#I have a little bag that has fidgets and a little level and compass and magic 8 ball and etch-a-sketch and a small dinosaur figurine

[shrimpathizer]

I think that, when it comes down to it, there isnt really any meaning of life. and I’m not saying that in a depressing way. im saying that we get to give life meaning. we get to decide why we are living and what to do with this wretched earth. we get to do things that will make us happy, no matter how small it is. we get to draw, we get to write, we get to dance and sing and hug friends and eat food and sleep and laugh and damn if thats not beautiful. I don’t care about capitalism or this fucked up world if I can still hug you, if I can still make daisy chains, if I can put on temporary tattoos and stick googly eyes on trash cans and eat a bagel and listen to music and. it’s worth it, I think. please make it worth it. if not for yourself but for me, little ol’ gay person on your phone.

[sgtbradfords]

Hello! I’ve had this idea floating in my head since reading recent spoilers but sadly I don’t have the time to write it :(

A prompt I have is it’s after Wesley and Angela’s wedding, Tim’s gone back to his hotel room for the night then he hears a knock on the door. It’s Lucy on the other side. She’s holding a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vodka and asks to be let in. ( ao that it’s a parallel to fallout and the first time they drank)

Then, there could be a conversations maybe a flashback to the reception when Tim gives a speech for Angela about love and connection and he was looking at Lucy when he was saying it. And it was that moment that allowed Lucy to really see Tim.

Which brings her to why she’s there.

I was also piecing this together while thinking about the IG live or interview ( can’t remember) and Titus asked Eric who would make the first move.

Anyways I love your writing and I hope this can spark inspiration. And the rookie finally comes back this Sunday which is awesome.

Not quite what you requested, but after such a long wait, it’s finally completed! Enjoy :)

Lucy Chen sighed as she walked up the pavestone path that was illuminated by the midnight moon. The past seventy-two hours had been grueling, leaving Lucy running on fumes. Though, the ache in her bones and the dragging of her feet never stopped her from stopping at her neighborhood ABC store or from driving ten minutes past her apartment and to his front door.

She knocked thrice, rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited for the door to open. A familiar bark could be heard coming from inside the four walls, Lucy smiling as she heard the animal being chastised.

“Hey.” Tim greeted as he pulled it back. “I thought you were heading home?”

Lucy shook her head, holding up the brown bag in her hand. “I know it’s late, but I don’t think I could sleep right now, even if I tried.”

“I know what you mean.” He told her, running a scuffed hand down his tired face. “Want to come in?”

“If that’s ok?” She asked with a grimace.

Tim took a step back, furthering opening the door as Kojo let out an excited bark at who was walking in. “There’s my favorite boy.” Lucy grinned as she crouched down in front of the dog, whispering lovingly towards the pet.

“Your boy is mad at me right now. I haven’t been able to take him on a walk the past few days, so we’ve been out in the backyard playing fetch to get his energy out.”

Hearing one of his favorite words, Kojo took off in a run through the house, navigating his body under and around furniture as he flew out the back door.

“It’s after midnight, and you two are playing catch.”

“And it seems as though he is not done yet.” Tim sighed as he trailed through the kitchen, stopping at a cupboard to grab two glasses out before walking out into the night. The stained deck was cast in a soft glow, courtesy of the light on the wall as they made their way back outside, and towards the patio table. A large citronella candle was lit and placed on top of the patio table, casting a yellow hue around the open space.

“Were they able to get Angela transferred to another room?” Lucy asked as she turned around a patio chair, placing the brown bag onto the table as she pulled out the contents.

Tim grabbed the bottle of single malt whiskey as she handed it over, breaking the plastic seal of the bottle as he poured himself a generous shot.

“Yeah, she wanted to leave but her doctor insisted on keeping her overnight to monitor the baby and give her some fluids.” He told her as he sat back down in the chair he had earlier vacated.

Lucy twisted the top off the clear bottle of tequila, Tim pushing the second glass across the table towards her. “That’s good, I know it’s not easy. Her recovery, it’s not going to be easy.” She said with a ragged sigh as she poured herself a shot in to the glass.

“She has a good support system.” He said throwing the tennis ball across the yard for Kojo as Lucy downed the shot, pouring another one as she sat down.

“Yeah well, sometimes you need more than that.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, watching as Kojo chased down the green ball. “I’m not saying I didn’t appreciate the support, I did. But when no one else has gone through what you endured, and are offering advice, sometimes you really just want to tell them to fuck off.”

Tim brought his glass to his lips, knocking the amber liquid back as it burned down his throat, Lucy pouring herself another shot as she let out a long sigh.

“And you don’t need to apologize because it’s not your fault. I just- you get so tired of the pitying looks and gossip behind your back.”

He refilled his glass with a smaller amount. “Angela’s going to need someone to talk to.”

“She has Wesley, you know who I had Tim? No one.” She confessed as she tossed the shot of the liquid back, sitting the glass down on to the table as she brought her left foot up, resting the heel of her foot on the chair as Kojo trotted to her side, dropping the tennis ball in her lap. “I’m sorry, that was a little blunt.”

“You had Jackson and Nolan. And what about Rachel, she was still here, you could have talked to her.”

Lucy vehemently shook her head as she grabbed the slobber covered ball, throwing it into the night. “That’s not what I’m talking about, those are all friendships. I’m talking about what you said earlier in the hospital, after Angela and Wesley exchanged vows, during your groom speech.”

“What are you talking about Chen?” He asked with a furrowed brow as she let out a frustrated sigh.

“I’m talking about connection, passion, compassion, someone who I could confide in. I wish I had someone that would have been there for me as more than a friend. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate Jackson and owe him for everything he has done for me, but he’s just that Tim, my friend. But then on the other hand, I wouldn’t wish that on a partner for anything, the nightmares, the panic attacks, the therapy, the anxiety.” Kojo dropped the ball on to the wooden deck, laying down next to the ball with a tired sigh. “I’m sorry for throwing this all at you, I tend to forget that Jose makes me word vomit.”

“Lucy.” He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “You know you can always talk to me.”

Lucy rested an arm against the leg that was propped at chest level, fidgeting in her chair. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t, because I- you’re more than a friend to me. You’re-you’re Tim.”

“What’s that supposed to mean Luce?” Tim asked in a hushed whisper.

“It means that you’re Tim. You didn’t treat me any different after everything that happened, but you treated me as an equal. You didn’t walk with me around the edges, you pushed me right over them. You have always been my number one supporter, even when I fell flat on my face.”

“My parents have not once, showed me their support since the words ‘I want to be a cop.’ came out of my mouth. But I tell you ‘I want to go undercover.’ And you push me and support my decision, even if you have a bad history with it. And that’s all I could ever ask for.”

The suppressed sounds of the midnight hour infiltrated the bubble that had been created as the weight of Lucy’s words hung above them, the sound of the bass vibrating in a car a block over, the crickets chirping from the flowerbed in front of the porch, Kojo letting out a heaving sigh as he drifted further off into dreamland.

Tim stood, his eyes raking over Lucy as he extended out a hand. “I believe I asked for you to save me a dance.”

Lucy huffed as she shook her head in disbelief. “And you want to cash in on it now? There’s no music.”

“Trust me?” He asked with a rare soft smile.

Lucy took hold of the outreached hand as he pulled her to her feet. “I don’t know…” She confessed in thought, biting her bottom lip before letting it go. “I’m not the most graceful of dancers, what if I step on your toes?”

“A couple of bruised toes won’t be the end of the world.” Tim told her as he pulled her body close. He cast her a questioning glance as she nodded, his right hand going to the small of her back as her left hand found purchase on his shoulder, their joined hands brought out to the side ever so slightly as they began to silently sway on the wooden deck.

A hum of a tune began to fill the silence as they moved, Lucy’s gaze finding his as they held each other’s stare.

“Thank you Lucy.” He whispered before continuing to quietly hum the song that was playing in his head.

Even in the dead if night, Tim could see the blush on her skin as her eyes gave him a curious look. “For what?”

“For being Lucy.” He subtly smiled, a grin that Lucy had only witnessed once or twice.

Words became fewer and far in-between as they danced under the stars, Lucy resting her head against his chest as they swayed. Things were far from ok, especially with La Fiedra in the wind, but for the moment, none of that mattered, for the moment they could just be Tim and Lucy.

[neonponders]

👀 👀 👀 👀  Oh jesus oh lord. Deeper Than Skin is finished so I’ll enable another wip.

@ghostofjellyfishforgotten I hope you don’t mind me using your tags on this vampire!Billy / blood donor!Steve post as inspiration! Your brain is just too big for me not to pass up an opportunity to write vampire shenanigans.

Read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve didn’t judge people who worked as donors—

Fine, as an adult with a better awareness and compassion, Steve didn’t judge donors. He might’ve said some shitty things to Jonathan Byers when he worked to make his family extra money.

Honestly? Steve admired that. Jonathan being underage and having the guts to figure out how to get into the donation clinic, and then to let…

Steve knew he was a coward in a lot of ways. He knew it when he called Jonathan a queer who enjoyed leeches sucking on him. He knew it when he lost to the punches Byers threw. For a skinny, half empty blood bag, the guy could really hit. And Steve knew it when he almost ran away from Nancy and Jonathan fighting off the rogue vampire who kidnapped little Will Byers.

But Steve didn’t run away.

Just like he didn’t run away from the couch he sat on with his mother while his father explained…a situation that left Steve digging deeper and deeper into the gap between fear and bravery. Maybe call it disassociation. Or confused shock.

“You what?”

Harrington senior never took well to being interrupted. But he sighed from across the coffee table and reiterated, “The family is in debt.”

“No. You. You’re in debt. This is your problem.”

The man certainly didn’t take well to having his own mistakes shoved under his nose. “This isn’t for debate. This is the way things are and need to be.”

“No,” Steve repeated like a broken record clinging onto its song. “This is your fault. Who’s made me work minimum wage jobs to teach me a lesson? Who’s refused to pay for me to go to community college? Who hasn’t let me work in their company? And who made the shitty gambles with your company’s stocks? You shoved me out, so it’s definitely not my problem—”

“The contract has already been signed.”

Now his mother shifted her posture on the couch beside him. “Excuse me?”

Steve’s father moved his blunt nails over the armrest of his wingback, fidgeting. At least something put fear into the old bastard’s heart.

“There’s nothing I could do. The market has been evolving ever since vampires gained their rights and opened up their decades and centuries old bonds—”

“Vampire legislation passed over a century ago,” Mrs. Harrington purred. Sometimes the worst anger was the quiet kind. “You have no excuse. You lost the game, and you sold our son. Is that what we’re to believe?”

“That’s not possible,” Steve intercepted. “Slavery isn’t a thing anymore. Even I picked that up in history. And I would have to be there to sign the contract! It’s my—”

“Steve,” his father silenced. “When enough money is involved, anything is bought. And you’re not like anyone else.”

Mrs. Harrington fumed, “Do not talk to him like he’s a prize pony!”

“Except to a wealthy vampire, he is.”

Steve could only sit in weighted silence for a moment. He always joked to himself that he’d be disowned one of these days. For being a disappointment. For all of his bad grades. For giving his friends alcohol and cigarettes. For only being able to get jobs that required no qualifications or experience level at all. For discovering he liked kissing boys at the grimy music venues Robin took him to. Maybe living at home for too long. Or leaving the smell of burnt pancakes in the air too often because he always struggled with the first one—

“Vampire?” he croaked. For some reason it hadn’t dawned to him until now but…shit.

Holy shit.

Steve wasn’t being sold off to be some billionaire’s secretary for life. He was being…truly sold. Like…goodbye, Steve, who likes spring nights and summer mornings. His favorite food is breakfast and he wishes he kept with the music lessons his mom paid for instead of being peer pressured into sports. Whose best friend was Robin Buckley because she was brave and funny and stuck with him during his ironic and a little bit terrifying queer awakening…

Hello, Donor 0235. Blood type O. Allergic to nickel and checks off all vaccination requirements.

“Steve’s not wrong,” his mother echoed like a voice deep in a cave, drawing Steve out of his thoughts. “He is the one to sign the contract. Not you.”

“He is still classified as our dependent and on our insurance,” his father refused.

“So being an adult means nothing in this country?”

“They have our family records, Annette!” he exclaimed. “There is a dual government in this country even if nobody below upper-middle class sees it. The human government had to cede a great deal because the vampire population is massive. And they’ve kept track of all the Sanguis families! Name changes, and two World Wars did nothing to save us—”

“The what?” Steve all but whispered.

His mother rotated her hips to face him. “We only have legends about how it happened. Paleolithic gods making deals, vampires crossbreeding humans to make a certain kind of blood donor, human evolution after symbiotic deals were struck—but that doesn’t matter. The point is that there are people in this world with abilities that preserve themselves against vampires. That’s why you healed in less than two days after that silly fight by the movie theatre.”

His father intercepted, “The genes skipped your mother but fell to you.”

Steve’s eyes widened as his mother confirmed, “To protect us, girls have been promoted in the family tree for generations. Through marriage, their names could change, and make them harder to track.”

Steve countered toward his father, “So this really isn’t your place to sign my life away. Like five times over.”

“I quite agree,” his mother turned back to the man she’d married. The man who was supposed to protect her and her children with his name and promising, growing business.

At least Steve wasn’t the only failure in the family.

His father massaged his forehead and defended, “As I said. Humans’ government is far easier to corrupt our way into forgiving any debt. The vampires, however, are inconsolable. The bastard would have my business, the cars, our house, and taken his time discovering Steve on his own if I hadn’t—”

Steve took after his father, but he was his mother’s son as they both stood up from the couch, furious that this man had thrown his own kid under a vampire’s bus—

“Get out of the house, Steve.”

His head whipped around at her. “I-What?”

“Get out of the house,” she seethed, but not at him. “I don’t care where or what you do. Go.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice but he hadn’t managed to grab his car keys or his shoes before the house and his ribcage trembled with his parents’ arguing. He went in his socks outside and put the shoes on in his car.

Then…he didn’t know where to go. Running the hell away seemed like the obvious solution, but if vampires really had such a network, what was the point? And if he left, what would happen to his mom?

Steve drove on autopilot to the video rental store. Robin. All he had was Robin, who took the lollipop out of her mouth when the bell on the door twittered. “Hey, dingus, it’s your day off—Steve?”

He couldn’t really remember driving. That probably should have raised more red flags than he already had, but for now, the black and neon carpeting of the Family Video was blurring and swirling…

“I’m gonna throw up,” he heard himself say.

And Robin in that distant, echoing cave his mother had spoken from, “Outside! STEVE!”

[calboniferous]

In Theory

Work 1 in The Pen and the Sword aka. my jedi and academics AU

A stressed post-graduate anthropology researcher from Coruscant University enters the Jedi Archives for the first time and is promptly taken under the wing of one Master Archivist Jocasta Nu.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32355310

—

Master Jocasta Nu felt the visitor before she saw them. Stress and a frenetic energy radiated through the force tangled with the unique threads of emotion and colour that made up their signature.

Closing the book in front of her with a soft thud, mindful of its frayed edges, she appraised the blue nautolan hurrying towards her. Their worn brown coat was unbuttoned and struggling to stay onto their shoulders, saved by the strap of the bag hanging off one side which the nautolan had one arm wrapped around. Apparently, the bag’s tie had lost the battle against the tide of flimsy and datapads making the simple bag bulge obscenely.

Ah.

A scholar.

Like the many before them, they had come to Master Nu’s beloved archives in hope of finding salvation in its hallowed stacks. With her guidance, they always did and more often than not, they would return again. And again.

However, this scholar was not one that Master Nu had seen before and as they glanced wide-eyed at the towering shelves, shying away from passing Jedi, she surmised that the Jedi archives were unfamiliar to them also.

They reached her desk out of breath.

“I need books on Kante martial arts and history. Do you have books on Kante? If it has historical martial arts then that would be incredible but I’m setting the bar low. Really, the bar is non-existent. Should I even be setting a bar I don’t know- do you know what the Kante are? Were? They’re extinct”

“Young one, breathe.” Master Nu said, lifting her hand to interrupt the rush of words. Her brow softened in sympathy, “How about you start from the beginning and tell me what your thesis is and then we’ll go about finding resources.”

She signalled to one of the Padawans stacking holopads nearby for them to take over monitoring the main desk and led Tema to one of the many sunlit alcoves tucked between the buttresses.

Settling on a cushion across the low table from the sleep deprived nautolan, Master Nu pulled out her well-worn datapad, ready to formulate a list of texts to recommend for this student’s project. She had gathered quite the collection of such lists over the years and took great pride in curating them. Often, she would continue to add to them in her spare time so that when the person they had been made for returned, it was waiting and ready. And, if Master Nu happened to enjoy the thrill of a hunt for obscure references through her own archives every now and again, that was her own business.

