#writing prompt fill

[mulberry-leaves-yearn-for-envy]

Teacher Wei takes a Sick Day by The_Dark_Ghost (The_Indian_Ghost)(@theindianghost)

Wei Wuxian didn't show up to work even an hour later, when he loved his job and loved his kids and would never skip a day without informing him or the school first. So principal Nie Mingjue decides to do a house call to check on him, finds a sick Wei Wuxian, and gets more from him than he ever thought he would at the start of the day. Or: Principal Nie Mingjue does a house call to check up on teacher Wei Wuxian and ends up in bed and also in a relationship with him by the end of it. That's it that's the fic

Relationship: Nie Mingjue/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian

Tags: Sickfic, Smut, Kindergarten Teacher Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, School Principal Nie Mingjue, Sick Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Grinding, Coming In Pants, Hair-pulling, Wei Wuxian Has a Hair-Pulling Kink, Even when sick Wei Wuxian is horny af, And I don't blame him I mean look at Mingjue I'd be horny too, Literal Sleeping Together, Hand Feeding, Caretaking, Sick Character, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, unbetaed we die like wei wuxian

[mslanna]

Good morning to youuuu!! Or good night! I have a spicy idea: Raphael going through your phone and finding some spicy pictures + getting to know how to use a phone 😭🤣🤣 old man

I've Known You Only Now

I've Known You Only Now on AO3

Raphael manages to come to the material plane of earth and finds Tav at a comic con. But they remember nothing. Reverse iseaki, kinda. mangled as per usual 🤷

It is a weird place this material plane called earth. And whatever conventions are, Raphael is not sure he likes them. He ran into many people pretending to be some of his merry and of adventurers, even some how posed as himself. Which was preposterous, but he let is slip. They were all so eager. To be seen with him, talk to him, offer their souls for almost free and their bodies for even less.

Coming here was worth the trouble it had been. And then there is Tav. He'd know his little mouse everywhere. It helps that they wore the impossibly underpowered armour of their first meeting. Raphael smiles at the memory. It makes up, somewhat, for the insultingly cheap accommodation they lodge in. Not that Tav seems ashamed, considering they brought him along without much persuasion.

The mattress sinks disgracefully under his weight and there is only one chair in the tiny room. The chair, though, is stacked with clothes. Some look hauntingly familiar. Tav retired to the bathroom to slip into something more comfortable. Raphael is curious as to what that might be. The occasions on which he saw Tav in casual garments were few.

Tav being in this material plane explained where they had gone to when the elder brain exploded. Raphael refused to believe they were dead from the start. His mouse did not die. It is good to have his truth confirmed.

Not that Tav went by their name here, or seemed to what happened. Something he can certainly help with. And they are so pliable, open for his every suggestion. All it took was one conversation and Tav cancelled all their plans.

Raphael picks up the phone rectangle and scrutinises it. Tav used it to cancel their plans with their friends (immediately) to let them know they wouldn't be back until the next day.

Raphael will see about that later. First he has to reawaken Tav's memories. Maybe something he can work with is hidden in the phone The lock screen is an image of him in full armour, glowering. He appreciates. But what else hides on the device?

M for Mouse is an obvious password. The letter is also a greasy smear on the display. Raphael unlocks the phone as he observed Tav dong earleir. And stares. The home screen is a picture of him, alright, but naked and bloody. The profile is gorgeous, if he says so himself, and thankfully the image cuts of at the waist.

Unsure what to do next, the icons on the home screen don't look like anything familiar except for the musical note, Raphael swipes and gets an error message. Not his fault. Skip. He is returned to the previous screen and tries the other direction. More unknown icons. And the Gallery. His lip quirks up.

Camera is first. The folder contains random images of his little mouse, everyday items and occasions like food. He thumbs back to the gallery and opens the next folder.

Mouse on holiday with a sibling by the looks. The pictures are suffused with the bright light of southern skies and deep blue seas. Tav shines with happiness, out-radiating their sibling by ages. Raphael doesn't understand why Tav was talking about them as if the other was the good-looking one earlier.

But they like the Ocean. Good to know. Something he can work with needs be. Raphael smiles as he opens another folder. Another holiday. Same content. His little mouse looking so relaxed. They obviously need some time off. That can be arranged.

He browses more folders, wondering if he can find something spicy. A preview, so to speak. Instead, there is a folder titled "oh no" that has an image of him as thumb nail. Whatever was 'oh no' about him. Raphael fumes silently and opens the folder.

In comparison, it is huge. More images than the other folders combined, probably. And they are all of him. Raphael blinks and fast scrolls to the bottom. It takes a while, but no, all files are pictures of him. He scrolls back up slowly.

Most pictures are just him in various places, outfits, and angles. He frowns at some that show less than perfect renditions. Whatever does Tav want with those. Even more surprising are the artistic renditions. Many overemphasise the bump on his nose and the wrinkles.

And then there are – nudes. All drawn, naturally. Artistic nudes and – not so artistic ones. His eyes widen. The one thing he can say for the images is that none show him humiliated in any way. Except by depicting him in states of ungodly arousal.

Tav has drawn a crude arrow on an image that cuts off at the waist while his face shows decidedly what happened there and written in shaky letters "my head there" on it. Raphael almost blushes. That naughty little thing. The name of the file being "I Wish" adds to the overall flavour.

Reluctantly, he scrolls on, while his head provides the most delicious ideas to the scenario. Who'd have thought his little mouse was this far gone for him? Something to exploit, certainly. For his own advantage, of course; pleasure being incidental, naturally.

For his sanity and the structural integrity of his trousers, Raphael looks through the other folders. But there is nothing showing his little pet in similar situations. A shame, really. He'd like to see it. Instead there is images of Tav in different outfits and wigs. They look a little silly in most but so very happy, he cannot begrudge them.

The other little images lead to confusing places full of words and images by other people. He closes them and returns to the gallery. He's still musing over his unexpected finds when Tav re-emerges from the bathroom. They look – underwhelming, if still stunning.

Their light blue short-sleeved shirt has big white flowers patterned over it and buttons down the front. The trousers are of a light cotton, the kind that is usually held up by elastics. Raphael can't help a knowing smile.

Tav blushes a little, but keeps their trajectory and flops down next to him. They glance at the screen in his hands and let out something akin to an embarrassed chuckle. "Found my collection, huh? At least you didn't call my mum."

"I don't see that purpose contacting your mother would serve," he replies. Tav's hair is lightly damp, still, smelling of sandalwood, bergamot and cinnamon. There was no need to shower. They did it anyway. Prepared for absolutely everting, it seems.

