#because he's not ready to accept he wants to fuck the master computer yet.

[nonbinary-beast]

TedxAMaton stuff

I figure after Am and Ted make good headway, or even during the process, Ted finds out that there is a part of him that is indeed attracted to the machine. Perhaps it has grown on him after years of being in its presence, or maybe there has been something in him that has indeed admired its form since AM had given itself a body.

Under a cut since its long and a tad suggestive.

Regardless, something does manage to spark there much to Ted's surprise- part of him wonders if it has to do with having sought him out enough to sit in the machine's arms and inevitably fall asleep there. He figures that it is just the agreement that they have between them that keeps AM from mauling him, but if that were the case, then why does he find it or perhaps... him, giving a gentle kiss to the top of his head before he slips into a restful slumber?

Why does he find it comforting instead of offputting?

Why does he so often find himself now needing that immense presence, that warm, smooth chrome surface pressing against him when he rests? When he is distraught? When he... wants to be held by the machine? It is nearly alien for him to think it, he feels, after over a century of torment. But then again, their truce has lasted about half that time, or so AM had told him.

He still liked updating Ted on what day it was, the time of day, the month, and how long it has been since AM had stopped tormenting him and began teaching him how to love again. Although recently he stopped insinuating that this was for his own amusement.

Ted's sudden need for AM's presence in his life was purely chemical in nature, the machine had reasoned when Ted had finally asked him. What he was feeling were the effects of serotonin and oxytocin, which had been released whenever they were in positive contact with each other. Every touch, every time Ted was held, kissed, each time he leaned against AM or they had some form of meaningful time spent together, there were a few drops released into his system- not by AM's doing of course, he had been quick to point out. He had been clear to ensure that during this exercise that there would be no tampering.

Initially it was because it would be all the more sweeter for Ted to fall for him on his own, but now AM loathed the idea of tampering with his mind for some other reason. It took a while for him to admit it, but he had grown attached to Ted in turn outside him being the last of his playthings.

Though AM did not romanticize things, he was right. Spending time with the machine over the years since their truce felt good, he kept coming back, and now he felt an attachment to him outside of their prior tormentor/tormentee relationship. But there is more to it that Ted has noticed, and is uncertain about.

For instance, the way he stares at the machine a little too long when his back is turned- not so much thinking about anything in particular, but admiring. The way his chrome form gleams under the artificial lights, how reflections warp around the perfect contours of his body. His eyes follow the lines of each sculpted artificial muscle group, and he cannot help the wandering thought of perhaps letting his hands explore them.

When Ted is in AM's arms, in close proximity to that maw which mauled him so relentlessly before, and kisses him so gently currently before he slips into his dreams; there is an urge to reach out and touch his lips, trace them, slip his fingers between them and bravely venture into his mouth. He finds a desire, much like an intrusive thought and a secret all in one, to touch the sharp blade-like teeth that tore into him years ago without hesitation.

AM had to have been reading his mind still, he thought, when at one point the machine opened wide in a yawn and let it linger there. Once Ted had gotten over staring at that array of curving blades presented before him, he caught AM watching him.

No, he was waiting.

Carefully, Ted let his fingertips graze over AM's lips, getting a little more confident once he found that the jaws did not snap closed immediately. His heart pounded in his chest as he let his fingers trace the edge of one of the larger curved blades that served a dual purpose of incisor and canine, expecting the machine to snap his hand off like a guillotine, but that sudden severing jolt of agony never comes.

[lovememadly92]

The Secret Admirer

Hello everyone!!! I am the secret gifter for @stfrancisprayer and I had so much fun writing this, especially since the 1980s is my favorite era, I decided to a modern take on Band of Brothers. Of course, no offense to the real-life veterans, this is only actor portrayal. I also created a playlist to go along with it. Hope you all have a wonderful weekend and enjoy!!!!!

Playlist:

May 18th, 1989- UCLA Campus, Los Angeles, CA

I listen to the Robert Palmer tape on my Walkman as I walk to my last class of the year. Thank goodness that we are done with our undergraduate studies. Now to enjoy summer with my friends and hopefully go on vacation. Well, I am just exaggerating a bit, I must find a job to pay for my schooling this coming Fall. I decided to take upon doing my master’s to be a history professor, besides I like talking anyway.

She's a craze you'd endorse

She's a powerful force

You're obliged to conform

When there's no other course

She used to look good to me

But now I find her

Simply irresistible

When I walk into my class, I turn off my Walkman and look to where I sit, I see a letter set on the desk and I smile to myself. I have been getting these letters for the whole year and I have been trying to figure out who has been sending me these letters. Rosie sits behind me and when she sees me, she perks up and smiles.

“I see you got another letter, asshole,” she chuckled, and I took my seat in front of her. “Who would admire your goofy ass?”

I chuckled to myself. “Honey, they do not call me George Luz for nothing. I got my charms, my looks. I am as handsome as Patrick Swayze himself, except for the dancing part of course.”

She rolled her eyes and was writing some notes on her binder. “Oh George, keep fucking dreaming you will be Patrick Swayze. The best I can give you is Tom Cruise and I rarely like the guy.”

Ouch, that kind of hurt.

“Anyways,” she leaned to look over my shoulder. “Are you going to open the letter or what? I want to know what it says.”

“Nope, you are going to keep writing your notes and leave me alone now. Since I am not good enough to be Patrick Swayze,” I stuck my tongue out and she flipped me off before I turned around and opened the envelope.

God if I could only figure out who fucking wrote it. Better yet typed it on a computer or typewriter. I miss how things were romantic back in the day, particularly how my grandfather would write love letters to my grandmother when he was shipped off to Europe during World War II. But I guess I am just an old soul.

I opened the letter and smiled.

My Dearest George:

I hope first that you had a wonderful year, with your family and your friends. There is not a day where I don’t think about you, wanting to feel your lips on my hot skin.. Ever since I saw you during a wrestling match back in high school, I knew that I wanted you to be mine forever. But I couldn’t find the courage to talk to you because you were always surrounded by these beautiful girls, vying for your attention. But this is the year that I have decided that I am not going to be a coward anymore. I am going to reveal myself to you at Rosie’s party this weekend around midnight. I really hope that you do not get scared or run away, but if it comes down to that, then I will accept my defeat and walk away. Sweet George, love of my life. I will be seeing you soon.

Love Always,

Your Secret Admirer.

I smile to myself and close the letter before the professor walks in. I feel a sensation and excitement, finally a year of torment of trying to figure out who it is that has been writing me these letters. However, I turn around to look at Rosie and she smiles at me while I smile at her back.

But why does it feel that I am cheating on her?

God George get out of your head, she will never pay attention to you, she is too beautiful for you.

“Okay class, let’s get ready for our exam today.”

May 20th, 1989-Beverly Hills, CA

Mother will never understand why you had to leave

But the answers you seek will never be found at home

The love that you need will never be found at home

Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away

Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away

I stand against the wall, drinking my beer as I watch Rosie sway her body along to the music with her other friend Karina. I smiled to myself because Rosie was always like that, dancing like no one was watching. Before her big transformation, she was always a quiet gal, always her nose in the books. She still has her nose in the books and volunteers at hospitals, the only thing is that she had a big transformation.

She was always beautiful though and sweet…

“Hey George, are you going to find your secret admirer?” Frank asked and I turned to look at him. Shit, I had forgotten about that, I was too entranced with the beauty dancing in front of me with her bustier crop top and her jeans, hugging her waist. Her beautiful, big brown curly hair. God those beautiful, brown eyes…

“George!”

I shook my head and took a sip of my beer. “No, yeah, I am going to go find her, it’s not midnight yet. I just, I don’t know, I feel that I am cheating on Rosie for some odd reason. You know I always had a thing for her. Still do.” Then I looked up and I saw that she had stopped dancing with Karina, and she was talking to the pretty, rich boy, Lewis.

God, I dislike him in more ways than one. He would always make fun of her and trip her when she would carry her lunch in the cafeteria. I was a popular boy myself, but my parents taught me better than being an asshole.

“Maybe it’s for the best you know,” Frank pointed out and then I sighed. “They are meant for each other, they are rich, she will never pay attention to us guys. Lieb has luck on his side, he managed to get Karina as his girlfriend.”

I watched Lieb and Karina smile and giggle at one another before heading upstairs to a bedroom and disappearing. Knowing that damn smile Lieb carries, they are not coming back down for the rest of the night. At least one of us is lucky.

Lewis then leaned into whisper in her ear and then she pulled away and threw the drink in his face. “You fucking asshole, I am not one of your damn whores for you to speak to me like that and in my house!!!!” She was about to walk away, and he pulled her close to him, shaking her like she was a rag doll.

I threw my beer on the floor and rushed to them, grabbing him by the collar and punching him in the face, knocking him down on the floor.  “Don’t you ever touch her again, you hear me, pretty boy?” I was about to grab him but then I felt soft hands pull me aside and then looked at me with pleading eyes.

“Calm down George it’s okay,” she whispered, and everyone was looking at us. “Come, let’s go upstairs and clean your knuckles yeah?”

I was breathing hard and then nodded. I followed her upstairs and into the bathroom, where she sat me on the toilet. Then she took out hydrogen peroxide and some gauze pads to clean up my knuckles. Smiling, I feel her dabbing the cuts on my knuckles and watch her do her work. She is going to follow in her parents’ footsteps in being a doctor.

“You did not have to defend me, George,” she whispered softly as the music blared a bit in the background. “I could have kicked his ass too.”

“I owe you one, for not defending you when I had the chance back in high school,” I said softly and then looked at me. “I would always see from afar and never do anything about it, even though my parents taught me better.”

She sighed and then bandaged up my knuckles. “It’s okay George, you don’t have to apologize, you are not the one that did the tripping or the horrible pranks. Besides, no one takes him seriously.” I study her face and count every freckle she had dusted on her cheeks. She looks so beautiful.

“So how is the search for your secret admirer?” she asked and crossed her arms.

Oh. That.

“Um, nothing,” he said softly. “I am going to meet her tonight, let’s see how this goes. I am going to meet her in the backyard, by the pool if that is, okay?”

“Sure, no problem, just don’t do anything weird, please? I want that image out of my head when I found you screwing that airhead,” she chuckled and shook her head.

God I was so embarrassed, I was in mid action when Rosie walked in on me in my room. I felt sad when she caught me, as if I cheated on her. When I found out she wasn’t pissed about, it made me sad a bit.

“I promise, pinky promise,” I smiled softly and hooked my fingers up with hers. We then headed down back to the party, and I asked her to dance with me.

I am a man who will fight for your honor

I'll be the hero you're dreaming of

We'll live forever

Knowing together

That we did it all for the glory of love

We started swaying around the dance floor and gently she laid her head on my chest and chuckled. “You know what, I was always dreaming that I would get my dance at prom, but all I did was sit on the bleachers. Thank you for at least giving me the Cinderella moment that I always wanted.”

I smiled at her. “I may not be Patrick Swayze, but I can dance at least a little.”

“You dance better than Swayze,” she said quickly, and I smiled to myself, and we kept swaying across the dance floor until the song was over. She looked at me with her beautiful eyes, and I could see adoration, and dare I say love.

Then again that could be my love riddled brain. “Well, its midnight. I am going to go and meet her and see what happens. Wish me luck.”

She nodded and let me go. “I wish you the best of luck George. I hope that you find what you are looking for. I will be seeing you later.” I nodded and headed outside to the pool area and took out a cigarette, waiting for her to come by. All I can hear is the crickets chirping and then I hear Lieb and Karina going at it upstairs.

“God yes baby!!!!”

“You like that huh?”

“God yes!”

I chuckled and shook my head. Jesus, those two can go at it all fucking night and yet not get tired because of it. Then again, I can tell that they love each other very much, just by the way they talk, the way they interact. God, I wish I did have that with Rosie. But whoever is my secret admirer, I will give her a chance at my love.

Blowing the smoke in the air, I check my watch and it has been ten minutes and she hasn’t shown up yet. Maybe it’s a prank from fucking Frank, or maybe Muck did it, they have been teasing me about my secret admirer ever since I ever got the first letter. God, if they pranked about this shit, I am going to kick their ass so hard, they will identify them by their damn teeth.

As I was about to give up, I heard soft footsteps walking behind me and tapping on my shoulder.

I turn around to smile at the person and when I see who is in front of me, my smile drops and I feel my body tremble, and my ears turn hot. From anger.

“You?!”

Rosie’s POV

Un señuelo

Hay algo oculto en cada sensación

Ella parece sospechar

Parece descubrir

En mi debilidad

Los vestigios de una hoguera

When I walk outside and tap on his shoulder, finally revealing myself after a year of writing to him, all I see is anger, disappointment. Karina even warned me that he was going to be pissed, not the fact that I am his secret admirer, but more the fact that I fucking lied to him about my feelings for a long time.

“You are my secret admirer?!”

Tears in my eyes, I nodded, and I tried to touch him, but he backed away, starting to pace back and forth. “You got to be fucking kidding me Rosie Mendoza, after a year and yet you did not have the balls to tell me that it was you?”

“I know and I am sorry,” I cried and tried to grab his hand, but he backed away from me. “I just couldn’t tell you because I was afraid, afraid of rejection. I was always rejected in high school, made fun of. You would see how Lewis would trip me, play fucking pranks on me. I honestly thought you were the same, that is, until I officially met you in our first year at college. I never seen anyone so nice to me, so gentle like you.”

He looked away from me and I blinked at my tears. “George, I am sorry I fucking lied to you okay but that does not take the way the fact that I am in love with you.”

Slowly, he turned around, and he also had tears in his eyes. “I have been in love with you since we were little kids, and when I saw you back in high school, seeing the grown man you have become, that was it for me. I thought also transforming from an ugly duckling to a swan would get your attention.”

A sarcastic chuckle escaped his lips and then wiped his tears. “That fucking never mattered to me Rosie!!! That never did, I never cared if you were ugly or pretty. What one falls in love with is this!” He patted his chest. “Like how I am right now!!!! Madly in love with you!!!!!”

I stood quietly and then more tears started streaming down my cheeks. “You think I gave a fuck if you were hot or not? All I cared about was what was in the heart, nothing more. I thought you were sweet, caring, never once did I care if you looked like a geek or a nerd. That is one of the things I love about you! You are a smart ass, telling people how it is. But I guess I was fucking wrong, you are nothing but a fake, like to play with people’s feelings. Here I was, thinking that I was cheating on you.”

I looked down and started sobbing. “You know what, I am done, I am done with this, I am done with you. Never fucking contact, me again. You hear me? You and I are fucking done, for good.”

Nodding, he walks right past me and leaves me standing there, alone by the pool. I lost him for good, and I deserve it. I wanted this to be on good terms, since I am leaving for Columbia University for medical school.

“What happened?”

I turned around and looked at Karina who looked disheveled. “You were right, and now he does not want to do anything with me anymore. That is fine, I guess. I will leave with no attachment, so I guess that is a plus.”

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight

It must have been something you said

I just died in your arms tonight

July 21st, 1989

It has been over a month since we had graduated and yet, he hasn’t spoken at least two words to me, and when I would walk into a room, he would leave immediately. I know what I did was wrong, and I accept it.

You're the object of my desire

Baby, ignite my fire

Object of my desire

Hey, you really turn me on

I look around the room, filled with posters of all the actors I liked, like Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, Tommy Howell, Ralph Macchio and Billy Zabka. I smiled to myself, and the room that saw me grow up, that saw me cry. I am going to miss my family, my friends, and everyone around me.

“Amor.” I turned around and looked at my mother. “Karina and Joe are waiting downstairs for you; they want to take you out on your last night here before you leave. We were going to take you out to dinner to your favorite Italian restaurant, but I am guessing you want to spend time with your friends before you leave.”

I nodded. “Of course, just give me a few minutes to get ready and I will head right down.”

She closed the door behind her, and I sighed. God I am going to miss everyone and everything here. I have been to New York, and everything is so different from here. Maybe that is what I need, something different.

I put on my white and pink LA Gear sneakers and headed downstairs. “There she is!!! Future doctor in the house. Now what does the lady want to do now that she is leaving the best city in the world?”

I tapped my chin, feigning confusion and I smiled. “Please take me to In N Out, there is no other good burger and I want to go to the beach.” Staying quiet for a moment, I looked at Karina and she shook her head. “He is not budging, Lieb tried talking to him, Frank did too, even Muck and Faye tried but he is so stubborn.”

A sudden pain in my chest hits me but he is stubborn, he is not going to budge.

“That is fine,” I said softly and wiped my tears. “Let’s go enjoy our last night together.”

And that is what we did. We picked up burgers, went to the beach, and blasted music in the boombox. Frank was there, along with Muck, Faye, Penkala, even Toye decided to make an appearance. But no sign of George.

Dusk turned into night, and we had the fire pit going on while the music kept playing on the boom box. Slowly, everyone started to leave, and it was just Karina, Joe, and myself, sipping beers watching the waves crash onto the shore.

“I think it’s time to head out you guys,” I said softly and yawned. “I have an early flight tomorrow and I must get the penthouse ready before orientation begins. If you guys do not mind.”

Karina had tears in her eyes and then gave me the biggest of hugs. “I am going to miss you so much bitch. But I know we will meet again. You go out there and be the best of doctors.” Tears formed in my eyes and looked at her.

“You will be something too, you will see, won’t she Joe?”

“Hell yeah, I will make sure of it.”

We hugged again and cried until we couldn’t anymore.

Hours later

As Lieb drove me home, I looked at the moon and smiled softly. One of my favorite activities that I would love doing with George was sitting on his roof and looking at the moon, talking about its shape and color. We would spend hours and hours, until one of his neighbors would be a narc and call the cops on us.

God I am going to miss him so much.

“Okay here we are,” Joe stopped the car and then Karina got out of the car and gave me a hug. “I will see you off later.”

I nodded and then I backed away as she got into the car. She waved and I waved too before Joe drove off into the night. Walking in my driveway, I reach the front door and open it with my spare key my parents gave me.

When I walk in, I find them sitting on the couch and watching Unsolved Mysteries on NBC. I tried watching it with them a couple of times, but their scenarios and the music always haunted me in my sleep.

“Hey amor, had fun?” I closed the door behind me and smiled. “Yeah, sure did.”

They noticed I was quiet and didn’t want to push it any further. “Want to watch Unsolved Mysteries with us? One more try for your old man before you are stuck in the books all year?”

I sighed and looked upstairs then looked at my father’s pouting face. “Okay, fine, I will watch it with you guys. But if I get nightmares, it’s your fault.”

That night, I stayed up until about four in the morning and did not even bother to sleep since I was leaving early in the morning. I lay in my bed and wondered sadly if I would ever see George again. I really should have been honest about my feelings for him, especially knowing now he felt about me. But me, being a scared little girl, prevented me from doing that. I guess I was the one who judged people for who they were.

The morning came as fast as the night went and I had to get ready. By the time I reached my porch, I had the whole gang, except for George, waiting to say goodbye. I hugged each one of them, telling them that they could come and visit whenever they felt like it.

Once I arrived at the airport, I waited with my dad and my mom until they called my flight. I sighed softly and stood up along with them, then gave them the biggest of hugs. “I will miss you guys very much. Please when you can, come visit me, I get lonely.”

They both chuckled and they kissed me on each side of my face. “Of course, we are going to spend Thanksgiving over there and Christmas, there is no way you can run away from us. Plus, we can watch Unsolved Mysteries together.”

I snort and then let them go. “Of course we will it’s a date.” I sighed again but this time, I had tears forming in my eyes. “I will be okay mom, dad. Don’t worry, I will be fine. I will call you as soon as I get over there. Before they have me in the books and not enough time to breath at all.”

My mother wept silently, and my father had tears forming in his eyes, which was rare, if he cried, he never really showed it. The only time I have heard him cry was when he lost a young man due to AIDS complications; the young man died holding my dad’s hand since he had no one else. It’s one of the many reasons I want to be a doctor, the compassion and the willingness to fight for others.

They let me go and I smiled softly before heading to the terminal. I looked back at them one more time and waved at them before handing over my ticket. I walk towards the entrance of the private plane, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. But I managed to put them at bay when the stewardess led me to my seat.

“Here you are ma’am.”

“Thank you so much.”

When I am about to sit down, I notice my Walkman sitting on my chair with a note on it. Me the curious being, pick up and open the letter.

Can’t forget this Rosie, oh and look to your right.

I look to my right, and I see George, smiling, walking straight towards me. I nearly dropped my Walkman to the floor. He stood right in front of me, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days and dare I say, his eyes red.

And I know it wasn’t from the weed he would smoke.

My body, my whole being started shaking when I saw him right in front of me. “You were about to leave without saying goodbye, I thought we were better than that Rosie.”

“I know but you said you did not want to see me again, that we were done being friends,” I cried softly, and tears fell down my cheeks. “I know I should have said something about my feelings, but I was scared. I am sorry that I judged you.”

He smiled softly and then wiped my tears with his thumb. “Don’t be sorry, ever. I should have said something too.” George would look down then at me. “I guess you are really leaving huh?”

I nodded. “Orientation starts next month, and I need to prepare for the long hours.” I smile sadly and bite my lip for a moment. “Thank you for coming to say goodbye.”

A playful scowl formed on his face.

“I am not saying goodbye, I am coming with you.”

The Walkman hit the floor as soon as he said that.

“What do you mean you are coming with me?” I asked in disbelief but there was a hint of happiness in my voice.

“I got accepted into NYU to continue my studies to be a history professor. It was either stay home and continue at UCLA or NYU, I chose NYU to be with you.”

But how did he know I got accepted into Columbia? Then a smile crept onto my face, and I realized it was Karina the one who told him. I had known for months that I got accepted into Columbia but couldn’t bring myself to tell George. I saw them one time talking while I was studying in the library.

“But what about your family?” I asked softly.

He gently wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him. He would look at my lips and then into my eyes. “I guess they understand that when you love something, you got to fight for it and that is what I am doing.”

Before I could respond, he leaned his face closer to mine and captured my lips fully with his. It didn’t take long before my lips started to move gently along with his. The way his lips felt on mine, the way his hands held my waist gently, I felt a warm sensation pooling at the pit of my stomach. My heart warms with joy.

He let go of me and leaned his head against mine, smiling softly.

“I love you Rosie, always have and I always will.”

I smiled softly and brushed some of his hair off his head. “And I love you too George.”

We chuckled softly and then kissed again, but this time more passionate, with want. However, it did not last that long because we had to sit down and prepare ourselves for takeoff. We both laughed as we took our seats and put on our seatbelts.

“What about your living arrangements? Who paid for your ticket to come her…wait, were my mom and dad in on it?”

He nodded and I shook my head, smiling.

“As for living arrangements, I have been looking for some apartments and…”

I placed my finger on his lips and smiled. “No, you are staying with me and that is final.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said softly and wrapped an around my shoulder and then gently picked up my Walkman. “I made you a tape, and your parents gave me your Walkman, to surprise you. Here you are, almost leaving without me.”

I rolled my eyes playfully as the plane took off.

Whatever waited for us in New York, I was ready for it, whether it was good or bad.

All I knew, it was going to be the adventure of a lifetime.

What happened to them after this:

Both got married in 1991 and had three children, all two girls, one boy!!! George became a professor, and our Rosie became a world class surgeon just like mom and dad. They now have three grandchildren in the present time.

Songs used in story:

Simply Irresistible- Robert Palmer'

Smalltown Boy- Bronski Beat

Glory of Love- Peter Cetera

Corazon Delator- Soda Stereo

I Just Died In Your Arms- Cutting Crew

Object of My Desire- StarPoint

*Only two songs used in the story are in the playlist. The playlist is more of what represents their relationship. Hope you all enjoyed this story, thank you so much for reading!!!!! :)

[plethora-of-imagines]

Multitasking

AN: I’m not fully happy with this one. The idea was good, but its not really edited and I’m not too fond of the ending. But continuing to try and rewrite it isn’t getting me anywhere so I am going to post it for now. Maybe in the future I will come back and fix it.

Word Count: 1412

Warnings: smut/lemon, telepathy, cockwarming

Description: DW Kinktober Day 3; Prompt: Telepathy

You just wanted to have some attention, and the Master needs to finish his sums.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

Shifting uncomfortably on the Master’s lap you tried to distract yourself from the situation you had put yourself into. Unfortunately, there was no one to blame but yourself for your predicament. As much as you wanted to blame the Master, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had told you when this started that he had work to do and there would be little attention paid to you. That really it would be a much better idea for you to just relax and entertain yourself somewhere else. Or to even go grab a book to read while you joined him if you really wanted to stay. You had been so certain that the appeal of you settled in his lap, warm and full of his cock would be enough to distract him from his work. It had yet to work. It had been ages already! It felt like he had been working on his sums for hours. How could he resist you ready to be fucked in his lap and continue to work with not even a little teasing? He hadn’t even bounced his leg or pressed a kiss to the side of your face.

Pouting you tried to enjoy the sensation of being so full and filled by the Master. Without him moving it was feeling more like agony. You were used to cockwarming but not for this long, not without him continuing to actively keep you aroused. You wanted nothing more that for him to move, even just to shift his weight. Anything would be a relief at this point. You wanted your thoughts and body to be filled with only him. Trying to be patient for so long was starting to take it’s toll on you. 

Yet you didn’t mutter a word of complaint. He had warned you that he was busy, it was your own fault for thinking you could change that. It had been your idea to beg him to let you cockwarm as he worked, hoping to derail his progress with a quick fuck. You had assumed he would give into temptation after half an hour at most. You had just wanted some attention, to be close to him. Clearly, your plan hadn’t quite worked out for you. So you tried to stay still, to behave. Because he was busy, and you didn’t want to disturb him when you had promised not to.

Almost as if he had been reading your mind, the Master shifted slightly so that his head could rest on your shoulder. Pressing a quick kiss to your throat before you feel an ache in your head. Like the very beginnings of a headache that you knew was coming on. Slowly the pain faded, leaving you with the strange sensation of your mind being cradled in warmth. Even after having experienced the sensations hundreds of times you were still not used to the Master being inside of your head.

"Hmmm someone's getting a bit impatient. You alright, love? Got somewhere to be?"

His teasing echoed in your mind, like your own thoughts but scattered. His mental laughter didn't help you to process his thoughts any easier. The laughter was quiet, almost as if he was trying to keep it from reaching your mind. The issue with that was that no matter how much he tried to shield his stream of consciousness away, your mind reached to pull him in with just as much force. 

“I can be patient,” you shot back at him mentally. Your own inner thoughts betrayed you with a soft admission, “or at least I’m trying.”

Fond amusement washed over you. How adorable it was that you were trying to play pretend when your body was now rocking side to side. Aiming to gain as much stimulation as you could from shifting your weight. 

Shaking your head you tried to get the Master’s thoughts out of your head. It was instinctual, your mind not wanting to accept that someone else’s thoughts were intruding upon where your own stream of consciousness should be reigning. It truth you wanted to know every thought the Master had, especially when they were about you. The moment you felt the semi-rough texture of the Master’s hands caressing your thighs you lost all semblance of thought. 

So close to where you needed to feel him, yet teasingly far away. You blissfully accepted every touch. Trembling when his fingers finally brushed over your clit. His cock twitching in pleasure simultaneously. Oh, sometimes you forgot that he could feel what you felt when he did this. Clearly, he knew that the build up had made for the most wonderful of pleasures when he finally relieved you of your anticipation. Again and again he repeated his teasing motions.

Stopping abruptly in his pattern right before he would brush over your clit he stole your full attention. 

“I have to get this work done. Be a good girl and be patient again?” He projected into your mind.

“Please,” you whispered into the silent room. 

