#this laptop is nearly ten years old

[strangefable]

bloatware i hate you.

especially from you microsoft. stop making me have to fight for my life to get my computer to have only the programs I WANT INSTALLED.

also also. big giant huuuuuuuuuge fuck you to dell for royally fucking me up for so long. never again. you're dead to me.

[hairyjocktf]

Fire in the Forest

Adam sighed deeply as he unlocked the door to his apartment. The familiar scent of old laundry and takeout boxes washed over him as the door swung open. He slid his bag off his shoulder onto the floor and slumped onto the couch. Today had been one of the worst days of his life, to put it mildly. The company he’d slaved away for since graduating a few years ago had unexpectedly let him go as part of cost cutting measures. Every late night he’d spent at the office suddenly hit him as a waste, his hard work had never mattered to those up top. Adding insult to injury was his paltry severance package; with his rent it’d barely last two weeks. He wouldn’t even have time to breathe before having to find a new job.

Before he knew it he’d passed out sitting on the couch, waking up hours later to a dark sky out the window. Shit, he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes before forcing his body up and off the couch. He tossed a frozen meal into the microwave before setting his laptop up on the table. With the microwave humming in the background he started visiting websites of companies he knew of in the same sphere. Career page after career page yielded no luck. He grabbed his food from the beeping microwave and continued to solemnly scroll through page after page of indeed listings, applying to every one he could convince himself he was qualified for. Soon enough it was two in the morning, and Adam decided to call it quits. He cleaned up his now very cold dinner and went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and clean up for bed. His red hair glowed under the ceiling light, looking almost like fire. It was one of his more attractive qualities, he thought to himself, looking at his skinny frame and ghostly skin. He flipped off the lights and hopped into bed.

It was around ten the next morning that Adam finally crawled out of bed. He grabbed his phone off the desk and quickly checked for any job notifications. There was only one, and not one he recognized. It was a recruitment email from a logging company, Cascade Lumber. He skimmed over the email, they’d “found” his profile online and thought he’d be a good fit for a lumberjack role? That was ridiculous, he thought, and closed out of his email. Frustrated at no actual leads, he decided to take a walk for the morning and get back to searching that afternoon. While out trying to enjoy the rare sunny day, that email stuck in his mind. Really? A lumberjack? It was absurd, insulting almost. He was a software developer, not some country laborer. He got back to his apartment and threw himself back into the search, sending out applications one after another. The next day was much of the same, desperately trying to find more niche positions that might be hiring. Still no responses, though. Each day he became a little more stressed, a little more frantic in his search. How had no one responded yet? He had plenty of qualifications and experience, he didn’t understand the problem.

Two weeks had passed and Adam was against a wall. His severance cash was nearly dried up, and still nothing had come through, not even an interview. Even his connections had fallen through. With the bills starting to pile up on the counter, he was out of options. That was when he remembered the email from weeks before. At this point it couldn’t hurt to respond, maybe they had a tech position he could weasel into. He wrote a short response and sent it off. Just minutes later, as Adam was in the middle of making lunch, his phone buzzed. They’d responded already, inviting him out to their office. The address was nearly an hour out west, but what choice did he have?

The next morning he was on his way out of the city, high rises giving way to fields and then forest. Dense groves alternated with barren patches of recently logged areas, letting sunlight down to the road. He pulled down a narrow road and a few minutes later parked in front of a modest building tucked into the trees. His car was surrounded by huge trucks filled to the brim with tree trunks, as well as some large machinery he couldn’t identify. Upon walking inside he was greeted with a dim room full of old logging gear. He heard the footsteps of someone large approaching, before a huge man descended the stairs to greet him. He looked enormous in this small room, almost scraping the ceiling, and his frame was equally wide. His open shirt revealed a forest of hair on his chest, and his beard was incredibly thick. Adam suddenly felt very intimidated, despite the large smile on the man’s face.

“Hey there! You must be Adam, so glad you took us up on visiting. We really think you’d be a great asset on the team. Whoa! I’m getting ahead of myself, the name’s Derek,” he reached out his absolute paw of a hand. With a shake Derek immediately began touring Adam around the office. Derek was overwhelming with his enthusiasm, but also in his assumption that Adam had agreed to start working there. He didn’t have another option, but they didn’t know that. They got into Derek’s truck and he drove off into the forest towards a work site. The majority of the information Derek was spitting out went in one ear and out the other, but Adam tried to look as engaged as he could. The truck came to a screeching halt in an area they were currently clearing. The sound of chainsaws was like nails on a chalkboard to Adam as they stepped out of the truck. In the distance he saw machinery whirring away cutting trees, as well as men harnessed up with saws. Derek went into more detail about working in an active logging site, the dangers and safety measures. Adam was instead busy looking at the men working nearby. They had on hard hats and bright orange vests overtop thick jackets or flannels. They all looked big and burly, like they’d been lifting for years. Adam wasn’t sure how in Derek’s mind he would be able to do anything here.

“...and I think that just about covers most of it. Oh! And the salary is $55k per year, with annual raises and benefits. We try to do right by our guys here,” Derek smiled at Adam. That number had finally gotten his attention. Nothing close to his old job, but better than zero. In a decision that probably warranted some more thought, Adam opened his mouth.

“Great, when do I start?”

Derek’s smile doubled in size and he slapped Adam on the back. “That’s my man, let’s get you all set up then while you’re out here,” he said. They both got back into Derek’s truck and drove back to the office. Inside Adam was handed the same hat and vest he saw the men at the site wearing.

“Now that’s just the basics, you’ll probably want some heavy clothing while on the job, and get yourself some good boots while you’re at it,” he chuckled, looking down at Adam’s aging vans shoes. Adam thanked him and walked back to his car. Still unsure of this whole venture, Adam departed. On the way back he stopped at some workwear stores, looking for boots and clothes to fit the job. Having no idea what he actually needed, he just looked for the closest things to what he remembered the guys there wearing. Close enough, right?

Back at his apartment he cautiously tried on all the clothing he’d just gotten. To his surprise, it all fit fairly well, despite his body being much smaller than most of the guys out there. His thin frame looked bulkier under a thick layer of protective and warm clothing. He almost… liked how it looked? Adam quickly put that thought out of his head and stripped off the gear. The sun was already dipping below the horizon and he had to be out there early in the morning from now on. 

The alarm came even sooner than he thought. Adam rolled out of bed at four in the morning, and was out the door as soon as he could get himself together. The air was chilly outside, with not even a hint of the sunrise yet in the darkness. He drove straight to the site Derek had assigned him to, finding a group of men chatting together while donning their equipment. Adam introduced himself, and began putting on his own assigned gear. The day flew by as several other guys instructed Adam on how things worked. He was more keen to pay attention to everything this time, listening intently to each burly man who showed him how to use a chainsaw. By the end of the day he’d felled a few trees and learned the basics of the larger machinery the team used. Despite it being cool all day, Adam was sweating up a storm in his thick coat. Maybe he’d overestimated how much layering was needed. The drive home felt shorter than it had the day before, but Adam was frustrated at a recurring itch on his jaw, it just kept coming back no matter how much he scratched at it.

The next few days were much of the same, Adam’s time was highly supervised while he was learning, but he was surprised at how easily he took to it. His original plan of finding a tech position to switch to had already been forgotten. The other lumberjacks seemed to like Adam as well, despite his scrawny stature. His red hair made him easy to point out, even though it was usually covered by a hard hat. The itch on his face reared its head a few more times, as Adam’s baby smooth face was slowly overtaken by a light red stubble. Each day it would poke out just a hair more, reaching out from his chin towards his sideburns. Adam failed to notice this, just as he was blind to the muscle his skinny body had started to put on. In just a week he’d gained serious definition, he had slight pecs and shoulders, and his arms looked like he’d been working out for years. Must be the intensity of the job, he thought to himself when one of his old t-shirts no longer fit. As the days passed, his stubble connected across his face, and some wispy hairs poked out of his growing pecs. Barely noticeable, but there nonetheless.

The weeks continued to pass as Adam got settled into his position. He started to feel like a real lumberjack as trees fell by his hand day by day. He began to fit in more with the other men as well. His bright red stubble thickened. Hairs that were barely more than peach fuzz grew thick and pushed out into a true short beard. The wisps on his chest likewise grew thicker, curlier, as more pressed out of his pecs. The red hairs grew and wove together until the hairy coating could no longer be ignored. His chest hair was normally kept beneath multiple layers, until one of his fellow loggers spotted the rug while he was changing. The crew gave him their old flannels and forced him to wear them and let some of the fiery red hair poke out. They all loved it, he was looking like them with their thick beards and hairy chests. The tiny new hire was quickly vanishing beneath muscle and fur, as the hairs on his chest spread downwards over his tight stomach.

Adam began noticing that each day he would leave work absolutely soaked in sweat. His layers just absorbed it leaving him a sopping mess as the job was so labor intensive. It didn’t bother him, he just bought more work clothes to cycle through, but he was oblivious to the other effects it was having. Adam’s body, steeping in sweat all day, was producing more and more. Not only that, his previously bare pits began sprouting fine red hairs. At first it was just a few thin hairs poking out, but as they were soaked in sweat they grew thicker. More hairs popped out of the damp pit, filling in rapidly. His once smooth pits were growing into a dense jungle of hair, the hairs thick and red, tangling together into a tuft that trapped even more sweat and stench. They spread out of the confines of his pit, connecting with the pelt on his chest and beginning to pop out across his upper arms. He would dig his fingers into his furry pits to scratch, the hair growing in itching like mad. Each day more hairs pushed out, more sweat was trapped, and the more he smelled like the other men around him.

As the weeks rolled on, Adam kept having to buy new clothes between sweat stains and simply outgrowing them. His body had put on a lot of size since starting, his thin frame bulking out as he grew taller and wider. The weather was growing colder, and the added layers were hiding his growing size, as well as his growing fur. The hair from his pits was continuing its march, with wiry hair cropping up across his shoulders, triceps, and was especially dense on his forearms. Red wispy hairs sprouted all over his upper body, filling in gaps and growing into a thick ginger rug. His body was growing at a rapid rate, biceps filling out and pecs becoming real pillows, but it wasn’t all muscle. His size was softened by a healthy layer of fat that only encouraged more hair to sprout. His already dense chest hair thickened further, red hairs swirling around his nipples and growing longer and curlier. The chest fur grew up and over his shoulders, creating a seamless carpet from his hands through his torso. Even his back was beginning to show signs, as light red fuzz was gathering around his shoulder blades and above his waistline. Hair sprouted out of his shirt collars and poked from his sleeves; even under his layers of clothes his coworkers knew Adam was hiding some impressive fur.

What they couldn’t see was below Adam’s waistline. The fur coat from his stomach slowly inched downwards, the wispy hairs occupying his groin quickly overrun with a thick red bush. The hairs pushed out from the base of his cock, thick and curly they sprouted and tangled together as the bush expanded. The hairs climbed up and connected with the rug on his stomach, and out to his thighs before racing down his thick legs. His pubes grew denser into a thick triangle of red hair, his cock growing larger to not be hidden beneath the jungle. Adam hardly noticed as the bulge in his jeans grew day by day, sweat soaking the area as it developed a thick musk that was barely contained by his underwear. He had to buy larger sizes after his balls swelled considerably, dropping lower than before and sprouting with their own rug of red hair. The hairs spread down over his taint before blossoming in his ass crack, a thick fiery explosion of fur pushing out as the hairs grew like weeds over his large cheeks. His legs grew stockier to support his growing body as the hairs continued their march from the thick nest of pubes. His thighs were coated before it spread to his calves. His feet stretched and ached as they grew multiple sizes in just a few weeks, before too being buried beneath a thick mat of red hair.

Winter finally began showing its ugly face, and Adam’s job grew rougher daily as temperatures plummeted up in the mountains. His body adapted, packing on considerable bulk. Gone was his thin, twinky frame, replaced now by a thick and strong body, built for strength and warmth. His thick muscular frame was coated in a layer of fat to insulate him, and his belly seemed to just keep growing. The fur coat he’d been developing only continued to come in. The red hairs grew thicker and denser every day, pushing against his clothing. His fiery red beard, which had been well kept until now began erupting from his face with a fury. Thick hairs curled over his upper lip as the hairs on his cheeks pushed out inch after inch. More hairs filled in between as the coating crawled higher on his cheeks. It surged down his neck and blended with the thick chest hair. He looked wild, but it kept his face warm from the frigid winds. He even got complimented on it, earning a reputation as a real mountain man from his fellow lumberjacks. Adam had fully adapted to his job, there was no going back. He was now a hairy, hefty lumberjack with a fur coat to rival an animal’s. He’d grown to be one of the best in the crew, each tree felled returning as a hair in his pelt.

[theaudientvoid]

I've talked before about how my mother is considered to be the "tech person" at her work, entirely because ten years ago I printed out the xkcd tech support flow chart and gave it to her. But what I haven't said is that this woman has never owned a personal computer in her life. Occasionally, if she absolutely needs to use a computer for something, she will bring her work laptop home and use that, but she doesn't like doing that. She does have an iphone, which she uses exclusively for answering emails. But otherwise, she uses computers almost exclusively for work. And yet she is apparently better at using computers than nearly all of her co-workers. And it's not like her co-workers are all old people; many of them are my age, and one of them I literally went to high school with.

Years ago, I casually showed my mother how to press control-f to search through text, which she then taught to her co-workers, and I'm told that this discovery "revolutionized" the workflow at her workplace.

[writing-mlm]

maybe tim drake x male reader where tim falls back into his habit of just sort of studying people like he had batman and robin. he likes the reader but obviously tim has to analyze everything about him, his own habits paired with the suspicious nature instilled in him by batman wouldn’t let him casually take interest in somebody.

It's not stalking if we kiss

Summary: Tim can't process emotions normally and does everything wrong only... it works Pairing: Tim Drake x Male reader W.C: 4k a/n: guys I cant write Tim properly omfg I rewrote this a million times

People tend to forget that Tim is actually… kinda creepy. He is second on the stalker list, right behind Joe from You and now that he thinks about it, he might be better than Joe. For one, Joe is actually creepy. He’s a killer by choice, he’s the gross stalker. Tim is the informant stalker, considering himself more of a private investigator type of stalker. And, he’s not a stalker. He’s a detective who’s really good with technology. Everyone knows that. 

Admittedly, he’s tried to grow out of those habits in his recent years. After being confronted with learning every single member of the JLA’s schedules without any of them noticing, he realized he had an issue. He went to therapy— he slept on it and watched a couple of movies and changed. 

But man, old habits die hard. 

He doesn’t realize he's fallen back into his stalking habits for a long while, that’s how second nature they had become over the years. Some sort of natural instinct he had since birth to learn about people that were only made worse through Bruce’s training and his paranoid nature. It was the perfect concoction for someone like Tim, leading him down a near-irreversible path. 

Even now, as he’s watching the surveillance footage of you as you’re out on patrol several states away, he doesn’t realize it. His eyes flicker across the screen to find the street sign, Blecker Street, you’re seventeen blocks away from home and nearly three miles out from your patrol area. Having followed one of your old goons down to an alleyway before dipping into the restaurant they ran inside. 

