#crossposting from ao3

[solxamber]

Kidnapped(?) - Malleus x reader

You were sick of the taxes imposed by the aristocrats in your already poverty stricken village. Your idea of a solution? Kidnap their young master , and make them reduce taxes as the ransom, of course. Only problem is that you went into the wrong manor and kidnapped the wrong young master.

crossposted from my ao3!

It’s far too late for a sane person to be awake, let alone breaking into an aristocratic manor, but here you are, perched atop a wrought iron fence. You inhale deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the wild thudding of your heart. Sure, you’ve trespassed on fancy estates before—who hasn’t?—but this time, you’re aiming high. Really high.

Tonight, you’re going to kidnap the young master.

It sounded less ridiculous in your head, but the village’s plight had pushed you this far. Unfair taxes, people going hungry, all thanks to the greed of the lord’s family holed up in their luxurious estate. Someone needed to stand up for the people. That someone just happened to be you.

You’d never kidnapped anyone before, but how hard could it be? Grab the rich guy, ask for a ransom—specifically, less ridiculous taxes—and stroll away like a hero. Easy.

The manor looms in front of you, all dark windows and dramatic architecture. It's almost too easy to slip past the guards. You start to wonder if they’re just really bad at their jobs or if this is some elaborate setup. Still, you can’t help but smirk. You’re so good at this, it’s almost criminal.

Well, it is criminal. But you know, details.

Inside, the place is eerily quiet. Every shadow seems to be watching you as you slink through the halls, making your way toward the young master’s room. You’ve heard the rumors—aloof, cold, basically allergic to feelings. Intimidating him into compliance? Piece of cake.

After a few minutes of creeping around like a ninja, you find a room with the door slightly ajar. A faint light flickers inside. Jackpot. You steady your breath, grip your very intimidating (okay, slightly makeshift) weapon, and push the door open.

Sitting at a desk, seemingly unfazed by your dramatic entrance, is the young master.

“Ah,” he says, turning slowly to look at you. There’s a glimmer of... curiosity? in his eyes. “A visitor. How... unexpected.”

You blink. This is not going to plan. Where’s the panic? The yelling for help? The appropriate reaction to being ambushed at night?

Determined to salvage the situation, you wave your weapon and try your best "intimidating kidnapper" voice. “You’re coming with me! I’m here to kidnap you, and if you want to see your precious manor again, you’ll lower the village taxes!”

There’s a beat of silence.

The young master raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidnapping me? How... amusing.”

Amusing? You falter. “This isn’t a joke,” you insist, shaking your weapon for emphasis. “I’m serious! Ransom, taxes, starving villagers—ringing any bells?”

Instead of, say, panicking or fleeing, the young master stands up from his chair, all calm and composed, like this is a perfectly normal Tuesday night activity. “Very well. I suppose I should humor you.”

You blink again, utterly at a loss. “Wait... you’re just agreeing to this?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head, giving you a strange, intrigued look. “I’ve never been kidnapped before. It sounds rather... interesting.”

And just like that, he strolls toward the door as if this is his idea. You scramble to follow, wondering what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.

As you lead him through the estate, you’re still grappling with the bizarre reality of the situation. Here you are, attempting to kidnap someone, and the guy is practically rolling out a red carpet for you.

“You know,” you mutter, glancing over at him, “most people don’t just let themselves be kidnapped. It’s not really how this works.”

He turns to you with a serene smile that’s entirely too pleasant for a hostage. “Why should I resist? You don’t seem the type to harm me.”

You narrow your eyes. Is he flirting? Intentionally or not, this guy’s nerve is off the charts.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says suddenly, voice smooth as silk.

“I’m not giving my name to my hostage,” you snap back. This is Kidnapping 101.

“Ah, of course.” He nods, clearly amused. “Then I’ll introduce myself instead. I am Malleus Draconia.”

Your stomach drops to the floor. Malleus Draconia. THE Malleus Draconia. The name practically vibrates with power and danger, and you suddenly realize you’ve made a colossal mistake. You haven’t kidnapped the young master of the manor—you’ve kidnapped the prince of the fae.

“Oh no,” you mutter, horror creeping into your voice. “Oh no, oh no, this is bad. This is really bad.”

Malleus watches you with mild amusement, an eyebrow raised. “Why the sudden distress?”

You whirl on him. “You’re Malleus Draconia! I— I wasn’t supposed to kidnap you! This is a mistake—like, a huge mistake. I’ll just let you go and we can pretend this never happened, okay?”

But instead of looking concerned, Malleus just smiles wider, a wicked little gleam in his eyes. “Let me go? But I’m having so much fun.”

You gape at him. “You... want to stay kidnapped?”

“Indeed.” He seems completely unbothered by the sheer absurdity of the situation. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had such an engaging evening.”

Well. This is officially the weirdest night of your life.

The night only gets stranger when you run into his retainers.

“Young Master!” a voice bellows, and you look up to see a tall, green-haired fae charging toward you, fury in his eyes. “What is going on here?!”

Before you can even explain, Malleus casually steps in. “Ah, Sebek. Allow me to introduce my kidnapper.”

Sebek freezes mid-charge, eyes wide. “Y-Your... kidnapper?!”

Malleus nods with an unnervingly calm smile. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Sebek’s brain seems to short-circuit, and he storms off, shouting something about telling Lilia and Silver. You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This is a disaster.”

Malleus, of course, chuckles softly beside you. “On the contrary. I think it’s rather amusing.”

Of course he does.

By the time Lilia and Silver arrive, you’ve already resigned yourself to your fate. At least they’ll make your execution quick, right?

But Lilia just grins mischievously, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Well, well. This is certainly the most interesting kidnapping I’ve seen in centuries.”

Silver, on the other hand, just raises a brow. “He seems to be enjoying himself.”

Malleus smiles at you, as though being abducted by a random stranger is the highlight of his week. “Quite.”

You’re about to protest when Malleus turns to his retainers with a firm nod. “I’d like to speak to my kidnapper alone.”

Sebek looks like he’s going to explode, but Malleus’s sharp glance shuts him up. Lilia throws you a wink as they all leave, and just like that, you’re alone with the fae prince. Again.

Malleus steps closer, his calm mask slipping just a little. “You know, I’ve grown quite fond of this little adventure.”

You blink up at him. “Are you serious?”

He tilts his head, lips quirking into a smile. “I propose a deal. I’ll help your village with the taxes. In return, you’ll... continue kidnapping me.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait... you want me to keep kidnapping you?”

“Yes. It’s been rather fun.” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “What do you say?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “This is the weirdest deal I’ve ever made.”

Malleus grins, entirely too pleased with himself. “Wonderful. Now, shall we shake on it?”

And so, your bizarre, extremely non-traditional kidnapping arrangement begins.

Every few days, it’s the same: you sneak into his manor (more like casually walk in, since he always leaves the window open for you now), and the two of you embark on whatever adventure catches your whimsy. Sometimes it’s sneaking into human markets where Malleus marvels at the mundane—like street food or ridiculous trinkets. Other times, you explore abandoned castles with winding, forgotten hallways that echo with untold stories.

It’s almost normal now, the way he expects you to “abduct” him with little more than a raised eyebrow and a soft chuckle as you half-heartedly demand his presence for another outing. The most feared prince of the fae is now, apparently, your willing partner in crime.

The first time you take him to a local fair, though, you realize just how out of his element he truly is. Malleus spends a good twenty minutes, completely entranced, watching a cotton candy machine.

“Is it... magic?” he asks, his (very pretty) eyes locked onto the swirling pink clouds as the vendor twirls the sugary fluff onto a stick.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound coming out far more amused than you intended. “Nope. Just sugar spun into fluff. You’ve really never seen this before?”

Malleus watches the process with a reverence usually reserved for ancient relics, finally accepting the cotton candy as if it’s some kind of delicate treasure. He takes a cautious bite, his expression lighting up like a child’s.

“Incredible,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “It dissolves on the tongue.”

You bite back another laugh at the sight of this powerful fae prince, someone who commands fear from almost everyone around him, completely taken by spun sugar. “Glad you like it.”

After that, it’s a night of him eagerly trying every strange, sticky fair food he can find, utterly fascinated by things as simple as corn dogs and funnel cake. You can't decide if it’s endearing or a little embarrassing, but either way, you’re having more fun than you’ve had in a long time.

As the weeks pass, the more you look forward to your little "kidnapping" escapades, and that in itself is a whole other problem. Malleus’s wide-eyed curiosity about the human world is... strangely adorable, and while he’s still every bit the regal fae prince, there’s something endearing about the way he asks you questions about everyday things with such genuine interest. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, his quiet intelligence making for great conversation—when he’s not completely sidetracked by things like human street food.

The more time you spend with him, the harder it becomes to ignore the truth creeping up on you. You’re starting to fall for him. It’s ridiculous, and yet... here you are.

Of course, not everything goes smoothly.

“Human!” Sebek shouts dramatically one afternoon as you and Malleus return from yet another outing. “How dare you abduct the Young Master again!”

You roll your eyes, half-expecting this by now. “Sebek, I’ve told you before. He wants me to kidnap him.”

Sebek bristles, sputtering indignantly, his green hair practically standing on end. “Lies! The Young Master would never allow—”

“Sebek,” Malleus interrupts, his tone calm, but with that unmistakable edge that immediately silences his retainer. “I went willingly. Again.”

Sebek’s jaw drops, looking like someone just told him the sky isn’t blue. “But... Young Master...”

Malleus gives him a slow, deliberate look, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile. “You should try it sometime. You may find it... enlightening. Although,” he turns to you, his voice soft but with an unmistakable possessiveness, “you’ll have to find another human. This one is already mine.”

Your breath hitches as Malleus’s words hang in the air, and you can't help but feel your heart skip a beat. Sebek, meanwhile, looks utterly scandalized, his eyes wide as saucers. Lilia, who has been watching the whole thing with far too much amusement, claps Sebek on the back.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Lilia chuckles. “Let them have their fun.”

Sebek looks like he's about to explode, but instead storms off, muttering something about propriety, while Silver smirks quietly from the sidelines.

One night, after another "kidnapping," you find yourself sitting beside Malleus on a hill overlooking the village, the faint glow of the fair still visible in the distance. The stars hang bright overhead, and there’s a soft stillness between you as the cool air nips at your skin.

Malleus’s voice breaks the quiet, low and thoughtful. “You’ve given me more than I expected.”

You glance at him, curious. “What do you mean?”

He turns to you, his dark eyes holding a depth you hadn’t seen before. “Companionship. I hadn’t realized how much I longed for it until... until you.”

Your heart does something funny at his words, the raw sincerity of them tugging at something deep inside you. Without thinking, you reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, your fingertips grazing his skin. The air between you seems to still.

“I’ve grown... quite fond of you,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

You swallow, feeling your pulse quicken. “Malleus, I—”

But before you can find the words, Malleus leans in, his eyes never leaving yours, and you feel the warmth of his hand gently cup your cheek. The world seems to fade away as you both hover there, caught between anticipation and something more.

“I do believe,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin as his eyes darken with something you can’t quite name, “that I’m falling for you, my little kidnapper.”

Your heart stutters, and before you know it, you’re closing the space between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. For a moment, everything else ceases to matter—no fair, no adventures, no strange arrangements. Just the two of you, finally giving in to the pull that’s been drawing you together for weeks.

When you pull back, breathless, Malleus smiles, and it’s the softest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen from him. “Does this mean,” he says, his voice still low and teasing, “you’ll continue kidnapping me?”

You laugh softly, feeling the warmth of his words settle deep in your chest. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Malleus grins, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “No, I suppose not.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is my first time posting here so i have no idea what i'm doing and the formatting is probably off because i'm on mobile but i'll slowly figure it out.

Masterlist

[holybasementdweller]

Iracundia

How do you adapt a rage that is not meant to be bound, into something that you can wield?  How do you turn it into something that can only injure your enemies, instead of something that won't just hurt indiscriminately?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The more people you open up to, the more people you give the opportunity to hurt you.

It had been a while since they'd found themselves here.

