#i missed drawing him gOOOOOD

[nebuladreamz]

Happy Clown Day, have an Eclipse

#nebula art and doodles #fnaf eclipse #fnaf dca #i missed drawing him gOOOOOD #MY BABY BOOOOOOOOOY #I may redesign him bc as much as I love being goofy with nine rays #I have learnt the ways of seven and that will apply for eclipse #also considering actually putting in moon's hat so its not just #sun with a darker palette and four arms but anyways

[gayfanservice]

Okay, so, how do you think Bokuto, Ushijima, Oikawa and Iwaizumi would act with a bf that has social mutism and needs to be touching his s/o while in public. But when they get home or in private he's sleepy but talkative? (My first ask ever! I'm nervous!)

Hello, new anon! Welcome to my gremlin cave, hope you like it!

Bokuto Kōtarō

“Bokuto, if you could stop staring at the door and focus on practice that’d be appreciated.” Akaashi deadpanned as Kōtarō waved him off, “Now, now, Akaashi, someone very special is coming today and I have to make sure I don’t miss it.” He boasted as he looked at Akaashi, the door opening and closing before he looked back, “(Y/N)! When did you get here?!” Your hands were shoved deep in your pockets, shrugging your shoulders as he bounded up to you and hugged you. You hugged back before he let go, only holding your hand now, “Akaashi, you and Konoha are on cleaning duty. Bye!” “Whoa, hold- and he’s gone. Bastard,” Konoha whispered.

“Did you have a good day?” Kōtarō asked as he ever so slightly swung your hands, you nodded, “That’s good, my day was pretty alright. We had a math test today so that sucked, pretty sure I failed it.” He talked the whole way to his house, unlocking the door and letting you in. You took your shoes off, putting on the guest slippers as you walked up to his room. You opened his door and dived into his bed, “Kōtarō, cuddle meee,” He laughed as he hoped into bed beside you, “My little baby all tired from today?” He teased as you buried your head in his chest, “Day was cool, my teacher yelled at a kid for drawing a mustache on himself.” You both laughed, “Hm, tired,”

Ushijima Wakatoshi

You walked up to Wakatoshi, “Hey,” Grabbing his hand, “Good morning, (Y/N), how was your rest?” He asked as you made your way to the cafeteria, “Okay, I’ve had better,” You yawned, “‘M so tired, I wanna nap.” “It’s not smart to sleep during school.” “Has that ever stopped me?” “No,” “Exactly.”

“Goooood morning, (Y/N)!” You sat your plate down beside Wakatoshi’s, nodding at Tendō as you dug in, “Man, you sure don’t talk a lot, huh?” “Don’t be rude!” Semi scolded as he sat down beside him, Reon following. “He talks, just not around you,” Wakatoshi stated, Semi and Reon trying their best not laugh while you hit your chest a couple time, “That was so rude, Ushijima!” Semi squeaked out, trying to hide the big smile on his face, “What? He doesn’t talk around other people, just me.” He took a bit of whatever the school cafeteria gave him, “You didn’t have to say it so rudely!” Your shoulders were shaking while tears came out of your eyes, the giant smile on your face never leaving.

Oikawa Tōru

You were in class taking notes when a crumpled up paper rolled onto your desk, opening it up and seeing ‘hey :)’ written on it. You looked over at Tōru (who was sitting beside you) before quietly laughing to yourself as you wrote back ‘sup’, throwing back to him when the teacher wasn’t looking. It came back, ‘wanna spend luntch with me’ ‘thats not how you spell lunch doofus’ ‘is that a yes or a no’ You sighed, a smile on your face as you nodded at Tōru, “Oikawa, what’s the answer?” You both looked at the teacher, “Uh, 42…?” “Correct,” You snickered to yourself, paying attention to what the teacher was teaching instead of Tōru. He stuck his tongue out at you, you doing it back.

The bell rang as everyone packed their stuff and left, leaving just you two in the empty classroom. “Can’t believe you actually got the answer right. Was sure you were gonna’ fuck it up.” You had your head in one arm while the other connected your pinkies, dangling them between the desks. “Mean, (Y/N)! Do you really have so little confidence in me?” You laughed, “Yeah, I do,” You laughed more as Tōru wore an offended face, “Mean, (Y/N)!”

Iwazumi Hajime

“Hey, (L/N)! Can you set to us?” Hanamaki and Hajime walked up to you as you were drinking, doing a shaka sign as you put down your water bottle and grabbed the cart full of volleyballs. You climbed the ladder and started hitting the balls for them, watching as they chase after them for spikes. ‘Hm, I wonder if hedgehogs like to play catch.’ You thought, tossing another ball for them. ‘Is his hair dyed or is it actually pink? I will not ask.’ You reached for another ball, finding it empty. You stared at it, ‘How did we run out so quick?’ “(L/N), where’s the next ball?” Hanamaki panted, you shrugged as you got off the ladder. “Well, that’s practice. Talk to you tomorrow, we have cleaning duty.” You waved to him.

After Hanamaki left you cleaned up, “Classes were so boring, the teacher was acting like a sloth on antidepressants.” You picked up a ball, “You think she’s a meth addict?” “(Y/N), no, that has nothing to do with anything you just said.” You shrugged tossing the ball into the cart as you hugged Hajime from behind, “I’m tired, hold me.” You wrapped your hands around his neck, “(Y/N), you’re behind me, I can’t.” You groaned as you started sliding down his back, “Whoa- Hey!” “Hajime, carry meee,” you whined from the floor, hearing him sigh before he picked you up, “Baby,” “Yeah,”

#haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x reader #bokuto koutarou x male reader #bokuto x male reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x male reader #ushijima x male reader #oikawa tooru x male reader #oikawa x male reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #iwazumi hajime x male reader #iwazumi x male reader #iwazumi hajime x reader #iwazumi x reader #🖤-anon #lil fic :)

[softholand]

drunk words, sober thoughts - t.h

pairing: tom holland x reader

warnings: alcohol, swearing, sexual themes, lap dance, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, smut

word count: 4k

a/n: it’s here, my first ever smut, go easy on me, i’m fucking nervous!!!! i wanna thank @missevrythingg for helping me, i wouldn’t dave done it without you, i love you ray 💖 i really hope you guys enjoy!! i also made a playlist for this fic, it really sets the mood for it!! again, english in not my first language so there’s probably some mistakes/typos, just pretend you didn’t see it! ;) oh and please, do let me know what you guys think, it really helps! i love you all, happy reading! 💓

It had been a long time since Tom last saw you. Between his acting career and your college scholarship in Canada, you guys barely kept contact for the last year. That’s why, when you finally came back home, he decided to throw you a surprise birthday party.

Sam was responsible to bring you to the club Tom had rented for the night, with the excuse that the place had just opened and it was a success already. He told you to get dressed and since Tom’s car was already full of people, he offered you a drive, which you gladly accepted.

Music was blasting from the nightclub when Sam parked his car near the entrance of the building, making you even more excited to be celebrating your birthday with your childhood friends. It wasn’t until you stepped foot in the club and saw all your friends with a giant banner on top of their heads saying “Happy 21st Birthday, y/n!” that you realized the party was, in fact, for you.

Sam was the first to hug you and wish you a happy birthday, but from the corner of your eye, you saw Tom approaching you with a smirk the size of the place on his face, making you sure it was his idea.

“Surprise!” He whispered in your ear as soon as he wrapped his arms around you. “You little shit!” That was the only thing you could say upon realizing he was, in fact, the mastermind behind all of this.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s your 21st birthday, I had to!” Tom stated, making you roll your eyes. “No, you didn’t! But thank you!” You answered, giving your friend another hug.

The rest of the boys greeted you, all wishing you a happy birthday, which you thanked, hugging each one. Suddenly you saw Cara, one of your friends from high school that had unfortunately moved to Australia and you hadn’t seen her since.

“No, you didn’t!” You screamed, making direct eye contact with Tom. “I did it!” He stated, making your smile grow even wider. Without wasting time, you run to your friend, hugging her like she was going to disappear at any minute.

“I can’t believe you’re here! I missed you!” You said, smiling so much that your cheeks hurt. “I missed you too, y/n/n! And yeah, I couldn’t believe either when Tom Holland contacted me, wanting to bring me to England!” She said, making both of you laugh.

Once you had greeted all of your friends, Tom went to the stage with a microphone, shouting “It’s time to party!” at the top of his lungs, making everyone scream and celebrate. “Crazy In Love” started to play as soon as he left the stage and that was only the beginning. Tom knew your obsession with old pop, so throughout the night, he made sure the DJ played all your favorites.

Between the bar special drinks and tequila shots, you lost track of time and were now dancing “I’m A Slave 4 You” with your girlfriends. The song blasted from the speakers, the alcohol in your system making you lose control of your own body. Cara still remembered some of the choreography of the song, from when you two were kids and used to learn all of Britney Spears's music videos, and so practically obliged you to do it with her.

Tom, Harrison, Tuwaine, Harry, and Sam were sitting in one of the dark red booths at the back of the club, with beers in hands, watching as you and Cara gave a show to everyone present.

“When did y/n get so hot?” Harry was the first to point out, making his twin brother chuckle. “While she was in Canada, apparently!” Tuwaine shrugged, gulping the icy liquid in his hands.

“Tom, you better close your mouth, you’re going to catch flies!” Harrison teased his friend, earning him a deadly glare. “Fuck off!” Tom shoved him, before going back to admiring how your body moved perfectly to the music.

When the first notes of “I Love Rock ‘N’ Roll” started, your drunk body made its way into the stage, grabbing the microphone, ready to lip-sync another one of your favorites songs. Your friends all gathered at the front of the stage, screaming and encouraging you to keep going. You still remembered Britney’s classic performance and so, you tried your best to copy her movements, just like in the music video.

Screams filled the crowded space of the nightclub while you pretended to sing the song. Cara and another one of your friends joined you on the stage, pretending to be your back singers. The boys observed you while you played with the microphone cord, twisting it on your finger. What they didn’t expect was for you to get on your knees, continuing the, rather sexy, performance on the stage floor.

“Holy shit!” Harrison exclaimed, not drawing the attention of his friends, who were busy watching you. “Should we do something?” Asked Sam, clearly concerned by your, rather drunk, actions. “Yeah, get closer!” His twin brother answered, getting off the booth and making his way to the stage, quickly being followed by the others.

When your eyes caught Tom’s brown (and lusty) ones, you made a point of getting close and teasing him by playing with his hair, which made everyone else lose their minds over it. When the song ended, he helped you get out of the stage while your friends applauded, praising you for the performance.

“Need some help there, love?” Tom asked, securing you in his arms when your legs felt like jelly. “Nope! I’m goooood!” You answered, extending the o’s, completely out of your mind.

“I see! Maybe you should slow down the drinks?” You knew Tom was just trying to help you, but being in your embriagate state, you just shushed him, putting a finger on his lips. “I have a better idea, what if... we did more shots?” You shouted, getting out of his embrace and making your way to the bar.

A couple more hours had passed and unfortunately, the party was coming to an end. Some of your guests had already left, but the ones that stayed were left on the dancing floor, with not so much energy as before.

But everything changed when “Dance for You” by Beyoncé started to play, you didn’t know how but a chair appeared in the middle of the dancing floor, completely out of nowhere. You immediately understood what whoever put that chair there wanted and if you haven’t before, your friends shouting “lap dance” had also made it very clear.

As intoxicated as you were, you knew exactly who you wanted on that chair. Seductively, you made your way to Tom, making grabby hands once you were in front of him. The screams only increased when he accepted your invitation without so much of a protest.

Making your way to the chair, you made Tom sit, going around it and putting your hands on his shoulders. To be completely honest, you had no idea what you were even doing. You never gave a lap dance before, so this was new territory for you. But your friend's screams and Tom’s lusty eyes gave you all the encouragement you needed.

Your hands explored every inch of his body, through his chest, abs, neck, shoulders, what your hands could reach, you were touching, always making sure to get close to his ear and tease him as best as you could.

You used the music to your advantage, moving your body to the beats, making sure to emphasize your hips. When you finally sat on his lap, it was like the end of a war, everyone was celebrating, screams and whistles could be heard even with the loud music.

Tom didn’t know what to do, he just awkwardly sat there, with his hands by his sides, dying to touch you. His wishes came true when you finally took his hands, putting them on your waist, where they stayed glued to your body. You continued your performance, grinding, swirling, doing all the things you knew about lap dance and by Tom’s reactions, you seemed to be doing a really good job. His eyes were on your body all the time but they seemed different, now dark shades of brown, almost black, covered his once hazel irises.

The song was, unfortunately, coming to an end, and to finish your show, you properly took a seat in Tom’s lap, straddling his waist, and this time, you could feel how much he was enjoying your performance. With the position, your already revealing dress left nothing to the imagination, and locking your eyes with his, you saw nothing but lust and desire, very different things that you used to see in your friend's stare.

You leaned in and he did too, and once your faces were only millimeters away, you suddenly lost all the courage on your body and pulled away, burying your face into his neck instead. Next thing you know, you were being helped into Tom’s car while your friends discussed where you were gonna spend the night.

“I can’t bring her home like that, her parents are going to kill me!” You heard Tom say. “Well, let’s take her to our place then! We can send them a text saying she’s staying with us.” Sam offered and the rest of the group seemed to agree since you didn’t hear any more discussion.

You must have blacked out again because suddenly you were being put in a bed. “Where am I?” You asked, feeling your throat dry. “You’re at my house, darling! It’s okay, you can sleep now!” You heard Tom’s voice but couldn’t find him with your blurred vision. “No, I don’t wanna sleep!” You protested, sounding like a three-year-old, which Tom chuckled.

“What do you wanna do then?” He pushed, and you felt a weight on the bed. “I can think of some things…” You whispered, passing your fingers through his shirt, feeling his hard abs underneath your palms. “y/n, you’re drunk!” Tom tried warning, earning him a scoff. “You are too!” You mocked, really sounding like a child now.

“Yeah, and that’s why we’re not gonna do anything that we may regret tomorrow.” He said, taking your hand in his. “Nooo, I want you!” At this stage, your mouth had a mind of its own because you couldn’t even process the things you were saying and that was one of them.

“I’m sorry, darling! We can talk about this tomorrow when we’re both sober. Okay?” Tom was trying. He was trying so hard to not give in to your pressure, you were practically begging him to sleep with you. But no, he couldn’t. You were both drunk and this type of decision shouldn’t be made under the influence of alcohol.

“You’re no fun!” You complained, earning another chuckle from him. “Yeah, yeah! You’re gonna thank me tomorrow!” He told you and once you didn’t respond anymore, he realized that you had fallen asleep.

He then took off your shoes, your makeup with one of his spare makeup remover wipes and exchanged your dress for one of his old shirts, making you the most comfortable he possibly could, since he knew you were going to have a pretty bad hangover the next day.

Oh, the next day. You woke up feeling like the whole world was spinning, you felt nauseous, your head was pounding and you smelled like alcohol. Opening your eyes, you saw a bottle of water and some painkillers by your side, which you were quick to chug all down.

“Good morning, birthday girl!” Harrison’s voice was like a hammer to your already sore head. “Please, don’t! I’m dying!” You pleaded, laying down again.

“Oh, c’mon! Wore yourself out yesterday?” Harry’s voice came out of nowhere, but you were too tired to further investigate. “How bad was it?” You asked, actually scared of the answer.

“You know… the normal! You drank, danced, drank more, did a lip sync of a Britney Spears song, drank some more…” Harrison started to point out, making you groan and hide your face in the covers.

“Wait, wait, wait! I’m in Tom’s bed, wearing only one of his shirts… Does that mean we…?” you inquired, making the boys loudly groan. “y/n, c’mon! No, he slept on the couch!” Harry grunted, making a disgusted face.

“But you gave him a lap dance!” Sam’s voice startled you, making you jump on the bed.

“I did what?!!!!!!” You shouted, making the pounding in your head even worse. “I knew you weren’t going to remember so I recorded everything.” Harrison’s passed you his phone.

And just like he said, there you were, in Tom’s lap, with your tits practically in his mouth, while you danced and swirled your hips to a Beyoncé song. “No, no, no, no! Why did you guys let me do that?” You asked, completely perplexed with your actions.

“Well, you seemed to be enjoying it and it was your birthday party, we didn’t want to ruin your day,” Harry said, which earned him a death glare. “But my day is ruined! How am I supposed to face Tom now?!” You questioned, looking dumbfounded at your friends.

“Well, you better think about something because our families planned a brunch in a couple of hours,” Sam told you, matter of factly, making you loudly groan and slide even further under the covers.

Half an hour later, you were forced by your friends to get up, take a shower and get ready for brunch, since there was no way your parents would let you miss it, it was your birthday after all. With a simple summer dress, that you had laying around at the boy's place and sunglasses that were the size of your head, you made your way downstairs, where they were already waiting for you.

“Good morning!” Tuwaine’s deep voice startled you from his place on the couch, next to Tom, who you completely ignored. “Please, don’t!” You protested, feeling a hammer in your head every time you took a step.

Quickly, you made your way to the garage, not wanting to face Tom in any circumstances. Once he and the twins got into his car, Tom made his way to the restaurant where your families were already waiting.

To say the brunch was a complete disaster was an understatement. You were practically a zombie, the food at your plate made you want to throw up and the pain in your head was not ceasing. You could see Tom sneaking glances, trying to talk to you, but you looked away and dismissed him every time, you were just too embarrassed to even look at him.

When the torture was finally over, your parents asked if you wanted to come back home but you decided to stay with the boys, since you knew you had to talk to Tom at some point. The ride back was silent, only the sound of the radio could be heard and to be honest, the tension was starting to get you. Once Tom parked the car in front of the house, you and the twins were getting out when he stopped you.

“You can go ahead, I want to show y/n a place.” He said and you immediately looked at him with your brows raised, having no idea what he was talking about, but praying it didn’t have anything to do with last night's events.

Once the twins were out, you got into the passenger seat and Tom drove away, not even saying a word to you. The drive was short and just a couple of minutes after, he was pulling into an empty parking lot. Turning off the car, he put one of his arms behind the passenger seat, facing you completely.

“Oh, that’s it?” You asked, clearly confused with what was going on. “There wasn’t a place, y/n! I just wanted for us to be alone so we could talk.” Tom stated.

“Tom, let’s not…” You tried to brush off the conversation but he wasn’t having. “Yes, y/n! What’s going on? Why are you avoiding me?”

“Please, Tom! Don’t pretend nothing happened last night!” You rolled your eyes, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m not the one pretending here! You won’t even look me in the eye!” He huffed, getting tired of your behavior.

“I’m ashamed, okay?!!!” You screamed, losing your inner battle and finally looking at him. “God, the things I did to you last night were… awful!” You said, quickly averting his gaze.

“I wouldn’t use that word!” Tom smirked, making you roll your eyes and cross your arms. “Seriously, y/n! It’s not that serious!”

“It is to me, Tom! I’m not used to stuff like that!” You told him, getting tired of the conversation. “Well, it’s not like I haven’t thought about you like that!” The boy tells you.

“You what?” Looking back at him, you could see a giant smirk plastered on his face. “Oh, c’mon y/n! Don’t tell me you never thought about it?” Tom inquired, making you suddenly nervous.

“What? No! I mean… yeah, you’re… you’re hot but… no! Never like... that!” You tried your best to keep your voice steady and not give in to him but your stuttering made it clear you were failing.

“Really? That’s a shame! Because you looked stunning sitting on my lap last night. Made me think about so many things to do to you.” He whispered, very close to your ear, making you squirm on your sit.

“Tom…” You moaned, feeling his hot palm on your thigh. “What is it, y/n?” Tom asked, looking at you with eyes full of lust and desire, all for you. “Kiss me!” You begged and in seconds, his lips were on yours.

You were lying before, of course, you had already thought about Tom in more… sexual ways. The boy was practically a greek god, there was no way you couldn’t notice how his perfect six-pack showed even underneath his stupidity tight T-shirts. But nothing in this world could prepare you for the overwhelming sensation you felt when you kissed. It was like a fire ignited inside of your body and only he could help make it stop.

When the kisses weren't enough anymore, you tried to get into his lap, but the positions you were in prevented you from that. “Backseat?” He asked, breathing heavily. “Yes!” You desperately nodded.

In quick but awkward movements, you and Tom made your way to the backseat and he didn’t lose time by putting you in his lap, encouraging you to grind on his already hard bulge. “You’re so hot!” He breathed between kisses, making you grind even harder.

“Tom…” You moaned, putting one of your hands on his pants, teasing his still clothed cock, while the other stayed on his broad shoulders, steadying yourself. Moans filled the car once Tom put one of his hands on your core, already dripping wet. “God, look at you!” He praised, biting your bottom lip.

“Tom, please…” You pleaded, moving your hips faster, trying to get some relief. “What do you want, darling?” He murmured, putting your underwear to the side, coating his fingers with your slickness. “Fuck!” You cried out, begging him to keep touching you.

“It’s okay, I’m gonna take care of you!” Tom increased his movements and in seconds you were a mess on top of him, moans mixed with curse words left your mouth, making him even more eager for you. “Tom!” You moaned, taking his hand off of you when you were on the edge of your high, making him raise his brows.

“I wanna cum with you!” You whispered and at that moment, Tom felt completely intoxicated with you. Smirking, he fished a condom from his wallet, before taking his pants and boxers off. You wrapped your hand around his shaft, spreading his precum, feeling him twitch only with your touch.

Teasingly, you took the package out of his hands and opened it with your teeth, before sliding the latex material on his cock. “You know we don’t have to, right? I mean, I want to but if you don’t, that’s okay!” Tom let you know, and the look in his eyes told you he was telling nothing but the truth. “I know! But I want to!” You stated, making him smile before colliding his lips on yours.

One of Tom’s hands goes to your hip to guide you onto him as you hold your underwear to the side. Moans fill the car as you sink onto him, both of you at a loss of words with this new overwhelming sensation. “So fucking good!” You gasp, as Tom starts to help you move your hips up and down, increasing the speed with each move.

It doesn’t take long for you to be reaching your high but this time Tom will not let you escape. He presses one of his slender fingers on your clit, doing circular motions that drive you insane. “Tom, don’t stop… oh, fuck!” Your walls clench around him, as you feel your orgasm washing over in waves of pleasure.

“You good?” He asks with a cocky smirk after a few minutes of your racked breaths, making you want to slap it out of his face. “Not bad!” You tease him, quickly regretting your choice of words when he starts pounding into you with no mercy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You cried, closing your eyes with the amount of pleasure he’s giving you.

“What is it, darling? I can’t hear you!” It’s his turn to tease you and after a few minutes, you’re left moaning out his name again, like it’s the most blessed praying in the world. “y/n, fuck!” With the feeling of your body convulsing on top of him, Tom loses the battle and as he screams your name, you can feel his cock twitch inside of you, making you clench around him.

With heavy breaths and sore bodies, you and Tom stay glued to one another, in silence, enjoying the post-sex feeling. “God, we should have done this a long time ago!” Tom smirks, making you chuckle. “Absolutely!” You laugh, leaving a kiss on his swollen lips.

Once you two had cleaned up and Tom got rid of the used condom, he invited you for ice cream, and, to be honest, how could you deny it? The place he took you was like a unicorn dream, the walls were pink with colorful sprinkles painted on it. After you were both seated on a rainbow table, a waitress came offering you a smile, before taking your orders, chocolate fudge for you, vanilla bean for Tom.

“So…” He said, trying to start a conversation. “So…” You copied him, feeling suddenly aware of what you two had done. “I’m… you know what? I’m just gonna ask it! What we did before was just… sex for you?” Tom blurted out, making your whole body fill with anxiety.

“Oh, I… I don’t know. I mean, I was... hoping not?” You answered, using the courage still left on your body. “Yeah?” He smiled, seemingly relaxed with your choice of words. “Me too!” He completed, taking one of his hands in yours.

You smiled, feeling completely enamored with the boy sitting in front of you. Leaning in, you kissed his lips, sweetly and slowly, feeling his smile grow between the kisses. Once you were done with the ice cream, he took you to the park, where you stayed until sunset, holding hands, stealing kisses, and watching adorable old couples doing the same things you were doing, even after all the years together.

“So… did you enjoy your birthday?” Tom asked, as soon as you took a seat on the freshly cut grass in front of a beautiful lake with a couple of swans peacefully swimming. Smiling, you leaned in, placing a kiss on his lips, before answering. “It was the best!”

tagging some mutuals: @definitely-not-black-cat @stuckonspidey @bi-writes @missnxthingg @peeterparkr @tomhollandthing @wazzupmrstark @screamholland @fallinfortom @duskholland

#my writing #tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland one shot #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland writing

[clonewarslover55]

I am here to ask for some goooood Doom content 🙏🏽

I decided to do relationship headcanons because why not lol 

@mxndalorians also requested these headcanons 

Commander Doom relationship headcanons //SFW and NSFW//

SFW

Doom may seem like a hardcore badass but he’s a big ol’ softie 

He’s a sweetheart but he’s also a flirt 

Luckily, Doom is smooth as fuck 

You don’t even know he’s flirting he’s so smooth 

He’d definitely be the one to ask you out first 

Of course in a romantic way 

Doom would take you to some nice dinner 

He’d continue to take you on sweet dates, most being romantic walks and such 

Doom would eventually woo you into a relationship 

Your dates would then start being at your apartment 

It would mostly just be you two relaxing at your apartment 

But he still takes you out sometimes, his hand in yours 

Doom doesn’t care about pda. He is very handsy, especially in public 

You’re his! Why hide the fact? 

Sometimes, while cuddling, he’ll tell you stories from his many battles 

He loves telling you stories. It’s one of the ways he shows off 

He loves to impress you in many ways.

Sometimes Doom will try to make you dinner! He can only cook a few things though 

So I hope you like pasta! 

If you ever make him food you’ll never get rid of him

Doom basically moves in with you once he comes over like twice 

He’s like a big stray cat  

You take him shopping to go buy some comfy sleeping clothes and some civilian clothes 

Doom loves shopping and style. So you two are out for a while 

He makes you see everything he tries on, just so he can show off 

He gets a lot of new clothes that day. 

Doom won’t wear a hood if an outfit has one. He needs to show off the many earrings in each ear!

He takes pride in his piercings.

Also loves his dreads and showing them off! 

He’s very into the punk look, and damn does it fit him 

Doom loves leather jackets, but also shirts where he can show off his tattoo sleeves 

He has two tattoo sleeves, both have forest and nature like designs 

He loves it when you trace them, especially when you two take bubble baths 

Doom loves bubble baths, he enjoys relaxing in them with you 

Plus he thinks they’re romantic 

He is always calling you by pet names!! Especially “My heart.” and “My love.” 

Doom is very level headed and pretty relaxed, but he still has PTSD

So he has trouble falling asleep and he has bad nightmares

When you cuddle him, his head on your chest, he sleeps like a baby most of the time

He’s an open book, he’s always willing to talk about his emotions and issues 

Doom is always up to listen to yours, and he’s very very supportive 

The romantic show off is actually a great listener, believe it or not 

Doom has two different colored eyes. 

His left eye is a bright emerald green and his right is a dark doe brown 

You had no idea he was color blind until way later in your relationship 

Doom is very embarrassed by it, and he tries to not let it affect him 

Everytime you call his eyes beautiful he blushes like a fucking fool 

He always compliments you, but when you compliment him he doesn’t know how to handle it

It’s adorable

Remember how I said he’s very handsy in public?

Well if you grab his ass or anything in public he’s a blushing mess. 

It’s very easy to fluster this commander 

Doom would probably say “I love you” first 

He’d always remind you of his, mainly by actions 

When he’s away on missions he tries to comm you often, just so you know he’s alright 

Doom is touch starved as hell, so it makes him kind of clingy 

So after missions he needs cuddles! He missed you and your touch so much! 

Once Doom falls for you, he falls hard 

Doom will love you with all of his heart and he’ll never let you forget it 

NSFW 

Mr. Romance knows a thing or two 

But you’ll still have to teach him some things, but it doesn’t take him long to learn 

Doom has that good clone memory and he learns quick 

After a lesson or two, he knows your body perfectly

Doom soon learns that he absolutely loves pleasuring you, he can’t get enough of your noises 

Some nights he’ll draw orgasm after orgasm from you, but other nights he’ll tease you till you’re almost in tears 

He’s a big teaser

Since he’s a show off he might tease you all day with simple things

He’s an asshole and he fucking knows it 

Doom will 100% tease you in public, he can never keep his hands to himself 

If you tease him back in public it will most likely lead to public sex, 

At first he gets flustered and such at first, but then he just gets needy 

He isn’t afraid to fuck you anytime, anywhere. 

Doom is very very patient, but if you do the teasing he loses all patience 

You two end up playing a lot of games, mainly ones where you see who snaps first 

Doom is kinky as fuck, so he will try anything you want to try 

Like I said, he’s an open book. So he’ll talk to you about his kinks 

He loves trying things out with you! It keeps things interesting!! 

You know what else keeps things interesting? His nipple piercings

If you even touch one of the silver rings he gets riled up. They’re very sensitive 

Doom is a switch. So when you top him make sure to tease those rings 

Also grab his hair. He has pretty long dreads that are perfect for grabbing 

Doom is pretty vocal, he never holds back his pleasure 

He moans like a slut when he’s being topped though  

Doom has many kinks, but he really enjoys bondage and games 

His favorite thing though? Oral. 

Doom is a god when it comes to giving oral 

His mouth is so skilled it’s dangerous. 

He always wakes up before you do, it’s his favorite way to wake you up

Doom cannot get enough of your taste!! 

When he isn’t giving you oral his lips are still attacking your skin somehow 

Doom can’t help but mark you up

Doom loves receiving oral, but he can lose control 

If he’s not tied down he’ll end up fucking your throat 

Doom has a breeding kink, but he doesn’t want children until after the war

So he’ll cum anywhere! 

If you tease him in public enough, causing him to ruin his pants, he’ll punish you real good 

Remember how I said Doom loves praise?? Well if you praise him he loses it!

He has a praise kink, both receiving and giving 

Doom is very romantic, so after a romantic evening he’ll fuck you slow and intimately 

He loves those soft romantic nights, but he’ll still take you roughly 

He may be romantic, but he loves his animal sex 

Doom loves bubble baths, which mostly lead to bathtub sex 

He just thinks they’re fun 

Remember, Doom will fuck you anytime, anywhere. 

This means he’s fucked you everywhere in your apartment

Doom is very caring with aftercare 

He mumbles sweet nothings to you as he cleans you both up with a warm rag

If you two have energy he may even suggest a hot shower

No matter what, you’ll fall asleep in the warm embrace of your loving commander

Tags: @leias-left-hair-bun @royalhandmaidens @cherry-cokes-world @iamassbuttkingofhell @catsnkooks @mxndalorians @colorfulloverbatturkey @ahsokatano-thetogruta @peacefulwizardfox @jedi-mando @julyzaa @strangebroadwaykinks @feathersforclones @chr0nicbackpain @jedi-nila-rhyn @fyrepen33 @mistflyer1102 @kamino-mermaid @commanderrivercc-3628 @ct7567329 @simping-for-fives @blue-space-porgs @my-awakened-ghost

#commander doom #commander doom x you #commander doom x reader #commander doom x y/n #doom

[reynie-muldoons]

'A Whisper, Not a Shout' liveblog!

0:00 I'm screeching I've been looking forward to this so much

1:30 so that's Miss Perumal, right? Right???

1:30 WAIT HOLD ON Number Two was sleeping????

1:48 I'm sorry but Number Two being ready to fire at will with a slingshot is funny as hell to me

1:58 Oh, I guess Rhonda makes sense too. But like what is she doing out at night if she's not the one keeping watch

2:10 as always, the intro slaps

3:14 WAIT HAHAHA Sticky yelling about cheating in the open is so in character 😂😂 so is Kate giving him shit for it

3:22 tactical advantage? Constance, as always, in on something different

3:44 ah yes, convenient Dr. Curtain is convenient

4:16 is....is she spearing a fish

4:25 is that water deep enough to even have octopus?? 😂

4:37 OOH GO RHONDA

4:43 OOOOHHHHH that's where the badminton racket from the intro comes in!!

5:15 dont fucking tell me the episode is named after an octopus dish and not the fucking Whisperer

5:29 they do all seem a bit rattled, that's a good way to put it

5:36 he cares about the kids so much stoppp 🥺

6:14 the hand gestures speak volumes 😂

6:41 workplace matters?? Workplace matters??? How is Milligan so goddamn funny on every occasion 😂😂

6:50 HIS FACE EATING THE OCTOPUS HAHAHA

6:55 here we gooo, it's time for Assault Alpha featuring special agent Bookmarks

7:10 never takes long for Dr. Curtain to say something pretentious, does it

7:16 show!Curtain is much more insidious than book!Curtain imo because in the book, he had no reservations about barking orders and being openly rude to his subordinates. In the show, he's covered in this nice, polite veneer.

7:38 omfg he's asking about the tableside salad thing, what a gem

7:57 I kinda love that he's the sort of guy to carry colored pens for coordinated notes

8:02 AYY CALLED IT Kate's in the tree, I called that in the preview last week 😂

8:21 here we go, now enter special agent Bookmarks

8:56 for some reason I expected Constance to tell her telepathically, but that's jumping the gun a little 😅

9:02 I like how the smile doesnt quite reach his eyes, he's losing patience and you can tell

10:19 and just like that, he's called Reynie a whacko with the words of a compliment

10:37 ayyyyy Sticky tryna draw a brainnnnn

11:03 hahahaha he drew everything upside down because he saw it upside down, that makes a hilarious amount of sense

11:18 "it's supposed to be a shoe" honey.......

