#that’s me theory anyway since now that I’m in a better mood I feel better

[skyward-floored]

have a big hug and some hot chocolate!

you’re amazing :)

Thank you so much anon :D

[chakkll]

Worries, Worries

Mike Schmidt x gender neutral!reader

Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy’s

Synopsis: Mike’s been doing better. He hasn’t dreamed of his brother since Freddy’s and hasn’t needed sleeping pills for almost a week now. Well, at least he thought he was doing better.

Warnings: Post movie, established relationship, fluff

Word count: 1k

*please forgive how short and probably rusty it is, it’s been a minute since i’ve posted!

Everything’s been good. One might say almost too good.

Mike has been sleeping well, been happier, and been getting along with his sister better, all because of what happened at Freddy’s.

But all this goodness is making Mike nervous. You can feel it.

“You sure you don’t want me to tuck you in?” You call after Abby as she shuffles down the hall, her drawings and crayons tucked into her arm.

A soft “yeah” is all you get in return before you hear Abby’s door shut. You smile to yourself before glancing to the clock.

9:32pm. Mike will be home soon.

Mike asking you to watch over his little sister in the evenings has become part of your schedule. He has Fridays and Saturdays off, but other than that, you’re cooking Abby’s dinner and making sure she gets some sleep, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some might think it an inconvenience to constantly watch over your boyfriend’s little sister and end up seeing her more than him, but you adore Abby.

Sure, she might not talk very much, but she’s a very creative girl. It’s hard not to like her.

When Mike first introduced you to each other, Abby ignored your greetings and went right back to her room to draw. At first, you were pretty sad about her initial reaction to you and Mike’s relationship, but Mike managed to convince you that her reaction was a positive one.

That was five months ago.

Now, Abby draws next to you instead of in her room and will answer questions about the drawings. Plus, if you catch her in the right mood, she’ll tell you about her friends.

You yawn as you flick through the TV channels until you land on a documentary about seals. You glance to the clock.

9:46pm. Mike will be home soon.

Your eyes drift from the clock to the floor. A rather beaten up book lays half open, a ripped page on display.

You heave yourself off the couch and over to the book. You carefully pick it up and close it to see the cover.

Dream Theory. Interesting.

You flip to the back to read the blurb while walking back to the sofa.

You flop back onto the couch and flip to the first page. The seal documentary plays in the background, the narrator now detailing the wonders of how they hunt.

You prop your head up on the armrest and lay down, reading through the book.

Just as you’re getting invested in the book, you hear the lock unlock. Turning the TV off with a click, you turn around, only to be met with the sight of your exhausted boyfriend. You smile.

“Hey,” You greet as you get up and off the couch to meet him at the door.

Mike nods and grunts a small “Hey, baby.”

“How was work?”

Mike shrugs, and his gaze drifts down to the book in your hand. He blinks.

“You’re reading my book?” He asks curiously, causing you to glance to the book.

“Oh… yeah. Sorry.” You apologize bashfully and hand him the book, resting your other arm at your side.

Mike shakes his head dismissively at your apology. “What d’you think?”

You stare at him blankly. “…What?”

“The book. What do you think of the book? The theory?”

Realization dawns on you. When you see an eager glint in Mike’s eyes, you weakly shrug.

“I mean… I’m not too far in, but it seems interesting.”

A hint of a smile graces Mike’s lips. “So it seems possible.” You nod.

You smile softly at his excitement from your words.

“Anyways…” You wrap your arms around his neck for a hug. “How was work?” You ask again.

His arms loosely wrap around your waist as he buries his head into your neck. “Fine,” He murmurs quietly. “How’s Abby? Did she eat dinner?”

You smile at his worry for his sister. “Yeah. And she drew next to me afterwords.” At your words, you can feel Mike relax.

“She’s been doing better. You’ve been doing better. I can tell.” A low chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“I don’t know about that.” He murmurs dismissively into your shoulder.

You blink, frowning at his words. “What makes you say that? You haven’t dreamt of Garrett since Freddy’s, right?” You pull away from the hug and rest your hands on his shoulders. His hands come to rest on your hips as he sighs softly.

“Well, no…”

“So why do you say that?” You frown softly, bringing a hand to cup his face.

“Just… things have been going smoothly. Almost—almost too smoothly.” Mike mumbles, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter closed.

You sigh again. “Mike… look at me,” He reluctantly opens his eyes, but his gaze rests on your chin instead of your eyes.

“You’re okay. You have a new job that has pretty okay pay and hours, both Abby and you are happier, and you know what happened to Garrett. Right?”

Mike stubbornly stares at your chin, staying silent.

“So why do you say that, baby?”

“I just…” Mike trails off. “…I’m used to having something to worry about.”

You frown. “What, and there’s nothing to worry about now?”

Mike blinks and slowly looks to your eyes. “…Huh?”

“I don’t mean to make you feel worse, but you still have things to worry about.”

You can see panic rise in Mike’s eyes. “What… what do I have to worry about?”

You smile fondly at your boyfriend.

“You gotta think of a present for me for our six-month anniversary.”

You can practically see the gears turning in the man’s head as he stares at you quizzically. Finally, he cracks a smile.

“…Weird way to comfort me.” He looks away, smiling to himself.

“Yeah, but what else would get you to smile?” Mike rolls his eyes, causing you to chuckle. Your gaze drifts to the kitchen, reminding you that Mike almost never has dinner when he works evenings.

“You didn’t have dinner, right? I’ll make you something.” You start to head to his kitchen to quickly make him something to eat.

“…Wait.” Mike murmurs softly, lightly grabbing your sleeve.

You turn to him curiously, only to see a slightly bashful Mike staring at the floor.

“…Sleep here tonight?”

You can feel yourself smiling. “Of course.”

Mike’s shoulders visibly relax.

“Now, let’s get you something to eat.”

[silkjade-archived]

maybe we're a forest fire

Featuring— alhaitham x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, hurt/comfort fic, reader has a pyro vision, slightly suggestive at the end if you squint ⤀ summary: when a love divination claims your relationship is doomed to fail, alhaitham is there to soothe your overthinking | w.c. 1k+ ⤀ a/n: alhaitham strikes me as someone who's intelligent but doesn't overthink, so as an overthinker, this is a bit self indulgent

“You’re overthinking things again,” al-haitham states matter of factly. He continues to read despite the soft thudding of your footsteps as you pace the room.

“I’m not.” You argue, stopping in your tracks. “It makes sense. I just think… what if we…” your words trail off as you hesitate, biting your lip, wondering if you should continue your train of thought. 

“...what if we… end things now. Before things get worse…” you falter, wringing your hands, your voice as small as you feel under the watchful eyes of the heavens. Al-haitham’s shoulders visibly stiffen, pausing for just a moment to look up from his book, before slamming it shut in his hand.

“And where’s all this coming from?” he inquires, a quizzical brow arched in skepticism. Your boyfriend leans back in his seat, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation; you weren’t one to make rash decisions like this.

“Where’s this coming from… al-haitham were you even listening to me?” you throw your hands up in frustration and continue pacing the room. The two of you had taken a stroll this afternoon through sumeru city and you had thought it a good idea to have your fortunes read; your colleague at the akademiya, setaria, had sworn by nabiya and the accuracy of her readings, claiming that this relationship you had with the scribe should undergo the young fortune teller’s divination before proceeding foward: “Lest you waste your time on a doomed love prospect,” your friend had warned. Besides, it wasn’t that you necessarily believed in divination, but it didn’t hurt to have a little bit of fun… right? How wrong you were.

As you once again begin to pace to and fro, you miss the way al-haitham rolls his eyes from across you. “Don’t tell me this is all because of what that fortune teller said. You know they’re almost never accurate right? And you’re telling me you want to end things because… her cats recommended it?” Nabiya had read that your relationship would burn up, like a dying star, that it’d be better to save the trouble before everything went up in flames.

“No,” you continue, ignoring him, “she said the gods spoke through her. But anyways, I’ve been thinking ever since and I mean… just looking at our visions should be proof enough that maybe we shouldn’t be together at all.” 

“And pray tell, what do our visions have to do with our relationship? If anything, I’d say it’s a good omen that our elements react so well together.” Ever the rational insight. Usually, al-haitham quite enjoyed listening to your theories, but this was getting absurd, making him wonder if perhaps, there was more troubling you beneath the surface than you let on. Because even he couldn’t predict the tangent you were about to go on when your pyro and his dendro vision worked wonders together, especially when encountering enemies during your investigations in the forest and beyond. 

“Yes, they do react well don’t they,” you chuckle, cynical. “Burning. In our forest nation.”

“Well actually only half forest,” he interjects, as a poor attempt at lightening the mood. In his quiet observation, al-haitham hears the slight shift in your tone, hears you struggling to choke back your true feelings in your tirade. And yet the more you processed your own reasoning, the more it made sense. Your lover is rational if nothing else, so he’s sure to see your point. The nails of your clenched fists dig into the flesh of your palms, your heart starts beating faster, the voices of a hundred different thoughts swirling in your head. Here in the knowledge driven nation of sumeru, it was a rare occasion that the head would agree with the heart, so when it came down to it, most chose to follow their head. You were no exception.

“Al-haitham I’m being serious.” As if your large, pleading eyes weren’t already enough to break his cool persona, your next words do. You turn around, unable to face him as you begin to speak.

“Pyro is destructive. When it spreads, it burns everything in its path, and what if I burn you. Maybe not literally but I’m sure you know the sages aren’t exactly happy their scribe is getting distracted lately. And the grand sage is rtawahist— he’s bound to connect the dots and say the same… I don’t want to be a liability to you al-haitham, or cost you-” 

Ah. There it was. Dating the infamous grand scribe had thrown both you and your relationship into the public eye, and the scrutiny of the akademiya itself was no exception. You felt the air escape from your lungs before you could continue any further. Al-haitham had all but jumped out of his seat, tackling your person and enveloping you from behind, in a rare embrace.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to be okay,” he murmurs, “having a pyro vision doesn’t make you the fire itself. And the sages have no say in my personal life, so even if you do ever burn me, well, forests need fire to renew and regrow.” He turns your body around to face him, fingers lifting up your chin so he could look into your eyes.

“I don’t care about any sort of destiny the gods or stars want to show me. I-”

“-plan to discredit the entire rtawahist darshan?” Al-haitham ignores your interruption and continues,

“And? I’d go against celestia as well if they think the element of our visions is enough of a reason to seperate us. You know I’m no zealot.” When the only response he gets from you is the fact that you shift your eyes away from his, he opts to pull you into himself, a hand on your back, the other behind your head. At this proximity, you’re able to pick up the steady sounds of his heartbeat. It was calming; it settled the rapid pace of your own heart to match his. Slowly, you bring your arms to wrap around his waist and press a soft smile into his chiseled chest.

“I fight for what I believe in, and I believe in us. It’s going to take more than just some fortune teller to change my mind, so let’s not discuss this anymore… unless you’d like other ways to keep your thoughts at bay?”

“You know… despite the robot allegations, you’re actually quite romantic,” you tease, looking up. 

“And you’re strangely impulsive for an overthinker.”

“...shut up.”

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[redinbluee]

Chainsaw Man, ch 121

(Hi, I’ll start doing Chainsaw man updates/analysis for every chapter now since I rlly want to talk about it (I have no one to talk to about it irl, and I like to express my thoughts on things). I apologise for my poor grammar in advance- my writing style is rant-like and difficult to read, I hope it’ll get better as I do more of these. CSM has been my biggest interest for so long and I just love it soso much so feel free to talk to me about it anytime!)

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

Anyways, to today’s chapter- (121, Theory of Happiness) Spoiler warning!!

I’ll start with the title. This is probably my favourite title so far, not only does it summarise the message of the chapter well, it really resonates with me as well. It’s interesting to see how different people attain their happiness, while some people are constantly in a cheery mood, others might find it more difficult to gain happiness. Not only this, people attain happiness from all sorts of things. You can’t just ask someone to “be happy”, happiness is a naturally occurring emotional response that could not be forced. A lot of the recent chapters focus on relationships and how one may gain happiness through these connections. Asa is in a situation right now where is just so lonely, she has lost everyone in her life and is currently at a very low point. She gains happiness in the early chapters and then looses them in the blink of an eye. Her happiness is temporary, short lived. I feel terrible for her. Whereas Denji receives all this attention from groups of thirsty fans, but he seeks for a deep emotional connection- someone who is willing to accept the boy behind the facade and love him for who he really is. Asa has a high quality of life, there’s no evidence of her being broke, and she lives in nice conditions. But she is alone, her parents are gone- there’s no one she can talk to, no one to reassure her and tell her that she matters. Denji on the other hand, has lived a terrible life, and has lived in the worst of conditions. He was starving, broke, uneducated- but he was able to attain minimal happiness through the smallest of things, talking about his dreams with Pochita- finding small things in his life to be grateful of. I love this contrast that Fujimoto made. 

Interestingly, just a few days ago- I was talking with my mom. I was going through a depressive episode and I began talking about how I find it so difficult to attain my happiness. I’m financially stable, I have a great family, and I’m living a rather fortunate life- then why am I so sad all the time. I get all emotional over minor things, I worry too much and it tears me apart. And my mom agreed, she felt the same. I felt like a brat, a terrible child, I knew perfectly that there were people all around me suffering to much greater extents but I was only worrying about myself. This chapter came out at a perfect time. 

Asa lights up to the minimal attention someone gives her- she’s so starved from love it makes me want to cry. She gets so confident the moment Denji gives her the smallest compliment, and she quickly gets so emotionally affected by abandonment. It was also sad and funny to see how much Asa was trying to cope with her situation last chapter- I love her monologues and long-winded infodumps, I do the exact same. It makes me feel less alone. Asa struggles to admit that she desperately needs this love right now- her happiness almost depends on the people around her. She holds a distinct set of values that guide her through life without realising that she contradicts it- she makes up he mind that she prefers isolation then immediately gets all flustered when Yoshida does the bare minimum. I wish she could realise how much she needs a secure friendship right now- Asa being so sad right now makes me want to disintegrate. 

The chainsaw plush on the first page was cute. I wonder who put it there- I bet it was Iseumi. There were several moments in the chapter that reminded me of the reoccurring theme of “fame” in CSM so far and I would like to elaborate on it. Just from the plush, we can see that Chainsaw Man is a famous and impactful figure in the world of CSM right now, there have been several mentions of Chainsaw Man merchandise so far- like the chainsaw man bun and stickers that were talked about in 98. There is also the chainsaw man open call that might occur soon. We have managed to get a glimpse about how the public views and treats Chainsaw man, we see all these false claims about him in 103- while some people almost objectify CSM and worship him like a god (cough cough Iseumi), some despise him. While Chainsaw man is constantly being showered with praise, and at the same time- hate. All of this is directed towards a figure who is entirely a facade. No one knows about the broke, single father boy that lies beneath the mask. A high schooler who is a loser, who is lonely, who is under the control of a demonic gremlin child at home. Yoshida mentioned the importance of “parasocial relationships” on the third page of today’s chapter, I found that interesting- it almost felt like Fujimoto was referring to his own audience. About their obsession with his characters, their obsession with him as a writer without knowing who he really is. The chainsaw man figure lies helpless, defensiveness on the couch, listening to Asa and Yoshida’s conversation- he hears everything, but does not have the power to interfere. That’s the same as Denji’s situation, he is literally Chainsaw Man, a highly recognised and appreciated figure- but he is unable to be recognised for his true self. He is under the control of two people- Yoshida, who prevents him from breaking this facade and revealing his true identity to the public. Denji first-handedly hears all this criticism about chainsaw man in 103, but is then immediately shut off when he tries to prove his point. Denji has no voice in society, no one listens to him, know one appreciates him for who he is. And Nayuta, someone who controls Denji’s relationships with people, shutting them out from his life and harming them. Despite Chainsaw Man getting all this fame, none of them is directed towards Denji. I think the next few chapters will heavily explore with his relationship with playing the role of Chainsaw Man- is it really worth it, pretending to be someone else your whole life just to feed of ungenuine praise? 

It was creepy to see a dead body fall from the sky while Asa was contemplating suicide. It was unexpected and impactful. 

This almost reminds me of Asa’s reoccurring dream. She runs through the corridor, trying to not step on the dead chickens that obstruct her path. She couldn’t help but step on them- getting close to the impending darkness that lies ahead. Asa walks across the path, clouded by her own thoughts. Then boom- dead person falls from the sky. Asa had no control over the situation, she just happened to be there when the dead body fell off. Same as the dream. The chapter ends with people staring down at her from a tall building- The gaze is intrusive, accusational. Almost as if Asa had just fucked up- then the chapter ends on this cliffhanger. (And we have to wait 14 days) 

The panelling was beautiful in this chapter, Fujimoto has done it again. The contrast between Denji and Asa’s expression on page 10 was (chef’s kiss). While Denji is trying to convince himself that Chainsaw Man will bring him happiness (a false sense of happiness), Asa looks awful- she looks so sad. I expect that Denji will get a reality check soon, then fall into Asa’s current position as well. 

Second coolest page was page 5, bravo Fujimoto. Dude built the suspense by zooming into Asa’s face and Yoshida’s lips then boom- (next page) Yoshida steps out of the closet and breaks the tension. Props for coming out

I’m getting tired, that’s it for now

Side note- I love how Nayuta slapped Denji’s ass ahhaaha

[blanktrouser]

Something no one asked for and no one cares about:

An in-depth discussion about Gustholomule and their leitmotifs because I’m a music nerd and I just finished rewatching s2 and find this shit fun and interesting.

The songs and episodes I’ll be mostly discussing are: Through The Looking Glass Ruins (TTLGRs) (S2 Ep5), ‘Maybe I Can Help’ & ‘Does this mean we’re friends’. And For The Fans (FTFs) (S3 Ep2), ‘A Walk Down Memory Lane’.

I’m gonna start off kinda technical so if you don’t get music theory this might be ever so slightly confusing (maybe? Idk-)

The notes for the melody have a very noticeable similarity: their endings.

Let’s take ‘A Walk Down Memory Lane’.

In a simple drawn out diagram it’d look like this:

And the way that ‘Maybe I Can Help’ would be drawn out would be like this:

As you can see, they’re very obviously similar. Of course this isn’t exact, but visually speaking, they’re very similar. They both have an incline in their notes, both songs slowing near the ends.

Off the topic of technical stuff, onto one thing most people would notice about the two songs: the instruments used.

It is clear that the main family used in these songs is the strings, which occasional percussion thrown into ‘Maybe I Can Help’.

The Instruments heard in both were:

A Possible Cello or Double Bass (playing the bass line)

Violin and/or Violian (playing the melody and harmony lines)

However, in TTLGRs, Piano, Triangle, and Virtual Instruments were heard, which makes more sense to be there given the mood of the scene that the song was in.

Back to the string family, upon searching up “what string instruments symbolise”, the results were:

While this is kinda…vague, it can still help us get some deeper insight into out scenes and their scores!

Let’s take a closer look into TTLGRs first!

The scene, on a basic level, was about helping people and friendship. Matt and Gus were offering to clean up the graveyard and, later on, offered to come back on the weekends to build the defences.

It was a lighthearted scene which filled the viewer with a sense of accomplishment and almost excitement and passion about the project the boys took on for themselves, excited to see how this would go. It made everyone feel like things would be going well for everyone. The boys felt sympathy (see image about string family symbolism) for the keeper and therefore helped him set up the defences. This is one of the episodes in the series I’d refer to as “The Calm before The Storm” (A sense of tranquility (see image again), if I may)

Let’s take a look into the FTFs scene now!

On a basic level, this scene was about the same things as the last one: friendship and helping people.

In this scene, Gus and Matt were discussing what Matt was doing while Gus was gone and what Matt’s ideas were to help the people who lived in Hexside 2.0 (I think that’s what they called it anyways LMAO please correct me if I’m wrong). Gus was saying how he thought Matts ideas were good ones and it was another very lighthearted scene.

It was filled with comedy and playful banter between them both, lightening the mood that had been made by the scarier or sadder aspects of the episode and the episode before it. It gave the viewers time to relax, almost time to process what’s happened, and/or enjoy a moment of piece, a moment of calmness before utter mayhem ensues, like what I said before, “the calm before the storm”, though I feel like “the eye of the hurricane” works better here. This scene did a great job with the sense of tranquility again.

Now, there’s one major thing these two scenes have in common. There always seems to be a sense of tranquility every time Gus and Matt are together. They’re the comedy duo. They gain a for. Of comfort when they’re together due to their close friendship. There hasn’t been a moment with these two (mostly since TTLGRs) that they haven’t had this feeling emulated from their scenes. Both characters have always been written with comedy aspects and funny one liners, but when they’re together, the humour is doubled and almost makes you forget all the bad things because you’re only focused on the peace and calm you’re experiencing right then. And honestly I love that. These two need each other, platonically and/or romantically, and it’s sweet to see how much they rely on each other and how they can just enjoy themselves and been the teens they are when they’re together in times like that.

Their humour and the tranquility of this comedy duo makes sense when paired with the instruments used (Strings) and the leitmotifs in their songs (the endings going up at the end, up usually signifying good and positives). And I think it was such smart music work and writing done by the writing team and music team and just everyone involved.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

CRYTSALLLLL *plops in*

Hey! :D I finally got around to reading the newest chapter FM (I was sick and wanted to wait until I felt better to really enjoy it).

First off, WOW, major lore drop! I loved it!! There’s so much great info, and I feel like it answers some of the theories I’ve had – although I’m too lazy to look them up right now, mostly because I can’t remember where I put them.

Anyway, I have a few questions!

1. Is Aneirin Anti? Just wanted to make sure I understood that correctly.

2. Regarding the name Aneirin: it's a Welsh name that traditionally means “golden” or “noble.” Originally spelled Neirin, the "A" was added in the 13th century. It could also have Irish and Gaelic roots, symbolizing qualities like “noble” and “modest.”

Did you pick the name for its meaning, or just because it sounded cool and fit the story?

(I’m doing my research xD)

That’s it for me, but I’ve got some questions from my friend Sarah too! She can’t access Tumblr for some reason, so I’m acting as her messenger bird.

What disease does Henrik have? What would it be called in the real world?

