#so now!! it’s all organized!! and i don’t have to search through the mess of my bookmarks to find smth specific

[tinycatstars]

i have homework but i just spent an hour organized my bookmarks on ao3 >:) so now i have a lil public collection of my fav agere fics and series yayay

[maniculum]

One of the things I’ve noticed working in a bookstore is that a surprising number of people are completely unfamiliar with the normal way books are organized.

(I mean, in the part of the store where we keep the used books, I frequently have to assure people that the books are organized at all, but that’s because we have way more books than we have shelf space and there’s no way to handle that without it looking a bit of a mess.)

On one hand, we get customers who are apparently a completely blank slate in this area. I frequently have to walk people through, like, “Okay, it’s organized by subject / genre, then by author. Oh, ‘by author’ means in alphabetical order by the name of the author. No, their last name.” (Most of the people I give this talk to are, I think, college kids — it’s a bit strange to me that you can reach that age without knowing how bookstores work, but then again, I can kind of see how these days it’s possible to mostly get your books online where you just use a search function.)

One customer responded to the above explanation with “oh, it’s the Dewey Decimal System!” and I had to be like… no. Similar in broad concept, yes, but the Dewey Decimal System is a very specific thing (involving… decimals) and it’s really only used in libraries, not bookstores, because it kind of requires you to label the spines of your books, which bookstores generally don’t like to do for obvious reasons.

On the other hand, we also get customers with pre-existing incorrect assumptions, which are so often similar that I think they’re being imported from other media (though I’m not sure what).

People seem to expect the organization of Fiction to be much more granular — e.g., “where’s historical fiction?” “oh, that’s just in with general fiction.” I think some of that comes from movies (people ask where the “rom-com” section is, and that’s definitely a movie thing), but I’m not sure that’s always the reason.

(Admittedly the fiction organization is a bit more granular in the Used Books area than it is in the New Books, but that’s because there are certain genres that we get tons of from people selling us their old books, but we don’t buy enough of on purpose to justify giving them their own section in New Books.)

At the same time, people have the opposite assumption about Non-Fiction — i.e., they expect there to be one singular section labeled “Non-Fiction”, which is not the case. I’ve had multiple conversations that go like:

Customer: Where can I find non-fiction books?

Me: You’ll have to be more specific.

Customer: You know, non-fiction.

Me: [gesturing at the signs hanging from the ceiling that say things like “science”, “philosophy”, “art”, “history”, etc.] All of these are non-fiction in their own special way.

I try to be nice about it, but I don’t think I always succeed, just because I’m so often legitimately surprised and confused when someone just doesn’t know How Do You Books. I’m getting used to it now, but I’ve been working there for almost five years, so there’s been quite a long adjustment period in between.

Anyway. Just some observations.

[brighttears]

Pheromones

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description other than having hair and female sex organs, no use of y/n

Summary: while searching through a mall with Tess, Joel, Tommy, and the couple others in your small group, you and Tess find a makeup store and decide to have some fun. It drives Joel crazy and you find out that he has just as big of a crush on you as you do on him. You sort it out in a furniture store. (Takes place pre-Boston)

Word count: 6k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), unprotected PiV, rough sex, Joel has a big ol wiener, public sex, hair pulling, creampie, Joel calls you a slut (with permission), dirty talk, pet names (baby, babygirl, pretty girl, sweetheart)

A/n: here’s another one from the drafts and some nastiness for the folks at home before I disappear for like a week bein busy 

—

“Ok, I’m warning you right now, Joel is going to fucking love this.” Tess tells you as she sweeps her finger over your eyelid with a very sparkly shadow called ‘lazy lapis’. You sit crossed legged in front of her next to a dirty floor length mirror, a collection of various makeup supplies spread between you.  

You giggle nervously, trying very hard to sound unbothered or confused or indifferent or something, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Joel,” she smiles, “you’re gonna drive him fuckin’ nuts with this.”

“Pff—what do you mean? Why?” You laugh too hard.

“Oh, you don’t have to lie to me. I can tell, and it’s the most entertaining shit I’ve seen in awhile so I’m encouraging you, actually.” She moves your head in her hands, pulling your other eyelid closed to brush on more sparkly blue.

You chuckle and nudge a question further, “Why is it gonna drive him crazy?”

“Because he’s a man, and he already thinks you’re hot, and I doubt he’s seen anyone done up like this in fuckin’ years. You really don’t have to do much at all to get him all hot and bothered. I’m surprised I haven’t caught him drooling already. Now, with the skirt and the shaved legs? Sister, he is done for.”

“Shut up.” You chuckle.  

“I’m right, and I can still tell you’re red under all that blush.”

“Fuck off!” You giggle, swatting her hands away, “Ok, that’s enough, your turn.”

“Fine, fine.” Tess smiles, handing you the palette, dropping her hands in her lap and closing her eyes for you with one more chuckle. 

You consider the sparkly palette and dip into ‘mossy mess’ to stroke gently over Tess’s lids. 

“So, you trying to make anyone ‘hot and bothered’?” You ask her.

“No one in particular. If the right one comes–a–knockin’, though…” You both laugh. “You’re lucky you’ve got one, though.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, one locked and loaded. Not trying to sound flippant, I just mean—and you can deny it all you want, and I know you’re both still just kickin’ rocks, but he’s got you and you’ve got him. That’s a special thing. It’s not just fucking.”

You hold her chin, tilting to assure it’s mostly even. “We’re not fucking.”

“Not yet you’re not.” She smiles. 

You remain quiet as you even out the eyeshadow on either side, glad that her eyes are closed so she can’t see how red you are. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, no, you’re fine, Tess. Here, look,” you take your hands away from her face and turn her to the mirror. While she turns her head left and right, examining herself, you comment, “Green is totally your color.” and smile. She returns a light one, then goes back to staring at herself. Finally, you ask softly, “…You ok?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just, haven’t… seen myself in makeup in a long time.” She chuckles, but you can see melancholy behind it in her eyes. She flattens strips of hair over her shoulders and down her chest.

“You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She replies softly, then blinks, clears her throat, and turns to you with a smile. “Alright, where’s the lipstick?” 

Allowing back some childish fun, you both giggle, debating shades, laughing at their names, and making fun of each other. You settle on a pink lipgloss for her and she talks you into a blood red matte. The finishing touch is struggling to pencil on eyeliner and applying mascara. 

When you’re both all done, Tess whistles and you’re stuck on your reflection. It is a bit startling, firstly because of the bright colors Tess has picked out for you, and because of how much it changes your look. She shifts behind you and lays her head on your shoulder so that your faces are side by side. For a moment you just gawk at each other, then laugh. 

It’s a bit of a shock for both of you. One aspect is the experience itself, being ‘girlfriends’, playing with makeup, talking about boys, and feeling pretty. Your mind isn’t sure what to do with it—savor it, try to isolate it, forget what waits outside, or grieve for what’s already inside with you, what you can’t escape, no matter how much you pretend. 

Tess decides for you, sighing, “You know, I really, really missed this.”

You hum. “I never saw myself ever doing this at all.” You add, “But I’m really glad I’m doing it with you.”

She smiles brightly at you in the mirror. “Me too, kid.”

“Kid?” You turn to her with a smirk.

“You know I’m never gonna stop calling you that.” Tess slaps your shoulder after she pushes herself up from it. “Come on, we gotta get back. They’ll be sending out a search party any second.”

—

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Tommy announces your presence as you and Tess show yourselves back in the food court, getting the attention of the other three scattered around. Joel stands frozen facing you until Clancy throws a spoon at him, which then pings on the floor followed by Clancy’s laugh. Joel turns his head to him with a completely blank expression, except for his slack jaw, which remains down when he looks back at you. Tess elbows you, you shove her back, glancing at him a couple times before sitting down with Tess at a table across from Tommy and setting your packs down, the other seat filled by Neveah with signature lightning speed. 

“Was wonderin’ what was takin’ you two so long.” Tommy remarks, smirking. 

“You didn’t come and get me?” Nevaeh pouts dramatically. 

“We brought some things for you!” You assure her, and Tess sets on the table the paper bag you loaded up for her, which Nevaeh squeals over as she unpacks.

“Could you not make that fucking sound?” Clancy scolds, making Nevaeh’s smile fade and she hunches over a little, sticking her tongue out and making a face at the table instead of him. 

“Hey, could you suck my fucking dick, maybe?” Tess calls at him, humor absent on her face. She’s pretty much the only person he’s afraid of, and therefore pretty much the only one he’ll take seriously when she takes that tone. 

Refering to your perfume, he calls back, “You fucking stink, by the way.” 

“Smell way fuckin’ better than you.” Tess returns. 

He gives her a face but shuts up, turning back to digging through the ruins of an Auntie Ann’s. Tommy snickers. 

“You find anything good?” Tess asks him.

“I did not, but Joel found a furniture store.” “What’d you find in there?”

“Haven’t checked it out yet, wanted to touch base with you two first.”

“Well I wanna sit down, how about you go sweep it with him?” Tess looks at you. You stare at her, she stares unrelentingly back, smiling, “Come on, he’s not that bad.” You stomp on her foot, she cackles, and when you look at Joel he’s staring right back at you, looking like a deer in the headlights. Refusing isn’t really an option, because for one, it’ll look weirder to everyone else than if you just go, and you don’t want to hurt Joel’s feelings either. You do work well together, plus you’re friends, you like spending time with him, and… well, yeah, you kind of hope Tess is right about this ‘driving him fucking nuts’. You offer him a small smile and get up. 

“Go on, Joel, don’t leave the little lady hangin’.” Tommy says to him, Joel shoots him a look, and he cackles just like Tess had to you.

“It’s a big place,” Joel says as he joins you, “it might take a minute. But if we’re not back in an hour, start worryin’.” He calls over his shoulder as he starts out of the food court. 

“Alright, just scream if you find anything weird.” Clancy jokes. 

“Will do.” You salute him, turning on your heel to follow Joel. 

—

It’s silent for a few minutes before you break it to ask, “Are we almost there?”

“Uh, yeah, just around this corner here.”

“Pretty far.”

“Yeah.”

There’s only your footsteps until you’re at the wide glass doors, shattered along with the rest of the panels fronting the shop. 

You take your gun and flashlight from your pockets, crossing them over each other as he does and follow him in. 

The store is quite big, but wider rather than deep, with a separate room connected by a large open doorway. It doesn't take long to clear the first half due to it being one big open room, so all you have to do is walk around the perimeter, easily able to see over mostly tables, chairs, and couches, assisted by clear lighting coming through the open front windows. Joel glances back at you as you step into the next room, which is darker, the front windows covered by hanging racks of colorful, patterned rugs. Your heart rate increases as you flip through the racks, but there’s nothing hiding between them. The rest of the room is also relatively easy to run through though, being mostly beds. Once all cleared, you both take a deep breath and sit down on one of the large beds in the back corner, down the hall from the open doorway. The give from the bed surprises you and you let yourself sink in. 

“Wow.” You chuckle, looking at Joel.

“This must be one of those orthopedic mattresses,” he comments, lips curled. 

“If I laid down on this I would be asleep in fucking minutes, I guarantee it.”

You both chuckle, and then feel yourselves realize at the same time that you are currently sitting on a bed together, alone. You look down at your bare knees, pressed together, but don’t move. 

“So you did your makeup.” He says.

“Yeah, with Tess.” You look up at him and smile, then decide to add, “Do you like it?”

Joel’s eyes linger for a few seconds and then fall to his feet. “Yeah, I do. Been a long time… since I’ve seen uh… a woman in makeup.”

“Been a long time since I’ve been in it.” You stand then, making him look back up at you, and hold your arms out, “Do you like my outfit, too?” Underneath your normal jacket is a new shirt, actually your size rather than scrounged from other people’s belongings, and below it is a short skirt. You took an actual pair of pants, too, but just for fun, you decided to try this out, even if just for a few hours; and, when you picked it out, you did have him on your mind, just a little bit.

Joel looks you over, throat bobbing as he swallows, “Yeah, yeah,” he swallows again and looks down, “I–I do.” His smirk is shy when he looks back up at you, “Makes me feel like a man.” 

“You are a man.” 

“Well I know, but it just… y’know, you look like… a woman. Not to say you don’t usually, I mean, well, you look… desirable—shit, that sounds bad. You always look desirable, I just mean, uhm,” Joel clears his throat, panic visible in his eyes, and you can’t hold back the smile growing on your lips. Tess was right. “I’m not tryna—I mean, I just, fuck, I’m tryna say you look really good. And you know, there’s not a lot of… mainstream, uh, girly stuff left, and it just looks really good on you.”

“Why does that make you feel like a man?”

“Eh, uh, b–because… I guess what fits better is that you make me wanna be a man. More of a man.”

“What’s being more of a man?”

Joel is completely lost in how to respond. No way can he get away with being as crass as you’re kind of asking him to be. Nothing he thinks of trying to say sounds right, either patronizing you, accidentally insulting you, being mean, or lying. 

You take a huge risk, based on your trust in Tess, and he watches you with wide eyes as you walk over, bending his head up when you’re over him, and removing his hands from his lap when you sit down on it. You wrap an arm over his shoulders. Moving fluidly and automatically, one of Joel’s hands goes to your lower back, the other smoothing over the end of one of your legs, down your knee, resting at the top of your shin.

“You shave your legs?” He asks, soft but audibly astonished. Round brown eyes look up at you and you allow your free hand to rest over his chest. 

“Mh–hm.” You nod. 

His eyes flutter. 

“You wanna fuck me, Joel?”

He swallows. At this point, you’re sure you’re right, you just don’t know if you can actually ask him, like that, like this, now. He blinks. Out of embarrassment, your face heats and your heart begins to race. You nervously pull the fabric on his shoulder into a fists and then smooth it back out, looking for every clue you can in how his face moves. 

“Yes.” He finally admits, mostly plain, a little nervous. Then, he swallows again, and looks into your eyes while he moves his hand back up your leg, over your thigh, slowly into your skirt. Your lips part as his fingers graze over the very top of your thigh. He slows more as he lays his hand flat, then inches it down to inbetween your legs. You open them up, but he pulls them apart himself further to slide his hand down over your front, thumb resting on the top of one of your thighs while the rest of his digits pet over your pussy. A breathy moan escapes you and he breathes deeply out through his nose. His eyes flick to your lips and you lean down slowly to meet his. The softness of the kiss doesn’t last long, and while one of your hands grips his hair, moving your mouth into his, the other is tugging at the collar of his shirt. 

The heat is on, and Joel moves quick, pulling his arm around your back to maneuver you onto the bed, leaning over you to keep his tongue in your mouth, one hand on the bed and the other back down under your skirt. You grasp the front of his shirt in both fists as if to secure his position and eagerly link to his mouth, concern over the lipstick a ghost of a thought, that of the others out there not much more of one. Fuck all of that, you don’t even care if they hear you.

Joel removes his hand from you and you whimper, but they go to your hands on his shirt and you let him take them to instead intertwine with his and press into the bed. 

“Fuck,” he breathes outs, hot into your mouth, “baby,” you whine at the nickname, biting his lip to pull his mouth back in. He has to pull away to get a chance to speak, both breathing hard, your hands trapped against the bed. Joel’s eyes wander down to your chest as it rises and falls, then back up, pausing at your lips, then up to your eyes. “Goddamn, baby girl, look at’chou.” You whine and chuckle and his teeth flash. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah,”

“Shit,” he takes a long breath out and hums, looking over you again. He pauses over you, then leans down for a softer, sensual kiss. The end is drawn out, neither of you able to take your lips away, until he raises up again, freeing your hands, but then comes back down, using his arm on the bed once again to hover over you while his other hand slides over your face. His expression alone has you soaking wet, you’ve been dreaming of something like this for months, pretty much ever since you met him, and finally, here it is, literally on top of you. His mouth is smeared with red and you can’t help but chuckle. 

“What?” He asks, breathing a chuckle with his eyes stuck on your lips. 

“You look good in lipstick.”