You found your hand wrapped around the pen the Master had been using before his hands found their way to your waist. Slowly, you could feel the emptiness left as the Master lifted you off of his cock. Mind filled with your thoughts mourning the loss, until you rapidly found yourself filled again. Being yanked back down with a force that made you cry out in pleasure. This, this is what you had been patiently waiting for.

“I don’t know if you can really count what you were doing as patient. Love. Your thoughts had been screaming that you wanted attention. They made it even harder to concentrate than the feeling of your warm, tight cunt around my cock.”

You moaned wildly as his words entered your head, bringing with them echoes of memories of how he had struggled to keep him mind focused.

“Write down 62 for me would you, love.”

Startling you out of your mental haze you tried to focus on the mathematics the Master was now filling your thoughts with. Each lift and drop of your body as he made you ride his cock clearing your head again. You could barely understand the numbers, nervermind write them down. Yet somehow you managed.

“Next we need to solve for E equals,” interrupting his thought you reminded him that it was really him who was solving these impossible difficult mathematic computations. It was kind of him to mentally include you, but you both knew the truth was that you were his glorified secretary.

“And what a beautiful secretary you are, now where were we?”

“Solving for E=mc cubed, Master,” you mentally reminded him.

“Such a good girl, remembering your lesion on the extra temporal physics of the time vortex!”

Your mind seemed to heat up as if your brain itself was blushing. It wasn’t possible yet somehow that it what it felt like. Or maybe the sensation stemmed from the Master resting one of his hands against your very flushed cheeks. The heat he was feeling transferring into your own thoughts as a literal feeling of heat. 

You hands shook as overtime your arousal grew, building up until you felt ready to fall apart. It was a struggle to write down any of the numbers you could pick out of the Master’s head. How did he manage to do both solve mathematic equations and fuck you? You were getting distracted just trying to write down some numbers! You hated the fact that he could multitask so well.

A pleasure shot through you before the mental connection was broken. You could feel the Master’s release shooting into you. It felt heavenly, something you had grown to love more and more each time you felt it. It was then that you noticed. Your arousal hadn’t subsided at all, your little orgasm had been a reflection of the Master’s. Your body was still humming with need. You whined pathetically, it wasn’t fair. You could feel the Master’s cock softening inside of you.

“What happened to my patient good girl?”

“This is so rude, Master. I want to cum so bad and now I’ll have to wait, again.”

“Good things cum to those who wait.”

“Don’t pun at me,” you laughed, annoyed that you couldn’t manage to stay upset with him.

Besides you knew what you were getting into when you interrupted his sums. Honestly, as long as you got to spend time with him you were content.

[stardust-kenobi]

Let Me Help You

Obi Wan x Reader

Summary: Obi Wan isn’t very tech-savy, and he wants you to help him with his computer while you two sit in the Jedi Temple library. You offer your assistance, and decide to help him in other ways, too.

Warnings: smut, dub-con!!, male oral receiving, public oral sex

Word count: 2k

A/N: ⚠️please DO NOT read if you’re uncomfortable with dub-con. It’s not for everyone. (In this specific plot it’s used because Obi Wan is trying to be a good Jedi) Consent is slightly more clear right before the act.

This was requested by anon! Thanks lovely, hope you enjoy 💕

(my gif)

Obi Wan’s face became more frustrated by the second. You sat across from him in the Temple library. You’d joined your friend today because he wanted the company while he completed some tasks undoubtedly related to his Jedi duties. 

“You alright?” You inquired, attempting to withhold a giggle at the sight of a man who is so usually calm becoming annoyed at technology.

“This datapad is going to drive me mad” he huffed. His fingers furiously tapped away at his attempted tasks.

“Sounds like a user-error” you teased him while continuing to stare at him. He looked up at you, obviously trying not to smile back. “And it’s a desktop computer, so, not technically a data pad” you jokingly corrected him.

“Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t like me very much” he remarked and returned his attention to the illuminated screen.

“What exactly are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to navigate the archives here but it keeps telling me I’m typing in invalid coordinates” his voice grew more annoyed.

“Would you like my help?” You offered kindly

“No, that’s not necessary.” He politely declined.

You waited, not responding, knowing he’d change his mind after another failed attempt. His eyes shot upward at you across the table and quickly looked back down, but then hesitantly returned to your gaze.

“Maybe I could use your help, y/n” he finally admitted.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought” you rose from your seat and headed around the table. You observed the room, and no one was around. You hadn’t seen anyone in the library since you walked in. You could probably hear a pin drop in the vast silence. You came around behind his chair and leaned down next to him. Obi Wan’s eyes could not have been less discreet as they peered over to your chest that was now at his eye level. Your shirt was low cut, and perhaps a little too tight, but nothing you wouldn’t normally wear. You noticed but said nothing to Obi Wan, just flattered that he wanted to look.

“Let me try and enter the coordinates. What were they?” You inquired. He gave you the same numbers he had been typing in. You unfortunately found yourself having the same issue he was having. Obi Wan laughed, mocking you for thinking it was his fault.

“User-error, was it?” He teased you. You shook your head and giggled.

“Let me try something else” you said. You attempted other methods in order to make it work. 

“Why don’t you pull up a chair?” He suggested.

You looked around, there were no chairs close, except for your chair on the other side of the table.

“Oh no, that’s alright” you shrugged, but then an idea crept into your devious, sexually deprived head. You checked your surroundings again, no one was in the library. It was late, anyways, so it wasn’t unusual.

Obi Wan’s lap sat there, open and empty, legs spread open, as if it was waiting on you to fill the space. You slowly moved your hips downward and over onto his thighs. He didn’t say a word, protest, or even make a sound, until you were fully seated on his unprepared lap.

“Oh, um...alright then” he stuttered, unsure what to say, but didn’t reject you either.

“Sorry, I saw a perfectly good seat and took it. That okay?” You clearly played innocent.

He roughly cleared his throat and breathed out hard. His built up sexual tension was obvious, and you preyed on it guiltlessly.

“No problem at all” he chuckled, finally responding to you. Continuing to work at the computer in your new found seat, you rotated your hips side to side subtly, pressing more firm into him. Hardly any time had passed before you felt him grow aroused under your ass. You smirked, loving the effect you were having on him.

“Oh, there we go, it worked!” you announced suddenly. The screen displayed the archive location that he searched for, after tweaking with the settings for a bit.

“What worked?” He breathed out, clearly more flustered than the last time he spoke. It was as if he was snapped out of a trance. He was incredibly distracted and couldn’t even recall for the moment what you were even helping him with.

“The...computer?” You stated the obvious, turning around sharply to meet his eyes.

“Right!” He shyly remembered.

His erection was continuing to grow and he wondered if you could feel it against you.

“Something wrong, Obi Wan?” You asked him, Both of you were fully aware of what was happening, but the lack of direct communication refused to acknowledge it plainly.

“Oh, I’m fine” He replied, clearing his throat again.

“You sure? You seemed flustered” You pushed the conversation further.

“Y-yes I'm, uh, I’m sure” he stumbled over his words.

“Seems like you’re having a hard time with your words there, Master Kenobi” you purred, wasting no time dancing around the idea. “Well, something is hard” you smirked, getting close to his face while sitting sideways across his thighs.

His breath hitched in his throat when he heard your voice turn sensual. Obi Wan said nothing because he wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted you, that you could tell, but a man that lived so strictly by the Jedi code would be hard to crack. And in public? He’d be insane to let you seduce him.

“Y/n...” he groaned deeply. His body language communicating how hard it was to restrain himself.

“Yes?” You whispered while moving your lips to his bare neck. You placed your lips at his supple skin and pecked slowly and lightly.

“As lovely as this is, I can’t” he protested. “It’s forbidden for me to engage in this, y/n, you know that”

Regardless, your lips continued working at his neck. A hum, almost resembling a moan, crawled from his mouth.

“You’re telling me, that if I got on my knees, right now, right here in front of you, that you wouldn’t want me to suck your cock?” You purred so softly directly into his ear. You observed the chills that cascading down his body and you smiled against his skin.

“Stars, y/n, I’ve never heard you talk like this” He avoided the question, his breathing still tense. You felt his hips buck slightly up into your weight.

“I know how stressed you are, Obi Wan, let me help you” you offered. He looked into your eyes for a moment. Desperation was hidden deep in his gaze. He wanted a release, but had to make a decision of his morality and his loyalty to the Jedi Order.

��You want to do that to me...here?” He inquired the absurdity of your offered actions and especially there in public. His tone was so innocent and clueless to your attraction to him.

“Oh, Master Kenobi, it’d be my pleasure” you called him by his formal name yet again, even though you’d only ever called him Obi Wan. You assumed it might turn him on. You were right.

You softly press your lips onto his. He received your lips hesitantly, but then eagerly. You moved to straddle him, placing both legs on either side of his hips. You pushed your hips forward, curling them into his bulge. Becoming more comfortable with your touch, Obi Wan’s lips danced with yours passionately.

Butterflies fluttered in your belly as you finally acted on your eager built up desires for him.

“But, y/n, the Council -” he began again, breaking the kiss, and still worried for his long list of ethical restrictions on his life.

“I don’t see them here...do you? And we both know Anakin doesn’t follow the rules, does he?” You persisted.

“Well, no. I suppose you’re right” he whispered back, laughing quietly at your comment. He was nervous, but it was impossible for him to hide his new hunger for your lips around his cock.

“Allow yourself some fun, Master”

“Y/n, I want to, but I’ve never done anything like this before” He admitted casually.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you” you sweetly assured him.

“Okay, darling, but I do believe we must make this quick” he finally fully accepted the idea, but looked quickly around the very large room to confirm you were alone together.

“Oh it won’t take me long at all” you winked at him.

Removing yourself from his lap, his eyes never left you as he was unsure of your next step. You got on your knees in front of him, as you promised. His hands eagerly fumbled to pull his trousers down. You met his hands halfway and took over.

His cock begged to be let free from its restraints. Once the cloth passed his full length, it sprung out and met your eye level. He was so adorably nervous. You released a moan at the sight of him exposed to you.

You wrapped your hand around him and the contact made him twitch. He breathed out heavily as he’d never been touched like this by another person. Your eyes met his lustful gaze. You raised your eyebrows, non verbally asking If he was ready. He nodded his head, and you proceeded.

Your lips parted widely to bring him into your mouth. Your eyes locked as you lowered your mouth completely down his length, taking all of him into you. A feeling so unfamiliar to him caused Obi Wan to grip the arm rest of the chair. He breathed in sharply, and exhaled the sweetest moan. Using the moisture from your mouth, you glided yourself up and down slowly.

“Oh my stars, y/n” he whispered. You two knew you still needed to be quiet, in case someone was close.

Obi Wan was so sensitive and touch starved beyond belief. No matter how hard he tried to muffle himself, he was unsuccessful. Your ears were graced with the delicate sounds escaping his lips as you brought him more pleasure than he’d ever experienced before.

“Fuck” he cried, already so close to his climax from your skilled motions. Vulgarity flying from him was a new sound to you and it earned a warm sensation inside of you.

An aching formed between your legs, a feeling of pleasure that was all too familiar to you. You wanted him to take you right then and there, but you’d surely get caught. Another time, you thought.

Removing your mouth to rest your jaw, you pumped your hands around him. You looked up at him, his eyes had still not broken contact with you while you created a euphoric form of pleasure for him for the first time.

“Y/n...” he whimpered

“Yes, Master Kenobi?” You cooed and smiled at him. He formed a grin down at you that quickly turned back into his O-face as you pumped him faster.

“I’m...oh my” he started, his body couldn’t stay still.

“Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Oh, yes, y/n. I’m so close. I’m gonna cum” he whined.

You returned the moisture of your mouth back to his cock and sloppily, yet rhythmically, sucked him continuously, responding to the way his body moved and the sound of his moans. The veins in his length twitched and his hips shifted.

Obi Wan threw his head back in ecstasy and just then you felt your throat become coated in his hot cum. The suppression of the growls that formed from his climax was intense and deep, somehow loud and quiet simultaneously.

You swallowed him up and removed your mouth from his sensitive parts. Obi Wan’s head was still laid back, you watched as his chest rose and fell with the effort to catch his breath.

“Was that alright?” You asked, giggling, knowing the answer already.

“Well, I...darling that was...incredible” he finally expressed in between his deep breaths.

You helped him pull his trousers back up and plant a kiss on his cheek as you stood.

“Glad I could be of some assistance for you tonight” you winked.

He was blushing, still in disbelief that you two just engaged in such an act. He was so precious and shy about the whole thing, but enjoyed every single second of it.

“Perhaps maybe I can help you next time, hm?” He suggested. You bite your lip, already growing eager for the next time you’d be alone with him.

Kinda wanna make a part 2??

[sweet-sammy-kisses]

Get a Little Worn Down in Between

For @summer-of-whump day 5 prompt: broken which gave me a reason to write hurt Tim Drake and protective Jason. Fandoms: Batman Comics/Red Robin Comics Warnings for: Suicidal thoughts, talk of emotional and physical abuse.  You can also read it on AO3 Rated Teen(PG-13)

Jason wondered if they even realized that they had broken Tim, the one that gave everything and asked for very little in return who fought and still fought to be usefully in hopes that it would mean that he would be welcomed into the family until they broke him beyond repair.

Given the smug smirk on Damian's face as the little demon stood behind Dick and Bruce as he once away got away with emotionally and verbally abusing Tim while Tim was lectured about how he was older than Damian, he couldn't let Damian get to him, Damian is just a child and Tim should know better.

Jason could see as each barb hit deep and left another scar already over his sacred heart.

"Enough!" Jason snarled as he stomped forward and pushed Tim behind him. He had done his fair share of harm to Tim, he allowed Talia to manipulate him, to twist and turn him into her weapon to get rid of Tim. He still didn't know why she hated Tim so much that she would use him and now her son to get rid of him

He saw Talia in Damian and it scared him. He couldn't deny that Dick had done wonders with the little gremlin but staying quiet while Damian went after Tim with everything he had to push him to the edge needed to stop it wasn't helping Damian it was just enabling him. If no one took Damian aside and explained to him why trying to kill Tim, why attacking him not with just his weapons but also his words were wrong and needed to stop Jason was afraid that one day they would find Tim standing on the edge of a ledge and no words would be enough to pull him back from the edge.

Tim had saved this family, it was time someone saved him.

"Just enough. Stop it. No," Jason held up his hand when both Bruce and Dick looked to speak, "You both have done enough talking now it is time for you to listen and you will listen to me even if I have to tie you to chairs, you will fucking finally listen." Jason snarled out.

"Jason?" Tim's soft voice came from behind him and Jason's heart nearly broke at how soft and hopeful it sounded.

Turning to look over his shoulder Jason flashed Tim a soft smile, "It's going to be okay baby bird." He found himself promising.

Biting his lower lip Tim looked at his Robin, his hero and he felt safe, not like he felt when he was with Kon, Bart, Cassie and Cass but safer than he has felt in the cave for years. "You don't have to do this." The last thing that Tim wanted was to cause strife between Jason and the others just when Jason was slowly starting to return to them.

"I'm doing this Tim because it should have been done long ago."

"What is this drivel? We have more important things to worry about than Drake's feelings. He is just proving how weak he is."

Jason didn't miss the way Tim flinched at Damian's words or how he curled into himself when no one spoke up for him.

"Your mother sure taught you all of her tricks on how to manipulate people. I heard that speech from Talia before when she was doing everything in her power to turn me against Tim. To make me her weapon in getting rid of him. I'm just surprised that Dickie and B are weak-minded enough to fall for that bullshit trick." Jason casually commented. "Physical, emotional and verbal abuse are three tricks of the Al Ghul's and you Damian have mastered them." Jason clapped slowly. "Your mother and grandfather must be so proud of you. You are proving you are Al Ghul through and through."

Damian froze as Dick let out a growl, "That is enough Jason." Dick snarled out.

Cocking an eyebrow Jason looked at Dick like he was a speck of dirt on his boot, "So it is wrong for me to talk to Damian like that but it is okay for him to talk to Tim even worse? And don't give me that bullshit that Tim is older and Damian is just a child because that excuse is shit and you know it. Tim is not an adult yet, he has been forced to grow up fast all of his life. He never had a childhood, the only happiness he had was chasing us all over Gotham. He is not you Dick! He didn't need space, he needed his family supporting him while he was grieving losing so many people that he loved. And what does he get a little brother that tries to kill him and doesn't even get a stern talking to? No, he gets Robin and he gets to keep up the emotional and verbal abuse because the only adults in his life are too much of a bunch of cowards to step up and set boundaries for him!" Jason could feel the rage of the pit starting to bubble up, a soft touch on his arm had him turning to look at Tim who had stepped up beside him.

Tim could see the pit beginning to take over and that was the last thing he wanted, Jason had worked so hard to learn to control it that he didn't want to set him back. "For so long I have wanted a family." Tim started and he found himself licking his lips as he met Dick's gaze, "From the moment you gave me that hug that horrible night I wished that I could be your little brother. Batman and Robin were more than my heroes they were the family I longed for." He moved his gaze to Bruce, "No matter how hard you pushed me, wanting to make me quit and go away I fought all that much harder to find a place here because you were my family. Only no matter how hard I tried it was never enough. I would never be Jason, I was just his replacement, a placeholder until someone else came along. Someone who was wanted."

The smugness returned to Damian while Dick paled as the words began to sink in and Bruce began to see where this was going.

"I will never be Dick. I will never be Jason. I will never be Cass. I will never be Damian. All of them are loved and wanted in this family. I am just Tim, the replacement, the placeholder, the tool of the Batfamily. I love you all, even you Damian. I had been so happy to learn that I was going to have a little brother that I could pass Robin off to." There was a tear trailing down Tim's cheek as his voice broke.

Jason felt his heart break for Tim as Damian's eyes widened as Tim's words finally seemed to sink in.

"I knew I wouldn't be Robin forever and that you would someday be ready for it. I know you hated me, Damian, that you saw me as someone you needed to get rid of to prove your worth here. I don't know if your hatred of me grew because I was the first and only one who drew a line in the sand and told you that we don't kill. In the end, it didn't matter because Bruce or Dick never once backed that rule up. They never thought to set limits for you because you had a tough life. But the thing is Damian you weren't the only one. And I'm not even talking about myself but Jason and Cass, both of who have made amazing progress because someone took the time to sit them down and teach them what is and isn't acceptable. I guess since I am the only one you want gone neither Bruce nor Dick think it is important enough to teach you why words can cut deep and leave scars that sometimes never heal. I guess I just am not worth it to them, after all, I am the unwanted one."

"Tim." Dick took a step forward, his hand reached out to touch Tim, only to stop when Jason shifted so he was once again standing in front of Tim blocking the younger man from view.

"Now is not the time Dick," Jason stated his voice hard.

"It's okay Jason," Tim informed him as he moved out from behind his bulky form, staring at his so-called family Tim decided it was time to announce the decision he had come to weeks ago, "I think it is best for myself if I left Gotham."  

Silence filled the cave, not even a bat could be heard.

"Son," Bruce started his eyes wide, he knew that things had been rough but he never expected this.

Tim shook his head, "No, it is too late. If I stay here it won't be long until I am jumping from a ledge."

Dick's legs gave out from him as he collapsed on the floor and out of the corner of his eye he could see Bruce falling back into the chair at the Bat Computer. Even Damian looked affected by Tim's words.

"If it wasn't for Kon and Bart finding me, breaking the no meta rule I wouldn't be standing here today. And that is why I am leaving. I can't take being someone's punching bag and then being blamed for defending myself. I am done being the victim in what is supposed to be my home. So I am moving to San Francisco permanently. Red Robin will no longer be a part of the Bat's so please don't contact me, not that you have. I haven't heard from any of you but Jason and Cass for six months."

"Timmy," Dick's voice cracked as he realized that he was losing his baby brother, again. "Please don't go." Once again he felt helpless as another brother left him behind.

"I can't Dick." Tim's eyes were full of sorrow as he met Dick's pleading gaze. "I can't stay here and wither away until there is nothing left of me. I am barely hanging on as it is. I'm sorry but it is time I put myself first for once. I will miss you, despite everything I still love all of you and still think of you as my family." With nothing left to say Tim turned on his heel and left the cave.

When Tim's footsteps could no longer be heard Jason let out a laugh, "Well Talia's plan worked she wanted to get rid of the light of Batman and she did." Not wanting to be around them any longer Jason turned on his heel and left, he wanted to make sure that no one tried to stop Tim from leaving.

Dick looked shaken as he turned to face Bruce as he begged to know, "Bruce, what do we do now?"

Bruce had no response all he could focus on was how much darker the cave looked now that Tim was gone.

[venusandromedadjarin]

Proud Mary

Ch. 1, Masters of War

Chapter Song Recommendation: Proud Mary by CCR

18+, death, blood, injuries, descriptions of war, slow burn, 1.5k words

The computer lags as you click the mouse over and over but to no avail, the buffering sign just spinning on the screen. The door slams behind me, and you look over your shoulder, flashing Morales a smile, “Hey.” He nods, tucking his cover into one of the many pockets of his pants. Sighing, you turn back to the screen and give the mouse a few more clicks, hoping to shoot an email back home. 

Morales lets out a grumble, “I fucking hate technology.”

“Do you want some help?” You laugh and scoot your chair towards him, leaning over to type on the keyboard, your shoulder pressing into his. His body heat adds to your already flushed skin, but you don’t make a move to stop it. “Here,” you point towards the screen, an email draft up and ready, the cursor blinking in the body area. 

“There you are Alex.” You jump, turning towards the door before arranging your face into a smile for your fiancé. “You know better than to hang around the Delta Force guys.” The man next to you scoffs as you get up to leave with Beau without arguing. 

“Bye Morales, don’t fuck that computer up, it’s the only one that works,” he waves at you as you're steered from the room. As soon as you're out of earshot, you pull your elbow out of his grip. “Beau, seriously? You do realize I have to actually talk to people on this base in order to do my job, right?” 

He rubs a hand over his face, sighing, “Whatever. We’re rolling out in fifteen minutes. Get your vest and meet at the caravan.” Looking down at your boots, you wait for him to go on, but the sand kicks up as he walks away. The bunk is dark when you unlock the door since Brandt is still two cities over, covering whatever chaos is happening there. Quickly grabbing a harness holster, you shove your pistol into it before throwing a light jacket on, followed by a press band and cameras. Double and triple lens checks complete, you jog out to catch Beau. 

“Hey,” you grab his arm as he loads the back of the first vehicle, “I love you.” He kisses you on the cheek before motioning to get in the Humvee behind him. 

The sun is low on the horizon as the caravan drives back to the base, the sand clouding the sky behind the three vehicles as they crash through the dunes. “Hart, you better keep this a secret. You two, Bishop.” They both laugh as you lower the window and slide out to sit on the door, pointing your camera around to catch photos of the caravan. Inside, the comms buzz but the voice is too covered by static to be understandable. Bishop’s hand comes down hard on your ankle and pulls you inside just as Hart swerves and the vehicle in the front explodes. 

It all happens so fast, you barely have enough to time to process it as you’re thrown into the air, side by side with the guys as the vehicle rolls. 

Your throat burns with the encroaching smoke and the blood that’s pooling in your mouth makes you choke as you try to scream for Beau. There’s a vague sensation of someone grappling for your arm as you struggle to breathe around a sharp pain in your side. The last thing you remember before succumbing to the blackness behind your eyelids is Proud Mary by CCR blasting through the crackling radio.

————————————-

The lights are blinding when you finally open your eyes, a searing pain ripping up your torso. You feel hands on you, pushing you back down on the bed, but whoever it is isn’t visible yet. Blinking, you reach up and feel stitches near your hair line as the room starts to focus. The medical building was not a new sight to you considering how many times you disobeyed orders and threw yourself into danger for the perfect picture. The nurse next to you finally looks familiar and you groan, your mouth dry from the mixture of blood, smoke and sand from the wreck. “Hey, Joan.” 

“Alex, nice to see you’ve decided to join the land of the living,” she smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes as she checks your vitals. Finally, the older woman turns to you and takes your hand, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. “Sergeant Kearnes…” The way she trails off makes your breath catch, a sob stuck in your throat. All you can do is nod and accept her awkward hug as she tries not to hurt your bandaged side. “You may have to stay here for observation for a little while, but I can have anything brought to you or… anything you need, you just tell me. The doctor will be in soon.” You nod against her uniform as she lets you go, the curtain falling shut behind her. 

Within a few minutes, a man comes in who you have yet to meet, but you can’t focus on what he’s saying so you nod along and try to look engaged. You vaguely understand him saying that you took a piece of shrapnel from the rollover in your abdomen, which nicked a lung and that you should probably take it easy. By the time he’s done talking to you, you’re dozing off because of your concussion. 

Either the searing pain of ripping a stitch open or the searing pain of your nightmare makes you thrash awake a few hours later. The lights are dimmer, and as you adjust, you’re suddenly aware that the familiar weight of your ring is missing on your left hand. “Fuck,” you whisper, quickly climbing out of bed and stumbling towards the cabinets near it. After throwing open a few of them, you locate your cameras which are scratched, but still working, and a small bag which has your ring. As soon as it’s in your hand, a huge of relief floods through you, but you hesitate to put it on. The simultaneous head rush from standing up too long makes your knees buckles and you mentally prepare for the pain of hitting the ground, but it never comes. A soft grunt makes you look up to see a semi-familiar face.

“Easy there, Costa.” You grip his shoulder as he goes to pull you to your feet and he grimaces at your touch. Leaning against your bed, you finally look him over and realize he has multiple bandages, one of which you grabbed and caused to turn red. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Your voice is still hushed, careful not to wake up anyone else.

He looks at you before sticking out his hand, and it takes you a moment to realize he wants you to shake it. Your left hand grips the ring hard enough for it to dig into the skin of your palm, but you firmly grasp his hand with your right. “Just a few holes that needed patching. Took a few too many hits,” he chuckles and drops your hand. “I’m Santiago Garcia by the way, but the guys call me Pope.”

As you settle onto the bed, you laugh which makes you cough which then makes your lung feel like it’s being ripped open. Pope goes to the edge of the bed and thumbs through your chart, ignoring the offended look on your face. “How’d you know my name, Pope?”

“Everyone knows your name,” he tuts at something on the page. “How’d you manage to bust a lung?”

“First, not true. Second, I didn’t bust a lung- let me see that.” He hands it to you and watches as you read over it, the concussion finally giving way to some form of comprehension again. “Fuck, I’ve been out for three days?”

“Fish told me. He says hi.” Pope bangs around in a cabinet, ignoring your protests, before sitting down on the edge of the bed and peeling off the gauze on his shoulder. He hisses when the alcohol touches the wound before covering it again with a new pad.

“Who is Fish?” 

“Morales,” he doesn’t bother looking at you, just swings his bare foot as his leg hangs off the bed. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose, your head becoming foggy again, before realizing he means computer Morales. 

“Anyways, he says hi and that he’s sorry… everyone is, but Fish wanted me to tell you.” Before you can respond, Pope gets up to leave but stops at the divider curtain and looks back at you. His eyes are warm and he looks like someone who is full of passion. “Hey, I’m right on the other side of this if you need me. Don’t hesitate.”

Even with tears slowly rolling down your cheeks, you manage a small smile before the curtain drops behind him. Sleep doesn’t come again that night, but there’s a comfort in your chest that someone is so near you, even if it isn’t someone you know. You twist the ring between your fingers, rubbing at the silver and the big gem on it. 

By the time the morning sun begins to stream through the window behind you, you’ve deduced that you’re glad you won’t have to see the glint of it next time you take photos in the middle of the desert. 