11:39 soooooo cheating

12:10 every time I think we're seeing Miss Perumal, we see Rhonda

12:21 why is the thought of Number Two tailing her sister so funny to me

12:38 Rhonda Kazembe with the reminder to wear a mask 😌✨

12:45 OOOH VIGILANTE GRAFFITI

13:44 the butterfly effect at it's finest. It's risky, but Rhonda makes a good point

13:49 that is an exquisite example of what it's like living as a neurodivergent person. Coping mechanisms keep us sane and keep us functioning, and that's tangible.

14:30 the beauty of having a multi-faceted team with diverse skillsets

14:57 I love how he just agrees to rappelling off the building in response to getting caught cheating

15:19 Constance and Reynie's relationship hits that sweet spot later on, but right now it's really funny watching her ignore the fuck out of him

16:09 Number Two coping with her stress by withdrawing and getting snappy with everyone is painfully relatable

16:48 Mr Benedict and Rhonda being co-conspirators scratches an itch I didnt know I had

16:59 that's even funnier when you remember that the kids used 'saltines' as a code word for them

17:40 this is the class from the trailer that it looked like sticky was caught in 😬

18:34 oh yeah, not like the teacher is watching the class and would see you two staring at each other

18:51 ew 😂 I didn't have a close up on a drop of sweat on my bingo sheet, but maybe I should have

19:13 yeahhh I really dont know what he expected, they kept looking at each other and he made a face every time he did morse code with the pencil

19:46 Mr Benedict feeling hyperfixated on seeing his brother breaks my heart

20:27 Milligan 🥺🥺🥺🥺

20:38 oh hello Waiting Room

20:55 idk what to anticipate but I'm anticipating something

21:39 Oh.

22:33 nooooo 🥺

23:28 here it comes, the arc where Reynie blames himself for everything. See you in Prisoner's Dilemma when that arc concludes

24:15 she's not wrong 😂😂

24:18 HELLO TELEPATH HELLO HELLO HELLO

24:35 this is a sensory overload nightmare

25:21 oh shitttt, here's the billiards from Number Two's intro card

25:49 throwback to Rhonda saying what keeps her sane 🥺 sisters sisters sisters

26:13 dont fucking "oh"

26:28 this is what I mean about that veneer of kindness. Curtian knew Sticky was there, but presented it as a polite welcome to his office with a touch of concern.

26:54 here we goooo

27:12 disruptive fidgeting? That's ableist as fuck

27:24 "walk me through that" is such a condescending way to approach a conversation

27:47 I know he's acting it up to convince Curtain but he has made ✨points✨

28:00 so Dr. Curtain was playing the long game the whole time, knowing it was Morse code? What an ass, show some transparency

28:25 time to pin it on Martina

28:48 he's cruel and nothing less

29:28 this is psychological torture

30:02 turbines?

30:08 YEAHHHHH

30:34 he's not gonna be pleased until he sees Curtain, calling it now

31:03 Milligan gets it. He gets it so much.

31:59 STOPPPPP 😭😭😭😭

32:19 awwwwwwwwWWW

32:49 I'm so glad they kept that suspense

33:19 KATE STOP YELLINGGGG

33:38 SWEET KATE

33:45 YES ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR STRENGTHS STICKY

34:23 something about being read a story by Mr. Benedict is so comforting

34:45 🥺🥺🥺🥺

35:00 HERE WE GO MILLIGAN'S MEMORY TALK

35:48 THE PIECE IS KATE AND SHE'S ON THE ISLAND

35:57 fuck everything just give me that dynamic forever

36:29 she decoded it???? Dayummmm

36:32 so what I'm hearing is Constance has sensory overload problems. Fucking LOVE that rep

37:22 STOP YOUR BREATHING HHAHAHAH

38:04 Oh boy, we're already talking about The Improvement??

38:20 A LIST OF HELPERS?????

38:42 WHAAAAA

39:26 so what I'm hearing is, Mr. Benedict also feels as though if he sleeps in he'll miss something

40:00 traps traps traps traps

40:49 WHAT DOES RED MEAN, WHAT DOES RED MEAN

42:11 Kate overthinking everything 🥺

42:26 tetherball?? I love that that and water polo are the sports of choice

43:50 oooh tetherball team, good job Kate

44:49 HAHHAHH

45:29 Connie baby, my love, my child

45:53 Reynie putting himself out there for Constance kills me

46:33 promotion????

46:44 PROMOTIONNNNN I DIDNT THINK IT WOULD HAPPEN THIS SOOOON

47:24 lmaooo she really will never live that one down

47:47 Rhonda spits facts at every opportunity

THAT WAS SO GOOOOOD

#a whisper not a shout #mbs liveblog #mbs disney+ #the mysterious benedict society #charity's talkies

[trashyswitch]

The Obvious Ship

Roman and Virgil would make the PERFECT COUPLE! Or, that's what Patton believes. Now, he sets out to try and get the two boys together: Fanboy style!

I turned Patton into a pure, obsessed fanboy...Sorry not sorry...

It was a normal morning in the mind palace. Roman had gotten up early, fixed up his hair, and put on his make up. As Roman was putting on his costume, he realized that his sash was missing! What?! Where could it have possibly gone? Roman looked just about everywhere in his room. It was nowhere to be found. So...Roman, feeling quite disappointed, decided to try and stay positive and where his costume without the sash.

Meanwhile, Virgil had gotten up late. He put on his black eye shadow, and had begun looking for his clothes. But...his favourite sweater was missing for some reason. Strange...he placed it on the end of his bed last night, and it wasn't under his bed either. Virgil sighed as he stood in the middle of his room with his ripped jeans, and his t-shirt on. His mood was generally not the greatest in the morning, but thanks to the missing sweater, his mood had grown slightly worse.

Soon, both characters joined the other characters in the kitchen, with their obviously missing items. Logan was drinking his coffee and reading, while Deceit was playing with a deck of cards.

"Morning." Virgil muttered, walking out in his purple t-shirt.

"Goooood MORNING everyone!...I'm missing my sash. Have any of you guys seen it?" Roman declared dramatically, wearing his white costume without his sash.

"Uuuh...Nope, haven't seen it." Logan replied.

"The dryer was empty from last night." Deceit stated.

"Go-Good point. Did it end up in the wash from yesterday?" Logan asked. Roman huffed and walked into the laundry room. Opening the dryer, Roman moved his hand through the dry clothes. After checking every single piece of clothing in the dryer, Roman concluded that no: his sash was NOT in the dryer.

"Nope. No sash." Roman replied, pouting as he walked back in the room. "Also Deceit, the dryer was full of clothing. Some of it is yours." Roman mentioned.

"Oh, I was CoMpLeTeLy unaware." Deceit stated sarcastically. Roman rolled his eyes as he looked around.

Virgil -following the advice from the previous conversation- walked up to the dryer to check for his hoodie. After rooting through the wash for a bit, Virgil discovered that his sweater wasn't washed, and therefore, wasn't in the dryer. Virgil let out a frustrated growl. When he went back out to the kitchen, he was presented with an interesting sight:

Patton was standing in the middle of the room, walking to Logan. But more importantly, Patton was wearing Virgil's sweater and Roman's sash over top. Roman was staring at the strange sight, struggling to figure out if he should laugh at the sight, or discipline Patton for the theft.

"Patton...WHY! Why are you wearing my sweater!" Virgil asked, frustrated.

"AND, my sash!" Roman added.

Patton giggled. "Can't you tell? I'm Prinxiety!" Patton proclaimed. Virgil and Roman both froze. Both their eyes were widened.

"...Interesting...Elaborate, please." Logan instructed.

"Okay. You two, have failed to make ANY MOVES TO MAKE PRINXIETY HAPPEN!" Patton explained, rather loudly. "I've tried helping you two! The whole world wants it!" Patton declared.

"D-Do you ship us?" Virgil asked him.

Patton let a big smirk grow onto his face. "Maaaaayyyybe?" Patton replied.

"I don't see it. They are NOT shippable aT aLL!" Deceit stated.

"See? Even Deceit sees it!" Patton reacted, pointing to him.

"Oh my go- JUST GIVE US OUR CLOTHES BACK!" Roman yelled.

"And spoil an adorable opportunity?! I don't think so..." Patton said with an evil grin.

Virgil looked Patton up and down. Virgil could tell what Patton wanted. It was practically written on Patton's face!

"I think the only way we're gonna get it back...is by chasing him down ourselves..." Virgil explained. Roman looked towards Virgil, and began to grin evilly.

"You wouldn't want us to go for desperate measures, now would you Patton?" Roman asked.

Patton's eyes widened, as his mouth followed suit. This just confirmed Virgil's beliefs.

"Ohoho...He wants it alright..." Virgil explained. "Wanna team up?" Virgil asked, holding out his hand for a handshake.

Roman smirked. "Well, of course, emo nightmare." Roman replied eagerly, before shaking his hand.

Patton gasped, and began jumping and clapping his hands like a fangirl, before pulling out a notebook and pen to write something down.

"What's that?" Deceit asked. Patton paused his writing, and slowly turned his head towards the man behind him.

"...nooooothing?" Patton attempted to lie, before going back to writing.

"Nevermind. I don't wanna see it." Deceit stated. Patton, after finished writing, threw the notebook towards him before getting himself ready for a chase.

Suddenly, Patton started sprinting away from them.

"HEY! GIVE ME BACK MY SASH, YOU THIEF!" Roman shouted before chasing Patton.

Virgil's smile grew wider as he happily followed suit.

While all of that was happening, Deceit took the time to read the notebook. Upon reading the title, Deceit bursted out laughing. ____________________________________ Prinxiety (Roman and Virgil): Proof of Potential Couple: -Screaming while holding hands (They started SCREAMING! Potential crush on each other?) -Roman helping Virgil feel welcome to the light sides (HE FREAKING WANTS HIM WITH US!) -Virgil checking him out (MULTIPLE TIMES!) -ROMAN checking him out (ESPECIALLY WHEN VIRGIL CHANGED TO PURPLE! AAAAH!) -The bickering between the two (Opposites attract, right?) -Their matching love for Disney (PRINCE X EMO = DISNEY LOVERS?!) Conclusion: I APPROVE! Next step: GET THOSE COWARDS TOGETHER! ____________________________________

"This is a useless list...you won't wanna see this..." Deceit said, handing it to Logan.

Suddenly, Patton came zooming past Deceit and Logan, and sprinted up the stairs. Following him, you guessed it, was Roman and Virgil. Somehow, it's taken 10 minutes of sprinting to actually catch him.

Soon though, Logan had lost his train of thought thanks to a crash from upstairs. Logan smiled to himself. That must mean Patton was caught.

Sure enough, Logan was correct! Patton had been tackled down by Roman from behind. With Patton laying on the ground and Roman on top of him, Virgil set to work removing Patton's shoes and socks.

"WAIT! VIRGIL! I'M SORRY I TOOK YOUR SWEATER! I just- I needed to get you two working together! And this was the only way to do it!" Patton explained.

Virgil chuckled at that. "Yeah, you accomplished that alright. Now you'll have to survive the evil wrath of 'Prinxiety'." Virgil teased playfully.

"Wait, really?! Great!...So...what are you gonna do?" Patton asked, growing slightly nervous.

Roman looked towards Virgil, with a potential idea in mind. Virgil looked back at Roman with a curious look. Roman, wanting to show him his idea, used his magic to create a red feather.

"A fe-...Oh...Ooooh, I like that." Virgil said with a slightly eager smile.

"Really?" Roman clarified, unable to fathom the happy smile showing up on Virgil's face.

"Yup. You lead the way." Virgil reassured. Roman eagerly fist pumped the air, before sliding himself off of Patton. Roman rolled the father onto his back, before sitting onto the front of Patton's waist.

"Now, I would use this feather on him...but feathers are actually useless on Patton!" Roman explained.

"Wait, seriously?!" Virgil asked.

"Yeah! So..." Roman replied, before using his magic to create a new item. "a make-up brush would work a lot better for this!" Roman said eagerly, creating a powder brush.

"Hmm...alright. Let's make it stiff, but soft. Okay?" Virgil suggested.

"Noted." Roman replied, before turning the powder brush into a small concealer brush.

Patton let out a squeal at the mere thought of such a thing being used for this purpose.

"Ready?" Roman asked, suspense fully. Patton squealed, both nervous and excited. Roman started slowly lowering it as he continued teasing. "Cause I'm...goooooonna..." Roman teased evilly.

Virgil huffed impatiently, and pushed Roman's hand down, causing the brush to fall into Patton's belly button rather quickly.

"AAAH! Vihihihihirgihihil! Whyhyhyhy?!" Patton asked.

"Ya Virgil..." Roman asked, looking at him.

"Easy: I'm impatient." Virgil replied, slouching as he watched Roman swirl the makeup brush in his belly button.

"Wahahahahait! Ihihihi'm sohohohohorry! Ihihihihi'm SOHOhohohohorry!" Patton attempted to apologize.

"Too late for apologies, buddy. Now be a good little boy and face your punishment." Roman replied with a smile. Patton continued to giggle as he watched Roman play around with the brush in hand. Roman continued to do this for 5 more minutes, before removing the brush. Patton took the moment to recuperate the small amount of breath he'd lost. When he looked up to Roman however, Patton's eyes widened dramatically, as a long and horrified squeal left his mouth.

Roman had used his magic to change make up brushes. What did he choose this time? A large blush brush! And to make matters worse, Roman was teasing him with the handheld object by bouncing it up and down off Patton's tummy like a bouncy trampoline!

"Ooooh! Good choice!" Virgil reacted.

"Why thank you, darling!" Roman replied. Patton let a small smile grow onto his lips. In his mind, Patton was fangirling rapidly. Every small thought that entered his mind, went in and out in a couple seconds, before a new thought took the very same trail, in and out of his brain.

All of a sudden, those thoughts took a dramatic pause, as that damned brush was fluttering itself all over Patton's tummy. Every single instinct in his body, immediately switched to forcing bouts of laughter out of Patton's body. The brush was so soft, so gentle, and unsurprisingly: SUPER TICKLISH! Patton's head shook back and forth as more cheerful laughter left his mouth.

"You seem to be enjoying this...What about swirls? Do you like swirls?" Roman asked, before drawing circles with the bristles of the blush brush. Patton's laughter grew higher a little bit, as his body squirmed and attempted to get away from such a ticklish brush. Such a thing should not exist for such an occasion! But, Roman was clever with his tools. He's learned through many tickle fights, that makeup brushes are a lot more useful than first advertised. Not only can they help apply make up, but they can tickle a person as well!

"ROHOHOHOHOMAHAHAN! IHIHIHIT TIHIHIHIHIHICKLES!" Patton yelled through his laughter.

"Well, I'd hope so! Otherwise, this would be preeeeetty awkward..." Roman replied.

"Hey, have you tried his armpits yet?" Virgil asked.

"Nope! I haven't. If you hold up his arms, I'll gladly try it out!" Roman offered. Virgil nodded in agreement and lifted Patton's arms up.

"Ihihi nehehever imagined yohohou twohoho wohohohorking tohogether." Patton said, letting some leftover giggles leave his mouth, even as Roman stopped the brush.

"Well, you'd better believe it! Disney prince and Disney emo are working together." Roman stated.

Virgil chuckled. "Disney emo...good one." Virgil reacted, slightly flattered at the nickname.

Roman took the time to fluff up his brush a little bit, before starting. Patton squirmed and whimpered nervously as Roman fluttered the brush back and forth, against the palm of his non-dominant hand. Now, Roman was ready. Before using the brush, he tried lightly scratching with his finger first. This earned him a squeal and a high pitched giggle. Finally, after what felt like forever, Roman placed the brush against Patton's armpit and fluttered it.

Patton threw his head back and let out a loud scream! "WAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!" Patton pleaded through his laughter.

"Please what? Please tickle my other armpit? Why, a great idea you have! I'd love to!" Roman teased, before moving onto the second armpit.

"THAHAHAHAHAT'S NAHAHAHAT WHAHAHAHAT IHIHIHI MEHEHEHEHEANT!" Patton yelled through his never ending laughter.

"I know. I just wanted to switch armpits." Roman replied with a smile. After a couple more minutes of tickling, Roman removed the brush and made it disappear.

"Why are you stopping?" Virgil asked.

"Because I think Patton has learned his lesson. Patton?" Roman said, looking to Patton and waiting for an answer.

"Ya?" Patton replied, confused as to what he was supposed to say.

"Did...Did you learn your lesson?" Roman clarified.

"Yes. I learned my lesson." Patton replied.

Virgil let go of his arms and got off the man. "Alright. What did you learn?" Virgil asked.

"Oh! That's easy! I learned that you two are definitely an adorable couple!" Patton happily exclaimed.

Virgil let out a groan, while Roman growled in anger.

"WE! ARE NOT! A COUPLE!" Roman yelled.

"Aww, come on! You're gay, you're opposites, and you've been dropping hints for the longest time! JUST DO SOMETHING ALREADY!" Patton shouted.

"Okay. I'll take back my sash, thank you." Roman demanded subtly, lifting the sash right off Patton.

"And I'll take my sweater back." Virgil said next, unzipping the zipper and slipping off Patton's shoulders.

"Is it comfy?" Roman asked Patton.

"The sweater? Yeah! It's really comfy!" Patton replied.

Roman looked to Virgil, who already had one arm in one of the sleeves. Virgil looked back at Roman, who was basically giving him the desperate puppy eyes.

Virgil sighed, and slipped the sweater off. "Fine." Virgil said, handing him the sweater. Roman cheered excitedly, before taking it and slipping it right on.

Roman gasped, and wiggled back and forth. "IT'S SO COMFY!!" Roman yelled excitedly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. This is the only time you can wear it, so enjoy it while you can." Virgil warned.

Patton gasped in pure excitement.

Roman conjured up a tall mirror, and started admiring himself in the mirror. Virgil rolled his eyes and let a small smile grow onto his face, before walking up to the prince.

"Looking good, Roman. Purple looks...really nice on you, actually." Virgil complimented.

"R-really?" Roman reacted, his face slightly turning red as he watched Virgil zip up the zipper and fix his hair. Virgil began placing bits of Roman's bangs in front of his face, to look more...emo. Roman smiled genuinely, and put his hands in Virgil's hoodie pockets, letting Virgil do his thing. To end it off, Virgil grabbed the hood, delicately placed it on his head, and made it so that his bangs and face were noticeable under the hood.

"Oh, my GAHD, JUSTKISSALREADY!" Patton yelled impatiently.

Roman sighed as he turned his head and looked at Patton with the most honest 'I'm sick of your shit' face. Virgil took one quick glance at Roman's face, and clutched his stomach as he doubled over laughing.

"Patton...we don't like each other...not in that way...please...try to respect that." Roman attempted. Patton's impatience seemed to soften a little bit.

"...Oh, alright...you don't need to date each other..." Patton said, disappointed but compromising. Roman let out a long sigh of relief. Patton's disappointed face soon morphed into a mischievous face. "But, that doesn't stop me from writing down the MILLION REASONS why you two SHOULD BE DATING EACH OTHER!" Patton added excitedly.

...

...

...Let's just say, there was a lot more yelling and laughter echoing through the house after that...

#ticklefic #lee!patton #ler!roman #ler!virgil #prinxietyhint

[portpebble]

New Episode Liveblog

Disclaimer: The owner of this blog loves all the sides and will not post hate on any of them. I may not love every opinion or decision that said character makes but that is because no character is perfect. I Stan Everyone.  Thank you. 

Thinking about responding honestly, but quickly deleting it, thats relatable  repression baby!

The music??? IS DIFFERENT???

WHY IS THIS MUSIC SUCH A BOP

Oh my god, Thomas is absolutely pissed.

Patton trying to let Thomas be angry while also trying to give him advice youre doing amazing sweetie

Take a shot everytime they say ‘f’

NEW SONG????

NEW SONG!!!!!

THIS IS SO FREAKING COOOOOL

This song is a bop, but my ADHD is going crazy its so fasssst but so goooood

Wait this is Ace Attonery 

Roman, youre allowed to make mistakes bby

...ways to preDICT THE FUTURE “No!” “Hhn- ghfk- hngh- very good”

Roman are you okay? Did you get your house filled with feral cats? Roman? You alright there? ROMAN?

“Those baby making catholics” fgghkhk Roman I love youuuuu

Patton really do be bringing out the logic in this one huh, is this ep about empathy? Sounds very empathy-ish

Foresight seems to be the focus so far, but I don’t think that’ll carry through the whole ep

“Hes a jolly good fellow!” jdkhkgfhkhg

Oop, we’re back to the good person dialema (he made the “good” decision tho??)

Roman’s insults gfkhgkhk stOP youre supposed to be this mANS CONFIDENCE OH NOOOOO

“A bagel??? :DDD” ROMAN I FELT THAT (Also didn’t this happen before with switched rolls I feel like it did???)

Pokemon! 

A gamesssssssssssssssstORE

“They should cost a little outdoor time” I sure hope not. 

The little Thomas sprite pointing at the sign is so cute!

AT LEAST SIXTEEN GRAPHICS PATTON I LOVE YOU SM 

Is it just me or does Roman’s voice just sound a bit different this ep? 

Oh yeah, its all coming together 

Roman is like “please do not assault the actor for the hotdog, thank you.” 

OOP- ThEres the double standard!!!

LOGAN!!!

Roman clicking the Ignorant button and Logan looking just so done ugggh I missed our boys bickering in the last episode

.... jesus christ super star :((((

Roman reading Logan’s little fact for him is super cute 

I think its okay to do a good thing because it makes you happy because if youre happy that good things are being done than that makes you good (sorry, thats pretty much incomprehensible) 

Patton’s trying so hard to not push his opinions, but he needs to realize said opinions arent set in stone 

yeeaaebeahab- go- Patton, I hope you know you are the cutest

Yall know Im a Patton kinnie, but I agree with Roman (maybe thats the therapy talking)

Hey this is really wholesome actually! We love Patton and Thomas trying to give Roman an open and supportive enviroment to express his opinions on the matter

Oh hey! The music is 8-bit Deceit’s theme!

You can get the reward while still caring, gosh this one’s so good because I agree with each character’s points ahhhh!

I agree with Thomas, they’re different scenarios. 

Thomas: Am I not allowed to feel good for doing something good? Logan’s little box: 0.0 Oop-

Yeah, I thought this ep was going to about empathy 

OH I HATE THIS SCENARIO I HATE THE TROLLEY THING AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 

I cant read Logan’s little facts while also listening hElp-

The T word gfhjlkjlghg

Oh no! Logan’s box goes crazy I cant read all that!

RIP Logan’s box, you will be missed but only a little bit.

Also, I love how calm this argument is, I was really worried for this ep because I didnt want Roman and Patton to be mad at one another but they’re both handling it so well, hense Roman helping Patton with the little box

klghkljlkg he has become the mustache 

Oh no! Logan! Patton, NO!

Yeah, the pity thing was kind of confusing

ROMAN BBY NOOO

Roman: I have been doing a bad job Thomas & Patton: STFU TOP TEN REASONS WHY YOU ARE WRONG NUMBER ONE I LOVE YOU

Thomas is not okay, Thomas is too relatable. 

SELF CARE TIME SELF CARE TIME

OOOOOOO PATTON I FEEL YOU THERE BUD ACK

WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA PATTON IS A FROG AND I CANT UNDERSTAND WHAT HES SAYING AHHHHHHHHH

LILYPADTON FDHKJHFKJHKJHLHLK

PATTON PUT LESLIE DOWN

HEY STARDEW VALLEY MY TWO HYPERFIXATIONS MERGED INTO ONE

TTHAnk you Logan! 

WAIT HAS HE BEEN DECEIT THE WHOLE TIME OH MY GOD (YESSSSSSSS LOVING THIS)

OOOOO Deceit has a little cane, I KNEW there was a reason I always felt the need to draw him with one

AHHHHHHH WHEN HE SHOT AT DECEIT HE JUST HIT THOMAS NONONONO 

Oh? Patton agreeing with Deceit? This is very good.

Oh hey, these are the characters from one of the vines he made 

“oh, Logan I-” “PETER SINGER IS AN AUSTRAILIAN-” 

Wow, today’s episode really keeps saying Loceit and Royality rights, huh?

(valley girl voice) Whatever, sure, if thats your thing

Deceit really do be out here being my therapist now I suppose? 

Roman, love, its okay to make mistakes 

Deceit redemption arc is in full swing ba-

:OOOOOOOOOOO

I HAD A HUNCH THAT WE MIGHT GET HIS NAME 

HIS NAME IS JANUS GUYS HIS NAME IS JANUS AHHHHHHHHh

ROMAN STOP BULLYING JANUS CHALLENGE 

JANUS STOP BULLYING ROMAN CHALLENGE 

Oh my god, Roman looks so hurt, oh my god 

Remus watching Deceit refer to him as the evil twin: Remus watching Roman be offended at being compared to him:

ROMANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

PATTON THANK YOU

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

ROCEIT IS DEAD AND I AM CRYING BY ITS BODY 

Janus be like: Im sorry, the sass jumped out 

“Im so sorry LESLIE” fjgkllljlkjhklgjlkvbjklgjklvjklvjklhglkvblkgjlkv 

Janus: Be Gay, Do Crime Patton: Right Now, Not the Time

JANUS ACCEPTANCE ARC YAYYYYYYYY

PATTON I LOVE YOU 

Janus: Patton is asleep, post murder plots 

LOVE YOU JANUS BBBBBBYYYYYYEEEEEEE

This episode hit home very hard, thank you for the free therapy session Mr. Sanders. 

Lee and Mary Lee, I love you already you huge dorks 

WOW MOCIET GOT RIGHTS THIS EPISODE HOLY COW 

#patton sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #janus sanders #Which I will be using as well as Deceit Sanders for now btw #thomas sanders #ts spoilers #Putting Others First #remus sanders #he's mentioned but breifly #liveblog #tw bold #tw caps #logan sanders #almost forgot him IM SORRY

[fordarkisthesuede]

The Tolls of Justice - Chapter 7

Goooood morning, darlings!  It was a longer wait than I wanted to give you, but I hope this absolute monster of a chapter is alllll worth it for what we’re leading up to! :3c

Important Spoiler Tags:  self harm, paranoia, playing with knives, discussion of mental illness, bonding through near-death situations, omg Billionaire Playboy Vigilante Bruce Wayne has That™ kind of drawer what a surprise

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Read on Ao3 or continue below...

[Chapter 7:  Drawing the Strings]

Wayne Manor was too big. John figured he could walk the whole length of it in the time it would take to let Bruce deal with everything being set up for his fancy-schmancy party.

He was okay with not going. It wasn’t like he wanted to actually be in the enormous unused ballroom, all dressed to the nines. Or be on Bruce’s arm for any miniscule part of the evening. Or get to try to be normal-ish for once. It made sense for him not to go, what with a wannabe-killer on the loose. He knew that as soon as he’d realized he was in Wayne Manor and not in some weird fever dream made from various Arkham-brand drugs.

But hearing he wasn’t wanted there in the first place was different. Not so much from calculating, logical Bruce, who might have his best interests at heart - but from Alfred?

He felt the stirrings of the mysterious beast under his skin. It had been kicked hard in its cage and now it was angrier than ever. It was as if it had been staring Alfred down from behind its bars of bone and flesh, teeth bared and growling low since he saw him in the kitchen that morning - and it was lie Alfred could see it, somehow, and stared back as he shoved a pancake into John’s hands with his compliments like that would make things better.

John would be lying if he said it hadn’t made a fraction of a difference – Alfred treated him like he would any other guest to their face. He was polite and seemingly neutral, and even tossed a joke out about Bruce’s life juggling trick. It was enough to remind John that this was Bruce’s father figure he was dealing with and not a stranger, and he should do his best to get along with who could – in the slimmest possibilities of a good future – be his eventual father-in-law.

But the knowledge that Alfred didn’t think he should be around other people kept sitting in John’s head. It sat there in the kitchen, and in the oversized dining room, and back in the kitchen as John very carefully dried the china and attempted to make conversation about Alfred’s journey across the world in-between mentally running through a list of all the mob hits ever made on 13th Street. Bad thoughts were easy to drown out when he was thinking about other things, but as soon as he was left on his own it came back.

Alfred doesn’t want me here, the thought cycled in again as John stepped into the elevator down to cave. It was the one place he could surround himself with Bruce’s presence without the man actually being there. He doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m dangerous around people. Shadows passed over his face. 

He knew Alfred was right. Does anyone want me here, with my bloody hands...? 

John looked down at them. They were clean, but sometimes he felt like Lady Macbeth trying to scrub away the guilt that seeped a permanent red into her conscience. He squeezed his fingers into fists, feeling the short nails dig a little into his skin as his wrist muscles flexed. 

The wrists that Bruce had held not long ago, while lying on him with all the weight of the world packed in mostly-sculpted muscle. He flicked his tongue out, tasting his lips; Bruce’s flavor was all gone, and only maple syrup from breakfast remained, but he was sure it happened. There was no mistaking Bruce’s firm grip.

Bruce does, John countered himself, flexing his hands in a squeezing motion again. Bruce doesn’t care what Alfred thinks. I’m his best friend. He loves me.

He woke up alone. He woke up in the guest room Bruce had given him last time. He had to think carefully about where he was and had snatched the phone off the nightstand to prove to himself that it was Saturday.

...he SAYS he loves me. He left me alone. 

But Bruce had kissed him. Been real. John clutched his bandaged forearm, squeezing hard and feeling the fabric beneath his fingertips. He was there, in the elevator, heading towards the Batcave.

But Bruce had also lied to him before. He lied to Alfred very easily. He didn’t want Alfred to know I was with him.

Why would he do that? Why would he hide John away? Why would he not tell his father his boyfriend was there? Only if…

John squeezed his bandaged forearm harder. His gut had told him so the moment Alfred had finished his sentence from behind Bruce’s bedroom door:  Alfred didn’t know about Bruce and John’s relationship.

He’s ashamed of me.

He wanted to talk to someone about it. Badly. So badly it gnawed at his stomach. 

But of course Mickey and Devi were busy, and Dr. Song would practically say she told him it would happen and tell him to go wherever it was St. Dymphna felt would work for the time being, and John would sooner talk to Harley than go through that mess. Tiffany and Iman wouldn’t understand, and he didn’t think their budding friendships were at that level of emotional intimacy.

The elevator gave a little ding, and John felt his head start to clear with the first breath of cave air. Solid mixed metals and rock, live bats, fresh water, Kevlar cleaner - yes, this was all Bruce. Bruce in his truest form. Logical Bruce with his sweet heart that bled underneath the layers of armor he kept to hide and restrain it all.

Bruce loving him was unquestionable. He was an idiot sometimes, hiding things for his mysterious, inane reasons, but Bruce loved him. He had to. So Bruce might be embarrassed or ashamed of him, but…!

He won’t be for long. 

Sure, he could do something outlandish like kidnap Bruce without letting anyone else be wise to it and prove how clever and deserving he was of Bruce’s time and attention and love as he gave him the heavy pet-down they both deserved to indulge in, but it wouldn’t go over so well when John wasn’t officially released into the wild with the sanity stamp on his hand.

Solving at least one of the cases on Bruce’s desk, though? That was sure to earn him points. Hell, Alfred would undoubtedly be impressed, too. 

He had a lot to catch up on. He glanced over at the Batcomputer and thought about everything.

The Wednesday Nighters’ deaths at The Lot club were mysterious, but the gang seemed to have a lead on that, what with the idiot whose card was “stolen”. It wasn’t impressive enough if John puzzled the rest out.

His own attempted murder was intriguing, but there wasn’t much to go on. Unless Tiffany could show him the exact spot she lost the shooter in... If she did lose them and it wasn’t some very elaborate scheme to- 

Don’t go there, John. You know what the doctors all say about your little paranoid thoughts.

And while he could just throw their advice out the window like they seemed to do to him, he knew they were right. Thinking someone he knew (someone he was growing to like, and was sure he could get the feeling in return if he tried, no less) was out to get even with him wasn’t very progressive. Tiffany had trusted him enough to gamble on following a lead. She didn’t toss his phone over the edge of the building when he’d given it to her. She tried to chase the shooter and got her precious drone smashed to bits as a consequence. She didn’t even pull that weirded out face at the breakfast table...well, he was pretty sure she hadn’t, anyway.

The more he thought about it, the Chandis instance seemed to be connected to Cat-Lady, if the video was to be believed, and John had a feeling that it wasn’t a coincidence that both his and her attacker were wearing masks. And Selina’s looked peculiarly like a Batman knockoff.

Yup, first-in, first-out was the way to go, really. He’d just have to figure out where she was staying and then figure out a way to get there. 

It was only two things. He could manage that.

He was going to march over to the giant supercomputer when he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision:  Tiffany. 

For the second time, he found himself finding her in an unlikely place when her back was turned.

She’d brought up Miss Kitty-Witty. She would know exactly where she was. And John, having managed to coax her into working with him before, would surely be able to do it again, as long as he could keep his face straight.

Tiffany was in the little rogue gallery, her phone pressed to her ear. She seemed to be wearing her motorcycle gear from last night, sans the helmet; he could see some of the plating looked a lot like that of the Batsuit, but in a matte midnight blue. She was clearly planning on going somewhere...

John snuck closer, walking on the outside of his heels to lessen the noise.

“I told you, Barb’, I’m not with a guy. If I was, I wouldn’t be so tired when I come back home... Of course my Mom knows where I am; even if I wasn’t with her I’d have to text her. I mean, she’s been getting better, but… Yeah, it’s just work stuff.” Tiffany stepped closer to John’s case. What could she want from there?

Or was John just being paranoid and she was actually going for something else, like Harley’s hammer or Frieze’s ice-ray?

