#one of the few things that has survived... all the moves... and the Rat House ...

[creekfiend]

I was taking pics of the dining table setup my mom and I just put together and Ella thought I might be taking photos of dogs, in exchange for perhaps a treat?

[bluesidez]

Gym Rat Miguel Part 11 | chapter on AO3 for easier scrolling

content warning: fluff, some hurt/comfort?? angst??? bittersweet moments???, recreational use of zaza, some nerd talk, 18+ so MDNI, p in v sex (first time 😗)

word count: 10.1k, halfway proofread (don't ask me NOTHING...)

shout out to @hyjionie and @hwasoup for one of the ideas here! 😗 you guys will know it when you see it!

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GymRat!Miguel whose mom was driving him crazy. The flight for New York was at 7 am and somehow she was up running around the house at 2 am.

“Miguel! Get up, we have to go. Now!”

“Ma, no one is even driving on the road right at this hour. There's no traffic."

"Which is why you need to get up and move. You know Gabriel takes forever. Get up!"

GymRat!Miguel who groggily put on his clothes. It was the hoodie you got for him for Christmas with the doodle of the two of you on the front. If he was going to be stuck in the airport for hours, he might as well be comfortable.

GymRat!Miguel who looked made sure that his laptop was loaded with things to do.

He could catch up on shows he knew you watched so that you could have someone to rant to about them. He could listen to that one podcast you mentioned just because you mentioned it. He could read that one manga you were raving about because he was not going to compete with fictional men, and maybe, he could steal ideas from it.

GymRat!Miguel who went to wake up Gabriel before their mom's voice pierced both of their ears again.

He opened the door to see Gabriel staring bug-eyed at his wall while he ate a bowl of cereal.

“Did you go to sleep?” Miguel asked, closing the door and walking closer.

“No,” Gabriel said. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Miguel ran his hand over his hair, curly strands bouncing back, “Promise me you’ll try to sleep on the plane?”

Gabriel took his bowl to his mouth, slurping up the last drops, “Only if the voices let me.”

“Right,” Miguel says then takes his bowl from him. “Maybe you can have a conversation with them right now.”

“And maybe I will!”

GymRat!Miguel who stares at the bags his dad has stuffed into the trunk with awe. 

“Pa, you know we’ll only be there for three days, right?”

George presses against the trunk with a little more force than needed, “You never know what could happen, mijo.”

GymRat!Miguel whose bones shake with exhaustion as he stares out the window on the way to the airport. Maybe it’s due to the lack of sun, but he’s never felt a cold summer night. 

GymRat!Miguel who sighs as his dad argues with the staff over a suitcase that Miguel knew would be too heavy. He’s not even sure what his dad has in there.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks that TSA is having a field day despite his family being one of the few coming in at this hour. 

The man in front of him was taking way too long to pat him down and he got the hint was Miguel scowled at him.

GymRat!Miguel who had about four hours to kill before the plane came, so he decided to walk around the airport with Gabriel and pretend like they were a spoiled set of twins shopping casually in France.

“What do you think about this, Mimi? A little chic, no?” Gabriel held up a Gucci scarf to his green hoodie. 

Miguel stuck his nose up, “No, Bribri, it’s so yesterday.”

“Ugh,” Gabriel put the scarf back like it was on fire, “You’re so right. Thank god you’re here or I’d be so lost!”

GymRat!Miguel who feels like he’s back at home with Gabriel as they try their best to avoid the luxury brand store staff. Every time one would get close, they would giggle and rush out of the store. 

GymRat!Miguel and Gabriel who crash back at their terminal with enough food to feed a family of five. 

“What is all of this?” Conchata asks as Miguel hands her a coffee, a frustrated look on her face.

“Ma, it’s almost the crack of dawn and we’re hungry. Big boys gotta eat,” Gabriel said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

George reached in one of the bags and grabbed a sausage sandwich, “He’s right, Conchata. We can’t survive on two bites.”

Conchata eyed her three boys with her arms crossed, “All of it better be finished and I don’t want to hear one complaint about your stomachs.”

Miguel just snickered. It’s not like she bought the food anyway.

GymRat!Miguel who is watching an older couple meditate at his terminal as the sun begins to rise. 

“Yo,” Gabriel says. “That looks relaxing as hell. I’ma join them.”

GymRat!Miguel who is wheezing as he watches Gabriel plant himself between them to spread his arms and breathe at deep paces.

GymRat!Miguel who is thankful that his parents bought better-than-Economy seats, but that still didn’t stop any of the O’Hara boys from feeling like they were in one of those miniature museums. 

Both his dad and Gabriel were already tall, but Miguel was more than tall with a heavier body to match. If another compartment almost smacks him in the face, he might lose it.

GymRat!Miguel who takes off his headphones when Gabriel grips his arm.

“The voices,” Gabriel whispers. “The voices are here.”

“Are we doing this the whole flight?”

“Miguel, what if they tell me to do something drastic?”

Miguel looked to the window next to Gabriel and then up to the ceiling, “Three hours.”

“Three hours in which my brain could be infiltrated!”

“I’m closing my eyes, Gabri.”

“But-”

“Closing!”

GymRat!Miguel who used the flight to catch up on sleep and listen to the playlist you made for him. You gifted it to him earlier this month and said it would grow more and more. Miguel loved it because it showed that you were thinking about him, daydreaming about him. It also meant that he could connect to you more. 

No sound of crying babies, no smell of the artificial air packed tight, no light from overhead, just you and him in his mind, dancing on clouds. 

His heart felt like it followed the tempo of each song that played, the words and melodies taking over his mind. 

GymRat!Miguel whose mind wanders by the time the second half of the playlist starts. It was sensual and intimate in a way that passed the sticky sweetness of the first half. 

He was thinking about the nights when it was just the two of you and a bed. He could feel your body tangled with his in the sheets and your eyes piercing his skin. He could see you in front of him as the music played, the words glowing on your skin and the harmonies bounding you to him.

GymRat!Miguel who is yanked out of his fantasy of him pressing you up against a wall when his body jerks from the turbulence. 

He opens his eyes to see Gabriel knocked out and not a clue in the world.

GymRat!Miguel who is always reminded how idiotic people can be at the airport. 

Standing in the aisles is not going to make the people in the front move any faster.

GymRat!Miguel who could finally stretch his legs once he exits the terminal.

“If I get on another plane where a kids stares back at me the entire flight again, I’m going to spin my head like an owl,” Gabriel mumbles as he cracks his neck.

GymRat!Miguel who has a time laughing at his dad slowly losing his mind. 

First, he complained because his fabric luggage was lopsided and twisted from its buckled components, extra bag barely hanging on. 

Second, a wheel on his luggage was a few more spins from giving out. Every time the bag would skirt across the shining floors of the airport, George would grunt in frustration and yank it back. Gabriel almost pissed himself leaning onto Miguel from laughing. 

Third, the ride to the hotel almost gave him a heart attack. The cabs in New York were fast and no-nonsense when it came to getting people to their destinations. The cab drivers were also known to bob and weave into lanes like it was nothing. At every switch of a lane, George was mumbling prayers into the air. 

Conchata kept a hand on his shoulder as best as she could from the middle back seat, but George’s grip on the handle was turning white as he tried his best not to yell into the driver’s ear. Gabriel was filming him from the left side, wheezing like it was the funniest thing in the world. 

GymRat!Miguel who dropped his stuff off, took a nap, and used the rest of the afternoon to walk around Times Square. 

“You refused to go to a Broadway show with me but mark my words, you’re going to one with me before the year is over,” Gabriel pointed his finger at Miguel. 

“Unfortunately.”

GymRat!Miguel who watches as Gabriel dance battles with the random people in costumes in Times Square when they try to heckle him. 

At first, Miguel was worried for him trying to navigate such a bustling place, but there are moments like this that show him that his little brother has always been quick on his feet. His little brother was light years ahead of him in so many aspects and he couldn’t be prouder. 

GymRat!Miguel who probably filled his phone with more pictures and videos of Gabriel experiencing New York for the first time than were necessary. 

He couldn’t help it. His baby brother was soaring.

GymRat!Miguel who sends you places that he wants to visit with you. 

Envisioning you in his hoodie or with a fluffy, long scarf and walking down the sidewalk hand-in-hand with you had him excited to see you again. You would shine so brightly under the Christmas lights.

GymRat!Miguel who didn’t get back to the hotel with Gabriel until the evening. His parents both snoring in the room across the hall. 

GymRat!Miguel who still manages to get up early enough to hit the hotel gym before he and his family go tackle Gabriel’s dorm room. 

GymRat!Miguel who feels like the only other lady in the gym is trying her best to follow everything that he does. 

So much room in the tiny cube of a gym that they’re in and she moves to wherever he is after five minutes. 

GymRat!Miguel who is annoyed when she taps him in the middle of his set. He removes one ear of his headphones and tries his best to stop the disgusted look on his face from forming. 

“Hey! Sorry, I was wondering if I could use this machine! I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“After I finish this set,” she jerks back at that. “I’m using it right now.”

“Well, I just thought that-”

“Ma’am.”

“I’m 22! Don’t call me ma’am.”

Miguel’s eyebrows went up. He could hear Gabriel in the center of his mind calling her a “hard 22,” so he just put his headphones back on and continued to work through his set. 

GymRat!Miguel who thinks that interaction ruined the girl’s mood but he really didn’t have the energy to be concerned. 

He had to freshen up for breakfast. 

GymRat!Miguel who feels absolutely cramped when he steps into Gabriel’s dorm. 

“It’s not bad!” Conchata rubs Gabriel’s back as he looks around with his mouth in the shape of a line. “Once we clean it and set up your things, it’ll be just like home.”

Gabriel puts his hands on his hips, “Home doesn’t look like cell block 1.”

“At least the window overlooks the city,” Miguel says. 

The door behind them opens with George poking head inside. 

“Mijo, we need to set some ground rules. Your suitemates have no idea how to organize.”

“Did you go in their rooms?” Gabriel asked in disbelief. 

“It’s not my fault they left the door open!” George puts his hands up. 

GymRat!Miguel who works harder than he did for his own dorm. Every piece of clothing was in its rightful place, every surface was sparkling clean, the bed was made with minimal pillows and a giant RJ churro plushie, and there was an odd-shaped humidifier plugged up on his desk. 

“I’m putting your cleaning supplies in the corner of your closet, so this room should stay clean,” Miguel grumbled as he stuck a mini vacuum against the wall.

“Whatever, mom,” Gabriel replied.

“Gabriel,” Conchata had a hand on her hip and a finger pointed at her son. “Don’t whatever him. He’s right. There’s no excuse for this room to be a mess.”

Miguel and Gabriel stood in shock at Conchata’s quick defense.

“Are we in the twilight zone?” Gabriel asks out the side of his mouth.

“Maybe it’s the air pressure,” Miguel whispers back.

GymRat!Miguel who equates Conchata’s growing softness to the fact that not one, but two of her boys will be leaving the nest. 

The sentiment is sweet, but by the fourth time she just lets him and Gabriel roam the busy streets, he’s internally freaking out. 

It was far different from the woman who pinched their ears when they tried to sneak sweets into the shopping carts or the woman who had her shoe locked and loaded for when one of them did anything to annoy her. 

GymRat!Miguel who stays up late to talk all night with Gabriel about anything and everything.

“Which one of these do you think is better?”

Gabriel reaced into his backpack to unfold two flags, one with Jungkook over the Mexican flag and a Weenie Hut Jr. sign.

“Well, I definitely feel like there’s a clear answer.”

“You’re so right,” Gabriel says and folds up the Spongebob sign. “It’s better to represent.”

Miguel only sighed, “If that’s what you insist, Gabri.”

GymRat!Miguel who hugs Gabriel tight as their parents pack the cab back to the airport.

They’ve dropped Gabriel back at his school and said their goodbyes all morning. Miguel feels like he’s fading away. He bites his lips in order not to cry, but it’s hard when Gabriel's hands grip his hoodie like a lifeline. 

“Knock em’ dead, baby bro.”

Gabriel leans back with a wet laugh, “They won’t see me coming.”

GymRat!Miguel who waves out the window as the cab drives off. Gabriel waves back with both hands and a smile on his face. 

Miguel keeps looking back and Gabriel is still standing there. He wants to tell the cab to turn around.

After the fourth look, Gabriel is no longer looking at the direction the cab went but to a girl who also seems to have said goodbye to her family. He’s talking animatedly, arms moving as fast as the words fly out of his mouth. 

Miguel turns back around and pulls the strings on his hoodie hard, eyes welling up with tears. 

“Ay, pobrecito,” Conchata pulls Miguel into her arms, kissing the top of his covered head. “I know, it’s ok.”

Miguel’s lungs take in chopped breaths, hands never moving from the strings. He doesn’t know how to stop the tears from falling. 

“George, you too?”

To Conchata’s other side, George was looking out of the window, sniffling with a fist covering his mouth. 

“It feels like just yesterday I was teaching him how to kick a ball!”

Miguel blew out some air, “That probably was yesterday. He sucks at soccer. And football. And kickball.”

“How did he ever make the basketball team?” George says, voice riddled with sorrow. 

“His height, pa,” Miguel’s throat was tight again. “I didn’t call him beanstalk for nothing.”

The two of them lean onto Conchata, snot and tears crowding their faces. 

“Lose one baby and I gain two more,” Conchata sighed as she rubbed their backs, barely space in the little cab. 

GymRat!Miguel whose eyes remained puffy and swollen the whole trip back home. 

GymRat!Miguel who had to go back to school as soon as possible. 

He loved his parents, but being in the house without Gabriel took a lot more patience than he was willing to give. 

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t see you coming while he's looking for you around the Student Center. 

The campus feels a little different since he’s become more familiar with it. Now he’s got shortcuts and pathways down. He knows more places to hide away in and he carries more tips to survive than he did his freshman year. 

A tap on his shoulder has him turning around. He spins, looks down, and his mood immediately lifts. 

You’re standing there with a pretty smile on your face in the midst of the bustling crowd. Miguel bends down to pick you up, arms wrapping around your thighs, mindful of your skirt. You laugh his name out as you cling to his shoulders. 

He kisses your lips, mouth warm and cozy like the sun shining through the window in a cool room. 

“I missed you so much,” he breathes after two heavy pecks. He moved to the corner of your mouth to your nose to your cheek. “‘M happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too,” you run a hand through his hair and cradle his face, looking into his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Miguel puts you down, knowing your limit for periodic PDA was nearing its end. 

“Better with you here.”

“Really?” You lean into his chin on his chest with hearts in your eyes. 

“Absolutely,” he plants his arms around you. “Been replaying your playlist for me. You want me to be your good boy?”

Your eyes get wider and you bury your face in his chest. 

“Why are you hiding? You should have known I was going to ask about it,” Miguel chuckles as you groan. 

“You’re using it against me.”

“No, I just want to confirm!”

The irritated face you gave him was too much, he had to tease you more. 

“Just say the word.”

“Hmph,” you lean back as Miguel grins. “Well, be a good boy and help me find our friends.”

Miguel let you pull him, smile loopy, “Whatever you say, baby.”

GymRat!Miguel who is glad to see his friends again. Peter, MJ, Jess, and Ben are sitting at one of the high tables and they all greet you both with smiles. 

“The lovebirds are here!” Peter reached to shake Miguel by the shoulders. “Good to see you both alive.”

“Never better,” Miguel replied, holding the seat out for you to sit on. 

“Look at him,” Jess snickered. “His eyes are practically shaped like hearts.”

“It’s ok to look away from her Miguel,” Ben said. “She’s not going to disappear.”

“C’mon guys, leave them alone. Haven’t you ever had someone you’re head over heels about?” MJ asks.

“No,” Ben and Jess say in a monotone voice.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone someday,” Peter quips as he wraps his arm around MJ. “Someone to stare at like they’re the only ones at the table.”

Everyone looked at Miguel talking to you as you tapped on your phone. He would whisper something in your ear and you would push him back with a shy laugh. His hands rubbed on your shoulders and your thighs. 

“Movie night might be insufferable,” Ben sighed.

Jess leaned back, “A girlfriend or boyfriend would suffice. I’m not picky!”

“I am,” Ben says with raised eyebrows. “I need someone to acknowledge my beauty.”

GymRat!Miguel who does in fact become insufferable during movie night. 

Flashing bright colors are painting the white dorm walls, lighting up the room, and the two of you are cuddled together on his bed. It’s way too cramped and Miguel could barely fit on the thing by himself, but somehow, he has you laid in his arms, a blanket covering you both. 

He’s not even sure what movie is playing on the projector because his mind is too focused on you. His hands keep wandering your body under the thick blue fluff. He’s watching you body jump and listening to your breath hitch as he kneads your thighs, your sides, your stomach, your chest. 

He really did miss you and he wanted to take this time to become acquainted with your body again.

But you would kill him if he let his thoughts take over and sink his hands under your clothes. 

So he settled with touching you and kissing your neck occasionally, your mind to preoccupied with the movie before you. 

GymRat!Miguel who insists on a snack run and makes you tag along. 

Does he want snacks? Not really.

Does he use it as an opportunity to make out with you on the outside of his car? Absolutely.

“Mig, mm-” you melt into him as he pries your mouth open. “I thought you said you wanted milkshakes.”

Miguel cages you against the car, pans down to your chest, then back up to your eyes, “My milkshake is right here, though.”

You scoff, hit his chest, and push his arms to walk around to the passenger seat.

GymRat!Miguel who has milkshakes ready for everyone on their way out to their own dorms. He spent way too long playing with you in the privacy of his car.

GymRat!Miguel who by his second day of classes thinks he has the ideal fall semester schedule planned.