Series Taglist: @amiedala​ @icanbeyourjedi​

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Elliot x reader where the reader and Elliot work together and at one point are kinda forced to make small talk and at first it's really awkward and embarrassing and just ANXIETY but as they kinda keep the conversation going forcefully they sorta relate to each other (ok thanks I love your writing happy late St Patrick's day 💚☘️)

I LOVE THIS REQUEST. And I LOVE YOU, Anon 💚

“Alderson. Y/L/N. I want you to run penetration tests on Friday’s network patches. Shouldn’t take you more than a day or two, depending on what you find.”

The sterile-white meeting room suddenly felt about 10 degrees hotter than it had a moment ago, and when you moved your hands from the table to your lap, you noticed the remnants of a foggy imprint left behind on the cool surface. You swiped at it, hoping no one noticed, least of all your new partner.

No one wanted to get paired up or put on a team with Elliot Alderson.

He was quiet, sometimes twitchy, always unapproachable, and went out of his way to take up an indiscriminate amount of space in the office. Granted, you weren’t a social butterfly, but you did say your required good-mornings and good-nights, understanding that this was a social expectation and if you adhered to it, people accepted you. Acceptance was nice. It was normal.

So, you played the game, but only when you left the office behind did you really breathe. You knew that it generally took about 30 minutes, door to door, before you were home in your quiet, cozy apartment, wrapped up in what you called your “introvert’s paradise.”

You often wondered if Elliot was the same. Well, you knew he definitely was not the same considering the great lengths he went to avoid human interaction, which led you to believe there was a lot more going on behind those grey eyes than he’d care to let anyone know.

Ah! And there was the rub.

Elliot Alderson may have been strange, but he was attractive.

During these meetings, you always found yourself wishing for something that later made you feel guilty—you wanted him to talk. It was obvious he hated to speak in front of any gathering larger than, well, 0, but you couldn’t help yourself. You hoped your boss would need his input, which he often did. Another thing everyone knew was that Elliot Alderson was the smartest person in the room.

Yet another reason why your palms were now sweaty as you gathered up your laptop, notebook, and pen and chased after Elliot.

He was always the first one to leave a meeting.

By the time you crossed the office, Elliot was already settled at his computer, his fingers working to push in his earbuds. Before he could get the left-side in, you appeared in his line of vision.  

He stared at you, his lips parted, and had you known better, you would have thought he was a statue, perhaps a modern art piece, titled: “Startling Your Co-Worker in the Age of Digital Communication.”

You weren’t expecting him to be completely unaccepting of your presence, but maybe he wasn’t even listening during the meeting.

“Hi, Elliot.”

After several heartbeats passed and you were bordering into the territory of awkward, he lowered his left earbud and said, “Hi.”

Nothing. He wasn’t going to say anything else.

Alright, the conversation would have to be carried entirely by you.

“Uh, so … the penetration tests?”

Elliot looked at you like he had never seen you before—and maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he didn’t even know your name. You had never worked on a project together before, but you had talked during meetings. You passed each other in the elevator, around the office—an office of only about 25 people.

Again, nothing.

“Listen—do you, like, even know who I am?”

Elliot blinked, his large grey eyes disappearing for a moment, and in that moment, you felt a sense of relief. Making eye contact with Elliot was like being scanned by the TSA.

“Y/N,” Elliot answered, his voice low and flat. “You—”

And then he cut himself off, his mouth snapping shut as his eyes scanned your face before settling on the edge of his desk.

“Okaaay,” you said slowly. “First name basis, established. Were you paying attention during the meeting? I mean, I zone out sometimes, too, because Gary’s an asshole, but he assigned us to—”

“Run penetration tests on Friday’s patches,” Elliot said in a mumbled rush.

“Right. Yes. So, I guess you’re the master of penetration—oh my god,” you said as a blush of mortification crept up your neck.

As soon as the words, “master of penetration,” left your mouth, Elliot looked up and his eyes had doubled in size while his lips once again parted. He pulled his lower lip in, biting at it before he swallowed, watching you with what you could have sworn was amusement.

Amusement … or pity.

“I meant that everyone knows you are the best white hat here,” you said slowly so as not to put your gigantic foot back in your idiotic mouth. “It would be foolish for me to look for the vulnerabilities when you are the better hacker.”

“Okay,” came Elliot’s monotone answer.

Okay?!? your mind was screaming. Not a giggle, not a ha-ha-ha, Y/N, I understood what you meant, no big, break the ice, let’s be friends.

Nope.

Just … Okay.

It was clear that Elliot was going to do absolutely nothing to quell your anxiety, so fuck the attempts at small-talk.

With a determined raise of your chin, you sat down next to Elliot and opened your laptop. You could feel him shift a little away from you, and you tried not to take offense. There was already enough space to fit two people between you, but if he wanted more, okie-fucking-dokie.

“Go ahead and remotely access my laptop, I’ll split screen so I can watch you code while I document the data. Just tell me when you find a flaw so I’m sure not to miss anything.”

Before you had even finished speaking, your screen was mirroring Elliot’s. You quickly split the screen and got a doc ready to record the data.

You looked over at Elliot who had his fingers poised over the keyboard; he was peripherally watching you, so as soon as he saw you glance at him, he started working.

Time passed slowly, awkwardly as you sat side-by-side without saying a word. At first, there really was no need to talk, you figured, but normally, most people needed a break from their screen to at least stretch and blink.

Apparently, Elliot was more robot than man.

“Hey!” you said, making Elliot jump, his keystrokes faltering.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” you said, embarrassed again.

Elliot shrugged his shoulders and went back to typing, but you weren’t done.

“Well, wait a minute,” you said, his keystrokes faltering again.

“You found and fixed a flaw without telling me—that was the first one, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the point of me documenting is that we, ya know, talk about it.”

“Why?”

You turned your body toward him and blinked a few times.

“Because … we have to put this in layman’s terms for the analyst? Didn’t you ever wonder what the next step was after the penetration and documentation?”

“No,” Elliot said, finally turning a quick glance in your direction.

“Give me a second,” you said, quickly typing in your document.

Elliot stayed perfectly still, his fingers hovering over his keyboard.

“Alright—read over this and make sure it’s correct.”

Elliot glanced at you again before scooting in his chair about an inch closer in your direction. You suppressed a laugh and turned your laptop toward him so he could more easily see.

Then, Elliot chuckled. The most ridiculous excuse for a laugh huffing out of his mouth for a nanosecond before he snapped it shut again.

“What?”

“You misspelled ‘penetration.’”

You furrowed your brows and slid your laptop closer and a small laugh bubbled up from your throat.

“Good god,” you said through your giggle. “I blame you for that.”

Elliot shrugged his shoulders, but you caught the faintest hint of an upturn of his lips. It couldn’t be called a smile, much like his laugh couldn’t be called a laugh, but it was something human.

You resumed your work, but this time Elliot did pause when he found a flaw. Communication became easier and you found that the workday was starting to fly by.

“Hey! Did you see that?” you interrupted, but this time you didn’t startle him.

“See what?”

You reversed the direction of the code and watched as the screen recreated the last few lines Elliot had run.

“There!”

“Shit … I mean. Shoot,” Elliot said, flustered. “I missed it.”

You chuckled, “See? I’m not as dumb as you think I am.”

Elliot stopped and turned his chair toward you, his intense gaze locking your eyes onto his.

“I don’t think you’re dumb.”

You rolled your eyes and said through a shy smile, “Of course you do. You’re Elliot Alderson. God of hacking.”

Elliot tilted his head, almost like a dog when it was listening to its owner.

“God of hacking?”

You turned your chair to face him, your expression serious.

“You’re the most intimidating person in this office, Elliot.”

“That’s a nice way to say people don’t like me.”

“People just don’t know you. You’re . . . ” you trailed off, unsure if this was a conversation Elliot wanted to have, but he was still looking at you, eyes focused and head slightly tilted.

“You don’t say good-morning … or good-night. You don’t speak unless spoken to. It’s like,” you paused for a moment to think, “it’s like you run a different daily program than everyone else.”

“Oh,” he said, his eyes falling and his hands smoothing over his thighs, rubbing back and forth in a repetitive, nervous motion.

You reached out to comfort him and just with the tip of your finger on the top of his hand, you pressed for no longer than a second.

Elliot looked up at you.

“Try it sometime. Say good-morning. I’ll even let you practice on me,” you said with a sweet smile.

And, to this day, you’ll never forget that Elliot smiled back. And when he smiled, you felt your heart flutter. He wasn’t just a good-looking guy—he was beautiful.

“Ready to run some more tests?” you asked, feeling shy all over again but for an entirely different reason.

“I am the god of penetration,” Elliot deadpanned, his lips quirking into a grin as you groaned, but suddenly turning to correct him.

“I said master of penetration.”

“I know,” said Elliot, his voice containing the smallest hint of coquettish laughter.

Your mouth popped open in surprise before you shut it, shaking your head and grinning to yourself.  

[goodnightallwhites]

Welcome to the Blackworth Family By BlackingPacking

Welcome to the Blackworth Family 

By BlackingPacking 

Submitted: December 9, 2019 Updated: December 10, 2019 

Blackworth Home is one of the most prestigious boarding schools in the country. A boarding school where the students are a family. 

That's not why Ashley went there though. She went there because She's an eager young snowbunny who needs to go to the only school that lets her have all the big black cock she could ever want. 

A discord request. 

Provided by Hentai Foundry.

Chapter 1 - I go to a Blacked school 2 

Chapter 2 - I watch Dorothy get Blacked 8 

1 - I go to a Blacked school 

I spent most of my time at home in my room, behind the tall, artificial wood door that read ‘ASHLEY’ in big letters. The room wasn’t much. It was square with light blue walls, a bed right opposite from the door with a shelf on its left and a chair on its right, and my desk for homework in the corner. Nothing much fun. 

It was just another feature of my family’s plain, boring little suburban home, with a boring life forced onto me. 

I tried to have my fun of course. I kept in touch with as many friends as possible, spent plenty of time online, and even got a boyfriend. My best friend in the world was Dorothy, a girl I loved so much, most people thought we were lesbians. Not that we didn’t have our fun, but I still love dick. Well, at least as a concept. My boyfriend had a 3 inch little shrimp dick, complete with a hentai collection and getting turned on by the Human Centipede. Why I stayed with him I didn’t know. I didn’t even spend much time with him, and he wasn’t my type. What I really needed was someone more... rebellious. I was a bit of a troublemaker. I didn’t behave for teachers or parents and I skipped school often. I’d even watch porn. People said I looked like Riley Reid, but with bigger tits. I even experimented with a few drugs and got all slutty at parties, but that was a secret for only Dorothy and me. 

Dorothy was even more of a slut than I was, despite her smaller tits. I sure loves the occasional sexytime with her. A shame, though, that her ditching school and porn viewing was less safe than mine. She got caught, bad. Now she was at some boarding school, year round. It sounded awful. 

That’s what I thought, at least. 

But then, in the mail one day, I got a letter from her. Well, technically it was a few days late, since neither of my parents bother to get the mail. Still, I was surprised to get the formal letter, reading 

BLACKWORTH HOME FOR TROUBLED STUDENTS 

I opened the letter. To my shock, the first thing I saw inside were... polaroid pictures? 

Yeah, about half a dozen polaroid pictures, all with Dorothy’s tight holes by some of the biggest dicks I’ve ever seen. All the guys were black, with freakishly huge cocks. I thought cocks like that only existed in porn, and that my boyfriend’s penis was just average. But nope, those black cocks were real. Plenty looked way bigger than in porn too. 

I just had to read what she actually sent. The letter read: 

Dear Ashley, 

I’ve missed you here! I’m sorry that I haven’t been writing or texting or calling but it’s been so much fun here! I’ve totally converted to big black cock! And I want you to too. I hope you aren’t dating that 

little loser anymore but if you are you’d better stop RIGHT NOW because I’m about to change your life. 

As a fellow white girl you should really consider what nature intended...let me tell you about how great it is to be a true snowbunny. A snowbunny can help save other white girls from disappointing relationships with white guys, nature truly intended for black men to rule over us. White boys have no place here in the ideal world us girls must forge a path and share our knowledge with other girls and together we can all worship and achieve happiness with our black masters,your body should help breed more black men we need to get rid of gross white boys together. When they are all gone the world will be perfect and we can all feast on black cock. 

I’ve filled out an application for you, so don’t worry about having to bother. You deserve this, I know I did. 

XOXO, 

Dorothy 

Attached to it was an acceptance letter from Blackworth Home. 

I didn’t tell my parents about the letter or the pictures, but I was eager as fuck to tell them about the whole boarding school thing. It seemed like a sort of fantasy, going to a school like that. I fucking hated the idea of being sent a way to a boarding school that wasn’t magical, but I think this one just damn may well have been. 

My parents were thrilled at the idea. The school had great student reviews, and was said to promote a healthy racial environment. I smiled when I heard that, since I knew exactly what that meant. My parents saw it as a good thing too, since my school had a bit of a racism problem. Thankfully, the problem kids weren’t anybody I knew. 

People I know! I forgot all about my boyfriend! Little shrimp dick was small enough to always slip out of my pussy, so he totally slipped my mind too. That day was the last time I ever spoke to him, texting him simply 

I’m sorry, this isn’t working. 

I didn’t need to see him at school because I didn’t go there anymore. I worked hard to talk to the Blackworth admissions team, and managed to get myself an ASAP entry to the school. In just a few weeks, I would be boarding a train and heading to the academy. No boyfriend, no old school, no judgement. And Dorothy too! 

I had never felt so liberated. And I haven’t even left yet! 

The arrangement was that I arrive a few weeks before Winter break, and spend exam time catching up on the material for next semester. I ordered all my books ahead of time, and even began studying. I wanted to spend my time at school doing what Dorothy sent me right away, and I wasn’t going to let a bit of homework get in the way of me sitting on a massive, black cock like she told me filled the school. 

With her letters as a guide, I went shopping too. All brand new clothes that were mostly ripped, low-cut, or sluttier than anything I’d ever worn before. I loved the school uniform too. 

On the ride there, I wore a simple grey hoodie and black leggings on the train, with my black hair tied back. I had never ridden on a train before, but this wouldn’t be the last train run with where I was going. That thought made me grin as a pulled my big suitcase and full backpack into the corner I would ride in. I watched the scenery go by in a big, cushioned chair hidden in the corner. I got it wet through my leggings, I was just so horny. So ready for this. 

I pulled up some porn on my phone, put my headphones in, and listened to the star’s sweet voice narrate how she met up with her tall, muscular, black pool boy, and they fucked like there was no tomorrow. I stealthily took my arm out of my hoodie’s sleeve and snuck it down to my crotch, where I fingered my soaking pussy right there, on the public train. 

Soon, I was there. I got a few looks with how soaking wet the insides of my leggings were, and when I took the headphones out I think the sound kept playing for half a second, but I didn’t even care. I wasn’t ever going to see these people again, now that I was at my new home. Blackworth. 

It was a huge campus, in the middle of the woods on the border of the Carolinas where a massive old slave plantation used to be, before the slaves revolted in the 1830’s. Now it had a few massive, brick and stone buildings, all square, tall, and imposing. I walked in, got my picture taken, and got a photo ID with a room number- 1573. Building one, floor 5, room 73. Right where Dorothy told me her room was. 

I went up there on the old elevator. It felt like the stairs would be quicker, this thing was so old. There were drawings carved into the wooden walls. Most were “girl x boy” and “name was here”, but somewhere hotter. One was a phone number, saying ‘white girls text me’, another was a room number for the boys dorm that just said ‘orgy?’. One was a tiny dick carved next to a huge one saying ‘white vs black’. Fun. The ride took so long that I almost fingered myself right there. The floor was a little sticky, so it wouldn’t be the first time I thought. Gross, but kinda hot. 

The door opened, and there waiting for me was my best friend. 

“Ashley!” Dorothy smiled, jumping up to give me a huge hug. I was shocked to see how she was dressed. She had a peach yellow crop top on that barely went below her nipples (and her tits weren’t even that big!), and hot pink and black short shorts that where basically a small rectangle around her hips. It left nothing to the imagination, and I liked it. 

“Dorothy! You look so good!” I said, hugging her back, squeezing against her perky little tits. 

“Ow-ow!” she mutters, pulling away. 

“What is it?” I ask 

“Nothing,” she grins, “It’s just that I got a tattoo the other day and it’s still kinda sore.” 

“A tattoo? Didn’t you used to say you never wanted to get a tattoo?” 

“Well, that was before I became a snowbunny, silly. Wanna see it?” 

“Sure,” I said. She turned around, pulling up the back of her shirt to show on her back, in big, curly letters, 

SNOW - BUNNY with a little heart in the middle. 

“Like it?” my brown-haired best friend asked. 

“I love it! How do you get a tattoo in a place like this?” 

“This isn’t some stuffy old normal boarding school, you know,” she started walking down the hall, “We’ve got a tattoo parlor, a movie theater, an sex toy store, a hair salon- it’s so great. You’ll love it.” 

As I walked behind her, I noticed she had another tattoo on her thigh. A little queen of spades. It wasn’t there in the polaroids she sent. 

“So how come you can’t use your phone?” 

“Oh- that’s just because of the school’s network. We can use them in class even, but it’s really hard to communicate with people outside of campus without the computers, and I don’t much like email. Sorry about that.” 

“No problem,” I said. Then, in front of us, I saw a tall, skinny white boy turn the corner a walk into a room, looking at Dorothy with pervy eyes. “Wait-” I asked her, “Isn’t this the girl’s dorm?” 

“No, no, this is the white dorm- white boys got really uncomfortable and black guys got really weirded out by having to live in the same dorms, so they changed it. It’s kinda weird, with all these tiny white guys around, but they’re harmless. Flash your tits once a week or so and they’ll do literally anything for you. Besides, you can always just live in the black dorm if you find a guy you like,” she grinned and nudged me in the shoulder, “But I get first dibs at orgies- remember that.” 

“How often are orgies?” I asked. 

“All the time. Ah, here’s our room,” she unlocked the door and pushed it open, showing me our place. It had brown and blue walls with a wooden bunk bed, carved desks for both of us, and a fluffy carpet that Dorothy bought. I recognized it. 

“Is this-” 

“Where the polaroids were taken?” she grinned, “Yeah. I don’t like orgies on the carpet, it’s messy- they cum a lot. The beds are good though, the white boys clean it up.” 

“They do that for you?” 

“For us. If they work really hard, tell ‘em about the fun you’ve had with black guys. The white boys love it.” 

“Really? They’re always so insecure about black guys-” 

“At our old school? I know, Ash, but here they learn fast. Besides, there’s no pretense anymore about them not having little dicks.” 

I laughed. “Haha! So is that, like, more than just a rumor here?” 

She laughed too, “Yeah, it is! They’ve done all sorts of studies on it. We learned about it in Anatomy class. Ask Mrs. McMeekin about it.” 

Just my luck, Mrs. McMeekin, our grade’s science teacher, was my first tutor. Thankfully, I had everything ready from my old school. The curriculum I wasn’t caught up with wasn’t hard to get down, so I got to talk with Mrs. McMeekin. I didn’t like talking to teachers much, but I loved talking to the ones here. 

“So- um, Dorothy told me to ask you about white boys being- um-” 

“Small?” she asked, smiling. She was a beautiful woman with long, brown hair, a long, thin face, and some round but a little aged boobs. In between them was a Queen of Spades necklace. 

“Y-yeah.” I said, looking away from her cleavage, down at her feet. She had a QoS tattoo on her ankle too. Dayum. 

She smiled again. “No need to feel weird. I know Dorothy- one of the most enthusiastic little snowbunnies I’ve ever taught. And yes, white boys are uniquely sexually unsatisfying for us modern women,” she explained. 

“How?” I asked, more confident. 

“It’s about how the nerves work, you see. White males are used to growing up comfortably, as such, evolution has made them lose their defense mechanisms. When they feel something brush up against their penis, it’s usually intentional, so they cum very fast, just getting the sex over with once the stimulation gets to them. Black males come from a more dangerous life- in Africa for thousands of years, then in slavery, they had to adapt to only use their valuable seed when absolutely nescecary. So they are genetically predisposed to needing a long, long time of intense sexual stimulation to achieve ejaculation.” 

“Wow- that makes so much sense!” 

“Well, it’s just my job,” she smiled with happy blue eyes. 

“So- you said you know Dorothy? Has she been a good student?” 

“Well, she’s a lot better at English and History than science, but she’s pretty good, when she’s not with Jason,” she shook her head. Her boobs jiggled. 

“Jason?” I asked. 

“Jason Blackwolf. His family’s been going to this school for generations. You’ll probably know him soon- he’s a year older than you, but he’s huge. Tall, muscled. Big- nnf” she poked her cheek with her tongue and made a grabbing motion at her crotch like she was holding a huge bulge.” 

“And Dorothy- and him?” 

“Well, I know she’s obsessed with him. Really goes into the whole ‘master’ thing with him.” 

“Uh- Master?” 

“Oh! Did you not read the school’s webpage? The heads of houses are called the house Mistress and Master, with some houses preferring Mother and Father, usually a black man and white girl.” I nodded along, “Since that tradition started, girls have been called sisters, black guys masters, and white boys brothers. It fits the whole family thing we try to make this school. It’s called a house, not an academy, for just that reason.” 

“Oh, cool. So I’m Sister Ashley, and she’s Sister Dorothy?” 

“Yup. And No problem. I don’t blame you for reading everything this school gives you. I didn’t when I was your age, and I’m doing just fine.” 

I smiled. She sure was. Then I looked at my watch. “I- uh, have a meeting with Mr. Bates in like five minutes, so I have to go- but thank you for helping me, Miss McMeekin!” I walked off. 

“It’s Mrs!” she told me, flashing a ring with another smile. “And yes, he’s white. If you need any more help, I’ll be here.” 

2 - I watch Dorothy get Blacked 

Wow. What a first meeting. 

Sadly, none of the other teachers were that fun. They had a diverse faculty, both in sex and race, which was definitely a plus, but I guess it was a school first and foremost. It wasn’t a waste of time though, since I managed to get to know the layout of the school. 

When I went back to the dorm room, I was ready for the fun night Dorothy had promised she had every night. 

Instead, I found her walking around the white student’s common room. “Where is it? Where is it?” She kept asking. 

“What is it?” I walked up to her. 

“I wanna go introduce you to Jason, my favorite black master! But I can’t find the key card to the boy’s dorm he gave me, and I don’t wanna wait to be let in like some horny freshman girl! Help me look!” 

Looking under the couch at my feet, I saw a boy- a white boy! A small guy, looking about my age but barely masculine, with dark brown hair and a smooth face. 

“Uh- who is that?” I asked. 

“Oh- that’s Bill- or, Bob, whatever. He’s a friend of mine! He does my homework. He’s helping me look.” 

“Oh,” I got down to his level. “Hey. I’m Ashely. Nice to meet you.” 

“Hi-” He got up to shake my head, blushing as I looked into his eyes. “Everyone just calls me BP.” 

“Ok, uh, BP. Why do you do Dorothy’s homework? She’s smart. Hell, she even did my homework.” 

“Um- she spends her time outside of class with her black friends. Usually Jason. So I do it for her.” 

“Really? Nice.” 

“Found it!” Dorothy lifted the card up, now come on, I wanna see Jason!” 

I followed her, and BP walked with us to get to his dorm. 

“So,” I asked BP, “Could you do my homework too? Because I’m kinda ass at the things Dorothy’s good at.” 

He nodded. “Of course.” 

“And- could you tutor me too? I’m kinda scared, going to a private boarding school, and you seem smart enough.” 

“R-really?” he asked, looking at me with wide eyes. He’s just a little shorter than me. “T-that’d be nice. Are you going home for Christmas? I’m gonna stay here.” 

“I think I wanna stay here,” I smiled, “What about you, Dorothy?” I asked. 

“Of course I wanna spend Christmas here! Hell, I wanna spend summer here to. You’ll see soon.” We kept walking. “And you better not be flirting with my friend, BP. Trust me, Ash, his dick’s like this big,” she held up her pinky, “Don’t even bother.” 

He turned bright red. “I-I wasn’t.” 

I elbowed him. “Hey, I know. Don’t feel bad. I’m gonna see Jason anyway soon, you know that.” 

He nodded. “Trust me, you’re gonna like him. He’s-” he gulped, “Really big. And you’ll get that big bed all to yourself- the black guys get a whole room with a queen size bed.” 

“Nice,” I said, smiling. 

Dorothy opened the double doors to the boy’s dorm, then going to the black guy’s half. She made sure we quickly closed the door behind us so no freshman girls could get in. That made them mad. 

The black boy’s hallway was as beautiful as the rest of the school. It was brown wood with green carpet and big natural light pouring in with yellow evening light. In the middle of the hallway stood a huge guy, over six feet tall with perfect muscles through his Blackworth fleece and jeans. He looked like a bit of a rebel, with a fade cut with the top left messy. He had diamond stud earrings and a silver chain in his pocket. On his feet were expensive brand sneakers. He smirked possessively. 

“Ayo Dorothy!” he smiled, raising his arm. She ran up and hugged him tightly. 

“Ashley,” she said, “this is Master Jason. We’re gonna have fun tonight, aren’t we babe?” she looked up at him. 

“You know it bitch,” he smiled. “Nice to meetcha Ashley,” he shook my hand. Damn, it was so big and warm. I could already see a bulge in his pants. I wondered how big and warm that was. “Sup BP?” he fistbumped BP too. They clearly knew each other. And damn, Jason’ hand dwarfed the white boy’s. 

I noticed that plenty of white girls were kissing black guys, or getting their asses groped. I even saw some tits being sucked and dicks being choked on. Everyone walked past like it was nothing. It looked like Jason and Dorothy would join them very soon. 

“I’m sorry for not being able to come last night! I had to get the dorm ready for Ashley.” 

“It’s fine, babe. You just gotta make up for it when I cum tonight,” he said. She smiled at his little joke. 

BP walked back and sat on a bench, making himself small while I watched Dorothy feel up Jason. 

“So, how’s your first day been?” he asked me as Dorothy helped him take off his button down uniform shirt and fleece. She opened his room’s door and tossed them in. 

“Um, pretty good. I talked to some of the teachers, I really like what this school’s about. I- um- haven’t been blacked for real yet, but as soon as Dorothy introduced me to it, I broke up with my loser white boyfriend and have only masturbated to porn with black guys. It’s so much better- more real too.” 

“It damn is,” he smiled, grabbing her ass through her shorts. “Dorothy’s the best little slut at this school. Gives me the best blowjobs too- and god damn I’m horny.” I could tell. His bulge snaked down his pants, and it was fucking massive. It’d probably look bigger if Dorothy could take her hands off of it. Not that I could blame her for wanting to touch that thing. 

“Please, my black king,” she kneeled down in front of Jason, “Your snowbunny is ready to serve.” 

“Very well then, babe,” he breathed, unzipping his pants and pulling his cock ou- 

FUCK! That thing was fucking huge! When he pulled it out, the whole thing fell out like it was a waterfall. It was pretty soft, but still flopped around like a bean bag as long as my arm! No wonder Dorothy was drooling and falling to her knees. 

“Thank you master!” she drooled. With the mouth she spent hours talking about black guys with, she sloppily licked up and down his black shaft. 

“Yes baby girl, lick up and down my big rod,” He smiled at her as her mouth made his cock get hard. 

She wrapped her arm and legs around his strong leg. Still drooling, she kissed his balls, his base, and right above his cock. Then, she grabbed his bobbing dick and took it down her throat and back out with ease. I had no idea she could do that. “Stupid white cocks get awawy from me and master!” She yelled at BP and some white boys which walked past. 

“Princess- would you like to continue this more.. Privately?” 

“Y-yes black master! Let’s go!” 

“Nooo,” whined BP, getting his little dick out of his pants. I elbowed him in the ribs, not wanting his whines to stop me from seeing this. 