"A truly remarkable collection. Though I hoped there might be images of you in precarious situation as well." Raphael puts an adventurous arm around the human leaning against his side.

"I'm not stupid," Tav replies.

"Only horny." He scrolls back down and relished in the delicious blush turning their face bright red. "I was offered several souls in exchange for this today."

Tav buries their face in his arm. "You got so lucky in the looks tombola."

Raphael sits back a little and takes Tav's chin between his fingers. "You really don't remember who I am, do you?"

They shake their head, eyes wide and blush giving their face an intensity that makes itself felt in less polite regions of his body.

"Let me show you." He stands and even in human form his crotch is at an unfortunate height now. But Tav stares up at him, curious and unafraid, just as he remembers. With a smile he rolls his shoulders and stretches into his cambion form.

[emperorsfoot]

re: your writing prompt post; Danger Noodle takes up knitting or sewing, struggles a little bc of his snake hands, makes his dads Dare handmade gifts

Noodle was having the absolute damndest time!

He way trying to learn a yarn craft. Danger Noodle started off with knitting, but when that proved too difficult he switched to crochet; but crochet was shaping up to be too difficult too!

It wasn't that Noodle didn't understand the concept of looping the yarn and pulling the thread through. It was that his body was not built for this very human (and humanoid) craft.

Danger Noodle was a Snakeman. He stood and walked upright like a humanoid, but he was a snake and so did not have arms. Instead, he had four extra serpentine necks that ended in equally serpentine mouths. He did not have hands or fingers to hold the yarn and crochet hook with.

One of his adopted fathers, Tri-Klops made prosthetic hands for him. They were an attachment of his armor. Metal plated sleeves that hugged his extra snake-necks together on either side to give him the silhouette of arms, and both 'arms' ended in three toggle-like fingers that Noodle could manipulate mechanically with the mouths of his snakeheads inside the sleeves.

But the toggle-like fingers did not serve well for something that required fine motor skills like knitting.

Crochet he thought would be easier, you were just pulling the yarn through the loop to make another loop. Much simpler than knitting. But even crochet was proving to be difficult.

In his frustration, Noodle pried his armor off to try and hold the hook and yarn with his snake mouths. But now the yarn was getting caught on his fangs!

Noodle just wanted to make handmade gifts for his dads and his secret-boyfriend, Prince Dare.

Was that so much to ask?

Since he wanted it to be a surprise, Noodle couldn't ask his dads for advice. Tri-Klops might be able to think of a solution for the issue of fine motor control with his prosthetic fingers, but then Tri-Klops would know. Tri-Klops and Trap Jaw told each other everything, and so if Noodle told Tri-Klops, then Trap Jaw would know too and the surprise would be spoiled for both dads. Noodle had to ask someone else.

Beastman knew how to crochet, and knit. Both. He made baby blankets for both Danger Noodle and Prince Malkyn when they were still babies. Noodle could ask Beastman for advice on how to do the craft. But Beastman was also not known for his description and might carelessly blab to Noodle's dads. As helpful as Beastman might be, Noodle couldn't go to him either.

There was only one other person Noodle could think of that might be able to help him.

Danger Noodle went to Zalesia.

Zalesia was a ruin far to the south of Snake Mountain. At one time it was thriving metropolis, but now it was a labyrinthine warren hurried under the sand. The only part of the once great city that remained on the surface was the giant stone sculpture of a ram skull, the head of Zalesia's Goddess, Bash-Or. The massive ram skull also served as the entrance that lead into the cavernous ruins bellow.

Inside the ruins, Noodle was met by the Faceless One.

The Faceless One had been the last King of Zalesia, the one who oversaw the city's fall. For his failure to protect his city, the Faceless One was cursed with immortality. He was confined to the ruins of the city he could not protect and spent the last 1000 years being its caretaker. He must have picked up some skills in that time. If for no other way than to pass the time.

"I don't usually see you here without my grandson." Commented the Faceless One.

That was true, Noodle's best friend, Prince Malkyn, was the Faceless One's grandson. Noodle only knew the Faceless One because Malkyn brought Noodle with him when he visited Zalesia. Sometimes, when they were younger and the adults had Evil Warrior missions that were dangerous, all the adults sent their kids to Zalesia with Malkyn to be watched over by the Faceless One while their parents fought. All of the New Evil Warriors knew the Faceless One.

But they didn't usually come to Zalesia without Malkyn.

Noodle held up his incomplete and misshapen crochet project. It was supposed to be a cap for Trap Jaw to wear under his helmet. But it looked like a lumpy wide-net sack. Something to catch fish with, not something to be worn on a head.

"I'm trying to learn a new skill." Noodle explained. "But-"

He held two of his long serpent necks out so the Faceless One could see that he had mouths instead of hands at the ends of them.

"I'm having trouble just holding to hook and the yarn." He finished.

The Faceless One was hard to read. True to his name, he did not have a face, and so there was no expression on his sanded smooth head for Noodle to read.

Noodle stood with bated breath and slightly apprehensive.

Another reason he did not usually visit Zalesia without Malkyn was because Noodle was afraid the Faceless One did not like him.

Danger Noodle might have been adopted and raised by Trap Jaw and Tri-Klops, but his biological father was King Hiss. A thousand years ago, it was the very same King Hiss who razed Zalesia. Noodle was the son of the man who destroyed the Faceless One's city. The Faceless One was an immortal ghost because of Noodle's father.

Noodle tried to give the Faceless One his space.

It was impossible to say exactly what the Faceless One was looking at since he had no eyes. But he did tilt his head down at the incomplete and lumpy crochet cap, then lifted it to look at Noodle's face.

"What tool are you using?" Asked the Faceless One.

Noodle pulled out his crochet hook.

The Faceless One shook his bare head. "That is shaped for a human hand. You need a hook adapted for a hand with no fingers."

The Faceless One trend around and started drifting down a corridor.

Was Noodle supposed to follow him?

Noodle did follow the Faceless One. In his 1000 years of haunting, the Faceless One had cleared the passages of debris, excavated some of the buildings, restored some parts of the ruins, and started using some chambers as storage for artifacts while he cleared out the places they were supposed to go.

It was one of these storage rooms the Faceless One led Noodle too.

"In Zalesia, sometimes, people would be born with their fingers fused together." Explained the Faceless One. "Or someone might lose one or more fingers to accident or violence. The Shepherdesses redesigned tools so that people who didn't have all five fingers could still do things."