“Oh, uhh… I don’t know. It might be a couple of days. At least I paid rent already.” Tiffany was right in front of the old Joker items; his old belt, his grappling gun, and the razor-sharp Jokerrang. She reached up and snatched his grappling gun off the little pegs Bruce used to keep it in place. Her sixth sense was pretty shitty if she didn’t know he was right behind her by now. “Yeah, I’ll text you if anything interesting happens. Really, Barb’, I don’t know what you expect to-”

“Nice, isn’t it?” John asked from behind her.

Tiffany gave a yelp that echoed against the expansive cave walls as she swung the gun behind her in an arc - it would have hit him in the head if he hadn’t leaned back in the nick of time. John stumbled backwards a step, laughing at the wide-eyed shock on her face. He knew it was loud, but it wasn’t as if anyone else was down there to complain, so he didn’t bother muffling it.

John could hear the voice on the phone shouting in alarm. “No, Barbara, I’m okay, it’s just...one of my colleagues scaring me,” she explained, still frowning over at John. “Yeah, I’ll call you back later.” She hung up, stowed the phone in her pocket, and shoved his arm hard. “Don’t DO that! You scared the shit out of me!”

 John bit his lip to try and stop the titters in his throat. “You were on the phone! You wouldn’t have noticed my text!” he explained half-truthfully, “Nice reflexes, by the way. You’ll be like a little Bat in no time! Or would it be a batling...? A Mini-Bat?”

She didn’t seem to find the funny side to that. 

John cleared his throat, unsure of what else to say until he realized he should have apologized by now. “Um, ‘sorry’. That’s what I’m trying to say.” He stood straighter. “So - Bats won’t let you play with his toys?”

“Uh… Not exactly.” Tiffany shifted her weight and tried to cross her arms, only realizing the gun was in the way too late and having to put her hand on her hip instead. “Bruce…suggested I borrow it from you. Since you’re kinda stuck here,” she said with a shrug.

Ah-ha. She was heading out on a little mission - visiting the Cat, perhaps, in Bruce’s place. “Well, the man’s got a point… Kinda wished you asked first, though, Tiff’. It might be in Bruce’s fancy case under his fancier house, but it’s still mine.” She shifted uncomfortably. John supposed he should play nice and not glower. “But I suppose I could let you borrow it -” he rocked back on his heels once, thinking quickly - “if you let me come with you. You’re going to see the Cat, right?”

“You want to…” Her already dark eyes darkened further. “Did Bruce put you up to this?”

What a suspicious-aloysius. Clearly Bruce had her a short leash. “Give me some credit, Tiff’, I have a life outside of following him around. Though it is nice when he gets that cute proud face when I do something right…” It always gave him a nice little rush of mood-enhancing chemicals to his head, seeing that face...but he was getting off-track. And Tiffany was starting to pull her weirded-out face. “But I didn’t even know you were heading there for sure until just now.”

She seemed to be analyzing him. Thinking. Asking herself if he was lying. She could easily just take the thing and run; she might be shorter than him but the suit showed off powerful legs, and who said she couldn’t fight him? Bruce might take John’s side over hers, or he might take neither. Could she trust him? Would she?

“Let’s say I do,” Tiffany said, staring him down, “What are you planning on doing?”

“Outside of asking questions? Ha, I’ll wing it!”

The dark blue woven curls of her hair swung slightly with the tilt of her head. “And what if you do something stupid?”

“Like, accidentally hit myself in the head with the grappling gun stupid? ‘Cause I’ve done that. Really hurts!” She wasn’t finding that funny. Okay. “Ohhh, you mean whoops there’s a knife in Cat-Lady’s liver, how’d that get there stupid!” He laughed at his own joke, hoping she’d turn that serious line into a tiny smile. “I’m not an idiot, Tiff’. I learned my lesson,” he beamed, holding up his scarred hand and wiggling his fingers to draw attention to it, “I won’t be shiving anyone any time soon.” Well… “I mean, unless she tries to kill you,” he added sensibly, “Then it’d be a lot more socially acceptable.”

Tiffany blinked in confusion. “Are you expecting her to try and kill me? I didn’t think she’d be that testy about a couple of questions from a stranger.”

“I just figured that with Riddler being her ‘friend’ and all…” He could see the grim understanding growing behind her eyes. The ‘R’ word seemed to have been the trigger. “I mean, I don’t think she knows it was you, but...if she did? She might try to.”

“I see…” (He could tell she did. Though what hue she was seeing it in wasn’t for him to know.) “How do I know you won’t tell her when my back is turned?”

He supposed he could, if he felt cruel enough. “You haven’t given me a reason to,” he shrugged, “so my lips are sealed!” He made a zipping motion over his mouth as he gave her a wink.

Finally, she was actually smiling. Even a small one was better than nothing. “Alright, you can come. But you do anything stupid and I’ll test my roundhouse kick on you.”

“Hm, mhm mm-?!” He mimed grasping at his throat and unzipping his mouth and gave a dramatic gasp. “Whew, hard to breathe like that!”

Tiffany gave a slight titter as he laughed at his own joke. Hers was just a little ha ha ha - that was as much as he could’ve asked for. “John, you could breathe through your nose.”

“And what, ruin the bit? Not on your life.” John checked a little box off of his mental list of ways to win her over. He was getting there. “So, when are we going?”

She glanced him over very quickly. “Uh, you’re planning on going like that?”

How else would he go? Makeup took too long to apply. He’d stand out no matter what he did, with his complexion. “She already knows what I look like, Tiff’. If I pull out a disguise now that’s just another leg she could get up on me later.”

To his surprise, she reached around the back of his case and pulled a long piece of purple cloth off a large plastic hanger and tossed it his way. “If you fall off the bike without something on your arms they’re gonna get shredded to ribbons. And you’ll be...slightly less conspicuous with that.” 

John held up the fabric, feeling how heavy it was in his hands, and recognized it instantly. The purple leather trenchcoat he’d worn last year. “Ooh!” He gave it a firm shake and slid it on, instantly feeling the weight sink into his shoulders. He could smell something like mild fabric soap, which meant Bruce had kept it fairly clean. That sweetheart. “Oh, I missed this. I’ll never get why that vampire cosplayer just traded it away…” It was a little thick, really designed for the fall more than the summer. The buttons that made up the double-breasted style were dull black, but he could fix that later. “I need to put in some vents,” he mused, following Tiffany down to the parking pad below. He could hear his ankle boots click slightly on the metal steps, reminding him of when he and Bruce had left for their little missions last year. “How many do you have in that suit? It has to get hot in there.”

“Ten. Bruce’s suit has more, you should look at it later.”

He patted his pockets. Pretty flat. “You wouldn’t happen to have any extra gloves, would you?”

“Yeah, but they’re not going to fit you.”

Upon closer inspection, the sleek motorized bicycle was really built more for one than two. The elevated seat on the back had small handles on the sides for the passenger - or easily-strapped bag - to hold onto. “Uh, you know I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before...”

“It’s okay, I’ve never had a passenger before.” Tiffany tucked the majority of her hair into a tight fitting hood that reminded John of knight’s chainmail. “Just hold onto the handles and lean with the bike if we turn. I need to start it before you get on.”

“What, no holding onto the driver like they do in the movies?”

Tiffany gave him a look. He’d seen it before on Harley when he’d asked what he didn’t realize was an ‘inappropriate’ question - an odd sort of angrily tired, like she’d been asked it too many times before, but had almost gotten used to it. But of what exactly he couldn’t understand; he’d never seen a guy give that expression to help explain it. “You try and I’ll kick you off the bike.”

“Okay, point taken. Handles only.” 

Tiffany was trying to find a spot on the bike for the grappling gun. She had a couple of little side compartments that John figured was for drones or her controlling tablet. There was a D-clip on what must have passed for her utility belt that could probably hold it, but John had deep pockets and freer hands.

“You want me to hold onto that?” He held out his hand, “Even I know you shouldn’t shoot ‘n’ drive!”

She plopped it into his hand, seeming somewhat annoyed she couldn’t find a spot elsewhere. “Only while I’m driving.”

It was nice and cold, and just the right amount of weight for a tool that could zip him almost anywhere. Now all he needed was a Batarang in his pocket... He did have that nice rainbow-hued knife Devi had given him; he supposed that was close enough, so he slid it from his pants pocket to his coat and heard a little clink.

It had hit a plastic tube that read Number 45, Wine under a torn brand name label. “Ha! I knew I left the spare somewhere.” 

Tiffany was digging around in the little trunk hidden under the backseat. John shuffled to kneel in front of the little side mirror by the controls. 

He hadn’t worn makeup since last year, either. It was one of those socially-unconventional things that made people everywhere look at him uncomfortably - and as much as he liked attention and making people question their own ideas of what was ‘fashionable’ and ‘normal’, he did kind of prefer finishing his recovery in peace. Being lynched in a mental ward with shitty excuses for protection wasn’t his idea of a good time, let alone worth ruining his record of good behavior. 

John rolled the lipstick on; it was a color bordering on the fine line between dark purple and red. The kind of color he wanted to smear over Bruce’s collar. Color over the inevitable purplish bruises and lines of faded scars. Mix with fresh cuts until the reds were indistinguishable and staining white sheets as they tumbled together, blurring the lines of taboo and illicit...

“Here,” Tiffany yanked John out of his thoughts by handing him an open-faced helmet. It reminded him of more of an old-fashioned army helmet than anything. She blinked, slightly surprised by the slight change in appearance. “Uh, there’s no visor, but I did find a bandana for you.”

Heavy white cotton. It could use a good coat of paint… “...are we ganging up on a piñata?”

“What?” Tiffany scoffed, the corner of her mouth upturned just a little, “John, you use it to cover your mouth. Unless you want to swallow a boatload of mosquitos,” she pointed out with a smirk.

“Point taken,” he grumbled, tying it around his neck.

Tiffany slid on her helmet and started the bike with a rumble of the engine while John was still working the helmet’s strap. He’d only just settled on the back of the bike and Tiffany took off like a shot, causing him to grin anew and clutch the handles like he was riding the old haunted house ride back in the abandoned amusement park, grinning anew.

Clearly, Tiffany and Bruce had something else in common.

*~*~*~*~*

To put it mildly, the Motel 11 on Augury Road was the sort of place that seemed to have a pest problem.

John just didn’t know what kind of pest. Arkham always seemed to have rats until his last two years. The run-down halfway house he’d been in the first time he was released had roaches in three sizes. The Old Five Points station John had kicked around for a few months had a bit of both, plus mice, spiders, and The Pact, depending on where you walked.

This place was still a step above all that, of course; it offered freedom, secrecy, hot water, and quiet.

Not too quiet. People clearly stayed there, and the freeway entrance wasn’t too far; John could hear the rush of cars speeding like they were all Batman on a Friday night call.

Tiffany parked her bike in a discreet out-of-the-way corner in a nearby alleyway and stashed their helmets in the tiny trunk as John took in the sight of the motel’s parking lot. 

Selina Kyle had reversed into her parking place so the traffic cameras couldn’t read the plate. There were no markings as to what model car it was, but the sleek dark windows and shiny black finish told John that it was expensive-ish and thus primed for stealing. Or stripping, depending on the area’s hoodlums. He was surprised it hadn’t been touched yet.

“How do you know which room’s hers?” John asked as Tiffany fiddled with her tablet. One of her miniature drones - he was so tempted to name it! - was already zooming towards the building like a little bird.

“Electronic record says someone named ‘Frieda Baast’ checked into room 14[B1]   late last night. Preeetty sure that’s her,” she smirked up at him briefly before watching her screen again, tilting it to fly the small drone, “Plus, she parked close to it.”

John hovered over her shoulder a little, watching the camera zoom around the place like a bee. It looked empty at first, but John saw lumps at the end of the bedspread. “Looks like she’s taking a cat nap.”

Tiffany gave him a look. “Ha ha.”

“What? It’s an easy jab!”

“Speaking of easy,” Tiffany snatched the grappling gun out of his pocket and clipped it to her belt, not bothering to even say ‘excuse me’, “she’s only got two exits.”

“Yeah, the front door and the back window. Duh.”

“Exactly,” she continued with an air of a new orderly, “You go around the back in case she tries to run for it.”

John felt offended at the very idea. There was no way he was going to fit through that back window. Tiffany was clearly going to try and hog the glory of confronting Cat Woman by herself.

Telling Tiffany they should switch places wasn’t a good idea, though. She’d take immediate offense, and even if he threatened her, they’d be fighting before they got to the real problem at hand. No, this would take compromise.

“How about we both go in the front door and use your little kit to guard the back?”

She wrinkled her nose and raised her right eyebrow. “Kit?”

“Yeah!” She didn’t get it. Of course. He rolled his eyes; he didn’t like explaining jokes. “Your last name is Fox, you built the drones - so, your kit. A baby fox!”

She didn’t look impressed. “Oh.”

“Doesn’t it have a laser or miniature flamethrower or something on it? It’s got that little tube under the lens.”

“No, Charlie is only a surveillance drone. That piece is so he can connect with Foxtrot in the field. We don’t need that, though,” she waved off as if his curiosity didn’t matter, “You’ve got a good point, we can both cover the main exit better. And she doesn’t know it’s only for surveillance.”

“Charlie? Ha, what happened to Alpha and Bravo?” he joked. “Wait, does Charlie surf?”

“Alpha was the prototype I made for Br- Batman until it…exploded,” she winced, looking away as if she didn’t want to think about it, “Bravo is what he uses in the field now. I’ve got Charlie, and Delta is the backup in the bike. Batman has the larger drones stashed around the city. And they’re all waterproof, but I wouldn’t say they surf.” Tiffany slid on a large pair of rimless yellow-tinted goggles that looked almost like they were taken from a movie. A small green square lit up in the corner of a lens, and John saw small text crawl across the yellow glass as what looked like a diagram flashed up for a moment.

“Woah.”

“Cool, huh?” Tiffany puffed up in pride. “I’m a few steps ahead of the industry. No big deal.”

“I’d say it’s a pretty big deal!” John flattered, actually meaning it. “You got any other surprise gadgets up your sleeves?”

“What, and ruin the fun?” She lightly smacked his shoulder. Friendly, not bruising, accompanied by a warm smile that reached her eyes - John had scored some points. Clearly, the old adage about catching flies with honey was onto something. “Come on, Selina isn’t going to lay around and wait all day.”

“She will if she’s been in the catnip,” John joked, striding next to Tiffany as they snuck their way around to number 14.

Tiffany could now see the camera feed in her right eye; a little controller in her own wrist gauntlet controlled the drone movements once the tablet was put away on her belt. It was incredibly impressive, but John wondered if it wasn’t a little distracting to be watching a camera and where she was walking. It would be worse if she were fighting or taken by surprise…

John decided to stay on the camera’s side. There was no helping her if she couldn’t see from both sides.

It was tempting to burst in unannounced, but Catwoman wasn’t just using her name for a cute pun on her burglary tendencies – he’d seen her dance with Bruce as nimbly as her namesake. So of course if they couldn’t break in to get the door open, they’d just have to get her to come out.

The easiest way was her car. Anyone who gave a rat’s ass about the safety of their primary method of escape checked on their car alarm.

John remembered Batman’s stunners, and how Bruce had started carrying around one in his pocket since ol’ Scarecrow got put away. He knew they packed a serious punch; he’d been hit with one of those, back when…

No. No no no. Not going there today, Johnny-boy.

John shook his head, telling himself he’d have his little traumatic flashback at a different time. It didn’t quite help, only bringing back that after-zap feeling and the image of Ace Chemicals’ control room, which frustrated him, and that made him gnaw on his bottom lip for something to do and squeeze the knife in his pocket really hard.

“Uh...you okay?” Tiffany asked, stopping him without touching him. He almost wished she did, so he knew for sure she was there.

“Ha ha ha! No!” he answered, feeling more annoyed at everything, “Of course not! Why do you think I was in the funny farm for so long, hmmm?”

It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it was. But he was pissed at himself, at his stupid brain for acting up at the wrong time, for not being able to make that memory better than it was because Bruce probably wouldn’t go for a little safe recreation and they kept getting interrupted, damn it, could things not go his way for fifteen full minutes?!

He grit his teeth. There was no use staying angry for things neither of them could control. “Sorry,” he ground out. “I’m just…” He couldn’t explain it. She wouldn’t get it.

Or would she? Surely she had nasty little memories of where she was last year, too. He knew he caused one of those. His doctors always said he should open up to others. Share the experience.

“It’s just one of those stupid thoughts. The ‘hey, guess what you did a long time ago, boy-o? Let’s relive that,’ kind. It’s not fun.” He breathed in. He was outside, in Gotham, with all its car exhaust and leftover hot dogs covering the rot that seemed to make up the city’s foundation. It was better than Ace or his old cages; at least he could clean out some of the mess by himself. “They just come in at random, sometimes. I’ll be...” 

Not fine. It was what Bruce said all the time. And not ‘normal’, because he never would be. 

“I’ll be okay.”

Tiffany looked sympathetic. Or was it empathetic? Both? She looked at him less judgy and more understanding, and that was all he wanted. “You need a minute?”

“Nah. I was just thinking we need to set off the car alarm and kinda wanted a taser to do it.”

“Oh. We don’t need that.” Tiffany waved over her shoulder for him to follow as she took position by the door, the material of her hood now covering her mouth and nose. John slinked under the window and stood on the other side.

John watched as - quick as he could say ‘Rawhide’ - Tiffany took his grappling gun and fired at one of the headlights before retracting the clattering metal teeth with a snap of a button and clipping it to her belt by its’ jaws.

Like back in his room, half hidden in the dark, John was counting beats. Feeling his heart drum along a little, excitement building in anticipation.

The door opened partway, and Tiffany met his eyes for the briefest second before they spun on their heels to block the doorway and push forward.

“Selina, how are you, can we come in, thanks!” John rushed, pushing the door wide open.

Catwoman was just as fast and nimble as he remembered; it made him wish he’d brought some of his old playing cards along. She rushed straight to the bathroom window and unbolted it as fast as lightning - only to find the drone flying there, the lens right at eye level with a little red LED blinking to life.

Tiffany had her hand poised over the little controls at her wrist. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she taunted, “Unless you want impromptu laser eye surgery.”

Selina turned to face them partway, looking more pissed off than he’d ever seen her. She had cut her hair short and dressed in tight fitting black and white; John could see something slightly protruding above her lower back, which likely meant a knife. She was dressed for combative self-defense, some instructor might say. But like everyone else, she had bags under her eyes - and they weren’t leftovers of eyeliner. In fact, there wasn’t a trace of her usual style. There was only a glowering resentment and an obvious pressure bearing down on her shoulders. He could see the tension in her brow and jaw and wondered what it was that made her hate them that much.

“Fine, you got me.” Selina stared him down; he could practically see possible escape plans swirling behind her eyes. “What do you want?” 

John could not resist a joke with an opener like that. “Oh, you know - freedom, a little niche of my own, a sunset dinner with Bruce overlooking the city...and my own cotton candy machine,” John answered, enjoying the confusion twisting her face into something less threatening, “But I’d really like some answers.”

“I see.” Selina shot a glance over to Tiffany, not seeming to recognize her. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” she said sarcastically, giving her a short once-over. “You must be Bats’ side-kick. Or have you gotten yourself mixed up in this crazy clown’s delusions?”

John could practically feel his dislike for her grow, simmering in the front of his head. What did she know about him? Or even the basic definition of a delusion, for that matter?

Tiffany seemed to have bristled a little less. “It doesn’t matter who I work with. If I don’t hear what I need to know, making your little hideout a beacon for trouble will be the least of your worries.”

“What, don’t you have a cute name to go along with the rest of the crew?” Selina taunted, not looking like she was enjoying it.

John held his gaze steady on the stealthy Cat, though his mind was already wandering to what Tiffany’s reaction would be. She supposedly wasn’t in the cave half the time anymore, and with the obvious costume change she’d likely not be calling herself ‘Oracle’ now. What would it be? Spoiler, as a homage to her original purpose of spoiling criminal’s fun? Batgirl, in mimic of her mentor? Something to allude to her range of skills, perhaps…Spectrum[B2] ? Or some word beginning with ‘T’?

“Robin. Now step away from the window,” Tiffany commanded, side-stepping close to the drone as Selina moved closer to the edge of the bathtub. 

“Hm, cute. Hope that’s not your real name, Robin.”

Selina looked very much like a cat itching to stretch its claws by the birdfeeder. It made John antsier, and he had half a mind to shove her into the bathtub and hold her there until he got the answers to the questions sitting in his gut.

Calm down, Bruce’s voice echoed in his head from a distant memory.

Sweet, rational Bruce would be right. She might kick him away, and a fight wouldn’t give him anything they actually needed. His impulses had to be tempered. And what did those doctors always say to do about it?

John whipped out the butterfly knife and began to fiddle with it, opening it and twirling it in his hand in a familiar pattern. He couldn’t quite remember just when or how he had gotten so good at it since his first release. It was sort of...natural.

He already felt the little urge ebbing away with the repetitive motion. It helped that it doubled as a passive threat - Selina eyed it a little upon seeing the flash of light glint off the blade with every turn and snap.

Selina sighed, glowering lightly at him like she was a cat stuck in a bathroom during dinner. “Let me save you the time - you’re here to ask about the attack on me in Bludhaven, right? All because I wouldn’t give up the dirty details to Bruce?” She folded her arms across her chest, looking almost business like. “The short version is:  I don’t know who they were. One minute I’m strolling down my gallery, and the next the lights cut out and some knife-happy freak crashes through my window. The only thing I can tell you about him was that he was wearing a mask.”

“How do you know it was a ‘he’?” John asked.

Selina rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve seen enough men in costumes to know one when I see one. Tall, wide build, in a mask and ridiculous cape - only a man would wear that and think they look cool.”

John thought that remark was annoyingly unnecessary. And wrong - a third of Gotham could all agree that Batman’s picture should be next to the word ‘cool’ in the dictionary. (She was clearly jealous. Who wouldn’t be?)

“Casual sexism aside,” Tiffany grunted, “did you notice anything else? Any distinctive markings? Smells?”

“I just said he wore a mask. You think a guy like that wouldn’t cover himself up elsewhere?” Selina shot back, clearly not impressed, “I would’ve thought the sidekick to Bats would know to pay attention to context clues.”

John thought about throwing the knife at her, but it was a bad idea. For several reasons. “And I would’ve thought you were smart enough to not make deals under the table anymore, now that you’re free from the pound,” he sneered, clicking the knife open and shut, “What did Roman Sionis cut you in for?”

Selina glared, her stony green eyes hardening at him. “My deal with Roman was above the table, like all my sales. I don’t see how him buying something from my gallery has anything to do with this. Just because he’s loaded doesn’t mean he’s another crazed mob boss who needs to cut ties with everyone he meets.”

So Alfred was right - Roman bought something from the gallery. John made a mental note to mention that later in the most flattering way possible later.

“Did you see him after that?” Tiffany asked.

“Why would I?” Selina asked coolly.

“Handsome, rich, easy to rob…” Tiffany trailed off, seeming to smirk at her, “We all know he’s the kind that splashes champagne on pretty girls.”

“He does seem right up your alley, Cat,” John added.

Selina looked mildly disgusted at the mild pun. Or maybe the implication. John wasn’t sure which. “Look, we had a drink together after the payment transferred. I didn’t see him after that and I didn’t care. Why does this matter?”

…so she really didn’t know. That was interesting. John had figured she had a bit more of a detective instinct than that. “Because, surprise! He is a mob boss,” John said smugly, “One in a mask, no less.”

“I still don’t see how that matters. I don’t care who my clients are, as long as I get paid. And he has no reason to try and kill me, if that’s what you’re implying – the pieces I sold him were authentic. We parted on perfectly friendly terms.”

“Pieces?” Tiffany puzzled, “What, did he buy half your gallery for his yacht?”

(John quietly wondered if she wasn’t reading his mind somehow.)

“Don’t be silly,” Selina said tiredly, “It was a set of masks. And no, they weren’t anything like what the guy from the gallery was wearing.”

Tiffany stared her down, looking cockier than usual behind her glasses. “So if you left Bludhaven to run for your life and got a nice cash deposit, what the hell are you doing here?”

“We can’t all afford to stay at the Hilton for a week,” Selina dead-panned, shifting to add another mildly scathing remark.

But now who was missing context? And with all the obvious bitterness and tension oozing out of every pore, there was a clear answer hanging in the air. One he definitely preferred over the paranoid idea that she was here for Bruce. “I knew it,” John grinned, snapping the knife in his hand open, “You’re here on a job!” he pointed at her with the tip of the knife, not missing the flash down at it. Thinking of whether he would or wouldn’t use it. “What’s wrong, Kitty, get bored of hanging paintings you hadn’t stolen? Wanted that thrill back?”

“Don’t act like you know me,” she sneered in a slightly louder voice than she needed to use, “you’ll only embarrass yourself with your paranoid delusions of what I am.”

She was baiting for a fight. Maybe she wanted to watch him crack in front of Tiffany. Well, weird people said there was more than one way to skin a cat. “Ooh, throwing around psych terms! If you want to play psychiatrist, you better bring better material than that. Like… I would be willing to bet,” he emphasized with a little faux jab and a step towards her, “that you were actually happy down there, weren’t you? Settling nicely in a weird new life you’re not used to,” step, “when it’s allll upturned by some lunatic,” step, “and you’re forced to run back to the only life you knew before.”

He could tell he was right. Very right. She looked like he’d pinned her to the dissection tray in a lab.

“So you come back home!” He splayed his hands open, feeling more and more assured of himself, “And you need to prove to the world you can still land on your feet, so you pick right up where you left off. Am I right?”

“I don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” Selina growled, looking predictably pissed off, “And what I do in Gotham is my business.”

“It’s not just your business,” Tiffany injected, stepping closer to both of them. John wished he could communicate to her that it was a bad idea without having to threaten her; he just hoped Catwoman wouldn’t get as skittish as her namesake when cornered. “This isn’t just your city. It’s all of ours.”

“Who are you doing business with, Cat?” John asked, choosing to ignore Tiffany’s attempt to get Selina Kyle to play hero. If he was going that route he might as well have mentioned how they were in the same sort of boat! Either way it wasn’t going to appeal to her the way it might with someone else. “How do you know they weren’t the ones who tried to kill you?”

She was skirting her gaze between both of them. Annoyed. Wary. Backing up just a slight bit, metaphorically and literally.

“If they wanted to kill me, they would’ve done it already.”

“Unless they realized they could use you.”

She was thinking about it, staring him down, wondering if he was right, if what she thought was an obsessive lunatic might have had a very good point… She hadn’t considered it before, had she? She had met them already. Why wouldn’t they kill her on sight if not to use her for a day or two?

“Just something to think about!” John smirked, smacking her lightly on the shoulder with his free hand and turning to leave, trying to guide Tiffany to the door by her shoulder. “Come on, Robin. Cat Lady’s not in the mood to play with us.”

Tiffany didn’t budge. She had the same sort of stalwart glare that Batman got. “You know we’re only trying to help you.”

Wrong thing to say. Really wrong thing to say.

“Help me?” Selina hissed, “You barge in and poke your nose where it doesn’t belong, and you call that helping?”

“Robin,” John warned-

“God, you’re just like him! Just as stubborn and deluded with his self-righteous concept of justice. I don’t need help! Not from Bats,” the woman spat, “and not from you! If someone’s after me, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” John interrupted, finding the ‘if’ particularly amusing, “You’ll pull a Riddler? Put yourself on display to lure them in and go for the kill?” It felt really good to rub it in her face. Almost soothing, in its own way. He couldn’t help but grin wider through his mildly-reddening vision and twist the metaphorical knife a little more. “You know what happened to him,” he purred, pointing the knife in his hand a little at her face, “Let’s not pretend it can’t happen to you.”

He felt a weight on his shoulder. Tiffany’s lightweight armored glove was attempting to pull him back, like she thought he might actually stab Selina in the face to prove a point. He went back to spinning the knife in his hand and stepped away. “Good luck out there, Cat-Lady,” he added, pulling Tiffany’s shoulder along with him in a loose, sidelong sort of hug as the drone hovered behind them like it was on a leash, its harmless lens trained on the angry thief at their backs. “You’ll need more than he did.”

Tiffany was stiff. Or maybe that was just the armor. It was hard to tell… He decided to let go as soon they were out of sight; she didn’t seem to be at the ‘hugging’ level of friendship yet, even if it was only a little one that barely counted. It would probably take longer to get there now. Which was a shame, because he felt like they could both use one.

He did want to break the silence, though. Something about the walk back to a getaway vehicle always seemed out of place, like an overly-long transition between scenes in a movie. But things were real, out in Gotham - he could feel the short heels of his boots as he walked and the city heat pressing against him. He clicked the knife shut and put it back in his pocket, not needing it anymore. “Good job back there,” he said earnestly, flashing a thumb’s up at her, “We can officially cross Black Mask off our list of suspects!”

Even with the mask and high-tech glasses covering her face, Tiffany was clearly angry with him. “So it’s our list now? Because I thought you did an awful lot of talking back there. Almost like I wasn’t there.”

“Oh.” He felt dumb just saying it aloud, but it was a reflex. “Um… I guess I got a little carried away?”

“A little? I was trying to get her to work with us, not plant suicidal ideas in her head!”

“I wasn’t doing that!” He protested, hoping he looked as honest as he felt. (Besides, even if he was, it wouldn’t be his fault if she did go down the Riddler-esque path of showboating and winding up dead.)

“What, next you’ll tell me you weren’t openly threatening her, too?” Tiffany rounded on him, looking more furious as she stopped at the end of the row of rooms.

“I wasn’t!” He clicked his heel hard on the pavement. “I was stimming! She just happened to be close to the other end when I was trying to make a point!” She didn’t seem to believe that, but he didn’t care; he knew it was the truth. “Did you want me to just walk away and let her yell at you for nothing all day?!”

“Yeah! I might have gotten a word in that way!”

“And what, convince her to have a sudden change of heart?” He scowled, getting agitated by the very idea she’d do a sudden one-eighty, “She won’t be a hero if you tell her she should!”

“I wasn’t trying to force her,” she countered, “I was suggesting! Unlike you, trying to play psychiatrist just because she pissed you off!”

“Oh, and I guess you wouldn’t get pissed off if someone tried to tell you what your issues are?!”

“You only made her madder!”

“YOU only made her madder! You don’t just offer her help!”

Tiffany was practically stomping towards the motorcycle in the distance as she threw up her hands in exhaustion. “There is just no dealing with you! I don’t know why I went along with this!”

That hurt. The kind that left a burn-like sting over a punch. They were teammates. Or at least they were supposed to be. Was it just guilt or pity that was holding their shreds of civility together? Was trying to get along with her the first step towards failure?

...or was it her fault? She couldn’t see the obvious nature of Selina Kyle - too independent and fickle to follow life-path suggestions, let alone accept help. Or maybe Tiffany did see it, and she thought Selina was still a better match for the crew - for Bruce - than he was. Maybe, like Alfred, Tiffany thought he was too unstable and dangerous to be around.

He stood in the corner of the alleyway, watching her angrily push on her helmet, and wondered at the intricate nuances of who exactly was to blame. He looked out at the city on the opposite end, wondering if he should just get a Ryde or risk using the Sky Rail...and thought it was odd a large white van was going that fast in his direction from the turn.

Ha, they’d have to stomp on the brakes to get into the parking space here...

It was getting a little too close…

WAY too close!

John darted into the alley, his heart jumping as he heard a sickening crunch behind him.

The van had smashed right into the corner of the building. Right where he had been just a moment ago.

It didn’t matter how curious he was about the driver. He didn’t want to hang around in case they had backup.

“Start the bike!” He shouted at Tiffany as she stood there, looking at the accident behind him. “NOW!”

“But-”

There came another crunch. Like metal pulling away.

The car was reversing, clearly not taking enough damage to stop the engine. It was impossible to see who was driving.

Tiffany revved the bike to life as John slammed the trunk and clumsily straddled the back seat. He’d barely sat down when the van had successfully pulled away from the building and turned its wheels towards the alleyway.

Tiffany had clearly seen this in the rearview mirror - she sped off, past the dumpster and down one of the many long back-routes of Gotham as wind whipped John’s hair. He gripped one handle hard as he pulled the bandana over his face and practically prayed that Tiffany did not decide to suddenly lose control.

The driver of the van didn’t seem to care how fast they were going, what route they were taking, or if half their front bumper was dislodged. They sped past the same brick and concrete and fire escapes and a rainbow of graffiti like it was nothing.

Tiffany tilted the bike to turn onto the street, narrowly missing a peeling station-wagon that sat too close to the alley.

John turned to see if the van was still there, wondering if maybe he could get a glimpse of the driver as they turned - the station-wagon was upended with a loud pop of fiberglass, swiveling into the road as the van barreled into traffic with a sharp turn, leaving a chorus of honking and squealing tires to follow.

John’s heart was practically drumming against his ribs like a fist, barely heard over the roar of the motorcycle but felt all too much - the van had a web of cracks in its windshield and more severe dents in its engine and driver side, but it still managed to follow them, dropping the headlight dangling from its front into the street for some other driver to run over.

Tiffany dodged between cars, seeming to ignore the beeps and rude gestures. John turned forward to see where they were, trying to think quickly on where they could go where their chaser wouldn’t follow, and heard more telltale sounds of the van in pursuit following Tiffany’s lead.

He was horribly reminded of his chase with the G.C.P.D. last year, when he had Waller thrown in the nearest vehicle as they’d ignored almost every traffic law on the way to Ace Chemicals, winding every which way to lose the cops on their tail.

