari’s situation get to you. The image of Jackson Wang’s semi-erect penis was burned into your mind unpleasantly (and now a copy of it was even sitting in your email inbox) but you needed to be more professional about the situation. You had sent an email to Jackson Wang asking him to come into your office tomorrow and the man had sent a simple and short ‘Cool. Will be there.’ as a response. You weren’t sure how to handle the meeting but you figured that getting an idea of whether Jackson Wang would confess to the dick pic or would deny sending it, seemed like a good place to start.

Bambam had finished eating your sausages and you were relieved to see them gone. 

“So, did you make a decision about the new club you’re joining this semester?” he asked. The two of you had decided to join new clubs that would help you on your resumes in the long-term. “I think I’m going to try out for the basketball team. I figure since I’m tall I should go for the sport that gives me a natural advantage, right?”

“Are you sure you want to go for a sports club?” you asked disapprovingly.

Bambam frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you suck at almost all forms of physical activity. Just come with me to the environment club meeting on Friday, please?”

“Ew. No. Ask Yugyeom.”

“He won’t come unless you come,” you whined. Yugyeom and Bambam wanted to play sports but you were personally opposed to putting in so much physical effort. You already had enough difficult classes to deal with this semester. The Environment Club seemed much simpler. You could attend meetings once a week and maybe help design some awareness posters or join a clean-up drive. “Why can’t you just come with me to the meeting? I don’t want to go alone.”

Bambam pointed to himself. “This beautiful body was not made to pick up trash, babe.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Tell me if the club has a lot of hot chicks, though.”

“No, I’m not going to encourage your man-whoring ways, Bambam. Find a more normal hobby.”

Bambam rolled his eyes as he stole a piece of carrot from your tray. “You’re just miserable because you’re a virgin. And sitting at that stupid SHRC all day and listening to women talk about harassment is turning you into a man-hater. If you keep going down the path you’re on now then you’ll never get laid, trust me.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “If that’s how ugly male penises all look then maybe I don’t want one stuck in me.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bambam brightened up and suddenly pointed his chopsticks at you. “Have you considered that you might be… you know? Gay? Cause I know this chick who’s bi, okay, and she says that if I can find a lesbian we might be able to have a threesome-”

“-and now I have completely lost my appetite,” you snapped as you grabbed your tray. “Bye, Bambam.”

He simply waved as you tossed the contents of your tray in the garbage and left the cafeteria. You needed to head back to your dorm and get some sleep. Tomorrow would be another long day.

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

You hadn’t been prepared for Jackson Wang to be so handsome.

He was already waiting in your office when you arrived; you were surprised to see Jackson was punctual despite the short notice. He had dark brown hair that flopped into his bright eyes and a smile that was almost childlike. Jackson was staring at a poster put up on your office wall that described some basic self-defence tactics for women and he glanced at you when you entered.

“These posters always tell women to kick dudes in the groin!” Jackson pointed out to you brightly, pointing at a cartoon image of a woman kneeing her male attacker. You stared at the handsome man in front of you and blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, this is just my first time in the SHRC building. I never knew that Self-Defence 101 for women was to kick the guys’ balls,” Jackson admitted casually. He was gorgeous; your eyes lingered on the muscles along the length of his tanned arms when he held his hand out for you to shake. “Hi, I’m Jackson Wang. You emailed me asking me to meet you here?”

You cleared your throat and shook his hand. Jackson’s skin was soft and warm.  

“Yeah, I need to talk to you about a complaint I received yesterday. Please take a seat.”

“Can I just finish reading this poster first? I had no clue there were this many ways to knee a guy in the jewels. I feel like I should be aware of these things, you know?” Jackson joked.

You frowned. Did he think this was funny? You were not impressed. 

“Unless you’re planning on assaulting a woman, I see no reason why you need to read that poster.”

Jackson’s smile fell and his lower lip stuck out in a small pout as he slumped over to the seat across from your desk. He folded his arms across his chest in a childish fashion. “Hey. Sometimes men need to defend themselves too, you know. Or do you think that men can’t be victims of sexual violence?” he challenged.

You sighed and pressed your fingers to your temples. “I never said that. Unfortunately, you’re not here as a victim. I’ve asked to meet you because I received a complaint from a female student yesterday that she’s been the victim of cyber-harassment. She’s been receiving threatening text messages and unsolicited images of genitalia.”

Jackson’s dark eyes widened in concern and he leaned forward. “No way! What bastard has been doing that?”  

You stared at him.

“You. The complaint is against you, Jackson.”

Jackson stared blankly for a few seconds and you could almost see the gears whirring behind his big puppy-like eyes. He tilted his head slightly to the left.

“Me?” he asked, pointing at himself in a confused manner. You would have thought he was cute if you hadn’t been convinced that he was a sexual predator. “I sent threatening texts to a female student? No way. I rarely even text girls.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Likely story.”

Jackson seemed startled. His handsome smile fell off his face and he waved a hand in the air wildly. “Whoa, wait. Are you serious right now? Is there really somebody accusing me of harassment? Who?”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal the identity of victims who approach the SHRC for their own safety,” you explained calmly. “But she has shown me text messages as evidence and she also said that she intends to file a formal complaint with the university authorities. You would have to defend yourself before a Disciplinary Committee and you could be suspended.”

Jackson stared at you.

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious.”

“But I’ve never- I swear I’ve never sent any messages like that! This has got to be some kind of misunderstanding. What do the messages even say? Can I see them?” Jackson insisted. You bit your lip. Ideally you shouldn’t show him the pictures because it could help him identify Nari as the complainant. But something about Jackson’s brown eyes and horrified expression made you want to give him a chance to defend himself. You carefully opened your laptop and found the email Nari had sent you with the screenshots.

“I have the unsolicited dick pic you sent her right here.”

Jackson stared at you. “What? Let me see that!”

He turned the laptop to face him and there, on the screen, was the large picture of a penis that Nari had shown you. Jackson stared at it intently for a few moments and then turned to look at you in relief.

“Oh thank god. Dude, there’s a misunderstanding. That’s not even my dick,” he told you confidently.

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Jackson used the mouse to zoom into the picture and you winced as the penis now blew up the entire screen. “That is absolutely not my penis. I would know. I feel awful that this poor girl had to get this in her inbox but it is not mine.” Jackson leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve got the wrong guy. You should be looking for the owner of this penis.”

“The complainant named you. There’s only one Jackson Wang in this university.”

“Come on. You’ve got to be kidding me right now. That is literally some other dude’s dick, how can you just sit there and tell me that I’m going to get into trouble for it?” Jackson demanded. He slammed his hand on your desk and frowned. “That’s unfair!”

“I have no way to confirm whether or not this is your penis.”

Jackson’s hands slowly drifted towards his belt. “Well I could always…”

Your eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare take your pants off in this office.”

Jackson pouted and dropped his hands to his sides. “I wasn’t going to,” he whined. He reached for your laptop and zoomed out of the penis picture to look at the text message. “Wait, this is just a screenshot. Don’t you have the original message files? Because I’m positive that these messages couldn’t have come from my phone number. You can check my phone. I have no records of this stuff.”

You blinked. Jackson had a point. These were just screenshots. All they proved was that these messages had come from somebody that Nari had saved on her phone as “Jackson”; his real phone number was nowhere visible on screen.

“You think these messages came from somebody else?” you wondered.

Jackson nodded firmly. “I think this girl is being catfished.”

“Catfished?”

“Yeah! Someone is pretending to be me and trying to get nudes out of this girl,” Jackson insisted smugly. He leaned back and folded his arms across his broad chest. “It wouldn’t be the first time; I have a handsome face and an easier time with the ladies so a guy might have thought his chances were better if he pretended to be me.”

Oh god save me from these people.

“So this guy is pretending to be you but he’s sending her pictures of his own dick?” you questioned, unimpressed.

Jackson snapped his fingers as though he’d just had a brilliant idea. “You know what we need to do?”

“What?”

“We need to find the owner of this penis.”

You stared at him in disbelief. You couldn’t tell whether Jackson Wang was really a complete idiot or if he was playing you in order to make himself look innocent. You sighed and pressed your fingers to your temple in irritation.

“Or I could just call the complainant and ask her what phone number these texts and pictures came from?”

Jackson frowned and slumped back in his seat. “Doesn’t sound as fun, but okay.”

“How about we end this meeting here and I get in touch with you again after I’ve spoken to the complainant and floated the idea that maybe these pictures are coming from somebody other than you?” you asked. This was turning into a longer procedure than you’d expected but you did have the responsibility to make sure that Jackson wasn’t being framed or falsely accused.

Jackson nodded. “Sounds good to me. In the meantime, I’ll be on the lookout for the real owner of that penis. I spend a lot of time with other guys in locker rooms”

You winced. “Please don’t do that.”

Jackson stood up and he reached across the desk to shake your hand once more. You avoided his gaze and tried not to feel flustered by his warm and gentle grip. He stared at you for a moment and froze with his fingers wrapped around yours.

“Can I ask you something?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Are you by any chance that girl who socked a dude in the face during the protests last year?” he asked bluntly. His lips twisted into a cheeky smile as his eyes scanned you eagerly. “Cause you look a lot like her and damn, that was insanely hot.”

You flushed. “I’ll get in touch with you if I need you, Jackson.”

Jackson grinned. “Sure. Pleasure meeting you.”

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

“I think I’m in love,” Bambam sighed happily.

You barely glanced at him, too busy staring at your laptop screen. Bambam was lying back on your couch with a stupid smile on his face while Yugyeom sat at his feet and dully flicked through the channels on your television. Both of them stank of sweat, having come straight to your apartment from their basketball trials.

“You literally just saw her, Bam,” Yugyeom pointed out dismissively.

“I know but she was just so….” Bambam trailed off and sat up eagerly to explain himself. “You know how some people just have this aura? Like this charisma? She had that, okay? It was just the way she walked and the way she dressed and her gaze…”

“It took her less than ten seconds to walk past us, you really analyzed all that in that short amount of time? You can’t even finish reading the powerpoint presentation in class before Professor Lee switches to the next slide.”

Bambam pouted. “Can’t a man fall in love in peace? Damn.”

“You don’t even know who she is.”

“I’ll just hang around the basketball court at the same time tomorrow and see if she passes by again! She was probably coming from the library. I’m sure she’ll do it again sometime. Right? Help me out here, would you?” Bambam demanded. He reached over to poke your shoulder and you frowned at him in irritation. It was certainly unusual for Bambam to say that he was in love with a woman but you had bigger things to worry about.

“If she goes to the library then she’s not your type, Bambam.”

Bambam pouted. “That’s unfair.”

“When’s the last time you read a book? And frantically flipping through textbooks the night before exams doesn’t count,” you snapped. When Bambam fell silent, you let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. This whole dick pic business is just getting to me. The dude claims that it’s not his penis. I called up Nari asking for the text logs but she says she took the screenshots and then deleted both the original messages and his number. It’s kind of suspicious… but maybe she just didn’t want to have them on her phone anymore? I don’t know what to believe.”

Yugyeom frowned. “He really just flat-out said it wasn’t his dick?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s either a guy who's telling the truth, or a guy with a lot of experience lying.”

You turned your laptop screen so that both Bambam and Yugyeom could see it. You’d found Jackson Wang’s Facebook profile. His cover picture was a group photo of him at the beach. He was wearing a pair of shorts that showed off his toned thighs and a significant bulge. Jackson’s mouth was twisted in a toothy, cheerful smile.

You pulled up the picture of the dick next to it.