He’s still blocking things out on his calendar, but his classes are a bit more spread out this time, which means more time to be with you. 

With your stacked studio classes, he was going to take every opportunity he could to see you. 

GymRat!Miguel who wanted to take up a basic game programming class as an elective. What better way to nerd out than to get insight on how his favorite games worked?

Learning C++ and Python, breaking down the technical side of things, making his own small games through engines; Miguel was beyond excited, to say the least.

He walked into the empty lab, scoping the classroom out for the best seat. The perks of being early. 

GymRat!Miguel who is scrolling through his watch later list while he waits for class to start. Maybe he could finally watch the Let’s Plays he’s been piling up. Maybe character builds would be better. 

“Hare-Hare, is that you?”

Miguel stopped, that nickname something he hadn’t heard in forever. 

He turned to his right with a smile on his face, “Xina?”

“It is you!” 

Miguel stood to hug her, his body rocking from the weight of her, almost knocking him over. 

“It’s been so long,” she breathes out. Her hands slide down his arms. “Have you gotten even bigger?”

Miguel laughed, “Probably.”

Xina’s eyes flitted over his body and back to his face. 

Miguel sat back down, “You look different, too. Is that a tattoo?”

“Y-yeah! You like it?”

It was some computer code in a spiral shape on her arm. It was really different for her. A far cry from the conservative, shy girl who left the South. 

In fact, the outfit she had on was something she would never wear. It looked like something that Lyla or Tempest would throw on. No collared dresses or long socks over stockings, just low-cut skirts and flowy-sleeved tops. 

“It’s pretty cool. Do your parents know you have it?” 

She shuffled the sleeves of her shirt back down, “They weren’t too fond of it, but what can they do now.”

Miguel smiled softly, “Lyla told me you were coming down here. I guess I just didn’t believe it until I saw you. How have you been?”

“I’ve been pretty good. Just trying to readjust. It’s a lot different here.”

Miguel raised his eyebrow, “From China or from up north?”

“Um, from up north. It’s a lot slower.”

“Really?” Miguel watched as she picked at the mountain of bracelets on her arm. “Hopefully not too much slower. I want you to enjoy your time here.”

More people started to fill up the lab, dropping their backpacks and pecking on their phones. 

Miguel rolled his chair closer to Xina, “What happened up there? Is everything ok?”

Her eyes shifted nervously, voice tight, “Lyla didn’t already tell you?”

“She can say a lot of things, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

Her shoulders dropped and whatever thoughts that were clouding her mind disappeared. 

“I’ll-” the professor heads to the front of the class. “I’ll tell you one day.”

Miguel nods, dropping the subject. 

GymRat!Miguel who is really excited about the future of the class after the first initial day. 

The professor seemed to have a lot of knowledge involving the industry, and even if Miguel couldn’t see himself really tapping into the industry, he enjoyed the banter. 

“Class seems like it’s going to be fun,” Xina says as she walks next to him, bag patting against her hip. 

“That’s a sentence I’ve heard no one ever say.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Xina pushes his shoulder and Miguel fakes being knocked over. “This is coming from the man who got excited about encyclopedias being available for checkout.”

“There was good stuff in there! Not my fault that others didn’t catch on.”

GymRat!Miguel who chats with Xina like old times. 

She looked different, but the core of her was still there. Still the sweet, reserved girl that he remembers. 

“Ah,” Xina looks down at her phone. “I gotta go. Me and my roommates are having a house meeting.”

“You got a quad suite?”

“An apartment! You should come over sometime. We’re going to have a little housewarming party soon.”

“Cool, I’ll be there. See you Thursday?”

Xina grinned wide, hands folding together in front of her, “See you Thursday.”

GymRat!Miguel whose time with you during the day was limited to lunch time. Your studios were stacked along with some general ed classes and he hated it. 

“Miguel, stop pouting, I’m here now!”

“That’s until you have to go mix your paints with others and cut floorboards.”

“I’m not mixing paint with others,” you reach to wipe some salad dressing off of his lip. “I’m mixing paints with other paints. And mineral spirits. And turpenoid.”

Miguel slumped down his chair, petulant. 

“Why can’t I just sit next to you and encourage you?” Call you pretty, stare at you, hold you. 

“Because it’s a college course just like any other class. I just can’t just walk into your labs unannounced.”

“If it were one of my lectures, you probably could.”

You left out a soft breath through your nose, “True. Too bad my classes are three hours long, babe.”

Miguel groaned, “I should have switched my bio class to yours.”

“So you and I both could be distracted all day? Not a chance.”

“No,” Miguel held out the vowel. “I wouldn’t get distracted, I swear! We’d sit at the front of the class to ensure it.”

“And somehow, you’d still find a way to distract yourself.”

Miguel puffed and folded his arms.

“How so?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shake your cup, seeing if you had any drink left. “Writing me messages on your notes app, spamming emojis, sending naughty pictures in the middle of class.”

“That was one time.”

“One time that my professor almost saw the hairs leading to your-”

“So what you're saying is, you don’t want my chest in your phone?”

“No! I never said that!” 

Miguel smirks and you fall back into your chair with your heart pounding. 

“You’re so mean, I’m going to class early.”

“Baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Miguel held your hand to stop you from leaving the table, pulling you to his side. 

“Let go, I’m going to class.”

“Let me walk you there at least?”

Miguel wrapped his arms around you and moved his head wherever your gaze went. 

“Fine, hurry up.”

GymRat!Miguel who finished his lunch in two bites and reached for your portfolio. 

GymRat!Miguel whose heart swelled as you swung his hand on the walk to class. 

“I think we can still make more time for just us. There’s the weekends, your birthday, fall break, winter break, our anniversary,” you sang as you looked up at him. 

“You excited?”

“To spend time with you? Always.”

Miguel felt his cheeks warm at the simple statement. 

“Are you?”

“If I’m not excited to be with you, you’ll know I’m being kidnapped.”

“Stop,” you giggle. 

“It’s true!”

GymRat!Miguel who lingers in the art building while you wait for class to start. 

“Is there anything in particular that you wanted to do for our anniversary?”

You fan your eyes up, “Hm. I’m not picky. As long as it’s close to school. We can save the bigger trips for the future or holidays.”

So no sporadic trips across the country. He can check that off his list. 

“Your face is telling me that you were thinking of something else.”

“No…”

GymRat!Miguel who after two weeks of class could definitely say that his elective was taking more brain power than his science classes combined. 

It was fun, but god, he didn’t understand the point of his professor insisting that they learn C#. 

“This is so stupid,” Miguel grumbled after the third failed attempt to get his program to run. “I think I’m in hell.”

“With me here? No way,” Xina snickered beside him. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Still doesn’t change the fact that this is a program that is completely useless to not only me but the rest of this course.”

“It literally can’t be that bad”

“Look!”

Miguel showed Xina his code and the lack of progress that it seems like he made. 

“That’s ‘cause your lines are wrong, silly.”

She leaned over him, tapping at his computer. Miguel noticed that her tattoo was on display today despite the cool chills coming in as fall approached. 

“There. That should fix it.”

Miguel ran his program again and was filled with relief when it actually did what it was supposed to do. 

“You’re a lifesaver.” 

“Anytime,” she beamed and fanned absentmindedly. “I’m always here to help. I definitely need your guidance for quantum physics.”

“What do you need that class for?”

“My advisor suggested it, but I’m starting to regret it and I can’t afford to drop it.”

“Tell you what, you help me with coding and I’ll help you with physics. Fair trade?”

“Plenty equal to me.”

GymRat!Miguel who smells Xina’s perfume as she helps him for the third time that class. 

It’s sweet and earthy. It reminds him of the time you fed him ice cream on a campus bench not too long ago. 

“What is that? It smells good.”

“Really?” Xina looks over to Miguel with a smile. She leans back and twirls the black strands of her hair. “You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Thank you.”

GymRat!Miguel who gets invited to Xina’s apartment-warming party. 

“It’s pretty small, and I’ve only made a few friends here so far, but I would love for you to come.”

“For sure, for sure. Should I bring something?”

“No, just you and your body will suffice.”

GymRat!Miguel who laughs with Xina as they exit the class. 

“I’m just saying that if you have time to make merch for your games immediately after the first patch of it does numbers, then you have enough time to improve it and make other parts faster.”

“Game developers have families to feed, ya know?” Xina states. “They can’t just sit at a screen all day, they need quick money like the rest of us.”

“So you sell plushies instead? Whatever happened to ‘hi, hello’ or ‘this is how progress is going this month.’”

“Miguel!”

He turned to where he heard his name, that voice like music to his ears. 

“Bebé!”

GymRat!Miguel who runs to you and spins you around like he hasn’t seen you in years. You squeal into his neck, excited because he’s so excited. 

He puts you down and stands in shock, checking his watch, “I thought you had studio right now?”

“Critique ended super early, so I wanted to surprise you!”

“So the rest of your day is free?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Miguel would punch the air with glee if he wasn’t in public. 

GymRat!Miguel who turns when you peek your head past him to see Xina standing with a small smile on her face. 

He slots his hand into yours and pulls you over. 

“Xina, meet my girlfriend. Bebé, meet Xina.”

You reach your right hand out, introducing yourself. Xina takes your hand with a grip like a blood pressure machine and a quick introduction. 

When you take your hand back, your eyes do a double take between the two, Miguel oblivious to what just took place. 

You clear your throat, “Do you guys take the same class?”

“Yep, we-”

“We go way, way back,” Xina grins. “Like trading silly bandz and Pokemon cards back.”

“Oh shit, really? So you saw Miguel in his baby days. What was he like?”

“Please don’t say anything embarrassing,” Miguel groans out. 

“Yeah, tell me something good. Something juicy.”

“Hm,” Xina tapped her chin. 

Miguel shook his head behind you, hands clasping together in a pleading motion. 

“Miguel had a crush on me.”

That’s not what he expected Xina to say and from the raised eyebrows on your face, neither did you.

“That’s,” you rock on your feet and adjust your backpack, “definitely something.”

“Yeah! He was so cute running around handing me flowers with the roots still attached. I was too busy trying to be the best ballerina around, though. Right, Hare-Hare?”

“Right,” Miguel looked to the door. “Uh, we’ll see you around Xina.”

“Yeah, see you soon,” her fingers twinkled, chains on her nails dangling. 

GymRat!Miguel who kept waiting for you to say something as you both walked to his car. 

He was excited to eat dinner with you for once, but your silence was scaring him. 

“What’s wrong?” He breaks, sick of his aimless thoughts. 

“I don’t know, Hare-Hare, you tell me.”

“Amor, don’t be upset. It was such a long time ago.”

“That’s fine, I don’t care about that. Why would she bring it up in the first place? I don’t even know her like that.”

“I think she was just nervous, she’s not usually like that.”

“Compared to…?”

“Compared to the kind person I know her to be. Look,” Miguel reached for your hand, voice steady. “I’m sure she’ll open up to you as I’m sure you will to her, ok?”

You blew out a deep breath, “Ok.”

“Trust me?”

“I trust you.”

“Good,” he pecked your lips. “Now let’s go get pizza. I’m starving.”

GymRat!Miguel who still brought a gift to the apartment warming. It felt rude to not show up with something. 

You had recommended a candle, so Miguel went and got something that smelled similar to Xina’s perfume plus a candle warmer in the shape of a flower. 

He knocked on the door, a gift bag in his hand.

After a few seconds, it swung open with a guy who he didn’t have to bend down to look at. 

“Woah,” he said. “You’re huge.”

“Uh, thanks? Is Xina here?”

The guy was brushed to the side to reveal a frazzled Xina. 

“H-hey, Miguel! You came!” Xina clung to him, fingers clammy and breath burning through his shirt. 

“Yeah, of course. Was this the wrong day?”

“No! No, no. You’re right, come on in.”

GymRat!Miguel who felt that the apartment was really nice and Xina’s roommates were a rambunctious bunch. 

Although, he expected the event to be a bit more relaxed. There were people crowded together in the living room, some screaming at a game on the TV, some making their mark on the couch, others dancing out on the balcony. 

Miguel was anxious to say the least. 

GymRat!Miguel who was pulled into Xina’s bedroom, the stench of that sticky, sweet perfume filling his nostrils. 

“Sorry about that, I didn’t know it would get this wild.”

“It’s fine,” Miguel shuffles the bag into her hands. “I just wanted to give you this, then I’ll be on my way.”

“Aw, so soon?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to catch up on.”

He wanted to get out of here. 

His eyes panned around her room, the style of it matching more to her past self. White lace, lilac and soft pink bows, tiny bunny and hamster families sitting on a shelf above her desk. 

A poster from a franchise that she swore she hated but he loved. Funny. 

Xina dug into the bag pulling out the candle warmer, “Miguel, this is so cu-ute! It’ll be perfect on my desk.”

“I thought you would like it.”

“You do know me very well,” she pulls out the candle and holds it to her nose for cartoonishly amount of time. “This smells fucking amazing. It’s like, like the inside of an ice cream bucket. But in a jar.”

“Xina,” Miguel sits the candle down before she moves the wicks up her nose. “Are you high?”

“Only a little…un poco,” she holds her fingers in a pinch. 

He pushed her hand away from his face. 

“They’re not making you take anything, right?” He pointed back to the door. 

“No, I wanted it to. It’s nice. You should try it sometime. Relax a little.”

Miguel watched Xina’s eyes for a moment, searching for anything, something about how she really felt. For the moment, they were only cloudy and unphased. Miguel supposes that he should be like that too. 

“Maybe another time. I think I’m gonna go.”

“If you must,” she pouted and hung on to his shoulder until they reached the door. 

GymRat!Miguel who finally breathed easier once he was in his car. 

He wondered what to get a person to help them come down from a high easier. 

GymRat!Miguel who didn’t care what Lyla had to say, the arcade was a great idea for the 1st Anniversary date. 

He had it all planned out: pick you up at your dorm door, drive you out, about an hour to the closest city, spend the rest of the night exploring the city, come back to the hotel, breakfast in bed, an afternoon at an art class because you wanted to see him paint, an evening at the arcade, and a night to complete out his Mission B: Virgin No More. 

It was perfect. Immaculate. Sublime. 

GymRat!Miguel who took the term passenger princess more seriously than he needed to. 

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?”

“Nope. Just sit there and look pretty.”

“I might fall asleep.”

“You’ll still be pretty either way.”

GymRat!Miguel who has the most fun going to random stores with you. Sure, there were some boutiques where the owners looked at you both like extra heads were sticking out of your necks, but there were also stores that were cozy and warm. 

You both stayed in the nooks and crannies of stores looking at trinkets, jewelry, books, anything. 

“Miguel, look!” you hold up the tiniest pair of baby shoes he’s ever seen. “How precious is that?”

“Put those down, I don’t need any new ideas.”

“You had old ones?”

GymRat!Miguel who buys a giant puzzle for you both to complete together. It’s a watercolor painting of the night sky and the bright day blending together. 

It was the two of you together in one piece, he had to get it. 

GymRat!Miguel who is giddy that you bought a set of matching silk pajamas for you both to wear. 

He knew you were definitely going to get hot in them, but what are hotels for if not turning up the A/C and cuddling together under the thick, starchy comforters? 

GymRat!Miguel who keeps staring at you through the mirror as you brush your teeth. There’s a fluffy headband keeping your hair out of your face, and you’re only wearing the top of your pajama set. 

He’s no better, only rocking the pants. 

“What?” you say with foamy toothpaste flooding your mouth. 

“Nothing. You’re cute.”

You spit out the toothpaste, “You’re cute!”

GymRat!Miguel who holds you close as you take a bunch of mirror selfies before you both head to sleep. 

GynRat!Miguel who knew this day was starting off right when you came out of the bathroom with your stomach showing. The shirt is like a blessing, mesmerizing in multiple areas, hugging your skin tight but loose enough for him to stick his hands under it. 

“Amor, I don’t know if you know this, but,” Miguel pulls you in between his legs. “We’re supposed to actually make it out of the hotel room today.”

“And we will,” your eyes sparkled. “So until we get back, be good.”

Miguel groaned and peppered searing kisses across your skin, hands hot on the pocket of skin he could see, squeezing and gripping. 

“Do I get a reward?”

You lean and whisper in his ear, breath tickling his skin, “A really, really hot one.”

Miguel's eyes are opened wider when you stand back, neck burning. 

“You’re killing me.”

GymRat!Miguel who really sucks at painting. 

“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”

“Well, to start off, your brush isn’t even clean.”

You guide his hand to his water cup with a giggle, “None of your colors are going to show up if you keep dipping them willy-nilly.”

“Ok, but how come your hearts are so much better than mine? We both followed the teacher.”

Your eyes looked from your uniformed artwork, colors tangling together intricately and shapes flowy to Miguel’s canvas that had dripping paint, a bad mix of oversaturation, and wobbly shapes. 

“You know, I’m not completely sure how you managed that, babe. What matters is that you did it with love,” you say noticing both of your initials in one of the best hearts on the page. 

“Maybe you’ll be better at pottery? Mosaic?”

“I think you just enjoy laughing at my expense.”

GymRat!Miguel who rolled the sleeves of his sweater up when it was time to play arcade games. 

He had to look good, show off, and earn prizes. 

You watched with heavy eyes as he geared up to play the boxing game. 

He made the boyfriend outfit look even more yummy, with his button-down peeking from under his blue sweater to match your outfit and his big jeans hugging his waist. 

With a heavy swing, the machine seemed like it lifted off the ground with the force he gave it. His face was so serious as he waited for the score and you were inching closer to insanity. 

The machine faltered, red dashes dancing across the screen. 

“Did you break it?”

“Uh. I hope not.”