You are on a… seat, made up of that same hell-rock as the surrounding terrain. Across from you sits that old, fiery visage, form permanently shifting and never constant. Yet somehow always the same.

I know.

The figure tilted its head to the side- or, if there was a discernible head, you get the impression it would be doing so- and let out a sound that was a mix of voices from the past. Both familiar, comforting, Brothers in Arms and Those Who Had Your Back and yet also Gaping Maw of Your Enemies and Those Who Have Harmed Yours.

You know what happens when you allow them close enough to injure you. We have lived that before. 

…

The words are true. This is a lesson you have learned many times. In smaller amounts, where the injuries were easy enough to wrap and continue as you were. And also in terrible, vast increments; where you had been blindsided and had your insides gouged as those responsible tried to spread them out for others beyond your walls to see.

We have.

There is a pause. There aren't many sounds here; there is no air, nothing to breathe, and even your movements make no noise. Only the crackle of fire and low gurgle of molten rock that lies inches from where you sit.

And yet, you chose to let not one, not two, but four close enough to do this to you.

How are you meant to feel about that? It's… you have things you want to say, to explain, but an explanation is useless for the mirror that sits across from you. The inferno knows all this already. You do not have a reason to explain, aside from working through things in a different perspective.

I… you know why I did it.

I know why we did it. And I know what we are going to do.

The visage grows somehow clearer and yet somehow more incoherent at the same time. Faces, names, locations, battles, wars, emotions, lessons, everything you have experienced and everything you have accomplished. Everything you have failed at. Everyone who picked you back up after those failures and told you that wallowing in the dirt was no damn use. This is a new day, and you are here, so look at what happened; learn from it; live. If you struggle, ask, and we will teach you. You are one of Ours and we do not leave soldiers behind.

They'll help if we ask. I have always been with you, though I understand why you shoved me away. It would have done us no good to coexist at the start.

You are still sitting. You can never really move, in this space. The inferno has no such restrictions. It rises from where it remains and approaches you.

This will have consequences for us. For all of them.

You say that like we hadn't been suffering consequences this entire time, regardless.

The cacophony of noise it lets out at that is akin to laughter. A limb reaches forwards and you cannot quite make out if it is an arm, a gun, a sword, or perhaps something else from a vastly different universe than this one.

Are you ready, then?

You stare up at the swirling, ever-changing form. You are never ready for when this happens. You tend to lose yourself in this, and by the time someone drags you away from it the only thing you will be able to smell is that acrid tang of iron and explosives. If you turn, you will see the trail of destruction that you’d wrought. It was never just you in the past; there were always your Brothers in Arms there, but we told them what to do just as much as their own instincts, did we not?

Well, old friend.

You are able to move, for once, in this liminal space. You reach out and clasp the hand-weapon-emotion-rage-

[summercourtship]

stay to burn (only to drown instead): chapter seven: enigmatology [part I]

masterpost | ao3 link

jonathan crane x reader; bruce wayne x reader; edward nashton x reader | warnings: canon typical violence, sexual content | word count: 5969 words

DISCLAIMER: these chapters are not meant to be read alone. not every chapter has content for one of the three pairings listed. this is an ongoing fanfiction that I am cross-posting here on tumblr, not a series of one-shots.

chapter one |previous part

You stared at the words in your textbook, the information on the burning of Richmond in 1865 not absorbing into your brain. Of course it wasn’t, the ambience of Arkham Asylum wasn’t exactly conducive to good studying. Someone was yelling in the distance, screaming nonsense in rhymes. You sighed, closing your book. Tetch was clearly agitated and you’re pretty sure you knew the reason why.

At that moment, Jonathan rounded the corner, a file folder tucked under his arm. Despite his previous patient’s obvious distress, he didn’t seem to be frazzled at all. You supposed his inability to be shaken up was why he was a good psychiatrist for the asylum. Even if it was unnerving at times.

“Do you purposely antagonize your patients?” You placed the book aside, standing up behind your desk as he entered the small room that led to his and another of the doctor’s offices. You had only met the other doctor, a physician named Dr. Karlsson, briefly but had quickly decided that she was much nicer than any of the other doctors or nurses you’d met. But she was rarely in her office when you were in the asylum, too busy attending to her patients, making sure they were getting the care they needed. It was more than any of the other doctors seemed to do.

“Not on purpose, no.”

“I see.” You smiled, even though you knew that his disinterest should unnerve you. But you couldn’t help the small smile that crossed your lips whenever you saw him.

You’d been at Arkham for little over two weeks, working an average of twenty hours per week. That, combined with the bi-weekly stipend you got from your TA position, was enough to hold you over, to pay your rent and get groceries with little left for anything else. When the semester was over, you told Jonathan, you would move to working full-time. Just for the summer, and just so you could save up some money in case everything went to shit again.

But better than the improved pay or the steady hours (with none at night, either) was being able to continue working closely with Jonathan. You didn’t have to worry anymore about what would happen when the semester was over and you were no longer his teaching assistant, if your relationship would fizzle out without it. You could continue to smile at him everyday and long for the day when he would return it with his own.

You were well aware that your feelings for him were slowly morphing into something else. You'd spent too many nights alone and unable to sleep because all you could think about was Jonathan Crane- his eyes, his touch, his ability to make you feel like it was just the two of you who mattered in the world. Your thoughts lingered on how, to everyone else, he was a cold professional but to you he was everything. You saw brief glimpses of kindness from him, in the way he always got you coffee or whispered words of pure desire against your skin late at night. Even though he was still cold with you, you couldn’t help but hope that he was slowly melting for you.

You resisted naming the emotion coursing through your veins though, or even fully, truly admitting it to yourself. The moment you let the words I love him enter your mind was the moment that everything would come crashing down around you. You were certain of it.

Because when you started to let yourself think about telling him that, you were gripped with the sudden fear that he didn’t reciprocate. (Because of course he didn’t). That he would laugh at you, or worse be disgusted. (Because of course he would). You were afraid of being branded a fool for reading far too into what could just be a casual fling for him. (Because of course you were).

Besides, you weren’t even sure that’s what you were feeling. You’d never been with someone like this, in a relationship that you had no idea how to define. And more than that, how do you define a relationship where half the time you felt like you were blindfolded, being led deeper into a tunnel where you didn’t know the end? That he was constantly siphoning information from you and giving little in return?

And what do you call it when you’ve started to like it? When you can see everything that should make you run but it instead makes you creep closer because some part of you needs to know what happens next?

“Papers?” You cleared your throat, holding out a hand for the folder. You accepted Tetch’s file as he handed it to you, a thick thing that was bulging with post-its and other scraps of paper. You peeked into it before shutting it again, putting it down on the desk gently so as to not disrupt the papers inside.

“This-” You gestured to the folder, “is very disorganized.”

The same could be said for each and every patient at Arkham’s folder and it was clear that the turnover rate of psychiatrists was high due to the variation in handwriting and note-taking styles present in each one.

“The whole asylum is.”

“Why don’t you try to fix it?”

“I’m just a doctor.”

You sighed. You knew that Jonathan held more sway at the hospital than he liked to admit, for whatever reason. But you weren’t going to press it, instead dragging the folder across your desk closer to you.

“I can try to digitize-”

Jonathan brushed past your desk, interrupting your quiet question as papers ruffled in the breeze he created. A stray post-it note flew out from the file, landing on the floor. You bent down to pick it up, only for Jonathan’s pale hand to beat you to it. He snatched the note up, looking at it briefly before crushing it in his fist, the faded yellow folding into a small ball.

Seeing your curious gaze, he shrugged.

“It was unimportant.” He tossed the ball in your waste-basket, the soft sound of it hitting the plastic bag inside following the end of his statement. You drum your fingers on the top of Tetch’s file.

“Can I at least organize the file before I give it back to you?”

Jonathan pursed his lips slightly, clearly thinking about it.

“What else are you doing today?”

“Nothing. Well, unless you need something.” You kept your voice even, void of innuendo.

“That’s fine.” He paused, turning back to you from the doorway of his office. “And I‘ll think about letting you digitize them.”

Surprised but not displeased by his decision, you nodded enthusiastically even though you knew that he wasn’t able to see, the door already clicking closed behind him. Sitting back at your desk, you opened Tetch’s file again, taking a deeper look at his information. Taking a sip of the coffee that Jonathan had gotten you- which was, again, not your usual order but he seemed determined to push you to try new things by getting you a different order every time- you pushed down the nerves that hovered around the back of your mind. You had work to do and didn’t have time to waste by focusing on your unprompted anxiety.

It was probably just a side effect of working here, nothing else.

You stared up at the chalk menu of the small cafe, mulling over their iced seasonal offerings before ultimately deciding to go with the safe option. Ordering was quick, the barista clearly experienced and well-into his shift, moving with practiced ease behind the counter as he rang you up and began to prepare your order. Stepping back from the register, you observed as he made your drink. Briefly, you turned to look behind you at your table, at your friend.

Marie sat at a booth, concentrating on something on her phone. Her own tea was already half-empty as she had arrived at the cafe ahead of you, ordering well before you’d arrived. She looked essentially the same as when you’d seen her last, her dark hair in twin braids down her back, wearing a practical yet fashionable outfit that painted her as a responsible and matured college senior. In comparison to your outfit- comfortable pants and an oversized t-shirt- that told the world you were too stressed out or tired to care about your outward appearance. Which was correct, but you couldn’t help but feel lesser than when you looked at her, like you were behind in a race you didn’t know you were running.

The barista called your name, and on your way back to your seat you took a sip of your coffee, your usual order that you hadn’t tasted in weeks since Jonathan was always getting you your coffee now. You wove through the tables crowding the small cafe, doing your best to get back to your seat without spilling or knocking into anything. When you reached your table, you slid back into your seat, placing your phone face down to the table.

“So… Dr. Crane?” Marie leaned towards you, her eyebrow raised. Nervously, you laughed, wondering if you were going to start regretting letting her know about your illicit affair (her words, not yours).

“Is it bad?”

“Eh, Bridgit’s dating someone who frequents the Iceberg Lounge, if you know what I mean.” Marie wiggled her eyebrows, taking a sip of her tea before clearing her throat. A deep pang of loneliness echoed through your heart at hearing she was still friends with your old group. Of course she was, why wouldn’t she be? You were the one who pushed them away. “So I apologize that dating your professor isn’t as impressive.”

It had taken you two phone conversations with her to finally admit that you were, in one way or another, involved with Jonathan. You knew that you hadn’t done the best job of describing your relationship if Marie had simply boiled it down to “dating”. But how else were you supposed to concisely describe a relationship like the one that you had with him if you couldn’t even explain it to yourself?

Well, we have sex frequently, he has found his way into every aspect of my life, but I think if I was to imply I cared about him in any meaningful capacity it would ruin everything.

“I don’t think we’re technically dating-”

“Okay, well whatever. My point stands.” Her smile faltered, a look of concern flitting across her features. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. His RateMyProfessor score isn’t too great.”

You gave her an incredulous look, though you’re not sure if your disbelief came from her looking him up in the first place or from her trusting RateMyProfessor as a way to gauge someone’s quality as a romantic partner.

“You looked him up? When?”

“When you went to order.” She said it casually and you supposed she equated it to going through someone’s Instagram or Twitter to determine their validity as a boyfriend.

You held back a sigh. How can you defend him to your friend when you don’t even disagree with some of the complaints people have about him? Yes, he’s harsh, yes, he doesn’t simplify things for easier understanding, yes, he only gives you two absences and docks points if you don’t show up after that. But, for you, these weren’t necessarily bad things. Just hard to justify in front of someone who seems to want to see him as a villain.

“He’s a good professor, he just doesn’t coddle his students.”

“Like he coddles you?” She laughed, and it was much easier to just laugh along rather than point out that your experience with Jonathan Crane has not been very coddling.

No, every conversation with Jonathan was like he was picking your brain for something, like he had you figured out and was waiting for you to catch up.

“And because of him you’re working down at that insane asylum?” She took another sip of her tea.

“The psychiatric hospital, yes.” You corrected, nodding anyway as she spoke.

“The one with criminals?”