He’d already killed people that way.

He didn’t want to be responsible for more off-screen deaths. 

The van was close behind, if the rearview mirror was anything to go by. Like it was tracking their every move and just waiting to splat them against a...

Oh. Now there was an idea. The van couldn’t squish them if they did the squishing first!

“ROBIN!” He shouted over the wind, tapping her on the shoulder.

She shoved her visor up. “WHAT?”

“TURN HERE!”

Tiffany made a right turn down the emptier street, passing an abandoned storefront, and John saw his chance - there was streetlamp in the middle of the sidewalk in the distance, right next to an alley.

The van could turn, but he knew it wouldn’t be able to turn too sharply without clipping the corner.

John did what he wasn’t supposed to do and quickly wrapped an arm around the armor plates of Robin’s waist as he unclipped the grappling gun still dangling from her belt. 

“WHAT ARE YOU-?”

Timing and aim - a formula too tricky and complex to actually think through. It was all about gut feeling and best judgement.

So John pointed, waited until the mirror showed the van right at their tail, and fired the hook at the lamppost.

Aaand retract!

They were pulled towards the post sharply, and John pushed the little button on the gun to unclench its jaws as the motorcycle tilted into a turn.

The crash of the van hitting the corner’s wall rang in John’s ears like a small explosion, getting quieter as Tiffany screeched the bike to a halt.

John let go and sat back in the seat, unable to stop himself from laughing in relief, letting out the strained ache in his lungs, and then laughing harder at sight of the van. The very smashed front, the now ruined windshield, the bent tire - they were going to have a hard time chasing them now!

Tiffany pushed down the parking lever in two seconds and hopped off, looking an odd mix of pissed off and amazed as she yanked her mask down to her neck and pulled off her helmet. “You…! You fucking idiot! That was brilliant! And stupid!” She shouted with a shove, causing him to teeter a little on the seat.

“Aha ha…! Sorry, sorry,” he tried, holding up his hands in surrender, “I had to do something to get that creep off our backs! And you nailed the landing! Ten outta ten!”

She looked conflicted. Like she was proud of herself but didn’t want to admit it. “Yeah,” she said simply, “but we could have died!”

Yeesh, did she sound like Bruce. “We could have, but we didn’t,” he emphasized, sliding off the bike with ease. “Besides, life’s not worth living without some risk!”

“Just...fucking warn me next time,” she said loudly, power-walking towards the van. “You’re lucky I’m an excellent driver!”

John decided to keep the thought of there wasn’t any time to himself. She sort of had a point - Gotham was full of alleyways. A few more people might have gotten into accidents along the way, but he could have waited...though he did sort of prefer stopping the van now rather than later, so he still felt his decision was the best. Still, another instance of someone telling him something uncannily familiar to what another person said…

Ah, who was he to dwell on little things like that?

“I thought I was stupidly brilliant?” He teased, following her with a twirl of the grappling gun in his hand.

“You’re a lot of things,” she shot back, not sounding as nearly as mad.

He wasn’t sure how to take the odd mix of implied-insult and praise. He decided to focus more on the positive aspect of her actually saying something nice and marked it as a personal progress.

Tiffany pulled out one of Batman’s portable stunners and kept it ready, poised to throw open the passenger side door of the van - John kept the gun pointed at what should be level with the driver’s face. “Ready when you are, Robin.”

Tiffany counted down from three on her fingers, and opened the cabin door with what looked like enough force to rip it off the hinges.

Broken glass and plastic littered the very…empty seats.

“Well, that’s anticlimactic,” John grumbled, lowering the grappling gun, “Self-driving cars sure have come a long way!” He pulled out his phone to take a quick picture:  proof that it happened, of course, but also proof for Bruce.

Tiffany was already climbing into the seat. “It was driving pretty erratically,” she commented as she poked around the ignition.

“Oh, sure, it clipped some corners and sped up a lot – but I’d say that was more reckless than erratic.”

“It wasn’t quite driving straight.” Tiffany pulled up a normal two-pound weight from the gas pedal, tugging some wire tracing from it to the back area, which was also empty. “And it’s easy to see why. Check this out,” she gestured, waving her hand in.

John hoisted himself up and in, keeping his hands to himself in the likely case it was dusted over later. “Shouldn’t we be worrying about the eventual crowd?”

“We’ve got a minute. Look,” she tugged the line, connected to a pulley system controlled by what looked suspiciously like a standing kitchen mixer, “The mixers are rigged to pull the weights on the brake and gas pedals. They probably have remote capability.”

“You’d think that would be a reeeeally short radius...”

“That’s what the cell phone’s for,” Tiffany said, gesturing to the out-of-date smartphone sticking upright in the dashboard. “They must have used it as a dash-cam, and connected it to the mixers to control through an app at the same time. There’s actually a free one for remote device control.”

“I somehow didn’t pitch you for the kitchen-gadget type.”

Tiffany shrugged, seeming slightly downcast at that. “I’m not. I bought my mom one of these for her birthday. This one’s a little different, but it probably has the same sort of rig.”

“So whoever we’re dealing with doesn’t have the handy funds for an actual radio transmitter setup to drive this thing, huh...” John pondered, pulling away the bandana on his neck to pick up the phone up.

The phone’s battery was getting low and the signal was on the edge of reception, but a remote-wipe app was up and struggling to work; John quickly canceled the wipe action and turned the tower radio off before the mystery-driver could do any further damage.

Beep. 

A beeping noise?

Beep.

That couldn’t be good.

“What’s that?” Tiffany pulled away from the backseat. Whatever was beeping came from the back, and John had a sneaking suspicion it was positioned close to the gas tank.

John pocketed the phone. “Time to go!” He snatched Tiffany’s arm and half dragged her out of the van, thinking wildly – if it were him, he would have rigged the whole thing to blast the car sky-high, and running was likely not going to cut it.

Thankfully, like alleyways, Gotham had a lot of fire escapes.

He didn’t think, only counted off the beeps that seemed to coordinate with his heart – six, seven – as he aimed, fired, and zipped up the line with Tiffany being held against her will in one arm.

Nine, ten –

A blast of superheated air hit his back as they reached the top of the metal staircase, accompanied by the roar of exploding gasoline and metal bending against its will.

John grimaced as he smacked his shin right against the metal grating as he wedged his heels in the little bars. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” he growled, casting a look down at the now-definitely-ruined car. “But it looks like our geese live to see another day!” he joked, trying to lighten up the mood for both of them.

Tiffany was just silently looking down at the wreckage below and clinging to him like she thought he might drop her.

“You okay, there, birdie?”

“Yeah,” she said, the ‘oh God, that could have been me’ written clearly on her face.

“‘Cause you’re not as heavy as Bruce in full gear, but your pal Joker can only hang around with you for so long.”

She shot him a look he couldn’t decipher and silently climbed up and over the railing.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked again as he followed her, pulling out his phone for another snap of the now-burning van below. “You kiiinda seem like you’re in shock.”

“Yeah, I just…” She pushed her goggles on top of her head to look at him, a little wary and unbelieving, but guilty more than anything. “I’m sorry I called you stupid. I didn’t mean it.” She crossed her arms, looking down at her bike below. “You saved us twice today.”

Part of him wanted to just say it was okay, and another wanted to rub it in her face, but he pushed both ideas away. “You’re welcome! But friends don’t wait until after they’re saved to apologize for being rude,” he emphasized with a light glare. “Still, I’d say this calls for a group pic! Just for my album, of course.” 

“...you’re not gonna let me go without one, are you?” Tiffany mused.

“How can I, it’s our first proper team-up!” He gently put his arm around her shoulder to draw her in. “Ooh, put your goggles on! Then we’ll be Joker and Robin.” He made sure to get both of them at a good angle, with Tiffany’s little smile and yellow goggles making her look like she was defining ‘cool’ in her own way. Snap! 

It was a really good one. There wasn’t a trace of awkwardness on her face this time, and the angle was perfectly flattering for both of them. 

“Okay, we should go before the fuzz shows up.” She pushed her goggles back up into her hair and led the way down the stairs, charging down with hard stomps. “You grabbed the phone from the car, right?”

“Yup! I stopped it from doing a little wipe. It was probably tracking us, too.” He followed closely, seeing the plates of her armor shift a little with movement. It really was like a slimmer version of Batman’s suit. “So why ‘Robin’? I kind of expected something a little more…”

“Batty?” Tiffany kicked the ladder down and started to climb back to the safety of hard pavement. “I always liked robins,” she said simply, “My suit’s wings aren’t suited to be bats’, anyway.”

It was a short fall, but worth every second of the wheee he didn’t even try to hold in as he slid down the ladder after her. He plopped the phone into her hand upon landing, not caring about the bemused look she was throwing him. “Here, you’ll probably find more than I could.”

Tiffany poked around on it, swiping with her gloves’ little pads as she walked towards the bike. “Looks like the wipe started with downloads and unused applications.” Swipe, swipe, tap. “Two different apps were used for the mixers… Bluetooth’s enabled, too... Doesn’t look like any navigation software was installed,” she muttered, “They might have a remote tracker elsewhere. But just what are they tracing?”

He was surprised the answer wasn’t so obvious to her. “Uh, pretty sure it’s me, Tiff’. I mean, the car did swerve towards me back at the motel. If it was you they were after, they would’ve veered towards the bike.”

“But the Batcave has a sensor to detect tracking devices upon arrival. Both the entrance and the elevator would’ve set it off if it was stuck to you...”

“I doubt they could’ve just seen me,” John panned, already emptying his pockets, “I might have changed my clothes, but I have to be carrying something…”

She frowned. “You don’t think it’s someone from St. Dymphna, do you? They gave you a phone, right?”

“I doubt it. It’s too basic! And look, it’s barely got a signal,” he held it out for her to see. “Besides, if someone working at St. Dymphna wanted to kill me, all they’d have to do is give me an overdose and claim it was an accident.”

There was his own cell phone, of course, but it was the least likely thing of all. No one but he, Bruce, and his friends knew of its existence, and he kept it close at all times. Remote access was turned off, as was a lot of casual security violations the phone’s software wanted to enable by default. It was possible that someone could use the Batcomputer to look at it, though… He wouldn’t put it past Bruce to leave an emergency loophole.

Just as he was about to put that one away, too, a text came in from Iman:  

Where are you?

There was the nagging thought that maybe it was one of their little makeshift crew. Especially former-Agent Iman, who could easily plant something on him without suspicion. 

But he trusted Bruce with his life. He should extend that same trust to those who Bruce trusted...right?

Right. It was just the paranoia talking.

Out with Tiffy for a joyride! he answered. Don’t tell Bruce though, I’m hoping to surprise him with what we’ve found.

Are you visiting Selina with her?

Of course he was, where else would he be? Hey, don’t ruin the surprise! ;)

John, PLEASE be careful. Both you and Selina have been targeted recently. Your attempted murderer/s are probably still be hunting you.

It’s safer for you to be in the Manor. 

You know Bruce would say the same.

A little too late for that, he thought privately. Not like he hadn’t thought someone would try it again eventually… 

 Iman sure had good timing with her commentary… She had access to the Batcomputer. In fact, she had access to just about everything. She could have known all along where Selina was hiding out and planted the van near there and just waited until-! 

“Robin,” he started, remembering what Dr. Leland had said about proving to himself that irrational ideas like that were wrong, “You trust Iman, right?”

“Of course I do,” she said confidently. “Why?”

See, John? It’s fine, he told himself. “Just wondering.”

There was no use worrying Iman needlessly by spilling the whole can of beans. We’ll be back soon! Promise!! he wrote, making sure not to scrape the screen against the knife he’d gotten from Devi as he slid it back into his pocket.

Speaking of Devi, he’d been carrying around that knife since last night...but the metal handle would probably interfere with a radio signal. And he doubted she would have planned out the shooting to deliberately put herself in harm’s way. She was smart enough to keep herself out of the way for something like that.

The only other thing he had was his rainbow-splattered wallet. There was the hotel key Mickey had given him last night, which he’d stuck opposite the official state ID grinning up at him from the little clear pocket. But the keycard was pure plastic with a little security stripe - nothing more. And why give it to John to bank on killing him later when he or Devi could have just thrown him in the middle of the sniper’s gunfire? It didn’t make sense…

The only other things he had in there were cash, an emergency contact card, some state-given insurance, that really good picture of Bruce he’d saved from an old newspaper…

John stared at the little blue card he’d hidden behind the clipping and felt the urge to smack himself. 

Of course. Of course - of course - of course. The expired card had a chip in it. He hadn’t even thought about it since he had to jimmy the parole officer’s door open… “I found it.”

“Found it?” Tiffany looked up from her examination of the bike’s underbelly. The trunk was wide open and searched thoroughly.

“It’s the only thing I can think of that I’ve been carrying around before Friday,” he said, stretching it out to her.

Batman’s apprentice took it gingerly, and he knew by the utter shock on her face it was something important. “How did you...?!” 

A distant wail of a fire engine pierced the air. Tiffany stashed the card in a little pouch in her belt, shoved her helmet over her head, and started the bike’s engine.

“Come on! We’ve hung around too much!”

“Oh I don’t know,” John beamed, taking the seat behind her with his borrowed helmet loosely stuck on, “We could always get lunch.”

*~*~*~*~*

Upon arriving back at the cave (unfortunately lunch-less), Tiffany had barely gotten off the bird-cycle before making a beeline for the Batcomputer. “I knew it - Michael Hodges! The same guy who booked the room at The Lot…” 

“From the Friday Nighters’ murders?”

“Mm-hmm…”

John felt like reality had twisted itself a little more at her casual affirmation. He was desperate for something to squeeze or tap. The cold metal of the knife in his pocket wasn’t doing it. The grappling gun was too familiar to ground him in the here-and-now. He settled for holding himself, clutching handfuls of leather and reminding himself that it smelled too clean to be fake.

From what he had read of Bruce and Iman’s notes, all seven cops ‘n’ crooks were drugged and shot in their seats, left to watch as each died and bleed into the couches. It stunk of the sort of gloating reserved for serial killers who had debts to settle. He’d wondered if that’s what they were - debts of death being repaid with more death. The little group had been around for a while. Who was to say someone couldn’t trace them back to a single, faulty so-called accident?

But the fact that the guy who booked the murder-room had his card conveniently dropped into John’s lap… It brewed a terrible feeling in his stomach. Clearly, whoever had tried to shoot him and tried to run him over, too, and they were connected to a mass homicide barely a day after two other mass homicides.

It could be a coincidence.

But didn’t the fact that he had to use ‘could’ tell him it wasn’t?

“It’s not a coincidence, is it,” he said, clutching himself a little harder. “They planted that deliberately.”

“I hate to say it, but...it really seems that way,” Tiffany affirmed with a concerned frown. “Where did you even get this?” Tiffany asked, shaking him out of his thoughts without even glancing over at him.

“It’s a long story,” he tried, not wanting to just spill everything he was feeling, “I kind of found it.”

“So, you stole it,” she said, giving him a disapproving side-eye as she jammed the card into a slot.

“Look, I got an order at work, it was sitting inside of it all expired, and I was never planning on actually using it to buy anything,” he growled in a huff, “I was only ever going to use it as a key! And if it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t have found all that stuff on Ian!”

He wasn’t sure if Tiffany was actually listening or not. Her eyes were darting over the screen, hunting for something particular in the schematics of the little chip. “How long have you had this?”

“Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?” She glanced at him once, then when back to scanning for something in the computer’s analysis.

“Yeah, Tuesday! Makes me wonder why our would-be killer took so long to find me.”

“That’s easy,” Tiffany said slowly, still not looking at him, “This thing’s shit.”

Maybe it was stress, or maybe it was her expression and the casual tone she used, but John found it a particularly funny thing to say. “Y-you said that so seriously,” he managed between titters.

“Yeah, because it’s seriously shit,” she replied with a smirk. “The receiver on this thing is pretty bad - even without the Batcave’s defenses blocking it, it must only be getting a signal a third of the time.”

“And me wedging it in a door wouldn’t have anything to do with that?”

“Maybe?” she shrugged with an exaggeratingly-puzzled look, “We’ll never know now. But they can’t track you anymore - my belt has extra-special lining, so they’ll think you got severely injured, if anything. They’ll have to wait until the police or news report comes out to know, and that could be a while.”

John had heard all of that, but he was too focused on the word anymore to really take the rest in.

Even if the thing was working a full thirty-three percent of the time, that was still a thirty-three percent chance his would-be killer knew he was staying at Wayne Manor. He’d prefer that number be a nice, round zero…

“John?” Tiffany waved a hand in front of his face.

“Ha, sorry, just thinking,” he waved off, shoving his hands in his pockets so she wouldn’t see him flexing his hands.

“Look, John - I know you’re worried, but the house is going to be packed tonight. You’d have to have one borrowed brain cell to try and get past the amount of security Bruce has for his parties. And thanks to our resident genius,” she said with a self-satisfied smile, “we should be able to track the signal back to ‘em.”

That was all well and good, but whenever anyone told him not to worry, he knew whatever they were going to say wasn’t going to put his mind at ease. 

“So, do you know who slid you the card? Like, who the order was from or anything?”

He did know, but he couldn’t remember the name exactly. John pulled his phone up and scrolled through his gallery, passing the photos of the van, his friends, graffiti… “S. Townsend. Bruce never did get back to me on this signature…” He shared it with the Batcomputer, instantly seeing it appear on the oversized screen. “I was thinking it was that chairperson.”

Tiffany sat back in the captain’s seat, looking thoughtful. “There is a Sonja Townsend on our list of potentials. She’s Michael’s mother-in-law.”

It sounded like a winner to him. “So it’s got to be her!”

“Well…” Tiffany pulled up the security footage of the woman at The Lot, clearly on her way to the murder-room. Big hat, sunglasses...what about this was special? “Look,” she zoomed in, enhancing on the jaw and nose that could be seen in certain shots, “Sonja isn’t this young.” Sonja’s company photo pulled up on the second monitor. “She’s in her mid-sixties. This woman’s half her age, at least. You can see it in her face, and I know Sonja’s waist isn’t that small.”

“All it takes is a corset and a good makeup application,” John said simply.

“I’m not saying I won’t look into this. I just think we’re might be looking for another fraud. Whoever they are, they must have known Michael enough to want to frame him.”

John didn’t have any experience with mothers-in-law - at least that he knew of - but if the media had taught him anything, they were filled with vengeance for their child-in-law for whatever reason. But as he’d learned the hard way, TV wasn’t always right. “What about her kid?”

“A daughter, but it’s definitely not her. She’s currently eight months pregnant. And she’s three inches too short, even without the heels our killer wore. As far as we can tell there’s no girlfriend in the picture, either, and mutual friends that could fit the bill have pretty sturdy alibis.”

John tilted his head, studying the image of the woman on camera. A sturdy, confident pose. A slightly round face without blemish or scarring. Red lips without any hint of smugness. Dutiful.

“I swear she looks almost like one of those really expensive sex workers,” Tiffany said, “The kind that meet businessmen in their offices.”

Jealousy hit John like a light stab. Had...Bruce had someone like that? Even though he’d told John he was waiting for him… “And you would know...how?”

“I’ve run into a couple when I was doing overtime,” she said nonchalantly, “Some of the managers on the twelfth floor seem to be steady clients.”

“You...haven’t seen them above there?” He asked nervously, “Near Bruce’s usual haunts?”

Tiffany laughed. “Bruce? No way! The guy’s way too paranoid about his social persona - he’s not about to invite one of them up to the office.”

“Oh, thank God,” John sunk, feeling some weight lift off his shoulders, “Don’t scare me like that! I mean, I know he loves me, but... I mean, I wouldn’t mind too much if he’d just asked permission first or something…”

Tiffany had a very odd look on her face. Uncomfortable? Confused? Concerned? She had looked away from him and seemed to be pulling up more programs not related to what they were doing. “I’ll look more into where this card might have come from,” she said steadily, as if they had never changed the subject at all, “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

It shook something inside, deep down, pricking his head with a familiar feeling. He’d said something wrong.

He stared at the head in front of him for a moment, wishing he could crack open her consciousness for a little peek at her thoughts. She had changed the subject and wanted to be alone, all because he mentioned Bruce. Did she not...know about them?

Naaah. Alfred he could understand not telling - but Tiffany? She was part of the team, not a relation that might judge Bruce harshly and tear his heart to shreds. Tiffany had to know.

She was probably just uncomfortable with it because of the whole almost-tried-to-kill-her thing… Or the whole almost-tried-to-kill-Bruce thing. Either way, that was water under the bridge, and she’d have to cross it sometime. Besides, she’d have to be completely blind not to notice how far along Bruce and John had come from that point.

“O-kay, well - I’m going to borrow one of the tablets and do a little research of my own. And then I will tell you what I find!” He said as cheerfully as he could manage with a slap to the back of the chair.

He picked up the spare bat-engraved tablet from the workbench on the way out, expecting her to tell him to be careful with it as soon as it went into his hand, but instead John was left with an uncharacteristically stony silence all the way to the elevator.

*~*~*~*~*

John had been careful about wandering the manor - he didn’t like the idea of suddenly running into Alfred or Tiffany and feeling worse than before, but he did like the idea of running into Bruce on the upper floor. Sadly, his fantasy about bumping into Bruce casually and pulling him into a random room to blow off steam hadn’t come to pass. Instead, he found storage rooms, a second, smaller library, and Bruce’s home office, and still wound up right back at his own guest room.

It was, admittedly, the perfect place to think. The classic green wallpaper was a pretty homey shade, the view of the garden was nice, and the vast empty space that normally bothered him was perfect to pace in and lay out all the things he needed for thinking.

“Of course I’m stimming, Doc’,” he said, looking from the picture of himself and Batman he’d put on his nightstand to his makeshift crime board spread on the floor, “it helps a lot, but it doesn’t help the nasty little thought in my head.”

“What thought?”

“That I’m not entirely welcome here.” He sighed to himself, refocusing on Batman’s stubbled jaw. “Bruce has...guests here, right now. And not just the ones having a literal ball. A surrogate father, and a...well, I don’t know, somewhat-adopted child? Their relationship is weirdly familial.”

“And that makes you feel unwelcome?”

“It’s just… Alfred doesn’t like me very much,” he lamented, looking down at the torn article depicting the Chandis stuck in the harbor. “He’s not rude or anything. It’s the little things. The way he looks at me. How much space he leaves between us.” (The killer had to have stowed away on the boat, hiding himself to lie in wait until the moment was right to kill the crew. Brutal. Forward.) “He said he didn’t think I should be around other people. He didn’t know I could hear him… It was like he was trying to convince Bruce that I should be locked up.”

“How did that make you feel?”

Isn’t that obvious, he wanted to shout into the phone. He didn’t. He looked down at the picture of the warehouse, of the crime scene photos of the mobsters on the ground. “Angry. Mostly Hurt.” He breathed slowly, squeezing his free hand into a fist and letting go. “I just… I just want him to like me. He’s Bruce’s family.”

“I know you and Dr. Leland discussed your feelings about needing to be accepted - do you remember what she told you?”

“That I shouldn’t expect instant results,” he said, not quite remembering Dr. Leland’s exact phrasing.

“That’s true, too, but more importantly:  there will always be people who won’t accept you for who you are. A parental figure in Bruce’s life will naturally be wary of someone who once put his son’s life in danger.”

She had no idea just how much he’d put him in. She would never know. “So… Should I just…not try?”

“I encourage you to try. But you shouldn’t expect anyone to take to you right away. And if there’s no improvement, you have to accept the loss.” There came a brief pause. “What about the other guest?”

“It’s a kid-of-a-family-friend sort of thing. I know she’s going to take a while to come around,” he muttered, “and I didn’t like her at first, but she’s grown on me - and I don’t think it’s entirely mutual.” He studied the picture of the dead group sitting at almost a makeshift conference table. All three major killings were in groups. The only two that weren’t were Muddy Nye and Hubbard Jr., clearly only cover-ups…

“Sounds like you’ve been making a good effort to get along with her. I’m guessing Bruce and her are close?”

“Of course! How’d you guess?” he asked, studying the strings he’d laid over the pages to connect them all. Black Mask connected to the Chandis, the warehouse, Hubbard’s Garage, Muddy, and Selina Kyle; Selina connected to Black Mask and her art gallery, with the Chandis’ killer linking it to the boat; the warehouse connected to Hubbard’s Garage; Sonja Townsend connected to The Lot and St. Dymphna, and Bruce could only be connected to both of those.

(Unless he counted his previous not-quite-a-friendship with Selina, of course… And he did know Roman, but did that really connect him to Black Mask?)

“Would you be making an effort if Bruce wasn’t close with her?”

Oh. That was a good question. One that was potentially driving in the ‘are you revolving your life around Bruce Wayne’ undercurrent that Dr. Song seemed to use as her driving force behind their therapy. It wasn’t necessarily something that made him mad, but it wasn’t something he liked to discuss with anyone except Bruce. Not that he had, exactly, but… Bruce would understand more than anyone else. Doctors and strangers and everyone else would line up around the block to tell him how obsessed he was and that it was “dangerous” and “inappropriate” if he said one word about it.

But he couldn’t keep Dr. Song waiting forever. He paced around the floor-bound casebook slowly, thinking carefully about her question.

Maybe, if they never ever knew each other before, he might not try as hard. If there was no Batman, there would be no reason to try to apologize for old-John’s actions at all. (Well, except at the funeral. But he didn’t think he caused that much of a scene...) They could just be strangers, and there wouldn’t be this dangling thread of animosity towards him. They could, potentially, just be acquaintances.

But if her Dad was alive and she just built Batman’s gear in silence…he still liked being around interesting people. And the little tech-whiz had just enough humor and potential to qualify as interesting in John’s book. He was pretty sure that was why Bruce made her his partner-in-vigilante-crime, outside of compromising for the guilt for her father’s death.

“John?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “I would. Maybe not as much, but...I would.”

“Do you think either of them would make an effort with you, if things were reversed?”

He watched the string paths on the floor turn upside down. “Ha! I wouldn’t know that… I’d have a harder time liking them, though.”

“Try to look at it from that perspective. They clearly care about Bruce a great deal, and the fact that they haven’t been openly hostile mean they’re making an effort. Take those strides with them - give them space and time, and if you feel overwhelmed or threatened, don’t be afraid to walk away,” she advised in her wise, calm tone.

John stared at the upside-down pictures, and the strings leading things together, and breathed out. She would be right, if Bruce wasn’t Batman. If Bruce wasn’t the glue holding the mansion together with his lifelong mission for his personal pursuit of justice. The Batman complicated things far beyond the notion of family and friends. He always hung there, upside down like the proverbial flipside to...

His brain fizzled and thoughts faded away as he stared down at the drawings he’d made over the bodies on display in the Chandis’ storage room.

He HAD seen that shape before. Two lines arcing out from a long vertical line, aka three lines meeting to turn into one. 

Not at all unlike the foot of a bird stamped on heavy stone tablet of the Gotham Cemetery’s mausoleum floor...

“Remember, you can always call me,” Dr. Song said in his ear, stirring him half from the memory and thoughts that were getting squished together. “My phone is always on.”

“Okay,” he heard himself say. He could hear Bruce’s innocent question echoing back out of time from Dr. Crane’s living room:  Did you ever hear anyone talk about the Court of Owls? “I’ve gotta go, doc’.” He vaguely heard her say what was probably ‘goodnight’, but he was too focused on the symbol at his feet. “Yeah, ‘night…”

There were no voices, no music, no hums of lights – just a quiet hush of a lonely room.

His head felt fuzzy, narrowing in on the symbol he’d scribbled over the bodies, silently putting the strings together.

The Court of Owls. An old cult-like organization who believed in keeping the Devil out of Gotham by any means necessary – which usually meant straight-up murder. They disbanded years ago, since the heads of it were either hung in execution or offed themselves before the law could be given the chance. The rest had left Gotham entirely, leaving their bloody sins behind to dry and stain and be swept over.

Until now.

Everything started from Bludhaven. Black Mask had his leg over the fence separating the two cities. The drug shipment, the crew on the Chandis. Catwoman had made her living there. Ian Coggs had supposedly moved to Bludhaven.

And all of them were back in town. They brought The Court with them like a plague…

But that wasn’t true - Black Mask had an inside guy, Muddy, a newbie who didn’t mind giving up the details to the Court.

They were the real rat. They knew when the ship was coming in, and who would be waiting for it – they didn’t care about the drugs, only about leaving their message behind. A warning that Black Mask was being hunted. They killed Muddy for good measure and played dress-up to throw the group off the scent entirely, just in case they delivered a message before their own demise.

John stared at the picture of his attempted-shooter. There was a line connecting the Chandis’ killer to Selina Kyle. Another connecting The Lot to himself.

The masks. The capes. Not copycats, exactly.

Owls.

John felt like he wanted to shed his skin. Chemicals in his brain rushed like he’d woken up next to Bruce for the first time. He could feel his lips wobbling and the thing inside of him vibrating.

Hee hee ha ha HA HA HA HA!

“All this time! Ha ha ha, I’d been thinking it was a riv-al ga-a-ng!” he cackled to himself. “And it’s some - rogue crusader club - risen from the dead! Hee hee aha ha ha! They could’ve killed me before I…!”

Oh.

The realization made his lungs ache with the dying laughs stuck in them. 

They could have killed him. Bruce probably hadn’t considered The Court of Owls as a possibility either. His best buddy hadn’t told him he’d had a theory about it, so he must be as in the dark as the rest of Gotham. But he couldn’t blame him, he was so busy chasing after Black Mask and the various killers and now dealing with him and the Gala and…

He stared at the pages on his bedroom floor, with all the strings laid out, connecting everything together in a complex web. “I have to tell Bruce,” he reaffirmed to himself.

But Bruce was having that big soiree downstairs. The Gotham elite had all stepped out to Bruce’s mansion to show off and pal around on the billionaire’s estate under the pretense of charity. Texting Bruce was likely to backfire, as all the music would likely drown out the phones’ vibrations and tones, and Bruce probably had his Wayne-mask on, which meant his social graces had to be generally adhered to and he couldn’t just cut off whatever schlub he was talking to just to talk to John.

Which meant there was only one solution:  John would have to go down there.

He’d see Bruce in a tux’, undoubtedly impress him with his case-solving abilities, and maybe squeeze in a make-out session in one of the unused rooms. It was a win-win.

He just had to get something to wear and smear makeup on his face. Easy-peasy.

Bruce hadn’t left the suit in John’s room or the Batcave, so it likely was kept in Bruce’s bedroom closet. The same went for John’s makeup. Bruce never just threw things away - as evidenced by the everything in Wayne Manor - so they’d likely be shoved in a drawer somewhere in his grand bathroom.

John had already dumped out half of his meager possessions when searching for his crime-board materials, but there was one thing he needed to find; even if he had to borrow another one of Bruce’s black suits, there was no way he was wearing nothing but black. He pulled out a half-eaten packet of mini-marshmallows, the shiv he’d crafted out of a broken razor and a toothbrush his first week into his stay at St. Dymphna, a very orange button-down too crinkled to deign being put in the closet, the photo album he’d been filling since Bruce had given it to him for Christmas - ah-ha! He shoved the purple bow-tie that had been folded in the corner of the bag into his pocket.

He needed something to cover his hands, too, now that he thought of it. He only had so much peach-tone foundation, and he didn’t trust the setting powder that much.

It was quiet out there, but he knew there was a party going on despite the lack of music thumping under his feet. He passed mirrors and wall-sconces and breathed in, smelling all kinds of buffet food and the smell of old house that seemed to permeate everything. He passed the spots he remembered Bruce throwing some of his clothes down on when John had been there last, and felt a little jolt of deep-seated excitement hit his groin. What he wouldn’t give to relive that wonderful rush of endorphins…

Bruce’s room was just as he’d left it that morning. Except the bed was made. And there were no more clothes on the floor. And there was a definite lack of Bruce’s super-handsome face looking at him with soft longing from the pillow.

But now he was alone in there. With no one to stop him. And John had itchy fingers and a curiosity to fulfill.

“Focus, John,” he muttered to himself, squeezing his hands to try and pass the urge to rifle through Bruce’s bedside drawers, “You’ve got a mission to do.”

The walk-in closet was like a peek into Bruce’s inner-fashionista. Black, white, gray, dark blue, thin classy stripes; t-shirts, full suits, sports jackets, slacks, jeans; shoes that cost more than John’s whole outfits; a whole section of silk ties and pocket squares in colors John had never seen Bruce wore…

It made him want to pull Bruce and his fancy-schmancy black credit card into a proper store and force him to try on some more colors. He settled for running his hands across the rack of expensive shirts instead, flipping them halfway and releasing the smells of fabric detergent and leftover colognes.

John took a step backward, seeing a flash of color behind the up-ended fabric.

A secret button. In red. With ‘ESC’ written on it.

That had to mean ‘escape’, right? What happened if he pressed it? Did Bruce have a secret panel for Batman gear? A panic room? Both?

Bruce had never mentioned it. And if it turned out to fire Batarangs, that was just extra dodging practice and wounds he could make Bruce clean up, so he decided to push it, bracing himself to move.

But there was no alarm or spray of surprise-sharp-things or secret trap door that dropped John into some holding cell. There came a quiet squeak of hinges behind him - and behind the opposing rack of suits, there was an open gap in the wall with a long, shiny pole that plunged who-knew-how-deep into the floor. John took a peek downward, seeing lights reflecting off the pole far, far down.

A secret route to the Batcave, maybe? John made a mental note to ask about that later. He did remember Bruce mentioning wanting to put in an extra entrance…but he wasn’t going to just go down the pole to find out. Pressing buttons was one thing, but travelling potentially-incomplete paths was another entirely.

