#anyway back to our regularly scheduled foot eating

[acathea]

i'm sorry but dark urge seeing the hopscotch grid in the blighted village and saying "did i play games like this in my youth? was i sweet once?" has completely destroyed me

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #videogames #the dark urge #dark urge #bg3 spoilers #vanaster dreamthorne #me.txt #rotating that moment in my mind. took me so off guard i stopped everything i was doing and teared up real bad. lol! #anyway back to our regularly scheduled foot eating

[internalsealpanic]

Explosive Chemistry

Summary: Chemistry labs can be a bit tedious. Nothing laser vision can’t fix though. 

A/n: You can all blame @birdy-bat-writes​ for this fluff and @knightfall05x​ for the amazing mood board. This might feel a little rushed so apologies and Clark is kind of hard to write (ope). Anyway, here is your regularly scheduled comedy.  Thanks again to @knightfall05x​ for proof reading!

warning: swearing, reader’s terrible moral compass, and some injury

masterlist

You met Clark- Well, ‘met’ might be too formal a word for what happened. 

 You discovered Clark during a mundane Metropolis afternoon. Taking a break from your studies (read: a group project that had not been going smoothly), you hopped on to a trail car to go to your favorite sandwich shop right across from your favorite diner. 

 The sandwich shop itself was nothing too special, not in a good way at least. It was even what your delicately paletted father had politely described as ‘subpar’ which as far as you knew was the worst insult he could give. Frank- the owner- was, of course, inclined to disagree. You were, on the other hand, inclined to agree with the opinion especially after biting into a raw piece of chicken in one of their “famous” chicken sandwiches. But it was cheap and it offered the best view of the diner across the street. 

In truth, you liked the food at the diner better. Their blueberry pancakes were absolutely delightful, at least, on Mondays.  But more than anything you found more delight in watching its contained chaos. You’ve watched people propose, get divorced, have fights, and everything else in between. The sheer absurd theatrics of it all captivated you. It was people-watching at its finest. Frank just thought it was creepy to which you simply nodded and nibbled at your sandwich. 

As you watched the usual ensemble cast in the diner, you witness a tall, handsome guy with black hair and blue eyes get mugged. Ok, well, almost get mugged. He was a big boi so you weren’t entirely surprised when he was easily able to stop the scrawny knife-wielding assailant. What did surprise you were the proceeding events. To your utter disbelief (and amusement); instead of throwing the guy into the gutter as custom dictates, the buff guy just guided his assailant to the diner and had a chat with him. You chew your sandwich slowly as you watch them talk as if nothing strange had occurred minutes before, digesting the odd comedy unfolding before your eyes. 

 Moments later and a few tears shed, they parted ways. You frowned thinking that would be the end of it and you were about to whine to Frank about how anticlimactic that was. But then it just kept going. 

 He got mugged. 

 Again.

 And again. 

 And again.

 By the fourth time, Frank sat beside you to watch finally leaving the spot he was polishing alone. Repeated muggings were weird enough but the guy kept inviting them to talk. You choked every time but made no move to intervene, only nibbling at your sandwich and watching with near clinical interest.

 After the fifth mugging, Frank raised a challenging brow at you as you continued to chew on your sandwich. You shrug at him as if to say ‘I’m eating what do you want me to do?’. Frank’s eyes didn’t leave you even as another mugger approached the buff guy. You cut him a look and chew a little faster. For a guy running what is most likely a money-laundering scheme, he sure was noble. 

 Having finally finished your sandwich, you wave your hand halfheartedly to Frank, your middle finger extended skyward. Kicking the shop door open and jamming your hands into your hoodie pockets, you made your way to the other side of the street ignoring the cars driving past you, blowing and whipping the skirt of your dress every which way. 

 Neither of them pays you any mind as you approach them, which was just as well. You shifted the strap of your backpack on your shoulder deciding whether to use it. Your laptop was in there so probably not. You decide to christen your new flattops by giving the man a good harsh kick in his nether regions. He goes down with a squeak. 

 “Scram!” You snarl, baring your teeth. In a surprisingly well-coordinated motion, he does, looking honestly scared for his life. You pivot to the guy who you assume is some kind of tourist. 

 Most people would say that Clark towered over you but the truth was that no matter how tall Clark was he couldn’t really measure up to the height of you. Nothing about you was inherently intimidating, especially as you stand before him in flat tops, hoodie, and short dress, except maybe for your shoulders. But that had less to do with their actual shape and more to do with how uncommonly broad they were compared to the rest of your body.  Some people say it made you look like an angry dorito to which you unfailingly replied with something Clark would rather not repeat. At least, not in polite company. 

 You regard him with a pinched brow which makes Clark straighten as you openly assess him. You memorize the angles of his features, all the sharpness and corners of it not noticeable due to the softness of the way he carries himself in a typical hometown boy kind of way.  You note your university’s logo on the edge of his sweatshirt.

 You reach your hand out. “Y/n L/n but just call me Y/n”

 “Clark Kent” He answers, shaking your hands. You note the distinct midwestern shape of his syllables which explained a lot.  

 “Yanno muggers aren’t exactly good speed dating partners, right?”

 Clark smiled at the, admittedly, terrible joke. By the way, your eyes flash with interest, he’ll be seeing a lot of you. 

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

 Your foot bounced erratically against the metal bar serving as your stool’s footrest. You watched the thermometer with a pinched face and a ticking brow as the mercury in it remains unmoving. Your mounting frustration amusing Clark making him cover his mouth. You fix him with a look and the door actually whistles “innocently” and looks away, pretending to be intently reading the procedure as if you two haven’t been reading it for the past half hour trying to figure out why your solution wasn’t boiling. His baby blues none-too-subtly flicking in your direction. You give him one last scathing look, which he easily glances off, before turning back to your solution. His eyes have been flickering at you as if he’s been meaning to ask you a question. That question likely being ‘could you possibly stop looking like you’re going to murder the molecules in our solution’. His eyes flicker again to watch you seethe and pout at the liquid and it takes everything in Clark not to tease you about being cute. 

 Bouncing your leg again, you gently turn the hot plate’s nob until the screen reads 1000 F. Clark makes a choked sound, finally tearing his attention away from what you assumed to be a particularly interesting semicolon. Clark reaches over and turns the damned thing back down to 300 F. You glare at him before, violently, turning it back up to 1000. Clark just as quickly turns it back down. 

 Click

 Click

 Click 

 You two continue on like this for a while ‘til your instructor, pinching his nose, strolls over to your lab bench to politely tell you to knock it off. With a shrug, you two settle on 650 F as your compromise. You, however, continue to glower at the solution while Clark peruses through the next lab distinctly reminding you of someone in the waiting room of a dentist’s office which makes you scrunch your nose and worsen the impatient ticking of your limbs. “Glaring at it won’t make it go faster,” Clark chuckled in his Midwestern sweater voice. You had the urge to pour the hot acid of the flask on to him but you suppressed the urge mainly because it wouldn’t actually hurt and pouring it on him meant starting over and that just sounded tragic.   

 You place your hands primly on your lap and spin your chair towards Clark. “Not all of us can watch grass grow, Paul Bunyan.” You snip. Clark shakes his head at you, whether it’s from your tone or the nickname you can’t tell. All you could discern was that it irritated him and some petty part of you was satiated the way old gods were when someone made an acceptable sacrifice. 

 “Is that what you think we do in Kansas?” Your first impulse is to say ‘yes’ even if it wasn’t the truth. You thought better of it though. Picking a fight with Clark Kent was a terrible idea, superstrength or not. You were, of course, familiar with Kansas as a concept the same way you were familiar with Mars. Both seemed equally distant, equally alien, and equally irrelevant as such you never dedicated too much thought to it. The last one might have changed a bit with your chance encounter with Clark. You remember him mentioning going home for Thanksgiving Break. You also distinctly remember wanting to ask if you could come along. After all, you didn’t have much in the way of killing time during holidays seeing as most of your relatives were overseas and the relatives you did have here were indisposed either due to work or due to other families. You felt silly thinking about it now and even sillier contemplating how you would explain the special brand of unpleasantness of being bored over the holidays. Maybe you should get a boyfriend- your eyes flicker to Clark but you shake your head- or a girlfriend or maybe friends who weren’t either foreign exchange students or farm boys from Kansas with laser vision. 

 You whip your head to Clark who was mumbling something about not staring at the grass. He frowns at you, not finishing his sentence.

 “You have that look.”

 “What look?”

 “The bad idea look.”

 “I do not”

 “Ok, let me rephrase. The let’s do something stupid for science look.”

 You huff indignantly. Clark looks unfazed and a little smug. You did not have that kind of look and sue, you’ve asked once or ten times to use his powers to do something ridiculous but this was a matter of importance. 

 “Use your heat vision”

 “Wha-”

 “Heat vision. Flask. Go faster.” You punctuate each word with a wild flick or gesticulation of your hands. 

 Clark moves his glasses up and pinches the bridge of his sharp nose.“We’re not going to use my heat vision-”

 “-Yes, we are.” 

 “No, we aren’t. Do you want me to list the ways this could go wrong?”

 “Relax, my human shield is invincible.”

 “You’re horrible.”

 “Yup.”

 “I really can’t convince you?”

 “Nope.”

 “What if I just don’t?”

 “Then I dip out and break into a different lab to get a bunsen burner.”

 Clark laughs, shaking his head fondness seeping into his smile. It made your heart melt and your face heat. You know you’ve won when Clark moves his seat closer to you. For some reason, Clark always insisted on sitting just a little farther from you no matter the circumstance. 

 You two lean in. Clark gives you a side glance. “For the record, I said this was a bad idea.”

 “Fine, I’ll quote you on that once I’ve won the Nobel Prize for Chemistry.”

 Clark snorts. He removes his glasses, the blue of his eyes shifting to an angry red. It makes your breath hitch every time being reminded just how dangerous your sweet, gentle best friend really is. 

 You watch the liquid in the flask begin to boil and you make a noise of triumph, throwing your arms up in the air in delight. Clark smiles at you and you feel a little embarrassed by your reaction but the smile on your face doesn’t disappear.   You both lean back and you toss him a smug smile. He huffs at you amused and rolls his eyes. 

 “Fine, not all of your ideas are-”

 Crack. 

 Shatter. 

 Shards of glass fly everywhere as the flask shatters. You yelp high and surprised. Clark pulls you into his arms shielding you from the glass and hot acid. You hiss when a shard cuts against the delicate skin of your forehead. You’re numb as you feel the blood trickling staining Clark’s shirt. Your senses were more focused on the way he wraps his arms around you and how safe you feel despite the graze on your forehead. 

 “Y/n, Clark, are you two ok?”

 You hear the frantic footsteps approach you but neither of you pulls away. You just focus on how tightly Clark holds you against himself.  You feel the flex of his large muscles as he pulls you closer. 

 “We’re fine sir but I think Y/n needs to go to the clinic.”

 Do you? 

 Your fingers rise up your forehead and your stomach drops a little when they come away red. You’re aware that you’re bleeding but it takes some time for the knowledge to fully sink in. Your professor is practically shoving you out of the room by the time you even make any move to react. 

 “Y/n, I-”

 “I swear to god if you say I told you so I’ll punch you in the face-” You look into his eyes, your voice amazingly calm. He opens his mouth again. “- and if you say I’m sorry I’ll punch you in the dick.” His mouth closes and you both fall silent even as you go down the hall towards the university’s health office which was just a glorified clinic with the addition of counselors and a waiting room with Rubix cubes instead of magazines. Clark doesn’t loosen his grip on your shoulder even as you wait for the nurse to come out and treat you. 

 Your mind feels far less frantic than it did a few moments ago. 

 “I told you it was a bad idea.” Clark jokes offhandedly.

 You snort at the remark and glare at him without any real venom. “You really aren’t as nice as people say you are.”

 “Nope.”

 “Jackass.”

 This draws a tired laugh from him. “Well, I’m sorry. Why don’t I make it up to you then?”

 “Unless you’ve got a Porsche in your back pocket”

 He winces. You snort again. 

 “How bout coffee?” You blink at him. “Or maybe dinner? This Friday?” He adds with a hopeful lilt. 

 “Just as long as you don’t invite a mugger to come along.”  

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

THANKS FOR READING

taglist:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell

#superman #superman x y/n #superman x reader #my writing #clark kent #clark kent x reader #superfam #kind of #in the future if I continue with this reader

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part V

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.9k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

“‘Justice is Dead’: Inspector Hyrule Loses her Badge for Lying in Sheikah Murder Trial”

This headline, alongside a photograph capturing the catastrophe that had been Link’s trial, was what had made the front page of the Times not long after it had all transpired. And it wasn’t the only one of its kind. Far from it. It seemed every publishing firm in town had released an article covering my epic blunder in court.

My name wasn’t unfamiliar to the masses either. As the daughter of the last pre-Yiga mayor to stand in office, anyone who read the paper regularly knew who I was. Until now, I’d been known all across town as the prodigy detective dedicated to keeping the streets free of crime, but now, all those people would look upon my face and see nothing but a filthy, lowlife perjurer.

I could live with my name being ground into the dirt by the media. What made me truly bitter beyond words was that the few individuals whom I’d once trusted and looked up to would now think the same of me.

I’d tried reaching out to Prosecutor Sigatur countless times in the hopes that she could in some way continue the investigation in my stead, but every time I called, she would never pick up. She probably saw this case as closed now anyway. I had managed to get a hold of Auntie Purah, but all she’d been willing to say to me was that she needed time to think before hanging up. As for Paya, I couldn’t even bring myself to try to contact her.

It wasn’t something I took pride in. Clearly the best thing for me to do would be to apologize to them all for my actions, most of all to Paya after all the needless grief I’d caused her. But I simply couldn’t do it. Just the idea of it felt wrong. No words that I could possibly say to them would be of any use in bettering the circumstances. I couldn’t bring Auntie Impa back. I couldn’t undo what I’d done. I couldn’t do anything. There wasn’t a single thing I was good for other than making a mockery of myself and disappointing those who’d once dared to put their faith in me. Nothing at all.

And now, to put a cherry atop the sundae of darkness and misery that my life had come to, the one person who mattered most to me, the one I’d dedicated myself to protecting, was gone, forever. Just when we’d finally found each other again. There was still so much I’d wanted to ask him, and even more that I’d wanted to say, but...

What I wouldn’t have given just to be by his side at that moment. What we did didn’t matter. Even if he and I were simply in the same room together, I’d feel more at ease. But who was I to wish for such things? I was the one who had failed him. I should’ve just testified that I’d been the one behind everything. I should’ve been the one on death row right then. Not him.

I thought recalling a happier time would perhaps help to restore me to my rational self, before it was too late, but in the end, it only proved to pour more salt in the wound.

“Alright, I’ll see you around.” Both Paya’s and my own ears perked up at the familiar, jovial voice down the hallway. “Great time catching up with you!” No sooner than we’d heard those words did Link come striding out of one of the classrooms on the left.

“Uhh...!” I turned toward Paya, who was suddenly as red as a raspberry. “I j-just remembered I had something to ask one of my teachers about!”

Just then, Link’s eyes landed on the two of us. Paya gave him a wave and a sheepish smile, both worth no more than half a second.

“You two have fun!”

Then she started to turn on her heel.

My outstretched arm just barely missed the strap of her school bag. “No, wait!”

“Bye!”

I gave a disgruntled snarl as she made her hasty retreat. She was far enough now that if I tried calling out to her, I’d only be drawing attention to myself.

“Everything alright, Zelda?”

“Link!” The boy in question was right there, just a foot’s distance or so behind me. “Oh, yes. Quite. Paya’s just...”

“She seemed busy.”

“Yes, yes,” I grumbled. Busy putting me on the spot, more like. As always. “Who was that you were talking to just now?”

“Oh, you must mean Sidon!” he exclaimed. “He and I knew each other in elementary school. He just transferred here last week, or so I’m told. What a small world we live in!”

He spoke animatedly, gesturing with his whole body as he told me tales of the mischief he and his childhood friends used to get up to. Though he himself had only been enrolled here since the start of that year, it seemed he already knew everyone on campus. Even the members of faculty were fond of him.

“So I heard you got in touch with my father again the other day,” he said as we rounded the corner of the building’s exterior on the way to our usual lunch spot.

“Oh, yes, I did!” He took a seat next to me on the concrete bench in front of the greenhouse.

“How’d that go?” he asked, then tore a massive bite out of his sandwich.

I winced in a mixture of worry and amazement. “Well, he didn’t really have much to contribute to my case, but I appreciate his hearing me out all the same.”

“Ah’m thure you ‘o.” He swallowed his mouthful of food before continuing, to my relief. “But he doesn’t take time out of his busy schedule to talk to just anyone, you know.”

“Oh, certainly. If it weren’t for Urbosa, I’m sure he wouldn’t even give me the time of day.”

Then a teasing grin lit up his face. “Aren’t you forgetting about someone?”

“Oh! Of course. My apologies,” I bowed, swivelling in his direction. “You’ve been a great help as well, Link. Thank you.”

A faint crease formed between his brows. “Come on now, I was only joking.” He gave my shoulder a light shove, nearly making me drop my lunch tray. “You should try being less prim and proper all the time. No one’s counting on you for anything, are they?”

“No, I suppose not.” No one amongst the living, anyway. Besides, he already had me eating lunch outside the cafeteria. How much more improper did he expect me to be? “I think it’s just the way I’ve been brought up.”

He gave a slow nod. “That’s understandable.” No doubt he could imagine how strict the CEO of Sheikah Tech. could be with her daughters sometimes. “Still, if you want my advice, try lightening up now and then. Trust me, you’ll be loads happier that way.”

My heart swelled at his kind words. If it were anyone else, I probably would have dismissed them as just another naïve optimist. “You think so?”

He shook his head, correcting me with, “I know so.”

I’d bumped his knee with my own when I’d turned to face him a short while earlier. It was then that I finally took notice of our sustained bodily contact, which in turn made me notice how little distance there really was between where he and I were now sitting.

He must’ve realized this as well. While I was still in a flustered rut about what to do, he caught me off guard and scooted even closer, until our thighs were just a hair’s breadth away from touching. I, of course, was a gawking, red-faced mess at this point, but he didn’t seem to mind. He simply kept looking at me with that disarmingly sweet smile of his.

Never in my life had I met someone more determined to keep smiling in spite of all the world’s cruelties than he was. It wasn’t ignorance; his father was none other than the district’s chief detective. He was simply, genuinely, fearless.

“Hey, so...” His mannerism had shifted out of nowhere from confident to slightly less confident. “Will you be coming back here for the horticulture club meet this afternoon? I just remembered you mentioning that the other day, and if you are going, it’d give me a reason to go.”

A rush of giddiness took hold of me, causing my heart to thrum wildly within my ribcage. “Really?”

“Oh, wait. Did I just—” He laughed into his palm, then groaned. “Did I say, ‘a reason,’ just now?” I nodded, perplexed. “I meant, ‘more reason.’ That’s what I meant to say, obviously, because I was already thinking about going before you mentioned it.”

He seemed to be telling that more to himself than to me. I did my best to reciprocate his forced chuckle. “Alright.”

“Yep...”

The bell rang in the distance, signalling five minutes until the start of class.

“Oh, dear. I’d better be off.” In a rush, I stood up and gathered my things. “My next class is on the other side of campus. Bye for now, Link!”

“Wait, Zelda!” I halted. “So...are you going?”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my lips. “That’s what I had planned for today, yes.”

“Oh, spiffing!” His crow’s feet appeared adorably at the corners of his eyes, making my own smile grow. “I’ll see you then!”

By the time the memory had reached the end of its reel, there was a knife situated in the trembling grasp of my hand. Though the cuts were already a great deal in number, I’d barely even felt them until now. Now they stung like venom. In truth, it was most likely a result of the tears that had begun to fall upon the marred surface of my inner forearm. With this realization, my silent tears were only magnified into sobs of insurmountable extremity. The blade in my grip clattered mercilessly onto the desk. I was never going to see him again, was I?

As the salt of my tears mixed together with the little puddles of red that had formed, I caught myself staring blankly at the ball key sitting on the far end of my desk: the one Link had found at the scene of my godmother’s killing and had kept secret until the day before his conviction, when he’d entrusted it to me. Its dim, tangerine glow was just another painful reminder of how hopeless this situation really was.

Of course, being the spectacular mess of a person that I had become, I’d made the oh-so-wise decision to cut myself at the place where I carried out my chemistry experiments. With grandiosity, I oafishly spilled an entire beaker’s worth of fluid just as I’d finished wiping away the blood.

But just as I was about to go and fetch the mop, something happened that I never could’ve expected.

In the darkness of my apartment, the area on my desk where there had once been blood was glowing a strikingly brilliant blue.

I picked up the beaker that I’d knocked over. It bore the handwritten label, “5-Amino-2,3-dihydrophthalazine-1,4-dione.” Scanning the desk’s surface, something else caught my eye—something that could potentially be the “key” that I’d been searching for since the moment I’d discovered my dear godmother’s dead body.

The orange glow of the ball key, which had just so happened to find itself square in the middle of the splash zone, was being obscured by spots of blue light.

#my writing #fanfic #botw #zelink #botw zelink #zelink botw #link x zelda #zelda x link #botw link x zelda #botw zelda x link #zelink fanfic #zelink fic #zelink ff #zelda pov #detective au

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 101

Apologies for the delays....I scheduled this 3 weeks ago to post today, but apparently technical difficulties have occurred.  So.  Shout out to @baelpenrose and @zommbiebro who blew up my PMs when the chapter did not go up at the regularly scheduled time.  Y’all saved me, I swear.

As always, after an arc, we get... FLUFF! Please enjoy!

“Are you sure you want to do vegetarian hot pot?” Zach wheedled.  It was a week after Jokul’s meeting with the Council, and while there was still some work to be done with some straggling members of the accidental cult, things had largely calmed down.  As such, I was taking Huynh’s suggestion and eating in one of the mess areas closer to my office.

 “I may do one veg and one non-veg.” I bit my lip as I thought about it. We were discussing an upcoming ‘family dinner’, where I had decided to branch out into unfamiliar territory. No date for it was set in stone, but I wanted to make sure to get all the details ironed out ahead of time. “Vegetarian just feels safer, if that makes sense? I feel a bit weird about including raw meat - I mean, what if the broth isn’t hot enough and someone gets food poisoning.”

Zach gaped at me, but Hannah cut him off by reaching gently for my hand. “Sophia. You know as well as I do that everything from the food consoles is synthetic, including the meat.  So, technically, it’s all vegetarian and there’s no risk of foodborne illness.” Her tone was pleasant and even, and I was in no way oblivious to the fact that she was using her professional nurturer skills on me.