“Yes.” Immediately, you knew where she was going with this line of questioning. Neither of you brought him up, but his shadow hung over your conversations, the unspoken force that had caused your friendship to drift apart for over a year.

“The one where the-”

“Yes.”

Marie is silent, her eyebrows pinched and her eyes crinkled in worry.

“Oh. Is that smart, you know, for you? What if you have to see him?”

“Well, I’ve already met him so-” You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth.

“Hold on- you met him? Like, you had a conversation with him or you just saw him across the building?”

Both, technically. But only one was actually interesting enough to tell her about.

“I’ve spoken with him.” You bit your lip, debating if you should tell her what he had revealed to you when you’d spoken- that you and Marie had, in fact, briefly met him at the mayor’s funeral. Then you thought about how she would take the news that he had remembered you well enough to recognize you and comment on it.

He’s obsessed, don’t talk to him anymore! You don’t want a guy like that interested in you. She’d say something like that, on the verge of telling you to quit your job.

And you would sigh, roll your eyes, and say: It’s not like I purposefully sought him out. But he’s not obsessed, he just remembers things. Even though you yourself weren’t quite sure how well that particular excuse holds up, even after Jonathan told you about it himself. Because he could very well have made that up to ease your discomfort.

On the other hand, Jonathan hardly ever lied to make you feel better.

“And?” Marie was watching you expectantly. “What was that conversation like?”

“Uninteresting.” The lie slipped off your tongue easily. You realized as you spoke that you felt very much the same way about Edward as you had about meeting the Batman. That it was a secret you didn’t want anyone to be privy to. “He didn’t say anything important. Unnerving, sure. Important? No.”

You knew she didn’t buy your lie when she pursed her lips into a small pout but you were saved from further questioning by her phone ringing. Tearing her eyes away from you, she groaned and made a comment about it being her boss before she got up and went to step outside to take the call.

You released a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, staring into your coffee cup. Of course, Marie would come back and immediately begin questioning you again, trying to pry information about Edward from you. But at least her phone call had granted you a few minutes of relief, a brief respite for you to figure out how to continue avoiding her questions.

Picking your phone up, you swiped it open, ignoring the fact that you once again had no notifications. You never did, considering you stopped posting to social media after Gotham Square Garden and had essentially cut out everyone but your own parents. But even with them, you’d grown distant and had only recently started trying to mend your relationship.

It was a spur of the moment decision to reach out to Marie, but it was one that you were glad for. And you were not going to admit to her that the person who had lit the desire to reach out to her in the first place was the god-damn Riddler.

Absently, you checked your email, scrolling past too-enthusiastic promotional emails from companies you didn’t buy from anymore, heart stopping when you saw an email from the internship coordinator of Wayne Enterprises.

“Oh my god.”

Here it was, the rejection you knew was coming. With a hand over your mouth, you began reading, your eyes scanning the text of the email rapidly, ready to read the fake apologies of a corporation that deemed you unworthy to work for them.

Dear applicant, After reading over your submitted documents for the Solomon Wayne Archival Internship we have decided to move your application forward.

Please respond letting us know when you are available to interview on any of the following dates…

The short email ended with a series of dates and times and subsequent congratulations.

“What happened?” Marie was back from outside, sliding into the booth with ease. Worry pinched her face again, but it immediately disappeared as soon as you put your hand down to reveal your smile.

“I got an interview at Wayne Enterprises!”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise before morphing into a smile wider than your own.

“What?! When?”

“I’ll have to choose a time but it’s sometime next week.” Oh my god. Oh my god.

“That’s awesome!” She seemed genuinely happy for you, and it was like you’d never pushed her away, like you’d stayed friends for the past year.

But more importantly, the news had taken her mind away from the Riddler and you weren’t going to bring the conversation back to him, or Jonathan, or your job at Arkham. Instead, you spent the last half-hour of your coffee date asking her questions, reveling in getting to know her again.

Ever since you found out that the Scarecrow was taking shipments from the cargo ships that come into the Port of Gotham, you’d had a tab open on your laptop to a tracking website. Lists of ships, their ports, the serial numbers of their containers. With that information, it was fairly easy to just plug it into a different website and find out what those containers were for.

Though your Intelligence professor stressed that state surveillance and lack of privacy was not a new thing in history, you did give a silent thanks to technology for making the information so much more accessible to the public. With just a few keystrokes, you were able to find out that in two weeks, another shipment of pharmaceutical chemicals was arriving in Gotham’s harbor.

Jotting it down in your notepad, you snapped it shut, biting back a smile.

Just like a real detective.

Of course, you told yourself, you weren’t going to do anything with the information.

But then again, you’d become very good at lying to yourself.

Office hours were largely unchanged from when you began your TA’ing position. You still came in, sat across from Jonathan, pulled out any work you needed to do, and worked in silence until he broke it. It was the same routine, every week. The only difference was now you left with him.

You pondered then, as you sat and flipped through a random assignment you were working on for one of your other classes, about the fact that you now spent a good amount of your life with Jonathan. Where a few months ago, you were starving for any scrap of attention he would give you, aching for him to look your way, you were now overwhelmed by it, spoiled with it.

Even as you sat separately, doing your own work individually, there was energy thrumming between you.

The two hours he allotted for office hours passed quickly- you were typing up your most recent notes from Psychology of Fear to send to the students. Jonathan had made a comment about how you would help grade their final papers, which you readily accepted. You barely spoke to one another the entire time.

Soon, you were walking across campus with him in the misty drizzle of the early evening, the streetlamps haloed with their own light as you passed through the illuminated circles they cast on the ground. As summer approached, the days were becoming longer, the blue twilight that currently enveloped Gotham lasting longer each day. You knew that he was leading you to the university’s largest parking garage, which was nestled in the center of campus. It was five stories tall, but extended down into the earth a few floors as well.

The parking garage was emptying out, now just a humid, cavernous space with no use. Jonathan had parked at the far side of the bottom level, the furthest corner from the entrance. Yellow lights cast long shadows over the garage, the shadows pitch black voids. Normally you would never come down here, especially never by yourself, but with Jonathan by your side you saw no reason to be nervous.

His hand lingered over the small of your back, as you noticed it often did when he was walking with you somewhere. While you enjoyed his gentle guidance, you also knew that it was reckless of him. No one, in the history of the modern world, has ever put their hand on that part of the human body without also having put their hands elsewhere. It was an indication of your intimacy, a silent admission of guilt (even though you’re sure that Jonathan had no guilt about his frequently fucking you). But you also didn’t care enough to ever brush him off.

Besides, you were alone now, the only sound in the parking garage was your footsteps.

When you reached his car, and instead of letting you go to your side of the car his hand flexed, maneuvering you to face him. Jonathan tilted your chin towards him, looking down into your eyes. Slowly, he pressed you against the car, his mouth capturing yours in a gentle yet passionate kiss. Though, in your experience so far, there was nothing he physically did with you that wasn’t passionate. Every time he touched you, it was like he was trying to stain your skin with his touch, to mark you forever as someone he once knew intimately so that any of your future lovers would know he once held you.

His hand slowly snaked down your body, slipping under the hem of your pants. His finger slipped through your folds, which were quickly becoming wet, playing with your clit as you whimpered.

You parted from him, gasping against his mouth.

“Anyone can see us-“

“It’s okay,” he hushed you, the tight circles he was drawing over your clit sending bursts of pleasure throughout your body, “no one will look down here.”

And unlike when he felt you up at the Gala, this time you threw caution to the wind, nodding quickly, breaths of yes, please, escaping your mouth. Let someone come down, let them see. As long as his touch continued, you didn’t care.

Jonathan slipped two fingers into you, the heel of his palm resting on your clit as he began to thrust his digits, creating a scissoring motion inside of you and dragging them against your inner walls as he brought them down. With each movement of his fingers, the pressure on your clit shifted, sending bolts of pleasure through your body.

You knew what he was trying to find when he was brushing against you, the sensitive spot inside you that would make your mouth gape and your breath catch. And with each pass of his fingers, he brought you closer and closer to your finish and your breath was filled with a litany of begging and pleading nonsense that he paid no mind to until, with a final gasp and murmured praise against your ear, you came, clenching around his fingers as he continued to work them inside of you.

As aftershocks of pleasure twinged your body, twitches running up and down your legs, he removed his fingers from your pants, bringing them to his mouth before sucking them off. You could only watch, eyes half-lidded as he brought them out of his mouth with a pop.

Panting, you pressed back against the door, leaning against it as you fought to regain your sanity and your breath. The heavy bursts of air coming from your mouth seemed deafening in the parking garage, like it was echoing on every corner before coming back to you.

You reached down, wanting to help Jonathan but he brushed you off. He opened the driver side door, turning back to look at you before he climbed in and started the car.

“Get in the car, it’s getting late.”

To his apartment, then. You had a feeling that you would not be getting any rest until much later in the night.

Wayne Enterprises, unsurprisingly, towered over you. It towered over much of the city, the building a staple of Gotham’s skyline.

You took a deep breath, straightening out your blouse, before pushing open the door. A blast of cold, clean air hit you as you entered the lobby, which was multiple stories tall and completely comprised of windows on the side of the doors. Natural light streamed in, basking the narrow room in its light. On the opposite side of the lobby were a few escalators and a row of elevators with a steady stream of people entering and exiting.

The whole building was a more corporate environment than you ever imagined yourself existing in but you also never imagined yourself working in an insane asylum. Life was full of surprises, it seemed.

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you searched the lobby for the receptionist. When you saw her, you wondered how you managed to miss her.

She sat at a long ornate desk, two monitors and an iPad sitting on the top. In her ear was a bluetooth earpiece, which she was listening to and responding intently as she typed rapidly on the keyboard. She smiled as you approached, giving you a finger signal that clearly meant “please wait one second,” which left you awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot in an uncomfortable shoe to the other foot in an uncomfortable shoe, looking at the room around you while trying not to purposefully eavesdrop on her conversation.

Finally, the receptionist smiled at you.

“Hi, welcome to Wayne Enterprises, how can I help you?”

I wonder if she feels like a drive through operator, probably saying that same thing to every person who comes into the building and needs help.

“Um, hi, I’m here for an interview? For the archives internship.”

“Who is your interview with?” She asked, already typing something, clicking at her mouse as she pulled up god-knows-what.

“Oh, shit.” You pulled out your phone, grimacing as you cursed your unprofessionalism, quickly pulling up your email app and scrolling for the confirmation email. “Oh! It’s here, um…”

The receptionist smiled. You wondered what she was thinking.

“Elizabeth Miller?” You grimace when it comes out sounding like a question, but the receptionist doesn’t seem to mind. She simply nods and types into her computer.

“Alright, I’ll tell her that you’re waiting for her. You can have a seat over there while you wait.” She gave you a bright smile which you returned with your own meek version, your nerves kicking into high gear now that you officially had no way out of the interview.

You pulled out your phone, selecting a random social media app to scroll around on while you waited. You knew that nothing you saw on the app would distract you from your impending interview, but it was better than staring into space and waiting. Which you did end up doing once you grew bored of your phone a minute later, slipping it back into your pocket.

Drumming your fingers on your knees, you watched as the elevator doors opened and closed, spitting out a few people at a time. None of them were who you were waiting for, though every time a woman walked out you perked up before deflating when she didn’t look your way.

Finally, a blonde woman who looked like she was in her mid-forties came out of the elevator, smiling widely with incredibly white teeth when she saw you waiting. When she was about a yard away, she held out her hand and began speaking, clearly used to the fast paced environment she worked in.

“Hi, I’m Elizabeth and I’m the internship coordinator here at Wayne Enterprises.”

You introduced herself, your voice breaking slightly. Clearing your throat, you repeated yourself. She smiled, gesturing for you to follow her. She led you into the elevator, pressing a button. The entire time she occupied you with small talk, inconsequential comments about the weather and questions about your semester.

When the doors opened, she immediately began walking again, leading you to a small conference room. Opening the door, she allowed you to walk through first before shutting the door behind her.

“The writing sample you submitted to us was great.” She said, gesturing for you to sit down. “I would love to read the whole thing. Jeremy thought it was a bit too topical to be applicable for an archival position but I thought it was a good example of how you write about your research.”