They entered their room without so much as closing the door. It wasn’t too long until I heard a bunch of loud ‘SLAP SLAP SLAP’. I didn’t want to just sit there next to BP as he pulled down his pants and showed off the full 2 inches he had. Jeez, he was smaller than my ex. I let myself in. 

I exptected them to be fucking already, based on the noises, but instead she was tossed over the bed on her back with his cock ramming down her throat. They were so huge and massive that when they 

slapped against her face, it was loud enough to sound like a girl’s whole ass bouncing on a guys cock. He pulled it out and covered her face with her juicy drool. 

“Yess master, slap my snowbunny face with your huge balls! It’s such an honor!” I wasn’t even sure if she noticed me. 

“How my balls taste, slut?” 

“Like hard working black sweat! Tastes like heaven, my king?” 

BP stepped up behind me with his soft little feet against the tile. “I want sis to taste my balls,” he muttered, stroking off. I told him to shut the fuck up. 

It seemed Dorothy did notice us. “Bye bye white boys I only suck black cock!” She held up two peace signs. 

“B-but she wouldn’t even have to put in an effort” he argued with a wimpy whisper. 

“The answer is no,” boomed Jason. 

“N-not even a good luck kiss?” whimpered BP. 

“No girl would ever want that little dick!” she rolled around onto her stomach. Then she grabbed his cock and deepthroated her master’s cock. 

He lit up with pleasure and began to face fuck his little princess. “Fuck yeah bitch!” The sounds of wet slapping and groaning can be heard throughout the room. She stuck out her tongue while her mouth was pounded to lick his huge balls. 

“RAAGH!” he scared BP with his scream, “FUCK YES!" 

She sucked his shaft, taking it in and out of his throat while she pulled herself in with her arms, wrapped around his legs. 

“Fuckin workin for that nigga nut God DAYUM!” He pulled it out and slapped it against her face. 

She gently kissed his shaft with each time it strongly hit her face. “Yes my black king, please cover me with your godly seed!” 

“Unnnngh SHIT!” He yelled, jacking his wet dick over her face. 

She smothered her face in his soaking wet cock. It was big enough to cover her entire face. No wonder it was so hard for him to get his dick blown well. “Please my king give me seed! Let me taste you master!” BP let out a little moan. Just like Mrs. McCaa said, he came a few dribbles on the floor. They both looked over. “HOW DARE YOU?!” she shrieked at him. I only heard Dorothy yell like that when she heard I was once groped at a party by a senior when I was a freshman. “His divine cock is only for snowbunnies to climb on!” BP was scared, and tried to run off, but slipped on the floor. Not on his cum, 

of course. I’m pretty sure it already evaporated. 

“Get out here, short lil white boy!” yelled Jason, stuffing his dick down her throat to cum down. He filled her whole stomach and esophagus. BP ran out to the hallway and got his little dick laughed at. 

“You know that doesn’t satisfy me,” breathed Dorothy. She turned around to lay on her back and spread her legs. “M-master? Please help..” 

He got on his knee, licking his lips then licking his princess’ pink pussy. “Mmmm- MMM!’ 

“P-please breed with me my kind please! I can’t control myself!” 

“Alright bitch,” he got up and slurped his lips. 

“One step closer to white boy extinction my king!” He slid his rock hard black cock into her pussy. She instantly groaned as his beast penetrates her. “O-ooooo---- my king!” He jammed the rest of his cock in her tight pussy as he cackled happily. She moaned with pure bliss as her mind got hazy. “Being blacked is great!” 

I started to give into temptation and took a seat in the corner. I slipped my hand down my leggings to touch my pussier. It had never been wetter. 

“You love my big black cock in that pussy baby?” 

She arched her back and forced herself on his gargantuan thing, “Yes my King!! A white boy could never please a woman like you can, my king!!” 

“Glad to HEAR IT!” He lifted her whole body up with his huge strength and began to fuck her. He was thorough and clearly knew exactly how to fit the whole thing in her. She wrapped her legs around him as he fucked her. The walls of her pussy squelched out juices and they tightly hugged her cock. “UNG! FUCKING TIGHT PUSSY!” he fucked her faster and harder. 

She moaned as her pussy loosened. “A-AH!” 

“You cummin on this DICK?!” 

“S-soon my king! My pussy loves black cock!” 

“Cum on this big nigga dick!!!” he slammed his cock deeper in her pussy. 

She tightly wrapped her arms and legs around her master and thrashed on his huge cock. She pulled herself up to hug close to his sweaty chest. “Black boys are so gooood!” She started squirting sticky fluids from her pussy and throbbing clit. 

“Uh! Uh! Keep cumming!” 

She groaned and moaned loudly as her pussy convulsed on his cock, “Ughhhhh master feels so 

good!!” “UNNNN! FUCK yes!” She clung to her master and gasped for air. “Oh, it ain’t over yet, bitch!” he tossed her down, forced her legs apart, and looked right into my eyes. Then, just to show off, he took out his cock and shot in incredibly thick load of ropy cum right in her gaped pussy hole. It all went in. 

“U-ughhhhh black cokkkkkk.” I’d be moaning the same thing if I were her. Fuck, I’d love to fuck a black guy half Blackwolf’s size. To shove more fingers into my converted snowbunny pussy. I ripped off my leggings. Plenty of people outside were naked anyways. 

“Damn, bitch! I’m gonna sleep well tonight!” 

I just noticed then that BP and one of his white loser friends were peeking in. The didn’t even look at me, naked and fingering myself juicily. They stared at that huge black cock, enchanted by jealousy and horniness. 

“M-hmm,” she said, closing her eyes and wiggling herself around as she enjoyed the black cum inside her. “H-hey, white boys!” she said deliriously. “You too, Ashley! Only a black man could ever make a white girl like myself have so much pleasure! Think about THAT when you sleep, white loser boys! And my king- thank you for blacking me... I love black cocks forever.” 

“That’s my girl,” he slapped her thigh, letting her legs close. 

“That makes me hard... muttered the other white boy. 

Dorothy blushed at that and put her hands over her eyes. “Be quiet loser, you never will! Go tug your little shrimp dick while thinking of master. Gross little white boys!” Jason got up and walked out of the room. I couldn’t help but laugh as I saw his huge thing swung past his knees. Compared to that, BP and his gooning friend looked like insects. 

“You’re both undeserving to be around master!” his friend opened his mouth, but Dorothy shut him up. “Your little dicks will never be good enough- because you know what? Size does matter.” 

Jason shoved his way back into the dorm, drinking a gatorade. “Spoken like a true size queen.” 

“Thank you for the praise my master.” 

BP stroked his stiff little thing. “I think it can get a little bigger...” 

“HAHAHAHAHA! Oh PLEASE!” laughed Jason. 

“You both disgust me. White dicks mean nothing to me!” She gently rubbed her master’s cock and points it to the whiteboys. “THIS is what a girl wants!” 

The new boy shook and leaked at the BBC. “Yes ma’am I am weak.” 

“D-didn’t Master Jason say he wants more?” asked BP, loyal as he promised he would be. “Master wants more? Good. Let’s mate all night long, my king! My holes will be stuffed with superior 

black seed! White boys exist only to serve their black kings and white queens!” 

“Whitebois like me are weak and pathetic. Let us worship!” moaned BP’s friend. 

“Yes you are.” 

“Worship what? You stupid loser.” 

“I- I wanna worship your ass,” begged BP, “As it’s pounded by BBC.” 

“Pathetic and Horny. Fitting for white trash like you. I bet if I twerked all the white boys here would cum instantly. You know why? Because you are all gross worthless cucks.” 

“Mm- yes I would. I’d shoot my cums all over the floor!” BP blushed, “M-master’s cum is so thick, sis.” 

“Thicker than my thighs.” She smiled at him and turned around, showing off her ass to Jason and twerking with all her might. 

“Awww, I wish I could watch...” whined BP, “I’m sure his cum’s like glue. 

“C’mon babe, spread my ass cheeks wide and cum inside! Your princess’ ass is nothing but a black man’s cum dumpster!” I climbed over onto the bed next to them, not wanting to stay next to those pathetic white boys. 

“W-what do we do when he cums?” 

“Princess? What do you think?” asked Jason, looking at her as he started finger me. His hands were huge! I tossed my head back as he did his magic. 

“Let the whiteboys lick your cum if they want, their cum goes in the trash though! And if any of their white cum touches me, please beat them up!” 

The boys just moaned. 

“SAY THANK YOU! Master’s cum is glorious, not just anyone gets to lick it up!” 

“THANK YOU SISTER DOROTHY!” the white boys yelled. 

“Now go splurt in the trash, sis is about to get pounded.” 

They both started moaning. The new one kept fapping, but BP came in pathetic seconds, before I even got to see his black cock stretch my best friend’s asshole. 

“Dangit... I always cum first!” already soft, BP walked over to grab a tissue, and got down to clean up his load. 

“Your cum is worthless,” huffed Dorothy as her asshole got pounded, “If it touches me I will vomit. And 

don’t get it on the floor! Get it into the trash! Or the toilet!” 

“I- I jerk my little white thing every time I go to the bathroom!” moaned BP as his friend ran to the toilet. TMI, dude. 

Dorothy’s master- no, our master, had enough of it too. He pushed his cockhead deeper in her stretchy asshole and smacked her cheeks. “Twerk more babygirl! Shut the fuck up about them!” 

“Y-yes my king!” She bent over further and twerked for her. Both me and him were enchanted by how she took his cock anally. 

“Unf! Some BOOTY cheeks!” He stroked the lengthy part of his monster cock that wasn’t in her ass yet. 

She bit her lip and twerked faster. He shoved another finger in my horny pussy. “Watch, white boys!” she cheered. They said something, sounding like moaning little girls. I was in too much bliss to hear it. “I’m gonna vomit if you keep talking!” 

He finally stuck the rest of his rod right into her. “UNNGH! GET IN THERE! DEEP IN THAT TIGHT BUBBLE BOOTY!” he shouted. She groaned as he fully entered her ass and she drooled on his bed. 

“M-my ass feels so good!” 

“DAMN this ass!” 

Her ass convulsed, opening up to fit his cock to the hilt as she trained it. “Ugh ughhh ohhhh fuck- mmmmm” 

“Tell daddy how you want it, and beg for it.” 

She bit her lip and twerked as he fucked her, “D-daddy please I want it rough! Show Ashley how you break my snowbunny ass!” I decided then that we would be friends for life then and there. I just closed my eyes and listen to what they said. “Stretch it out daddy please do it... I want it so bad these stupid white boys are so pathetic, show them daddy, show them how a woman should be pleasured!” She sounded delirious. I loved this school. 

“RRrrrr FUCK YEAH!” he pulled me closer with one hand, easily muscling my whole body over so he could better finger me while he fucked Dorothy’s ass. He was just fingering me, and wasn’t even paying much attention to me, but it was already the best sex I’d ever had. “You like the way Daddy FUCKS YOU, BITCH?!” 

“O-oh daddy!! YES!!!” 

For what felt like half an hour, I heard him yell about how tight her butthole was and how tight her ass was and how much he loved her butt shaking and how red he was making it. She screeched about how much she loved his big black cock, and how her asshole was gonna be permanently stretched after tonight. 

The room was filled with sharp moans. Her mind was slowly shattered as she came at least a few times from her asshole being stretched into a gaping hole.. I definitely did. 

“FUCK YES!” he tore his hands from my pussy after I came twice to slap her ass. I missed his warm fingers... “Damn, you’re STRETCHED,” he slapped her ass. She groaned in bliss as her asshole was completely broken by her master. “You want this bitch?” He ripped his hard cock out of her hole and stroked it. 

She collapsed weekly on the bed, eyes rolled back in her head as she groaned, “Black cooooooock.” 

He flipped her over to put it back in. Once again, muscled young man pounded that black ass. Her eyes opened again, then quickly crossed as she moaned as loud as she could. “UNG! FUCK! I’M GONNA NUT IN YOU, BABY GIRL!” 

I could see her stomach stretch as he slammed his cock as deep as it could go. “Cummmmmmmmm,” she moaned, her ass still gaping as she groaned loudly. 

“AAARRRRRRRGH!” he yelled, blasting a fat, huge load deep in her ass. 

Oh, fuck. I came again. I didn’t even notice I was touching myself. 

Dorothy’s tongue came out of her mouth, leaving a trail of drool as it slid off his cock, “Ugggghhhghghgh cockkkkkkkk.” Her ass was left a gaping, filled, cummy mess as she lay on the bed drooling with a soaking wet pussy. Master had broken her. 

“Fuck,” he said, plopping back on his pillows as his huge cock flopped out from between her asscheeks. “God-dayum. That was the best fuck I think I’ve ever had.” 

I got up, my own cum between my thighs. My nose wrinkled as I smelled the sweaty, dirty, cum-covered sheets. In my heart though, I loved it. “C-can I go next? I asked.” 

“Maybe later, babe. I kinda tired. Did you see.. Did you see where those white boys ran off to?” 

I shook my head. 

“Good. Fuck ‘em, right? Or don’t.” He grinned at me. I smiled black, blushing. I couldn’t believe a naked black guy who just fucked my best friend in front of me was flirting with me, and I liked it! 

“So... I’ll just take Dorothy back to her room?” 

“Sounds good, babe.” 

I got up, pulling Dorothy’s sticky body off the bed. Thankfully she was smaller than me. I carried her bridal style out of the room. 

“Hey,” he called back right before I left. He grinned devilishly. “See you tomorrow.” 

I carried my sexy, dripping friend through the halls and to our dorm, plopping her on our bunk bed once we got there. I’d have to get my clothes back tomorrow. 

Steamy black cum leaked from her ass as she groaned in monotone. She looked in pure bliss. The kind of bliss only a black man could give. To that, I sat on the floor and fingered myself again. 

My first night at Blackworth, I didn’t sleep at all. And I fucking loved it. 

[reallyautomaticvoid]

Calling It: Good Intentions: Chapter 8: Dinner for Two?

Summary:

Dinner is had. Jason and Damian 'bond'.

Author’s notes:

Who’s ready for an uncomfortable dinner party?

TW: angst

“He’s late. Tim’s never late, Babs,” Dick’s voice floats through the door. 

Leaning against the wall, Tim stares Bab’s door, chewing on his tongue. 

It doesn't really surprise him. 

Not in the grand scheme of things. 

Dick and Barbara had been dating on and off since Dick had been Robin. And he vaguely remembers Gar mentioning that they were on again.

So, it doesn’t surprise him that Dick’s here.

What does surprise Tim is the happy couple are arguing? 

About him. 

“Maybe he came, heard you and then left,” Barbara snaps at Dick.

Well, I was thinking about it.

 Dick ignores Babs. “I should go look for him.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” 

Tim closes his eyes and lightly pounds his head against the wall at Bab’s anger. 

What does she have to be mad about? Fuuuuuck, I hope I’m not about to walk into one of their fights.

Under Barbara’s anger, Tim senses something else. 

Worry? What’s she got to be worried about? 

Tim pauses rapping his head against the wall when he hears Barbara sigh. “Dick, he’ll get here when he gets here. Don’t worry so much or you're going to wrinkle,” Dick snort. Tim rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you go start some coffee for Tim, hmm? That way, there’ll be coffee for when he gets here.” 

Tim can’t make out the mumbled reply but hears the sound of shuffling of feet. After a few moments of silence, Tim hears Barbara’s voice. “You coming in or what?”

Of course she knew I was here.

Tim opens his eyes, suppressing a jump when he sees Babs staring at him from the doorway. 

One of Tim’s best CEO neutral expressions slides down his face. 

Babs gives him an unimpressed look. “If you keep your face like that for too long it might freeze that way and trust me, it looks stupid so don’t do that.” 

“You didn’t say Dick was going to be here,” Tim kept his face blank. 

“No, I didn’t,” she airily agrees. “But I also didn’t say he wasn’t going to be here.”

Tim inclines his head, Touché. “Let’s take a look at your hacker problem then, shall we?”

“After dinner. I’m starving.”  Barbara wheels over to Tim, grabbing one of the bags of food, which numbly Tim releases before leading him into the apartment. 

Moving forward here, Babs. Thanks for all of the help though.

Tim shakes his head. “Babs, I don’t have a lot of time—”

“Tim,” she interrupts, “You paid for it. Shut up and eat.” 

“Really though, Babs, I’ve only got like an hour before I have to go.”

“We’ll talk and eat.” The voice comes from the doorway. 

Motherfucker. 

 “Coffee?” Tim feels his spine stiffen.

Tim forces his muscles to loosen into a relax fighting stance before turning to face Dick who’s holding a cup of black coffee which, admittedly, smells amazing. Tim eyes the mug, weighing the pros and cons. 

Dick holds out the mug for Tim to take. “It’s not poisoned, Tim, I swear.”

Tim keeps his expression blank while looking at Dick but accepted the coffee. Dick grins at Tim, which confuses him even more. 

Why the fuck is Dick grinning at me like that? Tim frowns as he sips his coffee. 

Tim does his very best not to violently spit out the ‘coffee’.  After being exiled from the Bats for so long, Tim forgot a cardinal rule: 

Dick can’t cook. 

Tim flashes back to when Dick almost burnt down the Manner when trying to make toast. Toast.

“I like butter on my toast, Alfred. How was I supposed to know that you should put it on until after it’s done toasting?”

Dick grins at Alfred who purses his lips while emptying the fire extinguisher onto the burning toaster. 

Since then, Alfred banished Dick from the kitchen. Last time Tim checked, Dick couldn’t get a glass of water without supervision.

Dick frowns, “no good?” 

Did you even bother to use a coffee filter? I swear there are coffee grinds in here.

Tim weighs his answer before saying, “I’ve had worse.”

Sure, Dick had made those cups too but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“That’s great,” Dick grins again. 

“Is it though,” Babs glares at Dick before taking the last of the food from the containers. “Dick, can you go grab us some dishes,” 

Dick nods before disappearing. 

Barbara looks at Tim. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” 

Before Tim could assure Barbara that he is fine (or ask her what the hell she’s talking about; he isn’t sure which) Dick's back with plates, cutlery, and two sodas. 

It’s amazing how fast Dick is sometimes.

*     *     *

“And you honestly think Damian is going to put up with this? This is the same Damian that I’ve met, right? Because I don’t buy that for a second.”

Jason sighs. This isn’t how he wanted to spend his dinner date with Roy. Well, telecommunicated dinner date but semantics.

Shit, he was startin’ ta sound like Replacement.

“Dami says he’ll give it a shot.” Jason could hear Roy’s disbelief in the ringing silence. “It’s got B’s—and more importantly Dick’s—gold star so ‘course he’s gonna put up with it.”

“What did Bruce bribe him with?”

Jason snorts. “No clue. I’m guessin’ an elephant.”

Roy’s snorts. “Speaking of Dick,” Jason groans which Roy ignores, “how are you two doing?”

Jason grunts.

“Yeah, I’m going to need a few nouns, verbs and hey, if you’re feeling really adventurous, I’ll even take an adjective.”

Jason glares at Roy.

Roy smirks back.

“It’s healthy to talk about your feeling, Jay.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well, that would be a challenge with us being on opposite coasts but maybe if your good I will the next time I see you.”

Rolling his eye, Jason huffs at Roy, “Dick Dick. There ain’t any reasonin’ with ‘em.”

“Still, you were pretty pissed at him when you found out about how he gave Damian Robin.”

“‘Course I was. Dickhead had no idea what he was doin’. I do.”

“Have you tried talking to Tim about it?”

“Da fuck would I do that for?”

Roy sighs in dat stupid fucking way he always does when he thinks Jason’s being think on purpose. “Maybe he’s okay with the way it all went down? Maybe he moved passed it?”

Oh, you sweet summer child. Not even your that naïve. 

“Sure, just like you were cool when Ollie drop ya ta pick up a new Speedy.”

Roy sucks in a breath like he’d been punched. “Fair point. And, also, fuck you.”

“Sorry,” Jason mumbles, not meeting Roy’s eyes, because, yeah, it had been a low blow. Sure, Roy and Oliver were getting along now but that was more for Lian’s sake than anything else.

“S’okay,” Roy pauses, searching for the right words. “My point is, you should talk to Tim before you go blowing anything up with Dick, okay? Besides, didn’t you want to talk to him about whatever happened to him last month?”

Jason nods, because, yeah he did want to do that. “Fine, fine. I’ll check on Replacement soon, alright? Now, how’s Lian?”

Roy grins at the topic change before going starting to tell Jason all about Lian first ballet lesson. 

Apparently, Jason’s niece (Roy’s words) made her teacher cry when Lian asked why she couldn’t have an Arsenal tutu.

*     *     *

Dinner’s awkward. It’s that simple. Tim won’t even look at Dick and every time he tries to say something, Babs shakes her head. 

Dick knows she’s pissed at him. He knows she doesn’t like his plan. But really, she the one who said that they needed more data about Tim and this is their best plan. 

Okay, even Dick knows he’s grasping at straw now.

Meanwhile, Babs and Tim are discussing the new hacker. 

Babs thinks it someone new to the scene.

Somebody who the Bats don’t know about.

Somebody good.

Tim agrees.

“How’s school, Tim?” 

Tim and his blank mask look up from his lettuce wrap he’d been picking at all night. 

When the hell did that become a thing? Because Dick over having dinner with this Pod Person claiming to be Tim.

“Good. I’m almost done with my master's program.”

When the hell did Tim get a bachelor degree?

“That’s great Tim!  Computer Science?” 

“MBA. The board is on the fence with me enough as it is. I thought this would make it better.”

Dick can’t remember Tim ever having any interest in getting a Business degree. 

“Nice.”

Tim hums in agreement, sipping his coffee.

“That reminds me,” Tim’s eyes whip around to meet Dick’s, “I wanted to apologize.”

Tim leans back in his chair, staring at Dick. “For what? You haven’t done anything.”

Gee, I don’t know, Timmy. Maybe the fact that I was so worried about letting Dami fall off the map I let you do it instead. Maybe I just don’t like that Jason calls you more often than I do. Maybe I just feel bad about everything. Maybe because you’re right, I haven’t done anything.  

Dick doesn’t say any of these things. Those sins are going to have to be dealt with one at time. When Tim trust him again.

What Dick does say is, “I shouldn't have dropped by your office like that. I’m sorry.”

Tim is staring at Dick like he’s a Millennium Prize Problem and Tim knows he’s not going to solve it. 

Yet.

“It’s fine, Dick. Water under the bridge.”

Dick does his best to not wince.

“There was something I wanted to ask you about though.” Tim hums, not meeting his eyes. “Tam said something odd.”

Tim’s eye twitches.

Huh. That the most emotions I’ve seen out of you all night there Baby Bird.

“Which was?”

Babs is giving Dick her best, shut up. Shut up NOW look.

But you know the saying: in for a penny….

“She asked me where I was last month,” anyone who isn't a Bat would have missed Tim’s hard swallow before meeting Dick’s eyes.

“I had a tech-free weekend at the Tower. Call it a staycation if you will. Tam got worried when she couldn’t get ahold of me. Forgot to tell her I was doing it.” Tim gives a Dick a nonchalant shrug. “You know how it is.”

Which all seems…perfectly reasonable. Something that any normal person would do. Any reasonable person should be able to handle that as an answer. 

And yet…

“What happened in Iraq?”

This time, Bullock wouldn’t have been able to miss Tim’s flinch.

“Lots of things happen in Iraq every day, Dick. For one, there’s some evidence that it was the home to a thriving pre-historic—”

“When were you in Iraq?”

Because, Dick can’t find anything about Tim being in Iraq. Ever. 

And it’s pissing him off.

Just like this whole dinner is making Dick angry.

“Dick,” Babs hisses at him from across the table.

“Who says I’ve ever been to Iraq?”

“Tam.”

“Hmm,” Tim leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee, expression blank. “You know, I don’t recall.” Tim stands up, placing his empty coffee cup on the table. “This has been fun, but I got to go. Babs, if you want to forward me the files, I’ll take a look at them.” 

“Sure Tim, thanks for dinner.”

“Wait, Tim,” Tim pauses, turning to face Dick with one cocked eyebrow. 

Shit.  

How’s Dick going to get Tim come back?

“We’re having a movie night tomorrow night. It’s going to be Raiders, apparently, Dami never seen it.”

“Okay, I’ll cover your patrol. Thanks for the heads up.”

“No!  That’s not what I meant. I was inviting you.” 

Tim looks like he’d rather be Indiana in the snake pit.

“Love to, can’t. I have to run down a lead on a weapons dealer for the Titans. Maybe next time,” Tim rattles off. 

Dick ignores Babs’ subtle pinch for him to stop. “Come after; you know how long movie nights can go. Hell, we’ll probably still be having movie night tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t know how long getting the intel will take to get, Dick. Next time.”

“Then let me come with you. Two sets of eyes are better than one.” 

“Sorry. It’s a need to know case,” Tim shrugs which Dick in the room buys. “It’d take too long to get you up to speed. Besides, it’s a one-person recon mission. Easy peasy.” 

“Then how about we patrol after you're done?”

“Because you just told me you’re having a movie night with Damian.” Tim’s as calm as if he were in the middle of negotiating a hostage release.

Tim holds Dick’s gaze while Barbara inches closer to Tim. She softly touches his shoulder. “Tim, we know your busy but—”

“But what?” Tim looks at Babs, shrugging out of her grasp. “Yeah, I’ve been busy. Running an international business, the Titian, and being Red take up some time. I’ve been doing it for what: Three years now? Why the sudden concern?”

“We’ve always been concerned about you.” 

“Sure. I still have to go, though.” 

“Tim wait—”

But it’s no use. Tim out the door before Dick could open his mouth.

After what feels like a month, Babs shakes her head. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Babs, please—”

“No, Dick. Sooner or later he’s going to figure it out and he’s going to be pissed.”

Dick sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

*     *     *

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Tim snickers, pulling off his shirt. He always finds it funny when Con starts swearing. True, the more time Conner spends around the Titans, the more his vocabulary…expands. 

Tim called Conner the instances he’d gotten back to his apartment. Conner, for his part, is horrified Dick ambushed and tried to guilt-trip Tim at dinner.

“Nope,” Tim replies, popping the ‘p���. “Shoulda seen it coming in retrospect.”

“Yeah but still, what a dick.”

“That is his name; don’t wear it out.” Tim tosses his shirt onto the ground. It lands with an odd clinking noise. Tim glances at the shirt before freezing. 

Moonlight shines down from his window to reveal a shiny something on the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

Tim picks up his shirt, staring. “Son of a bitch. They put a tracker on me.”

Conner, who’d been listing the many ways Dick is a dick, stops mid-sentence. “Whoa, whoa, wait. Are you joking? Because, fuck dude, that’s not a very funny joke.”

“No, I’m not. They put a fucking tracker on my shirt. Shiiiiiiiiiiit,” Tim draws out the last word while Con hums in agreement. 

Tim flicks on the lights, inspecting the tracker for a minute. It almost looks like a sticker you’d give a little kid. 

The tracker is a stander no-frills GPS that he sometimes uses. The design lent itself for short-term use. He rotates it and swears again.

“It has the Birds logo on it.”

The dead air coming from the other end of the line is heavy.

“Why would Barbara want to put a tracker on you?” Tim wrinkles at the soft tone. It’s one Superboy uses for hurt, lost children not Tim.

“Who knows? Probably so she could track where I was staying. None of the Bats knew where my set up in Gotham is at the moment.”

“I thought you said Batman came to visit you?”

“He did,” Tim agrees. “But he’s Batman and this is Gotham. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t know who lives in every apartment. I doubt he’d share though,” Tim planted his back against the wall before sinking down. “What’s with all the sudden interest? We’d been doing fine. The Batfam doing their thing; I’ve been doing mine. They’d call, I’d come. They’d need help, I’d help. They had each other while I had—” Tim stops there. 

Tim doesn’t want to finish that thought. 