Stylus in hand, she was ready to begin.

“You mentioned martial arts?”

“Right. Yes. I’m studying the fighting style of the Kante people which they used to reclaim their lands 7000 years ago after it was conquered in the Chandrillan Divide. The politics of the reclamation itself have been documented to death but there’s kriff all discussing how they actually fought,”

Master Nu hummed sympathetically, listening as a classic university post-graduate research tragedy poured out in all its glory. The purple shadows smeared under Tema’s dark eyes suggested that more than one night had been lost to this.

It was a credit to her Jedi training and skill as an archivist that Master Nu could write notes, elegant script flitting smoothly across the datapad without misspelling a single title or name, while offering comforting hums and interjecting words of encouragement where Tema faltered.

“So now I need to piece it together myself in order to build a theory on how the Kante people approached battlefield strategy,” Tema finished, fidgeting with their bag strap.

Setting her stylus down, Master Nu surveyed the drafted list with a critical eye. It was a daunting selection. She weighed the situation in her mind and carefully turned the datapad off, placing it down with a muted click of metal on the polished stone table.

“That’s quite the task you’ve got” Master Nu said, “more than an Honours project scope covers.”

She loathed to discourage any scholar but there were limits to the workload that could be shouldered and she had a strict honesty policy. With all her Jedi compassion and experience ad Head Archivist, Master Nu knew how to recognise when a student needed guidance in whittling down their research focus to a reasonable magnitude.

“I know,” Tema sighed, shoulders sagging, “I know but my project topic has already been approved by my supervisor.”

“Dear, your project as it stands is enough to satisfy a PhD and beyond. I can tell you are passionate about it but it’d be a tragedy for you to fail because you tried to complete years’ worth of work in the 10 months you have.”

The blue nautolan wilted a little, head tails curling.

“I don’t see what choice I have. I can’t form a thesis on the merits of Kante strategy without knowing how it worked at the individual level,” they said, resignation colouring their force signature grey with worry.

Master Nu paused, and after a moment spoke.

“Have you considered centring your project on the martial arts itself? At the individual level, as you say. Leaving the rest aside to focus on that should technically be within your project topic.”

Tema blinked, “That’s…that would work. Yes.”

Master Nu watched as they turned the idea over, considering how to approach it.

“Yes. That would make it more of a research-and-reconstruction project. A literature review with practical application.”

They gave a wry smile, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

Some of the frazzled emotion of their presence eased and a few threads of humour sparked in its wake.

“I could have saved myself from being sick from worry in the University ‘freshers yesterday.”

They flushed a little darker at that admission and Master Nu suppressed what would have been a rather unprofessional snort of amusement as she clicked the datapad back on. Ah, younglings. They never changed.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, dear. That amount of stress isn’t conducive to clarity of mind, I’d wager,” Master Nu soothed, deleting a few items from the list with a satisfied air, “You’re hardly the first person’s I’ve known to have an adverse reaction to academic stress. Now, I do believe this list is ready.”

Rising with more grace than her age suggested she was capable of, she smoothed the creases in her cream and straw-gold robes and led the way into the maze of columns and shelves. Tema followed a step behind in a manner that to any observers bore remarkable resemblance to a duckling following its mother – if ducklings were six-and-a-half feet tall, that is.

“Somehow I find it hard to imagine a Jedi getting sick from assignments,” they mused absentmindedly, tipping their head to catch some of the book titles they passed, “all this information – it’d be hard to fail.”

Master Nu chuckled at that, passing through an archway into a side corridor.

“I’m afraid it can happen to anyone. One of my agemates routinely emptied his stomach at the prospect of examinations – that one, in fact,” she said, gesturing to one of the bronze busts lining the hall. The metallic features gave the human man depicted a severe expression. In Master Nu’s opinion, it was rather true to life even if the beard was far to neatly sculpted.

“The poor man. Perfection was as much his vice as his virtue.”

She smiled fondly, crows’ feet crinkling with nostalgia at sharing this particular story – at sharing the humanity of someone so proud and distant both in life and artistic rendition.

Tema faltered and the markings on their head tails blanched light blue.

“Oh, uh, my condolences.”

“Hmm?” Master Nu turned to them, “Oh no, he’s not dead. He’s retired.”

“Oh,”

They blinked, nonplussed.

“This way, dear”

The pair continued on their winding path. Master Nu, frequently gesturing to some architectural feature or other with her datapad, began to explain how the Jedi Archival system worked, pausing every now and then to pull a tome from the shelves.

“It is what many have described as ‘archaic’,” she said, stepping deftly onto the fourth rung of a sliding ladder attached to one of the shelves to reach her next target, “but no one—and I mean no one—has said it is an ineffective system.

“At least not in my earshot,” she said with a laugh, pulling the volume from its place and passing it down to Tema. The rumours the initiates (and fully-grown Knights) liked to spread about Master Nu’s draconian defence of the archives may not be entirely accurate but were taken by most as a warning to avoid slandering the archive in her presence. She knew Tholme liked to stir the pot and recount tales of her lightsabre prowess to the initiates, no matter that the stories were thirty years out-of-date.

“That being said, it can take some getting used to. The Padawans and Knight Archivists are always around and willing to retrieve sources for our visitors.”

Master Nu dismounted from the ladder, blew dust from her sleeve, and turned a critical eye on to the stack of books and datapads in Tema’s arms that had been steadily growing in size. The scholar looked strong enough to take a couple more, taking into account that their bulging bag would not fit anything more inside.

“That’s the last one from this aisle.”

She clicked her tongue and marked a check on her list next to the sources they were borrowing. They were all copies, of course, or volumes easily enough to source a replacement that their loss wouldn’t be abhorrent. Nonetheless, clean records made maintaining the collection less stressful on her soul.

On that note, Master Nu was pleased to feel that Tema was no longer pouring stress into the force like an anxious firehose. And—

She stilled, tilting her head as a familiar presence tickled the edges of her senses.

“Master Nu?” Tema asked, noticing her change in manner.

“Nothing to worry about,”

She once again took the lead. Down the aisle, then one aisle to the left and as they rounded the corner Master Nu smiled at the sight before her.

A little blue and beige figure was hunched over a book resting on the floor, absentmindedly gnawing on her Padawan silka beads and completely oblivious to the world around her.

“Padawan Secura! Why am I not surprised?” Master Nu called lightly and the twi’lek girl jerked, breaking from her literature-induced reverie to scramble to her feet.

“I’m not skipping sabre class again. I swear!”

Had it been any other Padawan of Aayla’s age group, Master Nu would think that emphatic declaration of innocence meant the Padawan in question was skipping class. Skywalker came to mind as a repeat offender of that variety.

Only question was that Junior Padawan sabre classes were always on Taungsday afternoons—this afternoon—and had been since before Master Nu was a crecheling. She hummed, unconvinced.

“Knight Kenobi is doing catch-up lessons this week and he said my forms were good enough to skip.”

That explained it. It seemed only yesterday that he’d been roaming the archives as a padawan himself, tearing through histories of the planets he’d visited at Qui-Gon’s side with single-minded focus. Shame that his lineage had picked him up before her own could. He would have made a fantastic archivist despite his record of being convinced to scale the bookshelves whenever Vos got temple fever.

Well, at least Aayla’s fencing education was in good hands.

Master Nu beamed at Aayla, “Then good work padawan and, as you are free, would you like to join us in gathering sources for Scholar Induri here?”

Aayla brightened, “Absolutely!”

And then, remembering her diplomacy training, bowed to Tema, setting her Padawan beads swinging. “Nice you meet you, Scholar.”

She scooped up the book she had been reading and as she put it back in its slot, Master Nu glimpsed the title.

“Reading Bastilla Shan again are we Padawan?”

The padawan blushed, fiddled with her tunic and handily dodged the teasing with a question of her own, “What are we looking for, Master?”

“See for yourself, young one,” Master Nu passed over the datapad, pointing to the highlighted entries.

Aayla squinted at the handwriting for a second before passing the pad back and running away down the aisle, one hand skimming the shelf labels. Padawans were lovely to have around and, watching Aayla slide 4 meters down a ladder and return to them with a grin plastered across her face, Master Nu wondered if she should take another student. Or, better yet, invite her former Padawans around for tea to see if more Grandpadawans would be joining the lineage soon.

“Thank you, dear,” she gave Aayla a pat on the head, “I’ll leave you to your reading. Just don’t forget to remind your Master that he needs to renew the materials he borrowed last month.”

Then, she turned to Tema who hadn’t made so much as a peep the past five minutes, seemingly satisfied to observe the interaction.

“Let’s get these checked out so you can get to reading them.”

Back to the main desk, the archivist and scholar wandered, and a minute later there was a new name entered into the borrowing database.

“Again, thank you for everything, Master Nu” Tema said, gathering the stack back into their arms. They were a little overwhelmed but they were smiling.

“Dear, it’s no trouble. One last thing, are you planning on enlisting someone practised in martial forms in your project? Or were you aiming for a more theoretical illustration of your findings?”

Tema cast their eyes to one side and shifted their weight.

“Ideally, yes, but I have no idea where to find someone like that so…theoretical?”

They trailed off.

“Good. I’m free to ask around here, then,” Master Nu said, tugging Tema’s bag strap so it was in less immediate danger of falling of their shoulder.

“If you need any help at all, don’t hesitate to send me a message or drop by. My archive is always open,”

At that, she tucked a slip of flimsy with her com code underneath the top datapad in the stack and gave Tema a parting pat on the cheek. With hope in their step, the scholar passed back out the archive doors, into the sunlight of the hall beyond.

Content, Master Nu smiled and watched them go.

“Now,” she mused to herself, opening the roster of temple-bound jedi and beginning to peruse the list, “who to ask…”

Her thoughts turned to the bronze bust of a man whose devotion to esoteric research was only outmatched by his skill with a blade.

His legacy…

Her eyes caught on a name. Yes, that would do very nicely indeed.

In the interest of vetting the source she intended to recommend, Master Nu made a mental note to attend next week’s exhibition tournament.

[seijohsfairy]

𝙼𝙸𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁

there’s few things that can shake miya atsumu. one thing that can, the way his little sister begs for his help.

.wordc. 2.2k+ tw incest, dubcon/noncon, voyeurism

+

He’s not exactly known for being the moral compass of the world. In all of his life, he’s thought about things before jumping head first approximately two times, and neither thought was concerning the goodness of his actions. But he’s also not a bad person, or tries not to be. When it comes to most things he’s a pretty decent human, and for the parts he lacks, well— that’s probably why he has a twin. It’s making those important calls on his own that give Atsumu a hard time here and there. And in all fairness, he thinks, it’s not his fault he didn’t notice quite as quickly as someone else might’ve.

He’s not home a lot, and even when he is, you’ve all always been close as siblings. Too close sometimes, but it’s what works for you guys so what others think doesn’t matter. He’s learned to tune out most of what Osamu does on a daily basis, and has to in order to stay sane in his own little slice of life without feeling like he’s constantly mirroring his twin. What the other does is not his problem, you don’t say anything if it doesn’t concern you. That is how he’s used to handling his siblings, when it’s not so painfully obvious that something is wrong.

It’s in the way you invite him home every free weekend like he’s some saint, though the first dozen times he only thinks it’s because you miss him a lot. When both your big brothers moved out you must’ve felt abandoned, and you clung just a little tighter when hugging him goodbye after visits. Then when Osamu started Onigiri Miya you moved into his apartment to help as a part-time employee, also avoiding the long commute to uni. You would send him cute pictures of the two of you in the uniform and asking him tons of questions when on the phone, always making the hard days a bit better.

Your favorite question was always ‘when are ya visiting again, Tsumtsum nii?’ and what can he say, it was strangely nostalgic to have you so excited and giddy about what he was doing. Even if you did tend to send him lots of little texts throughout the day that he didn’t get to answer until hours later. He figured you were just lonely and— he hopes— part of that is still true. That the pout and tears you flashed him, the ones he took as a cute, childlike gesture every time he left you for a busy couple of weeks of training, weren’t just desperation.

But then the phone calls started. Nothing like the upbeat message you’d leave him during the day, no. These were few and far in between, and they never left him with a good feeling. You’d sob into the receiver on the other end at 5 in the morning, oftentimes right when he was ready to tuck into bed after being out with his teammates. “When are ya coming back to Sendai, niichan? I need to see you again,” you’d cry and cry and cry, and nothing he said then could soothe you. He’d tell you to wake Osamu up, your voice suddenly growing so quiet. “I’m calling from the hall, I can’t wake him up,” is all you’d answer, hanging up not long after. Just a nightmare, you’d explain the morning after. And Atsumu believed you.

What was he supposed to do? The messages about you sleeping badly to Samu were always answered with the same unsurprised level-headedness he’d come to expect from his twin. And you were a grown woman now, if you had to see a doctor for it, you would. He did try to make his visits back to Sendai fewer in between, to settle the little voice in the back of his skull at least a little. And you’d smile so brightly and cling so tight whenever he did, Atsumu would ruffle your hair and laugh along with his twin. He didn’t say anything about your boyfriend, but he knew you had one, since you were always covered head to toe in kiss marks. Things were good.

They are great even… until the end of volleyball season, when the Black Jackals get some time off and he decides to spend it with his siblings. Your apartment is so comfortable after having lived here for almost two years, it’s so warm and filled with a familiar glow of home. And he could’ve spent it at his parents’ home or even his own house alone, but it’s nice to stay over here too. Tsumu laughs when he notices there’s even more pictures of just you and Osamu on the shelves. “Yer gonna have to take some of all three of us soon, or else people will forget there’s another twin!” You giggle when he pokes your side, but strangely, the joy doesn’t reach past your lips.

“Maybe that’s what we’re going for,” Samu says.

The blond grabs his chest dramatically and stumbles forward, toppling over into the couch. “How could you? Yer killin’ me, dude,” he whines, and your eyes seem to get a little brighter at the normality of their bickering. The other twin just snorts, taking his brother’s bags in hand and walking them to the spare room without complaining. And the little sister… you linger. You do that a lot when he visits since you moved in here, but Atsumu can’t really remember if it’s something you used to do when you were kids too. Like you have something more to say. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth. Shifting onto your heels and picking at the majorly oversized clothing you’re wearing. Looking closer, it seems to be one of Samu’s sweatshirts—

Osamu calls your name as he rounds the corner, and your fidgeting stops. His brother glances over at the couch with a small smile, then down at you where you stand to his side. “Will ya get Tsumu set up for us? I’m sure he’s tired.” He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, and your eyes flutter. “I’m going to check on the food, ‘kay?” It’s not much of a question, since he moves into the kitchen before you can answer. But you nod, and motion him along.

“Here, Tsumtsum nii,” you walk the hall next to him, hand flexing and unflexing a few times before you hold your breath, then gently slipping it into his larger one. And yes, it is a strange interaction, he thinks while looking down at you but you lean into him so sweet and finally seem to relax a little that he doesn’t fault you for a second. You point at the door with your free hand, “this is your room, we moved the desk to the side! I think you’ll like it.”

He smiles down at you when you push open the door so softly, like you’re scared to leave your fingerprints on anything but him, before following your eyes. There’s a little stuffie next to the pillow, one he recognizes. It used to be his when he was a little kid, he had no idea you still had it. But it’s clearly your doing, Samu would never come up with something so thoughtful. “Ya didn’t have to move all yer stuff out of a room for me, didya?”

You seem to pale a little when you look up into his warm eyes, but swallow. “No.” The serious tone catches him off guard. And he doesn’t like getting into other people’s business, but he’s glad when you continue. “I sleep with Samu nii in the room.” Your eyes are on the floor, mouth set into a little line. You breathe in and out a few times under his calculated gaze, before you look back up at him and bite your lip. “There’s fresh towels in the bathroom if you want to take a shower. I should get back to niichan, he’ll call me soon.” You pull your small hand from his, and it’s only then that he notices how sweaty your palm was. Which doesn’t make sense, since you should have nothing to be nervous about. Before you rush down the hall, you turn over your shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re staying for a while, Tsumtsum nii.”

It’s three days in when he starts feeling the familiar itch of working out. You’d scold him though, so he slips out the door as quietly as possible, going for a late night run. When he comes back to the door, drenched in sweat, he jumbles the keys. Pushes them in, turns and then— stops.

“Niichan, hng- niichan!” Your voice is muffled though the wall, but it’s clearly… He drops the keys on the table, shuffling forward in the dark. “It- ah ah ah- it’s too big, not so hard.” It sounds like you’re trying to keep quiet, but the distinct sound of the headboard hitting the wall over and over is grating. Atsumu sits through too much of the moans and grunts before finally coming back to the world enough to go to his room. “Samu niichan, please stop. Tsumtsum nii will be back.” He stops halfway there, because your door is swung open like his is. And Osamu is balls deep inside you, your head pushed into the pillows and turned toward the wall.