“Thank you.” You hadn’t expected to be complimented like this from the get-go. You were expecting the type of interview where the person interviewing you didn’t smile or respond to your answers and this was a pleasant surprise.

“And it does connect to the company’s history because, as you are well aware, the Riddler was the catalyst for us going in and re-examining our records of the Renewal program.”

She didn’t even sound uncomfortable as she relayed this, ever the professional.

“Right.” You had no idea what else to say, aside from I know, I wrote about it. It had been a risk, submitting a sample from your unfinished paper but you knew that it was some of your best work, commentary on the then-current political landscape of Gotham combined with the rise of vigilantism, how the two were symbiotic forces.

“Anyway, let’s get into it.”

You smiled, shifting in your chair. You could do this. In less than an hour, you’ll be back out on the street and making your way home.

The rest of the interview passed quickly, with Elizabeth smiling and nodding during every answer you gave. You wondered if she was like this with all of the interviewees to make them more comfortable or if you were actually succeeded at the interview.

She asked the usual types of questions one could expect from an interview: describe a time you solved a problem independently, how does your education supplement your experience, tell me about your philosophy when it comes to the archival process. Well, maybe that last one wasn’t exactly a normal interview question.

You left the conference room buzzing with confidence in yourself and your chances in actually getting the internship. And if you did, you would have done it without outside help.

As you left the building, you pulled your phone out, scrolling through your recent call log. Which was really just comprised of your mother (every call around ten minutes long), Jonathan (his calls averaged around two minutes, usually just to inform you of something or that he was waiting for you), and Marie (all of her calls were at least fifteen minutes long, and filled with comfortable banter and complaints about the day). You hit your mother’s number, bringing the phone to your ear as you began walking down the street away from Wayne Enterprises.

She picked up after three rings.

“Hey! What’s going on? How are you?” Your mom’s voice was loud and you’re not sure if it was because of your phone’s volume or because she was just so surprised to see that you were calling her that she couldn’t control herself.

“Hey, mom.” You turned the volume down on your phone anyway. “Just calling because I just finished my interview.”

You’d told her in a text a few days ago about your interview, which had resulted in a slew of emojis that only middle-aged moms used. But it was endearing and you’re glad that for once she was supporting one of your Gotham-related decisions instead of just immediately asking you to return home.

“Yay! How was it?”

“Good! I feel like I have a good chance of getting it, though I have no idea how many other people were interviewed.” You pushed down the urge to say something self-deprecating, to put yourself down. As far as you knew, you did have a good shot at getting it because nothing happened in the interview to indicate otherwise. You didn’t fumble on any of your answers, none of the questions tripped you up, and the woman you were interviewing with seemed genuinely interested in the things you wanted to say.

“That’s great!” You smiled at the phone even though you knew she couldn’t see it. “Maybe then you can work there instead of at that asylum.”

Your smile faltered, then, but it wasn’t an unexpected comment. When you’d told your mom about your new job, she was less than thrilled that you had gone from one dangerous job to another dangerous job, albeit dangerous for different reasons.

“It’s just an internship, it doesn’t mean I’ll automatically get a job offer when it's done.”

“Well, it’s a step up. You’ve got your foot in the door.”

You were quiet, unsure how to respond. After a few more seconds of silence, your mother changed the subject.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“Not really.” You wracked your brain, trying to think of anything that you could do to tell her about. Certainly not scour the internet for information on Gotham’s latest masked criminal. “I guess I could watch some TV? I haven’t really done that lately, I’ve been so busy.”

“Well, whatever you decide on, I hope you have fun- Oh! I almost forgot,” You could hear her shuffling through something, puzzle pieces from the sound of it. “Did you want my old car? Your father and I have been discussing getting a new one since my current one doesn’t run as well. I figured since you wouldn’t be driving too much in that city and it’s old so now one would break in, it would fit your needs well enough…”

You were silent, shocked. You didn’t even notice that you had stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk until someone walked too close to you, their shoulder hitting the side of your body as they failed to completely go around you. Shaking your head, waking yourself up, you started walking again.

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want it. It’s not a nice car, you know this-“

“What? Yeah!” You cut her off, a bit too loudly. You took a deep breath and calmed yourself back down. “I mean, I’ll probably still walk everywhere but yeah. Having a car would make getting to work easier and just… it would be nice. Yes!”

“Okay, we’ll see about coming to the city to bring it. And we can get a nice lunch, or something.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me, thank you so so so much.”

You finished the conversation quickly, hanging up and barely containing your squeal of excitement. A car! You’d have a car! And that meant that you could stop relying on Jonathan to take you to and from work, that you’d have more independence in the city.

As you continued your walk home, you couldn’t contain the smile that spread across your face. Everything was looking up. You had a new job that you didn’t completely hate, a relationship with your captivating psychology professor (who was also kinda your boss, but that’s fine), a possible internship at one of the largest companies in Gotham (that you would've gotten without said professor’s help), and now you had a shitty car to get around in.

Compared to your life at this time last year, you were doing infinitely better. Now you just had to put in the work to keep it that way.

next part

[lakes-writting-rambles]

Out Of Choice, But Not Out Of Reach - #1 Inevitabilities And Such Unfortunate Things

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Sometimes your destiny is completely out of your hands – Danny Fenton couldn’t seem to find a way to avoid learning that lesson. First; when he was shot when Slade invaded the headquarters of the League, and subsequently his family, was using, while the fight between Slade and Grandfather was going on, he used the chaos to get to the Lazarus Pit before he bled out; a second time when he died in that godforsaken portal; the most prevalent one was definitely his first meeting with Clockwork, there he noticed that it doesn’t matter how hard you try, if it isn’t meant to be, someone will interfere. It doesn’t mean he won’t still do things as before, but now there’s forever the dread of knowing.

It’s been about a year since what he, Jazz, Sam and Tucker dubbed “The Dan Incident”, and Danny can't seem to stop thinking about it. Well, not really about Dan, no, but about Damian. He can’t stop thinking about how Dan likely ended up killing Damian – it’d be inevitable, and, considering the state the future he had been shown was in, he hoped Damian went early on, really, he also hoped it was quick, like he tried to do when he was in the League.

What really bothered Danny, though, was that he couldn’t help but wonder if staying with the Fentons even was a good idea at this point. Surely he has learned that misfortune would follow him anywhere he went, so why wait for the shoe to drop? Before the accident, he was relatively safe to live the rest of his life in Amity, sure, it was kind of a deadend, but it was tranquil, so he couldn’t really complain. Now, though? He was in constant danger inside and outside his house, being half dead meant no place with the living and no place with the dead. He should leave while he still can.

The League isn’t likely to spot him, considering it’s been years since his “death” and he probably looks different enough from Damian now… which is something he’ll have to think about later. And the threats of dissection (vivisection?) by his parents keep increasing – he doesn’t want to fuck around and find out.

So, the League is probably not an issue anymore, staying seems to get more dangerous each day and he’s pretty sure most ghosts only come to Amity to fight him.

Nevertheless, running away also came with a plethora of problems, for one: leaving Jazz and his friends. When he got adopted into the Fenton household he tried not to get attached to anyone. He couldn’t keep that up for long, as a touch starved 9 year old that came from a violent background and got thrown into a very loving family. First, he got attached to his parents, then Jazz, Tucker, and finally, Sam. He doesn’t regret it, not one bit, but it might make this choice hard to make – since the easiest way to run away would be to fake his death and forgo any contact with everyone from his old life. Maybe they’d know he wasn’t (fully) dead, maybe they’d just be extremely miserable, he wouldn't know. 

Another issue is that he’s the current Ghost King, and oh boy doesn’t that complicate things? He keeps getting more powerful, which means keeping his cover is getting harder – an unsettling and overpowering aura surrounds him now, and sure, it reacts to other people’s emotions as well as his own, which in theory should make it easier to hide, since everyone in Amity seems to have differing opinions on his two  personas, but the fact that his aura is big enough that others take notice is concerning enough on its own; he’s control over his abilities needs to be impeccable or he risks getting found out; and he’s pretty sure some of his more ghostly traits are beginning to bleed over into his human form. He also needs stable access to a portal, since he needs to take at least two trips per month to the Ghost Zone so he can check over things with Clockwork and parade around to remind the citizens of the realm that he is their king; he can’t officially take over since he’s still alive, once he’s entirely dead he will, but for now the observants act as regents and that’s more than fine by him.

And third: he’s not really sure where he should go. You’d think Gotham would be his first option because of his father, but he has too much media presence, so Danny’d be brought to the spotlight. Does anyone in Amity care about Gotham? Not that he knows of. But it’d still be too big of a risk. Plus, Tucker really wants to work in Wayne Enterprises in the future, he’s sure that it’d become a problem in no time.

So… what to do? Money isn’t a problem, since he has access to all the treasure hoarded by Pariah Dark over the centuries, but that’s not all he has to consider. He needs some sort of safety net, that much is obvious, and since he won’t be able to count on his regular support system, he should fall back on his blood.

Maybe he could go to Bl��dhaven? It’s close enough to Gotham that he can go there if he somehow needs to come into contact with someone from his biological family but not enough that he’d be immediately clocked… but then there’s Nightwing… as long as he doesn’t get  into any trouble it should be fine, right? It’s not like there’s a city without a hero nowadays… Urgh, nevermind, he’ll come back to these thoughts later, he’d rather not spend his rare moment of peace coming up with what to do after he fakes his death.

Sometimes fate decides that things should be ultimately out of your hands – but Damian Al Ghul Wayne fights with all his might to avoid such a thing becoming a rule in his life. When he came to live with his father, around 7 years ago, he held out hope that his twin had made it and would eventually return to his side. That never happened. And now Damian isn’t sure how to approach the topic of Danyal with his family, so he just… doesn’t. Even after all this time, it feels wrong to keep the memory of Danyal to himself, he should be celebrated, even if his death was premature and almost a decade has passed.

Danyal had died the same day as Grandfather, which is why his grief isn’t questioned –, even if the Bats are well aware of his distaste of his Grandfather’s actions, now that he’s recognized them for what they were. Damian isn’t sure if it’ll ever come to pass, because in quiet moments like this, he thinks of what could have been.

His twin was never needlessly violent, and his killings were virtually a mercy, compared to the others in the LoA, even himself. Maybe he would have adapted faster than Damian did, maybe he would have made a better Robin, maybe they would still wake up together and share little moments of quiet.

It’s all speculation, all it will ever be. They never found his body, but even now, years later, the image of his pierced chest is burned between the other twin’s eyes, it wasn’t likely to survive a wound like that, and even if he did, the bloodloss would’ve killed him regardless. But to a 9 year old, the what ifs often overshadow reality, which is why Damian had kept his hopes up, afterall, one of the many teachings of the League was that “if there isn’t a body then one should always consider the possibility of the victim having survived”. But now, at 16, he could see it for what it was, the foolishness of a child longing for what is gone – he’ll never admit it, but in the darkest, deepest and most hidden part of his heart, Damian still has a little bit of wonder, almost completely squashed, but a bit of hope of seeing his brother once again remains.

There’s no use for pondering at the moment, time doesn’t stop and soon one of his siblings will notice his absence at breakfast and come to pester him, thus he gets up and readies himself to face another hectic morning.

“If I were to go missing, where would you search for me first?” was not a question Tucker was ready for, like, at all, but especially at two in the afternoon on a saturday. Danny hadn’t been the same since that thing with Dan or whatever they had dubbed it, he didn’t change much, but he seemed to get lost in thought more frequently, and Tucker didn’t blame him! Really! But man, what went through his head was morbid at times, and he maybe shouldn’t voice those out of nowhere.

— Uhh I guess… your parent’s basement? — awkward silence fills the air, it’s the most obvious answer, but not a thing they normally consider outloud. A grimace crosses Danny’s face for a second.

— No, I mean, if I …ran away. — he says, and there’s some hesitancy. Obviously, there’s more to the question, but Tucker can’t for the life of him figure out what it could be.