It was a temporary stay, your old mentor was going to be away for some time and needed someone to watch over their city in their absence. Naturally, you accepted and set up back in your old apartment, it had never been rented out considering your mentor was the landlord and sentimental in that way. But that didn’t stop Tim from worrying. He’s seen reports from that city, and while it’s not as bad as Gotham, the city had aliens and metas. It wasn’t something Gotham had to deal with often, something you had definitely stopped being used to. 

Sipping his tea, Tim watches as you roll your neck and then your shoulder as you exit the restaurant with the goon in tow, it only tells him one simple fact; you’re tired. Probably another ten or so minutes before you called it a day and went back home. He grins, he prefers it when you’re home. Well, it’s not actually home, he thinks he should call it your place for the week instead. Your home is in Gotham now, it has been for several years now. He knows you've been neighbors for quite some time now. 

Sure enough, after ten minutes you’ve called it a night and head back to your apartment. Once he gets a visual of you entering your apartment safely, he closes out the footage tabs on his laptop and goes to bed. It’s nearly eight in the morning in Gotham and he’s been up for nearly two days. His old— according to Jason— body isn’t used to staying up for four days straight anymore. 

It sucks ass. 

As he settles into bed, he just has to double-check that you’re okay. He flicks through the cameras he’s hacked into, seeing that you’ve entered the apartment and from the home security your neighbors have, he hears the door lock four times. That’s the lock, the deadbolt, and two additional locks and it settles him enough that he’s pulled into a slumber by the fact that you made it home safely. 

—

It’s small things, at least that’s what everyone tells him. The small things matter and he wholeheartedly agrees, more often than not in crimes the smallest details could be the largest but he doesn’t know how that would apply to you. Why whenever he’d mention you to Dick or even Alfred, they’d tell him that. As if it was some major deciding factor in his friendship with you.  

Ever the genius, he doesn’t connect it when he remembers the last time he was in your boat you’d mentioned how you hated the fact that people could look inside. 

So, naturally, when he finds a one-way glass cover online, he just has to buy it for you. Never mind the fact that he installs it while you’re still out of the city and without getting any sort of permission from you. But he has a key for a reason. You clearly trust him. He doesn’t see why it would be a big deal for you. Maybe for others, but you’re different. You’re… well, you. 

He installs it and has Bernard test it out from the outside and it works. Not that he doubted his work would ever fail. He checks for himself and he’s pleasantly surprised that someone would only be able to look inside if they got within an inch of the window. And he thoroughly doubts anyone could even get that close to begin with. 

While he’s there, cleaning up the mess he didn’t mean to make, he notices that the fruits on your counter are going bad. It would be bad if you returned to a house of moldy food, so he throws it out and cleans the bowl before Tim decides he needs to make sure there’s nothing else wrong on the boat. 

It’s only nice. 

He ends up with a trash bag filled with nearly rotten fruit, an expired milk jug that only had one bowl of cereal left, some cleaning wipes, and a gross-smelling sponge. He knows you don’t live in filth, you hate dust and mold, so he figures the sponge had accidentally retained some nasty liquid that only got worse with your departure and subsequent lack of attention. 

Tim, knowing you well enough, goes back out to replace the sponge but he rationalizes that if he’s buying a sponge he might as well restock your home. It feels weird going to the store to pick up just one thing. He takes a list of everything you’re running low on or out of entirely and sets out for the second time that day. Never mind the fact that he had agreed to drinks with Bernard who was now forced to tag along if he even wanted to get a taste of drinks later that night.

He returns to the boat with Bernard deciding to wait outside, something about not missing another planned event, and puts everything into their rightful place. He knows where everything goes, the meticulous spots that you never change whenever you deep clean.

Should he deep clean for you?

“Good God! Let’s go!” Bernard yells after Tim has spent a whole ten minutes debating if he should deep clean the entire boat. 

“It’s not like you’re coming home with me,” He huffs, exiting the boat. Bernard raises an eyebrow and Tim raises his back. “You always go off when we get drinks— I’m just the wingman,”

“Yeah, a pretty shit one.” Bernard scoffs. 

—

“Hey,” He answers his phone without looking up from his current case. It doesn’t have his attention, it hasn’t since you left, but he needs to get at least a little work done. Even if he’s still riding out the splitting headache from yesterday. “How’s city-sitting?” He glances at the phone, making sure it was on speaker. 

“Calm,” You answer, crawling out onto the fire escape of your old apartment. “Better than Gotham— my place doesn’t move with the wind anymore, either.” You chuckle, now settled onto one of the old metal stairs. 

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of staying,” He frowns, taking the phone off of the speaker and pressing it to his ear. Now that he thinks about it, he wouldn’t mind moving to your city. It’s nice. 

“Nah,” Your face scrunches as you say it. “It’s nice, but it’s too retirement home for me. I’m not ready to give up having a constant stock of bottled water and up-to-date gas masks.” You joke. 

“That’s good,” He stops himself from sighing. “My rent would’ve gone up.” He jokes, flipping through the pages of his files. 

“You’re rich,” You scoff, it’s playful. There’s no harm in it. “It’s crazy we’re paying rent to live on fucking water, though.” You add, leaning back on the stairs.

“Eh,” He shrugs, grabbing a pen and flipping it between his fingers. He’s sure somewhere in the galaxy someone is paying rent to live on air. “Capitalism will always be crazy.”

“Oh, by the way, the supermarket had a sale on those ice creams you like. I got you some,” He admits while putting the phone back on speaker. 

“Bitch,” You draw out. Tim hears your smile and softly smiles, now taking apart his pen. “I love you, dude. Oh my god, I’m gonna raw dog them once I get back.” You all but moan.

“…sometimes I wish you thought before you spoke,” He cringes, staring at his phone. Never mind the way hearing you say that made him feel things.

“Sorry!” You laugh. “But, thanks. How much do I—“

“I’m rich,” He reminds you, putting the pen back together. His phone beeps midway putting the ink back into the metal casing and he glances at his phone. It’s an alert that your mentor was spotted back in the city. He smiles at the alert, a part of his nerves calming immediately. 

Good, you’ll be back in two days. 

“I gotta go,” He lies knowing your mentor will be back within the next two minutes. 

“Ah, okay. Keep me updated about that case, I just know it’s that Elvis impersonator!” Standing up, you stretch and he nearly hears the pop of your joints. 

“It’s not, but okay.” 

He does very little in the window between then and your return, he’s mostly counting the hours and patrolling. It’s the usual for patrol, albeit a little boring without your chatter in his ear. He’s happy to report he didn’t get any major injuries in that time frame, though. 

When you finally return to Gotham, Tim waits for you on the deck of the boat. He’s pretending to hardly care, acting caught up in some footage he’s reviewing to notice you walking up to the docks. 

“Missed me?” You grin, stepping into the boat with ease. He remembers when you’d been so nervous to get on them before, fearing you’d fall into the nasty water below. 

He looks up, a grin across his face and eyes taking you in. You’ve tanned in your absence, although he supposed Gotham doesn’t get nearly as much sun as Florida does. 

“Hardly noticed you were gone,” He teases and closes his laptop. Rolling your eyes, you invite him inside. He takes the invitation with ease, slipping inside your boat as you scan around. 

“You cleaned?” You ask, the smell of his favorite cleaning products still lingering in the air. “Don’t tell me that the Tim Drake had a party in my boat house!” You gasp, looking at him. 

“Hardly,” He nudges you aside so he can sit on the couch bench. “You had some food going bad so I figured I might as well clean up.” He explains.

“Thanks, baby girl,” You draw out the girl, a southern twang coming through. Rolling his eyes, he watches as you kick your shoes off and toss your duffle bag into your bedroom before joining him on the couch. “How was the case?” Lugging your legs up to the spare room around you, you lay your head on his shoulder while he opens his laptop again and huffs. Not good, then. 

“It’s the Elvis guy,” You quietly sing as he’s watching the footage again; that alone answers your question. The case isn’t even close to being finished. Yikes. 

“It’s not him.” He insists, mindlessly scrolling through the stolen footage. “I’m starting to lean towards the woman I interviewed first, but I’m sure I’ll solve it before tomorrow.” As he speaks he’s biting back a yawn. 

“Wanna take a nap, clear your head and shit?” You ask as you stand up. It was a long drive from Florida to Gotham and you were honestly beat. Probably another hour or so before your body took over and you knocked out. 

“Of course,” He grins and you nod, taking a quick shower. 

Naps with Tim aren’t anything new. He falls asleep often (you think there’s something medically wrong going on but what do you know) and you’re not going to leave the perfect opportunity to get a little sleep slip right past you. So, he’s gotten accustomed to dropping on your shoulder and sleeping; which naturally progressed into the two of you napping on couches or beds together. But only if you were seriously beat. 

Joining Tim on your bed you find that he’s still awake but slowly falling asleep. Waiting up for you, his eyes peer towards the door as you enter and he lifts the sheets up for you. Joining him, you lay on your stomach, letting your body relax as he sleeps on his side, his back facing you. 

Rolling onto your back, you let out a small sigh and turn your head to look at him. 

“Stop staring,” He whispers, turning so now he’s facing you. With hardly open eyes, he stares at you, waiting for you to look away from him. Smiling, you make it a point to look away and turn away from him, raising the covers to your chin and trying to dig yourself deeper into the plush bed. Now he’s staring at you, almost pulled in towards you. 

Tim knows he likes you. He thinks he’s laying his hints down well enough, he thinks he’s being romantic with his actions. He’s so sure you know that you’re just waiting for the right moment to ask him. 

You aren’t. 

Because you don’t know. 

You’re not oblivious by any means, you know when someone likes you. But with Tim, that’s just how he’s always been. You’ve known him as the kid who found out Batman because he was an amazing detective, the guy you’d go to if you wanted to find something or someone. He always had those tendencies, so it didn’t make you bat an eye when you became his latest target. 

It was like his acts of service and who are you to question it? 

That’s not to say you don’t like him back. 

No, it’s not weird that you’re sharing the same bed, chest to back. Yes, there’s plenty of space around the two of you, but what’s the harm in being close? 

The harm is that Tim isn’t focusing on falling asleep. 

You’re sound asleep, blissfully unaware of his qualms but Tim won’t keep his eyes off of you. His eyes trace the strands in your hair, settle on how you’ve accidentally shifted the cover down to your stomach with how much you kick. How you hardly dried off from the shower, favoring the peaceful sleep you knew was awaiting you instead of enjoying the privacy of your bathroom. 

His eyes follow and trace your body again and he doesn’t do it with any intentions other than curious ones. 

He doesn’t know where that shirt is from, he’s helped with your laundry before and he’s never seen that shirt but it’s faded enough that he knows it’s old. The collar is stretched out and the tag is sticking out, the words all but faded. It’s old and well-loved. 

It’s probably one of the clothes you left behind in your old apartment. 

Sighing, he closes his eyes and flips to his back, trying his best to fall asleep. It’s normally not an issue for him, he can fall asleep and wake up on command most days but today is different for some reason. Maybe he’s missed you so badly that his body won’t let him sleep until it’s felt he’s had enough time spent with you to make up for the absence. 

“Can’t sleep?” You ask after he turns again, this time back to his original position. 

“Sorry,” He mutters the apology, doing his best to seem as though he was falling asleep. He flips onto his back to look at you, a tired gaze clouding your eyes. 

“It’s okay, I was hardly asleep.” You shrug and then make a face akin to a mischievous grin. “Wanna cuddle?” Looking at you, he tries to figure out if you’re joking or not. “But only if I’m a big spoon.” You add. 

“That works,” He nods and turns his back to you, awkwardly shuffling back as you shuffle forward. Humming, you wrap your left arm around him and settle your head on top of his, with your right arm acting as another pillow for his head. His hair smells like your favorite scent and you’re surprised you hadn’t realized sooner. But it is a little faint. 

“This good?” You mutter. 

“Mhmm,” He hums and you hum back, letting your eyes close again. 

—

Tim watches you as you work through the cameras; your day job is a normal, boring receptionist job at the hospital. You’re talking to a man while Tim is in the Batcave, his feet propped up on the desk and eyes strained to not blink. He’s thumbing through different angles and misusing Bruce’s tech to get information from everyone you talk to. All their records pop up to the screen on the left and he skims through them all. 

No one is dangerous so far, aside from someone who was recently treated for lice. It makes his scalp itch when he thinks about it for too long. 

“You should get a job,” Damian grunts from behind him. “This is creepy, even for you, Drake.” Tim waves him off, he’s not being weird. He’s just making sure you’re safe, that’s it. He also doesn’t care what the boy cleaning bloody swords has to say about his habits.

“I do have a job,” He mutters, switching the camera again. It’s time for your break and you’ll probably call soon. “I’m at Wayne Enterprises, running a team for the IT department.” The right screen switches to his work account where he’s running a code to fix his team's code. He’ll double-check it once he’s home. 

He watches as you fish your phone out and he prepares for the call but his phone remains uncalled. The screen is black and you’re clearly in the middle of a call, he squints and decides to check who you’re calling. It could be debt collectors or scammers, he’s just looking out for you. 

The number quickly runs through his database and he sighs, it’s fucking Bart. 

“-m, he won’t say no to you.” Bart laughs and Tim watches as you shake your head, leaning against the wall of the break room. 

“When you texted that it was an emergency, I assumed it was, you know, an emergency.” Oh, that makes more sense. Tim settled into his seat, you hadn’t preferred calling Bart over him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I think my fridge breaking is an emergency!” Bart shouts. “Please— ask Tim to buy me a new one! One with a screen and a double fridge. Please!”

“No-“ Bart groans loudly into the phone. “You’re not helping your case right now.” You chide.

“Frick you, man.” Bart hangs up and you stare at your screen before moving to call Tim. He grins, exiting out of your phone, and stares at his phone. It rings and he waits three whole seconds before picking up. 

“Drake is reaching new levels of creeper,” Damian tells Bruce as the older man walks into the Batcave. Tim pays no mind, walking away from the computer for privacy. “There are laws against these sorts of things.”

“Hey,” He ducks under Dick swinging around on a bar before messing with memorabilia on the shelves. “I was starting to think you forgot about me.” 

“You? Never,” 

—

You’re upset. Tim doesn’t know why but he knows you are. All of the lights are on in the boat and he can hear the bass in whatever music you’re playing. Had it been any louder it might’ve begun to rattle the windows. 

He knocks on the door for two minutes straight before he unlocks the door himself. You don’t notice, which is an issue in itself, but to your credit, you notice when he steps further inside. 

“What happened?” He carefully asks, the music lowering with several clicks from the remote. You shrug, not the worst sign of your mood, and shift over to invite him inside. “Work?” Nodding, he frowns. Of course, it would be the one day he couldn’t watch over the cameras that something would happen. 

“I got written up because I didn’t let this group of teenagers spit at me.” You explain. “You’d think working at a hospital they’d understand how nasty spit is. But apparently, they’re doctors, kids so it’s whatever.” Fiddling with your laptop, he catches the Job Finders tab hidden in a mess of random tabs. Good, he’s always hated that job for you. 

“Was it that manager with the yellow hair? Linny?” 

“It always is!” You exclaim, tossing the empty soda can into the trash can. “One more write-up and I’ll go on probation again.”