“Fuck, yer so tight,” he hisses, the smacking of his slow, deep pace still obnoxious enough to fill the house. “That feels good, doesn’t it? Slutty girl.” You’re pulled back into his hips with each thrust, whining softly. And with your wet pussy filled again and again to the brim right in front of him, it’s hard to think logically. He should have known when Samu looked up your skirt on the stairway last month, or how easily he pulled you into his lap just last night, but even now he’s staring right at you both it is hard to fathom. This feels like a hallucination. “Take my cock like the good, little wife ya are, that’s it.”

You whine and drool onto the pillow until Samu pulls out of you to turn you over. He slides right back in as you moan out at the stretch, before his skin smacks into yours and his hand snakes down to rub harshly over your puffy clit. After a few thrusts, he lays his much bigger body right over yours, kissing you deeply. You shake your face into the kiss, but still cling to him. Your tits rise and fall so pretty for him, it’s almost hard to believe he never noticed before.

“Samu nii, more. Deeper,” you plead, pushing back against his thrusts. “I want to cum.” The headboard gets louder, and the brunet’s low moans do too.

“Oh, don’t worry,” his twin grunts, digging his fingers deep into the soft skin of your ass as he hauls your thighs closer, “I will never forget about my princess, even when ya get mad at me for it. Now say thank you for niichan’s cock, so that I can fuck ya properly.” You shake your face wildly again, letting out a little squeal at a harder pump of the fat cock pounding into you. When you don’t respond, he grabs your throat between his strong fingers and squeezes, as you hick and cling to his hand. “Quickly, yer really testing my patience today.”

Atsumu is not exactly known for being the moral compass of the world. And being so similar to his twin, he tries to be a good person. He does.

“Thank you, niichan, thank you for yer cock,” you squeeze out, little voice sounding so fucking adorable. “Now please let me cum.” Osamu holds you tighter and really starts fucking you into the mattress so hard it might wake him up if he wasn’t already, the squelching and loud smack of his skin connecting to your slicked up center overwhelming. Your back curls off the bed, little legs shaking and toes curling into the soft plush. “Niichan, niichan! Pl- Ah- nii-hnggg fuck.”

But really— admitting your twin is a bad guy is like admitting you’re a bad guy. And if there’s one thing Atsumu doesn’t like, it’s talking down to himself. So when you squeal and shake around your brother’s cock, his dick twitches against his stomach. The feeling of guilt at getting hard from what he’s watching is overruled by the wave of heat that surges to his balls and cock as your knees lock around Osamu’s thick thighs and you cum so pretty, letting your face drop toward him with your eyes squeezed shut and your lips hung open. His back is still sticky from his run, but your fucked, little expression could have done the same. And then you tilt your head back to expose your branded throat where Samu buries his face, and your lashes flutter.

He’s touching his cock when you notice him, your eyes widening and you jump to hide under Samu more. Fuck, you’re so cute. Osamu is still fucking into you with hard snaps, wide back covering you mostly from view. “Samu nii, stop,” you mumble against his temple, “please stop, look!”

“I’m not fucking sharing this wet cunt,” he just grunts, and you try to push him off to no avail. Atsumu huffs as he walks closer, shutting the door behind him. At the click Samu looks up for just a moment, before frowning. “She’s mine. Fuck off.” Then he pushes himself up from you a bit to grab your tit and make you whimper. He’s at the bed now, and his knees almost give out at your glossy eyes and the sounds your cunt makes. The brunet holds his motion for a moment. “Yer welcome to use her mouth just this once, but ya make a move on her and I’ll kill ya.”

Your eyes droop a little when he slips his pants down his legs, but you don’t seem surprised. You know what kind of person he is, surely. So Atsumu wraps his hand around his leaking cock, kneeling next to your face as you sniffle. “Just put Tsumtsum nii’s cock into your mouth.” His thumb brushes past your lips. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” He’s not bad, but he’s never pretended to be a saint. It’s your own fault for imagining him as one.

[mementofloreo-archived]

Kiss 44, for Ewan and Ophilia : )

@tomestobetold || 50 ways to kiss someone || 44- out of lust 👀

(under a cut because I ended up writing the entire lotr series as a reply, apparently, /j)

It really is a momentary lapse of restraint that compels him.

Ewan usually has rather impeccable self control. Twelve years of the education and etiquette provided only to royalty and eight of extensive traveling, physical training, self learning and practical experience with both business and battle all come together to allow him a tight hold over his actions.

Even so, everybody cracks sometimes. Slips for a second. And that can end in a collapse of a carefully curated mask, with varying results.

Ophilia Clement is breathtaking to him even on a bad day. He could write volumes of poetry about her, he thinks. In fact he would, if she were to ask it of him.

Their comradeship started initially as cordial business. The day she set out on the Kindling the weather was bad. As he was finishing up some work and planning to depart Flamesgrace himself anyway, he offered to accompany her at least until whatever point their paths naturally diverged or the traveling conditions became less adverse. He was for all intents and purposes a volunteer bodyguard, offering his sword arm out of mere compassion and care for another’s safety.

...They are well beyond that now.

They are often surrounded by other traveling companions now, though often their paths will diverge from them for short periods if some of them have errands or business in another direction. They always rendezvous with each other again before too long, but...

Alone together or not, the extensive time Ewan and Ophilia have spent in each other’s company has led to a steadfast and close friendship that he genuinely hopes will be lifelong.

...Of course, the tension is something else entirely. Ewan is self aware enough to know when he is attracted to someone, and has given enough thought and attention to himself to realize that for better or worse, he is in love for the first time. And the emotions Ophilia evoke in him sometimes leave him feeling as if he’s been punched in the gut. Breathless, overwhelmed, floundering.

He still insists to himself that there is no chance Ophilia’s feelings toward him are anywhere near matching his own for her. But he is not so blinded by his lack of confidence that he still denies there is, at least, a spark. Something there, in her eyes, lingering on him when he shaves at the campfire every morning. Burning holes between his shoulderblades when he strips himself of his shirt while sparring with sir Olberic on a hot day. Fingers tracing his skin just a little longer than necessary when she runs a healing spell over a wound.

Ewan may not think highly of his own desirability- but he’s far from completely stupid. Ophilia is attracted to him as well- at least on a physical level. Even without the hints offered by her own behavior, the jokes and teasing from their companions grow less subtle by the day.

But right now, it’s only the two of them. A shallow cave- really more just a divot in a cliff face- is their resting place for the night. Wind howls, rain comes down in sheets outside. Ewan has used the materials that usually build their tents to place a covering over the opening of their little hole, keeping out any chill and preventing the water from soaking them or putting out their modest fire.

They’ve already been caught by the storm, of course. They spent several minutes trekking uphill on a muddy path with Ewan bracing himself behind Ophilia as a support against the headwind and slippery ground. Needless to say they were both soaked to the bone by the time they found a safe place to get out of the weather.

Though not lacking some self consciousness about it, Ewan stripped down to his trousers as soon as the fire was going, laying the rest of his drenched clothing out flat nearby to dry.

Ophilia’s outermost layers are mostly white, but she is accustomed enough to the unpredictable weather of the road by now that she has invested in a dark undershirt and leggings for cases such as this.

...Even so, this is probably the least vested they have seen each other. And what the cleric is still wearing is considerably more form fitting than her robes. From the moment they sit down in the somewhat cramped space, just a few inches between them as they pull towels from their bags and silently warm themselves by the fire, a thick, tense air has been building.

For Ewan, it’s mostly anxiety. At least initially. He knows he is not unpleasant to look at, and his strong frame is something that many people find easy on the eyes. But he has some very significant scars along his chest, abdomen, even his back. He also has fairly thick body hair, and he has always been a little self conscious about that. He was already shaving and growing chest hair by age fifteen- though not nearly as often then as he finds himself needing to now.

He glances her direction every so often. Briefly, shyly, dutifully avoiding staring or ogling. He busies himself drying his hair, closes his eyes tightly, focuses intensely on the sensation of scrubbing the towel against his head. Then he dries his face, his throat-

That’s when he feels her eyes on him.

He looks over nervously, quietly. Ophilia’s face is mostly covered by her own towel, hands clutching the fabric in place, but her eyes gaze through strands of still damp hair, right at Ewan. He feels his heart stutter violently when he catches them moving up and down, blatantly drinking in the details of his body.

He swallows, mouth going dry, as the air goes from simply tense to heated and charged in only seconds. And of course he finds himself staring too, because now he’s been knocked off balance.

His eyes follow as Ophilia lowers the towel, focusing on her hands. Small and soft and warm- he knows because he’s taken them, many a time, to keep her from falling, pull her away from danger, help her up a steep incline. Compared to his- big and callused and strong and scarred- they seem almost too dainty. Like those of a doll, or like something made of lace.

All her features have a delicate air about them, he muses, slightly dazed and not even noticing her quiet, flustered apology for staring.

Her undershirt is sleeveless. High collared, but it hugs the line of her neck snugly even as it bares her small, pale shoulders.

He clears his throat, fidgets, and tries to look away. He feels the deep flush that has crept onto his face and it’s difficult to ignore the slowly bubbling heat in the pit of his stomach, or the skirting thoughts about how soft the rest of her skin must be, considering her hands, is she that pale all over, is she-

He takes in a sharp, deep breath, and digs his nails into the palms of his hands as he glues his gaze to the fire.

And for a little while the air eases a bit, Ewan focusing so intently on paying attention to anything other than Ophilia and her own flushed face or the curve of her hips or-

Suddenly, she is sitting right next to him. Almost flush against his side.

He’s sure his heart has stopped. At first he merely moves his eyes toward her, gritting his teeth as he waits for her to speak.

She fiddles shyly with her hair, bashfully avoiding eye contact and murmuring about feeling a little cold. And, slowly, she rests her cheek against his shoulder.

And when her hand moves to his arm, her fingers tracing a vein on his bicep, that’s when it snaps.

His movements are not quick or forceful, despite the intensity of the impulse and the desire driving it. He breathes in deeply, swears under his breath, and then he turns down toward her.

When she raises her head to look at him, he takes her jaw in one hand, gently, and tilts her face up, dips his own down to press a deep, longing, far from chaste kiss upon her mouth.

Her lips are soft, and she smells a little sweet, and his head is buzzing with a force that no quantity of alcohol has ever been able to impart. He’s bedded people before, kissed them, run his hands over another’s body. Even so, the way Ophilia’s breath catches, the way her body tenses for a moment before she relaxes and practically melts against him, hands pressed against his chest- everything about her, and this single lingering kiss, is more arousing than anything else he has experienced. By the time he pulls away from her his vision is blurry, and he can hardly think, much less regain control of himself.

“...I should have asked permission before doing that,” he whispers, breathless, still just hairs away from her face.

They both struggle to even their breathing as the rain continues to pour outside, but Ewan knows already that the floodgates can’t be closed now.

[cyborgsquirrel]

Sanctuary: Chapter 23

Pairing: Wolfstar

Summary: The epic tale of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, from their first meeting until their happily ever after.

Link to Prologue

Link to All Chapters

Thursday, 2nd December 1971 Remus made it through the next week by trying not to think about Sirius' potential infection, but when the day of the next full moon arrived, he became hyper-focused on him. And not just because he smelled so damn good. Also, why did he smell so damn good? Everyone's scents were stronger to him around the full moon, but no one else's held so much allure.

He watched Sirius closely through Transfiguration in the morning. He seemed to have no trouble focusing on changing his ice into water and back again. Sirius' movements were as fluid and elegant as always, and he didn't seem to be in any pain. They were all positive signs, but he was still worried.

The full moon was a long one that month, nineteen whole hours as a wolf, beginning at ten past three in the afternoon. He would need to be at the hospital wing just after two, which meant leaving Potions only half an hour into the double period. There really wasn't any point in going, but he wanted to see if Sirius had any trouble with the smells in the room. He regretted the decision immediately; Sirius seemed as oblivious as ever of the putrid odours in the dungeon classroom, but Remus was not. They were sickening. He only lasted fifteen minutes before he raised his hand and asked Slughorn if he could be excused to the Hospital wing. 'I'll take him,' Sirius volunteered. Great. That was just what he needed. Alone time with Sirius' ridiculously tempting scent. 'Thank you, Mister Black. Put your cauldron under stasis and be sure to return quickly.' 'Yes, sir.' Sirius cast the stasis charm on his cauldron and turned to face him. 'Come on, mate. Let's get you to Pomfrey. You look terrible.' Remus moved to pick his bag up from the floor, but Sirius beat him to it, saying, 'Here, let me carry that.' He wasn't too comfortable having Sirius carry his bag in case he noticed it was bulkier than it should have been with the change of clothes he'd packed in preparation. But Sirius showed no sign he'd noticed anything odd about it. As they climbed the stairs to the third floor, he kept glancing at Sirius, still looking for symptoms. He couldn't decide whether or not to warn someone of the potential danger. 'Have I got something on my face?' Sirius asked. 'You keep looking at me.' 'Oh, um. No. You just don't look too good either. Do you feel okay?' Remus said, fishing. 'I feel fine,' Sirius said, giving him a funny look. 'You're the one who's ill.' Okay, so he was probably fine. He hadn't touched him at the Quidditch match. Everything was okay. But did you even get symptoms before the first change? His memory of that time was so fuzzy, he couldn't remember. All he could recall was horrible fear. And wanting a hug. They reached the Hospital Wing, and Sirius said goodbye before returning to class, taking his comforting scent with him. Remus went inside. 'Afternoon, Mister Lupin,' Pomfrey said, bustling over to him. She already had her cloak on, ready to leave. 'How are you feeling?' 'No worse than normal,' he said. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. 'Let's hope this month is a little easier on you. Are you ready?' He nodded. 'Yes, ma'am.' She cast the disillusionment charm on him and led him out to the grounds. It was much colder than the previous month, and the grass was crunchy underfoot. He loved crunchy grass, but he found it hard to enjoy the sensation with the level of anxiety he was under. The time to mention his concerns was rapidly running out. 'Professor Flitwick tells me you're competent with colloportus now. Do you feel comfortable locking yourself in, or would you still like me to do it?' Madam Pomfrey asked when they reached the Whomping Willow. 'I can do it. You don't need to come,' he said. It was now or never. She was turning around, but the words were caught in his throat. 'I'll see you in the morning then. Good luck, Remus.' She was leaving; it was too late. If Sirius was infected, there would be bloodshed tonight. Remus woke after the transformation to the sight of dusk through the hospital room window. Had he been unconscious all day? There was no one in sight outside; the grounds were eerily deserted. Was that because it was so cold, or because half the school was dead? Surely if Sirius had turned and gone on a rampage, he'd still be in the Hogsmeade house, though. Madam Pomfrey would be far too busy to worry about him. Unless they wanted to make sure he didn't escape because they were organising his execution for infecting someone and causing the deaths of hundreds of children. Oh, Gods. He was going to be sick. Remus bent over the edge of the bed and vomited all over the floor. Madam Pomfrey rushed in from the office. 'Oh, you poor dear. Let's get you cleaned up,' she said, waving her wand to scourgify the mess he'd made. 'There now. All better. Lay back down, that's it.' She certainly wasn't acting like she'd cleaned up a massacre the night before, or that she blamed him for the deaths. But that didn't mean anything. Madam Pomfrey was a professional. She'd treat even a mass-murderer with compassion. 'Did anything happen last night?' he asked. 'You tore yourself up pretty badly again,' she said with a frown. 'I wonder if it's because the moon is in the sky for longer during the winter?' She looked him up and down. 'How are you feeling now?' 'Sore. The usual,' he said. Madam Pomfrey frowned at him again. 'That doesn't help me, Mister Lupin. I don't know what "the usual" is. Please describe your symptoms and do not downplay them or I can't treat you properly.' 'Yes ma'am,' he said, ducking his head. 'I'm sorry. My bones are aching, my joints are sore when I move. My stomach hurts quite a lot, I'm guessing I ripped it open again?' She nodded in confirmation. 'And my right arm feels like a wolf gnawed it off during the night. Which is probably fairly accurate?' 'You came pretty close. I'd say you transformed back just in time,' she said, looking grim. Merlin, he'd nearly lost his hand before, but his whole arm? Would she even be able to reattach it? Would it transform back or stay a wolf? He shuddered. This month was the longest moon of the year, though. Hopefully, next month wouldn't be as bad. Most importantly, Madam Pomfrey hadn't said anything about a rampaging beast in the halls last night. He couldn't be sure everything was fine until he saw Sirius for himself, though. Maybe he'd transformed in the dorm, and James had managed to magically lock the door before he died. That would be just like James, to sacrifice himself saving everyone else. The teachers might not even know anything was wrong yet. 'Can I go soon?' he asked, not holding out much hope but having to try. 'Not until that wound on your stomach is healed. It's Friday evening, you're not missing anything.' How long ago did she leave school? Friday night was when everything interesting happened. But that's not why he wanted to leave. He needed to make sure his friends were okay. Madam Pomfrey's expression was uncompromising, though. Arguing with her would be pointless. Might as well get something else done that he'd been meaning to do while he was stuck there. 'Can I have my bag? I want to write to my mum.' She handed him the bag. 'Don't overdo it. If you feel tired, sleep. Understand?' He nodded. 'Yes. ma'am.' Madam Pomfrey left and he pulled parchment and a quill from his bag. He had no idea how he was going to word this. His mum would be upset no matter what he said. She adored Christmas, and he knew she was missing him. But his fear of spending the next full moon, eighteen and a half hours as a wolf, in the hole in the garden was stronger than his sympathy for his mum. He had to put himself first in this. He wrote several drafts of the letter before he was satisfied that it said what he wanted in the nicest possible way. He hoped she wouldn't be too upset. Dear Mum, Everything is good here. I'm doing well in all my lessons, even Potions. I think I managed to find the best friends in the whole world. They're really kind, and they do everything they can to make me feel comfortable. I wanted to ask if you would mind very much if I didn't come home for the Christmas holidays? The reason is that my health problem has been quite bad recently. Please don't worry, Madam Pomfrey is very good at her job, which is why I'd like to stay. As much as I miss you and want to see you, I anticipate that I may need her expertise during the holiday. Please let me know as soon as possible. Lots of love, Remus He rolled up the finished letter and put it in his bag. He wouldn't send it until he knew for sure that Sirius and the others were okay. It would be awful for his mum if she received that after he was executed. On that happy thought, he lay down. The sooner he went to sleep, the sooner it would be morning and he would know. One way or another. He awoke well before dawn and waited impatiently for Madam Pomfrey to arrive and assess him. She finally turned up at seven o'clock. 'I'm all better. Can I go now?' he asked the second she walked through the door. She smiled. 'Eager to start your weekend, are you? Let me check you over first.' She waved her wand, and he waited, fidgeting with his bedsheets, while she looked over the results. 'Yes, everything looks good. You may go,' she said. He swung his legs out of the bed. 'But,' she continued, 'take it easy for a day or two, I don't want you overdoing it. Your body goes through a dreadful ordeal every month. Be kind to it.' Like she needed to tell him what his body went through. He was there. 'Yes, ma'am,' he said. 'Good boy. See you next month, Mister Lupin.' With that, she swept out of the room, leaving him to get dressed in private. He hurried to put his clothes on, grabbed his bag and rushed to the main doors of the wing, giving Madam Pomfrey a wave on the way out. Now that he was finally on his way to find out for sure, he was terrified. What if he pushed the door open to find Sirius weeping over the corpses of their friends? Would Sirius attack him when he realised he was the cause, or just ignore him entirely? Which would hurt more? The questions ran through his mind on an infinite loop, and by the time he reached the door to his dorm room, he had worked himself up to breaking point. His hand was shaking as he reached for the doorknob. He turned it and pushed the door open. And blinked. Sirius was leaning on the windowsill with his back to the door, looking out the window, his hair flowing loose down his back. James was lying on his bed flicking through a book and Peter was sitting on the floor playing some game with a pack of exploding snap cards. Everything was normal. Sirius turned from the window and looked him up and down. 'Alright, mate. You're looking better.' He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept well for a couple of days, but he was smiling. 'I feel better. Thanks.' Remus put his bag down and joined Peter on the floor. 'Can I play?' 'Sure,' Peter said and gathered up the cards to start dealing. James and Sirius came over and sat down too. Remus smiled. His heart-rate was gradually returning to normal. There had been nothing to worry about. Sirius was still very much whole and human. -o-o-o-o-

