#waited at a stop sign for 5 minutes so I could take a million blurry photos of a racoon

[livebythesword]

Screaming crying throwing up about my boyfriend and the things he does that I love more than I thought I could ever love anything

[usernameorwhatever]

7am

The spot on the ceiling was beginning to look a lot like a car. The outdated popcorn texture above him cast small shadows as the sun began to creep into the room, and one of those took the shape of a minivan, ugly to look at but reliable. The prettiest things were so unreliable.

9am

Jim’s head rested against the pillow but he couldn’t feel its comfort. It was a hot Florida morning and the comforter had never been unfurled for him to curl under anyway. He didn’t move, he didn’t make a sound, he didn’t even feel like breathing.

10:30am

It was time to get up. Depression wouldn’t stop the world from spinning. But willing his body to move proved more difficult than usual. It felt like he was stuck in wet cement, every motion took all the energy he could muster. Just reaching his arm out for his phone, which he hadn’t bothered to plug in the night before, exhausted him. But just as he assumed, no messages. No calls. Jim was the type of person that never put much stock in his birthday, in any birthday really, so it was some sort of karmic balance that no one paid any attention to his.

11:30am

Another hour passed before he finally got up. True to his character, he did the bare minimum effort just to get out of bed; his body rolled to the side of the mattress, and his legs bent to allow his feet to press against the floor. It was then that he remembered his shoes were still on. Oh well. He pushed himself up so he could stand, but even that made him tired. He was made of glass and he had to be careful to navigate his way through today, because one wrong move and he would crack and shatter into a million pieces.

1pm

His phone stayed in the bedroom, the battery low but with enough juice left for him to do what needed to be done. But that didn’t mean Jim was ready to do it. He sat in the empty kitchen, the table littered with mail that hadn’t been sorted through yet, but he managed to clear off a section for himself big enough to place a bowl of cereal down on it. Spoon in hand, he twirled it around in the milky concoction — the sugary pieces of cereal had gone from wet and crunchy to soggy in the time it had taken him to bring a bite to his lips. But one bite was all it took for him to realize he wouldn’t be eating the rest anyway. Jim brought the bowl to the sink, paused as he looked out of the small window, and dropped the bowl into the basin with a loud clang. His fingers gripped the edge of the counter tightly, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly.

2:45pm

The couch felt lumpy. No matter what position he tried to sit on it, it just brought discomfort. The minutes passed by as he shifted from sitting up, to leaning against the arm, to laying across the cushions. At one point he even hung upside down on it, his feet kicking in the air as he tried in vain to focus on the tv. All he wanted was a distraction. He knew what loomed on the horizon, and he also knew he didn’t have the courage or the will to face it in person. It’s why he avoided his phone like the plague, because once he went back into that bedroom, he had to pull the trigger. The worst part was that he couldn’t even feel the anger anymore. It was just pain. He couldn’t use the anger as a vehicle to drive him to what needed to be done ... because that wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t an angry person. He wasn’t an emotional person in general. It’s why he didn’t take a baseball bat to that dude’s car, or go knock on her door to confront her last night ... all he wanted to do was curl up and forget that the last six months had ever happened. If only Doc Brown would show up at his front door and give him the keys to the DeLorean. If only life was like that.

5pm

Whatever movie has been on was ending, and the corner of the screen flashed that Grease was about to start. That was a sign that it was time. He flicked the screen off before, fighting off the memories of one of their first nights together outside of the locker room. No. No more putting it off. Jim put his hand on the coffee table and used it as a means to pull himself back up off of the floor, where he’d been seated long enough for his back to hurt. His feet lazily shuffled him out of the living room, but there wasn’t a crowd of people cheering him on this time. His indifferent demeanor was real right now. Not an act. When he finally made it to the bedroom, he looked down at the darkened screen of his phone with a sigh. He stood beside the bed, arms folded across his chest, the stain from the donut still on his black shirt. But finally, he reached down and picked it up to start this terrible process. As he unlocked it, the clock read 5:33pm. He apparently missed a few calls from Dustin recently, but the last thing he wanted was to hear anyone sing happy birthday. Or explain to anyone why he was comatose. No, he ignored them and instead opened up the message thread that had stood idle since yesterday. The cursor blinked as it waited for him to begin typing with his thumbs.

“I’m not going to play games or anything...but I mean, not even a text on my birthday? You’ve seemed a little distant lately but I figured it was because of the injury and having to watch life go on and your spot being given to other people. I tried to be there for you and also give you your space. But I guess that was the wrong thing to do, because you just filled that space with someone else. I was at your house yesterday, Anna. I saw you leave right after telling me you were sick. I saw you have a brunch date with some guy and get into his fancy car. I saw that same car in your driveway in the middle of the night. If you weren’t happy being with me, you should’ve said something, because I was like...super happy. The happiest I’d ever been I think. And now I just feel so... stupid... like this is what I was trying to avoid, ya know? I never wanted to be in this relationship in the first place, but then when you finally dragged me into it, I gave it my all. It just...really sucks that you made me fall in love with you, Anna. Because now I have to let you go. So, good luck with that guy or whatever, I guess. Should’ve known a minivan wasn’t good enough for someone like you to begin with.”

Not even bothering to proofread it, because his eyes were already blurry ... from having to look at the screen so long, most likely ... and he just didn’t have the energy. Once it was sent, he immediately dropped his phone and sat on the edge of the bed. Another thirty minutes or so went by before he heard the front door open. But before Jim could even pretend like he wasn’t in his room, he heard heavy footsteps and his name being called. Then without warning, Greg pushed his bedroom door open in a rush and Dustin was soon to follow him inside.

“What are you doin’ buddy? We’ve been trying to call you! C’mon, we gotta go.” Dustin said.

“No ... I’m good.” Jim replied nonchalantly.

“Seriously, come on. It’s important.” Dustin retorted, walking over to Jim to try and pull him off of the bed.

“I don’t feel like going anywhere.” Jim said with more authority to his tone.

“You don’t get it man — look it’s supposed to be a surprise, but Anna is throwing you a party right now and you’re late!” Greg finally spoke up, and he and Dustin both stared down at him with annoyance. “She got rented you this super cool car too!”

“Yeah man it’s a replica from Fast Five. It’s a Lexus or something, I don’t know.” Dustin added.

Jim jumped up off of the bed immediately, remembering the car of his nightmares. His whole body felt suddenly alive, live he’d been bolted out of a deep sleep. “Wait what...” he mumbled, looking between the two of them. “We have to get to that party now.”

A few minutes later, the three of them were in the minivan, as fast as the automobile would take them.

[joonsrack]

+Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Jeon Jungkook, Min Yoongi x Park Jimin x Jung Hoseok (side pairing)

+Genre: rags to riches au, kind of college au, SFW, slow burn, WIP.

+Word count: ~2.8k (for this chapter)

+Chapter: Prologue | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ?

+Summary:

“Funny how even in this ridiculously absurd situation, life had made Taehyung a third-wheel. Or a sixth.

If Bangtan Dry Cleaning was his fairy godmother, Jimin his little mouse, the jacket his magic dress and the club scene his ball, where the fuck was his prince charming?

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts.”

+Warnings/Rating: G, swearing, polyamory, very cliché, very unrealistic.

+A/N: betaed by the amazingfantasticbeautiful @httpangelicjimin​! These chapters are already published on ao3, but I felt the need to edit them before cross-posting to Tumblr, which is why it took...months... Anyways, I’m going to be posting the already finished chapters once a day (so as to not flood ppl’s dash), but I have no idea when chapter 5 and friends are going to be ready.... enjoy.

It took them a few months to get used to it all.

Befriending Kim Seokjin meant automatic acceptance as Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok’s friends. Min Yoongi was a little more selective, but he came around after a while. Or Jimin’s smile made him come around.

Befriending Kim Seokjin also came with free VIP access to all the clubs and bars his family owned, which meant half of Seoul’s nightlife, really.

And finally, befriending Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon apparently meant becoming moderately famous by exposure.

Blurry pictures on Instagram, accounts dedicated to finding out what they wore, people arguing if they really were heirs of mod empires. Only a few people, really, but enough for it to feel risky. Enough for them to wipe their social media of anything that could clue to who they really were.

Most people wouldn’t expect a poor makeup artist and a struggling student on scholarship to be able to afford the clothes they were wearing, and so no one was looking for their real identity where they would find it.

It only took one person who would recognize them though, to put an abrupt stop to their whole masquerade.

And then, the beginning of the beginning soon gave away to the end of the beginning.

J.J.K.

“How can I not know of this designer? When he does pieces like that?” Taehyung's eyes had gotten wide, getting dangerously close to tearing up.

“Do you honestly believe you know every designer on this planet?” Jimin asked, smirk stretching the corner of his lips.

“Every relevant one, yes.”

The delicate golden thread shaped the three letters in an elegant typography, ‘J.J.K.’ the only thing written on the satin black tag.

The jacket was most probably handmade, the lining expertly sewn; the corduroy material looked luxurious, the rich black color making the embroidery stand out stark. The myriad of buttons embroidered created some random and some not so random patterns and color arrangements, making the jacket hypnotizing to look at.

Taehyung grazed at it with the tip of his fingers, trying to make sense of the masterpiece in his temporary possession.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve stopped breathing for two full minutes now.” Jimin said, a hint of worry in his otherwise amused voice. He’d been the one to find it earlier in their shift, putting it aside for when they would be alone, knowing his fashion-obsessed best friend would probably get emotional over it. And emotional did he get.

“I’m having a moment.” Taehyung answered, not looking away.

“When you finish wiping that drool off your chin, I’m waiting for your instructions on what to wear tonight.”

His friend wordlessly waved his hand at a pile of garment bags put aside on a counter.

It was now tradition; Jimin might have had enough fashion sense to dress appropriately, but when it came down to it, Taehyung was the real connoisseur. He was usually the one who picked both of their outfits when they were about to hit Gangnam’s club scene.

Moments later, when both of them had changed into their outfits and Taehyung could finally put the jacket on, Jimin appeared behind him in the mirror.

He looked sharp in his light blue bowling shirt and deep-blue pants, neck bow safely secured around his neck. The leather loafers completed the look perfectly. They might have been a size too big for Jimin, but the shoe selection was usually smaller, so they had to make do with what they had, or risk going in their well used no-name sneakers.

“Why do you always make me wear neck things?” His friend whined.

Which was enough to snap Taehyung out of his trance.

“First of all, that’s not a ‘neck thing’, you vulgar heathen, and you know it. Second of all, that neck bow is worth more than half of your rent, so be thankful you get to wear it. And finally, you and I both know that when I tie stuff around your neck, it drives them both crazy.”

Jimin’s whole face went red with a fierce blush as he primly walked away.

His friend had come a long way since their first time, and wasn’t fazed by the price of these clothes anymore. What got to him now, was the mention of the three-men dance he had going on with Yoongi and Hoseok.

For Jimin, the realization that both rappers were not straight had come with its load of excitement; then, seeing them act as a couple had come with maybe a little bit of disappointment, but mostly a lot of longing. Both of the rappers being interested in him though, that had brought a lot of confusion.

Jimin being oblivious to people’s interest in his person wasn’t something new for Taehyung, and so, it had taken a lot of persuading on his end to finally convince his friend that the objects of his infatuation seemed to be pursuing him as an addition to their tandem.

He still seemed skittish with the situation, though.

“What if they lose interest once they find out I’m just a regular middle-class dude, borrowing clothes to pass as something I’m not?” He had wondered aloud a few weeks ago.

Taehyung dared hope the two men weren’t that shallow, but that was something they needed to figure out someday.

Not that day, though. Taehyung wanted to enjoy his jacket for the night, maybe even sleep with it in his bed. Was that weird?

The clothes he had picked gave him a more subdued style than usual, but he knew that over-accessorizing with the jacket would be a total fashion faux-pas. He’d gone for a simple off-white loose dress shirt tucked into some ripped jeans that looked like any other but could probably pay the deposit on a small house.

It was finally time to put the jacket on, and it’s with reverent movements that he carefully slid the chef-d'oeuvre off the hanger and onto his slim frame.

He suspected it to be tailored to the owner, since the fit felt unnatural on him, but nothing would stop him from wearing it. Plus, it would take sharp fashion-trained eyes to notice anything.

He finished the look with a pair of black and white trainers and a Gucci hairband, because rich people sent their hairbands at the dry cleaner, apparently.

Jimin was already adding the finishing touch to his make up when Taehyung, satisfied with his last inspection in the mirror, sat down for his turn. His friend made quick work of smoking his lid, adding a little bit of gold eye shadow just because. He smacked a bit of tinted lip balm on both their lips, and then, they were ready to go out as Gangnam’s best-dressed socialites and celebrity friends.

That night was Answer night.

Answer was a little bit farther away, meaning a bigger taxi bill, but the music was good and there were more than one VIP lounge; when Seokjin was in the club, one of them was strictly reserved for him and his close friends.

The added privacy meant Jimin and Taehyung had been the witness to these kinds of scenes more than once since Seokjin and Namjoon had deemed them trustworthy.

These kinds of scenes being their two hyungs making out like global warming had canceled tomorrow.

“Will they ever come up for air”, Jimin asked, but he was sandwiched between Yoongi and Hoseok and both of his thighs had one hand on it; he didn’t get to have an opinion.

“Every time we come here, I swear to god.” Yoongi signed, but he was the owner of hand #1, and so, didn’t get an opinion either.

The owner of hand #2 just smirked, as he was Love’s biggest fanboy.

Funny how even in this ridiculously absurd situation, life had made Taehyung a third-wheel. Or a sixth.

If Bangtan Dry Cleaning was his fairy godmother, Jimin his little mouse, the jacket his magic dress and the club scene his ball, where the fuck was his prince charming?

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts, and Seokjin’s mouth off Namjoon’s.

“Are you expecting anyone else?” Taehyung asked, just as pure glee appeared on Seokjin’s face.

“Jeon Jungkoooooook” He screeched, as the door opened.

His hyung pounced on the newcomer, catching the man off guard, and by some miracle didn’t end up on the floor. Instead, Seokjin was being spun in a bear hug, eliciting groans of pain from him and laughter from the room.

“Yah! Stop training like a meathead, muscles will replace all of your brain cells.” Seokjin said once he was both feet safely planted on the floor, hands on his back like an old man.

“I would ask you to share yours but I know you don’t have any.” ‘Jeon Jungkook’ answered with a shit-eating grin.

He was probably around Taehyung’s age, if maybe a little bit younger. He was definitely handsome, but his face wasn’t what caught Taehyung’s attention;

His Bottega Veneta jacket was from a collection that had been released only a few days ago, it’s intricate work of suede and leather tone-on-tone patch making it worth over 6 million won. Maybe Taehyung would’ve matched it with something else than a white button-up and some dark pants, but the young man made it work. His shoulder-to-waist ratio brought saliva to Taehyung’s mouth; those kinds of proportions were just not fair. If he had this kind of person modeling for him, he’d never go out of inspiration.