That did not change the fact that she had a point. “Fine,” I heaved a sigh in concession. “I still want them kept strictly separate, to avoid violating any religious taboos. I can still do that,” I insisted.

Hannah patted my hand in reassurance just as Zach’s head snapped around toward the entrance. “What in the world?” he asked, no longer paying attention. 

As Hannah and I turned where he was focused, I noticed a few other people looking that direction with the same curious expression Zach had. I glanced at Hannah, who shook her head - she didn’t hear anything either, at first. After another minute, I could faintly hear shouting, and it got louder as it headed our direction.

By this point, more and more people in the cafeteria were staring toward the shouts, which were soon accompanied by the white noise of a crowd speaking.  Whatever was happening had been going on for quite some time, and was going to pass directly past us. I swear on all that is unholy, I thought to myself, If this is another crisis, I will walk out an airlock willingly.  No sooner had the thought finished than I saw a vaguely familiar face coming around the curve of the corridor.  Standing and abandoning my lunch, I moved closer to confirm my suspicions.

Sure enough, a familiar smile bracketed in a thick, coarse beard beamed at me.  Ivan Thorson was slightly shorter than I was, but at least as broad as he was tall and also cheerful carrying what appeared to be a stack of dark gray cloth.  Horror dawned as he approached.

That stack of cloth was squirming. And kicking. And shouting.  Even worse, I recognized that voice.  Part of me wished I had just ignored everything and finished my lunch.

“Hey, Ivan,” I ventured carefully. “I would love to know - “

“Put me down! This is entirely undignified. How DARE you!”

“ - why you are abducting Mr. Bjornson here?” I finished.

“Hey, Sophia!” Ivan replied, completely ignoring the squirm of the much taller man he was currently carrying over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I was just - “

“Councillor Reid! Thank the gods…” The squirming intensified.

Ivan just calmly repositioned his - passenger? Victim? - before continuing. “Down at BioLab 2, talking to Nixe - “

“UNHAND ME!”

“ - when I saw the most interesting ball of tension I had ever met. So, being me, I decided I had to meet this man.”

“Sophia. Please. Help me!”

“Oh, hey Ivan,” Zach greeted, completely unperturbed by the insanity of the situation. Hannah smiled brightly and waved.

“Hey guys. So, as I was saying, I introduced myself, we started talking, one thing led to another - “

“How did ANY of that lead to - to THIS!?”

Finally, Ivan seemed to hear Jokul. Frowning, he turned toward the hip currently slung over his shoulder. “So, you didn’t mean it when you said I was aesthetically pleasing?”

“Well, I did, but - “

“Or was it the part about finding me charming?”

“No, I meant that, that’s not what I’m saying - “

“Then it was the part about wanting to get to know me better?”

I had to clench my jaw to keep from dropping it, mostly because I wasn’t sure if I would laugh or scream at Jokul’s response. He was downright soft. “Ivan, I did mean that. I do mean it. I just… I meant coffee. Or - or dinner. Not - “ A hand gestured blindly. “Whatever this is.”

“You said your feet were hurting,” Ivan pointed out before turning to me, Zach, and Hannah. “He decided to walk all the way from the Archives to BioLab 2.” Reaching around in a way that actually looked uncomfortable, he patted Jokul on the back, carefully avoiding anything further down. “Good thing he’s so pretty.”

“I…” Jokul started before trailing off, at a loss for words when confronted with the strange but undeniable logic of a man a full foot shorter than him but who was also carrying him like he weighed about the same as Mac.

I, however, was not equally speechless. “Why not take him to his own quarters, then?”

Ivan looked at me like I was being silly. “BioLab 2 is on Level Two. Jokul’s quarters are on Level Forty. Mine are on Level Twenty One. Much closer.”

“You could have gotten a transport, Ivan.”

Despite carrying well over two hundred pounds of former cult leader over his shoulder, he still managed to shrug. “It was a gym day, anyway. This does double duty.”

“Ivan - “ I started before being interrupted.

To my astonishment, Jokul stood up, brushed his hair out of his face, and faced me squarely with his hands on his hips. “If you don’t mind, blood is rushing to my head and making me dizzy. Can we please get on with this? I was promised French-pressed coffee, ginger cookies, and a foot rub.”

With quiet laughter, Ivan grabbed Jokul and tossed the taller man back over his shoulder.  All I could do was sputter with the knowledge that I had drastically misread the situation.

Realizing he won the argument, Ivan threw a wink at me before patting Jokul’s leg. “Just a bit further.  You all have a lovely lunch, I have someone to make coffee for.” With a cheeky wave, he marched on.

Just as he passed, I could see a very confused former warlord and accidental cult leader, arms crossed and indignant, but nonetheless quietly enduring his journey.  Leaning toward Zach, I murmured. “Is Jokul… safe?”

“Yeah, safe as he can be on the Ark,” he shrugged in reply.

“You’re sure?”

He snorted at that. “If you’re worried about Bjornson’s virtue, it’s as safe as he wants it to be, I promise. Ivan takes pride in the fact that he is very charming, and you would not believe the number of dates he gets because he takes anything less than a direct invitation as ‘no’.” He rolled his eyes.

Where I had originally been worried that the indomitably-pleasant Ivan was taking… something… out on Jokul, the other man’s scolding assured me that his squawks and shouts were only for show.

“Clearly, he could have stood up whenever he wanted.  Or even accidentally,” Hannah pointed out. 

“So why didn’t he?” I was so confused.  Admittedly, my mind kept going back to Jokul’s cries for help, even knowing they were for show.

Zach started coughing and turned bright red.  Hannah patted his back and smiled at me. “I think you should probably ask Charly that question.”

“Why - oh. Oh……” Now, I was turning bright red. With a cough, I turned and strode back toward the table where our lunches were cooling. “So, hot pot,” I most certainly did not squeak. “What meat goes in hot pot? We decided one veg and one non-veg, right?”

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#the miys #aliens #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #hfy #earth is space australia #found family #apocalypse #science fiction #sci fi #original writing #original sci fi #my writing

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Finally (Jamie Benn Imagine)

Alright folks, I’m back! Well. I’ll be back-back Wednesday, but I managed to get the Internet time to post this.

Rating: T

Pairing: Jamie Benn/Reader

Words: 2276

Warnings: underage drinking mention

Requested: yes/no

Summary: You’ve been best friends with Jamie for a long time, when he invites you to a team event. Oh, and you’re in love with him, too.

It’s not that you’re in love with him… except that you are. And you have been for longer than you’d like to admit. It’s not your fault, really, because he doesn’t have to be so kind and funny and awkwardly charming, or walk around looking like that all the time. Truly it’s unfair, and you’re a victim here, honestly, because those dark brown cow eyes are cheating. At life. Or something. The point of the matter is that he’s stupidly pretty and- even more unfortunately for you- a stupidly great person. And you might maybe be a little bit stupidly in love with him.

You don’t really get why he’s friends with you when he’s a top-tier hockey player and you’re an outreach coordinator at a non-profit who he met by accident during a tour of the locker room he didn’t know was happening. You’re not down on yourself or anything; you know you’re a worthwhile person. You just also know that famous people don’t latch onto random fans. Yet when he spilled coffee all over you; he elected to help you clean up, and then to talk to you for almost an hour. Long enough that he ended up giving you a private tour of the basement since you missed the one you were supposed to be on. Somehow, you piqued his interest during those few hours, and now the two of you are nigh inseparable.

He’s having a team bonding barbecue today, which is where you are currently, talking to Rads’s wife at a table just far enough from the pool to avoid getting splashed. Jamie is by the grill, talking to Tyler and Miro (who’s mostly just nodding along and taking sips from a beer he’s definitely still too young to have). Tyler’s wearing nothing but a pair of swim shorts that go to his mid-thigh, still wet from swimming. Miro and Jamie are both in regular board shorts and t-shirts, sandals on their feet. You can’t help but wish it was Jamie in the short trunks and nothing else, but he’s not huge on showing off his body, unfortunately. He still looks good, like really really good, but there isn’t much skin to be seen. You wonder if he thinks the same looking at you in your short-sleeve cover up. Probably not, but a gal can dream.

Darya is talking about how much trouble she had figuring out what to get Rads for his birthday a couple months back, and all you can think is how easy it was to think of Jamie’s gift, and how you’ve already ordered his Christmas present too. It probably has something to do with being around him all the time and talking constantly, whether by text, call, or face-to-face. Darya doesn’t have that luxury, what with her and Rads’s intense schedules. Jamie has a crazy schedule too, of course, and you have a bit of one in comparison to normal people, but that still gives you guys a bit more time than them. This is beside the point, though you can’t quite remember what the point was. Something about knowing as much about Jamie as Darya does about Alexander, or something. Maybe that you’re getting Jamie something personal and personalized, something a wife would get her husband, like the necklace you got for his birthday that’s glinting in the sun against his t-shirt, because he hasn’t taken it off but to shower since you gave it to him, and you’re not sure what that means. Or something.

Anyway, he’s heading toward you now, like he can sense you’re thinking of him. The sun is starting to set, and the light is golden where it streaks through his dark hair, and the way it combines with his soft smile and even softer gaze has you a bit breathless. Darya realizes you’re not paying attention and turns to see Jamie, turning back to give you a shit-eating grin. She knows about your stupid crush, and urges you to make a move on the regular. Since looking at him makes you feel like you’re going to suffocate all the time, you think you might have to do so before you die.

“Hey guys,” Jamie says as he comes to a stop next to your table, “We’re gonna start wrapping up soon.” The butterflies in your stomach immediately die in a mass extinction. Oh. You’re a little sun-sleepy and your skin tingles with exposure, but you could spend every moment of your life with Jamie and still want more time. You stand and you’re grabbing your bag when Jamie lays a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Do you want to stay? We could watch a movie,” he asks. The butterflies are resurrected.

“Sure,” you agree, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You take Darya and your plates to throw in the trash on the way to get changed. There are only a few people left anyway, so you’ll probably just gonna ash some dishes and then settle in for the movie. As you walk away, you assure Jamie that you’ll meet him in the kitchen.

The first dozen times you came to his place, you were floored by the opulence. By now, you’ve been friends for so many years that it doesn’t even phase you. You duck into the kitchen to toss the plates before claiming the nearest full bathroom. After a shower, you put on some deodorant and fresh clothes, wishing you’d brought something a little nicer than a t-shirt and jeans. It’s ridiculous to wish that, though, because Jamie has seen you in far worse more than once. I’m ou just want to look nice so that. You don’t know. So that maybe he’ll see you as a potential girlfriend rather than a firm friend. Oh god. You’re friendzoned.

You rub some perfume between your wrists and onto your neck; it’s the kind Jamie said he liked best in you once, which you’ve been wearing ever since. Maybe it’s a bit pathetic, but you can’t help yourself. You didn’t bring any makeup, partially because it was a pool party, and partially because you forgot to throw it in your bag before you left. The shirt you brought is one of Jamie’s, and as much as you love the guys, you kind of hope they’ve all left, because they’ll rag on you so hard if they see you wearing it. It’s an old, worn-soft cotton tee that still smells like him despite being in your care for several months. You wear it to bed regularly, letting his scent lull you to sleep.

Anyway.

When you finally exit the bathroom, you only hear two voices left in the house. One voice is Jamie’s, the other Tyler’s, and they’re talking quickly in hushed tones. They both sound annoyed. They don’t argue often, so it must be something serious. You don’t mean to interrupt, but you’re in the living room before you register the tone. They both quiet immediately, before Tyler plasters on an obviously fake smile.

“Hey Y/N, how was your shower?” he asks, his smile turning genuine and worryingly gleeful, “Is that Jamie’s shirt? Looks good on you.” He turns a smug grin on Jamie. Jamie shoves him half-heartedly, smiling just a bit. At least the argument clearly wasn’t too heated.

“I was just leaving,” Tyler continues, half-turning toward the door, “I’ll see you guys next time, eh?” He claps Jamie on the shoulder and turns to give you a hug at the last second before crossing the threshold and shutting the door firmly behind himself. You and Jamie stare at each other for a silent moment before breaking into laughter. Tyler is so fucking weird. Once you’ve calmed, Jamie says “I’ll see you guys next time, eh?” in a horrible imitation of Tyler’s voice, making the both of you lose it all over again. Finally, after what seems like a small eternity, you straighten up from where you’d leaned forward against his chest and wipe the tears from your eyes.

“Let’s go do some dishes, eh?” you say, and the two of you chuckle your way to the kitchen. The dishes are piled in the sink, so you move them to the counter. Jamie fills one side of the sink with warm, soapy water while you scrape any excess food remnants into the garbage. You sidle up next to him once you’re done, hip-checking him out of the way. He overplays it, making hurt, offended noises and almost falling on his ass.

“That’s what you get for being dramatic,” you say when he barely catches his footing. He just grins and resumes his place beside you, ready to rinse and dry. You scrub and set aside the baking dishes that’ll need to be soaked. Just before rinsing the first plate, he puts his music on shuffle, and you both bop along to whatever the Spotify gods choose. They have pretty good taste in dishwashing music, honestly.

Once the final dish has been scrubbed, you empty the sink and refill it with just enough soapy water to cover the dishes needing soaking, while Jamie rinses and dries the bowl you’d handed him. Just as you’re drying your hands, the song changes and you gasp.

“It’s our song!” you crow delightedly. Jamie smiles softly, tossing his hand towel onto the counter and turning to face you. Mallrat sings lightly about broken hearts and devotion as Jamie takes one of your hands in his own, letting the other rest between your waist and hip. The two of you sway around a three foot radius of the kitchen, drawing closer like galaxies coming together, until your head rests against his chest, his chin ducked down so his nose is buried in your hair.

This being “your song” started as a joke. Jamie had taken you to a team event about a year back, and the second you’d gotten him onto the dance floor, Groceries came on. One of the guys’ girlfriends knew the song and explained it while the two of you danced, resulting in rigorous chirping the instant you got back to the table. At the next event, the same thing happened and it was official: this was Your Song. It fits oddly well, too. But you’re not thinking of that right now, too engulfed in his strength and warmth and scent to care about much else.

This would probably be a great chance to shoot your shot; you’re alone, Your Song is playing, you’re in each other’s arms. You could just tell him. What are you supposed to say? “Hey, I’m in love with you”? That’s a little too unambiguous for your taste. But the song… you could just sing part of the song to him, and that would give you plausible deniability, probably. It’s kind of a cop-out, really, but you’ll most likely never have the guts to do it any other way. If you sing the bridge, that could be appropriate; you are lovesick, so… Yeah. Yeah. That’s what you’ll do.

Except you’re caught up in him, in his slow, deep breaths, in the way you’ve stopped moving in circles, just swaying in place between the island and counter, and you completely miss the bridge when it comes. Cursing your short attention span, you pull back just far enough to look him in the eye. You’re still pressed together save for your heads, still moving side to side, still feeling like a binary star system, inextricably linked. The song is ending soon; if you’re going to make a move, you need to do it now. Fuck it.

I just wanna get groceries

I pray you wanna get close to me

Oh give it some, give it some, give it some time

But I think we’re supposed to be

The eye contact is almost unbearable but you can’t look away, trying so hard to convey what you mean, to make him understand. Searching for a response in his eyes, something, anything.

And if you wanna get groceries

And if you wanna get close to me

Just give me some, give me some, give me some sign

I think that we’re supposed to be

It feels like a plea. Please, please, give me some sign. This could be so good, this could be amazing, we could be amazing, I think that we’re supposed to be. Please. You stop moving when the song switches, just staring into each other’s eyes. Your hand had moved to cup his jaw as you sang, his beard coarse against your skin. You can’t seem to bring yourself to move it, to move at all, time frozen on the event horizon of forever. This is it. This is it.

“I think that we’re supposed to be, too,” Jamie finally says. A second ago he had seemed so unsure, skeptical, but now his expression is resolute, voice sure and unwavering. Holy shit. Holy shit. Jamie Benn is in love with you. You’re in love with him and he loves you back. He wants to be with you. Unless you’re reading too much into it? Maybe you’re reading him wrong? He could be joking. It’s not his joking face or voice- because he can’t keep a poker face for the life of him- but maybe—

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks, and that is his teasing voice, “Or do you wanna stare some more?” You can’t keep yourself from laughing, burying your face in his neck as the both of you giggle helplessly. Your heart is fit to burst with overwhelming affection. He tilts your head up, and smiles into it when he finally, finally kisses you.

#jamie benn imagine #nhl imagines #ri #andis coping mechanism #jbenn

[aconitemare]

[jaydick] Before That, And Colder

Chapter Four

AO3

Previous Chapter

Dick kicks his foot in the air repeatedly, inspecting the pink flowers on his white Oxfords. He’s pretending to ignore the people around him — possibly, he is actually ignoring them, as the outlines of their bodies blur around his fancy footwear. He leans farther back on Jason’s desk, conjuring the picture of ease. To his left rests Jason’s Red Hood helmet in a gargoyle-fashion. Everyone here knows Jason Todd is the Red Hood, but Dick is just Richie Grayson, D-list celebrity. The sleeves of his pretentiously silk bomber jacket, embroidered with colorful roosters, slip slightly down his shoulder. 

“Is this really the best time to be hiring people? Specifically this person?” This question comes from James — or “Wingman,” as Jason earlier informed him of. James is up-and-coming, bat-themed, Gotham-based vigilante who believes the Red Hood is absolutely critical to public safety. Dick has not yet shared this detail with Batman, having only received it an hour before this current meeting, but he’s hoping they’ll share a good laugh over that.

“No time like the present,” Jason says without much concern. He stands beside the desk, a few feet from Dick. 

Dick catches James crossing his arms from the corner of his eyes. The defensive body language convinces him to focus more on the arrangement of people. Suzie Su still sits on the recliner, seemingly indifferent. Her sisters, one of which Dick recognizes as the waitress who intercepted him and Miguel earlier, flock around Su either on the couch or near her armrest; all except for Night, Dick’s blackjack dealer yesterday, who now occupies a distant corner of the room by herself. Miguel sits in the recliner opposite Suzie Su, playing with his tie. James stands the closest to Dick and Jason and busies himself with looking like he eats nails for breakfast. 

“The son of Bruce Wayne is hardly a sound addition to the Outlaws,” James points out. 

Suzie Su’s head swivels towards Jason. “Oh, no,” she says, suddenly invested, “Whatever ‘the outlaws’ is, count me out of it. I’m going legit, you promised!”

Jason takes a page from Dick’s book and seats himself on the corner of his desk. He grips the edge, knees spread, so that he looks like he’s riding a horse. For an unstably diverse crowd, he’s rather at ease at the head of it, Dick notes. Jason holds up a silencing finger and begins his address, “Firstly, the Outlaws are too legit for any mere mortal to handle, that includes you, Su, so stuff it. Secondly, James, you can also stuff it because no one’s inviting Richie Rich onto the team except you, it would seem.”

So, does that mean I don’t get to see the Super Secret Clubhouse and make friendship bracelets? Dick almost says. Instead, he receives a text alert and checks his phone to see Bruce left him a message. 

What is your plan of action? it reads.

Dick quickly shoots back a non-committal text, wary of Jason sensing Batman’s concern through the phone. Luckily, Jason doesn’t pay Dick’s texting any mind, preoccupied with his stand-off against Wingman. 

James persists, undeterred by Jason’s skilled dismissal. “Batman isn’t exactly in your corner, Todd. He is, however, in Wayne’s pocket. As is Richie Grayson.”

Dick frowns; his current persona is apparently no longer a good fit. He will need to adjust accordingly. Dick sits up straighter on the desk and tucks his legs. “I have my own funds, as a matter of fact,” he speaks up. Jason’s eyes slice into him — oh, right, Dick’s not supposed to talk while meeting the in-laws. Oh, well. He continues, “I work for the Bludhaven Police Department.” 

Dick touches his jacket collar and inspects the interior fabrice. “I try to dress nice when there might be cameras so I don’t make Bruce look bad, but most of it’s bought off-price at Marshalls.” This last part is a lie as he rarely buys his own photo op clothes. Bruce has a personal stylist who keeps everyone’s wardrobe at the Manor stocked. Dick hit up his old bedroom on the way to the hotel. 

“You’re a cop,” James repeats. 

Dick holds back a wince. So much for Agent 37’s kick-ass undercover portfolio. “Every cop’s a little dirty in the ‘Haven,” he says, hopefully smoothly.

Unfortunately, James does not find this comforting. “So not only are you a cop who knows about the Iceberg’s business, but you’re not even a good cop?”

Dick points at Jason. “He murders people,” he deflects. 

Jason sighs obnoxiously loud. “Richie has information and contacts,” Jason increases his volume when James looks like he wants to say something else, “neither of which are anyone’s business at the moment but mine. Believe it or not, but I’m pretty attached to my life, in both a literal and figurative sense, and so if I say the guy from that one lady-service Pantene commercial is going to keep my organs safely inside my body, rest assured, I have done my research.”

This standing ovation inspires Dick to wonder whether Jason saw that commercial on cable or some other venue. He tries and fails to imagine Jason watching Friends reruns. Maybe he caught it off some gun review video on Youtube. This is the kind of media Dick assumes Jason consumes. 

“Great to know,” says Suzie Su flatly. “So, Richie, who’s trying to whack our boss?”

“No one yet. There have been no attempts on his life thus far,” Dick responds. Then, “Also, you can just call me Dick.”

“Shouldn’t be too tough,” Suzie Su remarks.

“The situation will escalate, though,” James states,  “There is no doubt that Red Hood is the final target.”

“Correct. Which is why it’s important that we trust each other,” Dick says. He levels a gaze at everyone in the room except for James, which should indicate to him that he’s the object of criticism without presenting Dick as outwardly hostile. “If we are too busy suspecting each other without any evidence, we allow for outside threats to slip past our radar.” Dick can only hope they will take this to heart; it will be harder for him to investigate Jason’s people if they’re also investigating him.  

“Truth,” Miguel agrees as he stands to his feet and walks towards Dick. “Although it kind of worked out for us this time, right? You following me, us following you?” As he approaches, he extends a hand and Dick dismounts from the desk. “Welcome to the team, Dick,” Miguel says, clapping Dick on the shoulder as they shake. His smile is warm and sincere. Dick feels an equally genuine grin spread across his face. 

“Alright, alright,” Jason says, leaning from his spot on the desk to bat an arm at them. “What did I just say about teams, dude,” he gripes. Miguel shrugs rather blithely before he returns to his chair. Dick appreciates what he hopes will be the one easy-going personality in this tense bunch. 