The door closed by itself after John pulled his head out of the enclosure. He continued down the rack of suits, finding some in clear protective bags, and found a tuxedo in Bruce’s size - but with white formal gloves in the breast pocket. What a lovely coincidence!

They fit his hands a little loosely, but it was better than nothing, so he decided they would do. Bruce must have kept them for if he had scars or visible battle wounds on his hands.

John found his tailored charcoal-suit at the very back, kept in a full-length plastic cover with one of his playing cards peeking out over the breast pocket. He could smell the same laundry detergent Bruce used on everything else in his closet as soon as he unzipped the bag. “I’m steppin’ out, my dear - To breathe an atmosphere -” he sang to himself as he quickly changed, “That simply reeks – ha ha ha ha – wi-ith claaass!”

It still fit as snug and comfortable as ever. He hung up the street-clothes he had been wearing on the now-empty hanger for later and decided that his ankle boots (which he had worn with the same suit last time) still looked fancy enough. Bruce had not thoughtfully put the whole deck in the suit’s pockets, though. He had to have kept them somewhere…

He decided to give into the urge to peek in the drawers, finding nothing but socks in one, and another with an awful lot of boxer-briefs in Bruce’s favored colors, and the last... 

Weapons. A telescoping nightstick, razor-sharp throwing stars, an actual honest-to-goodness pair of nun-chucks, a can of extra-strength mace, a stunner, a pair of police-quality handcuffs, a literal money-clip of cash, and… 

“Oh. My. Batman.” 

Bruce had not only kept his razor-cards in a cute plastic card-case with the Joker card face-up on top, but he’d kept his old joy-buzzer on a fancy velvet bracelet-holder! (Or was it a watch holder? John could never tell the difference.) They were incredibly out-of-place sitting with the non-Batman defense weapons. It made John wonder if Bruce just hadn’t gotten around to moving them to someplace more secure - if someone poked through his drawers, like John was doing now, they might put things together.

Or just think Bruce was obsessed with him and bought the things under the table from the G.C.P.D. 

The thought made John giggle. He was definitely taking the joy-buzzer back. And borrowing the can of mace for good measure. He wanted to take the full deck of cards, but one card was surely enough to qualify as an emergency use, and the rest of the deck would be awfully bulky with the rest of the things in his pockets. Not to mention, he liked the idea of taking them slowly to see if Bruce noticed any missing.

John smirked to himself as he stood in front of the embedded mirror in one of the closet’s cabinet doors to put on his home-made bow-tie. Bruce had stolen more from John’s evidence locker than he’d previously thought, and kept them in display pieces in his bedroom like they were treasures. It was enough to make any boyfriend smug. God, he could not wait to tease Bruce for it later. Maybe pull the card out of his pocket and tap it against his cheek, and wait until Bruce got that surprised look on his face and asked him where he found it, and John would tell him it was a s-e-c-r-e-t…

Though...speaking of secrets. “I wonder where Bruce put my Batarang,” he muttered, tilting his head in the mirror to make sure the tie was staying put. “It wasn’t in the cave earlier…”

And if it wasn’t in the secret drawer… It had to be somewhere in Bruce’s room.

So naturally, he poked into the closest thing outside of the closet - Bruce’s bedside table. He wiggled his fingers before pulling the knob to the top drawer, grinning to himself as he prepared to be surprised with what was inside.

Hm. Just ordinary things. Flashlight, a candle and matches, pen and paper with the Wayne Enterprise logo, the billy club Bruce used to keep under his pillow, and what looked like a powered-off burner phone. Bo-ring.

John checked under the pillow to see if maybe it was there - nope, nothing. Maybe the second drawer of the nightstand?

He opened it, stared, and promptly shut it. He hadn’t…seen that? Right? He was imagining things?

He peeked again, half-hoping he was. Nope, that pearly-white fleshlight was definitely real. So was the bottle of lube and condoms next to it, and the…

John felt uncomfortably warm. Guilty for looking, a little embarrassed for what he’d seen, and turned on by the mental image he was producing. He let the he amused, nervous giggle leave his mouth, grateful that Bruce wasn’t there to see him like this.

Especially since his Batarang - with the lipstick-scrawled message still intact - was sitting right on top of the condom box. It really made a guy all…wonder-y.

He snatched it out of the drawer and focused on tapping on the wood grain of the furniture rather than the dangerous thoughts trying to force their way to the front of his head. Just save those thoughts for later, John. Muuuch later. You’ve got a job to do.

But it was sweet that Bruce kept his little promise-note. Really sweet. Kissable sweet. Shove-him-against-a-wall sweet. The lipstick was dried, but still slightly waxy, so John was careful when putting it in his pocket.

He breathed in and out, smelling remnants of Bruce, and went to put on his face in Bruce’s bathroom.

Thankfully, John had learned how to apply foundation fairly fast, and temporary hair color was only comb-in job. It was the little details that took longer, like eyebrows and careful shading. Especially since he had to do it in a smaller mirror, or else...it wasn’t fun. 

He left in a hurry and straightened himself out as much as possible, his mind full of Owls and Bruce and the out-of-body feeling that came with looking at himself in the mirror with his man-off-the-street makeup. He avoided looking at any hallway mirrors, reminding himself that he did a fine job and didn’t need to triple-check, and followed the sounds of people and classic lounge music to the ballroom, taking the stairs two at a time.

Wayne Manor’s ballroom wasn’t as big as John imagined. He expected something along the lines of an old castle’s ballroom, but it was actually smaller than the manor’s foyer. It still glittered like something out of a storybook or an old Hollywood movie, with an enormous crystal chandelier dangling from the high ceiling, long banquet tables complete with ice sculptures and chocolate fountains, and people dressed to the nines dancing or milling about with champagne flutes.

It was there, just outside the ballroom door, that John realized he would have to sift through the crowd towards Bruce, who was unfortunately not easily visible. 

Well, he had to do what he had to do. Enter the world not as John Doe or Joker or whoever he might have been nearly a decade ago, but as some other new rich schmo out for a shoe shine on the ballroom floor with the rest of Gotham’s elite. He could do that.

He strode in, weaving through the outskirts of the crowd as he scanned them, searching for Bruce’s beautiful face among the crowd. It was difficult - there were an awful lot of black tuxedos and pretty faces, and his growling stomach didn’t help any.

He looked over by the long buffet table - the one with shining silver trays bearing all manners of savory hors d'oeuvres - and spotted a familiar face.

She had her hair up in a very sleek ornate bun, and he couldn’t recall ever seeing her wearing lip gloss or sensible chocolate-colored high heels, but it was definitely Iman in that champagne halter dress. He approached her as casually as he could, popping one of the little fluffy pork-filled dough-things from the end of the table in his mouth on the way. “Well, fancy seeing you here, stranger,” he said as he sidled up to her.

She searched his face for a moment, clearly trying to disguise her confusion with polite examination. He grinned wide when her left eyebrow shot up to her hairline. “John?”

“In the make-up-covered flesh,” he answered quietly. “I’d say you clean up nicely, but you’ve honestly looked this pretty every day I’ve seen you!”

“Thank you,” she said politely, the silvery pearls in her ears reflecting the chandelier with the tilt of her head. They went very well with the snake-shaped hearing aid. “That suit looks like it was tailored for you.”

“It was; I tailored it myself.”

“I’m guessing you’re looking for Bruce?”

Damn, what a guess! “Ha! What are you, a mind reader? Can you guess what number I’m thinking of, too?” 

She smiled warmly. “Of course not. You’d guess a letter instead.”

“Man, you’re good,” he chuckled. “You haven’t seen Bruce, have you? I figured something out and I kinda want to tell him in person. And you, too, of course!”

Iman opened her mouth to reply when Tiffany wedged herself on Iman’s other side. 

“Oh man, I swear if I have to talk to another…” Tiffany paused, seeing John but not recognizing him. “Oh, uh, sorry. Ignore me,” she said, turning to busy herself with choosing from finger-sandwiches.

“It’s gonna be hard for anyone to ignore you when you’re looking that pretty,” John said, taking in the one-shoulder satiny blue jumper. She’d sprayed silver glitter in the dyed portion her hair, too. The effect wasn’t as cute looking when she whipped her head around with the just-seen-a-ghost type of surprise on her face. 

“What are you doing here?” she stage-whispered, “And where did you even get all that?” she added, gesturing to his whole ensemble.

“I could ask you the same question,” he teased, “I’ve had all this since the last time I was here! Well, except for this,” he added, thumbing his tie, “I just couldn’t let a perfectly good scrap of material go to waste! Oh, but I’m here to see Bruce. And you guys! I found something major, and it, uh, probably shouldn’t wait. At least for too long.”

“And you can’t just tell us now?” Tiffany asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He bit back the desire to ask what her problem was. It wouldn’t be a great start to the evening plan. “It’s easier if I just tell you all at once. In private. Hopefully in the next ten or fifteen minutes, depending on if I can find Bruce in this ridiculous crowd.”

“Which case does it deal with?” Iman asked, watching him with that same analytical curiosity he’d seen half the time she asked him questions.

All of them! He wanted to say. But you didn’t get an audience by spoiling half of the ending. “You’ll find out if you meet me in the parlor,” he said, hoping he was projecting an air of mystery. “I’m gonna keep looking for Bruce. And if you see him, tell him I’m looking for him!” he added, clicking his fingers in their direction as he made his way to the edge of the crowd.

He looked out into the party. People were dancing, laughing, pushing signed checks and wads of cash into glass bowls for the charity of their choice - if it weren’t for the otherworldly feeling he was getting and the fact that all the upper-class twits surrounding him didn’t really care about the actual people they were helping, it might have made a nice picture.

Actually, getting a picture was a good idea. They really did help with the whole grounding-himself-in-reality task he had to do more and more often nowadays. He pulled out his phone, thinking about what angle to use, and saw a text pop up from Devi.

How u holdin up J?

His phone had definitely vibrated in his hand, so that was real… Oh, there was no way he could resist showing off, now. 

You’ll never guess where I am!!! :D He wrote back, having to press a little harder on the screen so the thin cotton would let him type.

Ur bfs bedroom????

Dude u DIDNT

John giggled to himself. Her mind would be blown if she knew what he’d found in there, but he wasn’t about to tell her all that. It raised too many follow-up questions. LOL I wish!!

He turned around and decided to swallow his discomfort to take a partial selfie in the glittering, perfectly-lit ballroom and send it to her. It was honestly better to look at his made-up face with a camera than a mirror, where he couldn’t manage to look at the whole thing without feeling distorted. Maybe it was because he’d done it with Bruce before, back at Dr. Crane’s house? Or maybe it was the way the digital camera moved that made it feel fake enough. Or both. 

I’m at the gala! Undercover, of course. ;D he added.

Ok that makeup is amazing I barely recognize u!!!

Whats it like? Live up 2 the hype?

Everyone is super pretty, it’s annoying and crowded.

But it’s got swanky music and good food sooo... Pretty ok???

He should ask how she was, since she took the effort to reach out to him. How’s it going over there? You and Mickey doing ok?

Well we r still standin so its good. My sis came to visit which was nice but I decided not to transfer out. 2 much trouble. Mickey had no choice but 2 stay bc usual insurance bs :\

Oooh but that bitch Karen got her ASS reprimanded for yelling at the mens room by the gym for some reason last night! Dont ask how i found out ;p

HA I told her Mickey went in there when he was hiding from her in the library yesterday!!! Ha ha ha ha I can’t believe she actually yelled at nothing!!!

Omg!!! Mickey actually laughed when i told him!!! Classic J!!!

If u didnt almost die id say u need to come back

Its less colorful and WAY 2 quiet wo u

John felt that familiar fuzzy warmth that came with Bruce saying he missed him. He looked up into the crowd and was sure he spotted the familiar head of sleek black hair, so he decided to try and navigate through the crowd and text at the same time.

Awwww!!! Don’t worry, it’s only until they catch the guy! He wrote, side-stepping a hired butler before the tray knocked into him. (Should he tell her about Batman working on it? Surely he could excuse it away with a surprise visit. It wouldn’t be the first time Batman had been perched outside his window.) God, was there always this many people huddled together or what? Which should be soon, since Batsy’s on the case!

He’d no sooner pressed send when he smacked into an obstacle and heard the tinkling clink of shattered glass.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, but clearly she didn’t hear him.

“Fuck,” the woman he’d bumped into muttered, wiping off the end of her oddly familiar orange off-shoulder dress. It was too dark to blend in with the rest of the summer dresses swirling in the crowd. It was more suited to autumn, especially with the chunky black heels she was wearing with it...

Waaait a second.

Sure, the curly bob curving around her ears and framing her face was brown, but he knew that cute face anywhere! He’d sat across from it dozens of times!

“Jackie Lant!” He exclaimed, unable to help the smile stretching on his lips as she turned with the very clear look of a deer caught in headlights.

It was actually kind of nice how she seemed to instantly recognize him through the makeup and hair dye. Though the sight of him didn’t seem to excite her. “H-hey, John…”

She must have been thinking he was talking to her for some sort of threatening purpose. He should squash that right away by just talking like he normally did. “Talk about a coincidence! I thought that dress looked familiar – tailored by Mr. Prinya himself! It figures you’d wear it in summer. It’s just everything pumpkiny all year ‘round for you, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “But I’m surprised you’re back in Gotham! How’s the acting gig going for you? I’m assuming well enough to get you invited here?”

Jackie snorted into a small smile as her nerves melted away. “You haven’t changed a bit,” she said, propping one hand on her hip, “You still talk a mile a minute. Well, firstly - I, uh, don’t go by Jackie. In public, anyway,” she added with a pout and a side-eye to the crowd, “It’s Jacqueline, right now.”

“Little close to home, don’t you think?” John smirked.

“It’s easy to get used to,” she shrugged, “Besides, it makes for a good stage name; I get more callbacks with it. Probably because it makes me sound classically trained,” she emphasized with finger-quotes and a slight smirk that made a spark in her leaf-brown eyes. “No one suspects I just learned from life experience and being a huge theater nerd.”

John sniggered. “Well, if you ever need a letter of recommendation, I think me and Bruce can give you one! ‘Fooled entire asylum of patients and employees into thinking she was a trustworthy budding doctor,’” he mimed writing on an invisible notepad, “‘Played dual role as a sympathetic victim of our money-hungry society and a secondary villain, with a believable and overall stellar performance,’” he continued with a grin, “‘Solid ten out of ten!’”

“…sounds kind of like you’re still mad,” she responded, folding her arms across her chest with a dull look at the crowd. She looked more like the hopeless person he’d seen clutching her stitches on the mausoleum floor than the one watching the Batmobile take off afterwards. “Not that I really blame you.”

Well, he couldn’t help but enjoy holding her sins over her head a little, but he wasn’t really mad…anymore. They both did pretty rotten things at some point. “Oh, turn that frown upside-down, Pumpkin-head,” he teased, poking her in the corner of her mouth, “I’m only messing with you! It’s water under the bridge!” She eyed him, seeming like she wanted to believe that, but wasn’t too sure if he meant it. She looked like she needed a little boost. And what better way than to lighten up her grungy past a little? “Besides,” he added in a low voice, “you’re an idiot if you think I don’t replay the memory of you shooting ol’ Scarecrow in the shoulder whenever I’m feeling blue.”

That, surprisingly, made her laugh. It was light and short, but it lit up her face, so he knew he hit a bullseye. “Honestly, so do I,” she said with a dark gleam in her expression. “Especially when someone’s really annoying me. It’s a good reminder of what I’m capable of.”

One of the butlers had swooped over to their spot on the floor to clean up the glass.

“Oh, excuse me,” Jackie said politely and pulled John towards a less crowded section of the floor. “Sorry - I don’t really like the idea of smacking into anyone else out here,” she muttered, “but I’ve been meaning to ask – what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t released yet.”

Sheesh, can a guy just not want to have a good time, he wanted to say. But he didn’t really want to rile up anyone just yet, and it wasn’t her fault she didn’t know he’d been asked that twice already. She must not have known about the incident at St. Dymphna yesterday. (Not that he could blame her for not looking at the news. The same cycle of misery and murder never made for an entertaining time.) “It’s a secret,” he said simply, “Besides, I’m here for a good time, not a long time!” he added with a wink, snatching a shrimp cocktail off a waiter’s tray. It only lasted two bites, but it was delicious. “How about you? The last I saw you, you were running from your problems in a shit-box of a car.” She couldn’t possibly have been doing well enough to get a formal invitation if she had gotten her dress tailored in his neck of the woods…

“Ha, I still am,” she said, not sounding very amused despite the tiny smirk on her lips. “I’m here because it’s better than sitting around my hotel room feeling sorry for myself,” she grunted, the light in her eyes dimming as she snatched a flute off another waiter’s tray and downed half of it in one gulp. She stared at the glass, thinking of something with all the depressed seriousness he’d seen back in the mausoleum last year. “Fifteen years ago, my best friend was found rolled up in a rug in the dumpster three blocks from where she lived.”

John remembered the many pictures she had hung up in her small apartment; a lot of those friends were dead. “Oh… Uh, I’m sorry,” he tried, not sure what else he could say without sounding like a huge jerk.

“Don’t apologize,” she said with an oddly sharp look, “I didn’t tell you to get sympathy. I get enough of that from everyone else. I told you because you would’ve picked my brain apart to get it out anyway, and I don’t really feel like playing that game.”

“Ouch, Jackie,” John clutched his chest and pouted dramatically, “You think so low of me! And here I thought we were getting to be friends…” He couldn’t hold the pout for long – if she was going to be rude, he could needle her with a taste of her own medicine. “But I guess if we were, I’d drop dead in a week.”

She didn’t seem to take that harshly at all. In fact, she lightened up a little. “See, that’s more like it,” she said with a Bruce-like smile. “No one else gives me dark jokes like that. They all think it’ll just make it worse.”

Huh! Well, at least John didn’t have to worry about tossing around grim jokes in her presence…?

“Honestly, though,” she continued, “I’m really only in Gotham for-”

“Jacqueline, baby – who’s this?” A man who couldn’t be much older – or taller - than Jackie sidled up to her out of nowhere, putting his arm protectively around her shoulder and flashing what could only be described as a bad attempt at ‘the Bruce Wayne press smile’. He didn’t have Bruce’s natural charm to pull it off, but he was fairly handsome, in a standard-Hollywood-twenty-something sort of way. Bronzer, foundation, and eyebrow powder were enhancing his face, but admittedly the curly swoop of dirty blond hair and lithe athletic frame helped with the overall look.

Jackie seemed to brighten a little more; she clearly knew him. “There you are, Matt – I was just talking about you. This is one of my old work-buddies.” She nodded slightly as she gestured to John, giving him a significant look he took to mean play along. “We worked on my last play here together. He’s a real Gothamite.”

The man called Matt reached his hand out to shake John’s. “Nice to meet you, Mr…?”

Shit. John had gotten used to being himself out on the floor, and now he had to put his normal-person face on, even if he didn’t want to play along. He grappled for the most normal names he could think of. He didn’t want to use his own, no matter how ordinary ‘John’ was.

Eric? No, I need something more familiar... Uh, J...erome? Jerimiah? Ooh, wait-!

“Jack,” he answered, thinking of the card currently sitting in his breast pocket. He might as well pick a good surname to go with it. And who was this guy to know where it came from? “Jack Napier,” he finished, reaching out to shake the guy’s hand. “Sorry - auditory processing,” he snorted, trying to smooth it over, “Takes a bit for the ol’ brain case to catch up sometimes.”

Matt didn’t seem to quite understand that, but he shook John’s hand anyway. “Matt Chaney,” he said proudly, like his mere name was something to envy.

“Matt and I snuck in here for research,” Jackie said with a small wink.

“Jacqueline-”

“Oh, lighten up, Matt. Jack’s great at keeping secrets.”

John tittered. “Got a noodle stuffed with ‘em,” he joked, “and not a single leak in the pan.”

“There’s a new TV soap role he’s trying out for,” Jackie explained with a pointed thumb up at Matt’s chin, “Think Bruce Wayne, but with less dough.”

“Oh, you’re on TV?” John asked, looking over their shoulder to see if Bruce made a coincidental appearance in the crowd. Maybe he was brooding somewhere…

“I’ve gotten some good contacts recently,” Matt boasted, which John translated to a ‘no’. “You worked with Jacqueline before she moved, right? Man, you must be pretty jealous now.”

...jealous of what? “Uh, look, you’re both rather attractive, but I’m afraid my heart’s spoken for,” he answered, tapping his chest where his undying love for Bruce Wayne lay embedded. “And neither of you are…really my type.”

Jackie sniggered as Matt frowned at him. “He doesn’t really go on social media, babe,” she said to her boyfriend with a genuinely amused grin as she pulled her phone out of the small purse dangling from a pathetically tiny strap on her shoulder. John could see the Lucky Hotel logo on a card she’d stuck in the back of the phone case; no wonder she altered her dress at his place! “Matt’s big on Root and MuSec[B1]  nowadays,” she explained, tapping on her screen, “I’ve got a bit of a following myself. Here, this one’s gotten me a lot of attention.”

John watched the very short video. He couldn’t hear the background music, but he watched as Jackie dramatically flipped a fan between her face, showing her normal face at first (with her hair still dyed brown), and then transitioning to a wide, grinning jack-o-lantern face done entirely in stage makeup. She’d worn yellow contacts to make the black of the painted eye-holes pop and seemed to have crafted painted plastic teeth for her jaw to open wide. “Ooh hoo hoo! Ve-ry nice,” he praised, watching the light in her eyes brighten further. “Reminds me of your last Halloween costume,” he teased.

Matt was clearly seething with jealousy - he plucked the phone out of Jackie’s hand and pulled up a different video. “Here, check this one out,” he said haughtily.

“‘Video removed for copyright violation’,” John read from the video placeholder on the page, “Impressive!”

“What?!” Matt pulled the phone back to him a deep scowl. “Not again! Those stupid fucking…”

“Why, Mr. Chaney,” a clear voice said from John’s left, “what a delight; it seems we’re destined to keep running into each other.”

John tossed a look towards the stranger heading towards them:  a man with extraordinarily average looks and flat, mousy brown hair. He could’ve passed him in the street a hundred times.

“And who are your friends?” The man asked, looking between Jackie and John. He settled back on John, looking more and more curious. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Oh, uh, Jacqueline – my girlfriend,” Matt emphasized by putting his arm back around Jackie and giving her a little squeeze – “this is Reverend Overfield; we met when I was scouting around town a while back. Reverend, this is Jacqueline Latern, and-”

“Jack Napier,” John interrupted, deciding to take initiative in shaking the Reverend’s hand like people were supposed to do. But weren’t guys like the Rev’ supposed to wear those little white collars everywhere they went, and not full-blown tuxedos?

“We haven’t met before, have we?” the Reverend asked as he withdrew his hand. “You seem familiar.”

You might have seen me on the news, John thought privately. “Oh, I’m just your typical man about town,” he answered with all the patented Wayne charm he could channel. “I’m sure you’d find a dozen like me in this crowd.” He looked over the faces of people behind the Reverend’s shoulders, hoping to suddenly see Bruce come into view, but no such luck. He’d have to stealthily make an excuse and slip away when he could.

“Do you live in the area, or further into the city?” The reverend asked, looking oddly probing for such an innocent question.

“I’m just taking the tour, Rev’,” John said with a growing impatience.

“Splendid!” He beamed, as if he was truly enthused by the idea, “You should pay us a proper visit before you decide to go.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to John. “We’re currently housed in of the older churches in the city. It’s quite the sight by itself; you don’t have to worry about being pressured into anything.”

John doubted that. He looked at the card. Rev. Sebastian Overfield, Church of the Written Mercy was stamped next to a picture of three people clustered together to reach up to what John figured was supposed to be a beam of light. “The Written Mercy? ”

“So it is written, and so it shall be,” he nodded with a serene sort of smile that usually came with John’s neighbors being doped up. “God has written our destinies out since the dawn of time. Regardless of evil’s lawless discord interfering with those destinies, we firmly believe those injustices can be resolved with faith, perseverance, and God’s guidance. Of course, we are always open to interpretations now and again.”

“You mean want people to tear your philosophy apart?” Jackie asked with raised brow.

The reverend gave a polite laugh. “There are no better fresh interpretations of ideas than from strangers.”

John’s first impulse was to tell him fate was as much of a joke as the justice system - but while justice had dealt John a bad hand and turned his whole life into a long, bad joke, fate had given him something worthwhile.

Something beautiful, in the form of a man who might as well have been divine for all the life upheavals and whirlwinds of emotion he caused. A man that could, finally, be seen in the immense, glittering crowd over Jackie’s and Matt’s shoulders.

“I think the inevitability of death is the only true fate in the world,” Jackie said as John stared out into the crowd, feeling a sweet sting at the sudden appearance of some pretty nameless thing putting her hands on Bruce’s shoulder to guide him into a dance, “How long we take to get there, the people we meet along the way – all of that is random.”

John could see Bruce following along with the motions, but his smile wasn’t reaching his tired eyes.

“I can see where that comes from,” Reverend Overfield nodded sympathetically, “It’s hard to believe that the people we lose in this lifetime aren’t taken away by chance; but I have always believed that every loss has a place in one’s life, even those most painful to live with. How about you, Mr. Napier?”

He did agree with Jackie’s point about them all being born astride a coffin and being subject to only the unknown, but... There was no way that was all there was. How could he think that, when a piece of his destiny was twirling slowly out beyond them as they spoke? “I think we’re at the mercy of a chaotic, constantly-changing universe,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly on his disarmed dark knight, “but there are some people that are always meant to be there…” (Some of the doctors always seemed to think it was dangerous for patients to think of soul-mates and pre-determination. But they weren’t here, were they? John could speak freely, since he wasn’t going to see most of these people again. Who would care?) “Our choices can make the universe change the how and why, but they’re there; and their choices shape us in return.”

He wouldn’t be there, the way he was now, without Bruce. If Bruce hadn’t saved him. If Bruce hadn’t believed in him. John felt it, deep down, past his thoughts and feelings, past his memories, past his sensory input…

“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” Jackie commented thoughtfully.

“So fate is essentially giving us soul mates, but with free will?” Matt said with what sounded like a sneer.

John could feel himself being stared at, and tore himself away from looking out at Bruce’s strained dance. The Reverend Overfield was staring at him a little too intently. John had the feeling he’d said something wrong; there was a definite dislike sitting in that subtle expression. Not that he cared – the guy was weirding him out anyway. “Aaany-who, this has been a fun diversion and all, but I’ve got a brooding billionaire-playboy in desperate need of some livening up - I’m sure I’ll see you all around!”

He gave a little wave to the group as he made his way back to the ballroom floor, hearing Jackie’s little call of good luck as he plopped the empty shrimp-glass onto a passing waiter’s tray.

John didn’t need luck. He had Bruce squarely in his sights, and navigating around the various tuxedos and shiny gowns was nothing compared to dodging punches and stray bullets.

Judging by the look on Bruce’s face as he spun slowly around on the dance floor with the pretty young thing that had dragged him there, John figured Bruce would rather be in his favorite suit, dancing to a very different tune.

 [B1]My answer to TikTok!

*~*~*~*~*

Notes:  ...now, I know what you’re thinking. Yes, that’s where I’m cutting this chapter off. Yes, you don’t get to see The Dance I teased you with yet. But it took well over my original time-limit to finish this with all the Tiffany-John bonding and various developments I’d been planning for ages! I always seem to go “yeah I can do this large amount of development in a short amount of time nbd” and then forget that when I flesh out ideas, I pull all the stops to make sure they flow with the story right and it takes foreeeevvverrr. So, as I sorta predicted, our Big Gala Saturday is split into 2 parts! So you’ll have to wait a liiiittle while longer to see The Dance...s. But we’ll get to see Brucie next time! It’s gonna be one hell of a night... >:3c

John is just a barrel of fun to write once I get into the rhythm! Having him bond with Tiffany was a great challenge, and I managed to check off soooo much of my wishlist. Jackie Lant’s return! John choosing his “name”! The fun inclusion of the famous Bat Pole! John and Tiff bonding through their investigation and getting a selfie out of it! Ahhhh!!! I’d been planning having him grapple Tiffany out of the way of that van for months! What fun!!! 

Writing John with Selina was tough, though, because part of me knows he’d love to just deck her in the face out of undealt-with jealousy re: Bruce, but I had to remind myself that for all his similarities, this isn’t a S2!John Doe. This is an evolving John “the player” can control, and naturally I get to choose the shape he takes in his chrysalis. Our boy is doing his damnedest to keep his violent impulses in check as he grapples with reality and grows to truly care for people outside of Bruce like the recovering patient he is. He’s come a long way in such a short time! ;w;

I’m hoping I can finish and upload the next part by my birthday. So fingers crossed I’ll upload in the next 6 weeks! Please comment, kudos, and subscribe/bookmark to help charge the muse! (And reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated!)

PS -  I couldn’t NOT reference @fractualized​‘s Free John Doe series! If you haven’t read it yet, check it out! :D

#batjokes #telltale batjokes #ttoj #telltale batman #batman telltale #the tolls of justice #bttts s4 #car chase #self harm #paranoia #playing with knives #discussion of mental illness #bonding through near-death situations #omg Billionaire Playboy Vigilante Bruce Wayne has That™ kind of drawer what a surprise #should Tiffy’s bike be called the Bird-Cycle - yey or nay #next time gonna be everything you’d want in a tt batjokes fic #that’s right *everything*!!! #please reblog!!!! #(and comment 💜) #john doe #bruce wayne #tiffany fox #robin #everyscreentobeseen was right all along B) #(i swear you deserve a prize for figuring it out so early!!!! i was so happy when you did!!!!)

[timeoutforthee]

Like it or Not-Chapter 23

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl, @bubblycricket, @fnp-alizay, @neonbluetiefling, @comicsimpson, @a-little-bit-of-ace

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings:  Remus, referenced fictional murder, referenced bingeing/purging, therapy session

Read it on AO3!

Roman had marched into class earlier, fully prepared to demand a new partner as soon as Remus started speaking. Now, he was staring at his rival with an open mouth. This is not how he was planning for this to go, at all.

“Run that by me,” Roman finally says, “One more time.”

“I want to write a play,” Remus says, drawing out his words obnoxiously slow, “About a man interviewing several monsters to find out which one killed him. Each monster will be a representation of a mental illness.”

“That…” Roman stares at him, still shocked, “....that’s okay?”

“Oh my God, has it happened?” Remus asks a fake audience, “Has Roman Prince gotten the stick out of his ass?”

“We’ll have to be careful,” Roman hurries to amend, “I mean, we’re dealing with representation and we don’t want to offend anyone, but it’s doable.”

“Nope!” Remus says, “It is still jammed up there.”

“Do you want us to do your idea or not?” Roman counters.

Remus laughs. “If I recall correctly, we don’t have a choice about that.”

“Anyway,” Roman says, glossing over that particular detail, “What are your ideas? Who is this man? Who are the monsters?”

“Oh!” Remus says, immediately lighting up, and pulling a sketchbook from his backpack, “I have sketches! Monsters with two faces for bipolar disorder, a monster covered in cuts-”

“See, that’s an example of what we’re not going to do,” Roman interrupts.

“Roman,” Remus says, huffing, “Don’t you want to explore something deeper than your usual fairytales?”

“Don’t you want to come up with something a bit more original?”

That catches Remus off guard, and his face falls, He looks down at his sketchbook.

“You’re the best costume designer the Theater department has,” Roman says. It kills him to admit, but even he knows it’s true, “I’m sure you can come up with something.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Remus says, sighing. “Now, this guy…” ^

“How’d your meeting go today, Roman?” Patton says, trying to sound like his normal, bubbly self. But there’s a rock in his stomach as the end of the school day is approaching, and group is quickly coming up.

“...well?” Roman says, unsure.

“It either went well or it didn’t, Roman, it isn’t a hard question,” Logan says.

“I know, I’m just...surprised,” Roman continues, “Remus actually had a good idea? And I’m...excited to elaborate on it?”

“What was it?” Virgil asks.

“A man is interviewing a group of monsters, all representative of mental illnesses, to see which one killed him.”

“That’s dark, I like it,” Virgil responds.

“Not surprised by that,” Roman says. “We’ll need to tread carefully, to make sure we don’t misrepresent anything or offend anyone, but it’s doable, right?”

“Right!” Patton says, even though he’s not exactly thrilled with the idea of monsters. Darkness wasn’t really his thing.

“Virgil and I need to start making some creative decisions as well,” Logan says, “We’ve started the creative writing chapter of the class.”

“Aren’t you guys excited?” Mrs. Spencer asks, “I always love hearing all the stories coming from my students every year!”

Virgil looks like he would have a lot to say if the teacher of the class wasn’t in the same room.

“Maybe Virgil will let us read some of his writing!” Patton says, still trying to keep his head up, “Since you want to be a novelist and everything?”

“Oh, Virgil, I didn’t know you were interested in writing!” Mrs. Spencer says.

“It’s not a big deal, really,” Virgil says, brushing it off, “I’m not very good.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, but if it is, we can always work on it,” she says before shifting focus on to her lunch.

“How’d you guys’ goals go?” Roman asks.

“Satisfactory,” Logan says, “Dr. Sanders said he wants me to start tackling the emotional side of disorder soon, but for now I accomplished my goal of eating different foods.”

“I’ve talked to my aunt more,” Virgil says, “I told her what Picani and I’ve been talking about, but not much else. I guess it’s something.” He takes a bite of his lunch. “What about-”

“Patton!” Roman says, a bit louder than necessary, “How’d yours go, Patton?”

“Oh-uh-well,” Patton thinks back to last session. With everything going on, he has completely forgotten about his original goal, “Dr. Sanders and I kinda...forgot about that part?”

