#let him have ducked up! stop trying to explain it away or validate his actions!!!

[enderspawn]

it’s a shame that so much of that part of the fandom is Like That (derogatory) bc there IS a lot of interesting bits from looking at c!dream more sympathetically. to be so universally hated by everyone, what is that like? how do you recover from something like that, if at all? is it even worth it to try and repent or is it all pointless, has the well of sympathy run dry?

but then like you go to try and discuss that and they completely ignore WHY c!dream is so universally hated (or worse, say that he’s unfairly hated and what he did Wasnt That Bad) thus just… invalidating the harm he’s caused.

like this man has irrevocably fucked up. I think it’s interesting to see what happens after that point, how he and others are affected, etc. but too many ppl in doing so erase that first bit and that’s how you get the awful uncomfortable takes and a shit load of victim blaming

[quietmyfearswith]

rusting wheels ; clark kent x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

word count — 1,627 words

summary — in which clark kent has had a rough day.

warnings —swear words, angst?? fluff?? mentions of liquor, mentions feeling worthless and sad.

pairing — clark kent x fem!reader

a/n — not the longest fic i put up but i’ve been going through a writing dry spell 😭 i’d appreciate some feedback and asks/messages are open! if you follow me, please state your age/age range in your bio. i will block you if you follow me and don’t have your age/age range in your bio!!!

tagging —​@la-cey @melancholyy-hill @pedropcl @beck07990 @doozywoozy

masterlist | series masterlist | join my taglist (please follow the rules)

When he returned from the dead, Clark did not expect to feel this meaningless. He died to protect others from the danger that Doomsday brought upon the citizens of Metropolis and the reason he was brought back was to prevent a catastrophic event from occuring to the entire world. It put a pressure on him just as much as it drilled the idea that that was all he was good for — putting out fires that were forced upon his shoulders and deemed his responsibility.

After preventing a bank robbery that would have escalated to a hostage situation due to the presence of civilians who were unfortunately present during the whole incident, he decided to take a stroll first before heading back to his flat. Having changed from his superhero attire to casual clothes, he aimlessly roamed around Metropolis to calm himself as there were still faint remnants of adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Entering the dimly lit establishment, he appreciated the fact that it wasn’t crowded. A shy dozen — and that’s including the staff that were working there —  were present and allowed him to not wallow in his usual spot by the booth and instead take up a spot by the bartender, thus allowing him to be served faster.

“Rum please,” He smiled at the bearded bartender who nodded and prompted to prepare it; once the crystal glass slid over to him, he downed it all in one go. “One more,” He demanded and the bartender had to take a double look — there was a high percentage of liquor in the rum he gave him and it was a surprise to him since it physically looked like he wasn’t fazed by it.

“Yikes man, seems like you needed that one badly,” That comment came from his right and surprised him, as he looked over he noticed a woman who was smirking at him as she drank a little bit of her drink, “You alright over there?”

Taken by surprise with how genuine her concern sounded despite the words she chose to suggest otherwise, “Honestly? No, I’m not,” He downs only half of the liquor before completely turning to face her, “I’m sorry I might be raining on your parade.”

She shook her head and waved at him, “I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t interested hm?” Clark flashed her his pearly whites as he smiled as he replied, “Well how about we talked about something else?” He nodded and was about to speak when she quickly cut him off by saying, “Let’s start with your name then; unless you want me to call you mine?”

There was a blush creeping on his cheeks but he tried to ignore it as he held out his right hand and introduced himself, “Name’s Clark, Clark Kent,” She said her name as she shook his hand while adding, “Who knows? Maybe you might be moaning that out loud later on.” Liking his response to her own pick up comment, she nodded as she moved to close the distance between them and sit on the bar stool directly beside him.

“So Mr. Kent, I don’t think you’re a frequent patron of this bar huh?” Nodding as he gulped down his third drink, “Never been to this bar before — let alone this neighbourhood.” She nodded as he observed his tense figure; so she decided to lighten up the mood by jokingly implying, “Aren’t you glad you’re having your first time with me?”

Giggles erupted out of him when he understood the slightly dirty implication of her choice of words, “It depends,” He shrugged before ordering another round of drinks, “You haven’t really shown me anything yet.” It wasn’t just his words that wounded her ego, but also the way he relaxed his back into the chair and looked at her in a nonchalant manner.

“Is that a challenge?” She scoffed as she reached for the pocket of her coat and handed cash to the bartender, “For our drinks,” She told him before hastily wearing her coat, “Come on with me then.”

There was a puzzled look on his face as she was standing on her feet and crossed her arms at him, “Well? Why aren’t you getting up then, Clark?”

“Where are we headed to by the way?” Despite the indications of uncertainty in his tone, he was walking behind her as he too was draping over his thick, brown coat over his muscular frame. A delectable shiver ran down his spine when he felt her hand wrap itself around his wrist as she led them out of the establishment.

“Where’s the fun in telling you where we’re going huh?” She smirked at him and the journalist didn’t find it in himself to prevent himself from chuckling too as he shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know; who’s to say you won’t take me someplace so you can kill me?”

She stopped walking as she stared at him with an “are you kidding me?” look and scoffed, “I don’t need to see you in action, but your physique is all the proof I need to know that you are someone I do not want to fight against.”

For a second there Clark was anxious that she knew about his superhero persona; but he took a peek in her mind and she was not thinking of such a thing. And as she led him by the hand, she stopped in front of a small wooden dock which was right by a small pond , “You brought me here?”

Sheepishly nodding, she sat down and pat the spot next to her, “Sorry if it wasn’t as big as you hoped,” Feeling him take the spot up she then looked at him with an apologetic glint in her eyes, “This is just the spot I usually go to when I need to calm down and relax.”

Silently, he took in his surroundings — there was not a lot of noise that distracted him from his own thoughts, the serene landscape was highlighted with its local, beautiful trees matched with the flower bushes that were scattered around the small area pleased his blue eyes. A small smile rested on his lips as he gazed at the ducks that were swimming around the pond before looking at her, “How’d you find this place out?”

“Was walking around the city after a bad day,” She sighed out as she recalled how every single aspect possible of her life turned against her, ultimately leaving her in a bitter mood, “And since I didn’t want to sulk around in my apartment, I went for a stroll. Luckily, my feet dragged me here.”

“And you’ve been coming here ever since? To just take a step back and breathe?”

She nodded as she looked at him with wonder, “Exactly like that; are you a mind reader of some sort?” Her elbow playfully poked his stomach and they both laughed at each other's childishness.

“Thank you,” Clark spoke after a few moments of silently staring at the way the stars shone in the sky; puzzled with what he was grateful for she spoke up, “For what?”

“For trusting me enough to show me this special place of yours,” He explained with a serene expression on his face, “I’ve been going through a rough patch myself.” Saying it out loud somehow made the last Kryptonian feel better. Closing his eyes to take a deep breath in, he found himself sharing what he has been bottling up, “Girlfriend broke up with me, work’s a pain in my behind, I’ve been doing a lot of,” He paused for a moment as he tried to think of a word to describe his world-saving activities involving the Justice League, “Some volunteer work and just,” A shaky exhale escaped his lips before he let out the final factor that has been taking a toll on him, “I’ve been feeling useless and worthless.”

Seeing the way how dejected he looked — paired with the way his voice cracked when he mentioned the final sentence — made her heart ache for him as she reached out for his hand, rubbing the back of his palm with her thumb, an effort to rid him of the negative sentiments he had.

“From what I see, you’re trying too hard and too much to be someone people expect you to be,” Her other hand reached up to his face as she wiped away the stray tears that inadvertently escaped his eyes. Her lips stretched out to a small smile, “You’re a kind man and you’re pushing yourself too much. You spend so much time looking after people that you don’t even take time to tend to yourself.”

Hearing someone see his efforts made him feel validated; as he looked at her, Clark felt stronger despite having just been vulnerable and open with her. “Thank you,” He smiled with glossy eyes, “That meant so much to me.”

“Well I’m glad that I somehow got to make you feel better, Clark.”

He chuckled to himself before fully turning to face her, “You know I’m much more fun and lively than I am right now?” Shaking her head she then lightly hit his arm, “Yeah? So far you haven’t really shown me anything yet.” Her smirked

Realizing that she had used his own line against him, he  smirked at her before pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead, “Yeah? How ‘bout you let me take you out for a date then?” Biting the insides of her cheek to prevent the wide grin from erupting free.

“Well Mr. Kent, I look forward to going on a date with you — I bet that you can’t top off this amazing view of the lake though.”

[popculturebuffet]

Legend of the Three Caballeros: Labyrinth and Repeat Review (Commissioned by WeirdKev27)

Saludos Amigos! We’re back on the Ride of the Three Cablleros as I intend to knock this wonderful series out at a steady cliip, and since I THOUGHT the premire was a two parter, it still ends on a cliffhanger but it’s too early to tell if this is just normal for this series like say Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, where it’s really more one continuous story, or just the end of the pilot. For now with all the exposition out of the way from part 1, we can jump right into the thick of things where we picked off.  PREVIOUSLY ON LEGEND OF THE THREE CABLLEROS: Donald had an enormously shitty birthday, loosing his job, his house and his nightmarish harpy.. er his girlfriend, all in one day. Things went up a bit though when he inhereted a Cabana belonging to his ancestor Clinton Coot and met two new pals: Ladies Man Jose Caricoca and loveable weirdo like myself Pancito Romero A Lot of Other Names Gonzales. The three soon had a yard sale with the various treasures inside the cabana and got an offer for a million dollars for the cabana and all inside from local waiter’s nightmare Baron Von Sheldgoose, whose deal includes a jewel incrusted golden atlas. Upon finding it our boys were attacked by a human goddess who popped out of the book and that’s where we pick up. 

Good. Let’s begin. So Xandra, said goddess, is holding our heroes at arrow point with their attempts to defuse the situation falling flat and their attempt to understandably flee by claming to be the cabs failing pretty much immidatley. We do get some good gags including Jose accidently telling Xandra she smells like feta cheese in greek. But lucky for our boys before Xandra can do a murder on them Donald accidently shuts the book.. and finds out she disappears when he does that. Cue our loveable idiots opening and closing the book for a while, easily one of the best bits of the episode. I will say while the pilot was pretty good comedy wise this episode solidfies how funy the series is. The series is at times a barrage of wonderful jokes and set pieces and it is awesome to behold.  Also a breif thing before we get back to the plot... Xandra is indeed human, or at least looks like one. Normally i’m against this as honestly Ducks just mesh better with Dogfaces, other birds and other anthromorphic animals. It just works better and is more consitent to have a world that’s simply anthro animals and non-anthro animals. But.. it works for me here since so the human characters.. are all gods. While i’d of PREFFERED them to still be non humans, like Ducktales does, it works since she’s not really a human but a god and thus it comes off more as her being something inherently diffrent and otherworldly, but something that’s not so distracting it pulls focus away from the rest of the cast, just otherworldly to our heroes.

So while our boy screw with the goddess who you know, tried to murder them for flimsy reasons without stopping to ask why three strangers look exactly like her friends, we get to know the triplets better. I also get a better bead on what voices Jessica is using. May is using Jessica’s Lynn voice, just a touch higher since May isn’t a preteen, while April, the one in yellow, uses the voice she’d later use for candace. Junes is a BIT like Lucy, but with obviously way more energy and emotion. But it’s clear the three are smart confident and willing to run a scheme, and easily get a thousand bucks out of sheldgoose for the spooky purple ring he saw last episode in a really chortleriffic bit where May serves as an auctioneer while her sisters up the price by bidding thus tricking Sheldgoose into paying. They also get past him having a claim on it as he dosen’t have a receipt or anything else other than a verbal contract with Donald, one that wasn’t even complete since the boys hadn’t brought out the atlas, so they were within their rights to fleece him for the ring.. even if him getting it at all is going to backfire, they had no way of knowing that so it’s whatever.  Back in the house the boys have apparently done the  book thing on Xandra about a hundred times, and Xandra FINALLY grabs the book. At least our boys are bonding. But while threatening them again , she finds out they don’t know what happened.. and recongiing clinton int he painting realizess time has passed, these boys are her boys decendants, and perhaps some explination is in order since she’s lost in a strange world. 

So after unveling a bookmark that allows her to project out of the book without being trapped, Xandra gives us our backstory: long ago, in a distant land I Aku master of darkness unleashed an unspeakable evil... wait sorry wrong narration. Long ago Xandra was guardian of the Atlas, which is explained to be the key to various magical hot spots around the world where various myths come from. Things were fine.. until the evil Lord Felldrake decided to screw it all up, binding Xandra to the book and using it to cause chaos and try and take over the world. All was lost till the Cabs stopped him, freed Xandra best they could, and then journed the world with them till she tragically was shut inside the book and seemingly lost. For whatever reason Clinton never opened the book, we’ll presumibly find out later, and well.. here she is.  Xandra is voiced by, unsuprisingly given this project’s all-star cast, voice acting vetran and modern legend of the buisness Grey DeLisle, also credited as Grey Griffith for a time. And like tress she has a rather massive and awesome resume, which naturally i’ll be going into since usually I go into shows mid way and don’t get to do this: Grey’s notable rolls include Daphne Blake ever since What’s New, Scooby Doo?, Lor from Weekenders, still not on plus and I will not let that fact go till I get a valid reason why not, Crazy Cat Lady and Lizzie Divine, Mandy, Doctor Ghastly, Kimiko Tohomiko, Sam Manson, Frankie Foster, Azula, Riley Daring, Freida Suarez, Black Canary (Brave and the Bold), Fire, Dr. Holiday, Aya, Master Nadia, Magpie, Moon Butterfly, Jackie Lynn Thomas, Lola Loud, Lana Loud, Lily Loud, and Martin Prince following Russi Taylors tragic passing, just to give you an idea of how long, varied and wonderful her career and range is. And to give a certain person paying for this review an idea of some of the shows i’m familiar with. Moving on.  Despite learning of their family legacy of heroics, our heroes are planning to still sell the book given Donald and Jose are poor, and Panchito’s giving in to peer pressure. Seriously Camil is already the MVP of the series, easily the best part of it and it’s a shame he wasn’t brought back for Ducktales, especially since by season 2 frank was aware of legend and Jamie had been on the show before. But Xandra offers them a life of adventure and heroisim.. and when that fails points out theirs treasure and the boys agree to hear her out.  So after showing some off Xandra takes them to a Labyrinth to retreive three mystic amulets, and goads Donald into going in by challenging his Ego after he tries to refuse to go. Panchito is naturally fully on board with a dangerous adventure and Jose is talked into it after Xandra pulls an explination why she can’t go out of her firmly toned ass that theirs a mystic barrier which he buys. So while Xandra conjurs a chair and a coconut drink to relax and wait to see if they die or not, our boys head in.  They find a massive, beautiful labyrnith and a large house containing a minotaur. Sadly i’ts not Ferdinand aka the Minotaur who worked as Wonder Woman’s chef, cooking up damn good vegetarian goodies for her at the Thymsicarian Embasy. All of this is real things that happened and all are things that should be in the next fucking movie. Seriously as much of a mess as Wonder Woman 1984 is, i’d buy a ticket in a heartbeat caution to teh wind if it was announced he was being adapted for it. He’s also very smart, kind and loyal if you were wondering. Get yourself a man like feridnand if your into men. 

Anyways Jose once again tries to speak a languge, and thus we get about a minute of Eric Bauza saying the word moo... sometimes... most times really.. I REALLY, REALLY love my job. But with the bull pissed off and going super sayian god super sayian, there’s only one thing left for our heroes to do...

So they do and we get a great gag where Donald, when deciding wether to split up as to lower the possiblity of him getting hit, has TWO shoulder devils, because inside every man is a battle between good and evil that evil usually wins while dancing and singing a jaunty toon over good’s grave. 

But it naturally backfires and the two devils tell him he’s on his own. So we get a fun chase sequence with the three before Donald finally decides fuck it we can fight back. Noticing Panchito’s talent with a rope, he has him rope and ride the Minotaur which he does, then uses Jose’s hankerchief to lure the minotaur and beat him. It’s a gorgeous, fun action sequence that shows off the series is as cool as it is fricking hilaroius.  So our heroes find the amulets, a blue one for donald, a red for panchito and green for jose, and put em on, proudly telling Xandra. It’s then revealed the Minotaur.. is an old friend of hers and this was just a test to see if they could work together and you know.. not die. They can, and she’s proud and plesantly suprised by how good they are.  So our heroes return home, Xandra storring the atlas on her back, and all three suitably impressed. Their further impressed when they find a hidden lair with more treasure, and three sets of armor, their ancestors old armor which as it did in the teaser at the start of the series, looks REALLY fucking cool and comes from various civlizations. Just.. lovely to look at. Our heroes pose.. and the nieces find them, wonder what’s going on, and mention Sheldgoose at the door, apparnelty not phased to meet a god or that their surrogate uncle has a hlemet.  Sheldgoose has come to offer the money.. and it’s REALLY tempiting. Donald has lost EVERYTHING remember, this money could help win Daisy back, get him a fancy house still in new quackmore.. even a third of a million is still enough to set someone as humble and easy to please as donald for life. But.. it’s here where this episode succeds where the premire fell. By this point we’ve SEEN Donald’s weaknsses: he’s greedy, short sighted and selfish. So it makes it THAT MUCH more impactful when he does the right thing, tearing up the check and refusing to sell out his legacy. Sure this could make his life better.. but it’s not worth his soul, his new friends or the world’s safety. He may not be able to get Daisy back or a new house.. but he’d NEVER be able to repalce his new friends, his legacy, or his wonderful new home.  Sheldgoose naturally throws a fit and vows vengance and what have you... and just as naturally gets dragged away by his ring. Like the boys he’s brought to a mystic secret chamber by a family heirloom.. but unlike the boys we get a wonderful sequence of him being slammed into things while Wayne Knight makes delightful noises.

But Sheldgoose finds thanks to the ring he was drawn to a styigan well leading to a talking staff... Felldrake surivived, if trapped in the staff.. and  he’s Baron’s ancestor, himself a sheldgoose who urges his decsendant to take the staff, accept his destiny and thus Sheldgoose revels in his new power as he and feldrake summon Feldrake’s loyal minon.  

So we end on Donald happy. His day was crappy to start.. but while he lost his house, his shrew and his job.. he’s found a new purpose saving the world, an ew life of adventure.. and forever friends in his two new amigos and goddess mentor. He’s finally happy. OR he is for a a second before Feldrake’s minon emerges from it’s sarcophagus and runs off with donald. TO BE CONTINUED. Not doing the jojo gag this time. 

 Before we go on one last cast member; Kevin Micheal Richardson is Felldrake, and he is unsuprisingly awesome and like Grey has a long and storied career.. you know the drill by now: He’s voiced  the Narrator for Clerks the Animated Series, Robert Hawkins (Static’s Dad), Dark Laser, Numbah 5′s dad who was a VERY poorly aged refrence to Bill Cosby, Mammoth, Trigon, Armagedddroid (Something I never realized holy shit good on him), Captain Gantu, The Joker, Pandabubba, Principal Lewis, Schnitzel, Tombstone, Omega Supreme, Cleavland Junior (They drove a dump truck full of money up to his house he’s not made of stone), Mal Duncan, Doctor Fate, Man Ape, Kilowogg, Sheriff Blubs, William Viceroy , Mr. Gus, Rhombulous, Shredder (TMNT 2012), Rosie Rosevelt, Coach Mitchell (Seriously watch Milo Murphy’s Law, we need a season 3), and Dot’s Zit. As you can tell the guy is VERY good at villians so he was a natural choice. 

Final Thoughts: This was a huge improvment. With the miserable parts of the pilot long gone this episode is a fun, breezy adventure that sets up our heroes, the series tone, and our bad guy some more while giving us tons of great gags. I highly look forward to whatever comes next and cannot wait for the next episode. Until then, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

[nokomiss]

I'd love to see G - a fistfight with best girl Steph, please, if you're still doing your fic thing.

Hope you enjoy this, @shauds02! Sorry it took so long. ♥

*

If you do something often enough, it becomes habit.