Jason claps his hands together and stands. “Okay, here’s the deal: I want someone always watching my vehicle for the next, fuck, two weeks, I guess? One week?” He looks to Dick for confirmation. Dick mouths, ‘longer.’ “One week to start, cool,” Jason locks in his answer. “I don’t mean from the cameras, as I really am hoping to catch this person ASAP and get back to my regularly scheduled gangbanging.”

Dick watches the crowd: Miguel gives a whoop, Suzie Su rolls her eyes, one of the sisters not standing in the corner laughs. 

“So, that means I need you,” Jason flourishes his arm in the air and brings it dramatically down like a hammer, finger pointing sharply at Miguel, “to physically be in the parking lot.”

Miguel looks around in bafflement. “I’m the owner. That would look weird,” he says, gesturing towards himself.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure everyone is lining up for your autograph, too, now come off it. No one here is instantly recognizable except for me, and that’s mostly to do with the helmet,” Jason pats the helmet beside him emphatically, “giving me serious red Darth Vader vibes.”

Dick suppresses a laugh. Jason hears him anyway, but that turns out to be not so bad. Jason’s eyes flicker towards him but they’re absent of reproach, which is how Dick realizes he had expected to be growled at for his humor. But Jason made the joke, didn’t he? He goes so far as to smile, not threateningly, but pleasantly. Dick wants to call it soft even. 

Jason’s eyes are back on the ragtag team within the second. He explains properly his reasoning to Miguel. “The subject’s abilities and target range are unknown to us. You’re our safest bet for handling whatever he might be capable of. And you can wear whatever you want.” Dick assumes that last bit is weighted with the implication of a supersuit, although Miguel’s secret identity may very well be known considering the lack of visible confusion on anyone’s face. Of course, that could just be indifference; no one in this room seems particularly interested in each other. 

“If you see someone snooping, wait it out. If you see someone put something on my bike, apprehend them and bring them to me where I can then proceed to shoot their brains out,” Jason instructs. Dick tries to say something, but Jason says over his attempt, “If they’re guilty.”

“Not really the problem,” Dick mutters. 

“The Su Brigade can, I don’t know, keep doing what you’re doing, I guess? Keep an eye on suspicious figures.”

Dick chimes in, “This time, however, immediately report to Jason or myself. Don’t rush in unless the threat is urgent. Don’t,” he motions to James, “text James, or whatever it is you guys did. That was sloppy and uncoordinated.”

James shifts his weight more evenly. Dick instantly recognizes the implicit challenge and straightens his back. “Text you, huh? What, you the boss now?”

Dick files through his possible responses, weighs the best tone to take, the stance to adopt. Should he pick up the gauntlet and try to assert dominance, or go for diplomacy? He doubts this will come to blows, but the direction he takes this could have later consequences, could affect Jason’s safety even in the long-run. 

Dick almost misses the change in Jason’s posture, but it’s instantaneous. “He’s close enough,” Jason has already spoken, no longer leaning against the desk but standing with his hands deceptively plunged into his jeans pockets and his searing green eyes locked on James. “More the boss than you are, at any rate, so yeah, I’d text him.” He sounds almost casual, accent set in a lazy Gotham drawl, yet there’s an angered click to how he sets his teeth. He’s intimidating, alright, the sharp cut of his cheeks complementing his strong jaw. He’s quite Hollwood-esque actually, Dick thinks — at least before he realizes Jason is looking right back at him. Jason raises his eyebrows and spins his fingers in a prompting manner. “Well? Anything else you’d like to derail the meeting with, Dick?”

And just like that, Jason manages to personally undermine the power he just gave him. Dick is bordering on impressed, restrained only by his sudden irritation. Dick simply smiles and says, “You’re the boss.”

“Fantastic. James! How do you feel about interrogating people you can’t beat up?” Jason proposes to the next member of the non-team. 

Dick thinks James could question people without beating them up just fine, especially after the practice he got in while interrogating Dick. James doesn’t comment on whether he’s up to the task, however, but replies, “Who am I interrogating?”

Jason grins and quickly bows his body. “A witness. Exciting, right? Unfortunately, no, not exciting. This will suck for you. Daniel Garcia, the second victim, should be at Gotham General Hospital — fingers crossed he has insurance, because otherwise you’ll have to find out where he lives and talk to him there.”

Dick could be projecting, but he thinks James puffs up his chest at this. “I can find anyone anywhere,” vows James.

“I’ve no doubt, buddy. I just would prefer he not have to relive everything the second he gets home because a stranger wants to hear the gory details,” Jason explains. His tone is slightly scolding. There might be some decency in him yet. Dick immediately feels guilty for being surprised. Jason is a good guy. A good guy. He’s said as much to Bruce. Did he forget to tell himself the same thing?

“Bring some flowers to soften things,” Dick suggests.

“Flowers don’t soften a crowbar, Dick,” Jason disagrees. Still, he adds for James, “But yeah, bring flowers. The family won’t like you for it, but they’ll hate you even more if you don’t.”

“Do we have to do anything?” Suzie Su asks, a little unhappily, it would seem. Dick doesn’t trust her. Then again, would she be so openly disloyal if she was double-crossing? The only person in this room Dick trusts is Miguel — and even then, if there’s one thing Batman has been trying to drill into him for half his life, it’s that trust is a liability. Anyone here could logically be a mole. Anyone here could be loyal, too. 

“No, Suzie Su, I expect absolutely nothing from you and that’s why I dragged you to a staff meeting, so you could sit on your ass and pick at your nails,” Jason intones. Suzie Su drops her manicured nails to her lap and glares at him. Jason sticks his tongue out in response. “You and your lovely sisters of questionable bloodline are my ears to the ground.”

“So, same as before?”

Jason cocks his head, shakes it up and down as if weighing the question, and says, “K-i-i-i-i-nd of? It’s like what you were doing before, but not complete garbage. Need I remind you that you let this idiot into my office.” Jason jabs his thumb in Dick’s direction.

Miguel raises his finger. He’s properly relaxed in his cushiony recliner, legs crossed and arms spilling over the back. “Ah, but you let the idiot stay,” he reminds Jason. 

Dick twists his lips. “Thanks, Miguel. Or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Jason decides. “Alright, everyone out of my office and onto the things I demand of you. Dick, you’re coming with me.”

The crowd is already dispersing. Dick hops off the desk and pats the wrinkles from his pants. “Why’s that? I thought you didn’t want me breathing down your neck.”

Jason’s back is to Dick as he fastens his Red Hood helmet over his head, which tips Dick off that some of his people outside the office might still not know who’s under the mask. Jason’s response is rougher than before. “You saw the tapes, didn’t you?” The energy from only a minute ago has melted from his voice. The helmet lights up then and Jason’s next words are modulated, shrouded in static. “That makes you the expert.”

Dick does not miss the irony of this statement. 

  ___________

  Dick has Jason drive him to Bludhaven. Jason has many cars and not a single one is worth less than $80,000. “How do you blend in?” Dick asked on the way to his shitty apartment across the pond, Jason looking absolutely put-upon by the half-hour drive.  His Red Hood helmet has been stowed away in a personally customized, hidden compartment. “I don’t,” Jason simply replied. Dead guys, according to Jason, don’t need to feign poverty. Especially if those dead guys are better known for their underground empires and resort casinos. However, two rich men in a luxury vehicle don’t have much business commiserating with the family of boys like Terry Weind. So, the two stop by Bludhaven to pick up Dick’s Saturn and allow him to change into less flamboyant clothes. 

Dick chooses a threadbare BPD t-shirt and jeans. Jason stays in his signature ensemble of leather jacket and combat boots. He raises his brows at Dick’s outfit, but Dick insists it’s a good choice. Even if they don’t like the police, he’s still out of uniform and unarmed, and they’ll know this isn’t his territory. He’ll seem like a commuter, which might even win him some subconscious sympathy; many people in downtown Gotham have to commute to Bludhaven, albeit usually for a fishery job and not the police department. 

Jason waits in the car for Dick to come out. Dick invites him in, but secretly he’s relieved. The place is a mess. If how he keeps his office is a hint, Jason’s habits are immaculate. They would put Dick to shame. Dick taps Jason’s window to signal they’re switching to the Saturn. Jason takes an excessively long time to part with his car, all but cooing at it, but does eventually make it over. He settles into the passenger seat, looking Dick up and down.

“What?” Dick asks, perhaps defensively. He should’ve said something like, “Like what you see?” but it’s too late for that. 

Jason shrugs casually, but his eyes flicker to Dick’s hair. “Nothing. You just look normal now.” 

Dick jams his keys into the ignition, because he has to be rough for the car to start, and rolls his eyes. “You mean my hair’s not gay?”

“Eh. Less gay.” And then Jason is reaching out and ruffling his hair, fingers curling through the still-damp waves. Dick stuck his hair under the bathroom sink’s faucet before putting his shirt on. He got water everywhere, but he needed to get the product out. He weirdly hopes Jason doesn’t feel any lingering stickiness, that his hair is soft to touch. 

Jason’s face abruptly screws up in confusion as if he isn’t sure how he got here. Slowly, he retracts his hand and sits straight in his seat. Dick didn’t notice how open Jason’s body language was just a moment ago, but he notices how it closes. His knees no longer point towards Dick but to the windshield; his arms, once extended towards him, now fold across his chest. Dick stares at him for a moment, trying to piece together the puzzle he suspects they almost had. 

Jason’s presence always has that mystifying effect on him, however, like he’s a monument to all the almosts they’ve been. When Jason was Robin, they were almost friends. When he was the Red Hood, they were almost enemies. Then they might have been brothers, could have been, maybe. There had been that night on the rooftop when Dick had managed to slip through Spyral’s many fingers — when Barbara had run away and Damian had embraced him and Tim demanded why, why — Jason had drawn blood as his voice broke because you don’t do that to your. Almost.

They are always on the verge of some new meaning. 

“Well?” asks Jason. “Are you waiting for me to set up the GPS? You know the address, let’s go.”

Dick quickly recovers and begins edging out from his spot between two other parked cars on the street. “What are we, drag racing? Jeesh.” They avoid traffic for the drive over but do swing into a corner store once they’re in Gotham again. Jason buys the most expensive bouquet available while Dick fiddles with a rack of playing cards. Pokémon? Magic? Would Terry care about either of those games? He sees Jason head to the counter and grabs a random card pack to check out. His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he finishes counting off the dollar bills. He hands the cashier $16 and unlocks his phone. It’s from Bruce.

Any progress?

Dick begins typing out an answer when he remembers the boundaries he agreed on with Jason. He said he wouldn’t share any details with Bruce unless Jason okay’d it. He could let Jason know Bruce is asking, but even mentioning Bruce tends to sour him. Dick would rather get through this meeting with Terry Weind first. He makes a mental note to inform Jason later and give Bruce a non-answer if he says no. 

Ten minutes later and they’re standing on narrow porch steps. The wooden planks are dark and splintery and covered in cigarette butts where an ash tray has been knocked down. Dick squats down and picks it up; ceramic, woodsy-green and leaf-shaped. He sets it atop the paint-chipped banister while Jason knocks on the door. The walls are thin enough that Dick can trace the sound of someone walking down the stairs. It’s summery outside today, the earth baked through by the sun, but he’s thinking of winters down here. Even with a good furnace, these walls must let the chill in. 

A woman opens the door in her nightgown, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame. Her eyes are red and the skin beneath them sags. Her skin is almost ashen. She looks tired. She is tired, she’s exhausted, Dick can feel it when he looks at her. Her exhaustion is a heavy substance that spreads out and sinks into his flesh. 

“Are you Terry’s mom?” Jason asks. He has the flowers already at his chest. His voice is stiff with emotion. Dick recalls his comment about Daniel reliving trauma and wonders if that’s what Jason is doing right now. 

The woman nods and says that, yes, she is, but little changes in her expression. Dick had been expecting confusion, but she accepts the flowers without hesitation. Evidently, they are not remotely the first ones to share condolences. “My name’s Laura,” she says, touching the waxy petal of a calla lily. Her voice is soft and deep as if it’s been anchored to the bottom of the ocean.

“I’m Jason.”

“Dick,” Dick says after him. 

Laura opens her mouth silently for a few seconds before carefully telling them, “I appreciate you boys coming here and wishing us well. It’s been hard, but we’re grateful to the community’s response, it’s been wonderful. I hope you don’t mind me not inviting you in, it’s just that I work grave and don’t get much sleep, and Terry’s resting.”

“We understand. But actually, we’re not just here to offer our sympathy — though you do have it, of course,” Dick conveys. He rushes the words of each clause so his speech comes out in quick, nervous chunks. He’s dipping head, taking up as little room as possible while moving closer to her. Jason takes a step back to accommodate him. He wants to represent himself as sincere, perhaps too sincere to the point of being clumsy. People often think inept and trustworthy are the same thing; the logic goes, you can’t be hiding any tricks up your sleeve if you’re more likely to spill them on the floor. 

“If you turn us away, we get it, don’t worry,” assures Dick, “but this is our city and our kids are getting snatched.”

Laura begins shaking her head. “Oh, no, he’s not answering any questions — ”

“We won’t ask as many questions as the police,” Dick hurries to say. “We don’t need to. We,” here, Dick breaks off his speech and looks uncertainly at Jason, feigning hesitance. Then he takes a galvanizing breath, readying for his big leap, this information he’s sharing only with Laura. “I work part-time at the Park Row Memorial. I’m a guard, similar work to what I do with the Bludhaven Police. We have it monitored 24/7 so it doesn’t become a high-crime area again.” Dick sighs in frustration and bites his lips. “Laura,” he says firmly, staring into her eyes. Her pupils have dilated along his story. Good. “I saw Terry that night. The police haven’t even asked Park staff yet, they don’t care. But I saw it happen and I think I can do something about it.”

The best cover story is always based in reality. The best lies are true. 

Laura’s eyes drop the ground as she thinks. She’s also biting her lip. Dick ponders over whether she does that often and Dick got lucky, or if she’s mirroring him. Either way, he’s won her over. She shuffles to the side and waves them in, her movements less languid than before. 

She leads them to the stairwell and says, “If he doesn’t want to answer questions, he doesn’t have to. I’m not going to force him, you got it? Get what you can and hope it’s useful.” With this, she climbs the steps to the second floor, Jason and Dick following at an appropriate distance. They pause at the top step while she enters Terry’s room and explains in hushed tones his guests. She relates Dick’s reason for being here and then there’s a long pause before Dick detects a faint, “Sure.” 

Dick and Jason share a look that confirms: they’re in. Laura places a light hand on Jason’s bicep and guides them to the door. “I’ll stand right here,” she says firmly and waves them forward. Dick looks around for a chair, sees none, and settles on the windowsill facing Terry’s bed. He’s faired better than the next two kids, all injuries considered. He was out of the hospital in a month. He lies in his twin-sized mattress beneath a crisp sheet, a blue comforter shoved to the foot of his bed. A square bandage covers his right cheek, there’s stitching over his right eyebrow, and there’s more stitches on the right side of his skull. His right arm and knee have been set in casts. Dick remembers him curling onto his side at one point in the video. 

In the wake of the other victims’ hospital records (courtesy of Oracle), Terry’s assault had been carried out with perfunctory brutality. Dick recollects the scene but recalls no hesitation in the attacker’s swings, yet their violence has clearly increased. Perhaps they are doing someone else’s dirty work and the job has just now awakened a taste for pain in them. Or maybe it’s one guy after all and they’re adjusting to the role. 

“So, you know the fucker who did this?” Terry speaks up first. His voice is a little rough and definitely fatigued. Despite his current infirmity, Dick can tell he’s a sturdy kid. He’s got the same build Jason had at that age, youthfully broad with natural muscle in the absence of training. A body with room to grow in. 

Dick shrugs. “Not personally. But we hold out hope. What did his face look like? Any defining features?” he attempts, even knowing that Terry’s report claimed to make out nothing from the night of the attack.

Terry was looking at Jason beforehand, which Dick can’t blame him for. Jason takes up most of the room as he stands by Terry’s feet, stock straight with his massive arms folded. Dick has a habit of downsizing Jason in his head. In general, Dick’s guilty of subconsciously diminishing certain people’s threat levels, letting his familiarity with them obscure the danger they still pose. He does his best to put himself in Terry’s shoes and see what he might see; he accomplishes this by summoning the first night he encountered the Red Hood before he was also Jason Todd, fallen boy wonder. Even without the vigilante get-up, the man’s intimidating. 

Now that Dick has asked a question, however, Terry’s eyes appraise him. Dick once again folds in on himself, tucking his arms closer to his sides and leaning back so he’s as out of Terry’s space as he can be. Then Terry’s eyes stray to the floor and he mumbles, “Looked like nothing. It was dark.” But he doesn’t say it like it was nothing. 

“You saw something,” Dick contests. He’s not going to wheedle or coax, he decides, because that would just leave Terry room to equivocate. “You don’t know what you saw, but you saw something, and whatever that is will help us more than pretending there weren’t streetlamps.”

Terry grimaces. The twitch of his battered face reminds Dick of his age and his heart aches. There should be a grace period for children, an exception made for those still new to this earth. He hates that pain is one of the first things they learn. “He was white, I guess,” Terry supplies. His good fingers have found a loose thread on the hem of his pushed-down sheets. He picks at it. “He never said a word the whole time. It was quiet. He — I saw his hands. I thought, I thought the police would find his thumbprints or whatever, on me, but that’s not how it works, they said. They were all fucked up.”

“The hands or the police?” Jason interjects.

Terry doesn’t look up from his loose thread, but one half of his mouth pulls up into a faint, flickering smile. It manages to be bright even so. “The hands. There were old scars all over the knuckles. Dry, too, like he never heard of lotion.”

Dick supposes the attacker could work in manual labor, but it’s unlikely if there were truly that many scars and all old. “Just the knuckles?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Dick guesses he’s experienced with combat. The ugly, close-up kind. Still, just the knuckles, that sounds more like punishment than accident. And the dry skin? That could easily be eczema, although wouldn’t a seasoned killer think to cover up, prevent skin follicles from falling into a lab tech’s hands? It is summer, but Gotham runs more humid than dry, so perhaps they’re dealing with a foreigner. “And the face?” he prompts. 

Terry abruptly drops his hand from the nervous thread and sighs raggedly. “Nothing, man. I couldn’t see anything, okay, it was,” Terry falters, “confusing.”

“Confusing how?” Jason asks.

“I don’t know!” Terry’s voice pitches in frustration. “It was weird, all swirly and shit.”

Dick can hear the criticism leak into Jason’s tone when he curtly repeats, “Swirly.” 

Terry backpedals. “I said I don’t know,” he mutters. 

Swirly voices sound familiar to Dick. He used to have one for a time when he played James Bond for Spyral. “I think we might have a contact, Jay,” Dick muses. 

“Really?” Jason says with noticeable surprise. “Swirly’s our big break?”

“Emphasis on the might and ixnay on the big.” To Terry, he says, “Tell me, does tsuchigumo ring any bells?”

Terry’s face scrunches up. “Does what huh?”

Dick will take that as a no. “Oh, well. Still worth looking into,” he says. Dick stands and retrieves the card pack from his plastic bag. He holds it up for Terry to see before setting it down on the bed. Terry takes it immediately and brings it up to his face for inspection. “Your mom has the flowers. I wasn’t sure what to get you, but let me know if you need or want anything. Oh.” Dick swivels his head around the room. There’s not much to it aside from a bed, a dresser, and a box T.V. collecting dust. “Do you have something I can write my number on?”

Jason chooses that moment to step forward, sliding between Dick and where Terry lies. He leans across, a crisp, laminated paper balanced between his index and middle finger. “Here’s my card. Let me know if you have any more information or if either of you need help,” he explains. Terry sets Dick’s gift down and gingerly accepts the card. He flips it over: no logo, just a phone number.

“That’s it?” says Terry. “What contact? Who did this?”

“It’s too soon to tell. I wish I had more to give you two,” Dick says sympathetically to Terry and Laura, the latter of whom hasn’t left her post by the door. She rests her cheek on the frame and watches on.

Terry has more questions though and he’s edging on excited. “Are you P.I.’s? Why do you even care? I bet you fucking did this, or one of your boys — ”

“I understand your distrust,” Dick says over him. He glances nervously at Laura to gauge what she thinks of the accusation and if she’s about to step in. She’s a little straighter, body no longer depending on the wall, but her face is still impassive if alert. Dick hurries to smooth this over. “You don’t know us well enough to understand why we care. We have to prove ourselves, I get that. And we will. Until then, you’ve got nothing to lose, right? All we know is you didn’t see anything.”

Terry stares at him silently, suspicion darkening his eyes. There is risk in coming here, of course, depending on how well Terry’s attacker can trace Jason’s footsteps. But Dick has already weighed the risks and he’s betting that Terry’s part is done here insofar as the criminal is concerned. Luckily, Terry can’t identify what he’s got to lose or how much he has told them between the lines, so the charges drop like that. 

There’s a few beats of silence before Jason starts fidgeting. “Yea-a-a-h, we’re going to go now,” he announces, pointing over his shoulder towards the window. Dick could cringe, he’s so awkward. 

“Thanks to both of you,” Dick says and smiles as warmly as he can. He trails closely behind Jason who shuffles towards the door, his body too tall and too broad to fit comfortably in the modest room. Unthinking, the pads of Dick’s fingers feather over Jason’s back as if to guide him forward. As Jason moves, Dick lets his fingers linger in the air, covering up the touch with empty space. He curls his fingers in and tucks them behind his back. Laura follows them out. 

“Thank you again,” Dick says at the door. “We’ll be in touch if anything develops,” he promises. And he will be; if not as Dick then certainly as Nightwing. 

Laura thanks them half-heartedly. Dick suddenly feels self-conscious about the Pokémon cards. He may as well have given them a box with nothing inside it or a flashlight without a bulb. He heads back to the car, feeling Laura’s heavy gaze on his shoulders the whole way. 

Dick is buckling himself in when Jason opens the passenger door. “Mind sharing with the class what information was so decisive you had no further questions?” he asks as he climbs into the car. 

“No questions Terry could answer. This is the best we can do for a lead,” Dick explains. He needs to make a call, but that will have to wait until they’re on the road and not idling outside a victim’s house. Maybe he can take them to a restaurant, buy Jason a drink, a friendly gesture. Would Jason want to drink with him though?

“Yeah, about that,” Jason says as the car shoots off, “what lead?”

Scratch the drink; neither of them are lightweights, but on principle, they shouldn’t drink during an ongoing investigation. Still, he could buy them some sub sandwiches. He used to buy food for Tim all the time back in the day, as a reprieve from the typical Batman and Robin style of accidentally fasting until the case is resolved.