“How?” Roman says.

“We were discussing...other...things,” Patton says. Oh God, everyone is starting to look at him. “I-I’ll-” he sighs. “I have something to tell you guys. Later. In group.”

They stare a little longer before Logan finally says, quietly, “Okay.”

Just then, the bell rings.

As everyone starts packing up, Patton feels a rock in his stomach. He looks around at everyone and gives them a smile. He’s going to miss them when they go.

^

“Welcome back, guys!” Dr. Sanders greets them, walking in. “How is everyone? I think Dr. Picani said something about you guys setting some goals last week, how’d those go?”

“Uh, great!” Roman says, “But Patton said he had something to tell us before we get started.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t want to derail the session,” Patton says, desperately clinging to the hope that he can get out of it.

“Don’t be silly!” Dr. Sanders said, “This is your session, you guys control what we talk about.”

“Oh...goooood…,” Patton says.

“So what is it, Pat?” Virgil asks after they’ve been sitting in silence for a while.

“You know, maybe this was silly, I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of this, it’s not really that important-”

“If it was unimportant, it’d be much easier to say,” Logan says.

“Heh, you got me there,” Patton says. He tries to bring it up in his brain, to bring the words to his mouth, but it’s getting stuck and the room is falling silent again and everyone is looking at him and thinking about how disgusting he looks and-

“Patton,” Thomas says. Patton tears his eyes away from the floor and looks up at his therapist. “Take a deep breath.” Patton does, although it’s shaky. “One more.” This one is much more steady. “Now, opposite action. Exposing the action in front of others who won’t reject you. This is a safe space.”

“Yeah, Patton, whatever it is, we won’t be, like, mad at you,” Virgil says.

“So you say,” Patton snorts, even though there’s no humor in it. He immediately regrets it when Virgil pulls back a bit, surprised and hurt. “I didn’t mean that,” he automatically says. “I just…” he takes a deep breath. “Guys, I haven’t been honest. I’ve been lying about getting better. I never stopped purging.”

The room falls silent, and a few tears escape from Patton’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” Virgil asks, quietly.

“I mean every night, I sneak down to my kitchen, I binge, then I purge. I can’t stop. I didn’t try to stop.”

“Did you think we would be mad at you for that?” Virgil asks.

“You should be mad at me for that, I’m a liar,” Patton says, “You’ve all worked so hard and come so far, and I was just...sitting here.”

“Yes,” Logan speaks up, “Sitting here in group therapy. Sitting there in individual therapy. You’re trying just as hard as we are, Patton.”

“But I can’t stop purging, that is the one thing I have to do!”

“That’s like saying the one thing I have to do is eat,” Virgil says.

“Or stop exercising,” Roman adds on.

“And we haven’t been able to do that, not quickly, not easily,” Logan says, “Of course we don’t expect you to stop just like that.”

“Generally speaking, you guys haven’t been working on this that long, and you’ve covered a lot of ground already,” Thomas says, “And your purging or bingeing is a maladaptive coping mechanism you use to deal with your emotions. You can’t just stop these behaviors, you must learn to better cope with the emotions, or else you’ll just replace them with other maladaptive coping mechanisms, such as self harm.”

Virgil’s face pales at that, but no one notices.

“You also have to stop looking at it like absolutes. ‘I haven’t stopped purging yet, so I never will.’ That’s not fair to you or the therapeutic process. You don’t have all the skills required to get to the point where you can cope.”

“I shouldn’t even need these skills,” Patton says, “I don’t…”

They all wait patiently for him to continue, and Dr. Sanders prompts him. “Patton?”

“I don’t have anything to be upset about,” Patton says. “So I don’t know why I have all these negative coping skills.”

“People don’t need a reason to be upset, necessarily,” Logan says.

“Well, yeah, if you have depression or something, but I don’t,” Patton doesn’t notice Thomas write something down in his notebook, “I just have a loving family and a good life and no reason to complain and I’m just being ungrateful.”

“What do you think qualifies a “good life,” Patton?”

“I don’t know, friends, family, love, something!”

“So you have a lot of friends?”

Patton’s stomach drops at the reminder of what school was like last year. “Well, I have friends now.”

“And didn’t you say one of your moms died?”

Patton feels like ice water has been poured over him. “I-I don’t want to talk about that.”

“That’s fine, we don’t have to,” Thomas rushes to say, “I’m just saying, if you look at things objectively, you have a few things to be upset about. That’s fair, and you don’t need to deny those feelings.”

“O-okay.”

“Plus, you seem to talk to yourself in a very negative way, but that’s something we need to explore next time,” Dr. Sanders says, looking at his watch. “Until next time, guys.”

The four boys stand up and make their way out of the room.

“Patton, I am...proud of you,” Logan tells him. Patton has been keeping his eyes on the ground, but now he looks up and over at his friend.

“What? Why?”

“For the same reason you were proud of me for eating a grape. Because you made a step in your recovery, and you should be proud.”

“Yeah, Patton, you should be proud,” Roman adds. Virgil nods.

They reach the front of the building and Roman and Logan break off, waving goodbye. Patton and Virgil wave back.

“Oh! I see my mom!” Patton says, spotting her car.

“Wait, Pat.”

“Yeah?”

Virgil hesitates only a second, before he grabs Patton and wraps his arms around him. Patton is caught off guard but quickly hugs him back. They stand there for a moment, before they both pull away.

“Thanks, Virge.”

“Anytime,” Virgil says, watching him walk away. When he sees all his friends get into their cars, he sighs and makes his way to his aunt’s car.

He sighs, thinking about how his friends are starting to open up to each other. How much it seems to help. Maybe...maybe it’s time he considered telling them why he moved to town.

#like it or not #sanders sides fic #patton sanders

[giantpredatorymollusk]

We need some standards here people. I need things to be better

to what extent is this blog me? i need it to not be me so that i can criticize it uncompromisingly. and it kind of isn't because even i'm not me. i'm (gestures vaguely) over there somewhere alternately asleep and receiving information about myself with abject horror. but it also has to be me a little bit or else what do i care what's even on it. i mean sometimes i'm like "this is not for anyone else's benefit i just like to laugh at things" but usually it's more like "there is probably some benefit to using social media semi-socially!" so that's cleared up. on to the uncompromising criticism:

Post 1: “IF YOU’RE NOT CHICKEN POST THIS ON YOUR PAGE AND SEE WHAT PEOPLE RATE YOU!!!!!!” This I think is unimpeachable. I have this one twice (once to rate Grace, once to rate B, which was pretty easy actually both times) but it’s worth looking at twice I think and it makes things more interesting to do this with the platform a little differently.

Post 2: Video of a dog getting squished by a door. This is like… evocative? But I need to stop tagging everything “oh no.” And it might be overly sad? Like, in a cynical pessimistic miserable way? Live, suffer and die? “I am a dog and God is closing an automatic door on me over and over?” Why is the door closing when the dog is laying there anyway, shouldn’t it sense that something’s there? Maybe the dog is not heavy enough to register in that way. So good, but should probably should have had more meaning wrung out of it somehow.

Post 3: The See What People Rate You again.

Post 4: Original text post, “at least i don’t foolishly rely on happiness to make me happy” abstractly sadposting? Some of the background noise in my head. Probably more sad and abstract than absolutely necessary.

Post 5: This is where it starts to fall apart. I like the idea but in practice it’s just kind of a non-sequitur? If Deadpool was running from something that it made more sense to run from it might seem more meaningful. TBH I probably just reblogged it because it reminded me of this John Darnielle quote about Up the Wolves: “The direction in which you’re headed is not the direction in which you want to go, yet you’re going to head that way a while longer anyway cause that’s just the kind of person you are.”

Post 6: Youtube screenshot: “Awww shittttd!!!!! Escaping the cops and teaching you how to double-clutch” This is fairly broad humor? I can see how this might have given him the wrong idea. I do think it’s funny. But you kind of have to view it ironically to really find it funny? It lacks sincerity, overall. Who knows

Post 7: “me: *thinks back to a childhood memory* / me: someone….. probably should have been a little worried.” Pretty generic but nonetheless relatable. Yeah I’m overusing “#oh no.”

Post 8: This is like… a non-joke? A joke for people to not-laugh at? Stimulating without being meaningful. And, using this dialogue as background audio just because it's easy to make fun of. 1.5/5.

Post 9: Classic banter between some lads. Good reaction image. It’s not like goooood though? It feels like a bit of a space-filler.

Post 10: “tumblr user: *sees japanese strawberry milk* o fuck i cant not reblog that” ngl, this is pretty hard to analyze.

Post 11: ASCII cat holding umbrella for other ASCII cat. I just really like this gif. The street sign thing (?) on the left is kind of distracting though? It helps anchor the image in a kind of a place but also draws attention to the overall lack of detail and the fact that there’s no background.

Post 13: Obviously this was a thing that I needed to do. However the compliments I gave were kind of aloof and lofty? Abstract even? Impersonal? Problematic.

Post 14: Eroded lamb grave markers. I think it’s art.

Post 15: “I got the most relatable spam email: Hi/1 quastion/Hi I need To be loved.” Is this why I have this Tumblr? Is this what I think I'm accomplishing by writing this very essay? Aside from the fact that it's Saturday night?

Axes of criticism: Overly broad, too insincere, stimulating but meaningless. These... are not real criticisms I suspect? This is like the superficial stuff. Looking at a blog: "It's no different, really, from meeting another person. One has a reaction to the person physically. Also, there’s a metaphysical thing, and if a meeting of people is meaningful, it affects both their lives." (Bernard Newman said this about a painting once but I'm stealing it for this.) But the sense of that is what's missing. This blog may be difficult to sync up with. For probably the same reason as why I've never had a popular post. I don't want to have a popular blog with popular posts but I would dearly love just to understand why exactly I don't. Probably because I don't self-actualize enough? At the very least on here? I don't really leave myself super open to being understood at all

[aceofstars16]

*wants to ask aaaall the characters for the ask* What about Peter, Neal, and Mozzie from White Collar? (Also, free pass to talk about Tony Stark too here because I love him)

MY BOYS! (I legit almost watched White Collar tonight, but my sister wanted to watch Hawaii 5-0)

Peter Burke

First impression

Okay so…it’s been a loooong time since I started it, but I’m pretty sure I thought he was a little…strict maybe, I can’t really remember. It was kind of like, “Oh who is this FBI guy?” and then “Oh he’s giving Neal a chance awwww”

Impression now

Peter Burke is a gift to this world, the best dad, the best husband, the best FBI agent. Such a good boy, pure heart, able to put up with Neal despite all Neal puts him through. I love Peter Burke so much guys…

Favorite moment

Oh goodness…that’s hard…so freaking harddd hnnggggg, the one that keeps coming back to me is when he freaking flew out to an island using his vacation time to find Neal and make sure he didn’t like get killed by that jerk agent. 

Idea for a story

I just want one shots of him raising little Neal and occasionally thinking of big Neal…but also just fluff things. Though…him going on a trip to Europe to look for Neal is also…a good story (I legit have lots of ideas for how their story could continue/how Peter and Neal meet again…*flops*)

Unpopular opinion

I don’t know??? I mean I guess I’m both touched and a little like “would he though” when it came to naming his kid Neal because…it’s PRECIOUS but wouldn’t that freaking hurt him every time he said his son’s name??? Cause it would remind him of his pretty much other son???

Favorite relationship

DON’T MAKE ME CHOOSE BETWEEN PETER AND NEAL AND PETER AND ELIZABETH I LOVE THEM BOTH SO MUCH! How about just Peter, El, and Neal???

Favorite headcanon

I don’t know if I really have one but…I just had a cute thought of little Neal drawing pictures and Peter is like, “It’s like all of those…modern art things” so he hangs it up but then Mozzie sees it and is just like, “…no you can tell that was done by a two year old” and Peter is just like “how????”

Neal Caffrey

First impression

Who is this prison boi? Oh dang he is so smart?!? Oh gosh I really like him already…

Impression now

Neal…I love Neal, I don’t always agree with him but I love him. He has such a big heart and he cares so much about his found family like he legit PRETENDED TO DIE TO KEEP THEM SAFE HELP. He’s also gone through so much crap but he’s gotten through it (with his found family’s help) and he’s also like an amazing artist like Neal just make your own art you will be amazing at it???

Favorite moment

Oh gosh…I mean there are so many funny ones but…I just think of the sad ones…(I’m paraphrasing cause…I don’t remember exact quotes super well…)

“You’re the only one who saw good in me”

“Peter’s more of a father to me than you ever were!”

“You’re my best friend…my best friend”

Idea for a story

Okay, so Neal 100% puts together an all expense paid trip for the Burkes to come to Europe, because he misses his fam and by now Peter knows he faked everything sooo, he just kind of like shows up at their hotel room and then they catch up and everyone is happy. I also had an idea that Neal like joined a similar FBI thing and now he has his own like protege that he’s kind of training because yes

Unpopular opinion

I’m not happy with how they kind of seemed to instigate that “cons never change” and how Neal continually went back to crime. Like, it’s not terrible during the show, but the end made it seem like Neal was going to steal again and…no…like…come on, he’s learned, he had a fresh start. Let him start over plz

Favorite relationship

Neal and Peter are the best, but some other great ones are Neal and Mozzie and Neal and Elizabeth, honestly all of the platonic relationships are so goooood

Favorite headcanon

One day, Neal really tries to get into baseball for Peter, like do all the research and everything, and he actually kind of gets into it…but he legit just falls asleep on the couch while they are watching a game and Peter just sighs and smiles as he tucks a blanket around him 

Mozzie

First impression

Huh, this guy is…interesting…useful, but kind of eccentric, he’s kind of fun though?

Impression now

Mozzie is just too fun, and he cares so much about Neal, and in a way he gets his own kind of found family too which is just precious and good and yes

Favorite moment

Probably when he came out of hiding and brought his treasure with him to save El…but also him and Peter kind of helping each other cope after Neal faked his death…

Idea for a story

How about when he’s just chilling with Neal and Kate when they were smol and then Neal just casually goes “You know Moz, you really don’t need that toupee” and Mozzie just laughs until Neal says he’s serious and Kate agrees and from then on out Mozzie stops wearing it

Unpopular opinion

…I don’t think I really have one???

Favorite relationship

I couldn’t find a good gif *cries* but Mozzie and El are the best brotp, so pure

Favorite headcanon

He still thinks about his birth family from time to time, but then he looks around and realizes he does have a family and that helps him smile

Tony Stark

First impression

I honestly don’t remember I was like twelve…but I remember loving Iron Man so much more than I thought I would and I think I really did like Tony…

Impression now

I love him. Tony is the best. He is so smart, but also so kind. He has been through so freaking much and yet he keeps going, even when he has so many excuses to give up, or stop fighting, or heck even to look at the bad and pay people back for what they have done. But NO, he freaking keeps going, he helps other, he encourages the younger generation, he is broken but he hasn’t let that stop him. Tony is a gift to the MCU, end of story.

Favorite moment

Dude…only one??? I…I don’t know if I can pick just one??? I just keep coming back to the end of Homecoming - how Tony wraps his arm around Peter and says he did a good job, how happy he looks showing Peter the Iron Spider suit, his shock when Peter says no to being an Avenger and then that little shrug and smile when Happy says Peter is a good kid…there are so many other moments but that one just makes me happyyyy

Idea for a story

I really want Tony to get therapy…and like come to terms with his parents, both their death and his dad’s mistreatment of him. I feel like not a lot of people know that, so just Tony being able to tell someone at least, and get that off his chest. Heck give me Peter finding out and then finding out Tony is scared of being like his dad and Peter quickly reassures him that “No, you are a great dad! Or…you will be..I mean you’re a great mentor which is kind of like a dad, I’ll just stop talking now…” Tony is touched.

Unpopular opinion

Ummm, nothing? He’s an amazing awesome characters and all the haters don’t know what they are talking about???

Favorite relationship

I love Pepperony and so many others but….

Favorite headcanon

That Peter totally keeps Tony in the loop with all the things kids are doing, so Tony knows a lot of memes and vines (not all of them though he is still confused from time to time) and he watches lots of TV shows with Peter (hence why he knew who Squidward was) and they make references and quote things during battles and other people are just like ???

#peter burke #neal caffrey #mozzie #tony stark #white collar #mcu #elizabeth burke #peter parker #iron fam #a message from fulcrum #i stayed up too late answering this...but...oh welll xD #theragamuffininitiative #white collar spoilers #i want to add more gifs but..i tired...xD

[shirtlesssammy]

4x06: Yellow Fever

Then:

Cas saved Dean from Hell, and now Dean finds himself in a whole new kind of hell.

Now:

We open with our very own Dean Bean running like his life depends on it. And from the sound of the hounds barking behind him, it sounds dire. Dean’s fresh from hell so his fear of dogs is heightened here, so when a tiny little yorkie pops up on screen, I laugh but also cry.

43 Hours Earlier

Sam and Dean Agents Tyler and Perry pull into Rock Ridge, Colorado’s coroner’s office to investigate the death of one Frank O’Brien --a seemingly healthy 44 year old man who dropped dead three days ago. There’s been a string of heart attacks and Agent Perry just wants to see the autopsy report. One hasn’t been done, so the coroner sets to the task with the agents in attendance.

The brothers both notice oddities about the deceased body --missing wedding ring and scratches on the arms. The coroner finds nothing wrong with the heart and Sam gets hit with a little spleen juice. Yum.

Later, they meet with the very germaphobic sheriff --even surprising Dean! The sheriff was friends with Frank, and he mentions that Frank was scared of something before his death. The brothers reassure him that it was just a heart attack.

It was definitely not a heart attack.

They don’t know what it is, but decide to interview the neighbor of the victim as a start --right after Dean gives some loitering teens the stink eye.  

The neighbor is a collector of exotic pets it seems. And while Sam conducts the interview, Dean gets increasingly jumpy. They find out from him that Frank was afraid of everything before he died. He also reluctantly admits that once upon a time Frank was “a dick.” Also, his wife died about 20 years prior. That really broke him and he wasn’t so bad as the years went by.

Dean meets Marie.

Sidenote: I recall seeing an interview or con video once where they talk about this scene --and Jared was too afraid to be in the same room as the snake. Bravo on the editing. I wouldn’t have guessed.

Later, an increasingly jumpy Dean shows Sam his investigation into the death of Frank O’Brien’s wife --manic depressive who hung herself. Sam finds nothing at Frank’s apartment. It’s a real puzzle.

It’s also a real puzzle to Sam why Dean’s driving 20 mph. “Safety’s a crime now?” Dean asks indignantly. He also is not suicidal and won’t turn left into oncoming traffic (Cautiously smart, my friend.) It’s then that Sam hears his EMF machine go berzerk. “Am I haunted? Am I haunted?!” DEAN BEAN.

The next day (not sure where they slept the night before…), Sam surprises Dean jamming out to Survivor. He’s got scratch marks on his arm AND he passes on doughnuts. Sam’s reaction shots are PURE GOLD this episode. Sam talked to Bobby and Dean appears to be haunted with Ghost Sickness. It can spread like the flu once one person is infected. Frank contracted it first and passed it to friends --and Dean. They have to kill the ghost that started it all to save Dean. (But first Sam has to move their hotel room from the fourth floor to the first for Dean.)

Later, Dean’s reading up on Ghost Sickness when he starts coughing and hallucinating words on the page.

(Are all these close ups really necessary?)

Later, Sam returns with no news on who the ghost is and Dean laments on being near death again. It’s nice (but sad) to rewatch and realize how much they did address Dean’s Hell trauma.

He then coughs up a woodchip (I legit can’t breath during this every time) and Sam realizes that Dean’s a clue. “I don’t want to be a clue,” Dean whines. BBY.

They head to the local abandoned lumber yard. Dean refuses to go inside, but Sam needs backup. Dean drinks a fair amount of hunter’s helper...and decides that he’ll “man the flashlight.”

They head inside to investigate and find a kitten.

*Classic Gif Alert*

Sam is increasingly losing it. And Dean’s weak little “wait?” at the end of the scene? GAH.

They find more clues about Frank’s wife and Luther Garland, when the saw mill starts working. Manning the flashlight, Dean’s too paralyzed to say or do anything when he sees someone standing in the corner of the room.

Dean takes off and finishes off the rest of his booze while Sam blasts the ghost with salt. Their ghost is Luther Garland.

Back at the sheriff’s department, a drunk little Dean Bean flirts a little bit with the deputy. A drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts, Dean.

Sam snatches his brother away before he gets the dude’s number. (I mean, he was trying to reach into his pocket for a pen, right?)

The sheriff, through the intercom, asks what the Winchesters wanted and the deputy tells him. Cut to the Sheriff who is actually sandpapering the skin off his forearms. URG. He loads a gun. An apparition of himself intones ominously, “They know what you did.”

Meanwhile, Dean is still freaking the fuck out. At a retirement home, he jumps when he runs across a little old lady. Poor Dean.

They meet Mr. Garland, who asks for ID.

Dean freaks out about the scrutiny. “Those are real,” he tells Garland convincingly.

Sam asks Garland about the death of his brother. Garland tells them that everyone was scared of Luther, but he was the kindest man he ever knew. In the flashback Luther pulls a kitten out of a box and I melt into a giant puddle.

Sam pulls out the drawing of the woman they found. Garland identifies the woman as someone who worked at the mill. Her husband killed Luther and furthermore, this was common knowledge. Luther had a crush on her and when she killed herself Frank assumed that Luther had a hand in her death. He went into his room at the mill, saw pictures of her everywhere and assumed the worst. He tied a chain around Luther's neck and dragged him by a truck until he was dead.

Garland tells them that he complained to every cop he could find about Luther's murder but nobody would act on it. Frank was a pillar of the community. He says, in a moment that I did not remember at all, that he didn't hate Frank anymore. Frank's wife was missing and Frank was afraid. “That's fear,” Garland says. “It spreads and spreads.” (What an unexpected moment – where I remembered only fear and almost comical hijinks...there's this odd moment of peace and forgiveness - even of his brother’s murderer.)

The interview with Garland clarifies some things for Dean. The rash on his skin is road rash and the woodchips were swallowed by Luther as he was dragged. Dean's ready to burn some bones and be free again but Sam points out that Luther's body was ripped to shreds. They'll never recover all the remains.

Dean takes this very well.

Classic Dialogue Alert

Dean: What are we doing?!

Sam: We're hunting a ghost.

Dean: A ghost, exactly! Who does that?

Sam: Us.

Dean: Us? Right. And that Sam, that is exactly why our lives suck. I mean, come on, we hunt monsters! What the hell?! I mean, normal people, they see a monster, and they run. But not us, no, we search out things that want to kill us. Or eat us! You know who does that? Crazy people!

Dean heads off in a huff, flop sweating his ass off, when an adorable pup approaches. And we've joined up with the start of the episode. Sam finds Dean sweating and breathing hard in the motel room. Sam wonders how he got to the hotel. “Ran,” Dean says, wide eyed. Dean frets that he only has four hours left and Sam tells him it's about time he dies and heads back to hell. He's been a real pain in his ass. Sam's eyes glow yellow. Sam pushes Dean against the wall and tells him that the yellow eyes don’t mean he’s possessed...it's all him. He's going to turn evil and there's nothing Dean can do about it.

Snap to real Sam trying to help Dean calm down while Dean experiences a full out panic hallucination against the wall. It's getting bad...

It's time to bring in Bobby! He meets up with Sam and pulls out an encyclopedia of spirits written in Japanese. Bobby can both read and speak Japanese. Mmmmm yessss goooood. The fearful ghost, a Buru Buru, can be destroyed by fear. “So we have to scare a ghost to death?” Mmm hmm yes good luck with that.

Sam calls Dean and tells him to “hang in there” and they've got a plan. Cut to Bobby outside the mill who tells Sam that their plan is a TERRIBLE idea. Still, it's all they've got. Sam heads into the mill and tries to lure out Luther.

Back at the motel, Dean hears barking dogs. It's hellhounds at the door! No, it's the Sheriff. He breaks down the door, one arm bloody, and asks why Dean is looking into Luther's death. Dean tries to reason with him, even in his state of extreme fear, and the Sheriff decks him in response.

The Sheriff tells Dean that Frank was his friend and he let him go. He's not going to let Dean bring him down. Dean fights the Sheriff and sees his eyes turn demon black. Reality shifts madly between them. The Sheriff starts to seize from a heart attack. Dean yells at him to calm down but it's too late. (Yelling “calm down” is always effective with panic attacks.) The Sheriff dies.

Back at the mill, Sam realizes that walking around with a gun is scaring Luther's ghost. Sam sets down his gun and tries a different tack to luring out Luther. He starts tearing up the photos of the secretary. This works and Luther appears.

Dean continues to totally lose it, scratching his forearms and hearing barking hellhounds. He finds a bible and holds it in a firm embrace. Suddenly child-Lilith appears. She hugs him, sweetly,

Dean's going back to Hell. She tells him that she knows he remembers everything from Hell. Four months is like forty years, like “doggy years.” Oh, Dean Bean <3

Dean falls to the floor, his heart clenching. He tells her that she isn't real but she tells him it doesn't matter. “You're still gonna die. You're still gonna burn.” She smiles smugly.

“Why'd I get infected?” Dean asks.

“Silly goose. Listen to your heart. Ba BOOM BA BOOM.”

Luther, meanwhile, is beating up Sam. It's looking bad when Sam wraps chains around Luther's neck and yells at Bobby to “punch it.” Using the Impala, Bobby drags Luther's ghost in a horrible reenactment of his death, until Luther dissipates and moves on.

At the last minute, Dean gasps for air in the motel room and finds his arms are healed, skin unbroken.

Later, they tell Dean how they destroyed Luther's ghost with an iron chain. They gloss over the darkness of his second death and ask how Dean's doing. “I'm fine. You want to go hunting? I'll hunt. I'll kill anything.” So. Dean's doing GREAT and not at all long-term traumatized by his experiences in Hell.

For Science:

Bobby takes off and Sam asks Dean what he saw near the end. Dean thinks he sees yellow flash in Sam's eyes and tells him he saw “the usual stuff” and nothing he can't handle. Dean’s FINE, guys. EMOTIONS.

And while this is the end of the episode, it's not the END of the episode because. Guys. Here's where we get Jensen Ackles car dancing to Eye of the Tiger.

[video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljpJJCTBIKY]

Chuck bless this silly, serious, sometimes disturbing show.

The Only Thing We Have to Quote are Quotes Themselves:

Our room’s on the fourth floor. It’s...high.

Awesome. It's nice to have my head on the chopping block again. I almost forgot what that feels like

Who would pretend to be an FBI agent, huh? That's just nutty.

Life's too short for hate

You're gassy! You eat half a burrito, and you get toxic!

He's adorable.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spnrecap #spnrewatch #spn 4x06 #yellow fever #dean winchester #sam winchester #bobby singer #supernatural season 4

[chooseywoozy]

Across the Void, Book One: Chapter 1 - Sky Captain

(NOW PLAYING AS NITTY)

The battle rages all around you. Enemy fighters zoom in and out, firing at your ship.

Nitty: How much damage have the deflector shields taken?

Your pilot, Zekei, looks down at his data screen.

Zekei: We’ve lost seventy percent of shield capacity.

Nitty: Move away from the smaller fighters! Avoid any more direct hits!

Zekei: That might not be possible. Void torpedo incoming!

You turn to Zekei to give him the order.

Nitty: Spiral dive to avoid the torpedo’s lock on us!

Zekei: On it!

The ship veers sharply away from the torpedo, drawing it off course until it collides with a Void fighter!

Nitty: Woohoo!

Zekei: Shields and ship remain intact!

The scanners beside you let out a steady beeping.

Nitty: Is that another fleet of Void fighters?

Zekei: Looks like a hundred at least. Plus a handful of battleships.

You watch as the enemy vessels appear in the bridge viewport.

Nitty: Our ship won’t last very long against those…

You take a deep breath.

Nitty: We’re out of options. We’ve got to escape while we still can.

Zekei: Leave the fight?! That’s a huge risk.

Nitty: My first priority is keeping our passenger’s safe. This is the only way to ensure their safety.

Zekei gives you a respectful nod.

Zekei: Understood. Getting us out of here.

As Zekei programs the coordinates, you reach down to switch on the hyperspeed controls… Only to see that they won’t be recharged for another hour!

Nitty: The hyperspeed is disabled!

Zekei: We’re stuck. In a few seconds, the Void will blow us apart…

The ominous red lights on the Void ships flicker as you stare out into the darkness, mind racing for a solution.

Nitty: Wait… if we turn off the life support system, we could boost the engines enough to activate hyperspeed!

Zekei: you want to turn off life support?!

Nitty: It’ll only be for an instant. And you said it yourself, we’ll die if we just sit here!

Zekei: I… I don’t know…

Nitty: This will work. Trust me, Zekei.

Zekei: Okay… Shutting down now.

He reaches out a shaky hand… then switches off the life support.

Zekei: It worked! Hyperspeed’s online and ready when you are!

Nitty: Initiating hyperspeed in three… two… one!

The moment you press the button, lights flood the room… and the simulation vanishes! Zekei stands up, shaking nervous energy from his arms.

Zekei: I can’t believe we’re done!

You let out a hoot in excitement.

Nitty: Woo! We did it! We finished our Captain’s Exams!

Zekei: I’m in shock that you found a way to bypass the disabled hyperspeed. I’ve never heard of something like that!

Nitty: Hopefully it was the kind of unusual that’ll get me hired for my creativity, not punished for breaking the rules.

Zekei bites his lips nervously as the recruiters start filing into the room.

Nitty: Relax, Zekei. You’ve been talking about getting a job keeping the galaxy safe ever since we were kids. The Vanguard will hire you as a Marshall. Trust me.

Zekei: You’re right. We can do this.

He takes a deep breath.

Zekei: I’ll go talk to those Vanguard recruiters, while you meet with those luxury transport line owners over there.

Nitty: Next time you see me, I’ll be the captain of the biggest luxury transport ship here.

You start walking over to where the most well-known recruiters are, but a muscular Celd blocks your path.

Hostile Celd: You’re the one who shut off the life support on her ship, aren’t you?

Nitty: That’s me… Uh… I tried my best?

Hostile Celd: Let me give you a tip. You could use some advice from an expert. Life support reboot sequences are notoriously glitchy. The process can take hours. A stunt like that could’ve killed everyone on board.

Nitty: Or saved them.

Hostile Celd: Whatever you say. Good luck getting a job… I know I wouldn’t hire you aboard one of my cargo vessels.

Nitty: I don’t want the kind of job you’re offering anyway. I’m looking for a respected job captaining a luxury transport ship.

The Celd scoffs.

Hostile Celd: You want to work on a ship lugging snobby socialites across the galaxy as they lounge around sipping cocktails?

Nitty: Not everyone smuggles their passengers in cramped cargo crates. Some of us prefer comfortable, legal travel accommodations.

Hostile Celd: I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a war going on out there. It’s the reason the Captain’s Exam now includes a combat simulation. And before the Vanguard can extinguish those filthy Jura, those fancy ships you worship will be nothing more than target practise.

With a sneer, he spits at your feet, then storms away. A second later, Zekei runs up.

Zekei: Nitty, is everything okay? Was the Celd upsetting you?

Nitty: It was nothing. Just a bully with too much time on his hands.

Zekei: I’m sorry you had to deal with that.

As you look more closely at Zekei, you notice that he’s having a hard time keeping a straight face.

Nitty: You’re hiding something.

Zekei: How do you always know?

Nitty: Whenever you jiggle your knee like that, I know you’ve got good news.

Zekei: You got me. I’ve been offered a job as a Marshall!

Nitty: That’s fantastic!

You throw your arms around him and laugh merrily.

Nitty: I’m so proud of you!

Zekei: Thanks, Nitty. I couldn’t have done it without you by my side. You were always there for me when I started to doubt myself.

He gives you another squeeze before letting you go.

Zekei: They want me to meet with them.

His smile falters as he looks around, and sees that you’re the only student left waiting to be recruited.

Zekei: Do you want me to--

Nitty: Go on. I’ll be fine You don’t want to be late for your new job.

Zekei: I’ll meet you outside after, and you can tell me all about how you snagged your dream job.

Zekei hurries over to where the Marshalls are waiting for him. The moment his back is turned, you let your smile fade.

Nitty: Do you think I ruined my shot, Vee?

Vee lets out a shocked beep from where she always hovers, just beside your shoulder.

Vee: Never! Don’t give up Nitty!

Nitty: I shouldn’t--

Before you can finish your thought, Vee starts beeping excitedly.

Vee: Major Hottie Alert! I might have to shut down my circuits cause he’s approaching with a determined and sexy stride!

You follow her faze and see a tall, graceful Dynamas heading straight towards you. His deep voice calls out your name.

Stranger: Nitty Elara.

Nitty: Yes?

Sol: My name is Sol. I’m the First Officer aboard a Gemini Class luxury transport ship owned by Artemis Enterprises.

Nitty: Nice to meet you, Sol. I’ve done a lot of research on luxury transport lines, but I’m not familiar with yours.

Sol seems momentarily flustered. He stumbles over his words as he tries to recover from being caught off guard.

Sol: Oh, um… I suppose we have a tendency to keep to ourselves. The company itself is rather small. Anyway… if you will follow me, I have a proposition for you.

Nitty: Is this a romantic proposition?

Sol: Oh… no.

His cheeks blush a neon pink.

Sol: This is more of a business proposition.

Nitty: If you insist.

Sol leads you over to the now empty recruiter area, where a single Orcana sits with her hands poised over her lap.

Sol: Nitty, let me introduce you to the owner of Artemis Enterprises, and my employer, Artemis.