“I missed you, you little shit.” Seokjin said instead of reciprocating, clearly fond of his friend.

“Europe was boring without you hyung.”

“As if,” Seokjin said, putting one arm around Jungkook’s neck and pinching his cheek with his free hand. “I saw your Instagram stories, you liar, you probably wouldn’t recognize boredom even if it sat on your face.”

Taehyung had been introduced to some of Seokjin’s ‘friends’ before. They were all mostly spoiled chaebols with attitude issues that his hyung had met through banquets his family attended or organized.

He seemed to hate every single one of them, really, but had to maintain a good relationship with them for the interest of his family.

This time though, it felt different. He could feel his friend’s sincere affection for the younger man. He seemed comfortable with his presence as well, seeing as he plopped himself back into Namjoon’s lap when it was time for them to sit back down.

Jungkook gave a quick look to their small group, double-taking once he got to Taehyung. He looked away quickly though, fast enough for Taehyung to wonder if he had imagined it.

“I see some new faces.” He stated, smiling curiously at Jimin. It wasn’t hard figuring out what was happening on the small couch where three grown men had squeezed themselves just to have an excuse to stay close.

“We found two stray kittens a while back. Haven’t been able to get rid of them since then.” Yoongi said, giving a little pat to Jimin’s thigh.

Jimin pouted at Yoongi’s teasing, squeezing a little more into Hoseok’s side.

“That’s Jimin, he pouts a lot.” Hoseok said fondly.

“We can’t all be the sun incarnate.” Jimin said, making Hoseok laugh out loud.

“And that’s Taehyung. Don’t insult fashion in his presence.” Namjoon said, with the tone of someone who had been on the receiving end of multiple fashion-related scoldings.

Taehyung smiled at Jungkook as the man turned to him.

This time, It wasn’t Taehyung’s imagination; Jungkook’s eyes lingered on him, a subtle frown furrowing his brow.

Did he have something on his face?

“Hey.” He simply said with a pointed eyebrow, feeling awkward under the extra attention, but then Jungkook barely nodded in his direction before engaging Namjoon in a discussion. Taehyung found himself nonplussed at the unwarranted cold treatment.

“Your Jacket is very interesting.” Was the first thing Jungkook said after ignoring him for most of an hour.

Taehyung smiled off the comment, squinting a little, wondering why that statement sounded so heavy with suspicion.

“It’s weird, because I swear I have the exact same one in my wardrobe.”

Taehyung was having a hard time grasping what was weird about that.

“It happens sometimes, which is why we have who-wore-it-better sections in magazines these days.” He answered with an air of boredom, containing his irritation.

“Nah, the thing is,” Jungkook said, plopping himself next to Taehyung, making him slightly back up into the opposite corner, “mine was personally designed for me by Alessandro Michele, as a goodbye gift. A one-of-a-kind Jacket, if you will. Where did yours come from, though?”

The first thing that came to Taehyung’s mind was, who the hell this Jeon Jungkook was that he personally knew Gucci’s head designer.

Then, the rest of the sentence started resonating around his mind, gone very blank.

Personally designed for me.

A one-of-a-kind Jacket.

Alessandro Michele.

It clicked; The quality of it,  the lack of label, the absence of it in any fashion magazine…

The Tag.

J.J.K., embroidered in golden lettering.

Jeon Jung Kook.

It was probably bare survival instinct that made Taehyung keep a neutral face, as his worst nightmare was slowly coming to life. That was it. The end of the adventure. Their lie coming to an embarrassing stop.

Jungkook’s proximity made him feel caged in.

He seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Taehyung didn’t have any. His brain couldn’t come up with a lie that wouldn’t be easily exposed with a quick google search. He had to say something though.

“How is that any of your business”. Taehyung found himself saying dryly, his attitude coming on top as his anxiety got the better of him.

It didn’t do the trick, as Jungkook simply chuckled.“I’m just curious is all. It’s a heck of a coincidence.” He leaned forward, shrinking the space between them; he surprisingly smelled of fresh flowery detergent. “What did you say your name was again?”

“You’d know it if you weren’t so distracted trying to figure out where I shop.”

Jungkook chuckled again and tried to reach for the sleeve of the jacket, where a heart was made out of purplish silver button, but Taehyung slapped his fingers away before he could.

“Hands off. It’s precious.”

“It's precious so you take it out to the club?”

Taehyung shrugged, aiming for disinterested and relaxed, the complete opposite of his state of mind. He had to figure out a way to get out of there. He had to think of something quickly.

He couldn’t just stand up and make up an excuse; the back of the jacket was even more memorable than the front, Jungkook would know right away if he saw the vague fish shape and sword pierced heart. He had to leave while the other man was either gone or very distracted.

Then, as if lady luck was smiling down at him herself, a waitress came in with a new round of drinks. An idea struck him.

After the waitress set the glasses in front of them, Jungkook reached for both, passing him his tumbler, and waiting in position to clink their drinks with a small smirk.

Taehyung was so annoyed, he didn’t even feel bad for what he did next.

Watching Jeon Jungkook’s smug smile wipe off his face was almost as satisfying as ‘accidentally’ spilling the cold content of his tumbler all over the man’s lap.

Jungkook jumped to his feet, shaking the ice cubes off, cursing.

“Oh no, my bad. I’m so sorry.” Taehyung said from his unchanged position on the couch, not sounding one bit like he was.

Jungkook gave him an assessing look, while the rest of the room was simply laughing their asses off. The waitress was nervously offering him a towel, but he simply shook his head to decline.

“I’ll go clean up in the bathroom.” He said, throwing one last look at Taehyung’s counterfeit sorry expression.

The moment the door to the connected bathroom fell shut, Taehyung jumped to his feet.

“I forgot I’m meeting someone early tomorrow. I’ll be leaving first. Thank you for everything again Hyung.” He said, not giving anyone the time to answer before he escaped through the door of the lounge.

The bouncer there greeted him as he went, and he barely nodded in goodbye before throwing himself down the hallway leading to a back door. Once outside, he hailed the first taxi he saw.

“Taehyung! Wait up!”

He got in the taxi nevertheless, but left the door open so his friend could slide in after him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Jimin asked once he was sitting next to him, the taxi setting into motion.

“This fucking jacket happened.” Taehyung said, engulfing his face in his hands, hoping to wake up from this nightmare.

“What? Did something happen to the jacket?” Jimin started frantically checking the embroidery for imperfections or stains.

“No. Worst. It’s his.” Taehyung answered in a small voice.

“What?”

“The Jacket. It’s a unique piece, and it’s his.”

“Whose?”

“Jeon Fucking Jungkook. It’s a jacket Gucci’s head designer made exclusively for him.”

Jimin was stunned into silence, slowly grasping the amount of shit they were both into.

“Fuck.” He said, voice low, slightly shaky.

Fuck indeed, thought Taehyung.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[doflamingadonquixote]

Her Light - Pt. 2/?

Title: Her Light Pairing: Padawan!OC/Armitage Hux Warnings: Slavery, Ben Solo and Armitage Hux not dead Summary: After the Battle of Exegol and the destruction of the First Order, Ben Solo and Rey Palpatine Skywalker seek Force-sensitive subjects, in the galaxy, to train them. They discovered you, a Kiffar, on the planet of Kiffu. Two years later, your two Jedi Master bring you and the other older padawan to the planet of Kessel, to retrieve another promising pupil. And here, you will find your dark and your light. Words: 2017 ———————————

Previous Chap: Page 1 

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

Part 2 of ?

The breath stopped and the saliva seemed to dry out suddenly inside your mouth. You were forced t o move your tongue to make sure they didn’t somehow deprive you of your head.

You had heard of stories about what the First Order had done in the battle years and, more precisely, how their generals had moved. And the name of General Hux was one of many to be invoked with hatred and resentment. Your teacher, Ben, had worked on it after all but had assured in assembly that the General had been executed on Steadfast after briefly supporting the resistance.

Yet, there it is. Fragile, weak, deprived of everything and naked but still stubborn enough to try to get back on his feet and not be seen on his knees by any audience.

By pure instinct, your fingers curled around the hilt of your sword and you clung to it as if you were risking your life at one moment or another. There was no time. You had to get out of there and find your comrades, and even better your masters. They would certainly know what to do in that situation. You turned on yourself, letting the hood hide your shape as much as possible, and approached again the entrance and exit door you had passed a few minutes before.

Just as you tried to switch between a couple of likely buyers, the door swung open again and the two wobbly Zygerrians you had just knocked out entered in the room looking around with a frantic and decidedly furious mood.

Before they could see you, you bent over your knees and quickly slid between the chairs and the people in the room who had suddenly become vocal, launching insults and bargaining for the life of the ginger-haired general.

As you approached the bottom of the stage, you spotted a red cloak lying on an abandoned chair. Silently, almost rubbing your knees, you dropped yours on the ground and quickly caught the crimson one.

It managed to completely hide your figure, and finally you came back to your feet to be able to observe the situation.

The largest of the cats had stood before the door, his hairy arms crossed over his chest and the dangerous claws prominent in sight. The other instead leaned into the crowd, pulling down the hoods or peering at people’s faces inside the room.

Tense like a rope, you were looking for an escape route extension but everything hinted that it wasn’t there. That you were in a trap where you threw yourself.

And just as you were losing hope, you only looked up to meet the emerald green eyes of the man on sale.

Without your noticing, you were at the foot of the wooden stage and the general had been forced to his knees again, terribly close to the end of the boards. And he was there, right in front of you, with a painful but confused expression as he watched you widen his eyes in alarm.

If you somehow got out of that place, that man would certainly have been bought by slavers or worse and you would have lost him. Neither Rey nor Ben nor the Republic would have been able to recover him(dead or alive).

“I offer fifty million!”

The cat woman let herself be distracted by your scream, which managed to dominate the huge roar that had invaded the hall, thanks to your proximity to the stage. She stood on tiptoe, to pass the desk behind which was hidden, to observe you.

“Did I hear right? Has an offer of fifty million come out?”

The room fell silent, staring at the spot that the Zygerrian was eyeing.

“Y-yes. It’s right.”

Nobody dared to open their mouths. Many really seemed to think about whether to relaunch the offer, others simply waved their signs out of that crazy expense.

Exceeding your number required a great desire to have Armitage Hux under own hands but you doubted that the men in there would take charge on a murderer whom the Republic would bring before the supreme justice.

“Nobody offers more?” after a long moment the cat-woman asked, nervously turning the hammer in her hands as if she wanted to slam it quickly on the surface of the table to conclude the sale.

Try to keep your face bent over your feet, let the hood completely cover your face, avoid turning to the public to verify that you were the only risky communication the purchase.

You clearly felt the eyes of people focused on your curled up figure and certainly also those of the one you had bought so handsomely.

“Sold!”

You sighed as she beat and, under a tomb silence, lets you drag with the long colored cloak to protect you towards the staircase that brings you to the stage.

Just as you advanced towards the ex-general, the bodyguard, who was nearby, raised an arm separating you from your target and pointing to Zy’s desk.

You swallowed and started putting your hand on your belt, grabbing the sack of money Rey had entrusted to you.

When you were at the right distance, you detached it and rested on the surface in front of her.

The woman looked at you confused and opened the bag quickly, already annoyed.

“It’s only 5 million …” you revealed, hiding your hands behind your back. “I don’t carry such a sum around with me. I have the rest in my ravager.“

At those words, the creature looked down on your life, looking for a possible sign of recognition but you tightened your grip on the edges of the cloak, closing yourself to view.

“Then?” you asked quickly, feeling that the crowd starts to murmur. If you hadn’t been able to make that smart deal, you wouldn’t have had a chance to take Hux away.

Inevitably, while you waited for the result, you moved your head towards the audience and watched the cat man who had crashed grab your cloak that you had left there and lift it up in front of him. So, his feline eyes met yours just as the woman by your side concluded the deal in your favor.

His hand reached the belt, took the blaster out of its holster and fired a shot at you.

You could see in slow motion the red and dangerous lightning that approached your face but before it could touch you, jump to the side, flanking the ginger-haired prisoner on the stage and drawing the hilt of your lightsaber.

The yellow glow illuminated your face under the hood when you activated the sword.

There were sighs and strangled cries, then chaos began.

“It comes from the Republic!”

“Damn Jedi!”

“Let’s leave!”

People huddled together, giving you the opportunity to focus your attention on the enemies above the stage while those below were being dragged or kept busy.

Your weapon hissed menacingly in the air as you moved so you could keep an eye on the two cat creatures who pointed their weapons.

Inadvertently, a hold on your cloak distracted you. Looking behind you, you watched Hux’s pale hand cling to the red fabric, his green eyes casting blurry flashes. He had dragged behind you and you didn’t even notice.

“Who are you?”

Before you had time to respond, another gunshot, followed shortly afterwards by another, aimed at you but let your lightsaber deflect both. The blows crashed against the back of the stage, which you made, was what prevented you from moving further, in addition to the redhead’s body.

You have been trapped.

The crowd was quickly thinned out and if the other two were left free to shoot, it would have been difficult to get out of it unscathed.

“You … will have a plan, I hope!” hissed the man attached to you, making you temporarily hate the insane undertaking you had undertaken.

Saying this was the plan would probably only have panicked him, so you decided to keep quiet. You couldn’t find a way to escape from that situation without leaving him behind you. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye and his eyes that flowed from right to left were feverish and probably surrounded by a dose of awe. He was not afraid, that you probably would never have had the chance to see him, but awe of returning to the hands of her tormentors without a doubt. Who knows how long he had to endure and fight. You wouldn’t have left him to his fate. As a Jedi, you wouldn’t have allowed the galaxy’s most dangerous murderer to face a sentence other than justice.

But just as you were preparing for another blaster blast, with a tremendous roar half, the building collapsed in front of your eyes.

The henchmen closest to the exit quickly moved to the safest area, the stage, while a thick dust surrounded the environment while the sun finally illuminated the room.

Then, in the midst of the white cloud of lime, several blue flashes reflected menacingly.

“From the new Jedi Order in the service of the New Republic, I order you to lower your weapons!”

Yamitha’s imperious voice managed to calm your hot spirits and your unnatural fear of having to face a one-way struggle.

The girl let the lightsabers act as a warning with their roars in the air as they all advanced towards the side of the room that still miraculously stood up on its own.

The Zygerrians looked at each other first, as if to agree on a possible action, and then slowly lowered the blasters to the ground. Your group of Jedi quickly approached them and gathered them up, forcing the criminals to come forward out of the room, hands tied behind their backs.

You were so taken by the whole situation that you had forgotten to soften your arms, that they had strengthened while holding the yellow sword still outstretched, ready for confrontation.

When you let your arms dangle at your sides, turning off the lightsaber, it seemed as if the tension had almost detached them from your body.