Sometimes, that’s unfortunate. Super unfortunate. Like, for example, if you’re sitting there with your college study group, struggling your way through the week’s assignments (well, Steph’s struggling, everyone else is acting like it’s fine, though none of them had fought Firefly until 4am the previous night, but that wasn’t exactly something she could advertise) and a supervillain bursts into the library.

Jordanna shrieked and ducked under the table, Francisco held up his binder like a shield, and Steph leapt to her feet, rocked back on her heels, and punched the Riddler square in the nose.

“What the fuck,” he said, words garbled as he held his hand over his now-bleeding nose. “You broke my nose.”

“Move, you’re bleeding on my textbook,” Steph said, trying to shoulder him away from her books but not before they’re splattered with Riddler blood. Probably she should burn them now, no matter how much they’d cost her. Maybe Bruce would fund new ones. 

She distantly realized that her study group was staring at her. Most of the library was staring at her. Even in Gotham, the normal designated response to an A-list supervillain wasn’t to break their nose and then bitch about the mess.

“You little--” Riddler started to point at her, then stopped. “Wait, I know you.”

“No you don’t,” Steph says quickly. She could feel Jordanna and Francisco’s eyes on her and resolutely did not look in their direction.

“No, I definitely do,” Riddler said. He squinted at her, one hand still cupped around his nose. Steph probably could have gone easier on that punch, given how he hadn’t seen it coming at all, but old habits and all that. 

“Aren’t you meant to be doing crime or something?” she said, hoping to derail him. Babs was on campus today, and no doubt had already sent out the alert. Encouraging the Riddler to go back to crime was totally not that bad, since there was no doubt a superhero on their way.

Because this is not how she wanted her secret identity to be revealed to the world. How did the Riddler even recognize her as Batgirl, anyhow? She hadn’t had any encounters with him in the suit-- maybe he was going to tell everyone she was Spoiler? She could maybe play that off as a thing of the past, that she’d left it all behind…

Ugh. She grimaced, bracing herself for her world to come crashing down.

“Stephanie!” the Riddler said loudly, pointing at her with the hand that wasn’t cupping his nose. “Cluemaster’s girl! I stayed at his house a few years back and you were a real brat about it.”

Steph blinked. 

“I was not a brat, I was totally justified in not wanting to share my bathroom with your gross henchwomen,” Steph replied back heatedly. “They got what they deserved.”

“I had to pay them hazard pay because a goddamn teenager kept hiding the toilet paper, putting hard candies in the showerhead and filling their shoes with jell-o,” Riddler said.  “Do you know how embarrassing that is to explain to your accountant? Huh? Do you?”

“Do I look like I have an accountant?” Steph pointed out. “And maybe you should have used that money to get yourself a lair instead of squatting in my house and then bitching about the treatment.”

Riddler narrowed his eyes at her. Steph narrowed hers back.

Then he tossed his head back and laughed. “Yeah, your dad always said you were a handful. Laughed when I told him what you were doing. Bastard.”

“He is,” Steph said, nodding, always happy to talk shit about her dad.

He looked around, at the cowered students, and the work spread out on the table. “You’re not following in his footsteps, right? Actually gonna make something of yourself?

“I was trying until some dumbass supervillain interrupted my study session,” Steph said. 

“Touche,” said Riddler, and sighed. “This idea’s toast now, anyway. Can’t make a good speech for the hostages looking like this.”

“You technically haven’t done any crime yet,” Steph agreed. “You could just stroll out. Start fresh.”

They’d had a few snacks from the food cart outside before starting the study session, and she grabbed a few napkins left over from that off the table and handed them to Riddler. 

He accepted and used them to mop up the blood around his nose. “Fair point. Next time you talk to your dad, tell him we’re even.”

“Bold of you to assume I talk to him, but okay,” Steph said, and waved a little as the Riddler motioned for his henchmen -- not the ones Steph had pranked, thankfully, henchperson turnover was a real problem in Gotham -- to follow him out of the library.  She wondered briefly what her father could have done for the Riddler to owe him, then decided she didn’t actually care.

Silence filled the room after he left, and Steph sat down in her chair, staring at her ruined textbook and avoiding her friends’ stare.

“Okay, I’ll be the one to say it,” Jordanna said. “What the fuck was that?”

“Uh,” Steph said, “nothing important? Do you have the answer to number fourteen yet?”

“Oh no,” Francisco said, leaning forward on his elbows and staring her down. “You are absolutely telling us how you know the freaking Riddler.”

“He was work buddies with my dad?” Steph said. “So like, number fourteen. I’m thinking it’s C, because--”

“So when you found out about my dad, you never felt like you should mention that yours was a supervillain.”

“To be totally fair he’s a shitty one?” Steph said. “And he’s in Blackgate and I hope he stays there forever, so. Not really comparable to your family, who you actually talk to.”

“This explains so much,” Jordanna said thoughtfully. “You’re such a weirdo, and the fact that you think punching the Riddler in the nose is a valid response to a hostage situation is so much more understandable now that I know that you grew up in it. You know, I bet I could do a really interesting psychological study on the effects that growing up with a supervillain has on appropriate stress responses.”

“Absolutely not, no,” Steph said. She refused to answer any more questions, and hoped that the topic would drop.

*

The topic most decided did not drop.

Steph had been living a blissfully nondescript college life. She hadn’t even realized how blissful it was until suddenly everyone knew that she was the daughter of a supervillain.  Like, she’d dealt with this shit enough in elementary school, she thought that by college it would be no big deal. But the thing about college is that it’s made up of people from all over, even at a place like Gotham University, and apparently supervillains were still a noteworthy thing for a lot of people.

Steph finds this out in class.

She’s sitting there, awake, taking notes, minding her own business when the person behind her taps her on the shoulder.  She turns, and the girl whispers, “Is it true you beat up the Riddler?”

“Of course not,” Steph said reflexively. “Or, I guess. The library thing? I, like, barely broke his nose.”

She turned back, ready to listen to her professor, only to find that apparently he’d been listening to her. She stammered out an apology, and he waved it away. “I think we all would like to hear a firsthand account of what happened there,” he said instead, eyes alight. 

“Uh, what?” Steph said, entirely unused to being asked about fighting supervillains.  She realized everyone was looking at her in a way -- well, she’d seen it before, but typically she was wearing a Bat on her chest when it happened.

It wasn’t a very dramatic story, though Steph added a little pizzazz to it so she didn’t disappoint anyone. Afterwards the lecture went on as usual, though she noticed she kept getting looks.

She got invited to three different parties on her way out of class, and fled to Babs’ office. She was actually in, though she gave Steph an annoyed look before returning her attention to her computer screen. 

Steph waited as patiently as she could until Babs sighed, took her hands off the keyboard and said, “You wanted something?”

“So my identity’s blown,” Steph said, flopping into the chair across from Babs. 

This got an immediate reaction. “Batgirl? Who all knows? We need to--”

“Not Batgirl,” Steph interrupted, before Babs started launching some sort of secret identity fail protocol. “The Riddler talked about recognizing me, and now everyone knows about my dad.”

Babs blinked. “I didn’t realize that wasn’t public knowledge.”

“The fact that Arthur Brown is the Cluemaster is something you can easily google,” Steph said, “but not that I’m his daughter. Brown’s not exactly an unusual last name. And people are being weird about it since I broke the Riddler’s nose in front of the whole library.”

“You don’t think that maybe the weirdness has to do more with your actions than your dad’s?” Babs said, with that eyebrow raise that Steph hated so much. 

“I will admit to it being a factor but let’s be real, I’ve done weird shit before and no one invited me to parties over it.” Steph leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Of all the damn things to finally make me cool in the eyes of my peers.”

Babs was definitely laughing at her.

*

It was weird, no doubt, but Steph actually was kind of enjoying the attention. Sure, it made dashing off on Batgirl business a little more difficult -- she actually had to tell one group of people, who were wanting to hear what it was like to live with supervillains firsthand that she had ‘urgent supervillain business’ to attend to in order to escape, and while it wasn’t an actual lie, it definitely made her feel kinda gross -- but overall? Suddenly getting the respect and admiration of her peers, and seemingly a lot of it having to do with her own badass actions? Pretty great.  Total confidence booster. 

 Especially since with the other Bats, her own supervillain ties were embarrassing, given that the others who had been born into supervillainy were related to the A-list. The Cluemaster was laughable when compared to David Cain, Lady Shiva and the al Ghuls. 

So she laughed and demonstrated her left hook and did a few impromptu lessons showing girls how to get more power behind their punches, which was a definite public service for college girls in Gotham.  She avoided actually talking about her dad or glorifying his actions, since she still hated his guts, and the vagueness of her answers on that topic only served to add more mystique to her growing legend.

Then it happened.

She was sitting in the commons with some of her new buddies, eating some nachos that had been gifted to her, when the girl beside her -- Frankie, that’s what Steph was pretty sure her name was -- sighed dreamily and said, “He’s just so hot, you know?”

“Who?” Steph said through a mouthful of tortilla chips and queso.

“Cluemaster.”  Frankie flipped open her notebook, and wow. Wow. She’d drawn a picture of Steph’s dad.  He was shirtless and had his hair fluttering over his shoulder like he was on the cover of a romance novel. Steph distantly noted that the art itself showed a lot of talent and effort, but most of her mind was occupied by the sound of the Kill BIll sirens echoing louder and louder.

“Right?” another girl -- Kala -- sighed. The guy next to her -- Miles -- nodded in agreement.

“What,” Steph managed to say.

“Like, you know how most of Gotham’s male villains are really gross-looking?” Kala continued, “which is totally unfair, given how fucking hot all the lady villains are.”

“Seriously,” Frankie said. “I mean, I enjoy looking at Ivy as much as the next person, but no one wants to check out Killer Croc or Two-Face, you know?”

“Well, Two-Face is at least half-hot,” pointed out Miles. “But the other half is a definite dealbreaker. But your dad, on the other hand…”

“No deformities, great hair, hot bod,” Frankie said. She smiled at Steph. “You’re so lucky.”

“I… what?” Steph struggled to find words. “Not really the word I would have chosen?”

Kala leaned in on her elbows. “He’s in Blackgate, right? Do they monitor his mail?”

“Do they--” Steph blinked rapidly. “You are not allowed to write dirty letters to my dad.”

They all laughed merrily, like she’d made a funny joke. Steph put down the plate of nachos and said, “That’s gross. He’s a terrible person! And in prison! And he’s married!”

She left off the fact that her parents’ marriage, at this point, was more a forgotten legality than a relationship. She stood up, brushing the crumbs off her lap and saying, “I’m gonna go now.”

She fled.

*

This time she didn’t wait for Babs to finish with her work when she burst into her office. “Babs! My life is a living nightmare!”

Babs gestured for her to be quiet, but Steph couldn’t hold in the horror of her discovery. “My new friends just wanted to be around me because they wanted to bone my dad.”

A choking sound from Babs’ computer, and Steph hurried around the desk to find that Babs was in the midst of a video call with Dick.  He looked entirely too amused.

“Are you sure?” Babs said doubtfully.

“One girl showed me her gross horny drawing of him,” Steph said. “I’m sure. They asked if Blackgate monitors his mail.”

Babs bit her lip, clearly holding in laughter. Dick didn’t bother with dignity and was full-on laughing at her.  

“This is a nightmare.” Steph clunked her head down on Babs’ desk, then had a thought. “Dick, how do you shut this kind of shit down?”

“Huh?” Dick said. 

“Like, with your buddies, how did you shut them down when they realized your dad was a hottie?”

Steph found that her own misery was somewhat lessened by the appalled look on Dick’s face.

“I mean,” she quickly clarified, so that no gross rumors got started, “I personally don’t find him bangable, you know, but clearly a lot of people do. He was voted People’s Sexiest Man Alive three times.”

“You’re very well-informed on the subject,” Dick managed, still making a face like he’d just tasted a lemon. Steph wondered if she’d been making that face at those awful Cluemaster fangirls. She hoped so.

“For his birthday this year I gave him a mug printed with the covers,” Steph explained with a shrug. “I think he took it to the Watchtower.”

Dick’s face went on another journey through a variety of emotions, then he said, “Babs, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” she said, waving her fingers cheerfully as he hung up. 

Steph sighed. “That wasn’t very helpful.”

“You certainly enjoyed it, though,” Babs said, words tinged with laughter. 

Steph couldn’t even deny it. Misery loved company.

*

Steph took to avoiding as many of her classmates as she could. She no longer trusted them. She went to class, hunched down in the back row like she thought she was famous, hoodie up and giant sunglasses on the second she left the building. 

The only ones she trusted to eat lunch with were Jordanna and Francisco, who tolerated her presence.  The revelation that her dad was a supervillain and that she was willing to punch supervillains in the nose hadn’t been enough to change their opinions of her, which she was grateful for.

She was listening to Jordanna give a detailed rant about the reasons her new roommate was a nightmare when Jordanna went quiet.

Steph realized someone was approaching, and she glanced up to see Tim sit down on the bench beside her.  She blinked at him.  “What are you doing here?” she asked, confused.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Tim said with a shrug, and opened up a takeout container. “Thought I’d have lunch with you.”

Francisco and Jordanna were staring again, Steph noticed. She glared at Tim, who calmly started unwrapping his gyro. “You could have asked.”

“You always tell me to leave you alone at school,” Tim replied easily. “I brought you some baklava, though.” He pushed the container towards her.

Steph accepted the baklava, but not the explanation. “Yeah, because aren’t you supposed to be at work.”

At Wayne Enterprises. She was ninety percent sure that Francisco and Jordanna totally recognized him.

“Meeting got cancelled,” Tim said cheerfully. 

“Timothy,” Steph said, putting all of her angst into his name, dragging it out.

“You are Tim Drake-Wayne,” Jordanna said. She turned to Steph with narrowed eyes. “Why do you know one of the Waynes?”

“Good question,” Francisco said.”I mean, first the Riddler, now a Wayne? It’s like we don’t even know you.”

“We dated in high school,” Steph said, because the truth was always the best lie.  

“And now we’re best friends,” Tim confirmed. “She’s basically part of the family.”

Steph looked briefly heavenward. This was not happening.

Jordanna looked between them. “How did you meet? I mean, a supervillain’s daughter and a billionaire’s son?”

“It was before he was a Wayne,” Steph said quickly.

“Because of the supervillain thing,” Tim said.  Steph glared, but he continued on. “My real dad was murdered by one, you see, and Steph here wrote me a really nice sympathy card. We bonded.”

“How sweet,” Francisco said.

“Yeah,” Steph said, “so sweet.”

Lunch continued on, and by the end of it Steph realized that there was no way that Francisco and Jordanna were going to let the knowledge that she had an in with the Wayne family die.  When Tim offered to walk her to class, she accepted, and hissed into his ear, “What the fuck, Tim?”

“Dick told me about your problem,” Tim said cheerfully, waving at a few people as they passed. “We thought that you needed to distract from the issue at hand.”

“By showing everyone I’m even weirder than they thought? Ugh,” Steph said, clunking her head against his shoulder. “Tim, my friend, light of my life, how are you so smart and so very dumb at the same time?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said cheerfully.

“See, if you’d gone to college, you would, you high school dropout,” Steph grumbled.

“You didn’t finish high school either,” Tim pointed out.

“Yeah, but I got a GED and continued my education, so suck it.”

*

Steph found herself in the center of so many rumors after that. She understood what Dick and Tim had been thinking, but god, boys were such morons.

“True enough,” Babs agreed when Steph came in exclaiming that. Steph angsting in Babs’ office was becoming quite the habit.

“So now I’m the girl with the supervillain dad who is cozying up to the Waynes,” Steph said. “I heard a conspiracy theory that I’m trying to marry Tim and steal the Wayne fortune to disperse amongst the Gotham rogues.”

Babs snickered. Steph was beginning to think that her visits were the highlight of Babs’ workweek. 

“I’m thinking about faking my death,” Steph said conversationally. “Then starting fresh with a completely new identity. That’s how I fucked it up last time, I went back to the old one. New me is the only way to go. Thinking about naming myself Esmerelda. Or maybe Jane. No one would notice a Jane.”

“Faking your death is not the way out of every problem,” Babs said. 

“I mean, you say that, but are you sure?” Steph said. “Pretty sure I’m the resident expert on the topic here.”

“Rumors are only interesting for a little while,” Babs said calmly. “Just hold out a week or so, everyone will forget about this.”

Steph sighed. “I miss the good ole days when my biggest woes were finding out people were horny for my loser dad.”

“That was yesterday,” Babs said.

Steph wondered if Babs would fail her if she flipped her off.

*

The best and worst part about Barbara Gordon was that she was always right.

Steph suffered through the next week, but sure enough, the rumors swirling around her began to die down. She began her (thankful) transition into just another college student, instead of That Girl.

She no longer got free nachos, but she also no longer had to hear anyone talking about how hot her dad was, so that was an absolutely fair trade-off. Her connection to the Waynes was largely forgotten, her college friends just started talking to her about ping-pong tournaments and answering her questions about readings she didn’t get done.  It was great.

Then a giant alien worm crash-landed in the center of campus, followed quickly by Supergirl. She wrestled the worm, taking out the math building in the process, and once the worm had been subdued, she spotted Steph.

“Hi, Steph, wanna go get ice cream?” she said cheerfully, seeming to completely forget that she was both still in her Supergirl costume and also covered in alien worm goo.

Jordanna and Francisco both slowly turned and looked at Steph, who had absolutely no idea how to explain that one.

Might as well lean into it. She shrugged at them and called back, “Sure!” to Supergirl.

Let the rumors fly.

[saokpe]

HDLW Sibling Week 2020 - Day 5: Prank War

So I didn’t realize that I hadn’t finished today’s fic last night so please give a warm welcome to my sleep deprived installment to this week’s sibling extravaganza! 

@hdlwsiblingweek2020

The Perfect Prank

“Quiet, silent, undetectable, like a predator about to jump on their prey.” Webby whispers, shifting her body behind the expansive cover the living room sofa allowed.

“But we’re the prey.” Dewey corrects.

“Yes, the most dangerous prey, the prey that haunts your dreams, the prey that tugs at the core of your sanity’s strings, the prey that, once eaten, rests uncontrollably in your gut for nights to come.” The still crouching girl continues.

“Wait, so do we WANT Louie to prank us?” The even more perplexed Dewford attempts to reason.

A third voice attempts to break through, reeling their eyes though their ears only catch a muffled imitation of language.

“Dude, we can’t hear you with the pillow in your face.” They look ahead, their control obsessed brother looking back between the cushions that surrounded him. 

Through a moment of struggle, an arm, also surrounded by taped together bolsters, raises to push the disrupting pillow down. “I was saying that we can’t be speaking or Louie will realize we’re here!” Huey attempts to aprehess between his silent seething.

The three stealthed ducks duck lower behind the furniture piece, the space limited by Huey’s alternative armor.

“Do you really need to wear that?” A particularly annoyed Dewey aprehests. 

“Yes. I do. Especially after last year….” The kid’s eyes slowly turn upwards, his gaze shooting aimlessly as a memory flashes before him. Suddenly he snaps back. “Louie has won these Prank Wars EVERY SINGLE YEAR! He even beat WEBBY last year! And she has spy level training.” Huey explains, still trying to lower his tone to an absolute minimum.

“It wasn’t fair! He said Scrooge had dropped his top hat, y’know how rare that is!? Some people think that it is magically attached and no one can remove it without his willingness.” Webby passionately excuses. Only catching odd glares as doubtful eyes question the validity of her statement. “Ok, I’m people! I think that! And just when I ran out to confirm or deny my theories, I WAS ONLY MET BY SLIPPERY BANANA PEELS AND HARD FLOOR!”

“Hmm…” The belated grunt of Louie echoes over them, their bodies tensing and shrinking quickly after.

“He’s moving.” Huey peeks over the chair. In his short recon mission, he sees his brother in a far from unusual position. Laid parallel to the couch, neck bent angular to the TV as it blared across his half-asleep face. The relaxing sibling, in the moment of view, shifted his body a bit closer to the couch’s edge, still inattentive to the espionage going on 6 feet away from him.

“Did he notice us?” Dewey anxiously asks.

“Ugh, it’s impossible to tell.” Huey assures, watching as Louie attempts to raise his arm, giving up after lifting four to five inches. “But I think we’re safe.”