“Shit, it’s all over me, isn’t it?” You nod and giggle. “Well I’ll deal with that later.” He leans down to your lips again, his hand smoothing up and down your leg. The heat between you is electrifying, snaking tongues and bodies rolling to meet each other. Inside your chest, rising high and dipping low, is its own event, hot, heart rapid, butterflies and all. It reaches down between your legs, too—quivering, throbbing, a needy sensation. Joel does something to your body that you don’t even consciously understand. All you know is he’s not touching enough of you, so you pull your legs in to draw him closer. He follows your lead and lets his groin press against yours, hand feeling over your inner thigh, so sensitive, his touch the only one you want there, you’d trust there. 

He pulls his face away then, looking over your face as he slides his hand up to your chest, kneading your breast, then comes up under your shirt, twisting your nipple in between his fingers. You let out a shaky breath, watching him watch you with his jaw slack. 

“Joel,” you whine quietly, unsure of what you’re begging for, just more.

“Mmm, you need me to fuck?” He growls into your mouth. 

“Fuck, yes,”

“I’ll give you what you need babygirl, don’t’chou worry.” Joel smirks, eyes fixed on yours as he takes the hand from your chest down to undo his belt in one swift motion. He quickly undoes his jeans and pushes them down enough to free his cock, as large as you expected, hard and colored by veins. Joel pumps it slowly, his hips rolling into his own hands. “Shit, you’ve got me fuckin’ going. Need you so bad, baby girl.”

You furrow your brow at him; you couldn't help this pleading expression if you tried. You’ve had sex, even good sex, during the apocalypse, but never has someone taken much actual time for foreplay. And, you’ve never had sex with someone you’re this attracted to, nope, not by far. 

“Joel, fuck me,” you whine quietly. 

With a growl, Joel stands on his calves, keeping one hand up your shirt and the other still on his manhood, then shifts his hand up to work at removing your jacket and shirt. While you take it off yourself, in the brief moments where it blocks your vision, you feel Joel pulling at your skirt and panties at the same time, and when you can see again as you toss your clothes off the side of the bed, it’s at the perfect moment—Joel is pulling his t-shirt up over his head, his arms stretched up showing off the muscles as they shift with his movements, the roundness of his belly, and his pants already down with his hard length almost touching his belly. He doesn’t bother moving his jeans down anymore, just grabbing your thighs to tug you closer to him, then hooks an arm under one of your legs to hold up. His free hand slithers over you, feeling your hips, belly, around your waist, over your breasts, up to your face. His thumb pulls at your lip, trailing red down your chin. 

“You wearin’ all this to get me goin’, huh? All that perfume. God damn been so long since I’ve seen a woman so prettied up like this. You’re gorgeous, you know that? Lookin’ like a fuckin’ pornstar.” Joel leans down, forcing your leg further up under his arm, and drags heavy lips over yours. When he pulls away your lipstick is streaked all over his mouth and you laugh breathily. 

Joel smirks, then drawls,“Pretty girl.” As he speaks, his hand slides back down your body to back between your legs, making you gasp.

“Sooooo fuckin’ wet for me. Can I call you a slut, sweetheart?” He quickly checks in, you laugh and nod. “Yeah, you know you are.” While his thumb circles your clit he eases a finger inside of you. Your head leans back and you moan out because Joel’s finger is inside of you. That’s his trigger finger, too. “Yeeeah, I know, baby. You need a big man to make you feel good, don’t’chou baby? Huh?” He curls his finger and you gasp deeply, rolling back until your back arches, eyes closed, overwhelmed with pleasure. He hasn’t even done much, but your want for him makes every move more sensitive. “God fuckin’ damn it, that’s right baby. That’s right.” Joel removes his finger and you lay back flat to watch him dramatically lick your juices off of it, briefly closing his eyes as he does. Then, he shifts his hips closer, “Imma give you what you want now, babygirl, what you need, my big fat cock inside you, my pretty little fuckin’ slut.” And he does, taking himself in his hand to slowly glide into you, all the way in, and as you whine a moan he sucks in a breath. Once inside, he starts to very slowly pull in and out, only by an inch at most first. His fingers dig into your thigh that he holds against his hip. His other arm, hooked under your leg, angles to raise it up straight, sliding his hand up so that he can kiss your ankle as he moves, pulling farther out for longer strokes in. Joel fills you completely, just on the verge of pain, but the foreplayed paid off, as does the level of attraction you feel for him, widening you up for him, ready, wanting, carnal. 

You’re noisy as he speeds up, hitting your head back on the bed repeatedly and grasping at the sheets. 

“Joel you’re so big,” 

“I know I am, and I know you love it. Yeah, you need a real man to show you how it’s done. You did yourself up just so I’d fuck you didn’t you? Huh?” He emphasizes his question with a jolt, hitting against your limit. 

Head back and arms spread, you answer, “Yes, yes, Joel, harder like that,” 

“Mmm. Yeah?” Brutally, he obliges, and slips directly into your A spot, his length able to easily hit that area near your cervix. You react loudly and throw an arm down, reaching generally towards him. “You were lookin’ for a big man to fuck you good, that’s what you need. You need this,” Joel bucks into your harder, firmly hitting that spot inside of you that twists a snake of pleasure up through your whole body, making your chest feel full and you relax your legs, letting them fall open farther for him, overwhelmed with need for him. The only thought in your head is—

“Joel, yes, more, god, please, fuck,”

“Tell me you’re my little slut, my pretty little slut.”

“I’m your pretty little slut, fuck, uh-huh,” you whine out a high “yeah,” 

As he lowers his grip to your hip, your leg falls back over his hooked arm, and he copies the position with his other. Your legs bump against his arms as he slaps against you, his hair bouncing with the force of it, and to the beat of skin against skin are your moans and his grunts, growls, moans, and voice, telling you things like “Pretty woman needs a real man to fuck her” “All prettied up just for me” “That feel good?” “I fill you up so good?” and you accompany with a chorus of “Fuck” “Oh my god” “Yes” “So good” “I need you so bad” “Fuck me fuck me”

“Oh, fuck,” Joel’s voice shakes and he removes one of his hands under you, “Can I pull your hair baby?”

“Yes,”

One hand still holding your hip for him, his other holding a bundle of hair down into the bed, you get a full show of his mouth, forming O’s, licking and biting his lips, his eyes intermittently squeezes shut, rolling up, his head leaning back then returning to you, to watch himself slam into you, watching your chest bounce, on your lips, back in your eyes. 

“My beautiful lady, all made up for me to fuck, baby can I cum in you?”

“Yeah,” you moan out.

“Yeah, you’re made for me to cum in. You made up just for me to cum in, ah, fuck,” Joel’s head flips back and when it returns he removes his arm from under your thigh, pressing deeper into you to make up for the grip, then held in place by his body on yours as he drops down. One arm falls to support his hovering, forearm on the bed, so that he can rub his other hand over your face. He drags his thumb out from your eyelid, pulling both the color and mascara, making your eyes water, “Pretty woman, waitin’ for your man,” his fingers drag down to your open mouth, then gently squeezes your cheeks and swipes his thumb over your bottom lip, “to fuck you good. Only a man can fuck a woman this good. Isn’t that right?”

“Uh–huh,”

Joel hums, then, more devouring your mouth rather than kissing you, nipping at your lips, swirling his tongue, dragging his wet mouth around yours. 

The bed is shaking wildly now as he bucks his hips against yours, deep, hard, and fast, in the most erotic fashion you’ve ever experienced—not the jackhammer, copying porn kind, but a genuinely lustful force, still directly in the spot that derives a satisfaction that pulls your legs around him, holding him in place as you draw closer to your climax.

This movement makes Joel almost chuckle, and he fucks even more impassioned. The forearm on the bed lifts for his hand to find yours, intertwining your fingers to hold down on the bed. He keeps his other hand on your face, cupping your cheek. “You need me, you need me, tell me you need me baby,” you can tell Joel is nearing the edge by the way his tone heightens. 

“I need you, I need you, I need you,” you obey truthfully. 

“My god, can’t believe I get to fuck you like this, I get to cum inside you, cause I’m your man, you’re my woman, and I make you feel good,” Joel punctuates perfectly with one hard, deep thrust that finally takes you out. Your free hand awkwardly grabs at his wrist near your face as you torso rolls off the bed, as high as it can with his body pressing you down. Your legs squeeze around him and then release to open as wide as they can, and all you can think about is how much you need him to keep fucking you, how much you want him to cum inside of you, and you remember how much he’ll want to hear it, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming you make me feel so good please cum inside me I want you to cum inside my pussy, ahh, mmm, show me I’m yours Joel, fuck me like I’m yours,”

“Oooohh, baby,” Joel drawls, your mouths lazily and helplessly dragging over each others as Joel bounces you up and down underneath him, “I’m gonna cum,”

You reach your free hand up to grip his hair and tell him, “Finish inside me Joel I need your cum in my pussy, my pussy just for you, I’m yours, fuck your cum into me, fuck me til you can’t anymore, I wanna take all of it, I wanna make you feel good, I wanna make my man feel good, let me make you feel good Joel,”

He goes silent for one moment and then his whole body rocks into you, face messily pressed on yours, both of you releasing open mouthed moans, which he grunts through with his last final bucks, stroking out his ropes of cum. He slows, but stays inside you, fully riding his orgasm out, basically slurping your lips. You lay nearly limp under him, still grasping his hand, then moving your other over his cheek, watching his expression as he finishes. 

After a few more moments, he finally slides out of you and then sits back up on his calves to hike his jeans back up. When he’s covered, both hands come back down to smooth back and forth your thighs, shamelessly staring at your still open pussy. 

“Guess it doesn’t matter if we make a mess on this bed.” You chuckle, and he smiles up at you, teeth parted with a tug on one side of his lips. He shifts back up to over you to kiss you again with a long, soft moan, then sits back up, pulling your panties and skirt back up with one hand to then gracefully lift you back up to straddle his lap. His arm wraps around your waist with one over your cheek, and your hands come to rest on his bare chest, bare belly’s on each others. 

He strokes his thumb over your cheek. “I fucked you’re makeup up, sorry.” He mumbles, smiling. 

“It’s alright, it was just for you, anyways.”

“Really?” Joel smirks shyly. 

“Kinda, yeah,” you smile back. 

“Lucky me.”

You chuckle, reaching your hand up to swipe your fingers over his lips. “We gotta remember to take yours off, too.”

Joel closes his eyes and chuckles, “Shit, yeah we do.”

You hum a chuckle back, watching your fingers. How long you’ve been wanting to be able to touch him like this, be this close to him. 

“This took too goddamn long.” He mumbles, and you blush at his thoughts matching yours. 

“Sure did.” Then, you swallow, smile fading. 

“What is it, baby?”

You look down but keep your hand on his face, savoring the touch. “I guess I should have said this before, but, I don’t want this to be… like… I don’t want to just be your fuck buddy.” 

“Oh, no, no,” Joel quickly answers, “I don’t want that either. I really like you.” 

You look back up at him and he swallows hard under your gaze. A relieved smile slowly spreads over your lips and you slide your hand to the back of his neck, looping a finger in his hair. “I really like you, too.” You chuckle then, “I feel like a teenager.”

Joel grows his own smile, “Me too.” 

You kiss him again then, gentle and slow. When you pull back, he hums with a slanted smile, eyes half lidded. 

“We should probably get back.” You whisper. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Joel sighs, then lets you out his grasp. 

You slide down and get off the bed to stand, looking around you, “Shit, how am I gonna get this off?” You wipe your hands over your face, only really dragging the makeup around. 

Joel slips off the bed to stand, searching around with you before reaching around to grab the corner of the sheet. “Here,” he pulls it up to begin stroking it over your face. His brow is slightly pinched as he goes, methodically removing your makeup for you. Then he stands back some and sighs, “Good ‘nough.”

“Your turn,” you take the sheet from him and wipe at his mouth. The lipstick is more resistant, but the remaining saliva helps to get off as much as you can, though the act itself is a bit distracting. 

“Alright, that’s the best I can do.” You look back up to his eyes and stop in his dreamy gaze. 

“You’re blushing.” He whispers with a slight smirk. 

“You’re dreamy.” You admit freely. 

“Dreamy?” He smirks further. 

Sheepishly, you say, “Yeah,” but your shyness is relieved when his lips meet yours again. You drop the sheet to smooth your hands over his still unclothed shoulders and Joel rests his hands on your hips. 

He pulls away then, keeping hold of your body, “Alright, we really should get going.” You nod, sighing, then let go for him to grab his shirt and jacket to pull back on while you do the same. 

You watch each other as you adjust yourselves, and then Joel leans in, pulling your cheek for a quick kiss. He keeps his hand there when he whispers, “You’re so damn beautiful.” You feel your cheeks warm again. Then he steps back with a slanted smile, “Gotta admit, that's the best sex I’ve had in years.”

“God, me too.” You both chuckle, then he reaches over to take your hip and turn you back to walk down to the door next to him. 

“Alright, let’s go before they come lookin’.”

—

“Hey! You wiped off all my hard work!” Tess calls out as you approach. She, Tommy, Nevaeh, and Clancy are now all gathered at a table, talking and laughing while Nevaeh sorts through her pile of makeup.

“Ah, it just got annoying.” You lie with a nervous smile and tug at the hem of your skirt, “I’m just not used to it. It feels, like, heavy, you know? So I just took it off.”

“Mmm.” she nods, completely unconvinced. 

“So, all clear?” Tommy shouts over to you. 

“All clear.” Joel replies.

As you sit, you see Tess turn her attention to Joel next to you with a smirk, tapping her finger at a spot just under her lip. Joel quickly takes the hint and attempts to stealthily wipe away what must be stray lipstick. Tess shakes her head, trying to hide her laughter, and you focus down on the table, amused but embarrassed and a bit nervous of who else may have noticed. Being the good friend that she is, Tess speaks up, loudly beginning an unrelated conversation. Soon, you feel safe enough to look back up and join the conversation. Under the table, Joel sneaks a quick squeeze of your knee and then you lean it into his. He turns to you, smirk visible in his eyes as he looks up and down your face, and then turns back to the conversation, pressing the side of his legs against yours. 

“You know, I like it in here.” Nevaeh comments, swiping colors over her wrist. 

“We could always stay here for a night or two, there's that furniture store, beds in there right?” Tommy turns to you to ask. 

You and Joel both freeze. You’re tempted to lie, but Joel clears his throat and speaks before you do. “Uh yeah, but they’re all pretty dirty.”

“Are they now?” Tess raises her eyebrows with a smirk and you try not to smile back, widening your eyes and shooting her a look.

“Yeah, I mean, they’re been sittin’ in there for fuckin’ years.” Joel recovers. 

“Fair enough,” Tess says, pointedly not looking at either of you, “Plus, who knows who's done what on those? Fucking golden opportunity for anyone who’s even thought about fucking whoever they’ve come in this place with.” 

“Gross!” Nevaeh screws her face up at her.

“She’s not wrong.” Clancy says, leaning back in his chair. You catch him glancing at her next to him and laugh. “What?” He demands defensively. 

You shake your head, still chuckling, “Nothing.”

“Well, there’s always couches, right?” Tommy asks, looking at Joel.

“Plenty a’ couches.” He assures him, nodding.

“There we are then. We’ll stay the night at least.” Tommy decides and you all nod in agreement.

When you turn to Joel he gives you a knowing look, eyes widened with a slight smirk, and squeezes your knee under the table. You slide your hand down over his and he slips in into his, intertwining your fingers. You remind yourself to thank Tess later.

[mooooonnnzz]

I LOVE YOUR DAD!MIGUEL FICS so how about the reader painting Dad!Miguel’s nails???😍 like the reader bothers Miguel about it until he’s like “Ugh. Fine.” But he actually ends up enjoying it and spending time with his daughter (reader, or if you want then kid for gender neutral)

Manicure! /// Miguel O’Hara x GN!Teen!Reader

✦ I MADE IT GN, hope u dont mind i already made like 3 fem readers so i had to even it out 😞

✦ miguels a lil grump here

✦ pure fluff!! <33

✦ HOPE U ENJOY!!