“You guys tell me what you think. Does this dick look like it could belong to that guy?” you demanded.

Bambam leaned forward and squinted. “Holy shit. That’s Jackson Wang.”

“Yeah.”

“Your dick pic guy was Jackson Wang?” Bambam demanded, horrified. He shook his head quickly. “No way. That is not possible. Do you even know who Jackson Wang is? He’s like the coolest guy I’ve ever met. He charming and he’s funny and everybody in this university fucking loves him. Okay? Girls would kill to be with Jackson Wang. He doesn’t need to send dick pics. He probably gets dick pics, and nudes, and all sorts of stuff on the daily.”

You stared at Bambam. “Huh.”

“Besides, he’s a totally nice and humble guy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, but attractive people are never really humble. They just pretend to be.”

“Jackson is.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well he is,” Bambam replied firmly. He leaned back and frowned at the picture of the penis. “But on second thought that is one big penis so it might just be Jackson’s. He does have that big dick energy.”

You tilted your head at the screen. “You think this one is big? Yugyeom?”

Yugyeom nodded. “Pretty big, yeah. And you have to keep in mind that it’s only semi-erect.”

You sighed and closed both tabs before rubbing your hands over your eyes and letting out a groan. This was not how you had intended to spend your Wednesday night. You leaned back against the sofa.

“What am I even doing? How did my life come to the point where I need to stare at this random picture of a penis and figure out who it belongs to?” you whined miserably. “I’ve never even seen a guy’s dick in real life before.”

Bambam snickered. “Maybe you should ask Jackson to show you his. You know. So he can prove that it’s not the one in the picture?”

You glared at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t exactly go back to Nari and tell her; oh guess what, I looked at Jackson’s dick and it’s not the same one from your screenshots, what if she still wants to file a complaint? What if the matter goes to the university authorities and I have to take Jackson’s side? Am I supposed to look the Dean in the eye and go I’m sorry sir, I already checked out his penis and it’s not the same? Should I ask Jackson to drop his pants in front of the Dean too?”

Yugyeom snickered. “That could be the lead up to a pretty interesting porn movie.”

“No, there has to be some other way to solve this. Nari didn’t just come up with those text messages out of nowhere, there has to be some story behind this.”

Bambam snorted and turned away from you. “Okay, Nancy Drew. You go conduct your investigation. We’re gonna watch tv.”

You pouted. “You guys are useless.”

“I like being useless. It takes off the pressure to perform.”

“I doubt any performance of yours has lasted more than two minutes.”

Bambam stuck his tongue out at you irritably. “Well, guess what? You’ve never slept with me so you don’t get an opinion on my performance. Go ask Jackson Wang how long he lasts.”

You sighed.

[jessahmewren]

“Birthday Boy Seeking Party Guests” / Queen / Bohemian Rhapsody Fan Fiction

Summary: Tired of spending birthday’s alone, John posts an ad on Craigslist hoping to spice things up.  Set in the 2000′s.  

Rating E for Everyone be aware here be smut.  

Pairing: Poly

Word count: 7,556

Also on Ao3

-0-0-0-

John erased what he’d written for what seemed like the tenth time, squinting at the screen on his laptop. He cracked his knuckles, taking another sip of wine.  The bottle was more than half gone, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.  It was the weekend, and he was spending it, like every other weekend, alone in his flat browsing the internet.  

The wine settled in his bones, making him feel warm and heavy and a bit giddy.  He opened up the Word document where the Craigslist Personal’s ad he’d been fumbling over for the past half hour sat half written.

“I am a single male seeking three men for a one night stand at my flat.  I have no other preferences other than that you be reasonably good looking and clean.  I will send a headshot and directions when you send one.”  

Wait.  The fuck?  That sounded really off and vain.  No way should he be writing this while drunk.  Or, he thought miserably, writing this period.  But anyway.  

“I am a single male seeking three men for a one night stand at my flat. I am fit and disease free; please be the same.  Details to be follow.”  

Was that better, he wondered?  Worse?

“I’ve never done this before; I’m not weird or even kinky…just a normal guy wanting to have a good time for once on his birthday.”  

There, he thought. That sounded nice and normal, not scary like some of the other ads (seriously, the one asking for the fart buddy was a little out there…).  He copied the ad and, before he could chicken out, pasted it into the text box.  

He titled the ad “Birthday Boy Seeking Party Guests” and hit submit before he could talk himself out of it.

John checked his Myspace briefly before closing the laptop.  His cat, Gwyneth, coiled around his legs.  He reached down to stroke her ginger fur.  “Again, lovely?  You’ve already had your dinner,” he cooed fondly.  He reached for a bit of chicken from the fridge, leftovers from his own meal. “Just a snack, now.”  The cat was an absolute unit, and he couldn’t afford her getting any fatter.  

He put the wine glass in the sink, nodding off slightly as the water ran.  Gwyneth waddled off to her cat bed, sniffing it delicately before she sank into the pillowy softness.  John smiled at her as he switched off the light and shuffled off to his bedroom.

As he lay down beneath the covers, he thought of his little Craigslist ad, and smiled.  

--

Freddie woke up early for once, silencing his alarm on his phone and stumbling to the teapot.  He put the kettle on and grabbed a lemon strudel before settling on the couch and opening his laptop.  

Craigslist was still open from the night before where he had entertained himself with reading the personal ads.  It was one of his favorite past times late at night…sitting with a bag of crisps with his legs crossed reading some of those wacky adds.  As his kettle hummed, he decided to scroll further down the page.

He landed on John’s ad, and something made him smile.  “I’m not weird or even kinky…” Freddie laughed at that.  Why yes you are darling, you’re asking for a foursome for your birthday!  Still, his smile never faltered.  He clicked on the user name and opened up his email program.

“Hi John, I’m Freddie.  I AM weird and VERY kinky, and would love to come to your birthday party ;). I have attached a headshot. Cheers.”

He hit send and closed the laptop. His kettle was boiling by now and he poured himself a cuppa. He thought about the email he’d just sent and sighed.  It wasn’t likely he was going to get a reply, and if he did, he was up for it. He hooked up regularly with no problems.  This time was likely to be any different.

--

Brian cursed to himself. He was late and the computer labs at the university were always nearly full around lunch.  He had a paper due in two hours.  Maybe he could swing it.  

He found one open kiosk in the corner and settled in front of it, plugging in his flashdrive.  After an hour of typing, Brian closed the document and submitted it to his professor.  One more paper, one more assignment closer to his PhD.  He took a moment to relax and opened up his Hotmail.

After a few moments of aimless clicking and deleting, he opened one of his Craigslist notifications. Unfortunately, the amp he had wanted for his guitar was already sold.  He clicked the link anyway, the website opening in a new window.  He browsed the website a bit, eventually landing on the Personals section.  

He entertained himself for a while, admittedly enjoying the sexier ads.  And then he read John’s.  

Something about it struck him as honest, and Brian could respect that.  Brian considered the prospect of fucking three other guys, a little thrill running through him.  What would that even be like?  

He decided, like a good doctoral researcher, that he needed more information.  He emailed John.  

--

Roger was drunk (and maybe something else).  His limbs were loose, and he couldn’t feel his lips.  An easy euphoria fell over him, throbbing in his skull in time with the pulsing music and the girl riding his lap.  The friends he’d come over with were somewhere else, but there were others here.  So many people just walking around him as this girl fucked him right here on the sofa.

“Lay back baby,” She said as she rode him, steadily lifting herself off of him, the wet squelch of her tight heat lost to the music and the chaos of the open room. She was pretty in an odd way, Roger thought.  His body felt like it was on fire, and he felt the involuntary response of his orgasm winding its way to completion.  

He gasped, coming inside the condom as she giggled and contracted around him.  He was panting hard, his heart racing.  Whatever he had taken was too much, he thought, too much this time.  He felt sick. He pawed at the girl as she chased her own climax, pushing her off just as she came, nibbling at his sweat-slick skin.

“Thanks for the fuck,” she said as she slid off him.  She pulled up her panties under her skirt and wobbled away.  

He sagged back against the couch where no one seemed to pay attention to him, feeling used.  Tears stung his eyes, and then someone called his name.  

“Hey Roger, you done fucking around?  Come play this game with us.”

He raised his head, the whole room swimming.  Gingerly, he made his way over to the small gathering.  There were shots set up in front of a laptop.  Greg, the leader of the group, pushed Roger down in a chair.

“It’s youngest against oldest, and Rog, you’re the youngest.  Whoever does the least amount of shots has to answer one of these Craigslist Personals ads.  I’ve put them all in a random name generator so it’s totally fair.”

Roger felt sick.  He knew he’d had too much to drink already, and there was no way he would win.  He stared the other man down anyway.  

Greg counted them out. “On your mark, get set, go!”

Roger started downing shots until he declared he’d had enough.  He was nearly blackout drunk when they pulled the virtual lever on the random name generator.  The ad title that came up was “Birthday Boy Seeking Party Guests.”

Roger was passed out on the couch when Greg sent the email to John along with a fetching photo of Roger smiling with friends while wearing his favorite sunglasses.  Greg was sure to add, “you can’t tell, but my eyes are blue ;).”

--

John forgot about his little ad until the following evening, when he was coming home from the repair shop and remembered that he should probably check his email.  He picked up dinner, fed Gwyneth and did just that, deleting the spam and adverts and noticing, to his surprise, several emails from Craigslist users.  

He omitted some right away…not on a superficial bases, but just based on how they sounded.  Bossy, arrogant, or their emails gave out a creepy vibe.  The next one he clicked on was a bloke named Freddie.  

“I AM weird AND kinky…”  John laughed at that.  That was mild compared to some of the other things he’d been told.  It was rather endearing, actually.  As the pic took forever to load, he thought Freddie might be interesting to get to know.  

Then the pic finally opened and John’s mouth flew open.

Black, lustrous, shoulder-length hair framing the most stunning face…tan skin stretched over sharp cheekbones and jawline and those piercing brown kohl-lined eyes.  He was easily the most exotic person John had ever laid eyes on.  He was immediately attracted to him.  

John hit reply and began typing.  “I love your headshot.  This may be a little forward, but would you like to come celebrate my birthday with me?  You would be my first guest :).”  

He gave him the time and place, included a headshot, and hit send, hoping for the best.  

The next email was a bit longer and more thoughtful but just as intriguing.  

“Hi there.  My name is Brian.  I am a college student getting my PhD.  I saw your ad on Craigslist and I must say I am intrigued.  I have never done anything like this, either.  I would be interested in helping you celebrate your birthday if you provide a safe, clean environment in which to do so.  Please provide photos of your flat.”  Thanks –Bri”

John smiled.  How considerate to think of a safe environment. Bri was definitely getting an email. He replied to Brian and included photos of his living room, kitchen, and bedroom (he left the bathroom out for reasons). Thankfully he had just tidied up. He also included a headshot.  

The next email that caught his eye was from Roger.  When the pic loaded, he was stunned to find a beautiful blond man with a winning smile standing in a group of friends.  

“Hi! My name is Roger.  I saw your ad on Craigslist.  You can count me in!  Just send me the time and place.  Also, you can’t tell, but my eyes are blue ;).”

John smiled at his enthusiasm.  He attached a headshot, gave him the details and hoped he would hear a little more from him.

John switched over to his Myspace and made a post for the first time in a long time.  “Happy for new adventures,” it said with a sticker. And for the first time in a long time, he was.

--

Freddie was late, and he had just enough time for tea and maybe to check his email before he was needed at Splash, the high-end fashion boutique where he worked.  He scrolled through his messages on his phone, reading a few replies, when one from Craigslist user John caught his eye.    