After what felt like a moment in which you both probably should have run away or called a worker, the machine blinks back to life. 

“No way.”

A max score of 999 stared back at you both and the card machine lit up with rainbow colors. 

You held his hand in yours, looking at his knuckles for any bruises or blemishes. When you stared up at Miguel incredulously, he had a goofy smile on his face. 

GymRat!Miguel who may have been more competitive than he needed to be. 

You yelled as his score kept inching away from yours on the basketball arcade game. 

“You’re, like, as tall as the machine! You’re cheating!”

“It has nothing to do with height, chiquita.”

You groan out a sound of frustration as you miss your shots, messing up your streak. 

The timer goes out, Miguel winning by a landslide. 

You push your head back as Miguel celebrates. 

GymRat!Miguel who keeps this song-and-dance up for the rest of the night. Sometimes you would win, sometimes he would win. 

His final strike was when you both were in one of those FPS games that required you both to be crammed inside of a dark box. 

“Miguel, stop taking my fucking shots!”

“Oo, she’s getting feisty with me now.”

You thought quickly and leaned over. With an eye on the screen and the intention to rile him up, you moan his name right in his ear, breath needy and warm. You lick at his jaw to seal the deal and turn back. 

Like paper, Miguel folds, and his aim becomes absolutely terrible. 

“W-why would you do that?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to feel that bad as “Player 1: Bunny WINS” and “Player 2: Bear LOSES” jumped across the screen. 

You kiss Miguel on his cheek as he readjusts his pants with a frown on his face. 

GymRat!Miguel who could hear his heartbeat in his ears on the elevator ride back up to the room. 

You were holding onto the giant plushie he gave blood, sweat, and tears to earn, saying that it reminded you of him. 

Miguel, on the other hand, was digging his nails into his palm and opening the collar of his sweater sporadically. 

“You alright?” you say, placing a hand on his elbow.

“I might pass out.”

“Miguel,” you hold him close as you both walk to the door. “You gotta calm down.”

“I am! I’m just nervous.”

“You’re shaking.”

Miguel’s hands tremored as he ran the key card over the censor.

GymRat!Miguel who let you hold his hands as you kissed over his wrists. 

He was so dear to you. His presence, like a beautiful spark.

“You’re so sweet.” A kiss to his palm. “The sweetest there is. I adore you.”

Miguel took a shuddered breath as he watched you, heart rushing to his ears.

GymRat!Miguel who is more calm when you both start to remove your clothes. It wasn’t steamy and desperate like he imagined. It was slow, intimate, and quiet. 

It was like seeing you all over again for the first time when he helped you take off your shirt. It was like stepping into new territory when you held his jeans so he could step out of them. You both took turns taking off an article of clothing, savoring the moment. 

Miguel fumbled a bit when he was met with you the clasps of your bra, fingers knocking against each other.

When the time comes, after what was an hour or so of touching, feeling, and existing within each other, your hands fumble with the condom.

Miguel feels out of his body as you slide it down with care, hands moving as if you were molding clay. 

It wasn’t until he was on top of you that he felt that this was really happening. The foreplay between you a spot of comfort and habit.

After so long, he finally slid in deep, the pit of his stomach quivering. You were so unbearably tight.

“Y-you ok?” Miguel squeezed onto your hand, watching your eyebrows knit together. 

“Yeah, it’s just,” you chuckle, breath almost gone from the feeling of him. “You’re really big.”

Miguel’s face shifted from worried to shocked. 

“Oh! Well, I guess that’s a good thing?”

“You don’t have to guess, I can feel it.”

Miguel twitched and jolted involuntarily, causing you to whimper, your words going straight south. 

“Miguel! Stop moving.”

“Sorry! You’re really tight right now and I’m trying to focus.” 

“God,” you sigh and let your head drop to your pillow. “Are we even doing this right?”

“No clue.”

Miguel kissed your collarbone as you wrapped your arms under his. He continued to kiss across your shoulders, lips light and airy. Up your neck to your jaw, he could feel you relax and breathe a little easier. 

He grazes his mouth to your cheeks, humming as you move them closer to his lips. He kisses your temple, your eyebrows, your forehead. At your nose, you start to giggle, Miguel’s kisses leaving flutters on your skin. 

Miguel joins in on your joy, grinning as you try to return the pecks. 

“Ok,” you whisper. “I think I’m ready. You can move now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I want you to make me feel good. I want you to feel good.”

Miguel looked at your eyes, waiting, wanting, open. He couldn’t help but to think how lucky he was to have a girl like you who was just so beautiful and lovely. 

His body is pressed against yours, the plush of your chest molding onto his. Your legs were wrapped around his thighs and your fingers danced across his back. 

He takes a hand to hold the side of your face while the other one is pressing you even closer to him. He moves out as best as he can, the warmth of you an addicting feeling, and slides back in slowly, a shallow thrust to start off. 

Your breath was hot against his mouth as you shuddered. Miguel groaned, feeling the heat of you through the thin condom. 

He moved again, watching as your face twisted and turned. Your hands are pressed against his back, palms applying pressure until the feeling stretches to your fingertips. The pricks of your nails dig softly into Miguel’s skin, muscles moving as he tucks your hair away from your face. 

By the third thrust, Miguel is moaning out, overwhelmed with you everywhere. When he breathes, you breathe. When he tightens his hand on your back, you tighten yours. When the feeling of you becomes too much to bear, you’re right there with him, eyes heavy and wet. 

Everything was heightened, from the sound of the bed squeaking as Miguel’s hips moved, to the little sounds you made when he inched in deeper. He’s scared he might shout in your face due to how good you feel so he presses against your lips, grunts coming out with each thrust. 

You take him with stride, hands balling up to fists as he gets deeper and deeper. 

His name from your lips is broken down from two syllables to four, enunciation clear enough for Miguel to know that he’s doing something right. 

“Don’t stop,” you plead, gaze reaching Miguel’s soul. “Please.”

“I won’t.” He would never leave if he had the choice. “Am I, shit, am I doing good? Do you feel alright?”

He shifts back to see your face and his heart speeds up watching you under him. Your arms fall to the bed and your mouth stutters open as Miguel continues. 

Your eyes drip as you let out staccato moans and Miguel leans down to kiss away your tears. 

“C’mon, bebé, let me know.”

You nod your head and cry out when Miguel goes even deeper. He hums against your mouth as a thank you. 

“Miggy, I,” you stop as you take a breath. 

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

A rush of heat from top to bottom filled Miguel’s core. The air left his lungs swiftly and came back in twice as fast. His back shook, nerves like a spring. All he could hear was your breaths, all he could smell was your warm skin, all he could taste was the lingering touch of your tongue, all could feel was the hot valley of you, all he could see was you.

He dies and comes back to life, sight piecing together that the stars and hearts were not part of you but they were just his muddled brain taking you in like the first day he met you. His throat burns like he swallowed hot coal. 

Your mouth is moving but he still can’t connect the words yet. He feels himself floating away. 

“Baby?” the way that your hands grip his body ground him. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Miguel nods, eyes blinking fast. “What just happened.”

“I think you came?”

Miguel looked down, and sure enough, you were right. 

He doesn’t remember you getting any relief. 

“Can I-” he groans as you clamp down on him when tries to pull out. “Can we do that again?”

You nod your head, “Please.” 

GymRat!Miguel who, after a brand new condom and a clearer mind, realizes that he has a lot of work to do. 

He knew that you were his everything, but he couldn’t deny that he was a little embarrassed. You swore to him that it was ok, flattering even, but Miguel isn’t buying it. 

Your legs were bent at his sides as he lifted your hips off the mattress. He held them up as he stroked deep and focused on the sound of your breaths. 

“B-baby,” your voice is stunted as Miguel keeps a steady tempo. “Look at me”

Miguel groans into your neck, shuddering from the sound of your voice and your hands rubbing his sides. Your moans were high in your throat, breaking as Miguel’s hands pushed and pulled at your skin. 

“I can’t.”

“Why,” your words fizzle as Miguel hits a sweet spot. “Why not?”

“If I look at you, I’m gonna cum.”

Miguel goes faster as he feels you constrict against him. The bed creaks as the sound of him delving into you gets louder and louder. 

“Oh,” your nails scratch his back. Miguel matches your voice, desperate to please you. 

You open your mouth again, a three-letter phrase ghosting your tongue. 

“D-don’t,” Miguel’s hips freeze and unfreeze as he hears the first vowel leave your mouth.

“I wanna see you.”

Miguel shifts, eyes finding yours, and he knows he won’t make it. 

He tells you just as much and you pull him closer. 

“Te amo, mi luna.”

Miguel cries as he feels the air leaving him. He reaches down to touch you, your body jolting when his fingers graze your clit. 

You cum around him and he pushed through, waiting until you were shaking to let go. 

“You,” Miguel leans his forehead on yours. Both of you are shaking, blood pumping with adrenaline. “Play so unfair.”

“But you love me?”

He cuddles into your thumbs wiping at his eyes, “So much. I love you so, so much.”

You kiss him, feeling warm and satisfied, sighing as he melts on top of you. You run your fingers through his wild hair and scratch at his name. 

After a while, Miguel perks up, eyes sparkly and big like a little puppy. 

“A-again.”

“What?”

GymRat!Miguel who pulls you to the edge of the bed by your legs. You yelp at his strength and the icy pricks of the hotel A/C coating your overheating skin. 

Miguel slides back in with a practiced ease, the angle different, but not unfamiliar. 

He held your legs and hips from the bed, watching as your body moved from the faster momentum he produced. 

Your voice reaches the ceiling as your hands grip for anything. Seeing your reaction, Miguel grips your hips and your stomach, angling even deeper. It was fulfilling until your hands landed on your chest, stopping them from jerking so.

Miguel pulled your wrists together and down, watching as your arms framed your chest. He moans out your name, eyes stuck on the picture presented before him. 

How could anyone ever believe you were not beautiful? 

GymRat!Miguel who can’t help but to ask for one more round. In your disheveled state, you tell him it’s the last one. 

The sounds leaving your bodies were enough to make the bed blush. It was something so perfect about the whispers you mewled into each other's skin contrasting the wet sound of Miguel slapping into your wet entrance. 

Somehow you were nearly bent in half, knees almost next to your ears, as Miguel’s feet were planted on the bed. You didn’t even know your body could do that. 

At every smack of skin, Miguel was moaning your name louder and louder, mind completely gone. 

“I’m, ngh, gonna cum!” Your voice comes out at a volume that matches his. 

Miguel nods, encouraging you to release, kissing along your skin. 

You shout as he swerves his hips, melting your cour as he slides along your sweet spots. 

“So good,” Miguel says, balls twitching against you as crumbles to the bed. “So amazing. Mi luz, mi sol.”

The two of you catch your breath in the dim hotel lighting, jolting with aftershocks of your anniversary. 

GymRat!Miguel who held you on his chest as you slept, lips pressed against the top of your head. He checked his phone before going to sleep, wanting to set a timer for the morning. 

A Game Exchange’s Worst Nightmare

Miggy Mig MC: I did it

Winner-Winner: ???

Ly(ability)la: Only you would announce losing your virginity like that

Tempie: omg

You’re not a baby anymore 🥺

What am I gonna do

Winner-Winner: WAIT

LESGOOOO

Tempie: I never thought this day would come

Winner-Winner: you was tearing it up wasn’t you? 🤪

Ly(ability)la: you’re so annoying

Tempie: like I didn’t prepare fast enough

I

I WASNT READY

Winner-Winner: I hope you did that trick I taught you

It gets em every time

Guaranteed banger

Tempie: This actually ruined my night

Ly(ability)la: Temp is losing it and so is Wins

Congrats to you ig

Winner-Winner: I bet she’s KNOCKED OUUOOT

Ly(ability)la: is being normal like not in your cards or…

Tempie: I think I’m sick

Miggy Mig MC: .....

Gabri 🤏🏽🤡:

“I did it”

“No fucking way"

"NO FUCKING WAY"

"AND? AND SO?"

“It was just as good as you say. That’s all I’m saying.”

"I feel like I need to throw something on the grill"

“Not too much Gabri”

GymRat!Miguel who wrapped his arms around you as you fixed up something the next morning. 

“G’morning,” you say to a heavy Miguel leaning down on you. 

“Super good morning,” his hands reach to cup your left breast and your stomach under your robe. He left a long kiss on your shoulder. “Whatcha doing?”

“‘M getting your gift together.”

“Another one?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well, let me step up my game.’

GymRat!Miguel who sits with you on the bed as you both trade gifts.

“Aw, Miguel! How am I supposed to eat these? You look so cute here,” you took a piece of candy in your hand and looked his face planted on it. 

“Like this,” Miguel takes your hand and guides the candy to his mouth. 

You smile watching him, body warm. 

GymRat!Miguel who watches your eyes glow when you see the dolphin charm with the date that you two took our first date. 

“Put it on me?”

Miguel slid the jewelry over your skin, watching as gold danced against your skin.

GymRat!Miguel who feels like crying when flipped through the scrapbook you made. Each section matched a song in the playlist you made for him. 

It was so thoroughly crafted and thought out that Miguel couldn’t stop the waterworks. 

“Why did I think that outfit was cool?” Miguel laughed wetly as he saw a picture of you both at a pumpkin patch.

“You look adorable,” you catch his tear on your thumb and hug his side.

GymRat!Miguel who drops you off at your dorm with kiss after kiss to your lips. 

Jess opens the door with a dramatic sigh, “The two of you are glowing. How cute.”

GymRat!Miguel who reaches back to his night with you every time he’s sick of the class he’s in. 

A little bit dangerous when it comes to his labs, but everything is reminding him of you. He can’t even look at his blanket without thinking about the way your shirt draped your body. 

Maybe he should make love to you with it next time.

GymRat!Miguel who is in a daze during his programming lab. 

“Earth to Miguel. Did you finish the mini code?”

“Uh, yeah,” Miguel replied to Xina. 

“Good, because I need you to check this equation really quick. I need to turn it in later this week.”

Miguel leaned over to Xina’s laptop, arm reaching across her. 

“So,” she slides her nails up his arm. “What do you think?”

“It’s fine. This part is very wrong, though.”

She squeezes at his muscle, chest pressing on him.

“Are you cold or something?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“Because,” Miguel slides her laptop in front of him. “You’re really touchy today.”

“Miguel, I’m always touchy.”

She puts an arm on the back of her rolling chair and leans on her wrist. 

“True.”

“Is there a problem with friendly touches?”

“No, Xina. I’m not like that.”

“Ok,” she holds her hands up in defense. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That,” Miguel says turning to her, “Being weird. Overstepping.”

Xina folds her arms and nods her head, “I got it.”

GymRat!Miguel whose time with you dwindles within the next couple of weeks. If it’s not studying, it’s the robotics team. If it’s not the robotics team, it’s his class schedule never matching yours. If it’s not your studios, it’s his study sessions with Xina. 

Currently, she was sitting beside him on the first floor of the library, head on his shoulder as she sighed over a new formula. 

“This is so gross,” she said, wiping away eraser shavings.

“Did you even try?”

“Like, once. That was enough.”

GymRat!Miguel who gets your text and looks up to where he knew you’d come from. He felt like he could feel you close, but the entrance was so far away he couldn’t see. 

He got up for a second, turning and standing tall to catch a glimpse. 

“I know you’re not about to give up this. You said it was easy! That’s not the Miguel I know,” Xina grabbed his wrist, hands unbearably hot. 

His phone buzzed again. You said you were going back to your studio. 

He sighed and sat back down, mind foggy.

divider by: @thecutestgrotto + @adornedwithlight 🩵

a/n: Y'all know that gif with the smoking duck? I feel like that but I would replace the cigarette with an Icee or something.

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@questionable-behaviour @babygotl01292003 @calig0sto @tatatida @haveclayeveryday

@corpsenightmarebride @earth2fae @maiyart @feegrh32 @darkstarlight82

@ladysimp @sonicbutbutter @relatednative @slowlyshycomputer @nuetralcolorsenthusiast

@maxlinpetersen @beyondstarlight @Madeofstar-dust @leoeloo @just-simpins-blog

@poisamm @thequeenreaders @tinybirdhidedout @aly29a2001 @mimi-sanisanidiot

@snakelore @pigeonmama @darkstalight82 @prettygirleli @koikohib

@jayskookies @xo-zeze @planetxella @thedevax @stressed-cherry

[yan-randomfandom]

Yandere!Stanford Pines & Borrower!GN!Reader

[PLATONIC] Borrowers are really tiny humans who "borrow" items and food! requested,,, am so sorry if this isn't what u expected 😔

Ford's toothbrush is missing.

In fact, many of his things have gone missing for the past few days. Did Bill possess his body again and decide to prank him?

His eyes catch color behind the toilet. Ah, there's his toothbrush. It must have fallen off.

When he picked it up, it was much heavier than usual. Of course, anything else could've been a reasonable explanation and not some tiny human holding onto the toothbrush for their dear life.

Ford doesn't let you escape, immediately bringing you to his office. You spit out profanities on the way, banging your fists on his fingers.

"Fascinating," he mutters, moving your limbs around. "You're just a tiny human."

"They call us borrowers," you say as you keep avoiding his hands. You notice something. "You have six fingers. Did giants always have that? Never noticed."

He suddenly feels smaller than you. "Not usually."

Ford learned that you actually lived under his floorboards. He had to compromise with you so that you would stop stealing his stuff.

"Roommates?" you tilt your head. "As long as you don't kill me, I guess. And I said I was going to return it!"

He doesn't believe you. He hums, scratching his chin. "Your species must have been hit by the light of height-altering crystals. I'm guessing the way your people survive is by stealing from others."

"Borrowing."