Sirius didn't know how many more months he could carry on like this, knowing Remus' secret but not being able to be with him after the full moon to see if he was okay. He'd barely slept the two nights Remus was away. This month had been admittedly easier than last month, simply because James and Peter were both concerned too. But it was still hard. They didn't know how serious Remus' condition was; they just thought he was sick, not tearing himself to shreds in some unknown location. He felt utterly wretched for thinking about his own suffering when Remus had it so much worse, but he couldn't help it. It was just so fucking hard. The not knowing. The waiting for news. He considered telling James and Peter so they could at least suffer with him, but that would be a betrayal. Remus had the right to choose who to share his secrets with. He wouldn't take that away from him. He'd already lost too much. It was almost impossible to concentrate on his lessons on Friday. He'd ended up turning his ice into powdered snow instead of water in Transfiguration--he still wasn't sure how that had happened--and he'd killed all his plantain seedlings in Herbology by over-watering them, earning him his first T grade. None of that mattered though, as long as Remus came back alive. And he did. Remus returned on Saturday morning, and he was so relieved, but he thought he'd done well at playing it cool. He knew it was the longest full moon of the year. If Remus survived this one, then he should be okay for the rest. Right? Gods, he wished there was someone he could ask. He wasn't sure how he was going to cope if Remus went home for the holiday. The full moon was the night before they returned. Would he even be well enough to travel on the train? Or would he have to come back to school late, leaving him to wonder if he was coming back at all? That would be a nightmare. He did his best to keep everything calm and quiet on Saturday, knowing Remus would still be recovering. Whenever James suggested doing something that required a little more energy, like working on their Christmas feast plans, he claimed to be too tired or not in the mood so Remus wouldn't have to make excuses or be forced into doing something too strenuous. He still looked very tired, and there was a permanent crease in his forehead that deepened a little whenever he moved. Was he in pain still? If only he could ask him. By Sunday, James had had enough of the excuses and insisted on working on their plans. They spent an hour transfiguring the floor of their dorm into different materials to see which would be best for dancing on. Sirius and James performed elaborate dances to test them out. As heirs of their houses, they'd both been forced to learn ballroom dancing at an early age, and he enjoyed hearing Remus' laughter at their antics. He really needed to laugh more, in his opinion. When that task was complete, James ticked it off of the list before glancing up from the red notebook. 'Remus, have you made any progress finding a way to time the magic for the end of the feast?' Remus nodded. 'Yes. I've altered the timing charm we used before to be activated by a phrase of our choosing, but we need someone to say the words. Obviously, it can't be one of us because that would give away our identity.' Peter frowned. 'We could ask Dumbledore? He seemed to enjoy the Halloween entertainment; he might go along with it.' James grinned. 'You know? I think he might. He's a good sort, Dumbledore. We could leave a note on the table in front of his seat.' They all agreed this was the best idea. The back-up plan was to pay a random student to shout it out, but they hoped that wouldn't be necessary. They spent the rest of the day going over his ice sculpture designs and practising making their choices using delayed transfiguration. Though they weren't entirely sure how they were going to get the bowls of water into the Hall. They couldn't be set up in advance, people would notice them. 'The house-elves?' Remus suggested. James frowned. 'Can they hear what's happening in the Hall? So they know when to send them up?' Remus shrugged. 'They must be able to. Remember, on the first day, Dumbledore said "let the feast begin" and the food appeared.' James nodded. 'Yes. That's true. Unless they had it timed to the second.' Sirius stood up. 'Only one way to find out. To the kitchens!' He pointed dramatically at the door and marched out. They talked with the house-elves, and they were more than happy to help as long as everyone got to eat first. After explaining what they had planned, the elves clapped their hands, delighted with the idea, and offered to provide refreshments and rearrange the house tables at the appropriate time. The Marauders were glad of the offer because the tables were huge, and they weren't sure any of them were strong enough to move them without draining their cores and putting themselves in a coma. They left the house-elves with a diagram of the Great Hall showing how they wanted everything positioned and told them they would return the day before the feast to set-up the magic on the bowls. For the next week, they spent all their free time planning and practising. He learnt more from planning mischief than he did in any of his classes. Even Peter made a lot of progress under the calm tutelage of Remus and with the encouragement of his friends by his side. It was good to see both of them growing in confidence. Peter was beginning to believe in himself a little more, and Remus was acting more relaxed around them again. Almost back to how he was before the Quidditch match disaster. On the morning of Saturday the 11th, he received a letter from his mother that threatened to ruin his week-long good mood. If you could even call it a letter. It was barely a note. Dear Mister Sirius Black, The family has decided that your presence at our Christmas celebration is unwanted. You will remain at school for the Holidays. Walburga Black Sirius stared at the note for a moment before screwing it up in his fist. "Mister Sirius Black?" They addressed him as if he was a stranger. "The family has decided?" Was he not a part of the family? She didn't even sign it "Mother." He hadn't been planning on going home for the holidays anyway, but to be told in such a cold and unfeeling way that he was unwanted? That hurt. Remus walked over and sat down next to him on his bed. 'Are you okay?' He said nothing, just handed Remus the screwed up ball of parchment. Remus smoothed it out and read the few words on the page. 'I'm sorry, Sirius. That must have hurt,' Remus said, his voice quiet. Sirius felt a brief touch on his back and smiled sadly. Remus was making himself uncomfortable to offer him comfort. He wasn't worth it, but it was welcome. 'If it helps, I'm staying for Christmas too. My mum said it was okay.' That did help. It was the best news he could have hoped for. He looked at Remus and grinned. 'Oh, we are going to have so much fun. We should make some plans.' Remus smiled. 'What did you have in mind?' 'We could set up back to school surprises in all the common rooms,' he said with a wicked grin. Remus chuckled. 'We'll have to find Hufflepuff first. We still don't know where it is. But that sounds like an excellent idea.' Then he leaned close to Sirius and whispered, 'How about back to school surprises in James' and Pete's beds too?' 'Remus Lupin,' he said, laughing. 'I think you might be my soul mate.' Remus blushed Gryffindor red and coughed. 'Yes. Well. We could also go to the beach room so you can paint the sunset while it's quiet,' he said, rapidly changing the subject. 'Great idea,' Sirius said. 'I could paint the sunrise and the cave too. We only have the place until June. We'll want to remember it. It's our first big discovery.' 'You think we'll find more things that good?' Remus asked. 'We found that within, what? Three weeks of being here? I bet we find loads of things in the next seven years. We'll be legendary.' He flopped back on the bed and Remus lay down next to him. 'I'm so glad I found you guys. I can't imagine being here without you,' Sirius said. Remus was silent for a minute before he said in a quiet voice, 'Me too.' Sirius frowned. Was Remus still worried about them rejecting him? He grappled for something to say, but nothing came to mind that wouldn't be much too obvious. Suddenly, James burst into the room with Peter on his heels. 'Where's that itching powder my dad sent?' James asked. 'We've just seen some Slytherins attacking a group of Gryffindors for absolutely no reason.' 'What did you have in mind?' Sirius said, sitting up. 'Sneak into their dorms and put it in their clothes,' James said with a shrug. Sirius grinned. 'Count me in.' They went out on their revenge mission at two o'clock in the morning, unfortunately having to leave Remus behind. It took them quite some time to locate the dorms of all the boys James and Peter had seen, and it was almost four by the time they crawled into their own beds with a sense of satisfaction. For the first time in his life, Sirius slept past six o'clock, waking at half-past nine on Sunday with a start. Was his mother finally losing her grip on his mind? It seemed she was. As the week went on, he found he could sleep as late as he wanted, sometimes only just getting up in time for class after being prodded awake by Peter, jumped on by James, or his personal favourite, coaxed out of unconsciousness by Remus whispering his name. Of course, that might have something to do with the nightly excursions to the Great Hall, but he liked to think it was because he was finally breaking free. By Friday lunchtime, they only had two things left to do. The Marauders strolled down to the kitchens to set-up the magic in the items the house-elves would be sending up and to finalise the plans. Breen showed them the refreshments they had prepared. Lots of light finger foods, as people would already be full from the meal, and a fruit punch that was delicious. They thanked the house-elves for all of their help and presented them with a painting of the kitchen as a Christmas gift. Sirius had worked hard on it using his birthday gift from James, and it showed the kitchen in full-preparation mode, all the elves were occupied with important tasks and the image seemed to burst with life. The elves adored it. Several of them had to wipe their eyes. Teely, the elf in charge of the kitchen, took the painting and hung it above the main fireplace, before expressing her gratitude on behalf of all the elves. With that task complete, there was one thing left; they needed to leave the note for Dumbledore. They waited until classes were over for the day, and then Sirius, Remus and Peter created a distraction in the Entrance Hall while James snuck into the Great Hall and left the note at Dumbledore's seat. Sirius, Remus and Peter had points deducted for hexing several Slytherins with mucus ad nauseam, but it didn't matter, James had completed the mission, and that was the important thing. -o-o-o-o-

Extracts from The Official Marauders Notebook

Bully hit list  (Last page in the notebook)

Snape - dungbomb cauldron, stinksap shower, mucus ad nauseam x 2, Pumpkin juice in lap, itching powder

Avery - Mucus ad nauseam, Pumpkin juice in lap, itching powder

Mulciber - Mucus ad nauseam, pumpkin juice in lap, itching powder

Crouch - Mucus ad nauseam, pumpkin juice in lap, itching powder

McTavish - Stinkbombed

Notes passed in History - Wednesday 8th December

Honestly, why don't they replace this guy? - Sirius

Maybe he won't leave? - James

They could at least get a new teacher and let Binns lecture to an empty classroom. It's not like he notices we're even here - Sirius

Yeah, but if they did that, we wouldn't be able to nap through History - James

That is a good point. - Sirius

At this point, Peter waved, and Sirius passed him the notebook

I tried to talk to Remus, but he shushed me. He's writing so many notes. I don't know how he does it. Do you want to play burn the witch? - Peter

Sure - Sirius & James

This was followed by several games of burn the witch (basically the same as hangman, but with a witch.) Sirius won three games, James two and Peter one.

Notes passed between Remus and Sirius in Transfiguration, Monday 13th December. Removed before the book was returned to James.

Will you help me get James back for that frog he put in my sock drawer? - Sirius

Do you even have to ask? What did you have in mind? - Remus

Delayed Transfiguration on his drawers, so everything he puts in them for the next three days turns pink, but make it happen when he'll be in class. - Sirius

Consider it done - Remus

I adore you - Sirius

Aren't you going to say you adore me too? - Sirius

I think your head is already big enough - Remus

You wound me - Sirius

Notes passed between James and Sirius in Potions, Thursday 16th December

I don't suppose you know why my robes just turned pink? - James

Don't have a clue, mate. But you look very dashing - Sirius

I think you know exactly why, and that's why you can't stop giggling - James

Maybe you should ask Remus, he's the expert at delayed transfiguration - Sirius

Don't you blame this on Remus, he wouldn't do this to me - James

Sorry, you got sent out of class, James - Sirius

EVERYTHING I OWN IS PINK!

You forgot to sign your name - Sirius

Chapter 24

[averagedoctor]

I don't know how many asks you have... but is there a possibility of a fic based at an airport/on a plane, maybe the reader's never flown before or is afraid of it? I'm going overseas and I've got like a 17 hour flight like the day after tomorrow and I'm not personally afraid of flying, and I remember being on a plane a while ago, but I was just hoping for a bit of fluffiness around that idea? Okay if it comes after I've gone though, will still enjoy it any day. Thanks if you do! :)

OH MAN THIS IS OLD I am terribly sorry because I really had wanted to get this out soon after your flight… except it’s now been 10 months or so since then bUT I hope you enjoy this nonetheless!!

11th doctor x reader

Pronouns: gender neutral

Word count: 3,342

TWs: none?

Tagging: @evyiione

Summary: Saying that you’re sort of a nervous flier would be an understatement but luckily there’s a man kind enough to help you on your trip

A/N: The specific hatred and feelings from planes is totally me imposing myself on this story oops

Round trip

All around you, people were rushing about, trying to get to their gates as fast as they possibly could. It was an ungodly hour in the morning and here you were at an airport, people watching to take your mind off things as the clock ticked down. Your flight was in about an hour so you were sitting in the waiting area, luggage at your side. Nerves twisted in your stomach and you felt like you were going to be sick. You hated flying, which made flying alone so much more worse. If there was any other way that you could take this trip, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Flying scared you and you didn’t like the sensations that accompanied it, like your ears popping. You wouldn’t consider yourself claustrophobic, but being in a limited size vessel, in the air, with no actual way of bailing out if necessary, with terrifying. It baffled you that people were able to stand it and more so able to make fun of you for such a “silly fear.” Flying might be the most fastest way to travel, but you would rather ride on the back of a snail than get on a plane.