From out of a trunk, the Faceless One pulled out a bulbous handle that looked like a fat teardrop shaped from wood, and coming out of the tapered end of the teardrop was a metal hook, like a crochet hook.

"Try using this." Suggested the Faceless One.

Noodle accepted the adapted crochet hook and had to admit that, yet, the thicker shaper was more comfortable to hold in one of his hand-mouths. He tried doing one stitch as an experiment. Now that it was more comfortable to hold, Noodle found that he also had better control over the yarn too.

"This one is an antique." Said the Faceless One. "If you are willing to wait, I shall made a reproduction for you out of new materials that you can take with you back to Snake Mountain."

-

A better tool was not the sole fix, but it did set Noodle in the right direction. Now that it was comfortable for him to make stitches, and had better control over the yarn, all it took was some more practice and Noodle became proficient enough at crochet that he was able to make grifts for both his dads and his secret boyfriend in time for Lifeday.

A cap for Trap Jaw to wear under his helmet.

A cozy to put around his visor when he wasn't wearing it for Tri-Klops.

For Dare, Noodle made a scarf and gave Dare very clear instructions not to wear it to the battlefield. If any of Noodle's friends saw it, they would recognize it, and then their secret relationship would be exposed.

And, Noodle also made cap for the Faceless One. He didn't need it, the Faceless One did not get cold. It was not a practical gift for the undead sorcerer. But Noodle wanted to thank the Faceless One for the adapted crochet hook, and also show him how much better he'd gotten.

Noodle liked to think the Faceless One liked his gift. He was wearing it the next time Malkyn brought him to the ruins.

Noodle didn't mention it and neither did the Faceless One, but Noodle liked to think they understood each other.

END

[sofullofloveicould]

march writing challenge 2023 - day 19

shuffle your playlist seven times

The sound of a car horn blaring wakes me up, and I blearily rub my eyes against the sunlight streaming through the still-open windows. 

My head hurts, dimly, in a raw kind of way, and my hair smells like cheap tequila. The air is warm for March, but a breeze floats through and makes me slink back further into my bedspread.

It’s with that movement that I realize I’m still wear whatever I went out in last night, what’s essentially a bedazzled bikini running uncomfortably against my skin. I don’t remember much, just a vague sense of bright lights and shaking music. I find a glass of water sitting next to my charging phone, and I gulp it down gratefully as I check my text messages. 

There’s one from someone named Chase, a simple call me x. 

I delete the conversation and the contact and call Laurie instead. She picks up on the third ring.

"Girrlll, you were WILD last night!" She's doing something else in the background, with her phone likely propped up against something as she does her neurotic post-night-out cleaning.

"Shit, was I?" I roll out of bed and strip the gemstone-studded clothing off, tossing it into the ever-growing "to be washed" pile. "Don't remember squat."

"No fucking way, I mean we all were on the juice las' night, but you must've had like fifteen before some fuckwad took you home."

I run my fingers through my hair. It's tangled in the back, into one matted deadlock. "Was his name Chase?"

"Might've been. Some blonde bodybuilder type. Rich daddy, too. Did he not stay 'till morning?"

"Of course not." I slip into a clean pair of sweatpants and a sports bra, picking up some random discarded trash from when I had stumbled back last night. "Filled me up a water, though. Texted me asking to call."

"Don't" Laurie says in that no-nonsense way of hers. "Chivalry is dead."

I wasn't gonna, considering that I don't even remember if he was good or not. "Of course not. He couldn't've handled me anyway."

@deity-prompts credit for the prompt list

[raven0the0writer]

The boy wakes up, looking around his all too familiar room, and sighs before rolling out of his nest of blankets to get up. He’s not sure how long it will be before his father comes back, but he knows he must be ready. He heads for the bucket of water and starts scrubbing his skin with the rough cloth on the side. After a few minutes, he decides that’s good enough and starts on his hair. It’s a little difficult given that it goes halfway down his back, but he manages to get it relatively clean. He dresses and puts the thin cloth over his eyes. His father doesn’t like to see his eyes. All that’s left to do now is wait, so he sits in his nest and watches the door through the threads of the cloth.

Not very much time passes before his father comes. His father inspects him, then signals him to follow before leaving the room. What? Father has never allowed him to leave the room before. His chest is tight as he tentatively follows, careful to go slow just in case this isn’t what he’s supposed to do so Father has plenty of time to tell him to stop.

He passes the threshold to see Father standing there, looking annoyed and impatiently tapping his foot before he gestures for him to keep following and hurry up. So he hurries and walks right behind Father.

They walk down a hall of natural wood planks and nothing on the walls, not even windows. They pass a door every so often but Father’s stride never slows. Until they reach a wide staircase leading to an entryway. A heavy wooden door is all that stands between them and the outdoors. At the bottom of the stairs is a woman in a simple gray dress with long sleeves and skirts to her feet. Her light brown hair falls around her pale face and down her torso to her waist. Her golden eyes focus on him and he gasps before he can help himself. His father turns, enraged by the noise, and lifts his hand. He flinches away, but the strike he was expecting never comes. Carefully, he slowly opens his eyes to see the woman holding father’s wrist and glaring at him, her eyes slightly glowing. “We have a deal Mr. Acarn” she sternly declared, not releasing his wrist, “500 gold for the boy, unharmed.” His father wrenches his wrist out of her grasp, but nods curtly. What is she talking about? Did his father sell him? Why would he do that? Hasn’t he been good? He does everything he’s supposed to! He keeps himself clean, he wears the scratchy cloth on his eyes, he never speaks, he never asks for anything.