They reach a redlight almost immediately. Dick drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Spyral uses this tech called ‘Hypnos 2.0.’ They slide in kind of like contacts? They’re eye implants basically, but they transmit information between your brain and the brain of whoever’s looking at you. Their most common application was hiding your identity. If someone looked at you, they’d just see a scrambled mess instead of a face.”

Jason’s face scrunches up as he stares out the windshield. He scratches his head. “Scrambled like Picasso or.”

The light turns green. “More like a spiral,” Dick says lightly, nodding conversationally. 

“Thematic,” Jason comments. 

“Very. And the uniforms weren’t too shabby either.” He adds the joke more to test the waters than anything, gauge how delicate a topic Spyral is between them. Everyone in their family has a slightly different relationship with Dick’s double life. Bruce and Damian’s have been the easiest, marked by faint curiosity about his activities and begrudging acceptance of help from associated colleagues. The others have been noticeably more dodgy and uncomfortable regarding for Spyral. Dick’s stint as as Agent 37 has made everyone evasive, even for bats. 

If Jason would normally have an emotional reaction to Spyral, he’s too preoccupied for one now. Dick can practically see the gears in his mind turning as his eyes narrow and his chin falls to rest on his hand. Dick feels simultaneously relief and shame; of course, Spyral is just a lead. Spyral may have been Dick’s life at one point, but to Jason, it’s just an organization. At best, contacting Spyral could save his life. At worst, well, Dick’s not expecting Jason to unpack whatever baggage Dick left in Gotham. 

Dick resists the urge to grimace at his own thoughts. He’s overthinking. Can one overthink a ruthless spy agency that up until a year ago controlled his every movement? 

Jason’s voice, slow and thick with the sound of a city that’s always been his, reels Dick back to shore. “Dare I ask what the uniform entailed?”

“Cargo pants,” Dick answers simply. He’s watching the road ahead, but he can hear Jason make a pleasantly surprised noise. They pass a fire hydrant painted to look like a sunflower. Dick thinks it’d be nice for Bludhaven to do that and makes a note to push the idea at city hall after the case. 

“So, you think that this guy is from Spyral?” Jason asks. 

Dick shrugs. “That, or he’s connected enough to snag some tech. We should check first with the other two victims, see if their descriptions match up with Terry’s. If they do, it’s probably Spyral and not some low-grade black market street vendor. Nine of out ten optometrists do not recommend mind control contact lenses.”

Jason slams his hand down on the middle compartment. “Mind control?” he exclaims. When Dick glances at him, Jason’s expression is mostly shock with a sliver of what might be plain rage. But that would be an overreaction considering all the other crimes Spyral is guilty of. All the crimes they’re guilty of, especially Red Hood, although making that argument would be more trouble than it’s worth. 

Dick tries not to let Jason’s sheer judgment weigh on him. Dick has far more pressing guilt elsewhere to torture himself over. Still, it’s hard not to feel righteous rage on Jason’s behalf. He often forgets this part of Jason’s character, this abrupt sense of justice that powers him, but it’s no less prominent than it is in Bruce or himself. It might actually be stronger in Jason, a little left of center, but bleeding red nonetheless. Unfortunately, car safety dictates Dick not be on the receiving end of justice, so he replies as casually as possible, “Well, that’s what Hypnos is, essentially.”

“No way.” Jason points an accusatory finger that Dick sees from his peripheral. A street corner features a hot dog stand. Dick nearly pulls over, but the finger might kill whatever buzz a chili dog can offer. “Don’t ‘that’s-what-Hypnos-is-Jason- obviously ’ me. You just said it transmits info.”

Dick did not think his tone had come off condescending in the least. But if that’s what Jason got from it, then perhaps he missed casual and landed on dismissive. Bludhaven must be eroding his tact already. “Sorry. When I said it transmits information, I meant it as a blanket statement for everything it does. Hypnos can alter memories, which is more-or-less how the identity protection works, by modifying one’s memory of a face. It can send someone a location address or really anything you have stored in your own memory, which is helpful. It can also send orders.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s helpful, too,” Jason derides. He looks like he smelled something bad. Was Dick this perturbed by Hypnos when he first joined Spyral? He doesn’t think so. He had been so quickly embroiled in so many terrible things. What was a little crowd control in the face of cold, efficient, and constant murder? 

The guns. The feel of one is his hand like death itself, how they loomed in his bedroom and among his gear, beckoning him closer to an edge everyone wanted to push him off of. The guns had overshadowed all else for him. 

“Either way,” Dick carries on, “it’s unlikely this guy has his hands on Spyral tech without Spyral knowing something about him. They keep close enough watch over people that have nothing to do with them, let alone people that have access to their technology. He could be anywhere from an engineer to a passing contact, but he’s no ghost.”

“Terrific. Exactly what I need, a mind-controlling stalker from an quasi-omniscient spy organization hellbent running around on the streets of Gotham.”

Dick shrugs. “Gotham’s had it worse.”

“Have I?”

“I don’t know. Have you?” Dick retorts. 

Jason scowls. “Wouldn’t be my first assassination attempt, I suppose,” he concedes.

Dick perks up and offers him a grin. “And it won’t be your last!” he crows. 

Jason just stares at him, utterly perplexed. His brows are furrowed and his mouth is curled above his teeth in bewilderment. 

“Because you’ll be alive,” Dick hurriedly explains. “You know, like, woohoo!” He takes one hand off the wheel to pump the air triumphantly. 

“Woohoo,” Jason repeats hollowly. “Insanity.”

“What?” asks Dick. They will be coming up on the grinder shop soon. Should he suggest lunch to Jason or just drag him in? He’s leaning towards dragging. That seems more effective.

“That we’re all just living to hopefully get killed a day that’s not tomorrow,” Jason observes. 

It’s not more cynical than funny, but something in Jason’s tone — the utter resignation, perhaps — makes Dick laugh anyway. “Everyone on earth’s on borrowed time, really,” he says, not unhappily. Death hasn’t frightened him since he was young. Exposure therapy, he called it once during some Titans mission that feels a lot farther in the past than it is. “The reckless and foolhardy like us, we’re just more aware of it.”

Jason blows air out from his nose in a mix between a snort and a laugh. “And here I thought vigilante-types were less aware of their own mortality.”

“Are you kidding? You have to know you’re walking towards death to find that exact path each night. Snatched purses, drug rings, elitist assassins dressed as owls, fear gas and escaped convicts and murderous clowns — and we run right towards them with open arms,” Dick says, irony guiding his grin as Jason smirks back at him. 

“And open chest cavities, half the the time,” Jason tacks on. 

Dick nods fervently. “Yes, let’s not forget that,” he tries to say seriously, but laughter trips him on the last word. “I don’t know. I think it’s all very sane, actually, to see what’s going on and get involved, do what you can to make everything a little bit better. But too much sanity can look like insanity, for sure.”

Jason does snort this time. “Keep moralizing like that and you’ll sound straight out of a conversation between the Joker and B.”

Dick wrinkles his nose. “Ew. I hope not.”

“‘We’re the same, you and I,’” Jason croons in a wispy, sing-song voice. “‘Sane and in-sane.’”

Dick can make out the small, white-background-red-letters sign of Hester’s Grinders a few yards down the road. There’s just enough room before the fire hydrant — this one plain, chipped red — to safely park. “Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll keep my philosophies to myself. And so long as we’re changing the subject — hungry?”

Previous Chapter

#jaydick #dickjay #dc #fanfiction for the void

[the-fiction-witch]

Hands

MOVIE LOVE ACTUALLY (AGE UP/SPECIAL)

COUPLE SAM (TBS) X READER

RATING SMUTT AF

Writers notes: hi everyone I hope your all keeping nice and safe during this quatenteen time, as your have probably noticed my writing has been a little all over the place that's mostly due to obviously being in lock down due to my pre existing medical conditions. (So due to animal crossing on switch... I may have a problem, however anyone wanna chat about it visit the fictional bubble ig and maybe visit my island if you like) Now something I am going to try to do is finishing stuff something else have a little bit of a problem with just due to how I plan and write so I'm going back firstly to my one concept books where I do one concept but then do a fic for every character with that concept, so we are gonna see more stuff for the smaller ones I don't write so much off and yes you read that info write I did a nsfw for him and I have previously done some very very old and short fics but Sam for love actually is getting added to the characters I do, I did a nsfw for him it's only fair he gets included in the rest of the concepts.

Anyway on with the regularly scheduled smut!

I woke up rather gently to the sight I now know rather well, my little flat, the one bedroom flat high above busy dirty old London our door open a crack to let air thought filled still with boxes and bags where things were still to be unpacked and put in there places, picture frames Still on the floor near where we wanted them, the kitchen unpacked to the extent of one set of dishes and two mugs unpacked that we where just Washing and using over and over I smiled so snug and warm in the cosy bed arms around me tightly and the form of a skinny boy behind me he sturred slightly in his sleep before I noticed his hands they had been on my waist and holding my hand since we went to bed last night however now I felt them across my skin caressing my ever curve, his structured hands stroking my skin, the rough finger tips gently tickling me in little ways as he kissed up and down my neck his stubble gently tickling me in that little way he knows I like, his soft lips pressing across my skin, his hard morning wood pressed tight between my thighs very nearly fucking my thighs his grip to tightened on my hip and on my breast slipping under my nightie to do so

"Sam... what are you doing?" I asked

"Nothing Darling..." he whispered moving his other hand so both groped my soft breasts "UUmmm.." he groans in my ear

"Sam what are you doing?" I laughed but he didn't respond to busy with his work as his hand slipped down to grab my arse

"Uhhh... Five more minutes you beautiful temptress" he whispered in my ear before kissing my cheek grinding my arse against his hips gently pleasuring himself with my thighs

"Sam stop it we need to get up" I laughed and he groaned a little annoyed at me

"Uuummm... I'm so hard for you right now darling" he groans I couldn't help but innocently giggle when he told me that Sam never says things like that I gently moved my thighs gently tightening on him "Uhhh!! You like that Hu? Knowing how hard I am for you darling" he smirked slapping my arse "how hard sleeping beside you makes me? How good you feel against me? How close your beautiful breasts and perfect pussy make me?" He smirked between kisses down my shoulder and arm "you gonna let me inside this morning?" He smirked moving his hand that was on my arse to play with my clit sending sweet bubbles of pleasure across my body "or do I have to beg?" He pleads

"No Sam we have a busy day-" I began

"Yeah very busy, busy getting fucked if I have anything to do about it" he growled

"We have to do laundry" I argue

"We won't wear clothes if we're fucking"

"We need shopping, for food Sam" I laughed

"I'll just eat that pretty pussy I like so much, and I'm sure I could find something for you so suck on a while?" He smirked still groping and squeezing anything he could get at

"Your step dads visiting today" I remind

"He can wait till I'm done with you" he smirked

"We're almost out of condoms" I remind

"Fine" he sighed pulling away getting out of bed and pulling a pair of loose dark blue sweat pants over himself tightening the drawstring at his hips or possibly his waist it's kinda hard to tell given his curves are well non existent, the sweatpants hugged him so closely his firm tight butt hugged snuggly and the buldge of his rock hard cock leaving nothing to the imagination as you could see everything base to tip everything of it revealed "oi!" He laughs "pay he a quid if you're gonna keep starring darling" he laughs leaning on the dresser and winking at me as he crossed his arms over his chest

"Fine" I giggled "can't I have my normal wake up?"

"No, you terff me outta bed when I wanted a snuggle your not getting your good morning today" he complained

"Ooohh but Sam" I whined acting all innocent the covers sliding off my body the straps of my nightie fallen down to my elbows, opening and closing my legs suggestively and innocently

"I'll give you yours if you give me mine?" He smirked

"Deal" I giggled going to sit on my knees at the end of our bed

"Yes!" he smiled standing at the foot of our bed and pushing down his sweatpants enough to reveal his hard dripping cock

"Love you" I smiled before licking a line on the underside of his cock from base to tip

"Uuuhh!!! Love you too darling' he gasped

"Sam? I have a question?' I giggled as I kissed up and down his shaft watching his face as he melted into the pleasure I gave

"Yeah? What's that y/n?" He groans desperate for me to keep going

"Me sucking your cock if your normal good morning then how is it also what puts you to sleep before bed? How can it put you to sleep and wake you up?' I giggled

"Don't ask questions sweetheart just suck" he smirked his hand grabbing my neck so he could fuck my mouth.

#love actually #sam #sammy #tbs sex #tbs imagines #tbs fanfiction #tbs au #tbs #thomasbrodiesangster #thomassangster #thomas #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #thomas sangster imagine #thomas sangser imagine #thomas sangster x reader #thomas sangster smut

[hermannsthumb]

more newt/herms secret relationship as professors???

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

what about.......accident secret relationship.......a classique

————————————————–————————————

Newt’s alarm clock hasn’t gone off yet when Newt–much to his disappointment, because he’s earned a decent sleep, thank you–blinks awake to the hazy grey light of dawn and the bedroom curtains wafting in the wind. Not just the wind; the rain, too. Newt can see it pattering against the glass panes of the window and steadily drenching the windowsill, can hear the gentle roll of thunder outside. Hermann’s gonna have a hissy fit later when he finds out Newt left the window open.

It’s not enough time to fall back asleep before Newt has to wake up for it to be worth it, so he reaches out and swats off the clock with a groan. Hermann’s still asleep next to him, chest moving up and down lightly, his bedhead and creased pajama shirt making him look uncharacteristically rumpled. It’s cute. Like always. He’s missed a button on the pajama shirt (striped, and with matching bottoms, the grandpa). Probably because he did it back up in the dark the night before, even after Newt went to all the trouble of coaxing him out of it.Hermann hates things that are uneven or in disarray. Newt debates re-buttoning it for him, but wonders if that’s bordering some sort of line between cute and creepy. He’s halfway to Hermann’s collar before he can stop himself when Hermann finally stirs and squints at Newt’s outstretched hand, then glances over his shoulder at the alarm clock. “Is now really the time,” he says, voice rough with sleep, and Newt’s amazed he’s managed to muster up that much disdain when he’s been conscious for barely five seconds. “I know for a fact you have a class in half an hour.”

“Not today, man,” Newt says, and when Hermann moves to sit up he tugs him back down under the comforter. Hermann makes a single token huff, but doesn’t protest; their apartment is freezing, thanks to the open window (which Newt is regretting now), and especially compared to the bed, which Newt has insisted on overstocking with pillows and blankets. Newt immediately latches onto him and intertwines their legs, rubbing a socked foot on Hermann’s bare calf. “I’m totally cancelling it.”

“It’s only raining.”

“You’re totally cancelling yours, too,” Newt continues, and when Hermann makes an affronted noise, Newt nuzzles against his throat until it morphs into something that’s more of a pleased purr. “It’s gross out, and we’ll have to ride the train all wet and cold, and teach all wet and cold–”

“Lazy,” Hermann mumbles. He drags his fingers through Newt’s hair. “Selfish. Shirking your duties because you don’t feel like finding your umbrella.”

“I’ll make blueberry pancakes,” Newt says, between kisses to Hermann’s mouth, which is creeping up into a smile. It doesn’t take much to convince Hermann to stay in on days like today; the quick change in air pressure does a number on Hermann’s hip, to say nothing of the migraines and joint stiffness that occasionally tag along with it . Today doesn’t seem like a migraine day, but Hermann’s body does seem a little tenser than usual already. Luckily, Newt has a solution for that. “You can take a hot shower. I’ll just send off one tiny quick little email–”

“Bath,” Hermann continues to mumble.

“You can take a hot bath,” Newt corrects. “And I’ll send off one tiny quick little email and explain to our classes something very important came up.”

Hermann drags him down by a fistful of hair into a proper kiss. When he speaks, his voice is rough and low. “Mm. Shut the bloody window, too, before you draw me a bath. And dry off the windowsill. The wood will warp.”

Hermann has the incredible ability to order Newt around and somehow still make it sound like pillow talk. (And he’s the one calling Newt lazy.) “Yes, of course, right away, Dr. Gottlieb,” Newt says sarcastically. He gets a sharp tug on his hair–which Hermann was still clenching–for his troubles. “Ow.”

“And tea,” Hermann says, and releases Newt. “If you wouldn’t mind, of course, my love. But the email first.”

Luckily, they have pre-organized email groups of their class rosters, so all Newt has to do is copy over the ones for Hermann’s 10:15 and his own two and type up the promised Tiny Quick Little Email (Dr. Gottlieb and I won’t be able to make it to campus today, lectures are canceled, go over last night’s assigned reading for two days from now, come to office hours tomorrow if you have any questions, bla bla bla, -Dr. G & Dr. G) before tying on his apron and getting started on the pancakes.

It doesn’t occur to Newt until the following morning that he probably should’ve sent separate emails. Newt’s own students are used to his haphazard scheduling and correspondence and general vague unprofessionalism by this point (single word replies, labs moved back by weeks, office hours that change on Newt’s whims), but there’s no way Hermann’s students are, and there’s no way some random email from the guy with tattoos always hanging around their professor is going to seem legitimate. Whatever–it’s their own fault if they showed up to class anyway. 

Hermann hangs around Newt’s office long enough to hold his latte for him as Newt unwinds his long scarf. “I don’t know how you can stand this rubbish,” Hermann declares, wrinkling his nose as a bit of steam drifts from the lid. “It’s too sweet. And–orange.”

“Stop whining and try some,” Newt says, wriggling out of his jacket (corduroy and oversized, old Hanukkah gift from Hermann to replace his leather jacket that perished in Hong Kong). “It’s good.”

“It’s orange,” Hermann repeats.

Newt spent ten years living with rationing, goddamn it. If he wants to drink shitty overpriced seasonal coffee, he’s going to drink shitty overpriced seasonal coffee. “Just try a little,” Newt says. He inches up in front of Hermann, wrapping one hand over Hermann’s on the coffee cup and lifting it to his own mouth, where he takes a sip, then pushes it to Hermann’s. He lowers his voice. “You like pumpkin.”

“I liked the pumpkin scones you made last year,” Hermann murmurs. “I don’t really think that extends to–”

There’s a knock on the door. “Dr. Geiszler?”

Newt takes the coffee with a wink and steps back. “Come in,” he says.

It’s one of his first year students, bright-eyed and still clinging to the persistent desire to make a good impression, probably here for the office hours Newt offered up in his email. “I was wondering if we could, uh,” her eyes dart to Hermann, pink-faced, disheveled Hermann, whose gaze hasn’t left Newt’s mouth, then dart back to Newt, “discuss the reading? There were a few parts that confused me.”

“Of course,” Newt says, and flashes her a smile. “Pull up a chair. Dr. Gottlieb was just leaving.”

“Yes,” Hermann says, quickly. “I’ll be off. Er–until later, Newton. Dr. Geiszler.”

He books it out of there. Back in the lab, people used to catch them getting up to shenanigans daily, so this is nothing really all that new for them, but this is the first time it’s happened on campus. Not that they were doing anything besides flirting. Newt’s student looks guilty nonetheless, so Newt works some quick damage control.

“Did you have a nice day off yesterday?” he says.

“I did,” she says, and then looks guiltier. “Um. I hope you didn’t have to cancel for anything serious.”

“Nah,” Newt says, and gives her another smile, warmer this time. It’s weird having college kids be this nervous around him. Most of the time, his students barely even bother calling him Doctor. “Dr. Gottlieb and I had, uh–important research stuff to do. The new paper we’re collaborating on. What were you confused about?”

“You and Dr. Gottlieb spent the day together?” the girl says, eyebrows jumping. 

Newt doesn’t blame her for being surprised: their rivalry is pretty infamous on campus. “We did,” Newt says, and, hoping to cut off any questions about specifics, because he’s a terrible on-the-spot liar and would really like to not confess to making out on a couch with the entire contents of their DVR playing in the background. “The reading?”

“Right,” she says.

“Thanks to you,” Hermann declares that evening as they walk to their metro stop, arm-in-arm, “I had to field twenty bloody questions about why Dr. Geiszler was emailing for me, and why I was out, and if I was sick, and if Dr. Geiszler was sick–”

“What’d you tell them?” Newt says, grinning.

“I told them I spent the day with my husband,” Hermann sniffs, “and that the rest of it is my own personal, private business, and that it was inappropriate to bring it up in class so I would appreciate it if they stopped.”

“How romantic, Hermann,” Newt says. He bumps their elbows together. “Hey, you wanna stop somewhere for dinner? I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

“Mm. Where?”

“There’s a good ramen place a stop up,” Newt says. He went there for lunch the other day, one of those days when Hermann doesn’t have to come to campus. “Fucking good buns, too. My treat.” He grins again. “To make up for your invasion of privacy, or whatever.”

“Fewer dishes to wash,” Hermann relents. “Alright, then. Lead the way.”

Dinner goes swimmingly, for the most part–they bicker, they each get a large bowl of ramen, and split enough vegetable buns to make the ramen unnecessary, and Newt even talks Hermann (who regularly scorns all beer not German-made) into trying one of the less familiar brews from the menu. Newt’s only regret is that they apparently chose the same night to eat out as did half of the university students, which means, of course, they’re seated directly across from a large table of a combination of both of their students who won’t stop taking peeks at them and whispering. Including the girl who stopped into Newt’s office this morning. The kids’ behavior is more bewildered than anything else, but when Newt reaches over the table and plucks half a bun from where it dangles between Hermann’s lips to eat for himself, they’re suddenly interrupted by a cleared throat.

One of Hermann’s students. “Howdy, guys,” Newt says through his mouthful of bun. “Whas’up?”

“Hi, Dr. Gottlieb,” the student says, ignoring Newt pointedly.

“Hello,” Hermann says. “Er. Is there something you need?” His eyes dart over to Newt. “I’m a bit–busy, at the moment.”

“How’s your husband?” the kid says.

Newt snorts. “He’s fine?” he cuts in. “Thanks for asking.”

“If you don’t mind,” Hermann says, politely, covering Newt’s hand with his own and patting, “we’re trying to have dinner–”

“Oh, of course,” Newt’s student says. She smiles. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your date.”

“So, that was weird,” Newt says. “I thought modern kids were supposed to be–I don’t know. Statistically not assholes about that kind of stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Hermann says. He spits toothpaste into the sink, and Newt (fresh from his shower) scootches up behind him and grabs hold of his tiny waist. He’s wearing Newt’s sweatshirt to bed tonight. Fucking cutie.

“Dude, they were totally making fun of us.”

Hermann hums skeptically. “Oh, I don’t know. They’ve never in class,” he says. “I talk about excursions with my husband all the time. They’ve never–well, ridiculed me before.”

“Must just be me,” Newt says. (Hermann’s definitely too good for Newt; Newt’s never denied it. Too hot for Newt, too smart for Newt.) He kisses Hermann’s neck. “Sorry I’m not some rich, sexy bodybuilder like you deserve, baby.”