Do Anti and Sam both have green eyes? (She wasn't really able to read it out from the chapter)

Now I have everything I wanted to ask ask what my friend Sarah wanted to know, I can't wait another month for the next chapter 😢 I need morrrreee AAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

I wanna hug all da Boys in the fic mostly Jair but also everyone else, yes also da king would he kill me? Probably but I still wanna hug. Maybe he needs a new assistant 🤔 I volunteer 🙋‍♂️

- Hunter

*very gently gives you love, affection, food and water 💙*

Hey Hunter! Glad you liked the lore drop in the chapter! I was sitting on that since the very beginning of the story. Only took forty chapters to get to it haha.

Alright, question answering time. Yes, Aneirin is this world’s version of Anti. I wanted a name that started with “An,” so I did some research and found Aneirin. I went with it because it’s a name from that part of the world, AND there was the bonus of the meaning, which I found out during research. I almost called this character Antaios, but the name sounded too out of place, especially when paired with a simple name like Sam. (Plus it doubles as a reference to another version of Anti I’ve written! If you know you know ;) )

And now for Sarah’s questions. Yes, Sam and Anti both have green eyes. They were identical twins. And Henrik doesn’t really have a disease, per se. It’s a mental illness. All my versions of Henrik have some sort of psychosis. I don’t remember why I started doing that, but I try to do a lot of research on this so I can represent it as best I can. If Fantasy Masks Henrik was in our modern world, he would probably be diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, which has symptoms such as hallucinations, delusions, disassociation, and mood swings including mania and depression.

All the boys would accept the hugs. Yes, even the King XD He wouldn’t kill someone for hugging him but he would be very snappy and mean about it… or pretend to like it so he could manipulate the hugger into thinking he’s not so bad, hehehe.

Always nice to hear from you! I’ll make sure to drink lots of water now ahskdvsk

[crancisfrozier]

Re: your previous post, I just have to ask what your FF album rankings are thus far! Also I’m loving that someone else is talking about the band at length, it’s been too quiet in the fandom on here haha

Okay this is such a big question I actually switched from mobile to desktop to answer this so be prepared for a novel here lol. But first of all yea I am so surprised the fandom is so quiet on here? I can almost always depend on Tumblr to have a little group of weirdos blogging about a vague special interest I develop so this is a little jarring! Especially considering I can see the fandom was once big enough that there was fanfiction written for it! Makes me a little sad that I seem to have missed it's heyday, but I'm glad there's still a few people kicking around haha.

(putting this under a read more because it got long wow wtf)

ANYWAY though onto the ranking! Now this list changes rapidly from week to week and sometimes day to day, but here is my current list descending (no pun intended):

Always Ascending

Franz Ferdinand

Right Thoughts, Right Words, Right Actions

Tonight

You Could Have It So Much Better

*I adore Sparks and FFS, but since it's a dual release I'm excluding it from the list. However, if I included it I would probably put it between Right Thoughts and Tonight*

I feel like it's controversial to put Always Ascending above, well literally everything, and it's also funny because I use to consider this to be their WORST album, but it has grown on me so so much. I really appreciate that they were trying to do something new and experimental with their music and also I presume make an ode to one of their huge influences (Talking Heads). And throughout it all they continue to stick to (and in this case exceed imo) their thesis of "make girls dance". It's just so fun, y'know? So dance-able! The instrumentation is also EXCEPTIONAL on this album. The guitar licks in "Lazy Boy" are some of my favorite of any recent songs and the sparkly synth beats in Lois Lane are GORGEOUS. It honestly reminds me a lot of what they were trying to do on Tonight, where they stripped back their sound a bit. The focus is more on the drums, the beat, and the bass than the kind of punchy guitar attitude we heard on Franz Ferdinand and YCHISMB, but Ascending just takes it one (or two) steps further.

Now, the above is my list of favorites which is different from what I would consider to be objectively better music. If I was ranking this critically/professionally it would probably be this:

Tonight

Franz Ferdinand

You Could Have It So Much Better

Always Ascending

Right Thoughts, Right Words, Right Action

The thing about both of these lists though is that, for me, there is no bad album on this list. They are literally all cover to cover listens with iconic bangers on every. single. one. What is considered my favorite could change with my mood or how nostalgic I'm feeling that day. My personal theory on these albums though is that people's preferences are going to sway with what they like FF for. If you like them for the punchiness of their first two albums (that was such a hallmark of the post-punk revival) you probably won't like Right Thoughts and you'll probably actively dislike Always Ascending. If you like them when they're doing weird stuff you'll probably like Right Thoughts and Always Ascending much more. Tonight I think is a really good mix of both which is why it's a lot of people's favorites and a good starting point for any new fan if they only know Take Me Out and or/stuff from their debut album.

Btw it's really funny that as I saw this ask and was thinking about it, The Hard Times came out with an article of "All Franz Ferdinand Albums Ranked Worst to Best" that is almost identical to my second ranking but also pretty cruel to AA and RTRWRA :(. They also gave an honorable mention to FFS but said Call Girl was a skippable track (blasphemy). But yea, I just thought that was pretty amusing timing lol.

I really cannot wait until they release a new album because Curious and Billy Goodbye are such absolute bangers (catch me dancing in my kitchen to Curious at least once a week) and if those singles are anything to go on, the next album is going to be AMAZING.

I would also like to give a shoutout to Alex's collab he did with Pip Blom called "Is This Love?" because it's quickly working it's way up my spotify rankings of top tracks since I cannot stop listening to it on repeat, it's just SO GOOD.

Okay I'm so sorry this turned into a thesis about Franz Ferdinand, but I have had a lot of pent up obsession about this and you just gave me a world class excuse to info dump lol. I would be really interested to see your ranking as well and see how we compare! Thank you so much for the ask btw it means a lot! :)

[noahhawthorneauthor]

Inside Thitwhistle's and the mind of an immortal who has never had friends. (Phantom and Rook)

I’m elbows deep in dish water and my muddied thoughts when a familiar voice sounds from the other side of the counter behind me.

I swallow something heavy, dry my hands off and make sure to pull my hoodie sleeves down past my wrists before turning to face Quentin. I give him a smile. “Hey, Quentin. Gowan need more scones? They’re on the house, I did eat three or four of hers.”

Quentin smiles back, shoulders squared, stance tall. “No thanks, I was actually wondering if you could help me with something. I’m looking for a book.”

“Oh, sure. I’m not completely familiar with the selection yet, but there’s a computer back here that I can use. Well, once I figure it out. Follow me.” I say, gesturing to the hidden aisles of books.

The circulation desk rests on the opposite side of the dividing wall that houses the sink and appliances for the cafe. Green velvet upholstery and dark brown leather provide cozy lounge chaises and reading nooks, accented with silver embroidery.

Arlo’s touch lacks in this area, but the occasional black or gold feather flutters across the dark wood of the towering bookshelves. Aisles stretch into a seemingly endless labyrinth, offering anonymity. A few private niches and group friendly reading spaces are tucked between the aisles, often not revealing patrons until you’re right upon them. My favorite area is the least occupied and hides in the far back, under the stairs that lead to the apartments.

Quentin waits patiently while I struggle to boot the computer on, then find the right browser. My brows furrow, the desktop is a mess and full of icons. He peers over my shoulder. “Oh boy. You should have Caspian take a look at that dinosaur.”

I look back at him. “Dinosaur?”

“Yeah, that’s like twenty years old.”

I wrinkle my nose, muttering, “I must be the dustings of a fossil then.”

He chuckles nervously. “True.”

“I think Caspian most likely would rather do anything other than assist me, but thank you for the advice. Ah, here it is. What book are you looking for?”

Quentin blushes, pushing up his glasses. “Well, I feel bad now seeing how much of a hassle this is for you, but I don’t actually need a book.’

I turn from the computer to glare at him head on. “Oh.”

He adjusts his glasses. “We could really use your help, with the Game, you know? And Arlo’s worried about you.” Quentin shifts on his feet. “Your business is your business, you know? I don’t know what happened to you, but … You don’t owe us anything, or have to feel weird. I think you’re really nice, and the others do too. Caspian’s an ass, but that’s just him.”

I cross my arms, having to look away from his elegant features. He has one of those faces that can bring forth your deepest secrets and crack your heart open. Quentin should be with Arlo. He won’t disappear. He’s kind, and I know he would love Arlo so much better than I ever could.

“I appreciate that, Quentin, thank you. I don’t,” I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve … made connections, I guess you could say. Making friends is not a strong suit of mine.”

Quentin blinks in surprise. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make an enemy, not yet, anyway.”

I chuckle darkly, an unfamiliar feeling. “People liking you, and what you can do for them,” I finally drag my eyes up to his, “and those who are a true friend, are two very different things.”

Quentin nods solemnly. “I think I can understand that.”

We stand there, staring at each other.

“Oh, also, Kitt wanted me to tell you that she’ll be empty bright and early tomorrow morning if you still wanted to get that tattoo, if not that’s fine, too.” Quentin nods quickly. “But anyway, I’ll, um, I’ll go now. Oh, also this message is from Tobias, they’re having dinner at six tomorrow, if you wanted to come. Stop by and eat some grilled food, surprise a good mood into Arlo. We’ll all be there, talking theories.”

And fuck if that doesn’t spark my interest. “Did you come up with anything?”

“Well, we didn’t, but someone found the first painting about an hour ago, in Arlo’s studio. It’s been all over the news and social media, a few people have already submitted their guesses that it’s him. Can you imagine?”

I chuckle. “I might be able to.”

Art by @gagakumadraws

[evelynndecipio-blog]

September 5th, 2020

Dear Nightingale, 

I’ll be honest, I would have never thought to check the Leaky Cauldron for post. I always thought it was just a basic front for the Alley entrance, but it seems to be the central hub for wizards to gather. Guess I’ve still got a lot to learn about this world. Anyways, I found your copy in the tree, thankfully. Sorry that you had to go through the extra work of making a second letter. At least we’re back in school now so this whole thing will be relatively easy.

Never assume I’m having too much fun. Weirdly enough, you’re the person that I’m probably closest to. Something about speaking to a faceless friend is totally comforting, especially with how I’ve been feeling. I don’t think I’ll be changing my mind anytime soon, and if I do, you have permission to hide one of those howler letters in the tree. I think my dormmates might get a kick out of my opening one in the room, ahah. A consequence of loving my bed is that I really don’t get out much, so the Ball was really the only time I felt like things were too formidable for me. Were there other overwhelming moments like that? Or was it just friendships and the like?

It is pretty dizzying, but I guess the worst of it is the heavy feeling that just sets in when I change my mind. It’s like a big weight that forcing me to stay still. Other than the camp, that was what the rest of my summer was like. That and reading my Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook over and over. I think it’s my favorite subject, though I’m not sure how original that thought is.

I am going into second year now, yes. I’d love a study partner, but I would also feel sorry for them because they have put up with me. My mood changes so often, but I usually hate being flaky. I’m terrified that one day, I’ll show up in a bad mood and scare them away. Or maybe if I just force myself to be excited... okay, definitely not. But I think I need to try. It might just be the best way for me to break the ice, as you put it.

That’s good to hear about summer camp. I did think the events that the professors set up sounded fun, but I guess the execution was probably bad. I wouldn’t know many details about that. All I remember was learning about Quidditch while the actual game was going on, and that the beds in my tent were very comfy. Speaking of Quidditch, you enjoy it, then? I’ve never been a sports person outside of blind support for the Brighton and Hove football team, and Quidditch looks really confusing. But the rush was definitely exciting.

The notion that magic is just nonsensical – I really couldn’t agree more. I enjoy it, but it’s still so crazy to wrap my head around. I mean, I’ve been living in this world for a whole year now and I’m still so lost in classes. Writing theory is fine, but the practical stuff? I have to work on understanding exactly what I’m doing and that almost always takes up the whole night before we get to cast spells. I hope it gets better this term, and I hope it gets easier for you too. Having a summer distraction sounds so good, though. I could’ve definitely used it.

And I’m sorry that your plans fell through. Maybe, since we’re getting older, you’ll be able to have a summer friend next year. I relate so much to that feeling of loneliness throughout the last few months. It’s the same for me with my mother. She works long hours usually, but it’s even more now with the human muggle situation. I do miss falling asleep to the muffled conversations of my dormmates, or studying in the presence of other people in the library during exam time. It really was too quiet over the summer. For once, I’m hyped to get back into the groove. And owl, though! That’s pretty cool. What’s its name? I’m thinking of asking my fathermy biological fa for a pet. Just have to work up the courage to actually talk.

Cannes sounds amazing. I’d love to visit, especially for the film festival. Do you like art? I’m definitely the type of person to check out the art museums in a new place, but I don't paint or sculpt myself. And I think the deeper meanings are definitely lost on me. I’d be horrified to run into my peers on vacation, though! I hope you got out of the situation unscathed.

Hm, I never thought to write to my dad, but that sounds like a good idea. I’m worried, though. The words come easy when I’m writing to you, but I think I’ll struggle a lot if I have to write to him. I guess I have to try, anyway. I don’t want him out of my life forever, and if there’s something I can do to bring him back, I would. I miss him.

Anyways, I hope the year goes well for you. May good grades grace us and blossom ball fiascos stay away from us. And I'd really like it if you could help me find a study partner.

Thank you, Captain Kirk.

[silverwhittlingknife]

only you will have stars that can laugh

Robin!Tim is alone for Christmas. Dick finds out, and fixes it.

Also featuring: a Christmas party for loners, Tim's empty house, found family, snow in Blüdhaven, and the meaning of Robin.

Also posted on ao3. All thanks and kudos to my marvelous beta @bitimdrake, whose fics you should read.

* *

It’s Christmas Eve, and for the first time in a long while, Dick has plans that aren’t “mope privately and hope no one notices.” He has good plans, even. He’s heading to Gotham for a party at the Clocktower. A Christmas party for loners, Babs said when she invited him. Read: this is not a date, Grayson, so don’t get your hopes up.

Which is fine. Dick can roll with that. Babs is a friend. If she wants to just be friends, they can be friends and he can value that. He’s not gonna push, and he’s not gonna get ahead of himself. He’s trying not to, anyway. The thing is. He likes to think he can tell the difference between I’m not interested and I’m interested but I have to think about it first.

And Babs? Right now? Is a whole lot of the second one

Bruce is gonna be off-world with the JLA, but Babs invited Alfred. To be honest, Dick’s kind of relieved Bruce is off-world. Everything’s patched up, in theory anyway, so if Bruce were here Dick would probably be invited to Christmas—at the very least by Alfred—and then he’d have to decide whether to go or not, and…

It’s just easier this way. He hasn’t spent Christmas at the Manor since everything went south with Bruce. It’d be awkward.

(He can’t stop wondering if he would’ve been invited. Probably, right? You’re better than me, Dick. That’s surely worth a Christmas invitation?)

* *

It’s around five, which is too early to leave Blüdhaven. Babs said six-ish, and discretion, better part of valor, prove you can be patient, etcetera, so he’s gonna wait until—oh, six-fifteen or so.

There’s something about Barbara Gordon that makes him feel like an overeager kid again. But it’s fun, actually. It’s a novelty, not being the leader. He can’t lose Babs’s respect ‘cause—heh—he’s never had it. Batgirl may have thought Robin was a goofball, and Oracle may be fondly unimpressed with Nightwing, but Dick Grayson still got a Christmas Eve invite.

Not a Christmas Day invite, but that’s okay. On Christmas Day, Dick will—mope, probably. But tomorrow is not gonna ruin tonight. Tonight, he is determined to enjoy himself.

* *

Phone buzzes. He checks—please let her not be canceling—but no, it’s a text from Tim.

Tim: do you have plans for christmas?

Dick: going to a party tonight!

There’s a weirdly long silence before the response.

Tim: cool! have fun

There’s something pinging in the back of his mind—Tim, Christmas Eve—

—shit, Christmas Eve is the day Tim’s mom was buried.

His good mood takes a dive.

Dick: you doing okay?

Tim: ?

Maybe it’s a faux-pas to bring it up? He knows he didn’t misremember. Dick’s not great with dates, but the funeral was—memorable.

Strange to think it was only a year ago. So much has changed. The awkward funeral, things on the verge of imploding with the Titans. And now: new city, about to have a new job. New beginnings all over the place. He almost wishes he could go back to the person he was—hell, even a few months ago—and say, look, don’t worry, it’ll be okay.

None of that helps him with Tim, though. There’s no tactful way to say sorry about your dead mom over text.

He calls.

“Hey,” Tim says. “So, a party, huh?”

“That’s the idea,” Dick says. Hmm. Maybe better to keep it light, actually. He doesn’t want to pry, and at least Tim sounds fine, which is reassuring. He wonders if the Drakes went to the cemetery earlier, if they leave roses the way Bruce does for his parents, the way Dick does for his. But it’s none of his business, actually. “You’re with your dad, huh?” he says.

“Yeah. Um. He’s with Dana right now. I mean, they’re not home. They’re coming back later.”

Ah. The new girlfriend. Awkward.

He feels a pinch of sympathy. Tim’s said nothing but polite things about Dana, but no matter how nice she is, the anniversary of the wife’s death must be tricky.

Actually, though, wait—morbid thought though this is—Janet Drake didn’t actually die on Christmas Eve. The death must’ve been, what, at least a week before the funeral? Maybe Tim’s not even thinking about it.

Dick should ask Alfred about the timing of everything, find out for next year. A little intrusive, maybe, but…it’d be good to know.

“So they’ve gone out to dinner, huh?” Dick says, more to fill the silence than anything else.

“Um, yeah, kinda.”

Upper-crust Gotham is so strange. Out for Christmas Eve dinner without the kid?

But then again, maybe it’s Dick’s expectations that are off. The circus was close-knit by preference and necessity: the Graysons would no sooner have left Dick alone for dinner on Christmas Eve than they’d have flown to the moon. And though Bruce is distant in his own way, being Batman and Robin was a similar kind of gig. They might’ve spent Christmas Eve on patrol a few times, but when Dick was a kid, they always spent it together.

(Some pretty good memories, actually. Don’t think about it.)

Maybe the Drakes are the normal ones and it’s Dick’s family—families?—that are weird.

“Anyway,” Tim says. “I’m gonna watch TV or something.” His voice turns annoyingly knowing. “So. Your party. With Babs or with your landlady?”

Ooh, brat. “Just for that I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll deduce,” Tim says. “Wait, it’s not with Huntress, though, is it? ‘Cause I really do think that’s a bad idea.”

He’s being fussed over by a teenager with a pregnant girlfriend. “It’s not with Helena. She dumped me, remember?”

“Sorry,” Tim says, managing to sound halfway sympathetic.

“Nice try.” He checks the forecast: snow flurries. Maybe better to head to Gotham sooner rather than later. “Hey, I gotta go, but—you have a good evening, yeah? Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah! You too.”

They hang up.

* *

Train over to Gotham.

Flipping around on the rooftops. Maybe showing off a bit for Oracle’s cameras. She’ll roll her eyes, but she’ll think it’s funny.

Buying eggnog. The cashier does a hilarious double-take at the Nightwing costume.

Arriving at the Clocktower street entrance, ringing the doorbell, stamping the snow off his feet.

(Tim, parents out to dinner, alone on Christmas Eve.)

* *

“The cookies are burnt,” Babs greets him, rueful. There’s a blast of warm air from inside.

“It’s okay, I brought eggnog,” Dick says. He closes the outer door behind him, and they’re standing in the hallway, and he meant to lead up to this, but what comes out of his mouth is: “Hey. I was thinking. You mind if we invite Robin?”

Surprise on Babs’s face before she smooths it away. “Of course not,” she says. “The more, the merrier.”

Babs’s mind is like Tim’s: a steel trap, inescapable. He can see her tucking away the knowledge, probably coming to the wrong conclusions about why the new Robin might want company on Christmas Eve. Bruce does have an orphan habit.

Or maybe she already knows Tim’s identity. Babs is so discreet it’s hard to tell. It wouldn’t be hard for her to figure out if she poked around, and Dick’s honestly been a bit surprised that she hasn’t pushed him for details. But then, maybe it’s not that surprising. Babs cares, a lot, about privacy. He knows she resented it when Dick and Bruce unmasked her, way back when. And she knows that Tim—that Robin—isn’t comfortable telling her yet. Maybe that’s enough for her.

“I don’t have a phone number for him,” Babs says, too neutral, and okay, maybe she’s a bit curious.

There’s no way Tim just sat around the empty house. “He’ll be on comms.” Oh, hey, there’s an idea. “Tell him it’s an emergency.”

Babs’s eyebrows are up. “Really.”

“It’s a Christmas emergency,” Dick says, grinning. Now that he’s made the decision to ask, he feels a lot lighter. “I have an urgent need for both my favorite computer nerds.”

That gets him a smile, though she’s biting it back. “Your call, Man Wonder. But if it goes sideways, I’m blaming you. Come on up.”

* *

Elevator up to her place, and—

Alfred.

Alfred, in the kitchen, frowning down at the burnt Christmas cookies, carefully anointing each one with icing. It could be years ago, with little-kid Dick’s burnt cookies, and a Christmas in the Manor, and—

He blinks the memories away. Not stately Wayne Manor, but Babs’s cramped and boxy little place, full of sharp angles, covered with computer wires. Babs doesn’t like big open spaces anymore, not since the gun.

“Hey,” he says, and has to clear his throat. “Hey, Alfie.”

“Master Dick,” Alfred says, warm.

* *

“I am afraid these cookies may be unsalvageable,” Alfred is saying.

“We’ll have Robin eat them,” Dick says. Tim will eat anything.

“An excellent solution. Though I believe the young man is unavailable at the moment.”

Dick will see about that. He taps a few keys on Babs’s computer, and—yep, Tim’s online. Called it. He types Robin, need your help urgently at the Clocktower, and hesitates. It’ll freak Tim out, and it doesn’t give him the option of saying no, which is maybe a little presumptuous, but…

Nah.

He signs Oracle, and then hits the enter key.

“He won’t fall for it,” Babs says over his shoulder. “I never sign my name.”

“He’ll fall for it,” Dick says.

Tim’s a great detective—with strangers.

* *

Robin arrives in full gear with batarangs.

“Told you he’d fall for it,” Dick says.

“Huh?” Tim says. He’s staring at the tree, the gathering, the costumes. He’s such a kid sometimes. He looks totally baffled. Boy detective, hah.