“You’re lucky I felt your presence in the Force out here.”

You turned to the side, watching as your friend scolded you as she scold a child who doesn’t follow a parent’s advice. You almost laughed when she assumed the typical pose of when she got you out of trouble, with her left hand on her side and the right hand shaking spasmodically as if to magnify the problem.

Then, attracted by the high presence behind you, she opened her mouth like a fish out of the water and her gaze went from angry to shocked.

The hand holding your cloak was gone but it seemed that the figure of Hux had not yet moved away from your person, attracting the attention not only of your friend but also of the rest of the companions who were taking care of the other criminals on the stage.

With a sudden sense of unease and jealousy that you couldn’t explain, you pulled off the long cloak that touched the ground and turning, avoiding in any way not to let your gaze slide from above to below, you pushed it against the chest of the ginger.

His green eyes shone with curiosity but he didn’t have it repeated twice, perhaps fearing that it would be taken away from his hands, and he closed himself in his cloak covering himself from the eyes of the Jedi Order.

“Y / N, we have to contact Master Solo.”

Having said that, all the prisoners were escorted on your ship, with which you had arrived and Armitage Hux disappeared from your sight escorted by a Ben Solo stretched beyond the possible and a tremendously worried Rey.

They didn’t let you come over to check on him while they kept him in an interrogation room but Rey assured you that it wouldn’t hurt him even if, impressed by yourself, you could read in your master’s mind that the desire to do it was persistent and ferocious.

———————- Tags: @girl-next-door-writes, @girl-next-door-recommends

[wintersxsoul]

We are stardust (8)

Summary: Your favorite place on New York is a small coffee shop, what happens when one day you bump into a mysterious goth god and he keeps coming just to see you?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 1291

Warnings: Language ???? idk.

A/N: Sorry.

Diary entry nº8

I’m a little bit worried. I haven’t known anything from Bucky in a week. I know I may be a bit paranoid, but it’s weird. After I met Steve and Sam, he dropped me at home after dinner and a cozy day and he said goodbye with a kiss and a promise to see me next day. He’s not answering my texts and he’s not coming to the coffee shop either.

Maybe something happened to his family? I don’t wanna bother him very much, so I’ll just wait for him to get in touch. Steve and Sam left again to do a spiritual retirement, so they won’t be in touch for a month. Nat and Wanda are working their asses off and Marie is in Spain, visiting her family for a while.

It’s starting to feel like winter, and I love that.

Diary entry nº13

Almost two fucking weeks. What is going on? I thought I was being too pushy texting him every two days, so I decided to call him. It went directly to the fucking stupid voicemail. Is he avoiding me? No one from the coffee shop has seen him in, the last time he went was with me.

I said something or did something wrong? I don’t know what to do. Last time I saw him, we were so...happy? Steve and Sam left after breakfast, so Bucky and I decided to jump back to bed to just be together, fucking like rabbits and cuddling, skin to skin and heart to heart. I’m so fucking mad at him, why the fuck would he do this? Without any explanation?

Marie is still in Spain, and I barely see Nat or Wanda. I try to focus on my work and it’s going quite well. The coffee shop is finally putting up some fairy lights and they added new teas. I can’t wait to try them!!

Oh and I managed to write some more.

Diary entry nº21

I can’t do this anymore. It’s been three weeks. He’s like a ghost lingering on my mind. I can’t eat, I can’t write, I can’t read and his face appears every time I close my eyes.

I haven’t been in the coffee shop for a few days, every time the bell rang, my heart skipped a beat, hoping it might be him. But it never was.

The guilt is eating me alive. The memories of him are too painful. Yesterday I remembered one afternoon in his apartment. We were in the observatory room laying down on the floor, a fluffy blanket wrapped around our naked bodies. He was connecting all my back freckles, making constellations and naming them. As I write this, a shiver is running down my spine, my body still remembers his fingertips on my skin.

I’m so tired of crying and the loneliness. I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life.

The girls are all away for the holidays, I’m not in good terms with my family and Bucky...Well, Bucky is just, gone.

Diary entry nº22

I need to know what’s going on. I’m going today to his apartment. This is unbearable.

You threw your journal to the bed and got dressed. The warm and cozy grey sweats were too big for you, and you looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked like trash. Your hair was disheveled, your eye bags were more prominent than ever, your normally chubby cheeks were gone and replaced by sharp cheekbones. You could feel your collarbones through your oversized sweater, your hands were shaking and your eyes red from crying. You were a mess. You sighed heavily and pressed your hand to your aching chest, taking a final look in the mirror and leaving your empty apartment.

As you drove to Bucky’s apartment, you couldn’t stop hoping for the best. Maybe there was a logical explanation to everything. Maybe he wasn’t in the best headspace and he didn’t know how to ask for help. Maybe, maybe, maybe. You turned the volume of the radio up, trying to shut your thoughts, and your heart stopped when Orion’s Belt started to play. You tried to sing along, but the lump in your throat was too huge. 

This mess of emotions got his body questioning

Is this feeling alright?

He studied my freckles like the constellations

And he's looking for signs.

A sob escaped through your parted lips, your body shivering. You can do this, Y/n. The song kept playing, but you couldn’t force yourself to turn it off and your memories with Bucky didn’t help to stop you from crying.

Running my fingers through your hair I'm feeling That your thoughts have left this Earth Is it worth it? Yes Is it genuine? Can I love like this? Let me give you some reasons

Okay, you need to pull off or you are going to kill yourself. You told yourself, you couldn’t see the road ahead, your vision blurry from the tears spilling. Your body was shaking violently, your breath erratic. You parked the car in the first empty spot you saw, and tried to breathe as much as you could. Inhale, exhale.

When your hands running down my body It's like a ticket to a cosmic sky Let your body get used to this It don't matter where we are Cause when we're touching we're caressing stars Let your body get used to th-

You turned off the radio, sitting in silence. You tried to gather your thoughts, making a mental list of the things you had to say, on top of it was you confessing your feelings to him. You didn’t care if he didn’t feel the same way anymore, you just wanted to get it off your chest for once and for all. After 15 minutes crying to the point you almost threw up, you started the car and went straight to Bucky’s street. No more radio, no more thoughts. Just Bucky.

You got out of the car, and fixed your clothes trying to ease your nerves. Once you reached Bucky’s apartment, you chickened. You can’t do this. You can’t. What the fuck, of course you can. No men will ever have this power over your feelings. You’ll tell him how you feel about him, and if he decides to leave you, it’s his loss. You rock girl, you can do this.

You gulped and raised your trembling hand, knocking at his door two times. You fidgeted, million of possible outcomes running wild through your mind, but none of them prepared for what you had to witness when the door opened, the smile falling from your lips.

Your feelings were overwhelming, you’ve read about the five stages of grief and had to learn them by heart in order to help your friends when they needed you, but you didn’t know anything about feeling them all together. At the same time. In only a second.

This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening. 1- Denial. You closed your fists and tighten your jaw, a boiling rage coming from your insides. 2- Anger. What if this is your fault? Maybe if he asked you for space...3- Bargaining.

You felt your heart literally break inside your ribcage. You knew these feelings happened often to people when they lost a loved one, how they felt a piece of them leaving, their heart never mending. You raised your hand to your chest, and pressed, trying to feel the void you felt with your own touch. 4- Depression.

You felt a pair of eyes looking at you, confused. You finally gained the courage to look up again. You felt tears threatening to fall, but you squeezed your eyes shut to hold them back and gulped. Everything made sense at that moment, everything fell into place. 5- Acceptance.

“Dot?”

[inadaze4ever]

Satisfied - Sanders Sides AU - Parts 4-5

It’s been 5 months and I’m finally updating this lol

Parts 1-3: https://amber-daze.tumblr.com/post/176568470119/satisfied-sanders-sides-au-fic-parts-1-3

Summary: After the events of the Winter’s Ball, Virgil and Roman haven’t been totally away from each other. Until now, when Roman wants to propose to Patton.

Pairings:  Prinxiety, Royality, (Past) Logince, Analogical

Warnings/triggers: (Chapter 4) Cheating, homophobic family mention (Chapter 5) panic attack, small injury (bruise), drinking mention, clubbing, mention of sexual harassment/assault (in general, not involving any characters),  homophobic family mention let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: (Part 4) 906, (Part 4.5) 251 (Part 5) 1592

Tag list: @olivey-oily @dailyanalogicaldoodle @kenapiece-main@dailypattondoodle @dailyvirgildoodle @fandersfic-prinxiety@fandersfic-virgil @fandersfic-roman @fandersfic-royality @fandersfic-patton

Chapter 4

Virgil smiled whenever Patton rambled on about Roman. Whether it be Prince’s latest role onstage or some mundane everyday thing, Patton talked about it in the brightest colors. Roman’s cocky smile and flirtatious eyes flashed before Virgil everytime, echoed by his soft, deep voice that sent shivers down Virgil’s spine and lured him into the ocean depths. Patton was teasing Virgil, tempting him to steal back what he’d found. But Virgil kept smiling, entertained by the visions of another reality—but letting Patton have it for himself.

Today was a day the Virgil always looked forward too. Usually, when Patton and Roman were together, they were on a date or just hanging out in public. But once in a while, Patton could convince his boyfriend to come over for a movie night. Virgil had just finished his eyeliner when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” He called.

He rushed down the stairs, his long skirt billowing. His socked feet spun across the polished wood floor, and with a quick movement of the wrist, there was Roman—the real thing, not a ghost of what could’ve been. Virgil felt delicate hands on his wrists, and he was pulled out onto their small porch. A fall breeze barely tinted with warmth reminded Virgil of how long this had been going on. Eight months. Only eight months since that Winter’s Ball.

“Virgil…” Roman whispered in his ear, after nipping at it.

He tried not to melt against the wall, “Ro…”

Roman’s hands moved from his arms to his waist. Now free, Virgil’s hands migrated to Roman’s hair. Their eyes met, Roman’s ever-burning fire threatening to consume Virgil. Roman leaned in as he always did, knowing Virgil hated making the first move. Their mouths knew each other enough, but yet their lips were desperate. A few moments had passed and they stopped, Roman struggling to meet Virgil’s gaze.

“Virgil…” He repeated, this time a bit more pleading.

Well, that can’t mean anything good, Virgil thought, pushing Roman off of him, but still grasping both his hands, “Yeah?”

Roman was still staring at here the door frame met the porch, “We—we can’t keep doing this.” He shook his head, the places where Virgil’s hand had left a mess falling back into place. Roman’s eyes looked at Virgil again. No longer were they full of fire, but with a small, flickering flame. “I want to propose to Patton.”

Virgil’s grip on Roman’s hands—on the world—loosened. He had known that this was coming. Hell, he had been surprised when they hadn’t gotten married two weeks after they’d met, but still. Maybe he had been ignoring the signs, Roman asking what Patton’s ring size was, Patton asking their parents when they wanted to meet Roman and such. Virgil had hoped, perhaps naively, that Patton would’ve told him and been the one to propose, thus giving Virgil time to distance himself. Alas, he’d forgotten that Patton shared his own sense of hesitation and that Roman was much more impulsive and—as his name implied—the more romantic one. Yes, Patton often surprised his boyfriend with how much of an amazing gift giver he was, but Roman had a flair for the dramatic, extravagant planned gestures. Virgil rejoined reality and sighed, knowing that he couldn’t take back what he’d given up those million years ago.

Fully letting go of Roman’s hands, and immediately missing the warmth, Virgil looked him in the eye, “You have my blessing.” His resignation was palpable, but so was Roman’s.

Roman gently took Virgil’s hand and kissed it one last time, “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Both he and Roman knew that was a lie. “Now,” He took his hand back, and folded it in front of him, “Do you have a ring?”

“Oh!” Romans face lit up, and Virgil knew he had made the right choice. Roman reached into his jacket and pulled out a black box. Roman took the delicate, yet still sizable, ring out and placed it on Virgil’s finger. He smirked at Virgil’s glare, but Virgil ignored him and studied the piece. As he shifted his hand, light refracted in the glimmering stone, casting dazzling rainbows across the walls.

Virgil tried to ignore his screaming heart. The stone was definitely genuine diamond, because Roman would not go for anything less. The same logic lead to the conclusion that it was most likely also twenty-four karat white gold. The cut and design was rather simple and generic, just a brilliant heart cut that was maybe two karats with two smaller round brilliant cut diamonds on either side. It was very beautiful, and very Roman. “It’s a nice ring, but you didn’t have to go all out, Patton would take a ring pop.” Virgil handed the ring back to Roman.

“I know, but this is my family’s, and they…” He ran his hand through his hair, “they don’t accept me. But they know it would be good for them if I marry Patton. So they’re comprising and said that if I used the family ring and he said yes, they’d be okay having a—y’know—in the family.”  

Virgil didn’t know how to respond. Roman didn’t talk about his family much as to not worry Patton, but Virgil had heard countless rants about them. He cleared his throat, “Want to go inside? Patton’s waiting.”

“Oh, right. Yeah,” Roman swung the door open, bowing, “Ladies first.”

Virgil curtsied, knowing that this would be the last time.

Chapter 4.5

Patton squealed, the ring was so pretty and sparkly! But Roman shouldn’t have gone all out, a ring pop would’ve done, he knew that Roman loved him. “Roman…” Tears welled up, “ YES! I… but—you didn’t have to spend so much…”

Roman kissed his newly bejeweled hand, “It was nothing, love.”

He looked at Virgil, who had an amused smile on his face, or at least Patton thought that’s what it was. He was really good at telling people’s emotions; but Virgil had always been difficult to read, even when they were kids.

A sudden ding! interrupted the sweet moment. “The cookies are done!” Patton exclaimed, his worries slipping away as the warm scent of melted chocolate wafted throughout the room.

“Let me get that for you, Pat.” Virgil said, walking to the kitchen, “I’ll let you two talk for a minute.”

Patton hugged him, “Thanks, Virge.”

He smirked, “Just don’t expect me to leave any for you two.”

“Aww…” Patton said as Virgil left.

Roman put his arm around him. “So, dresses or suits?”

“Hm,” Patton leaned into his shoulder, “I’ll ask Virgil what would look best.”

Patton giggled as Roman softly kissed his forehead. Then again, and soon Patton was being covered in kisses. Roman picked him up bridal-style, spun him, and they moved to the chair. Patton curled up on Roman’s lap like a cat, his head on Roman’s chest. Roman gingerly put his lips to Patton’s ear, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ro.”

Chapter 5

Virgil winced as the gooey chocolate singed his tongue. What a metaphor for today, he thought dryly. He absentmindedly glanced at the package of chocolate chips; it read “bittersweet cocoa”. Yep, the cookies were definitely mocking him.