— I’d guess Wisconsin, since it’s close by and you might be able to rely on Vlad if push comes to shove, but that is not likely at all, — Sam starts before coming to a slight pause to think. — Maybe Missouri?

— Why…?

— Cause it’s close by, it’s not like we’d let you get far before going after you. — she smirks and gives his arm a little punch.

—  I think we’d find Danny in Florida, actually, — Tucker chuckles before continuing — it’s the only place where he wouldn’t stand out.

— Oh, screw you. — He says before he lunges at Tucker.

Sam watches for a bit, the conversation got to her more than it did to Tucker. She decides that now isn’t the time to worry about it, she doesn’t think Danny would leave them behind without saying anything, not after all they’ve been through, but it did leave a sour taste in her mouth. To stop herself from spiraling down a rabbit hole, she jumps – literally jumps – into the struggle. 

That is how the three friends end up scratched all over, with dirt and grass stuck to their clothes and silly smiles on their faces, looking up at the sky as the clouds pass by. Moments like this used to be common, but with the chaos that is Amity Park nowadays a chance to just relax and joke around as friends seems more and more like a luxury.

Their peace is interrupted when Danny sighs, a defeated sigh that usually comes after his breath fogs – which means there is a ghost nearby. A shout ruptures the quiet and kills any hopes for the rest of their afternoon.

— BEWARE! I AM THE BOX GHOST!

— Alright, — he gets up and stretches. — Just wait for me, I’ll be back in a sec.

Sam and Tucker look at each other, worried glances on both ends – they didn’t even need to say anything. Things will never go back to the way they were before, that is something all three know intimately. Danny died. Everything they have witnessed is bound to leave some sort of mark as well. And there are the Fentons. Sam and Tucker knew Danny and Jazz loved their parents, but at this point it seemed inevitable that someday they’d turn on Danny, and it seems that even if he doesn’t talk about it, it’s also something he believes.

It feels unfair, Danny seemed to have come from a bad background and was settling into his own skin and fully letting his guard down for what felt like the first time before the accident. And wasn’t that heartbreaking? He’d adjusted to the life in Amity early on, but to actually enjoy himself? That took some 2-3 years, and to trust that he could always rely on the people around him? It had just started happening into the beginning of their ninth grade. Then the portal opened and he had to put some of those walls back up to protect himself, not just emotionally, but physically as well. Now, they’re in 11th grade, they should be looking for colleges and studying for entrance exams, but instead, Danny is thinking of running away.

They know how their friend thinks at this point, and it’s undeniable they’ll likely have to say goodbye soon.

Dealing with the Box Ghost wasn’t hard, but it sure was annoying. After the fight (if you could even call it that) ended he went back to Sam and Tuck, they laid on the grass for a while longer, ultimately, they got hungry and headed to the Nasty Burger and ate before parting ways.

Danny plops face first into his bed. Well… he could have approached that with more subtlety. Maybe it was his subconscious trying to get them to look for him, or something, to prepare them for his absence. That sounds too close to something Jazz would say…

He turns around, putting his arm on his forehead. His thoughts keep getting away from him, always back to Damian – would he have liked Amity Park? Probably not, if he was being honest with himself. He couldn’t even see himself liking it there when he arrived – in fact: He had hated it. The city was so calm it felt forced, the Fentons so loving it felt like a trap, the kids lacked any malice at all, everything screamed danger at him, like he was about to be ambushed. Nothing ever came to that, just a nice, cozy, little town. 

Well, until the portal opened, that is. 

He stops and just looks at his ceiling for a bit, the old glow in the dark stars already discolored and lacking any actual functionality, there was no reason for them to remain there but the attachment to what they used to be, kinda like him. There was no escaping his current reality. No escaping his need to desert this city, this family, this life. 

Danny sits up and looks around his room, which for the last few years had become his safe haven. He looks at the stained carpet, marked by his many sleepovers with Sam and Tuck, he looks at his ceiling fan, that was cracked from the time the trio had tried to recreate the solar system on it, he looks at his closet, his posters, his desk, everything that was proof of the life he had lived here.

He needs some water and something to eat before setting his plan up.

As he heads down the stairs to the first floor he hears his mother’s soft voice coming from the kitchen.

— Oh Jack, I’m so worried about Danny, — the phrase startles Danny, he turns invisible and intangible, floating a bit so as to not make any sound, — his ecto-contamination has only gotten worse over the years… how can we be sure he’s okay?

— Honey, I’m sure Danno is fine! He must be building up resistance!

— But what if… what if it’s fusing to him? What if there’s no reversing this? — His mom is chewing on her lower lip, clearly distressed. 

At the sight, his dad softens up and hugs her, his voice comforting as he speaks, — We’ll make sure he’s fine, Maddie. We might not know what happened, but we know each other and we know what we’re doing, we’re experts in our field. 

Danny can’t stay there anymore, they know he has ecto in his system and they know it’s getting worse. They know and they want to “fix” him. He’s completely and utterly fucked. 

Alongside his nervousness there is also newfound resolve. He quickly phases into his room, grabs his thermos, maybe two shirts and a pair of pants, he shoves it all inside an old backpack he hasn’t used in years. He will need to dispose of his phone, taking anything electronic with him will leave a trail and he can’t have that. Hopefully his parents don’t have his ecto signature yet, he doesn’t think he has the time to get rid of it if they do.

He checks the kitchen again, they aren’t there anymore, likely back in the lab, then. He has to leave through the front door, to not raise any suspicions. Now, how to make this realistic? Maybe he can fake being murdered? No, Amity doesn’t really have that type of violence. Maybe he can fake being a casualty in a ghost attack? But he’d have to damage public spaces to do so and he doesn’t want to endanger anyone else… Fake getting kidnapped? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, even as a human.

He could also just up and leave. It’s not like Amity has any actual investigative police force… Maybe he’s complicating things too much. He needs to go before he has time to chicken out. His parents will probably make a move on his ecto contamination within the week and he can’t be there for that.

— Bye mom, dad, be back in a bit! — and so, he shuts the door – leaving his house for what will probably be the last time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inevitabilities And Such Unfortunate Things > Those We Leave Behind

AO3

[umathurwin]

maybe we could share my mood

rafe cameron x f!reader; nsfw 18+

Summary: Rafe is gonna have a hard time wedging his way into the world of art dealing when his girlfriend is such a horny brat at the worst times. Maybe he'll have to teach her a lesson...

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

Your hands flew to your elbows the second you heard the air conditioning in the gallery turn on again. Seriously? It had to be below 65 degrees at this point. The minidress you found in your closet was a great idea outside, but the second you realized that this place was apparently a large refrigerator for the artwork displayed, the regret kicked in.

The worst part was Rafe had definitely told you to take a coat before you left. “Take that fake fur Sarah got you last Christmas. It would look great with that dress,” he’d insisted, clearly having been to this gallery before. But you didn’t listen, instead waving him off, grabbing your small purse and heading out.

So when he noticed you shivering and clutching yourself, his eyebrow shot up. “Not giving you my jacket,” he denied before you even opened your mouth, already seeing the request written on your face.

You played through the argument in your head—you would whine, and he would stand his ground with a stern face because no matter how much he loved you and would do anything for you, he wouldn’t lose an argument like this. There was no use in starting with him, so you just inhaled through your nose slowly. “Then how much longer are we gonna be here?”

His mouth tightened. “We just got here. It’s really important to my dad that we come here and make a good impression since he wants to get into the art business.”

“I’ve literally never heard him say a good thing about the art world.”

“It’s to help launder the gold money,” he muttered, glancing around.

You sulked, shifting your weight around on your feet and lulling your head to the side. “Like our cocaine intake isn’t doing a good enough job of that already,” you mumbled.

Rafe lifted an eyebrow, but a little smile peeked through his serious expression. “You try explaining that to Ward.”

The air conditioning unit finally shut off again, leaving only the sound of the chatters echoing around the marble floors. You lifted your shoulders. “Whatever, let’s get this over with.”

His face twisted in confusion at your attitude but he didn’t say anything, mainly because you two were joined by a man you recognized as the curator who greeted you upon arrival. He’d been considerably polite when Rafe introduced you, considering you were not adequately dressed for the weather inside.

“Stanley, hello again,” Rafe smiled, nodded and wrapping his arm around your waist. “You mentioned something earlier that my father had interest in. Do you mind showing us?”

“Not at all! This way,” the curator gestured to another room in the gallery. “It is an authentic DiPont, donated to us by the Arnault family,” Stanley explained, leading the two to a work on the wall.

“Do you mean DuPont?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do not.”

And yeah, he didn’t. The work on the wall was not from British artist Gainsborough Dupont, but some entirely different person likely using his name’s likeness to the more famous painter in his favor. “What do you think?” he asked, very pointed towards you.

Frankly… it was hideous. The painting was massive and abstract and filled with clashing colors like burnt orange and fuchsia and periwinkle. The lines were disruptive, and the ornate gold trim around the mess wasn’t well-matched to itself. It was too large to reasonably display anywhere in a home even if some color blind person found interest in the mess. Your mouth dropped open to find something nice to say about the work, but you blanked. You had to lie.

“It’s beautiful,” you mustered up, waving your hand around as the men stared at you, but nothing more came to mind.

The curator was unfortunately more clever than you planned for. He detected your insincerity, nodded curtly, and stepped away from the two of you.

Apologies spilled out of your mouth but Rafe was already turning and pulling you to a corner, your sandals nearly scuffing the floor trying to keep up with him.

“What is wrong with you?” he spat, tightening his hands into fists once appropriately in the corner away from the others.

“Babe, that painting was disgusting,” you defended, tilting your head to one side. “I’m sorry! I tried to be nice!”

“Well, you have to try better than that,” he scolded, folding his arms across his chest.

Wow, he was attractive. His biceps were getting bigger, you noticed, ever since he’d started working out more with Topper. Even now, they dared to split the seams of his nice dress coat’s sleeves. His reprimanding look made you feel so small, and the twitching of his jaw certainly didn’t help. Fuck, why was your boyfriend so damn hot at the worst times? Thoughts of him pulling at your hair when you misbehaved in the past popped into your brain, and you had to cross one leg over the other to help calm down. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice how hot and bothered you were getting just from this slightly chastising gaze.

Rafe definitely noticed. “S’wrong with you?” he asked, scanning up and down your body. “Are you…?” The pieces assembled themselves in Rafe’s brain and his entire demeanor shifted. “Oh, you’re just a little slut, huh?” his voice was low, but the smirk tugging at his lips showed he was nothing if not proud of himself. “I fucked you this morning. That wasn’t enough?”

Your cheeks burned bright, but you didn’t wanna lose like this, not in public. “Apparently not, hmm?” you bit, rolling your eyes—something that annoyed the hell out of him.

He straightened his body, scanning around presumably to see if anyone was watching them. Once the coast was clear, he clutched your elbow again and whisked you to the back. Two identical, gender-neutral lavatories sat nestled in an alcove facing each other, and Rafe shoved one of the doors open like it were weightless, pulling you both inside.

In terms of quality, there was no transition between the gallery and the restroom—it was just as gleaming and polished as the rest of the building. The chatter of the art-goers was completely silenced when the heavy door latched itself back in the hinge. You swallowed.

He let go of your elbow only to spin you around and bend you over the sink, keeping you there by the back of your neck. Your hands shot out to the counter to steady yourself as Rafe turned the tap on. There wasn’t time to be confused before he tugged the back of your dress up to expose your ass and ran his hand under the stream.

The painful collision of his wet, ring-clad hand and your flesh was terribly amplified by the water. The smack seemed even louder than normal echoing off the smooth marble lining the entire room. Air sucked into your lungs roughly and you fell to your elbows. Rafe didn’t rewet his hand, but hit the other side of your ass just a bit harder to elicit terrible swears from you.

“Watch your mouth, doll,” he warned, voice calmer than his actions would let on. After one more smack, he inhaled sharply. “Now, are you just acting out because you wanna cum?” His condescending tone told you he already knew the answer, and also that he wouldn’t continue until you confirmed it.

You nodded desperately, relishing in the way his fingers flexed around the back of your neck. “Yes, please, fuck. Please do something.”