“You could come and work at Wayne Enterprises.” He offers, eyes rising slowly from the laptop to you... “I’m pretty sure I have an opening as a receptionist. Or other jobs… of course. In case you wanted a change of jobs.” You look at him, eyebrows raise and he offers a smile. 

“It is closer,” You trail off. 

“Benefits are great, too.” He grins. “And I’m not just talking about seeing me every day.” Pushing his arm, he laughs and closes your laptop. “I’m serious! You’ll get paid more, no one would yell at you because we never get anyone wanting to see us, and there’s sick time.”

“Okay, I’ll apply,” You give in and he cheers, holding you with one arm before shaking you. Laughing, you cover your mouth and push away from him. “But next week, I’m busy this week. You’ll put in a good word for me, right?”

“Of course, what else would I use my position of power for?”

“Let me shower and we can… watch a movie?” You ask and he nods, watching you leave. Once the shower turns on he fumbles with his phone. 

“B, can you give me a receptionist?… No, I know there’s no need but I kinda told (Y/n)—… Okay, and? Like you haven’t lied to anyone!… Please, I’m sorry. Just can you make that a job?… Oh, thank god!” 

—

A week later, Tim helps you send in a resume. Of course, since the official announcement of a new position, there have been dozens of applications. All of which Tim is in charge of reviewing. Not that you would know. 

You’re relieved when you get the interview— put in your two weeks when you’re told you’ve made it to the final interview stage— and sit with Tim while you’re waiting to hear if you got the job. 

Your phone rings as you’re pacing around the boat, second-guessing putting in your two weeks. Not really, though, because Linny had given you another write-up for clocking back in from lunch a minute late. You have Tim answer it for you and he puts it on speaker, watching as you hear the news you’ve gotten the job. 

“Okay, thank you so much!” Ending the call, you stare at Tim slack-jawed. “Tim, I could kiss you!” He stares at you for a moment before he shrugs. 

“Why don’t you?” He asks and you blink before licking your lips. His eyes follow before he does the same. “Not that you have to, because you got the job. I wouldn’t expect anything just because I put in a good word for you.”

“Of course,” You nod. “But is it weird that I still want to?”

“No,” He shakes his head, stepping closer. 

“Cool,” Tentatively, you cup his face and lean in. He meets you, eyes immediately closing as you kiss. His hands find yours, moving it down to his waist. He holds you there, relishing this feeling.

[bigtreefest]

New Year Coming In

Pairing: Boyfriend! Jake Jensen x Girlfriend! Reader

Summary: You and Jake may have signed up for more than you can handle to start off the new year with a bang.

Word count: 1,514

Content/warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, smut, p in v unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, kissing, exhausted sex, aftercare, Jake and his glasses and his hair and his beefy body and his everything

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR!! I hope you all enjoy this Jakey crackfic that took over my mind at 2am. Please, feel more than welcome to screech with me about it. And a special little thanks to @brandycranby for a line of dialogue.

Comments, reblogs, and asks are especially appreciated!

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Main Masterlist

The idea sounded perfect at first. Jake was happy to indulge you. Heck, it felt amazing for him, too. He got to welcome the new year with a good release, pleasing himself and the woman he loves. But oh man, if he didn’t wish he met you sooner before, this was the one thing that would get him pleading for it to be 2001 all over again, even if he had to relive the awkward years to avoid death by dehydration. Never mind how old the two of you were back then, he would’ve time traveled for it to be that year with you now.

A nice year would’ve been 2004, too. Coming four times in one session was something he could do with his eyes closed. Except he hadn’t, his eyes were peeled open, looking at the bright screen, in the times where he remembered being locked in his dark bedroom with his first laptop. Four times, easy. Really, even ten times, 2010. It would’ve had to have been parsed out over the course of the day, but he could’ve done it without complaint. Except, for the year 2025, the two of you had gotten a late start, not realizing how long and how much 25 rounds would take out of you. The agreement being 25 times, for each of you.

Not that he wanted to complain, but Jake Jensen never thought that he would’ve seen the day where he thought it was too much sex. And yet, here he was nearly drained. He laid on his back, cheeks ruddy, glasses crooked, bleached strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. His pupils were dilated in bodily satisfaction, just barely able to focus on you as you bounced on top of him, chasing your 12th simultaneous orgasm.

The sheets had been discarded long ago to the side, leaving you both exposed to the air in the room that was steadily rising in temperature, the sweat on your bodies lingering.

His fingertips dug into your thighs, sore hips sloppily raising to meet yours. Just enough sensation remained in his dick to feel you begin to clench in closeness as you reached down to rub your clit, tipping yourself over the edge with Jake joining you. His eyes squeezed shut and his chest heaved, nothing coming out of him despite the sensation of overstimulation that had overwhelmed him. In fact, he had shot blanks for the last three orgasms, too.

While you both came down from your highs, puffs of humid air filling the narrow space between your mouths as you leaned down to kiss Jake, he looked up at you, his face a mix of pure exhaustion, lined faintly with dopey satisfaction, but also a little worry. He hummed against your lips, pressing his forehead to yours to get just enough leverage to speak.

“Baby, I don’t think I can get to 25. We’re at 12 and my dick is gonna fall off.”

You giggled, pulling away and placing a hand on Jake’s cheek, thumb brushing back and forth.

“Okay, okay. How about this, what if we just make it 25 total?”

Jake furiously nodded his head, grateful for the reprieve. Between the two of you now, you’d reached 24. He could get you to 25. Hopefully. He knew his body was past halfway to limp, sucked dry, but maybe you weren’t as much of a noodle. Maybe you had one more in you.

Just when he thought he could take a breather, though, the both of you looked over your shoulder at the TV that had been softly playing in the background. In the top corner by the year’s newest pop sensation was a countdown clock to the new year. It had just reached under ten minutes.

Your head snapped back forward and your gaze met your boyfriend’s, the both of you panicking with eyes as wide as saucers. You had to make your deadline and time was dwindling quickly! But Jake swiftly jumped into action, tugging your hips in a gesture to pull you up his body. There was no way he had the time to recover and go another round, but this was dire!

“Use my face. USE MY FACE!” he urged you as he frantically pulled his glasses off and set them on the bedside table. You shuffled forward on your knees, his limp dick sliding out of your puffy entrance, filled with multiple rounds of your combined release. You moved so quickly to hover over his head that it didn’t have time to seep out of you before Jake yanked you down to his mouth with a firm grip by his large hands.

In an instant, his tongue was inside you, laving at your still spasming pussy, drinking down your wetness as his nose nudged your clit, coaxing it back to a stage of readiness. In seconds, he had you whining, grinding your hips against his face, begging for more attention on your sensitive nub. Jake could tell exactly what you needed, moving his mouth upwards, goatee lightly scratching your labia as he did so, and latched on to your clit, tongue working in tandem with the suction he was creating.

As if he still weren’t close enough to you, he used his hands to press on your plush thighs, squeezing you closer to him when he sucked harder. A new wave of arousal flowed through you, confirmed by Jake’s satisfied hum that sent a shockwave out from your core and across your limbs.

Your arms flailed, searching for something to hold onto, one reaching the headboard, the other drifting down into his damp locks. As you fisted his hair, you made brief eye contact with him, a smile on his face evident by the creases at the corner of his bright blue eyes when he reached up and tweaked a nipple towards the end of his focus range. Jake could just barely make out the scene above him, squinting slightly, when you fought throwing your head back in pleasure.

You might have felt like ecstasy was about to make your body implode, but you would’ve held on for just how pretty the sight of your boyfriend was, enjoying this moment underneath you, trying to feed your insatiable appetite for him. You were so zoned in to his every feature that he caught you by surprise when he did that thing with his tongue, guaranteed to make you topple over the edge every time.

You barely caught the image of him winking at you in reassurance that he wanted you to let go as you squeezed your eyes shut and your fists clenched hard, the headboard creaking. Jake let out a groan against your pussy that sent another tingle up your spine, causing you to call out, “Ah, Jake!” when you careened over the cliff once more.

Jake broke the suction of his mouth, gently easing you off of him, his strong arms setting you into the mound of sheets that laid at his side. He had regained just enough life in his legs to jet to the bathroom quickly to clean himself up, returning with a warm, damp towel which he used to tenderly wipe between your legs. He discarded it, tossing it into the hamper as fast as he could.

Jake settled back into bed, slipping his glasses back on and looking at the countdown clock on the television which had just dipped below 30 seconds, as he pulled your naked body on top of his, a sleepy smile filling your face, eyes closed peacefully. You hummed contentedly, finding comfort pressed against his beefy torso as his one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other hiking your knee up for you to toss your leg over his slim waist. Your head settled on his shoulder, nearly face-to-face with him, just in time for the final countdown.

Both of your gleaming smiles matched each other when the ball dropped and you lifted yourself up to kiss him, lips dancing slowly, reverently. There was no longer a rush. The two of you could just enjoy each other as you rang in the new year with a definite bang.

As you pulled away, gasping for air, you resettled yourself down with your ear right over Jake’s heart, your hand moving to idly rub over his belly as the two of you watched confetti fall over Times Square on the screen.

“Got any resolutions, babe?” you slurred.

Jake blew out a contemplative breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as his fingertips teased up and down your arm. He clicked his tongue in thought, “Maybe presenting the suggestion to you that we take the square root of the year and do that many orgasms instead from here on out. That way in 2064, when we’re old and wrinkly, we’ve only gotta do eight. And in 2081, our frail bones can settle for nine.”

You laughed along with his warm chuckle that rumbled his chest and nodded. “Good idea, Jakey.”

Bonus A/N: My life’s dream is to drain Jake’s body like this. Thank you.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles @steviebbboi @thiquefunlover63

[missmarveledsblog]

OH BOY (Dean Winchester x Reader) part one

Summary : a hunt brings the boys into a small town , one they've been in years previous and a face of the past is seen in dean life only more , her anger of the man being back lead them to more than just the hunt

warnings: angst , fluffy , goofy vibes throughout the series as well as monsters , cryptids and paranormal . strangers ( of sorts ) to enemies ( of sorts ) to friends to maybe lovers in the future , sort of oc reader . use of y/n

Morning chaos wasn’t a new thing more routine at this rate of day . receipt, tickets , lists for both shopping and tasks of the day clutched tightly in hand  while trying to get to work on time as people smiled and waved passing by . The heat created a sheen of sweat and when the diner door opened all eyes on the panting mess of a waitress . spewing apologies for the lateness as the boss waved it off and a quick “relax” added as she walked into the back not noticing or probably not caring about the green eyes that followed her every move from the other side of the diner  , the sandy haired blonde that arrived probably ten minute before she did . 

“ Hey, that girl look familiar to you ?” he asked head tilted  while his brother focused on the laptop in front of him back against the wall so no one could see what he was looking at , a lot easier than explaining what was on the screen . 

“ what girl “ his brown eyes scanning the area seeing no one in proximity to who remotely could be familiar. 

“ the waitress  far left serving the fossils “. 

“ nope never seen her .. anyways this says … dean where you going.. And he’s gone “ he huffed watching his older brother putting on that smile  now in a million years and good money he didn’t expect for the waitress face to drop or the glass of water to be splash in his brothers face  before storming off out back while everyone stood silent watching him slowly retreat back to the table . 

“ i think she might be familiar “ was all he grumbled sitting down using the napkins wiping the water away . 

“ i kinda gathered “ sam smiled keeping his eyes on the screen , “ do you even remember her name ?” he finally asked, 

“Nope i do not anyways let get back to work “ he scooped a piece of him pie before taking one look to the back . 

She felt sick , she felt dizzy and sick . all the anger  building up , all confusion and disbelief of that man . she knew him alright and knew the fake name he’d given her or the fact he was gone out of her life . she swore she would tear him a new asshole the next time she saw him  and best she could do was throw water … water in his face .  pacing back and forth trying to will herself to cool down knowing she needed the job and needed not to go to prison but shit she was so fucking beyond pissed why was he back . 

“ wanna explain what that was ?” lou  her boss looking at her arms crossed . 

“ just an asshole from the past look i’m sorry i know i shouldn’t ..” she sighed . 

“ that asshole the one got you in trouble “ the old phrasing of wasn’t lost on her , but she could say it outloud even now nearly 5 years later a small nod of her head to confirm . 

“ why don’t you take day off clear the head kiddo or maybe talk to the guy ?” he patted her shoulder as she smiled weakly .  

“ i gotta do few things this morning anyways might help “ she stood grabbing her things . 

“Gives me time to order some aprons for the customers “ he teased finally getting a small smile on her face .

“ thanks lou “ she hugged him before heading out the door , the back door to not further see that face again hoping  he was just passing through, maybe she could stay under the radar til they eventually left .  Another part of her wanted to speak with him , in fact it was the right thing to do  but it wasn’t the easiest, the man she met in a bar gave her fake name and well the situation she was left in .  so lost in her thought oblivious to the world around her she didn’t even realise she was colliding with anything or anyone til she fell back on her ass . 

“ woah shit sorry.. I take it back “ she hissed looking up to see those green eyes .

“ First you throw water on me , now you falling for me like a  rom com baby “ he winked , teasing and joking extending his hand out . 

“ don’t need your help,”she grumbled, pulling herself off the ground, wiping the loose gravel and dirt off of her .

“ oh you dropped this “ the taller one said picking up  the metal piece that feel from her bag , a flask something he recognised .

“ thank you “ she quickly took it from his hand, slightly embarrassed , it wasn’t like she was power housing it throughout the day it was something passed down to her from her father when he died which was a whole other story there. 

“ A bit early “ the blonde smirked. 

“ It belonged to my dad asshole i don’t drink in middle of day “ she rolled her eyes . 

“ hi i’m sam and this is .. “ 

“ look if this is another fake ass name, save it whatever scam y’all are trying here don’t , these people are good people” she stopped him hands on hips only for both their phones to go off . 

“ I gotta go “ was all she said further running to her car like her life depended on it and shit it meant more than her life . 

“ Well that was weird” dean brows arched . 

“ We gotta go, that was Michelle , something going on at  the elementary school “ Sam's face dropped as the two ran off just as fast to the impala . 

Every part of stomach felt sick , it wasn’t missed on her that a lot of missing people lately that old part of her life was calling but as much as she wanted to just give in she couldn’t .  The box always sat under the hidden compartment of her trunk and something in her gut told her to take it out  now . Like old instinct and new ones merging together pulling up, she could see the kids  , small town , small school and each of their faces look terrified but she couldn’t see the one she was looking for , the one that made her heart fall into her stomach .  Not a second thought did she have when she pulled into the curb  and heading for the trunk , tucking the metal piece in her bag and heading to the face she would get answers from only she wasn’t the only one . 

“ what’s going on … you “ the three stood looking at each other. 

“ it’s happening … he was … oh my god “ the woman cried. 

“ michelle were’s Mikey “ y/n  pulled the woman back to earth .

“ wait he was just here … i swear he was “ her face drained of more  color . 

“ He went into the school someone called him “ a little girl spoke up . 

“ you wait here we can get … and she is gone… who mikey ?” dean asked . 

“ her son … oh my god that thing is in there like a rabid animal we heard his screams and i got the kids out ” she whispered . 

“ We'll get them back “ Sam patted her arm as the two ran into the building . 