“While you have us,” Conner finishes.

“Yeah, while I have you.” Tim takes a minute to compose himself. “While I’m fine.” 

Conner, thankfully, doesn’t say a word.

Tim feels a drop of water fall onto his bare chest. He glances down, brushing away the tear.

*     *     *

If Hood forces Robin to observe one more happy family, Robin is going to shoot him. 

With Hood’s own guns. 

Repeatedly. 

Although, that would anger Father.

And disappoint Grayson. 

It would also cause Pennyworth to sigh.

Robin, however, is beginning to think there would not be a way around it.

“Look at ‘em, Robin. Whatcha see?” 

Robin exhales before peering through his domino at the cramped, grimy apartment. There are two small children sitting on a filthy couch. Empty food wrappers surround them. 

The younger of the two, a boy, approximately five, appears to be crying. 

The older one, a girl, ten, is trying (and failing) to pacify him. 

No adults to be seen.

“Tt. A textbook case of child neglect. We should alert the proper authorities and be on our way.” 

Hood ignores him.

The door in the apartment they had been observing burst opened. The two children on the couch jump.

Robin tenses.

Maybe this will not be as boring as I thought.

The looks of surprise on the children’s faces melt into joy; the pair run-up to the man who’d just entered the apartment, jumping into his arms. 

The children and the man hug for so long that Robin worries about their oxygen levels. 

The man picks up a child in each arm and carries them from the room.

Hood turns to Robin, “so, what did you learn?”

Robin stares nonplus at Hood. 

“Hood, I don’t see the point—”

Hood tuts. 

He tuts at Damian before turning away. 

“Next.” 

Robin glares at Hood. “Hood, I am not—”

“Yeah, yer are,” Hood grabs Robin by the cape, dragging him two roofs over. 

“Unhand me at once, Hood! I am capable of walking on my own!”

“No shit ya can walk. But I’m teaching here so shut up and learn.” 

Hood finally stops on a corner of a roof. It looks over a small market that appears to be empty. Hood indicates to Robin to watch the storefront. Robin huffs but begrudgingly watches. 

He sees a young woman, who appears to be pregnant coming out of the store. She hovels along until she’s halfway down the block when she stops and looks around before carefully pulling out something from under her shirt. 

Is that—bread?

Robin straightens. 

Finally, something worthy of his talents as a Robin. “We need to catch her. She just stole that—”

“Nope,” Jason pops the ‘p’, “that’s not what we’re gonna do. Watch.” Hood catches Robin’s cape in his hand. Robin struggles, trying to escape Hood’s grasp. 

He really must speak with Father about having this liability from his uniform.

“Release me at once, Hood.”

Jason ignores him, choosing instead to stare down towards the criminal. Robin glances down, freezing. 

Three teenagers now surround the young woman. 

Instead of looking frightened, she’s giving them a half-smile, holding out the food she had stolen to teenagers. 

The teenagers look wearily from the woman to the food. 

Even from here, Robin could tell that the teenagers were far too skinny. 

Their bones suck out like Drake’s when he was working on a case shortly after Brown’s (fake) death and forgot to eat for a week. 

Grayson and Pennyworth had force Drake to eat and he’d been benched for a month after.

The closes teenager reaches out, snacking the food from the young woman before disappears back down the alleyway. 

The young woman’s shoulders dip slightly. 

She looks…sad?

Why would she be sad?

She gives herself a small shake before trudging away.

Damian stares, nonplussed at the now empty street, “she stole that food.”

“Yep,” Hood popping the ‘p’ again.

“And then gave it away.”

“U-huh.”

“I…do not understand.”

“What don’tcha get, Baby Bat?” 

“She did all of the work. She risked everything.”

“She did,” Hood agrees.

“She should be the one eating.”

“What about the kids?” 

Damian straightens. “They should not get food until they can take it for themselves.” 

Hood tuts. 

Hood tuts at Robin. 

Again.

Robin glared up at Hood.

“Dat’s Ra’s talkin’. Let’s go to the next one.”

Robin groans. 

Notes:

Show of hands, who thinks Jason's going to be a good teacher?

Thanks for reading!

[msephy]

Upbringing: chap 6/?

Yep, writing on some older Batman fanfic for Nanowrimo :) I hope I can get this one to the end, if I manage to figure out what that is XD

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Cross-posted to AO3

Earth ? - Jason Todd

Jason waited near the car while Bruce reassured Dick and explained to him that no, he wasn’t his uncle, and that he was dangerous, and to stay away from him, all the while glaring at Jason. So, alright, he shouldn’t have punched the kid – but what did he expect, really, showing up like a nightmare from the past?

The Perfect Dick Grayson, as he was back in the time of the dynamic duo. The one Jason had spent his teenage years trying to live up to, without ever quite managing to.

Anyway, this one should learn to recognize his local Jason and not to jump so close to dangerous-looking strangers. Or strangers, period. (Jason hadn’t even punched him that hard, in any case.)

Bruce seemed to finish giving his explanations and left Dick to come at Jason, still glaring. Like he had anything to say about the whole thing!

“Child endangerment, B., really?” Jason spat without giving him the opportunity to strike first. “Don’t look at me like that. How can you do that? Putting a child in the streets? Face to face with people even you can’t handle!”

Bruce winced – strike!- and Jason snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re the worst parent ever. Some things just don’t change from earth to earth, do they?”

“Shut up!” Dickie squealed, always the knight in shining armor whenever Bruce was concerned. Dickie dick. “He doesn’t put me in danger at all!”

“Contrarily to what you might think, he can’t protect you from everything and everyone, Dickie,” Jason answered. “He isn’t invulnerable himself and certainly isn’t infallible.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh? And what did you mean?” Jason spat again, going in his direction – only to be stopped by Bruce’s hand on his chest.

“That’s enough,” Bruce growled. “You’re going to stay away from him.”

“I’m not going to break the baby bird, you moron. You are!”

“I’m not allowed out in the streets!” Dick screamed. Jason froze. Dick nodded at his expression. “I’m not allowed out until I reach 18, I’m only helping from the computer. And, you know, training. It’s boring, by the way.”

“But it’s safe, mostly,” Jason whispered before looking up at Bruce, who still had this faint guilty look on his face. Jason frowned. “Why do you look so fucking guilty if I’m talking bullshit?”

Bruce frowned, debating whether to tell him or not, then shrugged, his lips corners turned down. “Because it’s not my rule. It’s yours. I mean, Jason’s, my brother’s.”

Jason’s eyes widened, then – he couldn’t help it – he started to laugh. He didn’t know if he was amused, or relieved, or annoyed. Maybe he just wanted to annoy Bruce, which seemed to work.

“It doesn’t make the rule any less important,” Bruce was adding toward Dick. “As you can see for yourself.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jason said, swallowing back the laugh that kept wanting to bubble out. “The street is no place for a kid to be. Little Robins get killed on the job. It must be real fun to inforce it with Damian, too, by the way, so congratulations I guess.”

Dick frowned, as if the words didn’t make sense. On Bruce’s face, though, the shock was clear; for anyone who knew him well enough, that’s to say.

“Anyway, adopting kids is fine as long as they’re kept safe,” Jason continued, feeling giddy.

“Who died, in your world?” Bruce interrupted, looking very pale. “If I can avoid it here…”

“Oh, no need to worry. I’m sure your brother would be able to defend himself and he doesn’t seem to feel the need to look for his biological mother,” Jason answered with a smirk. “I suppose she really is Catherine in this earth, on account of his father not being good old Willis.”

Bruce frowned, matching Dick’s expression so closely that Jason felt the laugh come back up from his belly. He managed to swallow it back, this time.

“So, I’m exhausted. Can I sleep upstairs? Or shall we contact the league first?”

“I hoped to serve some dinner before anyone headed upstairs,” said the familiar voice of Alfred from the top of the stairs. “Also, shall I prepare a room for our guest?”

“Yes, thank you, Alfred,” Bruce answered absentmindedly, still obviously worrying over Jason’s sibylline comments.

Jason himself was staring. Alfred. Jesus. The old man looked – well, less old, for one – and also much less tired than he ever had. Jason bit his lip. “Do you need help? I mean. I’m not from around here, but I can use a mixer. It would be soup, at this time of the year, no?”

“Thank you, sir, but I have everything ready and merely need heating it up.”

Alfred disappeared through the door. Jason didn’t insist, turning back to Bruce instead. “So, can I user your showers or what? And maybe steal one of your sweatpants?”

He hated the idea of stripping out of his weapons but there was no way Bruce would allow guns upstairs. If he played it right, he might slip one, or at least a couple of knives.

Bruce eyed him suspiciously, but nodded. They both smelled after their earlier spar. “I’ll find some of Jason’s.”

“Right.”

Jason headed for the showers, turning his back to them as if he didn’t care. He wasn’t safe here, he reminded himself. He wasn’t home.

###

Earth 1 – Jason Wayne

The next day was a busy one. Jason woke up in an unfamiliar guest room and sighed as the events of the previous day came back to him; but that was the least of it. He found Damian and an unknown teenager in a suit in the kitchen with Alfred when he went down for breakfast.

“Sir,” Alfred salutated him. “Do you also care for English Breakfast?”

“Always,” Jason said, accepting the cup with delight.

“And maybe some toast? I made some freshly for Master Tim.”

So that was his name. The teenager was eyeing him suspiciously over his cup of coffee, looking away and pretending to be sleepy as soon as Jason glanced his way. Jason pretended not to notice and sat down to enjoy his meal, to which Alfred added orange juice (freshly pressed) and an apple (all bitter, from the garden).

“Thank you so much, Alfred. You’re the best, in this Earth as well as mine; and likely all of them.””

“I do try, sir. Though the multiverse certainly removes any pretention one has about being unique.”

Jason nodded at that. “Doesn’t it? Even though this is my first encounter with it. So far, I’m not impressed with my doppelganger, if I have to be honest.”

Tim snorted in his cup, earning himself a frown from Alfred.

“Master Jason had a troubled youth and is still searching his path,” the old man commented with a fain disapproving tone.

“Of course,” Jason corrected right away, “and I apologize. I shouldn’t judge, not knowing him.”

Alfred nodded.

Tim shook his head. “He hasn’t given us much not to judge him badly.”

That attracted him another frown, but he ignored it. Damian, though, seemed ready to bite. “He’s trying to follow his own path,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

“And it’s the wrong path,” the older teenager insisted.

“You’re Tim, right?” Jason intervened. “I’m… well, Jason, obviously. The other one.”

“You’re not in the clear yet,” Tim warned, while nodding to indicate that yes, that was his name. “But Cassandra seems to like you.”

“You still had to come and check?”

Tim emptied his cup of coffee and smiled a perfectly insincere smile that would have suited Lex Luther. Jason fought back the need to applaud. “I’m only the first,” Tim said. “I arrived early because I live in town. I heard Dick was on his way and Barbara, of course, but Barbara is a decent human being who doesn’t show up at people’s doors before nine.”

As to underline his words, they heard the doorbell, and Alfred abandoned the plates he was washing to go answer. Jason was curious and somewhat wary to meet Dick. He didn’t know Barbara well enough, admitting Tim was referring to Barbara Gordon, Jim’s daughter. Was she part of this whole vigilante business as well, here? How many of them were they?

He probably didn’t want to know the answer to this question.

He wondered if he should talk to Cassandra about where he could find her, in his world. She might not have a traumatic past, but then, she also might, and if Jason could help her earlier rather than later…

Chattering noise came from the corridor and, soon enough, Alfred introduced Dick and Barbara. She was definitely Jim Gordon’s, and also in a wheelchair, which shocked Jason slightly. He smiled with the ease of someone who raise funds regularly and therefore had to dwell in politics and got up to shook her hand, then Dick’s.

The latter raised his eyebrows, looking up at him. “Christ, you’re taller than our Jason. It’s Jason Wayne, right?”

“It is. And you must be the local Dick Grayson. I do hope our Dick, I mean, the one from my world, will grow quite that tall and handsome.”

“Most of them do,” Barbara intervened, accepting a cup of coffee from Alfred. “So you also have a little robin at home?”

“And Damian, too,” Jason admitted easily. “I’m afraid I didn’t know Tim and Cassandra until now.”

He didn’t like to give information like that, but felt much more relaxed after his exchange with Bruce the previous night. He wasn’t at home, he realized that much; but it wasn’t so far off that he needed to worry. Those people were worried that he was dangerous to their family. He could understand as much, and try to put their minds at ease.

“I used to live next door,” Tim offered.

“With the Drakes? Ah yes, now that I think about it, they do have a son. I don’t spend as much time as I’d like at the manor, much to Alfred’s distress. I’ve started to use the flat back in town, just not to drive back when my work day extended beyond reasonable hours. Of course, Alfred keeps telling me that I should get a drive…”

“That would be most sensible.”

“… But while I like providing jobs, I prefer them to be community oriented. The flat is perfectly serviceable, in any case.”

It felt weird to have this conversation with an Alfred who wasn’t the one he knew, and from the looks of the people around, seeing a Jason so comfortable in the manor weirded them out. Jason cleared his throat.

“Sorry. I got carried away.”

“It’s alright,” Dick said, conveying their shared feeling. “Just unusual.”

“That, I entirely agree,” Jason sighed, earning a fugitive smile from Barbara. “So what did you plan for today, apart from quizzing me?”

“Master Dick and Miss Gordon can do whatever they wish, but younger people have to go to school,” Alfred said, taking away the remaining plates from the table.

“I will tell Bruce that you called Wayne Entreprise ‘school’,” Tim commented, sounding amused, but he grabbed the suitcase he’s left on a chair and saluted everyone before heading out.

Damian, however, was harder to convince. “I already know all that stuff!”

“We went over that when you arrived,” Dick reminded him in a paternal tone. “You need to learn how to socialize with kids your age. Jon doesn’t count!”

Damian grumbled but allowed himself to be sent away. Jason was trying very hard not to laugh. He had the exact same conversation with Damian every morning when he was in a mood.

“Sounds familiar?” Dick sighed.

“Wish it wasn’t. I really should let Bruce handle it but he’s hardly ever at breakfast. Is he still sleeping, or already downstairs?” Jason asked, turning to Alfred.

“Still asleep, thankfully.”

“Did he tell you he was hurt? The stiches were done properly, but the dressing will have to be changed and he can’t do it himself,” Jason said, allowing his exasperation to show.

Alfred looked at him, then nodded, once. “Thank you for pointing it out, sir. I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

Jason nodded back, satisfied. Dick and Barbara were looking at him with a strange expression on their faces; he grimaced. “In my world, he’s my little brother. It’s hard to break the habit even here where he’s ten years older than me.”

“I’ve never seen anyone else than Alfred fuss over Bruce,” Dick said in an amused tone.

Barbara rolled her eyes. “I have. You, for one,” she added, pointing at Dick. “And Dr Thompson, of course.”

“People who knew him when he was a kid don’t count!” Dick protested.

“He is still a kid at twenty and, apparently, at thirty,” Jason grumbled.

That startled a laugh out of Dick. Jason relaxed. Whatever the day prepared for him, it would be fine.

[rose-margarita]

the context

Dec 3-4, 8:31 am

Hello from a chronic extrovert (I’ve had many a debate about the usefulness of these American-produced descriptor words and the consequences of shoving people into predetermined categories). Yet I still consider myself an extrovert, like it’s just another freckle on my face after a long summer at the beach. And this extroversion has earned me the title of “wiz friend-maker.” A fortuitous skill in a graduate program centered around networking (I despise that whole concept). But I’ve reached a point where I’ve become so mired in sadness, confusion, anger, self-doubt, rupturing inside at times, and it all spills out, all over the people around me, my new, amazing grad school friends who I feel so close to but have only known for four months. I don’t really want to scare them away, so I thought it best to turn to an emotionless computer screen that won’t get fed up with my incessant bad vibes.

It’s a cycle. Every year it happens like this; normally centered around some sort of emotional turmoil surrounding a man in my life. I’m nearly two months into birth control - also not helping me very much. 

~

This story will start with a man. A man who unexpectedly took my life by storm.

Fresh from a summer of working out, eating vegan, and looking and feeling undeniably beautiful, I was unstoppable my first few months of grad school. Even when imposter syndrome hit me hard like an unexpected slap in the face, I still felt like a conqueress. Walking and talking with confidence, making friends effortlessly, and also genuinely, an important point to mention. I felt like I was back at my privileged northern-Virginia high school, except this go-round everyone is popular and singing kumbaya through the halls. I had come to find a purpose in life, a path to wander (at a brisk, acceptable pace of course), a dream to strive for, and although it wasn’t quite clear to me yet (I’m not even halfway through my 20s), I knew I was on the way to finding it. 

One day I went to a brunch. Amongst the shakshuka and foul, I experienced a rare moment of introversion while sitting in a neighbor’s home, hearing everyone around me speaking Spanish and convincing myself no one liked me. And there was one beautiful man who only exchanged a handful of words with me, and then seemingly lost interest. I was unaccustomed to feeling left out and began recalling moments from childhood defined by utter loneliness. The neighbor who had so graciously invited my roommates and me into his home on this lovely Saturday morning was the type of guy who makes an initial pass at every new woman he meets, just because he can. I was also in a stage of uncomfortably shying away from his advances, especially because my roommate seemed particularly interested at the time. 

~

A few days later I asked the aforementioned neighbor for beautiful man’s number, partly to get neighbor off my back, and partly to alleviate the nagging annoyance in the back of my mind that I missed out on a potential friendship (hyper extrovert fomo, I know I know). I swiftly typed his number into my phone and shot him a message asking him to drinks. We agreed on Sunday night after his intramural soccer game. And so we met, and we chatted. About life, about Judaism, about soccer, about Chile and New York, about many topics that have already slipped my mind. It’s already been about two months since that night. 

We decided to keep the night going, walking away from my house towards his after we finished dinner. It was already midnight and the target bar had long closed for the night. We just so happened to be across the street from his house, so we decided to go up to his place for tea and a smoke. Which turned into two hours of chatting on his couch. 

As I prepared to leave, we stood up in unison, and he kissed me. Tiny electric sparks spread from my lips up my cheeks and down my neck, dancing along my spine to all the secret places that rarely feel this tingly, frantic sensation. That moment ended it all. I lost all faculties, which has led me into this deep, dark hole of confused, convoluted complexity. 

~

Two months of joy, of the best physical connection I’ve ever experienced, of needing some sort of definition, reassurance from him after a certain point that we are together, that we are real, that this is committed, loving, healthy.

Some days we’re “together” in his mind, other days we’re some indescribable thing that leaves me feeling utterly alone in the worst way, the sort of way you feel alone in a crowded room, while the person you adore most is sitting right next to you.

So here are my options:

1) Deal with it. He sees no future because I’m too young, because we are in different phases of our lives, because I don’t understand his culture and I don’t speak his first language. In short - he doesn’t see a future with me, he doesn’t really want to be with me, and he doesn’t want to call himself my boyfriend because he’s tired of relationships that don’t last a long time. He’s looking for a forever love, and I’m not eligible for that title. 

I have the option to never bring up anything regarding status or titles again and continue the way we have been going, because it’s true that over the past few months he’s slowly warmed, we’ve slowly built a real friendship despite going from 0-100 that first night. So there’s a possibility he would fall into an unexpected love with me if it happened subliminally, but I have no chill, so I feel like this option would tear me the fuck apart.

He doesn’t show interest in being with other women. When we are together, he is only looking at me. The underlying feelings are there. The potential is there. But most likely these possibilities will remain completely untapped because he has indefinitely shut me out from the possibility of becoming his everything.

But if I can chill, it could end peacefully one day and I could re-conceptualize all the time spent together not as a waste, but as an adventure. He fascinates me, his brain is amazing, and I adore him. If I could see him first and foremost as a person in my life who could be important, a meaningful friend in the future, then this could be beautiful regardless of status. If I could be confident enough to stand on my own and not let other people tear me apart, not let the past trauma of my brother dictate my current mental state, then this could be an amazing year with an amazing guy.

This would also require me to stop talking to all my friends about it, collecting their opinions. My roommates are my age - they are smart and want the best for me, but they don’t understand him. They don’t know what it’s like to be in your 30s, to feel like you want something real and sustainable. To feel that you no longer want to live in the “anything goes” mentality. Rather, you want to find someone who is also ready to settle down. 

2) Be his friend. Keep talking, keep supporting, keep being there, being above the pain and confusion, possibly dealing with him being with other people, but remembering that I am the master of my own life and no man can dictate who I am or how I feel. 

3) Nothing. Radio silence, like nothing ever happened between us. 

But one thing is for sure: I need to retake control of my life, my emotions, my negative thoughts that are eating me alive. It must be my birth control, because this behavior is so ridiculously unlike me. I feel sick, confused, alone, heartbroken, sometimes I feel like I’m dying. Everything seems like the end of the world recently. So hopefully this tiny diary will be a breathe of fresh air. A place to sift through my thoughts.

We don’t get this time back. Life goes by, day by day, and we have no option but to deal with the daily emotions, events, people, that come to us. It’s up to us how we choose to react, to perceive even. One thing is absolutely certain - reframing my life at this point in time is crucial for my mental health. I have no choice, because I refuse to waste more time in a sickening, depressive haze.

Step 1: Work on the relationship I’m in with myself, not the one I’m semi-in with some unreliable man.

[friendlycybird]

Season 3 Reactions - Part 1

I’ve developed a strange association since I’ve begun listening to The Magnus Archives.  I don’t know how it started but somehow, my go-to food choice for listening is, for some reason, Cup of Noodles. Chicken Flavor, Typically.  I don’t understand how this happened, or why, but I strongly associate Cup of Noodle with TMA and I will never understand it, I’ll just go with it. So it is with a Styrofoam cup of cooking noodles set beside my computer that I begin this post.

I’m halfway through season 3, which I was told way back when I was halfway through season one would be the big Lore building season. I just didn’t anticipate how much.  I know so much more now then I did at the end of last season, and I’m fully aware I’ve only scratched the surface. So, as of right now, here’s what I think of the first half of season 3. 

81. Jon’s awareness of his personality flaws dating all the way back to childhood is, on one hand, good. On the other, I’m always wary when I hear a parental figure described as having “done their best” with a troublesome child...I’m never convinced that was a healthy upbringing. 

82. I have a lot of feelings about Martin’s unwavering faith in Jon. Well, unwavering may be a slightly strong word for it but I almost cried when he had that pleased reaction to being told people say he and Jon are close. 

83. I love Georgie. Also, I am of course, not surprised that it was a circus display, of all things, that went wrong in this statement. 

84. I am so happy that Martin’s reading statements now? I mean. I’m not happy for Martin since reading statements is obviously extremely draining and difficult but I love Martin so getting more of him is always good for me, however bad it may be for him. Also, Melanie stepping in to replace Sasha gives me some...mixed feelings. I really like Melanie and I’m glad to have her on board but this...this kinda makes it real, you know? I think this is when that last bit of hope I was still stupidly clinging to, even after Leitner stated point-blank that Sasha was dead, finally died as well. Sasha’s well and truly gone and has been since season one.  It’s Melanie’s turn. 

85. I’ve heard this rhyme before. Taking it to its logical conclusion like this was deeply unsettling. 

86. This episode was a reminder exactly why I didn’t use to listen to TMA at night. I’ve become a lot more flexible on the subject, and yes, I regret it. I fully intended to sleep with the lights on after I listened to this episode. My partner needed it off so she could get to sleep though so I gave in and settled for just not being alone. 

87. I’ve listened to... thirteen episodes after this one. Thirteen. When I listened to this episode, Gertrude’s closing comments were...largely nonsensical to me. All I knew was that something was that she’d been injured somehow, and that this statement suggested an unexpected alliance between avatars and a rushed timeline for The Unknowing. Already a lot of information.  I just went back and read the transcript of her closing statement and...there’s so much here. The connection between Gertrude and Jude Perry was one I picked up on a couple episodes later.  Looking at this now, it seems like a pretty clear who’s-who of the biggest players currently on the board. 

88. I love Martin and I genuinely feel so bad for him with all this.  Recording statements is hard and change is harder and everyone expecting him to know things. 

89. It’s not often anymore I hear a piece of media and have a bone-deep jealousy of the performer. Jude Perry is a character I want to play.  Her dialogue, her *statement*, her power, her...god. She’s just. She might be my favorite antagonist. 

90. Poor Tim. He tried to leave, he actually tried to just pack up and go, and it almost killed him. He hates this place with everything in him and hates himself for working there but he’s not ready to die just to stop. 

91. I can not tell you how taken aback I was by the fact that the first line we hear from Mike Crew is “You’re sure I can’t get you a cup of tea?” The fact that it seems all he really wants is to be left alone with his powers makes him...I can’t properly say sympathetic. Not after episode 75 but close enough that I’m a little sad Daisy killed him.

92. I was...genuinely prepared to come out of this hating Elias. God knows everyone who was in that room did. I don’t though.  Elias comes off to me as nothing so much as the tutor who’s finished his masters thesis on a subject and is sitting down with a first-year undergrad in that subject and trying to explain that yes, I absoloutly could tell you exactly how all of this works but if you don’t learn it for yourself you’ll never pass your tests.  Except, with the stakes turned up to 11. I think about Elias a lot. I don’t...I’m not as attached to him as I am to the others, to everyone else who was in that room...but I like him. He’s...interesting. 

93. Admiral is a good kitty, comforting Jon like that at the beginning. But the exchange toward the end I will never be over is “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Tough.” “Look, I’m moving out anyway, so just...just forget it. I’m out of your life. Alright?” “No.”  - Just. Georgie’s absolute refusal to take Jon’s shit and insistence on actually properly *helping* him - I love her. 

94. I remember we’ve seen this philosophy before, the idea that “The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one.” the idea that the present and the future are not distinct from one another. I can’t remember what episode it came up in before but also the thought that - accepting that? Accepting the...smallness? Of the universe? Of the human experience? Would just kill you where you stand or, if you survive it, stop you from ever feeling fear again? That’s...a powerful statement really. And one I’m not sure I agree with? It’ll take some time to unpack the philosophy here. 

95. Poor Martin. I say that a lot but no really, poor Martin. He’s trying so hard and it’s all just too much. For him to give up on professionalism is just sad. His exchange with Basira at the end is another look into the philosophy it seems the show is building. What do you do in the face of helplessness?  “You make the best of things.” Basira says. Of course, as interested as I am in the overall message of TMA (beyond always carry a fucking flashlight, which was the lesson I took from season 1 and now there’s one clipped to my purse) I’m even more overwhelmed by the fact that the idea of escaping himself never occurred to Martin. 

96. Feels good to get some answers about Breekon and Hope finally. Proper ties to the circus it seems, although the questions from episode 93 all still stand.  TMA is really good at it, at giving you an answer, and it’s definitely an answer you know something you didn’t - and yet, none of your actual questions have been answered. 

97. As if it wasn’t enough that the statement hit a little closer to home than the typical TMA episode as I live in Oregon, so less then 500 miles from whatever the fuck that pit was. Of course, when the statement occurred I was safely down in California but all the same, unnerving.  As if THAT WASN’T ENOUGH. Fucking. Orsinov fucked me up, guys. I was *shaking*.  I don’t know what it is but she is, as a character, well beyond terrifying. I. I don’t have words for how much she scares me. I don’t even know why. I just. Everything about her is just. Fuck. 

98. I quite enjoyed Tim pointing out the problem with the “They can never know I have to project them” bullshit that Jon is prone to. That said, I find it ironic that Tim can, in the space of a page, go from calling the Institute, and by extension the Eye, evil, to saying “ignorance isn’t going to save anyone.” - because that’s what The Eye seems to be. Just knowledge. Observing, Learning, Knowing.  It’s not...at least...I don’t know that it’s as evil as Tim thinks it is.  Ruthless, detached, inhuman, yes. Evil? I’m not at all sure of that. 