“It’s a Christmas party for loners,” Babs says.

“Babs burnt the cookies,” Dick says, “but the eggnog’s good.” Babs elbows him for that. And Tim does still look a little stunned, so he adds, “We didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s okay,” Tim says. At first Dick’s not sure if it is, but then the confusion drops off Tim’s face and he’s honest-to-God beaming, big bright smile. “It’s really okay.”

Good.

* *

It’s a good party. A great party, even. It’s a little awkward—they all know each other, obviously, but they’ve never all socialized together. It’s strange and a little bittersweet to have Alfred hovering around, out of his element, no Bruce. And it’s obvious that Tim and Babs—Robin and Babs, he has to watch himself—have only ever interacted while teaming up on projects. Tim offers to wipe the table, and then to wash the dishes, and generally gets underfoot trying to assign himself projects until Babs snaps at him to cut it out.

“Sorry! I, uh. I just want to help?”

“You can help by sitting and by eating the food,” Babs snaps, and then winces. “Or not eating. I can’t vouch for the food. It’s up to you.”

“It’s good,” Tim says loyally, but he has in fact been nibbling rather than devouring, which means his taste buds aren’t completely haywire.

Babs frowns. “Really?”

“Robin’s just a suck-up,” Dick says cheerfully. Tim sticks out his tongue. “Hey, watch it. You’re still not too big to spank.”

“I’m not a suck-up,” Tim says.

“He just has manners,” Babs says. Ooh, betrayal. But she’s teasing, too. “Hey, Robin, you know how many thank you notes this fellow wrote me? None, that’s how many.”

“The pleasure of my delightful company wasn’t enough?” Dick says.

“No,” Babs says.

Dick mimes clutching his heart. Also, hang on. “Wait, did you get thank you notes, too?”

“Wait,” Babs says. “He wrote them to you too?”

Tim’s ears turn red.

Best Christmas party ever.

* *

Alfred goes home early, and then it’s Dick and Tim and Babs for a while. Dick and Babs drink a little wine, after Alfred goes. Babs is wearing a Christmas sweater, and it brings out her eyes. He keeps catching himself staring, having to look away. Tim’s here, he reminds himself. But maybe, after Tim leaves—?

Actually, hmm. It’s nearly ten.

Reality interrupts the romantic daydream. Tim probably needs to get home. His parents’ dinner can’t have lasted that late. Tim must’ve forgotten. Uh oh.

He has two options here.

Option one, the tempting one: hint that Tim should go home, as casually as he can without leaving too many breadcrumbs for Babs. Risk accidentally hurting Tim’s feelings. Risk giving something away to Babs. Hopefully have a bit of one-on-one time with Babs after.

Option two, the responsible one: head home himself and scoop Tim along.

Well. There will be other days, other chances, with Babs. And maybe he shouldn’t push his luck, anyway.

Dick makes a show of stretching. “I should probably head back. Robin, want to head out together? It’s getting kinda late.”

He sees Babs register that clue, too, realizing Dick knows where Robin lives: nothing obvious, just a slight narrowing of her eyes. There’s not much point trying to keep secrets from Oracle, but it is kinda fun to watch her work. If this goes on long enough, she’ll figure it out whether she’s trying or not.

“Oh,” Tim says. “Yeah, I didn’t realize—yeah. Um. Thanks for the party. And the cookies.”

Dick thinks about Babs quietly inviting Alfred so that Dick wouldn’t have to agonize over it, Babs going along with inviting Tim. Babs letting them all into the personal space that she’s so protective of.

“He’s right,” Dick says, clearing his throat. “Really, thanks. This was great.”

“No problem, Boy Wonders,” Babs says.

* *

Tim’s place isn’t that far away, and—okay, so maybe Dick would like to just glance over at the Manor, see the lights that mean Alfred’s arrived safe.

“Walk you home?” he suggests to Tim.

Of course, they don’t actually walk.

* *

Nightwing and Robin get to Bristol and stop on the roof of Tim’s house. Wayne Manor’s only a smudge in the distance, but it does have some lights on, which means Alfred’s probably staying up cleaning, keeping himself busy until Bruce is back. It would be easy to spend the night, if Dick wanted. But—

No.

Tim’s house, on the other hand, is still dark. Still not back? That’s a little worrisome. He knows Babs was monitoring the police broadcasts, it’s not likely that anything happened, but— “Do you think they’ve gone to bed early?”

“No, they’re, um,” Tim says. “They’re in Chicago, actually.”

Dick doesn’t lose his balance. “Sorry, they’re what?”

Tim looks uncomfortable. “They were gonna fly back this evening, but they got snowed in, and…yeah. My dad left a message. They think tomorrow afternoon, maybe.” Tim nudges a loose tile with his foot.

Chicago, fly back, do you have Christmas plans.

What the hell.

“They went on a Christmas vacation without you?” Dick says.

Tim bristles. “It’s not a Christmas vacation, it’s an archeology conference. And then they stayed in Chicago a bit. Dana wanted to visit her relatives there.”

Yeah, you know what, screw giving the Drakes the benefit of the doubt. “It’s gonna be Christmas in two hours, Tim. Pretty sure that’s a Christmas vacation.”

He remembers, suddenly, when he was sixteen, that year when Bruce was pissed for whatever reason he was pissed that month and swung out of town abruptly the week after Christmas. And after chewing Dick out for spending time with his friends.

“It’s not like that,” Tim mutters. “Cut it out already. I don’t need supervision. I’m not a kid.”

Tim is the most grown-up kid that Dick has ever met, but that’s not the point. “Tim, it’s not about supervision, it’s—”

“No one asked you!”

The outburst cracks between them, and Dick freezes. Tim looks a little guilty, but he doesn’t take it back. He’s still flushed, still upset.

Ow.

But—okay. It isn’t Dick’s business. This is Tim’s family, not Dick’s. Dick’s just a—

A what? A busybody. A judgmental stranger. They fight crime together, but that doesn’t mean he gets a say on Tim’s personal life. Maybe he is overstepping. He bites his tongue, tastes blood.

“It’s not like it even matters,” Tim says, a bit too forcefully. “And they’ll be back tomorrow. And I can handle myself.”

That’s not the point. But there’s no point in pressing him on it. Dick and Tim haven’t talked about Jack Drake much—Tim doesn’t talk about his civilian life much, in general—but they’ve talked enough for Dick to get the contours: Tim alternates between sullen resentment of his dad and stubborn defensiveness.

It’s a dance that Dick understands a little too intimately.

“Anyway,” Tim says. “I, um. I’ll just…”

Leaving Tim alone in his dark house on Christmas Eve doesn’t feel right. The ghosts of unhappy Christmases past don’t help. And it’s not the same, Tim’s not the same, and Dick’s probably half-projecting, but…he still doesn’t like it, Tim going back to an empty house.

“Can I come in?” he asks, before he can think better of it.

“I don’t think…” Tim says, and then his brow furrows, like the possibilities are just now occurring to him, too. “Yeah. No one’s home so…yeah. I guess you can?”

“Do you mind?” Dick checks.

He can at least make sure the room is warm, that Tim has food, that there are no other shadows lurking around this house. Tim’s capable and he’s smart, and Bruce and Alfred have both looked into the family without finding anything actionable, and anyway Tim would say something if something was really wrong, but…

“Sure,” Tim says. “I mean. Yeah. You can come in.”

* *

They go in through Tim’s window, which has a slippery catch that Tim handles easily—well, of course he does, Grayson, he lives here.

Getting into the house is physically easy. It still feels like crossing a boundary. Dick likes to think he’s gotten to know Tim pretty well, over these many months, but Tim’s civilian life has stayed behind a blank wall. Tim’s been in the Manor, in Dick’s apartments, he’s threaded all through Dick’s life, but Dick doesn’t know him in the same way.

And that’s not just about the circumstances. Tim’s cagey about his family. About his personal life in general. And Tim’s entitled to his privacy, and maybe it’s a bit intrusive, but…Dick would like to know more. Sue him: detective. Not knowing things, especially big things, puts an itch under his skin.

It’s probably fine, but.

He’d just like to know a bit more.

* *

The first thing he learns is reassuring: the house is warm. The heating’s on and working fine.

The second thing he learns is that Tim lives like a pig.

“This is your room?” Dick says.

“You can’t judge me,” Tim says, though he does look a bit embarrassed. “You keep your stuff in cardboard boxes.”

Dick nudges a floppy stack of papers. “Comic books, really?” And—no way. Tim’s got a music video paused on the computer screen. “Enya?”

Tim looks like he’s regretting everything. “Why don’t we go downstairs? And, um, we could get something to drink? I think we’ve got more eggnog. Or…”

Robin and Nightwing look at each other. They’re both in costume.

“Don’t you have a housekeeper?” Dick checks.

“She’s in Ireland. With her family, for the holidays, you know? Nobody’s gonna come in.” But Tim must have the same superstitious feeling, because he adds, “You don’t have any, like. Normal clothes with you, do you?”

He realizes he does—the just-in-case Babs wants to do something in-person afterwards clothes, under the uniform. “I do, actually. Hang on.”

Changing is quick, and then the costumes go in Tim’s closet, and then it’s just—

Dick Grayson and Tim Drake.

In Tim’s house.

This is so weird. It ought to be normal, which is the weirdest thing about it. Tim’s over in Blüdhaven practically every other week. He is, in fact, over so often that Clancy’s under the impression that he’s Dick’s actual kid brother. Dick knows what Tim does when he’s bored on a transatlantic flight and what he looks like when he thinks he’s dying. Tim has opinions about Dick’s old couch versus his new couch, and on all his favorite movies, and on his pizza preferences.

Last month Dick dragged him out of a firefight and took him home and pushed his guts back into his stomach and patched him up and then they watched TV.

But he’s never been in Tim’s house before.

Tim shifts a little, shrugging away the invisible tension. “C’mon,” Tim says. “I might as well give you the grand tour.”

“Lead on, Macduff,” Dick says.

He mentally apologizes to an imaginary, scandalized Alfred for the misquotation.

* *

Tim’s house is big. Not nearly as big as the Manor—hardly anything is—but it’s still enormous. Tim pads down the enormous staircase, and Dick follows him and tries not to feel too self-conscious. What the hell does Tim see in Dick’s apartment, that he’s over all the time? Tim’s not snobbish, but still. Money does buy comfort. There’s a reason why Dick hasn’t invited Alfred over to his place.

“I think we’ve got eggnog in the kitchen!” Tim calls over his shoulder. “Over here.”

Dick doesn’t really feel like more, but why not. “Let’s do it,” he says aloud.

It’s habit to scan the area. Christmas tree lights winking around the corner in what must be the living room—no doubt decorated by the housekeeper, if Tim’s dad is out of town.

Enormous kitchen. Marble countertops. Stainless steel everything. He forgets, sometimes, about Tim’s wealth. No Wayne Manor, but it’s formidable all the same.

Well-stocked fridge when Tim opened it, but all packaged, reheatable meals: that must be the absent housekeeper’s doing. An archeology conference wouldn’t be held during the holidays, so if Tim was telling the truth, Jack Drake and his girlfriend have been gone for at least a week.

But Tim obviously has food. He’s fine. Objectively, Dick is being stupid. If Robin can patrol Gotham and fight crime, he’s gonna be fine sleeping in an empty house in Bristol. It’s not like Tim’s in danger.

“Do you want, um,” Tim says. “Sorry, I forgot, I think I drank it all. We’ve got beer and wine. I guess you’re sick of beer, huh?”

There’s nothing like working full-time at a bar to really sour you on the smell of beer, yeah. “Just Zesti’s fine.”

Tim winces. “Sorry. We don’t have any.”

Huh. Dick was banking on that being the easy thing. “You drank all of those, too, huh?”

“My dad doesn’t like them,” Tim says, looking back in the fridge.

So the sodas Tim drinks whenever he comes over are a special treat, not one of Tim’s everyday things. Interesting. Maybe his dad’s diet-conscious; Dick vaguely remembers Tim saying something about a home gym.

“If you don’t want wine, we’ve got, um, vegetable juice,” Tim says. “Um. Do you like red wine or white wine?”

There is no way Dick’s gonna drink Tim’s absent parents’ no-doubt-very-expensive wine. On top of everything else, he doesn’t particularly like the idea of owing Jack Drake anything.

“Just water,” he says aloud.

“My dad won’t care,” Tim says, doing his mind-reading trick. “He won’t even notice. He brings the bottles back from Europe to give as gifts to people. You can have one if you want.”

“I’m not much of a drinker,” Dick says, and can’t help adding, “Is your dad gonna bring back wine from Chicago, too?”

He regrets it when Tim stiffens. Shit.

“You don’t know anything about my dad,” Tim says. His face is unreadable, his tone is even, but his knuckles are white next to the fridge handle.

“Hey,” Dick says. “I’m sorry.” Realizes he is. It’s not like people giving him a hard time about Bruce have ever helped anything. “I’m not mad at you.” He raises his hands: look, I surrender. “And I’m not mad at your dad, okay? It just…it sucks that you got stuck here alone. That’s all I was thinking.”

It works; Tim makes a face. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you either.”

Tim pours glasses of water for them both and perches on a stool next to the kitchen island. They drink in silence. Dick stays standing, trying to resist the urge to—he doesn’t know what. Swing himself up on the countertops. The place is intimidatingly spotless. It’s more disconcerting than it should be. It takes him back to those first months in the Manor, feeling desperately out-of-place in Bruce’s world.

Tim’s eying him. Why is this so awkward.

He wishes they were in Blüdhaven. Forget sniffing out more details about Tim’s regular life—he’s ready for a night in and maybe a dumb Christmas movie and some of his own food. And a little brother that he can pretend belongs to him, instead of to this empty house.

…Actually, hang on.

“Your folks aren’t back until tomorrow afternoon, right?” Dick checks.

“The snow—” Tim begins.

“No, I get it, that sucks. Why don’t you come back to Blüdhaven with me? We could do a quick patrol. And you could stay over after.”

God, the look on Tim’s face. “Really?” he says, too fast, and then, flushing, “You don’t mind?”

You coming over is possibly the only thing that’s gonna stop me from wanting to punch your dad in the face, Dick doesn’t say.

My current Christmas Day plans are 1) pace around at home, and 2) try not to obsess about what Bruce is up to, so trust me, you’ll be an improvement, Dick doesn’t say.

He keeps his mouth shut. He is self-aware. Dick may be a mess, but he’s at least in control enough not to dump all his issues on a fourteen-year-old. Tim signed up to help them with crimefighting, not to be Dick’s emotional crutch.

“Of course I don’t mind,” he says aloud.

* *

Train to Blüdhaven, and they swing by the Zee Mores and help a couple lost souls find homeless shelters. In one alleyway, Dick watches Tim talk a runaway teenager out of her hiding place, patient and steady. You can trust us. I promise, nobody’s gonna hurt you. You’re just scared, right? Tim’s textbook-perfect at this kind of stuff: the runaways and the suicide risks, the drunks and the addicts. Earnest and reassuring. Like an after-school special.

It’s a funny out-of-body experience, watching Tim talk down strangers. His technique’s gotten a lot better since he was thirteen and facing down a grim-faced Bruce, but—well, it’s the same kind of thing, isn’t it? Tim cares so intensely. The full force of Tim Drake’s concern is like a tidal wave, impossible to resist.

Dick wishes this was the sort of thing he could brag to Clancy about: you should’ve seen him, Clance, she drew the knife and he didn’t even raise his voice.

Dick takes over once the girl’s a bit calmer, less likely to bolt. She nods shakily. She looks like she could do with some physical comfort, so Dick opens his arms just enough, an invitation, and—

Yeah. A crying girl with ratty hair in his arms. Robin puts a hand on her back, and that just makes her cry harder. Hasn’t had a home in a while, this girl.

In the end they take her to a shelter Dick knows, and some people he trusts, and stick around long enough to make sure it works out.

It’s a hard night, but it feels good. He thinks about Tim a year ago, back in NYC, simple and stubborn when Dick teased him about the overgrown boy scout act: I like helping people.

Dick likes helping people, too.

* *

Back to the apartment, past midnight, and their snow-dusted costumes leave little puddles on the floor. Dick’s gotten into the habit of keeping a spare change of clothes for Tim so he won’t have to bring it over in a backpack, but the only thing he’s got right now is jeans and a T-shirt. Not ideal while it’s still freezing. So Nightwing turns into Dick Grayson, but Tim stays Robin for now, taking advantage of the suit’s thermals. Dick cranks up the heat while they dry out from the flurries of snow.

“What do you want to—to watch?” Dick asks, yawning.

“It’s a Wonderful Life,” Tim says promptly. “And, uh. Can we make apple cobbler? Or roasted potatoes?”

Okay, that’s hyper-specific. “Sure? Do you know how?”

“Ye-es,” Tim says. “I think so.”

Dick assembles his best stab at ingredients, and Tim frowns down at them like he’s gonna march into battle. “I can do the potatoes,” Dick volunteers. “I think for apple cobbler you just need—” Hmm. What do you need? “I’ve got apples and sugar and cinnamon.”

Tim’s looking up a recipe on his phone. “Yeah,” he says. “And I need a pan, I think?”

“You think?”

“Shut up,” Tim says. “Okay. I’m ready now.”

This will be either very good or very bad.

* *

Both the potatoes and the cobbler turn out fine, actually, though it might just be that Dick missed dinner and isn’t feeling picky.

“They shoot, they score,” Dick says, and offers Tim a high-five. Tim matches it without taking his eyes off his food.

It’s not exactly, Dick thinks, that they’re learning each other’s rhythms. They’re creating a rhythm that’s all their own.

* *

The heat is still not working well, so Dick digs a few blankets out of one of his cardboard boxes. Tim’s sardonic about the cardboard boxes, so Dick throws a blanket over his head and holds it there until he surrenders, and then they watch TV. It’s a Wonderful Life is showing on half a dozen channels.

Tim toes off the Robin boots so he can put his feet on the couch, and curls under Dick’s blanket. He’s still got the mask on, which makes an odd picture. Robin’s serious young face and the top of Robin’s cape and green shoulders, and then the blanket.

Tim looks like such a kid, sometimes. Messy kid with a messy room. Dick’s having one of those moments where it feels surreal, to think this is the kid he fights crime with. Tim ought to be burning out his brain cells on a Playstation, or hanging out with girls at the mall. Anything but sparring with nutjobs from Arkham.

What’s in it for him? Why does he keep doing it? Should they even be letting him? Batman needs Robin, Gotham needs Robin, I need Robin, Tim told him, a few weeks back, when they talked about it. But it still feels like Tim gives them so much more than they give in return.

The apple cobbler, though. A weird late-night craving. But at least Dick’s given him something for Christmas.

* *

“So,” Dick asks eventually, during a commercial break. “Is apple cobbler a Christmas thing, for you?”

“It’s just, like. A holiday thing,” Tim says, not looking at him. “I haven’t had it in ages.”

“Your housekeeper got bored with making it?”

“No.” Tim fiddles with the blanket. “We just haven’t had it in a while.”

“I guess she probably did a better job that we did,” Dick guesses.

“Not Mrs. Mac. It was, um. My mom. She used to—she used to bake them.”

Dick doesn’t move. Barely breathes. He has half a plate of cobbler in front of him, and the remains of a potato, and a mystery with pieces that are snapping together. So this is the secret point of the food. Probably also the movie.

“Lamb and roast potatoes and apple cobbler,” Tim says. “It was, like. It was her big meal that she’d do. For special occasions, you know?”

Dick has questions, but he waits.

The trick with Tim, he’s learned, is that you’ve got to wait. He wants to talk, he’s just no good at it. But if you wait him out, he’ll get there.

He listens to the creaking of the radiator, and watches the faint specks of snow hitting his window, and tightens his grip, very lightly, on Tim’s shoulder.

He waits.

“She liked apples,” Tim says at last.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She didn’t like cooking much. She could do it, but she thought my dad… They fought a lot, you know? She wanted him to cook more. We didn’t have Mrs. Mac then. And my dad, he wanted her to be more…this is gonna sound bad, but my dad’s kinda…traditional?”

Dick’s pretty sure the word Tim’s avoiding is sexist, but if Tim doesn’t want to say it, Dick won’t. And to be fair, Dick doesn��t actually know Jack Drake. Coupled up within a year with his much-younger physical therapist is…a choice, but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

“And my mom, she’d get mad at him. So then she didn’t want to cook, and she wanted him to take more responsibility for…things. That he thought were her job.”

“People fight sometimes,” Dick says, trying to figure out what Tim needs to hear. “It doesn’t mean they don’t love each other.”

“They were gonna get a divorce. I think.”

Oops. Okay, change direction. I’m sure they both loved you? I’m sure your mom loved you? The problem, of course, is that Dick’s not really sure of anything when it comes to the Drakes. Doesn’t know how to avoid putting his foot in his mouth.

The commercial break is over and It’s a Wonderful Life is back on, but Dick leaves the TV set muted. He tries not to stare directly at Tim, in case that’s too much pressure. But he’s very conscious of the kid at the edge of his awareness.

“There was this one year,” Tim says. He’s got his arms around his knees. “When I was a kid. I was…ten, maybe? And they were both home, and we did a big thing for Christmas Eve. She made a big meal, and we watched movies, and I ate, like, half the apple cobbler, I think. And we walked around the neighborhood—she always walked really fast, and she’d—it was funny, because she’d forget, and then she’d be too far ahead, and she’d have to turn and come back to us, and—” Tim’s voice wobbles a bit, and he breaks off sharp, flushing.

Oh, kiddo. Dick gives into temptation and runs a hand through Tim’s hair, digs his fingers into the scalp. Tim closes his eyes.

“Sounds like a good memory,” Dick says, when he trusts his voice.

“That’s when,” Tim says, voice thick. “When she—that’s when I told them to have the funeral, you know? On Christmas Eve. Because…I wanted to remember her like that, you know, and not…”

So that was Tim’s idea. Right, of course, his dad was in a coma. “Yeah,” Dick says aloud.

“I feel like I’m forgetting her.”

That one hits a bit too close to home. “Yeah,” Dick manages.

And of course Tim catches it. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Hey, you’re good.” Breathe.

That bothers me too, he could say, the forgetting.