“I’m glad you’re not a rich bodybuilder,” Hermann says. He smiles at Newt in the mirror, lifts Newt’s hand to his lips to kiss the back of his knuckles. “And you’re already distressingly gorgeous. Now take me to bed.”

Newt doesn’t have to be told twice.

Newt has a gaggle of students waiting outside his office for him the next morning when he trudges up, corduroy jacket zipped up to his neck, another seasonal coffee in hand. It’s just him; Hermann’s bypassed their usual early office makeouts to catch up on grading tests instead. Totally boring. (He made sure to steal some of Newt’s coffee before he ducked out. He’s finally developing a taste for it, apparently, much to Newt’s annoyance that it’s at his expense.) “Hey,” Newt says. They part just enough for him to wriggle past to unlock his door. “You guys need to discuss the reading?” He really didn’t think it was complicated enough to warrant all this.

“You’re having an affair with Dr. Gottlieb,” one of the kids announces.

Newt drops his keys. “What?”

Four identical disdainful stares. Newt sighs. 

“Okay,” he says. He stoops to pick up the keys. “Inside.”

Three of his students accept his offer of black coffee from the dusty old Keurig he keeps in the closet and the chocolate digestives he digs from his top desk (stocked here for Hermann, he has to specially order them from some weird British website, the primadonna) while the fourth--the girl from yesterday--merely crosses her arms and levels Newt with a suspicious stare. Newt crosses his arms. “Okay,” he says. “You think I’m having an affair with Dr. Gottlieb?”

“You took a day off together,” a boy pipes up, “and lied about what you did.”

“You said you and Dr. Gottlieb were working on a paper,” the first girl says.

“Dr. Gottlieb said he spent the day with his husband,” the boy continues. “You sent a joint email, so we know that’s a lie. You had to have been together.”

“And I saw you flirting in here yesterday morning,” the girl says. “Over dinner, too, at the ramen place down the street.”

“Mmhmm,” Newt says. He nods, and pretends to rub at his chin in thought. The weird incident at dinner yesterday suddenly makes a fuck-ton more sense. “This is all very compelling evidence. If you’re already sure I’m having an affair with him, why bother confronting me?”

“To talk you out of it,” a third student pipes up. They lean forward in their seat. “Dr. Gottlieb digs his husband, Dr. G. It’s not right.”

“Of course,” Newt says. He nods again, then leans back in his chair and kicks his boots up on his desk. “Okay, rebuttal: I can’t be having an affair with Dr. Gottlieb because I’m the husband he’d be cheating on.”

“What?” two of the kids say.

Newt laughs. He just assumed it was common knowledge at this point. “We’ve been married for ten years, guys. They did a whole article about us. You could’ve Googled it.” 

Newt gets very sincere apologies, at least, as well as reassurances that Hermann is clearly deeply in love with him (and that sure is an ego boost), and his visitors very quickly flee without even so much as offering to clean out their mugs. Still grinning to himself a bit, he shoots Hermann a quick text: why didn’t you tell me you were married?

What on Earth are you talking about? comes Hermann’s reply. 

Newt sends a few heart emoticons. tell u later. luv u xxxx

Hermann allows him a single heart emoticon in response.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag

[acc3ssdenied]

MÉLOMANIE | 01

SUMMARY: You are a YouTuber who produces music and regularly publishes works entirely written and performed by you. One night, you receive an email from BigHit Entertainment Company telling you that they need a new music producer for their boy group.

PAIRING: min yoongi x producer!reader

GENRE: idol au, possible smut, f2l, yoongi is quite possibly the most adorable person in the world

WARNING: none

WORD COUNT: 2.0k

A/N: This is my first fic written on Tumblr (I usually write through wattpad with my OCs) so please bear with me and if there’s anything you think I could improve on please do not hesitate to tell me <3

CHAPTER ONE

The day you received the email that would change your life forever was like any other. You had woken up at seven, needing to walk your dog, Rex, and started working straight away. You needed to edit a piece you had left unfinished and needed to meet the artist's deadline (you had been trying a freelance piece of work where artists could contact you if they wanted you to produce their work) which would take you the whole morning. By half-past one, you had only just finished; you had to cancel lunch plans with your sister in Myeong-Dong for the second time that week.

You had remembered to eat at about half four because you were just about to start recording, resulting in you heating up half a packet of ramen noodles and leaving them forgotten on the side. It was about half-past ten when you finally finished editing your work, scheduling the upload to go live at midnight. Just as you were about to log off, your email notification sounded. Curious about who would be contacting you at this time, you furrowed your eyebrows and clicked on it.

The name listed wasn’t one you recognised but, your curiosity persisted and you opened it anyway.

Dear Miss Y/N Y/LN,

I am writing to contact you regarding your work as a music producer. My employees and I have been greatly impressed by the quality of your work, your talent cannot be found everywhere. I am the CEO of the BigHit Entertainment Company, we currently manage Bangtan Sonyeondan - or BTS - and are in the process of producing another trainee group.

We would be interested in meeting to discuss a job opportunity for you. We would like to offer you the position of lead producer and songwriter for BTS. Our previous producers will be focused on preparing on the new group’s debut and we want someone of your ability to have BTS as their priority. You would be working alongside them to write their material and produce it ready for release. This will be decided after a week-long trial, the decision will be determined with input from myself and the group members - they should be comfortable with someone who they are working closely with.

Please reply to this email with your response, if you would like to take the opportunity we will set up a meeting soon with myself and Kim Namjoon as the group’s representative. 

I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours sincerely,

Bang Si-Hyuk

You blinked at the screen. Then again. As though they were moving of their own accord, your fingers were rapidly typing out a response telling Bang Si-Hyuk that you would be delighted to meet with himself and Kim Namjoon to discuss the opportunity. You pressed send with a triumphant smile on your face. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. You had heard of BTS and listened to some of their music, you enjoyed it and found that their music resonated with you. It was one thing to be producing and performing your own music for a couple of million followers but, to produce music for one of the biggest bands in the continent. This was everything.

The response was almost instantaneous. He expressed his happiness that she would be meeting with them and listed the address of the BigHit building where the meeting would take place. You didn’t bother to contain the excited squeal that came out your mouth, slamming the laptop shut and jumping to your feet. For a second, you just stood there. Then, you screamed quietly - not wanting to wake the neighbouring apartments - and bounced around the room, dancing from foot to foot and spinning around in circles happily.

Eventually, you calmed down and managed to fall asleep but, the grin was permanently imprinted onto your face. The next morning, you woke up with the same bounce in your step, staring at the clock as though that would make the time go any faster. You were dressed in a matching beige blazer and pencil skirt set with a large tote bag containing your tablet, it had all of your best material in case they wanted to listen to some of it.

The reception area was covered in white tiles and had glass walls, the receptionist smiled at you welcomingly. “Hi, welcome to BigHit Entertainment. How can I help you?” Her voice was sweet and she had kind eyes which were behind large, black-framed glasses. 

You smiled nervously, you folded your hands other each other tightly to hide the trembling that had started. What if you messed up the meeting? What if Namjoon didn’t like you or your work and didn’t give you the job? So many things could go wrong. Instead of vocalising your jittery thoughts, you said, “Hi, my name is Y/N Y/LN. I have a meeting with Bang Si-Hyuk and Kim Namjoon?” You phrased the last sentence as a question, showing a hint of how unsure of yourself you were.

The receptionist looked down at her computer screen, searching from the system for the list of visitors. She smiled before leaning down and grabbing a visitor’s pass, “Here you go,” she said, sliding it across the desk, “Take the elevator on the left and go to the twenty-third floor. PD-nim’s secretary will direct you from there.” You nodded your thanks, gripping the visitor’s badge tightly between your fingers as you hurried over to the elevator, pressing the up arrow several times.

You spent the entire journey to the twenty-third floor bouncing on the balls of your feet, eventually pinning the badge above the pocket of your blazer. As the elevator doors began to crack open you tried to get rid of the non-existent wrinkles in your clothes and tried to brush away the dust - which wasn’t there. Immediately, you spotted a large office at the bottom of the corridor and headed towards it, assuming that the secretary would be nearby. You were right, she was sat behind a desk similar to the one the receptionist had been behind and looked up as you approached.

“Hi,” you said, smiling at her brightly, “I have a meeting Bang Si-Hyuk and Kim Namjoon at half-past two.” The secretary returned your smile, looking down to her computer and nodded, pointing to the large set of double doors to your left. “Thank you.” You hurried over to them, breathing deeply before knocking.

A deep voice came from inside of the office, “Come in.” You pushed the office door open, a shaky smile on your face as your eyes met that of Bang Si-Hyuk sat at his desk. “Hello Y/N,” he said, rising from his seat, “It is so lovely to meet you.” He gestured to the man sat opposite him, “This is Kim Namjoon, the leader of BTS.”

Namjoon smiled at you, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he bowed at you slightly, “Hello Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” The smile on his face was encouraging, as though he knew how nerve-wracking this meeting would be for you.

You bowed deeply at the waist towards both men, rising after with the nervous smile still on your face, “Mr Kim, Mr Bang. It’s an honour to be here.” Surprisingly, the latter only laughed, an amused yet kind smile on his face.

“Please, just call me PD-nim.” He gestured towards the seat beside Namjoon and you hesitantly took it, allowing the others to sit back down as well. You placed your tote bag awkwardly on your lap, glancing around the large office nervously.

From her left, Namjoon leaned over, “Please, just call me Namjoon.” You nodded hesitantly, giving him a shaky smile before looking back over to PD-nim.

“So, we’re holding this meeting to discuss the opening we have for lead producer and songwriter,” he looked over to you, “You have accepted the position on a trial basis to ensure the job is right for you and you work well with the group,” he moved his eyes to Namjoon, “Is there anything you would like to say?”

Namjoon nodded, clasping his hands together thoughtfully as his eyes flickered between the two, “Before we go any further, I would like to hear some of your work. I, personally, haven’t heard any of it before and I’d like to be familiar with your style.” Frantically, you nodded your head and you moved your tote bag to the ground and opened the zip.

As you pulled out the tablet you looked up, an excited twinkle in your eye that hadn’t been there before, “I compiled some of - what I think is - some of my best work,” you turned to Namjoon to further explain whilst the files loaded up, “I studied Music Production at university and I’ve been writing, producing and performing all of my own material and uploading it for digital streaming.” He nodded to show his understanding as you pulled up the first song you wanted to show. “This is ‘Crocodile Tears’, this is from about six months ago.”

Holding your breath, you clicked play. The familiar, prominent bass came from the tablet speaker - which was now propped onto the desk - and you almost grimaced when the first verse started. The words flowed from your mouth like honey, pausing halfway through when a sarcastic laugh could be heard. From then the speed picked up and the backing vocals that had been there before were replaced by a quite harsh synth sound.

As the closing words were spoken, you tugged your lip into your mouth and chewed on it nervously. The song had never sounded worse to you before. This was one of your best works - at least, you thought it had been. You looked over to Namjoon who appeared to be deep in thought. He glanced over to you, “Is that you rapping?”

You nodded hesitantly, your fingers finding a loose thread in your skirt to fiddle with. Namjoon whistled lowly, looking back over to the song file and flicking through your material before coming back to the first one. He pulled up the data for it, seeing exactly how you had produced it. “And the backing vocals?” You nodded again and he let out another impressed noise. He looked back over at you, noticing how uncomfortable you appeared in the formal clothing, “You can wear whatever you like when we’re working just so you know.”

Not quite realising what he was saying, you gave him a toothy grin and laughed as though he was telling you a joke. Then, you froze, staring at him in shock. “Wait,” you spluttered, gesturing with your right hand towards him, “You want to work with me?”

Namjoon nodded slowly, giving you a reassuring smile, “I haven’t heard anything like that before,” noticing the slight distress on your face, he added, “In a good way! It’s refreshing and unique. It’s almost retro but, I get a bit of trap-style - it’s hard for me to put my finger on it...” His voice trailed off as his thought process came to an end. He looked back over to the CEO, grinning at him excitedly, “When do we start?”

Bang Si-Hyuk returned his smile, clapping his hands together triumphantly, “Well, first things first: I’ll get your contract sent through. Then, the trial process can start as soon as possible.”

They both looked at you expectantly and you nodded your head quickly, an excited grin on your face as you practically bounced in the seat, “I can start whenever I’m needed.” Bang Si-Hyuk nodded over to Namjoon who got to his feet, holding his hand out to help you to your feet.

“If you start tomorrow, we can begin with you meeting the other members.”

✰✰✰✰✰✰✰

#mélanomie #min yoongi #yoongi #suga #series #fanfiction #bts #bts smut #jimin #jungkook #kim seokjin #hoseok #namjoon #bts fanfic #jimin smut #kim taehyung #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #agust d #seokjin smut #namjoon smut #hoseok smut #fluff #angst

[buckybabybaby]

Mr Hollywood (Chapter 14)

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 1842

Chapter summary: The city that never sleeps with the man that really needs to...

Warnings: None!

Previous: Chapter 13

Mr Hollywood Masterlist | Main Masterlist

*****

Waking up the next day, the first thing you're aware of is how warm you are. Cracking one eye open, it takes you a second to remember where you are, the bedroom looking different in the morning light. The rays shining through the thin curtains and the heavy quilt are a little too much now you're awake.

Attempting to move the duvet away, it comes as quite the shock when it resists, mumbling something from behind you, the weight across your centre tightening and pulling you back into the middle of the bed. Twisting your head to the side, you're met with a head full of messy brunette hair, and your body freezes at the realisation that Bucky has cuddled up to you in his sleep. Granted, just one arm over the covers, but it's still much more intimate than you've been with him before and you don't want him to know you're awake in case it becomes awkward. His breathing is slow and even against your shoulder, still dead to the world, and you relax back into his hold knowing how deeply he sleeps. He regularly slept through his alarm when you worked together, and many a time you had had to use the spare key to enter his flat and chivvy him out of bed.

Staring up at the ceiling, you allow yourself to enjoy his embrace. You feel well rested, the aches from yesterday gone and with the blankets folded down away from you, you're content in your comfortably hazy state.

At least you are until your tummy rumbles.

Bucky shuffles beside you, rolling onto his back and releasing you from his grip, allowing you to slip out of bed and tip toe out to the hall. Closing the door quietly as you leave him be, you take a moment to admire the sight, how peaceful he looks sleeping in his own bed for once. The first half of filming for season two has just wrapped, and it's no secret that the hours are just as brutal as they were for the first, the actors pushed to their limit in the pursuit of keeping to budget.

Bucky needs all the sleep he can get.

Alone in the unfamiliar house, you slowly walk down the corridor, not wanting to open the wrong door and invade someone’s privacy. Especially not on your first day here. Following the stairs down to the next floor, you find the kitchen, an airy open plan space with the living room off to the right.

A box of your favourite cereal sits on the counter near the fridge, the sticky note with your name written in Bucky's handwriting stuck on the side bringing a smile to your face.

“How did you sleep?”

Whipping around as the voice startles you, you find Sophia stood at the table with her plate of toast and orange juice.

“Don't skulk around like that!”

“I'm not skulking, looks like you've got something to hide. Was the bed comfy enough?”

Turning back to make your breakfast, you ignore her and her smirk.

“Fine. Don't tell me. But just so you know, the bathroom is in-between Bucky's room and Day's so we wouldn't be able to hear anything if you wanted-”

“Sophia! Stop, please. And anyway,” You point at the clock. “Why are you up so early?”

“I'm not that tired actually, thanks to you keeping Benjamin entertained on the plane. What about you?”

“Hungry.”

“I'll let you get back to your food then.”

The breakfast bar seats are surprisingly comfortable, and you happily sit in the kitchen checking your phone as you eat and wait for Bucky to finally make it out of bed.

“Y/N.” His voice is scratchy when he walks in. “There you are.”

“Morning.” You push a bowl towards him as he takes a seat opposite you. “I poured you some cornflakes.”

“You should stay over more often,” He grins as he adds milk and takes a spoonful.

“And you should lend me your tops more often. This is the softest thing I've ever worn.”

Gaze skimming up your legs to where his t-shirt falls across your top half, he pauses halfway through a mouthful. Something in the air changes as he puts down his cutlery, breakfast forgotten as he stands up again.

You can't look away as he approaches. “Bucky?”

He shakes his head. “I could get used to this. You, here with me. Waking up together.”

“Bucky.”

“Well, if you stayed in bed long enough, that is,” He goes on, coming to a stop before you as you slide off your seat.

“And I could really get used to seeing you in my clothes.” His fingers skim the hem, centimetres away from your thighs. “You're so pretty in this.”

“I'm not,” You protest weakly.

He chuckles. “Still so shy with compliments. I guess I'll just have to keep repeating them until you believe me.”

Winding his arm around your waist, he brings you between his legs and you look down, chest tight.

He tilts his head to catch your eye again, “Y/N, I want to-”

The door opens behind you and you step away from Bucky instinctively, not missing the way his hands reach out for you.

Dayton's eyes narrow as he assesses the situation he's walked in on. “Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Bucky spits at the same time, glaring at his brother as you wish you could become invisible.

Shifting your weight from one foot to another as Dayton grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it up with water, your sides tingle with the ghost of Bucky's touch.

“Well, better get this to Sophia.”

Dayton winks at you as he leaves, making you even more flustered.

When he's gone Bucky's attention is back on you but the moment has past, and before the tension becomes to much you change the subject.

“Erm, if you have nothing else important to do, could you come shopping with me? Or not. It's fine if you're busy, I can go alone.”

“Of course I'll come, I said I would. And we can't have you getting lost on your first day can we?”  You nod as you laugh at the thought. “I'll go get dressed.”

*****

Getting ready doesn't take very long as you can only put yesterdays outfit back on. Standing next to Bucky by the front door as he fixes his hat, you stare at your reflection in the mirror and wish you'd worn something more stylish for the flight over. Next to him in his bespoke outfit you feel plain and uninteresting.

You feel even more under-dressed when you hear a set of footsteps coming down from the second floor, and then there in front of you is the woman you've heard so much about. Seeming like she's just stepped out of a fashion magazine, her immaculate hair and perfectly fitting dress-suit has you shrinking away, intimidated despite her friendly demeanour.

“Aren't you going to introduce me, Bucky?”

“Oh, yeah, 'course. Mum, this is my-err, my, my Y/N. Y/N.”

You flush, smiling at her through your embarrassment. “Nice to meet you, Mrs Barnes.”

She doesn't notice how tense you've become, kissing one cheek then the other. “So lovely to finally meet you Y/N. Oh! You're even more beautiful in real life! And it's Winnifred.”

Bucky giggles as you look to him helplessly.

“George! Come meet Y/N.”

Mr Barnes trails in, just as welcoming as his wife. The resemblance to his sons is remarkable even with the softness of laughter lines added to his face over the years.

He clasps your hand in both of his. “Glad you finally found some time to visit. Bucky's been excited for your arrival all week. Hasn't stopped going on about it.”

“Dad,” Bucky groans as you rise your eyebrows over at him, amused.

“As we all have, obviously.” His dad tries to save himself.

“Right, well we'll have to leave you kids alone now, work calls,” Winnifred apologies as her phone buzzes and she grabs her bag.

“Kids?” Bucky mutters with a roll of his eyes.

“You'll always be my baby, darling,” She says, flicking the brim of his hat so it falls off and she can ruffle his hair.

Smoothing it back down as he blushes, he opens the door. “All right, definitely time for you to leave!”

“See you two later. Oh, we should all have lunch! Not today though.” She thinks as George coaxes her out the house. “I'll text you our schedule and we'll make it work.”

Bucky's dad waves back at the two of you. “See you both soon.”

The door swings shut behind them and Bucky turns to you, grinning bashfully.

“Sorry they're so full on.”

“They're very sweet.”

“Suppose they are. I owe them a lot.” He collects his hat from the floor and resits it upon his head. “Ready to hit the shops?”

*****

Shopping is exhausting. Not only is New York enormous, with every store possible spread across miles of avenues and boulevards, but you've never shopped from American brands before, so you have no idea which one to start with. Bucky isn't much help, you have to pull him away from the designer shops more than once during the day. He says it's not a problem, he can pay, but that's the last thing you want since he paid for you to come over. You don't let him get lunch either, insisting on trying out a little toasted sandwich van parked near one of the entrance gates for Central Park.

Finding a bench near a fountain, you sit close together and tear into the paper bag full of melted cheese and hot vegetables between warm bread.

Once the food is finished, you watch the other tourists and native New Yorkers for a while. After so many years of daydreaming about visiting, it's surreal to actually be here, the three week break Bucky's managed to bag for himself stretches before you like the summers holidays did when you where a child. Compared to the snatched moments you've shared in the last year, it feels endless.

This is the happiest you've been for months. “Thank you for bringing me.”

“Thank you for forgiving me so I could.”

You watch the water cascade down the statues together for a few more minutes, arms brushing, until you can no longer take it.

“Bucky?” He hums. You take a deep breath, acting braver than you feel. “Dayton thinks we should talk. Do you think he's right?”

“I think he's an interfering piece of-”

“No you don't. And you're not answering the question.”

Bucky sighs, repositioning himself on the bench so he can look at you directly, his face a mix of emotions. “I wanted to talk this morning, before Dayton barged in like the-.”

You interrupt. “How about we talk now instead?”

“All right.” Standing up, he holds out his hand for you to take, squeezing it gently when you let him help you up. “Come on, I know the perfect place to go.”

*****

Chapter 15

Sorry I left it there... ;) As always, thank you for reading! <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #buckybabybaby #Mr Hollywood

[lovelylogans]

where you lead, i will follow

previous chapter / chapter three / next chapter

start from the beginning!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, verbal fighting, top surgery mention, classism, 

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 5,995

notes: you know the first sentence of the chapter? i’m literally still writing this

if this was a full length fic (we’re ignoring that this is chapter three shut up) i would include:

logan does actually try being nice for once and literally everyone in town asks if he's sick, and when logan finally explains it all to roman, roman rolls his eyes and knocks his foot against logan's and says "why on earth should you ever change? you're wonderful" and they both blush and change the subject and logan acts like "you're wonderful" isn't echoing around in his head for the next week

logan having a weird bonding moment with his grandfather when his grandmother makes his grandfather take him to the country club, and they both find themselves hiding in the same corner with all the historical records instead of socializing

virgil finds a stray kitten, patton finds out about it and cries about the cuteness, and then cries harder when the kitten finds a good home, virgil almost has a stroke from the sheer Cute when patton holds it

logan figures out that dee's first name is wiped out of all the school records (???) and that their grandmothers are apparently friends (???) and they have to sit through some kind of brunch together in their newly budding nemesis-ship glowering at each other, emily somehow entirely oblivious to the daggers her grandson and dee are shooting each other

there is a new kid at sideshire who is out and Cute and roman might be swooning over him a little??? his name is (draws from the hat of gilmore girls love interests) jess. oh yeah, like, bad boy jess. i can make that work. anyway hard cut to logan being sulky or jealous in the background every time this comes up

patton goes to a pta meeting, chaos ensues

logan has hit his growth spurt and has shot through a pant size in a month; patton actually cries a little when he realizes logan is taller than him now and he's getting so old he's such an adult!!!

logan studies to the point where patton finds him slumped over his study materials regularly, and at one point he nearly passes out walking to the bus stop and virgil sees and makes him sit down and eat and tells patton, and patton sits him down and has A Talk about taking care of himself 

but we're gonna have time jump to the point of... oh, let's say it's october? before logan's birthday. then-ish.