“What color do you want?” Your eyes looked through the rows of nail polish you had organized on top of your dresser. A large teasing smile was plastered on your face as you searched. Miguel muttered curses under his breath, his eye twitching in annoyance at your smile. After hours of you pleading and begging Miguel to allow you to paint his nails, he finally caved in, saying he was sick and tired of your pestering. Though, he wasn’t too happy about it. His knitted brows and deep scowl spoke volumes to you.

You found his whole childish act amusing. This grown man, who’s your father, is acting like it’s the end of the world because you wanted to paint his nails. Miguel didn’t respond to your question from earlier, probably too busy throwing a huge tantrum inside his head to respond, so you decided to choose for him. You plucked a few colors from the rows and laid them down on your palms. “Which ones?”

Miguel huffed out, his eyes looking at the polishes on your hands before looking down at his hands. Was he trying to imagine which color would suit him better? A shaky smile threatened to pull on your lips but you quickly pursed your lips into a thin line when Miguel’s eyes darted over to your face, eyelids menacingly narrowing at you. “Paint them white.”

You gave him a weird look. “White? But that’s so basic.” You looked down at the colors you picked out, pointing at a red and black one. “What about red and black? So it’ll match your suit.”

Now it was his turn to give you a weird look.

“My suit doesn’t have any black on it.” He tells you, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Either you paint my nails white or you don’t paint my nails at all.” He said, using his pointer finger to accentuate the gravity of his words.

“Fine, fine.” You store all the polishes away, leaving you with his plain white color. You take the polish and lead him to your desk where he sits on the chair. You grab your own chair and sit in front of him.

“Put your hands on the desk.” You instruct as you shook the nail polish. Miguel places both hands on your desk, splaying his fingers apart. “You promise you won’t peel the polish off afterward?”

Miguel sighs. “I promise.”

“Do you pinky promise?” You popped up your pinky, waiting for Miguel to wrap his pinky around yours to seal the deal.

A small smile is slightly visible on his lips. He hooked his pinky with yours, sealing the promise tightly. “I pinky promise.”

You beamed happily, twisting open the polish. “Okay! That’s good to hear.” You pull out the brush and sweep it against the edge, removing any excess paint. You motion Miguel to move his hands a little closer to you. He complies with a slight huff and you begin to paint his nails.

You’d occasionally have to slap his hand to tell him to stop moving. He claimed that the brush tickled him but you didn’t believe him. It got to the point where you had to give him a 5-minute break between each coat. He found your complaints entertaining, you assumed he was acting that way just to mess with you.

“Oh, it’s starting to tickle. I need my five-minute break.” He already started to move his hand away but before he could escape, you caught his wrist with your other hand and pinned it back down to the desk. “I haven’t even finished!” You whined out, kicking his leg playfully under the desk. “You’re literally doing this on purpose, Pa.”

“I’m not.” You would’ve bought his whole act if you didn’t look at his face. His huge smirk gave it all way. You rolled your eyes, focusing back on his nails. “Give it up.”

A snort could be heard from Miguel at your response.

After a few more coats and fanning, you finally finished his nails. “I’m done!” You cheered. “What do you think?”

Miguel looked at his nails, nodding his head slowly in an approving matter. “Not bad.” He flexes his fingers, looking genuinely happy with his nails. You shook your head affectionately.

“See! And to think you were throwing a whole fit about it not too long ago.” You tease, twisting the polish closed. “I should give you French tips next time.” You got up from your chair and placed the polish back where it belonged.

“There isn’t going to be a next time.” He said.

There was a next time.

[aprocessionofthoughts]

GIW

part 4 of To Find Rest ao3

It had been three months. Three months! Since the kids had left and Babs could still not find anything on them. She couldn’t even find where they lived!

She had planted trackers on them, because… Well, she had done it, but it had proven useless. She had been able to track them to Wellsburg where the tracker stayed for approximately fifteen minutes before it went offline and hse hadn’t been able to get the signal back since.

She had looked into the towns around Wellsburg but the only one that was about an hour from there was Elmerton and the kids weren’t on any of their school’s records.

She’d tried looking into the kids themselves, but that had also proven unsuccessful. Nothing came up when she searched their names, not in any database. It didn’t even look like they had social media! 

It had gotten to the point where she had asked Tim for help, but he hadn’t even been able to find anything. And now he was curious about why she was looking into a pair of kids. At least he had agreed not to tell Bruce.

Babs sighed, she didn’t understand why trying to find two random kids was so difficult. She needed to find them. The longer it took the more worried she became. What if something happened to them?

Her comm buzzed in her ear.

“Oracle.”

“What’s up, B?”

“I need you to look into some information on an organization I’ve come across. I discovered some men dressed in white trying to break into Wayne Enterprises. They were able to get away, but one of them left behind their badge. I need you to look up anything you can find on the GIW.”

“You got it, B.” 

She’d do this, and then she’d keep looking for the kids. She just hoped they’d be safe for a little while longer.

—-

These stupid GIW were hard to find. She could only catch glimpses of the name in hidden governmental documents. She couldn’t even find what the acronym stood for! All she could find was that it was an organization that was created during Luthor’s term as president. That raised a lot of red flags, but she couldn’t do anything about it until she could locate one of their bases.

Hopefully, one of the agents would be spotted again so that they could be followed back to their headquarters or at least questioned. 

The corner of her screen glitched. Babs frowned. What was— Her entire screen went dark. 

She cursed. This wasn’t good. And then it got even worse as a messed flashed across her still dark screen.

‘STOP LOOKING’

Well shoot.

Then her computer started smoking and sparking before it started melting. She could only stare open mouthed as her computer and her entire set up melted into lumps of metal, glass, circuitry, and wires.

What. In. The. World. Just happened?

She reached up to her comm, but all she could hear was static. She took a deep breath before wheeling herself over to a side table that held her laptop. She worked quickly pulling up the program to reroute the comms through the laptop instead of her Oracle setup.

She winced as loud voices came through.

“What happened?”

“Can anyone hear me?”

“Hello?”

“Oracle!”

“Quiet!” she said and blessed silence fell over the comms. Unfortunately, it only lasted a moment.

“Oracle wha–”

“What is the mea–”

“Why did the comms–

“What’s happen–”

“Silence!” Batman said and the comms went silent once more.

“Oracle, what happened?”

“It will be easier to explain in person. Everyone who’s able should come to the Clocktower. Actually,” she paused, glancing at her melted setup. “We should probably head to the Batcave. The Clocktower might be compromised.”

“Do you think the Batcave is compromised?” Batman said his voice level.

“I don’t think so, but I haven’t had time to check, and I’ll need the Batcomputer to look into it.”

“Fine. Is everyone able to head to the Batcave? Robin and I are already on our way and I’ll have Agent A get Signal.”

“Spoiler and I are on our way.” Dick said.

“Heading there.” Cass said.

“I’ll be a few minutes, I need to break up this attempted robbery first.”

“Hood?” Babs asked.

“What do you need me for?” Jason grunted, followed by the sound of gunfire.

“I’m pretty sure everyone is going to want to know what happened, and I can’t be sure what’s been compromised until I check the Batcomputer.”

“Fine. I’ll be there in a few.'' Then he turned his comm off. 

She sighed. “I’ll be there in a few as well.” She looked one more time at her melted set up and took a few pictures to show the bats, she wasn’t sure if the footage from the cameras in the Clocktower would still be viable, then she left.

It looked like the GIW were a bigger threat then she’d initially assumed.

[harpersdragons]

Theft in the Family...By Jason Todd Chapter 3

This chapter is a bit shorter, Exams are stressing me out xD

I have Chapter 4 done, it'll be posted once I finish chapter 5

The last week had calmed down some for Jason. He was slowly gaining control of the other gangs in Crime Alley, so now his job is mainly enforcing his rules and continuing his climb up the metaphorical food chain.

Currently he was on a rooftop overlooking the usual corner the working girls frequent.

He feels his half cape/cloak thing (Jason still doesn’t know what to call it, ok) waving gently in the breeze. It felt nice to have a moment of downtime, even if it was in the middle of the day.

Just as he was getting used to the (very rare) almost peaceful atmosphere, a child’s yelling cuts through the air.

Jason rushes off in the general direction of the sound.

He arrives just in time to see a large man slamming a kid against the wall, one hand wrapped around the kid’s throat.

Jason growls, jumping into the alley. He rips the man away, pushing himself in between the kid and his aggressor. “Leave. Him. Alone.” He draws one of the swords on his back, leveling it at the man’s chest.

Instead of scrambling back, the man stares at the sword and chuckles, pushing it away and drawing a gun. “The kid’s comin’ with me.”

“Yeah, nope. Not happenin’, jackass.” Jason draws his own gun with his other hand, this time aimed at the guy’s head. “Don’t think I only brought a sword to a gunfight. Besides, I guarantee you, I’m faster.”

Jason spares a glance behind him, and his heart nearly stops as the kid sits against the alley wall with a dazed look.

Fuck

That’s Damian.

Alright, fuck mercy. This guy is dead.

He uses the flat edge of the sword to knock the man’s gun hand wide, closing the distance between them. He uses his body to pin the man to the wall, and sheathes both weapons.

With his hands free, he wraps one around the guy’s throat (we’re gonna call him Chad now), and the other wrenches the gun from Chad’s grasp. “See? I’m faster.” Jason almost chuckles, before his tone turns dark again. “Do you know who I am?”

Chad barely manages to nod, and gasps: “Phoenix.”

“Good. Do you know what my main rule is?” Jason doesn’t even give him a chance to answer this time. “Do /not/, under /any/ circumstance, mess with kids.”

The man looks truly scared for the first time in this interaction. “I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know he was yours! He’s a Bristol kid, look at ‘em!”

“/All/ kids are under my protection. But you won’t get to make the same mistake twice.” Jason draws his gun again, aiming not at his head, but his groin. A cruel smile splits his face, not like the man can see that though.

The man whimpers, and Jason glances back at Damian again. The kid is still dazed, but he was standing and watching the scene play out.

“Get outta here, kid, I’ll catch up and make sure ya get home safe in a sec.”

Damian seemed to struggle to understand the instruction, but when he did, he stood firm. “No.”

“Kid—”

“No.” Damian scowls at him. Jason rolls his eyes, but mentally shrugs. The kid was raised by Ra’s Al Ghul, he’s seen worse.

With that, he turns his attention back to the weeping man in front of him. He debates saying something else, but decides against it. No need to draw this out any longer.

He takes a step back, and fires. The man screams, collapsing to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Jason holsters the gun (he’ll finish the man off in a second) and steps over to Damian. Kneeling down, he reaches out a hand and runs it through Damian’s hair, searching for injuries. “Y’alright, Habibi?”

“I have had worse.”

“I know, kid, but my question stands.” His glove comes away bloody when he reaches the back of the kid’s head, and Damian flinches slightly. “Alrigh’, I’ll take you home and clean you up, but you’re telling Bruce. Where even is the Old Man anyway?”

“I presume he is back at the diner, where I left him.”

Jason rolls his eyes, picking Damian up and settling him on his hip. “‘Course ya ran away. Now I’m gonna have Bats after me.”

A bark sounding through the alley snaps Jason’s attention away from his brother, and he sees Bruce and Ace running into the alley.

“God dammit, speak of the devil.” Jason mutters, eyeing the duo warily.

“Give me my son.” Bruce speaks lowly, clearly eyeing the distance between them.

Jason scoffs, “You lost him. I found him.”

The man on the ground groans, and Jason is reminded of his unfinished business. Without taking his eyes off Bruce, he fires another bullet into Chad’s skull. Bruce flinches at the gunshot.

“Give him back, before I call the cops.”

Ace growls, stalking forward. Bruce drops the leash, and the dog lunges forward.

Jason turns, making sure his body is between the snapping teeth and his brother.

Just before biting, Ace stops, his nose twitching as he sniffs the air, and his tail waves in the air. The growls turn to whines as he noses at Jason's leg. Something in Jason melts a little at the sight of his childhood dog.

“Ace!” Bruce calls, but the dog ignores him in favor of Jason.

“I think you have broken the dog,” Damian comments, and Jason pets Ace before pulling out his grapple gun.

He fires the grapple, watching Bruce’s eyes widen as he feels the familiar tug of the line hooking. Bruce lunges for him just as the gun pulls him into the air. In the short trip in the air, Bruce has pulled out his phone and is frantically talking to whoever he called.

In the same moment, Damian wraps his arms around Jason’s neck, and Jason remembers that this would be his first experience with grappling. With flying.

Jason smiles at his brother when they land on the roof, before realizing he wouldn’t be able to see it.

Jason grapples back to his apartment without saying another word.

When they enter (through the window, of course, no doors allowed), Jason sets Damian down and starts taking his gear off.

The hood and cape are first to go, followed by his masks and gauntlets. When he turns back to Damian, the kid is pouting at him.

“The hell are you pouting for, I thought ya wanted to see me?” Jason grabs the med kit from under his sink and walks over to his brother.

“I thought you would come back with me.”

Jason sighs, “We discussed this, Habibi. I can’t go back. Besides, Bruce doesn’t even know it’s me who has you. There’s gonna be a fuckin’ manhunt now.”

“He took your book,” Damian’s pouty face somehow… gets more pouty..?

“The one I gave to you?” Jason had to suppress a chuckle, but goes about cleaning the cut on Damian’s head.

“Yes.”

“What’d ya do to get him to take that from ya? He never took my books.’

“I may…or may not…have attempted to stab Drake.”

Jason scowls at him, “What did we talk about, Damian?”

“You said not to kill or maim anyone! It was just supposed to be a light stabbing…” The kid is sulking now. It’s almost cute, if Jason weren’t a little pissed at him.

His phone ringing cuts off any reply he may have had. He fishes it out of his pocket, answering it and setting it to his ear before going back to cleaning the cut on Damian’s head. “‘Sup?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, before a faint voice comes through. “...Master Jason?”

Jason almost drops the phone in shock, and it takes him a second to remember how to use his voice. When he does speak, he’s choked up. “Hey, Alfie.”

Alfred takes a shuddering inhale before continuing. “It is good to hear your voice again, my boy. Although I do have a rather urgent reason for calling. We seem to be missing the child you delivered to us three weeks ago.”

Jason raises an eyebrow at the kid in front of him, finally putting down the gauze and medical supplies. “Are you now?”

“Yes. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”

“Nope, not a clue. You should probably keep better track of your birds.”

Alfred sighed, seeming to realize the bluff. “Shall I inform Master Bruce that he is taken care of?”

Jason chuckles before answering. “Nah, let him panic. It’ll do him some good. Besides, finders keepers. Kid’s mine now.”

Jason can hear a hint of a smile when Alfred speaks next. “Hm. Well, try to have him back at the Manor for Sunday crepes. You are welcome to join as well.” It’s Thursday. That gives him four days with his baby brother.

And four days to make Bruce panic, which is always a plus.

He will have to move safehouses though, he wasn’t exactly watching out for cameras on his way here.

“Will do, Alfie. I’ll drop him off Sunday morning.”

They exchange goodbyes, then Jason drops the phone on the couch.

“Wanna explain why ya ran away?”

“I wanted to see you, Akhi. I had not heard from you since you dropped me off.”

Jason sighs, sitting down and pulling Damian closer to him. “You could have asked Alfred to contact me, kid. It’s not safe for you to run around Gotham on your own.”

“I can protect myself!”

“Like you did today?”

Damian scowls, “It is not my fault he caught me off guard.”

“Dames, no matter how highly trained you are, the people here will still win the fight when they are two to four times your size. You have to stay with an adult.”

Damian just huffs in response, and Jason gives the argument up. He’ll just have to keep a better eye out from now on.

[hellfire--cult]

So I just finish reading second chance at Cupid and I gotta say I love it and I would love to hear more about those two .