Artemis: Nitty! A pleasure. I watched your Captain’s Exam. You are precisely the kind of Captain I want working for me.

Nitty: Really? I was starting to worry--

Artemis: No need to be modest. You are a luxury transport owner’s dream. You came up with creative solutions to stay out of trouble.

Sol: She also proved that she could react quickly and effectively to an attack. I noted her response time in my files.

Artemis: My finest pilots couldn’t have done it better. You’d be surprised how many captains don’t have the same knack for avoiding trouble as you do. Especially my last captain.

Nitty: Did something happen to them?

Artemis: Never mind that. His mistakes is your gain! One of my prized ships, the Atlas, now needs a captain.

Nitty: Well, I think I’d be a great fit--

Artemis: The job is yours! You start tomorrow. Meet me at the hangar bay at dawn. The Atlas will depart as soon as you arrive.

Nitty: I’ll get to captain one of your ships? Thank you for this opportunity. I won’t let you down.

Artemis: That’s what I like to hear.

Nitty: I’m truly honored.

Sol looks up from the screen he’s hurriedly been typing away on.

Sol: I just sent the paperwork over to you, Nitty. Please look it over, and have it back to us before tomorrow.

Nitty: Got it. Is there anything else I need to do?

Artemis: Yes. Try to wear something that makes the passengers respect you. I’d hate for our more spirited guests not to take you seriously.

Artemis rises and strides away in one elegant motion with Sol effortlessly falling into step alongside her.

After you’ve finished filling out the paperwork, you step out onto the bustling city streets of the space station. You scan the crowd for Zekei.

Vee: Nitty! I see him! And he’s looking goooood. Like a tall glass of Starberry Julep!

Nitty: You say that every time you see him, Vee.

Vee: And every time it’s true!

Zekei sees you and smiles brightly as you walk over. You quickly fill him in on what happened.

Zekei: Congratulations, Nitty! Or should I call you Captain now?

Nitty: Hm… I wouldn’t mind you calling me Captain.

You shoot Zekei a mischievous smile.

Zekei: Yes, Captain.

Nitty: That’s more like it.

Zekei falls into step beside you as you start walking toward your favorite local bar.

Nitty: How’d your meeting with the Vanguard go?

Zekei: Good, I think. Though I was too nervous to form a semi-intelligent sentence.

He glances around the dome of the station, a nostalgic look on his face.

Zekei: I know we’ve spent so much time dreaming of getting off the station… but I’m going to miss this place, you know?

Nitty: Yeah… Will you miss me?

Zekei: The thought of not seeing you every day… it makes my heart ache.

Nitty: I’ll comm you so often, you’ll get sick of me.

Zekei: I don’t think that’s possible.

Ships fly over your head as you cross the street, buzzing as they zoom back and forth.

Nitty: This is it, Zekei. I’m finally going to be a captain of my own luxury transport ship. I’ll get to see the universe and help others while I do it.

Zekei: Plus, I’m sure you won’t be too broken up about leaving your siblings behind.

Nitty: Are you kidding? I’m ecstatic. I don’t think I can handle another day listening to them argue, and they’re on a different station. My job as a mediator will finally be over.

Zekei laughs as he holds open the door to the bar for you.

Zekei: Don’t worry, soon it’ll be smooth sailing light-years away from their meddling.

You step into the lively bar, and find yourself instantly lifted to your feet by the anti-gravity dancefloor.

Nitty: I’ll grab the celebratory drinks, while you go snag a seat.

Zekei: Good plan. I’ll get us one of the booths over there.

You fly over to the other side of the bar. As you land near the counter to place your order, the bartender sets down a drink in front of you.

Bartender: Compliments of the Apri over there.

You turn your head to see who sent you the drink, and find an Apri with bright eyes staring at you from across the room.

Vee: Ooh! I’m already intrigued! She’s a knockout!

The Apri walks over to you with a tentative smile.

Stranger: Hi there. I saw you come in… I hope you don’t mind I bought you a drink.

Nitty: I’d accept anything from you. You’re stunning.

The Apri’s face flushes a rosy pink.

Stranger: So are you.

Nitty: What’s your name?

Before she can answer, someone grabs your arm!

Nitty: Hey!

You turn to find… your brother, Eos.

Eos: Nitty!

You glance back at the Apri, but she has mysteriously disappeared.

Nitty: Eos?! What are you doing here?

Eos: I’m here to celebrate your new job as a Captain! And Zekei joining the Vanguard!

Nitty: You already know? I’m so glad you came to support me! I can’t believe my dream of being a captain is finally coming true.

Eos: You should be ecstatic! This is an amazing accomplishment. I wanted to see you in person to tell you how proud of you I am. Not everyone gets as lucky as you and lands a job as captain fresh out of their exam!

Nitty: That’s called skill, not luck.

Eos: You were a little unconventional… When I took my exam, I flew into the battle instead of away from it. But that’s why I got offered a job as a Marshall protecting the galaxy.

You roll your eyes.

Nitty: Uh-huh. We can’t all be as brave as you, Eos.

Eos follows you to the booth, where Zekei is waiting for you. Your brother flashes him a lopsided grin.

Eos: Speaking of defending the galaxy! Zekei, do you know who your partner is going to be yet?

As Eos speaks, he slings his arm around Zekei’s shoulders and gives him a friendly squeeze. Zekei takes a quick sip of his drink to try to hide how his face flushes.

Zekei: Uh, no. I haven’t been assigned one yet.

Eos: Really? That’s interesting…

A hand touches your back suddenly, and before you can react, arms wrap around you in a tight hug.

Pax: Nitty! Congratulations on making Captain!

You pull away, shocked to see your little sister standing before you.

Nitty: Pax?! What are you doing here?

Pax: I hacked into the feed from your exam and saw the whole thing. It was stellar!

Nitty: You watched my exam? It’s so sweet of you to support me! This is a huge moment for me. It means a lot that you wanted to be a part of that.

Pax: Aw, you’re making me tear up. Wouldn’t have missed it.

Eos steps closer to Pax, and she immediately straightens her posture.

Eos: You can’t just hack into the Captain’s Exam, Pax. There are protocols in place to stop that kind of behaviour.

Pax: Not everyone can follow the rules as blindly as you do, big brother.

Zekei takes a swig of his drink, then whispers in your ear.

Zekei: I’m going to head out. I know by now that once Eos and Pax start arguing, it’s time to call it a night. I hate to leave you stuck with them though.

Nitty: I’ll be okay. I’m used to their bickering. Meet me by the cadet quarters in about an hour.

Zekei: Will do. I’ll need you to help me calm my nerves before my first day. Good luck, Nitty.

Nitty: Thanks, I’m going to need it.

As Zekei walks away, you turn back to your siblings.

Pax: You should tell your Marshall buddies to get a life and stop throwing me in jail.

Eos: Maybe if you focused more on your engineering career, I wouldn’t have to spend my time bailing you out.

You jump in to try to redirect the conversation.

Nitty: I forgot to mention what my first destination as Captain will be! The ship is traveling to Matara!

Pax: Oooh! The Capital planet! How glamorous!

Eos draws his eyebrows together thoughtfully.

Eos: It’s a long journey to Matara… that is, if you intend on taking a safe route through space.

Nitty: The First Officer sent me the ship’s itinerary already. We’ll be traveling along the Cassiopeia route.

Eos: The Cassiopeia route?1 That’s right alongside a war zone! The only ships that travel near there are Jura and Vanguard battleships! You’ll be in charge of a ship full of high class passengers who paid for the best travel experience money can buy. How do you plan on keeping them happy while dodging in and out of enemy fire?

Nitty: We’ll never be in the war zone. It’s far enough away. I’ll be perfectly safe. You worry too much.

Eos: I’m your big brother. That’s my job.

Pax sets down her drink, linking her elbows with you and Eos.

Pax: Enough talking. Let’s dance! It’s Nitty’s big night!

Your sister pulls you out to the zero gravity dance floor. As she lets go, you float up into the air. Your limbs rise up, and your body rotates under the changing neon lights as you give into the feeling of weightlessness.

Nitty: It’s about time we celebrated.

Eos: As long as Pax doesn’t make us do the routine she invented when we were kids.

Pax: I totally forgot about the infamous Antimatter Arc! Now we have to do it!

Eos groans loudly as you laugh.

Nitty: You’re the one who brought it up, brother.

Eos: You’re right. I have only myself to blame.

Pax: Come on, you know you love it. Now line up!

You fly in between Pax and Eos, with her on your right side and him on your left.

Pax: Remember how it goes? First I’ll tumble over Nitty’s back, then she’ll flip over Eos’s back.

Nitty: Right. Then we finish with a group somersault!

Eos: It’s all coming back to me now. Let’s get this over with.

Pax uses the zero gravity to roll over your back and jump up into the air, then you gracefully use your momentum to twist over Eos and leap into the air!

Nitty: Woo!

Eos launches himself up into position, so the three of you are hovering in a circle.

Pax: Time for the big finale!

In unison, you each roll outward in perfect somersaults!

Eos: Yeehaw!

Nitty: We did it--

Before you can finish, your foot hits a large Celd in the chest… the same Celd from your exam!

Hostile Celd: Oof!

Nitty: Uh oh!

The Celd roars loudly in anger.

Hostile Celd: I remember you! You think you can hit me as payback for calling you out at your Captain’s Exam?!

Nitty: I didn’t mean to hit you. I’m really sorry! I swear it was an accident!

Hostile Celd: You must think I’m stupid to believe that!

Pax whirls over to move between you and the Celd. Her petite frame is nearly a third of the size of him.

Pax: You need to back off. That’s my sister you’re talking to.

Hostile Celd: That’s funny, all I see is a coward who’d flee from a fight.

He spits the last part in your direction. Pax is about to retort when Eos floats over to gently guide her away. He then addresses the Celd authoritatively.

Eos: Take it easy. I’m a Vanguard Marshall. We can all walk away peacefully.

You’ve just turned away when you hear Pax shout…

Pax: Nitty, watch out!

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the Celd’s fist flying toward you! You bend backward… and watch as the Celd’s arm swings through the air harmlessly.

Nitty: Missed me.

Hostile Celd: Let’s see you be clever when there’s no life support system for you to cut.

Pax launches herself at the Celd as she lets out a battlecry.

Pax: Get your grubby hands away from her!

The Celd growls and rips Pax off of him, his fingernails drawing blood.

Hostile Celd: Pathetic gutter rat!

Pax screams as the Celd flings her into a group of nearby dancers.

Pax: Aaaah!

You rush to your sister’s side.

Nitty: Pax! Are you okay?

As you untangle Pax from the frightened patrons, Eos throws his body into the Celd, sending him flying!

Hostile Celd: Arrghh! What happened to walking away peacefully?

The Celd tries to kick your brother as Eos approaches, but Eos catches the Celd’s leg and flings him into the glass window!

Eos: You went after my siblings. Peace is going out the window… and so are you!

You speed through the air, rushing to help Eos as he dodges the Celd’s punches.

Eos: Nitty! Hold down his left wrist while I get cuffs on him!

Eos removes a pair of cuffs from his Marshall belt, and clamps them down on the Celd’s right wrist. You grab the Celd’s left wrist and hold it still as Eos slaps the cuff on it!

Eos: Nice work! You’ve got Marshall quick reflexes.

Nitty: Thanks! Do I get a citizen’s arrest badge?

Eos: Sorry, we only give those out to kids.

Instead of giving up, the Celd pumps his cuffed arms into the glass wall of the dome!

Hostile Celd: Raarg!

Eos: Stand down, now! Backup is on the way. I suggest you don’t make this any more difficult for yourself.

Hostile Celd: I’ll tear this whole place apart if it means taking you down with me!

He pounds on the glass again with his exceptional strength. A tremor ripples through the room!

Hostile Celd: Let’s see how you handle a real life situation outside of the simulation room!

Nitty: That doesn’t look good.

Eos: What should we do? If that glass cracks, this whole space station will collapse!

The bar shakes again as you frantically search the room for some kind of solution.

Nitty: I’ve got it! Pax, disable the zero gravity controls!

Pax: Good thinking, sis!

Down below, Pax somersaults over to the zero gravity panel.

Pax: This will just take a sec…

As the Celd bangs on the glass, Pax’s fingers speed over the controls.

Nitty: Pax, hurry!

Pax: I need everybody to get off the dancefloor this instant!

The other dancers scream and fly over to the booths on the far side.

Pax: Cutting the power!

You, Eos, and the Celd drop suddenly toward the ground… Eos crashing directly on top of the Celd, while you fall directly on Pax!

Hostile Celd: Ugggh,,,

Nitty: Acck!

Pax: Oof!

Eos drags the Celd to his feet as a group of Marshalls swarns inside to retrieve the rabble rouser.

Hostile Celd: Get your filthy hands off me!

You stand up, then help your sister.

Nitty: Nice going with those controls, Pax! How’d you know the Celd wouldn’t land on Eos?

Pax: Uh… wishful thinking?

Eos shoots Pax a glare, then glances around at the mess left in the wake of the brawl.

Eos: Since I’ve avoided being crushes, I’m going to go give the bartender a tip for cleaning this up.

As Eos head over to the other side of the bar, you step outside with Pax.

Pax: Nothing like surviving a good bar fight to make you feel alive.

Nitty: Instead of getting in bar fights every night, you should be using your engineering talents for noble causes. I mean, you hacked into that zero gravity system like it was nothing. Think of all the good you could do, Pax.

Pax: I don’t get into bar fights every night. Sometimes it’s a street fight… or a spirited arm wrestle.

Nitty: I’m not kidding around. Listen… It’s great that you always stand up for others. I know you want to do the right thing. That’s admirable, but you don’t always get to decide what that is.

Pax: I don’t always think I’m right…

You shoot a sideways glance at your sister.

Nitty: Uh huh.

Pax: Okay, maybe I do.

Nitty: My point is, you should spend time doing what’s best for you, and quit acting on impulse. You can’t take on the whole galaxy.

She flashes you a playful smile.

Pax: You say that like it’s easy to quit being such a stellar galactic hero. You’re right. Something has to change. I promise, Nitty, from here on out, I’m going to turn things around.

Nitty: I hope for your sake that’s true.

You and Pax have crossed to the other side of the street when you hear footsteps behind you.

Eos: Wait up! Nitty, you can’t leave the station without saying goodbye to your big brother.

Nitty: I guess I don’t have a choice.

Pax: Oh right! I didn’t even think about how we weren’t going to see you for a while! What’ll we do without you?

Nitty: Without me, maybe you’ll learn to get along. Now’s your chance to get closer!

Your siblings look at each other uncertainly.

Pax: ...Um, great?

You reach the crossroads on the other side of the street.

Nitty: Well, I guess this is goodbye.

Pax throws her arms around you, standing on the tips of her toes to reach your neck.

Pax: I’ll miss you, sis.

Eos: Maybe we’ll see each other sooner than you think.

You let out a startled chuckle.

Nitty: No offense, brother, but I hope not. I’m ready for a fresh start.

After you’ve finished saying goodbye to both of them, you head down the street to meet Zekei in front of the cadet quarters.

Zekei: I didn’t think you’d ever get away from them.

Nitty: Me neither. How should I celebrate my newfound freedom?

Zekei: I was hoping you would want to come lay out on the top of the dome with me.

Nitty: You want to stare up at the stars together one last time?

He casts his eyes down for a second.

Zekei: There’s nothing I’ll miss more than the hours we used to spend up there together. So, what do you think?

Nitty: Let’s go.

Zekei: Lead the way.

After climbing up the stairs to the top of dome, you step out onto the glass beneath the air shield.

Nitty: I’ll never get tired of this.

Zekei smiles and lays down for a better view of the stars.

Zekei: It’s so peaceful out here.

You start to bend down beside him… As you lie down, you place your feet over his, the bare skin around your ankles touching his.

Zekei: This is nice.

Nitty: It’s surprisingly cosy.

Overhead, a shooting sky darts across the dark sky.

Zekei: I can’t believe this is the last time we’ll be up here.

Nitty: I know. I can barely remember when we started doing this. But think of how far we’ve come. We used to lie here dreaming of the future.

Zekei: You swore you’d be a captain someday.

Nitty: And you vowed to become a Marshall.

He turns his head to look at you.

Zekei: We should set a new goal. Something to work toward.

Nitty: Let’s promise to come back here together one day. That way, no matter how far apart we get, this place will always be our place.

Zekei: We’ll always find a way back to each other.

Nitty: I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Zekei: Neither would I.

A large, sleek spaceship rumbles as it flies above.

Nitty: Soon I’ll be up in something like that. Can you believe how long it’s been since we left Cyber?

Zekei: It feels like a lifetime ago that we packed up everything to come here. I was terrified. The only thing that kept me from turning around and going home was having you beside me.

Nitty: I couldn’t have been happier to leave all of it behind. Especially my siblings.

Zekei: I know Pax and Eos drive you crazy… but the three of you have always been like family to me. When they showed up on the station today after all this time apart, I was glad to see them again. I’d really missed them.

Nitty: I bet you missed Eos’ charm. I swear he gets out of almost any situation when he flashes his smile.

Zekei: We’re lucky he doesn’t use it for evil. Friends like Eos and Pax don’t come along every day. They’re the only ones who’ve literally taken a hit while defending me before.

Nitty: What?! Why have I never heard this story?

Zekei: i guess I was embarrassed, You and I must’ve been about ten. There was this group of kids who’d pick on me on my way home from your house every day.

Nitty: Zekei, you should’ve told me. That’s terrible.

He shrugs, trying to brush it off as nothing.

Zekei: It was typical stuff. They’d make fun of me for wanting to be a Marshall. Say that a Technical Cyber could never become a Community Cyber.

Nitty: I know Pax was told the reverse. She always hated that. Especially since she hates when anyone tries to tell her what to do.

Zekei: I think it’s part of what brought me closer to Pax. You and I were best friends, and Eos and I shared the desire to become Marshalls. But with Pax, we  both felt like outcasts.

Nitty: So what happened that day?

Zekei: I’d gotten one of those Marshall badge stickers they give kids. The oldest bully came over and tore it right off me, then shoved me to the ground and let the other kids kick me. Eos and Pax came running out of the house screaming at them. Pax jumped on the back of the kid who’d shoved me and started punching him, while Eos stopped the other kids from attacking me.

Nitty: Were you okay?

Zekei: A few bruises. Pax and Eos kept fighting until the bullies ran away screaming. Eos helped me up off the ground and said I’d never have to worry about those kids again. And I never did. Not once.

Nitty: I never knew they did that for you. I guess I can’t say Eos and Pax were never there for us. Even though, in my case, it was mostly when I didn’t want them to be.

Zekei lets out a gentle chuckle.

Zekei: Were you glad to see them today? To say goodbye?

Nitty: Yes. Despite everything I love them. They’re my family. I know they mean well. Even if it doesn’t feel that way most of the time.

He nudges your shoulder with his teasingly.

Zekei: Nice of you to give them points for effort.

You spread your arms out to encompass the vastness of space.

Nitty: Once we’re out on our own in the galaxy, all of this will be a million light-years away.

Zekei: I’m really glad you came up here with me tonight.

Nitty: Me too. This was the perfect way to say goodbye to all this.

He tilts his head to catch a glimpse of a passing comet… You scoot closer, resting your head on his shoulder. You feel his smile as he leans his cheek against your hair.

Zekei: I could stay like this forever.

Nitty: We’ve got too much ahead of us to stand still.

Zekei: I’ll try to remember that when I’m missing you.

As you gaze up at the comet streaking across the sky, you find yourself anxious to be flying among the stars.

The next morning, you take one last look at the city streets as you head over to the entrance to the lift.

Nitty: This is it, Vee. My first day as Captain.

Vee: The galaxy better be ready because you’re going to be the best captain ever!

As you chuckle, you see Zekei striding towards you in his new Marshall uniform.

Zekei: I can’t believe I finally get to wear one of these uniforms.

He tries to smooth down the front of his shirt, but his hands are shaking too much. His expression wavers as he glances back up at you.

Zekei: Do I look okay? I’m worried I don’t look the part.

Nitty: You look gooooood. You’re one dapper Cyber.

Zekei’s face turns bright red.

Zekei: I don’tknow about that… but thanks. It’s probably just the uniform.

Nitty: You’re the one making that uniform look handsome.

As you step into the lift headed to the outskirts of the space station, Vee perks up at the mention of clothes.

Vee: Ooh! Nitty! I made something for you!

Nitty: You did?

You lean toward Zekei conspiritorially.

Nitty: Back in a minute, Vee’s in full fashion mode.

Zekei: Have fun. I know how passionate she can get.

The walls of your virtual closet spring up around you as Vee twirls back and forth in excitement.

Vee: I made a captain’s hat for you! I even put the symbol of your new ship, the Atlas, on it!

You wink at yourself in the mirror.

Nitty: I was made to wear this.

Vee: I also virtually designed a uniform fit for a luxury transport ship captain! If you like it, we can make it for you! If you look the part, the crew and passengers will have no choice but to welcome you with open arms! I’ll have to shut down your closet to recharge for a while after this, so act now! … Eeeeek! You look so commanding! Like a real captain!

Nitty: That’s good, since I am a real captain.

The virtual closet dissolves, leaving you standing on the landing platform as the lift zooms to a stop.

Nitty: All set. Wish me luck on my first day.

Zekei looks your new ensemble up and down.

Zekei: In that outfit, everyone will follow your orders. I know I would.

Nitty: That’s what I’m hoping for.

Zekei: I expect to hear everything about your first day. Even the boring stuff.

He starts walking across the platform.

Zekei: Come on, I’ll walk with you to your ship. Then I’ve got to hurry over to 24A before my nerves get the better of me.

You stop mid-step to stare at him.

Nitty: Wait… the Atlas is docked at 24A.

Zekei: That’s right, the Atlas. The Senior Marshall I’m partnering with wants me to report to him on board.

You hear the sound of your brother chuckling behind you.

Eos; Yes, I do. I pulled a few strings and got Zekei assigned as my partner. Then I pulled a few more to get us assigned to the Atlas. This way I can keep my little sister safe, and the gang is all back together.

Nitty: Eos--

Before you can finish your thought, Pax appears and throws her arms around you and Eos.

Pax: It’s not a reunion without me! I snagged the Chief Engineering job aboard the Atlast!

Nitty: Pax?!

Artemis appears up ahead, waving you over to her.

Artemis: Nitty, over here!

As you leave, you hear your siblings begin to bicker, and Zekei attempting to mediate. You quickly collect yourself to face your new boss.

Nitty: Good morning, Artemis. It’s good to see you.

Artemis: We’re on limited time here, Nitty. Are you ready to see your ship?

Nitty: Yes! I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life. I feel like everything has been leading me to this.

Artemis: That’s exactly how I felt when I captained my first ship.

As you step onto platform 24A, Artemis sweeps her hand out with a smile.

Artemis: Nitty, this is the Atlas.

Thoughts on the episode…

Okay, so… first off the music is incredible. Especially in the diamond scene with Zekei, it was giving me goosebumps! It’s great that Pixelberry are more able to create more music for individual stories now.

The LI in this story so far are… eh. I’m hoping we meet some more in chapter two. Zekei feels too much like a friend even when I chose the romantic options. Sol was cute, but also I don’t trust Artemis so I feel like by extension I don’t trust him all that much. The girl at the bar was hot, actually. So maybe her?

I really like Eos and Pax actually. The only time when I thought they were actually as invasive as MC makes out is right at the end when they suddenly all turned up with jobs on the Atlas to keep an eye on us. How the hell did Pax get a job as the Chief Engineer when she’s apparently nothing but trouble? She might be skilled but if she’s always getting into fights, it doesn’t really scream professional.

Vee needs to go into the bin. Such an unnecessary addition to the whole story… do we really need a cute little sidekick that, at it’s base level, is just a horny wardrobe? There are other ways to relieve the tension.

Fave Character of the Chapter: Pax

Least Fave Character of the Chapter: Vee

#across the void #atv #choices atv #choices #playchoices

[rosyredlipstick]

Ooh any headcanons about the big three kids?

Thalia - oh my goooood. I have a bigger crush on her then on Piper fucking McLean which is Saying Something. Homegirl is an expert at leading your local moon girls gang. Secretly the mom friend (courtesy of Jason age 1-3, and later due to finding a dirty Annabeth hiding in a moldy cardboard box) but is incredibly aggressive about. She finds out you haven’t eaten yet today? Will slam down a plate and glare at you until it’s basically licked clean. Has threatened her fellow Artemis girls into pulling out their winter boots weeks early. Has a crayon drawing down by the renowned artist Jason Grace. age 2 somewhere around the Zeus cabin (under one of the floorboards - it wasn’t a great reminder when she briefly lived there alone)

Jason - Such. a. goddamn. nerd. how the fuck did this loser score piper “babe” mclean?? science is still discussing. checks in on di Angelo once a week, has meetings with Solace about Nico’s slowly improving health. President of the di Angelo protection squad. Will sneak out of camp to get his girl a vegan-whatever-the-hell smoothie from the local jumba juice (around an two hour walk from camp, half hour fly) just because she’s craving it. breaks his glasses 2x a month, they have duplicates automatically shipped to camp now. Once saw an Ares kid bullying one of the new campers and Saw. Red. When he came to, he had bruised knuckles, Nico was laughing hysterically, and Will was checking the guys vitals. Dude was fine, but Nico retold the story for weeks and dude never messed with anyone again while Jason was around. 

Percy - oh my GOD. Percy fucking Jackson. Leans against walls to look cool but completely misses them. Tries to pick flowers for Annabeth and accidentally causes a passive-aggressive turf war with the local nymphs (and has to send Grover in with a peace present of soil enhancer packets Sally found for him) 10000% cried the first time he met his little sister. When she’s old enough, she’ll trace the many, many scars that adorn our boy and ask about them and he won’t hesitate to pull out the most elaborate, most creative heroic tales on how he got them (which….happen to be completely false. not because our boy isn’t a hero, hell no, but because sometimes you can’t explain some things to a child, much less to a child who looks at you with stars in her eyes when you hold up water bubbles during bath time. but dont worry - when she’s older, Annabeth will not hesitate to inform Percy’s family on how much of a hero our boy is) 

Nico - my bb. my son. getting better but still has his angst days where someone will whisk him off into the sunset. usually works but hey, sometimes you just need to sit in the dark for awhile, and he doesn’t even fight it anymore when Will will join him and nap or Jason will play on his DS or Hazel draws quietly in the corner or even Percy occasionally will just sit with him in the dark (because….yeah. after tartarus, sometimes you just need…..quiet. you need to hold you hands over your eyes and breath and listen to the sounds of a summer camp outside and just keep reminding yourself that you’re here, not there, and the coolness on your skin is from darkness and air conditioning and not from death). it’s…nice. knowing he’s not alone. knowing that Jason cursing over the bright screen of his game, or Hazel smiling softly as her pencil slides over paper, or Will’s soft snores and heavy breathing at his side, or just Percy’s quiet presence at his side, that this, that them isn’t something that’s going to disappear when he wakes up in a cold sweat tomorrow morning. 

Hazel - Jason may be the president of the di Angelo protection squad but Hazel’s the goddamn founder. Spends any & all free time in the stables, either just grooming or sometimes drawing the animals. Drags Percy in there to talk to them for her, because yeah, that’s still so cool. Frank brings her PBJs whenever she misses lunch in order to finish a drawing and she honestly thinks it’s the sweetest thing ever even if she doesn’t even like peanut butter that much, she beams while she eats the entire thing. Cries when it’s time to return to New Rome, makes Nico promise on bi-weekly messages (and Nico swears to teach her how to Iris-message even? though? it’s? literally? just? a? rainbow?) I have this weird thought that she really enjoys mood-changing colored nail polish idk

#percy jackson #Nico di Angelo #jason grace #hazel levesque #thalia grace #headcanons #the big three kids #rosy answers #anon #my asks #Percy Jackon and the Olympians #will solace

[whatjeon]

Myosotis (Jimin)

Summary: You and Jimin have a different type of summer love. Your feelings run deeper, your hands are held tighter, and your smiles are most definitely brighter than any other person who can say they’ve had a summer romance. But as the end of summer draws near, it’s only getting harder to detach yourself from the blond-haired Busan local. Maybe you don’t want to. And maybe, he doesn’t either. (5.3K words)

Genres: Fluff, Angst, AU

You rest your head next to Jimin's, aimlessly gazing at the cloud-cluttered sky from the middle of a secluded meadow. His hand brushes against yours, intertwining your fingers together. Feeling the contact of his soft skin against yours, the corner of your mouth twitches upwards. You glance over at his sunlit face and blood rushes through your veins just a little bit faster. It's a minuscule difference in speed, but still enough to let you know that yes, you are, in fact, alive and in love and that some daydreams have the potential to become day-to-day occurrences, as shown by the fingers currently locked with yours.

"What're you looking at?" Jimin asks, although judging by the tone of his voice, he already knows the answer. Hearing his smooth voice break through the sound of birds chirping and wind blowing, the tug at the corner of your lips you felt moments before turns into a wide grin. You don't answer, and his plump lips part again.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it, Y/N?" What leaves Jimin's mouth doesn't surprise you, but you hadn't been expecting it either. The bottle-blond is the king of small-talk, but he's never once applied his skill to your conversations. ("Space-filling chatter doesn't get people to fall in love with you," you recall him saying at a diner somewhere far away from the buzz of the city. "And if you haven't noticed, Y/N, I'm trying really hard to get you to fall in love with me.") "If only we had the privilege to see this every day of the year- not just during the summer." Your chest tightens at his words because you know that behind what seems to be a casual remark on the weather lies a bitter, sombre, and unavoidable truth.

Luck doesn't seem to be on either one of your sides because, at the end of this summer, you'll be on a plane heading back to America and Park Jimin will still be running around Busan. You'll fall back into your regular routines, hanging out with the same old friends, viewing the same old landscape, and life will resume like you had never met the brown-eyed boy. Your cheerful mood dissipates at the thought of being unable to conjure up an image of his boyish smile or the sound of his high-pitched laughter or the feeling of his lips on yours. Jimin, noticing the sudden change in your disposition, flips himself over so that he's propped up on his elbows and his warm eyes are searching through yours.

"Sorry, that was-" You silence his apology with a gentle kiss, tilting your head up to meet his. The words die in his throat as your lips mould together. You pull back and cup his cheek in your hand, caressing his skin with the pad of your thumb.

"We have exactly one more month, don't we? That's thirty-one days of beautiful Busan weather," you remind him, feeling your heart leap with joy when he flashes you his mega-watt smile and leans down to kiss you again. That's thirty-one days of you and me together.

Time flies quickly- far too fast for your liking. It's only been a week since that day in the meadow, and yet, you find your affections running even deeper for Jimin. You won't call it love, no, one month is not nearly enough for you to identify the cause behind the red in your cheeks or bounce in your step; but you don't know what else to call it, so you don't give it a name. For now.

It's a bright Tuesday morning when you wake up to the sound of your grandmother calling your name. "Y/N, Jimin is here!" The mentioning of his name causes you bolt out of bed, get yourself dressed, wash your face, and brush your teeth in record time. You practically slide down the stairs and sprint to the living room where, sure enough, the blond is animatedly gossiping with your local Busan grandmother with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He says something particularly funny that causes the old woman to throw her head back laughing. You feel an odd stirring feeling in your chest as you watch the scene unfold from the doorframe. Jimin's eyes wander over to you and the polite smile he had on his face while conversing with your grandmother widens into a beam.

"Goooood morning, Y/N!" he sings, handing you the assortment of purple flowers. You accept them with an adoring smile and lower your head to smell the blossoms, noticing the card attached to the bottom of the bouquet holder. Quirking an eyebrow up at your suddenly bashful boyfriend, you read the contents of the card out loud.

"Y/N, if I were a gardener, I'd put our tulips together," you state. You catch the pun immediately, bursting into a fit of giggles. Jimin watches you with a soft smile and shining eyes. Even your grandmother rolls her eyes at your boyfriend's card from behind his back, calling it "sickeningly sweet." Jimin sheepishly runs a hand through his bouncy blond hair. You can see that his cheeks are slowly turning red with each passing second, so you place your fingers beneath his chin and press a quick kiss to his soft lips to spare him from his embarrassment. Your grandmother quietly chuckles to herself says something about going out to the supermarket before slipping through the front door, leaving the two of you alone.

"I guess you're the one wearing the overalls in this relationship," he jokes once your lips part. You snort at his attempt of redeeming himself and walk to the kitchen to put your tulips in water as Jimin begins telling you something about having to take you to Haeundae beach at least once during your stay in Busan. You can hardly understand what he's saying, though, because the image of his eyes looking at you so lovingly while you were laughing at his pun is still burning itself into your brain. It practically comes out from nowhere, but you suddenly feel like the tulips aren't the only things blooming under this roof and the space between you and the sun-kissed boy is too damn big and you just want to hear the softness of his breath and the rhythm of his heart as he holds you after dark and-

He's really done it now. You're in love with Park Jimin. With your breath caught in your throat, you set the vase containing your flowers down on the kitchen counter.

"Are you alright?" Jimin asks, concernedly. His firm arm snakes around your abdomen as he searches your face for any signs of distress. "Are you allergic to flowers? Do-"

You laugh and turn around so that you're looking into his eyes and gently wrap your arms around his neck. Automatically, his hands find their way to your waist, resting on the curve of your hipbones.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Jimin questions with a murmur, causing your lips to twitch upwards.

"I love you," you whisper for the first time, biting back a grin from crawling onto your face. A flood of emotions flash through Jimin's eyes, but the only expression left on his features is pure ecstasy.