But he can’t say it. He can’t talk about his parents. He’s never been able to, not really.

Tim still looks worried, so Dick ruffles his hair to make him relax. “Forgetting,” he prompts.

“Dana likes cooking,” Tim says.

It sounds like a non sequitur. But maybe it’s not. Dick watches the silent figures moving on the TV screen. He’s got a bit of the shape of it now, he thinks. Jack Drake on a trip with his new girlfriend. And the girlfriend isn’t a hasty replacement for the dead wife; she’s the opposite of the dead wife. He’s already gotten from what Tim’s said that the new girlfriend is conventionally feminine, young, attractive. A helper career, and dating her employer. She’s probably happy to cook for Jack Drake.

“I like Dana,” Tim says. Careful. “She’s good for him.”

“But you feel disloyal.”

“I mean…not exactly, but…” Tim trails off. “Kind of.” And then, very reluctantly, “She’d be so mad, my mom. She’d be so mad.”

Dick bites back his first instinct to reassure. Tries to think what he should say.

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to argue.

Maybe he can offer something in exchange. A secret for a secret. “Bruce offered to adopt me,” he says. “When I was a kid. I said no.”

Tim goes still.

“I felt like…I felt like it would be replacing them, you know? And—” There’s another truth, behind this truth, and it’s not one he shared with Bruce and Alfred, though they probably guessed. “I don’t know if they would’ve liked him. Bruce.”

It’s not quite what he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say what he means. He’s not sure what advice he wants to give, or if he even has advice. He doesn’t know how much he wants to admit. Tim’s good at reading people, and he’s got a scarily good memory. Dick has to watch what he reveals, because he won’t be able to take it back later.

Tim’s watching him.

* *

He could say: I said no to Bruce because I didn’t want to lose them. But sometimes I feel like I’ve lost them anyway. And then I lost Bruce. And I wonder, sometimes, if I’d said yes back then…Bruce was so close to Jason, you can’t imagine, and I can’t help wondering if maybe…

The thing is, there are costs to holding onto the dead. And you keep paying them. Because the dead never come back. And life doesn’t wait. Other people don’t wait for you.

He could say: I loved them. They loved me. I wish I’d known them better. I was a kid, I spent half my childhood with Bruce, and I don’t regret it, it made me the person I am today, but…I don’t know if they would recognize me. I don’t know if I remember them the way they were, or if I’ve polished all the memories in my head. Were we really that happy? Was it really as good as I remember? What would they think of Bruce? What would they think if they saw me now?

He could say: My dad would’ve hated Bruce. Or—maybe not hated him. But my dad never had much use for rich people. And I’m afraid he’d be disappointed, that I didn’t go back to the circus. We were the flying Graysons, my father and his father and his father, our colors and our stories, and I’m the one who broke the tradition. I’m the one who left.

He could say: I’m forgetting my father’s language. I never knew it that well, but my father—and then my mother learned it for him, for him and for me, and she used to sing, and—I’m too ashamed to ask to someone to teach me when these are things I should know, and—

He could say: I wish I knew a path that wouldn’t hurt you, somehow.

* *

“I don’t think there are right answers,” Dick says at last. “To things like that.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know what your mom would think. But you don’t, either, you know? So you can’t…you shouldn’t put too much weight on it.”

“Yeah.”

And because now Dick feels like a hypocrite, he forces himself to add, “I get it, though. I—I worry about stuff like that too. Sometimes. Bruce…my life changed a lot. After I lost them. And I made choices… I don’t know what they’d think, you know? I don’t know if they’d even recognize me, the person I am now.”

Dick’s parents would’ve wanted him to be happy, with or without them. He knows that. And Dick’s father had fallen in love with a gadji woman, and married her, and he never seemed to worry too much about whether Dick knew the right customs or pronounced Romani words the right way. But nowadays when he tries to speak his father’s language, it comes haltingly to his lips. He sounds like an outsider. He is an outsider.

Can he even call himself a flying Grayson anymore? Visiting the circus sometimes isn’t the same as being a real performer.

Tim’s frowning. “Of course they’d recognize you.”

Tim means well, no doubt, but the easy platitude stings. “You don’t know that.”

“But you’re not that different?”

“I used to spend my nights doing somersaults and now I spend them punching people. You don’t think that’s a little different?”

“But it’s kind of the same thing, isn’t it?”

“Acrobatics and crime fighting?”

“I mean, not exactly, I guess,” Tim says.

“You guess?”

“Shut up. I just meant—you make people not be scared. Like. You make their lives better. They could be having, like, the worst days of their lives and they look up and see you and then it gets better. You make them happier. I dunno. Isn’t it kind of the same thing?”

Huh. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a platitude. Tim believes that.

It’s a nice thought. Dick tries to decide if he believes it. The thing is, Tim is the only person in the world who ever looked at Dick Grayson, acrobat, and Dick Grayson, Robin, and thought, ah, exactly the same, so he’s not exactly a representative source. And then, too, Tim’s—

Dick avoids thinking about it, mostly. But sometimes, Tim gets a particularly earnest tone in his voice, and it’s like he’s talking about someone else, this version of Dick he’s got in his head, who’s kind and good and caring, instead of selfish and angry and lost half the time. Who’s so much better than Dick could ever hope to be. You’d think that a year of actually knowing Dick would’ve snapped Tim out of it, but sometimes…

“I think most of what we do is scare people,” Dick says at last.

“Not the important stuff,” Tim says. “Like that girl, earlier. She was scared, right? And you made her feel better.”

Okay, yes, but… “You talked her down.”

“But you comforted her. I’m not good at that.”

“You did fine.” And Tim sometimes responds better to the name, so he adds, “Robin. Trust me. You did good.”

That wins him a smile, quick and small, and Tim ducks his head. “Thanks.” Earnest: “But, I mean. You too. I guess I didn’t know your parents. But they seemed really nice. And you help so many people, and that’s kind of what they did, right? Of course they’d recognize you.”

Dick has to look away. When he’s composed himself enough to look back, Tim’s eyes are wide and worried.

He’s such a sweet kid.

It’s hard to fight the instinct to pull him closer. He has vague, half-formed fantasies of closeness: hugging the kid, or kissing his forehead, whispering endearments. He wishes Tim were his real little brother, and that they were going to their parents’ house for Christmas tomorrow—imaginary parents, imaginary house, or even Bruce’s house, and Bruce’s old smile, and Alfred fussing over the tree.

Or even farther back: the circus trailer, and a little brother huddled up next to him in the cold, and they’d be speculating about what gifts they were gonna get tomorrow, and Tim disappointed about—something, it doesn’t matter what, but Dick would tease him out of it, make him laugh, and Ma would ruffle Dick’s hair, pleased and proud, and say, that’s my little Robin—and—

Impossible fantasies.

“C’mere,” he says.

Tim leans his head cautiously against Dick’s side, and Dick wraps an arm around him. His hair is still kinda damp. Tim slipped and ended up headfirst in a snowdrift, coming off the train on their way back, and though the suit’s thermals made swift work of everything on the suit, there’s nothing to be done about Tim’s hair. Dick noticed him sticking his head by the radiator earlier and probably should’ve offered him a towel or something, but the picture of Tim attempting to dry his hair via radiator was so funny that Dick had put it off and then forgotten.

He lets his knuckles brush lightly against Tim’s shoulder, and Tim closes his eyes. Everything feels slow and sluggish and tender, the rise and fall of Tim’s chest, the weight of him. Little brother, almost. Not quite, not really, but—enough to pretend. Just for a while. Just for tonight.

“Hey, there, Robin,” Dick says softly, and hears Tim’s breath stutter.

Sometimes, Dick wonders if he knows. Or, no. He knows Tim doesn’t. Tim’s grown up a bit, since last year, but when he showed up he was completely tactless. If he’d overheard the nickname, back at the circus, he would’ve blurted it out along with all of his other evidence. But there are these moments, sometimes, when he can almost pretend Tim knows. And Dick doesn’t have to tell him, he just knows, and it doesn’t matter that the name means something a little different now, because Mary Grayson is still part of it, and so is Dick, and so is the kid at the circus.

Like they’re all caught in a snowglobe that someone’s shaken—and the snow whirls around them, and it settles in a different place, and all the names change, but everything important is still the same.

The world turns and it moves around them, but this one kid, this one moment, stays forever. A shy smile preserved in Polaroid, and a half-remembered embrace, and a kid asleep in Wayne Manor that one time, and Tim’s face pressed against his side now, memories and reality like fractals, like snowflakes, all colliding together.

The silent center of the changing world.

* *

The moment ends, as moments always do. The snowstorm is picking up outside, and Dick ought to double-check that all the windows are closed. The leftover cobbler is drying on the plates, and Dick ought to get up and wash them. Or maybe he’ll make Tim do it. Having a sorta sidekick has its advantages, especially when he’s as easy to bully as Tim.

But Dick doesn’t get up, not yet.

Tim’s mask is peeling off, just a bit, around the edges. Not so you’d notice if you didn’t know what to look for.

That’s probably the radiator’s fault, too. The adhesive stands up to a lot, but the combination of sharp cold and then hot air isn’t a great one. Dick nudges the mask with a finger, and yeah: right near Tim’s cheekbone, the corner is lifting off.

“I know,” Tim says, eyes closed. “Don’t poke my eye out. I was gonna fix it later.”

It can’t be comfortable, though. Peeling adhesive itches.

Tim doesn’t actually need a mask in Dick’s apartment, though it’s smarter if he stays in uniform. Just in case. It’s better not to be half-in and half-out. Robin curled up next to Dick Grayson is a pretty damning image vis-a-vis secret identities, but it’s not half as bad as unmasked Robin next to Dick Grayson. With a masked crimefighter, you can still make up stories. No idea, Clance, he just showed up in the window. It’s a funny thought. Dick Grayson’s home for wayward vigilantes. Though of course Clancy’s met Tim.

“C’mon,” Dick says. “Up and at ‘em.”

“Don’t wanna,” Tim mumbles into his shoulder. “It’s cold.” He scrunches up his face. “I hate winter.”

“Are all the Drakes cold-blooded, or just you?”

“My mom hated it too,” Tim says.

My mother loved the spring, Dick could say. She used to tell me that—

Mi dey volisardyas lolé-kolinachên, he could say. She loved me, and she was always teasing—they both were, both my parents, they loved to laugh—and she used to say I brought springtime with me.

You’re so good, Tim.

Kámas-volisardyas tu. Kámas-volisarde tu.

He’s only half-spoken, under his breath, but Tim catches everything. “What’s that mean?”

It means my mother would’ve loved you, but Dick can’t bring himself to say it for real.

And it’s too much, anyway. He knows that, when he’s being more rational. Not fair to dump that on Tim, the weight of all Dick’s grief and memories. He’s aware that the lump in his throat is not really about Tim himself, not quite. There’s something talismanic about the circus memories, but that’s not particular to Tim-the-person. Anyone could’ve been there, that day. It just happened to be that afternoon, that moment, this kid. One little boy, just like a hundred thousand other little boys. A random moment of chance. A gift from the universe.

“It means,” Dick says, and clears his throat. They do, actually, need to get up, and Dick needs to stop brooding. Holidays are not a good time for him. He gets lost in memories, regrets, nostalgia. Stuck in the past, Babs would probably say.

But he has a good life now, actually. Regrets or no.

And he’s got an honorary kid brother who has not smiled nearly enough tonight.

* *

“It means,” Dick says, lowering his voice portentously, “You have a ridiculous nose.”

“It—what? It does not. Wait, does it?” Tim self-consciously touches his nose. Oh man. He’s so easy. “What’s wrong with my nose?”

“I’m glad you asked. Did I tell you the story about the elephant’s child and the crocodile?”

“Only a million times,” Tim says.

“You see, what happened,” Dick says, ignoring him, “is that the elephant’s child went around asking so many questions that the crocodile bit his nose like this—”

He reaches around to yank Tim’s nose. Tim’s retaliation is an elbow to the side—predictable—so Dick grabs him and twists his arm around. Tim’s defenses are getting better but his forearm blocks still suck.

Ten very entertaining seconds later, Dick’s got one arm braced against Tim’s back and the other hand forcing his face into the sofa cushions.

“Mmph,” Tim protests.

“I’m counting that as an uncle,” Dick tells him, “but only because it’s Christmas and I’m nice. You haven’t been practicing forearm blocks, have you?”

“I practice! Just not all the time.” Tim’s trying to twist around, so Dick takes pity and lets him. Tim makes a face, but he’s not actually mad; he’s pressing his lips together the way he does when he’s trying to turn a smile into a scowl. Robin, legendary terror of the night. A noogie is really the only proper response. “Quit it!”

“Shh.”

“Quit iiiiit.”

“Shhh.”

“Quit it!”

But Tim’s already dissolving into giggles.

* *

“You’re such a jerk,” Tim says, later, all dignity, once he gets his breath back. He’s sprawled upside-down on the couch with his legs in the air, the blanket dangling from his toes. “I don’t even ask that many questions. I haven’t asked you any questions about you and Babs all night.”

Uh huh. Dick flips himself up on the couch. “I’m counting that as a question.”

“Okay, but,” Tim says. “She invited you over to her Christmas party, right? That was her party. Like. If you had a party, it’d be here. So. What’s the deal with you guys?”

He’s so nosy. But this is Dick’s fault for opening the door. Give Tim an inch, and then you get all the pestering. “That was a vigilante party,” he says. Can he balance on one hand on this couch? Hmm. Maybe better not try.

“Is that why her dad wasn’t there?”

“He always works Christmas,” Dick says. “He’s like B, you know. Never a night off.”

This is somewhat misleading. Bruce didn’t always work Christmas. But Jim Gordon always has, as long as Dick’s known him. Every Christmas, no exceptions. When Dick was a kid, he never questioned it. Nowadays, he does wonder. The detective habit is hard to break.

It could be general workaholic behavior (always possible, with the Gordons). Or there might be some upsetting story involving something creepy that James Gordon Jr. did at Christmastime (Dick’s personal theory). But Babs’s sorta little brother is a verboten subject, so Dick hasn’t asked. Babs, he knows, will spend Christmas with Sarah Essen.

“Are you going to date her?”

“None of your business.”

“Because you kept staring at her all evening,” Tim says. Dick’s balancing two-handed on the back of the couch, but lifts one hand. Can’t cuff his head, so his legs will have to do. “Ow!” Tim almost kicks him in the face, and Dick heroically doesn’t retaliate. “You did, though.”

Well, that’s embarrassing. Do you think she noticed, he’d like to ask, but obviously Babs must’ve noticed if Tim did. He jumps down. “If we start dating, I promise you’ll be the last to know.”

“Aw, c’mon.”

“You c’mon. We need to wash up. And you’ve gotta fix your mask.”

“I don’t have any extra adhesive.”

“I do.”

“What did you really say?” Tim says, because he never forgets a question once he’s asked it. “Earlier? Kamas volu-something.” His accent is worse than Dick’s.

“Voliv tu,” Dick says. “It means Merry Christmas. C’mon, Boy Blunder.”

* *

They retreat to the bathroom, and Dick searches his cabinet until he finds the right bottle. Tim doesn’t need help, but Dick hangs around anyway. There’s something absorbing about watching masks come on and off, about the way it transforms your face. Later, when the heat’s finally warmed up the place, Tim will change into real clothes, and ditch the mask, and maybe Dick will loan him a jacket, and he’ll curl up in a little lump on the couch.

And tomorrow morning, he’ll still be here. Like the answer to an unasked wish. Dear Santa, please bring me some family for Christmas, sincerely, Dick Grayson. P.S. If parents unavailable, honorary little brothers are okay. It’s an amusing thought.

But it’s nice, honestly. He’s already imagining the conversations, after. With Clancy: yeah, our dad had to work, but my little brother came over. With Babs: actually, I ended up spending the day with Robin, and her brow will twitch while she adds that clue to her mental list. With Alfred: Tim’s parents got stuck in Chicago, so I thought I’d keep him company for a bit, and Alfred will smile.

And with Tim, someday, maybe: Hey, you remember that one Christmas when we…? It’ll be a good day, he can already tell. Something to hang onto.

A gift.

He watches Tim carefully remove the mask, and splash water on his face, and rub away the last sticky traces of the old adhesive, and then reapply everything.

“Hey, um,” Tim says, quiet, not looking at him. “I forgot if I said. Thanks. For inviting me and…and having me over and everything. And the food. I, um. I appreciate it.”

Sometimes, it’s not the gifts you get but the gifts you give that mean the most. Dick’s breath catches in his throat.

“Sure,” he says. “Anytime.”

* *

Comic notes:

This fic is set during and after Holiday Bash 3. I stole a few quotes from the comic, along with the burnt cookies, Jack and Dana being in Chicago on Christmas Eve, and Dick and Babs ambushing Tim with a party.

Janet Drake is buried on Christmas Eve in Batman 455. In Batman Chronicles 4, while delirious with the Clench, Tim dreams that his mother is alive again, and he “realizes” she’s alive when he smells the food they haven’t had since her death: lamb, potatoes, and apple cobbler.

Dick’s comment that Tim’s too young and should be playing Playstation instead of sparring with nutjobs from Arkham, and Tim’s reply that Gotham needs Robin and he needs Robin, are both from Secret Origins 80-Page Giant. “You’re better than me, Dick,” is something Bruce says to Dick in Detective Comics 725, when Dick’s reminiscing about the old days. Dick’s father was first retconned as Romani in Nightwing Annual 1, and is later shown speaking the language in a flashback; I’ve used the Kalderash dialect for Romani phrases. Tim reads comic books in Young Justice and has an Enya CD in Teen Titans; I changed the CD to a music video. Dick and Tim's synchronized moves show up in various comics, including Gotham Knights 8.

Babs mentions getting notes and thank yous from Robin in Showcase 94 #12, and Dick refers to Tim as an “earnest little computer geek” in Nightwing 110.

I used two lines from The Little Prince:

“‘Yes,’ said the fox. ‘I’ll explain. To me, you are just a little boy like any other, like a hundred thousand other little boys. I have no need of you and you have no need of me. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world.’”

"All men have stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travelers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems. But all these stars are silent. You—You alone will have stars as no one else has them. In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars will be laughing when you look at the sky at night... You, only you, will have stars that can laugh!”

[bloody-bee-tea]

Sweat

Jiang Cheng knows that it’s a risky move to show up to this office party with Nie Mingjue in tow, but then again it’s not like he cares. Much.

He had tried to introduce Nie Mingjue to his parents countless times, but they always shot him down, citing that they don’t have time for things like this. So Jiang Cheng never got to introduce them.

But the invitation to the party had said he could bring a plus one. It didn’t specify any further than this and Jiang Cheng had waved the invitation at Nie Mingjue, who of course hadn’t gotten one of his own.

Jiang Fengmian wanted to cut a deal with Jin Corp. and everyone knew that Jin Guangshan didn’t make deals when the Nies were involved. So Nie Security hadn’t gotten an invitation at all.

Jiang Cheng is aware that his father will be furious with him for bringing Nie Mingjue but he will be going in his capacity as Jiang Cheng’s boyfriend. It won’t be work related. And it isn’t either of their fault if Jiang Fengmian wants to make a deal with the slimiest bastard in their business.

Jiang Cheng is going to give his dad a metaphorical fuck you by bringing Nie Mingjue.

At least that had been the theory. Now that they are actually at the party, Jiang Cheng is getting pretty damn nervous again, sweat clinging to his temples and back.

“It’ll be alright,” Nie Mingjue whispers and pulls him close with a hand on his hip. “I’m right here.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t say that that is part of the problem and instead leans into the contact. He has to admit that it does feel pretty nice to not be alone for once.

“Until someone steals you away and then where will I be?” Jiang Cheng grumbles, mostly just to be contrary, because he does feel better this close to Nie Mingjue.

“I hope you’ll be on your way to save me,” Nie Mingjue gives back and brushes a kiss over Jiang Cheng’s temple. “Since work is not what I’m here for. Look, there’s Wei Wuxian,” he then tries to distract Jiang Cheng and he has to admit that it works reasonably well.

Wei Wuxian drags Lan Wangji over to them as well and Jiang Cheng is sure that Lan Xichen is mingling somewhere, too, so there are at least four friendly faces around. Five, if you count Jin Zixuan and with how hard he’s trying lately with Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng is inclined to count him.

Jiang Cheng tries to follow along with Wei Wuxian’s excited chatter about his newest project, but his nerves are getting the better of him once he catches sight of Jiang Fengmian and so most what Wei Wuxian says flies right over Jiang Cheng’s head.

“Uh-oh, here he comes,” Nie Mingjue mutters and steps that little bit closer to Jiang Cheng, making sure that he knows he’s there and he’s supporting him.

Wei Wuxian throws a wide-eyed look over his shoulder before he turns the same wide eyes on Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Go,” he tells him, secretly a little bit relieved that Wei Wuxian wants to remove himself from this situation and Wei Wuxian is gone faster than Jiang Cheng can blink.

Speaking to Jiang Fengmian is never pleasant, but it’s always worse when Wei Wuxian is present. It seem like the sheer existence of Wei Wuxian makes Jiang Fengmian forget that Jiang Cheng even exists and no matter how much time passes or how many therapy sessions Jiang Cheng goes to, it never stops hurting.

Nie Mingjue puts a steadying hand to the small of Jiang Cheng’s back and presses another kiss to his temple where anyone can see and Jiang Cheng loves him for how little Nie Mingjue minds all that family drama that comes with dating him.

It had been one of his big worries when they started dating, but Nie Mingjue seemingly never cared beyond hating how it always hurt Jiang Cheng and that more than anything helped Jiang Cheng to seek out help and to realize that this isn’t normal.

It isn’t normal how he tenses more and more the closer his father gets. It isn’t normal how his heart starts to beat faster when Jiang Fengmian’s eyes fall on him. And it’s certainly not normal how Jiang Cheng starts to shake when clear displeasure clouds over Jiang Fengmian’s face.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asks once he reached them and he’s not even looking at Jiang Cheng anymore.

All of Jiang Fengmian’s attention is on Nie Mingjue.

“What a surprise to see here, Mingjue,” he says and Nie Mingjue tenses with the address.

Jiang Cheng knows that Nie Mingjue hates how overly familiar Jiang Fengmian and Jin Guangshan get whenever they talk to him and so he leans just a little bit more back into Nie Mingjue’s hand.