She  was fully alert , was she blind to whatever was going on .. not fully , she knew the monsters that parents told their kids were not just stories or villains of fiction . She grew up learning to send them back to hell  or so her father told them what they were doing . pulling the gun out making sure it was loaded she walked around opening her ears to everything and anything,  hearing the sound of the growl that emitted down the hall, she kept  watching her surrounding as well as classrooms  then the growl and a scream she heard before sending her running the fastest she ever ran into her life . stopping she saw it big and tall the matted fur scatted around its body  , clawing at the supply closet and a cry she soothed so many times behind the door .  

Whistling , she knew what it was , how dangerous this thing was and how fast the fucker can be but none of that mattered if it meant getting it away from that closet . 

“ hey buddy stay there ok , don’t come out til mommy says so “ she called eyes not moving an inch as she raise the gun shooting precisely as the thing roared or screamed mixture both as she emptied the chamber pulling the blade from her bag  watching it readying  to charge at her , moving just as it got close sending it into the wall disorientating it she pulled her apron quickly makeshift mask as she ran jumping on it back stabbing any and everywhere  til it threw her off it back making her roll land of her knee. 

“ Stay down “ was all she heard before shot followed and sound of glass smashing to see the creature gone feeling hand under lifting her off the ground barely looking to see who it was she ran to the classroom .

“ open the door “ she called 

“ you could trick me again “ the little voice frightened called, making her heart break but relief all over her body.  She let out a little whistle and instantly the door opened and the little body clung to her for dear life . looking in the room she could see the circle on the ground . 

“ Are you ok ?” she pulled the boy back, checking him over . 

“ i’m ok” he sniffled  little eyes still wide, that part of her that felt like she failed keeping him from her old life and yet  still happy she had him prepared . 

“ What the hell was that “ the voice called making her turn to see the two men standing there . 

“ a wendigo” she shrugged, lifting the little boy up carrying him passed. 

“ You're a hunter?” Sam spoke up . 

“I was not anymore” she shook her head heading out as she carried the boy only for the sherif to rush to her seeing her a little beat up .  “ He's ok “ she smiled weakly . 

“ you ok though let the paramedics check you over , that animal don't bite you or anything ?” he asked . 

“ no i shot it  ran out the window “  shaking her head as they walked to the EMT’S 

 Sam was quiet looking at the woman before him , the little sandy hair green eyed boy. Something about the boy so similar and familiar in his face it was like looking…

“ how old is he?” Sam asked seeing her visibly freeze .   

“ i’m four years old and nine months  “ the little voice spoke up . 

“ Right “ sam nodded slightly hitting his brother . 

“ good age “ dean smiled completely oblivious to the situation as the maths of it all wasn’t clicking . 

“ yeah it's a great age we gotta go “ she smiled weakly before the EMT Could stop her she was gone to her car and gone . 

“ When's the last time we were here ?” sam turned to his brother. 

“ nearly fiv…” the penny dropped as he turned to see her  car gone. 

“ definitely explain why she wants you gone” he mused . 

“ no it can’t be … we used … noo i’m telling you no “ dean shook his head as sam walked off leaving the man standing thinking over everything in his life including that night that was slowly in part coming back to him . “ oh fuck “ he gulped .

[hockeyboysimagines]

hi!! Can you do romance prompt for Arber #9 “However many years we have left, I want to spend them all with you.”

you write him so sweet🥹thanks in advance I can’t wait to read it!

Thanks for this anon! Enjoy🤍

“Hey babe? What do you want for your birthday this year?” Arber asked from behind the laptop. You would be turning 20 next month, thankfully on a weekend free of games and practices. It gave him a free and open 4 days to cram everything celebratory he could think of for his favorite girl. You deserved it and now that he knew how unserious you thought of your birthday, he wasn’t going to let you get away easy. He’s gasped and nearly had a hissy when he found out you didn’t celebrate and hadn’t for a long time, scoffing at the suggestion that you continue with that theme. “Uh. No.” He said holding up a hand to silence you “We’re celebrating your birthday.”

“Nothing.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head “Come on. Don’t be like that. I can’t take you out at midnight, so you have to let me get you something or throw a party.”

You leaned around the doorframe from where you were folding laundry to smile mischievously “Even if I was old enough, you would take me out where? You barely make it past 8pm every night.”

You weren’t wrong.

It wasn’t uncommon for Arber to suggest watching a movie only for him to asleep within the first ten minutes of it. He still glared at you either way. You were always giving him shit for the gap between your ages, though it wasn’t huge. Arber however felt most days like he was 80 years old, and being held together with screws and tape. So while he was only 4 years older, the constant beating his body took made the gap seem wider.

“What are you saying?” He turned completely around.

“I’m saying there’s no way you’d be able to party till all hours. Midnight is way past your bedtime.”

His mouth fell open “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me. Old man.”

You immediately regretted it because the ‘Old Man’ in question was out of his chair and across the room before you even had time to scream. In one swoop he had you airborne and then on the bed with a squeal with an “OOF.” As you landed and bounced.

“Take it back.” He said fingers digging in to your sides.

You screeched and started to kick“Never.”

An all out wrestling war had started and you were losing until you heard a loud crack.

He shot straight up eyes squeezing shut “Oh Jesus!” He yelled, chuckling as he held his lower back.

“Careful grandpa.” You gasped out as you started laughing “You don’t wanna slip a disk.”

“You-“ but you had already slid out from under him and made to run before he caught you again and pulled you down on top of him.

“Okay okay you win. You win. Oh god, I think I threw my back out.”

You started laughing and took a deep breath attempting to untangle yourself and sit upright to straddle him “So when you kick it are you gonna leave me all your stuff?”

He made a face and closed his eyes “You say the sweetest things to me.”

You gave a little giggle and reached a hand forward to rub his shoulders. He closed his eyes and groaned head falling to the side “Oh my gosh that feels fucking phenomenal.”

“Your pretty beat up here.” You said tracing a finger over the scar from his shoulder operation and the scattered bruises from the game yesterday “How many good years do you think you have left?” He smiled and let out a low chuckle, eyes still closed and rested a hand on either side of your hips.

“However many years I have left, I want to spend them all with you.” A bunch of tiny butterflies started flitting around in your stomach and you smiled very slowly as he peeked at you out of one eye “Pretty smooth eh?”

“For a guy who’s almost halfway to 50 it wasn’t bad.”

He gave your hips a squeeze “Just promise me one thing. If there’s ever a time when I can’t get it up put me out of my misery.”

You gave him a smack and then a kiss.

“Deal.”

[probablyintensemuses]

I need advice asap!

Im 21 years old and im a student in college. I work a coffee shop job. My boyfriend is 23 years old and works a full time job as a computer engineer for a company and makes 70k a year if not more. I’m considering breaking up with him, but before why, I’ll elaborate.

Me and my boyfriend live together.

His apartment burned down in late 2022, early 2023. Until he found a place he stayed with me and my family. When he got his place he asked me to move in on a few conditions: id cook and clean.

We have a dog. I handle most of everything for the dog except for maybe walking and play.

My boyfriend and I had a huge fight months ago, nearly a year ago, because when I wasn’t there, I was hanging with friends, he broke into my laptop and searched my messages and found old sexual messages between me and this girl and accused me of cheating. Yet he never broke up with me.

He hardly ever speaks to me and makes it seem like I’m an annoyance.

He doesn’t respect my boundaries and always pushes me

Now he wants me to quit my job and get a serving job so I can pay half the rent as well as my other expenses.

He wanted to visit his parent in Florida and drive using my car. Dealership said my wheels weren’t good and I needed them all replaced. He paid for it and told me I had to pay him back even thought I never asked. He drove my car down there and doesn’t pay shit on it! And is trying to do it again, but I said no this time.

He hardly interacts with my family.

He doesn’t help me financially but expects me to help him. The most she’s bought me is a few books and stuff. When I bought him a 1.2k dollar amp for his college graduation and I was broke, that came out my savings and it burnt in the fire.

I constantly bend over backwards for him and get hardly anything in return. I think our relationship has run its course I just have no idea what to do.

I just need advice I feel so stuck and stupid. Can anyone help me? Mg parents keep telling Me to come back home and finish school, save my money. But idk I’m afraid he’ll expose my sexuality to them cuz he said he would.

Two last things, this is more recent, my boyfriend is supposed to be going to Florida in a few days and I can’t afford to come —context it’s his brothers engagement party—I already expressed this. Not I mention it would be out 3rd anniversary while he is down there and he hasn’t said shit about it. Also instead of helping me he just sends me screenshots of flight costs and shit.

Another thing happened the other night. I got kind of drunk and was sitting on the couch. I wanted to talk to him and was begging for him to come talk to me and sit with me. And he got so annoyed and said he was tired and walked away and kept ignoring me even though I was calling for him. But had energy to play on the video game and laugh with friends and play with our dog not even an hour earlier. His response when i called him on that?

“I worked ten hours today. You didnt.”

Am I the asshole, what should I do?

[aesfocus]

TW: ANIMAL DEATH

A tiny little celebration and recounting of this lil old lady, who passed away yesterday april 22 2024, 6 years to the day her adopted sister left the world.

Read on to learn about her adoption story and some of her fav things!

I made sure she had a comfortable lovely weekend, but she let me know it was time.

So who was Turtle?

In Aug 2010 I went to a local shelter and adopted 2 kitties. One a kitten we named Genki, and another a 1+ year old mystery owner surrender they named Hello Kitty.

She saw us and started yelling and slamming herself on the glass to show us how to pet her. She snugged onto my lap immediately in the little private room to meet her and I was in love instantly.

But back at home she was very scared. She hid under the couch for three days only peaking her head out to eat some food and then she went back in. This would be the last time in her life she would be shy, but I didn't know it so I named her...

Alligator Snapping Turtle; Turtle!

She quickly became my shadow. Clinging to me night and day. She would jump onto the back of my chair, lay on my back and slowly slide down towards my butt. She did this so frequently she managed to break the chair, eventually. After that all my chairs have been bought with more room for her to snug me. For a whole decade.

If someone visited, she would insist they hold her, or she'd sleep on them in their sleep. She once was held through a 3 hour long DnD session by someone she had just met; she loved people. Loved being pet, but above all, she adored me.

She had a specific meow for me, she spent every single night for nearly 14 years in between my legs, and unfortunately, as she got older she got separation anxiety real bad. She would cry and cry for about an hour each time I left. (I rarely do as I no longer work but even a trip to the grocery store did not leave her happy!) I know this because my husband had plenty of videos of her standing at the door hoping I would return.

No matter what I did in the house there she was.

But lets back up a moment, remember that bit about owner surrender? That intake form was interesting. with questions like "What is your pets favorite toy?" came answers like 'small glove'. She spent at least a year in someone with 7 children's garage. They fed her 'cheep food' and knew very little about her past other than they found her about a year prior. No judgements to them, but this girl was a lap cat to end lap cats. You would pick her up and move her to stand and she'd jump right back into your lap. She's dig her claws in if she thought you were trying to leave. She wanted the warmth god damn it!

Here is her on top my husband. Human's were good options.

Heat vent? Also a great option.

She would, when I worked, stay in bed in the covers right where I left her until I came home from work, all nice and cozy.

She loved it when my husband worked from home, gave her ample time to try and fry his laptop during his breaks or lunches.

But her fav place was on top of me. I set up my desk just for her actually! This big living room chair was purchased so she could always be near me.

Because the previous snug situation was not cutting it!

Here she is on the chair I bought for us.

She was never very photogenic, because she saw my hand and wanted pets. If I wasn't petting her she'd cry and show me how to pet her with her paws, or she'd flop around or rub herself on something and look up at me like 'come ooooonnn you know the good spots.'

Or she would do a 'turkey twerky'(where cats twitch their tails and step from foot to foot rapidly in excitement).

Her fav toy it turned out was not a 'small glove' but in fact the simple spring. Yellow was her fav color of the springs, but past that any small bit of plastic she could chase around and yell at was great. She was a very loud little lady!

I sang her a song daily for about ten years;

"Her name is turtle! and she's a turtle! And she's got a lot to say!"

after which she'd generally make a BIG meow and I'd give her tons of attention. Because she was my lil baby girl.

But her all time fav thing, beside me of course, was going outside. She didn't get to much as I believe in, and have, indoor only cats, but on special nice days we'd go outside and she'd gets some nice supervised time with the grass. (She made the other cats jealous because only she was let outside without a harness, but that's because if she wasn't in about a 2 foot radius of me she'd come back and yell at me to follow/I was able to out run her.)

Last year I had her shaved, because she was a fat cat who was struggling with cleaning herself so we were going to get on a rotation of shaving and baths and brushing to make sure she stayed nice and clean...

But unfortunately she began to drop in weight very quickly, the primary sign something was very wrong.

She was adopted on the same day as Genki, and six years to the day she passed on the same day as her sister. Genki lost a very long fight with a fungal pneumonia in 2018 and our hearts shattered and then yesterday they did it again.

If Turtle was my heart, my little shadow, then Genki was my husband's.

Turtle was such an amazing good friend, I have so many memories of her and it doesn't seem real that she's gone. But I wanted to keep this light, and positive, and so I will end it with, adopt.

Don't shop, adopt. You never know who is waiting for you in a shelter, what kind of very full wonderful life you can provide each other! Hello Kitty became Turtle and she knew that name, she'd come running any time I called, she was my very best friend and I miss her so fucking much.

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: emeto (vague)

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

SCHOOL NEXT CHAPTER SCHOOL NEXT CHAPTER

part six

❝ TIM DRAKE JR ❞

FRIDAY — JULY 20 — 8:01PM

WHEN DICK INSISTED HE HELP BENTLEY PACK FOR REDWOOD, HE WASN'T EXPECTING HIM TO PACK HIS WHOLE ENTIRE CLOSET.

“I’ve almost got it!” Dick exclaimed. Currently, a giant, old-style suitcase of Tim’s was sitting on Bentley’s bed, way too full to close, and Dick was sitting on top of it, bouncing up and down to try and latch the locks. “Any second now!”

Bentley had been watching him try to close it for the better part of fifteen minutes. 

He and Asten were leaving for Redwood tomorrow at eight in the morning — twelve hours exactly. To say Asten was excited would be an understatement. It was the downright happiest Bentley had ever seen him, ever, like Gotham was some big dark cloud that had been looking over his head since he got there. (Which Bentley wouldn’t doubt, since it was a little… sad.)

While Dick worked on the suitcase, Bentley was making sure he had everything he needed, like his laptop, school supplies, and so on, all packed in a backpack. Which hadn’t taken very long, so really he was just kinda watching Dick.

The closer Redwood got, the worse Bentley seemed to feel about it. He was still excited, but now that he was finally registered and obligated to go, being away from Bruce and Dick and everybody for ten whole entire months sounded kind of terrible. Not to mention that he was going to a brand new school with a bunch of new people again. He’d nearly worried himself sick the first time, and he had a sneaking suspicion that this time wouldn’t be all too different.

That’s why he was trying his best not to think about anything. Which was kind of impossible when Redwood seemed to be all everyone in the entire house wanted to talk about.

“-headmistress was… are you even listening to me?” 

Bentley glanced up at Dick, who still hadn’t gotten the suitcase closed. “Huh?”