Wordlessly, he dips his head down and softly kisses your pink lips. His lips taste like honey and citrus, a trait you've certainly noticed before but were never able to pinpoint. As he feels you kiss back, he presses against you with a slight bit more force, allowing a low groan to escape from his throat when you playfully trap his bottom lip between your teeth for the longest millisecond in his life.

"I've been dying to hear you say those three words," he says breathlessly, tearing apart from the kiss. "Because it'd be awkward for me to say them if you didn't feel the same." He flashes you a crooked smile.

Through your heavy breaths, you laugh at his confession. "Say it back, Park Jimin," you tease, eyes twinkling up at him.

Jimin closes the gap between the two of you again and rests his forehead against yours. "I. Love. You," he says, peppering your face with kisses.

Another week slips out of your hands as you find yourself dancing around a bonfire on Dadaepo Beach at a party thrown by Jimin's friend. "Is it legal to start a bonfire here?" you ask Jimin over the noise of the party, strolling along the water with your flip flops dangling from your left hand. He laughs and grabs your free hand with his, lacing your fingers together.

"It's Dadaepo Beach, Y/N, not Haeundae," he explains, a bemused expression gracing his features. "As long as you don't light the water on fire, you're good. It's a lot less popular than Haeundae, so no one really cares what you do here at night."

"Local hacks, I'm guessing. Cheats enabled," you joke, cracking a grin as you hear Jimin's laugh break through the evening air. The loud music softens once the two of you walk farther away from the party, turning into white noise accompanying the crashing of waves against the shore and seagulls flying overhead.

Once you reach a certain part of the beach, Jimin plops himself down on the sand and pats the spot next to him for you to sit down on. You sit cross-legged beside him and let out a content sigh, watching the starry night sky with fascination. Jimin glances down at your wide eyes and drapes his arm over your shoulder, pulling you in closer to his body.

"I'm going to miss this," Jimin comments with a sadness evident in his tone. "Just you and me, sitting together under the sky, with no end dates, no goodbyes... just the world for us to admire and time for us to waste. I'm going to miss this so much." He exhales wearily.

You playfully shrug off his arm and scoot around to face him. "Why are you talking like I'm leaving tomorrow?" you ask quizzically, grinning from ear to ear. "Be more positive! We still have two weeks, Jimin. That's fourteen days worth of sunrises and sunsets-"

"Are you serious?" Jimin cuts you off, an irritated look stretching across his moonlit face. You're taken aback for a moment- what set him off? You had almost forgotten that such ethereal features were indeed capable of hosting such unpleasant expressions. "You're telling me to be more positive when the girl that I love is leaving my country in two weeks, and I'll likely never be able to see her ever again? It's almost like you don't even fucking care about all of this- about me, Y/N. Is this all just a fucking joke to you?" His voice raises louder with each sentence he spouts, so uproarious that by the time he's finished, the crashing of the waves just inches away sound like whispers compared to his clamour. He stands up and puts some distance between the two of you, soaking his feet in the water.

You can only blink at the riled up boy facing the ocean, shocked at his anger and hurt by his accusations. A voice at the back of your mind tells you to step up for yourself, goddamnit, and you pull yourself together and respond with just as much rage, getting up as you do so. "I was just saying that you didn't have to be such a fucking pessimist about something that you have no control over," you respond viciously, stalking over to where the blond-haired boy's standing. "Every time we have a moment to ourselves, you just ruin it with all of that 'I'm going to miss this' shit that it feels like you aren't even trying to fucking enjoy the time we have together with all this thought about the future on your mind!"

"Because I'm fucking torn that you're leaving! Am I not allowed to express my goddamn feelings?" Jimin yells exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in the air.

"If you're torn then show it to me instead of saying the same fucking thing like a broken tape recorder," you demand- almost threaten, stepping in front of your boyfriend's path, glaring up into his fiery eyes. He glowers unwaveringly back into yours. Your hostile eye contact is broken by a nearby shout.

"Hyung!" his friend, Jeongguk, yells from a distance, waving at your faraway figures. "Get over here! You too, Y/N! The party's here"- he points at where all the music and lights are coming from -"not there!" Jeongguk points where you and Jimin stand, unaware of his intrusion upon your argument.

"I'm not doing this," Jimin finally responds, brushing past your shoulder and walking back to the party. "I'm done." You watch him pick up his pace and jog over to Jeongguk before they walk off together, choosing to wait a while before making your way to the get-together, reflecting on the fight you just had with your- you pause in your steps. Are we over? Can I even call him my boyfriend anymore?

Unease grips at your heart as you continue to ask yourself the same question, analysing the fight like an economist would with the stock market. What does "I'm done" mean? When you finally get to the party, many people seem to have left already. The party's basically over. Some people are helping around with taking down decorations, loading the bass-boosting speakers into the trunks of cars, cleaning up the plastic bottles littered on the sand. You scan the area with one person in mind, but he seems to have disappeared. Your heart sinks to your stomach.

"Y/N!" a familiar voice calls out. You turn to face the source of the noise, furrowing your eyebrows when you see Jeongguk running towards you. The frown on his face tells you that something's wrong. You glance curiously at the brunet, but as he comes closer, you can see that something is deeply troubling him as he struggles to conceal his obvious worry.

"Were you and Jimin-hyung fighting back at the other side of the beach?" he questions you.

"Yeah," you admit, looking down at the ground. "We were." You desperately wish for the conversation to end so you can just go home and scream into your pillow, feeling tears gather in your eyes just at the memory of the argument. You blink them away, but one manages to slip out from your eye. You brush it away as quickly as it came and you secretly hope that the action was inconspicuous enough that Jeongguk won't ask any more questions.

"He's really upset," Jeongguk tells you concernedly. "He won't even talk to Hoseok-hyung. Jimin-hyung's been a mess since he came back to the party, saying that he's 'fucked up really bad' and that you're gonna break up with him because of you 'definitely hate him now.'" It feels as if someone's stabbed you in the gut, knowing that the boy you love is so distressed over your argument that he believes that you'd want to break up with him.

"Y/N, I'm not sure just how well you know Jimin, but I've known him ever since I was a kid," Jeongguk says, placing his hand on your shoulder. "And Jimin's a really sensitive guy. You mean a lot to him- I mean, he never fucking shuts up about you. Every day it's 'Y/N this and Y/N that.'" Jeongguk pauses to check if you're listening before continuing. "He's whipped for you. What he said back there was because he's afraid you don't love him as much as he loves you."

"But why on Earth would he ever think that?" you ask in disbelief.

Jeongguk laughs, thinking you should know the answer already. Realising that you don't, he looks at you in astonishment. "It's so simple. I can't believe you can't see it. Y/N, he doesn't think he deserves you."

With the conversation with Jeongguk still fresh in your mind, you hail a cab back home, spending the entire ride pondering what the brunet said. When you finally walk through the front doors of your grandmother's house, you feel the weight of the evening crash upon your shoulders. Physically and emotionally exhausted, you barely manage to shower before collapsing in your bed and sleeping dreamlessly.

Four days go by without a single word from Jimin, and you've somehow managed to survive all four of them. Just barely, though.

"I feel so weak, Grandma," you sob into your grandmother's arms on Thursday, the fifth day after the party. "I'm supposed to be independent and happy without a boyfriend, but I just want Jimin back. I'm pathetic."

Your grandmother smiles at you and strokes your hair softly. "You are independent and happy without a boyfriend, dear. You're just heartbroken, as all humans get from time to time. It's okay to grow dependent on someone even if you hadn't intended to because that just means you trust them," she coos, sitting at the edge of your bed. "You love them." You groan and hide under your duvet. Your grandmother pulls it back and laughs at your predicament.

"He was just supposed to be a summer fling!" you wail, staring at the ceiling. "I didn't think I'd fall so deeply in love with him." You turn to your grandmother, staring into her eyes with your own puffy, red ones.

"What do I do, Grandma?"

An all-knowing smirk creeps up on the old woman's lips as she whispers something into your ear. You frown, pull away, and when she nods at you encouragingly, a small smile grows on your face for the first time in days. Silently, you grab the phone that's been facing down since the day at the beach from your end table and power it on, typing a message quickly and hitting "send" before setting it down again- this time with the screen facing the ceiling.

To: Jimin From: Y/N The meadow. 2 PM?

Buzz.

To: Y/N From: Jimin I'll be there.

You're standing in the middle of the grassy field with your hands in your jeans pockets and eyes closed, feeling a warm summer breeze blow against your skin, when you hear footsteps making their way towards you. Your eyes flutter open and find its focus on the light-haired boy in a simple white tee and khaki shorts standing before you. He looks tired and worn-out despite his obvious attempts at making himself seem presentable. The dark bags under his eyes and slight drag in his step give away what his perfectly combed hair and freshly washed clothes are trying to conceal. Park Jimin looks like a mess, and your breath is still taken away from you when his brown orbs met yours.

"Jimin," you breath out, and before you can say anything else, his unusually cold hands are cupping your jaw and his lips are desperately attaching to yours. Without even having to think, you kiss back with just as much intensity, running your fingers through his soft hair, just barely parting your mouth when his tongue licks your bottom lip. He breaks the kiss first, sliding his hands down to your waist as he eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips.

"Do you remember the day we first met?" Jimin asks you. You nod, knowing that he isn't waiting for an answer. "It was your first day in Busan, and your grandmother wanted you to buy some groceries at the supermarket. Somehow"- he lets out a breathy laugh -"you and I had laid eyes on the last remaining watermelon." You begin to giggle uncontrollably, remembering the exchange you two had over the fruit.

The blond looks at you, then at the watermelon, and then back at you. "Why do you deserve this watermelon more than I do?" the stranger asks with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Sir, the firemelons are attacking," you respond with the straightest face one can muster. "The earthmelon nation has fallen already, and the airmelon nation desperately needs the watermelons' aid in this terrifying time. The avatar, master of all four elemelons, is missing. We're going to need all the help we can get."

The boy bursts into laughter, letting a high-pitched laugh echo in the produce aisle. "That pun was one in a melon," he compliments you with a wink, still giggling. "But I need this for a friend's party, and I can't let him down. Not after I tripped over his rug and broke the television. And he’s supposed to be the clumsy one."

"Sorry, Blondie, but if I leave this store empty handed, I'm going to feel rather meloncholy," you retort, resting a hand possessively on the fruit's green shell. The blond grins and also rests his fingers on the rind, almost so that your fingers are touching.

"Fine. Let's made a deal," he proposes, raising an eyebrow at you. "I get your number, and you get the watermelon."

You beam at him and stretch your hand out to shake on it. "Deal. I'm Y/N, by the way."

He grabs your hand (and his skin is surprisingly soft) and shakes it firmly. "I'm Jimin. Thanks a melon."

"You just blew me away, Y/N. You really did. You were hilarious, beautiful, and intelligent, and I couldn't believe my luck," Jimin continues. "I'm eighty percent sure I fell in love with you that day. And then when I asked you out to a coffee date and you accepted, I was just waiting for something to go wrong because I didn't think people like me deserved people like you."

"Ji-"

"I still don't."

You watch as his face crumples with his admission and suddenly feel a tug at your heart. He tilts his head back to blink at the baby blue sky above, but you know he's trying to hold back his tears.

"Jimin," you say hoarsely, wrapping your arms around his waist. He responds by looking at you with his almond-shaped eyes.

"I didn't mean for our argument to get so out of hand," he whispers, dipping his head down to rest his forehead on your shoulder. You catch a whiff of his scent. Lilac and honey- sweet, just like him. "I- You're the best thing to ever happen to me, Y/N. And you're going to be on a plane, flying thousands of miles away in nine days. It pains me to think of the day that I'm going to walk past your grandmother's house and realise that you're not in there anymore. I got upset, and I said some pretty shitty things to you. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

You sigh helplessly, but the restlessness in your chest is subdued by his profession. "I love you, Jimin. But we both got into this relationship knowing it would end by the end of the summer," you respond. "All we can do now is make the most of it. Enjoy every last second."

"I understand that now," Jimin says with a shaky voice. You feel your shirt dampen with his tears as the grip he has on the cloth on your back tightens. He lifts his head up and gives you a thin smile, "and I knew you'd break my heart by the time summer ended; I'd just hoped that it'd hurt less. But knowing you and knowing me, the day you leave is gonna leave a pretty big gash on my heart. And you know the saying: 'scars caused by love don't heal.'"

"Scars can fade over time," you remind him. "And the ones caused by love only stay if you choose to keep the wound open."

An ethereal smile blossoms on Jimin's tear-streaked face, and you swear the birds in the nearby trees begin to sing at the sight of his expression. "I love you so fucking much," he blurts out. You giggle and tilt your head up to capture his lips in a kiss.

"And I'll always love you more."

"Try me, Y/N."

Another two days go by, and it's a beautiful Saturday evening when Jimin crawls through your window with a vase of sunflowers in his hand.

"Jimin, what are you-"

"I saw some sunflowers on the way home, and I thought of you, so naturally, I just had to get them. But then I realised that if I came home with flowers my mother would die of a sneezing fit, so my only option was to drive over here at 10 PM and give you the vase of flowers," he explains in a rushed voice.

You gape at him in surprise and adoration.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asks with a smirk.

"Because that's so sweet of you, Chim," you answer, using his nickname. He blushes and hands you the vase, clearly flustered at your compliment.

"I didn't think that'd be much of a surprise; you know I'd do anything for you," he responds nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders and sending you one of his boyish smiles. You glance at the vase and find a note attached.

"You're my sun, flower," you read, feeling your lips twitch at the terrible pun. "You exist as a beacon even in the darkness, and you bring me the sun when I can't see the light." You bit your lip to hide your grin, but it shows anyway.

"You are the most amazing human on this planet, Park Jimin," you declare, setting the vase down on your end table and running into his outstretched arms.

Park Jimin's also the luckiest human on this planet tonight because your grandmother's out with her friends and, well, he's been invited to stay the night.

There's something you've started thinking about since the two-week mark in your summer romance with Jimin. Does this have to end? It is the twenty-first century; technology exists. Communication definitely isn't a problem, and neither is the love between you. But time and geography are not your allies. After this summer you'll be entering you and Jimin will be entering your last years in high school. With college applications, the enormous amount of homework you both will have to complete, and tests that require hours of studying to even get a passing grade, maintaining a long-distance relationship is... nearly impossible.

Still, the thought of you and Jimin making it past the two-month expiry date always manages to bring a smile to your face, only to be wiped off by the harsh slap of reality saying that “summer romances aren't supposed to last longer than a summer.” And unbeknownst to you, Jimin was also thinking about loving you in the autumn season.

"Babe," he says on a Wednesday morning, two days before your flight back to America. "Just a thought, but, what if we don't break up when the summer ends?"

You look up from stirring your coffee, a mixed expression written all over your face. "I'd love to," you begin, and you see your boyfriend's entire face light up. "But what if it doesn't work? What if we end up breaking up anyway because of time or school? I don't want either of us to get hurt."

Jimin tilts his head to the side and looks at you adoringly. "It'll only hurt if we choose to keep our wounds open," he responds softly, remembering your words at the meadow. Your mouth parts open with a quiet gasp, and you beam at him, reaching for his hand across the kitchen island.

"If we even are wounded," you add, your twinkling eyes meeting with his.

"We won't be," Jimin promises with a grin, rubbing circles on the back of your palm with his thumb. "I have a feeling that we're going to make it for a long, long time. Perhaps forever."

And so the two of you spend that Wednesday drinking your coffees and cuddling in bed, talking about the future you now have the honour of sharing. Friday, the day you thought you'd loathe forever, seems like just another day in the month now.

The alarm you set on your phone rouses you from your slumber at 5 AM in the morning. The sun has barely risen over the horizon, and the birds outside must still be sleeping because the world around you is uncomfortably silent. Then, from a distance, you hear a car door slam. Seconds later, the doorbell rings. Before you can even exit your room, you catch the sound of the front door opening and closing, then hushed whispers of your grandmother and your boyfriend chatting over something trivial.

Once again, you brush your teeth and your hair and wash your face in record time, leaping down the stairs and greeting your boyfriend and grandmother in your pyjamas.

"Morning, Grandma," you say first, pecking her on the cheek. She says that she'll be upstairs checking your room in case you forgot to pack anything and leaves the living room. You thank the universe for gifting you with such a wonderful grandmother, and you promise to pay her back someday for all that she's done for your happiness.

Jimin looks at you with eager eyes and brings out a wrapped present from behind his back.

"Open it," he tells you. You peel off the wrapping paper carefully, exposing a plain cardboard box sealed off with tape. You impatiently rip the tape off and fling the box flaps open, gasping with delight when your eyes land on a small wooden canvas with dainty blue flowers painted on its surface.

"Forget-me-nots," you breathe out in wonder, feeling your eyes well up in tears. Attached to the back of the wood is a letter, which you gently take off before Jimin puts his hand on top of yours.

"Not until you get on your plane, missy," he teases. You giggle at him and pull him into your arms.

You kiss for the last time in a long time. It's sweet and rueful, nothing like the passionate ones you shared under the stars or alone in the house, but you tell yourself to remember the softness of his plump lips, the way they taste like citrus and honey, the way his tongue tends to run against your bottom lip before meeting yours in your mouth. You tell yourself to remember his cheesy smile and the way his eyes crinkle when you tell a joke, his strong arms holding you as you fall asleep together, the bounce of his step, the texture of his hair, the scent of his clothes- you write it all down in your brain and burn it into your memory.

And when you finally break apart, you feel tears trickle down your cheeks and the gentle pads of Jimin's thumbs brushing them away.

He doesn't have to say anything for you to understand his words. He rubs his nose against yours and kisses your forehead before wishing you a safe flight. And with one final look over his shoulder, he smirks at you with the look you saw in the supermarket on that blazing June day and says, "Thanks a melon, Y/N."

The two of you are going to be just fine.

#jimin scenarios #jimin x reader #jimin imagines #jimin x you #jimin fluff #jimin angst #park jimin #jimin #bts #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts x you #bts fluff #bts angst #i put in so many puns #im going to hell for this #also i wrote like four kissing scenes #thatS A LOT #FOR ME

[hey-i-wrote-a-story]

Chapter 25 Words and Pictures

Morning came far too early for the exhausted young man keenly feeling the loss of his friend, as well as for the young man who offered his couch to the boy who saw him as his hero and protector. It was a role for which Stiles Stilinski thought himself preposterously ill-equipped. His father had already come and gone and was back at the sheriff station doing the best he could by doing his job. Stiles found that while he couldn’t make omelettes or whip up a batch of pancakes as proficiently as his dad, he was an expert at pouring a bowl of cereal. For that job, he was more than qualified. Stiles held up a box bearing a brightly-colored logo above a touched-up photo of a large bowl of sumptuous glazed oats and miniature marshmallows under a cascade of milk. A chipper cartoon mascot pointed happily to the image in case you missed it.

“This alright?”

It took Freddie a moment to register the question, before offering a quick, “Sure.” Freddie had been in something of a daze since he got up. Physically he was there in the Stilinski kitchen, but mentally he was back on the highway still under attack by the monster.

“Thinking about last night?”, Stiles asked, already knowing the answer.

Freddie nodded. “Thinking about Erin, mostly. I hadn’t even known her that long, really. But we were close. We kind of bonded, our group.” Stiles knew what he meant. Freddie rubbed his forehead. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“My mom had a saying she used to tell me”, Stiles said. “Don’t be sad that it’s over, be glad that it happened.”

Freddie thought about that for a moment, taking it in. It did help a little. Then he tilted his head to one side, thinking. “Who said that? Dr. Seuss?”

Stiles gave Freddie a look and answered, “No. My mom did. What did I just say?” With that, he gave his new friend a playful slap on the shoulder and poured the cereal.

They sat across from each other, Stiles and Freddie, both of them keeping quiet. Stiles preoccupied himself by reading the back of the cereal box, pretending he hadn’t already solved the kids’ maze and word search 20 times before today. Freddie kept glancing around the kitchen, as if he were trying to memorize the layout, or perhaps search for some unusual item like a deerstalker cap or an oversized magnifying glass. He could only do that for so long before he focused his eyes on where he had wanted to be looking since he sat down. At Stiles.

Freddie stared at Stiles, grinning, until Stiles couldn’t stand it anymore. “What?”, he said. “Do I have a booger dangling from my nose or something?”

Freddie laughed at that and said, “Sorry. It’s just, I still can’t get over how different you look from how I pictured you.” Stiles crinkled his brow, prompting Freddie to hold up his phone, tap out a password, and reveal page after page of scrolling text. “From the stories.”

Stiles nodded in understanding and occupied himself with clearing the breakfast dishes. Freddie, now having started, kept talking. “From Kaitlyn’s descriptions that we worked from, you seemed like…originally when she talked about you, she said you were this really cool, goofy guy. Her words.”

“Yeah, some of us have a history of disappointing others. It’s our cross to bear.”

“No, no, it’s not that”, Freddie said quickly. “It’s like, you’re Scott’s best friend, right?”

“Since we were like four, yeah.”

“So that makes you the hero’s best friend. And the hero’s best friend is always kind of a caricature so he doesn’t outshine the hero. I’m used to the best friend being short, and clumsy, or having Coke bottle glasses, or really bad hair—“

Stiles ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly very self-conscious. “My hair isn’t that bad—“

“No, not at all!”, Freddie interjected. “For another thing, you’re taller than I imagined. Your hair is awesome—“

“Hey, thanks. That’s nice of you to say—“

“And you are incredibly attractive.”

Stiles stopped short. Had he just heard that right? He leaned forward a little. “Sorry, but would you mind repeating that?”

“You are incredibly attractive”, Freddie said again. This time he was blushing. “I mean like, really, really attractive.”

Stiles sat back down. That’s what I thought he said. He pointed a finger at the freckle-faced Freddie. “And you’re gay, right?” Freddie nodded. Stiles turned his pointing finger back towards himself. “And you find me attractive.” Freddie nodded again, faster.

Then Freddie worried this might cause some tension with his new friend, and he said quickly, “I hope that doesn’t make you feel uncomforta—“

Stiles cut him off. “NO. Not at all.” He gave his new pal a friendly pat on the shoulder. “We’re good.” This time, there was no hesitation in saying that.

Freddie smiled brightly. And Stiles’ face split into a beautiful, broad grin of satisfaction, even though he wasn’t aware he was doing it.

                                                     *    *    *

 “Goooood morning”, Stiles chirped as he and Freddie entered the McCall house.

“You’re awfully chipper”, Scott observed. “What are you so happy about?”

“Not that much, really”, Stiles countered.

“Dude, you’re grinning like an idiot.”

Stiles reached up and felt his face, as if to confirm what his best friend was saying. “Am I?”

Kira rounded the corner, having just arrived, and paused as she spotted Stiles, or rather, his expression. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“People keep saying that”, said Stiles.

Kira walked up to Scott and gave her boyfriend a light kiss. “Hey.

Scott smiled back, placing an affectionate arm around her. “Hey.”

Malia entered through the side door. The pack’s entrances often felt like they were cast members of a sitcom, who often walked in precisely when they were supposed to. In Malia’s case, the pack was now accustomed to her showing up out of nowhere and coming and going unannounced. No one could figure out if she was even spending that much time at home or huddled in a cave somewhere in the woods, and they had long since stopped trying. Malia eyed her boyfriend suspiciously.

“Why the smile?” Stiles just shrugged. Malia approached him. “You have no reason to smile, that I know of.” Stiles made an expression of puzzlement, indicating he was at a loss to explain it. He was about to voice the same when Malia pulled him forward and brought him into a long, deep kiss. Stiles moaned a little under the sudden onslaught of affection, but quickly surrendered to it. After several seconds, Malia pulled back, allowing the stunned Stiles to catch his breath. He inhaled a sharp gasp just in time for Malia to draw him close again. This time, her kiss lasted considerably longer. Scott and Kira watched with wide eyes. Freddie looked on with considerably awe and a tinge of jealousy. Aadesh and Kaitlyn came in from the kitchen and stopped in their tracks. Aadesh let out a soft “Whoaaaa.”

Malia finally disengaged from Stiles, using one powerful arm to brace his shoulder, holding him up until his body recovered from being limp as a rag doll. “Now you have a reason to smile.” As Stiles collected himself, Malia quickly ran her fingers through his gelled hair and stepped away.

Scott smiled wider at Kira. “My turn?”

Kira swatted him playfully on the chest and rolled her eyes.

“Stiles?”, Scott said.

Stiles looked back with glazed eyes. “Mm?”

“You texted that you had something to show us.”

Stiles blinked twice, trying to get his neurons to fire. Then, “Yes. Right! I did. And I do.” He gave Freddie a signal, pointing back towards the kitchen and said, “Robin, see to our guests.”  Everyone repaired to the kitchen, where Aadesh and Kaitlyn sat down on stool around the center island. “Freddie here has become a grand master at serving breakfast cereal”, Stiles announced, opening cupboards to reveal bowls and colorful cardboard boxes adorned with cartoon characters. He yanked open a silverware drawer to reveal an assortment of spoons and gestured to the refrigerator to indicate where the milk would be found.

“He’s never been over here before, has he?”, Kira mumbled to Scott ironically.

“No, never.”

Stiles patted Freddie on the back and said, “I taught him everything he knows. Fred, take it from here.”

Freddie started grabbing bowls to lay before his two friends. “Step right up, you who would break your fast!”

Stiles curled a finger inward to indicate the others should follow him. He led them up the stairs to Scott’s room.

“What is it you wanted to show us?”, Scott asked. “Is it any new insight into the monster?”

“Nope, but it’s a goodly chunk of insight on the ones who brought it here.”

  Inside Scott’s room, the door securely locked for privacy, the group was trying to digest Stiles’ announcement.

“We have a fandom? With only four people.”, Kira asked, incredulous. “How does that work?”

“Well, when obsessed little fanboys—and girls”, Stiles said, correcting himself, “take it upon themselves to start reviewing our lives like their favorite soap opera and playing RPGs and writing fan fiction about us.”

Kira gave him a look but opted to ignore his sarcasm. “So it was too much to hope they were exaggerating about really writing down stories about us. They were serious about that?”

“You have no idea how serious. You got your phone on you?”

Kira handed her cell phone over to Stiles, who deftly accessed the internet and called up a certain web site, and punched in a password.

“Feast your eyes”, he said. “But don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Kira stared wide-eyed and then began swiping the screen. “Oh my God, this is crazy. And anyone can access this? Our lives are out there for anyone to read about?”

“Oh no”, Stiles assured her. “Members only. You need a password. And they have a very exclusive membership policy.”

“How many members?”, Scott asked.

Stiles held up one hand, palm forward, fingers spread. “Five.”

Kira nodded. “Right. The one kid from somewhere else they didn’t bring with them.”

“So how’d you get in?”, Scott asked.

“I was gifted with a special all-access password. As someone with celebrity status.” Scott snickered and Kira covered her mouth to hide the grin. It was so difficult to imagine their adorkable Stiles as having any kind of status, much less celebrity. “Hey, you’re eligible too, I imagine. If you’re really interested in literarily torturing yourself.”

“Scott, look at this!”, Kira said, holding the phone out to him. “An All-Original Tale of Love and Loss: A Fox Among Wolves.”

Scott was taken aback. “Does it really say that?”

Kira swiped through the text and picked a random passage. “‘But NO, the beautiful young Warrior cried’,” she read melodramatically. “‘Her hand unconsciously moving to her chest, as if to clutch her heart in an attempt to slow its frantic beating’.”

“No way”, Scott said, stepping beside Kira to read along with her.

Kira continued, “You cannot go out there and face the”, she paused, pointing at the screen. “What’s that word?”

Scott leaned forward, squinting. “Billgy…no, Bilge. Bilgesnipe. What’s a Bilgesnipe?”

“I have no idea, but apparently you can’t go out there and face one.”

“Well, I guess not”, Scott grinned.

Kira continued her dramatic reading. “‘You cannot go out there and face the Bilgesnipe alone! My fox’s heart cannot bear it!!’…with two exclamation points.” She pointed at the screen, snickering, indicating that Scott should take the next line.

“Oh, you want me to--? Okay.” He cleared his throat and assumed what he thought was a heroic tone of voice. “’But I must, my darling kitsune”, the Champion declared. “For no amount of mystical swordplay can protect you from its deadly spikes! It is up to me, and me alone, to face this ravening monster for the good of Lighthouse Knoll, and take it down with my fearsome fangs and my unstoppable claws of justice!’” Kira was about to wet herself with laughter when Scott pondered, “How come I only get one exclamation point?”

“I may throw up”, Stiles said. “I may just bend over and hurl at this very moment.”

Malia looked over at him with an expression of solidarity. “After I do.”

“I thought they were just jotting down little scenes and e-mailing them to each other”, Kira admitted. “And the rest would all be chat room stuff. But this--!”

“Stiles”, I thought this was going to be something bad”, Scott said, laughing along with Kira.

“You think that’s good?? Twilight slash fiction is better than that.”

Malia looked sideways at Stiles. “You read Twilight slash fiction?”

Stiles shrugged. “I’m assuming that’d be better.”

“But for real, Stiles”, Scott said, catching his breath. “I thought you were about to tell us they were posting some kind of blog about who we are, where we live, who are loved ones are—you know, exposing us. I really don’t think this is anything to get worried about.”

“If this is all there is”, Kira said, wiping away a tear, “I’d say we’re pretty safe.”

“Oh, there’s more”, Stiles said in a cautionary tone. He walked over and pointed to a selection on the site’s menu.

“Gallery?”, Kira said, touching the tab. A flood of pictures filled the screen, appearing as a grid and rushing forth in what seemed a never-ending downward stream. “This is a whole lot more than a few sketchbook doodles by Freddie. There’s fan art?!”

“Really? Let me see!” Scott pushed Stiles out of the way to get a better look.

“Well”, Kira smiled, “if it’s half as bad as the writing, then it—hey. This stuff is really good. Like professional good. There’s computer art, sketches, comics…wow.”

“Five people did all this?”, Scott questioned aloud.

“Look at the dates, you can see they’ve been posting for a while now”, Kira pointed out. “Well, um, I can’t actually shoot lightning bolts out of the tip of my sword”, she remarked, looking at one piece of art.

“It does look cool, though”, Scott observed.

“It does”, Kira agreed. “Oh, Malia!”

“What?”, Malia looked over at her, curious.

“It’s a portrait. It’s all done in colored pencil...and it’s beautiful!”

“Seriously, come here, check this out”, Scott urged, waving her over.

Malia stepped over to them, looked down at the screen to see a rather detailed portrait, lovingly rendered. It bore similarities to Malia’s hair, her expression, and the shape of her face. Malia pursed her lips as she scrutinized it. “That looks nothing like me.” She walked away, unimpressed.

“None of them are very good likenesses”, Scott commented.

Kira considered that. “Probably because they were all just working from Kaitlyn’s descriptions.” Stiles was about to confirm Kira’s assumption when she jumped in again. “Hey, Stiles!” Scott’s eyes widened and he smiled open-mouthed at what he saw. “Did you see this cartoon?”, she asked. “It’s of you and Der—“ she got no further, as Stiles was over to her in an instant snatching away the phone.

“Yes, I am aware”, he said, with an edge in his voice. “I am very much aware of the Stiles and Derek cartoon, thank-you.” Stiles gave the offending cartoon a cursory glance and then hurriedly swiped it away. “I believe I’ve seen all the cartoons, and portraits, and caricatures, and the comic book action panels, and—“ he stopped, something on the screen catching his gaze and holding it. “Except that.”

Scott could feel a change in the room and saw Stiles’ face go slack. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing important”, Stiles said, his thumb moving swiftly on the touch screen. “We shouldn’t be wasting time with this stuff anyway. Let me just log out of here—“

As Stiles was going for the logout option, Scott crossed the room. With his enhanced speed, he was at his best friend’s side instantly, the phone in his hand.

“Scott, let it go”, Stiles warned. “You’re not gonna want to—“

Scott had already hit the back button to bring up the previous selection. He wanted to know what Stiles had seen. “Just let me see what you were looking at. If it’s something that could potentially hurt us, or even one of us—“  Scott stopped right there. He stared silently at the artwork displayed on the tiny screen. It stood out among all the playful cartoons, anime-styled renditions, and dramatic images of fierce monsters and action scenes of the heroes fighting them. This image was somber and dark. The palette used was mostly black and grays. A slim shaft of light made up of subdued blues and violet shone down from the top border onto two characters huddled near the bottom of the page. The light revealed a teenage boy, down on his knees. Clutched in his lap was a fallen, beautiful girl with long raven hair. An ebony sword protruded from her chest. The teenage boy wept over her at the agonizing final moment when the light left her eyes. Hidden in the shadows around them were hovering black ghosts, bodies like wisps of smoke, their faces the leering, grinning masks of the devil. The likenesses were completely off. Although the depicted figures bore no resemblance to anyone, it was painfully clear what the drawn scene was meant to represent.

A heavy silence hung in the room. Only Scott and Stiles knew what was on that screen, but everyone felt uncomfortable. Malia did not like feeling uncomfortable.

“What?”, she asked. Stiles shot her a look that would stop a train, but she persisted. “What??” Stiles locked eyes with her and after pausing to register his expression, she understood. There were some things that were not to be discussed. This must have been one of them. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. Despite wanting to persist in her questions, she refrained, but still bore an expression so that all present knew she was not happy about it. It was progress.

Kira took one step forward. “Scott?”

Stiles looked over at her and shook his head. No. Don’t ask. So she didn’t.

The silence continued, filling the room like a humid fog, broken only when Scott spoke. “Stiles is right. We shouldn’t be wasting time with this stuff.” He thumbed his way out of the web site and shut off the phone. He handed it brusquely to Kira, who almost dropped it.