#and to live my fanfic moment

[machetegirl109]

no.... please, no!!!!!! dont make me go back to tinder/bumble/her.... please, god.... dont do this to me.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (pt. 2)

—

Tw: N/A

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) - (Pt. 3 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was a beautiful morning. Somehow, against all odds, the sun was shining through the thick smog perpetually covering Gotham.

And Danny hated it.

He was in pain, he was exhausted, he was grieving, and all he wanted to do was sleep for at least a week.

In an act of celestial mockery, the sun shone regardless.

After around twenty minutes of tossing and turning in bed, trying to get back to sleep, Danny gave up and pried himself out of bed.

He stumbled through the hallway and into the living room, staring openly at every splash of color he saw in the small apartment. He hadn’t forgotten what color looked like in the time he was in the lab, but it was comforting to see.

Someone cleared their throat. Danny whipped his head around, eyes falling on a scrawny, gangly man sitting down in a worn armchair, hunched over a laptop. He was looking at him with a dull, bored expression.

Right. Scarecrow.

His escape.

The chase.

His mom.

“You look a lot less terrifying without the mask,” Danny blurted out, slapping his hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t call my normal appearance frightening,” Scarecrow hummed, focusing his attention back onto the laptop, “that’s what the costume is for, after all.”

“Oh.”

After a brief moment of excruciating silence, Scarecrow spoke.

“You any good with computers, Danny? Hacking, and all that?”

Danny jolted. Scarecrow needed his help with something! This was great! Now, he’d have more of a reason not to get rid of him!

“Oh, uh, yeah! Not as good as my friend Tucker, but I think I’m pretty good.”

“And you’re familiar with the GiW’s systems specifically,” Scarecrow continued, beckoning him over. Danny complied, shuffling over awkwardly. “Right?”

“Well, I guess? My friends and I got into their stuff a couple of times before they…”

“Wonderful,” Scarecrow said, standing up with a stretch. He shoved the laptop into Danny’s hands and gestured for him to sit down on the couch. “Then you can hack into their system and extract whatever files you can find.”

Danny stared at the man like he’d lost his mind. He looked back at him expectantly.

Danny sat down.

“Yeah, I-I can do that. Tuck and I built a back door into their system ages ago,” he said, checking the screen. It was clear that for all the skills that Scarecrow had, hacking was definitely not one of them. “But, uh, don’t you have someone else that usually does this sort of thing for you? Not that I’m complaining!”

Scarecrow scowled, and Danny felt his heart fall into his ass.

“Usually, I do,” Scarecrow huffed, “but I chose to leave my most recent job with the Penguin early, so now there’s no way that he or Eddie will help me with anything until I make it up to them somehow.”

“Oh,” Danny said.

He had no clue whatsoever who Eddie was.

Danny got to work quickly, hoping that if he ignored the gangly man, he would leave him be. Luckily, he did just that, leaving to go work on something in another room.

Danny checked the laptop’s security before continuing Scarecrow’s progress, making sure that the GiW wouldn’t be able to grab their location.

It was…threateningly good. Whoever Eddie was, he had somehow crammed the functionality of a top-of-the-line PC into a tiny, beat-up old laptop. It almost reminded Danny of Tucker and his terrifying competence with his PDA.

Tucker.

Amity park.

Home.

Danny snapped himself out of his thoughts, tabbing back into the application Scarecrow had up and began to work his magic.

He had near full access to the entire GiW database within half an hour.

Mumbling out a quick thank-you to Tucker, he called Scarecrow over to appraise his work.

“Fixed up some food for you while you worked,” the rogue said, handing him a bowl of oatmeal, taking the laptop into his lap as he did so, “didn’t know how well you could eat, considering you’re recovering from… surgery, so I decided to stay on the safe side.”

Danny had no clue what this guy’s deal was.

He definitely did not tear up at the first genuine thoughtfulness he encountered in weeks, and he did not look away as he ate so that Scarecrow couldn’t see his face.

At least Scarecrow was too focused on the laptop to notice or care.

Or, maybe, he was just mercifully ignoring him.

Either way, Danny ate slowly, not wanting to make himself sick. He allowed himself to absentmindedly look around the room for the first time, taking everything in.