“Fengmian,” Nie Mingjue gives back, his voice pleasant, though his jaw is clenched. “I’m here with Wanyin.”

“Wanyin,” Jiang Fengmian repeats and turns to look at Jiang Cheng as if this was the first time he noticed him next to Nie Mingjue. “You should be mingling with the Jins.”

“I should be showing my boyfriend around,” Jiang Cheng gives back, hating how there’s the tiniest shake to his voice.

“Your boyfriend,” Jiang Fengmian repeats and looks back at Nie Mingjue. “You’re colluding with the Nies?”

“I am dating a Nie,” Jiang Cheng says, forcing himself to remain calm and collected. “Which you would know if you had ever taken the time to meet my boyfriend.”

“Ah, you know how it is,” Jiang Fengmian says and Jiang Cheng hates that tone of voice, especially when it’s aimed at him. “I am a busy man and who knows how long this fling of yours will last. There’s no need to introduce us when this is bound to end sooner rather than later. I mean, Mingjue is a busy man himself. You shouldn’t hog his attention.”

It’s a reprimand that Jiang Cheng has heard several times before, in different contexts, but it still cuts him deeply. Deeply enough that he can’t even find his voice and it only worsens his mood, because he should be able to defend his boyfriend and their relationship from his own father.

“Enough about this now,” Jiang Fengmian decides as if Jiang Cheng had actually managed to say anything. “Mingjue, about that contract—” Jiang Fengmian says, his attention completely on Nie Mingjue already, and Jiang Cheng has to bite back some tears.

“I am not here for work,” Nie Mingjue bites out and takes Jiang Cheng’s hand in his. “I am here as a plus one to my boyfriend. If you really do want to talk about the contract, you should make an appointment with my secretary.”

Jiang Fengmian blinks, clearly surprised by Nie Mingjue’s firm rebuke and Nie Mingjue takes that opportunity to drag Jiang Cheng away from him.

“I know he’s your dad, but I seriously hate him,” Nie Mingjue mutters once they are out of earshot and Jiang Cheng laughs wetly.

He hates his dad sometimes, too, but he can’t bring himself to say that.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Jiang Cheng says, slinging his arms around Nie Mingjue’s middle and just breathing for a few moments.

“Even though I just made it more difficult for you?” Nie Mingjue wants to know, but he squeezes Jiang Cheng back.

“He would have found something to criticise me over anyway,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “It’s easier to endure when you’re there.”

“I’m not leaving you out of my sight tonight,” Nie Mingjue promises him and Jiang Cheng is just about to breathe in relief when the severe clicking of heels announces the arrival of Yu Ziyuan.

“Oh, fuck,” Jiang Cheng whispers and moves away from Nie Mingjue only to come face to face with his clearly disapproving mother.

“Is this how we make business deals now? Whoring yourself out?” she asks, clearly not caring at all who hears her and Jiang Cheng is quick to shake his head.

“Mother, this is my boyfriend, Nie Mingjue. We’ve been dating for a while,” he rushes out, hopes to salvage this situation somehow and he has to admit that he wasn’t prepared for the surprised look on her face.

“Boyfriend,” she repeats. “The boyfriend you have been trying to introduce to us several times?”

Ah, so at least she noticed his attempts.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng meekly gives back and Nie Mingjue holds his hand out.

“Nie Mingjue, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, finally,” he says with a small smile and Yu Ziyuan only hesitates a second before she takes his hand.

“I wasn’t aware my son was dating you,” she says and Jiang Cheng flinches.

He had told her, several times actually, but of course she didn’t listen to him. She listens more to him than Jiang Fengmian, but it is still not a lot.

“I am,” Jiang Cheng says, trying to sound surer than he feels, and he can’t read the glint in his mother’s eyes at all.

There is a very long silence before Yu Ziyuan speaks again.

“If you hurt him, I will ruin you,” she says and then turns around to leave in the same manner in which she arrived.

“Was she talking to me or to you?” Jiang Cheng asks, once his mother vanishes from his sight and Nie Mingjue sighs.

“I think she actually meant me,” he gives back and then pulls Jiang Cheng into a kiss. “That actually went better than expected,” he mumbles against Jiang Cheng’s lips and Jiang Cheng has to agree.

He has anticipated his father’s disinterest in his boyfriend, so even while that had still hurt, it wasn’t unexpected. But his mother is always a little bit of a wild card and Jiang Cheng never knows what to expect with her.

“Come on, after this I need something to drink,” Nie Mingjue says once they part and Jiang Cheng couldn’t agree more.

They mingle for a bit afterwards, speaking to Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, and even Jin Zixuan for a while before they retreat back into a relatively quiet corner.

“This wasn’t so bad so far,” Nie Mingjue says with a sigh and leans against the wall. “Being your arm candy certainly has its perks.”

“Like what?” Jiang Cheng snorts but he has to admit that having Nie Mingjue here did wonders to relax him.

“Like being able to simply walk away if someone starts to talk business to me,” Nie Mingjue gives back and threads their fingers together. “And I get to admire you all evening, so that’s a definite plus.”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng hisses, but he can already feel how he turns red.

“Never,” Nie Mingjue whispers and kisses Jiang Cheng’s burning cheek.

“You’re an idiot,” Jiang Cheng tells him, aiming for stern but of course he softens immediately when Nie Mingjue looks expectantly at him. “And I love you.”

“I love you, too,” is the immediate response he gets and Jiang Cheng didn’t know how nice it was to never having to wonder or wait for those words.

Nie Mingjue always makes very sure that Jiang Cheng knows just how much he’s loved.

“What the fuck is your father’s problem?” Nie Mingjue mutters suddenly, breaking Jiang Cheng out of his pleasant thoughts and he leans around Nie Mingjue to see better.

“Fuck, he had something to drink,” Jiang Cheng whispers under his breath, because Jiang Fengmian is never a pleasant person to be around—at least not if you are name Jiang Cheng—but it only ever gets worse when he had something to drink.

“I’ve got this,” Nie Mingjue decides and hands Jiang Cheng his empty glass. “Get me some more, would you?”

Jiang Cheng works his jaw a few times, but when Nie Mingjue nudges him into the opposite direction of his father he sighs. “Fine.”

Nie Mingjue gives him a winning smile before he turns around to meet Jiang Fengmian halfway and Jiang Cheng can’t help it. He knows that no matter what’s going to happen it will hurt him, but he simply has to know.

He doesn’t leave to get them new drinks.

“Mingjue, what a nice surprise,” Jiang Fengmian says, just a tad too loudly and Jiang Cheng winces. “What brings you here?”

“We already talked today,” Nie Mingjue reminds him, his hands clenching at his side.

“Oh, did we? Remind me again, then,” Jiang Fengmian says, his voice now a little bit more appropriate and he leans into Nie Mingjue’s space. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with your son. You know, because we’re dating?” Nie Mingjue tells him and Jiang Cheng knows what’s going to happen a split second before his father opens his mouth.

It feels like someone reached inside his chest and tore his heart out.

“Wei Wuxian? I thought he is with that Lan boy?” Jiang Fengmian says and Jiang Cheng sees how Nie Mingjue freezes.

Jiang Cheng has trouble breathing himself, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Nie Mingjue, because it’s the only safe place to look at right now.

“You piece of shit,” Nie Mingjue mutters, and before Jiang Cheng or anyone else can react, he moves.

Between one blink an the next Jiang Fengmian is on the ground, clearly knocked out cold, and Nie Mingjue is shaking out his hand as he turns around and looks for Jiang Cheng.

“Fuck, you heard,” are the first words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth, before he rushes up to Jiang Cheng to crush him to his chest.

“You punched him,” Jiang Cheng mutters, blinking several times, because it doesn’t make sense.

His father is in on the ground and people are staring at them, but it doesn’t make sense.

“Of course I did!”

“You just punched him,” Jiang Cheng repeats and it’s only the arrival of his mother that prevents him from breaking down into hysterical laughter.

“What is going on here? Wanyin, an explanation!”

“Your husband forgot who his actual son is,” Nie Mingjue hisses at her, not letting go of Jiang Cheng and clearly not going to apologize for his actions.

“Ma’am, do you want us to call the police?” a security guard suddenly asks and Jiang Cheng tenses in Nie Mingjue’s arms.

He will not allow Nie Mingjue to get punished for this.

Jiang Cheng is about to tell his mother that when she waves them away.

“That won’t be necessary,” she says. “I think it was deserved,” she then adds, much more quietly, before she turns to the room at large. “It seems like my dear husband had a little bit too much to drink and he slipped in a rather unfortunate way,” she calls out. “Please don’t be worried and continue to enjoy the party.”

Jiang Cheng stares at her, his mouth open and it’s only when she turns back around to him and Nie Mingjue that he gets a little bit of control back.

“I think you should leave now,” she says, and Jiang Cheng isn’t sure she ever heard her sound so soft. “Well done,” she adds and pats Nie Mingjue’s arm before she goes to deal with the situation at large.

“What the hell just happened,” Jiang Cheng mutters, but he allows Nie Mingjue to pull him away from his father and from this party.

It’s only when the cold night air hits him that he starts to realize what just happened.

“You punched my father because he was an asshole to me,” Jiang Cheng whispers and Nie Mingjue grimaces.

“Well. I would do it again,” he declares as if Jiang Cheng was about to tell him to not do that again. “He deserved it.”

“He did,” Jiang Cheng agrees and then steps close to Nie Mingjue. “You punched my father for me,” he repeats and Nie Mingjue frowns.

“I can’t tell if you’re angry right now,” Nie Mingjue admits, but he puts his hands on Jiang Cheng’s hips.

“I am in absolute awe of you and I love you so much,” Jiang Cheng tells him and leans in for a biting kiss. “And I think you should take me home now.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is? Me punching your father is doing it for you?” Nie Mingjue teases him, but he starts dragging him towards their car.

“Hell, yes,” Jiang Cheng breathes out, because no one has taken such a stance for him.

“Good to know,” Nie Mingjue says. “But I’d still rather not make it a habit.”

“I think the memory will serve me well, too,” Jiang Cheng says and before Nie Mingjue can get into the car, Jiang Cheng crowds him against the side of it, tucking his face into his neck. “Seriously, thank you.”

“My heart, I love you and no one gets to behave like that when it comes to you,” Nie Mingjue says and puts his arms around Jiang Cheng. “No thanks needed.”

“Oh, I’m gonna thank you,” Jiang Cheng says with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrow and Nie Mingjue barks out a laugh.

“Alright,” he says and then they scramble into the car.

It’s a quiet ride home, despite everything, but Jiang Cheng keeps a hold of Nie Mingjue’s hand and he has to admit that he has never felt so loved before.

And he will make sure Nie Mingjue knows how much he appreciates his actions.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[fandom-monium]

i finished for the holidays and i just *chefs kiss* beautiful talented amazing sajkgdkj no words i love that romance wasnt even the main point 🥺💘 anyway i love how you write reader and i wondered between her and spencer who gets jealous???

Unrivaled

Summary: In which you seem pretty close with the new intern, and Spencer is not happy about it. (ft. one of my fave white bois) “Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

WC: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, Jealous!Spencer bc id like to see that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, the lightest implication of smut ever, points to yall who can guess who the intern is before reading the end or the tags 😉

—

Spencer is not jealous. He’s not.

Why would he be? 

He has no reason to be jealous, Spencer chants to himself as he sits at his desk. Even from across the bullpen he still manages to hear your voice, and while normally it’s music to his ears, even better than Mozart, now it just feels like nails against a chalkboard. Grating his eardrums, making him wince.

Because you’re laughing. Not with Spencer though. Not at his obscure references or lame jokes.

With the new intern.

Why did Emily have to put you in charge of him? She could’ve chosen anyone on the team to have him shadow, but it had to be you! Not that you’re incapable or unqualified; you’re experienced, talented, and the best person he knows. 

… Okay, he can see why she picked you.

Why do they even have interns? Unnecessary, really, when the BAU has you and him and he guesses the other teams too (it’s weird, he’s never actually interacted with them but whatever). Maybe it’s time to start making budget cuts. He’ll discuss this with Emily when he gets the chance. He’s got some influence, working at the BAU as long as he has.

But he’s not jealous. 

Logically, jealousy (like an intern) is unnecessary. The green-eyed monster (like an intern) is ugly and contributes nothing productive, and if Spencer’s being honest, the world (like an intern) would be much better off without it.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he downs his coffee like a shot of whiskey, trying to quell the squirming beast in him. Despite 90% of it being sugar, it still tastes bitter. He sets his mug down with a thud, and it’s loud enough to make Luke, Garcia, and JJ turn their heads, exchanging concerned glances when he slumps back in his chair.

Spencer doesn’t care. The world’s ending; you’re apparently into younger guys, with neat dark hair and forearms that can probably snap someone’s neck, and he can’t do anything about it. What does it matter if his best friends catch him in a sour mood, right?

“Hey, Spence,” JJ's tone is soft as they slink over, Garcia and Luke leaning against the edge of his desk and JJ flanking the other side. “You alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer gazes past them, his eyes never leaving you. He deflates; your stance is relaxed, completely open as you nod at whatever Intern is saying, his hands gesturing spastically. It must be interesting, the way you listen with rapt attention and respond just as enthusiastic.

Spencer scoffs. Not like that’s anything special. You do the same for him. And the rest of the team.

...What the hell are you guys talking about? 

“Well, you look like you’re about to throw your mug across the room. Or at an intern.”

Spencer blinks, finally breaking away from you long enough to eye the ceramic octopus. “That’s a good idea actually.”

“Don’t,” Garcia and JJ both shoot him a warning and he huffs, resting his chin in his hand. Garcia looks horrified, betrayed even while JJ has that expression on, the one she gives when she scolds Henry and Michael.

Whatever. It’s not like he’d ever sacrifice Mildred. Garcia entrusted her to him, after all. 

Unless...?

No, he couldn’t… Maybe.

“You know, Reid, if you’re jealous—”

Spencer snaps his head to Garcia, eyes wide and darting to you like you have super-hearing, “Jealous? Who’s jealous? Not me.” He cringes, his voice octaves higher and cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Garcia snorts, “Okay, sure. But if you are jealous, I was going to say you have no reason to be. You wanna know why?” Spencer raises an eyebrow at her and she continues, “Sure the guy’s smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship at GWU, and he’s top of his class at the academy—”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

"And he’s one of the most good looking guys I've ever met—”

"How is that relevant—"

Luke frowns at her. "And have you met me?"

“My point is,” Garcia’s red lipstick curls into the most reassuring smile, “that you have nothing to worry about because (Your Name) loves you. A lot.” 

Spencer perks up. “You really think so?”

“I know so. I see the way they look at you, and if that’s not love I don’t know what is," She shrugs, "And just because they’re talking doesn’t mean they’re into him.”

There's a collective nod of agreement and Spencer sags in relief. Of course they're right. He knows they are. 

If you think about it, technically, he's got the advantage. You've known each other longer, bonded and shared experiences together good and bad, and you’re emotionally and even physically intimate with each other (something he's especially proud of, considering how long it takes you both to warm up to others).

And who knows? This is probably temporary! Whatever this is, the connection you seem to instantly make with Intern (faster than when you two had met, he realizes with a needle to his heart) is short-term at best. It'll peter out eventually, like most friendships do.

It’s sad, but a cruel fact of life.

(Is this selfish, wishful thinking? Nah.)

They’re right, there is no need to worry, Spencer thinks as a weight lifts off his chest, finally able to breathe. You love him and he loves you and eventually, everything will go back to normal. 

There’s nothing to worry about.

—

The world’s ending.

“It’s really not.”

Yes, it is.

“Doc, come on.”

“Do not ‘Doc’ me,” Spencer grumbles, lifting his head from the comfort of his arms. He grimaces at Luke. “You didn’t see the way they looked at him. The way they talk about him.”

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since you’ve taken Intern under your wing, and he’s had enough. If Hell is real, this is it. For days, he’s tried to resume some form of normalcy, and he was never one to be bold but desperate times call for desperate measures as he asks you out for lunch or invites you out on dates, even stuff he wouldn’t normally do because they’re more your thing. Something, anything to get you away from Intern. But...

At work: “Hey Spence, I'm teaching Intern (menial task that a 4 year old could do). Would you like to help—”

During break: “I’m taking Intern out for lunch. He’s still new to town, and I thought he could use a tour—”

In bed: “Did you know Intern’s a huge fan of Star Wars—”

Snap, and there went his patience.

Intern this, Intern that. 

Spencer could tolerate this at work. At least he’s saving lives, being productive, getting paid. But under his roof? In his bed? 

That was the last straw.

Spencer's not one to wish ill on another, he's not like that. But if something happened to the guy, say, get injured in the field, perhaps from a "stray" bullet, he'd be intern-ally grateful. Heh. 

"Hey, you good?"

Spencer sighs, swiping a hand over his face and turning back to Luke. "Yeah, why?"

Luke waves a hand at his face, eyebrow raised, "For a second there, you kind of had a scary look on your face."

"Did I? Weird."

"Right," Clearly unconvinced, Luke brushes it off, deciding to get to the root of the matter. "As I was saying, I still think you have nothing to worry about. Although, I do think it's a little weird that (Your Name) is talking about Intern as much as you say they are." He offers Spencer a little smile, his hand falling heavy on his shoulder. It's the most comforting touch he's had in two weeks. "I'm not one to talk, but I suggest you speak to them. I'd also be uncomfortable if my partner were talking up someone else."

Spencer blinks, squints at Luke, before gripping his hand and standing up. "Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

"You can stand to mention it more often," Luke shrugs, eyes crinkling with amusement as Spencer lets go and heads for the door. 

"Noted."

—

Spencer nearly goes feral when he finds you.

Of course you're with him.

He searched the floor like a bloodhound, discovering you've been on your feet almost the entire day, running around the office, up and down the elevators, finishing your work and helping around. You must be exhausted. It's because of this he tracks you to your favorite break room, mostly quiet save for the buzzing drip of the old coffeemaker. He knows you need to be alone sometimes, recharge those social batteries.

So when he bursts into the room like he would hunting an unsub, eyes quickly scanning the immediate space, he expects nothing less but you. What he did not anticipate was to find you, just as soft and pretty as ever under the fluorescent lighting, leaning against the counter and sipping daintily at your favorite mug. 

With Intern standing a little too close to his liking.

“Hey, Spencer,” You chirp as you lower your coffee mug, lips glossy from your drink. Spencer's quick to shake his stupor―he can’t afford to be distracted, but it’s difficult when you’re beaming at him, clearly excited. You nod at the home-wrecker, “Me and Intern here were just talking about demonology and he’s got this interesting theory on werewolves―" Lycanthropy? Are you fucking kidding him right now? 

Just when he thought he couldn't hate the guy any more.

"CanItalktoyou?" It comes out rushed as Spencer gasps between breaths, leaving no room to second guess himself.

"Sure," You blink at his urgent tone.

For a second, you watch him expectantly, and Spencer's gaze darts between you and Intern. "Alone?"

"Oh! Okay. Be gone," You wave Intern off, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, Spencer sees red. Or green in this case.

Intern doesn't resist, but the noise Spencer releases is animalistic because the guy can’t seem to read the room, questioning you as you gently shove him towards the door. "What about the thing―"

"We'll talk about that later."

"But you still need to show me how to―"

"Don't worry, Intern. Just wait for me, I'll show you once the adults are done talking."

"You know at some point you're gonna have to call me by my name." 

"Nah. If we get to call Luke a newbie, we get to call you Intern. Also I do not know how to say your first name."

 "You could just call me St―"

Enough of this. Spencer closes the last stretch of distance, batting your hand away from Intern’s shoulders as he kicks him out himself, slamming the door in his face. Spencer turns on his heel to face you, caging you both. “You―” He pants, chest heaving for air.

“Me?”

“You-him-we―”

You’re unfazed, simply nodding at him and his odd behavior. If anything, you’re enjoying this as your lips twitch in a poor attempt to withhold your amusement, trying to cover it with a slurp of your cup. Then again, it’s not everyday you get to see Spencer, face flushed from exertion, speechless as he gasps for breath.

(At least not at work… In the break room specifically.)

It takes a minute as Spencer swallows a few times, but his heart’s erratic and it’s not just from running through the entire building. When he’s got enough air, he blurts out, “Did I do something?”

Your brow shoots up. “What?”

“Did I forget something important? Upset you in some way?”

“No? I don’t think so?” You frown at him, your answers more like questions. 

It only spurs him on, and though his tone is frantic and his eyes just as wild as his hair, you’re more intrigued than frightened. Definitely confused.

“Okay, but you know I love you, right?”

“Yes and I love you too but Spence, what’s this about?" Setting down your mug, you look at him like he's grown another head.

Spencer sighs, "I just… you…" He frowns, glancing between you, the floor, and the empty space between you. 

Spencer Reid is a man of words. Many, many words, according to all his friends and his coworkers. Mainly knowledge―he's never been great with feelings―but as you gaze at him, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts, he wants to melt into the floor. There's not a hint of annoyance on your features, your eyes warm and inviting. 

He's so in love with you.

Then like scripture the words come, natural without much stuttering or hesitancy. He recounts the last two weeks. The internship so far, the times you've left Spencer behind for him, the times you just talked about him, like the guy (practically a stranger) is your new best friend. Usually, pretty people make him tongue-tied and you do―god, you do―but at the same time only you make it so easy. Talking, expressing without fear of―

"Pfft―"

―Judgement. Pausing mid-sentence, Spencer gawks as your nose twitches and your blink rate increases. You purse your lips, a hand slapped over your mouth as it threatens to break out into a grin.

"Are you-are you laughing right now?" When he just poured his feelings out to you? 

That does it. You keel over, peels of laughter coming like a tsunami, crashing into him and Spencer loves your laugh but not when it's at him. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing," you wheeze, gripping your stomach. Spencer pouts. There's even tears in your eyes. "But you're telling me this is all because you're jealous?"

He stutters, "Well-I-no-It’s just…" He wants to say ‘you're mine’, but as your eyes crinkle he knows there’s no need.

"That's kinda hot."