“I love your headshot.  This may be a little forward…”  

Freddie smiled at that.

The pic finally loaded, and Freddie’s mouth watered at the sweet sight.  A young man, early twenties, long brown hair, lovely green eyes, and the sweetest smile stared back at him.  There were secrets in that smile, he thought, and Freddie wanted to find them out.  

So Freddie had a date with not one but three other gents.  He better get to work so he could find himself something new to wear.  

--

“I want a double mocha latte, no whip, no drizzle, but soy sub on the milk,” the customer spouted off dryly, and Brian just nodded.  He’d been working as a barista at Starbucks to help pay his way through college, and while things could get a little crazy, he mostly liked it.  “No problem,” he said as he tried to smile.  “Name please?”  

The teenage girl grinned. “Princess of the Universe.” Brian’s face fell.  “Alright miss I’ll try to fit that on the cup,” he muttered as he turned to make her coffee.  

At his next break, he sat in the back and played Angry Birds on his phone until his email notifications pinged.  John from Craigslist had written him back.  

“Hi Bri! This is John. I really enjoyed your email and appreciate you thinking to ask about a safe environment.  That is really important and is honestly something I would do. I have included the requested pictures of my flat.  Thankfully I had just tidied up (haha).

The flat was neat and clean. Very homey.  There was a fat orange cat nestled on the couch in one of the pics, and it made Brian smile.  The headshot John had sent was of John in profile, looking out a window. His green eyes were luminous in the sunlight, and his long brown hair was pulled back over his shoulder.  There was a slight smile on his face.  

Brian hummed as he looked at it, eyes going over the smooth skin of the young man’s neck and where that skin stretched over the juncture of his jaw and cheek.  He was lovely.  

“Brian!  You’ve got customers!”  

Brian muttered a curse to himself.  

“I’d very much like to attend,” Brian found himself typing. “Send me the details.”

--

His head was pounding, and the afternoon light of his bedroom hurt his eyes.  Those were Roger’s first cognizant thoughts as he gradually returned to wakefulness after coming home last night and passing out on top of his sheets.  

He doesn’t remember coming home, really, or how he got home.  But he assumed Greg and his friends dumped him off here after he woke up on their couch.  

It didn’t matter, not really.  He stumbled home like this a few times a week and he invariably always recovered.  

Roger peeled himself off the mattress, dragging himself into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He endured the light so he wouldn’t miss the toilet, and when he passed the mirror, he paused.  

There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.  His face was puffy, his hair in disarray.  He looked older somehow, and he swore under his breath.  Shit had to get better than this.  

He peeled off last night’s clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot spray wash off the filth and sketchy memories.  Stepping out of the shower, he toweled off and put on a pair of sweats.  He had a few hours before he had to be at his bartending job at a local nightclub, so he decided to forego the tea and head straight for the coffee.  

He settled into the couch, letting the weariness leech from his boned into the cushions.  Sipping his coffee, he checked his email, frowning when he got a notification from Craigslist.  

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself, opening the email to find the top half of a picture loading.

It was a young man with soft green eyes crinkled at the edges, a wide smile and long brown hair. Something caught in his chest, something warm and fluttery, as he looked at it.  

The email was underneath.

“Hello Roger!  I’m John. I’m excited that you want to attend my birthday party.  You’re my third guest, so that makes four of us, lol ;).  I’m sending you the date and time below along with directions to my flat. I can’t wait to meet you in person. :).”

What the actual FUCK.

And suddenly it all came flooding back.  The shot game, the lost bet.  Roger’s heart sped up.  Was he going to a foursome?  Were they all dudes?  His mouth went dry.  While Roger had always been attracted to men, he had never actually slept with one.  He swallowed.  Could he actually do this?  

FUCK.  

--

There was no Emily Post etiquette guide for hosting a foursome, so John decided to wing it.

As he stared down into the homemade pasta sauce, he reasoned that food was a good move.  Food brought people together, and togetherness brought sex. John smiled, satisfied with his ingenious if rather simplistic reasoning.  He stirred the sauce, pausing before adding the browned ground beef. What were the odds that one of them was a vegetarian?  He shrugged and dumped it in.  Not too high.

The doorbell rang and John nearly jumped out of his skin.  It was 6:05, and his guests weren’t due until 6:30.  He frowned, turning the burner on low and moving to the peephole.  

There, on the other side, was the same face he’d viewed in the email, only in living color.  The sharp cheek bones, the elegant nose, the kohl lined eyes.  John couldn’t get the door open fast enough.  

“Freddie,” he almost breathed.  His heart was beating fast and he self-consciously smoothed the hair around his face.  

Freddie’s eyes flicked down to his chest, then back up to his face before he smiled, stepped into his space and smoothly kissed him, steadying his chin with the tips of his fingers.  

John returned the kiss before breaking away, sputtering a little before getting his bearings.  “Do you…do you always greet strangers like that?”

Freddie laughed smoothly. “No, silly.”  He looked down, then back up at him, one neatly trimmed eyebrow cocked slightly.  “But I’m excellent at following instructions.”

John flushed, remembering his ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, and ushered him inside.  “Um, can I get you something to drink?”  

“I dunno, can you?” Freddie said smoothly as he walked through the living room of John’s flat, taking in every detail.  He was impeccably dressed, John thought as he tracked him through the space.  He stirred the sauce, leaving it to simmer and reached for a bottle of red wine, pouring Freddie a glass.

He handed it to the man who took it gratefully.  “Something smells yummy.  You didn’t have to cook, darling.”  

John smiled, flushing at the epithet.  “It’s just pasta.  It’s nothing.”

Freddie settled on the couch, balancing the wine glass on his knee.  “I hope you don’t mind that I arrived a little early.  I always arrive early to these sorts of things.  It keeps me safe.”  

John nodded.  “That’s smart actually.  I don’t mind at all.  I’m just glad you came.”  

Freddie waggled his eyebrows over his wine glass.  “I always come.”  

John’s blush deepened, and Freddie laughed.  

“I can’t help myself, darling, you’re just so damn cute when you do that.”

John lowered his glass. “Do what?”

“Blush like that. It’s precious.”  

The two of them sat there for a few moments when Gwyneth took that opportunity to rub against Freddie’s leg.  

“What a baby!”  

John laughed as Gwyneth stretched and meowed, looking up at Freddie with affection.  “I think she likes you.”  

Freddie cooed and scratched her head.  “I think I’m in love.”  

--

When Brian arrived, John was busy straining the pasta, so Freddie got the door.  

“Hello, darling,” he said brightly.

Brian looked at Freddie blankly.  “You’re not John.”  

“Come on in!” John called from the kitchen, and Brian side-stepped the man at the door a little nervously to meet the man in the kitchen.  

“Um, sorry darling, but as I was about to say, “I’m Freddie.”  

Brian looked down at the enigmatic man who had a delicate hand stuck out for him to shake.  He took it.  

Brian pressed his lips together.  “Sorry about that earlier.  I uh…I was just expecting John.”  

Freddie patted his arm. “It’s alright love.  We’re all a little jumpy.  Just meeting and all that.  But John is lovely. He even cooked.”  

John appeared behind Brian, a dish towel over his shoulder.  “Hello,” he said.  “I’m John.”

Brian shook his hand, noticing the calloused fingers.  The young man was trim in figure-hugging jeans and a crisp blue shirt that brought out the green in his eyes.  Brian swallowed hard.  

“Brian,” he said a little thinly.  

John smiled, and it went straight to his gut.  “I hope you like pasta Brian.”  He walked to the counter and poured him a glass of wine.

Brian took it from him. “I do actually.  Just no meat sauce.  I’m a vegetarian.”

John looked horrified. “Fuckity fuck,” John he said allowed. “How about a salad?”  

Freddie howled with laughter, the outburst so loud it scared Gwyneth under the couch.  Brian just smiled softly, laying a hand on John’s shoulder.  “That actually sounds lovely John.”

Brian made his way to the couch, followed closely by Freddie.  The other man was observing him very keenly, taking in the softly curling hair and the sharp nose framing the delicate face.  Brian was dressed very casually compared to Freddie, but he was no slouch.  His neat jeans and tan blazer suited his slim physique very well.  

John stared at the clock. It was crowding seven now, and Roger was nowhere to be found.  A little pang of worry stabbed at his heart.  It was possible that he might not show, and that was fine, but he was certainly looking forward to meeting him.  He thought of the blue eyes the photo had hidden that he would never get to see.  

Instead of worrying, he busied himself with plating the pasta and salads.  Brian met him in the kitchen, setting his wine glass down. “Let me give you a hand, John.” His smile was genuine and warm, and John found that he liked it very much.  

With two working it took half the time, and everyone had their food.  Freddie looked around at the empty place setting and frowned. “Where’s number four?”  

John worried his lip. “I don’t really know,” he said honestly. “I’m sure he’ll make it.”  

Freddie smiled sympathetically.  “Sometimes they don’t love.  Nerves and all.”  

Almost on cue, there came a tentative knock at the door.  John stood a little too fast before settling himself down enough to answer it.  He knew before looking through the peephole who it was.  

Roger was dressed in a fashionable leather jacket and matching pants that hugged his figure. His trademark sunglasses were in the collar of his frayed t-shirt, no doubt purchased that way.  His hair was messy-chic.  John couldn’t stop staring at him until those blue eyes popped up to meet his.  “You’re John?”  

“Y-yeah,” he stammered out. “Nice to meet you Roger.”  Roger shook it rather limply as he breezed into the living room, not giving John more than a glance.  He stiffened when he heard voices from the kitchen.  

“There you are!” Freddie called out to him.  “Thought this was going to be a threesome.  And while that’s still lovely, I do hate it when plans change,” he pouted.

Roger turned rather haltingly to face the other two men who had been eating and chatting, getting to know one another.  Brian pointed to the open seat at the table, and Roger took it.  

“Mind if I smoke John?”

John liked his voice…soft but still masculine.  It made his stomach flutter.  And while he smoked, he usually didn’t smoke inside because of Gwyneth. But he supposed—

“That’s fine,” John finally said.  He watched as the fire from the lighter illuminated his fine features; he was certainly very beautiful, this Roger.  

“I made dinner,” John offered, hoping to start a conversation with the man who had said very little since he arrived.  

“Not hungry mate. Thanks though.”  

John frowned a little, and Freddie cleared his throat.  

“Well I’m Freddie, and this is Brian,” the ever talkative Freddie began with the introductions.

“Roger,” the newcomer mumbled around his cigarette.

They resumed eating and things grew quiet and bit awkward as Roger sat there smoking while everyone ate. He was very closed off, like he didn’t want to be there.  John would need to get to the bottom of it if things progressed.  

“Now that we’re all here, I’m a true bottom,” Freddie said matter-of-factly, “so I hope there are some tops among us.”  

John nearly choked on his penne, and Brian had to pat him on the back, a fond smile on his face.  “It doesn’t matter to me either way,” Brian said, his face growing hot.  

“Me neither,” John said quietly.

Roger took a bored drag on his cigarette.  “Top,” he muttered.  

Freddie’s eyes grew wide. “Really…”

Roger snapped his gaze Freddie’s way.  “Yeah, that’s right.  Is that so hard to believe, you wanker?”

Freddie put his hands up in defense.  “No reason to be nasty, love.  Just took me by surprise is all.  You just give off…bottomy vibes.”

Roger stubbed out his cigarette in his empty plate.  “What the FUCK is that supposed to mean?”  

Freddie rolled his eyes. “Nothing darling.  Forget it.”  