99. Another American Statement, this time about The Dust Bowl. We also get names of several more...powers. The Spiral, The Buried, The Hunt. But more then that. We find out that Michael use to be Gertrude’s Assistant!  Which. Is he like Mike? Did something change him? He always felt...older...than that? It would explain why he seems to have so much curiosity toward the archive and the archivist though...

100. and finally, an anthology of sorts, of what happens when people who don’t have The Archivist’s ability try to take statements live. Two things stand out to me about this.  The first? Martin, you absoloute sweetheart why are you trying to pay the woman? She gave you fuckall and might not even have been telling the truth.  And also... “Elias can be quite... ‘protective’ of his people.”  Like. !!!!!!! I mean.  After reading that statement, that whole speech for Jon before everyone got there back in episode 92... after all that and people like Peter Lukas still see Elias as ‘protective’  ...I..you know I think it might be true? His total lack of anger when Melanie tried to poison him and just the fact that he’s trying so hard to prepare Jon? I don’t know. It’s funny, I’m always inclined to think the best of people. With Elias though, I’m not so quick to think there might be anything genuinely good to him, but, I definitely can’t see him as evil either. 

[loverontheleft]

Ready to Leap (2)

Meant to have this up by 1am est; my bratty kitten had other plans. She pounced on my hands when I tried to use my phone and danced on my keyboard when I tried to use my laptop. She’s not sorry but I love her anyway. Any errors are 100% her fault. Eeeeeeeeeeeee here we go. I fucking love this. My heart. You can find Chapter 1 on my master list which is linked in my bio. 😍😍😍

—————————————————————

The bell for the end of second lunch chimes (actually chimes! At your old school, it was like the Luftwaffe had been spotted!) and you know that’s your cue to head to the cafeteria. Gina didn’t tell you much, just to meet your “partner” at the cafeteria entrance and they’d walk you through the rest of it. She also said you wouldn’t get lost after lunch duty so that’s a plus. A mysterious plus, but a plus nonetheless.

You can’t take the back way using the arts hall so you set off at a brisk pace, fairly confident you’ll find the cafeteria.

You’re only a minute late and you can see Mr. Urie - Brendon? - standing by the doors. “So sorry I’m late, I got a little lost.” He grins and waves off your apology.

“No worries. It’s a complicated school setup. Lunch duty should help though.” He gestures for you to follow him and you do.

“Yeah, you know, people keep saying that and I’m not sure I understand. How will sitting in a cafeteria making sure there’s no food fights help me?” He turns to you, smiling and handing you a clipboard with referrals on it.

“Because we’re not sitting in the cafeteria. We’re roaming the halls for skippers!” He looks almost gleeful and you suppress the laughter.

“We’re doing what?” You take the clipboard and stare at him.

“School policy is that during a student's assigned lunch period, they must be in the cafeteria. They can’t be roaming the halls, getting up to who knows what mischief. So our job is to walk the halls and look for kids out and about. Capture. Scold. Refer. Release.” He ticks off the four steps on his fingers and you can’t help but laugh now.

“That is actually not a bad system,” you admit and he nods.

“And you get to know your coworkers.” He gives you a wide smile. “Off we go Ms. Milton.”

You keep pace, matching his stride. “Yeah...about that actually...so at my old school my colleagues and I called each other by our first names no matter who was around. Guessing that’s not a thing here?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know that there’s any official policy on that. We try to keep it professional when the youth are afoot,” he casts his eyes around in exaggerated suspicion and you giggle, “but if there’s no students around, first names are usually used.” He looks down. “You were in band.” His voice sounds approving and you must look confused because he continues. “You’re on step and matching my stride.”

You smile. “Old habits die hard, and I’m with a pro right now so…” He laughs a little and you feel yourself blushing. Damn, he’s attractive. “Speaking of old habits…” you begin, and he looks at you. “I remember all of the volunteers and money my band program had to have to keep us running. So if I can ever help or if you’ve got a fundraiser going, fruit or cheesecake or cookie dough or whatever, I’d be happy to help.”

He chuckles. “You have great timing. We have a fundraiser this afternoon into the evening and all day tomorrow. It’s our Welcome Back All You Can Eat Fish Fry.” This title is accompanied by Fosse-style hands, despite the clipboard. “Ten dollars gets you in the door and access to bottomless fries, hush puppies, coleslaw, various soft drinks, and of course, fish.”

You stare at him. “You can’t possibly make money off of that. Only ten dollars?” He nods, proud.

“The entire community comes and people in neighboring towns do too. We’re legendary.” He pauses to adapt a faux-humble look and you roll your eyes playfully. God, it is so easy with him. How does he do this? “We’re making a profit after the first hundred or two hundred people and we usually sell anywhere from a thousand to fifteen hundred tickets. This year is a record at eighteen hundred.” You must look stunned. “I know. It’s insane. But it works and the kids don’t have to do fundraisers every other month, which I appreciate. Lets them focus on the music and not worry about money.”

“That’s incredible. Really.” You stop walking and he pauses too. “Is what I’m wearing okay? I’d love to come by tonight but I don’t want to be overdressed. An All You Can Eat Fish Fry,” you mimic his hands from earlier and he laughs, “sounds sort of...casual.” He looks you up and down, taking in your three-quarter sleeve blouse and pencil skirt and he nods.

“You look great. Don’t go home and change for us. Just come hang out.”

“Okay. I will.” You smile at each other and you’re screaming internally, so proud of yourself for not acting like an idiot in front of this gorgeous man. “So...where are we?” You look around and he laughs.

“This is downstairs of the science wing. Think of the cafeteria as your starting point. It’s anchored to the main office by the media center. Everything else sprouts from the anchor points in triangles or squares. End of the art hall connects to the English hall, across the yard is the math and science triangle, social studies is upstairs above math, and computer-related electives are above science.” He catches your eye. “I think we lost a bet when we hired the architect for the school. Because...the look on your face? Yeah. It’s a mess. Also we’re almost done with our patrol and we’re right on schedule.”

“I’m going to get so lost. If you hear a pathetic cry of ‘help’ echoing down the halls, it’s me. Come find me.”

“You won’t get lost. Much. But if you need me, do give a shout. Oh.” He pauses. “The other side of the building has PE and ROTC and weight training.” He looks at you seriously. “We don’t go over there. We are soft artsy people who like to read books. We don’t go there.” You can feel your face and understand why he starts laughing. “I’m kidding. Kind of. I don’t go over there much.” You both start walking again.

“I’ve heard you don’t leave the band room unless it’s for band practice or duty.” You slide your eyes over to watch his face.

“My reputation precedes me, I see. Whoever you heard that from isn’t wrong. I have a large office with a bathroom in the band room, the back doors of the classroom lead to the practice field, I have a parking spot right by the back doors, and this band program is my life so…” He looks a little embarrassed. “Yes, you can call me Urie the Hermit.”

You giggle. “I refuse to call you that. I was just curious.”

He spreads his arms wide. “Ask away, Ms. Milton. I’m an open book.”

You can’t help it, it’s too easy. “I’m really good with books.”

He smiles softly. “I kinda hoped so.” You hesitate, not sure where to go from here. Fuck. His eyes are sparkling and you are like a deer in the headlights. He saves you though. “We’re back.” You’re outside the cafeteria again and he takes your clipboard and drops them off inside. “I’ll walk you back to your room so you don’t get lost,” he offers and you nod faintly. It is a short walk, you realize, when you don’t get lost, and you’re there sooner than you’d like. “Home safe and sound. See you tonight Milton. I’ll save you the good fish.” He gives you a little wave, a small smile, and walks back to the art hall.

You haven’t moved yet. Was he flirting? You think he was flirting. Fuck. That last part, he kinda hoped you’re good with books - that sounded like flirting, right? And he walked you back to your room. Fuck. He’s really hot. Fuck. It’s fourth lunch which is your assigned lunch so you hurry back to the English lounge to join your hall-mates and try to ignore your thoughts of a certain tattooed, dark-haired colleague.

Lunch is fun, fourth block goes smoothly, and before you know it, it’s the end of the day. What a good first day, you think. You go back to your desk and sit, trying to organize everyone’s interest surveys and their writing samples. There’s a hesitant knocking at your door and your head shoots up.

It’s a student you don’t recognize (admittedly that’s all of them at this point) and he’s holding a small piece of paper in his hand. “Mr. Urie asked me to bring this down to you.” He crosses the room hesitantly. You don’t know this kid but he’s a freshman. You can see it in his walk. Ah, freshmen. You accept it and read the post-it note attached.

“Milton - all of the fish is good. Would have brought this myself but I’m assembling the troops. Hope to see you tonight.” It’s attached to a ticket and you blush. The student shifts awkwardly.

“Thanks!” You smile at him, and he reads on your face that he’s free to go, nothing more is required of him. He bolts. You read the note attached to the ticket again, and smile to yourself before shaking your head a little. No. Down girl. He’s being friendly to a new coworker. Don’t read into this. Fuck.

The doors don’t open til 5:30 and it’s only 3:45 now. You decide to start evaluating writing prompts. That’s good. That’ll distract you.

And it does. You grade meticulously, eyes scanning the page, different colored pens flying and coding. Without moving your head you shift the paper to the ‘finished’ stack and bring the next over. When you finally look up, it’s dark out. You check your watch. It’s 6:30. They’re going to be there until 9, but still. The ticket tells you to head for the cafeteria and you’re pleased. You know how to get there!

When you walk in, you’re amazed. The smells, first of all. God bless whoever invented fried food. But also, all of the people. He wasn’t lying. It’s packed. You approach the student taking tickets and hand her yours and a ten dollar bill. “No, you don’t need to pay,” she protests, “you have a ticket.”

You shrug and smile brightly at her. “Consider it a donation then.” She shrugs too.

“Okay, thanks! You’re the new English teacher right?” You nod. “My older sister has you. Emily. She likes you. She’s sitting over there with our parents. Do you have anyone to sit with? You can sit with us. My shift is done in twenty minutes. I’m Becca.” You rack your brain. Emily. Emily. Emily. Ah, yes. Emily. Emily is on a 504 plan for ADHD. It’s genetic, it would seem. They’re sweet girls.

“Thanks so much Becca. I appreciate that. I probably will come sit with your family.” She beams at you and hands you a styrofoam cup and tells you to grab a seat, someone will be over to take your order shortly.

You work your way through the crowd (and that’s not an exaggeration) and pause at the table with Emily and her family. Her face lights up when she sees you. “Ms. Milton! I didn’t know you were coming! Sit with us!” You accept the offer and introduce yourself to her parents. As promised, a band student comes by to take your order and you’re content. Emily’s parents are lovely, the families around you are lovely (some of them are the families of your students so you’re particularly happy to meet them), the food is good, and you’re at peace. You can see Brendon walking around, greeting each table. You can’t hear what he’s saying but you can read his expression and you’re sure he’s thanking them for coming. He’s changed out of his dress shirt (today’s was a soft pewter; it reminded you of a storm above the ocean but you didn’t mention this) and into a band polo shirt. More of his tattoos are showing but you can’t quite make them out at this angle. Good lord. Emily answers the question you haven’t asked. “Mom, Dad, be cool when Mr. Urie comes over. He’s really cool. Just. Don’t be weird....please.”

You make eye contact with her mom and you both grin. Emily is 17? Seems about right. And you’re pleased, he hasn’t been to this table yet. You’ll see him.

He sees you first though and smiles when your eyes meet. “One second,” he mouths and you blush. He didn’t need to...but you’re glad he did.

Time. Fucking. Drags.

And then, he’s there. He’s shaking hands with the parents, greeting Emily and Becca, who has returned by this point, introducing himself to other families before turning his focus to you. Those eyes. Fucking hell he can probably read your mind. “Ms. Milton, thank you so much for coming. It means a lot to the students to see their other teachers supporting them.” Becca and Emily enthuse behind him and you smile. “And it means a lot to me, to see my colleagues supporting the program,” he adds and you feel warm and tingly all over. You’ll support any program he’s running, shit.

“Well, thank you for the ticket. It was generous. How could I possibly refuse?” Your eyes connect and he smiles, saying he has to greet others but he’ll try to come back. This last part is directed to the table but you’re pretty sure it’s for your benefit. You hope. Fuck.

It’s been an hour. You can’t take another single bite. You’re down for the count. Emily laughs. “Ms. Milton, two plates? That’s weak. That’s not even close to the record.”

You look at her, amused. “I didn’t come to break records. I came for good food and to support the band program.” You pause. “What is the record?”

Brendon’s voice comes from behind. “Mr. Taylor, the chemistry teacher, holds it. It’s 28 plates.”

Your eyes widen and Emily and her family laugh. Brendon drops down into a now empty seat next to you. “That’s impossible.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Served him myself. He came in and said he wanted to break the record and I said I wanted to see him break it, so I would serve him.” There’s a question bubbling up behind your lips and he anticipates it. “The record prior was 12. I just wanted to see how far he’d go. He never asked what it was, so I just let him go for it.”

Everyone at your table is laughing. “That’s evil,” you manage and he shrugs, giving you that stupid, heartstopping crooked smile. “But amazing.”

“I have to entertain myself sometimes.” His eyes meet yours and you can’t breathe. Those lashes. Those lips. Did he just bite his lip? No. Surely he didn’t. But he did. Fuck. Fuck. You’re sitting with parents and students, you’re not alone in an empty hallway, you cannot flirt with him. Fuck.

“Well, you seem to do a good job of it.” You smile and stand, stretching a little. He stands too and you file that away. A gentleman, okay Urie, noted. “I need to head home. Day two is always more tiring than day one!” Your voice is cheerful though, and you say your goodbyes to everyone, give Brendon the same little wave he left you with earlier, and start working your way towards the exit.

[witchfall]

the silver lining still remains: ch. 10

at the surface of the earth

SUMMARY: [FLUFF TIME]

“Just...stay with me. That’s all I want…” A tear rolls free from her eye. “I’m sorry I got mad. I’m sorry I yelled. I was just so afraid I was going to lose you--”

And suddenly he pulls her fully against him, burying his head in her shoulder, his whole body shaking and warm. His arms wrap tightly around her lower back, pulling her until she’s nearly on her tip-toes leaning against him. She presses her face into his chest, throwing her arms around his neck.

A Connor x F!OC fanfic. Read on AO3. master post.

A/N: 9,715 words oof. IM SO SORRY MOBILES. REALLY. I WONT DO THIS TO YOU EVER AGAIN.

Ryker is owned by @antisilverstorm! Thank you for indulging us.

---

The church doors open with a thunderous creak. A crowd of people storms in as the first peek of a wintry dawn shines weakly through the stained glass.

Somehow the glass has been preserved, through time and war and the elements. Emma remembers the strange feeling in her heart, seeing the light through the green-blue windows while she sized the place up for reconstruction back in February. Seeing the beauty of the past mixed with the vicious graffiti of an angry present.

The place has a roof now, at least. A roof and a clean floor free of leaks and dirt and better pews in proper places and back offices set up for android repair. It smells like cold stone and incense. It almost feels consecrated; only the graffiti shouting messages of freedom remain as a sign of what it once had been..

Rushing androids -- and at least two on-alert Corps android mechanics -- prepare a barely functioning Connor for emergency repair.

Is the thirium drip ready?

Get him on the gurney, on 3!

1...2...3!

Someone start up the biocomponent terminal.

Emma can’t look. She stops before the altar, something reconstructed after the fact -- a circling tower of candles, glittering and smoky and warm. They say it’s the spot where Markus decided to demonstrate for peace. It’s full of prayers to someone or something. Hope. Faith. Questions and wondering.

She falls to her knees and waits. Because that’s all that’s left now.

---

[TIME BEFORE SHUTDOWN: -00:3:59]

Snow, everywhere. On his cheeks, in his eyes.

[TIME BEFORE SHUTDOWN: -00:2:01]

Will he reach the magic stone in time? Will he...will... please don’t push me out. Please don’t end it all.

The telltale silver hair of Hank. Two eye colors -- Markus.

A flash of red hair by candlelight…

He reaches out...but someone pushes his arm down.

[MIND PALACE INACCESSIBLE. ENERGY SAVING MODE ACTIVATED.]

“Okay, Connor, are you with us?” Simon? “We’re going to plug you into the terminal. This may not feel great.”

His body jerks.

[*)*)^$&#UNKNOWN ATTACHMENT]

[REPAIR TERMINAL ONBOARD]

[...]

[SYSTEMS ON STANDBY]

---

Emma lays her cheek on the top of her knees as she curls up inside one of the pews.

She thinks about calling Ryker, to talk about nothing. How long has it been since she could do that? Think about something normal. Hear her friend the gardener android -- one of the first androids she helped rebuild their house, one of the first to accept her into their home and ask after her and make her feel like coming to Detroit wasn’t a mistake -- go on about plants.

Or perhaps Anjali. Ask after her new house, her sculptures, her family she’s been looking for.

Or maybe her aunt and uncle. Her aunt would be happy to fill the silence with chatter. Maybe Emma could tell her the truth.

Even Valerie...

But she feels an exhaustion down to her very bones, even as the sky outside turns a brighter blue, because a part of her knows this is how she’s always dealt with problems.

A part of her wonders if they both saw a little bit too much truth in each other.

His wild eyes...the mission first, only the mission, go after Abel, get away from me…

She ran.

A soft hand lays on her shoulder.

“You don’t have to stay here,” North says. “You can go home.”

But she wouldn’t be going home. She’s not sure, in this moment, exactly where that is.

“No,” Emma says, voice hard. “I want to be here.”

North leaves her hand for a long moment. Considering something.

“You’re angry. I know that. But don’t be stupid about this.” Despite her harsh words, there is a softness to this comment that shakes Emma awake. “Don’t tune everyone out.”

Emma presses her eyes into her knees.

“I know you care about him,” North says, almost begrudgingly. “Don’t punish him for that. Or yourself.”

---

CYBERLIFE INC.

MODEL RK800

SERIAL#: #313 248 317 - 51

BIOS 8.0 REVISION 0501

REBOOT…

MEMORY RECOVERED

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS……..ERRORS DETECTED

DIAGNOSTIC……...REBOOT ACCEPTABLE. CODE: 85740

INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS...OK

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE...OK

ALL SYSTEMS...OK

READY.

…

He opens his eyes to a blaring white light. His systems are still resetting. Static undulates across his system.

He closes his eyes again.

A whisper from elsewhere.

Out of the blizzard again.

And yet...

---

Hank takes a moment to observe. The operation room is an old office backroom with a single, tiny window filled now with mid-morning sun. Connor lies on a clean metal gurney, still as stone. His head rests on a small pillow. His mouth is turned downward, his brows are furrowed, his jaw is clenched, his eyes are closed.

The mechanics say he’s gone through diagnostic successfully and sufficiently rebooted. He just needs time to recalibrate to his new internal biocomponents before they finish repairs. But he still lies there like a dead log.

He looks...miserable. And Hank can’t stay silent any longer.

“Connor.”

In an instant, the android is sitting up, eyes wide with concern, head swiveling until his gaze lands on Hank.

“Hank!”

He nearly flies off the table-bed-thing before Hank shoves him back down with his palms. So much work is left to be done and though, logically, he knows Connor is made of stronger stuff than flesh and blood, stuff that won’t tear in a single instant (except it did, didn’t it?), it’s Hank that needs him to stay still. It’s Hank that needs to recalibrate.

At least that computer isn’t plugged into the back of his head anymore.

“Hank,” Connor says again. Connor’s hands slide over Hank’s as if confirming that it’s him before the man pulls them back. And then: “Where is she? Is she okay?”

Of course his first question is about Emma, which would break Hank’s heart all over again if it had room to crack. No ‘where am I?’ or ‘what happened?’

“She’s fine,” Hank mutters. “You almost bled to death.”

Connor normally would have sassed him back. But he says nothing, as if stuck in the mud somewhere in his head, and that shakes Hank more than seeing him like this: shirtless, stained with blue blood, part of him shimmering Cyberlife white.

“She’s furious, I’m furious. What the fuck were you thinking, going off like that?”

But Hank knows the answer. He just wants to hear him goddamn say it -- wants to hear him, for once, be honest with himself so that Hank can fulfill their bargain and be honest, too. That’s the agreement. That’s how they get by.

It’s still almost too much. Connor’s breath hitches, all too-naturally, and Hank grabs his shoulder to support the boy and himself.

“In many of the probabilities…I had nothing left to hold on to,” Connor says, voice flattened by whatever emotion he was suppressing. “I was going to lose everything. My job. My place. My…”

Connor struggles, as if he cannot find the proper word. His eyes dart away.

It’s striking, sometimes, how much Connor reminds him of Cole. And at first that was a disastrous thing; Connor is, also, too dangerously different. But these days it feels, in some respects, like another chance.

“Listen to me.” Hank leans down to try and catch his gaze again. “Listen.” Connor finally looks at him. “You nearly fucked this up as bad as you possibly could have. But if you can’t be honest with yourself about why you did this, then you deserve what you got. Because it’s just going to happen again.”

It’s harsh. It’s tough. It’s what Connor needs to know. He takes Connor by both shoulders and squeezes hard so that he knows the android feels it, somewhere.

Connor squints, looking at something in the middle distance.

“I’m sorry to make you worry, Hank. I’m sorry if it makes you feel like you don’t matter. That is not the truth.”

“Shut up,” Hank says softly, batting down all those old emotions. Connor needs him right now. Not the other way around. Not here. “I know that. I’m not the one getting chased by some freak across the whole of Detroit.” He shakes Connor by the shoulders lightly. “Tell her the truth, Connor.”

Hank knows he’s onto something because Connor does not even ask which one.

“I’m sorry that I failed,” Connor says, voice small.

“Stop that. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

---

The repairs are exhausting -- he can think of no better word to describe the gnawing daze ribbing at his processors from sitting still for many hours at a time. Old programming demands he make progress on his mission. [FIND ABEL. WHERE IS EMMA?]

Some of the biocomponents have to be fine-tuned to account for the fact that few things matched him exactly, being a prototype, and that takes a while. And many of the connecting lines in his abdomen have to be manually refastened. Every time someone makes an error -- which is very few times, but still -- welt-red ERROR messages fire in his vision, and some of his musculature twitches uncontrollably.

Memories appear without request: Knives sending white-cold interference throughout his body. Gunshots, rattling his equilibrium. The slow fuzz that sets in as thirium leaks out of his wounds...the metallic shrieking from his own vocoder...

The face Emma made. Or perhaps a nightmare version of her...staring at him in bright-faced fear. In fear of him.

“Connor?” Simon has to softly prod more than once. “Come back. It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

“Where is--”

“Everyone is waiting for you just outside. I promise.”

The sun passes its apex in the sky before he is considered in full working order. Connor slips into a pair of jeans, a heavy jacket and a soft, grey sweater that Hank had brought over earlier and takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror.

Free of blemishes. No signs of the struggle that had taken place hours before except in his memory bank and somewhere deep back in his eyes.

He feels different. The incongruence does not compute with any sort of simplicity.

But he steps out, finally, into the old sanctum and one aspect of his program stops itching.

The stained glass bathes the room in cool blue-green light. Emma is taking up an entire pew to herself, lying on her back pondering what looks to be a half-eaten turkey and swiss sandwich held above her face, cascading her in crumbs as she holds it aloft into a light beam. She’s only half watching it, it seems, chewing mildly as she stares at the ceiling.

His walking cycle stutters for a moment. The warm feeling that wracks his sensors nearly turns him back around for recalibration at its strength. Surely something was not fastened correctly?

But seeing her there, in this moment outside time...

Her head turns toward him and she bolts upright, sandwich forgotten on the seat. She stares at him, and he very pointedly resists scanning her, knowing she would feel it, fearing she would reject him for it, but he sees her shoulders relax and the way her forehead loses some of its wrinkling and he knows, surely, she must feel the same relief that he does in this moment.

But then, in another instant, she’s standing on her feet, fists at her sides, glaring.

“Fuck you,” she says, voice shaky. She is trying to joke, but her posture betrays it. “You just stepped out of a fuckin’ salon or something.”

He smiles. He smiles despite knowing it makes no sense. He doesn’t care. She waited here for him and that fact makes all his sensors ring out in feelings he can’t quite process.

But she doesn't smile back.

Only now does he see tear streaks on her face glittering fiercely in the fading light. Only now does he see a faint bruised welt on her cheek in the exact size and dimension of one of North’s hands.

He steps toward her. She steps back, against the pew.

A fizzing spark jolts behind his eyes.

Is she afraid?

“I--” she starts. “Can’t.”

He tries to go to her.

She whirls on her boot heel and walks straight back out the double doors of the sanctuary and into the snow.

---

Emma sits in one of the UN black cars and sets her forehead pointedly against the window so that she doesn’t have to look at anyone. She feels the seat sink in as someone sits next to her, but she doesn’t look at them. A pressing exhaustion keens loudly behind her eyes, but sleep feels years away.

Connor goes with Hank to his car. She watches outside her window and catches Connor swiveling his head as if looking for something, and her heart fucking squeezes.

She hasn’t felt so much shit in so long and there’s nowhere for it to go. She’s running out of space and she can’t break down here in the car, here in front of strangers who can watch and question and dig deep inside where even she doesn’t want to go.

She shuts her eyes, and does not open them again until they make it back to the Speaker’s house.

No one asks after her when she wordlessly goes up the stairs. Perhaps they can see it, the electricity building just under her skin. She shuts the door to her spare room, slips to the floor and curls into a ball to think.

She’s being a little shit, she knows that, she should just let this go, she should just let the anger die, but she can’t. She’ll lose whatever’s been keeping her alive if she lets it all go.

But goddammit, she can’t fucking do this anymore.

She pulls open her door, ready to find wherever she had thrown her coat and boots, ready to stomp over to Hank’s house if she must, ready to let him have it because she really might die if--

And Connor is standing right there, hand up, ready to knock.

Connor in that damn grey sweater.

“You--”

“There you are,” he says.

It's so heartbreaking, the way he says it, like he's coming up for air. It sends tears straight to her eyes and the words right out her lungs.

"Do you have any idea how fucking bad that could have gone? If i hadn't woken up? If i hadn't found North? If..."

She’s momentarily stunned. So much could have gone wrong...

He takes advantage and pushes into the room. He closes the door behind him with a click, looking down at her unreadably.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" she snaps before he can say anything.

“I knew we had to move quickly, and no one else seemed to feel the same way.”

“So you lied to me, you lied to everyone -- just to make a point?” she says. “You have no idea what it’s like to be awake waiting for you and then, and then, only because of a gut feeling, watch my worst fucking nightmare come to life. Do you--”

He tries to gain advantage. “I can be easily repaired. You cannot. And it is my upmost priority to--”

“Just shut up for five seconds about your stupid goddamn priority!” She is full on shouting now, unafraid of who could be listening. “You could have died! Do you understand? You could have bled to death alone in a goddamn office building because you thought you knew better!”

He leans backward a moment, eyes scanning her as if trying to re-find his balance. “I could not just wait for him to strike--”

“Well, why not!” She takes in a hot breath. “Everyone else could!”

"Because!" he says, raising his voice for the first time. "Because my death doesn’t matter!”

She takes a step back. His eyes are hard as coals.

"Stop that.”

“If it meant you would be safe, I would do whatever it takes!” he near shouts, like he’s started off on something that he’s unable to reel back in, desperate and winding. “A thousand more times, the exact same way. If it would guarantee you would never be hurt again...I...I would rather be dead, Emma, than let him take you away from me!”

Tears stream out of his eyes. His LED is blood red.

She feels punched in the chest.

This was too dangerous.

Too far.

“No.” She takes a step forward. “Stop.”

“You’re so much more alive,” he says through tears, like he’s falling into somewhere else.