"Wha-really?" Wide-eyed, Spencer squeaks as you step closer to him, backing him into the door. His hands come up to his chest in a kitten-like manner yet at the same time protective―you'd never hurt him and you both know that―but you admit your initial reaction was poor when he laid his feelings bare. 

“Ahhhh Babe, you know there’s no one else for me but you.” Spencer blushes and you chuckle, taking his hands in yours. He let's you. “Also, as adorable as Intern is, one, I think I’d be able to tell if he was hitting on me, and two, he’s not really my type.”

Spencer swallows, “And what exactly is your type?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Looking him up and down, you step closer, enough that your breath puffs against his chin. You smell like cheap coffee. “Tall, handsome doctors with messy, brown hair―” You lightly tug at one of his stray curls and he bites back a smile. 

“―and a cute nose―” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, bringing him down to peck the tip of his nose. It scrunches as Spencer breaks out into giggles. 

“―Who can recite classic literature. Who can bake like he belongs on The Great British Baking Show but can’t cook for shi―”

“Okay! Thank you, I get it,” Spencer says, almost completely relaxed now.

“Good,” You nod with finality. “And for your information, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous."

He raises an eyebrow. "So you just abandoned me and talked about another guy for the hell of it?"

Spencer's tone is casual, joking even but you know better. There's underlying bitterness and hurt and your heart squeezes because you did that. "No, of course not. There is a reason behind all that.“

“What could possibly excuse you going above and beyond your job as a mentor―”

“I was trying to set you guys up.”

Spencer deadpans. “Set me up? With him?” Oh god, he knows you’re weird, but he’s never considered you to be outright insane (is it weird he still loves you?).

As if reading his thoughts, you roll your eyes, “Spencer, how many friends do you have outside the team?”

“Not a lot.” No hesitation, but he accepted the fact a long time ago. 

“Yeah and that’s okay. But if you’d talk to Intern, you’ll find you two have a lot in common. I know he’s younger than us, but he’s a good kid, real smart,” You give him a meaningful look and shrug, “Not like IQ 187 smart but he could definitely hold a conversation with you.”

Spencer murmurs, pulling you in so you're chest to chest, “This entire time, you were really trying to make us friends?”

You nod, your expression a mix of giddiness and hope that makes whatever feelings he felt before, the confusion and―yes, fine―the jealousy, dissolve like sugar in water. Spencer sinks into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your soap. Of course you had good intentions. Of course you wanted to do something nice for him.

Fuck, he loves you.

“So… we good?”

Spencer huffs, “I hope you realize how much I suffered the past few weeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Then yes, we’re good,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “I appreciate what you were trying to do.”

“And?”

His brow furrows and he pulls back, meeting your eyes. “And what?”

“Will you try to be friends?” You look at him expectantly.

Spencer opens his mouth to answer, a definitive no on his tongue, but then you’re giving him puppy-dog eyes and before he realizes it, “Okay.”

Wait, no. That is not what he meant to say.

“Yeah!” You throw your arms around him, and Spencer can’t stop you, grunting as you basically swing him around like a rag doll. But he finds he doesn’t care when you set him back down because you’re happy, happy for him, grinning ear to ear as you babble, “I can already tell you two are gonna be the best of friends! You guys have so much to talk about, all that nerdy stuff. Maybe even debate! And we could play chess and―”

There’s a knock and you both turn, a voice muffled by the door, “Hey, guys? I don’t want to interrupt in case you’re boning, but you didn’t exactly tell me where to wait for you? God, I hope you guys aren’t boning. Please tell me you’re not boning right now.”

You groan, “No Intern, we’re not boning! Right-uh-go ahead and meet me back at the office, I’ll be right with you.” You turn back to Spencer, sending him an apologetic look. “I will see you later, okay? And since you’ve been such a patient and understanding partner,” You plant him one last kiss before patting his cheek, and his eyes widen as your voice lowers in the way you know drives him crazy, your eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ll make it up to once we get home. Bye, love you!”

Before Spencer can fully register your words, you're out the door, cackling as you leave him to compose himself, his face beet red from running the possibilities. By the time he emerges from the break room, you’re long gone.

“Hi, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer almost snarls, cursing under his breath. Just when he thought the day was getting better. He turns back. 

Intern stands tall, relaxed and shoulders back, black tie loose and cheap white-collar button up slightly wrinkled. No doubt from working hard and following your instructions throughout the day. Spencer respects the work ethic at least. Meanwhile, the younger man eyes him, and he’s certain it’s not from intimidation but with curiosity.

Spencer doesn’t linger on that. He’s used to it, not being intimidating to others.

He continues, “It’s nice to finally talk to you, one on one I mean. I’m a fan of your work. Seven degrees, huh?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says curtly. Recalling the earlier conversation with you, he stamps down his irritation and tries to extend an olive branch. “How did you know?”

“It’s the internet, sir,” Intern raises an eyebrow, offering an innocent smile. 

“Right,” Spencer returns it with an awkward one of his own, “Hey, sorry for... literally kicking you out before. That was completely unprofessional.”

Intern waves him off, “No, it’s cool. I totally get it. I’m flattered, by the way.”

Spencer frowns. “Flattered?”

“Well, it’s not everyday you find out your superior’s jealous of you.”

Spencer blinks, and it takes all his experience as a profiler to mask his embarrassment. “You heard that.”

“The FBI’s got thin walls,” Intern shrugs and steps towards him. “Although I have to say, Agent (Your Last Name) is wrong about one thing.” Stopping short in front of him, for the first time Spencer is close enough to note the moles dotting his face. “They can’t tell that I’m flirting with them.” 

He starts down the hall after you, and Spencer’s eyes trail after him as his brow furrows, until realization slams into him and his jaw drops. “Wait, you...”

“Oh and since (Your Last Name) wants us to be friends, I think we could be on a first-name basis,” He pauses to look back at Spencer, watching with a crooked smile as the older man sputters. 

“So, you can call me Stiles, sir.”

Then once again, Spencer is left behind, frozen in the hallway as he processes what just happened.

And the next time he finds you and Special Agent Stilinski in the same room, whether it’s crowded or not, Spencer does not hesitate to cling to your side, putting as much distance between the intern and you as he can. Spencer’s grateful you don’t question it.

There may not be anyone else for you, but that doesn’t mean no one will try.

―

AN: ahhhhh thanks anon!! There was a similar request then i saw this tiktok (and listened to this tiktok the entire time) and i combined them. Id also like to emphasize that my version of reader is neutral across the board, race, gender, etc.

Yes, i have a type. No, i will not be taking criticism. 

Been hella overwhelmed with classes and work so here’s my way of destressing. Also suggest checking those tiktoks if you wanna understand me :))) also you mean to tell me i have to write the threesome myself?? Bs tbh 😔

watched 15x4 and i was so sad when Spencer addressed Luke as his coworker like no bitch hes your new bro stfu

and i have no doubt that stiles and spencer would be one of the best crossover duos given the chance 

[mystic-sky]

|✨Part 1✨| |✨Part 2 ✨| of the Friends with Benefits Series.

Your relationship with Suguru started off somewhat unexpectedly. A new semester romance, however it was unwanted after dealing with Satoru Gojo just last year. You tried not to blame yourself for the situation unraveling the way it did. You did your best to make Satoru comfortable with you- at least you thought you did.

He cut you off as soon as you made your feelings apparent. You wondered if he somehow did it for your own good, or maybe there was something deeper that went along with it. No matter, you remained optimistic. You were young, and bound to make mistakes. This was just a story to tell your children about in the future if you ever felt it was necessary.

But back to Suguru, who had wiggled his way into your life somehow. He wasn’t a random guy actually. More like a familiar face you’d seen in a few of your classes because you both were in the same major. Just so recently, he decided to talk to you.

You weren’t expecting to hit it off with him so easily. He was sort of scary looking, which led you not to engage with him in the first place. He never tried talking to you before 5 months ago. And neither did you, considering you thought he was so handsome he’d break your heart too somehow.

His arms were sleeved with tattoos that would bridge at his chest. The tattoos would sometimes peak out of his wide collared shirts if he chose to wear one that day. He had a thing for wearing these huge ear gauges that had his favorite anime on them. Though, you never noticed until you sat close enough to him to see the designs. It was a rainy day, and both of you ended up sitting beside each other in your sociology course in the back of the classroom. You were both late, having come in just after the other.

It was weird seeing him this close. He never did come late to any class you’d ever been in with him. Even if you wanted to sit with him, like Satoru, he never had any available seats beside him. He didn’t disturb you until the lecture ended, commenting on one of your anime themed mechanical pencils. That sparked your first conversation with him, and he wasn’t shy to ask you out for coffee right after.

He’s been keen on you since, and you just barely give him the time of day in the beginning. You were just cautious, after the whole Satoru situation. Suguru was fine with whatever you wanted the situation between you both to be. But you will admit, the conversations he’d keep you up with at night made it hard to not fall in love with him.

He’d take you out to dinner, study with you, and sleep with you from time to time since the sexual attraction between you was hard to deny. You think your favorite thing about messing around with Suguru was how he’d always pick your brain after sex with manga theories and better endings than the canonically debuted ones. He was a really good cook, and you often challenged him to make your favorite dishes. They were excuses to invite you over to his place, so he gladly took each one with merit. It was friends with benefits but with far much more substance to hold onto.

He never poked you about getting serious. Whatever you both had was still young at barely 5 months. He could tell you’d been going through something mostly because of how you sexed him. Sometimes you were the dominant one- you’d throw him on the bed and bounce yourself on his length until your knees were far too tired to go on. Other times, he’d steal the show from you, showing you just exactly what he was capable of.

He spread you onto the desk in his bedroom, face deep into your folds. He also loved to spoil you, like Satoru, but you did your best not to think of him when you both were together. Suguru had so much more hair to grab, considering his tongue work was so good it scared you.

“Be a good kitten and cum for me.” He said between sucks on your clit. You often couldn’t think, and that was a good thing. He numbed you in plenty of ways, he knew he had been helping you get over something. He had been doing the same thing but you could care less.

“Actually, I changed my mind.” He tore his mouth from your steaming sex, wiping his chin. You gasp as he lifts you up off the desk, holding your body without leaning against anything for support. You felt weightless, feeling his length prod at your entrance. You tried to hold back a giggle as he smiled smugly at you.

“You ready?” His eyes were sincere, asking for your consent again as he was aching to sink you onto himself.

You nod, feeling a bit nervous. “Stuff like this is about balance. Start flailing around again and I’ll drop you.” He teased. Your hands found some of his hair again, tugging on it a bit.

“Just fuck me.” You roll your eyes as he slams his length into you, making you cry out and clutch your arms around him. His large hands firmly grasp underneath your thighs, using the way your ass recoiled against his thighs to keep a steady rhythm. He’s immersed in the way your broken moans pour into his ear, fueling his stamina. He’s a stickler for teasing you the entire time, praising you for taking his length so well.

“Such a good kitten, you’re taking it so well.”

It was the third time he’d ever held you up to fuck you. After letting go of the fear of him dropping you it became incredibly easy to focus on the pleasure.

“You’re gonna cum aren’t you? Don’t worry about the carpet baby, make a mess for me.”

He knew how to mix things up the way you needed. On your rough days he’d sex you slowly, more passionately and generously. If you were happy and feeling frisky he’d fuck you accordingly. He was pretty good at reading your body just after the first few fucks you had. You hated comparing the two men, but it did happen from time to time when you were in solitude, plagued by your own self-deprecating thoughts every now and then.

It was weird how they emanated each other’s personalities in certain ways. And then you found out that they used to be good friends in high school until something happened. You never poked Suguru about it, since he’d seem to get irritated when you were around groups of friends and Satoru’s name was mentioned. You did your best to be satisfied with what you had. He was handsome, smart, and possibly wanted to be your boyfriend in due time.

But you couldn’t help but think about Satoru. Not only was your experience with him a wild one, but he was fucking everywhere. It’s always like this for you. It’s not until you’re trying to avoid someone do you begin seeing them absolutely everywhere.

You stared at Satoru over Suguru’s shoulder, poking your cheek with your tongue. The audacity he had, showing up in the cafe where you both first met while you and Suguru were on a routine study date. Well, it was a hotspot for a lot of students, so who are you to say he can’t come in here.

“I think I’m overworking myself today, we can go eat now.” Your mood change was evident to Suguru, but he couldn’t put his finger on why at first. He watched you get up and pack your things before shortly following.

As you tossed your bag over your shoulders, he took hold of one of your hands, squeezing firmly. He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

“Is it something I can cheer you up from when we get back to my place?” Suguru was a bit smug about it, and also painfully intuitive about your emotions even though you’d been close for such a short time. Your cheeks went red, eyes burning holes through the floor.

“It’s nothing, really. Let’s just get out of here.” You manage to look back at him, just barely glancing at Satoru who probably had been looking in this direction. Suguru pressed another kiss to your forehead, wrapping his arm around you and leading you out the cafe. He nearly touched shoulders with Satoru and his own dame, smirking just loudly enough for him to hear.

Suguru wasn’t dumb, finally having noticed your energy change just a few moments after Satoru Gojo entered the cafe. This was your favorite place, and he hated how someone could ever ruin that for you. He felt urged to do something about it- with or without your consent. He doesn’t poke you about it until you’re in the car.

“Random question, but do you know Satoru Gojo?”

The question like a pin in your spine, making you visibly un-slouch in the drivers seat. He doesn’t look at you, feeling that would make it easier for you to talk. You take this the wrong way, and feel even more tense.

“I do, we were a thing at one point.” You manage not to stutter. You had no idea why you felt scared or touchy about the subject- you shouldn’t be. His entire vibe had changed, and he didn’t have his usual grin peaking at the corners of his lips.

“Oh,” he says simply. The longest ten seconds of silence reign throughout the vehicle. You’re anxious to turn on the radio, anything to rid the first bit of awkwardness the two of you had ever shared.

“He’s an asshole, isn’t he?” He randomly chuckles heartily, somewhat calming you.

“Yeah,” you’re exhaling properly now, “he really is.”

“We were best friends for about four years. I know him like the back of my hand. Granted, he’s probably changed a lot since high school.”

“But you’re both so-

“Different?” He chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

“If he was an asshole then, he’s multiplied tenfold.” You roll your eyes. “You both don’t talk anymore?”

You knew they didn’t, but you took the opportunity to ask anyway.

“Nah, he’s a slimy bastard. I hope karma turns him rotten.” You’d never seen Suguru scowl before. He must really hate him, you thought. Still, what a small world; first Satoru and now his ex best friend.

“You still talk to him?” He pokes again. His tone is just barely playful. God, you changed your mind. You didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

“No, we don’t talk anymore. It ended pretty badly.” You say simply. You also decided not tell Suguru that the both of you messed around just before you started messing with him.

“Sorry about that. If we were friends sooner I’d have told you about him.” Suguru is apologizing for something you weren’t entirely ignorant about in the first place. You knew what you were getting into.

Satoru never tried to convince you the situation was anything other than what it was— until the end. The sweet things he started saying to you during those final months often echoed in your head- like he meant all of it.

The sex developed into something that it shouldn’t have. Sex that passionate should be forbidden if you aren’t already in love. And the things he said to you the last time he dropped you off didn’t make it any better. You wanted to slap his stupid, pretty face.

“I’m over it now.”

Suguru pans his gaze to watch you nonchalantly staring out the window. He knew better than to ask anymore. He was more elated that you didn’t interact with him at all. He didn’t need Satoru painting a picture about him in your head before he could first.

What sucks the most about dating people you go to school with is how often you’d see them. Satoru was fucking everywhere. The local restaurants, the library, the cafe, and he’d registered for two of your classes this semester. He didn’t speak to you at all, but he was always just there. Perhaps he’d always been around but since you’d been involved with him you were more aware of his presence.

You were standing in line in the library, attempting to return some books. He entered the space, and walked up behind you, standing on the line and giving your space. You turn your body slightly, peering up at him. You thought to leave, but just because you resented him didn’t mean you were going to cower every time you had to be around him for a while. You let out a sigh as you tip toed to peer in front of yourself; at least the line was moving.

Both of you had made it to the front, talking to separate librarians beside one another. When they both got up from their seats to head towards the back, he spoke directly to you, without actually looking at you.

“(Name), word of advice— I’d steer clear of Getou Suguru if I were you.”

Anger poured over you; you did your best to keep your voice low and eyes forward when saying this.

“That’s the first thing you say to me after almost a year? Go fuck yourself.”

He bites back a witty response, poking his cheek with his tongue. “Whatever. Find out the hard way.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve. Why the fuck are you telling me this?” You’re whisper-shouting, considering it’s a library.

“Because,” he turns to look at you, “I care about you.”

“What a load of shit.”

Satoru Gojo doesn’t care about anyone, you learned that the hard way.

He let out a sigh. He knew he had no right, but even if he couldn’t get you back, he wanted you to know what kind of guy you were seeing. He couldn’t say anything, he knew you wouldn’t listen. Not like this anyway. Both librarians returned, and gave you back your borrowing passes. You quickly departed, refusing to give Satoru another opportunity to speak to you. His words stuck with you on the way home. You didn’t have any reason to be afraid of Suguru, right?

Two months had passed since Satoru had “warned” you about Suguru. And nothing has happened to lead you to be cautious of him. Satoru hasn’t spoken to you either.

You’re sitting in the guidance counselor’s office as it’s the end of the semester once again. You typed away on your phone, telling Suguru you’d see him for dinner in a bit before throwing your head back and shutting your eyes. The heaviest sigh left your lungs, you were thankful the semester was nearing its end. You had quite enough of studying and needed to unwind.

You feel a presence on the end of your bench, making you open one eye. You see white tresses, and you catch the scent of familiar cologne.

Satoru doesn’t look at you, but he’s quite aware that he’s sitting beside you as well. You almost scoff, only crossing your arms and legs. Noticing the undone laces of your boots, you lean forward to tie it. Your loose bag on your shoulder which unfortunately wasn’t zipped, spilled small notebooks and pencils all over the floor. Spare change rolled across the walk way along with other items.

“Fuck...” you muttered. His head snapped towards you as you let out a sigh and bent down to pick up your things. Your phone that was your on your lap hit the ground as well. You saw his hand in the corner of your eye reaching down to help.

“I got it.” You say sternly, and shamelessly picking up your things. He retracts his hand, and instead gets up to pick up the items that were further away from you, ignoring your request not to help.

He sits back beside you, handful of change and pens. He holds it up towards you quietly while you attempt to fix your bag back to the way it was. You turn to look at him for what feels like the first time in forever, blue eyes pouring into your own (eye color) ones.

“I didn’t need you to do that.” You say, taking your things. You initially thought to take your things from him without a word. He went back to staring in front of himself, waiting to be called. You shifted uncomfortably, and fidgeted with your fingernails. You forced yourself into to pay attention to the soft music playing from the back of the office until he spoke.

“How have you been?”

For some odd reason though, you wanted him to say something to you. You had a lot of things to let off your chest considering the way things ended. You thought of giving him a piece of your mind right there in front of all the staff members, but you restrained yourself.

Instead, you found yourself saying “I’m doing great.”

“That’s good.” He says nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t even sound sure of his own response. A few minutes of silence resumes after. You’re a bit startled when speaks again.

“I’m definitely out of line right now, but I’ve been wanting to talk to you about some things.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” A lot. You were bubbling over.

“There’s a lot of things, at least for me, that I’ve never really told you.” He’s looking at you now. “Can we talk somewhere quieter? Whenever you’ve got the free time, and only if you want to.”

He was offering closure to you a bit too late. Or maybe all this time you’d convinced yourself you’d moved on. You often found yourself replaying the morning he brought you home and all the things you should’ve said in that moment.

That’s not exactly moving on. Unfortunately, you also found yourself comparing him to Suguru more often then not. That’s not moving on either.

“Okay,” you said. “Later on today. Round 8pm.”

He looks thankful. Just as he spoke, your counselor called out to you to come into their office. You stand up, looking down at him.

“Cafe then?” He suggests.

“That’s fine. See you.” You shrugged. You didn’t care that much for the place. You heard him say goodbye as the door shut behind you.

You had half a mind to never speak to him ever again. Though both of you were using each other, he knowingly crossed a line, making you feel things for him in a situation where feelings weren’t supposed to be involved. And he never gave you a chance to truly address the situation. Now, almost a year later, he’s ready to speak to you on his own terms. You’d be sure to tell him you had no intentions of making amends with him. If you personally didn’t have interest in what he had to say, you wouldn’t bother gracing him with the ability to explain anything to you.

You would’ve made him suffer. He’s lucky you’re still a bit distraught about the situation. Any longer into your situation-ship with Suguru and Satoru wouldn’t even have the slightest chance at something like this.

Dinner with Suguru was transparent. He could tell something was on your mind but he didn’t pry much after his first attempt. The last time you both talked about Satoru he turned into a different person, and it didn’t sit right with you. You did your best to brush it off, assuming he was just protective over you. But Satoru’s warning in the library echoed in your subconscious more and more. Just what happened between them, and would it be okay for you to ask Suguru about it?

He wasn’t your boyfriend either, but you suppose he wanted to be? You hadn’t brought up the dating conversation in while and you probably wouldn’t until you situated the Satoru thing.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Suguru’s holding your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His smile is incredibly gentle and you feel guilty for keeping this from him.

Perhaps you should hold Suguru accountable too, for being so sweet to you like this. He informed you he wouldn’t up and leave unless you wanted him to and that he’d never say anything he didn’t mean. But after dealing with trauma from past relationships, affection like this was always perceived cautiously.

“I know,” you say, feeling his lips press against your forehead again. “It’s just not easy to talk about right now.”

“That’s alright,” he assures you. “I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

His lips connect with yours while his hands slide down your back. He feels you relax a bit, and that makes him smile. How could he possibly be a bad person?

“I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

You nod, watching him part from you and get into his car. You never did come to understand how he could afford it; a black Mercedes Benz-Coupe. You assumed that and his nice apartment were inherited wealth from his parents.

You wave at him before going into the station. Luckily he had things to attend to, and you didn’t have to bother making up anything about tonight. It was just barely any of his business, right?

You had an idea of what to expect from Satoru when you got there. You were rehearsing things you wanted to say in your head, some of them incredibly mean. You wanted to hurt his feelings too, if you had it in you. It didn’t take you long to get to the cafe, and you’d arrived early, already finding Satoru in the very back, furthest away from people. You gripped your bag strap, before sitting across from him.