Roger had stood, fists balled at his hips, and he was gyrating with anger.  John and Brian were looking on, wide-eyed, wondering where all of this would go.  

Until Freddie stood and hugged the man.  

Roger relaxed into his grip, his head dropping to his shoulder.  He sighed, arms relaxing at his sides.  

“Darling, it’s alright,” Freddie soothed against him.  “It’s all alright now.”  

And when Freddie pulled away, he kissed him softly on the lips.  

Roger hummed in surprise before relenting into the kiss, letting his mouth go pliant against the other man’s and enjoying the faint hint of tomato sauce and chapstick on his tongue. When Freddie released him, he sighed.

“Why—why did you do that?”

Freddie reached up to thumb at his chin.  “Darling, you looked like you needed it.  When’s the last time someone hugged you?”

Roger’s eyes stung with oncoming tears, but he willed them back down.  His lack of an answer was enough for Freddie.  

“Let us take care of you tonight,” he said sweetly.  “Show you true affection.  Make you feel good.”  

“Yeah,” Roger found himself saying.  It sounded so nice, after all, to be truly wanted and cared for, if only for the night.

Brian and John were beside them now, and John leaned in and lay a hand on Roger’s arm.  “Are we ok?”  

Roger nodded, feeling much more at ease.  “Yeah, everything is fine.”  

John smiled.  “Let’s clean up, yeah?  Then maybe we can move this into the bedroom.”  

--

“You uh…You mind if I just watch for a while?”

Roger had gotten his shirt off, and then nerves had taken over.  Freddie was on all fours, moaning into John’s talented fingers as he opened him up, his heavy cock straining with need.  

John shot him a smile. “Sure love.  Do what you’re comfortable with,” he said as he punched another moan out of Freddie, twisting those fingers inside of his tight walls.

Roger eased off the bed before a hand grabbed him.  “Hey,” Brian said, hazel eyes soft with lust.  

Roger swallowed, the tall man’s kind smile making him feel instantly at ease.  

He smiled, his heartrate going down a bit.

“Where are you off to?” Brian answered innocently. He was crowding his space, the bare skin of his chest now flush with his as he bent his head to nose at his hair.  

“That chair in the corner,” Roger said softly.  “I was gonna watch.”

Brian placed a little kiss to his hair.  “Not gonna play?”

Roger’s throat was dry, and he was straining in his trousers.  “Not right now,” he trailed off.

Brian kissed further down the side of his face.  “Pity,” he said as his hands traveled over Rogers bum.

“You ever had a really good blowjob, Roger?  One that makes you feel like you’re exploding into a billion stars?”  Brian finally reached his mouth and locked lips with him, his tongue curling around his, kissing him so deeply it stole Roger’s breath.

Roger moaned in spite of himself, leaning into Brian’s touch.  Brian released him, never breaking eye-contact.  “Well, have you?”  

He answered him truthfully. “I guess not,” he said a little breathlessly.  

Brian smiled.  “That’s what I was hoping you would say.”

“Can you take a fourth finger baby?”  Freddie just moaned, gripping the sheets as he tossed his head back.  John slid it in, delighting in the way Freddie just fluttered around him, drawing him in like he was born to take it.  He worked his fingers in and out of him, hitting his prostate to make him moan.  The sound of Brian going down on Roger was in his ears and it home to John that this foursome dream of his was really happening, this little birthday fantasy of his was real.  

John pressed kisses into Freddie’s neck, making sure his fingers kept up a steady pressure. Freddie just moaned—he was so vocal—and thrust his hips up to meet his fingers.  

“Need your cock,” he finally breathed.  “Give it to me John.”  

Roger shivered as Brian circled the head of his cock with his tongue, licking the slit before descending on him again.  Brian took him all the way to the base, his nose buried in the dark blond hair there, Roger’s hot length stretching his throat with every bob of his head.  

Above him, Roger was coming undone.  He was making little keening sounds as Brian played with his balls while sucking him off, moaning and sputtering that he wouldn’t last long.  It didn’t matter to Brian.  He loved this.  

The man grabbed a handful of his hair just before coming hot and full down his throat, his back arching prettily.  Brian swallowed him down, finally pulling off him when he was sure he was finished.  

Brian dabbed at his mouth as Roger looked at him with a little bit of awe.  

“You good?” he asked Roger as he sat back on his knees, smiling up at him.  

“Incredible,” Roger sighed. “That was better than X.”  

Brian frowned.  “X?”

“Ecstasy? The party drug?” Roger looked perplexed that the man had never heard of it.  

He dug in his pocket and produced a little baggie and handed it to Brian, who pushed it away.  

“Sorry mate, but I’m not down for that.  Brian looked nervously over his shoulder.  John doesn’t look the type either, so I’d put that away if I were you.”

Roger stuffed the baggie of pills back into his pocket.  “Do I look like the type?” he said as he zipped up his fly.  

Brian just sat there, thinking.

Freddie had one hand on his leaking cock, stroking it in rhythm to John’s thrusts.  His head was pressed into the mattress, and he was having the time of his life.  

“Harder John.  Fuck me harder babe.  Like you mean it!”

John loved how vocal Freddie had been to begin with, but now he was being outright bratty.  John hitched Freddie’s hips higher, angling them so he could aim directly at his prostate.  Freddie’s body was slicked with sweat as was his own, so maneuvering them was no easy feat.  He pulled out of Freddie and then slammed back down again.  

“God yes that’s it lover,” Freddie mumbled into the sheets as he set up a blistering pace, wet flesh slapping against each other as he John chased his release.  Freddie was furiously stroking himself, so it wouldn’t be long for him.  Through Freddie’s plaintive, sharp moans, he could feel the crest of his orgasm stop right at the edge.  He tightened his grip on Freddie, emptying into the condom as wave after wave of pleasure gripped him.  Somewhere through the fog he heard Freddie come right after.  

Brian followed Roger into living room, where he was trying to collect his things.  “You’re leaving?”

Roger turned on Brian, his hands on his hips.  “I don’t have much choice, now do I?”

Brian shrugged.  “You always have a choice.”

“I don’t belong here,” Roger said, shaking his head.  “I’m not even gay.”

Brian’s eyes widened. “Are you sure about that?”

Roger shook his head, withdrawing the little baggie of pills.  “Ah fuck it,” he said as he poured a few in his hand.  

Brian approached him slowly. “I can’t let you do that, Roger. Take those pills.  Not on my watch.”

Roger clutched the pills in his hand tightly to his chest.  “What the fuck do you care, Brian?   You’re just some guy who blew me off.  You don’t know me?”  He was vibrating with rage, his eyes wide.  “You don’t own me!”

Brian shook his head. “Listen to yourself.  You sound like a child.  We’re talking about drugs, here, Roger.  You could seriously hurt yourself.”  

“Yeah well, I hope I do,” He spat.  

Brian had no choice. “John!  Freddie!  I need you in here!”

The two of them came rushing in, John in a robe and Freddie struggling into pants.  “Brian, what’s wrong?”  

“Roger has drugs,” Brian got out quickly.  “Ecstasy. He’s about to take some.”  

Freddie stepped forward between them.  “Oh darling that shit is hell on you.  You don’t want to do that.  Tell me what’s up.”  

Roger relaxed a little. “Nothing,” he whispered. The pills were sweating and melting in his hand.  “I just needed to get out of my head for a little while.”

John was watching the proceedings, trying not to panic.  No way did he want drugs in his house, but he also didn’t want to see Roger hurt.  

Freddie nodded.  “I so understand that love.  That’s why I hook up a lot.  Sex helps me forget some nasty things in my past and some things that are going on in my daily you know?  It’s a nice escape.  Plus it’s legal and it doesn’t hurt me as long as I’m safe.”  

Roger’s hand relaxed a little on the pills.  “Yeah that makes sense,” he conceded.  “I’m glad you have that.”  

Freddie nodded again, getting close enough to Roger to smooth some of the hair that hung around his face behind his ear.  Roger seemed to lean into his touch.  “Did you enjoy your time with Brian, him?  Freddie couldn’t keep the wicked smile from his face.  “Sure sounded liked you did.”  

Roger smiled then. “Yeah it was really nice.”

“I bet.  Might have to see how nice it is, huh Brian?” Freddie said as he threw a wink over his shoulder at Brian who just laughed at him, shaking his head.  

Freddie grabbed Roger’s hand.  “Give me these darling…they’re all melted now, anyway.  Come have some fun with us instead.”  

Roger’s lips were dry as Freddie pried the pills from his grip.  “I’ve never…I’ve never been with a man,” he admitted.  

“A virgin?!” Freddie gasped, “Oh our boy’s a virgin…we’ll have to take extra special care of him won’t we boys?”  

Freddie discreetly handed off the baggie of pills and the few tablets to John who promptly went into the bathroom to flush them.  

“Yes,” he said as he stroked his face.  “We’ll take extra good care of you love.  You won’t have to worry about a thing.”  

--

Brian stroked the young man’s face as John worked on the fly of his dark jeans, easing them down his hips. His cock sprung free…no pants underneath, and John smiled, stroking him lightly.  Freddie hummed, squeezing Brian’s buttocks as he wrapped an arm around his waist.

“You sure you’re ok with this Roger?”  John’s voice was husky with want, his eyes flicking up briefly from the young man’s cock to his blue eyes where they looked down at him expectantly.  

“Yes,” Roger said, leaning into Brian’s hand on his face, his eyes fluttering closed.  “I want this.”

Freddie smiled, tightening his arms around Brian.  They walked Roger back until his legs touched the bed.  He sat down, easing onto the soft comforter while they helped him scoot back.  Brian was between his legs in an instant, easing between his thighs to skate his hands along his chest and arms while Freddie cradled his head in his lap.  Roger’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted in a pretty bow, and John bent to kiss them, unable to help himself.  

Roger sighed, giving himself over to the kiss, letting his tongue dart out to meet John’s as his arms strained against Freddie hands.  At some point, the dark-haired man had pressed his arms down into the mattress.

Roger panicked for a split second, then the thrill of the restraint sank into his bones, and he truly felt free.  

“That’s it baby,” Freddie soothed, “Just let go and let us take over.”  Roger stared up into the man’s soft brown eyes, feeling a strange sense of peace.

Brian was making slow circles on his hip, thumbing the sensitive skin there.  “Roger,” he said softly.  “Do you want to top?”  His hazel eyes bore into his.  “It’s your first time.  It’s easier that way.”

Roger worried his lip. “No,” he said firmly.  “I want to do it like Freddie did.”  

Freddie smirked a little, still stroking his hair.  “I knew it. He’s a natural bottom.”  

John giggled a little, tossing Brian the lube.  “Open him up nice and slow Brian.  Your fingers are slender.”  

John crawled over to Freddie, pulling his head up and kissing him firmly.  Freddie groaned into John’s mouth, letting his hand slide up his chest.  “Up for round two love?”  

John just hummed.  “Maybe.  Maybe not. On your knees, True Bottom.”  John pushed Freddie down on his knees, smacking his bum on the way down.  Freddie fell forward, grunting as he hit the mattress, landing on all fours.  

He shivered as John climbed up behind him. He could feel his warm breath on the back of his thigh, whispering over his bum as John’s hands settled there.  He parted his cheeks, and Freddie hardly had time to catch his breath before John had licked a hot strip up the cleft of his buttocks.  

“Fuck!” Freddie cried out, his whole body jerking under John’s mouth.  John smiled against him, and Freddie felt the wry grin against his skin.