⁂

it's autumn in sideshire! the leaves are all orange and red and brown and crunchy, a chill is in the air, sweaters are busted out, virgil gets more and more influxes of orders for hot cocoa/coffee, etc etc, mood setting, you get it. 

logan's settled more and more into the swing of things at chilton: he has an impeccable studying schedule set up, with various allowances for when patton or roman insist he's "working too hard" and break it. he and dee are, that weird brunch aside, mostly circling around each other, waiting for the other to make a move. 

patton's mostly gotten into the swing of things, too; he and his parents still bicker at dinners, but he's used to that, he's been used to that for years. he waits for logan to get home at virgil's, he supervises roman and logan sleepovers, he still works for his business degree and oversees the chaos that is the inn.

he's at the inn one day, directing the landscapers on where to put all the leaves the part-timers have raked up and has fallen into a discussion about flowers that'll do well in their cold climate, when a familiar boy races up the lawn, grinning wide, clutching—patton squints, but roman's upon him before he can tell, giggling as he tries to catch his breath, holding onto his shoulder for balance.

"mr. sanders!" he exclaims, and laughs again, letting go of patton to his hand to his mouth. "um, i'm sorry, i know you're working, i just don't have anyone else to tell yet and—" he falls into giggles again. 

"that's okay," patton says, very confused as to what's happening. "um, just—handle the leaves, we can keep talking flowers when we have our appointment on...?"

"thursday."

"thursday, right! okay, mr. giggly, let's go inside, you can tell me all about it."

patton has an office! he doesn't use it much, prefers to be out in the scrum of things, but it's very adult-looking and he's fond of it. all dark woods and file cabinets that logan helped organize and a variety of coffee mugs littered around, and patton pats the couch, sitting down himself, sighing a little. it's nice to sit down, he's been on his feet all day.

"okay," patton says. "so, what warranted running up to my inn with a..." patton frowns. "is that a box of cornstarch?"

"oh!" roman says, lifting it to eye-level, as if noticing it for the first time. "oh! i might have shoplifted." he looks worried for a second, before he giggles again, covering his mouth with his hands. "oh my god, i can't believe i just did that."

"i—go back," patton says, shaking himself, because sure, he'd shoplifted in his misguided youth, but not roman. "you shoplifted?!"

"accidentally!" roman defends. "i just—okay, so, you know jess?"

he knows jess from a distance—he's seen him around town on his motorcycle, knows him like he knew the boys he'd gravitated toward, the kind his parents would disapprove of so the kind of boy he'd throw himself at. he also knows jess from logan's grumbles of "what kind of name is jess anyway" and "as suspected! he's a fight club fanboy, i would have thought roman knew better" and "what do you mean, jealous?! i'm not—i'm not jealous! that's ridiculous! jealous, dad *poorly executed scoff that tells patton he's right* honestly."

"i've seen him around," patton says, instead of getting into all that.

"he," roman says, drawing himself up, and giggles, "kissed me."

patton blinks. "he did?!"

"he did!" roman says. "i was in the grocery store and i was trying to act, you know, all chill, like, oh, hey, didn't see you there, like i didn't follow him in from the outside, so i didn't really notice i was staring at corn starch, and he came around a corner and was like so you have a really desperate need for some cornstarch? and i tried to play it really cool, and i just ended up blurting out nice jacket like an idiot, but then he laughed like it was funny and not like he was laughing at me and he was showing me all the pins he had on there and talking about how it was good for riding, and he said i'll have to take you out for a ride sometime and inside i was like, you know, oh my god!! that sounds like a date! because it totally sounds like a date, right?!"

patton's about to agree, but roman plows over him, still babbling excitedly.

"—and he was telling me, like, all about the stuff we might potentially do, and i told him i knew a really nice place for, like, a picnic, or something, and he said so a picnic's one of the only things to do around here? and i was like well, i dunno, i think it'd be a pretty nice date, and oh my GOD i still cannot BELIEVE i said it like that, and then he looked at me and did this cute little smirking thing he does, it makes him look like james dean or marlon brando or something, and he said a date, huh? and i said what, is taking people out for a motorcycle ride something you do with all the boys in town? and HE said only the cute ones and i almost screamed patton i swear and i tried to play it like, oh, yeah, a motorcycle ride, totally something someone asks me to do like every day and this is totally not the first time someone's ever called me cute and asked me on a date, and so i said and what's in it for all these cute boys, then? and he said well, i'm looking at just one cute boy in particular and THEN!!!" 

"he kissed you," patton surmises.

"he kissed me," roman said. "and then he said seven? and i said yeah and then he left and then i ran all the way here."

"wow," patton says, because, well. what else can he say?

"yeah," roman sighs happily, and then he chews on his lip, and then he says, "patton, you know things about boys."

that... was not where he was expecting this to go. "i...sure?"

"i mean," roman says, and flaps his hands. "i can't tell my mom about this, she might kill him. what do i—i've never been on a date before, and i've never been on a motorcycle, and you have—"

"how'd you know that?!"

"logan told me his other dad has one, and i mean, you were a rebellious teenager, weren't you?" roman says. "you had to have gone on dates, patton, help me."

"i—"

"i mean, other than your massive crush on virgil—"

"my what?!" patton squeaks, cheeks flaming red.

"oh, patton, please, you know that i've known for years, it's obvious," he says, then, "and you can't tell logan!"

"we're going back to the virgil thing later but, i mean—i figured you'd want to tell him," patton says. 

"i can't tell him this!"

"you tell each other everything," patton says, a little blindsided, because they did tell each other everything. patton cannot think of a secret kept between them. from him, maybe. but not between them.

"yeah, but—" roman bites his lip, harder. "he doesn't like jess, and he's—we're—you know."

"he'd still want to hear about it from you than anyone else, you know how fast gossip spreads in this town," patton says.

"he'll get all weird about it," roman says. "and then we won't talk as much anymore, and then he'll start passive-aggressively writing an article for the courant about the dangers of motorcyclists, and then jess will see it, and they'll argue, and then i'll have to figure out how to calm it down without making either of them think i'm preferring the other, and oh my god, you're logan's dad, i can't be telling you about this! i cannot believe i'm asking you for advice for a date!"

"well, who do you usually go to about this kind of thing?" patton says pragmatically. "other than logan or me, i mean, you can advice from them if it's too weird hearing it from me."

roman looks at his shoes and mumbles, "i go see," and then the name tumbles into something indecipherable.

"sorry, who did you say? i couldn't hear—"

"i go see virgil," roman wails, and patton actually laughs, before he blinks.

"wait. you're serious?"

roman hides his face in his hands. "i go to the diner and i tell him about—about whatever's going on with logan, and then he tries giving me advice except he's terrible at it, and then i get to make fun of him for being worse at romance than a teenager, and then he grumbles at me about it, and it's a system, okay?! but i can't tell virgil about jess, are you crazy?!"

"i just—virgil?" patton repeats, trying to wrap his head around it.

"virgil hates jess," roman bursts out. "he told me so."

"oh, i'm sure he doesn't—"

"he told me that," roman says, "to my face. and then he started being, all—" he makes his voice gruff in his best virgil impression. "that boy who walks around town like he's trying to figure out the best windows to break and businesses to vandalize? he's bad news, roman. stay away from him. that kid is trouble, you mark my words. like he's—like he's a criminal, and i'm some kind of innocent damsel that needs protecting!"

"okay, okay, okay," patton says. "no virgil, then."

"but i can't talk to you, me and logan are—" roman waves a hand vaguely. "you know."

"yeah," patton says. "i mean—yeah, actually, what's with all this, since you and logan are all—"

he copies the hand gesture.

"yeah, but i just," roman says, and scuffs his sneaker over patton's carpeted floor. "i dunno. i kind of figured if he wanted to go out, he would have made a move by now, right? i don't wanna... i don't wanna be all hung up on him when there's this guy right here who does want to date me."

patton considers that, and tries to set aside the fact that logan's his son, because roman looks like he needs advice right now.

"look. do you really like this guy?"

roman worries his lip between his teeth, and admits, "i think i could. i think i'm on the way there."

"okay," patton says. "then i'll help."

he holds up a hand.

"i'm only going to give you a little bit of a lecture, but you're smarter than i was when i was your age. stay safe, okay? and if he tries to talk you into anything—seriously anything—that you're uncomfortable with, you call me, okay? or your mom. actually, your mom would be way better at intimidation than me."

"okay."

"okay," patton says. "then it's a first date, not a marriage proposal. go into it with the goal of getting to know him. have fun. if it doesn't work, it doesn't work, no big loss. if it does? then you can go from there."

roman bites his lip some more. "you really think i should tell logan?"

"i think he'd be madder if he found out from someone else."

roman gusts out a sigh. "okay," he says.

patton ends up realizing he should probably get back to work, and suggests that roman go meet logan at the bus stop and walk him back home or to virgil's or wherever, so he can tell him the news.

 logan steps off the bus, ready to spend a friday afternoon clearing off his weekend homework so he can have something to discuss at family dinner, and then focus on extra credit and planning his week on sunday, and blinks when roman waves at him from the bench.

"you're here."

"yeah," roman says, standing up.

"you never come to walk me back."

"yeah, well, i wanted to talk to you."

"about what?"

"how was your day?" roman says, dodging the question.

logan's eyes narrow, just a little, before he tells him about his exam in history about the french revolution that he thinks went well, and logan asks "how was yours?" 

roman tries to make himself sound as happy as he sounded—as he'd felt—when he was talking to patton. "um, actually, i got asked out."

logan blinks at him. "asked out where?"

"no," roman says. "like, um. like i got asked out on a date. tonight."

logan stares at him, still, face so blank that roman doesn't have a hope of reading it. "a... date."

"yeah," roman says. "like. romantically. a guy thought i was cute and asked me out. a date."

"which guy," he says.

"jess," roman says. "you know. the new guy. the junior with the motorcycle."

"motorcycle," logan repeats.

"we're going to go on a picnic."

"a picnic."

"at seven."

"seven."

"he kissed me," roman says, and there's not a reaction. not at all. "at the grocery store. i might have shoplifted in all my excitement."

"shoplifted."

"logan, are you just going to keep repeating everything i say?!"

logan shakes himself, and says abruptly, "i forgot i told virgil i was going to pick up a book i wanted to borrow from him."

"oh," roman says. "um, okay. do you wanna get a jam tart or—?"

"i'll be in and out," logan says. "i have a lot of homework to do."

"okay," roman repeats, and logan looks at him, because roman's biting his lip the way he does when he's nervous, and he tears his gaze off of his lip. the lip that jess kissed today, apparently.

"you always wanted to go on a date," logan says, robotic. "and now you're going on one. good for you."

roman tries for a smile. "yeah. i'm—i'm really excited."

"good," logan repeats. "that's good."

he almost sounds like he means it. he gestures to the diner. "i'll see you later."

"do you want to do lucy's on saturday?"

"again," logan says. "i have a lot of homework. i'm not sure how free i'll be. midterms."

"oh," roman repeats, and then tries for a smile. "okay."

okay's starting to not sound like a word.

"have fun on your date," logan says, and his tone is just a bit cold, and roman forces out "logan—" right as the door closes behind him.

virgil glances up, and says, "hey, kid, i wasn't sure if you were going to stop in today—"

"i'm not staying for very long," logan says. his tone is still very blank. studiously blank.

"to-go bag, then?" virgil says, already packing up logan's (healthy) after-school snack. "don't study too hard, okay, it's the weekend."

"right."

"and tell your dad to stop by after dinner with your grandparents if they try feeding you, like, caviar or something."

"okay."

virgil narrows his eyes at logan, and says, "you okay?"

"fine."

virgil's eyes narrow further.

"i'm fine," logan repeats.

"right," virgil says, and then, to the nearest worker, "jean, could you handle the register a minute? i've got a book upstairs i want logan to look at."

logan follows along, with none of his signature confidence or arrogance, and virgil unlocks the door to his apartment.

logan's only been up here a few times. most of the time, he just stays in the diner, or virgil comes over to their place. he slept over here a few nights, as a kid. it's a small place, homey like his dad's, but a bit more sparse. logan drops his backpack at the door.

"there's no book, is there."

"nope," virgil says, and logan sits on virgil's couch. "you okay, l?"

logan shrugs, pulls a blanket that virgil has over the back of the couch onto his lap. 

this is kind of freaking him out. whenever logan gets upset, he's usually angry, quick to explode or snap, or he sulks. he's never so...

listless.

"roman's going on a date with jess," logan says tonelessly. 

"oh, shit," virgil says, "the delinquent?!"

"he has a record?" logan asks, plucking at an imaginary loose thread in the blanket. there's none of the investigative curiosity that would usually be in his voice.

"not that i know of, he just—he has that vibe, you know?" virgil says. "are you sure he said jess?"

"he kissed roman in the grocery store. roman said he accidentally shoplifted. they're going on a motorcycle ride to a picnic."

all of his words are devoid of energy. 

"do you need a hug or something?" virgil asks helplessly, because he isn't sure if he's ever seen logan this... defeated before.

"no."

"jam tart? yelling session? anything?"

"no," logan repeats, and sets aside the blanket. "i have a lot of homework to do."

"you can do it here? if you want?"

"i think i'll go home."

"do you need me to walk you there?"

"you're in the after school rush," logan says. "no. i'll be fine."

"are you sure?"

"yes, i'm sure," logan says, and stands, folding the blanket again before setting it on the couch. 

"logan—"

"i'm fine," he repeats, goes to get his backpack, and walks out of the apartment, and then out of the diner, as virgil stares after him.

virgil lets out a breath, and gets out his phone.

"virgil, hey!" patton says happily, picking up after the second ring.

"hey," virgil echoes. "um. logan just stopped by, and—"

"was roman with him?"

virgil blinks. "you knew?"

"roman came to the inn to tell me all about the kiss and the date and stuff, and i told him logan would probably take the news better coming from him than from the gossip mill," patton says. "also, why didn't you tell me that you're apparently roman's romantic guru?"

"i am not his romantic guru."

"he made it sound like you are," patton says. "he said it's a system. that he makes fun of you for not knowing anything about romance."

"okay, but that kid bullies me daily."

"he's fifteen."

"doesn't change the fact that he's a little jerk."

"we'll come back to that later," patton says. "why'd you call?"

"oh," virgil says, because right. the not-great news. "right. um, i'm pretty sure roman just broke your son's heart."

there's a moment of silence before virgil shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"i've never seen him so..."

"mad?" patton says, worried. "did he yell at you? you know he doesn't mean any of it, but he'll apologize as soon as—"

"no," virgil says. "no. he wasn't mad at all, that's why i'm worried. he was just... lifeless."

another moment of silence. "oh," patton says, strangled.

"yeah."

"like...?"

"like, i tried talking to him, and he was just. blank. didn't want a hug, didn't want to yell, didn't want a jam tart, didn't want anything. just told me that roman was going on a date, and he said he had a lot of homework to do and that he was going to go home. kept telling me he didn't need me to walk him back and that he was fine."

"oh, no," patton murmurs. "i—oh, no."

"yeah. so. figured you should have a heads-up."

"thanks," patton says, distracted. "i—i'm going to go check on him."

"keep me updated?"

"yeah," he says, and then, "i've gotta go."

"right. okay."

 patton ends up calling it an early day at the inn, and drives home. no one answers when he opens the door.

"hey, i'm home," he calls, dropping his keys into the little bowl by the door.

nothing. he frowns.

he was just... lifeless, echoes in his head. he stomps loudly up the stairs, and pauses, before he opens up the door to his son's room.

there's a lump on the bed. curled up under the covers. glasses on the table. head turned away from the door.

"hey," patton says, softer.

no response. patton crosses and sits carefully on the edge of the bed. logan's just staring out the window. his aren't red, or watery, so he hasn't cried. he's just... lying there.

patton reaches out and puts a hand on what he's pretty sure is logan's ankle. he squeezes, gently. 

"so, you haven't had the best day," patton prompts gently.

no response.

"i'm sorry," patton offers. "i know that must have been hard to hear."

nothing.

"i have some emergency logan's berry crofter's if you want it, honey."

nada.

"is it okay if i lay down too?"

a long pause. patton's about to ask again, before—

"lie," logan croaks out.

"what?"

"lie down. you're a person, not an object. people lie down, objects lay down."

"oh," patton says. "okay, then, can i lie down too?"

"can you call grandma and grandpa first?" he whispers. "just tell them i'm sick."

"yes," patton says. "yes, of course, i'll call right now, just—"

he fumbles with his phone for a second, before he manages to click on the contact name.

"emily sanders speaking."

"mom, hey," patton says, pitching his voice low. "i'm gonna have to cancel dinner today."

"what?" she demands. "why?!"

"logan's sick."

"he was at school today, wasn't he?"

"he started feeling bad on the bus, mom," he says, and racks his brain for an illness severe enough that it would get them out of it. "puked as soon as he got off."

"don't be crass."

"sorry," patton says. "but he's sick and i don't want to make him take the drive and sit down for dinner when he's going to be too nauseous to handle it."

"let me talk to him."

"he just laid down for a nap, i don't wanna wake him," patton lies. "look, i'm sorry to do this so short notice, but i really have to insist. he's a mess."

a long pause. "we could drive down to look after him."

patton's eyes probably go cartoonishly wide in alarm. "mom, that's a nice gesture, really—"

"great, then we'll—"

"i don't want you catching whatever it is he has," patton finishes, louder. "seriously, we're fine here, we can have a, a, a make-up brunch or something. i'll let you know as soon as he feels better."

a huff. "brunch it is, then. at the club."

patton winces, before he says, "whatever you say, mom. i'm gonna, um. clean some stuff up around here."

"tell me when you're—"

patton hangs up.

"how bad is it," logan says, in that same blank, awful voice.

"brunch at the club, whenever you're feeling better," patton admits, setting his phone aside before he takes off his shoes, and lies down on the bed—well, leans back against the headboard so he can keep an eye on his son, really.

logan nods, and resumes looking out the window.

"i'm really sorry," patton says softly.

logan doesn't say anything. 

logan doesn't say anything for the rest of the night.

⁂

"hey."

"hey. how is he?"

"not good. you were right. even when he's sick he's not so quiet. i think he said maybe fifteen words between me getting home and him falling asleep."

"did he...?"

"he was just. lying there. the whole night. he was just lying there, virge. he didn't do anything. he didn't talk, he barely ate—"

"he's going through a growth spurt, not eating is—okay, i'm sure you know all that, should i bring breakfast, tomorrow morning?"

"as long as you aren't too busy."

"i'll make crofter's pancakes, or something. bring you some hot cocoa/coffee."

"thanks."

"um. not to be awkward, or anything, but roman brought by the boy."

"...ah."

"i don't like him."

"roman mentioned that."

"i just—roman deserves better. don't tell him i said that."

"what did they do?"

"they got cake."

"did he treat roman okay? from what you could see, i mean."

"i mean, i was in and out of the kitchen, but roman looked—happy. i guess."

"why 'i guess?'"

"i dunno. i mean, he tried to put a hand on roman a few times, and roman just kind of... laughed uncomfortably and tried to move."

"if he tries to pressure roman into anything, i swear—"

"hey, roman's a headstrong kid. he's a bit too stubborn for his own good. no one's about to make him do anything he wants to do."

"if he presents it like he's sweeping him off his feet—"

"...oh. i see your point."

"i just—sorry. i have a history with those kinds of boys. logan's existence alone as exhibit a. but he's probably a nice boy, right?"

"i still don't like him."

"sweetheart, this is the part where you say, yes, patton, i'm sure he's a nice boy and that roman had a lovely time, but he's going to come to realize that waiting for logan to make a move was the wrong choice and figure out his love life."

"oh. um, all that."

"okay. you know, it's weird for us to be talking on the phone like this."

"yeah. usually, you just barge into the diner, it's weird to be talking to you without fending off requests for hot cocoa/coffee."

"hey, i'm not that bad."

"i'm reminding you of this conversation next time that starts up again, then."

"fine, fine, if you say so. i think i'm gonna go to bed. you still have your spare key, right?"

"right, yeah. i'll text when i'm on the way."

"you know i probably won't wake up with that."

"yeah, but. just the gesture of the thing."

"i know. gosh, what a mess."

"they'll get there eventually."

"we can only hope."

"teenage boys are dumb."

"don't i know it. i'll see you tomorrow?"

"yeah, i'll see you then."

⁂

virgil's used to getting up early, mostly because of opening up the diner but also partially because he has a terrible sleep schedule. patton, who has the sleep schedule of "yes," is less likely to be up at this kind of hour. so virgil unlocks the door with the key patton gave him as soon as he moved in, and goes to the kitchen to start making breakfast, only to come to a stop.

"oh," he says to the blanket-wrapped boy at the kitchen table. "um, hey, logan."

"virgil," logan says, pencil scratching over paper. so that's something.

"i told your dad i might come over to make breakfast. so."

"right," logan says. 

"you want pancakes?"

"sure."

okay. one-word responses. better than none, right?

virgil digs around for the bowls and plates and pans he'll need, and sets aside patton's hot cocoa/coffee (in a thermos) and then turns to survey logan some more.

"what are you doing?"

"making a list," he says. "well. a variety of lists, really. it seemed untidy to have one big one when i could categorize."

okay, that sounded more like him. virgil tried not to sigh in relief.

"categorize. like what?"

"chilton, college applications, things we need to do around the house, dad's business plans. plans for the diner too, actually, just there."

virgil picks it up, and blinks. "remodel?"

"at least paint. you're due for it."

"the diner's classic. vintage, even."

"like i said. at least paint."

the house phone rings. logan blinks, swivels around.

"no one calls the house phone," he mutters, and gets to his feet, picking it up.