It was strangely homey. The space was filled with warm browns and yellows, a few splashes of color on the wall in the form of (obviously gifted) paintings. There was a beat-up bookshelf against the wall, clearly second-hand, filled to the brim with psychology books. On every available surface there was a different colored candle, all at different stages of use, clearly collected over the course of years.

Danny knew that the man next to him was a crazed, murderous criminal, but his home was oddly reminiscent of Jazz.

He was not about to cry.

“Danny,” Scarecrow hummed, snapping him out of his spiraling, “can you explain this to me?”

He looked over. The rogue was pointing to a new report, seemingly posted only a few hours ago.

Nodding, he took the computer into his lap, pouring over the contents.

He read the report again.

And again.

And again.

Danny swore loudly, crumpling like a wet paper bag, head in his hands.

“What?”

“It’s…” he swore again, glancing back at the laptop, “they…since you became liminal from synthetic ectoplasm, when we’re within about 500 meters of one another, our ectoplasm signatures resonate, and they can’t track us with any of their technology.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“If we’re not that close to each other, they can track us down from anywhere in the world.”

Scarecrow went dead quiet. After what felt like the single longest minute of Danny’s life, he let out a truly exasperated sigh, slumping over in his seat.

“Yeah, me too,” Danny mumbled, utterly miserable.

“…I’ll have to move my plans back a little,” Scarecrow sighed, “I can’t drag an injured child with me when I attack the Gotham GiW base, you’ll just get in the way.”

“Oh come on,” Danny whined, “I can take care of myself just fine. Besides, Batman brings kids with him to do dangerous stuff all the time, and he’s fine!”

“Might I remind you that the second Robin died violently,” Scarecrow snapped, “and that Batman most likely has more traumatic brain injuries than all of the Gotham rogues combined. That really isn’t the winning argument you think it is.”

Danny paused, trying to think up some way to win the argument. Then, he realized what he had ignored before.

“Wait, Scarecrow, you’re gonna attack the GiW?”

“That’s the plan,” he nodded, “and call me Dr. Crane. I’m only Scarecrow when I’m in the mask.”

But,” Danny sputtered, “Sca—uh, Dr. Crane—that’s insane! The weapons they’ve got- they’ll rip you apart!”

“Not my first time,” Crane said, making Danny wince. “Besides, I have plenty of experience avoiding gunfire. I’ll live.”

“You…” Danny was silent for a while, trying to think of something to say, “fine, but you have to take me with you wherever you go. As soon as they see either of us on their radars, they’ll hunt us down.”

Dr. Crane sighed.

“…Fine. I need some time to plan anyways. Now, you’re going to help me download these files, properly format them, and send them out.”

“…Why?”

“Well, some of the other rogues might appreciate the heads up, and I’d quite like them to be indebted to me. Besides, I still need to pay back the Penguin for ditching him, and he loves knowing things that other people don’t.”

Danny paused.

“That’s an awful idea, no offense. If any of the rogues know our weaknesses, they—”

“Danny, we’re censoring everything. The only things they need to know about are the GiW specifically, and any sort of laws surrounding them.”

Danny snorted.

“You care about laws now?”

“Yes, because if we get taken to Arkham, they’ll hand us off to the GiW the moment they ask, and it’ll be completely legal.”

Oh. Danny had honestly forgotten that Arkham was an option.

“…Ok. I’ll help you. Who are we telling?”

“I don’t think you really need to know,” Dr. Crane said, the faintest shadow of an amused look on his face, “but I’ll humor you for now. We’re sending the files out to the Penguin, Riddler, Poison Ivy via Harley Quinn, Two-Face, and Red Hood.”

Danny nodded. He could live with that.

“Alright, then let’s get to work.”

—

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 7/12

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man—Charles, Max assumes—sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[happyk44]

The thing was Percy didn't like being a bad kid. Every time he got kicked out of a school or wound up in the counselor's office over some incident he wasn't completely blameless for, his mom's brows would pinch. The line on her lip dipped. He knew what she was thinking each time: lost wages, job risk, who was going to watch him if he got suspended, where would she send him if he got kicked out, and so on.

He hated that he did that to her. Being a bad kid meant being a bad son. He refused to be a bad son - not on purpose anyway.

Well, he used to. She wasn't here anymore. Her brows weren't going to furrow. Her lips wouldn't thin. Her shoulders wouldn't draw up and tense before the principal even opened their mouth. It was over.