Brian eased a pillow beneath Roger’s hips, watching Roger for any sign of discomfort.  He betrayed none; he seemed as relaxed as he did when Freddie was cradling his head.  Indeed, Freddie had now clasped the blond’s hand while being eaten out, a look of sheet bliss on his face, and Roger gripped it tightly.

“We’re going to do this very slowly, Roger.  It will feel different at first, but then it will feel good, ok?”  

Roger nodded his head, taking in a breath.  

Brian tutted.  “Don’t hold your breath love.  Blow it out for me.  Just try to relax, ok?  I’m not going to hurt you.”  

Brian smiled at him, and Roger returned it.  Brian had the sweetest, most genuine smile, and while he didn’t really know the man, he knew instinctively that he could trust him.  

He warmed the lube in is fingers before circling Roger’s entrance with smooth, calculated movements, relaxing the tight muscle.  He pushed one in, and Roger jumped a little.  

“How does that feel Roger? Talk to me.”  

“Different,” he breathed. “Not bad.”  

Brian smiled.  He began working the finger in and out of Roger rhythmically until he felt Roger relax around him, then he added a second.

Roger jerked, a little half-moan escaping his lips.  Brian cocked an eyebrow.  “Is that better?”  

“Y-yeah,” Roger stammered. “It’s ok.”  

Brian aimed for his prostate, finding the little bundle of nerves in moments, and Roger nearly folded in half.  “Just ok?”

Roger was panting, a fine sweat on his brow, and he unconsciously thrust onto Brian’s fingers. “So good,” he said, his grip on Freddie’s hand tightening.  

Freddie preened.  “Look at you baby boy—ahh—taking those fingers so well.  I knew you could do it.”

Freddie looked ruined, very near coming, and the sounds coming from John were bordering on obscene. Roger couldn’t see him, but whatever he was doing to Freddie it sounded like he was enjoying it.

Brian twisted the fingers against him, making him writhe and squirm, until he added a third.  

Roger winced at the sting, the stretch of a third finger, but Brian was gentle in coaxing him open. He was leaned over him, planting little kisses on his collarbone, his throat, and finally smothering his moans with his own mouth.  It all felt so intimate, not at all like his drug-fueled shags.  Tears began to spring in his eyes.  

Brian noticed immediately. “Roger, am I hurting you?  He lost the fingers immediately.  “Talk to me, Roger.”  

“No,” Roger choked out. “Give me more please.”  

John laughed as he was helping Freddie clean up.  “You’ve got him begging Brian.   So beautiful for us.”  

The fingers returned, a little rougher this time, a little more insistent.  Roger’s legs were open wide and he was almost swallowing Brian’s hand.

“You’re ready, gorgeous. I think my work here is done.” Brian withdrew his hand, wiping it on his thigh, and met John in the middle of the bed.  He kissed him deeply.  “You have him nice and open for me?” Brian murmured softly.

John nodded.  “He’s all yours.  I bet you can get him to come again.”  

Brian squeezed John’s arm, locking eyes with him.  “Be gentle with Roger.”

John blinked up at him. “Of course Bri,” he said, using his sign off from his email.  “I wouldn’t dream of hurting him.”  

Brian smiled.  “I know.”

John crawled over to Roger, who was still red-faced, his chest heaving.  He leaned over him, giving him a tender kiss.  “Hello love.  Don’t you look ravishing like this?”

John cradled his face in his hand, then trailed it down his chest to tease at a nipple.  “I’m going to take good care of you, yeah?”

Roger only nodded, his eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-swollen and irresistible.  

John slid on a condom, coating it with lube.  He pressed against Roger’s open entrance, letting his cockhead push at the rim.  He looked up at Roger.  “We don’t have to do this.  It’s up to you.”  

Roger shook his head. “I want it,” he said throwing his back into the pillow.  “Give it to me.”  

John pushed gently inside, watching Roger’s intake of breath, is fluttering eyelids at the sudden onslaught of being filled.  He gave him a moment to adjust, the vice-like grip of him around him, hot and incredibly tight driving him mad with the need to move.  

“I’m ok,” Roger said finally.  “Go ahead.”

He had one arm over his face and his lip between his teeth, but for his first time he was taking cock so well.  John basically made love to him…slow, measured strokes, his face buried in his shoulder and his hips undulating over his.  He had one hand on Roger’s cock, slowly stroking it in time with his thrusts.  

Then Roger started kissing him…hungry, desperate kisses that made the fire rise in his blood.  That, coupled with the feeling of how bloody close they were, their bodies nearly fused together, made John want to give it to him just a little harder.  

“Hitch your legs around me baby.  Come on, that’s it.”  John increased his pace, and little whines started coming from the back of Roger’s throat.

“You doing ok?”  

Roger nodded furiously. “Gonna come,” he managed.  

Freddie and Brian rolled over close to the couple, Freddie taking over for John by working Roger’s cock, and Brian sweeping the hair back from John’s neck and placing an encouraging kiss there.  

John could feel his own orgasm building, a tightly packed explosion of euphoria ready to burst at any moment. It was finally punched out of him when Roger looked up at him with those blue eyes and said “Just let go…” He had been the one who had been so careful with him, but it finally took permission from Roger for him to get release.  

With Freddie’s help, Roger came right after.  

The four of them lay beautifully spent, bodies sweating and coming down from their highs.  Roger lit a cigarette and shared it with Freddie.  

“We never cut the birthday cake,” John mused.  

Brian laughed.  “What time is it?”  

Someone looked at their phone.  “10:20.”

Roger smiled.  “Well, it’s still your birthday.”  

John laughed.  “Indeed it is.  Who’s up for some post-coital cake?”

Freddie grimaced.  “That does not sound right.”

They all tumbled out of bed toward the kitchen where John dished up the plates and began serving cake.

John flushed.  “Um, before you go, you’re free to use the shower. Freshen up a bit if you like.  Or, you could stay over…”  

Something flashed in their eyes, and they all shared a look.  

“I’m actually off tomorrow,” Freddie said.

“I don’t work until nighttime,” Roger added.

“My shift at the coffee shop doesn’t start until ten,” Brian replied.

John brightened.  “Well, that’s great!  I mean, I wouldn’t want you traveling so late and all.  Let’s take our cake back to bed, shall we?”  

John gathered up the plates and began to traipse back to the bedroom, but as soon as he got out of sight, Freddie grabbed a piece of paper and put his phone number on it, then gave it to Brian and then Roger and let them do the same.  At the bottom, he wrote “Happy Birthday” with a heart and stuck it on the fridge for John to find later.  Then, all three of them followed John back into the bedroom to finish their cake.

-0-0-0-

[novaviis]

 sick!dick au. part five. 

read part one here. read part two here. read part three here.  read part four here. 

Wally isn’t sure where to begin. The Graysons had been in the circus for generations, and although not everyone born into the family had stayed, those that scattered to the wind had married, remarried, moved, and all but vanished into thin air. Even those that hadn’t pursued the family tradition of acrobatics had mostly passed away at that point. Dick has few living relatives, and none that had been close or well enough to take him in. Orphan’s lot.

So he starts at the beginning, or at least the only logical beginning he can think of. He gets his hands on Dick’s birth certificate. Through that, he starts to build a family tree. He knows all too well what had happened to his parents, Aunt, and Uncles, so he doesn’t bother with their Death Certificates. However, through each Birth Certificate he can find on record on (illegally hacked but no one has to no that) online databases, he can start to piece together a picture of each branch of the family before the murder. He finds Dick’s Grandparents on his mother’s side, but his paternal line is a dead end. He knows that Dick has a living Uncle, paralyzed in the fall at Haly’s, so at least there isn’t total loss of hope.

Wally does most of this research at the Library just down the street from the hospital, so he can get on public databases without so many walls to work through. If he’s not at the library, he’s in Dick’s room, working from his computer. He only goes home to sleep when visiting hours are over, always with a bitter taste in his mouth as he walks out knowing that he shouldn’t wish too hard that he could stay the night – he knows that they’ll only let visitors stay after hours when they know a patient is about to pass. He calls in to work and takes a leave of absence, met with no resistance from his Boss given the circumstances – it’s all over the news at this point.

Billionaire Bruce Wayne’s Adopted Son Admitted to Intensive Care.

Dick Grasyon Eloped In Secret Wedding To Gay Lover.

Drugs To Blame For Leaving Wayne’s Son In Coma?

Insider Tells All In Dick Grayson Case – You Won’t Believe What Really Happened!

Wally ignores it, or tries his best to anyway. The Media mostly ignores him, and the few times bullshit paparazzi have tried to hound him for pictures and questions, he’s shouldered his way through. He’d love nothing more than to break their fucking cameras and their noses, but he’s in a race against him and can’t be bothered to spare a moment for them. That sentiment isn’t entirely shared by the whole Wayne Clan, though – Cass kicked a journalist following her and Tim home from school in the face after he made some comment on Dick having it coming with his immortal lifestyle. Bruce was already gladly handling the Lawsuit without batting an eye. His only public comment was that he was proud of his daughter for her strong conviction to defend her family. No questions.

Dick is – well, he is awake. Sometimes. It was a little hard to tell. He’d been in a coma for several days before finally coming out of it. He slept a lot, but even when he was awake he wasn’t quite there. Seizures were becoming more frequent. When Wally was there, he was a little better, holding onto his husband’s hand and just listening as Wally whispered to him. Still, there were no disillusions – he was going downhill fast.

Dick’s mother’s side had been a little easier to track down, but no Death Certificates showed any clues through the cause of death – no related illnesses. And the fact that Wally has been focusing on Death Certificates was an irony that ‘snot lost on him – he knows that’s where Dick was headed if something doesn’t change. He gets to a point that he can somewhat safely rule out the maternal side. So, that leaves the paternal side. It really is the Graysons, so far as he can tell anyway. It could branch off somewhere, but that’s beside the point. Dick’s Uncle, Richard Grayson, has finally responded to his attempts to contact him.

It fucking kills him to do it, but Wally leaves town. He gives Dick a kiss goodbye when he’s still asleep, tells the family to call him if anything changes, and heads out across the country to find him. He’s been living in Oregon since the Fall. He explains, when Wally first arrives, that he’d been hesitant to reply at first because he knew Wally’s connection to Dick. He’d always felt guilty that he had been unable to take Dick in after their family’s deaths, and his own trauma coupled with that had lead him to avoiding the matter entirely, something he deeply regrets. However, when he’d finally opened the message and actually read what was happening, he’d contacted Wally immediately. Wally assures Richard that he has no grudge against the man, that he understands, and just wants to find help for Dick.

Richard informs him that he recalls his father telling him about a few family members that had passed away either suddenly or very slowly, depending on the circumstances. It’s a painful reminder of what could have happened to Dick so many times if he hadn’t been there for his seizures. Richard gives everything he has on the family, all physical copies of death records and the like. Wally pours over them for days. They’re not specific, and its clear that often times there wasn’t the technology present at the time to accurately diagnose each person’s death. However, a sort of pattern emerges; sudden fits, loss of consciousness, chronic migraines, and some gruesome head injuries from falls. The cases in the family are few, but they’re present, and it’s enough for Wally to be able to paint a picture of what has happened to Dick and where it could lead – ie, nowhere good.

Finally, Wally has a break through. He’s been calling every hospital and town record office he could get a hold of trying to get more information, and it’s mostly been dead ends. Half the time, the only reason he gets any information at all is because he’ll email them his marriage certificate to prove that he’s Dick’s husband – and once again the bitter irony hits him that this is the only way he’s making progress and he’d been the one that was so selfishly against it at first. In any case, one hospital claims that they can’t give out patient information without consent, and the patient in question is very private.