It was hard to be mad at Roman or Patton as he watched them be goofy idiots in love through the little outlook in the kitchen. They were just as in love as they had been since the beginning, which was impressive because so many relationships died after six to eight months. The brain would build up a tolerance to the endorphins after about that time, and the partners would take that to mean they had “fallen out of love” because they didn’t get the same rush of puppy love. Or, at least that’s what Virgil had learned in one of his classes. He’d never been in an actual relationship long enough to test it—his little tryst with Roman didn’t really count.

Virgil put the rest of the cookies in a container. Heading upstairs he called to Roman and Patton, “I’m going out tonight. You two have fun—but not too much.” He could hear Roman’s sputtering all the way to his room, but he didn’t really care.

Virgil could barely think. Out, the word echoed around his mind. I need to get out of here, he managed to form a complete thought. His swishy skirt felt odd and uncomfortable. He threw open his closet, shoving the dresses and skirts to the side and focusing on his “normal” clothes.

It had been a while since he’d gone to a club. Yeah, clubbing sounded fun. Virgil shook his head, trying to focus on what to wear, he needed to get out of this skirt. He threw black ripped jeans and a flurry of shirts onto his bed. Virgil surveyed the options before grabbing a grey tee with some sort of circle design on it. He put it back into the pile, suddenly unsure of what he was doing.

The walls of his room seemed to close in. His vision went blurry, static black dots consuming his eyes. The desperate gasps of air he was making sounded muffled, like he was underwater. Pressure built, he couldn’t breathe or think or see. His arms flailed as he tried to grab something, anything. His hand hit solid wood, sending a jolt down his nerves and clearing his mind enough for him to realize what was happening. Breathe. He commanded himself. In, one, two, three, four. Hold. One, two, three, four, five. Out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He repeated the breathing exercise for a few minutes until he could see and think again. It had been a while since he’d had a panic attack that bad—almost eight months.

Virgil sighed and pulled himself off the floor, wincing when he put pressure on the soft part of his hand. A bruise had already begun to form. He ignored the sharpness and grabbed some tight, torn, black jeans from the mess on his bed. He often shifted between feeling more comfortable in “masculine” clothing and “feminine” clothing, but he was feeling an odd rush back to his punk/emo days. He would go out to clubs that either didn’t care about age or that he could bribe and when he walked in, he was anyone. Even though the crowds were crushing and he couldn’t breathe, he had always felt weightless. And that wasn’t to mean he was drunk or high, he’d barely sip on beer before joining the throng, it was just everything and nothing. Virgil couldn’t remember anything too interesting or specific about those times, yet images or him making out with guys, sometimes girls (although those weren’t ever as fun), and even some non-binary people played in his mind. Eventually, his parents found out, but they only wanted him to be safe and set a good example for Patton. Not that Patton needed it.

He paired a nice grey t-shirt with a faded band logo with the jeans, and grabbed the leather, almost moto-style, jacket that he used to always wear. He smudged his eyeliner a bit and put on a simple earing from his dresser. Virgil looked in the mirror, feeling a lot more comfortable now.

Almost like someone completely different.

Virgil walked back into the living room, knowing he wouldn’t be able to avoid seeing Roman and Patton again. Patton was practically on his lap, giggling. And their parents had thought Virgil was the one to worry about.

“Woah, someone took a trip back to 2007,” Roman said, not totally unflirtatiously.

Virgil fiddled with the chain on his belt loop, “That’s what I was going for.” He snatched his keys from the hook by the door.

“Be safe, V!” Patton called.

“Alright. Love ya, Pat. Roman.”

Virgil practically ran to his car, and soon enough “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” was blaring from his speakers. He pulled into the parking lot of the nearest club, showed his ID and danced.

Dancing was Virgil’s favorite thing to do. It didn’t matter if it was waltzing at a ball, spinning in a choreographed rhythm on a stage, or grinding at a club. It didn’t matter if he was alone or in a mosh pit. It was his scene.

Ugh, Patton’s puns were rubbing off on him.

The thing with dancing was, for Virgil, it was ethereal. Time passed completely differently. Not in minutes or hours, but in melodies and beats. He had no idea what time it was when he sat down at the bar to catch a breath.

“Do you want a drink?” The bartender asked.

Virgil waved his hand dismissively, ‘I don’t drink, but thank you.”

The bartender laughed. There was something about it that Virgil couldn’t describe. It was like flowers growing through concrete. “You are one of the smarter ones then—and I do not call people that lightly. I hate watching as men, although they hardly act like it, get a girl intoxicated to take advantage of them. It is disgusting, but it comes with the job and the best I can do is call an Uber for the poor girl after he pushes too far.” He sighed, and pushed up his glasses. “I clean up more than broken bottles.”

“People suck.” Virgil agreed. “Why do you work here then?”

“I do not know, to be honest. I do not need the money, my family has wealth enough even if I did not have a scholarship. I just needed something to do with other humans, but social conventions have never been my preferred way to socialize. I have been trained in them since I was young and, quite frankly, they bore me.”

“I feel ya. Although for me they’re more stressful than anything. But sometimes I can look at it like a game, and it can be amusing.” Virgil wondered who this guy was, if he was wealthy too then he might know this mysterious stranger.

The bartender smiled. “That is true. People are mind-boggling yet so easy to predict.”

“What’s your name?” “Logan.” He paused for a second. “Crofters.”

Ah, the Crofters family. They owned several brands, including a jelly brand. They were even more successful than Virgil’s family, but Virgil didn’t know they had an heir his age.

“I’m Virgil Sanders.”

“Sanders, really? What brings you here? I’m sure you could’ve chosen any amount of balls or celebrity parties to attend.” Logan’s voice was teasing. It almost sounded like Roman’s.

“I decided to let my brother and his new fianceé have a night away from me.” He replied, knowing that the headlines would be out within the next week.

“I was not aware that you had a brother.”

“Many people aren’t, for some reason. He’s adopted and only a year younger than me. I’m surprised there hasn’t been much gossip since he’s Roman Prince’s boyfriend. Well, now fianceé.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t hear that either. Our families have a long past. And so do him and me.”

Virgil paused, remembering something that Roman had told him. “Wait, were you his first boyfriend? The one that he got caught with by his family and why they almost disowned him?”

“Yes, and, unfortunately, yes. It was not my fault that he decided to be careless when I pleaded with him to be more careful. Afterward, he refused to contact me even after I apologized. And I know it wasn’t on his parents’ orders, either.” Logan looked away from Virgil. “Is he okay?”

Virgil was silent a moment, carefully choosing his words, “He’s… He’s grown, I think, since that. He’s rash, and very grandiose, but he knows when he’s made a mistake, and he will try to fix it. He’s getting better at slowing down before he crashes.” Like stopping our… our thing before proposing to Patton.

The tiniest bit of sadness, but also relief, entered Logan’s voice. It was like a taut rope. “I am glad to hear that.”

Virgil looked at his phone, it read 1:00 am. Patton would either be asleep or awake watching Disney movies with Roman.

“Would you… would you like to exchange phone numbers?” Logan asked.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Virgil looked at him with a smile.

As Virgil drove back home, he felt oddly peaceful. He checked on Patton, who was curled up in a ball in his bed and had one thought before falling asleep himself. Maybe this isn’t the end of my world after all. Maybe it’s a new world, And it’s beautiful.

[minyoongimakesmefeelthings]

Paw Prints On Your Heart | Part 9

Theme: Hybrid!AU

Paring: Human!Reader x Dog!Jimin

Gerne: Angst/Fluff/Smut

Warning: Mentions of (sexual) abuse

Summary: When you find a hybrid being beaten up, you just had to do something. When you learn he is a run-away hybrid, you decide to take him in your home. Him and all the dark secrets haunting him.

PPOYH masterlist and requests

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 4,5 - Part 5 - Part 6  - Part 7  - Part 7,5  - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

You wake up late in the afternoon, by someone knocking on your front door. You groan. Sitting up you feel your head hurt more than last night. Your eyes hurt and your throat is sore. Still you decide to get out of bed and open the door.

"I'm coming, I'm coming.." You yell while slowly shuffeling to your frontdoor. You rub your face before you open the door.

"Can I help..-" You look up at the figure in front of you. Your eyes widen in shock as you stare at the boy. "J-Jinsoo?" You stutter.

"Lady Y/N." Jinsoo starts. "I'm glad I found you." He says.

"W-What are you doing here?" You ask in shock. "Y-You aren't allowed to leave the household!"

"I know." Jinsoo says. "It doesn't matter. I will never go back there anyway." He says.

"What..-"

"I'm running away. I deserve better than to be treated like a slave."

"Jinsoo.. W-Will you be okay?" You worry.

"Lady Y/N. Hearing you talk, well, yell at your parents yesterday. Made me relaise that there are good people in the world." He smiles. "You gave me the courage to do what I wanted to do for years."

You stare at Jinsoo.

"Jimin.. He's a lucky hybrid. Having found one of the few good people in the world." Jinsoo says, looking at the ground, he looks up at you. "Please, go get him." Jinsoo hand you a piece of paper.

"W-What is this?" You ask as you take the paper.

"I stole an empty cheque. I stole it from your father's chequebook. It's worth half a million." He says.

"It has my father's signature on it.. Did he..-"

"No." Jinsoo shakes his head. "I did. I have seen your father sign so many papers. I could easily fake his signature, so I did."

You look up from the paper. "Jinsoo.. This is.. I can't.. What about you?"

Jinsoo smiles again. "I'll be fine. Just.. Just makes sure Jimin won't get the same live as me, please."

"Where will you go?"

"Far away." He says. "Don't worry about me, lady Y/N." He turns around, only now you notice the suitcase he's holding. "One day, we will meet again." He doesn't wait for your goodbye as he walks away.

You stare at him in disbelief as you see him dissapear around the corner. You look back at the cheque. Your hands shaking slightly. Half a million dollars. In your hands. Basically your ticket to get Jimin back. You see teardrops fall on the piece of paper in your hand. You didn't even notice you were crying, but you know they're happy tears.

You stare at the paper for a few more seconds. Your head snaps up. Shit, you have to call Jin. He has to drive you to that jerk's house and get Jimin the hell away from there. You rush back inside, almost tripping over your own feet. You grab your phone from the bed and dail Jin's number as fast as your fingers let you.

"Hello?" You hear from the other side of the phone.

"JIN!" You almost yell, out of breath.

"Y/N? Are you okay?"

"JIN! I HAVE THE MONEY!"

"Y-You.. Have the money?" He asks shocked.

"YES!" You cry. "Jinsoo got me the money and.. I'll explain later! Please come get me, I need to pick Jimin up!" You beg.

"A-Ah! I'll be there in 10! Get ready okay? I'll let Taehyung call the others!" Jin says. He doesn't even wait for your reply and hangs up. It didn't even bother you. You throw your phone on the bed and turn around to your closet, getting ready to get dressed. You throw on an oversized sweater and a pair of black leggings in a panic mode. You couldn't care less about your bed hair and your make-upless apparence. It all takes you longer then you thought when you suddenly hear the door bell ring.

Running to to door you slip on your sneakers and open. "JIN!" You say beaming, behind Jin you can see Hoseok and Yoongi. "GUYS!" You're so happy you can see Jimin again, you can barely make any sentences.

Jin holds up the keys of his car. "You ready?" He asks, knowing the awnser.

"Hell yes I am!" You answer in a millisecond. You grab your coat and step outside, slamming the door behind you. You walk past the guys to the staircase while putting on your coat. The cheque tightly gripped in your hand, afraid that you will lose it. Your golden ticket back to Jimin.

You step out the car the second Jin stops it. You look up at the huge house. You couldn't believe such horrible people live in a beautiful place like this. From tbe outside it looks nice, but you cringe thinking about the horrible things that are happening in there. A hand on your shoulder brings you back to reality. "Are you okay?" You hear Hoseok say.

You nod. "Yeah.. Just nervous I guess." You admit quietly. You look down at the cheque, staring at it for a few seconds before looking up again at the house.

"Go." You look behind you, looking at the owner of the voice, Jin. "Get Jimin." He says. "Let's get him out of this hell-hole." You nod, feeling a little less nervous and a bit more confident knowing your friends are with you. You walk towards the door, feeling butterflies in your stomach. You ring the bell.

After a few seconds, which seemed like hours to you, the door opens. Two eyes piercing into yours as you swallow your nerves. "Kitten?" You hear the person in front of you smirk. "Missed me already?"

You hold up the piece of paper in your hand. "Here's you stupid money, give me Jimin." You demand.

The boy takes the paper from your hand and looks at it before he chuckles and looks back at you. "Yeah.. I changed my mind. He's double the money now."

"Yo, you can't do that." You hear Hoseok say as he stands next to you. "This was the deal. Give her Jimin."

"Looks like she has boyfriends enough." The boy spits at you, looking at Hoseok and Yoongi, who are both at your side.

You can feel tears swell in your eyes, not because you were sad, but angry. You will not accept leaving Jimin here.

"Dude, fuck you man." Yoongi says, giving the guy a little push against his chest.

While Yoongi and Hoseok are arguing with the boy, you decide to slip past him to look for Jimin, you're smaller than him, so you go unnoticed.

Inside, you look around trying to quickly figure out where to go before the boy notices something is wrong.

"YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO ME!"

Your head snaps up at the female voice coming from upstairs. You don't even think anymore and rush to the stair, even skipping a few to get up quicker.

Getting upstairs, you see a girl exiting a room, slamming the door behind her. She looks up at you. "Oh. You're the next one?"

You just stare at her.

"Go ahead. I made sure he'll listen to you."

Your mind is blank for a moment, before thinking about just playing along with the girl. "Eh.." You nod. "Y-Yes.. Thank you.." You keep staring at the girl, not letting her out your sight once. "I-I will go in now.."

The girl ignores you as she walks past you to go downstairs. "Half an hour." She says, not even looking back at you.

"I just need a minute." You whisper to yourself. You stay still untill you're sure the girl is downstairs. You make your way over to the door, placing your hand on the doorknob, you swallow the lump in your throat.

You open the door slowly and cringe at the creaking noice it makes. You can see Jimin, laying down on a bed, which is the only piece of furniture in the room. His back turned towards you.

"Jimin?" You say quietly. Afraid you'll scare him.

Jimin's ears twitch and after a second he sits up quickly, a mix of shock and happiness in his eyes. "Y-Y/N?!" He stutters, hoping he wasn't dreaming, his vision becoming blurry with tears.

You also feel tears swell up in your eyes. But these are tears of happiness, the only kind of tears you haven't cried the last two days.

You launch yourself over to Jimin, wrapping your arms around his neck and burrying your face in the crook of his neck. You feel Jimin's arms wraps around your waist immediately after.

"I-I can't believe you found m-me.." He whispers, his voice breaking.

You back away from Jimin, your hands cupping his face. "I will always find you." You chuckle through tears. "Always." You remind him before leaning forward, placing your lips on Jimin's. Eventough the room is freezing, Jimin's lips and the rest of his body feel warm, warm enough to even heat your body. You lean backwards a little to break the kiss, but feel Jimin lean forward, his lips still on yours, not wanting to break the kiss. It makes you smile against his lips. When you lean back enough to break the kiss, you open your eyes and smile at Jimin at the cute red blush on his cheeks, the tears in his eyes and his slightly parted lips.