He gave you all sorts of delicious food. Well, they're mostly store-bought, but it's better than anything you've gotten before.

Not to mention his stuff. He had way more than what you were expecting. All the more to decorate your house and expand your collections! He's generous; you'll give him that...

There's something you can't shake off though. Ford's a weirdo if anything.

Bill Cipher knows about you. But he doesn't really care because you're just like any other creature that Ford has gotten. He'll only intervene if you manage to distract Ford from the portal.

So it's a good thing you're doing the opposite. You're actually helping in your own little ways, such as bringing him pen and paper.

Sitting on Ford's shoulder, you keep yapping about rats eating your house. He doesn't mind the noise, albeit he's not really listening, but it's so much better than silence.

He has fallen asleep. You grab the blanket from a nearby table and drape it over his body the best you can. This man does more work than your entire lifespan; it's so concerning.

"You don't want to try becoming a full-sized human? Why not?" Ford asks sincerely, almost concerned. You becoming not tiny is what you were supposed to be.

"Me? Turning into your size?" you make a disturbed face, "no thanks. I feel like my life would be more complicated. You're taking care of me, and that's enough."

He smiles. "Interesting."

Once again, you find him asleep on the desk. You search for a good spot next to his arm and curl up to his warmth, closing your eyes and drifting to sleep.

...You wake up to relentless movement. Looking up, you meet Ford's crazed, hectic eyes.

"You," he exhales, his voice sounding different. "Not here to steal my eyes, are you?"

Without warning, he grabs your body. You tremble. "Bill didn't tell you to, right? You're the perfect size to scoop out someone's eye..."

"Ford—" A bright flashlight shines on your eyes.

He forces one eye open. A few seconds pass. "You're, ah, clear. I'm so sorry."

The human finally lets you go. "What the hell was that?! Are you okay??"

"There's something dangerous here," he winces as he goes around the room, locking all possible entrances. "We have to stop everything we've ever worked for! What I worked for!"

He walks over to you, a smile curling on his lips. "Don't worry. I'll protect you, little borrower. Won't let him lay a single finger on you."

Before you could even blink, you're pushed inside something. You quickly run to the front, holding the bars that kept you away from escaping. "Wait, let me go! You're being crazy!"

"I know this seems bad, but it's only temporary," he replies, locking your cage. "Not until I finish the protection around the house. I'll have to call Stan..."

yes he has cages.... he caged shmebulock 😭

gotta thank @shabbyshoebox for this treasure (tell me if u wanna be untagged!)

[lady-ashfade]

heeeelllooo

saw u were taking yan!fallout requests so..

lucy maclean meeting r first time headcanons?

Lucy Maclean x Reader

╰･ﾟ✧☽ you have no idea how much I am in love her. She is so pretty, so badass and sweet. Let me marry her please?

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: slight spoilers for the show, fluff, survival and wasteland content, short and fluffy.

Meeting lucy for the first time, you’d probably have to be a hero or nice person of some sort for her to trust you a bit at first.

For this lets say you are a trader. But not just any trader….The trader.

You have a small area and have barricaded and set up terminals all over, even a few robots you built (programmed) to defend if anything were to happen.

You had a house inside the walls, along with ones for guests when they come around. It’s a market for other wondering traders do set up shop. It’s a place you pride yourself in for safety of others.

But not only do you sell, you go out and find. You’ll hunt for days for things to bring back, which is why you get so rich.

Anyway moving on, this is how Lucy come across you.

You’ll be searching some old buildings for supplies and happen to come across a vault dweller in need of some help from mole rats. And lucky for her you helped.

After all is send and done you are hesitant to let her roam.

“Look lady, you seem like a fresh fish out of water. And you sure as hell don’t belong here, I suggest you find another place to raid.”

She smiles nervously and tells you she has no interest in hurting you or stealing anything from you…She just wants directions and information.

She’s been tricked, hunting and tortured but you ask her to leave peacefully. She could tell you weren’t a true monster.

“My name’s lucy,” she reaches out her hand slowly

When you take her back to your small settlement she is overjoyed by the kindness you show her. No one around is trying to kill her, and the food and water isn’t as good as her vault but she’s glad she can be safe.

If you offer anything to help her on her journey…She becomes smitten so hard. Yes, she was already interested in you when you saved her and brought her back.

But being a badass and kind human was rare. And boy did she find it hot on you.

[talesofsonicasura]

Persona 5: Phantom Cat

An idea that plagued me ever since I saw Poppy Playtime Chapter 3 and been playing Persona 5 Royal. Joker but he's a Bigger Bodies CatNap. Things are gonna go insane and have a new flavor of dark.

For those who want to learn more about Poppy Playtime before delving in, this post has all the current info links.

Ren Amamiya was an orphan raised in the Playcare orphanage at Playtime Co. A secondary candidate for the Catnap Bigger Bodies experiments if one were to be found too unstable to use(looks at Ch3 CatNap). It's clear from the various VHS tapes which can be found throughout the chapter that there are some workers who been aware about the horrors done in Playtime Co.

People who absolutely hated it or disagree with such inhumane idealism. One particular scientist decides to do something unheard of: allow a child experiment to escape. Ren being the chosen person as they had grown close to him but were unable to adopt him in time before experimentation. The transformation for the boy gone faulty which led to a more unorthodox method of conversion.

Ren was made into a small Catnap who will overtime grow into a Bigger Bodies version. The perfect size for the scientist to sneak him out in a duffle bag and vanish after work was done for today. A simple swap with a normal Catnap toy.

No one knew they were in the process of moving to Japan nor the truth until it was too late. An experiment has gotten out into the real world. The scientist alongside the recently converted Ren were unaware about the growth process and thought he been made into a normal toy.

A mistake that became noticed when Ren had double in size within a span of two weeks. Despite this new problem, the scientist did his best to raise the boy. Unlike the other CatNap, Ren is completely different from the Smiling Critters as a whole.

His face isn't a stuck in a perpetual grin and he can make various facial expressions like his cartoon counterpart. Ren is around 12 years old when he fully grew into his staggering 23 ft tall Bigger Body. Long lanky body that is more lean has an almost humanlike upper torso. Well if they got extra long limbs.

The youth can easily pretend to be a toy as he's well fed and the healthy weight hides his bone structure. (CH3 CatNap was starved.) Ren can compress his body to 11 ft at minimum for the moment. He needs to train in order to shrink to the size of a plush, even more to reach rat size(thank Shido's Palace.)

(Comparison Bigger Bodies Catnap and the small toy alongside the cartoon art)

Ren doesn't produce Red Smoke but instead normal choloform. This is because he would be upgraded once reaching full size back at Playcare under The Doctor's orders. A safe measure to not deal with two rogue Red Smoke spraying CatNaps.

He didn't have a voice box added as the employees involved in this experiment rather leave him mute. Ren does get one from his rescuer which sounds like his own voice but can be adjusted to fit his age. Despite being a Bigger Body the youth lives a very happy life.

A few weeks after Ren's thirteenth birthday is when tragedy struck. The boy lost his parent from the result of a drunk driver(Shido.) Ren is forced to pack up all his prizes possessions and leave knowing their family home would soon be foreclosed.

He moves into Yogen-jaya as the place was the closest, most rural but most importantly least populated area. Ren survived by eating whatever food people threw out and stealing from homes if desperate. On one fateful day, he breaks into Sojiro's place where meets Futaba.

She was obviously frightened by the 11 ft (compressed) monstrous cat in her house. Until Futaba notices that the strange creature acted more like a hungry skittish feline from the almost empty messy fridge. It was in that moment Futaba would do something insane. She let Ren stay with her.

Using her hacking skills, the youth stole money from people's bank accounts/cards and ordered Ren food to pick up in secluded spots throughout the neighborhood. The duo's bond becoming that of siblings over time. Although it didn't take long for Sojiro to bump into Ren.

He was super concerned and frightened to see the giant feline in his home even when Futaba jump into his defense. It took awhile before Sojiro trusted Ren as he let the Bigger Body stay due to the sibling bond with his adopted daughter. The two were obviously disgusted at Playtime Co once they heard about the boy's backstory.

For those wondering, this entire thing did change events in the Persona 5 main story. The first being the Phantom Thieves line up. Makoto takes Ren's position as she was taken into Kamoshida's Palace alongside Ryuji in his place. He becomes leader much later.

Next is the Palace lineup. There are no time limits for the first two(no expulsion threat nor Medjed threat. Makoto kept Ryuji from losing his cool for the former.) Futaba's Palace takes the second slot instead of Madarame. The reason being her mental attacks have gotten so worse that Ren sought the Phantom Thieves' help upon finding the Phansite. Futaba was rightfully upset upon finding out but she understood her big brother's worry.

A few depictions of Ren can be found inside her Egyptian Themed Palace, each showing him as a guardian deity. Even Shadow Futaba carries a little charm that looks like him. Ren also awakens Arseńe in this very Palace. His Phantom Thief outfit remains the same but can stretch or shrink to fit his body no matter the size change. Same goes for his weapons, the knife becoming a broadsword when large and the handgun into a grenade launcher.

The current Phantom Thieves absolutely freaked out when they first met Ren. For the beginning, he gave them the request and the keywords to reach her Palace. However Ren wasn't aware that a new obstacle had manifested due to his powerful bond with Futaba.

A stone Sphinx at the halfway point who will only let them through if they present the 'The Pharaoh's True Guardian'. The group believe they needed a plush which is sorta correct. I thought it be funny yet perfect symbolism to make Ren a key companion for Futaba's Palace. Now onto the Joker changes.

Ren is still a Wildcard but he has no access to his original Velvet Room. Keyword being 'original' for he'll gain usage to a completely different one. This one being managed by Margaret who been concerned about the strange behavior of Igor and Lavenza's absence.

Ren's appearance in the Velvet Room is his canon iteration. Although this room takes the appearance of a fun house with him wearing a Catnap hooded costume. Every mechanic in the Velvet Room revolves around carnival rides or game booths.

Fusion are the tea cup rides while Fusion Alarm shifts into Bumper Cars. Itemization is a the Disappearing Crate magic trick. Strengthening results in the Hall of Mirrors. Training being various games from tossing to dunk tanks.

I will be going over the Confidants, Thieves' Den and the other Persona 5 games in a different post as this is getting pretty long. That's it for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you later.

[svpernovae]

i know i've already mentioned this before but I've been thinking about the White Sand Street Orphanage and Florian so here's some not so fun bits on what White Sand Orphanage went through before it was turned into an Asylum (a.k.a me trying to understand where Florian fits in all this)

so far from what we know of the Orphanage it was created by Kreacher and it was meant to house disabled children to which Florian fits perfectly. however the records for when Kreacher was the head of the orphanage paint it as a living hell, with him beating up the kids should they fail to gather enough money when they were sent to beg on the streets. we see this more expressed through Robbie's birthday letters, that paint the Orphanage from near the beginning to it's transformation as an Asylum

according to a "diary with a torn title page" we know the Church took over and it's motives for the Orphanage were mostly linked to human experimentation, as they used the children as subjects and framed them as mentally ill to not draw suspicion upon them. this substitution happened practically over night as the second entry speaks of Kreacher beating the children, followed by a sudden increasing of medical staff and practically a week after Kreacher is replaced by the nuns

February 12 I knew this would happen! It turns out there's nothing wrong with the crybaby(Robbie). His sister(Dolores), however... Looks aren't everything, but it's easier to pull on the heartstrings with one hand. Luckily, today, someone made even less than I did... otherwise, that stinking rat (Kreacher) would've been giving me the beating. (Many pages were torn off between this entry and the next.)

February 22 An increasing number of strangers have been coming and going lately, carrying strange things in the night. I saw a bunch of folding knives last night. They look different from ordinary knives. Dolores said they're medical bloodletting tools, but I think they look more suitable for prying open locks, so I secretly took one. There were also some dolls that you can pull apart, inside and out, belts and headbands covered in metal decorations, and some kind of viscous metallic liquid… I've never seen anything like those in my life. Also, Dolores looked ill. She kept rambling on about bloodletting, electric belts, mannequins… I asked her how she knows so much. Dolores said she heard about those from the family doctor… I don't know if she's lying, but maybe those two orphans are not from any ordinary family of paupers.

March 29 Although that annoying rat has been replaced with a priest and a nun, the strict rules here are so stifling, I can barely breathe. And that bitter medicine… They told me I'm sick, but I know… I know I'm not sick.

from the little we have about Florian's past, he was sent to the Orphanage after his parents death. however we don't seem to have a mention of Kreacher at all from the snippets of his deductions nor from the few stills of his trailer. we do have the appearances of the nuns and the mentions of vials. the investors too, may be linked to Father Duke as Kreacher's first letter mentions him needing investment for his business and him offering the Orphanage to be the new Asylum in White Sand Street (as the previous one had failed)

New investment is coming in soon, and the new asylum is within reach. I believe your compassion towards these patients will move our business forward. If you could transfer these patients at White Sand Street to my new asylum, I am confident that I could erase their pain from the past. By doing so, you shall be complemented by the locals, and of course, you will receive financial gains in return. I understand you don't care for materialistic needs, but please forgive me, for I have nothing to offer as a token of my appreciation. I look forward to your reply. Your loyal servant, Kreacher Pierson

furthermore, Florian's character story mentions the Director himself painting Florian's survival as a miracle. seeing as Father Duke is the mastermind behind the Orphanage/Asylum, it's almost certain that the Director is Mr. Macallan who was appointed by Father Duke to administer the Orphanage with Sister Lorraine. however there is a chance that the director may have been Kreacher before he was replaced, which would imply that Florian would have suffered under him if he failed to meet the monetary expectations (which he most likely didn't as he's successful keeping the spiel of the "miracle" but the threat being there may have been a further pressure to accept this view of the "miracle")

When the Director told these stories to the donors over and over again, they all sighed in a unanimous voice as a way of sighing in appreciation of this selfless love and the miracle of life.

regardless, Florian's stay at the Orphanage wasn't exactly pleasant. from what it's hinted through his background, his trauma was used against him as a way to "survive" and it led him to eventually become a pyromaniac. i do believe he didn't start out as one, as the fire at his house was most likely an accident caused by himself while trying to replicate what his father had showed him. however, from what the texts imply, there was a critical change in demeanor as he started to listen to the "adults" around him

these adults, while being from the church were also medical staff who doubled as psychiatrists since the intuit was to turn the Orphanage into an Asylum. from the middle entries of "diary with a torn title page" we can see what the children gradually losing their sanity as the medicine deteriorates their psyche

April 6 I've been feeling dizzy and tired recently. Fortunately, I can just about hold this piece of charcoal to write. April 9 I saw it! Dolores has been pouring the crybaby's medicine out of the window, beneath the juniper tree! Had that rat rotted my brain completely!? I should've been doing the same thing all this time! April 23 Oh, no, Dolores has started shrieking, too. Can it be that... she doesn't recognize her little crybaby anymore? Hasn't she been throwing out the medicine? April 24 I knew it, I knew it, they're going to drag Dolores away, I knew it! Should I take a peek tonight? I remember there being a heavy pull-out window there, although it's always locked... but my knife should be able to pry it open.

Lydia Jones/Emily Dryer's (Doctor) diary also mentions that the children were not originally insane as the staff kept claiming. she begs for a third opinion on the matter but it ultimately led to nowhere

Through the treatment and evaluation of the patient, Lisa Beck (Gardener), I realized that those children - the children from the orphanage, may not have gentle temperaments. I mean, yes, they're seldom happy, and they seem suspicious or stubborn. Yet to my knowledge, these children aren't that much different from normal children in terms of mentality or behavior. These orphans might have experienced something terrible, or they might just have certain behavioral deviation, but I believe that they deserve a second chance. I therefore hope that you would evaluate the patients in the asylum once more. For your own safety and certain necessary private concerns, I urge that you seek help from a third party professional. I know that my suggestion may seem somewhat ridiculous, and perhaps you'll come across certain rumors about me later on, but I've adhered to my oath throughout my treatment of the children. For the benefit of the patients, for those poor children, please commence the evaluation as soon as possible. Yours truly, Lydia Jones

while it's uncertain whether or not he was experimented on the same way as the other children (since he was practically the money maker) he was at least aware of the "medicine" being made and was most likely forced to take it (we don't know yet if he actually took it or if he threw it out like Dolores did but the medicine was mandatory to all children). he seems to be aware or at least suspicious that the medicine is nefarious and illegal, as his line when setting the fire in the trailer implies that it helped to cover secrets

On September 13th, a fire broke out at the orphanage. The news reported how Florian was brave and saved numerous people, both supervisors and children. This event would lead to a fire insurance company to hire him to investigate fire losses and causes.

ultimately it's this fire that ends up letting him be free from the Orphanage. as it's implied that he got hired from this event alone. it's possibly that it's here that the Orphanage officially becomes an Asylum, as during the reconstruction it may have changed directly into one

while we don't know yet how he felt about the Orphanage nor his life there beyond being used for investments, there is a line that suggests that he was in the administrators favor and so he was made to manage the children

"His proactive attitude and seemingly conscientious nature led to him being chosen by the administrators to be the manager of the children."

because of this i do think he knew at least Robbie and Dolores. while before the Church took over the Orphanage the children could room however they wanted since there were hardly any beds, after it they were split apart by gender so he for sure knew of Robbie at least.

whether he knew of Lydia, Lisa or Alice it's still a mystery because of the ward separation but the rest are accounted for at least until he left the Orphanage

here's my lil interpretation of the timeline

Kreacher opens the Orphanage and becomes it's Director - contacts Father Duke to convert the Orphanage into the Asylum

Robbie and Dolores enter the Orphanage

Florian enters the Orphanage - the Church forces itself into the Orphanage with the pretense that the children are mentally ill

Lisa Beck enters the Orphanage (mentions of Priests and Nuns in Leo's diaries & Kreacher mentioning Emma/Lisa in his diaries)

Mr. Macallan is made the new Director alongside Sister Lorraine

Kreacher catches Lisa trying to escape the Orphanage and is paid 13 shillings by Mr. Macallan (unclear if this is when he officially leaves the Orphanage or if he only left after the fire)

Lydia Jones is forced to leave her volunteering at the Orphanage - appeals for the children to Sister Lorraine

Experiments are in full swing at the Orphanage, the children are made to drink "medicine" (March 29th)

Robbie dies (April 25th)

Dolores murders Mr. Macallan (May 30th-31st) and Father Duke becomes the director

1887 Alice enters the Orphanage - mentions of being experimented on

13th September (1887 possibly) Florian starts the fire at the Orphanage (13th September is linked as "Little Girl"'s birthday so it's possible the fire is linked to her)

Florian leaves the Orphanage

White Sand Street Orphanage becomes an Asylum after reconstruction

honestly May can't come soon enough because wow it's gonna be Florian, Kreacher and Alice diaries back to back. all that lore dropped in three consecutive days lmao

but in all seriousness after going through this i wonder if maybe Florian and Robbie will have the same game? his passing by the Orphanage feels a little too poignant to the lore over all since it seems he even affected Alice indirectly. and while Robbie still doesn't have a game given that he's pretty much a ghost, it would be fun to have him be a haunting figure to him

also, funnily enough on Kreacher's beta deduction image the children that surround him and Father Duke have the same handicaps as Dolores, Robbie (who has nothing wrong with him) and Florian (it's also implied that Florian was one of the oldest in the Orphanage, so this image kinda makes me think maybe the "miracle" story was sold to Father Duke first (yes yes i know the eye is wrong there but tbf Netease also switched Smiley Face prosthetic leg after 1st release and tbf i just found it a funny tid bit to add)

[ottau]

ONESHOT #1 - I trust you

By: Busybee033

_________________________

_________________________

Warning(S) - Mentions of blood/ gore/ cults/ Murder/ hints of eating People.