He didn't have anyone anymore. Nobody at cabin eleven would look at him. Other cabins steered around him like he was carrying the plague. Grover was off doing whatever satyrs did - probably getting ready to infiltrate some new school, befriend some new kid, save their lives. He didn't need Percy. It’d only been a few days but they'd barely interacted. Older satyrs would yank him along into the wood before Percy could get close or even open his mouth. Even Annabeth just eyed Percy with scrutinizing eyes - like she was assessing him for something. But every time he tried to approach her outside of their lessons, she brushed him off.

No one wanted Percy around.

What was the point of being a good kid anymore? There wasn't anything or anyone forcing him to keep his head above water. He was tired of the murmurs. He was tired of the avoidance. Tired of the glares from the Ares cabin. Tired of trying to keep the quake in his stomach tamped down.

He was just tired.

He thumbed along the flat edge of his sword. His new best friend was the pervasive feeling of loneliness. With a miserable sigh, he tucked the sword into the holster on his hip. People barely wanted to spar with him now so he was stuck to sweating it out on the dummies by himself. At least only when Luke wasn't pushing him as hard as possible.

But even with Luke there seemed to be pause. The first time Percy felt his gut yank after being claimed had been in training with Luke, and as soon as the feeling caught him, Luke begged off. Like he'd seen something in Percy that unnerved him. Sometimes when Percy looked in the mirror, he saw something in his eyes that unnerved him. A foreign thing - like a contact lens put in the wrong way.

No amount of poking or prodding at his eyes was going to get it out though. It was inside him - in his blood. He was sure of it.

He was starting to worry that it was the very thing he'd been keeping back, the very thing his mom was trying to keep him safe from.

The clang of metal against metal was loud as he walked past other trainees. There were a couple people leaning against the wall near the water fountain. As expected, they shifted away as he neared. Mistrust was bright in their eyes.

He did his best to ignore it. Not the first time people had stared at him like they thought he was dangerous. Or beneath them.

The water sprayed for a moment before he lowered his head. It was clarifying. He'd noticed it before, a burst of energy with every sip whenever he was tired, but ever since being claimed, he'd noticed the alertness more and more.

As he let go of the button, he caught the tail end of the muttering nearby. His stomach dropped.

“... should've ditched him sooner,” one boy grumbled. His friend snorted. “Maybe then she wouldn't have died.”

“What did you say?” The two startled. Percy understood why. He barely recognized his own voice, the eerie coldness to it frosty on his own tongue. Still, he repeated as he twisted on his heels to face them. “What. Did you just say?”

Panic besot them. For a second, the barest of a second, he could feel it kick in - be a good boy for me, Percy, be a good kid for Mom.

But she wasn't here.

She wasn't here.

So what was the point?

He took a step forward. “What,” he snarled, saliva coating his tongue like froth, “did you say?”

The others shifted away but he just crept forward. “Nothing, man,” one of them finally bit out, but they were lying. He could see it in their eyes, hear in their voice, feel it in their veins.

“You're lying,” he said. A bitten off laugh echoed from his lips. “You were talking about my mom.” Another choked laugh. “You think it's my fault?”

One of them raised his hands - a mock surrender. “Hey, dude-”

“You think I wanted her to die?” A sharp sensation coiled through Percy's chest. It thrummed hot and heavy, piling, piling, piling on his lungs. “You think I asked for ANY OF THIS?”

Someone's hand came to rest on his shoulder and it was like the crashing of the waves against his bare feet. Cold, clarifying, clear.

Freeing.

His fist drove straight into the jaw of whoever was behind him. He could barely tell who he was seeing - it might've been Luke, or any other tall blonde guy. But as soon as whoever it was stumbled back, he whirled around and punched whichever kid was closest in the stomach. They went down and he clambered on top to wail. Fist and fist upon whatever body part he could reach. He wasn't the most elegant hand-to-hand fighter but there was something to be said for the voracious and vicious energy boiling through him.

Distantly he was aware of yelling around him, aware of people pulling at him, aware of the person beneath him crying, arms over their face, arms Percy was tired of hitting. He needed to get their face, get their tongue, rip his mom from their mouth. How dare they speak about her.

How dare anyone talk about her.

A dozen hands finally yanked him back. He screamed. Bodies toppled. He grabbed the closest one by their hair, driving his knee upwards over and over again until hands ripped him away again. Swung blindly and caught someone. The two of them fell. His stomach pulled back. They choked. They weakened. He swung himself over until he was on top.