“Phew….” Dewey lets out a sigh of relief, “Also, can we talk about how Webby slipped on a banana peel-”

“SHH!” Webby’s finger slams over her brother’s still expressive beak. “No we can’t.”

“Alright, it seems like our plan is working.” The pillow adorned sibling lowers behind his cover.

“Wait-” Dewey swats Webby’s still pressing finger away, “ -what’s our plan again?”

“Do nothing! Spend the day doing nothing, hence avoiding all his pranks, as Louie slowly goes insane wondering why no pranks have been done!” Webbigail excitedly finishes on Huey’s behalf. “It’s foolproof!”

Dewey, still as lost as he was prior to the question, looks back to his brother, only welcomed by his self-assured nodding. A personal revel in his plan’s genius.

Still aberrantly shocked by this shared idea, Dewey, in a rustic monotone, responds. “I’m starting to see why we lose every year.”

“SHH!” The girl to his left slams her index back over his lips. “He’s standing up!”

“What?!” Dewey dismisses the arm once more before popping his head over. It’s true, the hoodie wearing, couch slouching, Louie Duck stood from his seat, walking intently to the opposite hallway.

“Aha! It’s working!” Huey celebrates.

“What’s working?” Dewey still proves doubtful.

“The plan!” Webby starts, “He’s clearly getting tired of waiting and is off to see why we’ve yet to be pranked!” 

Just as she finishes, the sound of subdued footsteps ring in Dewey’s ear. He peers once more, seeing the previously absent Louie stationing himself back on the sofa, now with a can of soda in hand.

“Uhm, I think he just went to get some Pep.”

“Oh-” Huey admits, “Well it’s just a matter of time before he falls victim to our perfect prank!” The clearly paranoid and cautious boy, dressed head to toe in protective pillow armor, preaches.

“Soon the prey will become the predator!” Webby adds, her mystic whispers aired with an oozing self-confidence.

Disbelief and realization, though juxtaposing, reflect perfectly over Dewey’s mind. “Guys…” He begins, “I think we’re just bad at pranks.”

The trio waited eight more hours for their plan to come into action. Slowly going insane wondering why Louie seemingly has done nothing more than watch TV all day. Louie had actually forgotten that today was the Prank War and as such had no pranks planned. That didn’t stop him from keeping his yearly streak, however, as, in a way, the other competitors pranked themselves.

[nomadmilk]

Why the God Isn’t Bored on Midgard - Loki x F!Reader Drabble - 8

Summary: With Ragnarok decimating Asgard, Thor and Loki and their people return to Earth searching for refuge. Everyone else has seemed to settle, except for Loki - the God of Mischief and Chaos - who isn’t willing to live the domesticated Midgard life, and getting utterly bored out of his mind... Until he discovered you.

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Rated M/18+. Nothing too explicit, just strong feelings of admiration and desire. Suggestive themes.

Author’s Note: I’ve been re-writing some of the previous chapters, but not so much that it changes any of the plot. Also, I’ve been thinking about this part a lot, and have decided to split it into 2. Anyways, enjoy! Let me know what you think! <3

Here are the other parts to the series: Part 1     Part 2 Part 3     Part 4 Part 5     Part 6 Part 7     Part 8 (First Half)     Part 8.5 (Second Half) Part 9

You had bought a cheap beverage. You didn’t want wine, cider, or beer; you wanted to just forget about your embarrassment today, and hopefully get through what was gonna’ happen when Loki showed up back from his work. So, you bought those canned cocktails; terrible in taste and low in alcohol, but cheap. Although, you knew one can lacked in ethanol, so you compensate in the number of cans you bought.

You reach the kitchen counter, and tip the plastic bag you carried your drinks in upside down on top of it. They clatter loudly, and you immediately note the action as careless as you are soon using all your limbs to stop them from rolling and crashing onto the panelled floor.

After rearranging all the cans, you choose a random can to open; raspberry mojito.

Looking for Loki was not a good idea. It had never been a good idea.

You had contacted Thor about getting to know his brother a little better. And you both agreed that simply asking him questions wasn’t going to go anywhere; Loki was mysterious, but he had a knack of skilfully avoiding subjects and lying quite a bit.

Thor couldn’t suggest much. It was only recently, he admits, that he got to truly understand Loki after thousands of years of being his brother.

“Besides his skills in battle, and his fondness of causing trouble…” Thor ruminates. He’s been texting you all day. When you were finally out of shift, he called you. “There’s not much else I can say about my brother… He reads, quite a lot.”

Reading was the one thing that Loki did in his time  You tried to remember the times you pass him in his home office; he’s usually reading. The titles of the books are fuzzy in your memory, and some of them aren’t in the English Language.

“There’s also his work at the University – I know he’s quite invested. Maybe you should see him there?” Thor adds.

The University that Loki works in is the biggest educational institute in the city. However, that made things a little more difficult when you were trying to locate him. You found it awkward to specifically ask for Loki. So, you texted Thor once more, to ask if there was a building that the Prince was likely to be in.

The first bet was the campus library. It didn’t take much looking, as most of the students were coming and going from the central edifice. As you take the stairs, you weave through the individuals, arriving into the interior full of endless shelves and endless floors. The space was filled with quiet hushes and swipes of book pages, and the place smelt of a mix of dust, old carpet and aged paper.

The more you searched, the more you began to doubt the location; there were too many faces, and too many rooms to wonder into. What if you did find Loki somewhere? What were you going to do then? Talk to him? Explain to him that you were just there to stare at what he does during the day?

Exiting with another sea of people out of the library, you reconsider searching for the Arts and Humanities department. The sun blares its beams; the start of summer finally hits you. You reach the end of the stairs, and give one last glance around the campus to see if the Universe agreed or disagreed with your doubts.

You catch a conversation of a woman speaking to someone familiar to you. “The text isn’t recommended on the syllabus, but if it’s sources are correct-“

It was Loki. “As long as that’s the case, it should be no problem.”

Quickly ducking behind the nearest obstacle, your eyes hone on him, his face quite distinct in the distance. As you began to follow them, a few people get in your way and you lose sight of his back.

You stride towards the direction of the Arts and Humanities department, following the few signposts showing the way. Entering the double doors, you pause; you realise the corridors are extensive, and there are a few flights of stairs to the top floor. The building wasn’t as crowded as the library, but you can still feel the start of your head going a little delirious the more you investigated.

You had no idea why you were rushing. It was probably the curiosity of how Loki was as a teacher. Would he be the strict type? Would he be willing to use his Seidr to silence a student that he found annoying?...

You pass by another door.

“… Professor, I think the texts on Thor are pretty biased…”

Back pedalling, your hand pushes the door open to a large room. The back of the room was sparse as the front was packed with students with their hands raised, writing notes, and typing away on laptops that were slim as paper, but seemed too large for their side tables.

Loki is in the centre of all of them. He’s just finished stretching and marking something on the whiteboard. He’s wearing a waistcoat you haven’t seen before, and his hair is tied into a bun. But before you could concoct a joke for future reference; his eyes lock with yours. Your mind stops reeling and your chest heaves a heavy sigh, as if something was taken off your shoulders finally.

He freezes, emerald irises squinting slightly from momentary disbelief. Glancing away, he clears his throat and retouches the knot of his tie. He continues talking. You have no idea what he’s talking about, but his voice bellows through the auditorium; has it always sounded that… Good?

Loki stood tall, proud. He seemed comfortable in the spotlight. It made you smile that the thought of teaching was somehow his calling. As you take your seat at the back with eyes overlooking him, Loki grasped your attention like a natural. His level-headed self not stuttering a word, and no movement seem out of place. It baffled you a little. He was the God of Chaos and Mischief that was unapologetic to the trouble he caused; how was he and this guy the same person?

Observing his movements, your trail of thought begins to drift again. His outfit, although expected, fitted his body and highlighted his strong yet slender build. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his forearms, and all you could remember was how they had held you. You reminisced the way his cream-like tenor breathed into your ear, and how those very hands held you with ease and craving…

“Good afternoon.” Loki was all of a sudden in front of you. “Are you that desperate to see me?”

You bite your tongue; the question obviously rhetorical and was meant to provoke you. But your body had a different response in mind.

Nothing legible came out of your mouth; you were stuttering.

“Take a breath, my dear.” By the sneer in his eye, you could tell it was another phrase meant to set you off.

“We need to talk.” You said, getting onto your feet.

Loki’s brows furrowed. “Now?”

“No, later. It’s not gonna’ be quick chat.”

“Are you aware that our conversations don’t tend to last that long?”

“It’s about you.” You reply. Loki closes his lips. “The kiss. Stark’s party. I-… I just need to talk to you about it, okay? Not now. When you’re all done.”

There’s a pause. Loki’s eyes rove your form.

“Just-…” You begin to leave the room. “I’ll see you back at home.”

You had learnt nothing from your investigations of Loki. But you had learnt something about yourself; you had a thing for him, and it took you this long to actually stop denying that fact. It was almost comedic as to how many signs you had passed by; what were you? A child? No, you were an adult, who had valid emotions and a sense of vindication.

Most of the time.

But there was another way of getting some sort of profile with Loki; it was the one that seemed the most rational, but you knew it was going to get complicated. Even though he didn’t explicitly say, you could tell Loki was willing to talk to you. You just needed to make sure you stood your ground. And, you just had to make sure that you had enough balls to ask the questions and have enough confidence to handle the answers.

[perspective-series]

Thomas Perspective (19/19)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: fear, maybe?

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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Patton set Thomas down in the middle of the dining table, where a few tiny dishes already sat and two regular sized dishes were placed at chairs on either side. 

“Ta-da!” Patton said proudly, taking a seat.

Virgil eased himself into the chair across from Patton, looking only slightly uncomfortable.

 Thomas blinked in surprise at the plates and cups that were his size. Patton must have gotten it from the doll stuff. Well, Thomas wasn't going to complain about that. He noticed the sandwich, scaled down to his size on the plate and he grinned. It was cool that Patton was willing to do things like that for him. Thomas would be fine with pieces of normal sized food but Patton-and Roman-went the extra mile. It made the borrower feel good.

 He picked it up and took a bite, smiling and the flavor. “Thank you Patton, this is really good!”

“You’re welcome!” Patton said happily, all smiles as he dug in to his own lunch. Virgil smirked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

 Thomas finished up his sandwich with a content sigh before once again glancing up at Virgil. Thomas wasn’t sure if bringing it up was even a good idea or not but he needed to know. “...Virgil?”

Virgil stopped mid-chew, surprised that he was being addressed. He quickly swallowed his mouthful of bread so that he could speak again. “Yeah?”

 Thomas fidgeted with his clothes, looking down as Virgil’s attention was suddenly all on him. “...Back when you first found me...that whole compromise that we made...were you really going to let me go at the end of the week?” Thomas knew it didn’t matter now. But he still wanted to know, for whatever reason. Simply curiosity, maybe?

Virgil blinked, surprised by the question. “Of course.” Virgil answered honestly. “I mean...I thought that by then you’d change your mind and stick around, but...yeah. I did.” Virgil turned away from him slightly. “I figured it would suck trying to keep someone around who didn’t want to be there.”

 Thomas nodded slowly, surprised by the answer. “Oh...that’s good to know.” At least trying to go back to Virgil in the beginning had been a valid choice on his end. “...Are you still mad that I spied on you guys?” He asked, trying to hold in a wince at the fact that he actually brought it up.

“No, I mean, not really.” Virgil ducked his head, looking embarrassed. “I get it now. I just was kind of thrown off by the whole borrower falling on my head thing. Kinda made me paranoid.”

Patton by this point had stopped eating his own lunch, looking back and forth between his two friends and feeling like he was missing a lot of important context clues.

 “I guess I get it. I mean, I would be paranoid if that happened to me too.” Thomas chuckled.

“Thanks.” Virgil smiled briefly, only for it to turn into a frown. “Doesn’t really excuse my behavior, though. I’m sorry I was such a jerk about the whole thing. I’m not exactly a “people person”.” Virgil put up air quotes to emphasize his point.

“I will physically fight you.” Patton’s voice was quiet, looking over at Virgil sternly.

 Thomas, having heard Patton’s loving threats to Virgil before, ignored him. “Thanks, that….that actually means a lot, that you realized that.” 

“Took me long enough.” Virgil let out a soft snort.

 Thomas chuckled. “Uh, yeah.” Thomas couldn’t help but think what would have happened if Virgil had realized sooner. Well...he never would have met the other humans or consider them...friends. Thomas smiled. “I guess one thing came out of all of this.” Thomas smiled. “You know, after all the bad stuff passed. I...I don’t feel lonely anymore.” 

 And it was true. For the first time since he had left home all those years ago, he didn’t feel alone.

“Awww!” Patton cupped his hands together, tilting his head to the side as he looked down at Thomas fondly. “That’s so sweet!”

 Thomas felt a small blush on his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s true though. I wish there were other borrowers around but...well, I’ve been on my own for a good 10 years now and haven’t seen another borrower since moving out of my family’s place…” Thomas looked down, sad at the thought. It made Thomas question if there were even that many borrowers left.

“Oh no…” Patton said softly, looking distraught at the thought.

“Why didn’t you stay with your family then?” Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow. 

 Thomas shrugged. “Independence? I didn’t know that I wouldn’t meet anyone after I left. And I couldn’t go back, my parents deserve their time by themselves.” Not to mention he wasn’t completely sure where they even were. It had been ten years after all.

“Don’t worry, we’re here for you Thomas.” Patton gasped excitedly. “Oh my goodness, we can be your family!”

“Pretty dysfunctional family…” Virgil muttered.

 Thomas blinked, looking at Patton. “You would...want to be my family?” Friends, sure, but family?

“Of course!” Patton looked at Thomas earnestly. “We care about you, kiddo.”

 Thomas furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?” Thomas couldn’t help but ask.

“Why?” Patton tilted his head, confused by the question.

“Because Patton cares about everyone.” Virgil rolled his eyes fondly.

“Oh, c’mon, Virgil.” Patton teased. “You know you care about this lil’ guy too!” Patton reached over and tousled Thomas’ hair.

 Thomas yelped as Patton suddenly touched his head, the sudden action surprising him. “P-Patton!” 

“Oh, sorry.” Patton pulled back sheepishly, but a grin was still on his face. 

“Look-” Virgil turned to Patton, looking stern with his hood up. “-if Thomas is really gonna stay with us, you can’t do stuff like that.”

 “At least warn me.” Thomas said, finding that he didn’t actually mind the actual action, just the suddenness of it.

Patton nodded, but his grin only seemed to grow at Virgil’s glare. “I knew you cared.” Patton said teasingly.

“...Whatever.” Virgil huffed, sinking back slightly in his chair.

 Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Come on Virgil, just admit it.” The borrower teased, stepping closer towards him. 

Virgil sank further into his hoodie, shoulders raising up to his ears as the human curled in on himself.

“...can’t it just be like, an understood thing?” Virgil muttered, his voice starting to be muffled by his hoodie.

 Thomas chuckled. “So you're implying that you care about me.”

There was a slight laugh from the usually stoic emo. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

 Thomas felt himself grin. “I can work with that.” His smile suddenly got a bit more shy. “I guess, I uh...I care about you guys as well.” Thomas admitted, looking between the two humans.

“You mean it?” Patton’s gaze was soft, his eyes sparkling. Virgil even leaned slightly forwards.

 Thomas nodded. “I do.” He said softly, a smile to match his tone on his face.

“Oh!” Patton reached out for Thomas excitedly, pausing in mid air moments before Virgil would have stopped him anyways. It seemed he was finally learning. “Can I hug you?”

 Thomas stepped back a bit but then blinked. He smiled. “Sure.”

With a small excited squeal, Patton scooped Thomas up and gently pressed him to his chest, twirling slightly around the kitchen. “Oooh, this is gonna be so much fun! You can join us for game nights and movie nights and sleepover nights and-”

 As Patton began to ramble on, Thomas smiled, snuggling into the hug. These humans were now his family.

 And Thomas wouldn’t have it any other way.

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

 Thomas came out of the walls, finding that he was now under the couch in Roman’s apartment. He could hear the humans above him talking and laughing with one another but Thomas didn’t feel any fear. Instead, he walked out into the open and used his hook to climb up the coffee table. As he made it to the top, he turned and faced the humans. “Hey guys.”

“Thomas!” They all greeted with varying levels of over enthusiasm. 

“We were just picking a film for the evening.” Logan explained. “Would you like to choose?” 

Roman held a few dvds up for Thomas to inspect, looking eager.

 Thomas hummed, looking between all the movies. None of them looked familiar, of course, but he chose the one that looked good to him. “How about that one? Toy Story?”

“Ooh, I love that one.” Patton snuggled up into the couch some more. “Nice choice!”

“Hey Thomas, I saved you some popcorn.” Virgil smirked, leaning over to hand Thomas a kernel. “Princey was trying to hog it all.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing!” Roman gasped.

 Thomas chuckled. “Thanks, Virge.” He said as he grabbed the piece of popcorn. He turned around to sit and face the screen there on the table.

“Thomas, would you care to join us?” Logan asked, putting his hand down to allow the borrower the chance to join them on the couch. The other humans looked down at him expectantly.

 Thomas blinked before smiling. He should have expected they would let him sit by himself. Which Thomas was thankful for. Thomas answered by stepping onto Logan’s hand.

Logan smiled at him, pulling his arm back and resting it between himself and Patton. 

“Glad you’re here, kiddo.” Patton said softly as the intro music began to play.

 Thomas smiled. “So am I.”

[spilledkauffie]

Sammy Support System

Pairing: Sam Winchester x college!reader Word Count: 2.1k T/W: anxiety? fluff! A/N: This was actually stupid hard to write, but it’s solely, and slightly embarrassingly, a therapy fic !

Vigorously the keys of your laptop clicked and ticked with every tap and push your fingertips gave them. It had become such a common sound over your college career that you had hardly noticed how long the continuous clicking had been going on for, let alone that the sun had gone down without you noticing either. There were papers and extra credit reports to write, group projects you knew no one else was going to actually do, emails to send and so on. 

With the numerous things calling your attention, you hardly noticed your boyfriend lean in through the doorway to check on you. He found you just as he expected, and just as he had left you three hours ago, sitting criss cross on a chair in one of his hoodies, some plaid pyjama pants and white fuzzy socks, huddled at your computer, devoutly working on your homework. A clutter of papers and notebooks swarming you at every angle. Pens and highlighters of all different shades were clustering under loose leaf pages. Leaving you wildly upturning every piece of paper until you found the correct colour for further highlighting. 

“Where did I put-“ you mumbled to yourself, scanning the table for your favourite highlighter. 

Checking the clock on the wall, which was ticking in between the clicking rhythm you were making yourself, Sam decided to give you another thirty minutes before intervening. Aware of how stressed you had been acting and feeling lately, whether you’d admit it or not, Sam wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself regardless of the taxing demands you put on yourself for a degree. He always tried his best to back off when it came to things you felt you needed to handle on your own, but one thing he would never give up on is taking care of you when you refused to do so yourself. And finding you in the same position after four hours, nearing one a.m., was not up to his standards of a healthy self care routine. 

Returning after thirty minutes, which seemed so much longer to him and so much shorter to you, he decided to take action. Clearing his throat and entered the room, he walked over to the desk where you were preoccupied. Head switching between a book you had a strict finger holding open and the laptop screen your free hand was making words appear on.

“Wow,” Sam said, staring you down, an amused smile playing across his lips when you didn’t even acknowledge him. 

You truly hadn’t heard him, and were far too focused on your work to have seen or heard him come in. 

“Wow!” Sam said a little louder, simply trying to gain your attention. 

Jumping a little in your seat, you lifted your head to find Sam sitting opposite of you across the small table you had so easily filled. He reclined back in the chair, waiting for you to say...something. 

“Hey,” you quietly said, it had to have been hours since you actually talked to another person, not just mumbling to yourself. 

“Hi,” Sam leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, gentle smile as he heard how small your voice sounded, “do you have any idea what time it is, Honey?”

Looking to the corner clock on your laptop you winced, knowing he wouldn’t be very approving of how long you had been at it, but more so how much longer you intended to stay working as you were. 