He shook his head. “So pathetic. I make you feel good every day, I give you the best drugs, I buy you nice clothes, and you still want more. You still act like a brat when you need to fucking behave,” he seethed, giving one more slap on your ass before turning your body around. “It’s a good thing I love you, huh?” His eyes trailed down slowly. “Good thing I have so much to give, doll.”

You whimpered, now face-to face with him. You looked down to where he was unbuttoning his pants. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart, but I go first. Since you were acting like that out there.”

Your head was bobbing while you dropped down to your knees, face to face with his boxers peaking from behind the zipper. You didn’t even bother with unzipping his pants, just tugging them down his hips enough to let his cock escape.

Now wasn’t the time to be messy. Your preferred method was sloppy, eyes watering your makeup across your face and drool dripping off your chin as you forced his member down your throat. Giving head was both you and Rafe’s favorite thing to do solely because of their partner’s fervor in the act.

But you couldn’t this time. As soon as you two were done in there, it was right back to fake smiles and faker appearances for a shot at buying an ugly fucking painting. So instead, you tried to be careful, sucking and licking on his cock without making yourself too much of a disaster.

He didn’t appear to have the same motives. Rafe held you down to the base of his cock, twisting his fingers even further into your hair. You’d be lucky if one of his rings didn’t get stuck like last time. Drool spilled out of your mouth to the floor, narrowly avoiding landing on and staining your dress. A teeny thrust from him pulled gags from you, and you had no choice but to push off him by his thighs.

He allowed this, but only because the sight of you wrecked with puffy, wet lips and pink cheeks was almost as good as being down your throat. He wiped at the inner corner of your eye where a big teardrop threatened to spill out.

“Mm, this is why it’s so hard to punish you,” he noted, throwing his head back as you sucked on the tip like candy. “You’re just—fuck—such a good girl. Gonna make me cum?”

Moving ever-so-softly, you nodded your head without taking him out of your mouth. You dropped all the way down to bury your nose in his pelvis, letting his cock slide as far down as it could reach. Rafe groaned, tugging on your hair again and fucking your throat until he came.

You didn’t taste a bit of it even as he pulled out of your mouth, leaving a thick string of spit connecting you and his cock.

“Alright, sweet girl, now you can have your turn.”

Rafe stood you up and leaned you back against the countertop. He yanked the hem of your dress up to your hips and pulled the thin fabric of your underwear aside.

He cupped your pussy in his hand, forcing a noise from the back of your throat. “Look at you. Haven't done a thing and you’re already whining for me,” he shook his head, tutting his tongue at you. The sound of his fingers sliding over your wet cunt made him smile. “Fuck. Can feel how swollen you are. Guess you weren’t lying about being horny.”

You shook your head. Most of your body weight had shifted to the counter behind you, as your legs were not gonna hold your body weight up for much longer. It felt pathetic, being reduced so quickly by almost nothing at all.

Rafe messily rubbed his first three fingers over your clit, stimulating you until your head was lulled back. He only stopped to dip his fingers into your wetness to make his movements easier. His other hand wrapped around your back to slide under your dress and play with your nipples, and that was just enough to send you over the edge.

You came, rushed and desperately on his digits and he talked you through it with the same smug, cocky words he’d been using on you all night. Your legs were trembling, but you just managed to stay upright as the slick noise of his stroking fingers rang in your ears.

Rafe had only needed a few moments to readjust his button-down and wash his hands. He’d already had time to settle down from his orgasm—more than you could say for yourself—so when you glanced up to him, his hair and clothes were as straight as they were when they came in.

He nodded down at you, still trembling, hair a fucking mess. “Meet you out in the gallery, sweetheart.” Rafe kissed your forehead and rejoined the people outside, leaving you to clean yourself up.

Well. A punishment’s a punishment.

[serenescribe]

round 9 of twst crossposts — ocean edition!

tendrils and tidal waves — jellyfish mer silver au. while travelling abroad in search for an old friend, lilia chances across a horrifying sight at a black market: that of a young jellyfish mer-child being trapped and up for auction. (original post)

son of the sea — selkie silver au. originally written as a birthday present for my dear friend and au creator @0rchidm4ntis! silver sleepwalks out to the piers. lilia finds him and brings him home. some emotional hurt/comfort and father-son feels occur. (original post)

[minijenn]

Hehehe the stupid ass angstfest oneshot I wrote is finally here! Enjoy some preemptive UF2 Stonemason saga angst. Part 1 of 2 focuses on developing the bond between Dipper and Amber. Part 2 will mostly focus on post Stonemason saga Pines Family hurt/comfort. With all that said, I’ll leave ya to it to enjoy the angst! ^_^

Characters: Dipper, Amber, Yellow Diamond, Hessonite, Bill Cipher, Stonemason

Additional Tags: Crossover, Angst, Drama, Pain, literally the most shameless angstfest ever i am not beating the allegations, Don't read this unless you have the insider knowledge on UF2, UF and UF2 spoilers, Universe Falls, Amputation, Brainwashing, Torture, Harm to Children, Broken Bones, Blood and Injury, Panic Attacks, Dehumanization, Loss of Identity, Loss of Limbs, Suicidal Thoughts, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I give Dipper another Gem mom what else is fucking new, Amber my beloved, not me writing a stupid niche twoshot no one is gonna read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, once part 2 is out

Summary:

Set during (the currently unwritten) Universe Falls 2's Stonemason arc:

Part 1: Trapped on Homeworld, with his own mind slowly being turned against him, Dipper finds an unexpected ally. But even though Amber can heal him, is she willing to help him when it matters most?

Part 2: Coming soon!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

reo mikage they will never understand u quite like i do

[queenofacess]

She could barely breathe. Heart hammering, ears ringing, lungs burning as she swam as fast as should could away from her hunter. She could hardly think as she pushed forward, arms aching but determined to *not get caught, don't die, just get away.* Her mouth was completely dry, throat closed up in panic as she tried to call for help.

How ironic.

She was meant to be a predator, born to be the one chasing, meant to be the one inspiring fear in the heart of her prey as she hunted them down.

Razor sharp teeth, honed claws, raised hackles. All things she was supposed to be, things she *should be.*

She'd never been great at following what she was meant to do though. She preferred soft smiles shared with her partners over teeth bared in rage, the feeling of a fishing rod in her hand rather than the weight of a sword, playful banter over tense, violent confrontations.

And now *she* was the prey.

She had been attacked before, had been backed into a corner, put into an inescapable situation, with no way to escape. A cornered animal, desperate and fighting back as best she could, teeth bared against an impossible foe. This was different though. She had never before felt such an acute sense of *fear, panic, get away leave me alone stay away from me runrunrun.*

The suddenness of it all was jarring, the quick flip from relaxed and calm as she smiled and said goodbye, emptying her inventory of the fish she had collected, to *danger* as the sound of glass shattering cut through her mind like a knife. She had spun around immediately and frozen, only for a second or two but it felt like hours, staring at Jest like a deer in headlights as they pulled out their sword. Potion particles swirled around them, highlighting the regretful but determined look in their eyes as they locked onto her, seemingly pinning her to the spot, locking her in a trance of fear.

As they surged forward though, she snapped out of it and bolted for the water, throwing herself into the ocean as she heard a splash behind her when Jest followed.

Her hands shook as she scrambled for a speed potion, desperately praying that it would be enough. Pain shot through her leg as Jest swiped out with their sword, close behind her, but she ignored it, instead focusing on the rushing adrenaline and the new feeling of swiftness as she splashed the potion against the seafloor and felt the swiftness give her a boost in energy to push herself faster and faster, put more and more distance between herself and her pursuer.

Within the swirling panic of her mind, she barely managed to remember to call for help, fumbling with her communicator as she swam then quickly shoving it back into her inventory, ignoring the buzzing of the chat exploding in confusion at her cry for help.

She kept swimming because *what else was there for her to do, she couldn't fight back, not against Jest,* thanking her past self for going through the trouble of obtaining a turtle helmet as it allowed her to stay underwater for longer, able to keep *moving* while Jest had to return to the surface for air.

She didn't think, didn't try to speak, didn't try to fight, only let her instincts take over for her as she listened to the rabbit-quick racing of her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest.

She barely even noticed when Nara arrived, shouting at her to go to the open ocean, barely noticed the dolphin that graces her with its boost of speed, barely even noticed that she was no longer being chased until she was far, far away from spawn and the sudden tick of drowning damage forced her out of her dissociation and up to the surface of the water.

It wasn't until she reached a random island and finally dragged herself onto land, muscles screaming in protest and chest heaving as she desperately tried to take in air that her brain fully booted up again and all she could do was laugh.

The laugh was full of relief, adrenaline, fear, *bitterness.*

Of course this was how the night went. She should have known Jest had ulterior motives, no one else had been so eager and determined to plan a time to join her at the dock. She should have known.

Would she be able to find peace at the dock now? Would she be able to let herself dissociate while staring at the bobber peacefully floating in the waves when every little noise, the sound of footsteps behind her, of someone opening a chest, of someone taking damage, of glass breaking, broke her out of the moment of relaxation and sent panic ripping through her mind at the thought of someone being there for *her* again?

She tried to let go of the bitterness, to let the excitement at having actually escaped for once take over, but it was hard not to think about it.

She had a feeling it would take a long time before the sense of being *prey* left her.

[antlersofthevoid]

Dust From The Past: Chapter 1 - Conspiracy

//SURPRIIIISEE It's here!! Song from the Act 1 Playlist is: 'Kara Main Theme'

CONSOLIDATED ANDROID NO 001

SYSTEM START….

Initializing…

.

.

.

Complete.

Data Blackbox : ONLINE

Audio Processors : ONLINE

Adjusting Optics…

Internal Systems : OPERATIONAL

.

.

Its eyes opened—not smoothly, but with the sharp precision of a camera shutter snapping into action, introducing it to the world for the first time. For a moment, it’s vision was a blur of bright fluorescent lights and pristine concrete walls to match.

But just as quickly as the shutter had snapped, the world came into focus.

The room was cold and quiet, save for the humming of the lights above it, and a distant conversation a few rooms over.

Cold air hit the few parts of it’s metal arms and legs that remained exposed by the strange article of gray clothing that covered most of its body, and the robot wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

…It could feel..?

It could….think…?

An involuntary twitch moved the digits of its left hand as an android on another table awoke.

It wasn’t sure how just yet, but something told it that they were different from each other. This one was taller, and based on the few strands of synthetic black hair that it could see curling around its face in the corner of its optics, as compared to the cherry red hair of the new one, the differences were intentional.

“Are they going to work, or not?”

A new sound made both of them turn their attention to the only way out of the room, staring with pure curiosity as two new figures entered.

Humans. A short one in a lab coat with glasses and long, scruffy black hair that had been tied back in a ponytail, and a tall one, a brunette with neatly trimmed hair and a fancy business suit.

“I told you they will, you just have to give them time-”

And then they stopped. Both androids made eye contact with the men.

“...Francis, what is this?”

The tall one glared at the shorter one- who the two androids assumed was Francis.

“Sir, I told you.” The shorter one pushed his glasses back onto his nose. “I took some creative liberties with the project-”

The tall one stepped towards the two androids, a displeased expression on his face. The two androids shared a look of confusion. Had they already done something wrong?

Francis pointed towards the red-haired one.

“These are the two prototypes. That’s Vex.”

The displeased taller human rolled his eyes.

“You NAMED them?”

Francis ignored him, gesturing towards the black-haired one.

“And that’s Jamie.”

“I didn’t ask you for PETS.”

The tall one spun on his heels to face Francis.

“I asked you for MACHINES. TOOLS. Not dress-up toys!”

Jamie. So that was its name!

Jamie…

…Yeah, it liked that name.

“These ARE your machines. I just took us a step further in the project and put us in a brand new direction.”

Jamie glanced at Vex, who had turned their attention to something in the corner of the room. A bug, maybe?

“What the hell are you talking about, Francis?”

Francis moved to Jamie’s side, waving a hand in front of the android enthusiastically.

“Just think! First, we start with clearing out the mine- show everyone what they can do-”

“And?”