"logan sanders speaking." a pause. virgil can hear what sounds like a woman responding. "no, he isn't here." a pause. "he wasn't here last night either." another pause. "what do you mean, he didn't come home?"

a longer pause. virgil's missing some kind of puzzle piece, he can feel it. 

"no," logan says, voice faraway and cold. "he told me was going on a date. he didn't tell you?"

oh. SHIT.

the woman's voice, louder, and oh no.

"i'm sorry, i don't know where he'd be," logan says, and hangs up.

"logan," virgil manages, after he picks his jaw up off the ground.

"excuse me," logan says, "i'm feeling rather ill. i'm going to lie down."

he sweeps up the stairs. virgil has to reassemble his thoughts before he grabs his phone, scrolling through the contacts, and hissing "pick up pick up pick up you little—"

"you've reached roman prince—"

"fuck," virgil hisses, and clambers up the stairs after patton, before he bursts into patton's shoulder, shaking his shoulder.

"mmph," patton mumbles, and if it was any other day, virgil would be marveling at his bedhead, his sleeping face, but right now—

"patton. patton wake up."

"virgil?" patton mumbles, props himself up on an elbow and rubs his eyes. 

"roman didn't come home last night," virgil blurts out, and patton blinks, before sitting upright.

"what?!"

"ms. prince called here because she thought he might have been over here," virgil says, "because roman didn't tell her he had a date and he didn't come home last night."

"oh, god," patton says, wild-eyed, and rolls out of bed, going straight for his closet. "do you think he's—?"

"i don't know," virgil says. "i knew i didn't like that kid, i knew it—"

"i'm sure he's okay," patton says, a little frantic as he searches for a passable shirt. "i mean, this is sideshire we're talking about—"

he stops in his tracks. "who answered the phone?"

"what?"

"you said ms. prince called here, who—?"

"logan did."

"oh, no," patton says, horrified, and shakes himself. "right, okay. you're going to go to ms. prince's and offer to help look for roman, i'm going to stay here and—" he gestures toward logan's bedroom.

"right," virgil says. "right, okay. you have hot cocoa/coffee in a thermos in your kitchen, i'm going to go—" he jerks a thumb toward the door.

"right, yeah," patton says, and they split up.

virgil's on his way to ms. prince's, brain swirling with possibilities, when he sees a familiar pair of red, doodled-over high tops peeking out from a tiny little garden alcove off the main street. virgil's heart practically stops. he feels like the jogger in the intro of a crime show that's about to stumble across a—

but he can't stop himself from barging forward, heart in his throat, and—and he's just lying there. the pair of them are.

the boy is on top of roman. it infuriates him.

"HEY!" virgil shouts, voice deeper and rougher than even he would have anticipated, and he closes his fist around the neck of the leather jacket, yanking him roughly off of roman, tossing him aside. 

"get your hands off him!"

he shoves the kid when he tries to get closer to roman again, and he's so incensed that he can't even think.

"what the hell, dude?!" the boy demands.

"don't you dude me," virgil shouts. "do you have any idea what could have happened out here?!"

"virgil, stop!" roman shouts back, tugging sharply at his arm, and virgil swivels. "we just fell asleep—"

virgil says sharply, "there's no just about this, roman!"

"it was an accident, he didn't—"

"your mother called the sanders', she's worried sick," virgil fumes, and roman's face drains of blood. "do you know how terrifying it must have been for her to wake up without her kid in her bed in the morning?! why the hell wouldn't you have told her?!"

"we didn't DO anything!" the other kid shouts.

"oh, you better hope you didn't do anything," virgil snarls, turning to face the kid again, "staying out all night! outside! in october! are you insane?! you are SO lucky you two didn't catch hypothermia, to start with—"

"my mom," roman says, and tugs at virgil's hoodie sleeve. "virgil, my mom—"

"you better sprint back to that dance studio if you don't want to be grounded for all time," virgil snaps. 

but roman doesn't. roman turns to the boy, and says breathlessly, "it was really nice—i'm really sorry about all this, um—"

"hey, i've got your number," the boy says, and he looks pleased when roman darts forward to kiss him on the cheek, shouting "bye!" and running for the studio.

there's an awkward silence.

"am i free to go, officer?" the boy sneers. "or do you have to give me a shovel speech, too?"

"i don't like you," virgil says, and gives his best intimidating grin. he's pleased to see a flicker in the boy's attempt at cool confidence. "so i'll leave all that to ms. prince."

he strides away. he turns a corner in the street and waits until the diner is in sight before he digs out his phone.

"hello?" patton answers, breathless, and just like that, all the fight leaves him.

"hey, i found him," virgil says. "he's probably going to get grounded until the end of his natural life, but i found him. he's okay."

"oh, thank god," patton gasps. "he's okay?"

"lucky not to have hypothermia," virgil says darkly. "fell asleep in that little garden off main, the one with the willow tree?"

"they fell asleep?"

"i guess," virgil says. "that's what he said, anyway. i really don't like that boy, patton."

"yeah, well, i think you've got a household joining you on that," patton says wearily.

"is he—?"

"oh, shoot, right," patton says, and virgil hears him shout, "virgil found him, he just fell asleep!"

the response isn't something virgil can hear. "what'd he say?"

"nothing, he just kind of loudly exhaled at me," patton says. "i think he's back to not talking to me again."

virgil sighs, rests his head briefly against his diner. "what a mess."

"what a mess," patton agrees wearily. "i can't bribe you into coming back to making those pancakes, can i?"

virgil snorts. "you know what? why not. you and logan probably need them."

"amen," patton says.

#wyliwf #my fic #sanders sides fanfiction #moxiety #logince

[typetypetype2]

Chapter 1: Witch Store (Working title)

Wobble has always been a hangry cat and by this point, he knew when it was feeding time. He also knew when it was time for his human to wake up. Bouncing his tiny body through the apartment he marched his way to the bedroom. It's only a few steps for a human but for a tiny cat, it would take a while. Being that he is a familiar on the smaller side everything he did took a while. He's lazy to boot so that doesn't help.

Making his way past colorful plants that towered over him almost looked like he was on another planet until he made got closer to the couch. He loved to sleep in the corner by the lavender and jasmine. Past the pale purple couch, now he could see into the kitchen. He looked at the counter-tops he was never allowed on. Continuing on his journey he could finally see the bedroom door which was only slightly ajar. No matter how much he had demanded it keep it open his human always refused. Nudging it gently with his head he crept inside the room. The walls a deep purple and every accent was a light teal green. It was the only room in the tiny apartment that had any sort of style. He climbed the bed and found his human underneath all the covers. The a/c was on full blast so they had buried themselves in blankets to make up for it. It also kept someone from scratching their face off to wake them up, which may or may not have been what Wobble was getting ready to do. He burrowed himself under the covers to find that his human was awake and using her phone.

"Good morning baby." I kissed his forehead while rubbing his back. Wobble meowed in return almost as if begging for his owner to get up right this second. Glancing at the time I rolled over. "Did you come to wake me up or to ask for breakfast?" Wobble said nothing and made his way carefully out of the sheets and down to the carpet stretching. I followed suit, my favorite time of the day is to stretch with him in the mornings. "Alright, I'll get your food first then I'll feed the plants then I get to feed my face." I smiled and grabbed the remote to turn off the a/c and placed it back on the nightstand, unplugged my phone and walked out the door toward the kitchen. Wobble's food was stored above the top shelf so that way even if he grew he hopefully wouldn't be able to reach it. A familiar of his kind never really grew to be any bigger than he is now but I didn't want to take any chances. He had already broken one too many glasses and forced me to start buying plastic instead. Anytime he would get hangry he would launch himself onto the counters to bat off whatever may have been in his way. Heaving on the bag of food I half expected Wobble to jump up to try and grab it, but that was a fear that I always had.

After Wobble's food bowl was filled I grabbed a cup of water and began to water the plants. In total there had to about 30 of them in the apartment alone. I always start in the bathroom that way brushing teeth and using the toilet would be easy without Wobble trying to but his head into everything I'm doing. There are only 3 plants in the bathroom anyway all because of Wobble. There used to be more but for some reason, he hated every plant that was in there so the rest were moved downstairs.

Downstairs is the shop that I work in. It's owned by one of my best friends who has willingly rented me this apartment when I was down on my luck. Nowadays, I'm doing fine and am pretty well off. Having enough to buy my car, my broomstick, and many more witch supplies that before I was doing without. After a few years, my friend had found Wobble trying to get into the apartment one day while I was out shopping. He took the cat to his house since it was getting late but all the Wobble did was scream until he introduced him to me a day later. The tiny cat went silent and still in my arms which meant he was a familiar. Even better it meant he was meant to be MY familiar which meant I had been stuck with an animal, a magical animal, I had no idea how to take care of.

It didn't take long for the two of us to get close, however. It was almost like we had the same personality, which is rare for a witch and her familiar to have. Usually, for the first few years, a witch and their familiar would have to work together and would regularly bicker and avoid each other. For these us though, we never fought. Except for the occasionally scratch to the face to signal it was time for me to wake up, which I hate, our relationship has been pretty smooth going so far.

"Now that all the plants are taken care of it's time for some cereal!" Pouring out the remaining water and placing the cup face down in the sink, I made my way to the fridge. Grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and one of the cereal boxes from the top of the fridge the breakfast had been made. I decided to stand and eat. It didn't make sense to sit when I still have other things to do. I grabbed my phone from the counter where I had placed it earlier and a spoon from the top drawer and began shoveling spoonful's of sugary goodness down my throat, barley thinking to chew. I hadn't eaten the night before because work had gotten too hectic for me to take a break. With a mouth full of cereal I got a phone call from Jax. "Hewwo?" I asked, chewing the rest of the food in my mouth. "Did you eat?" "Maybe?" "What does that even mean?" He asked confused. "I might have been eating and I might have not eaten, why do you ask?" I put down my spoon hoping he was inviting me out to eat for some real food. "Well, we were going to eat at Kick's but if you ate already then," I didn't give him time to finish. "What time? I'm down. Who is we?" "Me, Sari, Jenni, and you? If that's okay. I know you and Jenni weren't getting along last I heard." I shook my head disappointed. Jenni and I haven't gotten along in a while. After I came out to the group Jax had approved, Sari nodded and asked inquisitive questions, and Jenni ignored me. She choose instead to call me 'she' for the rest of the time we were hanging out and I wanted nothing to do with her from that time forward. However, I am hungry so I shall go. I won't like it and I know for a fact that I'm going to be annoyed while there, however after the event but my tum will be full of great food and I haven't seen Jax and Sari in a while. "No, I'll go. I won't like it or enjoy myself but I'll go. I miss you and Sari plus I'm hungry so." "Is that a good idea? I don't need you getting upset and going home in a hurry." "I'll bring Wobble and some amethyst to keep me grounded so I should be fine. Tell her to try to be polite. If she manages to still piss me off I might just spell cast her." "Oh my gosh don't do that! That's not nice!" "Well, she's not nice! Don't ask me to be civil while letting she misgenders me the whole damn day! Wait, what time are we going?" Asking that I looked down at my bowl of cereal. I either had time to scarf it down or I'd have to pour it down the drain. Whatever I did it would be an upsetting waste of cereal if I don't get to enjoy it. "Uhm, we going right now. Is that ok? If not we can schedule something else another time?" "Nah, I get ready now. I go." "Okay. Well, hurry up we almost there!" "Oh please, I know damn well you're either still in bed or stuck in traffic. Sari is probably waiting for a ride from Jenni and Jenni is nowhere near ready. If I hurry I'll be the first one there and Jenni might not even come." Jax chuckles "you know us so well." We laugh together as I pour out my bowl into the sink. Turning on the garbage disposal and enjoying the sound of the cereal grinding up and going down the drain. "What was that noise?!" I laugh again "It was the garbage disposal." "What is you disposing of? A body?" "Nah, I did that last night. I dumped it out in the harbor with the rest of them." Jax was dying laughing at the thought. We both had a strange sense of humor. Having been on Bumblr for around the same amount of time and sharing memes for years.

I told Jax that I'd meet him in the parking lot of the restaurant and hung up the phone. Since I need to hurry I might as well take the broom instead of the car and get dressed sooner rather than later. Bringing my phone with me I marched into the bedroom after dumping my bowl in the sink. I already have an outfit in mind, that new black and purple dress I bought two days ago, a black jacket, and my black work boots. I started to close the door until I heard a tiny meow in protest. Leaving the door open I starred into my closet realizing a little too late that the dress was still in a bag on the floor in the corner from when I bought it. Turning my head I now saw that's where Wobble had planted his butt and yawned. It's not difficult to move him at all it'll just be a chore I didn't want to deal with while being in a hurry.

"Don't worry bud you're coming with me." I scooped him up in my hands and grabbed the bag. Placing the cat on my bed I pulled on the dress and did a twirl in the mirror on my bathroom door. Wobble mewed in approval. Scooping Wobble in my arms again I rushed into the living room almost hitting my foot on the couch, I grabbed my vented backpack from its hook and plopped Wobble inside. Putting the bag down I began to slide my foot into my boot while simultaneously putting on half of the jacket. I lost my balance. Beginning to lean backward I mouthed the word balance while drawing a small straight line with my finger swiftly I was propped back up straight. I finished placing on my jacket, calmly but on boots then zipped my backpack and placed it on my back. Grabbing some amethyst and dried lavender off my altar I made my way through the door making sure to lock it behind me.

"Broom, come" I whispered sweetly. Hearing the familiar sound of the wind moving I readied myself to grab the broom. It came with a breath of cold air. I caught it and stroked its brush. "It must be freezing in the shop. I'm sorry I left you down there all night." I spoke in a hushed voice. The broom made no noise but I could tell it accepted my apology. As I saddled up Wobble voiced his protest, he hates flying but the way I see it he'll get over it one day.

"Up." I commanded. As I began to hover I secretly wished I would beat everyone else there.

#Chapter 1 #my story #no name yet #the start #chp 1 #taray #taray97 #typetypetype2 #main characters #main character #taray's story #taray 97 #witch #Naja #Jax #Jenni #Sari #witch store

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

I was reminded of this today and I know I just posted some D&D stuff but.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This is my life now, unfortunately.

About a week ago, our druid had to leave us thanks to the unfortunate situation of @colonelcupquake having to be a real adult and go to work on our regularly scheduled game days. So the day we wrote Rona out of the campaign, I wrote a little something to smooth the process over. Figured I might as well post it with the rest.

1661 words - kinda sad and sappy, kinda sweet.

They slipped away when the rest of the party stopped to eat.

“I’ll be back,” Val assured them as she ushered Rona off towards Kingsport proper. “I just owe her dinner, remember?”

She had added a wink, just to be sure they wouldn’t insist on following, and then hurried away before they could see the hard curve downward that her mouth was threatening to take.

She wasn’t lying to them exactly, not in the truest sense of the word. She and Rona certainly did made their way around the weave of market stalls and bakeries, gathering food – apples, hard cheeses, dried pork, something one of the bakers referred to as ‘honeytack’, which Val could only assume was a slightly less abhorrent version of the regular stuff. Those she bought in stacks, and tucked a few into her own pack for good measure.

“Is this all really necessary?” Rona asked something like halfway through their gathering, shifting her pack uncomfortably. Val shrugged.

“Necessary? Nah. A few biscuits and a few good sips of water is all that’s real ‘necessary,’ but you’ll be miserable for it.” She flipped open the top of the bag open and carefully set a few rolls of thick sausage inside. “And that’s all they’ll give you if you don’t show up prepared. Captains don’t much care if you’re sick so long as you’re paying for your passage, understand?”

Rona sighed, but turned to offer her back when Val approached with a small bag of fist-sized oranges.

They spent the better part of an hour crossing from stall to stall, Val pushing them ever closer towards the docks. It wasn’t until Rona’s pack was full to bursting that they they began the slow, plodding trek down to the ships docked on the eastern side of Kingsport’s wide channel.

They walked in silence for a long while, eyes facing forward, their bodies a full foot apart. It wasn’t until they could see the ship’s figurehead that Rona sighed, and Val felt the halfling’s shoulder nudge against her arm.

“You’ll tell them, right? Why I didn’t say anything?”

Val’s heart sank down into her stomach. Rona had heard the stories about Aly in passing, and though no one ever spoke about them with contempt, there was always a lingering sadness around their name. She had been very clear that she didn’t want to leave like that too.

Val had agreed, and had hoped it would hurt less.

“Of course,” she said, pushing down the little knot in her throat. “I know you wanted to do this on your own.”

Rona nodded, a slow, weary thing, and Val felt the knot climb up again. She couldn’t leave it like this, couldn’t walk her up to the dock and say goodbye with the little ache she had felt gnawing on her all morning. Rona was leaving on her own terms, healthy and whole and with a bag full of things that would keep her that way. For Val, that would always be the best case scenario.

So she squared her shoulders and coaxed up a wry little half-grin as she nudged Rona’s shoulder with her elbow.

“And I’ll be sure to tell them that I’m the only one you trusted with this very delicate task,” she said, voice dripping with as much sarcastic drama as she could manage. “That you came to me in the night, and wept as you told me your plan!”

The weary look vanished, and Rona’s grin was not quite so little anymore, not quite so sad. “Val.”

“Yes,” Val moaned, draping a hand over her eyes and continuing like she hadn’t even heard her. “Only I, Valtish, would bear the burden of your secret before you slipped off and into the horizon, away onto a new adventure without your faithful band of idiots in tow!”

By this point, Rona’s grin had become a laugh, full and echoing off of the rough stone alleyways they passed. Val let her hand fall away from her eyes and grinned, feeling suddenly and inexplicably warm.

“Valtish?” Rona asked through a chuckle as she collected herself.

“My name,” Val said with a wave of her hand. “Full name, anyway. Figured you might want to have the proper address for when you write us letters.”

She winked, and Rona laughed again, and suddenly, the ship growing closer in their sight didn’t loom up quite so terribly anymore.

They came upon it more quickly than Val would have liked, of course, but she felt a bit lighter now, and Rona’s eyes were still crinkled with laughter as they slowed to a stop at the end of the gangway. The captain, Lowry, saw them coming and practically skidded down to meet them.

“When you asked me to take another passenger aboard,” he began the second he was within earshot. “I figured they would at least be on time.”

“Easy, cap’n,” Val said with a pacifying gesture. “She’s not sailed before, so I got her all squared away for you. Ten minutes here’ll save you the hassle of an unprepared landsmen on deck, aye?”

The captain grunted, but his nod was one of begrudging agreement. With a heavy sigh, he turned to Rona and doffed his cap as he dipped into a short bow.

“Othell Lowry, at your service.”

“Rona Greenbottle, at yours,” Rona replied smartly, with a low bow of her own. The man raised an eyebrow as she righted herself, and the little halfling smiled.

“I don’t intend to waste away in a cabin the whole time, captain,” she said to his unspoken question. “Not after Val took the time to teach me a knot or two.”

Lowry’s eyes swiveled up to where the tiefling was pulling a coin purse off of her hip and counting out little slivers of gold into her hand. She pretended not to notice until she had counted out thirty of them, and passed them to him with a shrug.

“What can I say? She’s a quick study.”

They exchanged a wry little grin as Lowry sifted through the sum in his hand, clearly taken aback by the weight.

“Yes, well,” he said, resetting his cap as if he was suddenly at a loss. Then he cleared his throat and motioned to two men leaned against the bulwark by the gangway before turning back. “I assume your goodbyes will be short?”

Val nodded. “Two minutes and no more, cap’n,” she assured him with a fluttering wave. Lowry grumbled at the gesture, but the weight in his hand kept him from complaining too much more as he turned and made his way up the gangway again. Val kept her grin tucked low against her shirt collar. Beside her, Rona chuckled.

Then a hush fell between them, the kind of tense quiet that only came between two people desperately trying to stave off the inevitable. It felt like a clock running both ways simultaneously, too fast and impossibly slow all at once.

“Well,” said Val at last, squaring her shoulders as she turned to face the halfling beside her.

“Well,” Rona echoed, doing the same. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, each waiting silently on the other to find words that might ease the growing ache between them. And then, when there were none, Val cleared her throat and stuck out a hand.

“My best advice,” she said, her grin lopsided, “Is that you ought to cheat at every card came you join on that ship, because everyone else certainly will.”

“And my advice would be to avoid getting into fights with people who have Awakened tigers,” Rona replied, her smile no less lopsided as she took Val’s offered hand and then tugged her forward into a great, crushing hug. Val had to fight to keep the little pinpricks nettling the corners of her eyes at bay as she returned it. She had parted ways with many, many people over the course of her life, but that only ever made each parting harder.

“Thank everyone for me.” Rona’s words were slightly muffled against her shoulder, and tinged with the same bittersweet smile that had followed them through Kingsport. “This is the first lead I’ve had in years, and….well, I doubt I would have found it without you.”

“Considering I’d probably be dead on a beach if not for you, I’d say we’re square,” Val replied with a little chuckle as she pulled away. “But I’ll let the other’s know. And if you ever have any other weird shit what needs investigating - ”

“ - then I’ll be sure to come find you,” Rona finished, adjusting her pack and pushing herself upright again. “I’ll just walk into the nearest town and say, ‘Hi, has anyone seen a group of adventurers come through here? You would have seen them if they did, because they have two elves, one short and one covered in scales, and two tieflings who probably got into a fistfight a some point.’”

Their laughing was loud enough that Lowry peeked over the edge of the bulwark and yelled something neither of them quite heard, though the meaning was clear enough. Rona turned and grabbed Val’s hand one final time, squeezing gently.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, and then turned and bolted up the gangway without stopping to look back.

Val waited on the dock for as long as she could stand to listen to the sound of Goodbye, Fare Thee Well in fifty unfamiliar voices, watching sailors scramble about as the ship was drawn out into the middle of the bay. She found herself looking for a little bob of blond curls around the deck, but they stayed below and out of sight. Part of her was thankful. Part of her ached all the way down to her bones.

She didn’t turn away until the ship could be covered by her hand on the horizon, and both the voices and the warmth in her palm were only echoes.

#my writing #d&d shenanigans #d&d #val really did like rona a lot #i wish we had more time to play it out but #maybe one day #i'm still gonna write cute shit with them though #fortune's favor #valrona

[akaaka04]

🌻🌞 Hideweek, Day 2: Near/Similar 🌞🌻

“Kaneki, where are we going?” Hide asked, looking around at his surroundings curiously.

“It’s a surprise. Just hold tight, okay? I’m sure you’ll like it.” Kaneki replied, excitement ringing in his voice.

The street lamps were flickering on behind them as they continued walking down a quiet, residential street. Hide carefully adjusted his and Kaneki’s backpacks on his shoulders so as not to accidentally burst open their stuffed bags. Kaneki snuck a sip of his Big Girl soda before looking back at Hide and smiling. Hide cracked a wide grin, a devilish look in his eye.