“It’s late...ish,” you tried to be cute and ignore the bigger problem he was alluding to. 

Over the past few weeks, you had been pushing yourself and pushing yourself to the point of  exhaustion, both physically and mentally. You didn’t sleep reasonable, human hours, you ate maybe a meal a day and hardly left the bunker for anything other than classes. As much as he loved  your enthusiasm for college, he hated seeing you self-destruct over it. Mentally blocking every natural resting plea your body gave, you pressed on nonetheless. 

Ducking his head, Sam didn’t want to come across too parental, “it’s, yeah, it’s... late.”

“I’m fine Sam,” you assured him sweetly and proceeded on with typing. 

“But you’re not-” he countered only out of concern, frustrating you slightly as you glanced up to glare at him, “I’m just saying,” he retreated his hands in defense, “I haven’t seen you get up to refill your water, you haven’t said a word to anyone and you-“

“Sam!” You interrupted, fanning your hands across your keyboard, as he tested your nonexistent patience, you took a deep breath, “don’t worry.”

“It’s kinda my job to worry about you,” he lifted his shoulders, “I mean, is something going on that you’re not telling me?”

“No, nothing,” you tried, to utter failure. 

“Y/n, what’s going on that you’re not telling me?” He repeated, in such a soft, caring tone you swore he could draw every emotion you’ve ever had out from you. His puppy dog eyes didn’t help your resistance either, Sam genuinely was concerned and lying to him would only further his anxiety over you. 

“I just,” you avoided eye contact, “need to do this, okay? I need to finish this, start the next project, schedule my next classes: Spring, Summer, Fall. I need to prove that I can do it.”

“Prove what?” Sam asked, “to who?”

“That I can do it!” You repeated, the beginnings of tears from seemingly a million different emotions filling your eyes, “I have to prove I’m worth something...even if that’s just a degree.” 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, seeing you upset always hurt the worst. Wanting to help or to fix whatever was wrong always seemed easier on the other topics. He knew he couldn’t stop this, it was something you’d been relentless about since day one.

“I’m so tired of getting told to slow down...and you don’t need to,” your building anxiety caused a hiccup, “you don’t need to,” you blinked, letting a heavy tear slip passed your eyelash, on the brink of a breakdown you could feel yourself shaking, “but I want to, why doesn’t anybody care about that?”

It was like a knife to the heart when your eyes met Sam’s, now knowing you felt no one cared on the matter. And the moment you allowed yourself to fall apart and cry, Sam came to your side. Crouching down so you could hug him, you tightly wrapped your arms around his neck.. Feeling his strong arms around your waist made you feel like a child, but you didn’t care at this point. It was days, weeks, months of continuous tension, stress, lack of sleep and nutrition all coming undone. 

“Sam,” you breathed, eventually pulling back from his tear stained shirt, “if I can’t do this, I don’t even know who I am anymore. This is all I’ve ever done.”

Nodding, understandingly, his lean fingers pushed back some hair that had fallen down from your twice dried shampooed bun and  into your face. He listened to you, knowing you just needed someone to truly listen, not to scold you for your aspirations, but to hear you out. 

“I’m nothing if I can’t prove this,” you wiped your eyes, reverting to a more reclusive position of anxiety, isolating yourself away from him, “I’m just a failure.”

Sam’s arms still held you, despite your retreat, “hey, hey,” he caressed your cheek lovingly, and you embarrassingly leaned into it, a touch you had truly missed in your absence of his presence, “look at me.”

You hardly wanted to be seen at all right now, but you did as he said, slowly meeting his gaze. His ever sparkling eyes made you feel a bit better, especially accompanied by his smile of reassurance. 

“You are not a failure,” he told you with a convincing stare, “you never have been, and you never will be, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, looking away, with a few stray tears falling down your cheek. 

“You can do this, you are doing this,” he explained, “I fully support your goals and dreams, but I cannot support how you’re treating yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you turned back to him, wearily shaking your head. 

“You’re really not; you’re just saying that so I’ll leave you alone,” he corrected you carefully, “but that’s just not happening. I care way too much about you to stop.”

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded, pushing at your hair and looking down.

It was a brief silence between the two of you. 

“C’mon,” Sam stood, holding your hand, “time for a break.”

“Sam,” you sighed as he gently coerced you into following his loving pull, “I can’t, I have to finish this group project.”

“If it’s a group project someone else can work on it right now, come on, Babe,” his tone a little more stern and his point valid. 

Knowing that if you said no again he’d just pick you up out of the chair, so you stood to follow him over to the couch. Lazily you walked behind him, hand still holding his. He sat at the end and you followed suit, sitting at an angle into his side, your feet slightly tucked under you, but still spread out toward the length on the couch. For a moment you breathed. It was quiet, no tap of your keys, no rustling of paper-  

“Well, good break,” you said and quickly made an attempt to return to your desk.

“Uh, yeah, no ma’am,” Sam leaned forward and grabbed your hips. To your frustration he brought you back down, this time seating you across his lap, “that was not an adequate break.”

Groaning reluctantly, you felt him secure his hold on you. One arm reaching across your thighs, the other settled around your waist. You gave up and gave in, slouching into him, resting your head against his shoulder. Fiddling with your hands in your lap, you looked down. The scent of his cologne made you feel safe, as you nuzzled the bridge of your nose against his neck. His hair tickled where strands of it brushed against your forehead. You hummed when you felt him sweetly rub your back.

“Sam?” You started, closing your eyes. 

“Yeah, Baby?” He answered bringing his hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear as he looked you over. 

“I’m so tired,” you finally admitted in a sigh of defeat, which told him that you were officially calling it a night.

Trying not to laugh at the very obvious statement, Sam smiled, “yeah, I bet you are,” slight amusement slipping out. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you pouted, looking up.

“Promise I’m not,” Sam raised his eyebrows, watching you struggle to keep your eyes open in his arms, “you’re just really adorable when you’re tired.” 

Finally breaking into a smile, you closed your eyes, realising how much you’d been missing out on even the littlest of things. Caressing the side of his neck with your hand, you brought yourself up a bit, met with his gentle eyes, that were almost asking sweetly, “what do you need?” You just stared for a while, until your eyes dropped and you brought your lips to meet his. It was soft and sweet, but when you pulled back, you still wanted more. Knowing your body language, Sam slid his hand up to the back of your neck, carefully bringing you back in for a deeper kiss. Practically melting into his kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck. When you decided you needed air, you pulled back, resting each other’s foreheads together.

“I love you so much,” Sam said, still stroking your neck.

“I love you more,” you smiled, showing you were really getting sleepy, “thanks for putting up with me, Sam.”

“For that I love you most,” he hugged you closer.

You bit your bottom lip, about to ask him to carry you to bed, when you were interrupted by a familiar voice, making you turn your heads immediately. 

“What the hell?” Dean almost yelled out of shock as he picked up a random piece of paper off the table you had been working at, “what is this?”

The genuine confusion and disgust of Dean’s tone made you laugh, burying  your head against Sam.

“That is her homework,” Sam answered with a smirk, not shocked at his brother’s behaviours.

 “No, no, even Einstein couldn’t figure this out,” Dean stated.

“Dean...that’s not even math,” Sam corrected with a witty smile, as if saying ‘this is why you didn’t go to college.’

“Well...whatever,” Dean shrugged, taking a hand out of his pocket, “get off my couch anyway!”

[queen-swagzilla]

Ruthlessly Alive, Chapter 9

Read it on Ao3!

“I can’t find him anywhere,” Syl said, coming up next to Murphy. “Finn’s fucking vanished, and the first courtship ritual is tomorrow morning.”

“Hey, it’ll be fine.” He assured her, face deliberately calm. “Clarke’s made her decision. Nothing he says to her will change his mind. They’re still enjoying their dinner, and you and your friends are keeping an eye out for him.”

“I just don’t get it. He’s been bitching about finding a peaceful solution since we landed, but as soon as we actually find one he decides to make it his mission to fuck it up.” She snarled.

“Syl, you need to relax. Worrying about what he’s going to do gives his actions validity. It gives him the power to ruin things. May I suggest treating him like a complete moron instead? That way when he inevitably does something stupid, he’ll be written off as the village idiot instead of a threat.”

Syl’s eyes widened in wonder. “You think that’ll work?”

“Better than worrying about not being able to find him.” He replied. “Besides, if our people see you panicking, they’ll be on edge, waiting for something bad to happen. Given the nature of tomorrow’s ritual, it’s best that they remain at ease.”

She studied his face for a long moment, before standing on tiptoe and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. “Thank you.” She murmured. “I’m gonna get Miller to keep an eye on the dropship tonight, but I’m going to bed afterward. Feel free to join me.”

“I’ll try. I’m going to help Octavia and Lincoln set up for the ceremony, so we’ll be up late. I don’t want you to wait up for me. You need to rest after today’s training. You’re going to be miserable tomorrow.” He reminded her.

She grimaced. “Right. Can’t wait.”

He chuckled. “Go to bed. I promise I’ll keep an eye out for Finn, just in case.”

“Goodnight.” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before darting away to find Miller. He had no idea how she had so much energy, especially considering what Miller had told him about her sleeping habits.

“She likes you.” Octavia declared, materializing out of nowhere. Murphy sighed.

“She doesn’t know me. Well, she knows parts of me. I know why she likes those parts, at least.” He smirked. “For the time being, this is mutually beneficial. I have it on good authority that she needs stress relief.”

“And you?”

“I deal with you every day. I need the stress relief too.” He joked.

“Murph.” She scolded. He rolled his eyes.

“She’s attractive and enthusiastic, and I like fucking.”

“And she’s smart, and a capable warrior.”

“True.”

“So, why won’t you pursue her?” She asked, exasperated. “She wants you, and you want her.”

“Even if I were looking for a houmon—which I’m not—maybe give me more than a couple of weeks to make that kind of decision? Besides she’s under enough stress as it is. She doesn’t need to be courted by anyone right now. At least let her settle into Baltim before you start throwing suitors at her.” He instructed sternly.

“I’m not going to throw suitors at her. She already has one.”

“She doesn’t. But even though she doesn’t, she doesn’t need one right now. She needs someone who can fuck her to sleep and let her do her business during the day. She has enough to deal with now. She doesn’t need more. Don’t interfere.”

“Too late.” Octavia grinned. “But I’ll ease up until we get home.”

“When we get home, I’m taking the trading mission to Azgeda.” He reminded her. She scowled.

“You are not going to Azgeda. The last time you went, they nearly killed you. Sending you again would probably be enough for their Haiplana to declare ware on Trishanakru.” She snapped. “I’ll find someone else to take that mission. You stay in the King’s Guard.”

“You’d make me stay?”

“If it means keeping your head on your shoulders? Absolutely. If you try to go, I’ll chain you up and dangle you off the tallest tree.” She warned.

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

Syl caught up with Miller at the gate—he was settling on for a long night on watch, snacks and blanket at the ready. “Hey.”

He turned to look at her. “Hey. What’s up? Did you find him?”

She shook her head. “Murphy thinks we should stop treating him like a threat, and more like the village idiot.” She replied.

Miller sniggered. “Well if Murphy thinks so, we should…”

“Oh come on. It’s not even like that. It’s a good idea! Treating him like he can ruin things means people will think that it’s actually possible to ruin it.” She huffed, crossing her arms stubbornly.

“Just giving you a hard time. We should still tell Clarke, just in case. Just so she knows what to expect.”

“Agreed. I need to head to bed because I’m welcoming the elder from Trishanakru in the morning. Can you catch her up when she gets out of the dropship?”

“Yeah, sure.” He agreed, dropping into his seat. “I don’t get why Raven insists on staying with him.”

“He’s her family. They’ve been together forever. I get it. But that doesn’t change the fact that he cheated on her, lied about it, and is now actively sabotaging our best—probably only—chance at peace.” She replied, voice low and irritated.

“I bet he thought that peace meant Clarke would end up back where she started. At his side, admiring him and taking him seriously.” He snorted.

“Idiot. I can’t believe I’m wasting so much of my brain on him.” Syl groaned. “I have so much more to deal with.”

“So don’t deal with him. Leave him to me and Wells. I bet Wells will look for any reason to smack Spacewalker around.” He chuckled. She shot him an odd look. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” She raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Did I notice someone’s sexual tension before you? That’s unheard of.”

“Would you just shut up and tell me?” She snapped. He snickered.

“Wells has it bad for Reyes. I’d bet money on it.”

“We use a barter system.”

“It’s a fucking expression, Syl. An expression that means ‘I’m fucking positive that Wells pops a boner every time Raven talks nerdy to him.’ Seriously, watch them next time she starts explaining something scientific.”

She gazed at him, a little horrified. “Really? Are you sure?”

“As positive as I can possibly be about heterosexual attraction, yeah.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

“To be fair, when Raven’s talking science, you go into science mode. You stop really thinking of anything else. It’s pretty hard to shake.”

“Do I really do that?”

“Why do you think you’re currently planning a fecal purification center? Jasper mentioned wasted methane once and you were done.” He scoffed. “Get out of here. You need to sleep. I’ll keep an eye on everything, and I’ll get you if I need anything, I promise.”

“Thanks, Miller.” She smiled, dropping to press an affection kiss to his forehead. “You’re the best.”

“Damn right. Get out of here.”

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

Clarke shook Syl awake almost violently the next morning. “Jesus, you don’t need to give me whiplash to wake me up.” She groused, rising to a sitting position. Her muscles screamed at her—protesting her every move.

“Sorry. Trishanakru’s elder is showing up soon. I figured you might want to wash up and have breakfast before your day goes crazy. If you’re as sore as I am, I figured you’d want as much time to get ready as possible.” Clarke grumbled, hating the fact that it was morning.

“Yeah, fine. Good morning, by the way. How was your date?” Syl asked, stretching gingerly and slowly climbing to her feet.

“It was nice. Thank you for setting it up.” Clarke blushed. “It was nice to get to know each other without everyone else listening in and interrupting.”

“So no one interrupted?”

Clarke’s face darkened. “No. No one’s seen him, either. But Miller told me that he was AWOL last night. Even if he does come to me, there’s nothing he can do to change my mind.” She was practically growling. “Bellamy already told me about his girlfriend-turned-assassin. It’s not news to me.”

“Nothing to worry about then.” Syl breathed a sigh of relief.

“No, I still want to keep an eye out for him. He’s a loose cannon right now. Things aren’t going his way and I feel like he’s losing it. I don’t really know how far he’ll go to get his way because I don’t really know him. Can you get Monroe and Harper to keep an eye out for him today? Especially during the ritual.” Clarke looked anxious.

Syl watched her, concerned, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever you want. Let me know what you need, I’ll make it happen.”

“Thanks, Syl.” Clarke replied gratefully. “I need to go borrow some poison from Lincoln. I’ll see you later. Miller and Wells have your breakfast.”

She headed out of the tent, shoulders tight and exuding faint yet constant anxiety. Syl didn’t blame her. She was going to stab and poison her fiancé today.

Clarke made her way through the camp towards Octavia and Lincoln’s tent. Along the way, Miller and Wells fell into step with her, giving her quick updates on the state of the Hundred—Ellie skinned her knee, Vex bullied a younger girl out of her rations, Raven and Jasper were arguing over their limited equipment, so they’d need to figure out how to split their time with the tools they had available, Monty wanted to form a foraging party and had a list ready—before splitting off again to resume their own tasks.

“Lincoln? Are you awake?” She asked when she arrived at her soon to be brother-in-law’s tent. He poked his head out a second later.

“Good morning. Did you need something?” He asked.

“Yeah—do you know any slow-acting poisons that I can use during today’s ritual?” She asked. “Bellamy mentioned that Trigedakru warriors traditionally carry poisons and cures with them.”

“I do. Wait here.” He replied, ducking back into his tent before returning with a small tin that was filled with vials. “This one is made with a purple moss that’s found by the river. It causes vomiting, headaches, and hallucinations within minutes, but it doesn’t kill you for days.”

“Do you think that’s enough for the ritual?” Clarke asked him anxiously. “I don’t want to hurt him or risk him dying if I do something wrong.”

“Then this is the one you should use. Would you like the cure?”

She shook her head. “No. But could you tell me what the cure is? That way I can prepare it myself.”

He smiled approvingly. “Of course. There’s a black beetle that lives in the same area as the moss. They feed on the moss. Crush them to make a cure. You’ll only need a handful.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“It is.” He chuckled. “But better than dying, don’t you think?”

She nodded. “Could you take Monty to forage? He can bring back beetles for me.”

“I can take Monty to forage,” Octavia said from inside the tent, pushing past Lincoln a moment later. “I wanted to go hunting for tonight’s dinner anyways. We can’t feed Irene dried meat. I don’t think her teeth are strong enough.” She was fastening her shoulder guard to her jacket.

“I didn’t even think of that,” Clarke whispered, a little frantic. “Is there anything else she needs? I don’t want to offend her.”

“Oh, you won’t. She wouldn’t expect you to cater to her needs, given all that you have to accomplish. But you should be wearing Bellamy’s courting gift when she arrives. Look nice, too. Get someone to do your hair. You want to show her that you’re proud to be Bell’s houmon.” Octavia instructed. “She raised us, so she’s very protective. If she thinks you don’t appreciate him, she’s likely to find a reason to declare your courtship failed.”

“I do appreciate him!” Clarke cried.

“I know that, and you know that. It’s not me you need to prove yourself to.” Octavia reminded her, before pausing. “Well, yes, you need to prove yourself to me, too. But I already mostly like you.” She revised. “Pull out all the stops for Irene. Go wash your face and do your hair and put on your jacket. Show her a queen.”

Clarke’s stomach was doing somersaults now. “Okay.” She mumbled. “I’ll do that.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Relax. You’ll be fine. Don’t lose your teeth now.” She scolded. “We agreed to this alliance because you’re opinionated and bold and fearless. Go get Raven to do your hair, put on your jacket, and start pretending you’re queen.” She gripped Clarke’s chin, forcing the shorter blonde to meet her eyes. "Pretend you’re queen until you believe that you are. You saw how Anya spoke and behaved. Pretend you’re her. Hold your head high, speak forcefully, make sure they know that your opinion is final. Do you understand?”

Clarke nodded, spine straightening as Octavia spoke, meeting the steely gaze with one of her own. “I understand.”

“Good. Go.” She demanded, turning Clarke around and gently shoving her in the direction of Raven’s tent. Clarke immediately adapted to Octavia’s commands, jaw held aloft as she strode across the camp with purpose.

“Raven?” She called just outside the tent. “I need your help.”

Raven poked her head out, looking unusually disheveled. There were dark circles under her eyes, the whites of which were bloodshot. Her face looked somewhere between exhausted, worried, and annoyed. “What?”

“What happened to you?”

“Finn is missing.”

“He’ll be back,” Clarke said, hoping she was exuding confidence and reassurance instead of anxiety and annoyance. “If he’s not back by the end of the ritual, I’ll even help you look for him.”

Raven’s smile held some thankfulness but was largely forlorn. “He was gone before I even noticed. As soon as he thought you might be in danger, he disappeared.”

“He’d do it for anyone if he thought they were in danger. He doesn’t approve of the marriage. I can’t say I blame him—it’s not how we were brought up. I do wish he’d respect my decisions though. This is my choice, and I’m quite pleased with it.”

“I know. I’m working on getting through to him, Clarke, I promise.”

“It’s not your responsibility, you know. You’re already on board. He needs to get with the program fast because this is happening whether he likes it or not.”

“Right.” Raven looked down at her feet. She could read between the lines. She knew that if Finn endangered the alliance—and by extension, the Hundred—Clarke would banish him and have the full support of the rest of the Delinquent Council and the Grounders. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah. Could you do my hair before the Trishanakru elder gets here? I want to put my best foot forward.”

“Uh…your hair?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure. Come on in.” She said, stepping aside for her soon-to-be queen. Clarke smiled gratefully, and Raven took Clarke into her hands. “So, how are you feeling about today?” Raven asked as she got to work.

“Honestly, I’m nervous and jittery, but Octavia bullied me into acting confident. I’ll be fine once I’m dressed and ready."