I would like to think Eddie took her to see the place where he grew up and told the reader everything about his past including his band .

And the reader bought Eddie his guitar so he could play for her..

And I just got to say it was perfectly written and a really unique story ..

OMG my first request!

Thank you so much for your words I really appreciate it! I am so happy you liked it! I got a little carried away with the Returning to Hawkins request, so here we go! Prepare you tissues!

SCAC ❤️ - Back to Hawkins

Read Second Chance at Cupid

WC: 4.4K

Warnings: +18 angst, mentions of suicide, depression, nostalgia, mentions of death and anguish, fluff, overall, crying for Eddie.

Summary: Eddie introduces you into his past, but you don't think you would encounter certain people along the trip, and Eddie finally brings closure to his long life.

A/N: I cried while writing this, I am so sorry...

“Seriously, this takes away the fun of driving darling.” Eddie exclaimed for the tenth time this afternoon. You were on your way to Hawkins, his home town before becoming cupid himself. He had never returned to that place, saying that only bad memories reside in it. 

“Don’t bash on my automatic car Eddie!” You say with a giggle as you look into your gps, signaling that you were close. He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“In my days, you drove with a stick, manually, like a man.” He says and you can’t help but laugh at his words. You sometimes forget that he is actually like 60 years old, but looks 23. You were afraid that time would get to him, as if it was lost in some space and dimension and he would look 60 instantly. 

But it didn’t. It was as if his life cycle had a pause and now it started once again. 

“Sure thing grandpa.” 

“What did you just call me?” He jabbed a finger to the side of your rib, causing you to giggle and he smiled at you, to then get his eyes on the road again. The GPS signaled to turn right, and as Eddie did, he could see the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign coming up ahead. He clenched tightly onto the steering wheel as regret started filling his insides. He didn’t want to face his past, but you lit up so much when he told you about his birthplace, excited to see it one day.

And now here you both are.

But Eddie was anything but excited. He was the whole other spectrum of it. He was anxious, nervous, sad, and nostalgic. Everything all at once. You noticed the whiteness of his knuckles and you looked at him with a frown to your eyebrows. You reached out and put a hand on top of his over the wheel and he shot you a small smile as a thanks.

The first thing you noticed was the amount of woods that were in the area, looking all around. Thank god you didn't bring Dorito with you, because he was such an indoor cat that you were afraid of him getting lost easily. Gladly, Steve offered to take care of him while you were gone, but that's another story for another time.

“In 1983, a little boy called Will Byers disappeared into the woods.” Oh, you heard that story, your dad told it to you so you wouldn’t go running alone through the trees. “It was a fucking mess, people searching everywhere, knocking at every door, and stuff. Turns out, the boy had a broken ankle and couldn’t walk, near the shore of one of the lakes. He was actually very bright, hiding in between bushes in case a predator would come up.” 

“You sound like you met him.”

“I did! Back in 1986, when he entered freshman year with his friends. I had a club, Hellfire Club, and it was only for DnD campaigns!” Eddie had already told you about his dungeon master days, telling you he has an itch to play that can’t possibly compare to anything else. You were sad that you couldn’t play with him, since you have no knowledge of it, but you did indulge him into Facebook groups that organize meetings. He could make friends and make his own guild if that goes well.

But he didn’t want to. He wanted to play, but he said , in a very sad tone, that it’s not the same without his friends.

“Yeah I remember that… I wonder if your club still stands!” You said excitedly and he laughed, shaking his head.

“We were treated like freaks sweetheart, they called us satan worshippers, just because we played a fantasy roleplaying game. It was all over the newspapers too! How Dungeons & Dragons induced homicidal thoughts.” He snickered at that, making you shake your head at how close minded people were back then. Your eyes lit up as you passed the trees, seeing a parking lot.

“Oh my god, stop, it’s your school!” He grimaced at that, but slowed down, pulling into the parking lot of the high school he once attended. He parked on a spot, and you checked your watch, realizing that it’s still school hours and everyone was in class. 

“You know darling, I don’t have the best of memories of this place.” He says to you and you sigh, looking at him. 

“I’ll go in! I want to check something first!” You got out of the passenger’s seat, and he was calling you out to stop you, but you didn’t. You ran into the school’s doors, looking at all the green decorations of the place, looking in awe at all the lockers as you walked through the halls. You looked at the pictures on the walls, looking for something in particular.

You turned the hall and that’s when you found all the pictures of active clubs that were in the school. You scanned all around, basketball team, tennis club, art club, history club, newspaper club, computing club… A smile broke on your face as you stared at one picture in particular. 

“At least this place is much cleaner than the last time I was here.” You heard Eddie turn the corner to finally meet up with you and you beamed at him with a smile on your face.

“Eddie, look!” You pointed at a picture and he frowned, following your finger and then his face softened, his mouth falling agape slightly. He couldn’t believe it.

There, in a nice frame, stood a picture of 10 boys and girls, wearing the Hellfire shirt, his logo, his signature mark. Under it, it read, ‘Hellfire Club, Founded in 1980.’. They even got the date right. He didn’t fund it of course, but he cannot believe that after all these years his club actually got acknowledgement. 

“Excuse me, why are you pointing at our picture?” Someone calls to your side and you look to see a boy, your size almost, probably a senior, wearing a hellfire shirt. Eddie looked at the boy, and stared at him for a long while. A cap on his head, curls all around and he couldn’t stop himself before he talked.

“Henderson?” The boy’s eyes widened and he tilted his head with a sheepish smile on his face.

“You know me?” You knew that this couldn’t really be happening, but you didn’t really know what to say. You were looking back and forth at the both of them and that’s when Eddie snapped out as he felt his stomach turn slightly.

“Um, not you precisely?” Eddie continued, trying to save the situation and then the teenager made an ‘ah’ sound as if understanding.

“You must mean my dad, Dustin Henderson. We really look alike, don’t we?” Eddie’s eyes widened, and that’s when he realized that Dustin must be 51 years old now. He had a family, a future, and part of Eddie was saddened he didn’t even try to see him, how he was doing or anything at all. “I’m Chris!” 

“Nice to meet you Chris!” You beamed and cleared your throat to dissolve the situation. “We were just looking at your picture because Eddie here was part of Hellfire just the year he came as a freshman here. He wanted to know if the club was still up and running, you know.” At that Chris smiled excitedly and nodded.

“Oh! You’re an old Hellfire Club member?! Well, welcome back you brave warrior. What was your role?” He asked excitedly and Eddie almost choked up in tears as he tried to talk, but he gulped the lump down, giving him a small smile.

“Yeah, I was a Dungeon Master.” At that Chris beamed, pointing at himself.

“I am one too! Like my dad was, although I have to say my aunt, Erica? She’s a fucking badass.” Eddie smiled at that widely, now knowing that the Sinclairs are still friends with the Hendersons, and that means that Mike and Will are in the picture too. 

“Can I ask you a question?” At that Chris nodded and Eddie stuttered a bit before continuing. “Don’t you get bullied? For playing this? I remember getting bullied here and there by a few at the time.” Chris chuckled and shook his head at Eddie, making him stand straighter, paying attention to the young boy.

“Nah man, that shit is long gone thankfully. We know about the bullying years of Hellfire, and you know, we put our foot down to the jocks. It was in 2009. My cousin, Elena Byers, was like super done with all the jocks mocking us, so she trained herself in Karate, and chopped their dicks, almost.” He said with a laugh and your eyes widened at that, looking at Eddie’s reaction.

But what you found was pure adoration with a wide smile to his face. They weren’t the small little group like before. They stood up for themselves, marking their territory, their right to be a club, to be considered people and not freaks for liking something different. But now, he felt like crying, he was glad to know his old friends were doing okay, and his children were doing fine too so it seems.

“Well, I’m glad man… We gotta go now–” Eddie started but Chris stopped him, jumping up as if he remembered something.

“One second!!!” He rushed away in a comical fashion, you and Eddie looking at eachother once as you waited for him to return. It literally took two seconds as you saw him getting out of a classroom, heavy breathing from the sudden run. “Ah, shit, this is why I am bad at PE… Here.” He handed something to Eddie, and the older man looked at it with a confused frown in his eyebrows, opening it up to reveal a brand new Hellfire Shirt, all black, with his logo in the middle.

“Oh, wow…” You say, eyes widened at the gesture but Chris just smiled widely, nodding in Eddie’s direction.

“There’s for some reason this uh… tradition in Hellfire Club, made by my own father actually, back in 1986. He said that there should always be a spare T-Shirt in the club. Not for one of the members, not even if they lose theirs. He never knew the reasoning for the tradition, he just felt that it belonged to someone, and they might pick it up someday.” At that mention, Chris’s smile fell slightly and did a shrug with his shoulders. “For some reason, I felt like giving it to you.”

Eddie was speechless, looking at the shirt in his hands. In the stretch of time and space, there is one part, one small minuscule part, where everyone holds his memory. They always held it there, and embraced it, and this was proof of it. His eyes watered as his throat closed up, biting onto his bottom lip to try to suppress his tears.

“Thank you… This means a lot…” He muttered under his breath, holding back tears and Chris smiled at him while you stared at Eddie with your own tears filling your eyes. He was remembered, in some strange way, people remembered him. “You happen to know the Wheelers?”

“Oh, Aunt Mike and Aunt Nancy? Yeah! Well, Mike doesn’t go by Wheeler, he goes by Byers, but it’s the same thing.” Chris said with a chuckle and Eddie smiled still looking at the shirt, now knowing Mike and Will were married, and they even adopted a kid.

“That’s great… Really great… Thank you for this, really. And send my greetings to your dad.”

“Oh, sure! Your name?”

“Eddie.”

As you got in the car, Eddie didn’t shed one single tear. You knew he was holding back from it all, but you still got a long weekend ahead of you, and you knew this part was just the very start of going back into his past.

You can pick him up later on. You’ll just let him have his own pace. 

“That over there, I used that spot to do most of my dealings, now for some reason it has turned into an amazing botanical garden.” He said with a chuckle, pointing at his right side to show you it. You looked on, and there it was, a nice kept greenhouse, with various plants and flowers, carefully treated for different seasons of the year. He continued driving, finally reaching the town of Hawkins and he was glancing at everything in awe.

“For being a small town it sure does have nice shit.” You say out loud looking at all the stores and food chains as well as restaurants. He was stunned to see the amount of lights and how modern everything was. Even his old record store was changed into a more modern one and he was slightly saddened at that thought. 

There’s one place he wanted to see unchanged. One place he really wished nothing had turned modern. He kept driving as the afternoon son started hiding itself, leaving a pink hue in the sky for the both of you. You didn’t question where he was going, you fully trusted him, even after two months of being with him, you felt like you’ve known him your whole life, and even in past lives. 

This trip was all about Eddie.

After 10 minutes of driving, he finally parked in front of a bar. It looked rather vintage to you, rustic even, and the bouncer at front didn’t even give a second glance to you as you both walked in. 

Eddie’s eyes widened when all that’s changed of his old bar, was the fact a few led TV’s hang from the corners, some AC was put up, and the leather has been reupholstered. The rest was all the same. 

“Holy shit…” He walked on into the bar, sitting on one of the stools of the bar, and you sat right next to him as he looked around. You took out your phone and snapped a picture of him without him noticing at all, and smiled as the expression he wore in the photo was that of a five year old seeing Santa. 

“Looks the same?” You asked him, putting your phone on the counter. 

“Yeah… This is where my band and I played on Tuesday nights.” He explains to you as he looks onto the stage, you following his gaze. You could just imagine Eddie playing his guitar on that small stage with his best friends, having the time of his life, and you cannot even have a picture of it.

Eddie explained that when one becomes cupid, all memory of them is gone. That meant, the pictures were also gone or any image format where his face may have appeared. The bartender came up to you both and you took the order since Eddie was still looking around.

“Two beers please.” You say with a smile and the man simply nodded at you, popping two bottles from under the counter and taking the caps off in one swift movement. You thanked him and gave him the money for your drinks. You slid one bottle in front of Eddie and he finally snapped out of his trance, looking at the drink, and then back at you. You were wearing a smile, lifting your bottle up to him.

“To Corroded Coffin.” You said with a smile and he gulped the lump that formed in his throat, smiling back at you, and grabbing his bottle to clink it to you. You both took a sip of your drinks as the bar started filling with people. 

Eddie told you stories about all the shows they played there, how their fanbase was just three to five drunks and if they were lucky they would turn to seven. He also told you about the fights that broke in this bar, and how he partook in a few of them just for the hell of it. You shook your head in disapproval at that and he just laughed and kissed your cheek, telling you that now he would only fight if it’s in your honor.

“I can defend myself, thank you very much.” You say as you take a swig out of your beer and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Oh really? What if a big mean man comes right now and chokeholds you? Whatcha gonna do?” He asks with a snicker and you were about to reply to him, but Eddie was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder, making him turn around, facing a man with brown hair, a few gray hairs here and there, and with a beard on his face. Eddie squinted as he looked at him, and the man also looked confused himself.

“Excuse me young man… Do I know you?” The man asks and you were baffled at the interaction. Eddie too was surprised by this, but there was a part of him that knew who this person was, but he didn’t look like him, so it cannot possibly be him.

“Um, no sir… I don’t think we’ve ever met.” Eddie replied and the man scoffed, scratching his head slightly.

“I’m sorry, I just… really thought you looked familiar but for some reason I don’t even know who you look familiar to.” He replied with a soft chuckle and that’s when Eddie’s throat closed, swallowing thickly as he continued talking.

“Maybe… What’s your name Sir?” 

“I’m Gareth.” He replied with a smile and Eddie felt like crying right then and there, feeling his chest just crumple into itself as seeing how old his friend is, and imagining how old he was supposed to be now. 

“H-Hi Gareth… I’m Eddie, and this is my girlfriend.” He introduced you too and you were trying to hold your own lump, knowing very well who Gareth was in Eddie’s life. Eddie had described him as a brunette, wild hair, rosy plump cheeks, but the person before you was an aged man, around 55 years old. 

“Nice to meet you both. Are you both new in town or just visiting?” He asked, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s as he talked. Eddie cleared his throat and shook his head.

“Just visiting… My uncle came here a lot. Listened to a band in particular but I believe they’re long gone now.” Eddie say with a sad smile and Gareth's interest peaks.

“Really? Which band?”

“Corroded Coffin.” At that, Gareth’s eyes widen and he almost jumps in excitement as if he were a thirteen year old and patted Eddie on the shoulder.

“Well, I’ve got news for you! You’re looking at the drummer of the former band Corroded Coffin.” He says with a wide smile and Eddie’s eyes twinkle at his joy, a smile forming on his lips as well as tears already burning their way out.

“Really?” He says as if surprised, but Gareth kept smiling, nodding wildly. 

“Yep! Jeff is still on the bass, and Freak on the second guitar!” He says with excitement spilling out of his lips. You were watching the interaction fondly, taking short sips of beer as the two men interacted, but you decided to intervene at that.

“Second? Who’s first?” You asked and Eddie looked at you and then back at Gareth, who’s smile fell and turned into a confused one, with the hint of sadness behind it.

“I… I don’t know really, I knew there was someone… I knew that there was a point where we sounded amazing, excellent even, and then… It just wasn’t the same… We still play at my garage, my kids hate it, but we always try to reach that sound again.” He finished with a shrug and Eddie straightened up in his seat, his voice cracking as he talked back to Gareth.

“I– I uh, live an hour away. I play guitar… If you guys have the open spot I can do a tryout?” He asks, hopeful at the question and your eyes widened looking at him. Gareth’s smile returned and his eyes became full of life as he looked at his old best friend.

“Really? A young lad like you wants to play with old men like us?” Eddie chuckled at that, swallowing the lump in his throat and nodded. 

“It would be an honor to my uncle.” He says and Gareth nodded at that, satisfied as he took his cellphone out of his pocket.

“Who’s your uncle by the way, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Wayne… Wayne Munson.”