Please do not read if any of these warnings bother you. :) 

You have been warned.

Characters used: Eyeless Jack and Bethane Hartley (Slight mention of Slenderman, Jane, and Laughing Jack.)

_________________________

_________________________

It is strange. So very strange. 

Jackson never thought that his future would look something like this. The thought of having a place to belong and live so. . Normally. Well. As normal as possible in his case. Felt somewhat out of place. The basement was very spacious for an unfinished floor in this house. It is a large enough estate to consider it a mansion but Slender seems to consider it a “sanctuary” more than anything. He still considers Jane and the monochrome clown strangers. Jack has had a difficult time adjusting to interacting with others. He hadn’t exactly planned to befriend anyone. Not while he roamed the Earth like. . Well. THIS.

So why did he stay? 

After everything that has happened in the past month he hadn’t expected that small red-headed human to be so. . . Helpful to him? A masked stranger who she didn’t even know! He could’ve and probably would have ended her in that church if someone else hadn’t been trying to already. Honestly he was searching around the abandoned building for shelter. Just to settle for the week before hitting the next town over. A cycle to his life that has now been changed. 

Maybe it’s the fact that there were others just as broken and scarred like him living in this so-called sanctuary. Relatable to the horrors and traumas of this world that has so graciously bestowed them all. Sometimes he misses the things from his past life. Like his family and college mates. . . His mother. Mostly his mother. He wondered how broken she’d be if she learned of what her son had become. Too fearful of the thought of appearing out of nowhere to reveal himself as a mutilated monster that needed to eat organs from human beings just to keep himself sane. . . He knew it would kill her.

“Mmm.” He growled at himself before tossing over onto his side on the old mattress. Tattered, torn from age, and neglected for years. Though Slenderman reassured he’d receive a new one and some furniture if requested, Jack didn’t really care. A bed is a bed. At least there weren’t any rats scattering about the floor. Rats. . . It made him sick and it was hard to feel that way now. But he remembered how his first few nights of his transformation had affected his judgment. He refused to give in for a while and lived off of rodents and all sorts of animals. It just didn’t satisfy the urge as much as he hoped it would. A part of him wanted so badly to forget what he had done to that cult. The ones who had done this to him, the bloodshed he had caused. But there was another part of him that thrived in the agony, something about the way their blood ran down his throat. It was horrifyingly soothing. Warm. Delicious. 

Did he like to kill? No. Not one bit. It was survival in this world for him. He tried to focus on hunting criminals more than the innocent. After all, he was once an innocent that had succumbed to the horrors of the world's darkest shadows. All because of one person. It’s his fault for falling right into her hands. He was a fool to trust someone like her. He should have never walked into those woods alone.

The sound of someone taking a few steps down the old wooden stairs to the basement made him sit up. Not defensively, but because someone was coming down to his room without making themselves known or anything. Not even a knock. Rude.

At the top of the stairs was Bethane, the small red-headed woman who had evaded death by an axe to her skull by running into him. “Um. I brought you some dinner.” She moved timidly. Almost uncertain weather or not if she should be there. “It’s just soup. . . There. Wasn’t much in the kitchen.” She didn’t step any closer. Respectfully standing still at the end of the stairs with an old dish bowl in her hands with steaming tomato soup.

Jackson sighed while his shoulders slumped. “I'm not hungry.” He hoped it would end there. No more conversation. He just wanted to be alone. Being around others made him uncomfortable. Not because of them but because of him. Who knows what he could do if he ever got out of control?

She stood by the steps silently with a contemplative stare for a moment. Like she felt like she didn’t want to leave or stay, she didn’t know why she wanted to stay, but Beth shouldn’t be bothering someone who isn’t even human. She doesn’t know what he is capable of. It was probably best to leave him be.

“I’ll just. Leave it here. Just in case.” She kneeled to set the bowl down on the last step that wobbled for a moment and made her think that the step could potentially break at some point later on. It’s a step she skipped while making her way back up the stairs, he sighed before stopping her halfway up with a question from where he sat.

“Why did you do this?” He genuinely wondered.

“What?” She was confused. “Bring you soup?”

Jack grumbled before explaining what he had meant. “No. this.” He motioned to the room. “Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me.” He sounded irritated by the generosity being shown to him. It was uncomfortable, but a warm, familiar feeling. “Helping you wasn’t an invitation to help me in return. I don’t need anyone's pity.” He growled.

“Pity? Oh!” Her eyes widened as she clarified. “No! Of course not!” She stressed. “That was not my intention. It’s just. I assumed you would have appreciated some help. Since. Well. You did save my life. . . More than once.” Bethane scratched the back of her neck. In her eyes, he had stayed around long enough to save her from multiple incidents of death. She was lucky he even considered helping her out. To him, she was a stranger who had been so grossly trusting. 

“So. . Say it’s more like pay back? You could stay or leave at any time. But. Between you and me, I say you can come back whenever if you need a place to stay.” Her smile was sweet, and it made Jack’s heart skip. That was weird. “Well. I should-.” “Are you always this trusting?” His question came after a short while of silence between them. “Huh?”

Sighing, he stood from the scuffed mattress and approached the end of the stairs. “You’re a very trusting person, and for someone who seems to bring in the emotionally unbalanced kind of people, don’t you ever get scared of getting hurt?” He seemed genuinely curious, and even Jack couldn’t understand the sudden urge to ask a question like this.

She stared at him while she thought, then answered. “Because I trust you.”

“But. . Why?” He wondered.

Bethane only giggled and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I just do.”

[ru5t]

THE ZONES NETWORK.

From the very beginning of all of this mess, one of BL/ind’s major upper hands on the conflict has always been its level of organization. While most people were left absolutely reeling after the wars and have been scrambling ever since, Better Living Industries was both well informed and well prepared. Their systems survived better than any other infrastructure, chief among these, that which many took for granted - the ability to communicate.

Early opposition efforts found themselves boxed out, cut off, constantly on the heel. They lacked the means to widely disseminate information. As result, each and every effort they made against Better Living was fractured, difficult to arrange and even harder to coordinate with other, grander moves. Something had to be done. The early answer was code within the city’s systems. With time, and Better Living’s new device the ‘transmitter’, things picked up. Killjoys created pirate radio stations and transmitter to transmitter calling trees. Passing news by word of mouth, person to person, five miles at a time, or else in wide broadcast. This process began informal, unorganized and somewhat frantic. Over time it self-polished into a lengthy chain, strenuous and fragile, but one that they grew very skilled at.

By the time the Fabulous Four rose to infamy, most of zones 03 and 04 could be appraised of an incoming raid within a day or, on a good run, in a few hours (though usually somewhere in between) and movements were easier to coordinate, though hard to hide. Entire crews might be saved from raids, or at least several lives that would have otherwise been lost. If nothing else, they might have time to send away their youngest, and pass the word along before worst came to worst. The best made out of a bad situation. And still, secrets could not be whispered, and codes could be cracked, DJs hunted, calling chains broken…

Then along came a little killjoy called Techno Havoc.

Thread by Thread

Barely a handful of years out of the city but already nursing a reputation for her loud mouth and top tier transmitter builds, Tech was on the up after aiding in the effort to destroy the greenhouses BLind planted in the zones. She, with a handful of friends rallied behind her, burned down the one in western in zone 03 as part of a massive strike organized by the Rat King himself. As overnight as the houses appeared, they were destroyed, foiling whatever chess move the city had planned. In retaliation, the city struck down a peaceful settlement. An entire community gone, just like that. A guilt chewed its way into Tech’s mind. A sense of responsibility, considering the role she'd played in all the mess, and an idea found its way out through the hole. She turned her attention toward the zones’ communication system.

She knew of it before the retaliation, of course. (It’s somewhat impossible to live in the desert any longer than a few days without encountering the necessity of a radio even if one isn’t a technology type.) She’d even fussed with a few paper boys now and again, pointing out and poking new holes in their paper routes. But before the fall of the settlement —and the death of her friend Ivy Adrenaline, run down by a patrol— all her grumblings and vague notions were naught but ideas. Bitter regret and burning spite turned those daydreams into a fit of planning and testing. As she stitched together her thoughts, she kept thinking of the city. Neatly spaced power centers. Bundled wires and closed networks. Fast, efficient, and secure.

Plan in hand, she began to build. Not just a device, but a force. A temporary guild gathered together thanks to the attention she’d earned during her time in the desert. She summoned trading types, settlements, clubs, camps, and anyone -everyone- who could do anything with wires or systems or welding. These she invited into her idea — building a secure network of their own. Something faster and safer and more secret that shouts over short range and secret messages over long range could ever hope to be. Some that she gathered couldn’t see the vision, and parted early. Those who agreed became the foundations for the system, what it would aim to do and where it would physically lay, what it would need to encompass. They contributed parts, scouting trips, time, and other resources to bring it to life. In many ways it was an event representative of the deserts merits. A massive undertaking and cooperative effort with the payoff coming not in money or resource, but community and safety. Aspiration toward the desert’s rarest privilege: stability.

Better Living caught on. Enough of the project was kept need-to-know in such a way that the company was unable to obstruct the whole project, or hunt down everyone involved to halt their aid, but one thing that couldn’t be kept secret was the person at the center of it. Tech was targeted and, through a double agent and betrayal, captured by city forces. The agent responsible set to work spreading the false report that she was killed outright. Dead and gone. The thought was that, without her to lead the effort and finalize the build she was keeping so carefully secret, the project would crumble. It very nearly did.

As news of her ‘death’ broke, chaos and unease spread through her gathered groups. Some bolted, others nearly ran, and it all took a great deal of arguing to smooth things back out. Arguing, and new custodians. In Tech’s absence, a pair of tech savvy types picked up where she left off. Embalm & Embed, relative unknowns, had been on the fringes of the project until then. It may have been what gave them perspective while those closer to Tech mourned and panicked. They had to modify what they knew of her intentions given the available resources, and create their own ideas where she left off and could offer no insight on how she planned to achieve or circumvent certain things, but some form of her idea did come to life under their watch. As the system’s primary keepers, now, they look after the physical aspects of the build -adding new support and running repair on any parts that get damaged- and manage the pathways created by all the relays spread through the inner zones.

In the end, with its reach and complexity, it came to be called The Web.

The Signal Line

So what, exactly, is the Web? As most things are in the desert, The Web is a hodge-podge of things hard at work doing something they were never designed to do tied together to old world echoes and new ideas. Many of the pieces of its central hub and various terminals came from old transmitters and even older radios, bits of broken computers and the guts of discarded talking dolls. Anything that could carry audio or push along a signal. Scraps and salvage.

To be clearer the Web is closed, hardline network of devices. No public signals to sit on, no airwaves to hack, no codes but the language of computers needed. It is most easily compared to old phoning systems-

point of fact it makes use, in part, of old phone lines laid before the wars that were dug up, dragged down, patched, and in some cases re-laid

-wherein a hard line runs to each stop, and all the stops are connected to a central hub where lines are redirected and put into contact with each other manually by operators (i.e. like a switchboard.) There are a series of way points, often called terminals by those responsible for using them, which can send information instantaneously (or as near as was manageable — much faster than it would take to make several adjoining calls over the same distance) to the central hub, that then sends word to every connected terminal simultaneously. This effectively reduces a multi-hour series of calls into a bounce that takes minutes. A complex relay race of baton passes, transmitter to transmitter to transmitter, turned into a hundred yard sprint for just one button. It also means one must be physically attached to either the terminals or the switchboard to intercept and snoop on signals passing through it.

The terminals sit in most of the settling spots of the groups who helped obtain and lay out the physical components of the build, with no less than twenty scattered through zone 03 alone. A map of the tower and terminals is in progress.

Tech’s original plans and designs intended for any point in the web to be able to connect to all other points, meaning that any person connected to it could send word to everyone else at once. This would mean near-instant spread of news and prevent the Web from being entirely disabled if one of its branches was damaged or lost. Unfortunately, imitations in hardware and power supply prevented this, and necessitated having the central hub.

The center of the Web is, relatively speaking, a secret both in location and the level of import to the function of the whole system. The physical structure is an old repurposed water tower, where Embalm & Embed make their home and house a large communications build. This build is the ‘brain’ of the system. Both the central power source and place where the signals from the rest of the system arrive and are redirected. It needs constant supervision as the most important and possibly most cobbled-together part of the whole thing, for while the pathway from terminal to tower is a straight shot, the way of spreading the signals the tower receives is not (and cannot currently be) automated, and power generation must be maintained.

They don’t often put out any major radio signals of their own in an effort to keep the tower inconspicuous as possible, but have direct line to a select handful of DJs, who also put the call out the traditional way, connecting the Web to the calling-trees and paper boys of the older system. Being in the tower gives the twins the option, should they ever need it, of better connection with the stations who do put the calls out as broadcast, and may help to disguise the actual nature of the Web. Most people -including the city- don’t know that the web isn’t broadcast based.

Thus fair the secret has stayed secure, but if the tower ever goes down, it’d be damn difficult if not impossible to rebuild.

Catching Vibrations

Certainly nothing’s ever completely steady, that’s true of the world in any age, but the Web has gotten those who belong to it closer to it than anyone else in the zones has in a long while. It’s said that Ashtap wouldn’t have been able to settle without it, and since the Web went live the number of surprise raids through common killjoy stomping grounds have returned fewer and fewer results for the city, frustrating and confusing their S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W forces.

The old system resisted at first. Hurt feelings and a dash of desert pride, no doubt. But the point of the web wasn’t to make a mockery of what came before, just to build on it. It didn’t take long to prove itself, and soon enough the two melded together. The old way of doing things still hangs around, kept in-practice running things alongside the Web and spreading word to the parts of the zones it doesn't reach. They stand prepared to resume their old work as a failsafe. Contingency should the worst ever come to pass. But otherwise the two are one, the runners of the old chain now largely the operators and guardians of the Web.

The eventual hope is to spread the system bit by bit, connecting all the zones. For now, it’s centered on eastern 03, where the largest population of killjoys can be found, with lines reaching in some parts of 02 and 04. From there, word of mouth takes over. In the inner zones, news passes like lightning. News to the outer zones still spreads DJ by DJ - slower than instant, but still wildfire fast. These days it's hard to spring surprises on the markets, and while there's no public channel for the effect this has on the city, certain circles take it on seemingly good word that certain branches of city operations are frustrated. Even concerned. Maybe even on the heel, just a little...

[onegianthotmess]

I got inspired by a post with an Aladdin!Reader-

Meet Adel Alin, a first year in Scarabia House!!! He’s a poor orphan from the slums of the Scalding Sands with an unmistakable talent with magic! He also has a younger adoptive sister that I’ll be showing you soon, so look out for her!

Adel is incredibly swift, cunning, and agile. Given his active life on the streets, he’s quite physically fit and fast. He’s also very good at parkour, often using this special talent to make it to class on time or escape from students he pickpockets. He’s also skilled at swiping things given that thievery was a necessary skill he had to have for him to survive.

Adel doesn’t really care what others think, given that he’s been called names all his life. “Scoundrel,” “street rat,” “criminal,” “devil child,” and “thieving ruffian” are just a few of the common names he’s called; though he’s mainly called these by angry shopkeepers and people he steals from. So when students call him names and make fun of him for barely being able to afford a uniform for himself since he spent most of his saved school money on a full uniform for his sister, he shrugs it off, makes a few remarks, and runs away laughing from the students he offended.