I want you all to drown, he thought, grabbing at their jaw. Don't ever speak of her again.

Saliva smeared across his fingers. His stomach pulled back even more. What was that - blood, water? On his hands, on his knees, on their skin, on their faces, in their veins.

His free hand drew out. He wanted it. It was his. Didn't they get that? She was his, and she was gone, so he would take and take all else that belonged to him until the hole in his chest was gone. Until the water they had coursing inside them filled him up.

“Percy,” someone whispered.

Their voice was familiar, breath hot against Percy's ear. He twitched. The feeling of nearby water, nearby fluid, was clenched tight in his fist. He just had to pull back. Yank it. Make it his.

The voice turned pleading. “Percy.”

He froze as two hot hands came to clasp his cheeks, dark brown eyes and curly hair blurring into view. Grover's face.

“Grover,” he breathed. For the first time since he'd ended up at camp, he relaxed.

Grover's thumbs stroked his skin. “Yeah, it's me.” He leaned in closer. “Percy, you need to stop.”

“Stop?”

“You're hurting people," he said. “You have to stop.”

Why? Percy thought. He didn't care. He didn't care if they hurt, didn't care if they drowned where they laid choking, didn't care if they suffered. It didn't mean anything to him. They didn't mean anything to him.

But this was Grover.

And with his mom gone, Grover meant the world.

“You want me to stop?”

“Yes,” Grover said. His breath was warm, his skin hot, his body close. Distantly Percy remembered nights at school like this - Grover tucked up next to him, trying his best to help Percy study when most people would've bailed. “I want you to stop.”

His lips were wobbling. His eyes were thick with wetness. His voice was unsteady - trying to be calm and rapidly failing. Even his hands shook.

Percy grabbed at his wrists. “Okay,” he whispered as he clung. His stomach relaxed slowly, the crash turning into a tickle. “I'm good, I'm good.”

Shakily, Grover exhaled, pressed his forehead to Percy's, and murmured, “I know, I know.”

His hands pulled away from Percy's face, but not away from him, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him in for a tight hug. Percy's breathing wobbled as he tucked his face into the crook of Grover's neck. He clung tight and desperate. Pleading.

No, he couldn't be a good son anymore. He didn't have to bother keeping in check to avoid the thin line of his mom's lips. But he could be a good friend. To keep the tears out of Grover's eyes, the tremble from his skin.

“I can be good,” he promised quietly, for Grover's ears only. “I promise I can be good.”

“I know,” Grover said. His cheek pressed against Percy's. “I believe you.”

-

The fountain nearby trickled quietly. The steady flow soothed the unease between Percy's shoulders. Still, he squeezed the pillow in his grip tighter to his chest as he watched Grover flit around the bunk closest to him. He snapped the final end of the sheet around the mattress. Hooves clopped quietly against the tile as he stepped back. His gaze flickered between Percy's bed and his own.

Then he grunted and began pushing it closer.

Percy hopped up. The discarded pillow slipped from his fingers and onto the floor. He nearly tripped over it trying to get to Grover's side. They pushed the other bunk over until it was pressed into Percy's.

While Grover unfurled his blanket, Percy stepped back. Awkwardness choked him. He didn't know what to do, what to say. So he picked the pillow off from the floor and pressed it into his chest. Grover didn't spare him many glances as he worked to make up the bed. Leaning across his bunk, he yanked Percy's blanket from between the seam where the two bed frames connected and began tying the edges of both blankets together. It was shoddy work, no way it wasn't coming apart just from them lying on the sheets, much less sleeping.

But Grover did it anyway.

As he shifted back, hooves scraping the floor, Percy held out the pillow. Grover dusted off the top then laid it against the headboard. With both hands on his hips, he admired his work. Percy stared at it too. It was nice. Joined bed. Grover within direct reach.

His palms itched.

“Are you scared of me?”

Grover twisted around. His brows furrowed, but the edges of his lips were quirked upwards. It was reminiscent of school - Percy stumbling over something he read and Grover, lost but amused, over why Percy thought it was a man-of-war that Theseus fought.

He was partially grateful Grover cut him off before he could finish what he actually thought the sentence was trying to say. It certainly wasn't fight.