"You're taking me home, right?" Jimin asks quietly.

"Hell yeah." You answer, hearing Jimin's tail wagging against the mattress. You smile brightly as you wipe away your tears. Your hands then move to Jimin's collar, trying to get it off his neck. "There!" You say, tossing the collar away.

Jimin breaths in deep, feeling relieved that his collar is finally gone.

"Let's go." You say, hopping of the bed, holding out your hand for Jimin. He takes your hand and you lift him from the bed. "Let's get you home." You smile, happy that you finally can take him to his new home, his home with you.

"You're really wanna steal my hybrid?" You hear a voice say. You quickly turn around to see the girl from earlier.

You swallow hard when you see the guy coming from behind her. "I told you," He starts. "He's double now." He walks up to you and grabs you ar your upper arm.

"H-Hey! Let go!" You yell. "You're hurting me!" You try to escape from him.

"You'll stay here untill the police are here!" He says, gripping you harder.

"A-Ah!"

"Let her go." You hear someone growl. You look over to Jimin. A look in his eyes you never seen before. "Now." He demands. The guy stares at Jimin is disbelief.

Jimin walks over to the guy and gives him a push, which makes him let go of you. He stumbles back a little. "You little..-" He starts as he steadies himself.

Suddenly Jimin launches himself at the guy, both of them falling on the ground, Jimin on top, his fangs bitten down hard in the shoulder of the guy under him. They guy let's out a scream of pain. Jimin holds him down as he releases his fangs. "You," He stares down. "Will never, EVER.. Touch her again. Do you understand?" The guy stays quiet, his shoulder bleeding heavy and his face going pale. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!" Jimin yells, raising his fist to hit the guy.

"Jimin!" You say quickly. "Don't. He's not worth it. Let's go." You say.

Jimin looks at you over his shoulder and back at the guy. For a second it looks like Jimin is lowering his fist, but in a split second he brings his fist up again and down at the guy's face, a painful groan leaving the guy's mouth as he reaches for his own nose to stop the bleeding.

Jimin stands up slowly and looks over to the girl in the room, who has fear written all over her face. "Never come find me again." He says before walking to the door, ready to leave the room. You just stare at Jimin for moment, before quickly following him out the room.

"Y/N!" You hear Hoseok say as you walk outside with Jimin following behind you. "A-And Jimin!"

You smile. "Jin, please take us home."

"How did you..-" Jin starts.

You look over at Jimin. "Jimin took care of it." You say, looking back at Yoongi. "I don't think they ever want Jimin back anymore." You walk over to the car and open the door. You get in and tap the empty spot next to you before Jimin crawls in, sitting next to you as closely as possible, placing his head on your shoulder.

Suddenly a wave of sleepiness takes him over. Every emotion he felt made him tired and finally he could rest, finally he was going home, his new home. With you. You are his new home.

To be continued..

[iphoenixrising]

I can't stop thinking about your Dr!Tim verse (This isnt a prompt btw, I just wanted you to know that Ive been thinking about your writing and how much its inspired me. Sorry for how long this is). I keep imagining the man on the bridge being the hot topic on every news station and paper, even more than Batman and Robin. Everyone wants to know who he is. Is he ok? Did he give his life saving his fellow Gotham citizens? There are a lot of questions

(2)and few answers. Those in the loop are more than content to leave it that way,but somehow it gets leaked that Gothams new hero is a young prodigy doctor atGotham General. Tim is not made aware of this until he gets mobbed by reportersas he’s leaving his 36 hour shift and getting asked a lot of innapropriatepersonal questions. And it’s not nearly as funny as you seem to think it is,Jason.

(3)Of course his boyfriends quickly stop finding the situation funny once the joboffers from all over the world start rolling in. Dozens of them, all offeringthings like millions of dollars in salary, positions like chief of surgery, allin state of the art hospitals that are properly funded and don’t reside incities with crazy clown attacks. And it hurts because, how could they ask himto stay? How could they ask their genius sugar to tie himself down to a city

(4)that chews everyone in it up and spits them out, to be a doctor in a hospitalbarely scraping by, how could they ask their genius boy to refuse a once in alifetime opportunity to escape this shithole of a city and make something bigof himself, all to stay with two vigilantes who cant guarantee they’ll make ithome each night. They couldn’t do it, they want whats best for their boy, evenif it means he leaves them. They can’t ask him to stay.

(5)Damian of course has no such qualms about blackmailing, er requesting Drakestay in the city, and subsequently with his older brothers (Because if he hurtsthem, Damian will hurt Tim twice as bad). Which leads to a very awkwardconversation in which Damian threatens Tim not to leave, Tim is confusedbecause “who said anything about leaving?” And then they have a heartto heart about how Tim isn’t stuck at Gotham general, he chose that hospital.And that he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

**

So, hi babe :D  Iknow this has been sitting in my inbox for a minute, sorry >.

Brilliant, babe. Justbrilliant.

I also get to play withanother back-and-forth I haven’t really gotten to yet in these little things,so I’m super excited for B and Tony Stark to just have a little snark-fest,yeah?  

**

Tony showed up a fewweeks early for his quarterly “visit” to Gotham.

It’s disconcertingbecause Tony Stark goes between creating new innovations to privatelyconsulting around the US on the most dire of cases in need of a precise handand large enough ego to make miracles happen. He might have to do somebookkeeping even though Pepper is his CEO and runs his company with iron heels. When he’s not working, he has a nice relationship waiting for himat home.

All of it didn’t leaveTony much time to be running to Gotham before schedule to do someridiculous amount of pouting.

And yet?

Here they are.

When Tim actually getsto turn away from the stack of charts he’s updating, he has an oh shitmoment because Tony…isn’t immediately talking. No white coat, just asnazzy three-piece, arms crossed over his chest, and utterly

Silent.

Tim automaticallystands, taking in his old mentor from head to foot, looking for clues toadd to the inevitable diagnosis hovering in his brain pan.

(Because, you know, thattime when he was still a lowly bachelor and could take a month off of Mercy topretty much live in Tony’s facility while things like brain tumors threatenedhis Tony Stark’s life. His hands didn’t shake the whole time he was rootingaround that famous mound of grey matter–that’s when he knew he’d hit the bigleagues.)

“If you even think,”Tony starts, low and angry, “of taking the offer from UCLA over mine, Iwill be an even bigger asshole about your terrible life choices.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Word has apparently gottenaround.

It started out with aquick blurb on the news, blurry camera phone picture of emergency workers andplain clothes civilians jumping to action in the middle of a crisis, a humaninterest story and all that. A glimmer of goodness among the chaos.

More picture with betterquality once the shock and aftermath died down, started to flood Social Media,even various videos of cables snapping and people running, trying not to gettrampled. One the media latched onto just happened to be of him carrying thelittle girl from the car and helping her mother up in the back of a truck tosend them to safety.

The one with himbreaking through the fallen debris made Dick gasp from the table where he waspatching his suit and Jay wrap a big hand around his ankle to squeeze.

The one where he almostlost his grip climbing the wall of broken shit and flaming car remains isprobably where someone saw the connection because the class of kids went on thenews, holding up colorful signs with Thank-You, Dr. Drake!

He was happy they allseemed fine and after an uncomfortable call from Channel 11 Gotham (howthey found out his name is still a mystery even though he suspects B is an evenbigger troll than he’d already surmised), in which he stipulated nocameras this time, went by the elementary school for a visit. They gripped hisnerd shirt with excited hands, and his arms are long enough for a lot ofhugs.

But while Channel 11agreed to his term of no cameras, no interviews, that didn’t really panout when it came to the story later on that night.

His picture flashed allover the damn place, the resident angel on the bridge as one Dr. Drakefrom Mercy General trying to save as many lives as he could. More video clipsand interviews after the fact (he’s so glad to see that Karmen and her mom areokay), and dammit, he’s being literally attacked outside thedouble doors to his ER after a very long shift without Steph. He mighthave been a little mean when he told them in no specific terms that he was onlytrying to make sure people didn’t, you know, die horribly, as is hisnormal, every-day job, and please let him go home where he can pass outfor a day or he’s going to lie down on someone’s shoes and take a nap.

Jay was predictablyentertained at the whole of it. Dick merely told him his kick-ass doctorinstincts deserved appropriate accolades.

Both of them areassholes, but still, they’re his assholes.

But eventually, likeeverything in Gotham, those videos became old news and the next wave ofinevitable oh shit became front and center. Which, should have meant hisfifteen seconds of fame was pretty much over (thankfully)–if he hadn’tstarted getting other interest.

Several offers startedcoming first by mail to the Penthouse, more by phone and email. Unassumingproper stationary with silver and gold lettering, bright voicemails about his“heroism” and obvious skill in emergency situations, emails from high-rankingdoctors or board members extending an invitation to visit their campus and seeif his career might be going in a new direction.

(Gag)

It was pretty easy atfirst, chucking those finely detailed introduction letters in the trashdiscreetly, sending back appreciative declines without Dick or Jason gettingwise as to how many there actually were.

(John Hopkinsthough…that one he had to think about)

A month later and thingsslacked off (or might be routed through Drake Industries so they stop coming tothe Penthouse). Apparently, though, the attention had been somewhat noticeable.

“I don’t know what youmay have heard, Tony, but–” he starts out calmly, putting the penpointedly down.

“Let me start with the shortlist,” it’s the usual sarcasm laying the mood, mimicking an imaginarychecklist, “John Hopkins, Department Head of Emergency Medicine. Mayo, General Surgery Residency Program Director. MassachusettsGeneral, Chief of Surgery. UCSF, Chief of Residents. UCLA, Chief of Staff.Cedars-Sinai, Neuroscience research grants out the ass. Sound morefamiliar?”

Well, there’s only oneway to get this conversation started.

Bonding over coffee.

Gathering up hischarts with a sigh, Tim shakes his head a little and grabs the cane he’s beenusing since his leg is finally starting to get with it (and no Steph,the House MD jokes were funny a week ago, now you need new material). Heshoos Tony out of the room and down the corridor to the chaos that is his ER.

“Notice I didn’tmention the very generous and consistent offer from StarkMedical, Tim,” because Tony really has nothing to be mad about per sayand falls in step beside him anyway, slowing down his unusually fast strides toaccount for the limp. “Because I’m not here to smooze.”

He pauses at the maindesk to arrange the charts in order, gets the approving nod from his favoriteHead Nurse.

“There’s story behindthis,” he fills in casually, “it’s more complicated than just–”

“You almost died,”Tony interrupts smoothly, “on a bridge. You ran around on a crumbling bridgeinstead of getting people the hell off while you got the hell off. Halfthe nation saw that guy with the crazy bat fetish catch someone out in openwater wearing purple scrubs, Tim.”

Well, none of that isa lie really.

Hands free, Tim gripsTony’s elbow and steers them pointedly into the break room, closes the door.With Dr. Stark roaming around Mercy, most everyone would stay clear unless somecatastrophe hits anyway.

He lets Tony stew fora few minutes while he makes a fresh pot of coffee and thinks very, very hardabout how this is going to go.

“You were worriedabout me,” Tim finally gives a half-grin in the face of Tony’s nope, andputs a fresh paper cup in his hand, “you can bluster all you want, but you wereworried, and I appreciate it.”

“That is absolute crapand you know it. I’m here to make sure no other hospitals or researchfacilities snatch you up, Drake. Not after all the effort I put into you overthe last few years.”

Sure, Tony. “The bridge. I survived. A lot of otherpeople survived, so you can ignore whatever crap the news stations aresaying–”

“All of it is true.You stupidly risked your life when the structural integrity was compromised,and since it just happened to involve that wing-nut in the cape, thenation is going to pay the fuck attention.”

Which is probably whyhe’s suddenly Mr. Popular in his field. Well, that does answer some questions.

“You’re taking thisout of proportion,” even if it’s fruitless, he’s still going to try,“there really haven’t been that many–”

“Twenty of the topfacilities in the world have made offers that would put this place to shame.Three of your last publications have shown up in recent journals. The nextsymposium you’re supposed to be at is already sold out.”

And well, shit.He…he didn’t know all of that.

“Besides, if I wasblowing it out of proportion, we wouldn’t be talking about it in thedeserted break room, Drake.”

Tim groans out loud,rubbing a tired hand down his face. How is he going to explain without soundinglike a complete moron?

“Tony, the offersare…nice, okay? I’m not going to say it isn’t cool to be wanted by someof these places. I mean Cedars… they have equipment and research facilitiesmost places couldn’t even dream of. Just the possibilities–”

A very pointedclearing of the throat makes him take a pause to breathe, count to ten becausehe has to get in the mindset to deal with Tony like this again (it’s been aminute) when he’s being incredibly stubborn.

Neither of them noticethe dark blue against black right at the side of the building, but the presenceunder the open window narrows white eyes and stays hidden in the Gotham shadow. Who even knew how long he’d been there.

“Excuse me,Cedars has equipment most facilities–aside from Stark Medical of course–couldn’teven dream of.”

The look he gets backis unimpressed at most, but Tim can see past the usual Tony Stark mask. Theexuding confidence is there like the nice, expensive suits he wears, but underneaththe brilliance and the snark, Tony’s eyes are bloodshot and the dark circlesunderneath look like bruises. He keeps his dominant hand in the pocket of hispants, probably to hide the slight tremble (which is why he isn’t wearing acoat, right? If Tony’s riding the sleep dep train, he won’t operate if hishands are starting to shake).

Tim eases back alittle, sips on his terrible sludge while idly thumbing his phone open.

“I’m very well awareof the opportunities right in front of you, Tim,” Tony starts moving, a shortwhirlwind of movement, activity, and energy. “I’m just saying–”

“What I told you ayear ago is still true,” Tim comes back, finishing up the quick text to one ofTony’s significant others, (just a little knowledge drop on how exhausted hismentor really is). He puts his phone away and crosses his arms over his chestin a firm sign of ‘this is how the discussion is going to go.’

“You can’t be serious.”And yes, that’s Tony Stark without all the touchy-feely, I care if you diekind of thing. “I’m outraged. I’m outraged on your behalf, Tim.”

“You can’t be,” hedeadpans.

“The hell I can’t.You’re going to stay here, in this death trap of a city and practicemedicine in this ill-equipped, dilapidated chop-shop hold-over from the secondWorld War–”

“Tony, c’mon.”

“While half thegoddamned world is out for you?! Do you have any idea what kindof direction your career could go if you accepted even one of thoseoffers?”

“I–”

“Anything else isliterally going to be professional suicide.”

“When you put it like that–”he snarks back, getting a little closer to his patience. It had taken longerthan usual because Tony, like Layla, needed to adults to lay it out for themonce and awhile.