Checking your phone, you inwardly groaned. Time moved both very slowly and very fast. While you hated waiting, the thing that you were waiting for made it all worse. Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm yourself, but that wasn’t an easy task. If you had a friend with you, you might be able to, but it was all you this time around. You knew that it would only get worse as the minutes counted down.

In an attempt to distract yourself when people watching stopped working, you gathered your carry on items and began to aimlessly wander. There were a few places to eat and little shops, so you idled your way through them, hoping it would take your mind off your oncoming doom (it didn’t). You tried to drag out the minutes, leafing through boring books and seeing the same tourist gimmicks over and over, but eventually even that was unbearable. Defeated, you headed back to your gate area.

It had been mainly empty when you were sitting there, but with thirty minutes left to go, it was noticeably more crowded. You had been heading for where you were sitting originally, only to find a man in your spot. Frowning, you looked around and found a seat at the end of the same row.

Bouncing your leg up and down, you pulled out your phone and hesitated over the message button. It was so early in the morning that you knew none of your friends would be awake and they would only get annoyed by the messages later. With an uneasy sigh, you slid your phone back into your bag and caught the eye of the man in your seat and noticed how he was dressed.

For such an early hour of the morning, you were surprised at his level of dressiness, and it made you wondered where he was off to to be dressed so nicely. Meanwhile, you (and nearly everyone else around you) were in lazy clothes, like hoodies and sweatpants. You couldn’t fathom how he could stand to be all strung up like that, but there must have been some sort of reason, so you let it go. The clothes you were wearing looked pitiful next to him and you worried that he was judging you on them.

Turning away, you chewed at a nail, your anxiety levels steadily climbing. It was unbearable and you had no way to stop it. It felt as if your impending demise was coming right for you. Your eyes found a clock and located that there were only fifteen minutes left. Fifteen. That’s not enough time for you to be prepared, but, god, you would never be prepared. You wished that your flight was delayed or that some miracle happened and you could just poof your way over there. You would take anything over this. The anticipation was crushing your soul and you knew that the flight itself would be very close to actual death. Your body felt like stone, heavy and unmovable as your heart rate and breathing increased.

Maybe your stress was on high display or maybe your breathing was reaching a loud point of hyperventilation that you were too far gone to notice, but there were some stares and the man next to you scooted over to be a seat away from you.

 “First time?” His voice broke your steadfast panic and washed over you. Whipping your head over, you were startled to find him so close.

“No,” you said through sucked in breath, “no, I’m just a bad flyer. Scares me.” You managed to get out, wincing.

 “Ah.” His eyes softened with compassion. “Do you mind if I…?” He gestured to the seat right next to you and you shook your head, allowing him to scoot over. 

“Sorry.” You mumbled, heat rising to your face. You hated the fact that your fear was now causing a scene and that someone had to take it upon themselves to help you. This was feeling helpless, and that was a feeling you tried to avoid, with your fears especially.

“Nothing to worry about.” He said calmly, a smile on his face.

“At first, I hated flying. I mean, planes? All new and loud and they take so much longer. Of course, only had to be used in emergencies and not all around, but, still.” Glancing at him with a confused look, you thought to open your mouth to ask a question about anything that he had just said, but you closed in when nothing came to mind.

“Longer? They’re the fastest way to travel.” You laughed nervously, coughing slightly from the intake of air.

“Well, to you, yes.” He stated matter-of-factually, saying nothing more on the subject. “But, tell me about yourself a little, ease your mind, relax, like, where are you going?”

“Um, I’m Y/N, and I’m flying out to see a friend of mine. Sort of a get together, it’s been a while, but they live overseas, which is why I haven’t visited before.”

“Oh, that’s lovely! Shame your fear is keeping you back, I could have you there so much faster… but this is more important. Conquer that fear!” He threw a passionate fist up in the air with a grin.

“Ha-ha, yeah…” Your sentence trailed off as the loudspeakers chimed overhead with another announcement. You would be up shortly and that sent all the fading panic right back up into you.

“Oh god, I can’t do this.” You covered your face with your hands, bending over your knees. “I never should have agreed.” Your voice came out muffled from your position and you flinched in surprise when his hand met your upper back with a soothing touch.

“When you get there, it will be so much more worth it. You might be scared of the flight ahead and back, but in between you will get to do so many wonderful things with your friend. Imagine, finally getting to see them again after the ages that it has been. Don’t let something like this slip by you because of fear, Y/N, trust me.”

 “Those are very nice words, sir, but I’m still terrified.” You groaned, rocking back and forth a little bit to try and comfort yourself. Before you or he could get another word in, the dreaded announcement for your fight rang out. Tears welled in your eyes and you found them cascading down your face as you lifted yourself up with resignation. It wasn’t like you could back out of it now, not after you have paid and driven and sat here for so long, but that didn’t mean that you would find any enjoyment in what was about to come. The man stood up with you, hovering by your side as you unsteadily picked up your luggage and pulled out your ticket and other needed credentials. Taking a deep breath, you got in line behind the man and fidgeted with your fingers as it inched forward. He reached the head of the line to a few confused attendants but he whipped out a black wallet looking thing, and that was apparently all they needed to let him through. You wondered what it said because it was just the tiniest bit odd, but there were bigger matters at hand. Handing your ticket over to be checked, you gave a small head nod, and made your way through.

“It’ll be alright.” He said encouragingly but you could only grimace. Stepping onto the plane, you got everything sorted out, put your luggage up, and sat down in your seat. Thankfully, it was a window seat, and even more lucky was that the man you met was next to you for the trip.

“Wow, look at that.” You let out a weak laugh when you were seat belted in. “That’s one in a million.”

“You could say that.” He winked, busying himself with getting himself as comfortable as he could manage. Airplanes weren’t forgiving to those with long legs. The pilot’s voice crackled over the loudspeakers, announcing your impending doom- sorry- your impending take off. Clenching your seat rests with your fingers, you closed your eyes and bit your lips. Your breath was growing faster and you could tell you were losing it. A hand rested gently on yours and his thumb brushed smooth, comforting strokes. Normally, you would freak out if a stranger ever touched you like this but for whatever reason you felt like you could trust him and he was the only person you knew on this flight, regardless that you just met him.

The plane began to take off, rumbling all around you and your body shook. Your ears popped painfully and you dug your fingers in deeper. The world started to fade away from around you until finally the plane evened out. Slowly, you were able to unsqueeze your eyes, now sore from how tight they were shut, and unclenched your hands. Breathing became more calmer and you looked to the man to see him looking at you apologetically.

“All done, for now.” He gave you a smile, removing his hand and fixing his bow tie. You couldn’t find words yet so you only nodded in confirmation.

Steadying your breathing, you took a glance out the window. You couldn’t deny that the view was breathtaking and you felt yourself drifting off. Too emotionally drained, you allowed yourself to fall asleep.

You awoke to a tap on your knee. Opening your eyes, you jolted up in seat, face aflame. In your sleep, you had become slouched up quite tight against the window, your head lolled against the hard material.

“We’ll be landing soon.” The man said in a calm voice, eyes flickering over your face.

“Oh.” You breathed out, sinking down. What went up must come down and you found yourself hating how gravity worked more at this moment than you ever had in your life. With a groan, you facepalmed, your hand sliding slowly down your face. “I can’t do that again.”

“You have to.” He frowned in sympathy. Of course, you had to, there was no other option, but you knew deep in your bones that you couldn’t. Going up was already awful so you already knew that the trip down wasn’t going to be anything fantastic either. Speak of the devil, as you were in the midst of losing your mind again, the pilot made an announcement.

“Hello, this is your captain speaking. We will begin landing procedures in a few short minutes. Please remain in your seat, belted in, and raise your trays back up and prepare for landing.”

 “No, no, no…” You murmured under your breath, shutting your eyes tight once again. Out of need, you clung to the man’s wrist, grip closing around the scratchy fabric of his tweed jacket. He allowed this, to your surprise. The plane began its descent, picking up speed, bumping a small bit, and you sat stock still, terrified. You hyperventilated once more, tears squeezing out of your eyes. It seemed like forever before you felt the jolt of the plane wheels touch the ground.

You could physically feel yourself flooding with relief as you blushed and released the man of your grip.

 “Thank you.” You whispered silently to him, catching your breath. The plane began to disembark, passengers getting up and squaring away their luggage. You stood on shaky legs and retrieved what you had stowed away up above. The line to exit marched slowly out and you steadied yourself on the aisle seats. You had done it, you had truly done it. It was an incredibly horrible experience, but it was all over. Until you had to go back, but you pushed that far from your mind.

After a little while, you got off the plane, said your goodbyes to the man who was so gracious to you, and collected the rest of your luggage. Now, you were just biding your time until your friend came to pick you up. Since the worst part was over, you found yourself able to actually enjoy getting to see them and happy nerves bundled up in your stomach this time. Your phone pinged, notifying you of their arrival. Just as you were getting up to go, the man from the plane suddenly ran up to you.

“Hold on, Y/N!” He called out, panting as he reached your side. “I know you don’t know me well, so this might seem quite sketchy, but call me before you leave for the airport.” He handed you a small, neat business card with nothing but a number written on it. “Trust me.” He pressed it into your hand before turning his back and striding away. “I’m the Doctor, by the way!” He yelled with his back to you, as if it was an afterthought. Shaking your head in disbelief, you looked at the card and tucked it away in your wallet. It was a weird encounter, but he had done a lot for you today. You decided that you would call him up when the time came, but for now, you had a friend to go meet up with.

 After a particularly lovely trip with your friend, you found that the dreaded day had arrived all too quickly. Hugging your friend hard, you wished your friend well and stepped out to the taxi that was waiting for you outside. Just as you were about to put your luggage in the trunk, you remembered the card in your wallet.

“I’m so sorry!” You called to the driver and rushed off, heading down the street and into an alley. Pulling the card out, you found that your hands were shaking, but it was either seeing what this number was about or getting straight onto a plane again. With twitching fingers, you punched the number into your phone and waited for it to ring. The Doctor picked up almost immediately.

“You actually rang! Hello!”

“H-hi,” You stuttered out, “you said to call before…”

“Yes, I did! Give me just a minute!” He exclaimed gleefully before ending the call.

“What? Hello?” You furrowed your brows in confusion. “Okayyy.” You sighed to yourself, kicking at the pebbles on the ground. A strange sound filled the air and you looked up to find a blue box materializing before your eyes. You let out a started yelp, jumping back, as it came into full. The doors swung open to reveal a very energetic version of the man you met at the airport.

“Y/N!” The Doctor shouted, running up to you, and catching you in an embrace. You were too stunned to move. “Come, quickly!” He ushered you inside the box that he had just popped out of.

“I– I’m not sure that this will fit the both of us and my bags…”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find that it will.” He beamed, pushing you in front of him so that you could glimpse the sight for yourself.

“Holy…” You breathed, spinning in slow circles to take everything in. “It’s… it’s…”

“Bigger on the inside?” He quipped, proudly.

“Massive.” You finished, mouth gaping.

“Well, yes, I guess so.” He scratched at his head, sounding a bit distraught you hadn’t come to the same conclusion as him. “But! This is a solution to your problem!” The Doctor grinned at you, stepping in front, arms spread wide, presenting whatever you were in to you.

“What is it?”

“It’s my TARDIS! Time and Relative Dimensions and Space. Basically, anywhere, anytime you can think of is right at your fingertips- more like mine- but you get the picture.”

“So… it’s a time machine.” You dropped your luggage with a thud by the door, walking slowly up to where he was standing in the middle. “Wow.”

“I know you’re a nervous flier, and that the trip back wasn’t anything you were looking forward to, so I figured I’d offer you a second option. Much faster, almost no turbulence, more spacious, and overall much better than any commercial airline.” He patted the machine in what seemed like an affectionate manner.

“But I’ve already paid for the plane ticket…” Your mouth quirked into a frown, feeling defeat.

“Not to worry!” He sprung into action, searching around for a minute, before producing a small envelope from the depths of who knows where. “Here’s the money, and don’t worry, it’s all legitimate, I made a few calls at your expense.” He winked and handed it over to you. Sure enough, inside was a check for the plane fare made out in your name. Looking from the envelope to the Doctor to the envelope to the Doctor, you felt your heart swell with joy. A total stranger, not only offering you a ride in his time machine (a train of thought you would have to get back to at another time) but also getting you your money back. You were incredibly moved by all this kindness that it was now your turn to rush him and squeeze him in a tight hug.

“How can I repay you?”

“No need, just know that you can always call me whenever you need a ride to some place else that would normally involve a plane. Now, let’s get a move on so I can show you the true majesty of her.”

He wasn’t lying about how smooth the trip was. A small bump was hit on the way, but it was over in a matter of seconds, and now you were home. Supposedly. You found that you were filled with nervous energy as you walked towards the doors, a hand tentatively wrapped around the handle. With one simple shove, you opened the door to see that you really were home.

“Oh my god.” Turning, you saw the Doctor with his arms crossed, a content smile on his face. “Thank you.” You gathered up your luggage, lingering by the door.

“Call me, whenever you want, for flights or even for other trips. Don’t be a stranger.” The Doctor said genuinely, wringing his hands. The thought crossed your mind that he was lonely.

“Of course, I will.” His face broke out into a grin and you smiled back in return. Bags secured in your hands, you went to take a step out of the TARDIS and turned around one last time. “I’ll see you around, Doctor.”

“Until we meet again, Y/N.” He tipped his head and went to close the doors behind you as you exited. The sounds of the TARDIS whirring filled the air again and you found yourself turning back. By the time you had, they were already gone. His card was clenched tight in your hand while you walked back to your home, bags thumping along the uneven sidewalk.

The future might be unsure, but you knew with certainty that yours would involve the Doctor. 

[mandaloriangf]

reasons why detroit become human makes no goddamn fucking sense beyond just the shitty allegory (aka i nitpick the fuck out of this game)

captain allen refuses to give connor any information about daniel despite this being a hostage situation and connor is there to diffuse it

also allen says that if connor doesnt take care of it he will and if he could why didnt he??

connor can reconstruct crime scenes with so little information that theres no way he could come to his deduction. for example in the first chapter he figures out that the father was holding something when daniel shot him despite there being NO WAY he could know this

theres segregation despite the fact that androids are servants to humans??? how are androids supposed to work for humans if they’re barred from entering certain places??

TEMPORARY PARKING????????????

unemployment is at 35% yet the economy is booming????

unemployed people blame androids for stealing their jobs despite the fact that androids did not get a choice and were made to do certain jobs. their anger should be directed toward cyberlife

markus shows emotion and has a distinct personality before becoming deviant like why does he even need to become deviant when he clearly already is??

carl’s on the nose monologuing. 

carl says lets see where we left off and when markus takes down the tarp theres a finished painting. carl makes like five strokes lol. 

he also makes the same “oh my god” no matter what markus paints

PRESS X TO SADNESS

how does todd afford kara and alice when he doesnt have a job

and why does he live on ethan mars’ street 

and the biggest issue - ALICE IS AN ANDROID??????????

seriously how do android children work? whats the point???? if people hate androids why would they pay money to take care of one????????????????????

honestly how do they work? because alice can sleep but she doesnt eat????? and shes not gonna age so what happens to child androids? do they just have their memories wiped and get bought by another parent????

and if alice is an android, why does todd say kara needs to help with alice’s homework? she doesnt go to school! its addressed in the same fucking chapter!

and why doesnt alice saying anything to kara like hey stop trying to ask me if i want food i dont eat because im a fucking android

also kara figures out that alice is an android at the very beginning yet just ignores it?? i guess??????

and alice has a picture in her keepsake box of todd, his wife, and his biological daughter?? why???????? kill me

todd leaves his drugs in the laundry detergent, makes kara do the laundry, and then gets mad when she finds the drugs

HE MAKES HIS ROBOT TURN ON HIS ROOMBA LSAKDJFLKSJDFLKJSDF

no one does anything when connor enters a bar that doesnt allow androids

also its never explained in game (i think) why connor does the coin trick. i suppose it can be up to the player (i see it as a nervous habit/fidget device but you could also argue its for recalibration)

no one checks the attic of carlos’ house??? and his android hid up there for THREE WEEKS????????????

connor is designed to work “harmoniously with humans” but they gave him a forensics lab on his tongue so he literally just puts blood in his mouth in a crime scene alsdjflsjflajsdlfjdlj

kara serves alice dinner and alice actually sits there but she wont eat BECAUSE SHES AN ANDROID

the guy that comes on the bus doesnt bat an eye when he sees an android in the human section of the bus (i almost threw up typing that)

leo can survive that????????

carl doesnt try to reason with the cops before they shoot markus

why do deviants self destruct in stressful situations? we dont know. we dont fucking know. 

connor can show genuine compassion to carlos’ android but doesnt seem bothered by it????

why is there such an extensive android scrapyard? first of all theres android resale shops (yuck) and parts are probably expensive, plus androids have existed for what? ten years at the most? theres no way cyberlife would just allow perfectly good android parts to be thrown away this makes no fucking sense

MARKUS CAN JUST PULL OFF HIS LED LIKE ITS A STICKER

A STICKER

seriously if its that easy whats the point? they already dress androids a certain way, why have the led except to know what androids are thinking? and if theyre thinking dont they have some level of free will?? (for example kara’s turns red when todd threatens her)

no one recognizes kara despite being a relatively common model like yeah she eventually changes her hair and clothes but she’s still got the same face lkadjfalsjdfljsdlfj

connor is unfazed when he’s shot but looks like he’s in pain when gavin punches him??? 

connor is able to get a confession from carlos’ android but can’t make small talk asdjflskjdfljdf

the whole chapter where markus finds jericho doesnt like have a lot wrong its just REALLY tedious

though the jump scares are stupid

ra9 is constantly referenced (particuarly in connor’s story) but doesnt go anywhere. at all. unless i missed something. but as far as i know its never explained who ra9 is. 