His vision blurs as his chest gets tighter and tighter. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t BREATHE! His arms wrap around his torso as he curls protectively over himself. He hears a wet gasping sound. Is that him? No, it couldn’t be him, he doesn’t make noise. It can’t be him, because his father would be angry, and if his father was angry, his father would be hitting him. He feels the wood of the house on his butt and left side. Is he sitting down? When did that happen? He still hears the gasping, but now he hears something else. Someone is talking to him. It doesn’t sound like Father. It’s higher and gentler. Someone is rubbing his back. Aren’t touches supposed to hurt? Why doesn’t this hurt? He feels arms wrap around him and he panics, trying to struggle away, but then the murmuring starts again, and the arms are being gentle too. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but eventually he calms down enough to look around. Father is nowhere to be seen, but the woman is sitting with him with her arms curled around him protectively, her chin on his head, and her hands are rubbing soothingly on his left arm. He’s clutching her dress. When did he start clutching her? Then he hears what she’s saying, what she’s been saying, “It’s ok, you’re ok now, no one will hurt you again. You’re safe now, you have nothing to be scared of. I’ll protect you.” What? She’s going to protect him? From what? Why did she think he needed protecting? Is he allowed to ask? She seems to realize he’s calmed down now and pulls back to look him in the face, but her hands never leave his arms, her thumbs rubbing circles on his upper arms. “Are you ok?” She asks. He’s not sure what to say. Is he allowed to say anything? Better safe than sorry, he nods. “Ok, that’s good, let’s get you out of here. Do you want to take off your blindfold? It’s ok if you do.” Why would she say that? Father will get mad if he takes it off. And where were they going? She seemed to sense his confusion because she tells him, “You don’t have to worry about your father anymore, he won’t hurt you ever again. You’re going to come stay with me, where you’ll be safe, and others like us live in peace.” He couldn’t believe it. Tentatively, he reached up, careful to project his every move, just in case. He unties the cloth and lets its fall. She beams at him, “Beautiful,” and reaches up to caress his cheek, “Your eyes are beautiful, young one.”

She takes his hand and helps him stand before leading him out the door. Outside, a carriage awaits, and another golden eyed person is sitting on the coach seat holding the reins to two large brown horses. She leads him to the carriage before opening the door and helping him in, then climbs in after him. After settling herself on the seat, she rests his hand around his waist and tucks him into her side. He goes willingly, burying his head in her side before quickly succumbing to the exhaustion of his earlier outburst.

She smiles fondly down at him, promising herself that nothing bad would ever happen to this little boy ever again. This young dragon would be safe as long as she had a say in it.

You, a heroic paladin have successfully slain a fearsome dragon. But the dragon warns you that death is but a door, and dragons don’t die, they reincarnate. You paid it no mind….until your son was born with golden, slitted eyes.

[hallaburger]

scars + beckett phillips/dimitri varvatos (odd hours)

It happens when Dimitri is stripping him, methodically peeling his sweat-drenched t-shirt off of his skin in the middle of the night, after Beck has woken up from his nth night terror. The war, for all its physical ravages, has left deeper wounds that Dimitri fears might never fully heal, yet he does his best to tend to them. After all, humans - even half-fey ones - are frail and their minds delicate.

"I'm not made of glass, you know," Beck mumbles in the dark of their room, shivering with the sudden air on his overheated skin.

Dimitri tosses the shirt aside and crosses to the armoire to dig out a clean one. "I know," he says gently, returning to the bed, "but is it a crime to want to take care of you? Arms up." Beck obliges with a sigh, and as Dimitri leans in to pull the shirt down, he notices something he hasn't before: a thick, silvery scar, jagged across Beck's ribs. His jaw tightens, twitches, as his eyes turn gold with fury.

"Whoa, Meetch - what's wrong?" Beck asks suddenly, tone thick with anxiety.

Dimitri doesn't realize he's snarling until then, and flinches to clear his head. He clears his throat and swallows the saliva that's filled his mouth, then reaches out with tender fingers to trace the line of the scar. "I didn't know you were hurt... when did this happen?"

Beck shivers, this time from the sensation of Dimitri's gentle touch. "Oh. Uh... actually... that's a story I should probably tell you another time. Let's just... get back to sleep, okay?"

Dodging questions may be an Olympic sport for Beckett Phillips, but Dimitri can tell that something is seriously wrong. Who is he covering for? Why? "Beck, please," he implores him in the pale moonlight. "If it's bothering you, I can help."

Beck takes the shirt from him and puts his arms through the sleeves. "Really, it's okay. It doesn't hurt."

Before he can duck his head into the neck opening, Dimitri covers the scar - or as much of it as he can - with his warm palm. Beck freezes, pinned in place as if waiting for Dimitri to make another move. They watch each other for a long, tense moment, their breath mingling between them. As he searches Beck's eyes, a sudden, horrible knowledge sinks blunt claws into Dimitri's heart. "I did this to you," he whispers, tears springing to his eyes. "When I was..."

When I was under her control.

Nausea bubbles in his stomach like a poisoned cauldron. He could have easily killed Beck, and never would have known it was his fault. Had Beck fought back? Had Beck just accepted it in order to protect him?

"Hey," Beck murmurs, covering Dimitri's hand with his own, "I promise, we'll talk about it. Just... not right now, okay? Right now, I want to spoon until we both pass out again, and then wake up in the morning and have coffee and toast and watch stupid cartoons with you. Can we do that?"

Dimitri nods, swallowing his tears and removing his hand from Beck's side. "May I kiss you?" he asks quietly, fearful of the answer. But Beck smiles and nods, and leans in to kiss his wolf, his tender hand reassuring against Dimitri's jaw. Dimitri melts against him, relief warming his veins. They settle back down in bed, Beckett's chest pressed flush against Dimitri's back, an arm wrapped around Dimitri's middle. Beck's breath tickles the back of Dimitri's neck. The room falls quiet again as Beck sleeps, and as he feels his own fatigue drawing him downward, Dimitri thinks how lucky he is that they're both alive.

beckett phillips (28, M, he/him, demifey)

dimitri varvatos (229, M, he/him, werewolf)

from Odd Hours (WIP modern fantasy/adventure/romance) by L.D. Stewart (das me!!!)

[deadsetobsessions]

Short DPXDC prompt #2, from @stealingyourbones.

“It’ll be good for you!” Dick threw an arm around Tim’s shoulders as he beamed his way through Gotham U’s campus.

“I could have done this online. They have virtual degrees. I could have hacked my way into one.”

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get the authentic experience!”

The group arrived at the dorm building, one of many, and Damian gave it a dubious once over.

“If this is authentic, I refuse to be a part of the locals.” Damian quietly remarked, before peering cautiously at Dick. “I have obtained my degrees. I do not need this experience.”

“It’s really not that bad, guys.”

“How would you know? You went to Blüdhaven for college.” Tim retorted with the voice of a young man resigned to despair. “You lived off campus and your door pin was Zitka’s birthday, month first then date second.”

“… Tim, why the fuck do you know that.”

“When I knocked on your door, that was just common courtesy. I didn’t actually need you to open it. I could have opened it myself.”

Dick’s smile brightens even further, with the light of an LED bulb instead of his usual sun, and places a hand on Tim’s head. “You’re creepy sometimes, you know that?”

“And you’re careless sometimes, you know that?” Tim groused. “Ugh, whatever. Let’s just get this over with. I can’t believe I’m going to have a roommate.”