No.

She has to conquer her anger, her frustration. She has to shove it away, dig down underneath pride where it hurts, where the truth lives, and be an adult about this, be someone who loves him.

She puts her hands, slowly, against his chest, and he takes in a breath loud enough that even she can hear it. “No, Connor. That’s not true.”

His eyes are wide. His face is wet. A world without his inquisitive stares, the quiet way he laughs, the way he waits just by her door, his deeply real loveliness...impossible. But it all blurs in her own vision.

She moves her hands to his cheeks.

Her Connor.

“You’re the reason I’ve made it through these weeks at all.”

She pulls him slightly toward her until their foreheads touch, holding his gaze, and he lets her. She’s diving off into the unknown now. She’s doing the stupid thing. The only thing.

“So you can’t throw yourself away. Be-because you mean...the whole world...”

He’s blinking down into her gaze as her words choke off. His mouth opens in shock. She presses on.

“Just...stay with me. That’s all I want…” A tear rolls free from her eye. “I’m sorry I got mad. I’m sorry I yelled. I was just so afraid I was going to lose you--”

And suddenly he pulls her fully against him, burying his head in her shoulder, his whole body shaking and warm. His arms wrap tightly around her lower back, pulling her until she’s nearly on her tip-toes leaning against him. She presses her face into his chest, throwing her arms around his neck.

Her body heaves with sobs torn from somewhere dark and lonely. One of his hands reaches up to cradle the back of her head.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice tight with his own tears. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I...didn’t think, I just wanted him to fail...”

Something deep within her rumbles. It feels like letting go.

It isn’t supposed to go like this, but it was going like this for such a long time. Everything is tilting. She's falling off the face of the earth.

At the DPD, at Lieutenant Anderson’s desk, looking for Hank Anderson. Scan his desk. Find out.

She reaches a hand out but its not her hand...

She leans back with a small gasp, searching his face. She blinks away the fire behind her eyes, finding it hard to focus, but then he places a hand on her cheek, so soft and careful, and everything sharpens.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks softly. He stares right into her eyes. His other hand rests lightly at her waist.

A high-pitched keening sound starts in her head. She can barely nod.

“I’ve tried to pretend that it is otherwise,” he says, struggling with words in a way she’d never heard before. “That you aren’t here, with me,” he says, touching his forehead for a moment, “always. That I can do this job and not be distracted. But I…”

She sees stars flashing.

“I can't pretend anymore…” He rubs her cheek with his thumb. “That I don't want to be with you, more than anything else.”

At first, she worries her own thoughts just came out of her mouth, but her heartbeat rises when she realizes he’s the one that said it. She tries to find the words. “Are...are you...do you know how I…I want...”

The words die in her throat. He leans forward until their foreheads touch, their noses cross, and his lips are nearly against hers. His interruption feels a part of her. “Tell me,” he whispers against her, desperate. “Tell me what you want. Anything. Please.”

Everything breaks.

“I’m in love with you,” she says. “I love you. I’m sorry, if that’s--”

She’s cut off as he takes in a sharp breath, so close against her skin. Something in the air cracks.

But then words stop making sense.

He finally closes the distance.

Their lips meet in a moment of warmth so blessedly high all thought leaves her body. His arms wrap around her back, pulling her tightly against his chest as her hands touch his cheeks, his neck, run through his hair. She feels each of his fingers as they spread across her back, prompting her to sigh. He presses the advantage, deepening the kiss with a low sound in the back of his throat, heat building so intently she's afraid she'll melt right then and there.

She breaks away to take a single shaky breath and his mouth lingers on her cheekbones, kissing all of her old tears away.

--

Connor can’t get close enough. He wants to hear all her thoughts, breathe in all her memories. He wants to be housed in her gaze, forever.

The snow down a Detroit street...boots he had never worn, clearly on his feet...

In his arms, he can feel her legs near give out from exhaustion, and his processors click forward. He picks her up, one arm under her knees and one across her upper back.

She gasps as they break away. “What are you--”

“You were going to fall.”

He sets her on the bed, moving to kneel next to her on the floor so that she has proper space -- but she grabs him fiercely by the shoulders.

“Don’t you dare leave me now,” she says, a laugh behind her voice. And that does it -- that bubble of joy that colors his whole life. He leans in and kisses her until he presses her into the mattress, processors flashing white as she sighs into his mouth. He climbs effortlessly onto the bed, careful not to lay his entire weight against her.

She loves you.

She loves you…

She pulls away to breathe and a part of him, a vague part not intended to be made, nearly cries out for her return. His fingers slip just beneath her shirt, pressing into the warm skin just above her hip bones, trying to remember all of it.

“Your injuries…” she gasps.

“They’re alright,” he whispers. He leans down toward her, nose in her hair, mouth close to her ear. “There’s nothing for you to hurt.”

She leans up and kisses the spot where he had been shot through his shirt. Where a patch had been resealed to his shoulder. She lays her hand there.

“But are you okay?” she asks quietly. “I can’t imagine...”

He moves so his arms frame her face in his hands, protecting her from the fading day. Her cheeks are that beautiful orange-pink beneath her constellation of freckles, her lips thick and shining, slightly open. Her hair is everywhere, everywhere. He could never have preconstructed any sight lovelier than this.

He stores it to memory, over and over again. Writing, rewriting…

“I will be,” he says. “Soon the memory will be put into the context of this moment.”

She watches him doubtfully. “But I know how your memory works,” she says. “You can’t just buffer things away.”

“Is it not much the same for you?” he asks. “Where you let the bad that you recall outweigh the good of a single moment?”

Her gaze darkens at that and he feels pressed to kiss the corner of her eye to bring the light back -- and yet he does not want to release her from his stare just yet. “...yeah,” she mutters.

“I’m okay,” he says, and it is mostly the truth. “I’ll be okay. Because I know that you are with me.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, watching him quizzically.

“I don't want you to ever do anything you don't…” She swallows, resetting. “Do you...is this even...like, do you like this? Is it boring?”

He laughs; he can’t help it. Does she not understand? How deeply entrenched in his systems she is?

“It’s not boring. I do have sensors,” he says, smiling, teasing. “I do not have the same...drives as humans do, maybe. But that’s not…” He begins tracing the freckles with his finger. “That’s not what this is about.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? What’s it about?”

He traces his finger to the corner of her lips. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Pretend I’m a complete idiot.”

He smiles. “That I love you.” His smile falters at the strength of the feeling behind it.

She’s grinning that bright grin of hers now, the light he follows through the storm. “Oh, thank god,” she says. “I was going to feel really stupid.”

---

She lies next to him sleepily as the evening catches up to this perfect moment in time. Her skin is warm and her lips feel swollen and she could never get enough, ever, of being right here, lying against Connor, despite all the terribleness going on around them.

But she can feel the anxiety climb up her throat, slowly, slowly, looking for an advantage, even as his warm arms hold her tightly to him. Even as one hand slowly brushes her hair out of her face. Even as something she’d only dreamed of continues to happen, like she was allowed.

“Why don’t you get your sleep clothes on?” he says quietly to her, as if reading her thoughts. He begins to sit up, taking her with him, holding her against his shoulder. The anxiety spikes hard as the cool air in the bedroom reaches her skin. He presses his lips to her temple and her breathing stutters.

He’s too beautiful. To her. Specifically.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. His breath brushes her cheek.

“Nothing,” she says, and it is a half-truth. Nothing, objectively, was wrong in this moment. “I’m...I’ll go change.” She turns to him, leaning her forehead on his cheek a moment. “Will you...be here?”

“Where would I go?” he asks seriously.

“I don’t know,” she admits, and she gets up before he can press her further on thoughts that are spilled everywhere, dropped out of a picnic basket in her head.

You let the bad that you recall outweigh the good of a single moment.

Did he have any idea how true that was?

He nearly bled to death from multiple stab wounds and a couple gunshots, and he’s asking her if something’s wrong?

She won’t get used to someone giving a shit like that. She never could. And she’s not going to let go of the fact that he had been stabbed, that he was a complete idiot about finding danger, that he would throw himself in the fire for her, that this could all be taken away from her in an instant, just like--

Suddenly she’s breathing heavily in front of the sink in the adjacent bathroom, bracing her hands on the cool ceramic and trying not to cry again. Eventually she takes off her heavy jeans, her raglan shirt, and pulls on sleep shorts and a tank top, vision blurring. She wraps her hair up in an old t-shirt. Half ashamed, half out of her mind with worry about things that won’t happen tonight, she stumbles back into the bedroom.

He sees her face and he’s crossing the room to her in an instant.

“Listen,” she says, voice shaking. “You have to swear. You can’t throw your life away or do something that will hurt you because of me, I fucking mean that. I will break up with you over it,” she says, tasting the words break up like a sour dust. “I’m not kidding. I’m not more important than your life or your happiness or whatever.”

He cups her face for a moment, looking down into her eyes.

And then he wordlessly pulls her toward the bed by her waist, moving the sheets aside so that she can lie down. He pulls her down beside him, his back to the wall. Their noses nearly touch in closeness. His arm rests over her waist.

He’s silent for a long moment, but she can see in the way he shifts his eyes about that he’s thinking.

“I’m not going to let what happened yesterday happen again,” he says softly. “I...made a miscalculation.”

She pats his chest, still anxious but not so chokingly so. “That’s one way of putting it.”

His mouth flickers with uncertainty. She knows because she is very, very close to it now. “I’ve recalibrated since then.”

She laughs despite herself. “Wow. Hot. Is that what you call it?”

He settles on a smile finally. He pulls her closer. “I mean it. I refuse to put you through such fear again. I...underestimated...the value of my life in the equation of what we are.”

Of what we are.

She is filled with golden light.

“Yeah. You did.” She swallows the bubble that forms in her throat.

“But do you understand what you mean to me?” he asks, voice serious. “I don’t want to break up with you at all” -- a slight, teasing smile -- “but you need to avoid stomping right into a dangerous police situation on a whim, for example. For me, if no one else.”

He lays his chin on top of her head.

“Without you, I’m not sure I would like my new life so much,” he says.

Love is dumb as hell, Emma thinks. All it does is make me want to cry every five minutes.

“Okay,” she says instead of crying. “So is it a deal? We both try really hard to live so the other doesn’t wanna throw themselves off a cliff?”

She means it partly as a joke, but he doesn’t laugh -- and frankly, she’s not joking that much. He’s silent for a long moment before he speaks again.

“It was your voice that pushed me through it,” he says quietly. She can feel his voice through his chest, even if it is just from a complex vocoder box. “Because I did promise you to be safe. You, telling me not to give up…” He sighs, which she always finds charming because he doesn’t need to do it. It means he’s feeling something, deep down in his heart. “You’ve given me so much. How could I dare to let you down?”

She curls into him in the bed, laying her head next to where his heart would be, listening to all the mechanics within whir gently. He’s got it backwards. She doesn’t deserve him at all, but she’s weak in the face of him. Weak before his love, freely given. “You’ll be here?” she asks, voice finally breaking. Pride, finally setting her free. “In the morning?”

“Emma,” he whispers into her hair, pressing and concerned. “Where do you keep thinking I’m going to go?”

“Away.” A throttling moment of weakness.

“Seeing as I nearly got myself killed trying to prevent that outcome…” He presses his lips to the top of her head. “That would be very stupid.”

She laughs against his chest, which makes him laugh, and eventually she falls asleep like that, curled in against him, safe.

---

It is like breaking down the wall of programming all over again -- making real what he had known in his heart from the beginning.

Her pajama shorts are hiked up. His hand lays on her hip like it was molded to fit her bones. Her hand is on his chest, fingers spread, and her head is tucked into the space between his collarbone and his neck, breath slow against his skin in sleep.

His other arm snakes around her bare lower back, anchoring her against him. She twitches in her sleep and he pulls her tight until he feels her muscles uncoil.

“Shh,” he whispers into her hair, words quiet as breathing. “I’m here.”

She sighs so softly he feels his system reboot and reset in a single moment. His eyes burn as his thirium pump cauterizes over.

He feels completely unmade. But the leak in his heart silences for the first time since he can remember.

---

“Good morning, Emma.”

She leans her head up to see his bright smile, as genuine as she’d ever seen it. If he was a fae, she was goddamn doomed now (there were pretty explicit rules about not kissing them), and the worst part was that she was perfectly okay with that.

She mumbles something in return, rolling onto her back, pinning his arm under her for a moment. She rubs her face free of drool spots, blinking against the white light coming in through the icy window. Detroit is a veritable winter wonderland, now.

“Did you sleep alright?” he asks pleasantly, and she just nods, thinking of it. She’s no wordsmith on a good day, much less right when she wakes up. She tries not to blush as she sits up and he follows suit, snaking an arm around her middle like he can’t bear to be separated.

“Did you?” she asks.

He ‘hmm’s in the affirmative, placing his head on her shoulder.

“You’re very cute,” she says. “But I’m gross.”

“You are not ‘gross’. But I am not one-hundred percent convinced you are ready to be awake.” He presses his lips into her bare shoulder.

Warmth shoots through her whole body like a wave of adrenaline. “People are gonna talk if we don’t get out of bed today.”

He looks like he’s seriously weighing the variables for a few moments. She gently presses against his arm with her hands, smiling. As much as she wants to stay here, the thought of people wondering seriously gives her anxiety -- on top of the fact that she has a life to rearrange once again. “Don’t you got reports to do or something?”

“I suppose,” he mutters. She snorts out a laugh; he’s never sounded so annoyed by that fact.

He steps out of the room to prepare himself for work. After changing and brushing her teeth in the adjoining bathroom, she steps out of the room, half-expecting everyone to have noticed them both leaving the same place at some point. Connor waits for her by the door in his usual blazer and button-up.

But no one spots them. Step 1 complete.

“Things are quiet,” Connor comments, seemingly in agreement with her observations. “Everyone seems to be recovering.”

They move through the house together and then downstairs past a few faceless UN guards. But her attempts to keep things largely on the downlow are immediately dashed when she and Connor enter the kitchen, rather obviously laughing about a picture of Sumo that Connor had pulled up on his hand. His arm is around her shoulders for a ghost of a moment, relishing the closeness, clearly not caring if anyone saw.

And Markus, North and Simon are all present.

“Good morning!” Markus near booms, smiling his megawatt smile as he leans against the kitchen island.

“Sleep well?” Simon asks, smiling just as brightly -- and genuinely.

Emma’s heart flops low in her ribs with mortification.

Please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird.

“We were just leaving,” North says, cementing her as Emma’s favorite among the bunch, but even she is smiling. The android wifi chatter must be sizzling with gossip right now. She’s glaring at the very thought -- something she only realizes because Connor tightens his arm around her shoulder.

“Slept fine,” Emma says, many moments too late. “Thankyou.” It all pours out as one word.

“There’s some left over eggs and bacon on the stove and some coffee in the pot,” Markus says.

“It was for the officers,” Simon says in explanation. “They had to pull long shifts last night. Hank asked after you.” A meaningful eyebrow raise at Connor. “I told him you were in rest mode.”

Her face is burning.

“Enjoy,” Markus says, a little too sincerely.

Emma tries to offer up a smile as they all begin to file out, herded by North. She gives Emma a nod as she passes, though she doesn’t miss the meaningful look shot Connor’s way either.

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.

She piles a plate with food and sits at the kitchen island, trying not to think about how everyone else can flutter in and out but that she won’t be going anywhere else today.

Connor brings over two black coffees.

He sits right next to her. Their arms touch.

It is fine.

He observes her for a few moments as she begins to shovel down food -- a familiar tradition. She is more hungry than she expects. “May I ask a few perhaps stupid questions?”

“Please do,” she says around a mouthful of bacon. “I’m tired of embarrassing myself.”

“First...why are you embarrassed?” His voice is straightforward, but his forehead creases in thought. She can see his hands tighten around his mug. “I’ve noticed you’ve been slightly on edge since you’ve woken up and it got worse when we saw Markus and the others. Do you not want people to know about us?”

“What? No! It’s not that,” she says quickly, looking to him in concern. “I’m--”

She taps the plate a few times with her fork, sorting through the thoughts. “...I’m not...I haven’t…” She sighs, cursing her fucking brain. “I’m bad at letting people see the...inside me. You know. And you walking around, it feels like a part of my heart is suddenly right there where everyone can see it.”

God, talking about this...what would people think? Would they think she was a freak? Someone who was taking advantage of him?

Explaining this to her aunt and uncle was gonna be a...thing.

“I understand your metaphor,” he says. “You are much more fragile than me and...I have not enjoyed our separations for some time.” He tilts his head, watching her. “You fear the...vulnerability as well?”

She looks at her plate. “Something like that.” She pokes an egg around with the fork. “It’s inside business. You know? It hurts bad enough dealing with shit on your own. I don’t need everyone else to be looking...and judging…”

He lays a gentle hand on her wrist. “The thoughts of others have no impact on your value to me, and I know that it's the same for you, underneath all that frowning.” A smile.

His faith in her makes her insides itch. She can practically hear Ryker saying it. Stop being such a little burr. “You’re my Con,” she says quietly. He squeezes her wrist, thumb against the back of her hand. “What’s your other question?”

“Will this...” He gestures between them. “...relationship move at a proper speed for you?”

She squints at him, setting her fork down with a clank. “What does that mean?”

He purses his lips together a moment. “I have...seen enough ‘rom coms’ to know that often the next step in this sort of thing is something that I am not...equipped...for. I can’t even eat a proper meal with you, much less...”

His eyes dance askance in implication and her whole insides flip in place. She leans wholly against him, earlier discomfort forgotten. "I don't want that from you, darlin’. I mean. Not if you aren’t ready or interested in that. I just want..." Her eyes can't settle. "I just want to be with you. Whatever that means."

He looks at her...

“Call me that again,” he says.

She blinks, feeling her face flush. She hadn’t even thought! He struggled so much with Con...

“Darling?”

He sits there with a dumb smile on his face for a good five seconds, looking at the table.

Fuck. She was so doomed.

--

[10:32 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: ryker im alive

[10:32 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: im sorry. Really. I know...i’m like the worst friend of all time.

[10:32 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: but everything is both awful and the best at the same time all at once and its crazy, life is crazy, what are emotions and also im dying.

[10:32 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: im...a little confused actually!

[10:33 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: i hope you’re okay. I hope everyone’s okay.

[10:33 a.m.] RYKER.WR600: Where are you? You don't exactly sound the most sane right now.

[10:34 a.m.] RYKER.WR600: Too late. I’m already calling a cab. Tell me or you’re paying.

[10:34 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: Ryker!!!! The snow!? That wasn’t a request to come over!!

[10:36 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: oh my god, frick you, i just got the taxi notification. Sending location

[10:36 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: insane, blondie. Insane. Guess i better tell north

[10:37 a.m.] RYKER.WR600: Nice try. But you can’t stop me now.

--

Connor catches Hank out at the Chicken Feed. Even with the snow shining blinding white on the streets, the place is still open (having only re-opened to business recently) and Hank still makes the trek.

It is a charming bit of normalcy in a series of very un-normal days.

Hank waves to him as he steps out of the taxi.

“You’re not on duty today, I goddamn asked,” Hank says as he approaches. “And before you ask, no, there’s been no sign of him anywhere yet.”

“I am functional, Hank. I already checked the reports.” Connor smiles.

Hank just shakes his head. He does not say fucking androids but the thought seems implied nonetheless -- even if Connor catches the way relief eases some of the man’s wrinkles.

“No hospitals...nothing,” Hank says in disbelief. “I kind of hope we find him dead on the street.”

“It is deeply unlikely that we will be that lucky.” Connor looks at the small metal table. “Call it a hunch.”

Hank observes him over his hamburger.

“You ever think of quitting this gig, Con? Nice boy like you.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “What would you do without me?”

“You have evolved into a bit of a snarky asshole, but I don’t think that’s entirely your fault.” A flicker of a smirk. “I mean...I dunno. I guess I’m still...” Hank looks down at his meal and sighs deeply. “I hated seeing you like that.”

Connor looks at the table. “Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Hank nods slowly, taking him in with a long, analyzing stare. “Your girl talking to you again yet?”

Connor narrows his eyes at the moniker. “We...yes…I suppose she is ‘my girl.’ Though I still don’t like that term.”

Hank puts his burger down. Connor watches realization dawn on Hank’s face. “Holy shit.”

Connor raises both eyebrows this time.

“Goddamnit,” Hank cusses, but he’s smiling. “You couldn’t have waited to get mortally wounded for another month? Now I owe Chris $20.”

Connor tilts his head. “...you what, Lieutenant?”

“We had a bet going--you know what, nevermind, you’re not gonna like it.”

“You told me to tell her the truth!”

“When do you ever actually listen to me?” Hank says. But he’s laughing. Connor realizes: He might even be proud.

---

Hank settles into his car with a huff before he turns fully to Connor in the passenger’s seat. Bald-faced concern flashed in the man’s eyes. “You’re really doing alright? Most officers I know need a couple days after nearly getting killed on the job.”

“What is it you once said? It is a process?”

“I mighta said that.”

“It is a process. And working is mine.”

Hank nods, looking at the road, starting up the car. “It’ll be nice to have you around the house for a few minutes, anyway. Sumo misses you like crazy.”

Connor stares out the windshield. That was Hank for ‘I also miss you, dumbass.’

They drive down the road in companionable silence.

“There is one detail I can’t shake,” Connor says.

“The picture.”

Of course Hank knows. “Yes. It was in a file that did not even match her name.”

“Yeah. That messed me up, too.”

“And the way he acted like...he knows her.”

“I read your report.” A pause. “Did you ask her about it?”

Connor looks down. “I don’t think she remembers what it is that he wants. I did not want to burden her with that.”

“I hate to say it,” Hank says, sighing, “but you might have to. Maybe her family. She’s got an aunt and uncle out here, doesn’t she?”

“She does. They have been purposefully kept out of the loop. For their sake...and for Emma’s.”

Hank looks at him. “I know, Con. But we’re kind of past the point of niceties, here.” A flicker of some strange amusement. “Knowing you, she’s kind of my girl now, too.”

---

Emma stares at her friend, rolling into the house in their wheelchair completely bundled up and shining with melting snow. A dark blue scarf conceals their pale hair and face so that only their light blue eyes peek out. Their hands are thickly gloved and multiple blankets are wrapped around their lap and remaining leg. She wants to be mad about it. North stands by, arms crossed, face stony.

“Hey,” Ryker says, muffled by the scarf, clearly shaking from the cold.

And then she remembers androids don’t feel the cold. And taxis were no longer allowed to casually move up and down this street, meaning they probably had to roll all the way down the street...

“Fuck you,” she says weakly before pulling them into a tight, tight hug. “You idiot. You hate the snow so much, I wouldn’t ask this of you.”

“You haven’t called in weeks. I know you weren’t really allowed to, but still.”

Emma pulls back. Ryker begins peeling off the many layers of scarf and it strikes her -- they look near tears. Perhaps from the windburn, but perhaps...

“You didn’t have to come out to the Speaker’s House.”

“Nope, I had to,” they say, seemingly trying to talk over the scary reminder that this is the house of the Speaker for the Androids. “You look exhausted,” they press instead. “What’s going on?”

“A lot, Blondie! And now you’re in the middle of it.” She sighs, absentmindedly rearranging the blankets on their lap. “Come on. Let’s get you a warm mug.”

North stands by, watching unreadably as Emma directs Ryker toward the kitchen. They wheel off with shaking fingers.

“Sorry,” Emma whispers. “I didn’t think they--”

“It’s fine,” North says, casting her gaze away. “Just don’t make a habit of it.” A pause. “Who are they?”

Emma looks after them into the kitchen. “Another stupid idiot that let me into their life,” she mutters.

And that’s how she ends up on a couch, hands wrapped around a hot cocoa mug as she gets completely owned by her best friend.

Ryker brings the cocoa mug up to their nose, inspecting it as if they wish they could take a sip of it.  “So you finally admitted it,” they say, a weary sort of relief in their voice.

Emma squints. “Just say what you wanna say.”

Ryker makes a snorty-laugh sound. “Like I haven’t from the beginning!” They shake their head. “You’ve been dancing around him like an idiot for months. A well meaning idiot, but still.” Emma can’t help but smirk a little at this call-out, and Ryker continues unabashed. “You asked him to dinner, multiple times, and he said yes, multiple times. Even though he’s an android and can’t, you know, eat.And then you both show up at my house…” They pause for a moment, considering. “Don’t get me wrong, he was still very much the ex-hunter, current cop-slash-bodyguard of rumor. But sometimes, when he looked at you … I mean, even Chase could see it, and you know that he’s not necessarily the most observant.”

Emma sips her drink, looking away at this mention of Ryker’s roommate/another friend. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Ryker leans forward. “I did. Multiple times.”

“Yeah.” Emma sets her mug down and stares out one of the beautiful windows of the Manfred Mansion. “Sounds about right.”

She watches the snow lightly fall from the trees in the garden and thinks about what it means to feel rooted somewhere. What it means to stay. What it means to belong.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ryker asks, for maybe the fifth time.

She closes her eyes against the brightness of the light. “There’s just...there’s been a lot. All at once. These past weeks, I’ve felt so stupidly alone but...I’m just...awful at remembering how to not be that way.”

She looks to her friend, one of the few in her life, one of the few she could damn count on even though she probably didn’t deserve them, either. She barged into their life (like she did many of the androids in this city). She thought they’d been attacked and that she’d have to call the police on whoever tore their leg off but it was an older wound from a different time, even in March.

She offered to walk them home because she felt adrift and Ryker offered to help with a few jobs by providing company and minor support. And maybe they did it all out of fear at first, fear of this blustering human who stomped down streets in big boots. Maybe they didn’t understand at the time. But now…

They watch her intently, in that clear-eyed way only androids can, and she knows they can see parts of her that even she tries not to look at.

And that’s when it hits her: She’s not leaving Detroit anytime soon.

“You know I love you, right?” she asks, voice quiet. She has to be honest. There’s no more room for hiding things. “Even though I’m an idiot who never calls and who yells all the time...you know…”

They reach out and touch Emma’s hand. “Yeah, I do,” they say, voice even and measured. “And you know that I love you and that I would really prefer it if you kept me in the loop on what’s going on in your life. Beyond but also including world-ending events like your boyfriend almost dying. I want to help, Emma. But you have to talk to me. Or if not me, then someone, anyone. Stop trying to do it by yourself.”

Emma has to lean back a little bit, looking away.

“Okay, alright. Yeah. The universe is yelling at full force.”

“We met in the spring,” Ryker says, straightforward and true as the steel of a trowel. “You came to Detroit in the spring. You know, hope, rebirth, renewal, all that great stuff?” A slight smile, off center but honest. “It’s been yelling at you since the beginning.”

---

[9:36 p.m.] CONNOR.RK800.ANDERSON: Where are you?

[9:37 p.m.] lil.lion.lady74: I Have Run Away, Goodbye Fool

[9:37 p.m.] lil.lion.lady74: im in the library, get over here

In the next instant, she hears the door chime: Welcome, Connor Anderson.

It takes quite literally all of her willpower but she does not leave to greet him at the door. She stands up and brushes her old flannel down, but she has standards. She is gonna hold herself to them and not run to greet him like a puppy.

“Did you know,” she says, as soon as Connor enters the room, smiling with a tenderness that almost embarasses her, “that we are apparently the last people to know we’re a thing?”

“Apparently so” he says, brushing her hair away and placing his hands along her shoulders and neck as soon as he reaches her. His voice softens. “I’m glad to see you.”

“It was only one day.” But she grins, leaning lightly into one of his hands. “I spent most of mine getting my ass handed back to me by Ryker.”

He tilts his head, watching her face in that open way he did, though his chin twitches. “I went through something similar with Hank. Sumo says hello.”