“I mean,” Grover started and Percy's stomach drew back. Behind him the trickle of the fountain silenced. Like the water was holding its breath too. “I'm scared for other people, but I'm not scared of you.” He punched Percy's arm with a quiet smile. “I know you're not going to hurt me, Percy. That's why I stopped you.”

The fountain began to trickle again. “And that-” He faltered. The ghost Grover's touched goosed up his bicep and across his shoulder. “-that doesn't worry you?”

That you might have to stop me again went unspoken but Grover was always good at understanding Percy's unspoken words, at knowing his unspoken feelings - even the ones Percy wasn't even aware he felt.

He sighed. “It worries me. But not because it's you.” He shook his head. “And definitely not because I'm scared of you hurting me.”

His eyes scanted away, brows furrowing deeper. Then he relaxed into the bed. After teetering on his heels for a couple seconds, Percy joined him. He gripped the edge of his shorts so tight his palms burned. Grover reached over to stroke along the back of his hand.

He exhaled slowly and let go.

“You remember Pan?” Grover asked.

Percy paused. “The satyr god, right?”

“Yeah.” Grover pulled away to tug at his fingers. “He's been missing for a while. Ever since the industrial age took off. And no one knows where he is. It's the dream of every satyr to find him, so that nature can return to the way it was.”

“That your dream?”

He nodded solemnly. “You have to be a Protector first, before you can get your Searcher’s license. But I'm not like the others.” His gaze fell down. His hands sat in his lap, cupped around nothing but air. “I don't want him just so we can bring nature back to its peak.” He sighed. “We were a lot different when Pan was still around. More free. More wild. I want satyrs and nymphs - all of us to be us again!”

Percy leaned into him. “What's stopping you?”

Grover snorted. “People forgot. We were more than just Pan's disciples. We fought to protect the wild from mankind. We didn't just sit around waiting for him to tell us what to do. But nobody wants to do anything.” He scowled. “They think when Pan returns he'll fix it all and I-” He bit his lip, then shook his head. “The world has changed. And gods don't get involved like that. Not to the extent they want him to. It's not in their nature. But if he comes back then maybe…”

He faced Percy. His eyes were watery, darkening the already dark brown of his eyes into shots of black. The welled tears glistened ever so slightly. Like the night sky, free of pollution.

His lips wobbled into a gentle smile. “But that's why I'm not afraid. You’re like nature at its purest form - chaotic, wild, unburdened.”

Normally those words wouldn't hit Percy as compliments. Insults, degradation - things that would deflate him and make his mom frown. But Grover sounded so earnest, his heart swelled.

“You can't tell, but I can feel it.” He swung his arm over Percy's shoulders and tugged him in close. “Your demigod essence, this sense of the wild that I've been searching for my whole life.” He gestured loosely. “Even the Demeter kids don't have that. Their mom is all agriculture and farming and that's great and all, but it's not pure nature, it's not the wild.” He squeezed Percy's shoulder as best he could with one hand. “You remind me of home, Percy.”

The frog Percy hadn't noticed in his throat jumped out with a burst sob-laugh. He tried to tile away, but Grover just tugged him close, bringing around his other arm to keep Percy pinned. Nonetheless his hold was fairly loose, like Percy was a stray cat he didn't want scratching him if he felt like running.

Or like he knew that Percy was the ocean through and through, unwilling to be contained, wanting to flow wherever he saw fit.

Percy practically crawled into his lap, sniffling into Grover's shoulder. Warm hands stroked up and down his back. He laughed quietly - a half-distressed noise marrying the sound, but managed a breathy wheeze of, “You remind me of home too.”

Grover kissed the top of his head. For the first time since arriving, he shattered. All his twisted up emotions committed out in a tidal wave of tears and broken gasps. All the while Grover held him. As tight as Percy clung to him, he didn't complain. Just held on even tighter. Wetness from Grover's own tears smeared across Percy's skin.

Ever the empathetic. Like his mom.

Percy squeezed his eyes shut. “Please don't leave without saying goodbye,” he begged in a hollow, hoarse whisper.

“I won't,” Grover promised.

They held onto each other even as tears and cries faded away. Grover kept stroking his back with both hands. Percy continued to cling.

Shoulders shaking, Percy wound the fabric of Grover's shirt over his fingers. After a few minutes of toiling silence, he whispered. “I think I'm changing.” He pressed his forehead to Grover's collarbone. “I'm scared.” He pulled back and stared into Grover's eyes. “What do I do?”