And finally, you came to your last stop. Eddie showed you what once was Forest Hills, his old trailer park, now filled with suburban houses and he scoffed at how everything was done for the rich now. 

And now here you stood. Flowers you thought of buying before hand in your left hand as you held onto Eddie’s right hand, tightly, fingers intertwined. The moonlight illuminates both of you perfectly as well as the engraved stone before you.

Wayne Munson

1942 - 1989

A friend, an Uncle, a Father.

“1989. Three months later after Wayne’s death, I really didn’t have a purpose in life any longer. I didn’t think anything was worth living for, and I felt utterly and completely alone. I thought that there was no harm in me leaving as well, because no one would miss me, no one would care if I left… The chance of becoming cupid, and to keep living while being forgotten, felt exactly the same, without the dying part.” Your tears were flowing down your cheeks at his words, feeling the despair in the deep center of your gut as he talked.

You cannot even begin to think how he felt, all alone in that trailer park, succumbing himself to drugs and starvation, waiting for the darkness to simply consume him at a point. 

“He would be disappointed in me.” Eddie said through a wet chuckle and then sniffled as he wiped his face with his free hand. “He would go ‘I taught you better than that, I never taught you to quit!’” He tried to say in a lower voice to then end up in a choke as a sob tried to come through.

In all honesty, Eddie had never once cried for his uncle. For his father figure. He just became hollow, void of emotions, feelings completely gone from his heart and his mind, but now, he felt like crying, like a little kid that just got hurt. 

So he did. His sobs could be heard through the cemetery as he dropped to his knees, his hands over Wayne’s name. You bit your lip as you tried to keep your sobbing down, be there for him, bending down to press your hand on his back as he cried out, yelled it all out, years and years of keeping his emotions inside, intact, never once letting a tear out of his eyes.

His shoulders shook as minutes passed, and he finally felt air being thrown into his lungs. A long hidden weight being lifted off his shoulders as his heart felt calm, steady, even with the pumping thanks to his crying. He looked at Wayne’s name and gave him a nod, sighing.

“I don’t know if you remember me in the afterlife. But, it’s me, Eddie… I’m sorry I was never here to visit you. I’m sorry for not keeping you updated… I’m actually here with my girlfriend.” Your heart warmed when he presented you to his uncle and you kneeled down next to him, with a wet smile on your lips, stained rosy cheeks as you looked at him. “I promise I’ll visit soon. I’m aging now, so I better use the most of my time.” He said to the grave stone with a smile to his face as you felt a warm breeze caress the side of your ear.

You placed the flowers on his grave as Eddie told him about his life until now, and you simply sat there, listening intently, letting Eddie talk to his uncle once again. 

Once you both bid your goodbyes, you were walking back to the car, hand in hand. You turned around towards the cemetery and then forward again.

“You know… I can ask for a remote position at work.” You say out loud, catching Eddie’s attention.

“What do you mean?”

“I can work from home… Maybe get a nice house in Forest Hills, saw a few ‘In Sale’ signs up.” You said with a smile. It would take a loan for you to buy a house, but your happiness depended on his. And you knew this was the right choice. Eddie stopped on his tracks and looked at you, turning around to face him worriedly.

“You don’t… You already did so much for me, I can’t possibly–” 

“I want to. I want to, Eddie… I want to be near your family too.” Eddie’s eyes glistened again as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in a tight hug, embracing you in warmth, in his love, in his adoration for you, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, gripping onto his back with the same devotion.

“I am glad… I am glad I decided to become cupid… If I didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have ever met you…” He said into your ear, the hint of a sob hidden behind his lips as he nuzzled into your neck. A tear rolled down your cheek as you giggled softly.

“Don’t know… I am kind of into the whole sugar daddy thing.” A wet laugh could be heard onto your neck, Eddie pulling away from you with stained cheeks, looking down at you.

“I don’t know if I would have had a lot of money Sweetheart…” He says and you just smiled at him, tip toeing to catch his lips in a soft, wet, yet deep kiss, that said so many words in just one simple touch, a simple grace of skin. I love you, I adore you, I can’t live without you, but one thing you had to tell him.

“I would have chosen you either way, just the way you are, the way you’ve always been.”

A/N: I am so sorry... At least he gets to play with his friends again, right?

Would love to get more requests for SCAC! ❤️ I enjoyed writing this, even if it was too painful to do so

Remember that if you get inspired or anything, you can always message me with blurbs, or imagines, or you can also tag me in it!

[fredsmarauder]

As We Once Were - Year 1, Chapter 1 - Trains and Frogs

a/n: I doubt the other chapters will be this long and detailed lmao, this took forever and I really don't have the patience

As Evelyn stood in the Kings Cross station all she could think about was how lost and alone she was. The air was thick with the salty scent of pretzels from a nearby vendor and the faint whiff of coffee simmering in the café, blending into a dizzying mix that only heightened her anxiety. Travellers bustled around her, their laughter and lively conversations forming a chaotic soundtrack to her panic.

Tightly grasping her ticket, her eyes darted back and forth, desperately searching for signs of the tricky 'Platform 9 3/4'. The writing on the paper seemed to mock her. Unfortunately, her mother, who very well knew where it was, was away at work, and she couldn't get time off to help Evelyn onto the platform, and her father was absolutely clueless when it came to anything concerning the wizarding world, so he just dropped her off and said goodbye, leaving her alone. 

Evelyn stood at the busy station, her heart heavy with disappointment. The sleek, modern trains glided in and out, their polished surfaces gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. She remembered the sting of laughter from the stranger when she’d asked about Platform 9 3/4. "Silly girl," the woman had said, her voice dripping with condescension, "There is no Platform 9 3/4." 

The words echoed in Evelyn's mind. Now, as she gazed at the organized chaos around her, a wave of despair washed over her. The passengers bustled past, absorbed in their own lives, completely unaware of her presence—she felt like a ghost haunting the station. 

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision as the emotional weight threatened to pull her under. She gripped the handle of her suitcase tightly, its hard, unyielding surface contrasting with her soft, crumbling resolve. The thought of collapsing onto the polished floor crossed her mind, but instead, she stood frozen, the rhythm of the trains and the chatter of indifferent travellers amplifying her sense of isolation.

Just when she was about to give up and call her father to pick her up, a fragment of conversation floated through the air, capturing her attention. 

“-Of course, Dumbledore is—”  

Wait a minute. Dumbledore? Wasn’t that the name she’d seen scrawled at the bottom of her Hogwarts acceptance letter? Intrigued, she pivoted to locate the source of the voice. Her gaze was instantly drawn to a lively cluster of redheaded figures gathered nearby. The group was a rambunctious assembly of boys of varying heights, their freckled faces animated with laughter and banter. Standing among them was a robust, plump woman with vibrant red hair that seemed to shimmer in the light. She emanated a warm, nurturing aura, imitating the glow of a mother.

“You’ll love Hogwarts, you don’t need to worry.” The mother says, stroking one of the boys' heads.

The boy groans and fixes his hair, annoyed she had messed it up. “We’re not worried mum-” 

“We’re ecstatic!” another voice chimed in, brimming with enthusiasm. Evelyn’s gaze sharpened as she turned to see that the boy was an exact copy of his brother, their faces a perfect mirror of each other. Twins, she thought, marvelling at how their similar features and expressions created an almost magical symmetry. But then the mother’s words echoed in her mind—Hogwarts. The realization washed over her: they were unmistakably wizards.

Evelyn approached the mother with a hesitant demeanour, her heart pounding in her chest. “I’m sorry ma’am, are you going to… well um…” she stammered, her fingers fiddling nervously with the edges of her ticket.

The woman glanced down at the girl's ticket, a gentle smile spreading across her face. “Hogwarts? Why yes, these four boys are off to Hogwarts now!” she exclaimed, affectionately patting the tops of the boys' heads. The oldest amongst them looked to be around sixteen, tan with broad shoulders, his hair tousled in every possible direction. He flushed a bright crimson under the playful affection, grumbling quietly to himself as if he were a pet being handled too fondly in public.

Next to him stood a boy who couldn’t have been much older than Evelyn. He held himself tall and confident, extending his hand with a formal manner. Feeling a mix of awkwardness and bemusement, Evelyn accepted his handshake. The two younger boys were identical twins, animated and spirited. They poked each other playfully, their faces contorting into comical expressions that sent waves of laughter between them. Suddenly, they straightened up with exaggerated poise, noses in the air, and stiffly extended their hands, mimicking their older brother with a cheeky flair. Stifling a laugh, Evelyn shook hands with both of them.

Behind the mother lingered another young boy, slightly younger than Evelyn, whose gaze was fixed on his shoes, lost in thought. A tiny girl, perhaps eight years old, peeked out from behind their mother’s legs, her eyes wide and apprehensive, clearly shy in this bustling environment. Evelyn's gaze suddenly met the mother’s again, and despite her nervousness, a tentative smile broke through her uncertainty.

“I was hoping you might be able to help me figure out how…how to get onto the platform.” She gives a small laugh under her breath, praying the woman would help her. 

The woman’s warm smile widened in understanding. “Of course! Don’t worry, many first-timers, especially muggle-borns, struggle with this,” she reassured, gently placing a comforting hand on Evelyn's back. Behind them, a formal-looking boy shot a glare over his shoulder at the mischievous twins, who were stifling laughter at his obvious discomfort.

“Oh, I’m not a muggle-born, I'm a half-blood.” She corrects politely with a smile. “My mom, she’s a witch, she couldn't be here to tell me and must have forgotten to before she left, that’s why I don’t know. She’s working away as an Auror and is gone under ‘Official Business’.” She finishes with a flourish, then blushes realizing she’s likely overshared to this poor stranger, but the woman just smiles and says,

“Well, it’s a good thing you found us, otherwise you may have missed the train! Speaking of which, we should hurry before it leaves.” She looks to make sure all of her children are present before pointing at a brick wall in between platforms. “You see that wall? Now, all you have to do is to walk straight through it. Simple as that. If you're nervous you can do a bit of a run.” 

Evelyn looks at the woman checking her face to make sure she isn't lying. She believes it, of course, she’s entered Diagon Alley through a wall, but it opened up. Running right into a wall? Didn't seem as likely. “Does it hurt?” The girl asks, ignoring the boys making funny faces at their brother. 

The witch laughs politely. “Of course not dear! It’s like walking through air, here, Charlie you go first to show her how it works.” 

With a cheeky grin, the oldest boy, Charlie, pushed his trolley forward, casting a playful wink at Evelyn that sent a rush of warmth to her cheeks. In an instant, he dashed toward the wall, and with a smooth, almost magical motion, he disappeared through the bricks, leaving Evelyn in awe.

Next, the witch’s gaze fell on the stoic-looking boy beside her. “Now, Percy, it’s your turn.” Without hesitation, Percy mirrored his brother’s actions, sprinting towards the wall and vanishing through it without a trace, his expression serious and focused.

The woman then turned her attention to the mischievous twins, who were feigning innocence. “Fred, George—do leave your poor sister alone! Get on with it, just like your brothers did!” she urged, trying to suppress a grin.

"Now, you dear, remember, it's best to do a bit of a run." The woman gave Evelyn's back a gentle pat, reassuring her. With a mix of apprehension and determination, Evelyn approached the solid, unyielding brick wall, her trolley clattering softly in front of her. She paused for a moment, studying its rough surface, before closing her eyes tightly. After taking a deep, steadying breath, she gathered her courage and sprinted towards the wall, bracing herself for impact. 

But instead of the expected thud, she found herself in an entirely different world. As her eyelids fluttered open, she gasped at the sight before her. Gone were the modern trains and sterile platforms; she now stood in front of a magnificent, classic-looking steam engine. The air was alive with the lively chatter of wizards and witches bustling about, their robes billowing dramatically as they hurried to and fro, cats ran around the floor freely, and owls cooed in their cages.

Evelyn took it all in—the vibrant colours of the magical attire, the scent of something sweet wafting through the crowd, and the sounds of laughter mingling with heartfelt farewells. Families were embracing, some exchanging last-minute advice, while others loaded up their bags, accompanied by the soft crackle of magic as spells were cast to lighten the load. 

She looks and sees the woman hugging all four boys saying goodbye. Evelyn smiles as the twins mock her, pretending to weep and hug each other. 

As Evelyn steps onto the train, the aroma of polished wood and the faint scent of chocolate wafts through the air. She hesitates in the narrow corridor, her heart fluttering anxiously as she scans the compartments. Most are brimming with students, their laughter echoing off the walls, leaving her fretting about her chances of finding a seat. The thought of sitting unaccompanied in the hallway, feeling like an outsider, gnaws at her. 

She continues her search, her shoes tapping softly against the floor until she reaches the last compartment at the back of the train. Inside, she spots the pair of twins, huddled together and exchanging hushed whispers, their expressions a mix of excitement and mischief. One of them clutches a surprisingly bulging backpack.

Tentatively, Evelyn opens the compartment door, peeking her head inside. “Is it ok if I—” Her words catch in her throat as she hears an unexpected cacophony of... croaks? Many Chocolate Frogs burst forth from the backpack, hopping wildly in every direction. Evelyn gasps, her eyes wide as she instinctively steps back, nearly tripping over her own feet.

“Aw, George! You were supposed to keep them contained until we got to Hogwarts!” the twin without the bag exclaims, a mix of exasperation and amusement dancing in his eyes as he bends down, his fingers scrambling to scoop up the chocolate creatures before they escape entirely.

The other twin, wearing a playful grin, tries to corral wayward frogs, picking one up from beneath the bench. “Sorry, Fred! They were just too strong; they forced the flap open!” His voice is tinged with both guilt and laughter.

Evelyn’s gaze darts to one frog making a bold leap toward the door. With a quick reflex, she crouches down and snatches it up, shutting the compartment door behind her to prevent any more escapees. 

“Here, let me help,” she says, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she gathers the squirming frogs in her arms. One of the twins holds his backpack wide open, a makeshift container for the magical chocolate treats.

“I’m really sorry if this was my fault. I didn’t mean to cause such a mess,” she murmurs, lowering her voice to match their previous tone, her heart racing.

One twin shrugs nonchalantly, a mischievous grin breaking the momentary tension. “Nah, you had nothing to do with it.” Meanwhile, the other plops back down, clutching the zipper of the backpack tightly, determined to keep the chaos contained.

“Is it alright if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.” She asks, pointing at an empty seat beside one of the twins. 

They look at each other and nod. “Sure!” One says. The other moves over to make more room for the girl.

Grateful, Evelyn sits down beside him, putting her luggage under her seat. “What are the frogs for anyways?” She asks. 

The boys both laugh out loud, their laughs sync up almost perfectly. “Well we really want to make a bang of an entrance-”

“So we are going to let them loose in the Great Hall!” The boys go back to laughing at the thought. Evelyn giggles at the idea before thinking, her mother had been very vague about the details of Hogwarts because she wanted it to be more of a surprise, but she did say that the Great Hall is very big.

“If you really want to make an entrance, won’t you need more? I mean, the Great Hall is quite big, isn’t it? A hundred Chocolate Frogs really aren’t much when you think about the size difference,” she points out, her tone thoughtful as she attempts to contribute to their spirited scheme.

The twins exchange another glance, their surprise evident as they process her words. They look back at her with a newfound respect. “Well, how do you suppose we get more? We don’t know any spells that'd help us yet, do you?” they ask, their voices laced with a mixture of challenge and hope, as if testing the waters to see if Evelyn is truly worthy of joining their ranks.

“No…” she muses, biting her lip in contemplation. How could they possibly procure more Chocolate Frogs? Suddenly, a lightbulb flickers to life in her mind. “The trolley witch! She’d have Chocolate Frogs!” 

The boys perk up at her suggestion, but their enthusiasm quickly dims as reality sets in. 

“We can’t... we don’t have the money,” one of them says, his voice trailing off as he looks down, a shadow of disappointment crossing his features.

“Neither do I! I only have enough for a few, but I don’t plan on paying,” Evelyn replies, a mischievous smirk dancing on her lips, her eyes sparkling with daring. The twins exchange curious glances, their interest piqued. 