“It’s time to listento reason, Tim. You’ve had plenty of time to try, I don’t know, winningthe Nobel for putting up with terrible conditions and homicidal maniacs withbomb fetishes. Isn’t it time you started challenging yourself again, and notby trying to die in this trash-dump city?”

And the shadowsoundlessly slides away in the night, leaving the conversation to finish up anecessary patrol. The rushing wind doesn’t take away anything he’s alreadylearned.

Dr. Drake, blissfullyunaware of the company, narrows his eyes dangerously, straightens up because dammit,he thought he handled this.

“I. Am. Not.Interested.” He tries, wondering if the emphasis counts. “As appealing as theresearch capabilities are, I’m not taking any of the offers. At all, atall. I’m staying right the fuck here where I choose to be.”

And he sees Tony startto open his mouth to start-up with another fast and furious argument on whyGotham is a cesspool of death and more death, but Tim walks right overanything he might have started in on by just getting right up in Tony’s faceand laying it all out.

“I appreciate the fuckout of the interest, Dr. Stark. Thanks but no thanks.”

“I need someone tocheck you out obviously.”

“I like ithere.”

“Oh? And what’s hername Mister I-Like-It-Here?”

“His name,Tony, and their names for your information.”

That has the intendedeffect and makes his old mentor pretty much pause on the next syllable.   

“But just so you know,they aren’t the only reasons why I’m staying in Gotham City. It’s more thanbeing close to my parents’ graves or close to my best friend and my niece. It’smore than just finally coming home, Tony. I belong here. I’m neededhere. It’s dirty and dangerous and so fucking what if there’s a guy in aBat suit running around kicking the shit out of criminals? It’s my city,so no. I’m not going anywhere.”

And Tony just blinksdown at him for long moments, this scene so painfully familiar from their daysof arguing back and forth during his “internship” with Stark Medical. It hadn’ttaken him long to understand what needed to be done to make someone like TonyStark change his mind.

Get all up in his faceand drop some truth bombs.

“I really, really hatethis,” Tony finally replies flatly, but his eyes are scrunched in amusement.

“I know. If I ever dowant to leave it behind, then you know the first place I’m going to go,” Timcomes back more gently, giving Tony a smirk.

Even though he’sobvious not happy about it, some of the pissed off fades out of Tony’sstiff posture. “Promise me, Drake. No one gets to kill you before I pick yourbrain about the neuro-stimulation device we’re working on.”

And with the obviouspun, he leans over laughing until his damn leg starts to ache and Tony has tohold him up by the arm so he doesn’t fall over.

**

The very impressiveRolls Royce greets Dr. Stark when he finally makes his way out the front doorsto attempt finding some palatable coffee.

The older man waitingby the passenger-side door is familiar enough that a smile cuts across Tony’sface.

“Alfred! Long time, nosee.” He smirks at the irony since his “visits” to Gotham didn’t alwayscoordinate with Pepper’s insistence he at least be in the city for SMbusiness.

“Master Stark, apleasure to see you again, Sir.”

“Always. Let me guess.You have some incredible coffee in there waiting for me?”

“Of course, Sir. Flavoredjust how you prefer.”

“You are a master ofall things, Alfred. Don’t even let Bruce tell you any differently.”

“I shall remind him atevery opportunity. However, you may do me a service and tell him yourself,”Alfred opened the back door with a slight flourish to show the billionairehimself sitting in the back, drinking from a thick, glass tumbler.

“Aw, Bruce, is that autility belt under your shirt or are you just happy to see me?”

The surgeon foldshimself down to get in, eyes sparkling for the slight scowl on his old friend’sface. He pays little attention to Alfred getting back in the driver’s seat andstarting the car. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t trust me inyour city.”

Tony stick up hispointer fingers at the side of his head, wiggling them to mimic the ears on theside of the cowl.

He’s smiling likecrazy when B just rolls his eyes and takes a deep pull from the tumbler.“You’re early, even after you’ve been running the gambit at your facility andStark Industries for the past few weeks. Forgive me for being curious.”

“I had to see anotherdoctor about a job prospect.”

“The doctor we have amutual interest in?”

“That would be theone. Next time he needs to be saved, leave the tights at home. Don’t you have aWE helicopter for a reason?”

“And exactly how wouldI explain that one away?”

“You have PR people,Bruce, let them have a field day with ‘rich socialite accidentally savespeople on a crumbling bridge.’”

“That would make morework for me as Bruce Wayne. Batman is a better figurehead for that kind ofthing.”

“Figurehead? Oh,you mean the persona you’ve gone to great lengths to hide as some kindof myth or urban legend all these years? That guy just suddenly shows up in thedaytime?”

“He’s beenphotographed before, Tony. Sometimes even with other superheroes, likeSuperman and Wonder Woman. All drawback of being on a team.”

“Teams are wonderfulthings, Bruce.

“Says you.”

And from a pocket inthe door, Bruce finally has a little bit of mercy on the overworked genius bypulling out a warm travel mug with the Batman logo on the front.

Tony laughs maniacallyfor long, painful moments, earning another eye-roll. The contents, however, arejust as Alfred promised: full of caffeine and just as tasty.

After a long moment ofsatisfaction, Tony lays his head back on the cushy seat and just sighs.

“You’re pushingyourself too hard,” Bruce admonishes gently. “I’m going to send the WE chopperto pick up Jim and Steve instead.”

That wakes him up.

“Don’t you even dare,B. I’ll never forgive you.”

“I’ve made worseenemies.”

Tony doesn’t snortcoffee up his nose, but really, it’s a close thing.

“You obviously can’ttake care of yourself,” Bruce is his usual brusk, no-nonsense about it, butTony can see there’s already some kind of plan in the making. “I can seewhy the two of them have such a hard time with you.”

“Says the guy thatneeded an emergency arthroscopy for meniscus tears.”

“Then I guess I’m verylucky you were in town.”

Tony hums, but hiseyes are sparkling. “How is the knee doing by the way?”

“It hurts when I breaksomeone’s jaw. Other than that, it’s fine.” And because it’s Bruce, he wavesit away without a second thought.

Tony hums again, buthis eyes go down to the knee in question.

Bruce sips his drinkagain while Alfred continues driving and Tony makes him wait for it.

Finally, once they’repassing the old Mylar building, B looks at him head-on, “all right. What did hehave to say?”

Trying not to grin,Tony shrugs a shoulder, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. Drake is staying inGotham, even with the more-than-generous offer I’ve made him. Believe me, B,I’m not happy about it, but he doesn’t seem too keen on leaving Mercy General.”

And as Tony is well-awarein their long and industrious friendship, the real Bruce Wayne is like a closedbook, doesn’t let even the smallest twitch break his facade (well, except infront of his boys, which is when BatDad makes an appearance), but thesigns of relief are really hard to miss for someone that literally kept B’sright arm moving after that rotator cuff injury.

“Dick and Jay will behappy to hear that, I suppose.” Tony observes with false cheer becausehonestly, who wouldn’t put two and two together at this juncture.

(Bruce isn’t the onlydetective. As a surgeon, Tony has to deduce with little evidence, so it’s notreally a shocker to find out the vigilantes have a doctor for a sweetie. Smartmove all around.)

“…yes, they will.Tim…?”

“He didn’t have to.You just told me yourself, Mr. Wayne.”

At the frown, Tonygives himself a mental point. The day he can get one up on the Batman is reallya day he needs to remember.

“All right, fine. Jayand Dick might have mentioned he’s been getting attention outside Gotham. I’vealready taken some steps to try making it seem like staying in the city mightbe a better deal.”

And Tony’s jaw drops,“you’ve been trying to get Mercy to partner with WE! That’s why they aren’tplaying nice with Pepper! Bruce, you devil.”

“Demon, actually, ifyou believe the stories,” and now it’s Bruce smirking into his tumbler. “We’lltalk more about it over dinner. Besides, the Batcomputer is on the fritz again.You can dazzle me over filet mignon.”

“Flatterer. How can Ipossibly say no?”

Bruce taps theintercom to tell Alfred they’re ready to go back to the Manor and Dr. Starkwill be joining them for the evening. Alfred gives him an affirmative and the planis set into motion. If there just happens to be a comfortable surfacefor Tony to pass out on during the visit, well, the pictures for Jim and Stevewould be well-worth the effort.

**

The conversation withTony didn’t end well, leaving him with a mental hangover by the time his shiftis finally over.

Night hadn’t startedbreaking away into dawn yet, so he’s still walking by dark alleys where thestreet lights are flickering.

He gets out a, “whatthe fuck–!?” before he’s just suddenly swept up off his feet by a strongarm holding him up hundreds of feet in the air.

Really, he should beused to things like this by now.

Robin undoubtedly givesno shits about how tight he’s holding onto the doctor or, the obviousdifferences in their height as punctuated by the botched landing, putting himliterally on his ass.

“Wow, thanks for the warning,Rob. I really didn’t need legs anyway.”

In some way that mightactually show he’s sorry, Robin bends down to pick up the cane and handsit over so Tim can get back on his feet.

“Alright, what’s goingon? Where are you hurt?” He doesn’t bother with niceties, just grips Robin bythe bicep and turns him, uses the cane to hold the cape out of the way. “Pleasetell me no one stabbed you because wouldn’t that just be ironic?”

He sees no blood ortorn suit. Takes a second look just to make sure.

Robin, in a creepyparody of his conversation with Tony earlier in the evening, is silent.

“Rob? Robin, what isit?”

A litany of oh shitruns through his brain pain in the form of toxins, mind control, and bloodborne pathogens (oh my).

“I have beeninformed,” the youngest vigilante starts slowly, “you are considering other opportunitiesoutside of Gotham, Drake.”

He blinks once. Doesit again while staring down at the whiteouts.

“Opportunities? Rob–Dami,what are you talking about?”

“Facilities are vyingfor you, offering you more advantages than any in Gotham possibly could.I understand the temptation of such offers–”

“Whoa, what? Wait aminute. Just. Wait.”

“However,” Robin goeson, his tone low in the night, “I am here to offer you a bargain.”

And that in no waywhatsoever sound anything less than ominous. Like, ‘I’ll promise not to takeout your spleen’ kind ominous.

He leans down a littleso the crime fighter doesn’t have to look up at him, “First: yes, I’ve gottensome job offers. It’s nice they’re thinking of me, really, but those offers arebased off a one-time emergency incident, not because they’ve seen me inaction or know anything about my…hobbies. They’re not offering a jobto me, Dami. Do you get that?”

The ensuing silenceand Bat-stillness are signs of the younger processing.

“Besides, I choseto come back to Gotham when I could have gone pretty much anywhere after myinternship with Stark Medical. You have no idea how many places wantedme on staff after I survived Tony Stark. If I wanted a job outside of the city,I could have had it in spades. The point is I chose to be here. I wantedto stay, and that? Isn’t going to change, okay? No bargains, no threats,nothing. I’m not leaving–”

He stops himselfbefore saying I’m not leaving Dick and Jay because really, he isnot, repeat Not talking to Dami about his relationship. Poor kid mightbe traumatized for life, so nope, not happening.

(Their last littleconvo to the vibe of ‘harm my brother and I shall eviscerate you per one ofyour textbooks. I shall do it slowly and methodically. Your screams would nottrouble me’ turned into a pretty good discussion on the best possiblescenario in effectively ripping someone’s spine out. His argument against thelogistics of it had spurned Robin out of the killing mood).

The obvious relief inthe small crime fighter is right there in how his shoulders sag just slightly.

“So, you’re going tohave to put up with me saving your ass when you do stupid shit like take on anarmy of zombified Jokers without backup.”

“Then…I shall haveno other option but to deal with your meddling when necessary,” the youngerwaves off his concern, but a corner of his mouth is tilted up just enough tonotice.

**

It’s really nice ofDami to drop him off on his fire escape. Walking would have been fine, but whenyou can travel Air-Robin, well, why not?

He pushes his windowup and gingerly eases in, maneuvering the cane to steady his leg. Hands are onhim before his head is inside and he wacks himself a good one in surprise.

Dick is smiling gentlydown at him, still gripping his elbow to steady him.

“That sounded like ithurt,” is a failed attempt at a joke because the mirth doesn’t reach the darkblue of Dick’s eyes.

Oh. OH. Welp, that’swhere Dami got this nonsense from, is it?

His stern lecture isgoing to have to wait for at least one cup of half-way decent coffee because hereally need to wind it up so the message hits home.

Jay is already there,his chair pulled out from the kitchen table and the pot filled with somethingdarker than the night.

“Hi honey,” he tiredlycalls, “did my boys have a good time kicking the shit out of bad guys tonight?”

Making grabby hand athim, Dick is one of his hugging moods, and pretty much lifts him off hisfeet to nuzzle/carry him to the table where blessed coffee awaited. Fine.Lecture pending.

He gets a last goodnuzzle to the face before the smell of pizza hits and a plate appears in frontof him. Jason leans down to blow a breath across his jugular before his mouthpresses just enough to be a kiss, the usual effect takes his nerve endings up anotch or two before the tease pulls away.

The three of them eatin sluggish silence, the strain of their night jobs hitting a little close tohome. The call of a communal shower and their large, comfortable bed a siren’ssong to the over-worked, sleep-deprived do-gooders.

But Tim knows them bynow, knows what’s already running them further down.

Through the last yearof their relationship, they’d already been through the whole we’re puttingyou in danger just by being with you argument.

Yes, yes it possiblywas.

Yes, he is fullyaware.

Yes, he can make hisown choices fuck you very much.  Apparently, his no, not changing mymind is going to come out for a second time tonight.

“Robin picked me up onthe way home,” he starts out while the two of them are finishing up and lookingless likely to start up arguing before he’s made his point.

“Dami was still out?”

“What? Baby Bat ain’tget enough in that warehouse down on 23rd?”

Tim finishes off hiscoffee and finally sets his eyes on first Jason and then Dick. “Going to ask mewhat he wanted?”

Both crime fighters gostill, doing that eye slide thing they can still pull off with a domino andhelmet.

“Lay it on us,Timmers.”

“He pretty much askedwhat offer I was accepting for some mystery job half a continent away,”and now he’s glaring, eyes narrowing when Dick looks quickly away and Jasonsits back with a tense jaw jutting out.

“Which is absolutelyfucking ridiculous considering I like right where the hell I am.Where could he have heard such a thing, I wonder?”

Oh yeah, that’s Dick’sguilty expression.

“It’s fine if theywant to offer me a position, but the nice thing about it is that I can politelydecline, you know.”

“Top twenty facilitiesin the world, Timmy?” Dick’s voice is softer than he’d like, shakingly unsurefor a vigilante that literally risks his life every night to keep peoplehe doesn’t even know safe. “That’s not something to take…lightly.”

His mouth drops openwith an are you even kidding me?