“It’ll be fun! And if it isn’t, you can always swap roomies. We have enough pull to have that happen.”

“Doubtlessly.” Damian said. “This campus barely passes the bar of acceptability. Why is the campus like this. Why is it incorporated into the city.”

Tim smirked. Even though Damian spoke with formal language only found in the highest of echelons of society, Jon’s influence was beginning to make itself known. Good for him, the little shit. Privately, Tim thought the presence of a Kryptonian brought out the better sides of a bat. God knows Kon did, for him.

“Okay, enough whining you two! Let’s get Tim settled in.”

Tim elbowed Dick in the gut and kept walking into the building as his big brother wheezed dramatically. Damian rolled his eyes- he’s seen Nightwing take harder hits than Drake’s pointy elbows and walk it off- and followed. Unbeknownst to them, Dick all but beamed with joy at their solidarity. His plan was working.

——

Tim settled into the dorm, disgruntled at the small and uncomfortable twin mattress. The dorm smelt of faint mildew, had at least ten safety code violations, and had ventilation that probably hasn’t been cleaned since the last fear gas attack. The vent thing honestly might explain the state of Gotham U’s students and their proclivities to become supervillains. Tim is more tempted to go into villainy than ever before with these conditions.

That is, until his roomie walked in.

Step 1) reboot brain.

Holy shit, his roomie was HOT.

Step 2) notice all the weird things his roomie all showed unconsciously. Too graceful. Walking carefully, like how Kon does sometimes when he’s remembering to be careful with his fragile surroundings. Meta? Too sharp teeth.

Wait. Sharp teeth?

“Uh, hi. I’m Danny. You must be my roommate. Tim, right?” The guy, Danny, had a deep voice. And too sharp teeth. Because he smiled. It was a damn nice smile.

Step 3) bi panic. DID TIM MENTION HE WAS HOT??

“Uh. Hi. Yeah, I’m Tim.”

“Cool. What’re you majoring in?”

“Forensic Analysis. You?”

“Aerospace engineering.”

They looked at each other awkwardly. “Cool, I’m just gonna set my stuff down.”

“You’re not from here, right?” Tim asked and promptly flushed when an amused smile gets thrown his way.

“The accent give it away?”

“Yeah. Uh. You want a tour, man?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

——

It was flashes of things.

“Oh. I don’t go anywhere without my thermos.” Danny smiled, patting the dented thing. Except, Tim’s never seen him drink from it.

Or:

“Oh, woah. Food’s not attacking me.” And the thing is, Danny actually looked apprehensive before poking at the cafeteria food.

What??

And a month passes before Tim realizes he’s one hundred percent absolutely fucked.

Because it’s one thing if it’s an extremely attractive dork with brains and humor.

It’s an entirely different thing if the extremely attractive dork with brains and humor was a complete and total mystery. Tim is an absolute sucker for mysteries. It’s even more attractive than smacking him in the face with a brick!

“Hey, Tim?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Tim screamed at himself. He’s dated like fifteen different people! Why the hell is he so awkward with Danny?

(Tim was always awkward. He has that autistic rizz.)

“Tell me more about blood splatters?” Danny asked with a hopeful smile. Tim folded like wet paper. (It helps that he knows a lot- too much- about analyzing blood splatters.)

——

Outside of their window, Nightwing cackled to himself. It was worth using the Wayne name to get Tim the most interesting college kid Dick could find as a roommate. Who said Tim had the market corner on stalking anyways?

Nightwing flipped off of the roof, all but skipping home.

Robin, his patrol partner for the night, grimaced. For all Richard was his favorite, the man unsettled him at times.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Do it for the Plot

~

I like the idea of Tim and Danny meeting and just clocking each other as little shits TM.

Just causing chaos to everyone in a way that can't really be traced back to them like 'Who? Me? I was busy doing all of these other things I have no idea how I would do that?'

Danny helps Tim get revenge on the bats for all the shit he's had to put up with and being absolute trolls about the whole thing *chefs kiss*

~

Tim&Danny dragging Ra's body

Damian: "Wha-?"

T&D: "No one will ever believe you"

Danny makes them go invisible

~

Bats: "Where ya going Tim?"

Tim holding back a cackle:" Oh, it's my anniversary so it's date night!"

Bats: "Anniversary?! We didn't know you were getting serious with someone?"

Tim: "Serious? He's my husband of course I'm serious about him"

Bats: "Wait hold on-!"

Tim: "Gotta go! Can't be late I have to make sure the babysitter has everything they'll need."

Bats: "BABYSITTER!?"

Tim: "Bye bye~!"

(They planned all of it including their 'fake marriage', Danny went back in time with the help of CW who is a troll at heart, and made the legal changes including Dan and Dani as their kids (their de-aged) otherwise someone (Oracle) would have eventually realized that the license is fake. So they went back in time and made it legitimately real)

~

Danny being Ghost King means that Tim is now also royalty

Tim walking up to John Constantine:" I have your entire soul"

and then just turning around and leaving

John very much felt the very strong Death Energy claiming Tim: "I don't want to be sober right now"

~

Earth about to be taken over for the 5th time that year by higher beings

Tim walking up late with coffee in his hand: "Leave or I'll call my husband"

Higher Beings very much not wanting to mess with the High King of the Infinite Realms: ᕕ( ᐕ )ᕗ

~

The Phantom family relaxing with cucumbers on their eyes and face masks: "Did you hear something?"

The Bats & Everyone else:

~

Just an Idea

[nerd2614]

A laugh bubbled out of the shorter of the two shadows. "I did say that, didn't I? Both can be true at once you know."

"Please, I beg of you, stop flirting when I'm around." Charlie sighed as they limped in and brought the light closer to illuminate the pair chained to opposite ends of the room.

"It's only flirting if I don't mean it, Charlie." Sarah smiled winningly, "And besides, she's never going to believe me. Might as well let it out while I've got the parasite as an excuse."

Sarah winced as Charlie gestured for her to lay down, then started to place different crystals around the area.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, love."

"It should have been me."

"See? Martyr complex. Didn't I say two things can be true at once?"

"You're the one who -" Mac's words were cut off as she ducked to avoid a very sharp pencil flying at her at speed.

"I said to stop flirting." Charlie plucked another pencil from behind their ear. Their expression darkened at one of the crystals starting to change colour. "I think I can get it out but it's gonna take a while and it's going to hurt."

"Think?" Sarah gasped. The parasite was reacting to the crystals by trying to dig deeper into her spine. Charlie made a noise of confirmation and patted her on the head once. Sarah took a deep breath. "And you're sure miss martyr over there needs to be chained up?