They talked through the day to come as Raven finger-combed and twisted and knotted and tied until Clarke's hair was perfected—two french braids at either side of her head, and braided down the center so that it was half up, half down. She looked regal and vicious—an elegant counterpart to Octavia’s ferocity.

“Holy crap, Raven.” Clarke breathed, examining her reflection in a tiny hand mirror that they’d scavenged in the art-supply store. “I look amazing.”

“Hell yeah, you do.” Raven smiled. “Now go wash your face and get dressed. I’ll go get your breakfast and make sure that everyone in the welcoming party is ready. Have you seen Bellamy yet this morning?”

“Not yet. We were up late, so I let him sleep in. And I didn’t want him to see me right when I woke up. I was super sore from yesterday.”

“Yeah, that training is no joke.” Raven winced. “Monty came through with some anti-inflammatory tea. It was pretty tasty. Paired well with the breakfast berry mush crap that he feeds us in the morning.”

“Really? I’ll have to go find him and snag some of that. I don’t think I can lift my arms long enough to stab someone in this condition.” Clarke replied dryly. “Thanks again for the hair, Raven. It’s beautiful.”

“No problem, princess.” Raven winked, pulling her out of the tent and pushing her towards their communal “sink”, and waltzing off in search of food and their council. Clarke scrubbed her face clean, before traipsing back to her own tent to pull on the beautiful fur jacket.

Ultimately, she didn’t have to go searching for Monty—Monty came for her instead. He shoved a bottle of hot tea into one hand, and a bowl of breakfast berry mush into the other. “Eat. Drink. No more skipping breakfast, and that tea is to loosen up your muscles.” He sounded stern and scolding.

“I was just about to come find you.” She assured him. “Raven told me about the tea.”

“Sure, the tea. But what about the food? You didn’t eat a full breakfast yesterday, Clarke. You’re going to collapse at this rate. You were a medical candidate. You know better than to allow yourself to skip meals. Malnourishment is dangerous down here—even more than on the Ark.” He chastised her.

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “If I’m going to be a queen, I can’t stuff myself while my people are going hungry. I won’t be that kind of leader, Monty.”

“None of us are going hungry anymore.” He snapped. “Now we’re all well fed, and we need you to be healthy and have your crap together because you’re going to be our Queen and we’re all depending on you. We depended on you before, but at least you had us to fall back on. Now we’re just your advisors, and all of our decisions are with you and Bellamy. Our alliance—our lives—are in your hands, and that means jack shit if you’re dead or delirious from hunger. As of now, I’ve made it my personal responsibility to make sure you stay healthy. We’re all going to have long, happy, prosperous lives, including you.”

There was a ferocity in Monty’s tone that booked absolutely no argument. “Fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I need to run—Octavia’s taking me foraging. I’m getting your fiancé coming by in a minute to make sure you’ve eaten.”

She went rigid. “What?”

“Bellamy. He wanted to spend some time with you before the elder showed up. I told him that you hadn’t eaten yet, and were liable to forget when you have a lot on your mind.” Monty replied. “You might think I’m overstepping, but he’s about to be your literal life partner, and he needs to know the warning signs for when you’re going full-martyr on him.”

“Monty!”

“Relax. I literally just told him that you spend so much time thinking and organizing that you forget. That’s mostly true.” He shrugged. “This is my condition for being okay with this, Clarke. I’m okay with this as long as you promise to take better care of yourself.”

Clarke glared at him. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Monty agreed, equally obstinate.

She sighed. “Be safe. Don’t forget my beetles.”

“I won’t. See you soon. Try to relax. I can feel your tension from here.” He informed her before sprinting back out of the tent, no doubt to meet up with the ever-impatient Octavia at the gate.

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

The contingent from Trishanakru—including their elder, Irene—arrived with very little fuss or fanfare. They were greeted by the Delinquent Council (minus Miller and Finn) at the gate, along with Bellamy and Lincoln who took the liberty of translating from Gonasleng to Trigedasleng and back between the Hundred and the visiting warriors.

Irene herself spoke perfect English—Gonasleng, they reminded themselves—and immediately set about invading Clarke’s personal space and asking invasive questions. She wasted no time plowing through the camp, inspecting every nook and cranny to see if their potential was oversold to her by the emissaries who had been sent to fetch her. She seemed begrudgingly impressed by the time she was finished and lunch rolled around.

Monty served her—the finest stew he could muster with his limited resources, and passed Clarke a bottle of beetles in the next moment.

“I appreciate that you’re taking the time to observe our traditions, skaigada.” The terse woman tutted as she ate from her bowl with pursed lips. Apparently, she was used to far better food. Next to her, Bellamy had been sporadically tensing all day but had yet to interject. She supposed that meant they were doing well so far.

“Bellamy has been so kind to us, and his protection—allowing us to join his people—is more than we ever could have asked for.” She smiled up at him, body tilting towards his. He placed a comforting hand on the small of her back. “The least we could do in return is learn and respect your customs. They’ll be our customs soon enough, after all.”

Irene studied her with a steely gaze. “Pretty words.” Clarke’s heart sank.

After lunch, Octavia and Lincoln led Irene away to supervise as they set up their ritual ground. Anya would be arriving soon—she had insisted on being present for each ritual to ensure that they were taking place as quickly as possible. Clarke kept her head high as Bellamy steered her towards her tent, but as soon as they were inside her shoulders slumped and she let out a shaky breath.

“You’re doing well,” Bellamy assured her, placing his hands on her shoulders, thumbs brushing her collarbones in gentle circles. It was soothing.

“She hates me.”

“She hates everyone. She’s old as dirt. When you’ve lived as long and met as many people as she has, you can’t help but hate everyone. Trust me, she likes you as much as she can possibly like anyone.” He said. “She just needs to like you enough to agree to oversee the courtship rituals. She appreciates that you’re obeying tradition. You’re doing fine.”

She looked up at him, searching his face for…not dishonesty, but false appeasement. As always, he seemed earnest. “I’m taking your word for it.” She replied, leaning into his touch.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” He said, grinning cheekily. “I love your hair. Did Octavia do it for you?”

She shook her head, blushing. “Raven did.”

“She did a great job. If she ever wants to give up on machines, she should take up a career as a master of ceremonies.”

“I’ll let her know.” She joked weakly. If Bellamy was trying to distract her, he was doing an amazing job. His hands were warm and heavy and she could physically remember how it felt to have them squeezing her ass. “Hey, so I’m gonna kiss you.” She informed him. He looked delighted for about two seconds before she wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on tiptoe, and pulled him down to meet her lips with his. She figured he was still delighted, but she just couldn’t see it.

Somehow—she lost track—they ended up on the bed with her in his lap, trading quiet conversation and slow kisses. Then, the tent flew open.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt.” Murphy said, not sorry at all. In fact, he looked really fucking amused. Clarke kind of wanted to smack him. “Ceremony’s supposed to start soon. Syl told me to let Clarke know that she has everything you need, ready to go.”

“Thank you, Murphy. We’ll be out in a minute.” Bellamy replied, voice rough. Though tempted to bury her face in her fiance’s neck, she turned to look Murphy in the eye, staring stonily into his smirk. He raised his hands in mocking surrender and backed out of the tent, sniggering under his breath. “I didn’t realize how long we’d been here.” He admitted.

“I really don’t want to stab you.” She said, curling closer into him. His grip tightened around her.

“Don’t worry. Really, it’ll be alright.” He assured her. “You can make it shallow if it really bothers you. I’m more worried about the poison.”

“Oh great!” She cried, trying to pull back from him. He only held her tighter.

“I was joking.” He chuckled—a low, comforting rumble. “I trust you.”

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

Apparently, while Bellamy and Clarke had been…canoodling, Octavia, Syl, Wells, Murphy, and Lincoln had been hard at work under Irene’s watchful eye. The mouth of the Dropship had been transformed into a stunning altar—littered with flowers and trapped with pretty white fur. “Seems like a shame to use white since we’ll just get blood on it,” Clarke said quietly to Syl.

Syl snorted. “Yeah, you’ve got a point. But this is step one of your multi-step wedding. If it’s not beautiful and memorable, that means I’m a terrible bridesmaid. So you best stab Bellamy as beautifully as you possibly can. I expect a work of art to match my fur-and-flower masterpiece.”

Clarke grinned, laughter bubbling up. “You’re ridiculous.” She looked back to the altar. “It’s really gorgeous. Somehow, I can’t believe their weddings look like this.”

“I added some of our traditions in. Or—traditions from before the bombs.” Syl admitted. “Octavia looked almost offended by how many flowers I wanted. Apparently, during the courting period, they’re barely used. But I remember some of those old romance movies we used to watch and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh my god.” Clarke stared at her in awe. “Syl, you’re my maid of honor! You might actually be the first ark-born maid of honor.” Wedding parties had all but been rendered obsolete since all weddings on the Ark were bare-bones ceremonies with no decorations or extraneous details. Now that there were preparations and rituals and frivolity, the title suddenly held meaning.

Syl’s eyes widened, then almost immediately filled with tears. “Holy crap.”

“We'd better tell Raven, Harper and Monroe that they’re bridesmaids before they kill you for your title.” Clarke laughed tearily, pulling Syl into an enthusiastic, too-tight hug.

“Are you two alright?” Octavia asked, coming up behind them and rapidly growing alarmed at their sudden tears. “Why are you crying?”

“They’re good tears,” Clarke assured her croakily. “I’ll explain later.”

Octavia nodded, wary but ready to move on immediately if it meant avoiding tears. “We’re ready to start the ritual. I think the people who wanted to attend are all here.”

Clarke looked over her shoulder at the crowd that had amassed—most of the Hundred stood near the altar, waiting for the ceremony to start. She let go of Syl. “My murder weapons?” She asked, and Syl immediately pointed up to the altar.

“There’s a cloth bundle up there with the knife and the poison and your medical supplies, and a cup of moonshine. Poison the moonshine and give it to him. You have what you need to cure the poison, don’t you?” They were walking forward, and suddenly the whole thing felt so much more real.

Clarke nodded. “Monty went and got it for me this morning.”

“Good,” Syl said, stopping in front of the Dropship door. “You’ve got this.”

“Sure.” She agreed halfheartedly, turning to walk up to Bellamy’s side.

She found herself thanking every single deity she’d ever heard of for asking Bellamy about the rituals in advance. Irene was speaking quickly, presiding over the ceremony with practiced and rapid efficiency. Unfortunately, Clarke couldn’t understand a word of it, since she was speaking Trigedasleng so fast that it barely sounded like she was fully forming words.

Then, Bellamy was picking up a knife. “Em gonplei ste ai gonplei, en taim yu bilaik led raun, ai na fis yu op.” He recited. She was glad that she recognized that phrase—when he’d explained the ceremony, he’d told her when she’d have to do or say specific things. That included a brief lesson on how to say the things she’d need to say. She held out her hand to him,  and he ran the knife across her palm. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had been sterilized.

He pulled a small bottle and a long strip of cloth from his pocket, quickly uncorking the former and tipping the (sludgy, slimy) contents into her hand. It stung like a motherfucker, but at least he was taking the time to sterilize it. It dried surprisingly fast and felt almost gelatinous when it did, and that was when he began gently bandaging her hand. “Ai na fis yu op, kom ai fis yu op deyon."

Irene began speaking again—slower this time, but still in Trigedasleng.  This time she could hear the question that would prompt her response. “Yu na dufa yu houmon?" Irene asked.

“Em gonplei ste ai gonplei, en taim yu bilaik led raun, ai na fis yu op." She recited, anxiety spiking to an all-time high. She unfolded the bundle that Syl had left for her, picking up the vial and pouring it into the cup of moonshine. She handed it to Bellamy, who dutifully took it and slammed it back. She stared at him, wide-eyed, but he only winked at her, a teasing smile lighting his face. How can he possibly trust me so completely after only a few days? She fretted. They’d need to have a chat about his survival instincts at some point.

She reached up and unfastened his shoulder guard and cape, followed by his jacket and shirt—folding them carefully and placing them on the white fur. When he stood shirtless before her, she picked up the knife. There was a murmur in the crowd, and she looked up at him. He gave her a reassuring nod, but said nothing.

She placed the tip of the blade to his lower abdomen but hesitated. He placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing small circles into her shoulder with his thumb. He’d figured out how to calm her so quickly—he was always so reassuring. And now she was going to stab him.

It was quick—she didn’t want to stab him slowly, after all—a short but forceful thrust and her knife (which must have been sharpened) was buried to its hilt. Bellamy groaned against gritted teeth, not wanting to cry our and startle her or the crowd. The crowd was startled anyways.

“What the fuck?” One of the Hundred—Harper, probably—screeched.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to marry him, not murder him!” She wasn’t sure who was screaming what anymore, but she was grateful for Octavia, Lincoln, and Murphy who were lined up and ready to push back anyone who tried to interfere. She could faintly hear Wells explaining the ritual to the crowd, but her heartbeat was thundering in her ears.

“Lie down.” She told him, assisting him as he immediately complied. “How are you feeling? Is the poison presenting yet?”

“I feel sick. I might throw up. You sound far away.” He told her dutifully. She nodded, hoping that vomiting was as far as she’d let it go. She strung her needle, soaked it in fresh, unpoisoned moonshine, applied pressure to the wound, and methodically pulled out the knife. She cleaned the open wound with moonshine, too. Then, she set to work stitching him back up. So far, this was going well.

Bellamy turned to his side and heaved, vomiting on the beautiful white furs. “I was right.” She whispered to him. “I told Syl that the white fur would be ruined.” He laughed weakly but fell silent quickly. It (understandably) hurt to laugh.

She ground the beetles into a paste, just like Lincoln said. He grimaced but forced it down when she fed it to him. Then she set about sterilizing everything, pouring moonshine over his wound, wiping away the excess blood, washing her hands, and finally bandaging his midsection. “You’re all set.” She told him, and he stood on shaky feet. Then, louder, she said: “Ai na fis yu op, kom ai fis yu op deyon."

Irene looked pleased and spoke again, once more too fast for Clarke to even try to comprehend. Bellamy was taking her hand and presenting it to Irene like a trophy, and the elder was preparing to tie something around her wrist—a strip of red cloth, it looked like—when suddenly Bellamy spasmed with a pained gasp and dropped to the floor with a reverberating thud. Clarke fell to her knees beside him immediately—he was convulsing violently, and there was blood on his lips.

“Octavia, hold him down before he hurts himself!” Clarke yelled. She was running through all the possibilities. Had Monty gotten the wrong beetle? No, Octavia had gone with him. Did Lincoln give her the wrong poison? No, Octavia would have corrected him. Did the moonshine react poorly to the poison? No, moonshine would dilute the properties of the poison, if anything. This was just like…

She looked over at the knife. She hadn’t sterilized it before stabbing Bellamy, because Syl would have done that before putting it with her supplies. Right?

“Syl! Did you sterilize the knife?”

“Of course I did! Do you think I’m brand fucking new?” She snapped, panicking.

Octavia looked up, alarmed, realizing that this wasn’t what Clarke had planned. “This isn’t part of the ritual?” Clarke shook her head. "Clarke, our healer can—“

“No. I’ve got this. It might not be what I had planned, but it’s my responsibility.” Clarke interrupted. “Monty, I need seaweed, bandages, and more moonshine.” Monty took off like a bullet, Jasper hot on his heels. “Lincoln, help me carry him inside. I need to get him onto one of the tables in the dropship. Wells, keep everyone out, I don’t need an audience to distract me."

Wells and Lincoln complied, the latter pulling Bellamy up to be carried between himself and Octavia. She turned to Irene. “I’m sorry, I know the ritual is important but—“

“He’s your priority. The ritual can always be redone, but only if he survives. Go.” Irene pushed her towards the mouth of the Dropship, and Clarke disappeared inside with Syl and Miller hot on her heels. She didn’t notice Irene following her, taking up quiet and watchful residence in a darkened corner.

“Clarke, our healer is here. Diggs is good. He won’t get in the way, but he knows more about how to treat our illnesses than you, just because he was raised here.” Octavia insisted. “Let me get him to help you. Please.”

Clarke bit her lip but nodded. Octavia rushed out, yelling for Diggs, and Clarke got to work. She unbandaged the wound and checked the stitches. Monty returned, Jasper in tow, and set to work on creating a poultice while Clarke re-sterilized the wound, watching for excess lymph or pus as she worked.

“Someone poisoned the blade.” She whispered to Syl. “I don’t know how long it was left unattended, but this is just like Finn’s wound from when we had Sterling captive. Remember?” Syl looked up at her, alarmed. “Lincoln, do you know what Trishanakru warriors poison their weapons with?” Clarke demanded.

Lincoln frowned, but nodded. “Diggs will be carrying the cure with him. Octavia, too.” He responded, looking back down at Bellamy’s wound. “That’s what he was poisoned with? I thought you were using the poison I gave you.”

“I did. Someone poisoned my blade, and it looks like the injury one of our people had when Sterling was our prisoner. He wouldn’t give us the cure, so I had to keep him alive until the poison was out of his system, but that took too long and it took a serious toll on his body. I don’t think I have that kind of time.” She said, words gaining speed as she rambled.

“Hey, chill out. You’ve got this.” Syl demanded.

She did have it. As soon as Octavia returned with Diggs, she explained and Diggs had his collection of bottles out of his bag in a flash, helping her dress the wound. She took the poultice from Monty and Jasper, pressing it into his heated skin before bandaging over it.  

Then they waited. Clarke wasn’t totally sure when he’d passed out, but he was eerily still. “Miller.” Clarke beckoned him over. “As soon as Finn is back, I want him detained.” She instructed once he was close enough. “I don’t know if he had anything to do with this, but I want him searched for that poison. Syl, I want you and Octavia to go check out the art supply store. If he were to stash it anywhere, it would be there. It’s too risky to keep it in his own tent since he lives with Raven.”

Syl and Miller regarded each other anxiously. “You really think he did it?”

“I have no idea. But I think he’s the only one who’s upset enough about the terms of our alliance to do something like this.” Clarke admitted. “If one of our people is responsible, then we need to handle it early, or else it’ll all fall apart. We can’t afford that, and you know it.”

They looked uneasy, but her tone booked no room for argument. They left the Dropship to keep watch, leaving her with Jasper, Monty, Lincoln, and Octavia, watching Bellamy and waiting.

“I was right to be worried about the poison.” Bellamy groaned, and Clarke was so relieved that she could have cried.

[eastsolis02]

Dongsun to Kibum: “I kissed you because I didn’t know what else to do.”

[ PROMPT ]  Friends or more? Sentence Starters

     A few days ago, he was desperate to perfect a song for a group he was actually good friends with whom he shared a pleasant history with.

     Everyone else told him it was already qualified to make it as a title track, but he felt that there was something lacking– right when it was about time to submit the final version for the executive and sales committees to review.

     Compared to his previous company, Dongsun didn’t have any say on the decision, so he turned to the person he could discuss this matter to instead. He was so desperate for an extension that he was willing to ask Kibum a favor on his behalf.

     Dongsun dreaded that Kibum would stop his delusions and face reality, but surprisingly, he was going to do his best to convince an extension just so the song could be better than it already was. His reputation as the head was on the line, so all he asked Dongsun was to make it a song that would sell beyond expectations.

     That, and a date with him.

     And whether it was romantic or platonic was up to interpretation, although it was apparent what their views towards the so-called “date” was.

     So fast forward to present time, Dongsun didn’t expect things to escalate to this over something like petty jealousy, but he also did break a promise to spend time with Kibum for the rest of the night.

     But taking someone home who was inebriated was a valid reason, right? Unfortunately, it just wasn’t any person he helped get back to his own apartment. It was the same person who had been vying for Dongsun’s affection while being fully aware of Kibum’s pursuits towards him the entire time.

     What else could Dongsun do, though? Blissfully ignore someone who could barely take care of himself? At least he had the courtesy to send a text postponing their rendezvous for another time.

     What he certainly did not expect out of all this was to bump into Kibum en route to Minho’s place. Thankfully, Minho didn’t notice Kibum at all from his drunken state, but Dongsun felt his and Kibum’s eyes met. And the message sent was not positive at all.