“We could sneak into the staff room after she leaves and take the stash of Chocolate Frogs. We’ll pay her back once we’ve got the money, so it technically wouldn’t be stealing—”

“It’d be borrowing!” one of the boys interrupts, realization dawning upon him as his eyes widen with excitement. They look at her, a newfound admiration glowing in their expressions.

“I like the way you think, kid. What’s your name, anyway?” The other boy asked, rising to his feet with a playful grin that lit up his freckled face.

“Evelyn. Evelyn Lovatt,” she replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And yours?”

With a theatrical flourish, the boy standing tall before her bowed deeply at the waist. “Fred Weasley, at your service!” he declared, his voice rich with mock grandeur.

The other boy—his lap full with the wriggling bag—mimicked tipping a non-existent hat, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “George Weasley, a pleasure to meet you,” he added, his tone merry and inviting.

Evelyn couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up like a stream as she soaked in the absurdity of the moment. “The pleasure’s all mine,” she responded, rising to her feet and executing a dramatic curtsy that sent them all into fits of giggles.

“So, what's the game plan?” Fred asked confidently, placing his hands on his hips while casting a keen glance between George and Evelyn as if he were a general mapping out a strategy.

Evelyn shrugged, her brown eyes glinting with a mix of determination and uncertainty. “I think it’s pretty simple: we wait until we know she’s out, then sneak behind her to get into the pantry. One of us will likely need to stay with the bag to keep it shut so the frogs don’t escape again.” Her voice was steady, though she still was uncertain it would be foolproof.

“Good plan,” Fred replied, nodding with an air of authority. “Well, George and I have more experience with this kind of thing, so you can stay with the bag.” He took charge of the situation, a confident grin playing on his lips.

Evelyn huffed in frustration, crossing her arms defiantly. How would he know her level of experience? True, she wasn’t a seasoned trickster like them and he was completely right, but still. “Fine, I’ll stay with the bag,” she acquiesced, her voice laced with reluctant acceptance.

George handed her the backpack with a careful touch, ensuring the zipper was securely closed before releasing it into her hands. The restless frogs inside stirred, their frantic movements creating a tickling sensation against her lap. Evelyn had to bite her lip to suppress a laugh.

“Fred and I will try to hurry, but if anyone asks about our whereabouts, cover for us,” George said with a playful seriousness, as he and Fred made their way out of the compartment. They both exchanged a conspiratorial wink, their eyes sparkling with mischief. “We’ll be back soon,” they chimed in unison, their voices filled with a sense of adventure.

So there Evelyn sat in the train compartment, ecstatic that she had actually found friends and wouldn't be alone for the ride. The Chocolate Frogs squirmed in the bag, trying to find a way out, holding the zipper shut was proving to be trickier than she had predicted. She looked out the window, the train was hugging the side of a forest, the trees thick and tall. She smiled, hoping Hogwarts was even close to as wonderful as the sight. 

Just then, a gentle knock broke her reverie. The trolley witch peeked into the compartment, her cart creaking softly behind her. “Anything from the trolley, dear?” she inquired, her voice warm and inviting. Her eyes scanned the compartment, taking in the cozy, yet slightly cluttered space. “Are you sitting by yourself?”

Feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach, Evelyn nodded, her voice barely escaping her lips. “Yup. This is my first year, and I don’t have any friends yet.” It was her first year, and not having friends on the train was reasonable enough, yet the excuse still felt half-done.

The trolley witch raised an eyebrow, her gaze falling on the plethora of suitcases lining the floor and crammed into the overhead racks. “My, is this all your luggage? Why do you have so much?” she asked, her curiosity evident.

In reality, Evelyn only had a large suitcase and backpack, a reasonable amount, the rest belonged to the twins, yet she still nodded. “Yes, see, I couldn't decide which clothes to bring and leave, so I brought my entire wardrobe.” And to think she thought her first excuse was bad. She started to sweat nervously, hoping the trolly witch would fall for it. She had just made friends, and she didn't want to risk them getting caught and blaming her.

The trolley witch raised an eyebrow, a bemused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, would—um… would you like anything from the trolley?” she asked, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Evelyn seized the moment, her face lighting up. “Three Chocolate Frogs, please!” she replied eagerly, her excitement momentarily masking her nerves.

Moments later, the boys returned, their faces alight with mischief and triumph. Their arms strained under the weight of overflowing purple containers adorned with shiny gold lettering, each one housing a Chocolate Frog. It looked as though they had raided the entire supply, their pockets bulging with the treats, there had to be hundreds of them.

One of the boys, his cheeks flushed with excitement and a cheeky grin plastered across his face, announced proudly, “We did it!” They collapsed onto the compartment floor at Evelyn’s feet, finally freeing their arms and pockets from the burden of the chocolaty treasures. Evelyn passed them the three she had bought. “Now we just have to carefully open them and put them in the bag before they jump,” he said, eyes wide with exhilaration as he reached for the first container.

One of the twins, George, held the bulging bag. His twin brother, Fred, was an eager participant, deftly opening the shiny wrapper of a Chocolate Frog. With quick fingers, he plucked the frog from its packaging and swiftly stuffed it into the bag, the chocolate barely having a moment to breathe before George hurriedly sealed the opening shut. The collectible card that accompanied the treat was gingerly set aside for later.

Before long, Evelyn, noticing their pattern, couldn't resist the fun. She got down on the floor joining them, her laughter ringing like music in the air as they engaged in the joyful ritual of unwrapping the treats. The trio became a whirlwind of chatter and giggles, their shared enthusiasm making the moment all the more special as colourful wrappers and cards scattered around them, creating a delightful mess.

Once their task was completed, the group settled back into their seats, a chorus of laughter bubbling up as they admired George, who was struggling to keep the now bulging backpack with stretched seams, securely fastened. The bag, stuffed to the brim with an array of magical treats, seemed ready to burst open at any moment. Evelyn took off one of her laces to her shoe to tie the zipper shut.

“Hey, we’ve still got quite a while until we reach Hogwarts,” Fred suggested, a mischievous glint in his eye. “How about a game of Exploding Snap?” 

Evelyn’s smile widened at the idea, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she eagerly nodded in agreement.

The trio sprawled comfortably across their compartment, laughter echoing off the walls as they engaged in a spirited game of Exploding Snap. The colourful cards flew through the air with delightful explosions, each burst accompanied by their playful banter and cheeky jokes. Hours melted away, the sound of their merriment filling the train carriage, until the door slid open, revealing Percy, one of the twins' older brothers.

“Oh, there you two are!” Percy exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you. We’re almost at Hogwarts, I suggest you get your school robes on.” He glanced around, taking in the chaotic scene—the floor littered with crumpled wrappers and scattered cards—and shook his head in disappointment. With a resigned sigh, he turned and exited the compartment.

Evelyn reluctantly stood up and dusted off her pants, glancing around at the disarray. “I guess he’s right,” she said, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and practicality. “We should get our robes on, and tidy up the capartment.”

The boys exchanged glances, their playful spirits now tempered by Percy’s cold-toned reminder. With a collective sigh, they began gathering the colourful cards, carefully sliding them back into their suitcases. They pulled their school robes from the overhead rack while Evelyn did the same. A part of her was sad the games had to end, but she was also eager for Hogwarts, her mother was light on details, but there was always a sparkle in her eye when she talked about Hogwarts.

After they were all changed into their long black robes they sat in the compartment, discussing what it would be like at Hogwarts, the gentle hum of the wheels on the tracks creating a soothing atmosphere.

“Imagine the possibilities! The Chocolate Frogs are only the start of brilliant pranks we will come up with.” Fred says, a glint of mischief in his eye.

“Yeah! I bet the castle is so big we won’t even have time to explore all of it in the seven years we will be there!” George exclaims. “And I bet all three of us are going to have some crazy adventures!”

Evelyn smiled, at first she was feeling sort of like a third wheel, worried this friendship only existed on the train, but it sounded like they wanted this to be a permanent thing. 

"We've been waiting for this our whole lives practically, what with three older brothers and parents having attended Hogwarts already." Fred describes, a into of longing in his voice.

Intrigued, Evelyn looks at him. "How many siblings do you have?"

"Six, all boys except for Ginny, she's the youngest." George pipes up.

Suddenly another familiar red-headed face barges into the compartnment excitedly, Charlie.

Evelyn's cheeks heated up ever so slightly, remembering the wink he gave her.

“We’re here! We’re at Hogwarts!”

[thisisthiago]

WeHeartIt is dead.

It died in 2023, during a sunny June, though the process started taking place way before that date. It’s unclear, though, the reason why it started to happen. And, since I’m not a journalist, I might focus on why it meant so much to me for so long.

WeHeartIt, famous for embracing thousands of people around the idea of creating personal galleries and sharing them with friends, was born in 2008 from a Brazilian developer. He came up with the idea of creating a platform where people could save, share and, most importantly, heart images.

And didn't that work out? At its peak, the social network had 25 million monthly users and partnered with brands such as Teen Vogue to promote content and increase that reach. Of course, there was always Pinterest, but this wasn’t it. WeHeartIt was a hot mess of posting and hearting and expressing ourselves through the images we saved or the postcards we sent or even the collections we built. Of course, you could open Pinterest and organize your ideas, wishes, and... crochet templates, I guess? But at WeHeartIt, what looked like a mess would then become a gallery with layers of meanings and feelings, resembling the rings of trees. Our profiles, as rings of trees can tell us about a harsh winter or a particularly hot summer, would have layers composed of travel dreams, romantic ideas, or heartbreaking moments. It was safe and, as a 2018 article from Women’s Forum would point out, it was a mood booster.

Can you imagine such a lovely mess? "Dancing On My Own" was at the top of the parades (at least for hipsters worldwide), Tumblr was the next most favorite network, and Facebook wasn’t as cringe as it is now. In the middle of all that, WeHeartIt was thriving. Saving us from the boredom and helping us all to create a gallery where we could go back to see (and feel) all that was there to remember.

But then, things started to go somewhere out of the road, and we learned that good and new features don’t necessarily mean improvement. The app didn't have to try and be anything else. Of course, a design refreshment is always welcome, but some of the updates were simply needless or had no sense at all. All of that led to what we encounter today when we go into the platform website.

I won’t refer to all of the annoying-but-still-not-changing-the-core-of-the-app updates and features. I’m talking about ads, postcards, articles and yes, podcasts. Though all of these were meaningless and even annoying, they never interfered in my possibility of using the core functions of the app: managing my profile, visiting other people’s profiles, and hearting images.

Then, all of a sudden, WeHeartIt starts rolling out a message saying that the app will now focus on other features and so, they would do part with profiles and hearting. Yes, you read that correctly. The owners of the app decided that the main functions of the website should no longer be available, in order to redirect the main focus of the app to photo editing.

As I said in a rather harsh review of the latest version of the app in Apple’s App Store:

The so-called "photo editing" capabilities are laughable, barely a patch on dedicated apps in that domain. It's utterly disheartening that even a relic like the 1967 app surpasses WeHeartIt as a creative tool at this point. There appears to be an overwhelming lack of satisfaction with this so-called "upgrade."

Though scattered around the web, many of the platform users have shown their discomfort with the current state of the app. A quick search on Twitter, Reddit, App Store Reviews, and even Tumblr shows us. Even though some users still try to make some of the old features of the service work, it’s only a matter of time until the database is updated and we no longer have access to any image at all.

It’s sad that WeHeartIt is dying. The idea was great, and the execution worked for a while, but now it just looks as if the owners of the platform are looking for an excuse to shut it down permanently. We might as well just end up with a page like the former ffffound.

[tossawary]

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have. Tagged by @otakuchan449.

I did all of my fics, which are unsurprisingly all SVSSS, because I was curious as to the patterns. I usually like to name the POV character and illustrate their style of narration in the first paragraph, which is generally humorous, so people know quickly whether or not they're going to vibe with my style. I also like starting in the middle of a situation / inciting incident if possible, so we can hit the ground walking briskly if not running, and get to the good stuff.

23. Shang Houhua - someday unfortunately to be known as Shang Qinghua, once unfortunately known in another life as Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky - came back to himself abruptly. (if words could make wishes - WIP MBJ Time Travel AU from SQH POV)

22. If the System was to be trusted, which it generally was when it came to making Shang Qinghua’s life worse for no good reason, then today was the day! (Stepping Up - 90k Canon Divergence AU, An Ding Disciple LBH)

21. Shen Yuan was conscious when he was reborn, though he didn’t know what was happening at the time, because all he knew at first was pain and golden dust. (Sit With Your Soul - 61k SQQ & SY Daemon Fusion AU)

20. Shang Houhua was thirteen going on, uh, fourteen plus a whole other life that sometimes felt more like a dream than something that had actually happened. (hey, share the weight a little - 70k Canon Divergence AU, YQY/SQH)

19. “Shifu? Forgive the interruption, but there’s a woman here to see you?” (love to the ones I've never met - 83k Fic Companion, Dimension Travel)

18. Jiahui just needs to check that her restaurant hasn’t burned down. (forgiveness for whose sake? - 48k Fic Companion and Epilogue)

17. Luo Binghe knows he isn’t supposed to be doing what he’s doing, but given that he has no other way of getting answers, he does it anyway. (you had me at hello - 5k Non-Canon Fic Extra)

16. “My king, don’t touch that-!” (A Child Once - 101k Canon Divergence AU, Deaged SQH)

15. The world was dark, woven from a black so infinite that it looked flat, and it was full of light. (Catch a Falling Star - 122k Bingliushen Stardust AU)

14. Shang Qinghua woke up having a bad day - forget going through puberty twice, because in this transmigrator’s opinion, having to experience a new round of “first day of school” bullshit year after year was worse - and speed-walking through the Cloud Recesses wasn’t helping him get through it any faster. (Nothing to Me, Nothing to You - 60k Moshang MDZS AU)

13. Mobei-Jun’s search for Shang Qinghua had taken him to many strange places. (dreams that had never come true - 14k MBJ Time Travel AU)

12. It would be a lie to say that Shang Qinghua wasn’t too sure what had happened. (every haircut I've ever had has been a bad haircut - 5k Moshang Hurt/Comfort)

11. The situation was bad. (Babe in the Woods - 19k Canon Divergence AU, MBJ has a baby brother)

10. Shen Qingqiu was perfectly capable of piloting his own ship, but that day, like many others, found Liu Qingge leaning against a column by the hangar entrance, waiting for Shen Qingqiu as he prepared to leave Qing Jing Peak Temple. (this point of pale light - 18k Liushen Star Wars AU)

9. Liu Mingyan was the model of a refined and accomplished cultivator. (but that's fine because I like a hot mess - 3k Mingling Getting Together)

8. Shen Qingqiu had made use of many excuses over the years to avoid the presence of the man who was now his own sect leader, some of which had even been good. (the ability to remain sober and gracious - 4k Canon Divergence AU, Qijiu Xuan Su sword reveal)

7. Shang Qinghua’s head hurt and his eyes were watering and he was beginning, just maybe, to think that creating an experimental stimulant because he missed the non-organic goodness of energy drinks with an unreasonable passion had been a bad idea. (anxiety and caffeine are having a cockfight in my brain - 2k Moshang Hurt/Comfort)

6. The library’s front door flew open so violently that it could be heard even at Shen Yuan’s desk nearer to the back of the main hall, which sat in front of the way to the computer rooms. (Absolutely Ineffable - 10k Good Omens Fusion AU)

5. Once there was a summer in which upon arriving home from university, Shen Yuan was immediately told that he was being sent away to the heart of the country to stay with his distant uncle, whether he liked it or not. (The Red Cabinet - 7k Narnia Fusion AU)

4. It took… Shang Qinghua… a while to figure out that demons actually had horns in this realized version of his sellout stallion web-novel. (Horns - 11k MBJ has sexy horns AU)

3. So, apparently, a portal burning with demonic energy had opened up over Qing Jing Peak and another Shang Qinghua had fallen out of it, and the wound in the sky had unfortunately closed again pretty much immediately. (ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real - 7k Non-Canon Fic Extra, SQH meets AU SQH)

2. So, Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky, the dearly despised and fervently favorited author of Proud Immortal Demon Way, died in a vaguely humiliating fashion… and then he transmigrated. (it must follow, as the night the day - 26k Moshang Role Reversal AU, Demon SQH and Cultivator MBJ)

1. Shang Qinghua has not been having a stellar transmigration experience. (pride is not the word I'm looking for - 400k Canon Divergence AU, LBH's Mother Lives)

This serves as a pretty good round-up of all my currently posted fics! There are far too many in my WIP folders to begin including everything in there.