“Be my best friend,” Grover said, like it was the simplest answer in the world. And as soon as the words fell off his tongue, it did. How silly was Percy not to think of it before? “My best friend is a good person, the best kind of wild.”

“I can do that,” Percy promised. “I swear, I can do that.”

“I know,” Grover said, squeezing Percy's cheek. His thumb swiped away at a still wet tear under Percy's eye. The stroke was soft, gentle. Kind. “I believe you.”

[oh-wow-im-still-here]

Aspec shen yuan in a relationship with a bingge learning he doesn't need sex 24/7 to have a happy and fulfilling life is the superior binggeyuan dynamic btw. It's like the succubus x aspec ship dynamic except dialled up even more (somehow) with some abandonment issues on the side. Comedic but also angst potential abound. Delicious.

[normally-o-a-k]

[dontlookforme00]

HEYY

Me? Drawing fanart of a fanfic? More likely than you'd think.

The fic is Forgetting the coin for the ferryman, by @realityandrebirth or mattecat on ao3 ;))

I fucking LOVE this fanfic. So so badly. I've known it for a day but if anything happened to it I would kill everyone in this room and then myself. Tysm.

Also their sprinkles are colour coded cough cough

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

The Hazards of Living with Remy Holmes

Ao3

Summary: In general, Logan found living with Remy to be manageable, if occasionally annoying and/or nonsensical. Logan would appreciate, however, if their sibling could stop breaking into their apartment while Logan was there. Content: Sherlock Holmes AU; bickering, deductions, listen this is mostly logan and virgil verbally sparring while everyone flexes their low-level deduction muscles Pairings: Logan & Remy (future QPR), Remy & Virgil (siblings), Logan & Virgil (forced to put up with each other because of Remy) Notes: Hello TS fandom of 2024. How's it been

~

“Remy? Remy, have you seen my jacket?” Logan called out in his still fairly new apartment, halfway down the hall between his room and the apartment’s main sitting area as he spoke. His still fairly new roommate had been out the past few hours, but Logan had heard the door open while he had been shuffling through his closet for the fourth time that day. Normally, Logan would simply assume he had left his jacket at work- a not terribly uncommon occurrence, especially when he worked later shifts- but living with Remy came with a unique set of risk factors Logan had to keep a constant eye on. Case in point: “I swear, if you’ve got it wrapped around another ham-”

Reaching the end of the hallway, Logan cut himself off as he realized who was actually in the sitting area, frowning. “Ah. Virgil. I apologize, I didn’t realize we had been broken into.”

Virgil, sitting in one of the apartment’s armchairs like he belonged there, just smirked at Logan’s dry tone. “Not breaking in if I have a key, doc.”

“It is if we didn’t give you that key.” Logan countered, wrinkling his nose at the nickname. “And please, call me Dr. Watson. I’d hate for us to get friendly.”

Virgil chuckled. “Still holding a grudge, are we?”

“You kidnapped me, threatened me, and accused me of having homicidal intentions. I believe I have the right to a grudge.”

“Shouldn’t that be water under the bridge by now? I said sorry, didn’t I?”

“It’s been two months.” Logan reminded, crossing his arms. “And no, you haven’t.”

“Well, I’m sorry.” Virgil said, sounding about as apologetic as Logan had when he had greeted the intruder. “Better now?”

“Apology not accepted.” Logan answered flatly. “Might I ask why you have decided to darken my apartment?”

“Is visiting my sibling not a good enough reason for me to want to stop by?”

“Not dressed like that it isn’t.” Logan nodded at Virgil’s outfit, a well-fitted suit that would put the MIB’s to shame. Virgil did, occasionally, drop by just for the sake of a visit, but he arrived informally in those instances, imitating the mundane lives of civilians by doing things such as ‘wearing hoodies’ and ‘knocking on the door.’

Virgil glanced down at himself, as if he might have forgotten what he arrived. He tugged on his dark purple tie, the only hint of colour he allowed his formal wear, straightening it incrementally before looking back up at Logan. “You caught me. I have a case for Remy of… some governmental importance. Nothing dire, but important enough we want to ensure it’s handled properly.”