With one final push, the latches on the suitcase clicked into place, and Dick hopped off of it. His blue eyes bounced around Bentley’s face for a few seconds. “What’s up, little B? You’ve been quiet all day. Having second thoughts?”

Bentley shook his head, glancing down at his socks. “No, I want to go.” 

“…But?”

With an exhale, he continued: “But ten months is a long time.”

He didn't look up until Dick’s hand landed on his shoulder, meeting his crystalline eyes. “You know you can change your mind, right? Asten can go, and we can find something better for you.”

“But I want to go. I really, really do. I just wish I would stop getting all scared right before I do something. It’s embarrassing,” Bentley said with a huff, crossing his arms. “I’m thirteen, but I still feel like I’m ten. I couldn’t even handle a broken glass at a gala.”

Dick sighed lightly, sitting down on Bentley’s bed so they were a similar height. “There’s no formula or rulebook for growing up, kiddo. Everyone does it differently, and it’s usually not something they choose to do, but… the environments they spent their time in that dictate it.”

Bentley tapped his fingers on his arms. “What do you mean?”

“Like… Tim and Damian grew up fast because it was best for them where they were. Tim had to care for himself. Damian had to act professional. I had all the time in the world to act like a kid, here with Bruce, and sometimes I still feel like one. Jason grew up fast out of necessity. Survival,” Dick explained. “But you… you’re different. You have a story unlike any of us. You only really started living your life three years ago, B. There are so many things you’ve had to learn and work through that you didn’t get for the first ten years. I’d say having a little anxiety about being away from your first real family is to be expected, and it doesn’t undermine the fact that you’re maturing and becoming an amazing teenager.”

Bentley didn’t say anything, but glanced down at his socks again. “But I feel so young when I’m with other teenagers. I don’t get what they’re talking about, I don’t understand what they’re laughing at. I noticed it with Asten and Nico when Nico lived here, but now that we’re older it’s… just getting worse. I always feel like I’m missing something, like they’re having to dumb down what they’re saying for me. Or they just give up and don’t try to explain it. I know I’m not dumb, at least with actual school stuff, but when it comes to, like, talking to people, I feel… really stupid.”

Dick nodded to himself. “Do you have an example?”

Bentley shrugged, sitting on the bed next to him with a poof. “Like, one time Asten said something about a one night stand. I didn’t know what that was, and I still don’t know what it is. Nico freaked out so it seemed like a big deal but they wouldn’t explain it to me. And the other day at the gala, the lady talking to Bruce was saying something that sounded… I don’t know, weird. So weird Bruce wanted me to leave, but I don’t know why. I thought about it for a long time and still didn’t understand it. But I’m sure Asten would. He always calls me innocent when that kind of thing happens, but I don’t even think I understand that right, because I thought innocent meant you didn’t commit a crime.”

Dick sighed heavily and put his hand back on Bentley’s shoulder. “Hear me when I say this, Bentley. You might not get what people are saying, and you might feel dumb, but being innocent is a gift. It means you haven’t been introduced to the same things other kids have — the things they shouldn’t necessarily have been introduced to yet. And being innocent doesn’t mean you’re dumb or socially inept or even awkward. It means you haven’t been in a place to be introduced to those things before you should. And I know someone else who is really, really smart that is also considered innocent in a very similar way to you.”

“Who?” Bentley questioned, glancing over at him. 

“Damian. The circumstances aren’t the same, but I can confidently say that he’s struggled with this exact thing before, nearly word for word. And I’ll tell you exactly what I told him,” Dick stated, smiling lightly. “It’s good not to be like everybody else. And you don’t have to understand all the jokes or do all the same things as other teenagers to be a perfectly amazing, maybe even better one yourself. I know for a fact that you can keep up with kids your age and older when it comes to things that matter. I mean, look at the things you’ve done, B. You’re more brave and loyal and determined than any kid I’ve ever met in my whole entire life. And that honestly can not be said about a lot of today’s teenagers.”

Bentley sighed, glancing down at his sweatpants with a little nod. 

“And I can guarantee you'll find kids with the exact same dilemma at Redwood. Probably more than you think,” Dick smiled, patting Bentley on the back. “But here’s the thing; if you’re really having second thoughts, don’t force yourself to go just to prove that you can. We will find something else for you if that’s what you want. In a heartbeat. We’ll tour campuses and look into homeschooling options for the rest of the year if you give us the word. We might have opinions, but you are the only one who truly knows what’s best for you.”

Bentley took a breath. He might’ve been a teenager in age, but in everything else, he was young. Too young. If innocence was a gift, why didn’t it feel like one?

He didn’t want to be innocent anymore, he wanted to be normal. No matter how many times Dick Grayson told him it was okay to be different, it would never, ever change the fact that all he wanted to be was a normal kid. He was so tired of not being normal.

If Bentley didn’t know anything else, he knew this: highschool was the best place to stop being innocent and start being normal.

“I want to go,” He stated with a nod. “I want to.”

“Are you guys coming, or what? We’re going to start King Fu Panda without you!” Asten’s voice bounced up the stairs and down the hallway.

Bentley and Dick shared a look, then small smiles.

“I love you, babybird,”

Bentley smiled. “I love you, too.”

—

Bentley didn’t like Kung Fu Panda.

Okay, he wasn’t really sure if he liked it or not, he didn’t pay very much attention. He was too busy thinking about being in Manhattan alone in the morning.

He’d have seven roommates. Not technically in the same bedroom as him, but in the same shared space, which was kind of intimidating. The Headmistress said they’d be chosen for them by age and personality, but Bentley and Asten both had very different ages and very different personalities. What if he was stuck with a bunch of sixteen year olds? Or what if Asten was stuck with a bunch of thirteen year olds? To be completely honest, Bentley thought he might die if he had to room with seven variations of Asten. Sometimes he could hardly handle the one. 

And what if they didn’t like one of the roommates? The video spoke about roommate changes, but that seemed complicated, and Bentley definitely wasn’t going to be the kid that requested one, then nobody would like him. What if somebody wanted him to leave? Or worse, Asten? What if he got left alone with all the strangers and Asten had to go somewhere else?

And classes. They’d filled out their classes at registration, but Asten and Bentley hadn’t picked all the same things. That meant they wouldn’t be together all day. Which was fine, Bentley could deal with that, he did it at Gotham Academy. But this time he’d be in Manhattan alone and he couldn’t just call Bruce if something went weird because Bruce was two and a half hours away and couldn’t come get him for something inconvenient. So if Bentley decided to have a panic attack, he’d have to interrupt Asten’s class and call Asten. Or worse, go with the stranger nurse. 

And the Redwood campus was massive. What if Bentley got lost? He already hardly knew the buildings from one another and they all looked the same and what if he couldn’t read the map? And Asten was going to a different class? Then he’d be lost alone, in front of a bunch of random people. And what did they do when he got sick? Did he get sent home, or did he stay in the nurse’s office until he was better? Because Redwood Academy was a boarding school, not a day school. 

And teachers — what if he didn’t like his teachers? What if they were mean? What if they didn’t like him? What if one of them ended up being a psycho scientist that was trying to turn them all into metahumans? Could that even work twice? Could Bentley even survive that twice? And he’d have to make friends, which wasn’t very easy.

So, yeah. He was pretty terrified. Pretty horrified. Pretty stressed out. 

Pretty stressed out and horrified and terrified enough that when it was time for bed after a few installments of Kung Fu Panda and a bedtime slightly past midnight, Bentley was a wreck.

(But did he tell anybody? In true Bentley fashion, of course not!)

He just sat in his bedroom to ride it out alone. After all, he was thirteen, he shouldn’t be doing this whole terrified anxiety thing anymore.

So for a while, he watched some nonsense on tv. He didn’t end up paying attention, so he did some nonsense on his phone that he didn’t pay attention to, either. He ignored the fact that his hands were shaking. He pretended his stomach wasn’t in knots and that he wasn’t one perfectly placed statement away from probably crying. (He shouldn’t be like this anymore, he shouldn’t. He was fine. He was thirteen and being anxious was embarrassing and he was fine.)

He continued to not watch tv and not play on his phone until his clock read 4:17am. Then he decided he should sleep, so he laid there and tossed and turned and tossed and turned until the clock hit 4:29am.

That’s when he realized his brilliant idea to ignore everything had become a pretty terrible one, because he was, in fact, not ignoring anything, and had instead been thinking about it nonstop for literally five hours.

With a huff of annoyance, Bentley sat up and grabbed an old, half-empty water bottle from his nightstand and took a sip, staring at his stupid clock.

And then it all went south.

As in, as soon as he swallowed the water, his anxiousness came with a vengeance and he threw it up again all over the hardwood floor.

For a moment, he was in brief shock and kind of pretty pissed about it. He hadn’t thrown up from being anxious since he lived with his father, and now this? This was what ruined him? School?

“Are you kidding me?” He whispered just soft enough that no one should’ve been able to hear. Any fear or uncomfortableness that came with puking left immediately, it’s place taken by utter and sheer annoyance.

With an eye-roll and a groan, he threw his covers off with a huff and stood up, flicking his lamp on. At least it wasn’t on the rug or his sweatpants, he guessed.

Why couldn’t he just be normal? Asten wasn’t in his room throwing up right now, was he? He was sleeping, like every normal person in the world. And Bentley was hopscotching over freaking puke.

It was four thirty in the morning, and he was over it. Over himself, over anxiety, over puking, over being awake, over being such a pitiful little excuse of a human that the prospect of school made him barf. Over feeling so bad and having his days ruined because he was so terrified over something that should’ve been exciting. Why did he have to be like this?

Deciding that he was wholeheartedly pissed at himself, he acted like it. He marched into the bathroom with as much of an attitude as he dared (lest some bat smell it), flicked the lights on, and grabbed some gray towels out from under the sink all angry-like. (Bentley didn’t do that much, and it felt kind of weird. But he was also freaking pissed, so the weird felt kinda good.)

He went back to the bedroom with a huff and another eye-roll (because it was kind of fun, and he didn’t dare do it to an actual person.), piling the towels on the puke and doing a very teenage-angsty job of cleaning it up. (Okay, he cleaned good, but he was angsty while he did it.)

Once that was done and he had some very dirty towels on the floor, he just looked at them.

If he left them in his empty laundry basket, someone would find them. Plus, they’d probably make his room smell. And then everyone would know he was pathetic and had puked over school. He could take them straight to the washer and figure out how to use it — but he’d have to be really quiet. It was risky, given that Tim and Damian were light sleepers, and they were right near him.

But he’d rather run the risk than have them find out in the morning.

So, with another huff of frustration, Bentley folded up the gross towels in such a way that he wouldn’t get dirty, gathered them into his arms, and made for the door.

He opened it real slow, and real steadily. (It squeaked if he went too fast.) The hallway was dark and silent. They hadn’t patrolled tonight, since it was Asten and Bentley’s last night in the Manor, which somehow only seemed to make things worse.

He stepped out into the hall and pulled his door almost all the way shut, that way only a sliver of light was peeking through. And after standing there for a moment to make sure he didn’t hear anyone, he made for the stairs.

The very first step squealed like a pig.

With a deep inhale and exhale that was him trying to not drown the entire house because he was pissed, (did he mention he was pissed, by the way?) he kept walking down the stairs.

And then he heard a door open.

“Bentley? What are you doing?”

He glanced back, and just as he’d expected, Mister Timothy Drake, CEO of life and smartest person ever, emerged into the hallway. He was wearing a red hoodie and some sweatpants that looked a little too big, and it didn’t seem like he’d been asleep.

Bentley quickly turned away, muttering: “Nothing.”

Bentley felt Tim’s eyes on him. “Are you doing laundry at four-thirty in the morning?” 

“… Maybe?” He muttered, staring down at the towels in his hand. “I… need it for school.”

He heard Tim’s footsteps come closer. “You need towels for school?”

Bentley huffed, feeling pretty dumb. “I’m gonna have to take showers.”

Tim’s footsteps got even closer, and after a second when Bentley didn't turn around (lest Tim see the grossness on the towels), he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Bentley snapped, turning to glare at Tim before he got his wits about him and realized that was rude. (He was on a freaking roll wasn’t he?) 

He sighed at himself, at life, at everything, turning and continuing down the stairs. Unsurprisingly, he heard Tim’s footsteps echoing at the same time as his own. 

“I’m pretty sure a super mega rich school like Redwood will have some towels,” Tim said from behind him. “Do you even know how to use the washer?”

No, he freaking didn’t, just another thing to add to the list of stuff that was currently making Bentley mad.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he turned at the bottom of the stairs and went toward the laundry room.

“Bentley,” Tim said again, and when Bentley didn’t stop, he sped up. “Bentley, hey, stop.”

Tim grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around so they were face to face, his icy eyes bouncing around on the towels, and then on Bentley. “You got sick?”

“No,” Bentley replied, jerking his shoulder out of Tim’s hand. “Just leave me alone.”

“So then you spilled a bunch of soup in your room at four thirty in the morning? There aren't a bunch of cover story options here,” Tim suggested, and instead of replying, Bentley turned and continued down the hall to the very dark end where the laundry room was. Blinking. Breathing. Ignoring the fact that he was starting to hear water in the pipes. (Tim’s footsteps kept following him, despite his valiant efforts at willing them away.)

“Bentley, just stop. Stop for a second,” Tim suggested. Bentley didn’t stop until he made it to the laundry room and dropped the gross towels in a basket, cringing at them.

He turned back to Tim with a defeated look on his face, crossing his arms over his chest. He only looked at him for a moment — the front of Tim’s black hair was hanging down toward his icy eyes that somehow looked shiny and dull and young and old and tired and awake all at once. Bentley was almost as tall as him now — maybe only a head shorter. He sighed lightly, looking down at the cold tile beneath his socks.

(This was so embarrassing.)

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Tim questioned, shifting his weight to one side.

Bentley sighed heavily, again. What was the use in trying to hide it if Tim already knew?

He drew a line on the floor with his toes. “I did. Get sick,” He mumbled sheepishly, nearly inaudibly. “And I’m so mad about it. Mad that I can’t be normal, that I’m always terrified about everything that isn’t even actually scary. And now you know, and then Bruce is going to know, and then everyone’s going to know Bentley was so freaked out about school that he freaking puked in the floor-“

“Hey,”

“-I feel so dumb and stupid all of the time around everybody and all this anxiety just makes it worse and worse. Like I’m some kind of baby. And I’m not a baby, but I really freaking feel like it. And now I’m just mad, and I don’t want to be mad, I just want to be asleep, but no, can’t do that, my body’s going to make me puke instead like some puny little kid. I hate being terrified every time something big is happening. It’s all stupid and irrational and dumb but I can never stop thinking-“

Tim stepped forward and hugged him, very suddenly, which halted Bentley mid-sentence.

For a moment, he just kind of blinked.

Okay, so, yeah, this wasn’t very Tim-like behavior. But it was… well, it was kind of nice, so Bentley decided to let it slide.

“I just want to be done feeling like this,” He muttered, sounding awfully young, finally bringing his arms up and hugging him back. “How did you stop feeling like this?”

He felt Tim’s hand move, resting on the back of his head. “I didn’t.”