(i think its markus)

the deviant in the pigeon filled apartment is just chilling in the attic? why do androids always stay in the same place instead of escaping????

the androids in jericho are really just hanging out in an abandoned, rusting ship doing nothing. like theyre shutting down bc they dont have blue blood and incompetents but no one thinks to go get any until markus rallies them. 

also what is up with lucy? why does she talk like she can see the future

THE ENTIRE ZLATKO CHAPTER HAPPENS AT ALL

no seriously!!!!! you expect me to believe kara would just go to the address given to her by some random garbage collector android in the middle of the night which leads to a creepy house with a creepy guy with BLUE BLOOD ON HIS FINGERS who wants to take kara into the basement alone to remove a tracker she clearly doesnt have??????????????????????? she would’ve just booked it

KARA ACTUALLY GETS IN THE MACHINE AND IS SURPRISED ZLATKO IS GOING TO ERASE HER MEMORY

that android that says “whos the real monster” PLEASE MR CAGE MY NOSE IS SORE

connor just fucking breaks the window and jumps in alflskdjflskjfljsdljfkdsfljldsafskdf

putting hank under cold water sobers him up somehow

the game thinks it needs to spell out for me in actual letters on the screen that hank is suicidal despite the fact that you find him unconscious on the floor with alcohol and a gun AND he says he was playing russian roulette. 

connor petting sumo is cute but sumo looks like he’s from a ps2 game

markus magically develops the ability to “convert” androids so to speak. 

im telling you, he’s ra9

the whole eden club thing is very...icky

like the androids are literally put in tubes like wtf

the tracis have a relationship despite club policy of wiping memories every two hours

also im pretty sure they have the same face...?? why is this not addressed more 

hank hates androids but likes it when connor spares them?

kara, luther, and alice dont just stay in the car for the night

luther brings up that theres something off about alice but gets interrupted. this is not the first time it happens. it happens THREE TIMES in total before the reveal she’s an android

the jerrys break the windows like zombies and then are like “dont shoot we come in peace”

the carousel scene is cute but where did the power come from???

connor starts showing signs of deviancy but doesnt notice it??? and amandas just like “stop it” and does nothing about it saljdflsjdflsjkdf

markus does the fake phone call right in front of the person he’s calling

who brought the box up to the bathroom? was it the deviant that connor can interrogate???? explain pls

pick up the bag. carry the bag. put down the bag. open the bag. kill me. 

THEY GET OUT ONTO A WINDOW WASHING LIFT BUT THEN RAPPEL UP?????????????????

a giant screen that says rise as markus and north are going up the building

markus removes his skin for the broadcast (ew) to conceal his identity BUT IT REVEALS HIS SERIAL NUMBER THAT CONNOR LATER SCANS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

north straight up wants to murder other androids for android freedom

no one finds simon on the roof unless connor goes up there

no one hears connor and the deviant fighting in the kitchen and no one hears connor calling out for help

rose is literally just 2038 harriet tubman

she compares what is happening to androids to what happened to black people in the past yet david cage expects me to believe this game isn’t about racism

kara believes that they will find refuge in canada because there are no android laws there, however the reason they dont have android laws is because CANADA HATES ANDROIDS JUST AS MUCH AS THE US

she has literally no reason to believe they’ll be able to survive in canada. theyd have to act like the cullens and move around all the time. 

ntm if androids and their parts aren’t being manufactured, if anything happens to kara, alice, or luther theyre fucked!

markus had to choose between two very black and white options: violence or pacifism. i have a HUGE problem with how this is done bc being peaceful results in the “good” ending while being violent results in the bad “ending 

(and for the record, going with a violent revolution can still result in freedom for androids. its just a LOT harder to keep everyone alive)

basically it completely misunderstands how real life oppression works and assumes that if a marginalized group is peaceful, public opinion will go up

thats not how it fucking works dipshit cage

kamski is literally just a weird combination of oscar isaac in ex machina and jared leto in blade runner 2049

like he’s left so ambiguous that you can’t even come to your own conclusion

connor can remark that chloe is pretty and seems sincere but doesnt question himself????

if you choose not to shoot chloe, you get nothing. you either have to replay the chapter and shoot her or look it up yourself. and im not fucking shooting her.

markus and north become “lovers” during a normal conversation 

seriously. when it happened my mom and i were like ???????????????

yet markus can’t romance simon despite having more chemistry

and on that topic why can’t kara romance luther???? they have a lot of chemistry too.

the freedom march. just. ugh.

like markus really leads a bunch of androids down a street shouting “EQUAL RIGHTS” lkjasldfjlakjfjldf

markus evolves to the point where he can just look at androids and convert them like what

north and josh clearly both have a death wish

if i have to hear “we were going to crack the case” one more time i will kill david cage myself. do cops even talk like that?

gavin just straight up tries to murder connor????

THEY START PUTTING ANDROIDS IN CAMPS?????????????????? AS IF THE REST OF THE GAME WASN’T BAD ENOUGH????????????????????????

kara finds out alice is an android and luther has to spell out all her feelings for her??? like why would she stop loving alice skalfsjdlfkjdlfj theyre both androids

the fact that connor even has a machine story line

carl just straight up dies while markus is venting about his oppression asdjfsjflskjflkejiofjeijfoejflkjsflsj

we dont get any kind of resolution to connor going deviant. he just suddenly is. how does he feel about it? who cares!

“ask us something only the real connor would know”

why is that human couple with the baby so upset about not getting out of detroit? theyre human. they’ll be fine. i feel no guilt in taking their tickets.

alice can arguably forgive todd as he explains he just wanted to prove he’s a good dad. boo hoo. he’s still a dick. 

connor can suddenly wake up androids too???? 

markus can really save the androids by kissing north or singing. 

like

that actually

happens

KILL ME

the president looks like hillary clinton but has a “was a celebrity with no political experience” trump like background

[zombiesbecrazy]

Learning to Fear

Summary: Dick hates what he has to do next in regards to Damian's training as Robin, but he's going to try and make it a little less terrible if he can.

Note: I haven't written any fanfiction in years (like... 2010 if I look at my old ff.net account) and then this little thought got in my head. So the obvious answer was to write 4000 words, delete everything on an old Tumblr I had and post it, right?

ao3

“Do you have any suggestions? Sage words of wisdom to dole out? Rousing pep talk?” Dick looked to Alfred, hoping that he had some perfect solution to his problem like he had so many times since Dick had taken over the role of Batman since Bruce had died.  They had been sitting in the bunker, talking about what they should do about Damian and the next phase of his training.  Things had started a little rough with him as the Robin to Dick’s Batman, but it was beginning to look up.  With a little more trust and structure there were  a lot less murderous tendencies coming from the young former assassin, but Dick was having trouble trying to work out how he had to approach the next task in front of him; what Bruce would have done next when training his Robins.

Alfred gave Dick a small half smile and shook his head.  “Only the cliché, I’m afraid.  Follow your heart and let your conscious be your guide and so on.  Do what you think best, Master Dick.  Your moral compass always did have a very strong pull towards true north.”

Dick looked back towards the desk, eyeing the glass vial for what must have been a least the fortieth time in the past half hour.  He had been looking for some sort of firm direction from Alfred, but he wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t got it.  Following his own heart was probably the right call, he thought, however when he didn’t quite understand what his heart was trying to tell him, that didn’t do him a whole lot of good.

“What would Br…” he stopped himself mid thought, because he knew what Bruce would have done. What Bruce did do in this exact scenario when Dick had been Robin.  And Jason.  And Tim.  Knowing what Bruce had done didn’t make Dick feel any better about it because it had been a very sore spot of contention between them and something that, if Dick really thought about it, he don’t think he ever quite forgave Bruce for.  “Did he ever talk to you about it? What he did to us?”

Alfred took a sip of his tea and appeared to be staring into his cup, lost in his thoughts.  “He did.  Not before you, but in the aftermath.  And then again with the others. We had rather large arguments about if I’m to be perfectly honest. I was furious with his methods, though I did understand how he had arrived at them.” He looked up and caught Dick’s gaze. “I never won on this issue, but I would like to hope that he took my words into counsel.  He did make changes each time. And I would like to think that after Tim he may have consideration abandoned it entirely.”

“You think he was wrong.”

“I do, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that I think I was completely right. I think that his mind was in the right place, thinking about the big picture and the mission and how to prepare and teach you, but that may have distracted him from the little things.”

“Little things like our well being?”  Alfred frowned at Dick’s remark, but nodded slightly.  “Sometimes I just wish I could talk to him, you know?  We never talked about this part, about how hard some of his choices were.  I mean, I knew being Batman was hard, but I don’t think I realized it was hard.” Dick chuckled at himself, because this was something that he had been thinking about ever since making the switch from Nightwing to Batman; the level of responsibility had gone up even higher than he had imagined it would. “Having a Robin is hard.”

“You may want to remember that being a Robin is also hard. Perhaps you should think about what you would have preferred then, knowing what you know now.”

“What I would have liked?” Dick murmured to himself as Alfred rose from his chair, collected their dishes and turned back towards the elevator. Just before he started the climb up towards the penthouse, he looked back. “Just so you know, I’ll stand beside your decision regardless, as I stood by his however misguided I thought it was.  I know you aren’t taking the matter lightly so that is all I can ask.  I just hope that you may be able to find an alternative solution.”

Bruce had been a planner.  There had been a reason and a purpose for every move and part of the reason that Batman was so successful was that Bruce had the uncanny ability to think out so many scenarios and try to have several plans to thwart each potential obstacle.  Dick had once made the joke that if Bruce hadn’t become Batman, he would have been some sort of doomsday apocalypse theorist with a bomb shelter full of pork and beans and bug-out bags would be hidden throughout the house. Bruce’s deadpan response was that his bomb shelter also had canned fruit, because balanced nutrition was important to survival.  This type of thinking was great for the protector of Gotham; he had been able to see the cracks and prepare for most events to the best of his abilities, and because of this he had been able to train his Robins the same way, to make sure that they could be ready for anything.  He had trained them to the best of their abilities, making them strong, fast, clever, and adaptable and every other quality that was part of being a Robin, but the physical was only part of it.  Training the body was nothing if the mental training didn’t match, if not exceed it, as psychological warfare was an everyday occurrence in Gotham.

Which is why Batman had intentionally dosed each Robin with Crane’s fear toxin as part of their training.

The more Dick thought about it, the more irritated he got at Bruce and his past self.  Why hadn’t they talked about this as adults?  As equals?  In a mature and rational fashion?  That would have definitely helped him now instead of the memory he had of himself yelling at Bruce about Tim’s reaction and Bruce steadfastly ignoring him.  Dick would have even preferred fighting it out over the silence he had gotten.

As an adult, Dick could see where Batman was coming from and why he thought it was necessary because knowing about fear toxin and its effects were one thing, but experiencing it was something else entirely.  Strategically, it only made sense to practice it.  But as a child, as Robin, he had felt hurt and betrayed that Batman would do that to him; that he would invade his mind like that, poison him like that without warning.  Once the fear toxin had worn off, it wasn’t the things that he had seen that had haunted him the most, it was that he felt like he couldn’t trust Batman to help him. He had intentionally hurt him.

And now that he was in Batman’s boots, Dick could try to make things… not right, but possibly better. Or at least slightly less terrible.

***

Dick wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting at the desk in the bunker, lost in his own thoughts, when he heard Damian approach him from behind.  Damian moved around the table and sat down in the chair across from him, and eyed the vial on the desk.

“What is that, Grayson?”

Dick reached across the table and picked up the container and looked at the red mixture intently.  “It’s the base formula for Scarecrow’s fear toxin.  He modifies it from time to time and it changes the effect or strength a bit, but it always stems on this.” He put it back on the table between them and tried to give Damian a small smile, but he was pretty sure that it looked more like a grimace.  “If anything, he likes to go back to this original version a lot.  He’s a little nostalgically romantic as far as evil scientists go.”

“I’m aware of the toxin. I read about him from those tedious files you insisted that I memorize. Has he threatened an attack?” Damian’s eyes flicked to the other side of the room, towards the change room, indicating that he was more than ready to suit up and pursue Scarecrow as soon as Dick gave the word.  The fact that he didn’t just get up and go reminded Dick that Damian now respected his decisions at least enough to wait for plan instead of running off on his own.

“No, he’s locked up in Arkham right now.”

“-tt-“ Damian rolled his eyes at Dick and fidgeted in his chair in a way that made him think that Damian wanted to kick him under the table but knew his legs wouldn’t reach. “Then why are we wasting time looking at his toxin?”

“Because we need to have a conversation about it.  For the time when he inevitably gets out of Arkham. They always get out.  This city really is the worst sometimes.”  Dick rested his hands on the desk between them and made sure Damian was looking at him in the eye.  “I wanted to talk to you like a partner.  I want your feedback about a decision that I need to make and I want to give you choices that your father didn’t give the rest us. From my side of the table now, I think that Bruce’s idea was right, but his execution was wrong.  You may be a child, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t entitled to an opinion.” Dick hoped the tone in his voice was conveying how important he thought this was, but it felt shaky to him. “The rest of us didn’t get this chance, but I know we all wish we had.”

“Are you trying to say…”

Dick nodded glumly, “You need to be exposed to it. For practice. By me. So that you know what it feels like so if it happens in the field, you can recognize it and you’ll know how to react.  Or at worst I’ll have some idea on how you’ll react.” Damian’s mouth opened but Dick cut him off, “I know that you have read about it.  I know that you think that your background in the League has made you ready for anything and that you have experience and tolerance with some different poisons, but this one is different and the effect that it can have varies greatly from person to person. Nothing can prepare you for this junk except the real thing.”

Leaping to his feet, Damian clenched his hands at his sides.  “You expect me to just let you poison me? Try it and I’ll take your head off.” Dick could see that his eyes were darting to where he had left his sword across the room.

His own voice sounded angrier than Dick expected when he next spoke, taking a hard edge. “You keep telling me how adult you are.  How smart.  How mature.  Prove it.  What I expect is for you to have a rational conversation with me about it so that we can make the best decision.  For both of us.” He took a few moments to collect his thoughts and noticed that Damian hadn’t moved and what looking at him curiously.  With a little effort to calm himself he continued, “Batman did it to us.  Without warning. It sucked.” Dick caught Damian’s eyes, trying to convey he’s feelings as genuine, “I don’t want that for you. I’d rather not have to do it at all, but I’m not really seeing another option.  I’m hoping there is some way that we can make it suck less.  We’re a team, Damian.  Please sit back down.”

Damian stared at Dick for a solid minute, unmoving, trying to decide what his next move would be.  Dick could understand his reluctance to have this conversation.  He was wondering if his gut had been wrong with this approach when he saw Damian slowly sit back down in his chair and look down in his hands in his lap, struggling with how to express his thoughts. Finally, he said quietly, “What was it like?”

“The toxin itself or the ‘training exercise’ as Batman called it?”

“Both.” Damian shrugged a little. “Either.”

“As you know from reading, the toxin makes you hallucinate and pulls those scenarios from your deepest fears or it can warp good memories into something terrifying.  It turns an emotional response into a highly physical one. There are three general reactions that a person can have from it – flight, fight or freeze.”

“I assume that the circus brat opts for flight, yes? Literal flight and running away?”

“Nope.  I freeze.” Dick almost laughed as Damian’s mouth drops opened a little in surprise because even Dick thought the reality was absurd. “Don’t worry, it still surprises me too.  It comes with the warping of the fearscape in my mind.  It makes me afraid to fall.  Or land, I guess the real issue is.  Extreme vertigo with a side of seeing everyone I care about being tortured, usually.”

“Not dead?”