I've been a little out of touch with reading fanfiction lately, so please, if you wish, take this post as an opportunity to participate in this game and tag me in it! I highly recommend taking a moment to revisit and admire your own fan works! Look at all that cool stuff you did! If you only have WIPs, then I don't mind if you use WIPs. Sometimes our pieces of writing are full, intensely detailed paintings that take years to complete and sometimes they're just rough sketches we do to warmup or have creative fun when we have the time, and sharing both is nice.

And if you don't have your own fan works to pull from, then I'd still love to see a list of opening lines from some of your favorite fics by other people. Any fandom you like! Give me those fic recs! Give me the opening lines of your favorite published novels if there's one you've been itching to gush about.

[kazuza-art]

Riddledore genderswap snippet 🙈

Alba is running around, trying to get her wild curls into some sort of order while applying red on her lips, dropping her shoes, almost tripping twice on the rug Tom told her to move out of the entryway a thousand times.

He waits for her patiently, a small smile on his face, giving her the items she’s searching for before she even asks for them while looking lazily over the kitchen, the food cooking itself nicely on the stove, his books (a two-bit novela she loves) in one hand, his wand in the other.

He’s used to the chaos that rises in her path by now. After three years of living there, in her realm, he almost came to enjoy it.

He’s used to it to the point that when his guardian is away, time seems to slow down somehow and it’s too quiet, too eerie in the cottage. As if the house itself was on hold, waiting for its owner to come back and breathe life into it again.

Tom loves order. A childhood spent in poverty, between the blitz and the constant fear of lacking food, of sickness, of the dreadful priest and doctors the Matrone kept calling on him had left him with very little tolerance for chaos and surprise.

With Alba it’s just different.

She’s lively, snarky, intense, crazy and everything in between. It makes living with her challenging and exciting. Her chaos never makes Tom’s life in Bumblebee’s difficult or tedious. She’s a mess, but he can see the order right through it and she never messes with his stuff. For someone so all over the place, she’s incredibly clean and neat where it counts and more than that, even if she plays the part of a pretty airhead for others, Tom knows better. There is always plenty of fresh food stocked everywhere in the house. Tom always find his clothes either replaced or fixed and he never spends a day with something he has outgrown, not even a pair of socks.

Even though, at the age of fifteen he doesn’t need a mother anymore (Alba is not really mother material anyway ) he still enjoys being taken care of.

In exchange (she says he doesn't have to a thousand times, but Tom knows nothing comes free in life, he knows) he cooks (Alba is a dreadful cook) and cleans and takes care of her in his own way. It’s nothing more than what he would do for himself really. He likes helping her with her study, her research, and everything she takes a shine to, he end up finding it fascinating too anyway.

“Where is that damn… Oh, I swear, calling me at this hour! Fawley has no shame the old goat!” she keeps ranting, finally managing to pin every curl out of her face in a tight bun she only does when she’s going to see someone she dislikes.

Tom shrugs but can’t help a little smirk. That is what he loves the most, her ranting about the Ministry.

How do I look?" she asked, finally turning away from the antic mirror to pick up the luggage Tom was handing her.

“There is something there,’ he gestures to her to come closer and she does, absent-mindedly, her incredible mind already a thousand miles away.

He gently runs his thumb on her cheeks, rubbing off an imaginary smear, and kisses her quickly on the lips. She moves away after a second, as if electrocuted.

“Tom! I told you a thousand times, you’re too old for this!”

There is not much force in the protest, and she merely tries to look mad at him when he grins like a well-fed cat, proud of his mischief.

“Have a safe trip,”

“I’ll ask Horace to come and check by…”

“I don’t need to…”

“I know I know. Humor me please, I won’t be able to sleep if I’m not sure you’re safe.”

“You won’t sleep anyway,” Tom retorts with a displeased frown. He doesn’t dislike his potion professor. That doesn’t mean he wants to have him snooping around their house without a good reason.

She ruffles his hair with a little laugh.

“You know me too well. I’ll be back in a week, two if I can't help it. After that, we’ll have the whole summer for us.”

This makes him smile. She tasked him a week ago to organize them a little vacation, leaving him free reign for where and what activities they will do once there. Tom had not be able to settle on something yet. There are so many places, so many things he wants to see with her. But more than that, he wants somewhere, something, that she, also, would experience for the first time alongside him. And for someone like Alba who is as well-traveled as she’s well-read, it’s a fit on its own.

That time away from her might be an inconvenience, but Tom was always good at making lemonade out of the rock life kept throwing at him after all.

He smiles and waves her goodbye, wishing absently he could get away with another kiss.

[slavicafire]

I apologize if this is not something I should ask you but do you have any advice for new users? I still don’t quite know how to work this site.

oh goodness. no need to apologise, of course, but I doubt I can give any meaningful advice here - especially given that I've never really been a user of any other social media site and so most things about tumblr seem very obvious to me, like asking a native speaker of a language for tips to learn it - but I've seen plenty of useful posts going around, many of which can be found under the new users tag.

still, some things that I haven't seen mentioned all that much that might be useful for following and/or interacting with a blog like mine:

while there are some blogs (especially sideblogs) with very specific and consistent content, most users will have things that are Their Thing... and then a lot of other stuff thrown in there as well. using me as an example: I have my sideblogs which function as sort of e-shrines, devotional spaces, and these will have very specific and uniform sort of content pertaining to their very theme. now, my main blog - so the one you've sent this ask to - is mostly Slavic Paganism and Folklore related, but of course, as you can see, there's just... everything else I like here as well. it often will lie somewhere close to that Slavic and Folk domain but sometimes will go in such different or opposite directions that it might be surprising for someone used to really uniform spaces.

many blogs will have specific personal tags which are used as labels to categorise posts on the blog, be able to get back to them, signal a very specific sort of content, or allow followers to blacklist it. for example, I have the tag #żmija gada which is a tag I use for my personal posts where I talk about things. I have tags like #folklore which allow me to have some order to my blog but will also show up for users searching tumblr for that content in general, and then I also have tags like, for example, #bad luck confessions, which is a tag related to a very specific ask thread I have with people interacting with my blog and that makes very little sense outside of my blog.

even if you follow someone and like 99% of their content, don't be afraid to blacklist the 1% you don't like. sometimes this balance will even shift in the other direction and that's also alright: I follow users I really like but block like 80% of their content because I don't care for it. blacklisting/blocking tags is encouraged and not seen as a bad thing at all.

building a dashboard you will enjoy - observing or interacting with - will take time. while you can, of course, follow 100 recommended Big Blogs or Specific Content Blogs right away, chances are that you will experience much more enjoyment once you organically start finding new blogs you might like. if you like the content of a given blog, don't be afraid to check the blogs that person reblogs from or the blogs they interact with - and follow those, or look through them to find other blogs. community building works a bit different on tumblr and it takes time to learn it organically. there is no rush, don't worry.

don't be afraid to unfollow if you realise you don't like the content. it's okay, and it's much better than seeing something that bothers you all the time - or, gods forbid, messaging the user to ask them to change what they post.

if you want to ask someone something, sending an ask is much better than a submission (if they have them open) - submissions have to be posted instead of answered and it's a whole mess. also, not everyone will want to interact through DMs - sometimes they're really broken, and are, after all, direct messages, and not everyone wants to just start talking to strangers as if they're friends already.

honestly, take it easy. it's just a silly website, you can't commit some sort of grave social blunder that will haunt you forever - just take your time, find content you like, and have some patience with how the technical part of the experience works.

[featherby]

Through the Sleepless Night (Toad x Reader)

Toad has buried himself in his work and needs someone to make him take care of himself.

Good thing you’re free.

Read on AO3

It had been weeks now, weeks spent hidden away in his workshop, tinkering away for Magneto. Day and night, all hours, trying to get the damned thing to work. But everything Toad tried, every part he replaced, every bolt he tightened—nothing.

He’d made steady progress at first—fix the obvious, the cracked, the missing. Get things into place, put them back together. But the tasks left were smaller, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out which one was making the whole thing fail. He’d gone over every inch of the damned thing, couldn’t tell you the last time he’d eaten, oiled every moving part, hadn’t slept in days, checked computer systems for bugs…

He wasn’t sure which was falling apart worse, the machine or himself. His muscles ached. His head swam whenever he stood, or sat, or looked at something for too long. He just needed to finish. If he could fix it, get it running again—

Just a little longer. It’s so close. I’ll be done soon…

He took a deep breath and picked up a wrench, praying he was right.

You pushed open the workshop door, the hinges groaning. The place was filthy—it usually was—and a cluttered mess—it usually wasn’t. Sure, everything was always covered in a layer of oil and grime, but Toad kept things organized, put away. Or at least he had before. Now tools were scattered over benches, tables, the ground. Screws, nuts, bolts, washers, wires, and a dozen other types of little metal things you couldn’t name littered the floor, sat in piles in the corners. Scrap metal and broken glass lay piled against the walls. Sure, there was a certain amount of chaos in any workshop, but this…

This had gotten out of hand.

Metal crashed on the other side of the chaos. Toad stood up, hand clutched to his head, eyes screwed shut. “Bloody… fuck!” Just what he needed, a damn concussion.

“Hey.”

His eyes shot open, struggling to focus. They tried to close again, heavy as cement, but he forced them open. He dropped his hand from his head, glancing at it to check for blood. None, thank god. “What’re you doing down here?”

You gave a curt laugh. “Good to see you too. Just checking on you. Making sure you hadn’t starved to death or something.”

“I’m fine.” He dropped a misshapen hunk of metal on a cart laden with them. “I just can’t figure out what the hell is wrong with this thing. I’ve replaced every damn part. Gonna turn into Theseus’ ship at this rate. I just don’t know—” He kicked the cart away, a few of the parts tumbling down and clattering against the floor. “I just don’t know.” He pulled the goggles from his eyes and rubbed at the red marks they left, smearing grease down his cheek.

“You need to take a break.”

You always spoke to him so softly, he thought. He could curl up in that voice and go to sleep instantly. Warm, sweet—

He shook his head, thoughts of comfort and sleep vanishing. “No, no. I need to finish this. It should’ve been done days ago. I can’t just—”

You reached out and took his fidgety hand. “Listen. It doesn’t need to get done right now.”

He shook his head. “It does. I need to—to…” He searched for the words, but his mind was blank. All he could feel was the ache in his back and your warm hand on his.

“You’re one person. And you’ve been working as hard as you can. Too hard, if you ask me.”

Toad opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off.

“If Magneto wants it done so damn bad, he can fix it himself.”

“Ha.” Toad’s eyes were unfocused, distant. He swayed slightly where he stood. “He might have an easier time of it than me.”

“Mm-hmm. You can’t figure out how to fix it because you're exhausted.”

He half-shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You're not. When was the last time you ate?”

Toad thought, picking back through his memories for food. He couldn’t find a single bite, not for the last day or two anyway. “I don’t know.”

You nodded. “I had a feeling that might be the case. I ordered takeout. Want some?”

Yes. Yes, desperately. At the mention of food, his stomach reeled, sharp pains running through him, urging him on toward whatever you had for him. But another part of him dragged him back—the work, the machine, the endless problems. He waited, watching the two halves of his mind fight—eat or work, eat or work.

“Yes, please.” He glanced again at the mess of wires and metal behind him. He was sick of looking at it, hated every inch of it. “I’ll have some food.”

You grinned and grabbed his arm. “Thank god. I was bracing for having to carry you out of here kicking and screaming.”

He shook his head. “I can eat in here. Better if I do, you know? So I can get back to it when I'm done.”

You tugged his arm and he took a few stumbling steps with you toward the door. “Absolutely not. You are taking a break. Whether you like it or not.”

There was no fight left in him, outside of a few stray thoughts. Stay, work, this needs to—They didn’t have much sway, not compared to the combined forces of hunger, fatigue, and you. He put what little energy he had left into staying upright as you led him out of the workshop and through the base to your room.

The bag of takeout containers sat on a rickety little table, a mismatched folding chair on either side. As soon as the door opened, he could smell it. His stomach growled. This would be better than any five-star restaurant.

“Make yourself at home.” You smiled and let go of his arm.

He felt himself sway, stumbled the few steps to his chair and sank down. The grease on his clothes felt like it was burning. The dark smudges on his hands stood out, starker and starker the longer he looked at it. All the filth he was covered in—grease, sweat, general dirt—he shouldn’t be here, he should be in the workshop. He should get up and leave before—

You sat one of the boxes in front of him, and again, his stomach rolled.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You smiled and sat down.

Fuck, was he hungry.

Toad tried to keep from seeming too desperate. He forced himself to open the box slowly, carefully, not like a rabid coyote that wanted to shove its face into whatever you had given it and scarf it all down in three bites maximum.

He grabbed his fork and shoved a bite into his mouth. Perfect. Divine. The best food he had ever eaten. He relaxed, shoulders going slack, sinking back into his chair as he lost himself in his meal.

You watched him, chewing your own food as you did. He was slumped over, staring down at nothing with unfocused, half-shut eyes. When he lifted the fork to his mouth, his hand shook, threatening to dump the bite back into the box. He was grimy, from his hair to his hands to his clothes, all streaked and smudged with black.

There was no way in hell you were letting him go back to that workshop tonight.

When you finished your food, you shut the box, stuffing it and your napkins into the bag. “Feel any better?”

He shoved the last bite into his mouth and nodded, glazed-over eyes lifting to meet yours.

“Good. I worry about you.” You took the empty box and stacked it with yours.

The corner of his mouth raised a tiny bit, an attempt at a smile. “I’m alright.”

You shook your head. “You're not.”

The first thing to go was always taking care of himself. No food, no water, no sleep. It vanished so quick, so easily.

“I know. ‘S just…” He sighed, weary. “This needs to get done. If I don’t, Magneto will…” He couldn’t stand to finish the thought. Magneto had already screamed, thrown things at him, threatened him with being replaced, cast aside, abandoned. He dropped his head.

You crouched in front of him, taking his hands in yours. “Listen. He can scream and shout all he wants. But you deserve a break. And if he has a problem with that, he’s gonna have to go through me. Got it?”

Toad swallowed the lump in his throat. “Got it.”

You squeezed his hand. “Good.” You stood, pulling his hands and gaze up with you. “I bet you’ll feel better after a shower.”

He frowned and slouched back down. “Yeah. S’pose.” He glared at the bathroom door from the corner of his eye.

“Would you like the idea any better if I joined you?”

He perked up, sitting a little straighter. “Might make it tolerable.”

“I thought it might.” You pulled him up from the chair and led him to the bathroom.

You flipped the lights on and shut the door, then turned to rest your hands on Toad’s shoulders, kneading your fingertips into his muscles. He sighed and slouched into the touch, eyes drifting shut. You smiled—it was so nice to see him like this, calm, at ease.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you whispered, hands drifting down to his shirt’s zipper. You tugged it open, then ran your hands back up his chest, pushing the fabric aside.

“Mmm.” Toad reached out and rested his hands on your hips, tugging you in closer. His shirt fell to the floor. His eyes drifted shut as he leaned in, lips connecting with yours, soft and slow, melting into you with each movement.

You tangled your hand in his hair, the other staying put on his chest, tracing up and down, up and down.