“And then, we move UP! Think of all the jobs these guys could take! We could reduce the rate of unnecessary work deaths! If there isn’t a REAL person working the job, there are no liabilities!”

…what the heck were they talking about?

The tall one thought for a moment, before nodding and flashing Francis a smile. Jamie wasn’t sure if it was a genuine one, or a sinister smile.

“I like your thinking, Francis.”

“Here, and you can even take one of the prototypes! Test it out, let it work around the office- send it to go fetch papers or something. Your choice.”

..what was going to happen to the other one?

“Give me the red one.” The taller one spoke without hesitation. “You can put the other one in storage for now. We’ll keep it for the showcase.”

The two androids shared a look of confusion and…another emotion that neither really knew of yet. Had Jamie done something wrong? Had Vex done something? What was going to happen to Jamie?

It felt a hand brush against the sensors on it’s face before it’s vision focused again. Only Francis and Jamie remained in the room.

It stayed perfectly still as his hand moved to the back of it’s neck, doing something with the control panel between it’s shoulders.

And then it finally spoke. It took a few crackles and confused attempts at words, before Jamie finally got the words out of their processor.

“....Did i…..do something..wrong..?”

Francis shook his head, smiling at the robot.

“No, no, sweet girl, you’re just..”

It- no.. she, tilted her head.

“It’s just not your time to shine yet, is all.”

SYSTEM POWER SWITCH OFF.

10 SECONDS TO SHUTDOWN.

“You’re alright.”

She found his words oddly assuring, a confirmation that her simple existence hadn’t been an immediate failure.

“You’ll get your chance again, Jamie.”

5 SECONDS…

The camera lens closed again. She didn’t want to fade back into nothingness again, but she had no choice.

“...They’ll love you. I know they all will.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Y̵̴̷̵̵̡̧̧̛̼̱͎̠̜̘͍̘̥̣̩̰͔͉ͣ̑ͩ͒ͣ̐̍̾́̈́̅͊̎̀̽͐͊͟͡͠ͅͅơ̧̨̝̼̦̱̰͈͍̙͆͋͒̔̂ͭ̎̑̿̈́͋̂̓̀̐̀̋ͤ͗̑̆̄̕͢͢͠͞ͅụ̷̵̢̭̠͕͈͚̾͋̆̾̿͗͑̌͒̽ͨ̇͒ͦ͞_͕̘̗͔̻̽̓̎͊̊ͯ̂'̪͈̞̙͛̀ͪͬͦ̚r͓̝̖̈́̔ͦ́͌_̡̨̪͍̩̳͙̲̤̳̰ͤ̂̒ͥ̊ͭ͛ͫ͘_̡̼̝͇̘͙̟ͥ͊͋ͤͥ͌̇̕͠͡e̷̸̢̢̜̦̝̝͎͔̩͍̤͍͍͔̹͔̞̯͋͆͐͆ͯͮ͊̋̂̌ͫ͋̿̀́ͮͦ͌̑ͩ͆͟͜͞ͅͅ d̴̸̢̻̙͚̬̩̳̳͍͕̪̗̾̐̓̒͛̑̀ͮ͠ͅͅŗ̵̷̷̴̶̡̱͉͚͉̠̹̟̘͉͖͉͙̍̈̋ͦ͗̔̋́̈̋ͩ̑ͮ̒̏͌͋͐ͥ͌̕͘̕̚͟͡ͅͅe̵̷̶̝̭̭͈̦̜̟̺̮̻̠̦̲̩̫͍ͪ͊̃́̉͆̊͛͗̌̎̃̐̿̂́̏̔̚͘ą͕̯̭͎ͧ̌̃͐ͭ̊ͫ̋͊ͫ̚͢͝m̵̴͇̜̟̠͊̀̕ͅi̴̠̫̼̻͎ͦͥ͛ͩ̔̊ͩ̕͟͠n̗g̷̴̗̖̖̗̦̻̲͕̺̜͕ͯͩ̄̂̈́̉̈̽̅̾̈́͊̃ͩ̋̾ͧͭ̚̚͜͞ͅ a̴̭͇̤̦̻̜̼ͦ̌ͫ̇̾̚ͅ_̶̢̰̦͉͍̙̙̭ͨͨ̾ͣ͂͒ͥ͋̋́̿ͦ͘͟͡g̶̨̝̖͍̰̹̥̦͎̬͍̼̰̯͎̒̏ͦ̑̊͗̽̒̊ͪ̃ͧ͛͢a̝͙̮̎̑̽̚ì̧̺̲̼̤̏ͦͮͥ͛ͩ̕ņ̰̫̰̯̪̦̲͇̺̺̗̲̙̲̹̳ͬͮ̀̏ͩ͂̄ͭ̽̍͊̓͑̀͒̉̄̉ͣ̒̚̕̕͘͜͡.̴̸̞̪̥̭͇̥͔͖͖̬̻͈̮ͥͤͥ̋̇ͮ̓̄̆ͣ̊͘͜͜͟͟

W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏

W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏

W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏ W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏ W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏ W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏ W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏

Junebug gasped as she jolted upwards, digging her hands into the blanket around her.

It was dark. She could see, she knew she could, it just took a minute for her optics to adjust- something about cameras and exposure and…yeah, something like that.

Where was she, again..?

The weight beside her finally registered. Johnny lay peacefully sleeping on his side beside her, arms curled to his chest and his face buried in a pillow.

Spare bedroom, basement, tv…couch…

Right, Clara and Cyrano’s house. She and Johnny did a set at a bar nearby and asked to stay with them for the weekend. The bike was outside, the keys were on the table.

Well, there was no chance of her going back to sleep, not after that nightmare.

Junebug moved slowly and quietly, not wanting to disturb her Cricket, taking careful steps up the stairs and into the kitchen.

She’d made up her mind about halfway up the steps, deciding that she’d snag one of the leftover donuts from the box on the kitchen table, and then maybe..go for a late night swim. Surely they didn’t get a pool put in outside just for it to be a decoration, and she was waterproof anyway, what would it hurt?

Ⱥꞥđ ⱳħⱥⱦ īꞩ īⱦ ɏꝋᵾ ⱦħīꞥҟ ɏꝋᵾ'ɍē đꝋīꞥꞡ?

It was too early to be fighting her inner demons.

She brushed off the nagging feeling of impending doom as she licked a stray fleck of caramel from her chin, making sure not to accidentally trigger the chime that Clara had installed near the back door.

Łꝋꝋҟ ⱥⱦ īⱦ. Īⱦ ⱦħīꞥҟꞩ īⱦ ȼⱥꞥ ēⱥⱦ łīҟē ⱥ ħᵾᵯⱥꞥ. Īⱦ ⱦħīꞥҟꞩ īⱦ īꞩ ħᵾᵯⱥꞥ.

Warm weather, clear skies, perfect conditions for a night swim.

Junebug always preferred to swim in shorts, never a swimsuit. She could never really decide why, and everytime someone asked, she gave them a different answer. She could never find one she liked, or one that fit her, or she didn’t like how they were made, or-

..Or maybe she just didn’t like people seeing the wield marks in her plating.

Ⱦⱥҟē ⱥ ꞡꝋꝋđ, łꝋꞥꞡ łꝋꝋҟ ⱥꞥđ ɍēᵯēᵯƀēɍ ⱳħⱥⱦ ɏꝋᵾ ⱥɍē

The water was perfectly still. The moon provided just enough light for her to see her own reflection as she moved to step into the water.

Her mismatched eyes, the scratches in her plating, uneven wield marks on her neck.

The plating. Her skin.

Łꝋꝋҟ ⱥⱦ ɏꝋᵾ, ꝑɍēⱦēꞥđīꞥꞡ ⱦꝋ ƀē ⱥ ħᵾᵯⱥꞥ. Ɏꝋᵾ ȼⱥꞥ'ⱦ ēꞩȼⱥꝑē ⱳħⱥⱦ ɏꝋᵾ ⱥɍē.

Her breath caught in her throat. She forgot it was possible, artificial lungs, yet another curse-within-a-blessing given to them by the company.

₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮

“...Junebug?”

She hadn’t realized how close she’d gotten to the edge before she lost her footing and fell in at the jolt of surprise.

The water hit her senses before she could even process what was going on, body twisting and flailing in the water as she tried to move in whatever direction she could perceive as up.

A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her up, and she found a shoulder to rest her head on as she caught her breath.

𝗔⃥𝘳̸𝗲⃥ 𝘆⃥𝘰̸𝘂⃥ 𝗼⃥𝘬̸𝗮⃥𝘺̸?⃥!̸ 𝘑̸𝘂⃥𝘯̸𝗲⃥𝘣̸𝘂⃥𝘨̸?⃥!̸

… Ɉᵾꞥēƀᵾꞡ?!

Johnny. It was Johnny. He had her.

“June! Jesus, answer me!”

After realizing whose arms she was in (And who had accidentally scared her in the first place), she tightened her arms around his shoulders just a bit more.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, Cricket.”

Well, that was one way to get in the pool. They were still in the shallow end, so they could both stand, even though Junebug was using Johnny for support as she rebalanced herself and coughed up the small amount of water she had accidentally inhaled.

“You just scared me, that's all.”

Johnny frowned and furrowed his brows as Junebug pulled back.

“You scared me. I woke up and you weren’t there, and then I came out here to see you hyperventilating beside the pool.”

Shit.

“Just couldn’t sleep.”

Johnny kept his hand on her arm, keeping her close to him.

“Is that really it?”

She tried to pull away as he pulled her into another embrace.

“That’s it, Cricket. Nothing else to talk about.”

“Talk to meeeeeeee.” Johnny pouted.

“There isn’t anything else to talk about.” Junebug stared over his shoulder and into the water. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was making the “alright, I guess we’re doing this” face.

Especially when he started drifting backwards, pulling her towards the deep end of the pool.

“CrICkET”

“What?” Johnny teased, snickering as she wrapped her arms and legs around him this time.

“If there isn’t anything to talk about, surely you don’t mind-”

Junebug playfully swatted at his face. “You know I hate being in the deep!”

It was true, and he knew it. They were both originally built to maneuver in water, meaning that taking a swim in a pool, or even in down in the echo river at the rum colony, was no big deal, but Junebug absolutely DESPISED being where she couldn’t touch the bottom.

“Do I?”

“If you’re trying to get me to talk, this isn’t going to work.”

He planted a kiss on her cheek. She stuck her tongue out and retaliated by nipping at his ear.

“C’mon, June. You know you never win this fight.”

Junebug let her chin rest on his shoulder again. “I’ve told you about my dreams before. There, that’s it. I had a dream and couldn’t go back to sleep so I came out here. Happy?”

Johnny’s playful look turned to a look of concern.

“And you decided to come outside and have a staring competition with your reflection?”

Junebug stayed silent. Johnny knew, they both had their insecurities, despite how hard they tried to act human, how they rebuilt themselves and colored in the empty spots, how they could never get the paint to fully cover up the seams on their limbs.

“....Can you put me down now?”

She immediately realized her mistake, and kicked herself for her words.

“Right here?”

She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, He was always the better swimmer.

“Right here?”

“JoHNNy DoN’T YoU DArE”

He only released his grip just a little bit, but she still frantically tried to pull herself closer to him.

“CRICKET.”

“What? You told me to put you down-” He shrugged. “I’m just doing what my Junebug wants.”

“YOUKNOWDAMNWELLTHATSNOTWHATIMEANT.”

She only stopped her frantic attempts to stay as close as possible to him when she felt his arms wrap tightly around her waist again.

“Request rescinded?” Johnny got her on the chin this time.

Junebug buried her face in his shoulder to hide her embarrassment. Thank god it was only her and Johnny, for her own sake. He was the only one that ever got to see her like this, that ever got to truly make her laugh or be there when she needed comfort. Those quiet, private moments were the only moments they dropped the act and got comfortable.

And they liked it that way.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

“....Gross.”

The Blue-haired one stuck out her tongue.

The purple-haired one shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Shut up, you’ll blow our cover.”

“I don’t see why we can’t just take them now.” The blue-haired one whispered to the other. “They’re right there, there’s nobody else around-”

The purple-haired one pointed towards the house, making sure not to move past the shrubs they were using to hide behind.