Though he seems carefree and only thinking of himself, Adel actually cares very much about those he considers family and always puts his sister’s needs before his own. He always tries to make her birthdays special and give her the better portion of food he manages to snag for them, even if it leaves him with basically nothing. He’d rather keep his sister alive than loose her like he lost their mother to an illness when they were little. Adel also wants to get a good job when he graduates NRC so he can buy his sister a pretty dress like she’s always wanted. He also wants to have a decent life so that any children he may have won’t have to struggle like he did.

Moving on to school, Adel isn’t the smartest, but he isn’t average either. He’s incredibly skilled in astrology and divination, though he does struggle quite a bit with potion making like he does with cooking, which he is horrible at. He’s also one of the best P.E. students at NRC and is a member of the Track & Field Club.

One of his favorite things to do is to sneak out and go on nighttime magic carpet rides. He’d take his sister, but she gets airsick pretty easy, so he’s usually alone but hopes to have someone to share the view with one day.

Overall he’s friendly, cunning, sneaky, sprightly, and incredibly caring even if he doesn’t show it!

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 10: Worse Things Happen at Sea

“Darling, I haven’t drunk from a willing volunteer ever. It’s been all rats, kobolds, wildlife, and enemies since I became like…this.” He gestures towards himself. “Don’t be stupid. I’ll have no restraint. Go back to your room.” Something sinister stirs in Celeste.  “Try me,” she steps dangerously close to him and his mouth goes dry, “I’m very hard to kill.” 

Full Story on AO3

Astarion x Original Female Character

Content (chapter): 18+, blood drinking, trauma. Smut & fluff in other chapters, see AO3 tags or for detailed fic tags and warnings.

Celeste’s nightmares plagued her throughout the day, keeping Astarion awake for hours. He woke her after she startled herself in her sleep for the fifth time, an ache in his chest as he watched her suffering. 

“You’re not sleeping well anyway, pet,” He’d said as she glowered at him. Her demeanor never broke and she never shed a single tear, but Astarion knew she couldn’t hold out much longer.

Voices low, they spent the rest of the day in the half light of his room, exchanging questions about what books they’d read and who his favorite authors were, or which subjects she studied at the academy. They didn’t speak of what transpired between them hours earlier, and Astarion offered no further affections. At sunset, she demanded to see the house - what remained and whether anything was salvageable. 

“If you’d just let me get a few things-”

“No.” 

“You owe me a favor, remember?” 

“I owe you nothing. I saved you from a burning house. We’re beyond even, my dear.” 

Celeste’s defeated expression had gotten the best of him, and he compromised by checking the rubble by himself. To his dismay, he discovered nothing but ash and a steel trunk that had endured the fire but had been thoroughly looted. He plucked a stuffed owlbear from the bottom of the trunk, head lolling from a rip in the fabric of its neck as he turned it in his hands. He had tucked it away in his coat pocket and moved on to Meiroth’s Fine Silks to pick the lock and rob the store of its best garments.

When Astarion returns to the tower. Celeste, Minthara, Karlach and Shadowheart are deep in conversation at the kitchen table, none of them giving him so much as a friendly nod. He goes straight to his room, setting a backpack full of shoplifted clothing for Celeste on the bed as consolation. He pulls a needle and thread out from his desk drawer and makes quick work of the stuffed owlbear’s severed neck. Needlework had once preserved his dignity, repairing the clothes he wore as Cazador’s spawn for years. In his freedom, it has become something of a hobby. 

A soft knock on the doorframe breaks his focus, and he watches as Celeste looks through the bag at what he’d procured for her. 

“Clothes? These are…beautiful.” She says, running her fingertips across the silks, leathers and velvets. “If not expensive.”  

“Don’t fret, my dear. I have a discount,” Astarion says, wiggling his fingers at her with a mischievous grin. 

“Oh you can’t be serious about this one.” She holds up a particularly risqué set of lingerie and Astarion shrugs.

“Wasn’t sure what you were into.”

“Sure…” She cranes her neck as she folds the lingerie and stows it away. “What do you have there?”

Astarion ties off a final stitch and stands, pulling her towards him by her forearm. He presses the floppy owlbear into her hands and she stares in disbelief.

“I…you fixed it. It survived?” Her fingers smooth against a button meant to be its eye.

“That’s all that was there. But it seemed…significant, somehow.” Celeste looks as if she’s about to cry, a rare display of emotion from the Moonborn. “Is it important to you?” Astarion asks. 

“It’s the only remnant of my childhood I have. Everything else is in my vault in Baldur’s Gate, none of it sentimental, really.” Celeste’s words are distant, still focused on the stuffed toy in her hands. She raises her gaze to meet Astarion’s. His ruby irises look softer, almost kind. “Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing.” He waves dismissively and looks away, uncomfortable with gratitude. He stoops and pulls a dagger from between the mattress and the bed frame, holding it out to her. “Here. You’ll need this as well. I presume you know how to use it?” 

Celeste takes the dagger by the handle, turning it in her hands and watching it catch the light from the bedside lamp. “I do.”

“Does your memory need to be refreshed? Or have you been keeping up on your Sharran killing spree?” He asks with a smirk that is wiped away by the shameful look on her face. “Sorry.” He blurts. 

“It’s alright.” She tucks the dagger away.

“Gale secured us two rooms on a ship while I was out. We have to leave soon if we want to board on time. You, myself, Gale and Shadowheart will leave tonight and Karlach and Minthara will follow us on a separate ship tomorrow. Rooms are hard to come by and my days of sleeping on bedrolls are over.” When Celeste doesn’t respond, Astarion takes a step closer to her and cups his hand against her cheek. “We will figure this out.” His voice is nearly a whisper. Celeste nods and pulls away to sling her bag over her shoulder.

On the way downstairs, Shadowheart catches her. “Celeste, come here for a moment, won’t you?” Her tone is friendly, if not tinged with guilt. Astarion nods and continues downstairs alone. Shadowheart hands Celeste a small, dark flower when they enter her room. “Are you familiar with night orchids?” 

“I can’t say I am. Botany is not my strong suit.” Celeste’s thumb grazes across the silklike surface of the petal. 

“They’re my favorite. I told Gale how much I adored them shortly after we’d met, and ever since we’ve been in Waterdeep, I keep finding them on my desk now and then.” Her eyes go dark. “I wanted to apologize, for us maybe getting off on the wrong foot. I’ve been short with you and…I’m working through some things.” Shadowheart gives her a weak smile. “I’d like for us to be friends. Please consider this a token of my apology.”

“Shadowheart, this isn’t necessary. I’ve never taken offense and you’ve been more than accommodating…you’ve taken risks for me-”

“Then let me rephrase. I need a friend. I need someone who understands what it is to suffer as I have. Our stories may not parallel one another, but they have their similarities. I’ve felt such crippling loneliness in the quiet after the Absolute. Without distraction, my grief is roaring in my ears. I push everyone away because it takes so much energy to explain myself. But you…I don’t have to explain it to you. Not all of it, at least.”

Celeste listens, stunned at the cleric’s show of vulnerability. She opens her mouth and then closes it again before looking back at the bloom in her hands. “It’s exquisite, thank you.” Celeste delicately tucks the night orchid into her bag. Shadowheart takes her backpack from her dresser and ushers Celeste out of the room. 

Astarion sits in the den with his legs crossed by the fire, Gale across from him, writing something in a tome. Shadowheart leans in close to Celeste as they descend the staircase together. “Astarion sure does dote on you.” She teases. 

“He does not dote-”

“He dotes.”

The four walk in silence to the docks, Celeste pulling her new cloak around her tightly, part to keep out the cold, part to conceal herself from the feeling of being watched. Morning fog hovers over the grass in thick clouds on either side of the cobblestone streets.

The ship is enormous, but still prioritizes cargo over passengers. There are a few interior cabins below the deck on the second level. Each room is identical: a spacious bed, an upholstered chaise, a dresser with a washbasin, a bathtub in the corner, towels and linens stacked neatly on the bed. 

“Fancy.” Astarion murmurs quietly.

“I certainly hope so. We paid double for it, and they only gave us two.” Gale says. “Hopefully you won’t mind sharing with me.” Gale grins as Astarion lets out a sound of disgust. It would be a long three days. 

“If you and Shadowheart could find it in yourselves to just have a nice-” 

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” Gale enters their room before Astarion can add any more commentary. 

“This must be us then.” Shadowheart opens the adjacent door, her face flushed, leaving Astarion and Celeste standing in the hallway. 

“Have a fine evening…dear.” Astarion’s red irises shimmer as they linger on her for a moment before following Gale and shutting the door.

Gale settles in quickly, electing to sleep in the single bed in shifts: Gale at night, Astarion during the day. Once the ship pulls away from the docks, Astarion wanders the upper deck. His hunger is nearly impossible to ignore, and he knows he’s fucked up and waited too long to do anything about it.

Surely no one would miss one or two crew members…

“Getting some air?” Celeste asks, appearing behind him as he stares out at the sea. He whips around and clears his throat.

“Something like that.” He responds hoarsely.

Celeste’s brow furrows. “Are you alright?’ 

Astarion runs his fingers through his hair, drawing in a slow breath. “I’ll be fine. Just do me a favor and don’t bleed in my presence until we reach Baldur’s Gate and I can drain a criminal or something.” Celeste takes a step closer.

“Are you in need of a favor?” Her face is expressionless, but he can sense the teasing in her voice.

“Oh no, we’re even, and I intend to keep things that way. No more debts on my end.” Celeste tilts her head to the side, studying him.

“You’re starving, aren’t you?”

“I advise you to change the subject quickly, pet,” Astarion growls. 

“You’re no good to me when you’ve gone feral with bloodlust.” Celeste keeps her tone gentle, but Astarion’s bad mood gets the best of him. 

“Darling, I haven’t drunk from a willing volunteer ever. It’s been all rats, kobolds, wildlife, and enemies since I became like…this.” He gestures towards himself. “Don’t be stupid. I’ll have no restraint. Go back to your room.” Something sinister stirs in Celeste. 

“Try me,” she steps dangerously close to him and his mouth goes dry, “I’m very hard to kill.” 

“Celeste-” He rasps as she pulls him back towards the lower deck, wordlessly leading him down a vacant corridor. He feels his fangs lengthen in anticipation and tries to resist as she leans back against the wall. 

“Just a little.”

“Celeste, stop this.” Astarion turns back down the hallway. 

“I trust you,” she whispers after him. Astarion’s eyes widen and before he can stop himself, he whirls around, grabbing her by the wrists and turning her to the wall, pressing himself tightly against her. 

“You’ll come to regret that.” He whispers darkly in her ear before driving his fangs into her throat.

Celeste’s breath hitches as her skin pinches as it’s punctured, a sting that makes her eyes water, but she stays still. Astarion draws from her gently, opposite of the aggressive way he’d just repositioned her. He pins her wrists against the wall and the action drives her wild with arousal, but she remains still. His body shudders with each drop of her blood that fills him. He releases her from his mouth, tongue languidly trailing from her wound to her earlobe, breath quickening as he softly pulls at a fistful of her hair. 

“Tell me to stop, darling. It’s only fair. I will stop.”

She shakes her head with a faint whine. 

His movements become frantic and urgent, desperately trying to resist draining her entirely. Burying his face into her neck again, he feeds deeper and more voraciously until she pleads his name. He’s not a man of much willpower, and it takes all he has to pull away. Releasing her abruptly and pushing himself off the wall, he stalks back to his room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He doesn’t dare look back at her as she touches the bite, staring after him in shock. 

[othernaut]

The dungeon ecologist druid would be insufferable in the sewer level. You're just trying to concentrate on breathing through your mouth and keeping your spell components unbefouled, and all the while...

"You know, it's a common misconception that otyughs are inherently hostile. They're territorial, but they'll back down once they sense that their nest isn't threatened. It takes a lot of energy for an otyugh to move around, actually. They prefer picking a spot with plentiful sewage flow and would ideally remain inanimate their entire lives."

"It's weird that we've been seeing so many vargouilles down here. They're infernal creatures, yeah, but they're opportunistic parasitoids and they don't survive well outside of the hellish ecology. Without a constant source of humanoid bodies to kiss, a colony typically dies out within a few weeks. Wonder if the Thieves' Guild has been dumping corpses down here again."

"Oh, hey, don't let your crawling hand familiar back on your shoulder just yet. He's caught rot grubs, I'd say about ten minutes back. Fascinating creatures, really. They're harmless to the undead, but once they sense body heat, they instinctually burrow towards a heartbeat. Just get him to stand still for a minute while I heat up this dagger. You know that most reports of zombification passing through bites are actually mislabeled rot grub infestations?"

"Oh, haha, yeah, don't mind the dire rats, just keep moving. We're in their house right now, they just want to know that we're not moving in. Did you know that there averages seven rats for every person in any given city? Just think: Ten feet under any street it's just solid rats. It's a credit to the Sanitation Guild that they don't come up the privy more often, really."

"A cave fisher! That's a rare one for this environment. They're Underdark creatures - they usually don't like environments with as much noise and flowing water as this. This little guy must be so confused, either that or most of the way to deaf. Try not to snap the filament when you wriggle free. Poor little guy is probably hunting by sense of touch alone."

"You know, you'd be surprised how much cultists contribute to the local ecology. Having a reliable source of heat and light, like devotional candles, can provide crucial energy to the lower level flora which are the backbone of the entire ecosystem. It's easy to think of the cultist as an invasive species, but they're part of the nutrient exchange between the sewer and the surface world. Oh, don't worry about killing them, a den is rarely left uninhabited for long. Look, you can still see the old hate-sigils of the Ravening Darkness! The cycle of nature is a beautiful thing."

"Ooh, that's a carrion crawler! Hold still, I... Ah, guess you don't have much of a choice in the matter. But look on her underside. She's carrying eggs! And quite a large crop of them, at that. These guys are scavengers, actually, they rarely actively hunt, but once those eggs hatch they're going to consume her for nutrients, so she's under a real evolutionary pressure to bulk up as much as she can right now. Once you regain use of your arms, try to aim away from the thorax. The eggs will do just fine if she's already dead a little."

[thefairorgan]

Tin hopping frog, bought at the Peckham Fair, 1820. (Toys held by Southwark Heritage Centre).

FAIRING No. 2 – Edwina Attlee

Who wrote these famous poems about the wind?

One of the best poets of English melancholy is Richard Kemp who writes a lot about his hometown of Clacton. The seaside town is often a base for fair workers who need employment outside the travelling season. This work is also seasonal, Christmas trees, amusement arcades, rock shops (the boiled sugar substance rather than pebbles and stones). Some families do very well, others just survive, but the town has a character that responds to these seasonal comings and goings.

The pavements had filled with lonely-hearts, people along the road like they had come from or were going to the sun, How could the evening be described? A forlorn clown sitting with its hands on its chin, happy to be released from the memory of yesterday’s clowns? Rhododendrons, heavy wilderness of shimmering parking bays, the old magistrates building ruined and alone, the fountain, the tiny island, the chipped toes of the statue. Broken mirrors do not make amusement parks disappear, on the contrary, the night on blue fire beyond pale grass, the sorcery of empty bedrooms, disarray of the coat stand the hubbub of a distant storm…¹

The line ‘on the contrary’ is one that sticks. Because the fair of the song ‘She Moves Through the Fair’ is gone and disappeared but also – still here. The funfair still rolls into the park at least four times a year. Ghost trains still exist. 

In Crystal Palace the fair returns to the site on top of the old underpass, a beautiful Victorian structure that has recently been restored. Along from this hilltop tober is the /campsite/ which sits in the grounds of what was once the gardens of the Paxton family home. These gardens retained some of the ancient oaks of the Great North Wood, which Joseph Paxton had been permitted to delete in order to make the park that would house his relocated glass palace. Current redevelopment looks set to disappear the trees and the campsite that shelters them. 

It would be a deep tragedy if in years to come there were no campsite. No space set aside for people to come and go. No tober. The fairings on show in the exhibition would be like the bits and bobs in the souvenir shop at Polperro that Neaera H. refuses to buy in the novel Turtle Diary. 

There was a sign at the harbour which I copied: POLPERRO HARBOUR Polperro is the best example of the small Cornish fishing ports and the Harbour Trustees are anxious to retain its character without resorting to commercialization The cost of maintenance far exceeds the income WILL YOU PLEASE HELP? There was a box with a slot. A few feet away were a souvenir stand and a shop full of pottery things and coppery things and sea urchin lamps with lightbulbs in them shining through the sea urchins. I put no money in the box.²

The author of Turtle Diary, Russell Hoban lends the Fairings catalogue its epithet. This is taken from his book for children, The Mouse and his Child. It is a deeply moving, deeply weird book about two wind-up toys who get thrown away after they are broken by a cat. They end up in the dump, a fearful place run by the sinister Manny Rat who is one of the only people who can fix broken toys (the other is Muskrat but he is more concerned with doing a great act that will make the beavers respect him). The mouse and his father want to get back to the toy shop where there was an elephant who could stand in for a mother, and a territory they could claim as their own. 

“But what is a territory?” asked the mouse child again.      “A territory is your place,” said the drummer boy. “It’s where everything smells right. It’s where you know the runaways and the hideouts, night or day. It’s what you fought for, or what your father fought for, and you feel all safe and strong there. It’s the place where, when you fight, you win.”      “That’s your territory,” said the fifer. “Somebody else’s territory is something else again. That’s where you feel all sick and scared and want to run away, and where the other side mostly wins.”