“Hmm?” Bentley hummed.

“Wanna know why I wasn’t asleep?” Tim questioned. “Because I have a presentation tomorrow afternoon in front of some very important investors. Couldn’t sleep. I thought about it the whole time we were watching Kung Fu Panda, too.”

Bentley snickered lightly. “I guess we’re gonna have to watch that some other time then, huh?”

Tim snickered. “Guess so.”

For a moment, they just stood there. 

“Just so you know, anxiety doesn’t just go away. And you’re not failing or backsliding because you have it. That’s something I had to work through when I was your age, too,” 

Bentley exhaled, resting his head against Tim’s shoulder. “It feels like I am. Failing; backsliding.”

“You’re not. You’re not letting it change your decisions, no matter how anxious you are — and that is very important. I’m proud of you for it,” Tim explained, rubbing his back lightly with one hand. “When it starts going wrong is when you start letting it dictate your decisions.”

Bentley nodded. “Okay…” (He was pretty sure that, besides the pep talk, Tim was also working to put him to sleep. Because he was suddenly pretty tired and this hug wasn’t exactly keeping him awake.)

Oh, well. He’d done it to Tim before, too.

Tim patted his back with a snicker. “We should probably go to bed before the sun comes up.”

“Probably,”

Tim pulled away from the embrace and smiled lightly at him. “You can come to my room, if you want. Might be good for us both.”

Bentley nodded. “Okay.”

The two of them began to venture back toward the stairs.

“And Bentley?”

“Hm?”

Tim smiled. “It'd probably be in your best interest if you stopped getting more and more like me.”

(He never put the towels in the washer.)

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld ❤️

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere @beatyoutothatusernameloser

[cdelphiki]

A Rock in a Weary Place excerpt

I haven't done a WIP Wednesday in forever. It's almost Wednesday so here we go. A Rock in a Weary Place is part two of my Clark-adopts-Billy AU and I am so excited about it. I've finally gotten some good work done on it, but since it's a long one-shot (I don't actually know how long, but I wouldn't be shocked if it exceeds 10k) it'll be a while before its done. So here's an excerpt!!!! Of course any and all of this can change between now and posting the final.

-

Clark felt… lost.

For as long as he’d been planning and scheming on how to get Billy Batson off the streets, he hadn’t fully realized what taking a kid into his home would fully entail.

Because, for all the talk about how he’d be more like a roommate to Billy… he also realized that he couldn’t be just a roommate.

He was the adult. He had to be— the adult. And Billy was the kid. Clark was providing for Billy, and that was that.

Which meant, Clark had to cook food.

A lot.

He’d never really cooked before, when it was just him. He ordered food, usually. Or just ate something microwavable. Ma would be upset, if she knew that.

But she didn’t know, so she couldn’t be upset.

If she found out he fed Billy, a “growing boy,” primarily greasy take out and cheap microwave dinners… Well Clark wasn’t sure he’d find a place on Earth safe from her wrath. And since he was Martha Kent’s son, he did know how to cook.

So that’s what he did.

A lot now.

Breakfast and dinner every day, and lunch on the weekends too. Although there had only been one weekend with Billy, so far. Five days in total.

How did five short days feel like an eternity?

“Smallville,” Lois nearly sang, “Yoohoo, hello? Is anyone home?”

Clark looked up from his laptop screen and smiled sheepishly at Lois, where she was leaning over his desk almost between him and his computer. He’d been zoning out a lot recently. “Sorry Lois,” he said, “what did you say?”

“What is up with you,” she exasperated, sitting back down into her chair, across their back-to-back desks from him, “you’re so…. distracted lately!”

“Oh nothing,” Clark said, as he leaned back in his chair, trying his best to give her his undivided attention, “just a lot on my mind.”

“Such as…” she prodded, leaning forward further into his personal space. When Clark didn’t reply other than to offer another sheepish smile, she let out an exasperated sigh and said, “Okay fine, I’ve got a new story for us. You won’t believe it, but there’s competition for Superman.”

“What?” Clark asked.

Lois grinned.“You know that guy from Fawcett? Captain Marvel? He’s been spotted in Metropolis this week.”

Clark resisted a laugh. He had known that, of course. “Really?” he asked anyway.

“Yes, and this morning, you’ll never believe it,” Lois said, as she went ahead and fully sat up on his desk, her arms moving all over the place as she spoke, “I was walking from the garage when this kid walked right out into the road without looking, and Captain Marvel swooped in and grabbed him before he got hit by a car. It was incredible! And I got to see Captain Marvel close up.”

“Did you now?” Clark asked with a grin.

“Yes, and let me tell you, he’s handsome. Superman has some real competition there.”

Clark… wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Billy was just a child. A ten-year-old boy. But Clark couldn’t tell Lois that. How would Clark even know that?

He just hoped he never had to have that conversation with Billy, either. Adults shouldn’t be looking at him as if he were an adult.

But.

That was a concern, wasn’t it? Billy had said so himself. Sometimes he wasn’t a kid. Half the time, Billy was an adult. In form, at least.

They definitely would have to have a conversation, wouldn’t they?

Clark… Clark had no idea how to go about that.

“We should do some scouting this evening. Listen to the police scanner and see if we can catch Captain Marvel, just like we used to do with Superman, remember?”

He nodded absently. That had always been… interesting. Having to come up with excuse after excuse to slip away for a moment, all while Lois was trying her best to see Superman.

No matter how fun that had been, he couldn’t do that again. Because. He had to go home and feed Billy.

Also, Billy probably wouldn’t go out and about that time, anyway. He usually did his work during the daylight, and stayed in at night. Clark hadn’t seen him out at night much at all, not even before he came to live in Metropolis.

“Smallville,” Lois snapped, “Clark. Tonight. Scouting. What do you say?”

Clark looked back at her and tried to look regretful as he said, “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Can’t?” she exclaimed, scowling hard, “Why not?”

“I have plans,” he said simply.

Because he did. Feed the kid.

“Plans with who,” she demanded, “You haven’t been available all week!”

He spluttered and held his two hands up in surrender. “It’s not like that. I’m just busy. Besides, has Captain Marvel been seen after dark much anyway?”

Lois narrowed her eyes, but then sat back as she clearly thought it over, then muttered, “Hm. I wonder if he gets his strength from the sun or something.”

“Hey, maybe,” he said, as he pushed his chair back and stood up. He shut his laptop and slipped it into his bag before he grabbed his coat and said, “I’ve got to get going, but I’ll see you tomorrow. We can talk more about this new hero tomorrow.”

He felt mildly bad he’d blown her off three times already. He’d only had Billy for five days, and three of those days he’s had to blow Lois off.

They used to spend almost all day together, weekends to. Clark already missed that…

“Yeah, yeah,” Lois said, as she slid off his desk and returned to hers, “go do whatever. Tomorrow we’re scouting for Captain Marvel, Kent, don’t forget it.”

[stargazer-sims]

The Art of Redemption

(part 6)

previous // next // story index

__________

The sky is already light when Nikolai wakes up. He's disoriented and confused, and for one awful moment he doesn't remember where he is. He's used to waking up in the dark during the winter, to the shrieking calls of sea birds on the beach below his house, and to the warmth of another person next to him in bed. He looks around frantically, convinced he's going to be late for something important and that no one had bothered to remind him about it.

As the fog of sleep clears from his brain, he's able to identify his surroundings. This is Beth-Anne's guest room, or perhaps not so much a guest room as a den, or... a home office with a bed in it. On the opposite side of the room from where his ridiculously comfortable bed is, there's a filing cabinet, and a desk with a laptop computer attached to an external monitor. On the wall above the desk are numerous framed pictures, news articles and award plaques. In the center of the arrangement are two gold medals.

Nikolai allows himself to relax. One of those medals is his. He'd given it to Beth-Anne nearly ten years ago, and it makes him happy to see that she has it on display.

He lets his gaze travel around a bit more. His coat is draped over the back of the desk chair, and his two green suitcases are visible just inside the open closet door. Next to the suitcases, he notices his skate bag and a medium-sized cardboard box with something scribbled on the side of it in black marker. On top of the box is a grey teddy bear with a little fake gold medal on a dark green satin ribbon around its neck. He can't see it from this distance without his glasses any more than he can read what's on the box, but he knows the bear has the word 'champion' stitched onto its foot in white embroidery thread.

I don't remember bringing that here.

Beth-Anne must've thought he'd want it, and gathered it up along with his other things without mentioning it. He's had the bear since he was ten years old, since his first competition in the Novice division, and Champion has accompanied him to every single skating competition since then.

Going through security at airports, he always attracted funny looks from security agents and fellow passengers alike for carrying the teddy bear under his arm, but he didn't care. It comforted him to cuddle Champion while hunkering down miserably in the uncomfortable plane seats and trying not to think about his upset stomach and rattled nerves. He hates flying and suffers horribly with airsickness, but he was never allowed to take anything for it on the way to a competition. The last thing he and Beth-Anne would've wanted was for him to have failed a banned substance screening test.

He smiles ruefully. I'll bet I'd fail if they gave me one right now.

He's been at Beth-Anne's house for two days and three nights. It's not that he didn't recognize his own things in the room before, but that he hadn't been alert enough to observe much of anything, or to retain his observations even if he had been. Having been doped up on painkillers and anti-anxiety medication, there are whole chunks of time missing from his perception of the past couple of days. He's pretty sure he didn't leave his bed except to go to the bathroom, and he guesses he'd been sleeping a lot. He has vague memories of Beth-Anne feeding him soup.

He squints at the clock on the small table next to the bed. It's 7:04 a.m. The day isn't as far gone as he'd thought, and for some reason the knowledge fills him with a sense of reassurance.

The next thing he does is take an assessment of his body. He's a little stiff, but that's likely from lying around too long and probably isn't anything that can't be resolved with some good stretches. His knee still hurts, but not nearly as much as before. Under the blankets, he flexes his leg cautiously. Maybe he can forego the stronger pain medication for now and just take a couple of ibuprofen tablets instead.

He sits up in bed and starts his stretching routine. Neck, shoulders and arms he can do in a seated position, but he's going to have to get up to stretch his back muscles. He wonders if his bad knee will support him well enough to do some leg exercises too, or if he'll have to wait for Beth-Anne to help him do the ones the physiotherapist prescribed.

After climbing out of bed and working the tension from his back, he decides to err on the side of caution and skip the leg work until Beth-Anne is available to supervise him. He limps over to the closet and pulls one of his suitcases out. He's eager for a shower and fresh clothes.

In the process of retrieving his suitcase, he's able to get a better look at the box next to it. What he thought was a scribble when he viewed it from across the room actually turns out to be one. He can just make out the word 'DONATE' beneath a frenetic zigzag of black ink. Above it, in Beth-Anne's precise handwriting, is his own name.

Intrigued, he abandons his suitcase and drags the box out instead. It's folded closed at the top, but there's something purple poking out through the little gap where the flaps of the overfilled box don't quite meet. He knows what it is even before he tugs the flaps of the box apart to reveal its contents.

The purple item is the costume he'd worn for his long program at the Four Continents. They'd tried to cut it off his leg at the hospital in Taiwan, and he'd begged them not to. Through the interpreter, he said he didn't care if he had to sit around in nothing but his underpants and a hospital gown. He wanted to take the costume off himself, intact. They'd allowed him to do that in the end, and he was appreciative of the small kindness.

Under the purple costume is the glittery black and red one he'd worn for his short program. He frowns. Why would his costumes be in a carton that had originally been marked for donation? For that matter, why would his two most recent costumes be in a cardboard box at all? He hasn't kept every skating costume he's ever worn, but he does have a lot of them, and they're all hanging neatly in a wardrobe cupboard in his basement, protected by garment bags and labelled by year.

Perhaps more importantly, he amends, what are my costumes doing in a box here at Beth-Anne's house?

He can guess, but he really doesn't want to go there. Not right now. He's not prepared to wrap his head around the notion of someone he loves being intentionally cruel to him.

But, Anya had already done something mean to him. She'd taken his medals off the wall in their dining room, pulling them all down while he watched helplessly. That had hurt, but he'd somehow convinced himself it wasn't so bad. He could return them to their display frame later. Anya said she'd put them away. When he felt able to restore them to their proper place, he could always ask her where she'd put them, unless...

Nikolai shakes his head.

No.

Anya wouldn't give away his medals. She has a few medals of her own. She knows how important they are. He prefers a less dramatic explanation, like maybe the box was something Beth-Anne had lying around in her garage and she just grabbed it to transport some of his things in. That hypothetical version of events is much easier to accept.

He wants to discover what else is in the box, but an alarmingly loud growl from his stomach reminds him that he has priorities. He probably hasn't eaten a proper meal in two days, and his skin feels sticky and gross. Shower, and then breakfast. Later, when he's got nothing else to do, he can come back to the box.

The hot shower revives him, and he feels almost normal by the time he hobbles into the kitchen on his crutches about fifteen minutes later.

Beth-Anne is standing at the counter next to the sink. Her back is to him, but she turns when he says her name. She's dressed in form-fitting black athletic pants and a red zip-front fleece top, and her curly honey-coloured hair is caught into a messy little bun. She isn't wearing makeup, and the scars on her face are clearly visible on her pale, freckled skin.

She's going to the rink, Nikolai realizes. Oddly, he doesn't know how he feels about that. Of course she should be going to the rink. She's a skating coach, and her job is at the rink. Her students need her. But, she'd stayed home with him for the past two days, and he'd liked that. He's not certain he's ready to be left alone yet.

Beth-Anne offers him a smile. "How are you feeling, sweetheart? You look better."

"I feel a little better," he says. "What's for breakfast? I'm starving."

She laughs. "Yeah, that's definite proof you're on the mend. How about a ham and cheese omelette? That's what I'm making for myself, and it's easy enough to make two. There's oranges and grapefruit in the fridge, and I bought extra milk. Oh, and there's coffee. Help yourself."

He takes an orange from the fridge and pours himself a cup of coffee. While Beth-Anne cooks, he sits at the table and methodically peels and sections his orange. They're both quiet for a while, but finally he ventures, "Are you... are you going to work today?"

"Yes," she tells him. "Mariah and Brett have been skating by themselves for three days now. Stan said he’d keep an eye on them, but that’s not his responsibility. Plus, you know Brett has Junior Worlds coming up in a few weeks. He needs me to be just as committed to that as he is.”

“Oh,” Nikolaï says. "That's right."

He hadn’t meant to sound so disappointed. Suddenly embarrassed, he lowers his head and gazes dismally at his half-eaten orange.

He’s not jealous of Brett exactly, but he does envy the fourteen year old for the chance to compete in a world championship. Nikolai will never do that again. He'll never get to feel the flutter of nervous anticipation in the seconds before he steps onto the ice, or the focus and calm confidence that replaces it when his music begins. He'll never again experience the joy of performing a beautiful and complicated step sequence or the exhilaration of landing a perfect jump. People cheering for him and throwing bouquets onto the ice, Beth-Anne hugging him in the kiss-and-cry and drying his tears with her ubiquitous old-fashioned handkerchiefs while they wait for his scores, the national anthem playing during medal presentations... all of that is over for him now.