     It didn’t help that Minho was just as eager in showing affection towards someone like Dongsun. The only difference was he was softer, sweeter, and warmer. It almost reminded the producer of himself in his teens, when he used to be hopelessly in love with–

     He shook his head. This wasn’t the time to think about Kibum of all people.

     As if the heavens and gods heard his prayers, nothing else happened. Minho probably wouldn’t remember anything about tonight, and Dongsun was relieved his colleague was able to make it home safely. So now, he only had to worry about his neighbor, boss, and… (ex? That sounded outdated to the kind of confusing relationship they had now).

     Stepping out of the elevator of his apartment’s floor after a rather long night, Dongsun was surprised to see Kibum waitng for him in the hallway. Folded arms, a ducked head, his back against the wall, and an unreadable yet grim expression. The sight made the younger male swallow in growing nervousness.

     Best to start explaining himself.

     “Uh, I–”

     “So, I got stood up over him of all people?” From Dongsun’s perspective, Kibum felt like he was itching to take a drag of a cigarette. “That’s a point to him, I guess? Man, I feel so lame right now.”

     The reaction wasn’t aggressive, but Dongsun could sense a bitter aftertaste in the other’s voice.

     “We can always do it some other time, though–”

     “You know what? It’s fine. I just did my part as my boss. You can forget the other part of the deal. It’s not like you wanted it in the first place, right? I was just…” Being selfish. “…Never mind.”

     “But…”

     “I told you, it’s fine. It’s been a long day for the both of us.” He waved his hand, moving away from the wall he leaned against. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll just take a smoke outside.” He then turned his back on Dongsun and began his steps towards the elevator.

     The frustration made Dongsun clench his fists. Why wouldn’t Kibum give a chance to hear him out? How could he make him listen, then?

     Dongsun had always been someone who thought of his own actions like a game of chess. He was meticulous and careful at all times. But seeing Kibum walk away from him– when he was the person who tried to chase someone like Dongsun all this time, just threw all that sense and rationality out of the window.

     Biting his bottom lip, he went after Kibum and grabbed his arm tightly. And as soon as Kibum turned his face around, Dongsun pulled him in for a kiss.

     Dongsun didn’t even bother to spare a glance for the other’s reaction, only trying to pull back when most of the tension somehow escaped from Kibum. And unsurprisingly, Dongsun didn’t realize what he had done until he felt Kibum’s arms wrap around him to return the kiss with such gentleness that the younger male couldn’t comprehend was even possible.

     His heart pounded like a drum that he swore he could hear them loudly in his ears. Everything about it actually felt… nice. It could be from relief or exhaustion– But he might as well let himself bask in the memories to remind him that these were indeed the kisses they used to share so long ago.

     And for once, Dongsun didn’t push him away. He just gently pulled away from the contact for fear that he might get swept away again.

     “Why?” Kibum asked, his voice sounding confused yet elated at the same time.

     “I…” Dongsun could feel his face burn with heat the more he looked back on his own actions just now. God, he felt like he was about to die from sheer embarrassment alone. “I kissed you because I didn’t know what else to do.”

     “Well, whatever your intention was. It worked.” Finally, he listened. But then, Dongsun was met with such a breathtaking smile that he had to look away.

     No, he convinced himself. This isn’t love. This isn’t love. This isn’t love. But no matter the intense denial, his racing heart told him otherwise. Worst part of it all was that he knew right from the start. // @multiplythatbyinfinity

[marshmallow-phd]

The Experiments

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, Experiment AU

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Exo (????)

Summary: You were a med school graduate who just wanted to help research cures for the world. Instead, what you got was a dream job at EXO Applied Sciences. That is, until you discover the secrets of Level Sixty-Six and the nine inhabitants that are stored down there��.

Warning: none

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I 18 I 19 I 20 I 21 I 22 I 23 I Final

Heeding Luhan’s advice, you implemented an arm’s length away rule with the boys. You just didn’t tell them about it.

Often you would sidestep or inch away while trying not to be noticeable. Unfortunately, you were about as subtle as the town crier. Furrowed eyebrows and confused looks were thrown your way at your actions, but you left them unanswered.

It’d been about four days since your new guest’s arrival. Sehun practically refused to leave Luhan’s side, asking all kinds of questions about the outside world and what it would be like for all of them to live among normal people. Unfortunately, Luhan didn’t have too many answers as he volunteered to stay at the rehabilitation center and help others transition. He often ventured out for small errands or to get fresh air, but he didn’t know what exactly an “ordinary life” consisted of.

To your own dissatisfaction, Luhan didn’t have anymore information on who was ordering and paying for the experimentation of super soldiers than Marcus did. Whoever was in charge of discovering that information was not passing it on to everyone else involved.

It was frustrating. Your life revolved around getting answers. That’s what research was all about: getting answers. But here you were, no real data, no possible hypothesis, no results. You didn’t know where to start.

“Hey, (y/n)?”

Sighing, you lowered your book to find Baekhyun standing at your feet on the other end of the couch in nothing but a towel.

You nearly fell off of your seat. “Holy crap, Baekhyun! What are you doing?”

He pouted. “I was going to take a shower, but there’s no hot water.”

Closing your book after dog-earing the page, you shifted up to a sitting position. “I’m sure it just needs to replenish from the previous shower if you give it some time.”

Shaking his head, Baekhyun held onto the top of his only covering. “I asked around. No one else has taken a shower yet today. I let it run a bit to warm up, but, no matter the setting, it still comes out icy.”

Great. You weren’t exactly handy with home appliances. Back at your apartment, you were on a first name basis with the maintenance man.

“Um,” you scratched the back your head anxiously. “Okay, I’ll go take a look at it.” Maybe if you stared at it long enough it’ll fix itself. What a miracle that would be.

“I’ll help you.”

Chanyeol stepped into the living room, volunteering his time. You hadn’t been alone with him since your almost kiss. It made you nervous. But you couldn’t come up with a valid reason to reject his offer.

“Okay,” you sighed. Standing up, you headed to the stairs to the basement. Chanyeol was close behind, his footsteps heavy against the wooden floor.

You found the water heater easily tucked into the far right corner, kneeled down, and opened up the panel. Everything seemed fine; no wires were obviously loose, nothing appeared to be out of place or non-functioning. You were dumbfounded as to what could be the issue.

Turning to Chanyeol, you huffed. “Any idea?”

He pursed his lips and reached into the open area, moving things around to get a better look.

“Careful,” you cautioned him. He just gave you a look that said “puh-lease”. Blowing air through your pursed lips, you mumbled, “You’re not superman, you know.”

He scoffed. “Please, I’m more like Deadpool.”

“You’re not that funny,” you deadpanned.

A pout formed on his lips, getting a laugh out of you.

He chuckled as well, before shaking his head. “Nothing looks out of place. Granted, I haven’t exactly seen one of these before.”

Running a hand through your hair, you fell back onto your butt, completely giving up. “I think a cold shower would do Baekhyun some good.”

“You have no idea,” Chanyeol snorted, joining you in your new position. His hand was a mere centimeter from yours and you were hyper aware of his body heat so close to yours. The proximity was awkward only to you. Chanyeol seemed to be basking in it.

Turning serious, Chanyeol looked at you. “Do you think that we’ll be here much longer?”

You shrugged. “I have no idea. Luhan is still waiting on the all clear. EXO will be looking for all of us relentlessly. You all are too valuable to them. They’ve put a lot of money and resources into the experiments performed on you guys. I’m just glad that we got you out of there before-”

You stopped, cursing yourself.

“Before they what?”

Shaking your head, you looked away, chewing on your bottom lip.

Chanyeol scooted closer to you, he cupped your jaw and gently forced you to look at him.

“What were they going to do to us?”

Swallowing, you felt water build up in your eyes. The idea of what they were trying to do still made your heart tighten. It was the most inhumane thing you could think of out of all the humiliating things they put the boys through. Should they know what was in store for them? Should you tell him the truth?

Chanyeol’s voice dropped several octaves as he asked, “(y/n), what were they going to do to us?”

You wiped away the tears before they could fall. “The last tests they were running, the last trial phase… was mind control. They were trying to find away to be able to control all of you. I don’t think they got very far in the process.” Trying to even out your breathing, you lied down on your back.

Shifting his weight, Chanyeol hovered over you, a hand resting on either side of your head.

“Thank you,” he whispered, minimising the space between the two of you. “Freedom of the mind was the only thing we had left. Thank you for helping us keep.”

“I couldn’t…,” you paused. “It was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.” You laughed. “I’m the worst therapist.”

Chanyeol frowned. “How so?”

Shrugging, you folded your hands on your stomach, ignoring the lack of room between the two of you. “Real therapists aren’t supposed to get emotionally involved with their patients. I got way too attached to you guys.”

“Maybe you were meant to be?”

Funny. Junmyeon said something very similar. His face filled your mine and you suddenly felt very guilty about the position you were in, though there wasn’t a real reason to be.

“Or maybe life just doesn’t want to give me a break-” You stopped. Break? Shooting up to a sitting position, you shoved Chanyeol away. “Breaker!”

You jumped up, feeling like an idiot. Wasn't the breaker the first thing your maintenance man always checked before moving on down the list of possibilities?

Chanyeol was left confused on the floor while you ran over to the breaker, throwing the panel open.

“Ah-ha!” There it was. The switch labeled “water heater” had somehow been flipped. You pushed it back into the on position A satisfying hum started in the background. You smirked down at the giant. “I think I just fixed it.”

He laughed, getting up onto his feet. “I think you did.”

“Let’s go tell the brat the good news.”

Before you could make it up a few steps, Chanyeol grabbed your wrist, holding you in place. The look in his eyes said it all.

“(y/n)-”

“Chanyeol,” you sighed, stopping him. “I think, for now, we need to focus on getting to safety. Maybe,” you chewed on the inside of your cheek, definitely feeling guilty now as you lied to him, “maybe we can revisit this in the future. Okay?”

Your response disappointed him, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” Released from his grip, you went up the stairs the rest of the way.

Baekhyun was still sitting on the couch in just a towel, waiting for you.

“You couldn’t at least put on pants in the meantime?” you complained, crossing your arms over your chest.

Baekhyun stood up, laughing. “Too lazy. Did you fix it?”

“I think so,” you replied. “Something tripped the breaker, but I flipped it back so I’d give it a few minutes and then try running the water again.”

He tilted his head to the side. “I don’t understand about half of what you just said, but okay!”

Running out of the living room, he held onto his towel as he bolted up the stairs before anyone else could jumped into the bathroom.

“(y/n)?”

Luhan stepped into the living room, cell phone in hand. Sensing the need for privacy, Chanyeol ducked out of the room. Luhan sent you a knowing look.

“Don’t,” you warned. “Just don’t.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Holding the phone out to you, the screen showed a text message made up of a single word: Tuesday.

“What does that mean?” you asked. “Tuesday? What’s happening on Tuesday?”

“That’s when we move out,” he explained.

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious? We’re finally getting out?”

Luhan grinned. “Yes, we are. The all clear’s been given.”

Doubt started setting in. You knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as it seemed it would be. “Why? Why now?”

The empath just lifted his shoulders and then let them fall. “Your guess is as good as mine. The only thing I can think of is that EXO is looking somewhere else in the country and not looking around the area.”

“Is the headquarters far?” To try and keep your mind off of any bad scenario that could happen, you started picking at a string on your shorts.

“A good distance, but we should make it in less than a day.”

“Good.”

Finishing up the conversation with a promise to get the guys together soon to let them know, you left Luhan and went up to your room. The sound of water hitting tile told you Baekhyun was still in the shower. All the bedroom doors were closed, but you didn’t know where the rest of the group was at.

Shutting the door behind you, you crossed your room to your bed, sitting down on the freshly cleaned comforter. You placed your head in your hands, trying to think of the best way to get everyone out of here safe. The SUV had plenty of gas thanks to the canisters stored in the trunk. The only problem was that you still didn’t know where the headquarters was located.

A soft knock came from your door.

“Come in,” you called out just as softly.

Junmyeon appeared after the door cracked open. He shut it behind him with a quiet click.

“Luhan told me,” he whispered.

You stood up, meeting him halfway. “That’s good. I think everyone will be happy to be out of here. One step closer to true freedom.”

He nodded, not looking at you and hands in his pockets. “What happens once we get there?”

You pulled your eyebrows together, not understanding. “You guys will go through some sessions to teach you about the outside world. You’ll get a fresh identity. You’ll be able to live the life you should have always had.”

Junmyeon shook his head. Removing his hands from his jeans, the fingers of his right hand found yours and held them in his grip. “No, I know that already. I meant,” he let out a hefty sigh. “I meant what happens to you?”

You were shocked. “Me? Well, I’ll get a new identity, too.”

This time he nodded. “And then?”

“And then,” you continued, “Marcus had said that I’d be allowed to stay with you guys. Watch over you. I guess we could all stay close together. Lord knows everyone will need constant help. I can already see Jongdae struggling to use a phone.”

That got a chuckle out of Junmyeon, whose gaze was still locked onto your joined hands. The joyful sound died out and a look of deep thinking took over his features.

“What is it?” you pried.

“Do you think-” he stopped. “Never mind.”

“What is it?” you urged, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

He let go of your hand, bringing his now empty fingers up to your face and cupping your jaw. “Do you think that maybe… you could see yourself… with me? In your future?”

“With you?” you echoed. Your mind was fogging up, slowing down and unable to create coherent thoughts. This was the kind of situation you were trying to avoid. For now, at least. But with him being so open and vulnerable in front of you, so honest, you could help but let it continue on.

Junmyeon nodded. “Yes. I just-” he swallowed. “Ever since you walked into my cell, you’ve given me hope. You are my hope. You make me feel human, fully human. I just want to stay with you, hold you and keep you safe. Do you… feel the same way?”

Your heart was pounding at a thousand miles an hour, bruising your sternum. If you lied to him now or pushed him away, you feared you might lose him for good. There was no denying the electricity you felt with his skin against yours. He calmed you down, made you feel worth something again. From the moment he told you his name in that accursed room, you were a goner.  

“Junmyeon….” You brought your hand up and covered his. “I want that. I want to stay with you.”

A smile grew on his face, big enough to crinkle his eyes and nose. The look was so opposite of the hostile one he’d given you when you first met that you couldn’t help but laugh. He brought up his other hand, trapping your face in his grip. Inch by inch he closed the gap that kept you separated and you closed your eyes.

[merciful--valkyrie-blog]

Arthur and S/O first kiss.

This is S/O and Arthur Morgan sharing their first kiss. Headcanons as well as a bit of scenery set up to really help deliver it home. So almost fanficcy? Fan-fictiony? Yeah. Those.

Arthur shouldn’t as a whole be as terrified as he is. But he is. The O’Driscolls have caused enough tension for him, that his mind isn’t able to escape the person at camp. The person he finds himself thinking about when he rides through the lazily sloping pastures, and endless meadows in New Haven. Or how his thoughts travel to them when he is in the mountains above the valley. Trying as he may, and struggling to keep warm with the snow thick around him. He thinks of them, and he knows how precious, how fragile life is. How simple it is to slip through his fingers, and so. He acts.

-Arthur is a man of literal word. His deep thoughts and actions comes when he is often alone, and or in the company of few. He’s learned from an early age, and even with those that he’s around that expressing obvious vulnerability is dangerous. He’s thought about what he should have done long ago. He’s thought about how stupid he was for not acting on instinct that has been roaring at his senses. How stupid he was for letting the possible chance to not act on urge, passion, and that sense of vulnerability to stop him.

-It’s when Arthur has returned to the camp. It’s a mild autumn evening. The sky is clear, and the stars are brilliant! Being the one only real audience that Arthur wants to witness him allowing that moment of such vulnerable exposure! But it’s a perfect night with the air being still, the grass hardly damp enough to cause any crispness that surely would be there in the morning. The camp itself is full of life. Each tent, to small area of clustered tables has lanterns, candles, and even a fire near to the central heart of the camp burning. It allows the heady smell of smoke to linger through the ground. Around the trees, and to linger past the earth musk of the horses and hay bales.

-Arthur at first doesn’t approach them. He saw them through the trees dancing, laughing, and even daring to sing along side those he had come to call his family. They blended so effortless together with those around! Their faces warm, and cheeks red from the moment of bliss, and merriment. He is slow to approach the camp. He doesn’t make it known he’s come back till he’s allowed his horse to be watered, and to stand ready at the post.

-S/o has been busy in the camp. They stayed to help with chores that had been neglected with the men being gone hunting, and or readying the next dangerous heist! After All, it’s not like Miss. Grimshaw will surely be chopping wood, or bucking hay. But the day has led to the night, and it’s beautiful time to laugh. Everyone being so tense, s/o is part of them. Dancing, and laughing. They stop when they feel the familiar presence behind them, and turn to see Arthur. He’s not one to dance, but usually is there. Standing somewhere among the shadows, either on his own or beside Dutch. As if he were a silent sentinel. A watchful guardian to those around.

-Conversation is light, welcoming back those that had been gone. That’s when it’s obvious something is on Arthur’s mind. His stormy eyes usually are calm, but they are turblunant as the frothy sea during a hurricane. That’s when he asks for s/o to come with him.

-People do stop, not all at once, but here and there curiously tilting their head and asking if everything is okay. The reply they get back is from Arthur, a grumbling polite way of saying, “Mind your business.” They do just that, figuring that whatever Arthur is leading s/o for, that they don’t need to meddle. He is a grown man, he can make his decisions.

-S/O’s horse saddled, and Arthur mounting his own horse; they ride away. Down through the slow descent from camp, ducking the trees that wish to snatch them free from their horses! Arthur is silent for majority of the ride. Unsure, S/O attempts to engage in conversation with him, but he just grunts. The brute of a man’s strange silence bleeds into the S/O, causing their own anticipation to mount high. Had they done something wrong? Was Dutch displeased with something they did, and now they were going to pay for the consequences that were seen fit? Surely not! It seemed that Arthur and S/O had been on a budding relationship. Their jokes, moments of laughter, and conversation brought them closer together. Almost as if they were near to being more than just comrades, more than just friends… so why the bristled silence and grunted answers?

-Arthur does not stop till he can’t see the camp’s glowing fires. Till all that remains is a dark smudged line where the trees stand around the camp itself, and only the smoke being the indicator of where the rest are. It’s then that he finally stops his horse, as well as S/O. It truly is a beautiful night. The stars are endless through the dark blanket! Glittering distant white lights, winking, and flashing through the sky. The grass almost seeming far more supple beneath their weight of the boots. The horses themselves are calm, and ignore them to eat at the green vegetation around them. Past them it’s perfect view of mountains past New Haven. The sloping earth leads the eye gently along the horizon and back. Calm, and scenery.

-S/O tries again to ask Arthur what’s bothering him, and why he took them from the camp to where they stopped. He fumbles for a real answer. Pacing back and forth rubbing the back of his neck out of such anxiety! Fuck, shooting a feller was easier than this!

- But he finally stops and looks to the S/O. Though, he’s close to them. So close they can smell the earth, the smoke, the slightest tinge of blood from his clothing. Even the musky cologne to the pomade he puts in his hair… despite the hat being on his head. They look upward to him, brows creased, their mouth opening and closing. They can’t ask further as to what is happening, because they Cowboy hasn’t even answered them!

-Arthur tells them. He explains his anxiety that has been gripping at him. Why the past couple of days he’s been distant, cold, almost callused to them. That they have been a light in troubled times for him, and he enjoys their company. But, that this also makes him fearful. He doesn’t want someone to exploit what he has with S/O. He doesn’t want for them to be put into unnecessary danger, all because of him! He explains Elizabeth, that she was a waitress that he had been with shortly. But that she became pregnant, and he did have a son. That he did make an effort to go and see them, of course when he could. But, they had been killed. When he had returned, it was to find two crosses and two freshly dug graves instead. From there, he closed off his heart. He made it to where if he were to care for someone, they’d be put at a distance. He wouldn’t subject them to such a fate, again.

-A little confused. S/O Inquires what this has to do with them. Why they couldn’t tell them at the camp. Arthur though, Arthur is a man of action. He had kicked himself for long enough for not acting on instinct. He didn’t know how to put quite to words what it was he was feeling. Or how S/O both exhilarated him, and left him wanting to live! As well as terrified him. Terrified him for a heart that shouldn’t have burned like it had. Terrified him to a heart that he was sure had fallen quiet. Yet, they had awoken it from the grave he thought he buried it in.