“I think my brain decides that torture is worse than death. At least death means they aren’t in pain anymore. If they are dead, I’m the only suffering but if they are in pain we both feel it, maybe? It can change though.  Lots of variables.  With practice I’ve been able to move and react because I can tell the difference between the toxin and real life.  Being frozen and scared of moving is at least a hint that it isn’t real, which helps. Still scared as hell that I’ll fall though. Every time.” Dick gave Damian a small smile, “If you’re ever out with me and I freeze like that, touch my arm and tell me to move.  It’s a small thing, but usually enough to snap me back into action. Make sure you touch me though; it’ll ground me.  I might not listen to just the words.” He thought it was a little sad that had been exposed to the fear toxin enough times to know the little ins and outs of his reaction perfectly.

Damian nodded and Dick could tell that he was tucking that information away for future use and not just placating him and he was glad he was being taken seriously.  “What did my father see?”

“Himself.  Failing.  Everything around him going up in both metaphorical and literal flames.” Dick wished that he could give Damian something more concrete to tell him about his father’s experiences but Bruce had always very vague in the details about it. Most of what he knew came from what Bruce had said or done while under the influence. “He told me that the scenarios always changed depending on what was currently happening in his life which made it extremely difficult to differentiate reality from the toxin.  Said he had to do it based on how the toxin made him feel.  In reality he was able to push the fear aside until it was safe and process later, but with the toxin he couldn’t shake the feeling.  Said the severity of the fear gave him some certainty that it couldn’t be real.” He felt Damian looking at him, “He was a fighter, in case you were wondering.”  Dick rubbed his left eye, remembering a particular run in when Bruce had thought he was the Joker and punched him hard enough to break his cheekbone, not that long after Jason had been murdered.

“I had assumed.” Damian leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, sorting his thoughts.  “I can see why he would want this simulated in training.  We practice with all sorts of weapons that our opponents use, so it only makes sense.  I don’t see how this is any different. Why do you disagree?”

“It just never worked out right in practice.  With me it backfired on him badly because he tried it in out in the field.  He had planted some in an abandoned warehouse in the Narrows and had me ‘accidentally’ find it and inhale it while he watched from a distance except since his only experience had been with himself getting extremely violent, he wasn’t prepared for my catatonic reaction. He especially wasn’t prepared when some of Penguin’s henchmen attacked me because they had followed me in thinking I was alone.  I got clobbered before he figured out that it was my reaction to the gas and was able to pull them off me.  It hadn’t even occurred to him that I wouldn’t fight back with the toxin in my system. When I woke up in the cave, it was one of the most worried I ever saw him. He told me what he had done and apologized over and over.  It wasn’t the bruises that hurt me, or the lingering sense of terror because the antidote takes time, but it was the fact that he was the one who had done this to me.  I didn’t talk to him for a week.  Which for someone as chatty as me is quite the feat.”  Dick sighed sadly. “If I’m honest, the little kid in me is still mad about it.  I was younger than you are and not emotionally equipped to deal with it.  Bruce and Alfred were my entire world, and then one of them hurt me.  On purpose.” It was the first time that Bruce had let him down and Dick hadn’t known how to move on. He could remember Alfred trying to console him, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t rationalize what Bruce had done. Even after they had started talking again, it had taken Dick a long time before he could fully trust being in a warehouse with Batman again; unfortunately, there seem to be an above average number of warehouses in Gotham.

A minute of silence passed between them before he continued, “I thought he had learned his lesson, but years later he did it again with Jason. He did make some changes to his plan based on what had happened with me and Jason was older but it still went south fast.  It happened in the cave, but something about the sounds in the ceilings of the cave drove Jason crazy.  He ended up dislocating his shoulder and breaking a few ribs trying to climb the walls to attack the noise.”

“Noise?”

Dick shrugged.  “Jason was furious.  Bruce had told him afterwards that he had done the same to me so he called me, saying that he wanted to join the Ex Robins Club over it.  He couldn’t explain the noise thing in a way that made a lot of sense to me, but like I said, it can affect everyone differently.  Anyways, I talked him down a bit and he went back to work, but things weren’t ever the same between them. I’ve always wondered if some of the problems between then still stem from it.  Not all of Jason’s issues with Batman are Joker related.” Jason and Dick had a mutual, if not wary, understanding right now. Dick was curious if the toxin affected him differently since his resurrection, but they weren’t at the point that he could ask yet.  “He was fight too, by the way, but it’s hard to fight invisible sound coming from an invisible source.”

“Not that long after, Tim.  Once again, Bruce did it a bit differently.  He took everything out of the gym, and created what was essentially a safe space, and it seemed to work out alright on the outset.  Tim was shaken up afterwards, but by all accounts it was a pretty uneventful night. He had tried to run from some shadows, but he had been essentially safe in the gym and no injuries. The real problem didn’t show itself until a few weeks later when Tim had an actual run in with Scarecrow and got hit.” Dick shook his head minutely, not sure how Tim would feel about him sharing this story with Damian, but he thought it was important, so he continued. “And in that time his reaction had changed dramatically. His new hallucinations were all of Batman. Batman was attacking from all angles, lurking in the shadows, taunting him from the rafters.  He was everywhere. The real Batman couldn’t do anything about it because Tim just bolted, doing anything to get away from all of the Batman’s he could see in his mind, knowing that he couldn’t fight Batman, let alone multiple Batman’s and win. Flight doesn’t make someone weak; self-perseverance can be the difference between life and death. Bruce had to call me in to bring him in safely and look after him until the effects wore off because he couldn’t get anywhere close.  But there it was, actual proof that his test had broken the trust that Tim had in him.  He went from being a mentor and partner to being the actual manifestation of fear in Tim’s mind. That reaction went away, but it shook both Tim and Bruce a lot.”

“Having Batman testing us is part of being Robin.  All the training. The Gauntlet. It was well within reasonable boundaries. But this… we all agreed that the toxin itself wasn’t the problem.  I don’t want any of that to happen to you because I need you to keep trusting me if this is going to work out between us. I think we both agree that we need to do this, right? For practice? Not only do you need to know what it’s like, I need to know how you react so that we can keep each other safe.” Damian nodded slowly in agreement. “I’m assuming that you prefer that I came to you about it first?”

Nodding slowly, Damian said, “I appreciate the concern, Grayson.”

“I wanted you to have a say.  You and I have come a long way but I was afraid that if I followed Bruce’s lead it would shatter what we’ve built.”

“You were concerned that I’d kill you in your sleep afterwards.”

“It did cross my mind.”

“I don’t kill anymore.”

“I thought you might make an exception.”

“Maybe I would have,” Damian frowned at himself a little bit. “Probably not though.  We’re past that.  You’ve proven that you a more than adequate teacher.  I like that you came to me with this.  It took character.”

“Any thoughts on how you would like to approach it?”

Damian was silent for a few moments, considering his options. “I like the idea of the gym that Father did with Drake. Controlling the exercise makes logistical sense. But maybe can I have a weapon?” His eyes darted once again back across to where he left his blade. “I know whatever happens, I would feel better with my sword at my side.  Being defenseless to whatever happens would be… unsettling.” He looked at Dick hesitantly, “Unless you think I might injure myself.  Or you.”

“I think we can work with that, though maybe we’ll pick one of your slightly less lethal blades, if that’s alright.” Of course he would like a sword to feel safe - the kid slept with one beside him.  Being without it would probably make the entire situation a thousand times worse.  “You want me in the room?  You’d rather not be alone?”

Damian raised an eyebrow, and Dick had a flashback of Bruce eyeing him in a very similar way and had to admit it was a little eerie to see the look coming out of a preteen.  “I didn’t think that was negotiable.”

“Everything in this conversation is negotiable, Damian.  That’s the whole point.”

“I want you there, Grayson.”

“Thank you.  That means a lot.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.  I just don’t think you are remotely frightening.  You are likely to have little effect on the scenario,” said Damian with a scowl on his face. A few more seconds passed and Dick could see him biting his lower lip slightly.  Dick had almost given up on him continuing the conversation further until Damian quietly spoke again.  “Does it help to think about what might happen? To prepare?”

“It could, but there is a chance that you would be way off base and then it wouldn’t have helped at all.  I’m pretty sure that Jason would have never guessed the noise in the cave if you had given him a hundred tries. It was probably something related from when he was a kid, but you never know.” Dick stopped to consider what he thought Damian would possibly see. The kid was tough and hard to rattle, but the likely choice was obvious.  “You think you’ll see Talia.”

Damian crossed his arms and gave Dick a challenging glare. “I care for my Mother deeply.”

Bullseye.  “I know.  Just because you love her doesn’t mean that she’s can’t still scare you. If anything, that might make her even scarier.” Damian continued to glare at him, but said nothing.  Dick ran his hand through his hair, unsure of what to do next.  He was mentally exhausted and he was sure the Damian probably felt similar the longer he thought about what they were going to do. They had gotten as far as Damian was probably going to let them go tonight and pushing him wasn’t going to help. “I think this is a good place to stop for now.  We can talk about it more tomorrow.  Make a more solid plan?” Damian nodded his head almost imperceptibly.  “Want to head back up?”

“Alright.”

The two of them stood and walked towards the elevator, with Damian moving a little slower and a little closer to Dick than he normally did, lost in his thoughts once again.  He was slightly startled when Dick put his hand on his shoulder, but then relaxed slightly into the motion as he squeezed, and Dick smiled at the top of Damian head.

“Thank you, Richard.”

[dontshootmespence]

A Blessing, Not a Burden

A/N: An anon request for a reader with autism. She’s dating Spencer and has a lot of fidgeting and stimming issues. The reader is super self-conscious about how people see her, but Spencer (who I decided will also be on the spectrum) is there to comfort her and help her through the feelings she has when people judge her. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn

                                                               ----

Need. To. Stim. 

Goddammit.

Not now, Y/N.

You’re in the middle of a restaurant with Spencer. Tapping the sides of your legs and drumming your fingers together is not appropriate in the middle of a restaurant. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Spencer could see in your eyes how hard you were trying to stop yourself, but the need was overwhelming. You were always nervous when you were eating out in a restaurant. If you were lucky enough to get the corner table, where you could shield yourself from the prying eyes of others, the anxiety, and therefore the need to stim wasn’t so great, but the only table available had been in the middle of the restaurant, so naturally, you felt like everyone was staring at you. “It’s okay,” Spencer whispered as he reached across the table and placed his hand over yours. 

With a hard swallow, you slowly began to tap on the side of your leg and immediately felt the relief wash over you. “I hate this,” you said softly. When you looked to the side, you saw a woman of about 50 looking at you from the corner of her eye - passing judgement. “It’s really bad tonight.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m really sorry.” For him, it was easier to disguise his stim. He liked facts. He always had. And whenever he was in a stressful situation, he found relief in reciting some facts. Spencer could just disguise his stim as conversation, awkward as it may be, but for you, it wasn’t as easy to pass off. 

After the waiter came with your drinks, you took a sip of water and brought both hands up to the table. “If you need to, it’s okay,” Spencer said. “If anyone says anything, I will cut them.” He smiled at his not-so-lightly veiled threat. Of course Spencer would never be violent unless the situation actually called for it, but he would no doubt cut someone down with his words. 

You relaxed slightly knowing you were dating someone who understood you on a factual and personal level. With that in mind, your eyes softened and you started to drum your fingers together. The conversation flowed between you to the point you barely noticed you were doing it anymore. But there were a few people staring, including the woman from earlier who apparently couldn’t peel her eyes from you. “She won’t stop staring,” you said, trying in vein to stop the drumming of your fingers. 

Spencer stood up the table, kissed your hand and then went to the restroom. Upon his return, he pulled up a chair next to the woman who wouldn’t stop glaring at you. “Is there a question you like to ask?” he questioned calmly. “Something you’d like to say? Because if not, I’m going to ask you to stop staring.”

“I’m not staring,” the woman said defensively. You could hear her, but you were trying to avoid eye contact. If you met her gaze, you’d probably go off yourself and Spencer was much calmer with words than you were. 

Spencer then proceeded to tell her the actual definition of the word staring, informing her that she was in fact staring. “Your girlfriend or wife or whoever she is keeps making noise. Does she not know how to conduct herself in the middle of a restaurant?”

You swallowed hard. Thankfully, Spencer and the woman weren’t drawing any attention to themselves, but just knowing that people didn’t understand and refused to try made you anxious. “Yes, she does. What she’s doing is called stimming, because she has Asperger’s syndrome. It is a developmental disorder characterized by significant difficulties in social interaction and nonverbal communication, along with restricted and repetitive patterns of behavior and interests. I have it too as a matter of fact. When she feels an overwhelming emotion, like anxiety for example, she will stim, in this case hers is drumming her fingers together and tapping her leg, in order to allay that emotion. It’s not something she can fully control. What she’s doing now is controlling it to the best of her abilities.” He paused, looking over toward you with a smile. “Now that you know what it is, maybe you can have a little bit of compassion instead of looking down on her.”

As he stood up, the woman mouthed a half-assed sorry in your direction and moved her chair so she was no longer facing you. Spencer grabbed your hands and gave them a kiss as he sat back down - just in time for your food to arrive. “Thank you, Spence,” you said. Now you had the fork and knife to focus on, so your hands were occupied. “I hate having to do that when we’re out, but having a boyfriend who understands is helpful.”

“I get it,” he said with an understanding sigh. “I get it so much. Have you ever tried the cubes, or a spinner?” You knew he had a cube; he kept it in his pocket for those times when he felt the need to verbally stim but couldn’t - that way he could fiddle with the cube in his pocket. 

You shook your head. People have been abusing them, to the point where those that actually needed them were being banned from using them. “The spinners are especially distracting, but I don’t know, the cube might help.” 

Spencer patted his pocket, his eyes going wide when he realized he’d left the cube in his coat pocket. He reached inside and pulled out the small gray and black cube. “Why don’t you keep it in your lap for the rest of the meal?” he suggested. “When you feel like you have to stim, screw around with the cube instead and see if it helps.”

After finishing your meal, you felt a bit better. No one was staring anymore, but now the overwhelming emotion was love for your amazing boyfriend. A lot of people didn’t understand that stimming didn’t just stem from negative emotions; sometimes they were positive ones to. Instead of tapping your leg, you held the cube in your hand and clicked the one side, immediately feeling a wash of relief. When an emotion built up inside you like that, positive or negative, it was almost painful, so doing something like stimming or playing with the cube eased the pain. 

Dinner was delicious, so Spencer paid the bill and grabbed your hand, lifting you up from your chair and gathering you into him. “I wanna stop somewhere before we go home,” he said as he got into the driver’s seat. You continued to play with cube, exploring all sides and what they had to offer. “I’ll be right back.” You noticed he had parked but didn’t realize where until he returned, pulling out your very own cube from a white and red Target bag. “This one’s for you.” While his was gray and black, he had found you a blue and green one. 

Excitedly, you ripped open the package and leaned over to give him a kiss. “Thank you so much,” you said. “I’m so grateful for you.”

As he pulled out of the parking lot, he grabbed your hand and gave it another kiss - the feather-light touch of his lips making your hands feel like more of a blessing than a burden.

[losille2000]

A Saving Grace, Chapter 2

TITLE: A Saving Grace CHAPTER NUMBER: 2/? + Prologue AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH Henry/CHARACTER: Actor!Henry GENRE: Drama/Romance FIC SUMMARY: All press is good press, right? Not if you ask Henry Cavill. After recordings from a disastrous interview go viral, Henry’s life begins to crumble around him. He has no idea how to stop it from happening. Fortunately, he has a new assistant who could be his saving Grace. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS: Um, nothing yet. Maybe there’s more language in this than I usually use. And I think Henry will be a little dominant. But other than that… none. AUTHORS NOTES: Enjoy!

Chapters: Prologue - 1. Also on AO3!

A Saving Grace Chapter 2

 Henry hated waiting, and that was exactly what he’d been doing lately. Waiting for new scripts and offers to come in. Waiting for his agent to get back to him with good news. Waiting for his career to level out after the nosedive it took. Waiting for the public to forgive him. Waiting for Warner Brothers to quit jerking him around with their decision. Waiting for his girlfriend-of-the-week to walk out on him. Waiting for his mother to speak to him again.

 Yeah.

 He was sick of it, going stir crazy stuck on house arrest because no one trusted him to go outside—into public—as a normal human being, like he was 99.9% of the time. It was, of course, because of that infinitesimal .1% that he found himself doomed to solitary confinement until something could be sorted out to help his career. No, “help” had long since been abandoned as the appropriate word. “Saved” was better.

 He wanted control of his life. He wanted to be involved in his decisions—not leaving them up to other people for the good of his ‘brand’. Not playing by the stupid fucking rules these idiots wanted him to follow, just so they didn’t smear his name from here to kingdom come. Was it so much to ask for just one thing he could call his own?