“Hey, you’re early.” He says surprised, looking up at you from his phone.

“You’re the early one.” You say, not even cracking a smile.

“How are you?”

“Same as earlier. What did you want to talk about?”

He’s visibly gulping, and you’ve never seen him this nervous. He places his phone face down on the table, turning the sound off. You cross your arms.

“Right,” he lets out a heavy sigh. “Where should I start?” He attempts to gather his thoughts, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“I’m not the kind of guy who really addresses his feelings, if you couldn’t already tell at the time we, you know... I’ve been fucked over a lot. I don’t have a lot of actual friends, and I’m constantly aware that people cling to me for my money or looks.”

He never acted like his entourages bothered him per se, but you did notice that he never bothered being around people anymore when the two of you were a thing. You prompt him to continue with your eyes.

“The only best friend I’ve ever had used me until I realized what was going on and cut him off. The first girl I ever really loved chose him instead of me shortly afterwards. Obviously, it’s not a legitimate excuse to have treated you the way that I did, but I guess what I’m saying is that I’m cautious of people and have been for a long time now.”

“But I never tried to use you,” you interjected. You felt a bit insensitive for spitting it out like that, but he really did hurt you.

“I know, and I realized that a bit too late.” He sighs. “But more importantly, I realized that I didn’t talk about or convey my feelings correctly. I know I confused you a lot, and you didn’t deserve that at all.” He tried to keep eye contact with you when he spoke, but your lion like force was pretty strong.

“And when I dropped you off— I shouldn’t have said those things to you. You were so much more than a warm body to me. You were the first real friend I’ve had in a long time. Things got so cloudy for me since we were sleeping together. I didn’t know how to address it, and it freaked me out when you told me you wanted more. I should’ve been elated, but I suppose I didn’t want my heart broken again either.”

“So basically...” He breathed out, “I’m really sorry. I’ve got some messy emotions, things I’m gradually learning to deal with. I’m not making excuses for myself. It’s just I never did talk about myself much when we were a thing, so I wanted to tell you something at least, and apologize. I hated the way I left things. I know it’s long overdue for an apology but...”

“But?”

“I still have feelings for you. I never stopped. The more time passed, the harder it made it for me to apologize and tell you how I feel. And then I noticed you were going out with... him, so I thought it was too late. But I still wanted to try, I guess.”

He looked so awkward, you almost laughed. Apologies were definitely foreign to him. You could tell he meant it, but even so, he wouldn’t be getting a relationship out of you, if that’s want he wanted.

You let out a large sigh. For some weird reason all the angry things you wanted to say wouldn’t come out. You wanted to be angry at him but you just couldn’t. And your heart was swelling at the idea of him still having feelings for you. Did he really mean that?

“We’re not together. Not yet anyway— it’s complicated.” You crossed your legs and leant back in your seat. Suguru probably would’ve been your boyfriend already if you weren’t so stuck on Satoru.

“Oh,” he said quietly. You’d never seen him look so small, it was definitely out of character for him.

“I forgive you,” you lean forward, holding your head in your hands. All this time and you still had soft spot for him.

“Really?” He’s surprised. Your friends will be too after you tell them this story.

“You want me to take it back?” You’re pinching the bridge of your nose.

He chuckles nervously. “No ma’am.”

“Are you... doing okay though?” He probes after noticing the stress in your brows.

“I can’t stay mad at you. And I want to so bad. It’d make my life simpler. Now I’m conflicted.” You drag your fingers under your eyes, before smooshing your own face, stressfully so. He thought you were cute, but he felt bad being the source of your distraught-ness.

“So I take it you still have feelings for me?” His voice is regular now, and just barely his normal cocky tone.

You won’t even look at him. “I mean...”

How do you explain to him that the only reason you’re messing with someone right now, who just so happens to be his ex-best friend, is because you were trying to forget about him in the first place?

“I get it if you don’t.” He says. “It’s been a while.”

“I do.” It’s almost instinct for you to correct him. “That’s the problem.”

“Ah, I see.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again. You wished you could start over with a clean slate. School and dating shouldn’t be this difficult.

Satoru thought to warn you again about Suguru in that moment, but he held his tongue. He didn’t want to make it seem as if he was badmouthing him so you could favor him more, he wanted you to lean towards him naturally, if possible.

Silence reigned throughout your little booth in the cafe. The sound of rain hitting the window screen made it easy not to talk so much. It also made it hard to see a certain black, long-haired male in his Mercedes Benz, parked just across the street.

Suguru threw his cigarette out the driver’s window, continuing to watch the both of you inside. He shook his head disappointedly before starting his car.

“And that reminds me,” you say, making Satoru swallow hard and shift in his seat.

“What was that nonsense two months prior, about Geto Suguru?”

[messrmoonyy]

The fluff 49 with Remadora!!

I literally used to always just write from Doras thoughts yet here I am now obsessed with writing outta Remus’ head. Jealous Remus. We love to see it. Prompt from this list.

Prompt: ‘ is somebody jealous? ‘

Pairing: Remus lupin x Nymphadora Tonks

Warnings: mild language

You can find all my other writing on my masterlist and remember my ask box is always open, so drop me a request! Check my masterlist for who I write for!

Remus didn’t think he was a particularly jealous person. And he had plenty to be jealous of when he thought about it. But it just… never crossed his mind to be jealous. He was too far past having an emotion so useless, jealousy would never get him anyway. Being jealous of a man with more money than he had wouldn’t magically make a hundred galleons appear in his pocket. Being jealous of other people his age who were settled down with families wouldnt make his family return from the dead. Yet…. There he was, sat at his desk in the Grimmauld place library, practically seething.

He knew he was being ridiculous. Completely. But watching Sirius and Nymphadora laughing on the other side of the room was making his blood boil. He felt a little stupid in fact, they were related after all. But. The Blacks did have a bit of reputation for that didn’t they. And there was the matter that he’d heard Harry talking to Hermione about how he thought Nymphadora and Sirius were secretly a couple. And of course to top it all off Sirius had, and probably always would be, an absolute ladies man.

He didn’t really have a right to be jealous. Yes he and Tonks had been getting very… close, if that was even the best choice of words. He didn’t think close did justice right the several bouts of snogging he had found himself in a multitude of places around Grimmauld place. Only the previous night on the exact sofa she was pratting around on with Sirius now. Not to mention the nights Tonks snook into his room, or cornered him in the back of the library. And there was that one time he’d practically jumped her in the drawing room after a meeting. But there hadnt been any real discussion on what they were.

The only vague discussion being after their first kiss, when Remus has avoided her for a good four days after. Wracked with guilt that he’d let his self control slip. But she’d cornered him in the kitchen and forced him to confront the situation head on. He’d tried to tell her it was probably a mistake. That he wasn’t exactly the best of choices for her. But she’d told him he was ridiculous, that she didn’t care about his age. His condition. But there hadn’t been a talk on their situation since. He didn’t like to bring it up. Maybe it was simply casual for her. A late night hook up when she had stress form work to blow off. So he couldn’t be jealous could he.

But he was. Insanely so. His grip tightening on his quill as Sirius flung another awful joke at her and she threw her head back with laughter. Remus didn’t get it but she clearly did. He tried to distract his jealousy away by focusing on just how beautiful she was when she was laughing, how her eyes crinkled at the corners and her cheeks flushed pink. But it didn’t work as well as he hoped. Because if he noticed those things. Sirius must too.

“ if you two are going to continue being so noisy then would you just leave. Some of us are trying to work “ he snapped, slamming his fist to the desk for good measure. Sirius made some grumbled remark about Remus being a bore. But he didn’t care enough to pay attention.

“ ooo Tonksie that’s his professor tone “ Sirius said in a loud whisper before laughing again and nudging Tonks with his elbow “ sorry sir. Detention for talking in class? “ they both burst into laughter, Tonks steadying herself with a hand to Sirius’ shoulder. Remus sighed and tried to ignore them, his knuckles turning white around his quill. “ oh come on Re. Have a drink, lighten up “

“ I’m not in the mood. I’m trying to work “ he grumbled, purposely not looking over at she’d Sirius now had his arm slung around Tonks shoulders. He was being ridiculous. Though Tonks seemed to pick up on it.

There was then some hushed talking between the two of them, that his heightened senses would’ve allowed him to hear if he cared enough. But instead He huffed and looked back down at his mission report. There was the creek of the library door as Sirius left with another remark about how boring Remus was and then quiet. Assuming that Tonks had followed Sirius out of the room he debated on going to find her. But a few moments later her arms looped around his neck from behind him, her nose brushing against his cheek.

“ is somebody jealous? “ she said quietly, mischief evident in her tone. He’d hoped he hadn’t been so obvious. Clearly he had. Of course he had. He wasn’t exactly well practiced in the art of hiding his affections for someone. And besides, Tonks could read him like a book.

“ I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about “ he felt her smile against his cheek and she tightened her hold on him, bringing her chin down to rest on his shoulder.

“ he’s my cousin Remus. I might technically be a Black by name, but not by nature. Not really into the whole ‘ fuck your family members ‘ thing you know? Especially not Sirius. Merlin. It’d be like shacking up with a brother or something. Nasty. Ugh now you’ve put that imagine in my head “ she shivered at the thought and he couldn’t help but smile.

“ you said yourself he’s handsome “ he pointed out, remembering the conversation that had actually lead to their first kiss, in a much similar situation to the one they were currently in. His so thought non existent jealousy coming out to bite.

“ doesn’t mean I wanna shag him Remus “

“ you always have such a way with words “ she laughed lightly and moved around in front of him, hopping up onto the desk and folding her arms.

“ I’m quite offended actually “ Remus sat back in his chair and watched her intently. Her cheeks were flushed slightly from drinking “ I mean come. On. Remus. You’ll be saying I’m shacking up with Arthur next because I laugh at his dad jokes “ when she put it like that he guessed he had been a bit irrational with his thoughts.

“ I heard Harry talking about it with Ron and Hermione. I think most of the kids believe you and Sirius are up to something “ she scoffed at that and quirked an eyebrow.

“ so you’re listening to the theories of the most unobservant boy in the entire country? I mean I love the boy I do, but I think he needs a new pair of glasses. His clearly aren’t working well “ a small smile tugged at his face then, Harry was a bright boy but he did have a tendency to be quite…. Oblivious. To everything. Tonks was quiet for a few more moments before tilting her head to the side inquisitively, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. She looked deep in thought “ so what’s this really about then? “ Remus frowned and raised his hands as if in mock surrender.

“ nothing. I told you I heard Harry and the way you were with Sirius.. it’s nothing “ she rolled her eyes and hopped off the desk, stepping either side of his legs and wiggling to get comfortable in his lap. His hands flew to her waist, unable to stop himself as she placed her hands to his shoulders and titled her head again.

“ Remus “ her voice was slightly sterner but she was smiling at him “ you can talk to me. You know you can “ he debated telling her the truth. That he was just getting jealous because she could do far better than him. She could have whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. And he was scared to lose her. What they had, whatever it really was, was great. Remus hadn’t been so happy in a long. Long. Time. He didn’t want to push too far and send her packing. But he didn’t want to hang too far back and have her run off to someone else. It was a constant dilemma in his head.

“ you and I “ he started, not really even sure where he was going with his speech “ it’s good. It’s. It’s marvellous “ she laughed a little and nodded with a tight lipped smile.

“ it is. Though I sense a ‘ but ‘ incoming “ he sighed and fiddled nervously with one of the beads on her shirt. They were haphazardly sewn all over it and he wondered if she’d added them herself.

“ I’m just waiting for the inevitable “ he said after another short moment of silence. Deciding now was a better time as any to tell her. She was stubborn and she had him right where she wanted him. So it was going to come out there and then whether he liked it or not really.

“ ‘ the inevitable’ being?…. “

“ finding someone better- no now before you make that face let me finish. Please “ she had sighed as soon as the words left his mouth, sitting back slightly with an eye roll.

“ Remus we’ve talked about this. Can you just get it into your head, that I fancy you. Not Sirius. Not some random ‘ someone better ‘. You “ he couldn’t lie that the words made his heart pound just that bit faster. The confirmation being all he’d really needed. But there was always going to be that worry in the back of his mind. It would never go away.

“ I know. And maybe I’m a fool to keep bringing it up. But you have to admit that I’m not exactly at the top of most peoples most eligible list “ she took his face in her hands then, making him look her in the eyes. He’d noticed she didn’t change their colour very often anymore after he’d made an offhand remark about how beautiful her natural brown eyes were. They were captivating.

“ no one else bloody matters though. You’re at the top of my list. That’s all that matters. Maybe I’m mental. Maybe I’m not. All I know, is you’re one of the only truly decent man I’ve ever met. You don’t make me morph. You’re so respectful it’s practically dripping off of you. And you’re proper fit too which is totally just a bonus “ he hoped she couldn’t feel his cheeks heating up under her hands. But her smile told him she probably could.

It was odd for him to look at her and think that some one could ever even have the nerve to make her morph for them. To fit their idea of what was perfect. He thought she was marvellous in whatever form she thought was best fitting for her each day. He’d never dream of making her change. In his eyes, there had never been a more perfect specimen of a person to walk the earth. She made him laugh. Made him feel normal. Cared for. He couldn’t believe she would ever have eyes for him. But she did. And he guessed that miracles must truly be real.

“ I’m sorry for being so jealous “ her face softened again and the backs of her fingers brushed over his cheek.

“ it’s fine. I mean. At least it shows you care? “ she laughed a little and he felt his tension melting away a little.

“ I do “ her hand crept towards the back of his neck, her fingers slipping into his hair and she shuffled a little closer again.

“ good. Now stop being a mope and realise we’re on own again “ she whispered the last part, her face inching closer so he felt her breath on his lips. And with a smirk she caught his lips in hers.

[barbarianprncess]

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” and “Nobody’s seen you in days.” that would be inchresting 👀👀

for mari my beloved, 

(aka @chironshorseass ) 

as you know this sort of got away from me. one second i was writing a drabble of angst, the next I'm on the 16th page with no end in sight. so this maybe isn’t what you were expecting but have 5k of post-botl/pre-tlo pining idiot besties who are in love :). 

(also this hasn’t been beta’d and i'm welcome to volunteers i just finished and got so excited i had to post.)

(dear one anon who asked for 'forget it you're a fucking asshole' too, if you're reading this, don't worry yours is coming too i promise)

(final s/o to @posallys for letting me scream about them)

24 hours

read on ao3

enjoy <3

                                                      ...

Percy is fucking exhasted.

He was supposed to be back at camp four days ago. The deal was he’d spend weekdays at camp to plan and train and weekends at home to relax. But, he kept putting it off, opting to keep the weight on his chest that’d been pushing him down since last summer bearable, and not crushing the way it always was at camp. So, when he gets through the barrier, aside from nodding hello to Beckendorph and Silena, he makes a beeline to his cabin. He manages to keep his eyes down until he’s standing at his porch steps- and that when he sees her.

Annabeth is pacing on his balcony. She’s wearing jean shorts and her camp shirt, but instead of her typical ponytail her hair is in two intricate braids that reach her breastbone. She’s muttering to herself and wringing her hands together and for a moment Percy forgets. He forgets the past year and all the arguing and the bitterness and he sees Annabeth is worried about something and he reaches out as if to hold her. To wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be alright.  

But then he remembers.

He retracts his hands.

He clears his throat and Annabeth startles. Her grey eyes are as intense as ever and he can almost see her defences come up. He hates that it's because of him. Annabeth is the first to break the silence.

“Hey.” Her voice is small but clear. Not yet vulnerable, but gives Percy the sense that it could be soon.

“What’re you doing here?” He isn’t sure he said it out loud until she ducks her head and flushes.

“Nobody’s seen you in days.” It’s not the accusation he expects. It's also not an answer to his question. Just an observation.

“I’m here now.” He says it like it’s an invitation. He then becomes incredibly aware that he's still looking up at her from the bottom of the steps, so he grabs his duffel, bounds up the stairs, and opens his cabin door. He hesitates and meets her eye with another silent question. She answers by stepping inside.

He drops his bag by his bed and turns on the light. The air is charged with unasked questions and unfinished conversations. He can’t stand it. He’s about to attempt small talk when she says something that nearly knocks down where he stands.

“I miss you.” She’s wringing her hands again and she won’t look him in the eye, but takes his silence as confusion.

“That’s what I came here to say, that I miss you.”

Percy isn’t sure what to say. Percy isn’t sure this conversation is really happening, she’s broken so many of the fragile rules they’d been following all year. He’s 98% sure this is a really vivid daydream to cope with…. well everything.

He decides that on the off chance this is real he should play it safe so, he states the obvious.

“I’m here. We’re here, together. We’re together and-” She cuts him off and begins to ramble.

“Strained and awkward and it's like there’s this chasm between us of all these things from last summer. From our kiss, to you dying, and then you not dying, and Rachel, and Luke, and Luke being Not-Luke, and it’s like we can’t have a conversation anymore and that sucks ‘cause..”

She pauses for the first time to look up at him and her eyes are shining.

“You’re kinda my best friend. And I miss you. Everything sucks and I'm tired of fighting. And I really miss you.”

Percy’s too shocked to say anything. It occurs to him that he should respond but he can’t find the words. All the unspoken rules they had in place and Annabeth had just steamrolled right through them. Percy realizes his mistake in staying silent as Annabeth flushes and turns to leave.

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” And oh no Annabeth had just swallowed her pride (which he knows better than anyone is no easy feat) to say everything he’d wanted to hear and he can’t let her walk away.

“I miss you too.” The words tumble out of him, clunky and a little awkward but earnest. Annabeth stops and faces him, eyes suspicious in the way that breaks his heart a little bit.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

Annabeth exhales and shoots him a tremulous smile he hasn’t seen in forever, and oh he’d forgotten what it did to his chest when she did. Before he does something stupid like tell her he thinks her smile is the best this he’s ever seen, he clears his throat.

“So…. this chasm you said, what do you propose we do about it?”

“24 hours. For 24 hours everything that I listed before is a non-issue. After that we can go back to…..whatever it is we’re doing now. One day, where we’re just two friends spending a day at camp together..”

“Best friends.” He corrects without thinking. She rolls her eyes, and he almost giggles because he’d missed her eyerolls too.

She holds out her hand to shake, all business-like and gods he missed her.

“Best friends. 24 hours.”

He takes her hand. Her shake is firm, her palms are warm, her eyes are bright, and she is beautiful.

“Where do we start?”

...

Apparently it starts with homework.

After he asked where they’d begin, Annabeth had flashed him a wicked grin, damn-near dragged him off the porch, and made a beeline to the Big House. Before last summer, Annabeth had been “tutoring” him. Once a week they’d head down to the Big House and spend hours combing through myths and legends, practicing Ancient Greek, and all things Demigod 101. It probably wasn’t ever that useful considering Percy barely remembered any of it, but Annabeth had always insisted. After last summer they’d non-verbally decided to take a break from it (eachother), and they’d never started back up.

Usually he’d halfheartedly complain that it was pointless and say some form of ‘I know enough to not die and that's good enough for me’ every five minutes, but today he nods dutifully along as Annabeth talks animatedly about Orpheus, and Theseus, and all the other -eus’s. He’ll ask a dumb question that they both know he knows the answer to, but she answers him anyway. He watches the wisps of hair that refused to be tied down, and counts the tiny sunspots across her nose and the way she wrinkles her eyebrow when she forgets a name.

It’s not terrible. It’s kinda the opposite. He’d forgotten that she made studying not terrible.

He’s so screwed.

...

The stables are almost empty when they get there.

After 2 hours of studying, (one hour of studying, one hour of laughing and talking and calling it studying) Annabeth declared it was his turn to pick the activity. Tired of sitting still Percy lands on tending to the pegasi. It was one of his favorite things about camp plus he got to teach Annabeth something for once. Annabeth was comfortable enough around them but she never spent anytime with them that she didn’t have to.

When they entered the barn, Blackjack gave him a look and he blushed remembering all the times he’d come to the stables with Beckendorph to vent about how much he missed Annabeth, (He didn’t even know horses could give looks but here we are) and silently told him it was a long story and to be cool. Annabeth had stopped next to one of the cleaning stations and was looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and they got to work. He showed her how to brush them and how to get tangles out of their manes, where to scritch them and where not to scratch them. He showed her how to check their feathers and make sure their wings were healthy and how to get them to be still enough to check.

Annabeth was excellent with them, gentle hands and kind eyes. Whenever she approached one she would look them in the eye and talk to them like the intelligent creatures they were. Each time she got started taking care of a new steed she’d gently reach for the muzzle and say in a soothing voice:

“Hi, my name is Annabeth and I'm going to groom you today. Don’t worry, I'm friends with Percy, and he taught me exactly how to take care of you. If I’m doing something wrong, let him know and he’ll tell me how to fix it. I promise I’ll do my best to make sure you feel like a brand new pegasus.”

Frankly, it was fucking adorable.

Pork-pie had taken a special liking to Annabeth, telepathically asking Percy if she could groom him more often. When he told this to Annabeth she’d beamed and enthusiastically agreed to come down whenever she could. Percy had off-handedly suggested that they take them out for a bit and Annabeth immediately started to release Pork-Pie from his stall.

They flew over camp for what could’ve been minutes or hours. He was lucky that Blackjack could fly himself because Percy couldn’t take his eyes off his flying partner. Her braids held firm, but a few rebellious curls were now whipping with the wind. The atmosphere combined with the speed they were flying, made her cheeks red and splotchy. Her smile is brighter than the sun, and eyes- gods her eyes were going to be the death of him. The sun and her mood (he had this theory that her eyes changed color based on her emotions) had made them almost blue, they are full of laughter, and Percy adores her. And when she directs her sunshine-smile at him, Percy can’t help but smile back.

(He doesn’t stop smiling until they land.)

...

As they're putting their pegusi back in their stalls, Blackjack decides to give him some advice.

“I know I don’t understand all of your fragile human emotions, but I know enough. There’s a lot of bad in this world of ours, and from what you’ve told me about this war business it's only gonna get worse. You gotta make the most of the good.”  He tilts his head over to Annabeth who is cooing at a preening Pork-Pie.