Wally doesn’t even care. They’re a current patient. Which means they’re alive.

As soon as he can, he books a flight out to Singapore, where Thomas Grayson is living as an expat at an In-Patient care facility. He’s a distant cousin of Dick’s – or uncle. To be honest, Wally’s not entirely sure, didn’t really have the time to count out the distant of the relation, but it doesn’t matter. It’s enough. He’d Zeta out there if he could, hell he’d run if it was faster, but he knows he has to leave a paper trail if he’s going to come back with any sort of diagnosis. So, he takes a plane.

He’s on the plane, sitting on the runway after a long layover in Tokyo when his phone starts ringing – it’s Tim. Wally’s heart fucking stops cold, and it’s all he can do to keep his hands from shaking when he answers the phone and raises it to his ear. The poor woman sitting next to him looks a bit alarmed, but Wally pays her no mind as he forces himself to speak without his voice breaking. “Hello? Tim? What is it, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

Tim responds with a bit of a tremor in his voice, taking Wally’s rushed questions in stride. “It’s fine, nothing’s wrong – well, I mean… I mean Dick’s okay, nothing’s really changed, he’s just…”  There’s a bit of a commotion in the background, and Wally can just make out Dick’s voice underneath the stronger tones of Bruce, Barbara, and surprisingly enough, Selena. “He’s having a hard time. The Doctor’s say he’s not coming back to baseline after his last seizure… sort of like he’s half asleep. He’s got a migraine, so he’s having trouble calming down. He, uh… he keeps calling for you. Do you think maybe you could try talking to him?”

“Yeah,” Wally replies without hesitation. “Yeah, of course. Just hold the phone up for him.”

There’s rustling and movement on the end of the line, and the voices growing a bit louder as Tim seems to get closer to the bed. After some more movement and murmuring that Wally can’t quiet pick out, the line goes silent for a moment, and then all he hears is Dick’s breathing, broken by whimpers and hitched sobs, sounding so unlike Dick that Wally feels something inside him shatter. Surely enough, just as Tim said, between incoherent moans, Wally catches hints of his name.

“Dick?” he breathes.

There’s a long pause before a response. “Wall…”

Wally swallows past a thick lump in his throat. He leans against the cool glass of the airplane window, looking out at the lights of the runway, tears already blurring his vision. “Hey, babe,” he tries to smile, hoping Dick can hear it in his voice. “Tim told me you’ve been having a rough time, huh?”

“Wall… where…? I n-need… here…”

Fuck. Wally closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and just takes in a slow breath to keep from falling apart. “I know, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I can’t be there right now, but I’m going to come back real soon okay? I’m trying to find you some help, and then I’ll come back, and you’ll be okay. You’re going to be just fine, alright?”

“Wall…” Dick’s voice cracks horribly. “I-I… Wall…”

A hitch rises up in Wally’s chest, and he has to clench his teeth just to keep from sobbing. He’s never heard Dick like this. “Listen to me, baby. You’re gonna be okay. You don’t have to talk, just listen to my voice. I’m right here. I’m right here with you. I love you so much, Dick. I’ll be back soon, and you’ll get better, and we can pretend none of this ever happened. How’s that sound? But for now, you’ve got to calm down. Just take deep breaths, okay? I’m right here.” His voice is a low, soothing whisper as he talks sweet nothings with tears running down his cheeks

“W-Wally…” It’s just a bare breath of his name before suddenly the line erupts into chaos. There’s rapid movement, blaring monitor alarms, and an uproar of voices. Bruce’s voice is a deep thunder rolling over the others, calling Dick’s name, demanding help, trying to keep everyone under control. Wally listens in complete fucking horror, as the phone is dropped and the call abruptly ends.

People are staring at him. Wally doesn’t care. In that moment, it’s all he can do not to jump out of his seat and run back out into the airport, to book a flight back to America as soon as possible. But the doors are already closed and the plane is taxiing out onto the runway for take-off.

There are tears streaming down his cheeks as he slowly lowers his phone. He holds it between his hands, folded as if in prayer and presses against his forehead, elbows on the tray table. He stays like that for the next seven hours, with no reception and no chance of finding out if his husband is already dead until the plane lands.

[starwitch3000]

What’s Your Story - 2

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Summary: During lunch with their best friend the reader decides to do things a little differently.

Warning: Drinking and language. also this chapter is more of a look into the readers life and her friendship with Natasha. But Peter is in there and he’s a little sad. also Mantis!! 

masterlist  ~  ff.net

chapter one

You sighed sitting in one of your favorite coffee shops waiting for Natasha to show up. You were both on your lunch breaks and decided to meet up for a chance to hang out.

It's been a week since you dumped your problems on the bartender at The Milano and while that night you were filled with hope and motivation not much has really changed. You were shocked you haven't walked out on your crappy job because ever since not getting promoted everyone around the office has been acting like you’re incompetent. They'll praise the new guy over the tiniest things which is annoying as all hell.

You did however have a small stroke of luck. While sifting through your morning emails and nursing your third cup of coffee you had an idea. A story idea. And one that stuck with you too. You abandoned your emails immediately and opened a text document and threw everything in your head into the document like vicious word vomit. And all week you've been spending your free time piecing together an outline. Your dining room table was a disaster covered with notebooks and random slips of paper but you felt confident that this mess was going somewhere. Just not somewhere fast enough.

So now you're just trying to find some sort of escape route at work. You wanted out asap but you also needed rent and food, so you decided against just up and quitting. You were also thinking about reaching out and finding a new editing job somewhere else, but your search has come up empty so far.

You were also feeling incredibly lonely and bitterly heartbroken. The apartment you lived in just didn't feel the same after your ex moved out and you felt that same ache that you normally did after a break up. Which is usually when you end up jumping into a new relationship without thinking. It was hard for you to admit to yourself but ever since high school you never really stayed single for long. Always jumping from one commitment to the next like some sort of addict. So now you've been single for nearly three weeks and that similar itch has overtaken you.

"Sorry I'm late," Natasha was suddenly next to you breaking you out of your thoughts suddenly like a bucket of ice water was just dumped on you, "you would not believe the line I just had to deal with. People are fucking idiots."

She ranted without even acknowledging that she scared the shit out of you.

"I hope you don't mind burritos with your coffee," she continued, "but I've wanted a burrito all damn morning thanks to Clint so here we are."

She tossed two brown paper bags onto the table in front of you and she settled into her seat. You slid her the coffee you bought for her and she gratefully took a drink. You each grabbed a bag and dove into your meals setting into a comfortable silence as you ate.

"So how's work today?" Natasha asked breaking the silence after a while.

"Oh it's great," you replied sarcastically, "the new guy figured out the copy machine all by himself today. Pretty sure the gold statue of him will be finished by the end of the day."

She winced, "well at least the good news is it’s Friday. So you'll have two whole days to yourself where you don’t have to look at him."

"Yeah that's true," you sighed, "you want to get really wasted tonight?"

"I can't tonight," she replied awkwardly biting her lip.

"Something going on at work?" You raised an eyebrow watching mild panic cross your friends face.

"No, no it's not work," her hand grabbed her coffee to fiddle with, "Bucky just wants to go out tonight just the two of us."

“Okay you’re aware I know who Bucky is right?” You questioned raising an eyebrow at her, “He’s been your boyfriend for a while now. I’ve met him. We’re all friends. Why are you acting weird about this?”

She sighed, “It’s just… been a little weird talking boyfriends right now I didn’t want to bring it up.”

“So you were just going to pretend Bucky didn’t exist for my sake?” you watched her bite her lip looking a little ashamed.

“Maybe?”

You sniffled feeling touched, “you know I love you right.”

“Man shut the hell up,” she rolled her eyes, “look, I’m just saying, I’ve seen you after bad breakups and I didn’t want to make things awkward.”

“No offense but pretending a whole ass person doesn’t exist kind of make this awkward,” you said, “and, for the record, I’m fine. Sure getting dumped out of the blue really sucks, especially when you think things are really good, but he made his choice and there is no going back. So I’m gonna focus on me for a little bit. I need to sort some things out for myself before I decided to start dating again.”

“You’re acting strangely out of character you know,” she said with a faint smile on her lips, “but I kind of like it.”

“Please don’t hide Bucky from me okay?” you kindly asked, “He’s not the boogeyman okay I’m not afraid of him anymore.”

Natasha snorted into her coffee before taking a drink.

“At least promise me when you do start dating again it’s not going to be some deadbeat again,” She said setting down her coffee cup giving you a stern look.

“If I knew ahead of time that the guy was going to be a deadbeat why would I date him?” you questioned.

She shrugged, “Because he’s cute and you can never stay single long.”

"That’s not going to happen this time because my life is a mess right now why burden someone else with that bullshit," you sighed, “No matter how cute he is.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” She said.

“No but for the first time in my life I think I just want to deal with my shit by myself you know,” you shrugged.

“Well no matter what you know you’re not in this alone,” She replied.

“You’re a total sap,” you shook your head teasing your friend, “look what love has done to you. I can’t wait to tell Bucky about this.”

“Watch it,” She warned.

Later that night you were at your apartment staring at the mess that was your dining table. It was a scattered mess as you were working on some outlines but you had hit a wall for the evening. You felt it. No matter how hard you tried to get anywhere you kept spacing out. Sighing you walked away from the table. There is no point forcing it so might as well clear your head.

Flopping onto your couch you didn’t even bother with the TV so you sat there in silence staring up at your ceiling. You stared for what felt like an eternity but in reality, as you checked your phone for the time and it read 7:30, it was only a couple of minute.

You couldn’t just sit in your house doing nothing all evening, as much as you wanted to work you knew it wouldn’t happen. So you got up grabbing your jacket and purse, stopping to fix your hair, and left your apartment and just walked. You walked wherever your feet wanted to go and as you walked down the sidewalk you thought through your options, you could get some food, maybe do some grocery shopping, call a friend to hang out. But you didn’t do any of those things because before you knew it you were standing outside a now familiar bar.

The Milano.

Might as well, you thought staring up at the bar sign and walked on in.

The place was a little more filled than it was last week and you saw a couple of familiar faces from the last time. One of those being Kraglin who was standing at a table near the bar with a beer in hand talking to a couple of people you didn’t know. He saw you walk in and gave you a kind nod causing the people with him to look your way. One older and taller with a red mo-hawk, a graying beard, scars and a mean look on his face. The other was a shorter, bald, muscular man who had both of his arms covered in red tattoos.

Putting on a friendly face you nodded in return to Kraglin as you made your way to the empty end of the bar. You noticed Peter was there behind the bar, but he was having a heated conversation with a small girl sitting on a stool in front of him. You were going to mind your own business and wait to get a drink but you overheard Peter say, “I don’t care how many times we have this conversation I will never understand why Jigglypuff is in smash.”

Given both of their serious expressions you were a little shocked that they were talking about a video game.

“Says the guy who only ever plays as star fox,” the girl in front of him sneered, “We get it Peter you want to be a spaceman, stop shitting on my favorite characters.”

“I’m not shitting on them, I’m just saying, you already have kirby bringing in another round pink character is just there to confuse people,” Peter defended throwing his arms up in defense.

You leaned against counter and watched the two taking in this girls appearance while the two continued their argument. She was sitting cross legged on the stool and wore a large dark green sweater and some leggings. Her black hair was straight and fell just past her shoulders.

“You know what sis I give up,” Peter threw his hands up again this time taking a dramatic step back, “If you want to attack pacman this way, that’s your choice. You’re wrong but it’s your choice to be wrong.”