The father walked in silence as a wave of shame swept over him. What chance has anybody got without a territory! He repeated to himself and knew the little shrew was right. What chance had they indeed! He saw now that for him and for his son the whole wide world was someone else’s territory, on which he could not even walk without someone to wind him up.³

The afterlife of toys is often pitiable and full of pathos. Franco Moretti has tried to explain why certain narratives can move a reader to tears – ‘he argues that moving moments in such stories are established when the point of view or perception of one of the characters coincides with the perception of the reader, who has just made his or her way through the narrative. Effects of pathos, Carolyn Steedman writes, have also to do with the timing of this coincidence of points of view. The coincidence is particularly moving when, in Moretti’s words “it comes too late” … We cry then because we understand that the course of events is irreversible; our tears are the expression of our powerlessness to alter it.’⁴

Somehow the toys in the exhibition resist pathos. They are sturdy and cranky. They retain much of their colour. Their fate has been to be collected instead of being played with until ruin. Their afterlife makes them differently sized, outstanding and somehow powerful, like the horse figurines next to the toy train that Tirzah Garwood painted in 1950.

Tirzah Garwood, Hide and Seek (1950)

The exhibition claims them as ‘fairings’ but this can be debated. Alexander writes,

the money spent at St. Giles’s did not entirely vanish at the end of the two days. Small gifts and special purchases were bought for the family and other loved ones that had been left behind – like the blue ribbons impatiently awaited in the song, “Johnny’s So Long at the Fair”. Young girls bought Brummagen chains for the sweetheart at sea, young men bought gold rings as a token of their affection. These gifts are ‘fairings’...  There is a graphic description of fairings in Lark Rise to Candleford where Queenie remembers the lace-making times at Banbury Fair, and continues: “Then there was a fairing to be brought for those at home – pipes and packets of shag tobacco for the men, rag dolls and ginger-bread for the “little ‘uns” and snuff for the old grannies.. And the homecoming, loaded with treasure and money in the pocket beside.”⁵

It is the curator’s contention that the toys on show were bought for people who were not at the fair, and that they retain the mark of the fair as they are moved elsewhere. Like the toys assembled hodge-podge in a party bag that otherwise might strike the possessor as cheap or meagre they are alight with the glow of the party, and they stay lit. It is poignant to think about them as un-vanished money. 

I meant to have you leave the premises with a party bag inside which would be a rubber giraffe perhaps, one with a wire frame embedded in it (so that it might be coerced into all  manner of different positions), and a little seam running in it, which would speak in a quiet unassuming voice, of the mould it had emerged from, just as our navels refer back to our own moulds. Would you return, or so the argument  went, if I hadn’t presented you with at least a small token, a thing which would at once both describe and ameliorate, possibly even diminish some of this distance between us?⁶

There is a confusing longevity to the things and work of the fair. St Bartholemew’s Fair, where many of the toys on show were bought in the 1800s, took place on the same site for hundreds of years. In the medieval times the people of the fair – like their wayfaring contemporaries – were not trusted by the authorities; ‘while they showed indulgence to the armed retainers of the great, they feared the rounds made by those glee men with no other arms than their vielle or tabor, but sowing sometimes strange disquieting doctrines under colour of songs’.⁷ Buffoons and jugglers, tumblers, minstrels, singers. The authorities watched over them and even denounced them as ‘fomenters of trouble and causes of rebellion.’ 

Wooden toy model of flying chairs, bought at St. Bartholomew's Fair, 1839

If we take their occupation and way of life as formational then there is an idea that wayfaring itself lent sympathy in the travellers for an idea of emancipation. Much as staying still might lead towards an inversion of that idea. There is the possibility of a politics struck through the body as it moves without a stable base along the roads and ways singing.

The Fairings exhibition catalogue looks for this politics of condition a politics hewn in paint and carving, hidden under colour of song, and sold from a cheapjack’s hand. Like the Lord Mayor and his horses, it rifles through the apparently innocuous, hoping to reach a weapon.

According to Sherwin’s Political Register (13th September 1817) the authorities panicked at a rumour that an insurrection was planned to coincide with Bartholomew Fair. Four regiments of horse were called out and the Lord Mayor searched for weapons among the oyster tubs, sausage-stalls and gingerbread baskets.⁸

Footnotes:

1. These lines are from Richard Kemp’s poem ‘In Standard Time’ with kind permission of the poet.

2. Russell Hoban, Turtle Diary (1975).

3. Russell Hoban, The Mouse and his Child (1969).

4. Carolyn Steedman, Childhood, Culture and Class in Britain: Margaret McMillan 1860-1931 (1990) and Franco Moretti, ‘Kindergarten’, in Signs Taken for Wonders (1983).

5. Sally Alexander, St. Giles’s Fair, 1830-1941, History Workshop Pamphlet no. 2 (1970).

6. Mark Waldron, A STRAIGHT UP GIANT, (Bloodaxe, 2023).

7. J.J. Jusserand, English Wayfairing Life: XIVth Century, translated from the French by Lucy Toulmin Smith.

8. E.P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class (1963).

To read more from Edwina on the imaginary Fairings exhibition, pick up a copy of She Moved Through the Fair here:

[newberyandchai]

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH (1972)

I was unfamiliar with this book, but not the gist of the story (although I’d often wondered what “nim” was when seeing the title on the shelf of the elementary school library at a very early age). I remember watching the movie version at some point in my childhood — maybe over several rainy days during recess? — and remembered it to be a much more fantastical, magical tale than what the text told.

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH was less action-packed and more straightforward than the movie, but because of that, I ended up liking it all the more. They’re almost entirely different stories (even Mrs. Frisby underwent a name change to avoid copyright infringement with a certain flying disc sport, and the movie is called The Secret of NIMH instead), but I’m okay with that because of just how much was changed. I see why they made certain creative decisions for the movie, and the animation is quite good for the early 80s.

(P.S. The full movie is available online for free.)

The movie feels almost like an alternate universe fanfic — or AU, for us fanfiction fiends — in a unique reimagining of the plot, but that doesn’t mean the source material is boring by any means. The next three paragraphs are a brief summary of the entire thing (which certainly includes spoilers, so… close your eyes):

Mrs. Frisby is a widowed mouse with three children who lives inside a cinderblock on a farm. The family usually moves to their winter home before the harvest begins, but Mrs. Frisby’s youngest son gets sick and can’t be moved in time. With the help of a crow, she visits an old owl to ask for help in what she should do. She is surprised to find out that the owl used to know her late husband, and he tells her to visit the rat colony that lives near the farm. The plan is to ask the rats to move her house out of the path of the farming equipment that will be coming through the area in just a few days’ time.

Mrs. Frisby goes to see them and learns about the story of the rats from their leader, a very old rat named Nicodemus. An original small group of rodents had been experimented on at the National Institute of Mental Health many years ago, and both rats and mice had received doses of a drug that increased their intelligence, strength, and lifespan. The group of rats and mice — which included Mrs. Frisby’s late husband, Jonathan — ended up using their new thinking skills to plan an escape. The rat colony, which has expanded and now contains multiple generations after the escape, is now literate and scientifically advanced.

Mrs. Frisby learns that the rats have been working on a plan to grow their own food and generate their own electricity so they no longer have to scavenge and steal from humans. They move her house out of the path of the plow through some simple engineering, but humans from NIMH are alerted to the presence of the super-intelligent rats after a grisly incident involving one dissenting rat and his followers trying to steal a motor from a local shop. The colony then has to stage an evacuation of their home when some exterminators come, but they must simultaneously pretend to be unintelligent rats and make their escape look chaotic and unplanned (as it would with normal rats) to mislead the humans. Some main characters perish, but the colony survives and ultimately leaves the area to rebuild while Mrs. Frisby goes back to a normal life with her family.

So: In the movie, it’s implied the rats got some kind of magical powers during their time at NIMH, and Nicodemus is depicted as a wizard figure with glowing eyes. There’s a magical amulet that glows red when worn by someone “with a courageous heart,” and the dissenting rat who breaks away from the main group (Jenner) is much more of an antagonist who is actively seeking to wrest control of the colony from Nicodemus. (There’s also some murdering, a sword fight or two, and some interesting medieval-style clothing choices for the rodents.) The climax of the book is changed from the extermination to the house-moving scene, in which the cinderblock starts sinking into the mud as they try to move it, but Mrs. Frisby uses the amulet as an Infinity Gauntlet (kind of) and moves it to safety with the Force (more or less).

Surprisingly, I still enjoyed the less-dramatic version of events in the book. It posed some thoughtful questions about being an intelligent being in a world that sees you only as a pest or a lab experiment, and Mrs. Frisby was almost a Frodo-like character in that she was only associated with the larger conflict secondhand; she really only wanted the rats’ help to move her house, just as Frodo ultimately only wanted to return to the Shire but had no choice but to be the bearer of the Ring. They were both swept up and involved in in the larger plots of their respective books (somewhat unwillingly, at least in Frodo's case).

Despite this, Mrs. Frisby does make the heroic choice on her own to volunteer to drug the farm cat, Dragon, so the rats are able to move her house without any threat of danger — even after finding out her husband had died trying to complete the same task. She's only a passive observer of the rats' plan to avoid the exterminators and watches everything unfold from a tree branch ("Mrs. Frisby could not bear to watch; and yet, even more, she could not bear to not watch"), even though she could do nothing to help.

Another difference is that the book spends much more time explaining the origin of the rats and their time at NIMH, including how they were taught by the researchers, how they formulated their escape plan, and why they started working toward the goal of building a self-sufficient colony — which held my interest from beginning to end. One passage sticks out in my mind: While the rats and mice are moving through the building's airducts during their escape, the air kicks on and all but two of the mice, who weigh much less than the rats, are blown back and left to wander the endless maze of ductwork seemingly forever:

We were approaching the lighted square of the opening when the roar began. The blast of air came like a sudden whistling gale; it took my breath and flattened my ears against my head … when I opened my eyes again I saw one of the mice sliding past me, clawing uselessly with his small nails at the smooth metal beneath him. Another followed him, and still another, as one by one they were blown backward into the dark maze of tunnels we had just left. … But the rest were lost, six in all. They were simply too light; they blew away like dead leaves, and we never saw them again.

Chilling.

Lest this become more of a movie review/comparison than book, let’s just say I liked it a lot and think anyone would enjoy it — 8/10, certified Recommendable.

[saving-word-crawls]

The Haunted House Crawl

By: Eovy

Welcome to the generic Haunted House crawl that no one asked for, but you’re getting anyway!

Do try to make it out alive- cleaning up the bodies is so very taxing.

The House

The front door creaks open ominously, and you step inside for the first time. It smells of old wood and moth balls. You set your suitcase down in the hallway and enter slowly. Before you are the steps that took your great-great uncle from you, when he tragically slipped and fell. You never knew him, but as his only surviving relative, he left this place to you. This is your new home.

You open your cat’s carrier, but he doesn’t want to come out. He doesn’t seem to like this place.

Write for 5 minutes while you explore.

If you achieved less than 200 words, you stubbed your toe on one of the old couches in the sitting room. Write another 50 words while you hop around, swearing.

Oh, It’s Nothing

Eventually, you make your way to the master bedroom. It is dark, with a large four-poster bed and heavy, Victorian furniture. You set your suitcase on the bed and begin to unpack your clothes into the dresser. You’ll have to redecorate, of course, but with the inheritance your grandfather left, that’s not a concern. You glance up into the mirror above the dresser. Wait, did that shadow just move? You turn around and see nothing. You’re tired after your long journey here, that’s all.

Still, you can’t help but feel unnerved.

Write 150 words to shake it off.

Meet the Neighbors

You hear a knock at the door, which startles you. This place is unnerving. You answer it and see an incredibly smiley woman standing there with a fresh baked pie. She introduces herself as Mabel, the woman next door. She hopes you’ll be fast friends, and inquires how well you knew your great-great uncle. He was a strange one, you know. Always left the bedroom light burning through the night, and he wasn’t very sociable, either. No friends or family ever entered or left. You thank her and make an excuse about needing to get settled in.

Write to the nearest thousand while you stuff yourself full of pie.

If you wrote 500 words or more, you get a stomach ache and can pass on any one consequence of failure in the next challenges.

The First Night

You spend the day taking off dust covers and making shopping lists. You’ll go into town tomorrow to see about getting some food and basic supplies. By 9pm you’re exhausted, and you fall into bed easily. The bedside lamp is burnt out, so you take a candle with you in case you have to find the bathroom in the night.

After a few minutes, just as you’re drifting off, you hear a scratching sound. It’s probably just rats in the walls- it’s an old house after all. You turn over and try to get back to sleep. You remember the neighbor talking about your uncle leaving the light on all night every night, though. It nags at you. The scratching continues. It sounds like it’s coming from under the bed…

You decide to light the candle just in case.

Write for a tense ten minutes while you attempt to light the candle with a shaking hand.

If you wrote less than 500 words, the candle won’t light. Write another 100 as you hide underneath the covers, sleeping fitfully as the scratching won’t let you sleep.

Ghostly Lore

You go into town to pick up some things. At the end of the morning, with all your bags in the trunk, you stop off at the local library to get a library card. The young woman at the desk is very intrigued by your moving in, and asks a bunch of questions. You ask why she’s so interested, and she shows you the secrets hidden among the stacks.

She shows you a chapter in a book of local legends. It’s about the house you just moved into. According to local records, everyone who has moved in to that house has died under mysterious circumstances, since it was built in the 1800’s by the mayor at the time. Allegedly, the mayor went mad and murdered his whole family shortly after moving in. He claimed it was the work of an evil spirit that had possessed him. Your great uncle was the only person to have lasted more than a couple years, but had reportedly been a jovial, friendly man until he moved in. That didn’t sound at all like the man the neighbor had described. You thank her, and head home.

Write 150 words while you drive home and contemplate what you’ve just heard.

The Second Night

You spend the afternoon cleaning and doing some more household repairs, before turning in for the night. You replaced the bulb in the bedside lamp, but you don’t turn it on. Despite the ghost stories, you have to get over this silly feeling that someone is watching you while you’re in this house. How ridiculous! Ha… haha… ha…

The room is dark, and you can still hear the scratching. You set up rat traps, but this is the only place in the house where you’ve heard them. You try to fall asleep but you just can’t. The scratching seems to be getting louder and louder… And then there’s this whispering. You open your eyes and look towards the foot of the bed. A grey hand with long nails is scratching the footboard. Then another hand joins it. You sit up and see a woman in a black dress with dark hair, grinning at you, scratching the boards. She reaches out for you, and you reach for the light.

You flick it on, and she disappears.

Write for 15 minutes while you sit paralyzed by fear.

If you wrote 750 words or more, you decide it’s safer to stay in bed. What are you going to do, bash the ghost over the head with your lamp?

If you wrote less than 750 words, you have to check under the bed to see if she’s gone.

Safe in Bed

You keep the light on, and lay down in bed again. She seems to be gone so long as the light is on. That’s probably why your great uncle always slept with the lights on. You vow to figure out who she is tomorrow- you can’t possibly sleep here another night.

You pull out your phone and start playing on it, trying to forget what you saw. It was probably just a dream anyway, sleep paralysis or something… Then, the scratching returns.

Write 500 words as you lay awake, waiting anxiously for the safety of daylight.

Don’t Look!

You take a deep breath, and slip out of the covers. Tentatively, your feet hit the floor. You expect to feel her sharp nails on your ankles at any second… You run to the corner of the room and turn with your back to the wall, facing the bed. Slowly, so slowly, you sink down to the floor to look under the bed.

There’s nothing.

You breathe a sigh of relief and stand up, only to see her laying on the bed, her sharp nails scratching the headboard. She looks over at you, grinning, and you scream. You run, practically flying down the hallway and almost falling down the steps. You run out into the yard and slam the door behind you.

The neighbor’s lights flick on. Mabel graciously allows you to spend the night on her couch, though you can scarcely describe what’s happened. She seems unsurprised. You can’t sleep in that house again.

Write 1000 words as you lay awake, unable to get her terrible visage out of your mind.

The Ouija Board

The next morning, you go to the library and ask the helpful librarian for information. She suggests that she bring her Ouija board over after work, to see if you can communicate with the ghost and figure out what it wants. You agree.

That evening, you sit at the dining room table with her. Carefully, you open the board, and ask if there are any spirits with you.

The planchette moves on its own. Yes.

You ask whether it means to hurt you. The planchette swirls around the board as if being fought over by multiple hands. You ask what it wants. It spells out the word free.

The librarian asks how you can help. It spells out cellar, and then your name.

“I think it means for you to go alone.” She says.

Type your name into the Scrabble Score Calculator. 57 Multiply your score by 100 and write that many words.

What’s in the Cellar?

You have to go down to the basement, it’s inevitable. The librarian stays there, while you grab a flashlight and head down the dark steps into the dank basement. There is no light except for your candle, and you wave it around, expecting to see that horrible woman at any moment.

“H-hello?”

You feel an ice cold breeze across the back of your neck, and you whirl around. What’s there?

Do a 10 minute word war. If you win, you see nothing but air. If you lose, well…

Win the War

You see nothing behind you, but then a whisper comes into your ear, “We couldn’t get him, but we’ll take you instead.”

You drop the candle in fear. Write 250 words as penance.

Lose The War

You see the woman, in all her terrifying glory. She lunges at you.

You throw the candle at her flammable dress. Write 500 words and pray your aim is true.

The Escape

The whole cellar seems to catch fire all at once. You run up the stairs in a desperate attempt to get out. The door is jammed shut.

Do you try to break it down, or try to find another way out?

If you try to break it down, write for 15 minutes while you struggle against the supernatural force holding it closed. If you wrote 750 words or more, you have survived. If you wrote less than 750 words, you have died. Try to find another way out.

If you try to find another way out, write for 20 minutes while you feel your way around the room, the smoke getting thicker and thicker. If you wrote 1000 words or more, you have survived. If you wrote less than 1000 words, you have died. Try to break down the door.