One might argue he's had his moment of glory — several, in fact — and that's something to be grateful for. He is grateful for his success, but that does nothing to ease the dull, empty ache in his chest when he imagines what might've been. The truth is, he wasn't ready to leave the sport, isn't ready despite the reality of it. He's only twenty-seven. If it weren't for this devastating injury, he might've had two or three good seasons left before he made his own decision to retire. Maybe he would've even won another medal at Worlds this year. He'd certainly been on track to qualify for the world championship.

But now the only one of Beth-Anne's students who'll be going to a world championship event is Brett Eriksson. He'll be the one getting all the praise and accolades and Beth-Anne's undivided attention, and Nikolai will be doing what? Sitting at home in a pool of his own self-pitying tears?

Nikolai Pavlenko, be a man. You will not cry over this any more, he orders himself fiercely, but the demand has little effect. His throat already feels like it's starting to close, and there's an unwelcome prickling behind his eyes that warns of impending tears.

Beth-Anne shuts off the stove and turns toward the table with a plate in each hand. Nikolai hadn't even noticed that she was done cooking their omelettes, and his face burns with a new wave of embarrassment.

She takes one look at him, hurries forward and quickly sets the plates down. A second or two later, her hand is on his cheek, as if she's checking to see if the flush of colour that he knows must be there might be from a fever.

He raises his eyes to meet hers, and all he sees in her expression is love and concern for him. Brett may need her undivided attention, but she loves him. She put her regularly-scheduled life on hold for the past handful of days for him, lost sleep for him, allowed Brett to skate alone. For him.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"No," he manages to get the words past the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry. I... I'm being selfish."

"You're being human," she says. Her hand moves up to brush back his unruly hair. She can't possibly know what he'd been thinking, but it almost seems like she can read his mind because she continues with, "This isn't going to be an easy adjustment for you. I get that. It's going to be scary and confusing, and if you're angry or sad or envious of the others or... whatever, it's totally okay. I promise."

"How do you...?" he begins, but doesn't finish the question.

"How do I know?"

"Yeah."

"Did you think I retired voluntarily from competing?" she asks.

"Didn't you? You never told me it wasn't voluntary, so I assumed it was. But... it wasn't?"

"No, it wasn't," she says. "If you want to know what happened, I'll tell you, but not right this minute. Right now, you need to eat your breakfast. We have things to do today, and you need the protein.”

She steps away from him and settles into the chair across the table from his. He's sufficiently distracted by the revelation that she hadn't given up competing by choice that his other emotions temporarily fade to the back of his consciousness.

"I do want to know," he says. "And what do you mean, we have things to do? What do I have to do?"

"Eat your breakfast and then put on some warm clothes," says Beth-Anne, apparently unbothered about talking with her mouth full. "You're going to the rink."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm not going to have you sitting around here feeling sorry for yourself all day long. You're allowed to feel like that, but not all day, every day. That's dangerous, and I'll be damned if I let you put yourself in harm's way when there's something we can do about it."

He's so relieved, he doesn't even think before blurting out the first thing that pops into his head. "So, I don't have to be alone? I can be with you all day?"

"If you're feeling up to going out, yes."

"Yes," he says. "But, what am I going to do there? Should I bring a book?"

Beth-Anne looks amused. "I guess you can if you want, but I had something a little more constructive in mind."

"Like what?"

"Like being my assistant," she says. "I'd like you to observe the students while I'm working with them, especially Brett and little Eden. You'll be able to spot things I might not see, things they're doing really well or things they need to work on. Watch me, too. See how I interact with them."

"I already know how you interact with students," he says.

"You know how I interact with you," she corrects. "Observing from the outside, seeing how I interact with other students will give you a different perspective. More of a coach's-eye view, you might say."

"A...what?" He has to admit this idea has literally never occurred to him, but to be fair, up until a month ago he hadn't given much thought at all to his life beyond his career as a professional athlete. He's always known he'd have to stop competing eventually, but he also assumed he'd have more time to figure out his future plans. "You think I could be a coach?"

"No idea," says Beth-Anne around another mouthful of eggs. "You might be absolutely fucking terrible at it, although somehow I doubt that, but we're not going to know one way or the other if we don't give it a try, are we?"

"You're serious."

"When have you ever known me to not be serious?"

"I don't know if I want to be a coach," he confesses. "I don't know what I want, really."

"That's okay," she says. "Ultimately, whatever you do will be your choice. But in the meantime, this'll at least give you something to do and keep your mind off..." She pauses awkwardly before concluding. "Stuff."

It's difficult to argue with her reasoning. She isn't wrong about it being dangerous for him to dwell on all his negative thoughts and feelings. After all, look what that had earned him; the final breath of his already dying marriage, contemplation of suicide, a tearful phone call in the middle of the night, an urgent trip to the hospital, and a massive dose of prescription drugs he'd probably needed but didn't want.

The night he phoned Beth-Anne and begged her to help him, he'd never been so terrified and desperate in his life. He was afraid to be alone because he didn't trust himself not to do something irredeemable.

His mental state has improved since then, but he's still scared. Being with someone feels much safer to him than being left by himself, and being with Beth-Anne feels safest of all. She always takes care of him, and he trusts her more than anyone else.

He thinks she's also right that having something to do will keep him from ruminating on stuff, as she put it. He and Beth-Anne both know what she meant by that. She didn't need to elaborate, and he's thankful to her for leaving it at a generalization.

But... coaching?

He has no clue how the other students might take to him becoming a coach. The younger ones who don't know him might not have any issues with it, but he doubts Brett and Mariah would be thrilled by the prospect. And what about Ginger, Hunter, Juliet and Christian? How would his friends feel about it? Would it be weird for them to see their fellow student become a coach? And what if he actually does turn out to be terrible at it? What then?

Beth-Anne's voice breaks into his thoughts. "Nikolai."

He stares at her, but doesn't reply because he realizes he has a piece of orange in his mouth. Inexplicably, his heartbeat begins to race and his hands tremble uncontrollably. He feels sweat break out on his palms and down the middle of his back.

Why am I panicking? Why am I panicking!? Calm down!

His self-admonition only makes it worse, and the orange section seems to grow huge and suffocating. He wants to spit it out, but his mental image of himself spitting out food in front of Beth-Anne is mortifying to him.

"Nikolai," Beth-Anne says gently. "Chew and swallow."

Her voice anchors him. He does as she instructs, and then mumbles, "Sorry."

"It's okay, sweetheart. You're fine," she assures him. "If you don't want to go to the rink, you don't have to. I can drop you off to spend the day with your grandfather instead, or wherever you want."

"No, I... I want to go to the rink. I'm just... I don't know. Anxious."

"You can take the medication the doctor gave you," she reminds him.

"No," he repeats. "I need to get over this. Get back to normal. Going to the rink is a good idea. Even if I don't stay all day, I think I need to get out of the house and do something before just leaving the house starts to seem like it's too hard."

Beth-Anne nods. "Good. That's the attitude I like. Come with me for the morning, and we'll see how you get along, okay? If you're feeling overwhelmed or like you don't want to stay for whatever reason, I'll bring you home. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," he agrees.

"I'll keep checking on you," she says.

It's his turn to nod. "I'll do my best to keep it together."

"I know you will, but I don't want you to push yourself any further than you can reasonably handle, all right? The point of this is to rebuild you, not to break you even more, so if you feel like you can't do it, you need to tell me straight away. Understand?"

'I understand."

"Excellent. Now, eat up so we'll have enough time to get ready. Our first thing is a group class at nine o'clock, and we wouldn't want to be late for those adorable preschoolers, would we?"

"You...? Preschoolers? You want me to observe preschoolers?"

"Best way to start the day," says Beth-Anne. "Watching a bunch of cute four year olds wobble around for half an hour is an amazing stress reliever. We can watch Ginger and Stan do their thing after that, and then Brett's ice time is at eleven. That'll be your real assignment. You know, 'your mission, should you choose to accept it' and all that."

"Okay," Nikolai says, doing his best to sound more sure of himself than he feels. "Mission accepted."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA

so me (enby 18) and my mother (f60) were going to an event at my college. over the years, it's felt as such my mother has had to get herself involved in my life in school. sometimes it's been good with bullying situations, but not so good when she was calling the counselor about how i didn't make the top ten at my school and how it was deliberate on their parts (tldr bunch of bad blood with school - corrupt fucks in southern us). so with me starting college, i was finally hoping that i could get some independence on my own, even if i'm not living on campus for money reasons (broke pls i want scholarships so bad). like maybe i could do things without her involvement, maybe i could use my pronouns and name (not violently transphobic but does not approve and does not know of, only friends online that she also doesn't know about and few irl), maybe i don't have to restrain from acting as myself.

except she is still getting involved, she's called the dining people about my meal plans and even called one of my professors to ask about what kind of laptop i would need if i got a new one, note i have one but it's a few years old.

with this event (god i went off topic but yall need some context on this and i don't feel like i'm giving NEARLY enough) we said that mom could go in and check in and she could go hang out somewhere else. that she doesnt have to stay. i thought that was the plan.

then we go in there and she's not. and i'm a bit embarrased since i'm one of the few people with their parent there so i'm standing away from her while trying to figure out how to tell her i don't want her in here (due to the whole repression thing, just immediate discomfort and pressure with her here)

then after a few minutes i talk to her and try to do it softly with that she doesnt have to stay but she got it that i was telling her to leave. then she left, discomfort away but guilt set in. spent the rest of the hour and half i spent there trying not to feel guilty and not feel worried when i come back.

THEN i come back and she's not upset but you know the vibes are fucking off. and i'm trying to get her to just be upset with me and tell me how she's feeling by asking her, but she is just not.

then later i finally manage to get her to open up and she says how i put her in a bad situation there and made both of us look bad (okay that i admit). said i didn't talk to her about this beforehand (which i'm pretty sure we did) and how i left her with nothing to do while i was there (made me feel worse and guiltier than before). said she wasn't mad (even though she is clearly not acting like herself, wouldn't even face me when i came in to talk to her) but chalked it up to immaturity and not being good with socialness (neurodivergent + hermit)

i get how i could of handled the situation better, but AITA for wanting to have anything to myself? (sorry for the essay)

What are these acronyms?

[polutrope]

For the holiday prompts, Fingon/Maedhros going from hot tub to cold (#23), please?

Fingon and Maedhros are too old to have fun. Unless? ~1.5k words. Warning for a teensy bit of below-the-waist activity 😳. Technically a follow-up to yesterday's, but should make sense independently. Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list.

Maedhros sighed. It was good to relax. How could it have been three — no, almost four — years since he and Fingon had made the trip out to Lalwen’s spa? Even then, after booking himself a week off back in February, Fingon had had to practically drag him away from spending his vacation tormenting himself with a backlog of paperwork.

“Get off that laptop or I will physically remove you from it,” Fingon had threatened, throwing Maedhros’ as-yet-unpacked duffle bag on the desk beside him. “You know I can. And before you get any ideas, you’re not bringing your work. You’re gonna make your injury flare up — and I have plans for your hand that I wouldn’t mind you carrying out without wincing in pain.”

“I’ve got another hand,” Maedhros had responded disinterestedly.

At which Fingon had slammed his computer shut, yanked his chair out, and said, “Pack your things. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

Maedhros never denied he was a hypocrite. Despite promoting the benefits of relaxation to his chronic pain patients almost every day, it was a luxury he seldom allowed himself. He flexed the fingers of his right hand experimentally. His index finger protested, as usual, but the range of motion was better than it had been in months. And there was no pain.

When he heard the sauna door swing softly open and shut again, he stretched his legs out to recline fully on the top bench. Well — almost fully.

“Damn,” he said, tutting with disappointment.

Fingon chuckled on the bench below. “That was optimistic of you.”

Maedhros lazily smacked him with the back of a hand.

“Oof.” Fingon sat upright and gulped from his water bottle. “I don’t know how you can stand it up there. It’s so hot!”

Maedhros answered flatly, “I have a soul of fire. You’ve said so yourself.”

“Well, I don’t think I can stay much longer. What do you say to do the polar pool next? Think you can handle 12 degrees?”

“Mm.” Maedhros rolled onto his side, coming nearly eye-level with Fingon, whose face was flush and glowing from the heat. Maedhros’ eyes strayed down to his collarbone and followed a little bead of sweat as it trickled down between his pectorals, over his flat his stomach, and was lost in the trail of fine dark hair that began just above his bellybutton.

Maedhros dragged his eye back up to Fingon’s face. “But we’ve got the sauna to ourselves now.”

“A public sauna,” Fingon said, but didn’t resist when Maedhros cupped his jaw and kissed him. Or when he opened his mouth to deepen it.

“That never used to stop you,” Maedhros said with a smirk.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” Maedhros glanced down. “You in that little white towel.”

Fingon yanked on his arm. “Get down here.”

Maedhros slid obligingly to the lower bench. Kissing Fingon again, he nudged his fingertips under the towel at Fingon’s waist.

“You’re so bad,” said Fingon, nonetheless spreading his knees and making room for Maedhros’s hand to descend fully. “If I get kicked out of my aunt’s posh Nordic spa for public fornication, it’s definitely getting back to my dad.”

“Please don’t bring your father into this.”

“Yeah, good call — ah!”

“Shh.” Maedhros nipped at his neck. “You’ll draw attention.”

“Fuck, babe, someone could walk in here any minute. I’m doing a service by — ahh — warning them they might not want to.” Fingon hitched his hips and groaned.

Outside, there was a sudden explosion of shrieks and laughter.

“What was that?” Fingon’s eyes darted to the door, and Maedhros felt him soften.

“Probably some kids being stupid,” Maedhros muttered and nibbled on his ear. “Just ignore it.”

One of the voices rose up, counting: “Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen — ooooh! She’s out! — fourteen, fifteen…”

“Ugh.” Maedhros withdrew his hand. “Yeah, no, I can’t do this. God, don’t they see the ‘Quiet, please,’ signs everywhere?”

“Well,” Fingon grinned, “seems everyone’s breaking the rules around here.”

“It’s hardly the same,” Maedhros groused. “They are way more disruptive.” An especially shrill scream cause him to flinch. “That’s it,” he slapped his thighs and began to rise, “I’m going to go tell them to shut up.”

A hand slammed into his chest. “Oh no you don’t,” Fingon warned.

“They shouldn’t be allowed—”

“Yeah, and I know you. You’ll tell them off, scare the shit out of them, and then you’ll mope to me: ‘Do you think they hate me? I mean, they were being loud. Someone had to tell them… It’s not like I like being mean!’ You let me talk to them.”

“Fine.” Maedhros leaned back against the bench and crossed his arms.

Fingon quickly shuffled into his swim shorts, threw the towel over his shoulder, and slotted his feet into his sandals. He flashed Maedhros his most affable smile on his way out.

“Hey, guys!” Fingon’s voice rang out. “Looks fun! What’re you up to?”

The shouts and giggles died down, replaced by indistinguishable tones of cheerful conversation.

Maedhros closed his eyes and let the chatter recede into the background. Ah, Fingon — his saviour. As they so often did, Maedhros’ thoughts strayed to wondering where he’d be without him. Probably miserably enslaved to the corporate machine, being groomed to take over his father’s business as the heir apparent to Ambar Metta Development Group. Admittedly, despite Maedhros telling him time and time again that it wasn’t what he wanted, Fëanor still deluded himself into believing his eldest would give up the physical therapy practice when it came time for a successor to step in.