“‘Sides,” Jayintejects without really looking at him, “ain’t like this is the fucking centero’ the world fer a fella like you, Sweets. Smart, sassy, moves like yerass is on fucking fire when someone’s on the line. Ya got moreguts than anyone outta the cape I ever met.”

“Gotham doesn’t haveto be the hill you die on,” Dick picks up, looking down into the sludge left atthe bottom of his coffee mug, “we would absolutely understand andsupport you if you even wanted to look into any of these places–”

“Even go ta seewhatcha might be lookin’ at,” Jay shrugs indifferently, “make sure ya’d findsomewhere safe ta build a nest.”

“The kind oftechnology they could offer you would be, like, ground-breaking stuff and…andGotham just can’t give you that, Tim.”

“No motherfuckersgonna break inta yer shit, I guaran-fucking-tee ya on that.”

“It’s not just beingin the ER or in surgery, it’s moving up to management or teaching or being afull-time researcher with grants and–and everything.”

“Make a safe routethere n’ back, you feel me? Me n’ Dickie’ll scope it out a few days, check the scene.”

“We would never wantto hold you back, baby. Not when the only thing Gotham has to offer you isexploding bridges and insane mad men that kidnap you and ninjas that are readyto attack at any second, and…and Timmy, you could never be safe, notreally, not here. Not even with us and B and Dami and everyone else,it’ll never be completely safe for you.”

“But fucking believeit, Timmers, we’ll make any place ya wanna lay yer head down as safe as wecan, yeah?”

“We…we love you, andwe want the best for you.”

“If leavin’ is what’sbest, Sweets, then we’ll make it fucking happen.”

It’s DIck’s voicecracking and Jay’s shiny, averted eyes that end it for him right then andthere.

He shoves himself upfrom the table abruptly, a jarring motion. The sound of the chair fallingbackwards a loud clatter against the softness of their voices. He keeps a handon the table top to walk around the damn thing and almost strangle Jason bylooping an arm around the base of his throat and pull the Red Hood into hischest. He holds out his other hand to Dick, glaring with the best of hisabilities.

It’s a tremulous thingwhen Dick rises tiredly out of his seat and takes that hand, lets Tim pull himover and secure the both of them to him.

“I’m going to say thisbecause it’s obvious the two of you are too tired to use your detective skillsfor anything more than superficial clues.”

Slowly, Jay’s face isin his stomach, arms wrapping around his waist while Dick secures his chest,the two of them almost holding him up.

“After all thefighting I’ve had to do to get here, to get this far, I’m not giving up jackshit. I run the gauntlet because that exactly where I want to be. I staywith my people because that’s my fucking team and no, I don’t wantor need another. I can watch Layla grow up into this kick ass little person andmake sure Steph has someone to Netflix and chill with while we kill a pint ofBen & Jerry’s. But what matters the most, what I can’t fucking give upis being here with the two of you in whatever capacity I can. Asyour boyfriend, as your surgeon, as the guy that is totally, you know, inlove with you. As someone that can share your lives like this. All of it isexactly what I want and what I get to choose. You two? Don’t get to tellme what’s best for me. I decide that. Got it?”

The quiet, still menattached to him give half-shuffling nods where they’re buried in him.

“I don’t want to hearanything else about leaving Gotham, like at all, okay? The answer is no.I’m not going anywhere to tour the facilities or listen to stupid speechesabout what they have to offer or how good the benefits package is. None of thatshit. They can’t offer me my ER, they can’t offer me time doing research in theBatCave, they can’t let me play around with alien DNA for a minute, and theycan’t give me you two. So? No. Case closed.”

Dick lets up justenough for him to tilt Jay’s head back and lean down to slide their lipstogether, giving the Red Hood a little something to seal the deal. Those eyesare bluer when he pulls back, making him smirk before he straightens up to giveDick the same treatment.

(Because they’re bothtall, he has to pull them down to effectively fuck his tongue in their mouths.Such a pain in the ass.)

When he pulls back,Dick gasps in a little, tightens his hold around Tim’s chest.

But the reliefpervades the air between them, giving him a reason to go a little more lax,just to feel them pretty much ready to hold him up completely.

“So the plan is,”he continues easily, one hand on the back of Jay’s neck to rub the tensionaway, and the other gripping Dick’s wrist tight enough to bruise tomorrow, “weget a nice, hot shower with plenty of scrubbing and maybe a little play time.Then, we climb in bed and pass the fuck out. You can fix your suits tomorrow,and we’ll all feel up to having dangerous acrobatic vigilante sex after about eight hours. If you’re both good,I’ll…I’ll wear that thing you got me for my birthday. Deal?”

He knows he’s alreadygot their acquiescence when both his boyfriends noticeably perk.

“That sounds like adeal to me,” Dick tries to be mock-grave, but he’s laughing in the back ofTim’s neck, running his nose over the knob of bone.

“Fucking righteous,Sweetheart. I been waiting ta see that.” Jay is grinning up at him with thatlook– all kinds of anticipation without any of the previous hesitation.

“Good. Peel yourselvesoff of me and lets get naked. For mostly clean purposes. Or not. Really, I’mpretty beyond compromised, so I’d probably like to make you both come at leastonce before I’m unconscious.”

“Sweet-talker,” Dickteases and steps to the side so he can be the first to lift their civilianboyfriend up in a princess hold that has become way too reminiscent in the pasttwo months.

“He’s just talkin’ my language, ‘at’s all, Baby Boy,” Jaystands to give him a fast n’ dirty before he gets their mugs to the sink andfills them with water to wash tomorrow. He hits the lights and follows his boysdown the hallway where slippery skin and things like I’m not giving upare waiting.

[irphanfic]

Moonshot - Chapter 5

Hey! So this has been a very busy week for me but I hope you like the new update! I have been writing like crazy this two days and I think you will enjoy it.

Anyways, any type of feedback/comment is welcome!

summary: Phil had a feeling that this Friday was going to be different.

That didn’t mean he was ready to meet his favourite baseball player, Daniel Howell, while he was cleaning the windows of a building.

or the au in which Phil is a shy window cleaner and Dan is a famous baseball player. This is their story.

words: 3.1k

trigger warnings: panic attacks

Read on ao3 - (x)

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Texts And Cafés

Two weeks. They had been texting each other for two full weeks non stop and Dan had never felt so attached to any person this way. Not even his team mates or even his own family.

Phil was such an easy person to talk to. He didn't know why, but both could talk for hours and not get tired of it. Maybe because he had never had this kind of strange connection and compatibility with someone before.

Even when Phil texted some random animal fact at 3pm on a Thursday or sent him a weird internet meme that he had seen on Twitter, Dan couldn't be happier. Even his team mates had noticed he was feeling more cheerful, and by the few hints he had told them, they could guess it had to do something with a crush.

A smile creeped into his face as he recalled the first time he had heard Phil's northen voice through the speaker. It had totally been an accident, as Phil explained later in their call, but somehow he had managed to dial Dan by sitting unintentionally on his phone, a fact that keep them both laughing for almost twenty minutes.

He didn't waste time complimenting Phil's accent after their laughs died down just to hear a light chuckle from the other line that, even though Dan couldn't see, he was sure Phil had blushed and smiled shyly at the same time.

How he missed that smile and those eyes... Just having conversations with the blue eyed wasn't enough for Dan. He wanted to talk to him face-to-face, stare at his expressions as he told him childhood stories he had been wanting to hear.

He needed to see Phil. And soon.

But what if Phil didn't want to meet him in person because of his fame? Maybe he was scared of the media or even Dan... What if he dissapointed Phil or bothered him by his presence?

''Howell! Stop daydreaming! It's your turn now!'' His coach's voice startled him from his thoughts, looking apologetically at him and walking embarrassedly to the field.

Dan tried to concentrate, but thoughts of Phil kept coming at the same speed of the balls that were being thrown at him. He tried to get all the battings and throws right, but it was not working. He was missing almost every single one and coach kept shouting at him, which was not helping at all on his effort to be focused. He could feel his team mates gaze on him, as if they were judging him for not being professional enough.

His breath started to quicken, short and shaky puffs of air were making his body tremble badly. Dan could feel it, his throat was closing and wanted to scream for help but no sound was coming out... Was he having a panic attack ? He hadn't had one in years and it was happening to him now in the middle of practice? It was a nightmare. He wanted to get out of here as fast, but his feet nor legs were responding.

His baseball bat fell down on the sandy area, hitting his toes in the process but he couldn't even feel the pain. ''No, no, no, c'mon, calm down'' he whispered to himself in a quivering voice, but it did nothing. Also, hearing the murmurs of his team mates wasn't helping either...

Suddenly a voice was softly calling him. Dan recognized it, even though it wasn't really clear he knew it belonged to Eric, who was in front of him, holding him by the shoulders, ''Hey, Dan, I'll take you to the lockers, okay?''

Dan just nodded and tried to focus on what Eric was telling coach, but his gaze and ears were not cooperating, making him hear and see all blurry.

He could feel Eric's hand on his bicep, dragging him out of the field, reaching the locker room and sitting him down on one of the benches, handing him a paper bag he had somehow found around there so Dan could even his breathing that was already coming down to normal.

''Better?'' Eric asked him once he had managed to calm down, sitting down on the same bench but keeping a safe distance between both.

''Yeah... '' Dan coughed a bit, sipping a bit of water from a bottle his team mate handed him, instantly feeling the coolness down his throat, feeling a bit better, ''thank you for taking me here, I... I... I don't know what happened, really. But, thank you.''

They both knew it was a lie, but Dan didn't have enough energy to explain. He wanted to go home and curl up on his sheets for at least three days...

''Don't worry, I understand.'' Eric stood up, offereing him a small smile with sympathy before walking to his locker and picking up his things, ''c'mon, I told coach I would take you home for today, you are in no state to continue. You need time to relax, not think much''

Dan slowly moved his head up and down even though Eric couldn't see him, but also stood up to pick up his things.

Eric was right, he just needed to relax and not think. Could he do that?

_______________

Once Dan reached his flat he dove himself on his wide bed, face first on the pillows and slowly drifted off to sleep, trying to regain the energy he had consumed.

He woke up a few hours later, disoriented, rolling around a few times on his sheets before getting out of bed and having a quick shower, changing into his comfy pyjamas and grabbing something to eat, feeling a bit better already.

Dan walked back to his bedroom, picking up his phone from his discarded bag at the feet of his bed and lying back on his duvet, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes distractedly, just staring at nothing.

Only the vibration of his phone shook him from his blank thoughts, a text notification from Phil coming in, a small smile already showing on his face.

He lifted his phone up so he could read the text, putting the gadget in a risky place since it could fall on his face anytime, but Dan quickly forgot about that fact, opening the long conversation thread he already had formed with Phil.

'Did you know that a koala pregnancy only lasts 35 days and when the joey is born it's blind, hairless and is about 2 cm long?'

That silly fact about the cuddly marsupials was enough for Dan to have a grin on his face. Phil was for sure the only person who knew so many random facts.

'wow. Now I wonder what a hairless koala looks like' Dan answered, already knowing that Phil had gone on a quick quest to Google Images to show him.

'It's so weird, omg. It looks cute, but weird anyway.' was Phil's next text, a photo of a small koala folded in some blankets but no hair around.

Dan chuckled, it was strange for sure. Follwing the topic of pictures, it had been a while since Phil had sent him fluffy puppy pictures, he could have some sweet dog pics after the day he had had.

'I miss your dog pictures :(' Dan typed, but before he could send it he felt a sneeze coming through and before he could stop it, his phone had slipped from his hand and landed on his face, hitting his nose hard, not being able to catch it on time.

''Ouch! It hurts!'' Dan said loudly, gently touching his nose with his fingers and checking it hadn't been that bad. It wasn't bleeding so it was a good sign.

Dan put some pillows against his headboard and sat straight, not risking anymore having his phone up by his face. By the way, where was his phone?

He spotted it screen down by his left, picking it up and re-reading what he had sent, expecting to find a dog photo as a response.

''No. No, no, no,'' Dan repeated, lifting his messy curls from his forehead as a nervous gesture, ''this cannot be happening.''

In the middle of all the sneezing he had manage to erase half of his message when the phone slipped from his hands, and instead of a 'I miss your dog pictures :(' he had managed to send a contextless 'I miss you'.

Dan couldn't believe it. He was going to scare Phil for sure... Even though he really missed him he hadn't planned to send him this kind of message anytime soon!

He was going to type another text, explaining what had really happened when a new message from Phil popped up.

'I miss you too. It has been a while since we have seen each other'

'What!? He missed him too!?' Dan jumped at the message, seriously freaking out. He didn't expect that text from Phil, not at all. He couldn't have guessed in a million years that Phil was also missing him. He wasn't used to people missing him, wanting to see him.

Dan smiled softly at that. They missed each other and even though it had been on accident, he was glad they had both managed to confess something they wouldn't had admited.

Once Dan had somehow calmed down, he was ready to text back. Should he ask Phil to meet him in person? Was he ready after all that happened at practice? He had to deal with it sometime and even if he liked it or not, Dan had to face Phil in person sometime, and if Phil was disappointed that's something he would have to accept.

'Wanna meet sometime this week?' Dan left his phone fast as soon as it delivered, as if it burned and was afraid to know Phil's response, which came through a few seconds later.

'If you want to, sure! I have the perfect place. Are you free on Saturday?'

_______________

Saturday arrived and Phil was waiting for Dan the cozy vintage-y café that he found once while strolling mindlessly one cold November day, nursing a capuccino as he wrote the next lines of a horror story he had been wanting to put into paper. Phil had had this place in mind when Dan messaged him about meeting each other. The delicious warm drinks mixed with the homely and private maroon coloured booths were really a win-win.

He was kind of surprised when Dan told him he missed him, but Phil didn't question it. He didn't felt brave enough to admit it and when he saw the message he saw the perfect opportunity to express his feelings.

Phil was a bit nervous, he had to admit. He was really meeting Daniel Howell for real now, but tehy had been talking for so long that it felt they had been long lost friends by now, but that didn't erase the fact that Dna was a famous baseball player... 'It is just Dan. The one that loves Mario Kart and anime the same amount as you Dan.' Phil thought, but it wasn't really helping.

Shaking that though out of his head Phil looked at his phone to check the time and saw it was a few minutes past five, meaning Dan should be here soon.

After grabbing another sip of his coffee, the blue eyed began writing again, slowly developing the story he had in mind, getting so lost in the words that he didn't even manage to notice the shadow that appeared next to him till he heard a cough followed by a shaky voice?

''Excuse me, is this seat taken?''

Phil looked up at the voice and noticed a nervous smiley Dan looking at him as he put down his cup of coffee on the table, looking as if he wanted to hug him next but didn't know how to do so, opting to fidget with his fingers, trying to restrain himself from reaching out.

'Why does he seem so nervous? It's me who should be, not him. I'm just Phil!' was all the blue eyed thought, not really understanding why, but before he could think more about it his excitement won the battle against his worries and stood up from the booth, exclaiming a cheerful ''Dan! You are here!'' not too loudly so it wouldn't attract attention.