If you fail both these challenges, your story ends here. You are now another entity that haunts this house. Find a victim in this thread and make them write 250 words!

The Decision

Just as you make it out you realize that the librarian may still be inside! Do you rush in to save her, or do you hope that she made it out on her own?

If you want to save her, sprint inside for 5 minutes. If you wrote more than 150 words, she has survived.

If you decide to hope for the best, write for 15 minutes. If you wrote more than 1000 words, she has survived.

Happily Ever After

The firefighters put out the blaze you started, but now all you have is a scrap of land with a pile of ashes on it. Still, you feel relieved. The evil seems to have been vanquished from the place.

Write 150 words while you rebuild.

[aequoranimae]

20-21 june

I awoke early again, rising as silently as I could while my roommates still slept on. The American staying here, Faith, is not so cautious—she tends to move about more recklessly, letting her locker door slam shut as she flings Midwest-blonde hair over her shoulder. My exit style is more of a creep; I slipped down the hall into a mild, overcast day and made my way back down the street to the same bakery I visited the day before. I bought my pain au chocolat and skirted the edge of the inner city, crossing the canal, until I had passed through an office district and arrived in the botanic gardens. There was a pair of grey geese paddling about in the leafy pond, and a few common turtles floating with their faces poking above the water.

Brussels has a thriving economy of pretentious coffee shops, and after purchasing my ice latte (presented creatively in a can rather than a cup), I walked on through Brussels Park, whose broad avenues were lined with all kinds of neoclassical statues. I saw two small brown rats scurrying about in the children’s playground and a few more waterbirds staking their claim to the parkland while most of the neighbourhood was still at rest. Over the line of the trees I saw the blue and gold-gilded dome of the Palais de Justice and the walls of the Royal Palace—I had come back around to the same old and grand part of Brussels had visited the day before. So it was a familiar journey as I made once more for the Grand Place marked on the horizon by the city hall spire.

I was there on time to enter the Musée de la Ville de Bruxelles as it opened at ten o’clock. The collection includes the building that houses it, opposite the Hotel de Ville in the Grand Place. This black gothic creature stands out from the white and gold things that line the rest of the square—the Maison du Roi in its current form is little more than a century old, but the house that stood there before belonged to Charles V of Spain, and so it has its French name. But the Dutch language knows it as Broodhuis, because there was once a bread market in the square.

The museum is one of the most interesting collections I have been to because it is as much about the city of Brussels in the late 19th century as it is about the Brussels of antiquity. The first floor contains statues and altarpieces and pieces of façade from across the city which were replaced with replicas as city administrators of the 19th century sought to restore and preserve the old Brussels that had long been crumbling. Even the weather vane from the top of the town hall’s spire that shows the patron Saint Michael was eventually taken down and replaced with a copy, while his original form rests in the city museum. Climbing past the stained glass windows that showed the crests of noble families, I went through rooms of paintings that showed the city landscape and its people over the centuries—the same statues I had seen in the park an hour ago peered back at me from canvas, and I saw the square outside as it had been before, when tourists taking photos were traders selling dogs and racing pigeons.

There was also a large collection of Belgian china and a dark room hung with tapestries not unlike the ones I had seen across the road—these are rotated regularly to keep them safe from the light. The only permanent fixture was the huge cartoon on the wall, which is one of the few surviving examples of those works used as guides for the production of the tapestries themselves. It showed the martyrdom of Saint Paul in the style of Ruebens, pale and stuck with the pinholes that showed it must have been copied in thread at least once.

I had a midday train ticket, so I hurried up the street to Bruxelles Centrale, stopping along the way to buy a small book on the history of ancient Rome in case I was bored and needed to preserve my phone battery. My train was to Bruges and took about an hour, so I ate my supermarket sandwich and snacks on the way, watching the endless fields of horses and cows blur into green as we journeyed west. Bruges is unassuming from the view offered of it from the station square, but the moment one crosses the highway and enters the winding alleys it is clear why it has captured so much attention. Unlike Brussels its streets have not been invaded by the horrors of cheap post-war architecture, though they are no less a victim to the souvenir shops and chains of Belgian chocolate stores, so numerous on the main shopping street they became indecipherable from one another.

On my way into the heart of town I passed over my first canals with the flower box bridges—overlooking the water I saw a mother and father swan watching over their fluffy grey cygnets curled up on the bank for a nap. This peaceful scene was quickly eclipsed by the tourist throng as I turned onto one of the main streets and passed the largest church, taking a peek inside but deciding it was still too early in the day to pay to see ten more paintings of the crucifixion (I was feeling stronger by mid-afternoon). Instead I weaved on through the crowd to the main square, which was absolutely heaving with all kinds of family groups taking their photos and eating their waffles.

The highlight of the square is, of course, the bell tower, rising above the entire town skyline. Every fifteen minutes it would ring some melodic tune, like a wind chime. But I was more intrigued by its alleged 362 steps, and was surprised again to find that almost nobody from the crowd of hundreds was curious about the inside of the building they stood milling around—I bought a Bruges museum pass for the day and began the climb. The first spiral of the belfry’s steps is deceiving, broad and flat and made from modern, level stone. Once I had passed the first chamber (the room where the city administration stored their precious documents in ancient times to protect them from fire), the stairs narrowed to that classic worn-down configuration and it became necessary to clutch at the thick winding rope around the centre for balance.

I sped up as fast as I could even though I was sweating quite a bit, only pausing when someone was coming the other way and the width of the passage became problematic. There was a certain satisfaction to leaving behind all those shallow travellers and their commercial interests down below; also, I was raised in such a way that there is no question of if when it comes to towers, belfries and domes. One must at least pay their respects to whatever poor person had the job of climbing every day to ring the giant bells manually in times past. I emerged victorious at the top of the final staircase, which was more of a ladder than anything else, and saw the beautiful panoramic view of Bruges, well worth the climb. The town from above was a uniform sprawl of two-storey houses broken up only by the occasional church spire and patches of green, larger from above than the quaint streets implied below. While I was up there the bells chimed and everybody got a fright. The stairs seemed impossibly steeper on the way down. I was somewhat more cautious on the descent.

Having proved myself, I decided it was time to join in with everyone else, so I went to a highly recommended waffle shop and bought the plain Liège waffle, since I still have my principles. Most are drawn in by the array of sweet sauce and candy toppings offered (though to be fair, this shop was a little more restrained than the tacky places populating Brussels), but I understand the only correct way to eat the Liège waffle (which is different to the Brussels waffle), is in its classic form. It came hot from the press, oval-shaped with the layer of caramelised sugar that makes the Liège waffle—proud of this too, I took it back to the main square to show off. It was genuinely very good, better than the stuff in Brussels would be, I think, and after speed-running that belfry climb it was a needed restorative. I had a museum pass that I had to use on at least one more attraction to get my money’s worth.

Bruges hosts the works of great Flemish masters in the Groeningemuseum, tucked away down a path that winds through a small garden off the main canal. I came in just in time to eavesdrop a little on one of the gallery tour guides and his collection of elderly listeners—I was just about the only person younger than sixty-five in the whole building. The most significant work in the museum’s care is Jheronimus Bosch’s Last Judgement, which is absolutely wonderful, and may even beat the Brueghel I saw the day before. The three-panel picture depicts a very strange reckoning for the human race, in which the land is covered with the strangest little creatures, not so much monstrous as they are disconcerting. A devil tortures a man over a giant butterknife, another sits on the back of a kind of rabbit thing carrying his cage of humans enslaved, another—a harpy—perches with a person half sticking of her obscenely large maw as she chews them up. But the picture is so unusual and charming that it fails to disgust the modern eye. You have more of a feeling like you’d want to put one of these little things in your pocket and carry it about like a pet than a desire to run and repent. The museum seems to understand this; they sell very nice metal charms and pins of the most memorable creatures.

My phone was threatening to accept death by this point, so I put it away and went for a walk towards the Begijnhof, the old religious women’s refuge which still acts as a community today. Before its gated entrance was a canal bank with a whole colony of waterbirds – a great throng of swans and ducks, so numerous the ground was littered white with downy feathers. Most of them were sleeping with their necks all twisted up and their beaks tucked away, protected from human advances by a handy fence. I continued through these green spaces along the banks of the canals, skirting the outside of town until I dropped back onto the main street (the quiet, local end) and bought some frites from the very kind people behind the counter. This, obviously, was the other necessity staying in Belgium, now I had crossed waffles off the list. They were so good, though I do think the Belgians go a little overboard with their mayonnaise portions. I like mayonnaise but not that much.

I could have stayed even longer, but my phone was on its last legs, and I was beginning to feel the day’s toll. Luckily I’d picked up a map at the info centre earlier and had been using that for navigation for the past hour or two since the phone map became untenable, and Belgium is very good with its street signs. When I was walking back over that same small bridge I saw the swan family from earlier, taking to the waters now. I watched them go—two sleek and white, two downy and grey—until they disappeared under the bridge and were gone from view. Bone tired, I slumped on the soonest train back to Brussels in a corner by myself. My phone, at least, made it back alive, and I went to bed after some takeaway dinner with great anticipation.

I was up bright and early for yet another train, this time northbound from Bruxelles-Centrale for Antwerp, where I would be meeting two of my close friends Connie and Maddy for the day. They have been staying in Amsterdam and seem to hate it with a passion, so the day trip was in their interest even though they had a much longer train journey than me. As I came up the stairs of Antwerpen Centraal I saw them waiting for me at the top, framed by the station’s ornate walls and domes from the turn of the 19th century—the spiralling stone and brass and wrought iron over glass that barely survived the war. We hugged and headed outside to a city still waking; my friends, who aren’t so used to Europe’s quirks, said they thought all the locals looked shellshocked as though we were in Soviet Russia. Having only been to Paris and Amsterdam so far, they are yet to appreciate the no man’s land of industrial European city streets before ten o’clock in the morning.

Since nothing was open yet, we stopped for coffee outside Antwerp’s cathedral, sheltered from the dreary day. The inside of the cathedral housed a few grand paintings by Ruebens and some beautiful chapels—we wandered around inside for a while and I enjoyed the commentary of Connie, who as an art history student always has something to say. The cathedral had that overwhelming Catholic air with its countless variations of Mother and Child; the right chapel had frames depicting Jesus carrying the cross while the left chapel, dedicated to Mary, showed the stages of her life from the Annunciation to the Resurrection. Connie and I agreed it was interesting to see a depiction where Mary was shown to age with time and grief rather than remain eternally young and beautiful. The cathedral of Antwerp is an ancient one, built between the 14th and 16th centuries upon earlier foundations. Fire, Protestants and French revolutionaries all took their turn at trying to destroy its walls over the many years, but none succeeded.

My friend Connie has an intense love of couture fashion, and apparently the clothes of Belgian designer Ann Demeulemeester can only be seen in store in Antwerp. Connie was desperate to try on a dream pair of laced boots, so after a little more than an hour of deliberation between sizes, we left with the heels of her new shoes clicking on the rain-soaked pavement. Maddy and I were a bit beside ourselves with hunger at this point—we ate in a Vietnamese restaurant around the corner while it continued to pour outside. Fortunately the Royal Arts Museum of Antwerp was almost only just across the road, so I dashed to cover while Connie and Maddy performed more of a creep under the shelter of Connie’s umbrella. The water pooled in the recesses of the worn tiled pavement and for once my tired canvas sneakers were not the least suitable choice of footwear between us.

The building of the Royal Arts museum is an old one with a huge painted entrance hall, and it feels like entering another world when you ascend to the first floor and find the modern masters artfully curated in stark white rooms. Climbing the stairs between galleries we ascended into darkness, into deep navy rooms of statuettes and quiet shadowy paintings, only to be thrown back into to piercing brightness. The arrangement of the gallery felt only more poignant as we at last reached the level containing the old masters, encircling a hall where more Ruebens were on display. In one corner of the room one of these Ruebens was frameless, turned up on its side while the museum’s conservation workers toiled peaceably at restoring the work in front of the public, removing its centuries-old varnish. In the other rooms were many of the same sort of paintings I’d become familiar with—Biblical allegories, portraits of families in black with their frilled collars, landscapes with fine houses and grazing livestock. I was most fond of Misbehaving, a Henriette Ronner-Knip, and the famous Madonna by Jean Fouquet. After laying out on the plush benches of the gallery for a while, we stepped back into the streets of the city; it was no longer raining.

We went for Belgian waffles, I had mine with chocolate and strawberries (which is allowed in this case, because it was the Brussels waffle rather than the Liège one) and went to see the main square, enclosed as usual with the familiar old municipal buildings. At the end of the street down by the water we sat for a while in the information centre, housed in what remains of a medieval castle. Their Eurostar back to Amsterdam was in the evening, so we had just enough time to eat some pasta at a nice Italian restaurant just off the main square before beginning the walk back to the station. The first train to Brussels was on the platform opposite theirs, so we parted ways but kept in sight until my train arrived to block them from view. I will see them again in Florence, but for now our destinations are very different. In Brussels I packed my bag ahead of my departure and curled up in bed with some dessert—ahead of me was my two-day journey to Prague across the German countryside.

[batfsm]

@lunette3002

Thank you! I'll look them up then.

I read/in the mist of reading as they update these fanfics that deal with the trope and made me love it even more:

'The Birds' Series by Oceanera12

Batfamily AU

Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, and Damian met one another before Bruce Wayne ever entered the picture. Foster care in Gotham isn't exactly safe, but the four of them know what they need to do to survive. First, don't draw attention to yourself. Two, don't bother foster parent because he doesn't care about you. And finally, the four of them are family, which means they stick together. These rules served them well for about four years and they expected nothing to change.

And then they ran into Batman.

Notes:

Dick Grayson's parents still fell off the trapeze and died when he was eight. Bruce Wayne was not in the audience due to an emergency at work. Dick was taken in as the third and oldest foster child of Mr. James, where he met Jason Todd and Damian.

Willis went to prison when Jason was six. Cathrine OD'd when he was eight. Found himself under the care of Roman James a few weeks later, along with some four-year-old kid named Damian. He was a little surprised to find that while Roman is definitely negligent, he never tried to sell the two kids under him and pretty much ignores them.

Timothy Drake lost his mother when he was three. Janet was diagnosed with stage four cancer and passed away six months later. Jack Drake took the loss hard but determined that with the loss of his wife he was going to be the best father he could be to Tim. The Drakes are members of the lower elite of Gotham. Jack Drake was a prosecution lawyer but always had time for his son. When Timothy was eight he came home from a friend's house to find his father had been killed in a burglary gone wrong. He became the fourth foster child of Mr. James and came three years after Jason and Dick joined the group.

Damian has no last name that he knows of. He was abandoned on the steps of a church in Star City when he was around two. He has no memory of his life before and became very used to being ignored by most people. Two years later, Roman moved to Gotham City, taking Damian with him. A short time later, Damian met Jason followed a few months later by Dick.

Ages at start of this AU are as follows: Dick is 12, Jason is 11 (a few months away from being 12), Tim is 9 (almost 10), and Damian is somewhere between 8 and 9. Bruce is in his mid-twenties and Alfred is immortal.

'A Nest We Can All Call Home' by Ao3time (below is the summary of the first fic/prequel because the series doesn't have one)

From 'In Gotham, Even The Birds Are Street Rats': This is where Dick and Jason’s partnership had become Tim, Dick, and Jason’s family.

___

One-Shot Prequel to 'In Gotham, Even The Birds Are Street Rats'

Series

'a statistically significant number of robins ' by AstraEllis (not really the trope but it's Talon! Dick finding and staying with Tim who isn't Robin here. So kind of the trope? Maybe?)

In one universe, Bruce Wayne was at the circus when a young Dick Grayson lost his parents. Soon enough, Batman had a Robin.

In another, Bruce Wayne never became Batman, and Dick Grayson slipped through the cracks when the Court of Owls came for him in the night.

The Court of Owls opens a doorway in between the two worlds, and things get more complicated.

Notes:

-the once and future robin is about Talon!Dick arriving in the main universe and what happens when something distracts him from the mission the Court sent him with.

-deep roots are not reached by the frost//from the ashes a fire shall be woken is Nightwing!Dick's perspective on some of the events from the once and future robin

-at some point, there will be a sequel fic and it will have a title, and it covers what happens after the end of the once and future robin

'Changing Seasons'by jayburb (toothpasty)

Bruce Wayne is a monster hunter who lives atop a mountain overlooking Gotham.

Four orphan boys run into the Dark Hunter during his visits to town.

Batfamily shenanigans ensue.

***

Notes:

If this feels OOC, too bad! It’s a fantasy AU and I can do what I want >:)

Canon can go die in a hole somewhere, I’ll take what I want and forget about the rest.

Can be read in the order as posted or in chronological order :)

Chronological order: The Birdhouse, Ode to Autumn, Encounters, Winter Song, Glowing Season, Old Wounds, Symphony of Spring, Simulacrum, A Silent Summer, Plethora

There are probably more I have to read/have followed but that's what I can remember right now.

A favorite trope of mine?

When Dick meets and keeps Tim or Jason first before Bruce. (Not counting the circus meeting for Tim and Dick.) Or when Jason meets Tim and becomes his brother/parent before meeting the others. Or Damian meets his older brothers differently.

Basically I adore when the boys/siblings,I haven't forgotten about Cass or Duke, just not alot with them before they meet Bruce, end up as family WITHOUT Bruce being the constant factor. They then go to Bruce and Alfred. All of them.

You can write stories about the kids without bringing Bruce and Alfred in until the end and I will love them.

By the way... anyone got any good fanfics that have Duke and Cass joining the other four before Bruce takes them in?

Please and thank you.

I don't think I'll ever get tired of it. So many different ways for them to meet and become a family.