Charlie paused where they were rummaging through their satchel. They sighed.

"Yes. I am sure. If Mac touches you, the parasite will kill you. As long as all three of you are in my line of site, everyone has a higher probability of making it out of this unscathed."

"You sure know how to cheer a gal up." Sarah poked her tongue out at Charlie, who raised an eyebrow in response.

"And nobody else is around to help?" Mac asked in a small voice.

Charlie sighed again. They kept forgetting that while the girls have been practising for a long time, the two of them are still young trainees.

"You decided to do your little experiment here," Charlie gestured to the parasite, "on the one day when everyone has their assignments on different continents. You're both incredibly lucky that I broke my leg last night or I wouldn't be here either. Then you'd both be dead witches."

"Yes, Charlie." Both girls suitably chastised, Charlie knelt down and prepared to begin.

"Both of you, please try not to scream. It reverberates and we'll all end up with headaches."

“I love you.”

“No, that’s the primordial magic parasite in your spine telling you to be close to me so it can feed off my magical core. You barely tolerate me, remember? You think I’m a ‘weasel faced coward with a martyr complex’.”

[leashybebes]

Hi! Love your work so much! I have a very vague prompt and it’s just Tommy being emotionally vulnerable with Buck. Idc what about I just need this man in tears please and thanks.

well this got longer than intended! i've skimmed over it but basically banged it out in fifteen minutes bc turns out i also need this man in tears

When the bubble pops six weeks after Tommy walked out of the loft, it's not at all what Buck was expecting. He'd hoped for an 'I'm sorry', an 'I was wrong', an 'I want you back'. In bitter moments, he'd even hoped for Tommy to say something really dickish so Buck could just hate him and get on with his life. Hell, even a random string of letters that Buck could interpret as an accident or an attempt to open the lines of communication depending on his mood.

What he gets is:

I've been going to therapy

Finally, right?

I hate it

And then radio silence for the better part of an hour. Buck is about to tear his hair out. He drafts and doesn't send half a dozen responses. The loft smells of chocolate cake by the time the next message comes through.

Sorry, call.

Tell me to get lost, it's fine. But I was wondering if we could talk. I owe you an explanation.

Buck reads it twice, takes the cake out of the oven to cool. Scrolls back up to read the messages from the start. Later, once the cake is filled with sharp redcurrant jelly and covered in a perhaps overly generous layer of toffee buttercream, he picks up his phone again.

I owe you an explanation is glaring at him.

Yeah you do, he sends back. Come over when your shift is done.

The reply is almost instant:

Thank you. 2 hrs.

Two hours suddenly feels like both not enough time to prepare, and far too much time to tie himself up in knots. He deep cleans the kitchen, makes a shopping list, checks in with Maddie. He doesn't mention that he's going to see Tommy.

Somehow, two hours pass in the blink of an eye and Buck realizes - he has no idea what he's going to say. He's spent the last month and a half trying with everything in him not to call Tommy, and he's just now realizing he has no idea what he would have said if he'd given into the urge. Maybe he just wanted to hear the guy's voice, and now he's about to, and he has no idea what to do with himself.

The knock at the door makes him jolt, and that's it, there's no more time to think. His first thought when he opens the door is that it's not fair that Tommy looks so good. He has no business looking so good. His hair is freshly trimmed, those greys at his temple that admittedly send Buck a little feral sparkling in the low light of the hall, his favorite blue Henley soft and stretched across the bulk of his chest, his eyes - Buck's whole train of thought derails because he looks again and Tommy looks - scared. Sad. Like he's holding back from flinching by the skin of his teeth.

"Hey, Tommy."

"Hi, Evan."

Evan, he notes. Steps back. Waves Tommy inside. Tries not to notice the way Tommy's face crumples a little as he steps over the threshold.

"Never thought I'd be here again," he says.

"Me either," Buck admits. "Well, after the first couple weeks when I - " When I sat around and waited for you to come back and tell me you made a mistake. He bites his tongue. Much as he wants to be real bitchy about this, Tommy looks like he is on the edge, and nothing in Buck wants to make that worse.

"You want a coffee?"

"Uh. Sure," Tommy says, and it gives Buck the opportunity to turn his back, to breathe. He's achingly aware of Tommy behind him, of the gravity of his presence, the sound of his breathing (a little shaky), the slight creak as he takes a seat. Buck still has the stupid almond milk and the stupid syrup Tommy likes in his stupid candy flavored coffee, has been buying the former on reflex and can't bring himself to use the latter and taste Tommy's kisses without the man himself. He makes the coffee, even cuts Tommy a slice of cake, and dumps them both in front of him.

Tommy blinks down at the cake, up at Buck. "You made that?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "Been getting real into baking since - well, since."

"Oh." Tommy chews on his lip, looks away again.

"Every time I wanna call you, I bake," Buck admits, the words falling into the silence between them with more weight than they deserve given how ridiculous they are, really.

Tommy glances up at him. "Yeah?"

Buck swivels, pulls open the door to his fridge which is still groaning under the weight of saran wrapped loaves and cakes and tupperwares full of cookies.

"That's - that's a lot."

Buck shrugs. "Yeah, well."

The silence is painful. Awkward in a way they've never really been with each other. Buck throws himself down onto the stool opposite Tommy, tries not to think about how this is exactly where they were sitting when - when. From the look on his face, the way Tommy can't meet his eyes, he's thinking the exact same thing. This is - it's the worst, Buck thinks miserably.

"So, therapy, huh?" he blurts out.

Tommy nods, takes a deep breath. "After I left that night, I - I drove to the movie theater."

Buck blinks. That is…not what he was expecting. "Uh…"

"Bought a ticket and everything. Realized on my way in that that's - that's not normal. Nothing I did that night was normal. You - you made me so happy, and I blew that up the second it sounded like maybe you wanted something long-term. That - that's not normal. The way I think about - about relationships, about love, about myself. It's not normal."

Buck feels like he's holding his breath.

"So I went home. Drank a couple of beers. Psyched myself up. Booked an appointment for the next day."

"That's…" Buck doesn't know what to say. "That's quick."

"Yeah. I don't - " Tommy looks away. Buck can't see it, but he can tell that he's bouncing his leg anxiously. "I wanna stop being a fucking - a wrecking ball. I wanna stop hurting people, stop hurting myself, but it feels like it's all I do."

Buck can't bite his tongue quick enough. "You make choices, Tommy."