Toad’s mind stilled; his body relaxed. You were so warm against him, warm and soft. He wanted to fall asleep then and there, tangled up in you, nothing to do, no deadlines, no problems, just warmth and comfort. No shouting. Nothing thrown at him. No threats.

Nothing but you.

You pulled back, and his shoulders sagged. “Sorry,” you whispered, giving him one last peck on the cheek. “But I promise there’s more where that came from after we get cleaned up.”

“Yeah, sure,” he grumbled, looking down to undo his belt.

“Oh, don’t be like that.” You smiled. “You know I didn’t want to stop, but one of us has to be the responsible one.”

“Responsible one, no fun one.” He made a face, then smiled. ““I think I was about to fall asleep standing up. Ugh.” He shook his head. “I'm just so damn tired.” He put his hands on the counter and hung his head.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed the back of his shoulder. “We’ll make this quick then, alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”

You let go of him and tugged your own top off, tossing it to the floor. His eyes followed you in the mirror, wandering over you as you undressed, over your neck, your chest, your legs.

You looked at him the same way, eyes tracing over every inch of him you got to see.

He left the rest of his clothes on the ground and followed you into the shower. You turned the water on, a brief burst of cold followed by soothing warmth.

He flinched back from the water, but you held out your hand and coaxed him over. “Come on. It’s warm. And the sooner we get cleaned up, the sooner you can go to sleep.”

He nodded and shuffled forward. “I know.” He sighed. “I just don’t like ‘em.”

“I know.” You squeezed his hand. “We’ll make it quick.”

You held his hands under the water, washed away the grime from each finger, each palm, your hands tracing over his.

I really am gonna fall asleep standing up… Toad scrunched his eyes shut, then forced them open again, forced them to focus on you, your hands, your face, anything. Just stay awake.

A mist of water splashed onto his face, and he grimaced, recoiled from it however warm and necessary it was. He just couldn’t stand showers. Maybe it was how cold the water always was back at the orphanage. Maybe it was how soap had always left his skin itchy, sore, and raw. Maybe it was how vulnerable they left him feeling, naked, alone, unable to see or hear who was sneaking up on him.

He’d rather be anywhere but here.  Even though the water was warm now, he’d found soap that didn’t burn, there were two locked doors between him and anyone who might attack—not to mention someone on his team to help him if they did—he just couldn’t enjoy it. Too much baggage.

But it was better now than it had been before, no question.

“Lean your head back.” You ran your fingers through his hair, the water washing over. Your fingers worked through his hair, suds carrying away the grease and oil, nails scratching at his scalp. He leaned into your hands, eyes closed.

You leaned his head back and rinsed the suds from his hair, then got a small pump of soap to wash his face, gentle hands running along his cheeks and jaw, erasing the smudges. His hand reached out to rest on your hip as you worked, and you couldn’t help but smile.

He let you scrub the grease from him, helped to wash away the streaks of oil and dirt from his arms, his legs, his back. You tried to be quick and thorough and gentle at once.

“All done,” you said once you were satisfied that all the grime was gone. The last of the suds fell to the tile below, and you turned the tap off. “Was it as awful as you expected?” You grinned, reaching out to grab a towel.

“Not as awful as they are when you're not in them, I’ll say that.” He reached around you and grabbed a towel for himself.

You wiped the water from your arms and legs, then wrapped the towel around you, tucking it into place.

You watched Toad for a moment. Slow, lethargic, he wiped his towel up and down over the same small patch of skin. His eyelids lowered, then fluttered open again, and he shook his head. You reached out and took the towel from him. “Here, let me.”

He didn’t respond, but his hands went slack and let you take the towel from him. You rubbed the towel on his hair, leaving it ruffled and wild. You ran it over his shoulders and chest and around his back, then wrapped it around his waist.

“Almost done.” You ran your fingers through his hair, smoothing it down.

He gave one small, curt nod.

You pulled back the curtain and stepped out into your room, looking through the drawers for your pajamas and his. You carried them back to the bathroom and sat the piles on the counter.

You finished drying off, and pulled your pajamas on.

Toad stood by the counter, towel draped around his hips, staring at the clothes you’d gotten him. Slowly, he turned his eyes to the discarded work clothes on the floor.

“I should really go—”

“No.”

He blinked. “What?”

“No. You shouldn’t. Unless the next words out of your mouth were going to be ‘to bed’, you are wrong.” You crossed your arms. “You said it yourself—you are falling asleep standing up.”

“But I'm so damn close.”

“To what? Dying of exhaustion?” You put your hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “No. You need rest. You can barely stand, let alone weld or use power tools.” You sighed. “Look, normally I wouldn’t do this. But I am not going to let you leave this room. It’s not a suggestion. I’m not asking. You are going to sleep.”

The circles under his eyes seemed to darken.

You took his hand and squeezed it. “Morty, listen to me. You need this. You deserve this. Come to bed.”

He stood still a moment more, the wheels in his mind turning like the wheels on that machine refused to. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”

You squeezed his hand. “Good boy.”

He pulled his clothes on and let you guide him to the bed. You laid down and watched him crawl in after, finding his usual spot nestled against you, head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist.

“Just for an hour or two,” he mumbled against you. “I really need to get this finished. I swear, I'm just being dramatic. I’m really not that ti—.” He cut himself off with a yawn.

“Mm-hmm.” You brushed the hair out of his eyes. “I set an alarm for the morning—don’t worry. But I expect you to be here when it goes off. Got it?”

He huffed, burying his face in your neck. “Got it.”

“Good.” You kissed him on the forehead and closed your eyes. “Good night.”

“Night, love.”

[tsukuyomii45]

I have many ask in my mind I want to share but I don’t want to throw it all over you lol.

If Kishimoto grant you a permission to fix Naruto series. What would you do to fix it?

I have several of them.

There are lack of women in Akatsuki. Add more women in Akatsuki so Konan won’t feel lonely as sole female. I thought it will be awesome to see women in Akatsuki. We need more badass women like Konan in Naruto series.

Second, definitely give Tenten screen time lol #TentenNeedSomeLove

Third, Obito his hatred to Shinobi system world and searched for a way to bring “peace” to everyone. Rin’s death is his big final spark. I want give him more background story where he saw all horrible thing when he going solo mission or accompany with Minato before his final mission with team. Also Include Rin’s death completely broke him and despaired give him reason to start this rather than just Rin’s death.

So yeah, that all. What about you?

I don't mind. :)

--

In regards to the Akatsuki; I would keep it as it is... each character was absolutely iconic, the Akatsuki as an organization itself is iconic but what I would change about the Akatsuki is making them more feared than they look. Add some more darkness and menacing aspects to the characters, I guess?

Tenten was butchered. I think she had more potential than fucking weapons. An artist (Steoh) drew AUs of her having an affinity for space-time ninjutsu, so that could be added to her character.

Neji doesn't fucking die for NaruHina to happen.

Add more background story of Obito dealing with his clan since he was considered to be a black sheep (we get it, he's technically "dark naruto" but he had his own uniqueness too, yet I want to see him function more within the Uchiha clan). We get to know more about who his parents were, how they died and how it affected Obito.

Explore more of Obito and Rin's friendship. Yes, Rin was always there for him, wiping up the mess he makes - but what brought them together since childhood and what makes Rin believe in him so much. I guess I would add more intimate friendship moments between them.

We get to see Rin's reaction after his death because why the fuck do we only see Kakashi going through trauma and not the person that cared about him the most?

--

Perhaps many more, but that's all for now. :)

[a41-i-finally-caved]

Kildare, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t a large island. They search from the half-sunken shacks weather beaten into the south side all the way to the fenced off yards of the north before Pope remembers that one kid isn’t much in the grand scheme of things. Kildare seems very large, after that.

The whole mess of it starts like this.

It’s hellish hot and Pope’s slouched across the beat-up old sofa in the Chateau dicking around on his phone. A spring digs into his kidney and sweat seeps itching down his back, but John B almost took JJ’s head off when the guy suggested hitting the beach, so here they are. Slouch, spring, sweat.

Silence.

Ignore JJ on the floor, rubbing his face against the carpet. John B certainly is, and Pope’s long since learned that when it comes to JJ acting…like JJ—adhering to a more neutral version of whatever tact John B’s taken up is the pragmatic bet.

Pope is nothing if not pragmatic.

But when he shifts on the dust-dry cushions going threadbare and scratchy, and the couch attempts to give him a partial nephrectomy, Pope has had enough. This sucks ass.

Slouchy, springy, sweaty ass.

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t go surfing,” Pope mutters, and JJ laughs. He’s not exactly sober, but then again, this is JJ—he rarely is.

“'Cause Johnny’s a bit of a pussy,” he says with a smile as sharp as the couch spring.

Draped over the armchair in the corner, John B’s fingers go white around the edges of his book. It’s one of his dad’s thick tomes, and it must seem dreadfully boring to him, 'cause John B hadn’t flipped a page in over fifteen minutes.

Pope would probably like it.

Now, John B snaps it shut. “You’re an idiot who’s gonna get his dumbass killed before he can legally drink.”

“Nah,” JJ sounds supremely unconcerned, but even Pope knows JJ only pulls out ‘Johnny’ when he’s beyond pissed. “I’d probably fuck that up, too.”

Jesus. Pope blinks hollowly at the ceiling as John B flips back open the book he’s been pretending to read for almost forty minutes now. He’s not gentle about it; Pope catches the sound of a page tearing. God, these two are impossible.

The entire morning Pope watched this fight wash through the Chateau like a storm surge, with no idea of what caused the rise in sea level. Rolling waves of bickering and petty silence hiding something much deeper and dangerous. A rip-quick undercurrent of emotion swirling too fast and intense for Pope to identify.

That undercurrent floods the room as John B bites out, “No. Because that involves you giving a shit long enough to do something about it.”

(Pope’s not stupid enough to try to keep the peace. That only sometimes works for Kie, and they all have a soft spot for her, which is probably why she keeps trying. That, or the fact she’s got more balls than the three of them combined.)

“Whatever.” JJ rolls over onto his back with a wince. Then he sighs, goes completely limp on the braided rug. “It’s too hot to fight you, boo.”

 John B lowers his book and raises an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“'s not fair to Pope, right? C’mon man, accept the tree branch or whatever.”

“Olive branch,” Pope corrects.

“Nah, olives are some Kook shit.” JJ tilts his head back to watch John B upside down, blond hair mashing messy into the floor. “I gotta tree branch, and that’s my final offer.”

“Fine.” John B picks back up his book. “And stop twisting around so much.” JJ rolls his eyes, mumbles a few choice curses and a sarcastic ‘yes, mom’, but eventually subsides. After three hours of subtle and savage war comes an easy peace.

Slouch, spring, sweat. All unnecessary. Pope wants to kill them. “You guys are actually impossible. You realize that?”

(Read the rest on Ao3... after reading the Tags/Archive Warnings, please and thank you lol)

[wujiunantai]

Panic

SHIP: Scarebat/Batcrow (Batman x Scarecrow) (BTAS ver)

CHARACTERS: Batman, Scarecrow, Jim Gordon, The Joker, Dr. Bartholomew (mentioned)

WARNINGS: Panic attacks, fear, vomit

It had been one of those nights, a stressful one. Many crime gangs were popping up left and right, leaving Batman to track them down and clean up their mess. He had just finished rounding up the newest gang, when he spotted the bat signal from the corner of his eye. Annoyed, he left the members tied and left without a sound. He appeared at the source of light, facing Commissioner Gordon.

“Ah, you’re here, good..” He sighed, as if a bit annoyed himself. “Dr. Bartholomew gave us a call, Scarecrow’s up to his old tricks again.”

“An escape..” Batman hummed to himself.

“Yup, but he’s not the only one. Joker escaped too.” Gordon explained, “Only the two of them. An unlikely pair, to say the least.”

Batman could only think, nodding as he fled off in his search. What could the two possibly share in common? They don’t get along much, they don’t share much in common, the only thing he could think of is their want of chemicals. Well, he could search there.

The first place he checked was Crane Chemicals, and sure enough..

“So, do you have any chemicals for my dear, beautiful flower here?” The Joker’s voice rang out, you could visually see him grinning.

“Perhaps, I have acid if that could work.” Scarecrow’s voice replied, sounding rather annoyed. “What exactly are you planning?”

“Why, the biggest April Fools Days that Gotham has ever seen!”

“..Lovely, well there should be a beaker full of acid somewhere in this dump. It’s been months since I’ve had the opportunity to clean and organize this place..” Crane hummed. Batman stalked through one of the windows, watching the two rogues search for the item.

“Well Jon, I gotta say, I never expected you to help me here.” Joker grinned, followed by an amused laugh.

Jonathan, in turn, frowned. “We both got we wanted. I wanted to escape, so I gave you my chemicals for your next plan. Simple.”

Batman narrowed his eyes, deciding that now would be the best time to strike. He crashed through the window, startling the two men. Joker looked around for an escape route, but spotted a large glass container of the substance he was looking for. Acid. There was his prize. Scarecrow immediately drew out his dart-gun, aiming it directly at the Batman. He was about to pull the trigger, when Joker snatched the gun from his hand.

“Now, now, there’s no need to fight. After all, Crane, I got what I wanted.” Joker let out a sickening giggle.

“What on Earth are you doing, you idiot! Shoot him!” Scarecrow roared, pointing fiercely at the vigilante.

Joker shrugged, and aimed the gun at Batman. Before firing, he swerved his hand to the side and fired. A dart flew through the air and landed in Crane’s side, causing him to let out a loud cry. “Whoops!”

Batman’s eyes widened, immediately running forward. Joker dropped the gun and ran, grabbing the glass of acid on his way out. “Thanks for the distraction, Crane! Ahahaha!”

The hero turned to the other rogue, who had quickly sunk to the floor. Jon grasped his side in pain, breathing heavily as panic washed over him like a sudden wave. Batman watched for a second, before his body moved on its own. He approached the villain, sitting on his knees as he watched over him. Faint whimpers loomed in the air before being replaced with violent screams of terror. Crane thrashed and yelled, fear consuming his eyes as he clawed at the invisible force of horror.

“No..! No please! Stay away, stay away!” His cries of mercy rang through the area, and all Batman could do was watch. He watched the fear bubble and boil in Crane’s chest, watching him suddenly squeeze his stomach and turn over. Before he knew it, Scarecrow would gag and spew onto the ground. He was in so much distress, his mind swirled and his stomach ached. Batman reached forward and took Jonathan by his sides, hoisting him over his shoulder. He squirmed and whimpered as he tried to get away, but the vigilante’s hard grip wouldn’t let him go anywhere. He opened up the keyboard on his utility belt, calling the Batmobile to park outside the building. For now, Joker would have to wait. He opened the car and climbed inside, setting the villain in the passenger’s seat.

“Calm yourself, Crane.” Batman spoke, helping the other ease into the seat. Crane was still shaken up, visibly trembling as he sat down. “I must have something in here that can help you..”

Batman looked through the car, he always kept an array of medicine and first aid in case of emergencies. His eyes spotted a small container, an agent used to help calm anxiety. He knew full well it wasn’t going to get rid of the fear toxin, but it would at least slow down the effects. The hero took an empty syringe from a small box, and filled it with the liquid. Crane was still mumbling to himself as Batman took his arm without warning, causing the other to yelp in surprise. He rolled up his sleeve, and stuck the syringe in without hesitation. After injecting the calming agent, he buckled himself and Crane, and drove off.

After a few minutes of driving, Scarecrow seemed to be a bit more calm. He was no longer as frightened. The Batmobile parked next to Arkham’s gates, and Batman stepped out. He took Jonathan by his waist, now carrying him on his shoulder.

“Can you sense reality, Crane?” Batman asked.

“..yes..” Crane mumbled.

“Good.” Batman set him down once they reached the building, doctors already coming out. They took Crane into their own hands, thanking the vigilante for catching him.

Jonathan turned to the hero, “He’s hitting the April Fools Day carnival tomorrow.”

Batman nodded, watching the other being brought back inside, before turning away to find the Joker.