 Henry groaned when the mobile in his sweatpants pocket started to jingle a happy tune once again. Never had he dreaded something as much as he did the sound of that dissonant electronic song, and no matter how many times he tried to ignore it, they kept calling him. Dany was probably back at the house already, wondering where he’d escaped to, because she told him not to leave. Well, he damn well knew that, but since he no longer had an assistant to walk Kal, someone else had to do it.

So he did it. Against her wishes. Against everyone’s wishes. And what happened? Nothing. The earth didn’t split between his feet. The sea didn’t dry up. The markets didn’t crash. A giant meteor didn’t kill them all. Life went on. The gardeners next door didn’t even notice him slip out the gate. The girls at the bus stop on their way to school didn’t bother to look up from their phones when he jogged by. And Kal, well, he lifted his leg on a tree and then dropped the biggest load Henry had ever seen.

 Kal, sensing that his master needed to be put further into his place, sat quietly at his side and looked up at Henry expectantly, waiting for his shit to be picked up and disposed of like it was some bloody gift. And Henry did it because he loved the damn dog and the dog couldn’t give two shits about what a fuck up he’d become.

 It was just another normal day. With normal things. No one cared about him… and as much as that would have bugged him before, right at the moment, he sort of liked the anonymity. At least they weren’t pressing him with ridiculous questions, trying to make a bigger story out of his moment of drunken insanity.

 When his phone silenced for a few moments and then picked back up ringing, he finally gave up and rested a shoulder against a tree trunk, enjoying the shade and cool breeze. The sun would heat up with the day soon, but he was going to soak up as much of this as possible.

 “What?” he barked at the person on the other end.

 “Well, good morning to you, too, Henry.” Dany Garcia, the indominable woman that she was, certainly wasn’t going to take any of his shit. “Where are you?”

 “Out.”

 Dany breathed in, then let it out. “Out… where?”

“Walking Kal,” he said, counting down the seconds it took her to explode.

To his surprise, she didn’t explode. No. Instead, she took another breath and groaned. “Henry, we talked about this.”

 “Look, I know you’re worried about this,” he said, “but nothing happened. No one even looked at me a second time.”

 “Yeah, it’s the things you don’t notice that worry me,” she said.

 Henry sighed. “The only person I’ve talked to is Kal, and he’s certainly not talking to anyone.”

 “No, because that’d be insane,” Dany replied. “Has it really been that bad you’re having full conversations with him now?”

 “Yeah, it is that fucking bad,” he said. “But I’ve always had conversations with him. That’s why I got him. You know that.”

 Dany laughed. “Right. I know.”

 “What do you want, anyway?”

 “Well, it’s almost ten. The publicist—”

 “God save me from bloody publicists,” he said. Frankly, he was pretty much done with the whole thing. Done with the publicists on the other side trying to make him look like some ogre of a man, and then the ones on supposedly on his side refusing to help him unless he agreed to do exactly what they wanted. No matter that it felt one hundred percent wrong to compound the situation with more lies.

 “Be that as it may,” she said, “you’re stuck with one. Fred said you’ll like this one.”

 Henry harrumphed. “Yeah, well, we’ll see.”

 “It’s a quarter till,” Dany replied. It sounded like there were shuffling papers on her end, then a sigh. “Oh, my other line’s going. Please come back.”

 “I’ll be there in a bit. Just let me enjoy my freedom for a little longer.”

 “Okay. Ta,” she said, the line going dead a second later. He knew Dany had his best interests at heart—and he considered her a friend—but by God, he hated when she just brushed him aside to deal with something else. Busy businesswoman or not, it would have been nice to have some more deference placed on their relationship. Except, he also knew she didn’t get to where she was because she waited around and coddled people with effusive goodbyes.

 Henry slipped the phone into his pocket and stepped away from the tree. Might as well head back to his prison.

 As he rounded the corner onto his quiet street a silver sedan sailed past him and stopped with squealing brakes in front of the gates leading to his driveway. It took him a moment to recognize that it was a recent model Honda Civic—certainly not the type of car that regularly traversed these neighborhood streets other than employee cars, even though he knew many of the employees around here also drove expensive autos. It was the thing to do in LA. But then he noticed the large Uber sticker on the back window. Maybe the passenger’s car was in the shop.

 The passenger side door opened and a woman stepped out of the vehicle, her cell phone pressed to her ear. Long and shiny black-brown hair floated and whipped in a gust of wind, making the strands look like dark, glittering streamers in the bright sunlight.  She turned into the car with a smile and loudly thanked the driver before telling him she’d let him know when to pick her up, perhaps with a little more familiarity than one might with a random driver. Did she personally know the owner of the car?

 Henry paused and watched her talk on the phone some more, adjusting a large black tote bag on her shoulders and fidgeting with her clothing. She looked expensive. Fussy. Like she spent hours in the mirror every morning perfecting her look. Definitely well off, if her expertly tailored clothes were anything to go by. The navy skirt and thin sleeveless blouse in the most eye-popping shade of fuchsia clung to parts of her body that should have been sinful with her curves, but somehow it still made her seem fiercely professional.

 A thought crept from the back of his mind that he’d really like to see her eyes, too, but that was impossible due to the large mirrored aviators covering much of her face. Besides, he was too far away to make anything out. And why the hell did it matter what her eyes looked like? He’d seen enough to peg her as just another endlessly high maintenance woman who expected the world without giving anything of herself in return.

 He stopped himself. That line of thinking was what got him in trouble in the first place. He wasn’t a misogynist like so many believed of him now. In fact, he loved women: their soft skin, the way they smelled, and the little sounds they made in the throes of pleasure. He loved talking with them, and he loved their softness and compassion. But he also found himself mystified by their resilience and their ability to find an inner strength he, himself, did not possess.

 He had simply reached a point in his life where he had grown tired of certain types of women taking everything from him and running when the going got tough. He was tired of handing out easy rides. Had that made him selfish? A tad chauvinistic? Maybe. But wouldn’t anyone else in the same situation finally wise up when they’re viewed as nothing more than a meal ticket?

 “Boof!”

 Henry startled out of his thoughts and looked at the panting dog at his feet. Then he glanced up at the woman, finding that she’d turned in her spot and was now watching him closely. At least, he suspected she was watching him from the angle of her head—it was hard to tell with the sunglasses. Her face remained slack and impassive as she stared.

 Great, now she’d think he was a creep just standing there staring at her from afar. Not that it mattered, either, because if she thought he was a creep, she would stay far away from him and not take anything he didn’t want to give.

 “Kal,” Henry said in a warning, deep tone. He lightly snapped the dog’s collar to remind him of his training when Kal tried jerking forward. “No.”

 Kal huffed and sat back down at his feet, looking up to him for further direction. Henry motioned for him to follow across the street to the awaiting woman standing outside his front gates. The tight, sickening feeling in his stomach told Henry all he needed to know about her—she was his new publicist. It explained her whole look. Beautiful and put together on the outside—the full package, seemingly—but hiding something else away from the world.

 She didn’t bother to greet him first, either. Even before he made it up onto the opposite curb, the woman squatted down delicately on her four inch heels and held her hands out to accept attention from the furry beast closer to the ground. Henry let the lead go loose so Kal could pull ahead and smother the woman. He trusted Kal’s opinion of people more than he did others’, so he figured if the dog got to her and then turned away, he’d have all the confirmation he required that the woman needed to disappear quickly.

 However, the woman’s peel of laughter when Kal began licking her face made him instantly regret everything he’d surmised about her from afar. In fact, no high maintenance person would ever get on the same level as a drooling, shedding dog just to pet it, hug it, and let it slobber all over her.

 The joyful smile on her full, dusty pink lips gave him pause. It was beautiful.  She was beautiful. And she only confirmed that fact when she pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and revealed the biggest, deepest brown doe eyes he’d ever seen. In the shade they appeared black, but as she turned slightly into the bright sunlight, flecks of amber and gold lit the deep coffee color on fire. A playfulness twinkled within them, but there was also something else. Something sobering and wise that made her appear much older than she probably was.

 Realizing he was gaping, he shut his mouth and finally reined Kal to his side when he became too aggressive.  She giggled again and rested her hands on her thighs to help counterbalance as she stood to her full height—probably five-six naturally, since her heels added a considerable advantage that nearly placed her eye-to-eye with him.

 He noticed a ribbon of slimy dog drool stretching down over her left breast and groaned inwardly. That designer shirt would cost a pretty penny to replace if a dry cleaner couldn’t clean it. She followed the direction of his stare, looking down at herself, grabbing the hem of her shirt and holding it out to get a better view.

 “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’ll dry.”

 “But it’ll stain.”

 She frowned and shook her head. “Not this fabric. It’ll wash right out.”

 “If it doesn’t, you’ll have to let me replace it,” he replied. Why did he offer that? Who the fuck knew. She was the one who got on the ground to pet the slobber machine.

 “You can’t,” she added, reaching into her handbag. She pulled out a tissue and small lint roller. She used the tissue to dab away the worst of the slime, balled it in her fist and stuck it back in her bag.

 He frowned right along with her. He was so over people telling him he couldn’t do things, when, in fact, he could do anything he pleased. Well, within reason. “And why can’t I?”

“Because it’s one of a kind, and you don’t know the designer,” she stated matter-of-factly.

 No, Henry did not know the designer because he didn’t keep up on women’s fashion trends or the bi-annual lines released from fashion houses. But he knew when something was expensive, and that blouse was. He couldn’t just let her wave it off like it meant nothing. He’d figure it out and find her another. If she needed it.

 The woman quickly used the lint roller on her top and skirt, the sticky tape pulling up most of the dog hair that had fallen on her. He, meanwhile, found himself transfixed with the way the device rose and fell over her copious curves and dips, over hips, across her large pert breasts, then vertically down each one to her stomach. It was so hypnotizing, she finished and cleared her throat before he blinked hard and met her eyes again.

 This time, her expression was pinched. “I’m Grace Navarro, by the way. Your new PR assistant… and I guess… personal assistant for your publicity tour.”

 She didn’t bother to shake his hand.

 “Oh,” he said finally, running his hand through his sweaty hair. He probably looked horrible after his run. “Right, yeah. I guess I just expected Dave to be here.”

 Grace snorted in derision. “You expected him to come down off his mountain to do this? Good luck with that.”

 He was momentarily taken aback by the hard edge in her otherwise smooth, mellifluous voice. He’d never dream of speaking ill of a boss to someone he had just met, especially when he knew the other person had a direct line of communication to the boss.

 But he didn’t know what their dynamic was, and he’d met Dave himself. The man probably didn’t deserve her undying allegiance.  So, Henry teased right along with her. “At least you’ll be easier to look at.”

 Grace shifted uncomfortably on her heels and turned back toward the gates. “So, you think we can go in? I’m supposed to meet Dany—and it’s ten. I’m late.”

 Henry wanted to kick himself. Could he be sued for sexual harassment when she wasn’t technically his employee? Hell if he knew. Maybe that comment wasn’t called for. He’d tried adding a light joking spin, but, as always, the words just came out in a rush and plopped on the ground like a wet rag.

 He reached into his other pocket and hit the button on his key fob. The gate swung open to allow them inside, and he motioned her to go first, enjoying the view of her swinging hips despite their rocky start and his reticence to allow another woman to get close to him. He vowed then and there that he’d be good; he wasn’t going to let himself mess up his life again. Maybe he needed to start building his career—his image—back up one woman at a time. And he figured she was a good place to start, as untested and unknown as she was to him.

 Now it was just a matter of working—and living—with this gorgeous creature for the next however many months.

[stimtoybox]

Sorry if you've answered something like this before, but do you have any recommendations for stim toys that are on the subtle side and can preferably be kept on the person?

It’s fine! You can always check my ask tag to see what’s been answered, but I understand if you’re not able to flip through five pages of asks (and tags are harder to access for mobile users, although I keep the tags pages linked in my user description to make it easier). You might like to look through this previous ask for ideas, as it discusses lanyard-clipable stim toys!In addition, if you’re in a classroom or desk office setting, some of the stationery items mentioned in this ask might be workable as stealth toys.

I’m not sure what kind of toy you might be after (chewable, fidget, etc) so I’ll list everything I know of that’s both on-the-person portable and subtle/stealth. Jewellery is like to be your best option. This is a little harder for people like me who prefer not to present in ways socially-coded as feminine, but, thankfully, most of these things don’t have strong associations with a binary gender.

Stimtastic really does have some of the best offerings for teenagers and adults after subtle/stealth stim jewellery.

Fidget jewellery that’s perfectly stealth: Roller Ball Bike Chain Bracelet | Extra Wide Bike Chain Bracelet | Spinner Rings (link to category, in various colours and designs) | Double Circle Earrings | Concentric Circles Necklace | Scented Vial Necklace (I have the cinnamon one and I love it - it’s small enough to be unobtrusive/merely decorative and it smells divine) | Snake Twist Necklace (a subtle Tangle alternative) | Mobius Flower Earrings (I took these off the earring backings and turned them into necklace pendants strung on a leather cord - gender neutral and nobody knows it’s stim jewellery) | Heavy Bike Chain Bracelet | Interlocking Bike Chain Bracelet | Light Bike Chain Bracelet | Wrist Coil Bracelets (like wearing a hair tie on your wrist - unremarkable) | Zipper Bracelets.

Fidget toys that can be attached to a bag or belt loop: Rolling Bead Lanyard | Large Bead Ring | Squishy Panda Charm | Jumbo Bead Ring.

(Note: how stealth these ones are depends somewhat on how eclectic you are in presentation. I can attach a bead ring or a squishy to a belt loop and have no one remark on it, but I’m the kind of person psychologists politely call “quirky”.)

Fidget toys that can fit into a pocket and hide in your hand/palm when someone comes over to your desk: Spiky Animal Fidget | Boinks Fidget | Mini Prickle/Hedge Balls.

(Note: I’ve found the animal prickle fidget toys in multipacks in the party sections of dollar shops and Toys R Us, $4-$4.50 AUD. I’ve also found the mini prickle balls in multipacks in the party sections of dollar shops and Big W, $3-$5 AUD.)

Chewables that are closer to stealth: Chewable Dulcimer Necklace | Chewable Trapezoid Necklace | Chewable Doughnut Necklace. (These are the smaller or plainer chewable pendants, and I assure you, I’ve seen folks wearing non-silicone versions of these. I’ve also walked around various cities, stores and markets wearing the Braid Pendant and nobody has once thought anything of it if they don’t see it in my mouth. Oversized jewellery, especially for femme-leaning folks, is pretty fashionable.)

DIYs: If you want to make your own roller bead lanyards, here’s the tutorial. If you want to make your own bead rings and make them even more stealth, here’s my tutorial on making bead ring necklaces. Nobody has ever treated these as anything more than funky necklaces, and I wear these everywhere, every day.

@caseydickdanger​, if you’re located in the US, makes some seriously unique handcrafted pieces. Most things have textures if you’re just after a necklace pendant to touch and handle. The really stimmy in-stock items include the Nautical Bottle Necklace, Mocha Tubez Bracelet and the Mermaid Sand Tubez Bracelet.

@spacerobotstudio has a phenomenal selection of funky, unique fidget necklaces: Spirit Level Necklace in Red | Spinner Pendant Necklace in Copper and Teal | Bronze Double-Sided Compass Necklace | Pink and Blue Saturn Spinner Necklace (oh, god, want) | Dots and Brown Spinner Pendant Necklace | Blue Glitter Globe Necklace.

Banggood or ebay also sell tiny squishies. Mochi squishies are perfect for holding and hiding in one’s hand (links to many individual ones in this post) but most of the cheap squishy assortments include smaller bun and cake squishies as well (and these have strap attachments for adding to bags).

(If you’re after more bag or lanyard-attachment fidget toys, here’s the ultimate post on where to find edamame poppers!)

Etsy has a wealth of spinner rings. There’s a wide variety running from affordable to bespoke.

You can also find the wrist coil/telephone cord bracelets in cheap multipacks in every dollar store - look in the hair accessory section. Also available on ebay! If you’re not the kind of person who wears bracelets, I’ve seen them as lanyard clips in many dollar shops (link to listing on Banggood).

Chubuddy and Amazon also have chewable telephone cord bracelets, if you want something unremarkable that’s chewable and a fidget.

Chewigem has several silicone raindrop pendant chewables that look just like oversized funky pendants.

In short, there’s a lot of options, especially jewellery-wise. However, most of these sellers are based in the US, so if you’re an international stimmer, be prepared for international shipping rates and conversion fees. While there are therapy-focused stim toy stores internationally, most of them don’t offer a lot in the way of subtlety!

Good luck. If this doesn’t help you enough, please let me know. If there’s something I should have included and didn’t, please also let me know!