Shaking her head she smacked her hands against the counter, “It’s like you’re not even listening to me!”

You grinned adamantly watching the two.

“Well I’m not anymore so have fun beating classic mode without me.” Despite arguing with this girl he still refilled her drink. Dropping the drink on the counter you finally caught Peters attention.

Leaning against the bar grinning over the argument that just took place, “Don’t look at me I’m a pikachu girl all the way.”

“Somebody gets it,” The girl rejoiced and threw her hands up in praise.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” Peter said ignoring the girl.

“Yeah well where else do I have to be on a Friday night?” You joked.

“Ouch,” Peter hissed, “that hurts you know. What can I get for you? Having another one of those pity parties tonight?”

“Rude but fair,” you shrugged and asked for a beer.

“Bottle or tap?” Peter asked then nodded to the girl he was arguing with, “This is Mantis by the way I’m not speaking to her anymore so if you could let her know that’d be great.”

“Bottle is fine,” you replied then smiled towards Mantis, “Nice to meet you I’m (Y/N).”

Peter grabbed you a beer and opened it sliding it to you.

“Nice to meet you,” Mantis smiles, “I’m Peter’s sister and apologize in advance for any of his behavior.”

Confused because Peter and Mantis looked nothing alike you nodded and raised your eyebrow at Peter for confirmation on what you were just told.

“We grew up in the same foster family together,” He shrugged, “technically family.”

“Isn’t he just the sweetest?” Mantis gushed dropping her legs down from the stool she was perched on, “I feel the love Petey.”

He scowled at his sister as she walked away joining Kraglin and the other two men from before.

“I like her,” you grinned sitting in the stool you’ve been standing next to and earning a scowl of your own, “oh come on you can’t really be that upset over some video game.”

Peter sighed scratching at his scruff, “I’m not it’s just other stuff really.”

You took a swig of your beer watching Peter. He was just as handsome as you remembered. Tall and beautiful filling out that sweater nicely on the outside he looked perfectly fine, but perhaps focusing a little more on his eyes he seemed tired. Something was clearly bothering him.

Taking a deep breath you asked, “So what’s your story?”

He raised an eyebrow at you giving you a looked that just screamed, seriously?

“What? It’s only fair,” you shrugged fixing him with a mischievous look, “Tell me Peter, would you like to commit arson tonight?”

Shaking his head he let out a long sigh, “You know what I think I just might.”

“I’m all ears and no judgement,” you took another swig of your beer leaning your arms against the bar.

“Similar to you I was dumped recently,” Peter admitted, “though I wouldn’t really say we were dating in the first place it was more of a long term booty call, but we’ve lived together for a while now. We’ve been fighting a lot recently and this morning she officially moved out for good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you frowned and found yourself echoing him from last week, “Getting dumped fucking sucks.”

He nodded solemnly, “tell me about it.”

You were both silent for a moment. 

"Well you seem happier than last week," Peter says busying himself with cleaning a small area of his work space. He seemed a little fidgety from talking about his problems so he was looking to change the subject. 

"I am," you shrugged, "well trying to be. I started writing finally but I'm still at that shitty job constantly listening to my bosses praise this new guy. Who, by the way, is a fucking moron."

"Ugh, why would you stay?" Peter questioned with a look of disgust.

"I've got bills to pay man. I hate my job but I would really hate being homeless okay," you defended.

"Okay fair," Peter said, “but at least you're moving forward."

"At a snail's pace but I'm okay with that," you shrug, "too much shit has happened recently I want some peace and quiet."

At that moment a certain redhead stormed into the bar and made a beeline towards you. Seeing Natasha startled you mostly because she was supposed to be on a date with her boyfriend.

"What-"

"You have to stop him," she cuts you off immediately, "he won’t listen to me so it has to be you. Put a stop to this."

"What on earth are you talking about," feeling completely jarred by the situation.

"James," she verified, "you have to stop him."

Raising an eyebrow you asked, "are you asking me to murder him? Because sure okay just don’t arrest me for it."

"Thanks (Y/N)," Bucky, who had followed Natasha into the bar and was standing just beside her, said.

"No hard feelings it's kind of a best friend thing. She asks. I murder," you shrugged.

"Who are you going to murder?" Mantis, who made her way back to the bar for a refill, asks overhearing your conversation.

"This guy apparently," you gesture towards Bucky, "wanna help?"

Mantis grins but before she can answer Natasha cuts you both off.

"No I'm not asking you to murder him," she fixed him with a hard stare, "yet. I'm asking you to knock some sense into him because he wont listen to me."

"About what?"

"He wants to get a cat."

"Oh no," you huff in a unconvincing rage, "the bastard."

Natasha glares at you, "don't patronize me."

"I'm being completely serious. He should be hanged for his crimes."

"Okay I understand you don’t want a cat tasha, but look at this little guy," from under his jacket Bucky reveals that he's holding a small kitten that fits perfectly in his hand. The little thing is all black with hazel eyes that squeeze shut in content when Bucky pets under their chin.

"Oh my God you are so precious," you squeal reaching out to gently run your finger on the cats head.

Natasha huffs annoyed.

Peter clears his throat, "uh pretty sure the sign outside says no animals in the bar."

"But you're allowed in?" Mantis questions Peter, "that doesn't seem right."

"You can't seriously be mad about this little thing just look at the little face," you say to Natasha.

"We don't have the time for some animal. That thing is just going to destroy the apartment," Natasha argues.

"Babe you might be exaggerating just a bit were only gone during the day, for the most part, I think we can handle one cat," Bucky reasons. You had to agree sure work for Natasha got in the way but there’s always Bucky to be there to take care of the small thing.

“I know were like best friends and all Nat but I have to side with Bucky on this one,” you winced preparing for the incoming rage.

“Then you take the damn thing,” she spat getting mad that no one would listen to her.

“I can’t my building has strict rules because my landlord is deathly allergic to cats,” because this isn’t the first time you wanted a cat but being stuck on your lease with a decently priced apartment in New York you were always unable to have one.

“So move!”

“I can’t afford that! Look, just give the little guy a test run and if it doesn’t work out I’ll help you guys find him a new home okay?” you reasoned.

“Fine,” she huffs and looks at Bucky, “Don’t expect this to work out.”

“I love you too Nat.”

~

Chapter 3

alright here’s chapter 2! let me know what you think so far. I’m really trying to finish writing this one before I post more but I just can’t help myself. I’m also posting this on fanfiction.net if you prefer reading over there link is at the top.  enjoy! ~Star

[squishymochisoo]

four encounters || soulmate! han jisung

genre : soulmate! han jisung, humor, fluff, no angst i promise 

pairing : han jisung x reader

words : 1.9 k

sypnosis : what if you were supposed to meet your soulmate at a fixed time and fixed place? what happens if certain decisions made changes the future? what if time keeps repeating itself till you meet your soulmate? how will you and jisung meet?

__________________________________

soulmates

 everybody wanted to meet their soulmate. some hope that they would meet their soulmate is passing. while some hope that their best friend might be their soulmate. others hope that maybe their soulmate might be their knight in shining armour.

if somebody asked you how you met your soulmate. your answer would have been the most common, cliché and just plain boring; on the street just outside starbucks. but the actual story of how you first met jisung was way more complicated than that.

sure, you wished somehow that the both of you had a nicer story to tell; a more interesting first encounter. but being with jisung was far more interesting than that one tuesday afternoon.

 “jisung!”

“did you call for me darling?” jisung entered the office.

“jisung shut up and stop being insufferable” you laughed. he gave you a mischievous smirk and winked.

“i want a cup of tea please. chan what do you want?” you gestured your hand to jisung’s boss.

“one coffee, black, will do” chan laughed.

“i’m not even chan’s assistant! get changbin to do it!” jisung huffed and stomped his feet.

“jisung, y/n is a guest, is that the right behaviour now?” chan asked mockingly. you smirked. jisung rolled his eyes and pouted.

“leave that door open!” jisung exclaimed as he left chan’s office.

“it’s makes me nervous having the two of you in chan’s office, with the door closed!” you chuckled and shooed him off.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

six months ago

 “okay, thank you mr bang. i will email you regarding my team’s presentation once we have the plans and sketch on the office plan done!” you smiled at your client. organising the sketches and ideas chan wanted implemented in their new office.

“oh! before i forget this is the new office’s floor plan y/n.” you grabbed the folder from chan.

“also stop calling me mr bang, it’s disturbing.” chan visibly shivered.

“but you’re my client” you raised your eyebrow at him.

“i’ve also been your best friend for six years, so shut up” chan laughed. you stuck your tongue out.

“go away mr bang- ceo of a big ass company; districtnine- don’t you have office business to get to?” you pouted.

“i still don’t understand why you’re so salty. you left the company to start your own” chan shrugged.

“but your company is cooler!” you stomped your foot on the floor childishly. chan snorted.

“i’ll buy you dinner soon! but now i got to go!” chan hugged you and kissed your cheeks before speed walking out of the starbucks. you laughed.

you glanced at your open laptop. sure, chan was your best friend. but picking up this project came with more stress than usual. districtnine was a big company, if you fucked up their office, the place where all 500 employees work, then you’ve fucked your own company up. chan would never put in a bad word but bad word travels fast right?

and well chan didn’t have specific requests surrounding what he wanted in the new office. he just said he wanted it open, modern and free. with a nap room.

but modernized designs meant so many things. like the colour concept; a bright concept to influence the staff to feel happier when working or a softer colour to help calm the staff down when work gets too stressful.

you wrecked your brain for ideas and inspirations that might come up. after staying for about half an hour you decided to head out. you needed to buy some groceries before going back home.

you were walking to the starbucks door with the folder of the districtnine’s floor plans and paperwork in your hand. as you pushed the door open, you stepped back.

“oh shit, almost forgot my phone.” you whispered as you lightly slapped yourself, going back to the table to retrieve your phone.

little did you know you, you just missed an encounter with your soulmate. the light browned hair boy continued walking past the starbucks as the door swung back slowly when you retrieved your phone.

 unknown to you that this was definitely not the last chance to meet your soulmate.

__________

 the next day when you woke up, instantly rushed to work. you were late for work, not that it mattered a lot since you were the boss. but it felt wrong for a boss to arrive late.

“seungmin!” you called as you walked into your office. you heard footsteps behind you as you took your laptop out of your bag.

“morning!” seungmin chirped

“how are you so happy in the morning?” you questioned.

“well i’m meeting hyunjin today!” you ‘ahh’ed and nodded.

“what’s my schedule today?”

“no meetings except the meeting with chan later at 3.” you raised your eyebrows in confusion.

“chan? but i met him yesterday.”

“no, the meeting was scheduled for today. plus, you attended the meeting with the marketing firm and visited the other clients yesterday.” you scratched your head.

“no i definitely did meet up with chan!”

“are you sure you didn’t dream about him? do you miss him that much?” seungmin smirked and teased.

“how many time do i have to tell you i don’t like chan!” you exclaimed. seungmin laughed at left your office, leaving you alone to wondering what in the world was going on.

you glanced at the calendar, october 17th. but yesterday was october 17th. you double checked on your phone, it’s october 17th.

did i dream the whole meeting?

 “y/n, i think for the new office i want a –“

“simple, modernized and open concept?” you interrupted chan.

“e- what? how did you know?” chan sat up straighter looking at you confused. your eyes widened.

“oh- er- i was just guessing?” you shrugged.

“aww- y/n! you are my best friend!” chan smirked and opened his arms to gesture for a hug.