-Something like this? He doesn’t rush them. He won’t startle S/O. For all he knows, they could become a flightful wild horse, and run far from him! Mindful and careful. He does chuckle, and it’s low in his chest, with the slightest of smiles around his stubble lined lips. His actions follow first with his calloused palms gently brushing over their cheeks. He soaks in the redness that burns quickly to their face, the way their skin flushes hot even beneath his own hands! He wonders how he can even dare to put his hands against them without tarnishing, and ruining them. He watches them for a moment. His eyes wandering their face, counting their lashes, counting their freckles, and watching the way that their lips part in the slightest. As if to gasp, or ask a question.

-He’s been stupid. For not approaching them sooner. To allow this fear to settle in his gut and rule his actions. But he won’t be a coward anymore! He kisses them. For such a man that has crawled through blood, and worse, and killed many a man… he’s gentle. His palm rests to S/O’s cheeks. Fingers curled to their hair, and brushing past their earlobes. HE holds their head gently in his hands, and his chapped lips are to theirs. He waits for a baited breath for them to push him away, disgusted, and giving him reason to believe he was right to be a coward. But they don’t!

-It is both absolutely mind numbingly terrifying, and the most alive he has felt in so long. They are returning the kiss, they are validating his feelings, they are not rejecting him, they are allowing him to be vulnerable without exploiting that for benefit. From their jaw, his hands fall slowly along their neck. Still gentle, still careful and cautious. HE doesn’t want to harm them; in his mind he is the worth of burlap, and they are precious silk from faraway lands. He feels their heart pulsing beneath his fingers that pass over their neck, where the skin is thin against the blood rushing beneath. He settles with one hand at their shoulders, fingers spread wide to pull them close, and his other hand at their lower back. Still, they don’t run, but much to his surprise their hands are around his broad shoulders.

-Feels like both are going to run out of breath, despite their quick breaths they take through noses. It’s a poetic moment. The battered cowboy finally succumbing to what he should have done, and being rewarded for it. The kiss tastes of whiskey, of blood, of earth, of fear, of passion. It burns. It consumes. But it still is gentle despite the tangle of tongues, the tightening embrace of the other. How they cling to the other, as if surely they’d float away.

-In the end, Arthur is the one that slowly breaks the kiss. His own wind chapped cheeks flushed, his eyes darkened, and somehow his hat has been knocked free, and lies on the ground at their feet. He’s still in misbelief. He’s still astounded he kissed them, let alone that they kissed him! But his heart is quiet, so is his foolish mind.

[lxveille]

accept no substitutes

hoshi x reader

word count: ~ 6400 warnings: alcohol use & drinking games a/n: romance/fluff; pg-13?; honestly a silly idea that got a bit out of hand

You meet Soonyoung at a coffee shop when you are both stood up by your respective dates. You both may be a bit luckless in love, but at least you can save each other from having to be entirely alone.

The nervous, persistent tapping of your foot is making the table you’re sitting at shake ever so slightly. You can see it in the way the foam on top your latte shakes and threatens to spill over the side of the homey looking red mug you’d been given when you said your order was to stay. You’ve barely had three sips of it over the past fifteen minutes you’ve been sitting in this quaint coffeehouse.

You unlock your phone. It’s still open to your messages with Youngjae. You don’t know his family name. Or, you start supposing at this point, if that even is his real name. You matched this him on Tinder about a week ago. After a few days of decent conversation on the app, the two of you exchanged phone numbers and started arranging for a time to meet up in person.

‘Yeah see you soon’ is still the last message you received from him. With one finger, you try to scroll further down in the text thread, as if there must be something you missed. As if you could will another text from him into existence. Alas, you're left with the same message that was received roughly thirty-five minutes ago. 

A sigh deflates your lungs as you tap back to your home screen, deciding it best not to torture yourself by leaving it open to what's starting to feel rather like a last-minute rejection. Your gaze shifts from cell phone to latte and then to the window you're sitting beside. Through the letter of the coffee shop's name on the glass, you watch pedestrians go by on the sidewalk. All you need is for one, vaguely familiar face to show up and push open the door. Or -- if the world has to be just a bit cruel -- for you to recognize him staring through the glass just before he turns and decides not to meet you. That way, you'd have the chance to chase him down and ask just why you're not worth having a single sit down with.

Life probably isn't fair enough to offer you that opportunity. At least not in person. Frantically texting him is an option. But you have friends who have shown series of text bubbles and asked you to confirm how unreasonably angry or crazy or clingy the person who sent them sounded. Texting feels like it will just validate his choice to ditch you.

It’s with another sweeping look around the coffeehouse's interior that you notice a guy -- perhaps around your age -- standing around near the front door. He’s holding his phone in both hands like he’s clutching something far rarer than a smartphone and his head is bent forward slightly. If he were on a street corner, you would guess he lost and looking desperately for directions from some app.

The bells over the door chime to announce another arrival, and you recognize the look on the guy’s face when he turns his head expectantly at the entering stranger. It looks rather like the way you felt during the first ten minutes here. It only takes a second for him to look back down at his screen, brow furrowed. The older woman who’d just come in asks him something, pointing towards the cash register. He waves her along into the short line of patrons waiting to order.

This is when you decide he must be waiting for someone, too.

Over the next seven minutes, your attention keeps dragging back to him. Intentionally or otherwise, you check in on whether or not he’s still just standing there. It seems he’s more patient than you are. You’d only been able to stand four minutes of standing awkwardly by the entrance without ordering anything.

It takes you by surprise when you look over and find yourself making eye contact with him. He must have been scanning the smattering of people in a manner much like you were. Some god of timing must be having a good laugh as the two of you race to look away first.

A thought crosses your mind. An absurd one that you shouldn't humor at all. A sip of lukewarm espresso and milk has you thinking you might as well at this point. What, after all, do you have to lose? It already feels like everyone in this cafe must have caught on to the fact that you've been stood up. What's embarrassing yourself fully to one more stranger going to do?

This is the bitter thought that sets your feet into action, a half-full mug is still left on the table to stake your claim. At the last minute, there's a temptation to duck out the door instead. Somehow, you manage to push it aside and come to a stop in front of the stranger you'd been watching.

"You're not called Youngjae, are you?"

He looks up from his phone, clearly surprised to find anyone talking to him. Let alone the same person he'd just accidentally locked eyes with only a handful of minutes ago. "No, not at all," he answers.

You nod with a smile you hope is doing a good enough job of masking how much you want to cringe. "Okay. That's fine. This would... definitely be a catfish case if you were." Being aware that you're saying too much, evidently, does very little to actually keep you from doing so.

A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows as he gives you an uncertain smile. It's fairly obvious he has no idea how to take that. Fiddling with your phone in your hands, you wonder if it has come across as an insult. 

"Not that you're, um..." It's too late to back out now that you've started trying to clarify the meaning. Still, it only takes a few words for you to realize there are few ways to go about this without either implying this stranger is unattractive or sounding like you're hitting on him. "Like, you look fine. Just different from what I was expecting." Your attempt at a middle ground feels like it's painting you as a lunatic. "Which is fine! Because you're not who I was waiting for anyway."

"Ah... You're being stood up too?" he guesses.

You stammer over an attempt at an excuse. You were the one who started this and essentially outed your situation in the first place, but there’s more of a sting to actually admitting it directly. Hence why you hadn’t texted any of your friends about your unfortunate situation either.

He laughs, and where you anticipate feeling ridicule, you find instead a kind of reassurance. “First time?”

“Being stood up?” He nods at your question. "Well... yeah?" You lie, because admitting this is actually the second time it has happened to you in a month would be a new low. The guy holds up three fingers in reply. "What? This is your third time getting stood up?"

"With this girl, yeah," he admits, hand moving to rub at the back of his next.

"Seriously? The same girl?" That takes more dedication than you'd even put into some of your previous relationships. "Why do you keep trying to meet up with her then?"

He shrugs. "We have really good texts. I think she might be, like, socially anxious or something? She's never done the whole tinder-meet-up thing."

You nod, and it strikes you that this is not the typical kind of conversation one has with a stranger. You glance back to the table you'd left and see your latte still waiting to be drunk. "Am I gonna sound crazy if I ask if you wanna join me?"

"Not crazier than when you asked if my name was whatever it was you said."

You half grimace and try to sound apologetic as you say, "What is your name anyway?"

"Soonyoung," he answers.

He doesn't order anything for himself before he sits down in the chair opposite your own. Soonyoung might still have his hopes up that his flighty girl will decide to show up this time if he just holds out a bit longer. But there must be a silent understanding that you won't talk about your failed dates now that you've sat down together, because neither one of your brings it up.

Instead, you go about that usual introductory questions you'd send to new matches on Tinder.  Except it's an in-person conversation with someone you hadn't even intended to meet.

Is this how people met before apps?

Either way, you find him easy to talk to. There’s laughter the very first time he says something humourous. And the reaction brings a light to his face that hadn’t been there before. Your latte only goes down a couple more inches in its mug. It’s past being any pleasant drinking temperature, and your frankly too caught up in the conversation to really think of taking any sips.

His phone buzzes after about twenty minutes of conversation. You stop mid-explanation of how you met your roommate at a waterpark to ask, “Is that her?”

Soonyoung doesn’t answer at first, moving his phone up to eye level as he reads whatever message he's received.

You wait quietly as his finishes reading and then sets his device down wordlessly. He looks like he’s processing, given the way he blinks at the darkened screen. It would be less awkward if the two of you had known each other for longer than half an hour.

“Bad news?” you guess after what feels like two minutes of uncomfortable silence.

He tilts his head quickly to one side. It’s a gesture that’s not entirely a shake of his head or a shrug, but seems to convey some combination of the two. “She sent... a long apology.”

“For standing you up again?”

“For, uh -- I don’t even know how to put it.” Soonyoung picks up his phone. Moments later, he's offering it to you, the displaying showing the sequences of messages that had arrived not long ago.

"Are you sure you want me to read this?"

"Maybe it'll make more sense to you," he supposes, extended his arm a bit further your way.

As you read through apologetic messages explaining how she was only on dating apps to try to get over some guy she'd been hooking up with, a few other notifications dropped down at the top of the screen. Mostly texts and a few snapchat notifications presumably from friends. You did your best to ignore them as the words on the screen begin explaining how every time she tells this guy she's about to go on a date he ends up showing up and convincing her not to.

"So... It seems like you helped her finally get this guy to commit. Indirectly," you conclude as you pass the phone back to him. Soonyoung sighs and crumples forwards in his chair until his forehead is nearly on the table. You chew at the inside of your cheek, utterly lost as to what to say or do at this point. “Maybe next time you should just give up on it after the first missed date?”

“Is that what you’re gonna do with your guy?” He folds his arms on the table and rests his chin on top of one forearm, looking up at you inquisitively.

“Sure. I’ll delete his number right now.” It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that should make Soonyoung feel better, but you notice a slight upwards tilt in his lips. “You have to delete hers too, though.”

“She’s seriously pretty,” he laments. The pout he gives you is almost comical.

(How does he manage to make it feel like you’ve known each other longer than you have? You’ll ponder that later when you choose to leave him out of the story while recapping your failed date to your roommate at dinner.)

“And she’s clearly not emotionally available. Come on, Soonyoung,” you encourage, picking up your own phone. “We’ll... do it together.” It’s a hesitant proposition, mostly because the sensible part of you is stil in disbelief that you’re trying to rally a practical stranger into doing something reasonable in his love life.

“Okay,” he caves, pulling himself upright in his chair and grabbing his phone as well. “Is this an on three scenario?”

“I can be.”

“Alright. Then: one...”

“Wait!” you cut him off early, “I’m not there yet.” After a few seconds clicking through to Youngjae’s contact information before giving Soonyoung an ok sign. “This time for real.”

“One. Two. Three,” he counts up, and you hit the trash icon as he says the last number as promised. “Did you really delete it?”

“Yeah. You wanna check my contacts?” You’re willing to prove it.

“I believe you.” It makes you smile. Quiet comes back between the two of you, filled only by the background bustle of the coffee shop. There's a rumble of the industrial-grade grinder working its way through a batch of beans just as you notice Soonyoung tapping his fingertips almost nervously along the back of his phone case. You don't feel like you really know him well enough to ask, but you start to think you might be able to take a guess when he poses his next question. "Could I get your number as well?"

That’s not a question you know for sure how to interpret. Soonyoung is, regardless of easy smiles and relaxed chatting, still just a chance encounter who you only really met so you woudn’t have to spend your entire time in this coffee shop alone. You’d both gotten this far in your interaction with the understanding that there are other people you'd rather be with. It wasn't exactly a romantic -- or even really a very flirtatious -- premise.

"You're nice to talk to," he elaborates, "I might need you the next time I get stood up."

"Did you not actually delete her number?" The unintended tinge of a betrayal in your voice takes you off guard.

"No, no, I did!" Soonyoung swears, holding up a screen that shows a list of contacts for proof. "I'm just not exactly a stranger to dates going awry," he adds with an embarrassed smile and a nervous chuckle.

It seems like that kind of thing that should be a red flag. This thought is quickly overtaken by the one that says he'll probably never use your number even if you do say yes.

So you do.

You have some trouble putting Soonyoung out of your mind in the days that come. It seems to ridiculous a story to tell your friends, so you stick instead to drowning yourself in the profiles of unknown men on your phone.

You get a little drunk on Friday night and swipe right on just about every profile that pops up. The banner at the top of the screen keeps dropping down with new match and new message notifications. You don’t bother looking at any of them as you continue on this impulsive swipes left and right.

Normally there’s a bit of detective work that goes into each decision. First of all, every choice of photo says something about the individual, outside of whether or not you find him attractive. For example, a shirtless selfie is an automatic dislike. No one who posts a shirtless selfie is ever a good match, you assume. The next stage of judgment is the self-description. A combination of witty without sounding too pretentious or ingenuine is the ideal. Though you'll often settle for less. Eggplant, waterdrop, and tongue emojis are also part of the instant reject criteria.

Tonight, all that methodology is thrown aside. You barely look at more than just the first picture before deciding on which way to drag the stranger on your screen. Blame it on the fourth vodka-cranberry sitting within reach on the counter beside you.

“Are you trying to hook up tonight?” Sejeon asks from over your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed her come in and perch herself at your side.

“Not really.” You raise your shoulders in an apathetic shrug as the blue notification fades onto the screen to congratulate you on a new match.

“Well, you’re sure swiping an awful lot for someone who isn’t,” she points out, ‘You know, Sojin and Bora invited some guys over. In case you feel like meeting someone in person for a change.”

“I've only met up with, like, a handful of people from Tinder. Usually it doesn’t go anywhere. Besides, the last time I was stood up was some blind date Sojin tried to set me up on.”

“So you’re getting revenge by being antisocial at their housewarming party?”

“They moved in months ago,” you remind, “It’s not my fault they were too busy to celebrate getting a new place at first.”

“Wait -- weren’t you stood up by some app-guy just this week? That wasn’t Sojin’s fault.”

You roll your head back with a groan. “Okay. The last-last time I was stood up.”

“Sorry. Touchy subject, I guess,” Sejeon apologizes, wrapping an arm loosely around your shoulders and leaning her weight into you a bit heavily. Probably a tell that she was at least a little tipsy. “But all the more reason you should be having fun with us instead of pouting over dating profiles! Come on, Bora’s talking Haebin into playing cheers to the governor.”

Logic says everyone’s probably well enough into liquor that starting a drinking game at this point might be unwise. But you’re still young enough to willingly make such mistakes. “Alright, I’ll be out in a minute,” you promise.

“Turn off notifications from Tinder while you’re at it!” Sejeon orders as she slips back into the living room. Once she’s gone, you lean back into the kitchen counter and continue swiping. Right. Left. Right. Right. Right. Left. Soonyoung. Less than a mile away.

That brings you to a pause. Suddenly, you're faced directly with a question you'd been avoiding inside your head for the past several days. You look through his choice of photos curiously.

His default is a simple snapshot of him smiling in what looks like a park. Probably taken by some friend. Then there's a full-body shot of him laying on a couch in what looks to be mid-laugh; from the tilted lampshade in the corner of the shot, you can only imagine it was taken at a house party not unlike the one you're supposed to be attending right now. The next is a selfie taken in the backseat of a car. He's grinning into the camera with two of his friends. You assume you wouldn't recognize the guys on either side of him, but you're having difficulty looking at anyone but him in the shot. You feel your lips pull into a soft smile.

Quickly, you swipe left and tuck your phone into the back pocket of your jeans.

The lot of you are well into your first round of cheers to the governor when there’s knocking at the front door. “Oh! I’ll get it!” Sojin stumbles up from her cross-legged position in the circle on her living room floor. “No fair if you keep playing without me!”

“We’re not gonna get to twenty-one before you answer the door!” Bora argues before ushering the guys next to her in the circle to carry on with the game.

When Sojin comes back into the room, it’s with a handful of people you don’t recognize. You take a drink out of your cup even without the game’s prompting as they wave in greeting.

“We’re gonna have to start over if they’re gonna join in,” Haebin points out as the lot of them come back into the living room from getting their drinks sorted out in the kitchen.

It throws you off when one of the newcomers sits down in an empty spot on the floor next to you.

“Hey,” you greet with a small nod.

“Hey, I’m Taehyung,” he tells you with a relaxed grin. He looks like the kind of guy you’d swipe right on. But that’s without knowing if he’s the type to take a shirtless selfie.

“You showed up late,” you say, not bothering to listen as Sejeon recaps the rules of the game for the new players.

“Yeah. We got caught up in our own pregaming, to be honest.” His words are followed by a laugh that rich, and warm. It’s a nice sound.

Taehyung makes the new round of the game much more difficult to follow. The two of you keep getting caught up in chatting with each other instead of keeping track of the counting sequence as it made its way around the group. You’re not even sure cheers to the governor has been shouted any more than four times before you’re beginning to feel the vodka has taken you over the edge.

“Okay -- um, I’m out,” you excuse yourself after you take another forfeit drink as you mess up the rule set in place for twelve. There are a few protests around the circle at your announcement, which you ignore with ease. Getting up from your seated position on the floor, however, does not happen so easily.

You stumble your way to the bathroom and lean heavily into the sink. With eyes closed, you take a few deep breaths and chant inside your head that you will not throw up. You’ve always felt there’s a kind of voodoo to being drunk. If you let yourself surrender to the fact that you’ve had too much, you’re doomed to get sick. Hence the mantra insisting otherwise.

Mindful of your makeup, you carefully splash a bit of cold water on your face and pat it dry with a handful of bunched up toilet paper. You do your best to wipe the wet spots of mascara from under your eyes, but your vision is blurry at the edges in such a way that it’s hard to tell if you’ve actually improved anything by the end.

Through the bathroom door, you hear the ongoing party erupts with laughter and shouts at something you’ll never be privy to. Without fully admitting to yourself why, you pull out your phone and begin scrolling through your contacts. You lean against the wall opposite the sink as you stare at the empty conversation log for you and Soonyoung.

'saww you on tinder tnigt' you slowly type out, trying your best to put together a comprehensive message. After hitting send, you find yourself immediately pressing your phone into your forehead in regret.

When you open the door, you stop short at the sight of Taehyung. “Sorry -- you’re waiting...?” You try to get out of his way, but he simply offers a steadying hand to your swaying shoulders.

“I wanted to check you were okay. You looked -- well, look -- pretty messed up,” he says. If you were still in university, that expression of basic human compassion would have you throwing your arms around him to make out in a minute.

It turns out sloppy-drunk-you is not much better than the collegiate version of yourself. Taehyung is startled by your sudden advance, but he’s soft and tastes like apple juice and bourbon.

He cuts the kiss off early, murmuring about how you’re too far gone for him to do this. You’re about to protest that you’re not that drunk when Bora comes into the hall to ask if everything is okay. “I think she’s maybe had too much?” Taehyung replies.

You feel like an idiot the whole way home, but you’re grateful for Bora’s higher tolerance and refusal to let you make the trip alone.