The sauna door swung open and Maedhros’ eyes winked open to greet the stranger. A peal of laughter slipped in behind him.

Wait. Maedhros knew that laugh.

“Kids, eh?” the new arrival said, pouring water down his back.

Maedhros grunted in agreement as he strained to hear. That was definitely Fingon laughing.

“Did you see what they’re up to?” the man asked.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Competition to see who can lie down in the snow the longest. One of them’s up to five minutes now.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Maedhros muttered.

“Pardon?”

Maedhros ignored the question, threw on his robe, and strode outside to see what nonsensical frivolity his thirty-four-year-old boyfriend had been roped into this time. Of course he was. Fingon could never say no to a competition.

Sure enough, there was Fingon in nothing by his swim shorts, covered in goosebumps, ice crusting the tips of his long hair. A tall blond girl was monitoring him, stopwatch app displaying five minutes and counting. Another squealed and snapped a photo.

He caught sight of Maedhros glaring at him. “Oh hey Maedhros! You remember our cousin Galadriel?”

Maedhros smiled tightly. While it didn’t seem to bother Fingon, and while technically true by adoption, it was always a little off-putting when he reminded Maedhros that they, as “cousins”, shared the same cousins.

The blond glanced over her shoulder. “Hi,” she said coolly, and turned back to her phone.

“Hey,” he said, then back to Fingon: “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“Oh boo, no fun!” another girl complained, and Maedhros turned his glare on her.

“No fun!” Fingon seconded.

“Aaaand, you’ve beat my record,” Galadriel announced. “Five minutes forty-three seconds.”

Fingon leapt out of the snow with a relieved shout and snatched the robe Maedhros had slung over one shoulder.

“Brrr,” he said, grinning. “So, you think you can beat me?”

“Of course I could,” said Maedhros. “But I’m not gonna.”

“Aw, come on!” chimed in one of the guys also participating in this game. “Don’t be so old!”

“Yeah, Rus, don’t be so old,” Fingon parroted.

Maedhros slid him a glance and took a deep breath. The crowd looked on in anticipation.

“Fuck it,” he said, “set that timer.”

And he casually flopped himself down in the heap of snow, hoping that he still had it in him to live up to the seven-minute record he’d achieved ten years ago.

*

Maedhros was sure he would have done it if he had not been robbed of the chance.

Instead, ten minutes later, he, Fingon, and eight nervous Zoomers were huddled in the spa lobby, wet and shivering.

Lalwen had her hands on her hips, smiling and shaking her head in disbelief.

“Well, I’m obviously going to have to kick you out.” At that, she barked a laugh and took a moment to compose herself. “And I’ll have to consider whether I let any of my unruly relatives visit my establishment again.” She paused to giggle. “But I really do have to thank you all for the entertainment and a fantastic story. Oh yes, I will be telling your fathers about this.” She looked pointedly at Maedhros. “All of them.”

[nobleclover]

All Thumbs

Since her experiences with the Other Mother many years ago, Coraline had decided to write a children's book about it when she left school. It shouldn't be too hard, she thought, I could use Dad's old computer and work away at it.

So far, she had three chapters written up and was halfway through the fourth. One day while she was working, Wybie, who she started dating since tenth grade, was over for a visit. Needless to say, this writing session was rather frustrating Given that the computer had been in her dad's possession for nearly ten years, it was prone to various technological hiccups. This particular day, the computer was having one of those days where it would stop then restart randomly. Coraline was flipping out and yelling, "Aaahhhh, just work, you dinosaur!" "Work before I kick your hard drive!" among other various corny insults, much to Wybie's amusement.

He couldn't help but chuckle at Coraline getting comically frustrated, which prompted her to glare at him with a frustrated pout on her face. Being the composed young man he was, he stopped and sheepishly apologised, "S-sorry, sorry, you know...maybe it'd be best to buy a memory stick and use your mom's laptop."

"I could but she's using it for work. Probably might work on it in an internet café at this point," she grumbled, "I just hope it's good enough..."

He walked over and put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly, telling her, "Well, I expect that all writers had it rough the first time around. I mean, I did hear that Stephen King considered dumping Carrie in the trash before his wife convinced him to keep working on it. Just go easy on yourself and have fun writing it, Jonesy."

She smiled at him and planted a loving kiss on his cheek before pulling him in for a hug. He always knew what to say to cheer her up.

[gt-blendergod]

Chapter 1: Ritz has a collection

Ritz, a quiet teenager who keeps to herself, has a collection of dead things. She keeps different animal skulls on her shelves rather than books and lava lamps. Rather than anime and boy band posters hanging on her walls, butterfly wings and preserved animal parts take their place. Ritz lives in a large house. Her rich parents often leave her alone to her own devices. Some people believe they’re too afraid of her to stay there. When Ritz was younger, she was ten times worse. She was the type of kid who would kill ants and rats for fun. However, she no longer has the tendencies of a psychopath. She doesn’t kill butterflies or carve away the flesh of animals to harvest their skulls. She’s a collector. She uses her parent’s wealth to buy these authentic things. That’s what Ritz knows, and what her peers are too afraid to admit. She is normal.

Or, she was normal. Normal until she became a mother… of sorts.

At first, she thought she was hallucinating. She’d locked herself in her room for a few days and wasn’t surprised when she thought she saw something stealing a pencil from off her desk. Maybe she had rats, maybe she was imagining it, or maybe there was a little tiny person in her walls. Either way, it was nothing to worry about. However, she started noticing even more. A skull on the shelf, shifted ever so slightly ajar. A missing screw in the power outlet, a slightly open drawer here and there. She thought her house was haunted. Curious more than anything, Ritz decided to catch it in the action. It was dumb luck that she did. She had bought a small camera and hid it on her desk behind an unassuming picture frame. That night, emerging from the outlet in the wall above her desk, a little person appeared. They dropped down onto the wooden desk, careful not to make a sound. They had short hair and big eyes, but the video quality was too dark and grainy to make out any details or colors. After searching the desk, they ended up taking yet another pencil from Ritz’s abundant stash before going back into the outlet and shutting it tight.

When Ritz went to check the cameras in the morning, she was shocked, but humored as well. For all she knew, the one and only Thumbelina was taking residence… and taking resources, in her own home. Ritz decided to do no further inspection and put the camera back in order to record the next night. Ritz decided to plug in her laptop on her desk today using the power outlet which the tiny person had moved in order to get onto her desk. She also left her leftover snacks in a bowl right on the front edge of the desk, nearly about to topple over before she went to bed. She was sure the little thief would be fine.

She was wrong. Very, very wrong.

The camera caught everything. The little thief emerged from atop Ritz’s dresser, descending down her drawers, only to appear on the desk after a presumably long time climbing. The little thief took yet another pencil and investigated the bowl. They furrowed their brow in confusion before realizing that Ritz had left food inside. Not being tall enough to reach inside the bowl, they started climbing inside. As this happened, the bowl fell off of the desk, landing upside down on the carpeted floor.

Ritz woke up the next morning and didn’t even notice the bowl on the floor, nor the tiny unmoving leg sticking out from under it. She was hyper focused on checking the camera. Since she was oblivious to the bowl, she instantly tripped over it and hit the desk and chair on her way down. She then landed on the floor in a weird messed up position. What an oddly graceful fall. She sat up and rubbed her head a bit before turning and looking at what she’d tripped on. The bowl was now overturned, revealing the tiny person and uneaten snacks on the ground in broad daylight. Getting a closer look at them, Ritz covered her mouth. They were so small… a kid. Maybe not even ten years old. Unconscious and most likely injured on the ground. What was she supposed to do about this?

First, she cleaned up the bowl and snacks, leaving the small person alone for a bit, hoping they would wake up on their own. When they didn’t and Ritz was done, she begrudgingly relented, carefully picking them up, cupping the tiny body in her hands. She could feel them breathing. Shaking. They were strangely cold in Ritz’s warm hands. She carefully lowered them onto the desk. She sighed. This was her fault, wasn’t it? What could she possibly do to fix it?

—~~~—

The little girl, or at least, that’s all she remembers being called, is cursed. She remembers being a normal person, though she hasn’t been around long enough to remember much. How old is she? How old was she when she became like this? These people aren’t giants. She at least remembers that. The man and woman used to be the same size as her. It’s all fuzzy. She tried to recall their names, but never could. When she ran away, she saw pictures of them. Pictures of them with a little girl. It wasn’t her, but when she was traveling around the house, she found the little girl in the picture. She was older now. Some eavesdropping and the little girl discovered that the daughter’s name was Ritz. Ritz is terrifying. When the little girl first saw her room, she knew she’d be in danger if she was ever caught by Ritz. If she was ever caught by any of them. She decided she would build a shelter of her own in the house. Food would be extremely difficult to find, but materials would be easy enough, right? She tried. It was a month of thievery before the incident occurred.

When she finally woke up, she was confused. She was laying down, curled up on a warm wet towel. It was nice, she didn’t feel like she wanted to move. Everything felt hurt. Especially her legs. She couldn’t move them if she tried. What was wrong with them? Her torso hurt too… However, she couldn’t focus on the pain. She finally noticed the huge eyes staring at her. She felt sick. How could she let this happen? Was she that desperate for food that she fell straight into Ritz’s trap? Seeing Ritz’s… collection before… of course she would do this. Ritz had probably known about the little girl this whole time. She was just pretending not to know… to torment her, wasn’t she?? She wouldn’t speak. She couldn’t come up with anything to say even if she wanted to. She just buried her head into the towel, but even moving it was painful. How was she even alive? Her fall must have been broken by the soft carpet or something. She just wanted the pain to end. She practically begged in her mind for Ritz to just put her out of her misery. She knew it would happen eventually. That girl… was obsessed with death. She could tell. She didn’t know where the girl got her collection from, but she knew it couldn’t be good. At some point, while the little girl was still hiding her face, she felt Ritz looming over her as if she was about to do something.

“Sorry…” Ritz said as she suddenly grabbed the towel with the little girl on it, “I just need to make the towel warm again.. I don’t want to disturb you.”

The little girl was separated from the towel and gently placed back on the desk. She was alone, but still couldn’t move. Still defenseless and alone. Why was Ritz doing this? What was Ritz doing? The little girl finally looked down at her own legs. They had cuts of bandaids on them. Ritz was trying to fix her. Why? Ritz returned.

“Phew,” she sighed, “I was worried that you’d leave… now that you’re awake. But.. you haven’t even moved a muscle. Haha…”

Before coming to the desk, Ritz sat down on her bed. She held onto the bed’s railing and sighed. She seemed very upset.

“I really messed up this time. I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean for anything to happen to you. I was just trying to help, but I wasn’t careful enough,” she looked up at the little girl on the desk, who was looking back with a nearly emotionless stare, “are you okay?”

After a long moment of silence, the little girl finally spoke.

“Why are you being… so nice to me..?” She asked, her voice almost too quiet to hear, “I’m not… I-“

She was interrupted by a cough, not saying anything else. Ritz was happy that the person could talk and knew english. Who was this person, anyways? What happened to them? Ritz got up from the bed and carefully placed the little girl on top of the folded wet towel again. Ritz sat at her desk chair and rested her head on the desk. It was a lot of waiting and staring for both of them. Eventually, they both fell asleep.

When the little girl woke up, Ritz was gone. The towel was gone. She was extremely nervous to be all alone. Ritz came back, but the towel was still gone. She sat at her desk chair again and leaned back.

“So.. you’re awake. Would you mind if I ask some questions? We don’t have any more towels… and you can just nod yes or no.. if you need to.”

The little girl nodded. Ritz smiled a bit and leaned forward resting her head on her elbows. It was slightly more threatening, but the little girl didn’t want to say anything about it.

“So, do you have a name?”

She shook her head No.

“Are you human?”

There was a bit of hesitation before she nodded yes.

“Were you always small?”

No

“Do you know why you’re small? Did someone do this to you?”

A nod yes. She decided to explain a bit more as well.

“The man and woman… and I ran away.. in the pictures with you.”

Ritz was silent. She stared up at the wall for a moment. Why didn’t it surprise her that her parents would do something like this? The question is… why did they do it in the first place?”

“Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Ritz… and you’re really… really…” The little girl lost her train of thought.

Ritz was curious. She didn’t want to push, but decided not to ask another question until the little girl finished. She stared at the little girl and shifted her position. She was slightly surprised to see the little girl flinch at the slightest movement of Ritz’s hand. Ritz knew what she was going to say now.

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Ritz said, slightly dejected, “I’m… terrifying to you, aren’t I?”

The little girl nodded slowly before bursting into tears. All Ritz wanted was to give her a hug. Instead, she tried to calm her down, running her hand down the little girl’s back.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. I understand. I’m the spawn of the people who hurt you, I hurt you, I’m basically holding you captive, my room is filled with… upsetting decorations, I get it.”

The little girl turned her head away, frustrated. Ritz pulled her hand back, it clearly wasn’t helping.

“I promise I’m not going to hurt you anymore. I promise my parents will never find you…” she said, trying to reassure the little girl, “And I promise I’ll help you get better.. well maybe not about the small thing. I don’t think I can do that. Haha…”

The little girl sniffed and rubbed her face to get the sadness out. Ritz seemed… very genuine, but the little girl really didn’t want to trust her.

“Okay so… your name. You need one. Is there anything you’d like to be called?

She shook her head no, “you can name me… I don’t.. have any ideas.”

Ritz thought for a minute, looking around the room for some ideas.

“Names for a… little… science experiment… who I rescued,”

Ritz made the cliche game theorists' thinking face. She soun around in her chair.

“Okay, I think I got it,” she said, “I’m gonna… use a futuristic name generator online.”

She reached past the little girl and opened her computer. The little girl, now more mobile and able to move, turned away from Ritz and looked at the computer screen which was more like the screen of a movie theater to her. Ritz looked up a generator and started generating.

“Wow,” Ritz said, laughing, “these names are terrible. How would you like to be called Abigael? With an A E.”

The little girl chuckled a bit.

“This is… bad. Not a good name. No,” she said, “I would rather… be called a dry leaf.”

“Dry leaf, hm? That gives me an idea,” Ritz said as she looked for some cute tree names online, she laughed, “How does Baobab sound?”

“I refuse to be called Baobab.”

“Okay then, how about… Cassia. It produces a spice similar to cinnamon. Cinnamon… like your hair?”

“Cassia sounds like Cassy and that name just sounds wrong. Lemme see.”

She limped over to the laptop and put her hands on the mouse pad, scrolling further down the list. Ritz intervened when they reached the Ms.

“I keep thinking back to Maple.”

“Too average. Maple leaves are big anyways.”

“Ok well let’s go back. How about Hazel.”

“…It’s not the worst. Better than all the others.”

“Okay then, nice to meet you, Hazel.”

Hazel turned around to face Ritz again. She still seemed very nervous. She literally couldn’t look her directly in the eyes. She looked down.

“I don’t… I just don’t get it..”

“Get what?”

“Why are you so different.. from them? They never ever talked to me. They hurt me.”

“…” Ritz thought for a moment, “it’s almost as if you want me to be an evil monster.”