“You have a case for us, then.” Logan corrected, the statement petty, entirely for the sake of drawing a reaction. Logan was dragged alongside Remy to every case the unofficial detective worked, whether he liked it or not, and Virgil knew that perfectly well. It made no meaningful difference to Logan whether or not Virgil acknowledged that, but, as established, he was still holding a grudge over their first meeting. “That’s what you meant to say, correct?”

The annoyance that entered Virgil’s expression was slight, but Logan considered it a major success on his part.

Before Virgil could choose his response, the doorknob of the front door began to jiggle slightly, shaken by the motion of someone inserting their key. Both him and Logan turned to watch as the door was unlocked and pushed open as Remy entered, taking a moment to fully remove their key before closing the door behind them.

“I’m back, babes!” Remy greeted the apartment automatically as they dropped their keychain onto the shelf mounted above the sitting room’s lightswitch, flashing Logan a smile when they realized he was right in front of them. Their motions remained fairly routine up until they spotted Virgil, looking surprised by his presence but not as upset as Logan had been (and was). “Well this is unexpected.”

“I know I didn’t mention I’d be dropping in-”

Remy waved Virgil off before he could finish his sentence. “No, not that. I’d be more surprised if you gave me a heads up before swinging by, to be honest. I just can’t believe you and Lo managed to occupy the same room, alone, without killing each other.”

“As if your doctor could kill me.”

“The restraint I have showcased so far is not insubstantial.”

Logan and Virgil shot twin glares at each other as their replies overlapped, Remy laughing at the show. “Alright, girls, you’re both pretty. No need to start a fight now.”

“I would hardly-” Logan trailed off as he looked back towards Remy, paying more attention to the details of his appearance at the second glance than he had the first (more occupied then with the relief Remy’s company would provide). Specifically, he was paying more attention to the dark blue leather that was draped over them. “...Is that my jacket?”

Between their sunglasses and generally relaxed attitude, it wasn’t always the easiest thing to follow Remy’s thoughts, but Logan was still able to catch the quick twitch of their face. “Ah… is it? Could’ve sworn it was one of mine.”

In the peripheral of his vision, Logan watched Virgil raise an eyebrow. “It’s a size too big for you, Rem.”

Remy raised the hand holding their coffee cup in mock surrender. “Ok, you caught me. I was in a rush this morning, I wasn’t thinking and grabbed the first jacket I saw. Not my fault you left yours in the kitchen, hun.”

Logan sighed, though the sound wasn’t as annoyed as it probably should have been. Really, in the grand scheme of living-with-Remy things, his jacket getting accidentally commandeered was relatively harmless. “How far your brilliant deductive reasoning skills get you.”

Remy grinned at the (admittedly) heatless jab. From where he was still relegated to the corner of Logan’s vision, Virgil frowned, expression twisting into a more severe version of the one Remy wore when they were working out a particularly complicated puzzle.

Thankfully, he chose not to comment on whatever observation he had pulled out of thin air, instead clearing his throat to call back the room’s attention. “Yeah, speaking up your skills-”

“Let me guess: you’ve got a case for us.” Remy finished for him, missing the smug look Logan shot Virgil as they took a sip of their coffee. “Alright then, lay it on me. Since I know you won’t leave me alone ‘til it’s handled.”

“And this is the part where I step out.” Logan said before Virgil could begin, not in the mood to go through their usual song and dance of Virgil telling Remy the bare minimum of case-related information while making it very clear that Logan was the one with the lowest level of ‘need-to-know’ clearance. He moved across the sitting area, passing Remy to slip on the shoes he kept by the door. “You didn’t get the mail from Patton as you came up, did you?”

“I didn’t, no.”

“Then I shall use that as my excuse. I’m sure he’ll be happy to entertain me for at least five minutes.” Logan grabbed his keys from the shelf, aware he didn’t truly need them but wanting to have them nonetheless, and pulled open the door. “Remy, I trust you’ll fill me in on what I miss.”

“Yeah, of course, babes- but, wait a sec.” Logan paused in the doorway, turning his body around to face Remy once more. “You sure Pat’s going to be there? Today’s when he usually has his baking class.”

To the outside onlooker, Remy’s comment would have been perceived as nothing more than an innocent, and reasonable, observation. Patton’s baking classes were held twice weekly, Patton went to them consistently, and Logan had no direct reason to believe Patton would have skipped that day’s class for no reason.