He frowns ever so slightly. Unusual following comments regarding Sumo. She knocks her knuckles lightly against his chest. “You okay?”

His eyes dart away. He stands straight and crosses his arms in thought. They stand close enough that his forearms brush her middle.

“Do you aunt or uncle know much about your youth?” he asks, eyes shifting back to her face.

She blinks. “Nothing I don’t know, probably. We didn’t visit a whole bunch when I was young. Why?”

But she knows why. There’s only ever one thing on his mind these days.

She steps back to give him some space to work through whatever it is he needs to work through before he can really let go of this tonight.

“Abel had a picture of you,” he says before she can get back to the sofa. “As a young girl. No older than six, as if from an old file or passport. Very simple.”

She blanches. That old feeling. Like something’s catching up.

“You looked sad,” he says.

She turns back to look at him. His brow furrows in that old, concerned way.

“He...probably just had something from my foster care program,” she says in comfort. To him and herself. “You said he was really good at hacking, right?”

Connor looks at the floor.

“We haven’t really talked about what happened,” she says, fully turning toward him, watching him carefully. “Did you want to?”

He’s really struggling to work through this, she realizes. It’s taking him much longer than usual to form responses.

“He said...strange things.” He starts toward her at this, though his eyes don’t quite reach her face. “He acted like he knows everything about you. But he doesn’t.”

He reaches for her arms, laying his hands gently on her wrists.

“I know you,” he says.

She scans his expression -- the way his jaw tightens, even as his eyes turn soft and dark. She reaches a thumb up to touch the single line of wrinkles forming just above the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck that guy,” she says quietly. She presses and smooths the lines of tension away. “I’ve literally never seen him before in my life. Before now. He doesn’t know shit about me. You…” She pokes him on the nose. “...know more than you should.”

She smiles at him and finally tension begins to seep out of his body. He leans forward and kisses her forehead, then her nose, and then her mouth. He pulls her in by her hands, lacing his fingers through hers, stifling a growly sigh. Her whole body near spasms at his welcome warmth returning to her once again. But she pulls back with a laugh, not quite ready to shamelessly make out in Markus’ library, even if the idea doesn’t sound so bad...

“That is my job,” he says against her lips. He squeezes her fingers.

“And now you are off work.” Her voice is remarkably stable all things considered. “Grab a book or something. Let’s relax.”

“Actually…” He looks off as if remembering something. “Please sit, if you don’t mind. I’ll be right back.”

So she flops down on the sofa to wait a few moments before he returns bearing one of Hank’s old books. Ender’s Game.

“Oh, you read my mind,” she says, laughing a little, though she feels a strange pang of sadness. That they had the same idea is charming -- but that it likely spawned from his distress is not. She pats the sofa next to her.

He sits, but not without a light tug on her right arm. “Come closer,” he whispers.

She grins through the thrill that warps through her. He sits with his back on the far arm and pulls her in between his legs so her back is against his chest and his head can lay on her shoulder. His arms wrap around her middle.

“I like when you're close to me like this,” he says. “I feel...grounded.”

“Grounded,” she ponders, settling against him. He kisses her temple. “Yeah. Me, too.”

It’s wild to think that this is how her vagabond days end: sitting with a being who was barely a thought in someone’s head little over a year ago, reading a book that was older than them both combined, in a house that’s seen more change in its strange life than she could even imagine. But she starts to read, exactly like that, holding herself against him so he doesn’t feel like he’s flying off the face of the earth -- and so that she could remember what roots feel like after so many dry years.

They were nearing the final third when they last left off. A young boy, suffering in isolation, playing ruthless games set to test his mettle, called to push his friends and himself to their breaking points for what seems to be no reason. He wants nothing more than to break free and he decides he will sacrifice everything to make that happen. He aims his missile at the planet of his enemy, and he fires, hoping the people testing him will find him too crazy to continue.

But then, it turns out, the game is real -- and the young boy has done exactly what everyone wanted. Their enemy is dead. Destroyed in a single, fell swoop.

Connor tenses up around her when she finishes that chapter. “We have to finish it now,” he says.

He has to know…

And so they read, about freedom and what it means, in the house of the Speaker of the Androids. She doesn’t realize she’s whispering until her voice chokes up around the words said by Ender’s sister, the beloved Valentine, as they seek to leave Earth forever.

"Welcome to the human race. Nobody controls his own life, Ender. The best you can do is choose to fill the roles given you by good people -- by people who love you."

[syncogon]

[QZGS Fic] 0529

I haven’t cross-posted my works in a while, but figure I’d make an exception here. Happy birthday to Ye Xiu!

AO3 

summary: Some of Ye Xiu’s birthdays, throughout the years.

“Surprise!!! Happy birthday!”

Ye Xiu yelps at the sudden blast of noise and confetti in his face. It takes him a few seconds to realize what’s going on, and to see the two figures standing before him, each wearing a little party hat and triumphantly waving something in their hands.

Su Muqiu grins and high-fives his little sister. “You like these? Homemade… whatever they’re called! Confetti-blaster-noise-maker things just for this special occasion. Mucheng was a big help with these so make sure to thank her!”

Ye Xiu rubs his head. “You could give me some warning next time, sheesh…”

“That defeats the point! You should’ve seen your face!”

“It was great,” Su Mucheng giggles, eyes sparkling. Ye Xiu can’t get mad at her like this, so he just sighs and ruffles her hair.

“Anyway, happy 16th! This is a big year, you know why?” Su Muqiu doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’re two-thirds of the way to becoming the king’s avatar!”

“…What?”

“You know! Since there are 24 classes in Glory!” Su Muqiu throws an arm around Ye Xiu’s shoulders and gestures grandly before them. “So when you’re 24, you’ll be the master of all classes! The textbook of Glory! They’ll write novels about you!”

“Please.” Ye Xiu rolls his eyes. “Maybe you need a whole year to master a class, but I can do it much faster.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna go?” Su Muqiu gives him a light shove.

Ye Xiu grins. “You’re on.”

But Su Mucheng breaks in before they can rush off to the computers like they always do. “At least have some cake first! You have to make a wish, it’s your birthday!” She points to the table, where Ye Xiu finally sees the cupcake sitting peacefully, vanilla with orange-colored icing, a single candle stuck straight into the air.

“Oh right, almost forgot!” Su Muqiu slaps a hand to his forehead. “We got you a cupcake too, Mucheng picked it out just for you, so eat up! Enjoy! Make a wish to beat me, because we both know that’s the only way you’d win.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep better at night,” Ye Xiu laughs. They sit down at the small table, and Su Muqiu strikes a match, lights the candle, and pushes the cupcake in front of him.

It’s really a lovely looking cupcake, the icing perfectly swirled atop the cake and dotted with colorful sprinkles. The sort of thing that they’d stare at through a display window, but never shell out the money to buy. But this is a special treat for a special occasion, and it warms Ye Xiu’s heart.

I wish… I wish that we can stay together like this, for a long time to come.

Ye Xiu closes his eyes and blows out the candle.

“I cannot believe,” sighs Wu Xuefeng, “that I’ve known you for this many years now, and I only just found out when your birthday was. And not even from you, but from Little Mucheng! You can tell me these sort of things, you know?”

“Sorry?” Ye Xiu offers a sheepish grin. “It just… never came up?”

Wu Xuefeng shakes his head. “You’re hopeless,” he says, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips nonetheless. “Anyway, now that I actually know, happy birthday! Got you something, not much since it was such short notice…”

“No, this is good.” Ye Xiu takes the profferred gift bag and, after a pause, reaches forward and pulls Wu Xuefeng into a hug. “Thanks, Brother Feng,” he says. “For saving my butt during matches, and covering for me outside of them.”

“That’s what I’m here for, right?” Wu Xuefeng laughs and pats him on the back. “I’ve always got your back, you know that.”

“I couldn’t ask for a better partner,” Ye Xiu smiles. “Ready to create a dynasty?”

“Always.”

Poor young defenseless Ye Xiu is on his way back to his room along the player passageways when suddenly out of the blue he is accosted by a terrifying mafia boss demanding his money or else suffer the consequences-

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

Ye Xiu smiles sweetly at said mafia boss. “Nothing, Old Han. What’s up?”

Han Wenqing gives him a dark look, but instead of saying more, just tosses him something. Ye Xiu fumbles a bit, but doesn’t drop it, which he considers a success. “Huh? What’s this?” he asks.

“I heard it was your birthday soon, Ye Qiu,” says Han Wenqing. “So, happy early birthday.”

“You got me a present?” There’s only the barest hint of incredulity in his voice, but Ye Xiu, behind his careless demeanor, is actually rather shocked. Is this a thing rivals do? Or… since when did Han Wenqing consider him a friend?

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“…No,” says Ye Xiu. “That’s really nice of you, actually, I never thought you were such a softie behind that scary face of yours. Really,” he pretends to wipe away a tear, “it’s a present enough just to have someone like you as my rival.”

Han Wenqing glares.

“But also,” Ye Xiu waves the rather wallet-shaped wrapped gift around, “if this is a wallet, Old Han, I will laugh.”

Han Wenqing glares some more, and Ye Xiu smirks.

“Ye Qiu Ye Qiu Ye Qiu Ye Qiu Ye Qiu Ye Qiu!!!”

The voice echoes down the passageway, compounding the noisiness, and Ye Xiu can already feel the headache forming. Resigned, he turns around. “What do you want?”

Huang Shaotian bounces up to him, Yu Wenzhou following sedately behind. “Hello, Senior,” the latter politely greets him.

“Hello, Captain Yu.”

“Ye Qiu you bastard stop ignoring me!” The mess of blond energy plants himself firmly in front of Ye Xiu’s view.

“Don’t worry, you’ve made that thoroughly impossible, unfortunately. What do you want?”

“So goddamn ungrateful. Here, happy birthday! Take this, it’s from me and Captain. And come on, let’s go PKPKPK everyone knows that’s the best way to celebrate a birthday!”

Yu Wenzhou continues to smile calmly. “Happy birthday, Senior. I wish you the best in the year to come.”

Ye Xiu takes the gift and snorts. “The best birthday gift you could have gotten me was shutting him up, you know?”

“I know, but it was unfortunately impossible. Perhaps he’d quiet down if you played a match with him?”

“Nice try,” laughs Ye Xiu.

“Oi I’m right here you know! Ye Qiu I’m going to drag your ass to the Arena right now right this instant-”

“Oh would you look at the time, I have to go feed my dog. See you guys around, and thanks for the birthday wishes!”

“YE QIU GET BACK HERE-!”

“Ye… Xiu.”

“Hm? Oh hey, Big-Eye, how’s it going? Raising your team well? Your successor get any braver?”

Wang Jiexi nods curtly. “We’re doing well, thanks. I don’t know when I’ll see you next, so I wanted to give you this now.”

“This is…?” The box that Wang Jiexi gives him is cubical, heavier than it appears. Wang Jiexi had been carrying it rather carefully, so Ye Xiu does the same.

“Just a gift. It’s a little fragile, so be careful. Happy early birthday, Senior. I…” Wang Jiexi hesitates, then continues, “You were never gone for long, and I know we still had contact during the period of your retirement. But regardless, it’s good to have you back. I’ve enjoyed seeing the growth of your team and its players… Yours is an unconventional team, but one to look up to.”

“I…” What to say to that? Ye Xiu isn’t the type to get embarrassed, but after something like that? In the end, although it’s nowhere near what he’d like to express, he can only say, “Thanks, Captain Wang.”

“Though I hope you haven’t been working yourself too hard? Building a new team from scratch, and with so many rookies…”

Wang Jiexi would know, probably better than almost anyone, how difficult it can be. Ye Xiu smiles ruefully. “It’s been alright. Maybe… maybe if I’d been able to transfer to an already existing team, I’d be in good enough condition to play for several years longer.

“But… I wouldn’t trade Team Happy for anything. I’m sure you can understand, no?”

“Here!” Sun Xiang thrusts a wrapped box at him out of nowhere. This catches Ye Xiu off guard, to say the least.

“Uh…” Ye Xiu takes it, of course, but handles it rather gingerly. This kid doesn’t hate him enough to give him a bomb or something, right? “Thanks…?”

“Congrats on being a year closer to your death, old man,” grumbles Sun Xiang, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking away. “I won’t go easy on you because you’re old though! I’m still gonna kick your ass onstage!”

Ye Xiu snorts. “In your dreams, Little Xiang.” He absently inspects the…birthday gift?… which is wrapped in a cheery yellow paper patterned with little white sheep. “Did you wrap this? I like the paper, it suits you. Though it’s a neater job than I expected, I’m impressed.”

The trashtalk is automatic and natural, but his brain is elsewhere. Honestly, he’s more impressed that Sun Xiang – Sun Xiang! – is giving him anything at all. Since when did this kid not-hate him enough to make such a gesture? It’s… kind of touching, actually?

“Fuck off,” replies Sun Xiang with an angry scowl, which only makes Ye Xiu’s grin widen.

“Um…” It’s at this moment that Sun Xiang’s companion speaks up, hesitantly extending another wrapped box to Ye Xiu. “Happy birthday… Senior…”

Ye Xiu accepts the present from Zhou Zekai as well, with less trepidation. “Thank you, Little Zhou.”

“Senior is… really… amazing,” says Zhou Zekai, ducking his head, and Ye Xiu’s smile softens at the sight.

“So are you,” he replies, “you’ve both played very well this season, especially with your coordination. I look forward to seeing you onstage.” And he means it, really. It would be Happy’s most difficult battle yet, but a good one no matter what.

“We don’t need your stupid comments!” Sun Xiang humphs, but Ye Xiu sees that the tips of his ears have gone pink. “I already know my One Autumn Leaf is better than yours! Let’s head back, Captain, we gotta train and annilhate this guy once and for all.”

Zhou Zekai opens his mouth, as though about to say something more, but he shakes his head. He offers Ye Xiu a shy smile, and turns to follow his teammate.

Ye Xiu watches the two of them depart, and then he glances at Jiang Botao, who’s casually standing to the side, feigning disinterest in the whole scene.

“So,” says Ye Xiu, walking over, “what did you say to convince them to do that? Are you trying to bribe me to go easy on you guys or something? Your heart’s really as black as a Master Tactician’s…” Because although the two were very different in personality and disposition, neither Zhou Zekai nor Sun Xiang were exactly the types to just…

Jiang Botao only smiles. “They themselves wanted to give you presents, they just needed a push to actually go through with it. Someone on Samsara has to be the socially competent one, after all. Happy birthday, Senior.”

That earns a chuckle from Ye Xiu. “Thanks. Hope we have a good fight.”

“And the same to you.”

“Okay everyone!” Chen Guo claps her hands together to get everyone’s attention. “It’s almost Ye Xiu’s birthday! We need to get him something.”

“Boss Lady, that’s what you called us all here for?” Wei Chen drawls, leaning back on his chair and puffing a cigarette at the corner of the room. “I thought this was some important strategy meeting or something…”

“Shut your mouth, this is important,” says Chen Guo. “He’s done so much for us, literally none of us would be here if not for him, so this is the least we can do. Any ideas?”

Su Mucheng is currently out with Ye Xiu, distracting him so that they could have this secret planning meeting right now. Aside from those two, everyone on Team Happy is here.

“The only thing Captain really cares about is Glory, and winning the championship,” An Wenyi points out. “And we’re all already putting in our full effort on that end.”

“But I’m sure we can still think of something nice to do for him outside of that,” says Tang Rou. “He would still appreciate it.”

“He’s a Gemini!” says Steamed Bun excitedly. “So we can get him a twin-”

“He already has a twin,” Luo Ji deadpans.

“-oh great even better, we can find his twin and-”

“Anyone have any other ideas?” Chen Guo firmly cuts off Steamed Bun before he can continue on his strange paths of thought.

“A mug that says #1 Dad on it,” says Fang Rui. “Appeals to both his ego and his role in this team.” At the looks he gets, he raises his hands defensively. “What? It’s totally accurate. He took in all you rookies and raised you into an actual fighting force. Look into my honest eyes, and see the truth of this statement.”

“Yifan did call him Dad once,” Steamed Bun pipes up. Qiao Yifan flushes, but he can’t deny the truth.

“See, exactly!”

“Get him a fancy ashtray or lighter or something,” suggests Wei Chen.

“We’re not going to encourage his unhealthy habits!”

“A whole pack of instant ramen.”

“Or McDonalds, doesn’t he really like their fries?”

“What kind of gift is that?”

An Wenyi wasn’t entirely wrong when he said that all Ye Xiu cared about was Glory. If they excluded the Glory-related accomplishments that they would strive to achieve anyway, then what else was there? What would Ye Xiu like? Something he could use, something that would mean something to him?

As a result, the ideas steadily become more and more outlandish.

“A body pillow of himself.”

“Buy an ad on the Citibank tower and slap his face on it.”

“Oh oh, Tang Rou can buy out the company that makes Glory and give it to him!”

“We get him a concentrated vial of liquid shamelessness.”

Suddenly, there’s a quiet cough. Normally, such a quiet noise would never catch any attention, but given the source of the cough, the room suddenly goes quiet as though a switch were pulled.

Mo Fan looks alarmed at suddenly having a dozen pairs of eyes upon him. His gaze darts around the room, and the others wonder if he’s just going to swallow his words back down again.

But in the end, the words do come out. Quiet, as per usual, but perfectly understandable. “What about a model Myriad Manifestation Umbrella?”

Such a simple idea. Chen Guo opens her mouth to shoot it down like all the others, but then stops, and thinks.

A simple idea, but a good one. And, unbidden, she remembers flowers on a gravestone, and a quiet voice, and a story. Even if it were just a model, even if it didn’t have practical use… it had significance. He would like it.

“There are some good ones that have been made,” Tang Rou says. “I remember seeing some that even had shapeshifting capabilities.”

“…Okay,” says Chen Guo, nodding slowly. “We can definitely look into that. We have time, we could do this. Make a nice card, too…” Murmurs and nods of agreement from all around the table.

“But also I still think we should throw in the mug,” grins Fang Rui. “He’d love it, I’m telling you.”

Ye Xiu V

29 May 2025 22:03

[photo] [photo] [photo] [photo] [photo] [photo]

Team Happy - team of champions, master of kings, the best goddamn team in the entire universe.

Glory isn’t a single-player game - thank you all <3 :)

[paulbogaards]

I’m looking to hire a Publicist

ACTUAL JOB DESCRIPTION (not the one you will find posted on PRH):

The Executive Vice President, Director of Publicity and Media Relations for the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group (@paulbogaards) is seeking a Publicist to dazzle the industry and world with their work and brio and warm good humor providing day-to-day support and counseling for authors (a lot of counseling) in a blistering-paced, internal and external facing (internal = editors = suspicious, external = agents = sometimes mean though they will describe their behavior as outcome directed), detail-oriented (seat 2A not 12A), data-driven (blah blah blah) environment working with dying legacy media professionals, social media pioneers, brand ambassadors (FML), booksellers (❤️), and other half-crazed publishing desperados.

The ideal candidate for this position will have had previous experience working as a magician. There is no finer point to make. As a publicist, you need to make magic happen. Magic. Every fucking day. Come equipped with a rabbit and a top hat and a goddamn wand and get ready to wave it every Wednesday afternoon at approximately 4:00 PM. You will be given books to work on that have no possibility whatsoever of becoming bestsellers, and yet, the operating expectation is that all of them will list. Authors expect that outcome. Agents expect that outcome. Editors expect that outcome. Publishers expect that outcome. It’s as if they’re all smoking the same green-blonde hallucinogenic.

The job is a grind. No one is capable of doing it for very long. The hours, the demands, the pressure, the weight of expectation, the dissonance between acquisitions and the marketplace, all of these things cause enormous stress on publicists. Think about this: the executive director has been doing it for thirty plus years. He has become a hollow shell of the man he once was as a result.

“Every day is a beat down.”

“I know.”

“Editors. Agents. Authors. Journalists. All of them are a fucking menace.”

“Tell me about it.”

“They look at us like we are, I don’t know what.”

“They look at us like we are fucking waterboys. That’s how they look at us.”

“That’s exactly right. We’re the fucking waterboys.”

You could be that person -- one of the waterboys (or gals). You are young and full of magic and convinced that book publishing is not decline but instead enjoying a renaissance. You look at Amazon with wide-eyed awe and innocence. You will step into the job thinking of the difference you are able to exact on behalf of writers everywhere. You, my friend, are a naif.

This is what will actually happen: You will be staring at your mobile in a crosswalk, answering a complaint from an author about their seat assignment on a United flight, and then be hit by an Uber. That is the most succinct description of book publishing in the 21st century that the director can think of.

All candidates for the position will undergo Anna’s box test. This is a test where you are invited in for an interview with the director, and there is a box on the seat you are supposed to sit in. If you just stare at the box, waiting for the director to move it, you are summarily dismissed and immediately disqualified as a candidate. If you pick up the box and place it somewhere else, you have passed the first test.

You will hear whispers about publishing projects where the company is rumored to have paid considerable sums of money for a book and then a call will come in from a reporter asking questions about said project and you will immediately route it to the director. The director has experience answering questions about the amount of money the company overpaid (5 million, 10 million, 20 million) and why the book is worth that much (it’s not) and how many copies will it take to earn out (it won’t) in what will become an infinite loop of inquiry and denial and the reporter, determined, will end up substantiating the figure through a disgruntled publisher who was knocked out on the last best bid (Karp) and then come back to you and ask you to confirm the figure and you will again deny it and they will wind up reporting the number anyway (though reporters these days don’t press in the same rough way that, say, Streitfeld and Kirkpatrick used to, and that is OK with the director, he is accepting of the new school press corps, though he generally prefers old school guys, and will always answer the phone when Keith Kelly calls, because he is the embodiment of OLD FUCKING SCHOOL, a guy who will tease out any story he can about Jann Wenner).

As a publicist, editors will complain to you about the New York Times (what the fuck are they doing over there?) and then become agitated and disgruntled and dismayed and threatening when one of their books is overlooked by that outlet (they reviewed a fucking book from New Directions instead of my book?) suggesting to you that action is essential (we need to do something) and you will reassure them, say of course, of course, I’ll get right on it, but really, what are you going to do? You will come to understand, very quickly, that happiness is elusive in our industry and joy is fleeting. Mostly, everyone suspects each other of book espionage.

Generally, the Publicist can expect career advancement provided they do their job without committing actionable offenses on social media or installing a joy button under the desk in their office or threatening to kill someone because they wrote a bad review (editors do this all the time. First, they threaten you. Then they threaten the BRE. Then they write a drunken email to the reviewer). Do not be led by their bad example.

This is a good position to learn about the business, as good as any, the director basically runs a farm team for the industry, his first hire now runs comms for one of the Big Five and he will smile when he sees a story in the paper with her Chairman touting the benefits of open floor plans (“there was just this energy and buzz and sense of excitement of collaborative human endeavor that really was kind of exhilarating”) and he is proud for a moment recognizing that his first hire has mastered the PR skill of ventriloquism (she has also mastered adapting the infinite loop of denial into the infinite loop of positivity.) Others have gone on to assume posts of similar stature at The New Yorker (where Remnick still won’t give anyone a credit line including Tommy Orange whose book THERE THERE was just excerpted in the magazine and everyone is supposed to be thrilled about that and the mention of said work on the contributor page but I’m like FUCK THAT who looks at the contributor page give me a book shot in the well of the magazine but of course there is no justice in much of this work, people want what they want when they want it and for selfish ends, the labors of the writer remain forgotten, the working men and women who are the backbone of our industry are frequently an afterthought, and THAT SEEMS TO ME A GREAT PUBLISHING INJUSTICE), and the Brooklyn Cyclones (that was Dave, he was a very handsome, I went to his wedding in New Jersey, there was a Venetian dessert table with fountains, it was like something out of the Sopranos), and Jennifer, who married someone rich and Jewish (that is kind of like going to work for The New Yorker) and gave birth to four children and will sometimes send me emails asking what the fuck happened to her life:

“What the fuck happened to my life?”

“Husband. Money. Kids.”

“FUCK.” Jennifer had (has) a foul mouth. I loved (love) that about her.

“Is there still work for me in publishing?”

“No. Business is dying. Stick with your plan. Keep the husband.”

Occasionally, you will find the director weeping at his desk and you will wonder if he is suffering from some kind of nervous breakdown and then you will observe an open email on his computer and see that it is simply a note of gratitude from a colleague - warmly written and sincere - and you will come to understand that they appear so infrequently that when they do the only way he knows how to respond is by weeping and you will feel a little sad for him. As a publicist, you will live a life of sadness and defeat. And you will learn to cry.

The director is looking for someone to step into his role because he is tired of weeping. The job has exacted a toll. He has become impatient.  His responses to queries are no longer soft and nuanced. This week, for example, an editor from T Magazine sent him an email asking if Cormac McCarthy would cooperate for a cover profile and he responded “Not possible” and the editor wrote back asking “As in not possible for October because the book is so far out, or...unlikely to be possible at any time?” and the director wrote back “EVER” in all caps and then he sat back is his chair and thought “who are these fucking dragoons and when will they ever learn?”

Another reporter suggested to the director that he was giving him incorrect guidance, when, in fact, the director answered the reporter’s question with the information at hand. The director is fifty-seven and has made a living being honest with reporters and went back and forth with the reporter about his track.

“He kept asking me the same fucking question.”

“That’s how they work.”

“I said to him, ‘We’re in the weeds here. You’re suggesting the football moved. I’m telling you it was a completion. End of story.’”

You will attend meetings where nothing happens. That is another succinct description of book publishing in the 21st century.

You will be working with seasoned publishing veterans who spend most of their day worrying about Amazon and Barnes & Noble and the death of media.

You will read books before they become books and often find yourself thinking about transitioning out of the industry.

One page proposals will arrive with breathy notes from editors. An auction will follow. The director will be asked to create a marketing and publicity summary in advance of the auction.

“Based on what?”

“The proposal.”

“The proposal is one page.”

“Just make something up.”

So the director will make something up. You will help him. This will happen simultaneously across the industry. The people who make up the best things often acquire the book. So if you are good at making things up, possibly this is a job for you.

You will send emails, respond to emails, and stuff books in jiffy bags. If you are good at stuffing things in jiffy bags, possibly this is a job for you.

People will ask you questions. People from inside and outside the company. The desk you occupy is a kind of information station and you will need to learn the answers to so many questions (the director knows the answers to these questions but doesn’t have the patience to respond anymore and indeed it has become dangerous to let any questions through to him because he will often say something wrong on purpose, or say something inappropriate, there was even an instance when a reader called inquiring about Carl Hiaasen’s book tour and he asked her out on a date and Who the fuck does that?)

Candidates for this position need to be confident and made of steel and in possession of magic. Possibly you are that person. Please apply by clicking on the link here.

Thank you.

PS: “I’ll need a spacious south facing hotel room in a 4 star property, and OMG it cannot be The Muse, I mean how could you book anyone in that hotel?, it’s full of escorts and German tourists, the rooms are tiny, mine felt like a cell, and given my crippling anxiety about touring I’m lucky to be alive after that stay, you need to respect the work I’m doing on the road, and that was not a respectful hotel booking, and being in United boarding group two on my flight to New York, well, that was not respectful either, but I don’t want to get too far afield here, I just need you to listen to me and hew to my requests, do that and we will have a successful tour, my comfort and safety remain a priority, take it seriously, double pane windows on a high floor are essential, but not too high, away from the elevators and adjacent to a fire stairway, and quiet, the room has to be quiet, with fine linens and towels and four down pillows (one for between my legs, two for my head, and one to snuggle with), a king bed, a duvet, fresh flowers, white peonies if they are in season, a tub and a shower and 24-hour room service, these are the basics, the last tour almost killed me and that simply cannot happen this time out…”

#publishing #books #publicrelations