~~

“i’ll buy you dinner soon! but now i got to go!” chan said the exact same thing as he said in the dream you had. you typed on your laptop the ideas you had in your dream.

 how is it that the conversation you had with chan was the exact conversation that happened in your dream?

you gasped

am- am i magic? is this the awakening of my powers?

you paused for a while digesting what you thought.

gosh- this isn’t a stan lee comic- what in god’s name am i talking about.

 you packed your laptop and paper work, this time not forgetting to leave behind your phone.

 maybe i have visions for the future

your eyes widened

 you turned and fixed your eyes on the pet shop that you passed by.

 never mind superpowers, dogs are wayyy cuter

your legs instantly bringing you towards the pet shop. and for the second time missed an encounter with the light brown-haired boy who was walking in the opposite direction.

 _____________________________________________

this time you were sure something was wrong.

 “hello god! did you forget to rotate the earth so it can be 18 october?” you exasperated. you were in your apartment. you had the same less confusing talk with seungmin, you met up with chan.

but why is it still the 18th? were you supposed to live through the 17th million of times? you scratched your head.

little did you know, somewhere 30 minutes away from your apartment, the light brown-haired boy sat at his office desk.

jisung sighed and slammed his head on the table.

“why is it still 17th of october?” he whispered to himself confused as to why it’s been the same date for the past three days.

 “ji? what are you still doing at the office? it’s late.” jisung lifted up his head instantly and stared at the owner of the voice.

“there’s a lot of work that needs to be done. why are you here?” jisung questioned.

“well, i’m finalizing some of the new office details and i just came back from a meeting with y/n” chan stated. jisung nodded.

“listen, don’t stay too late at work- get some rest or go out or whatever you kids do these days.”

“you’re not the one to talk. all you do is work- what about woojin?” jisung teased. chan rolled his eyes.

“you know what you need, you need a relationship and i know who” chan pointed at jisung and smirked.

as chan went into his office, jisung sighed and slammed his head against his desk once more.

“ughh”

 ___________________________

 “ughhh” how was it still the 17th?

“what is it this time y/n?” seungmin uttered. you looked at him.

“what?”

“you’ve been moaning and groaning for the past hour- and not the sexual kind. more like the -the dying kind.” seungmin muttered looking annoyed with you. you pouted.

“nothing’s wrong” you groaned grouchily.

“sure- whatever it is- can you not be so negative, it’s affecting jeongin.” seungmin pointed to jeongin through your glass door, who was slouching and staring mindlessly at nothing.

i relate

“sorry mr i-get-to-see-the-love-of-my-live-later-after-work” you snickered.

“let’s not make fun of my love life and talk about your non-existent one- wait how did you know i was seeing hyunjin?” seungmin furrowed his brows at you. your eyes widened.

oh fuck he didn’t told me this information three days ago.

“oh i could guess from your smile” you chuckled awkwardly.

“oh well then- that’s just creepy but okay” seungmin snorted and left.

 ~~

“how about i go for a pastel coloured office?” chan asked.

“it’s an office for adults not a kindergarten.” you chuckled.

“how about a open, modernized and simple office?” you asked, totally not copying the exact thing chan said three days ago.

“that’s genius! no wonder you’re the best in the business!” chan applauded you.

“it’s exactly i wanted!” you laughed as chan praised you.

 this time you left after typing your ideas in your laptop, typing the same thing as you’ve done for the past three days. you drag yourself out of the starbucks, grudgingly wanting to start another day again.

“oh- sorry!” you startled yourself as someone bumped into you, dropping the folder chan passed to you during the meeting.

“it’s fine” you smiled as the man picked up your folder, glancing at it.

“oh you work for districtnine? “ he asked curiously.

“oh no- i’m just designing their new office.” you blushed as his soft smile captivated you.

“actually- i work there. i assume you just met chan huh? hyung said he had a meeting just now” his eyes staring at you- in a non-creepy but charming way.

“i just did actually” you laughed.

“then you must be y/n?” jisung asked, you nodded.

“i’m jisung” jisung stuck his hand out. you smiled shaking his hand.

 ____________

 present time

“babe, are you done with work?” jisung whined from your left. you turned staring at him.

“i just have to finish this last part. chan said he wanted to see it tomorrow- just to get the feel of the new office”

“chan, chan, chan! that’s all you talk about these days! what about me!” jisung pouted. you laughed and leaned in as you pecked his lips.

“what are you talking about! you’re the one always talking about chan and changbin!” you snickered and fake pouted. jisung wrapped his arms around you.

“fine,, let’s go out for dinner okay?” you whispered into his arms as you snuggled into his shoulder.

“perfect”

“should i invite chan?” you teased.

“y/n!” you laughed out loud at your boyfriend.

 you were definitely glad you met him

even if it took four encounters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n okay finally a jisung! idk why i haven’t written a jisung one yet! esp when i bias him like crazy,, i need to write for three more if i wanna complete the whole stray kids?? hmmm, i might do that!

[berlinaura]

I’m slowly but surely starting to get settled down here. Apart from English and German, my courses started this week. In this post I am going to share a few “what the fuck” moments I’ve had during these 2,5 weeks and also just tell what’s up. 

Right now we are supposed to go to the first lectures of courses that seem interesting and try them out. As no official registration to courses is needed, we can try everything out and make our decisions after we have gotten an idea what the course is about and what the lecturer is like. This system has its advantages but then again it doesn’t differ much from what I am used to. The only difference in Finland is that you indeed need to register for the course but if you feel like giving up, it’s no problem to just leave.

Right now two of my courses are overlapping. Normally this wouldn’t be no problem whatsoever but here the lectures aren’t recorded nor can it be assumed that the lecturer posts the lecture material online. After a long time I have finally found interesting courses I am excited about but simultaneously I am not looking for having any of this extra stress. It would be bad enough to spend the evenings of my exchange year self-studying the material from missed lessons but now I wouldn’t have even an idea what they are talking about in the lessons (there’s not even a semester plan provided!). It’s just not worth guessing, googling, begging for lecture notes from other students twice a week.

I also heard that some teachers have problems accepting Erasmus students to their courses. If the international office in Berlin accepts the courses then there shouldn’t be any question if Erasmus students can attend the course! And even better - the info should already be provided on the course catalog when we are expected to choose courses. It’s just as I said earlier, some things are made difficult for no reason and the staff of TUB even knows this. Still nobody does any changes and and the frustration just repeats itself every semester.

From the info we got on the orientation week I understood that every professor might have their own “rules” and ways of working and nobody can stop them. They might just deny a student from their course and the head of the international office told us that the most efficient way to get proper treatment when a teacher acts up is to CRY IN FRONT OF THEM to make them uncomfortable. We were also told to “make sure you see that the professor is writing your name down when you tell them you’d like to participate. Otherwise they might just forget it when they go to a coffee break!”. Why the hell is this our responsibility? If you want to have a system where students can’t sign up for courses online and make sure they have a place, then the paper hell and struggle of keeping up with names is on you. 

Even the printing here is relatively hard. You have a few places where you can print. I’ve done it in the library and let me tell you, it ain’t that simple. First of all you need to leave your bag and jacket to a locker (to which you need to bring your own lock) or you can take your most important belongings our of your bag and leave everything else to a public space. Then you go to a computer (that looks like it’s from 2004) and download the thing you need to print to the computer. Also, the only accepted file is a pdf so you can’t for example just print an email, you need to copy it, paste it it Word and convert it into a pdf file. Then you put money to your name and go to a certain website to where you can pick a printer - or more accurately: you can choose the ROOM where it gets printed out. Next you’ll search all of the printers in the room while the printers print every students’ documents at the same time. Today I was hunting down some documents there and there was random people’s documents in between mine and I had no idea which printer is going to do the printing so I had to keep an eye of three printers for like 5 minutes until some of them finally printed out my document. Also, printing 1 black and white page costs 5 cents which eventually adds up because German people have some kind of fetish to forms and filling things out by hand.

Just like probably every capital, Berlin is not a “student city”. So naturally what I sort of miss here are student events. For a few times I have already got to explain the student life in Finland and everybody seems so interested and jealous of sittnings, saunas and the tech student culture, overalls, caps, traditions... An ESN club that organizes events and has a club room would be really great. Not that there is any student culture for the club to show (yikes :D) but hey, there is a very strong Berlin culture instead. 

We do have the buddy program here that is somewhat responsible of organizing a few events for us but I heard they are having a hard time coming up with fun things to arrange. Me and a Swedish exchange student volunteered to organize international sittnings here! The buddies also differ from the Finnish “tutors” because they’ve had barely any training or instructions and everybody is just there to hang out and have friends. Which is of course great and welcomed but exchange students are also full of questions and buddies are the people they want to ask them. Informing the buddies of basics (how exchange students sign up for stuff, what they need to take care of upon arriving etc) would add so much value to the buddy program. Luckily some of the buddies are more involved than others, and are there to meet, help and answer questions as well. 

While there might be a lack of student life and culture, Berlin is still an ideal place for students and young people. There are so many things to do and the city never sleeps. Last night (Tuesday-Wednesday night) I was out at 2 am and the whole city is just so lively. People are out and willing to have a conversation unlike in Finland. There’s plenty of events, music, dancing, bowling, clubs, pubs, sport opportunities, museums, flea markets, karaoke, restaurants, historical places, parks, christmas markets, sights... And the opening times are so much better than what I’m used to! Seriously, nobody chooses Berlin for the university, we choose Berlin for Berlin. 

Last year around this time I was at an international sittning in Tampere and talked with the international students about differences they find between their home country and Finland. This is probably my all time favorite topic to talk about. This one girl from Hamburg said “It is incredible how the atmosphere here in Finland is so peaceful. Nobody’s in a hurry. Look, you might have red lights on traffic but that’s okay, you’ll just wait until it turns green. You walk like you don’t need to be anywhere, just taking your time”. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about but now I know exactly what she was talking about. 

Everybody in Berlin is in such a hurry all the time. They’ll run 200 meters to the tram without giving shit about the traffic and then cram themselves in even though we can already see the next tram coming behind the corner. There’s a lot of people in Berlin and everybody makes room for themselves whereas I would just rather wait until the people on my way will pass. I get a bit anxious when I need to follow a Berliner in a crowd because they will walk twice as fast as me and they don’t want to take that needed 5 seconds to figure out if the first walking route they see is the most reasonable way to go through. To be honest there’s a few times I just wanted to shake my buddy and be like “Why can’t you notice that there’s a kid running towards you from your right and you’re going to pump into each other in 3 seconds if you keep on walking to that direction as if we were in a horrible hurry!! You can’t just walk with this tunnel vision, ignoring other people and expect me to keep up”. I’ll probably become less aware of the surroundings as I get more used to it. Can’t expect to have personal space and consideration from people in a busy and crowded city like this.

Although this post is a bit negative, I wake up every day with such gratitude to be here. Two days ago I walked like three hours just browsing Berlin and enjoying its beauty. I almost wanted to cry out of happiness when I got to Hackescher Markt because I felt like my soul is resting here. Hackescher Markt area is one of my favorite places here so far. I’m grateful of the interesting courses they offer at TUB. I love living in Prenzlauer berg and I truly had luck with the apartment. I am reminded of this every time I hear experiences of others. Yesterday I was hanging out in pubs in Kreuzberg and had a memorable night with people I just met. The atmosphere is so open and it’s not weird to just go talk to people. On Saturday I’ll go to visit Dresden, on Sunday I’ll go to Mauerpark (if the weather is nice) and next week there’s a concert I’m so looking forward to!