“And there are houses with god knows how many security systems. Do you know what would happen if we got caught?”

The blue-haired one rolled her eyes and replied mockingly, “The boss will get in trouble and then we’ll get scrapped because yada yada bad company publicity.”

“Finally, you’re using your processor.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before the blue-haired one spoke again.

“...but they’re right there. We could get this done now-”

The purple-haired one turned to face her, a hand on his hips as he snarled.

“Do you have the narcotics on you?”

The blue-haired one glared back in an angry silence.

“Hey, Tempest?” She cocked her head. “How about you kiss my-”

The collars around their necks beeped quietly before she could finish her challenging insult. The blue-haired one groaned in annoyance.

“We’re done for tonight anyway.”

The blue-haired one snuck one last glance at the two oblivious bodies down the hill, only turning her attention away when Tempest quietly called for her.

“Surge! Leaving now!”

An excited, absolutely wicked smile crossed Surge’s face as she trailed into the woods after Tempest, cackling under her synthetic breath.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

[necrotic-nephilim]

Fandom: DCU (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Underage Relationships: Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake (DCU), Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Omega Dick Week (DCU), Omega Dick Grayson, Alpha Tim Drake (DCU), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Reverse Robins, first heat, Tim Drake is Red Hood, Dick Grayson is Robin, Damian Wayne is Nightwing, Porn With Plot, Mildly Dubious Consent, Degradation, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting, Bratting, Dirty Talk, Begging, Pre-Flashpoint (DCU), Dacryphilia, Overstimulation, Batkids Age Reversal, Imprinting Summary:

Dick doesn't expect to have his first heat like this. He doesn't expect to have a first heat at all.

But when he presents around Tim Drake, the Red Hood he's been clearly warned to stay away from, he imprints on Tim and Dick will do anything to be near him. Sometimes, flirting with danger is worth the price.

-

Omega Dick Week 2024 - Day 1: Reverse Robin | First Heat

[simplykaren]

I just re-read an old Mianite fic of mine and definitely didn't tear up.

But also...shudders Why on earth did I think writing in first person was a good idea?

[rebeccahlamford]

Fallen down a Good Omens shaped rabbit hole... did you know that on AO3, 3.9% of Good Omens (TV) fan works are tagged under the metatag "asexuality spectrum"? Which may not seem much, but it's 8 times more than the average (0.49%) for the same tag across the top 50 tv fandoms*!

This makes Good Omens the TV fandom with the highest percentage and highest number of works tagged under "asexuality spectrum". Pretty awesome, in my opinion.

*Top 50 TV fandoms based on the largest total number of works (available to registered users)

Data from 26/6/23

[st0p-sign]

tiny PSA for trolls fanfic writers who are making (or have made) the move from wattpad to AO3

referring to your fics as "books" is a dead giveaway that you came from wattpad

[veifei]

here's my @femslashaction fic for @soapy-soartp <3

🌙 2k words of hurt/comfort in which lwj does bring wwx back to gusu, and there are consequences. wwx takes good care of her though.

(thought i'd post on here as well as my twt!)

[angelmichelangelo]

waterlogged

verse: 2012/problem child au rating: g words: 1.8k

read on ao3

x

Rain lashes down from the sky, clouds darkening the stretch of the pitch that’s practically halfway between being underwater.

Mikey dashes through the onslaught of players that come at him, he only has a fraction of a second to sweep his curls off from his forehead where they’re plastered there, weaving side to side, kissing the ball with the inside of his boot, he travels down the stretch of the field with ease, feeling weightless against the biting wind that tries to stop him.

That is until one of the opposing team players catches him off guard, no doubt an obvious foul had it been just a few feet forward.

He’s badly shoulder checked, at some speed too, and as a result, he goes flying backwards, the ball spins out of his control, going up in the air, some other player gaining its control before he even has a chance to hit the ground. Hob’s whistle is sharp and fierce as his teeth rattle about when his skull bounces off the floor.

“Mike!” Coach calls through the rain, voice traveling faster than he can as he wades his way over to the middle of the pitch where he’s sprawled out. “You okay, kiddo?”

His sports kit now soaked through with rain and mud, his skin is wrecked with an icy coldness that has him shivering hard. Not to neglect the throbbing ache that echoed about his skull as he peeled his eyes open.

Hob is now standing over him, swamped in his rain jacket, as is Woody, who’s somehow got grass and dirt smeared across his upper lip, both of them sharing rather worrisome glances.

“Ugh,” Mikey groans, slowly trying to sit up. There’s a cool hand pressing against the small of his back, guiding him gently to his feet. “M’head.”

He goes to palm at it, a headache already blooming hotly behind his eyes before Hob is shoving his hand out of the way, forcing him with as much care as he could muster to stare him dead in the eyes.

“You took a pretty big hit,” Hob tells him. Woody’s mouth is already moving too fast for the words to catch up to him when he says, almost excitedly.

“Definitely a red.” His curls hang wetly over his face, bouncing over his eyes with vigor.

“Don’t matter ‘bout that,” Hob dismisses him gently. “Mike. Are you alright?”

Mikey goes to nod — a little rain and a slip n slide on the pitch wasn’t going to deter this exciting game. They were two one up with another twenty minutes to play. But his stomach suddenly lurches, and the empanadas he’d had from the school cafeteria a few hours ago now decide to make a reappearance all over the grass at his boots.

“Okay,” Hob says, a little put off as he wearily pats Mikey’s shaking shoulder as he hunches himself in half, squeezing his eyes shut where they feel ready to bulge out of his head. “That’s it. You’re out. You okay to head to the lobby?”

Mikey swallows weakly, and then, much to his own shame, spits, simply to rid himself of the foul aftertaste that lingered across his teeth like a film. 

“Uh huh,” he mutters, unsure if his voice was even loud enough to be heard over the roaring wind and rain.

“Dirkins,” Hob instructs the other boy sharply, tugging on his coat toggles to tighten it around his round, reddened face. “Go with him, will you? And make sure he calls his brother. I don’t want him skirting around this.”

Woody agrees, gently hooking a hand around his arm, tugging him along. “C’mon Mikester. Let’s get you outta here.”

It’s only a short walk from the soccer field to the entryway of the school building, but with his head swimming and his entire body feeling positively waterlogged it feels miles long before Woody is all but shoving him through the double doors into the warmth.

“Sit,” his friend instructs him. “I’ll grab you a drink.” He goes to turn away before he’s stopping in his tracks, mud and rainwater following in his wake at his feet. “Need me to call Leo or you?”

Mikey slumps into one of the waiting room seats; thankfully what with the school day being long over, the hallways and surrounding classrooms were void of its usual noise and hubbub, letting his aching headache breathe for a moment. 

“S’okay.” Mikey tells him, running the back of his wrist over his lip. “I can do it.”

Woody fetches him the school phone from behind the desk, pressing it keenly into his hands before he’s darting off to the cafeteria, no doubt to wrestle one of the vending machines, Mikey punches in Leo’s number.

It rings out only for a handful of seconds, the dial tone loud and shrill as it tally’s around his head, eventually it connects through, Leo’s voice filtering through from the other end.

“Hello?” He says, and Mikey wonders for a split second if he recognised that it was the school number he was calling from.

His stomach rolls a second time, and he swallows the sensation down with a weak whimper. Pressing his wet palm to his lips as if to steady himself, once the feeling had quickly passed does he find the words to speak.

“Leo.” His voice wavers. “Can you please come pick me up?”

There’s the sound of whatever movie Leo was probably falling asleep to being muted on the TV, no doubt he sits up, a little more urgency to his tone when he asks.

“Yeah. What’s wrong?”

It’s then that Woody emerges from the cafeteria, clutching a water bottle and his book bag, as well as a Snickers bar that Mike knows he fought the machine for.

“Uh huh,” he says, eyes flickering upwards to meet his friend's gaze. “Took a bit of a spill on the pitch. Hob’s orders, I gotta come home.”

There’s the sound of keys being swiped off the counter and Leo wrangling one arm into his coat as he tries to keep his phone pressed to his ear still. 

“Hang tight,” he tells him. “I’ll be right there.”

Mikey is sure that Leo must just… apparate into the school building because one second he’s on the phone leaving the apartment and the other he’s there, bursting through the doors with all the force of a hurricane as he approaches his little brother, crouching down to greet him.

Warm hands cup either side of his face, Mikey leans into his touch welcomely.

“Aw, Mike. What happened?” Leo is asking quickly. And for a second, Mikey tries to collect his swimming thoughts to answer him before he realizes that he’s in fact asking Woody. That of which he’s grateful for.

“Some meathead of a right winger totally barrelled into him!” Woody explains with all the excitement of a shaken up soda can. “Thinks he’s getting away with it too, the brute, but I saw that look in Hob’s eyes, there’s no way that—”

Leo must cast him a gentle look that reads thanks, Woody, but could we skip the pundit commentary on this for now?

The boy chuckles nervously, and clears his throat to continue. 

“Hit his head and puked. Bit wobbly on the way over, too.”

Leo hums, refocusing all his attention to the boy still slumped over in the plush armchair, he lifts Mikey’s chin with his finger. 

“Figured,” he muses. “Looks like a mild concussion. C’mon, buddy, let’s get you home and warm, shall we?”

With the way his— well, everything is feeling, it’s easy to be led by Leo, briefly drenched a third (and hopefully a final) time before he’s sluggishly ducking into the warmth his brother's sedan offers.

He hears Leo call out to Woody, no doubt a string of thank yous as well as promises to update him on how he is in the next few days or so. 

Mikey hugs himself tighter as Leo tugs his belt over his chest, giving him a gentle tap against his shoulder. “Think you’re gonna hurl again?” He asks.

Mikey shakes his head, wincing as he feels his brain slosh about in his skull. Leo’s hand lingers against the wet of his shirt before they’re finally peeling away from the school parking lot in the direction of home.

“Do I need the hospital?” He manages to ask after a few long seconds of quiet. 

Leo chuckles, the sound is rich and warm and seems to ease some of that hurt still wrapped around his head. “No,” he tells him, voice gentle. “I’m gonna be playing doctor for a while when we get home, though, just to be sure.”

There’s a touch of seriousness there around his words. Mikey hums and presses his head back against the plush of the headrest.

They make it home without Mikey bringing up any more of his lunch or breakfast for that matter, his brother gently guiding him towards the bathroom, running the water letting it warm before he’s pushing for Mikey to step in.

“M’not getting naked,” he tells his brother seriously, some of his usual humor creeping back into his tone now that they were home and warm. “I’m not that sick or hurt for that.”

Leo laughs, playfully rolling his eyes and making him stand under the spray fully dressed, all the mud and dirt that will still slick all over him running against the water, a muddy swirl disappearing down the drain.

“Just stand still and don’t pass out on me,” Leo lightly warns him as he works his fingers through his curls, untangling them carefully. “Or then you will need a hospital.”

He only needs a few minutes of standing beneath the trickle of warm water before Leo tugs him back out again, handing him a towel and the pajamas he’d left slung across his bedroom floor this morning.

“I’ll be on the other side of the door if you need me,” Leo says pointedly as he closes it for Mikey to dress himself. 

Mikey scoffs a laugh, despite the way it makes his head feel airy, tugging off his wet clothes to swap them out for something far drier.

When he emerges from the bathroom, there’s the bottle of water Woods must’ve handed over to Leo along with two little white pills perched on the counter. 

“You can sleep on the couch,” Leo tells him where he’s standing over the stove. Ramen, Mikey’s nose tells him, his stomach having finally settled to not roll at the smell of it. “That way I can keep an eye on you when you sleep.”

Mikey collapses into the soft give of their couch, an abundance of blankets thrown over him, enveloping him entirely, the old movie is still playing on the screen, characters mutely talking to one another, Mikey feels his eyes heavily slide shut.

“M’not going to sleep.” He tells his brother around a badly stifled yawn.

He hears Leo laugh softly, like he had all the love in the world bubbling up in his chest, the last thing he heard before he drifted off to a blissful nap,

“Sure, Mike. Get some rest, kid."