“You and ladyboss, you’re good together. And really nothing else matters.”

He doesn’t have time to even think about a response when Annabeth is walking over from Pork-Pie’s stall, and telling him it's time for a picnic.

...

(“What did Blackjack say to you? You looked kinda flustered when I got you.” Percy almost drops the plate he’s piling with food from the buffet. He’s gotten three pointedly confused looks at the sight of him and Annabeth together and not strangling each other and a thumbs-up from Grover. He and Annabeth are getting their food and then they’ll go sit by the beach.

“Oh,” He clears his throat and goes with the first thing he thinks of. “Blackjack calls you ladyboss.” Good that's good, not technically a lie either.

“Huh. Weird.” Annabeth, seemingly satisfied with this, returns her attention to the grapes she is adding to her plate.)

...

“Where do you go?” Annabeth asks. She’s sitting next to him in the sand brushing crumbs off her fingers. They had been eating and watching the ocean in comfortable silence and Percy furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Lots of days when you’re at camp for lunch and sometimes dinner you just disappear for hours. And I know you aren’t going home because your stuff is still in your cabin. Where do you go?”

It’s not an accusation, just a question. Percy gets the feeling she doesn’t want to know so she can disturb, she just worries. Percy knows her. He knows she’s always planning for the worst and she needs to be able to get to him if there's an emergency.

(It strikes him that she notices when he disappears and he feels guilty but also just a little hopeful. Because she misses him as much as he misses her.)

He stacks their plates and rests them on the blanket they’d been sharing. Percy stands up and holds out his hand, gesturing for Annabeth to do the same.

“C’mon, I’ll show you.”

...

He tells her to close her eyes. She gives him a skeptical look but obliges and holds out her hands, a silent request for him to guide her. It’s almost easier to take her hands in his without those trademark eyes on him. But it’s not any less intense. As soon as their fingers interlock sparks of electricity lick up his arm. Now that her eyes are closed he can look at her face up close without fear. Her curls had gotten more unruly as the day went on, and the ringlets that framed her face blew lightly in the ocean breeze. He leads her slowly towards the ocean, using his powers to dry any spot she walks on. He sees her brows furrow when she notices how far they’ve walked towards the ocean without their feet getting wet, but she doesn’t say anything. He parts the water for her to walk through, and when the water rises above their heads, he forms an air bubble that moves with them, keeping them dry. When they get to a good spot, squeezes her hand signaling for her to stop with him, but tells her to keep her eyes closed. Then he closes his eyes with her and calls out to the ocean's creatures, making himself a beacon.

Here I am, he thinks. The son of Poseidon.

Come to me.

Minutes pass.

“You can open your eyes now.” He whispers.

She does, and lets out a soft gasp, “Oh, Percy.”

He smiles and looks out at the scene before them. He’d come down here after a particularly bad day and just wanted to sit in silence. It was an accident, calling the creatures to him. Subconsciously, he must have sent a message along that he was feeling alone. And all sorts of sea creatures - from greek monsters and to great white sharks to your average cod had flocked to him. And he didn’t feel so alone. So now, whenever he couldn’t take the human world, he’d come down here and talk to the fish.

This time he’d actually concentrated on getting a message out and they did not disappoint. He couldn’t count all the animals that had heeded his call but it was a sight to behold. He had willed some glowing coral from the deeper ocean to stay in that spot, which created a multicolored tint to everything around them.

Normally they come right up close to him, but this time they were hesitant. And as he listened to the creatures and heard more than a few whispers of Athena and stranger, he’s suddenly reminded that she’s the only person he’s ever done this with. It’s his favorite place, and she is the only other person ever to see it.

“It's okay guys, she’s a friend.” He reassures them. When he looked back at Annabeth, her mouth was still hung open and she was staring out at the scene in front of them in wonder. He smiles at her dazed silence and uses the hand he’s still holding to tug her up to the barrier of the bubble. The first creature willing to accept Annabeth is a baby spotted dolphin. He swims towards the clumsily with eager fins and pokes at the barrier with it’s snout. Annabeth's eyes widen in fear and look up at him and it takes a second to realize she isn’t afraid of the animal, but of their bubble popping.

“Don’t worry, the bubble won’t break unless I break it myself, and it’ll last however long I want it to.” He reassures her. He senses her hesitation so he guides her hand up to meet the snout of the baby dolphin who seems fascinated with Annabeth herself. He reaches his snout and head bumps directly into the spot on the bubble where her palm is placed.

Annabeth lets out a laugh, the kind of laugh that sort of bubbles out of you without warning and it’s the best thing Percy’s ever heard. He watches as the shock fades for her features and she pets the infant creature through the sheen of bubble keeping them dry. The animals begin to warm up to Annabeth as well, and as soon as they figure out she’s not some evil Athena agent sent to destroy the ocean, they join in on the fun. Hundreds of ocean creatures of all sizes begin doing tricks, nuzzling up to the flexible barrier, all vying for Annabeth’s attention. Annabeth herself is happy to oblige. Ever consistent, she introduces herself to each creature she meets. She smiles and laughs and reaches out to all the animals she can. Percy is happy simply to watch her and keep the bubble up but then she turns to him, eyebrow drawn together in concern, pointing to a particularly awnry seahorse, and asks what it's saying.

“He says his name is Frank and that he’s ‘too pregnant for this shit.’”

Annabeth stares blankly.

“His words not mine.” Percy offers hands up in surrender.

Then she snorts and then they’re laughing, they’re laughing harder than they have in years, and it's that kind of hysterical laugh where everything around them makes it more funny, and soon Percy’s clutching his stomach and Annabeth is beet red.  As soon as it subsides enough to get words out Annabeth is shaking his arm saying “Do that one! What's he saying? Oh my gods what even is that? Does that one like me? That ones majestic, what's his name? Oh Percy, look!! Look at that one!”

So he translates and they laugh and he teaches her different species and Annabeth nods along like it’s very important stuff. She pets the baby dolphin through the bubble and listens intently to all the animals telling her stories, even though she can’t understand a word until Percy tells her what they said. And when it’s time to go he sees the tears in her eyes and tells Percy to promise the baby that she’ll visit all the time, even though they both know she can’t.

(Apparently the baby dolphins name is Arnold, and according to his mother, he was so enthralled by Annabeth because when he first saw her he thought she was an angel.)

(Percy thinks he’s not too far off.)

...

(“That was incredible Percy. Thank you so much for sharing that with me.” They had been walking in silence as they made their way back to camp using the bubble, enjoying the afterglow of their adventure.

“Yeah, of course.” She smiles at him and looks ahead.

He’s not sure why he does it but without looking at her he reaches out and ever so carefully, and brushes her fingertips with his.

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t say anything.

Then suddenly, miraculously, her hand tilts and their fingers are interlocked.

And there's no pretense of guiding her somewhere, they’re just….holding hands.

And it's perfect.)

...

Percy thinks if he’s not in love with her, he’s pretty damn close.

Because this feeling, the one he gets in his chest when he looks at her, is what love feels like.  

...

When they resurface, they’re met with twinkling lights and the last three stragglers singing softly at the campfire. It’s almost time for lights out.

Oh.

Oh no.

Annabeth seems to be coming to the same realization, as she clears her throat and lets go of his hand. He misses her fingers immediately.

“So, I guess we should start heading to bed.” She looks at him, hopeful but he’s stuck. Stuck in the feeling of dread at the idea of waking up tomorrow and not having his best friend. Suddenly the idea of leaving her side is so unbearable he can’t speak.

“Goodnight, Percy.” She’s turning around and backing away when the words lodged in his throat come unstuck.

“8 in the morning.” She turns giving him a ‘what are you on about’ look.

“That when you came and got me at 8 in the morning. We agreed on 24 hours. It's only been 12.”

She smiles slow and wide, “You know you're right, that math checks out.”

“We had very clear terms. We even shook on it.”

“Yes we did.”, she nods gravely. “It’s a binding agreement, we can’t just ignore it.”

“So what do we do?”

She flashes a wicked grin. “You aren’t the only one with a secret spot.”

...

Percy arrives in the Big House 20 minutes after curfew was called, exactly as Annabeth had instructed. He felt her presence before she re-materialized in front of him and in a low conspiratorial whisper tells him to follow her.

They sneak down to the basement and Percy is confused when she keeps walking towards the corner. She lifts up a floorboard and starts climbing down a ladder. She beckons him to join her and when he makes it down the ladder, he can’t help the smile that breaks out. It’s a sort of underground attic, complete with a worn dusty couch, blankets and an old TV.

“I found it my first year at camp by accident. I was down doing chores and one of the broom strings got caught under it. I didn’t have many friends except for….” She lets him fill in the blank rather than say the name out loud. “And when he wanted to be with kids his own age, I’d come here. There's only five movies down here and I memorized them.” She looks down at her shoes. “I know it’s not the sea floor but..”

“Are you kidding? It’s awesome. What are the movies?”

They dig around and end up finding two more that apparently seven-year-old Annabeth did not think worth the time. They watch Die Hard first, (“Oh my Gods I can't believe you haven’t watched Die Hard. This is a travesty. It’s a classic Annabeth.”) then Pulp Fiction, ("I can’t believe it, all the shit you gave me for not seeing Die Hard, and you haven’t Pulp Fiction?? You absolute heathen!") and Clueless. ("What? It has to be full of violence and toxic masculinity to be good? It’s a good movie Percy, shut-up.") Before he knows it, it’s 3:54 am shaking with hysterical silent laugher at Annabeth's impression of Dionysus.

“Oh my gods oh-OH! Do you know what we’ve got to do?”

“Uh-oh, what?”

She grins impishly and a little deliriously. “We’ve gotta go to our spot.”

“Ah, of course. Yes, our spot, totally.” He says in a voice he hopes is neutral, in an effort to gage if she’s serious.  

“Oh my gods.” She gasps, offended.

“What.”  

“I can’t believe this.”

“You can’t believe what?”

“You forgot our spot.”

“I’m sorry Annabeth, until four seconds ago I wasn’t aware we had a spot.”

“Oh my gods. I can not believe this-” He can tell she’s messing with him, and not actually mad.

“Annabeth, just tell me where it is.”

“I simply can not believe this, you absolute heathen-”

“Stop calling me a heathen, and tell me where it is.”

She smiles, “I can show you.”

...

“Oh, of course! This is our spot!”

Annabeth chuckles, “I told you.” They’re standing at the edge of the forest at the tallest of the rock clusters to the far left. It's the one they used to go to after their first quest, the place where Annabeth taught him the constellations. The place where he made his first real friend. Not people he hung out with to avoid getting picked on. Not a searcher who happened to like the demigod he found.  His first real best-friend.

They climbed up easily and lay down looking straight up at the sky. Annabeth points up at the floating memorials, and Percy dutifully recites the legends of how they earned their place in the sky. They're shoulder to shoulder and their fingers graze each other for longer than necessary. And slowly they lull into comfortable silence, arms overlapping, at some point Annabeth's head lands on his shoulder. Percy freezes for a while, staying absolutely still as if she’s a wild creature who could bolt at any moment. But then he relaxes, and she relaxes and he’s pretty sure she’s asleep until she takes in a shaky breath and whispers, “Hey, Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna be okay right?” He can tell she's trying to mask the vulnerability in her voice. And he can’t see all of her face from the angle they’re laying, but her nose is on his collarbone, and her hair is tickling his chin.

He closes his eyes, and he thinks. He thinks about Luke and Rachel and how nothings been the same since Percy blew up that mountain.

He thinks about seeing her for the first time, grey eyes wide hair falling off her shoulders and how even after everything he just went through, he felt safe. He thinks about ‘you drool when you sleep’, and the way she looked at him when he was claimed- awestruck and pitiful at the same time. He thinks about rolled eyes, stamped feet, and frustration always just under the surface. He thinks about silent truces, and letting guards down, and shared oreos in the back of a mobile zoo. He thinks about sweaty palms gripping each other in the Underworld, and shaky hands giving him a good luck camp necklace. He thinks about camp fires, stupid jokes, learning about the stars, and how the just fit.

He thinks about postcards and iris-messages, and how she punched Matt Sloane square on the nose. He thinks about how despite the arguing and the confusion about Tyson, she was always there when she needed him. How she didn’t hesitate to sneak out of camp with one of the first species he ever learned to truly fear, because he asked her to. He thinks about her in a dress and how tongue-tied him in guinea pig form. He thinks about her broken sobs and how she clutched at him in their underwater bubble. He thinks about winning a chariot race, the softest of cheek kisses and how in this world of gods and monsters, she’s the only thing he was really sure about.

He thinks about how she was the first girl he ever danced with, and how light everything felt when she was around. He thinks about how it felt strangely familiar when she fell off that cliff, and how only days later realized that it was the same desperation he had when Hades took his mother. He thinks about how gutted it was when he found out she was thinking about joining the Hunters. He thinks about his visit from Aphrodite and how even though she changed form, her hair smelled like lemons the entire time. He thinks about when he saw her on that cliff it was like the sun came out. How he saw her face and it was smudged with dirt and cuts but she was alive and he could breathe again. He thinks about how his throat closed up when he thought Artemis was going to pick her for the Hunt. He remembers how when they danced on Olympus, for a song she was prettier than Aphrodite.

He thinks about planning a movie date, and how he discovered Annabeth doesn’t get any less pretty when she’s mad at him. How she sat right next to him at dinner and how when she fixed his armour, his neck burned wherever she touched him. He thinks about falling in a whole and holding her hand and how they’d done it before but it felt different that time. He thinks about ping pong table meetings and how he became aware of the fact that he’d follow her anywhere. He thinks about the determination in her when she faced the Sphinx, and how the same fire was in them right before she kissed him. He thinks about how she tasted like smoke and salt, and how for the 3.2 seconds that his lips were hers, the first thing he thought was ‘we fit like this too’. He thought he was going to die but it was okay. It was okay that he was going to die, because he had gotten to kiss her. He thinks about Calypso’s Island, and how he dreamt about her every night. How when he crashed his funeral, she held like she couldn’t bear to let go and how that was fine with him. He thinks about the blur that was the labyrinth, full of unshed tears, words that cut, and how despite all the scream fights and the terror, and the barely contained rage, none of it lessened the fierce protectiveness he feels for her. How despite it all, she's still the best thing that's ever fucking happened to him. He thinks about the last line of her prophecy, and how she thought it was about him.

He loves her.

He’s not sure if he’s in love with her because he’s 15 and he hasn’t exactly had time to date around but he knows that for a fact. Knowing Annabeth, loving Annabeth has made him who he is. She is burned into his DNA. Somehow the 12 year old with princess curls and eyes that cut, crawled under his skin. He knows he’s done the same to her, even though they’re both too stubborn to say it out loud. They could never really leave each other, even if they tried.

So Percy shifts so he can see her face in the pale moonlight, brushes a curl out of her face and says,

“Yeah. It’s us Annabeth. We’re gonna be alright.”

She smiles soft and real because she knows him, so she knows he means it. He’s not sure who reaches out this time, but they're holding hands and staring at the sky in a silence that speaks volumes.

They stay like that until it’s sunrise and they have to sneak into their respective cabins. Looking at stars, fighting sleep, and forgetting about the rest of the world.

______________

(They hold hands all the way back to her cabin.)

(He doesn’t stop smiling the whole way back to his own.)

______________

if your still here hi! thank you for reading. send in prompts from this list, or any sentence starter you want to read. ask box is open for those and if you just wanna say hi :)

[archangelsquill]

to hell and back || damien darkblood x reader 

pairing: damien darkblood x partner reader (gn, no y/n)

fandom: invincible

word count: 1448

summary: after omni-man flees earth and things begin to settle down, cecil feels he owes you -- the demon detective’s partner in solving crime -- a favor.

warnings: none

a/n: a sequel to this. darkblood deserves better, and by the gods, i’m giving it to him! enjoy, my fellow simps.

———

“If anything happens to them, on your head it will be, Cecil!”

Those were the final words of the demon as the pits of hell called him home, and as Cecil met his gaze, he knew it was no threat. It was a promise, and though he considered himself a bastard, Cecil saw no need to keep you in danger. He knew without Darkblood around, you were a target for Nolan. He’d already had security detail on you, but against Omni-Man, he knew it was useless. If he ever decided he wanted you dead, there’d be nothing stopping him.

Then, if Cecil was lucky (or maybe unlucky) to stay out of the warpath, he’d have Darkblood breathing down his neck, even with such distance between this world and his.

Sending him back to Hell wasn’t something Cecil wanted to do. It was a necessity. He owed him big time for that, and he’d start with keeping you off Nolan’s radar.

The official report was that you’d gone to stay with an imaginary Aunt Sue, somewhere in the Dakotas, but the reality was you were to be kept in the Global Defense Agency Headquarters -- well hidden, out of sight, and away from Nolan Grayson.

No one told you a thing. You’d been in your apartment, waiting for Damien to show up with those coffees he’d promised. Evidence, photos, and papers of theories and notes were scattered around the small space, occupying every inch of surface area, as you paced, a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger and stronger the longer your demon detective was away. Something was wrong, and as Cecil Stedman appeared suddenly before you, making you jump out of your skin, you knew for sure. 

“You’re the demon’s partner, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. I guess you’re Cecil.”

“You guess right. You need to come with us.”

“Why?”

“You’re not safe anymore.”

“What?”

“I can’t answer your questions now. Pack a bag. You won’t be coming back for a while.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t have a choice.

The Global Defense Agency took care of your monthly expenses while you were gone, as if that made any of this less scary or confusing. All you’d been told was Damien was back in Hell, Cecil put him there, and you were in danger.

No one told you much else. Cecil had acted civil toward you -- kind, even -- but it didn’t help. Damien was gone, it was Cecil’s fault, and life may never be normal again.

All because you two asked questions.

Because you wanted the truth.

And you both had paid the price: freedom.

Meanwhile, Omni-Man roamed free, ready to kill again.

You lost count of how long you’d been at GDA HQ when Nolan finally struck.

Initially, you’d been barred from the control room, but Cecil let you choose to watch the chaos or stay blind to it.

You choose not to watch. No one needed you to be in the room when all of the ruin, disaster, and chaos you and Damien knew would happen happened. Based on what Cecil told you after, you were glad you decided to stay out of it.

All of those innocent people, now dead. All of that destruction. All of that carnage, and for what? Omni-Man had fled.

It was for nothing.

And Debbie…

You’d offered as much comfort as you could. You knew how it felt to lose a loved one (it took all you had not to look pointedly at Cecil when you told her that) and the woman needed someone to lean on. Someone not quite so cold as Cecil.

And he’d watched you. Despite everything, you comforted Debbie and Mark, putting on a brave face as if you haven’t lost everything, too. Cecil knows you’re still hurting -- why wouldn’t you be?

Cecil was many things, and a man who paid his debts was absolutely one of them.

He’d been searching since he put Darkblood back in Hell for it: the spell to undo what he did. To summon him back. His plan was always to bring him back, if such a thing existed. He’d had his people looking for months with no luck, and he’d already given you the all clear to go home, with the promise your rent and utilities were paid for until you could get back on your feet.

Yeah. Right. How the fuck do you do that? Your partner -- not only in profession but your partner -- was gone, your office had been trashed, and your apartment felt so empty it was somehow suffocating.

For weeks after you’d returned, you’d laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling, jumping at any change in the temperature, hoping one day you’d look up and see him, only to find it was the apartment complex’s shitty circulation.

The news talked about things going back to normal, yet normal sounded like a foreign language now. How was the world supposed to be any kind of normal again?

Cecil made a few visits to check on you, but you regarded him with coldness that could rival that of Damien’s. He couldn’t blame you.

You’d lost track of the days when the sigh that escaped your lips was accompanied by a small fog. You froze, sitting up from your temporary home on the couch before exhaling again. Just to be sure.

And there it was again: the small visage of your breath indicating the decrease in temperature you’d been ignoring out of lost hope.

“Damien…?”

“Yes, amare?” the gruff baritone was music to your ears as you turned toward your kitchen. There he was: red, large, and intimidating -- yet that soft look in his gaze remained, as if no time at all had passed.

“Damien!” you leapt over the couch, nearly tumbling to the ground before two strong arms grab you, pulling you into the warmest yet coldest bear hug you’ve ever gotten.

“Sorry for delay. Had to...speak with Cecil...” he rumbles, clawed hand carding through your hair, “Need to be ‘debriefed’ but...had to see you.”

“I can tell you what you missed.” you mumble, burying your face in his arms. He pulls you tighter still, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Later,” he says.

And for a moment -- how long, you’re not sure -- you both just sit there on the living room floor, holding each other in a silent, loving embrace. Tears stream down your face, stinging from the cold emanating from Damien. His hand moves to brush them away, and the contact makes you cry more. You missed him. It had been so long.

After what felt like forever, you part -- just enough to look at each other. He, of course, looks no different. Demons didn’t age like humans did. You, however, probably look like shit. You hadn’t looked in a mirror in forever, but you knew your hair was much longer. You hadn’t bothered to get it cut in...how long had it been? It wasn’t like you could’ve gotten it cut, anyway. The city had been rebuilding, and getting anywhere was...well, hell.

“Beautiful as the day I lost you,” he says, and your tears well up again.

“I know I look like shit, Damien,” you say, trying to laugh off the sudden absence of your grief. He smiles slightly -- a rare sight.

“To me you look like heaven, amare,” he replies.

Amare. His nickname for you. You think its Latin, but you’ve never looked into what it means. You never asked, either, assuming he’d just tell you one day.

But you almost lost him.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look into it after he was gone, and now that he was here again….you decide to ask.

“You’ve called me that since we became partners. What does it mean?”

“Supposed to be a detective.” he replies. His own attempt at a joke, you muse. You’re in no mood for it.

“Damien, please.”

He looks at you fondly, placing a kiss to your forehead.

“Love. It means love.”

You should’ve figured, yet you find yourself crying again, and his arms wrap tighter around you in a protective, loving embrace.

There was more to be said between you two. You both know it. What happened to Damien in Hell? How did everything with Nolan go down here? Now that Cecil knew how to banish and summon Damien as he pleased, what would become of your demon detective?

All need answers. Resolutions.

But not now.

Now was the time for healing: for the world, for humanity, and for you and your demon in that tiny apartment.

You had him back, and though so much hangs in the air, that was enough.