Tommy nods and shrinks in on himself. "I know that. I do. It doesn't feel like it, but I do. I get scared and I make the worse choice every time because it's easier than being brave, and I tell myself it's the only choice but - it's not. I know that. I do know that. I'm - I'm so fucked up, Evan."

His eyes are swimming with tears and Buck knows he's no better. Everything in him is screaming at him to reach out, but he clenches his hands together under the table to stop himself. This is - this is maybe the most real Tommy's ever been with him, maybe the most real he's seen Tommy be with himself, and Buck doesn't want to interrupt it, even as every part of him wants to gather Tommy up to him and soothe him and promise him everything's okay. Everything's so far from okay. He watches Tommy take a few deep breaths, recognises the pattern and the count from his own therapy sessions.

"My - my dad - you know, he's an asshole. But he wasn't always. He and my mom - they were so in love. I mean, stars in their eyes, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else, they adored each other. Even before she died, I didn't - there wasn't space for me in there. And after - I guess I remind him of what he lost. They loved each other, and it hurt me. Abby loved me, and I hurt her. I loved N - Nick, and he h - hurt me. I - "

Tommy clears his throat wetly and looks away while Buck thinks who the fuck is Nick and how do I break his kneecaps?

"You what, Tommy?" he asks instead, and it comes out gently.

"I love you," Tommy says, and Buck pretends he isn't paying attention to the tense, pretends his heart isn't rabbiting inside his chest. "I love you, and I hurt us both and I'm - I'm poison, Evan, I'm nothing but sharp edges but I swear I'm trying not to be and I know it's too late but I'm so - I'm so sorry, I'm so - "

He's fully crying now, trying to hide his face in his hands and Buck can't hold back anymore, closes the space between them and gets his arms around the bulk of Tommy's shoulders where they're shaking.

"Don't," Tommy begs, his whole body tightening, so tense Buck's worried something is going to snap. "Don't - d - don't - I don't deserve - "

"Shh," Buck says, pressing his face into Tommy's hair and stopping himself from making it a kiss at the last second. "I don't care what you think you deserve, just let me hold you, okay? Just let me."

Tommy cries harder, soaking Buck's shirt, and Buck doesn't know how long it goes on for but suddenly Tommy's holding him too, clinging in a way he never has before, in a way that feels desperate and fierce and heartbroken.

"It's okay," Buck promises in spite of himself. He strokes his fingers over the short cropped hairs on the nape of Tommy's neck. "I've got you, it's okay. Just try to breathe, baby, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Baby slips out without any intention on his part, but Tommy doesn't seem to notice, just heaves in a hitching, gulping breath, then another, and another. He shifts in Buck's arms, pulling away and Buck lets him. He doesn't retreat to his own seat though, doesn't feel right to put any distance between them while Tommy presses the heels of his hands into his eyes like he can force the tears back inside.

"I'm sorry," he says, when he's a little calmer. "I've got no right - "

"Stop, okay. Just - stop being so horrible to yourself."

Tommy nods. "Yeah. Working on that. I know - I know it's too late, and I swear I didn't come here with the intention of - of crying all over you and making you feel bad for me. I just - I wanted you to know that I'm sorry, and I know that I fucked up real bad. I know - like I said, I know it's too little, too late, but I want you to know I'm working on - on being better."

Buck chews on the inside of his lip clearly for a second too long because Tommy gives a sharp little nod.

"That's all I wanted to say," he says, pushing back from the table and starting to stand. "I'll get out of your - "

"Sit your ass down," Buck says, a little rougher than he intended. Tommy does as he's told, blinking rapidly and Buck pushes away from the table, paces across the kitchen and back again.

"Evan…"

"Shut up. If you keep making decisions for me, I'm gonna - I'm gonna start throwing loaves at your head."

Tommy makes a noise that's half laugh, half sob, and Buck fights back the tiny grin that's tugging at his mouth.

"You - you really think you're this irredeemable asshole that doesn't deserve to be happy, don't you?"

Tommy shrugs, looks away. "If the shoe fits…"

Buck whirls around, yanks open the fridge, grabs the first loaf he sees. "This is coffee and walnut. It's dense. Last warning, jackass."

Tommy's laugh is more distinct this time. "Evan. Okay. Yes, I think that. But I'm - I'm working on not."

"Okay. Okay. So - so work on it." He puts the loaf down. "Work on it, and take me on a date."

Tommy looks like he's being rebooted without warning. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"I - "

"Tell me why I can't be serious."

"Because! Because I'm - I'm a mess. I hurt you. I left."

"You came back," Buck counters. "Even if it was only to apologize."

"You deserve better."

"I want you."

"I don't - I don't know when I'll be - better than I am."

"You're better today than the day you left. You're here."

"Evan…"

"Yes or no, Tommy. Take me on a date."

"I - "

"Yes or no."

"Yes. Please, yes."

Buck exhales for what feels like the first time in weeks. "Okay. Okay. That's a start."

He puts the loaf back in the fridge, takes Tommy's coffee away to reheat it, and the whole time he can feel Tommy's eyes on him, watching him like he's something precious.

[mulberry-leaves-yearn-for-envy]

Let Me Break Your Ribs and Climb In Next To Your Heart by TheShenanijiang (@theshenanijiang)

Alpha Nie Mingjue mated Omega Wei Wuxian at the Qishan Wen Grand Conference and then let him go back to Lotus Pier. When Jiang Wanyin staggers into the Unclean Realm, NIe MIngjue looks for his mate, but does not see him. When he finds out Wei Wuxian was thrown into Burial Mounds he loses his mind. Wei Wuxian is the only one who can bring him back to himself to hopefully win the war.

Relationship: Nie Mingjue/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian

Tags: Mentions of Jiang Cheng, mentions of Lan Xichen, mentions of Lan Wangji, Alpha/Omega, Omega Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Alpha Nie Mingjue, Feral Behavior, Captivity, Sunshot Campaign (Modao Zushi), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Violent Sex, Unconscious Sex, Nie Mingjue can go a little feral as a treat, Size Difference, use of scent as a poison

[cautious-soup]

Things I think aliens would find cute/endearing about humans Part 1

Sleeping

Alien 1: Dude look at it

Alien 2: Leave me alone

Alien 1: But look it what it's doing

Human: *asleep in break room*

Alien 2:

Alien 2: Is it dead?

Alien 1: I thought it was but no. I checked and... it just...does that. It bundles itself up and then plays dead. Sometimes it makes noises, ugh I can't take it.

Alien 2: How long is it gonna do that for?