''Hi Phil,'' Dan greeted him properly, looking directly into his eyes ''I... I'm glad you agreed to meet me.''

''Of course, why wouldn't I?'' Phil questioned, cocking his head to the side a bit, ''I'm glad you agreed to meet me of all!''

Dan averted his gaze to his feet, shrugging his shoulders as if also hesitating to tell Phil what was the reason why he had said that. ''I don't know. Because I thought maybe you would feel pressured because of my fame or something...'' he muttered, his voice almost quiet but continued, ''I mean, I'm not that famous, but still, even though we have been talking a lot you might have another image of me that the media portrayed, so yeah, I might be disappointing... '' Dan rambled, finishing with a sigh.

''Oh,'' Phil let out, surprised. Dan though he might be bothered by his celebrity status, but no, Phil wouldn't believe anything he read or see on the tabloids. He had a pretty idolized image of Dan before he meet him, per se, but after all they had talked he couldn't even think about the possibility of not wanting to see him because of it. Dan was even more nice than he could have ever imagined, it would never let Phil down.

That's when he realized Dan might be more insecure than he let on. He was a person, he had emotions like everyone else, and Phil believes sometimes they didn't even care about Dan's feelings just because he was famous.

''Dan,'' Phil called him, waiting for the warm brown eyes to meet his, ''You could never disappoint me, not after meeting you for real.''

With that, Phil opened his arms, giving Dan the chance to back down if he didn't want a hug, but by the smile that appeared on Dan's face, he had made the right choice.

Both hugged for a few minutes, their chins resting on the other's shoulder, and Phil felt how Dan squeezed a bit, trying to bring him closer...

They separated, mirroring smiles on their faces as they sat down on the comfy booth, sides touching but looking at each other attentively as they started talking about mindless things, catching up on what they hadn't been able to text.

For hours, light hand touches and caresses where traded, just as pink cheeks and toothy grins.

Phil found out that afternoon that saying goodbye was hard, even if you knew you were going to see that person again.

_______________

''Phil, do you have any snacks left?'' Martyn asked from the doorway of Phil's lounge room, not getting much of a response since Phil was lying down on the couch, crazily texting someone on his phone, a dumb smile on his face.

''Phil, are you even listening to me?'' Martyn repeated, getting just silence as a response.

''Phil! Your ceiling is falling down!'' this time Martyn screamed, finally getting a reaction from Phil, who left his phone rapidly on the sofa and sat straight up.

''What!? What is falling down!?'' the younger Lester screamed back, sobering up as he saw Martyn laugh. ''It's not funny!'' Phil threw his brother a cushion, hitting him on the chest before he let him sit down next to him.

''You weren't listening and I had to catch your attention somehow! Your face, oh my God'' Martyn tried to calm down a bit, ''By the way, who were you texting that had you smiling down at your phone like that, uh?'' he elbowed Phil on the ribs, who squirmed a bit trying to get away from his brother.

Phil blushed a bit and denied messaging someone, but his brother didn't buy it and kept insisting, finally making Phil give up, ''I was texting Dan, okay? Stop it!''

''Wait,'' Martyn sobered up instantly, ''Dan as in Dan Howell? You have his phone number and text each other? Why didn't I know about this again!''

Phil shrugged, ''It never came up, I guess.''

''Still, is there anything else you haven't told me related to Dan?''

''Well... We talked, finally meet in person, had coffee and keep talking, that's all.'' Phil said as if it wasn't a big deal. He left out the fact that they hugged, he believed Martyn couldn't handle tat much info.

''You meet!? Are you telling me you meet in person!?'' his brother's offended tone made Phil chuckle. He really needed to speak to Martyn more.

Phil decided to tell him everything, from how they started texting till how they promised to see each other next week that Saturday at the café.

''I just... When we said goodbye, it totally felt like something more than two friend meeting, you know?'' Phil said, not really knowing how to explain.

''Like a date?'' Martyn's smile could be heard in his voice, not teasing, just happy that Phil was getting somewhere with Dan. Or at least, hoping too.

Phil nooded, ''Yeah, I mean, I knew it wasn't but, it still felt like one.'' A date. A date with Dan Howell. That would be a dream for him.

Martyn also nooded, acknowledging that same feeling he had had first with Cornelia a few years back.

''Ask him.''

''What!? I'm not gonna ask Dan freaking Howell on a date, are you out of your mind!?'' Phil said, completly rejecting the idea.

Martyn just stared at him, wanting Phil to think about the idea again.

''No. No, no, no, I'm not going to do it. I refuse.'' Phil said, shaking his head repeatedly. Just about he stopped denying, he saw the mischevious face his brother had on. ''What are yo...'' but before he could even finish, Martyn picked up his phone that had been lying between both all this time, rapidly typing something as he ran towards the front door, Phil by his heels, shouting and trying to grab his phone from his brother's hands.

''Thank me later brother'' was all Martyn said to Phil before he left the flat, tossing the phone back to his owners hands and closing the door right by Phil's nose.

Phil leaned against the wooden door and read what Martyn had sent to Dan.

'Wanna go on a date with me?'

Phil was going to kill Martyn next time. He was sure of it.

Chapter 6

[ecotone99]

[MS] Highway to Hell

Emmanuel yawned as he stuck his keys in the ignition. He put on his seatbelt, sipped his coffee, and looked off into the beautiful sunrise as he backed out of his driveway. He heads to his 9 to 5 insurance job that he ever so hates going to and drains his living soul. It was the little things like his coffee, cigarettes, and sunrises that kept him from jumping off the ledge of his apartment. Of which he would have raving fantasies of every time he got psychotically drunk.

But as he finished backing up out of his driveway he knew he was to bottle all those thoughts until he arrived at his apartment, the natural thing. He was a cog in the vast American workforce, and he was not going to disappoint. His silly, little, suicidal; blunders would make him look bad. He felt reminded of something his mother had said to him, “You’re a big boy now Manny! Being depressed and sad is for 14 year old girls. You are a 27 year old man. Get your emotions in check, your never going to go anywhere being all sad and shit.” He took that to heart.

Maybe she was right. If he kept bottling his emotions he might be happier in the end.

For he had only turned 36 last Thursday. He had begun to drive down the street, he sips his coffee, drowns himself in 90s grunge music, and of course obeys the 35 mph speed limit. He proceeds to drive the colorful route to the office that he’d become very acquainted too. As he coasted to a stop at a red light, he took a cigarette and lighter from his shirt pocket and proceeded to light up a smoke.

Everything was as normal as it ever could be. October 23rd felt the same as the 22nd, 21st, or 20th. Or it least it felt the same up until he started driving again. He noticed that the roadways were completely clear. First he felt pissed that he had to wait for nobody, but on further thought he questioned the true reasoning for this. Chills ran up and all over his body and an uneasiness swelled up inside him. Was there a holiday he wasn’t told of, martial law, a zombie apocalypse? He took a deep drag of his cigarette and turned onto the interstate.

“What the fuck!” Manny screamed as his car sped along the freeway. There was not a single car on the entire road. The road that is almost always swarming with hasty commuters was completely barren of life. He drove in the middle of the freeway and looked at the millions of white lines that are usually covered by congested traffic. He entered a trance-like state looking at all the lines whirr past him as he kicked his speed up to 90 miles per hour. And in an instant his mindless listening of Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins was interrupted.

Not by the noise of the roadway but something else. He heard some sirens, his neurons stormed away, coming up with the stupidest possible sources of the noise. That was until, he looked through his rearview mirror and noticed that an ambulance was barreling down the road. “A deadly plague!” he shouted as if it was as normal to him as eating, drinking, and pooping. Like as normal as the oat based cereal he eats for breakfast every morning. The uneasiness grew inside of him, so much so to make him sick.

When he stubbed his cigarette in his cup holder, he noticed something even more peculiar. The tip of his cigarette was smeared in blood, it looked as if a sacrifice was performed on top of the filter. He furiously began coughing and quickly knew where that blood had came from. He hacked violently as if he were a diseased dog, getting blood all over his work attire. He struggled to keep control of the steering wheel as he continued to barrel down the road at a more reasonable 75 miles per hour. The chills radiated all over his body and made him feel even more uncomfortable.

In the meantime the ambulance driver was speeding down the roadway with the same intensity of Emmanuel. As he coughed disgustingly the driver of the ambulance was steadily gaining ground on him. He questioned if that shiny; urgent looking ambulance had anything to do with the road being clear. Was he dreaming or in a drug fueled mania? The trees, the road, the cloudless sky had been reduced to nothing but a miniscule collection of blurry colors. He rested his tired left arm on the steering wheel and grabbed his coffee with the other. There was no point of steering on road in which no other cars were present, except of course the lone ambulance in tow.

He swigged his coffee and let out another bloody cough as the coffee slid down his throat. His arm was getting increasingly weak and unsteady, was this just his time or was there just something in the air? Was this a sign he wasn’t supposed to be here? The cup of coffee slipped out of his fingers and splashed all over his car radio. Kurt Cobain’s voice had been distorted by the spill, and Heart-Shaped Box now sounded like if it was possessed by Satan himself.

His head felt glued to the back of his seat, it felt as though he’d contracted ALS just on his commute to work. He felt incredibly awful, what was it that was causing this? The ambulance was now no less than 50 feet behind Emmanuel's car. His life was messed up already when he got in the car, but he hasn’t been this sick since he was a boy. He lifted his pathetically weak arm and slapped himself in the face and began to speak to himself in the 3rd person. “Come on Emmanuel, the office is only 10 minutes away.”

Dying was not something that he feared, he had contemplated it every single day, but he never figured it would be like this. He would occasionally make sarcastic comments about wanting to die on the way to work, but that was just because he hated his job. He never thought his life would end on the way to work, dying of whatever the fuck was happening to him.

Emmanuel shakened by sickness and bewildered by the mystery of it relaxes his muscles. He spends the last few moments of his life hacking blood all over his steering wheel. Both his mind and his muscles are completely relaxed. The ambulance emotionlessly creeps up on his car. It is no less than 10 feet of Emmanuel's bumper. He whimpers with the intensity of a springtime lamb and releases his foot off the pedal.

The tires of his car screech as his car rapidly loses speed. His body moves around his uncontrolled car like a sock puppet. A piece of flesh whose motions are erroneous and uncontained by pain. In the ambulance Jamaal screams “Oh my God!” He slams on his brakes but a collision is imminent. "Brace!" he signals to his co-medic to prepare for an impact.

The ambulance jams into the back of Emmanuel's car at 50 mph. His car unnaturally crumples in ways the manufacturers never intended the car to. His body is mangled around as the impact of the ambulance forces his car to come to a stop. Sparks fly from the chassis of the ambulance as if the vehicle was his ticket to hell. After a couple hundred feet of the ambulance sliding his car down the freeway. Both vehicles come to a complete stop.

The airbags activate in both Emmanuel's car and the ambulance. They both work properly but for Emmanuel it really doesn't matter too much. The paramedics are shocked, but overall grateful to be alive. "What the hell was that!?" Gabby asks Jamaal. "I don't know? Was that man on PCP or something." "I'm not sure, uhhhhh" Gabby rubs her head, she has a grueling headache. "Well" Jamaal bellows "Let's go do our jobs I guess."

The paramedics creak open their respective doors and step haphazardly on the roadway. The front of the ambulance was totaled, smoke poured out of the ambulance like a summertime bonfire. The scene of the crash is very cloudy, but the thing most present in the air is death. Jamaal violently coughs "They don't pay me enough for this shit, Gabby stay back I've got this" He ducks down as if it does something to stop him from inhaling the smoke, and walks over to the driver side door of Emmanuel's car.

When Jamaal opens the driver side door it falls over and make a metallic thump as it hits the sidewalk. More smoke comes out of the car, he takes out a mask from his pocket and equips it like if it's an everyday occurence. The smoke subsides and he sees what he sees is typical with most car crash victims. A poor soul, a busted radio, and lots of blood. He doesn't even bother to check for a pulse and drags Emmanuel out of the car by his bloody and freezing arm.

He drags him to a part of the road that isn't crowded by smoke, a place where he can safely exercise his profession. "Gabby, please be a dear and get a clipboard and body bag from the back. "Ok!" she yells and robotically does what Jamaal asks of her. She walks around to the back of the smoking ambulance and swings open the back doors. They eerily twing as she opens them and the unsettling sight of the splattered and maimed medical supplies gives her the creeps. She shutters as she steps in the ambulance and grabs the clipboard off the ambulance counter.

Under the counter which had become partially detached during the crash is the conveniently placed bodybag. She grabs that in her free hand and scurries out of the ambulance as fast as her muscles allow her to do. Car crashes and car crash victims were not something alien to Gabby, but her getting into an accident herself was had given her the shutters. She hopes whenever she gets back to the hospital that they don't get mad at her and Jamaal for whatever the hell happened here.

She walks along the pristine tarmac over to her co-medic Jamaal to help him deal with this dead guy. As she walks over to Jamaal she becomes less startled, the headaches and crash wasn't normal, the wrapping up and processing of a dead person was. She prepares to drown herself in her profession as she is paramedic and part of that job is not only caring for the living, but also for the dead.

"Great for you to join us, Princess Gabriella. You mind helping me with this dead guy or are you just going to stand there and look." "Yeah, yeah, yeah calm yourself King Douchebag I'm gonna help." Gabby throws the clipboard over at Jamaal who catches it as if his was born purpose. He takes his pen out of his pants pocket and gets ready to write. "Before you wrap him up do you mind getting me some sort of ID."No problem" Gabby reaches into his tattered pockets and pulls out an old Naugahyde wallet that she assumed belonged to the deceased man. She flips through the wallet sifting for ID and finds what she was looking for, a driver's license.

"His name is Emmanuel Barajas, is of Latino descent, born October 17th 1983, and is an organ donor." "Thank you, though I doubt you'll be harvesting anything useful from that man." Jamaal furiously writes the information down in the clipboard while Gabby wraps the body up. As she zips the body up and the scribbling ceases there is a moment of solemn. That strange moment of calm right after somebody leaves the Earth. Jamaal looks down at the clipboard and reads the information off the clipboard to Gabby "Emmanuel Barajas, Pronounced Dead at 8:37 AM, Cause of Death: Automobile Accident."

They stare at each others faces which at this time are soaked by the morning sun. The sun highlights their features and complexions as they rationalize the best solution on what to do. Gabby breaks the silence "So the ambulance is busted, and we're stuck on a creepily desolate roadway with some dead dude. What's you plan to get out of this." "Call up another ambulance to pick us up and bring the dead guy to the morgue. I'll call up the tow company to get these crumpled metal heaps out of the roadway." He coughs violently getting blood and phlegm all over the road. "Let's make it quick though I think I'm starting to get sick."

submitted by /u/WarioYahoo [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2QY9oqf