“It’s so nice to crack open a cold one with the boys. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Kaneki’s smile frowned in minor agony at Hide’s meme, while Hide grew smug before chuckling heartily. Kaneki shook his head and kept his eyes up ahead.

“You’re grounded for that terrible joke. 0/10. Would not recommend ever again.”

Hide only began laughing even more. Kaneki scratched the tip of his nose with the hand that held their burgers. He couldn’t wait to take a bite out of his eye-watering meal. Now that the weekend had arrived, they both deserved it.

“The surprise is just up the road. You ready?” Kaneki turned to look at Hide, the bleach-blond nodding with the same enthusiasm Kaneki was feeling.

“Just fuck me uP!” Hide called up to the heavens, receiving a shush from Kaneki after a nearby dog began barking in response to Hide’s sudden outburst.

Kaneki quickened his pace and stopped at an open gate to his left. Whatever it was Kaneki had wanted to show Hide was obscured by trees. Kaneki turned to look at Hide with a sheepish smile.

“I’ve been meaning to take you here for awhile, but we’ve gotten so busy having to study for exams. I just hope you’ll… I hope you’ll like where I’ve taken you…” Kaneki nervously shuffled his feet, a small blush rising on his pale cheeks.

“Don’t worry about it, man! I’m sure I’ll like wherever it is you’ve taken me for our regularly scheduled weekend date.” Hide replied with a wink, making Kaneki blush harder and glare.

“Anyway…” Kaneki cleared his throat and beckoned Hide towards him. “Come on.”

Hide did as he was told and was greeted by a children’s playground. The blond felt lighter than a balloon being set free. He took in as many sights as he could see from where he stood, eyes growing in size. Hide had been quietly looking around for so long that Kaneki had started to get worried that Hide hadn’t liked the surprise. Kaneki was just about to apologize and offer them another place they could hang out when Hide suddenly screamed, “I LOVE IT!” The dog from earlier away barked even louder.

“Really…?” Kaneki asked hesitantly, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips.

“Yeah! This is so fucking cool, Kaneki! Lookit the swings! Lookit the see saws! Look at the little dinosaur wobbly seats!”

Hide wiggled around on the spot in utter joy, motioning to each attraction in the park as their backpacks bounced around with him. Hide suddenly gasped and ran forward, Kaneki giggling and following behind him. Kaneki would’ve reminded Hide to keep his voice down since it was late now, but Kaneki thought it was ridiculously endearing how much Hide looked like a kid in a candy store right now.

“LOOKIT THIS MOTHERFUCKING WHALE!” Hide screeched, looking up at it with stars in his eyes. Hide quickly turned to Kaneki and then to the top of the whale. And then back to Kaneki with the biggest shit-eating grin the blond could muster.

“I’m gonna climb the whale.” “Hide, no.” “Hide, yes.” “Hide, you can barely climb a tree!” “YEE OF LITTLE FAITH.”

Hide spat on his hands, clapped them together, and carefully began his ascent on the round mammal. Kaneki watched his friend with knots in his stomach.

“Please don’t show off like you usually do.” Kaneki called from down below, holding his breath as Hide’s foot struggled to balance itself halfway up.

“I got it, Kaneki! Just relax!”

When Hide slipped once, it was enough for Kaneki to change his mind. Kaneki was about to say something when Hide finally reached the top, swinging his legs over. The blond smiled triumphantly and set their backpacks down before pointing at their meals. Kaneki seemed hesitant, but Hide gave him a thumbs up. Somehow, that was enough. Kaneki tried his best to throw straight, and Hide caught the paper bags with ease. Hide took off his school jacket and instructed Kaneki to tie his own to his. Together, the jackets were tied into a basket of sorts for their beverages to be safely pulled up. Kaneki placed his foot into their jacket basket, and Hide hoisted him up.

The view from the top of the whale was breathtaking. Hide and Kaneki both sat down and stared up at the darkening sky for what seemed like hours.

“This place… is amazing, Kaneki…” Hide whispered, at a loss for words for once.

“I’m really glad you like it. It’s pretty near my aunt’s house.” Kaneki felt Hide gently place a hand on his shoulder a beat later.

“Near our house.” Hide corrected. Kaneki smiled and nodded. Hide’s house was 4 blocks behind Kaneki’s aunt’s house.

#hidekane #hideweek #hideyoshi nagachika #tokyo ghoul #this one is happy eyyyyyy #>b)

[fika-forever]

Into The Trollmarket

This Trollhunter!Strickler fic series thing is inspired by @changepherrox‘s art and written scenario of Walter meeting Barbara, pre-show, and becoming part of the Lake family. After finding his place in the human world, he comes upon the Trollhunter amulet and struggles between protecting his family, being a double agent… and secretly defending a Trollmarket that doesn’t particularly want a changeling for a Trollhunter.

-The First (along with @changepherrox’s art that inspired it) -A Brief Recapitulation of Troll-Changeling Friendships -Let Our Powers Combine!

(Also there has been more absolutely wonderful art by Changepherrox HERE and HERE please check them out)

In this fic: Blinky is cornered by Vendel and comes up with a really thin excuse as to why the Trollhunter hasn’t been seen in Heartstone Trollmarket yet.

It ends with a book.

Blinky doesn't know how he got away with it this long, honestly. It's been a mixture of luck and careful timing and he's been surprisingly fortunate, but sooner or later everything falls apart.

He is checking his list again, making sure he correctly remembers the titles of the texts that Walter has requested from his library, and running the tips of his fingers along the spines with an idle hand when, out of nowhere, he shivers. There is a sensation like knives stabbing into his back. Knives from a deadly glare.

"Blinkous Galadrigal." The creaky voice behind him promises untold depths of pain.

Blinky freezes, barely breathing, and turns slowly. "Vendel..." he replies weakly. "How... nice... to see you here. What brings you to my neck of the..."

"What brings me," Vendel interrupts, "is the rumor of a new trollhunter, and your frequent disappearances that lead me to believe that you know something." He stands in the doorway, arms folded, blocking the only escape route. "I would start talking, Blinkous."

Blinky audibly gulps.

Vendel's glare grows frostier. Blinky feels his own impending murder close around his neck like a vise.

"I- I... alright. I am aware of the next Trollhunter, but, Vendel, you must understand, and p-please do not make any hasty decisions, he has not made himself known yet because, well you see, do not take this the wrong way, but he is--"

-

"--shy." Walter repeated. And then again, because saying it once didn't make it any less ridiculous. "Shy."

"Would you rather that I had told him you are a changeling?" Blinky retorts.

AAARRRGGHH!!! is grinning like he thinks this is funny.

"You know," sighs Walter, wearily propping up his chin in his hands because he is tired of this nonsense and it's only barely begun,  "At this point, I'm not even sure anymore. What did he say?"

"He wants to meet you, of course! He was, er, rather insistent." Walter watches as all twenty of Blinky's fingers drum together tensely. "He said he would meet with you tomorrow?"

Walter rolls his eyes. "How polite. He doesn't even bother to ask."

"Typically he doesn't need to."

This is going to go swimmingly, Walter can tell already.

-

Walter meets Blinky at dusk just outside of the overpass. He turns the amulet around and around in his fingers until he meets the six-eyed gaze of his advisor coming out of the portal, followed by a bulkier shape who gives a wave in greeting.

Blinky breathes in deep, puffs out his chest, and wraps his fingers around the braces of his pants, trying to seem more self-assured than Walter knows he is. "Are you ready?" He asks.

Walter's only reply is a glance down at the amulet. "For the Glory of Merlin, daylight is mine to command," he recites, and feels the magic as it curls around him, the armor settling into position, the helmet slowly forming around his head until he is wrapped in its protective warmth again.

He is the Trollhunter now, and with the anonymity of the helmet he is granted every bit of courage and self-assuredness that comes with such a position. He raises his head high and squares his shoulders and tries to pretend he's ready for this.

"Trollhunter," AAARRRGGHH!!! says supportively with crinkles at the corner of his eyes. "Looking good."  Walter tosses him a salute.

"All right," he says with courage he does not feel, "shall we go in?"

-

When they step down and around that last twist in the staircase, Walter finally, finally gets a glimpse of Trollmarket.

It's a burst of light and color and activity and it's beautiful.

There is an energy here and it pulses straight through the armor, making his skin itch and his heart race. There is something in the atmosphere that he can almost feel himself breathing in and going right into his heart and lungs and through his blood and down all the tiny capillaries to the tips of his jittery fingers and it's wonderful and alien and strange.

"I feel..." he breathes, "Is this, is that the heartstone?" His brain is struggling to order his thoughts into coherent sentences and it's not working. He's drifting up, up, up, he's so full, it's like...

It's like he's been hungry his whole life and he just hadn't known.

"Heartstone," AAARRRGGHH!!! agrees.

"Yes," Blinky says, frowning slightly, "the life force of trollkind. It keeps us from crumbling into stone, and is a source of light and sustenance for those who dwell underg- are you all right?"

Walter blinks sluggishly. "I think so." He gives his whole body a shake. He suddenly has the urge to run a triathlon backwards but also kind of wants to fall asleep in the tingling warmth.

"Come on, then," Blinky murmurs, with a hand between Walter's shoulders. Walter haltingly tries to move in step but it takes him a moment to remember how his legs work.

He lets Blinky lead the way through the winding Market and focuses on trying not to make it obvious he's staring at the crowd that's pressing inwards and staring back at him. The whispers grow thick and heavy over the trolls of Trollmarket as they watch him with hawklike intent.

He knows they're wondering who he is, what he's doing. Where he's been. Why he hasn't been here. Sizing him up and finding him scrawny with far too few limbs. Judging and finding him wanting.

(He's watching them right back and trying not to wonder if any of them are his long lost motherbrothersistercousin-)

One troll whispers to a friend behind a hand and they both giggle and turn slightly red. What?

-

"So this," the ancient troll growls as he descends the rocky staircase, "is the new trollhunter."

This must be Vendel. Walter stiffens.

"I am Vendel, son of Rundle, son of Kilfred. Do you have anything to say for yourself? Why you've hesitated to show yourself to the very Trollmarket you are charged to guard?"

Shy, Walter reminds himself, and shrugs hesitantly.

“Amulet chose,” AAARRRGGHH!!! valiantly defends him.

"As you can see, he is shy. He's been working very, very hard, though, aboveground... to... protect Trollkind!" Blinky jumps in quickly.

Vendel raises a hand. "That's quite enough, AAARRRGGHH!!!, Blinkous. I want to hear it from him."

Walter's throat is suddenly very dry. "I-I'm shy," he says in the most tremulous voice he can muster, as he ponders in the back of his mind all the million ways he's going to kill Blinky for putting him in this position in the first place. He's a trained actor like any Changeling, but this is humiliating.

"Will this come between you and your duties as Trollhunter? You are our greatest line of defense."

"No, I can certainly do it. I've been told I'm very skilled at combat," Walter replies. He shuffles from foot to foot, trying to project nervousness, timidity, shyness.

["It's strange. You look rather... human-shaped,"] Vendel continues, in Trollish, eyes half-lidded but watchful as though looking to catch him in some sort of lie.

Walter takes a breath. He hopes against hope that his Darklands accent won't be too thick, that he can roll his tongue around the open vowels in a way that will sound, at the very most, like he hails from a different colony. ["I can't help my shape, sir."]

Vendel's eyes narrow suspiciously and Walter just knows this is it, this is when I die.

Then Blinky lets out a terrible fake laugh and slaps Walter on the shoulder so hard that he stumbles. "Ha! Ha ha! Well, here he is, you've met him, now we can all go on our merry way. Good day, very nice to see you again Vendel, but we have things to see, evil trolls to slay, really our schedule is very packed. Anyway-"

"-Then we should head to the Soothscryer immediately," Vendel interrupts sharply.

Walter feels himself break out into a cold sweat underneath the armor.

Blinky, to his credit, doesn't choke, although his voice does waver a bit. "Really, Vendel, our Trollhunter has just barely gotten his feet on the ground! You can't possibly expect..."

"I can and I will," Vendel replies, and starts plodding his way towards what can only be The Hero's Forge.

Walter turns to look at Blinky, who is looking back at him with regret and trepidation. Together they share a moment of pure panic.

"Coming, Trollhunter?" Vendel calls from up the path and Walter regrets this so very much.

-

“Will it kill me?” he hisses out of earshot of Vendel.

Blinky gives him a very complicated look that reads something along the lines of ‘no idea, but most probably’.

Walter has a family to protect. He knew his days were numbered the instant he held the amulet for the first time, and this changes nothing. But Jim will expect a ride home from school tomorrow, and Barbara was going to get out early and they were going to have a nice family dinner and he can feel it all slipping through his fingers in one terrifying instant. Every tiny piece of the life he’s built, crashing down.

He considers bolting for the exit and never coming back.

But he was destined to die at some point anyway. At least this way-

“Blinky, AAARRRGGHH!!!, take care of my family,” he says lowly. “Make sure Barbara takes care of herself and eats regularly. Help Jim with the upkeep of his Vespa, and don’t let him put too much on his shoulders…”

He has so much to say and so little time. Blinky squeezes his arm.

“We will help,” AAARRRGGHH!!! assures him quietly.

-

“If the amulet chose true,” Vendel says once the group has reconvened in the Forge, “the Soothscryer will reveal it.”

Walter, so tense he can barely unbend his legs enough to walk, moves forward. A great machine rises up out of the ground, glowing bright with chomping teeth. Walter has seen terrifying things in the Darklands but this is somehow worse than any of them.

“Insert your right hand, Trollhunter,” Vendel instructs.

Walter reaches out--

-

[to be continued]

#trollhunters #trollhunters fic #trollhunter strickler #trollhunter strickler au #this one's a bit more angsty in places #whoops #at least it has a bit of humor to balance it out maybe?

[tikilimawmaw]

BRB

On the rare occasions that I care about my news feed, some things actually get my attention, aside from cute puppy gifs and stupid political fanaticism like wtf. Anyway, a “friend” shared this blog post about UPLB--my dear UPLB--and how uh-mazing that place is. I mean, I get it; it is a mystical, magical university (but not in a Hogwarts way) and, well, who could resist writing about, or instagramming it?

I apologize. I’m just at this point in my college life where I see everything under gray clouds, and I don’t mean the silvery kind. I mean dark, nimbus, let’s-do-relief-operations-after-this-storm, gray clouds. I hate that place, but every Monday when I return to the apartment there I’m always looking forward to walking the streets of Elbi. It’s weird.

Anyway, what I’m about to do is kind of a parallel narration according to the places described by the author/blogger. It’ll be a whiny, age-inappropriate sulking about how bad I feel in that wonderful place, but hey, I don’t know how to properly feel anymore. I need to do this.

(1 Baker Hall) The only fun I had in Baker Hall was Elbikon. Seriously. For one thing, the interior is very old--wooden steps, dramatic windows. Nothing wrong there; someone’s doing a splendid job on preservation (except that the temperature rises over unbearable degrees). Here’s the problem: the string ensemble of UPLB practices there. I hear violins, and I hate that. I hate missing the violin. It’s a piece of me that just doesn’t fit perfectly anymore when I try to get my shit together again. I mean, it fits, but not exact-o.

(2 Carillon Tower) For four years I’d lived in the same dormitory and every time I needed a jeepney ride, I pass by the Carillon Tower. It’s peaceful there; I hang around on my own and no one disturbs me because everyone else is too busy cuddling with his/her SO. It’s too peaceful actually, that all I could think about is that a pool of blood is too obvious at the foot of the tower. Besides, the gates are locked. No potential here.

Backspace. BACKSPACE.

(3 Student Union Building) Sigh. SU. Where do I even begin? Oh, wait, I need to get a number before I begin. Approximately 56 minutes before I get called. LIES! It’s like all you want to do there is rush in, get things done, rush out. But you can’t. Because you’re queued. The bathrooms are okay, I guess. I thought that SU was supposed to symbolize the university embracing the student, making them feel welcomed and that they are free to do whatever hell they want (bleargh). That’s funny, because I feel more welcomed by the river behind it. 

(4 Trees) I have this theory that the trees in UPLB are majestically large because they feed upon the souls and hopes and dreams of thousands and thousands of students, on-time and delayed, every semester. This may be only in my head, but I honestly feel like my energy is always drained when I’m there. Maybe that’s why Thursday is drinking day: so students can at least carry on through Friday and the weekends without feeling like shit. Me? I drink Mondays. And Tuesdays. And We--

(5 DL Umali) I don’t think I’ll ever walk the stage of DL Umali with pride and confidence ever again. I used to be a student achiever: college scholar and honor roll, promising GWA. I shake hands with the dean; I get a certificate. Now, I’m just a probationary student with nine failed units and one INC that all happened in one epic semester. Epic fail, that is. 

That’s not all. Our org holds our annual exhibit in the gallery at the basement. And I haven’t had any WIPs for a year. I can’t stress enough how I lost my will to draw. Recently, art has only been a way to calm me down. That’s great, right? At least I still have it. God.

(6 Nihon Koen) I think I’ll be seeing this torii regularly starting Tuesday. It’s a fun way to travel down from the UHS, where the psych is in TTh 2-5 pm. 

UPLB Tip #562: There are desperate pervs in pretty decent bathrooms. DO NOT give in to the temptation no matter how much of your life you’ve given up, because you can get sick. Or pregnant. Or worst, videoed. Besides, his dick was tiny.

(7 Thai Pavillion) Hang around this exotic gazebo every afternoon before dusk if you want to ogle at fit people stretching, and jogging, and basically all other things you don’t have the energy for, a.k.a taking care of your body. Plus, they have dogs. Dogs are one of the reasons I don’t let go.

(8 Freedom Park) Again, a haven for healthy people: F-park. Fit park. Food park. Fuck park. Whatever you wish: it’s Freedom Park. Here’s a tip: unless you’re a Jesus person, don’t sit on the benches alone. Or at least have the guts to say “no, I don’t wanna hear about the five things that I need to know to be saved.” And besides, sitting alone on a bench in front of a lot of parked cars for a few hours is creepy. There was this one time I thought this old guy in his car was actually watching me. I could take the attention but that just sounds really slutty. Try sitting at the grandstand instead. 

(9 Mariang Banga) It doesn’t matter what religion or cult you belong in: Mariang Banga is real. Ask permission before picking a flower, apologize for stepping on grass, always appreciate the weather no matter how insufferable it is, because she has power over this land, you mortal. (I still think she cursed me with a hole for a heart and a jelly for a brain.)

(10 Palma Bridge) There was a time in my early college years when Palma Bridge was called Sperm Bridge but I won’t give any hints. Get it? Hint? Like, odor? No? How about “call of the void”? “High place phenomenon”? Urge to jump? Still no? Good.

(11 Molawin Creek) This river is the same river I was talking about. It actually runs pretty far. In one of my stupid adventures pre destructive semesters, I tried to discover what was behind my then-dormitory. You guessed it: a forest. Hah okay, the river comes after it. There was this spot that I liked--clear and cold water, decently dry rocks, some shade, no one else around. Bathing naked was fun. But on my next adventure, I got lost, so uh-uh I’m not going back. Or will I? (I conclude that these adventures comprise a death wish.)

(12 Park behind humanities) Behind CAS Building is this construction where we get rubble from. And the mound of gravel that was never removed served as another seat for our tambayan, where I always feel so awkward. 

(13 NCAS) One question: how the hell can I get on the NCAS rooftop? Ideation aside, a top view of O-park would be nice. 

(14 Office of the University Registrar) Soon enough, the registrar will not include me in the list of officially enrolled students because ma’am, I am tired. I need a break. And probably my TOR.

(15 Hum/CAS) Pretend to be a younger batch if you look the part. I always do. It gives the illusion that I’m still full of hopes and dreams, and it’s a good excuse for asking about things that I should know. The three CAS buildings and Physci are the good places to do it. And Copeland gym. 

(16 Two roads diverged by O-park) Lots of walks to clear the mind // Beware acquaintances, tell them you’re fine. // Groups of friends walking, pretty intimidating // Cross the road, the other side is empty: your thing.

(17 Gamma SIgma) Yeah, well I always thought it was a shade for the CSB. Sorrynotsorry.

(18 Heritage Tower) My happy memories include playing UNO with my friends under the Kwek-kwek tower and reading the ridiculous vandals like “Jherehmie luv Ehllah 4rvr 24″. I have nothing against Jherehmie and Ehllah, but come on, that tower was [awfully] repainted. I miss the times when I don’t suddenly stop and stare at nothing while I play UNO or sing karaoke with my friends. It’s awkward; I catch myself doing it. Nope. Nope.

UPLB Tip #847: It never hurts to be observant. Get really observant until you’re almost being a stalker. But not really. There are always patterns for everything, and you just really need to be good at knowing them. For example, your crush. Your crush has a schedule; on TTh he walks out of this building at this hour, on WF he enters another. Where does he live? Which jeepney does he usually ride, kanan or kaliwa? Observation, not stalking.

(19 UPLB Gate) I’ll be back, I promise.

(20 CEM...thingy) Forget that weird piece of artsy nonsense, that buried building at the back with the swastika is the mystery. I never bothered to know the history, but hey, it’s dark, wet and eerie--must be zombies. 

(21 Raymundo) I always dub this as “not my turf”. Since I’m not familiar with it, I also have adventures here (just to be clear, adventure meant walking and exploring, nothing else). I’ll miss rolling under the gate after curfew and deciding where to eat (usually takes around 15 minutes).

(22 Never-ending bridge) Again, with the bridges. Look, it’s a long way down but the aesthetics are great. There’re these pretty purple (or were they blue?) flowers and a thick canopy of ferns and broad leaves. Die pretty.

UPLB Tip #1036: Don’t shut everyone out. Ever heard of “don’t burn your bridges”? Yeah, well if you’re that kind of person who possibly needs to utilize people in the future, then go. But geez is that all there is to connections, the utility? What about just having fun conversations together, and lunches and dinners? IMHO, the people you meet at your later years in college are more likely to become “colleagues” than “friends”. Unless he’s the one. Squeal.

(23 Forestry route) While the torii is my way down, this road takes me up to the psych.

(24 UPLB) I hate my house. I hate my school. I just want to be in between, in the journey. I know I’ll get to the two points at some time in my life but not now. A view from afar would be nice. “I’ll be there,” I would say, “just give me a moment to catch up.” I’ll be right back.

Welp. That was awfully long. So here’s the blog, again. Vivid pictures, beautiful words, I am nothing. 

Edit: She’s on Tumblr. OH NO.

#awfully long #too much shit #duuuude #mediokerlivin #who am i even talking to