Alien 1: A while. My theory is that since their brains have almost as much processing power as ours, their fragile bodies can't handle all of the stress, so they have to do that. Isn't it the cutest?

Alien 2: All I'm thinking is that I'm glad we don't have to waste our time doing whatever that is. Imagine how far behind we'd be.

Alien 1: But it's so cute. Sometimes they even change their clothes for it. They put on soft things, then lay on a bigger, softer thing--

Alien 2: Oh my god shut up

Alien 1: And when they start to wanna do it they open their mouths super wide and--

Human, woken up: Hey, what the fuck are you two doing

Alien 2: *walks away*

Alien 1: *bombards human with questions*

Part 2

[illicien]

Shoot this fits in so perfectly with old Time-Lost concepts...

~~~

"You've been messing around with the fae again, haven't you?" The druid sighed heavily as he watched his mate, barely managing to conceal his fond smile.

There was no reason to encourage Nio to get himself into trouble and since he'd discovered fairy rings there had been little Vien could do to stop him. The alchemist had always been averse to doing as he was told.

"In my defence," the brunette slurred slightly, awkwardly attempting to waddle around on his suddenly-too-short legs, "they always come up with the best drinking games."

"And now look at you," Vien gestured to him, making his way over and finding his usually short partner now only just reaching his waist. "You lost."

"I don't feel like I lost," Nio chimed happily, wrapping his arms around Vien's knee and leaning against him. "This is a great view, y'know. I do love looking up at you "

"Beloved, you're always looking up at me." His ear twitched slightly before he leaned to gather up his lover into his arms. "Even without fae enchantments you look up at me."

Nio pressed a hand to either of the druid's cheeks, holding his face between his hands and humming thoughtfully at that. "Not my fault you're related to trees and grew up all tall and handsome, Vin!"

Fawn ears laid back as Vien caught a whiff of his breath and shook his head. "You're intoxicated," he observed, beginning to carry the particularly miniscule man back toward Home Tree.

"Your love is intoxicating!"

"You're very cute."

"I'm sexy!"

"Not right now you're not, beloved."

"What, you don't love me like this?" Nio moped, butting his head against the druid's jaw slightly.

"I love you no matter what form you take, Nio, but you'll have to forgive me if I struggle with finding you particularly sexually appealing when your legs are the same size as my hands."

"But it's so convenient! Vin don't be a jerk, I already lost today don't you want to cheer me up?"

Glancing down at his lover he was met with big brown doe eyes blinking innocently at him and Vien sighed, smiling gently at the man. "I want to get some fresh water into you and tuck you into bed. To rest."

"Right. Got it. We're in Tree Daddy mode. Ugh." Nio whined. "You know if you had any spirits at all I'd drink with you instead, right? I bet you're the cutest drunk."

"I dislike the notion of being intoxicated," Vien responded simply. He had too many responsibilities to allow for such things - even being sick was incredibly frustrating to him. But taking care of Nio was one of his responsibilities, too, and he was starting to think he'd have to send the finches along to babysit his lover in the future.

"I'm gonna have to get a distillery working in the forge. The whole place would be perfect for making wine, and I'd love to watch you get all stompy on some fruit."

"Why would I stomp on fruit?" Vien gave his partner a quizzical look, carrying Nio to their nest and settling him amidst the clover.

"Cuz you gotta squish it to make wine, silly!"

"Oh. Yes. How could I not know this incredibly human tradition of stomping on fruit to get myself intoxicated." The druid was getting better at sarcasm, at least if Nio's delighted laughter was any sign.

He retrieved some fresh water for Nio before perching on the edge of their nest and offering it to him. "Drink. Sleep."

"But Vin-"

"No. I will hear any requests tomorrow when you're not intoxicated. And hopefully when your legs have returned to normal."

"Boo," Nio huffed as he took the water. "You at least gonna join me?"

"Of course. I clearly can't trust you to be alone." Settling into the nest beside his partner, the cowl around his neck and shoulders unwrapped itself to bundle around the pair and Vien settled in, laying his head carefully to keep from accidentally butting his antlers against the alchemist's head.

"I'm very responsible," Nio bubbled into his water, finishing the glass off in no time before nestling himself under the druid's chin.

"Also, my legs are gonna be like this for like... A week."

The low groan of Vien's response elicited further laughter from the alchemist.

Person A: “You’ve been messing around with the fae again, haven’t you?”

Person B: “…In my defence, they always come up with the best drinking games.”

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless. 

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 

He won’t let anyone take it from him. 

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 

Bruce reaches a hand out. 

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 

The orb in his hand moves. 

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark. 

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 

If anyone can, it’s Batman. 

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

[sofullofloveicould]

march writing challenge 2023 - day 14

a song that starts with the letter f

1993

My voice pulls itself out of my throat, cawing along to some Madonna song I barely know.

There must be hundreds of people at the bar, but my eyes catch yours in the fluorescence. I stumble off the stage and out the door, never breaking eye contact.

When we make it outside, panting and laughing, I rest my head in your lap, sitting slouched against the alley behind the bar. I’m giggling, and your fingers are carding through my hair. I don’t know what you’re saying, but you’re hiccuping through every word, and your breath catches on your a’s. The ocean’s music undercutts the shaking music inside, and I cna see the far-off twinkling lights of the Hollywood sign.

The bulbs went out sixty years ago, but it dosen’t make a difference. They spark and shine, glowing bright under my eyes.

We moved to California, but it’s just a state of mind.

I think I would’ve loved you anywhere. It hurts, like my raging headache or your teeth bruising my neck, up and down, your mouth tasting like tequila and a joint, getting me drunk off your taste.

I shift, pushing my face into yours, the memory of this moment leaving me quicker than it comes. Our whole bodies are mashed together, lips slipping off one anothers, kissing their foreheads, chins, cheeks, but we always make it back, pulled together by a force of some kind.

I’m signing tomorrow, at a bar on the other side of town, and you’re back to living your life, something with order and direction, and I’ll cover my neck with makeup, but maybe I’ll leave a spot or two out, just so eveyrone knows.

For now, I take of my stilettos, to long to walk in like this, and wrap my arms around your head and your legs across your waist. You’re dazed, so I pull your arms around me, leaving them to settle in the small of my back.

Hollywood may be heroin city - but I’d rather shoot you up any day.

credit to @deity-prompts for the prompt list

[stealingyourbones]

Ever since Lexcorp hired a genius freelancer, the production and advancements on anti-Kryptonian tech has skyrocketed. With all of the good work he has done for the company, Lex sets up a meeting with himself and this “Dan Masters”.