Logan, however, was not the outside onlooker, and over the tops of Remy’s sunglasses, he could see the way their eyes glinted with a completely different question, one Logan was happy to answer.

“I’m certain he will be. His class was cancelled.”

“Oh yeah?” Remy prompted, grinning as he set Logan up. To the side, Virgil shifted in his seat, likely having picked up on the fact that Remy was building the conversation up to something. “How’d you know that?”

The corner of his mouth tipping up into a self-satisfied smile, Logan turned towards Virgil. “Because Virgil styled his hair.” He answered simply, taking a moment to appreciate as Virgil’s expression morphed from suspicion into outrage before he breezed out the door, shutting it behind him. The last thing he heard was Remy, laughing like the two of them had just told the funniest joke in the world.

Yes, living with Remy came with a unique set of challenges. But Logan found that, for Remy, he could be adaptable.

[brainrotcharacters]

fuck all of you and i hope kaya from the one piece live action is having a good day

[numericalpie]

holy shit it's elucien week????????

[bleue-flora]

Mmm… snippet of future Musical Chairs?

“Thinking about him hurts like a kick to the gut. He hasn’t seen Sapnap since he… died. Since he drowned in poisoned blood. Since he limped through the snow, a bloodied trail behind him, knowing the way and yet feeling utterly lost, wondering if he’ll ever forget the cold look in Sapnap’s eyes and the apathetic greed of his voice when he too asked about the book right before swinging a sharp sword (his sword!) into his flesh just like his fiancé had so many times before. If he’ll ever lose the frost freezing his heart as Sapnap, his friend, his brother stood there in the last possession to his name, denying Dream that small mercy of having what is his. If he’ll ever forget the sound of Sapnap’s disbelieving words as he questioned if the torture really happened as if it wasn’t clear as day from his appearance. As if he wasn’t leaning to one side, standing on a knee bent in the wrong direction. As if a vast spread of scars didn’t sprinkle across the patches of his exposed skin. As if his once dirty blonde hair wasn’t crusted in layers of blood. As if his words meant nothing, weren’t worth enough to even consider. As if he didn’t lie the last time they spoke saw eachother about coming back to visit him.”

[puppetmasterer]

just caught the jere and joker out insta live, any ideas for a finland tour fic? that was...something 😀

HAHAHAHA do i?

DO I?!?!?

do fuck off, my love♡

(of course i do. some in "Afterglow", some separate oneshots. some filthy, some angsty, some both)

((help the live melted the rest of my braincells))

[gulaysoup]

hiiiii ik i just made my violist-chan post but im self indulgent and i have been holding back my brainrot for too long

anyways!! here's my take on my girl :] so many hcs for her in my head and i wanna list them out bc. im brainrotting

my girl's also a pianist . i am a pianist first and violin second girl irl, and my love for the piano can not be contained. mwahmwahmwah

she has a streak of grey hair from the amount of work she does but doesnt realize how stressed she actually is !!! like she's experiencing it alright but is she addressing it?!? hell to the no she isn't !!!

the audhd wand hit her and so did her late diagnosis xoxo

tchai and rach enthusiast (what? i'm projecting? nuh uh. no im not. anyways)

romantic era >>>>

picky as fuck with her rosin . what do you mean you're using that brand its inferior (viola-chan it's fucking pine resin.)

names her instruments throughout the years. probably had an emotional attachment to her first rental and was so sad to leave it behind until she started playing her new one and realized the change in quality

the type of mf in high school to tell people (or herself. it doesn't matter who was listening) that like. a random noise is a certain note. she hears the bell and just thinks to herself *that's an a flat ..... or g sharp if u'd like ....*

my reader is a proud filipina bc i am filipina. thats it end of story (pinoy pride goes crazy)

end of brainrot. go read symphony by @desceros now !!!! (IM SO SORRY FOR THE SECOND TAG PLEASE FORGIVE ME .)

tldr shes me if i chose to play viola in the rottmnt universe

[vultures-yay-or-nay]

HE'S BACK

[thissortofsorcery]

i'm gonna need youtube to stop recommending videos about commonplace books to me. do you think i read???? actual books?????? to get quotes from?????? it's all about fanfic in this brain baby

[myundeadgayson]

can’t stop thinking the fact i told my coworker, “cringe is dead, but there is still shame” with a straight face.