“Don’t worry, Tae asked if he could get your number from Sojin,” she reports as she sets you up in bed with a tall glass of water and a few ibuprofen on your nightstand.

In the morning, you wake up to three unread messages. One is from an unknown number, with the text just reading that it’s Taehyung, and that he hopes you got home okay.

The other two were from Soonyoung. ‘Really? cool!!!!’ he’d replied only a few minutes after your message was sent. Fifteen minutes later, he’d sent, ‘Found you too!!! you didn’t match me D:’

He must have started swiping through profiles looking for yours at your text. And he must have swiped right.

Despite the horrible pounding in your head, you find yourself biting on the tip of your thumb as you grin up at that message.

It’s Wednesday evening when Soonyoung texts you that he thinks he’s being stood up again.

‘Already?‘ You send back, mostly impressed by how quickly he set up another meeting.

A reply from Taehyung in your ongoing conversation pops up at the top of your screen. You don’t open it, watching instead as the tell-tale ellipses show up to signal that Soonyoung is replying.

‘She superliked me on friday!’

You wonder if he saw her profile before or after swiping right on yours. ‘how long have you been waiting?’ 

‘Ten minutes’

It sounds about right to you. That's about how long it takes to begin feeling like it's hopeless. You lean most your weight on the arm of your couch and glance up at the laptop on the coffee table in front of you. It seems impossible that you've missed more than a scene or two while texting Soonyoung, but you still feel utterly lost.

Your lips press into each other tightly as you contemplate typing out a message to ask where he is. To come up with some excuse to see him in person as means of saving him from being stood up again.

‘if she superliked you i’m sure she’ll show up,’  you send instead.

Ten minutes go by without a response. As if you didn't already know, the knot that forms in your gut reminds you that's about as long as it takes to make things start to look bleak.

You try to leave your phone forgotten on a throw pillow and go back yourself dinner. You only get as far as setting water on the stove to boil before you're pacing back into the small living/dining area of your apartment to grab it again.

Switching from one thread to another, you text Taehyung a simple question. Utterly unrelated to the small talk you'd been making, but of the utmost importance: 'do you wanna go out sometime?'

Plans are arranged for Saturday night not long after. You eat dinner, satisfied that you’re not stagnant and getting more and more lax with your response time to Taehyung as the night progresses. You tell him goodnight a few minutes before you even begin your bedtime routine.

The time spent washing your face and brushing your teeth feels like the longest you've gone without checking your phone since you got home from work today. With a quick goodnight called to your roommate, you retreat into your bedroom for the night. Your phone is waiting on top of your blankets, and your intent is just to set your alarm for tomorrow.

But there’s a new text from Soonyoung waiting for you when you unlock your screen.

You consider leaving it unread until morning. You’re not strong willed enough to follow through.

‘She showed up!! but it was kind of a disaster ahahaha’ It’s followed by several nervous looking emojis.

Your pillow dips with your head’s weight as you lay down on your side. ‘here i thought getting stood up was the worst option. what happened?’

‘Mostly just not a great conversation’ A few seconds pass before a second message swooshes in to add, ‘a lot of awkward silences. Barely could figure out how to say bye!’

‘at least she showed up,’  you text to console. You can’t imagine awkward silences with Soonyoung. Infatuation has made it difficult to remember if there’d been any when the two of you met.

'Yeah you're right,' he replies.

Is it odd that he's texting you this all, and not some closer friend about this? Or -- friend at all? You're still not sure what exactly you would call each other.

‘so you’re on your way home now?’  You don’t bother coming up with some excuse to yourself for why you’re trying to carry on the conversation.

But the small prompt succeeds. It’s nearly two a.m. when you both decide it’s time about time to stop swapping stories of failed romances and unmatch-worthy dating app conversations.

Come Saturday, you feel downright guilty for the fact that you’re getting dolled up for a date with Taehyung. A poorly thought out text to Bora had admitted that you’re not sure if you even want to go. She’s been texting you persistently ever since, trying to get at the root of your doubts. Her best guess so far had been that you were still embarrassed about drunkenly throwing yourself at him.

She must have panicked at your slow responses, because now you have Sojin sending you messages as well.  Her texts aren’t as gentle, arguing instead that if you hated that your last two dates were no-shows, you ought to keep in mind the way you felt before backing out on Taehyung.

‘I’m going, don’t worry,’ you send to both of them before throwing your phone into your purse and heading out the door.

On the bus downtown, you send a different message to Soonyoung, ‘I think i’m in a stand up situation again...’

‘What? Hooooow?!’  His choice in the second interrogative prompts you to start overthinking. Is it a 'how' because he can't picture doing a think like that to you?

'i'm the bad guy this time though.’ You tell him honestly. Soonyoung's next message is just a string of question marks. 'i have a date but i'm not that excited for it' is all the explanation you have to offer.

'Maybe this guy will surprise you'

You're a hard sell on that one. It would have to be a pretty monumental surprise for Taehyung to convince you that you wouldn’t rather just stay home and text Soonyoung all night.

 When you show up at the restaurant, Taehyung is already waiting for you.  Dinner goes well enough. Conversation comes easily enough; he's kind, and funny, and he doesn't make any mention of the drunken disaster you'd been the night you two met. The only problem is that there's absolutely no spark.

At the end of the meal, you try to convince him it's fine if he doesn't walk you to the bus stop. But like a gentleman, he insists. A stone settles in your stomach when you realize how glad you are that the bus is on time when it comes around the corner.

"Thanks for tonight," you tell him, calculating the moments left before the bus will be in park and opening its doors.

"Same here," Taehyung grins, and you dread to think he might not be on the same page as you about how this date went, "I had a nice time."

Relief washes over you when he kisses your cheek in farewell and says he might see you around some time.

Clearly, he isn't as oblivious as you'd feared he might be.

The bus only makes it one stop before you're typing out an answer to Soonyoung's waiting message asking how the date went. You're honest in your reply. Nothing about it had been bad, per se, but neither of you left looking for eager for a follow-up.

'Do you wanna meet up for a drink and complain about love?'

You stare at the received question for a few minutes. Then it dawns on you that if you don't  answer quickly enough, you might end up having to pay bus fare twice.

A few minutes later, you’re getting off the bus three stops early to find the place Soonyoung recommended.

“What is wrong with us?” you’re bemoaning into a glass of hard cider as you sit beside Soonyoung at the bar.

“I don’t know,” he agrees, smiling slightly.

“Seriously, though. Are we doomed to exclusively only get dates with people who decide they’re not interested before they even meet us or who end up being basically unappealing?”

His smile drops at that, leaning his head into one hand. His elbow is almost dangerously close to his pint glass. “I hope not!”

“This is how people end up settling, I bet,” you decide as you list your glass to your lips.

“I won’t,” Soonyoung declares with a confidence you can’t think to contradict. “I’d rather go on a ton of dead-end dates than date someone just because they show up.”

“Yeah, but...” You shake your head and throw your free hand into the air, “Clearly showing up is a pretty vital aspect.”

A smile that’s difficult to decipher pulls at his expression. “Well, someone can show up and be otherwise desirable, too.”

“Otherwise desirable?” you repeat with a guffaw. “If that’s the kind of description you use, I’m beginning to see why you keep getting stood up.”

“Hey!” Soonyoung jolts a bit further upright at that. “We’re a support group here, aren’t we?!”

“Is that what this is?”

“What else would you call it?” He chuckles. There’s a moment where he looks into his drink instead of at you. Your head tilts to try to get a better look at his face. For a split second, something almost like nervousness flashes on his features. As soon as it appeared, it’s gone, and you’re left looking back into Soonyoung’s grin.

A date, you think to yourself. “I guess it’s a good enough description,” you say. Your glass is held out to his, and the two of you cheers to the idea of being some kind of luckless love club.

It takes nearly three hours to make your way through two drinks each. The time isn’t exactly something you notice with Soonyoung. Neither of you are even  buzzed when it  feels like you ought to be clearing out of the bar. If only because the late night crowd is beginning to flood in, turning the quiet hideout into something much more raucous.

“Could I walk you home?” Soonyoung offers as you both pull on your jackets just outside the bar’s exit.

“I normally take the bus from around here,” you tell him, a little disheartened that you can’t properly take him up on it.

“That doesn’t change my question.” He’s smiling again, and truly, you wonder how anyone managed to keep him waiting.

“It’ll take like... twenty minutes, you know.” It only seems fair to warn him.

“Fresh air will be good for us!” he argues.

You gladly take that excuse. “This way, then.”

Tomorrow, you’re going to wish you had taken note of which street you were on when Soonyoung’s hand quietly, swiftly finds yours. No point is made out loud about the change in your walking pace or the shrinking distance between your shoulders. You both just carry on talking as if intertwined fingers were already common place.

When you reach your street, there’s a temptation to slow the pace. You carry on as normal, but you think a tinge of disappointment must show in your voice when you tell Soonyoung your building is coming up.

“You know what kinda just occurred to me?” Some part of his tone makes it seem a bit like a front. Like he’s pretending something he’s had on the tip of his tongue for ages is now just a random thought ready to shared spontaneously.

“What?” you prompt him to carry on, too curious to consider calling him out on the conversational cover.

“You show up,” he states simply just as you reach the front door of your home. His hand makes no move to pull away; if anything, his fingers squeeze softly. Like they’re trying to impress some further meaning of his words into your skin.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” is all you can manage in response. Anything more would fee like a presumption.

“And you’re otherwise desirable,” Soonyoung adds, almost laughing at his own callback. Instead, it comes out as just a hint of amusement on his breath as he takes one stride closer.

You can’t suppress a chuckle like he can. But you do wrinkle your brow at him in slightly exaggerated puzzlement. “Is that seriously what you’re going with still?” you question.

“If that’s alright by you.” His hand that isn’t tangled up with yours comes up to your face, and suddenly you’re certain he’s asking for more than just an okay on his odd phrasing.

“It’s fine by me.” That’s all you need to say before Soonyoung is kissing you. He’s softer and sweeter than you imagined, never letting go of your hand even as he half-stumbles closer to deepen the embrace.

You almost wish you hadn’t deleted Youngjae’s number; you can’t help feeling like you owe him a thank you note.

[quantum-shatter-a-blog]

PROTECTION

At their cores, both Piltover and Zaun were full of accepting populations, with limits. Class and educations aside, no person would discriminate against race, skin colour, sexual identity or even species. However, the one thing that either region couldn’t stand for, were people who hailed from their rival land.

This was why it wasn’t uncommon for Ekko and Ezreal to get dirty looks in the streets, to even be harassed about it by people’s sharp words, but what were they to do about it? It wasn’t exactly a problem that could be solved. They were treated the same way wherever they went.

There were always exceptions. Ekko’s family, who looked up to Zaun in the first place. His friends, who didn’t care one way or the other. People with kind eyes who passed on the roadways. It never did seem enough to stop the underlying rage of those unkind souls around them, though.

Ekko was adept at ignoring what people thought about him. He had grown hardened to it over the years. After all, he’d been looked down on his entire life- a poor child who lived in the streets, a genius who wasted his opportunity, a thief and an escape artist. Even those who respected him seemed to detest him, as he’d probably outsmarted them one way or another.

But what about Ezreal? Of course the Zaunite knew that the star guardian could handle himself. He was a protector, after all. But through his concerned glances towards the blonde when insults were thrown, he could tell that it bothered him. The Piltoven explained it away as annoyance, an inconvenience, that it simply wasn’t fair- all of which were valid, and true- Ekko felt the same way. But he didn’t know if this was really the case.

Because how are you supposed to feel when the creatures you work to protect look down on you? The time-traveller obviously wouldn’t know the answer, but he could imagine that the feeling would be less than pleasant.

He could see it in the way his lover reacted. The way his eyes clouded over slightly, thunderclouds waiting to crack, as they were confronted. Ekko was always the one to chase harassers away with his equally harsh words, but he knew that there were more than one thing to chase off. Some of them you couldn’t see.

This is why when the two finally got back to his tiny apartment, when Ezreal sighed away the heaviness of the particularly hard day that had laid weights on both their shoulders, Ekko ducked his head under the guardian’s right ear and hugged around his middle tightly. He felt the other boy hesitate with the sudden action, before hugging him back, and he knew he was confused, because his hugs usually lead with a witty comment. But he didn’t think he needed it this time.

‘You okay, baby?’

Ezreal’s words reached his ears and he sighed, letting himself melt against his shoulder comfortably before replying.

“Yeah. I just love you.”

He heard the guardian’s laughter and felt it vibrate in his throat, and he couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t meant to make him laugh, but honestly, his boyfriend’s laughter was one of the brightest sounds he’d ever heard. He would take it over anything else, any day.

“You know what they say doesn’t matter, right?”

He closed his eyes momentarily after whispering to him, feeling Ezreal’s arms tense just a fraction around him. Ekko spoke again before he could answer.

“'Cause I love you, and I don’t care. You could turn into a frog and I’d still love you. It might be harder to kiss you, but I mean I promise I’d at least tr-”

He was cut off by a light smack administered to the back of his head, and both boys broke off into giggles. He paused.

“No, but really. You’re kind of my everything. You just have to try to block it out, babe. It doesn’t change anything about us.”

His clear eyes opened to look at the wall next to them- focused, but he was focusing on Ezreal. He always would. He looked up as the guardian nodded and brushed a fallen piece or hair from his forehead, smile lifting the corners of his lips. They stayed like that, just watching each other, for a few seconds, before Ekko hooked his fingers into the guardian’s and pressed their lips together.

I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’ll protect you.

It’s good to know that there’s someone to protect the protector.

[roseamongroses]

Antithesis: Dear Diary: why?

[Specific-Summary]:  They should expect growing pains. For not everything to feel right or make sense. That doesn't mean it'll always hurt, nor does it mean they can't have fun along the way. It's senior year. Everything may be different. It won't be senior year for long. Everything will be okay.

[General Warnings]: Implied Emotional Abuse, Implied Physical Abuse, Bad Parents are Bad Parents, Mild Sexual Content/jokes,Mentioned Homophobia, Mentions of underage drinking (backround), Some Catcalling,Cursing , Self Hate,implied pregnancy talk/inability to become pregnant, adults arguing where the “kid” can hear it, adults drinking, 

[Tags/mood:] highschool au,  fluff and angst but its all good, chat fic, teen stress, its flordia no snow we die like men [Pairing:] Roceit (Roman Sanders/ Deceit Sanders), hinted future/possible logince/roloceit/loceit [Characters]Roman Sanders/Deceit (Dmitri) Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, Remy (Sleep) Sanders, Nate Sanders, Dragon Witch (Diana) Remus “The Duke” Sanders (minor/brief)

(Ao3) (Previously)

(8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15)

(16) (17)

(Note: Please check the general warnings and character list before continuing since some changes have been made and I don’t want to throw you off later on) 

Roman slung the scarf across his shoulders, “You think I should pack this?” he said, striking a pose, “You think it’s gonna be too hot for summer or?”

“You do look good in red...” Dmitri glanced up from his laptop, still typing, “And it’s better than your fifteen--separately bought-- white jeans.”

Roman flung a trench coat at his face. “Glass-fuckin houses babe, half your closet is black and boring--plus I like the white, ” he protested, “And don’t you think the red will be a bit too much with my hair?” he untucked his curls from underneath the scarf, smoothing the sides.

Dmitri laughed, “You’re the definition of a bit too much, Ro,” he said, “But if it means anything the reds been fading for a while now,”

“Wait really?” Roman picked up a hand mirror, angling it with a frown, “Dammit,” he said, “Virgil might still have some bleach left over, but I don’t want to kill my curl pattern like he did…”

“Then don’t redye it,” Dmitri shrugged, “You’ll look good regardless.”

Roman fluffed his hair, pouting in the mirror, “How good?”

Dmitri rolled his eyes, “Fishing early I see,” he said, pausing his typing to take a better look, “The red hair nice, but the brown will soften your features since there ’ll be less contrast.”

“I’dunno if I want to ‘soften my features though...It’d look cute, but...maybe if I cut my hair?” Roman tugged the scarf off, “.…people would take me more seriously.”

“Now why would you…” Dmitri paused, setting his laptop aside nodding, “Come over here, let me take a closer look.”

Roman eyed him warily.

“C’mon now, I’ve been dating you for what? A little over a year, Have a little faith,” Dmitri defended, “I’m not a snake tricking you into sinning,”

Roman crossed his arms, eyeing him up and down, “You’ve done it before--remember?”

“Oh that was fun and you know it, now c’ mere,” He offered a hand.

“It was,” Roman sighed, relenting and taking his hand. Dmitri tugged him to his knees, Roman making panicked noises as they bumped foreheads and he used Dmitri’s shoulders to steady himself, “Close enough?”

Dmitri tilted his head, “A bit closer.”

“Closer?” Roman’s lips barely brushed his.

“There we go--would you look at that,” Dmitri murmured, “A handsome prince if I’ve ever seen one…” Roman’s expression softened and Dmitri continued, “Whoever you’re trying to impress would be stupid not to take you seriously, especially with your anal work ethic--mmph,” Dmitri’s hands flew to Roman’s waist only slightly caught off guard as Roman closed the distance. The sloppy kiss eventually dissolved into Roman peppering Dmitri’s face between giggles.

“Either you’re rewarding me or you’re trying to distract...” Dmitri’s joke died off, eyes fluttering as Roman’s attention dipped lower, trailing his jaw, “Oh that’s...that’s nice…Your brother out?”

“Mhm,” Roman hummed contemplatively, before pulling back a bit, “ Yeah he is, but...I dunno I’m not really in the mood for that…Sorry..”

“You don’t need to apologize every time you know?” Dmitri leaned into Roman’s chest, feeling Roman’s hands nestle into his hair.

“It’s just so...weird.” He could hear the frown in Roman’s voice, “Is it weird? I’m going to be gone for a while too…Am I being a bad boyfriend?”

“You’re not weird, it's normal.”

“But--” Roman’s voice was quiet, “--- it’s not like you’re not attractive-- but--I dunno-- sometimes actually doing stuff like that is just...ugh I can’t even describe it.”

“The other guys might be horny bastards 24/7, but it’s perfectly normal for you Roman.” Dmitri said, “If you want to kiss we can kiss if you want to cuddle and talk we can do that too.”

“Talk’n’cuddle,” Roman mumbled and Dmitri smiled.

“So how are you feeling about the trip?”

“Oh, I’m absolutely horrified--” Roman easily spun into a rant,” I have to be holed up in that infested dung heap with that odorous rat with only my beautiful tia’s cooking as solace?” He sniffed appalled.

“Huh,” Dmitri snickered, “I’ve never heard that nickname for Virgil.”

“I’m not...talking about Virgil.”

---

R: XXX.notalink/rated:m/dontclickfortheloveofgod/dJDoJi90

Rem: WHAT THE FUCK ROMAN Rem: WHY WOULD YOU SEND THAT

L: Why the hell didn’t you read the link first

Rem: WHO THE FUCK READS Rem: GOD NEVER AGAIN

L: I highly doubt it's that bad

L:....I stand corrected

Rem: you clicked the link too didn’t you

L: In the name of science of course

Rem: ROMAN WHY DID YOU SEND THAT

R: ;)

Rem: EXPLAIN YOURSELF

R: ;) XXXX.notalink/rated:m/oopsididitagain/dskfJjfd9dsf3gds

L: That one is more weird than disgusting

Rem: WHY DO YOU KEEP CLICKING ON THEM

L: Why is Roman still sending them?

V: as much as i like smearing my brothers good name that isn’t roman

V: [Roman conked out on the couch, in a sweatshirt and shorts, drool pooling. Jpeg]

Rem: cute photo, 10/10 L: Agreed.

V: god both of you fuckin s t op i t s t o p s t o p

R: XXXX.notalink/rated:m/you filthylinkreaders/d3gds789jk

Rem: just bc you have issues with compliments doesn't mean roman does

L:Here we go again I guess...

V; roman doesnt have any fuckin boundaries

Rem: yes, yes he does Rem: they may be thin but he Does have them

V:sorry but he’s way too nice about it

Rem: weve more then established that me calling him cute is okay and i require the sustenance of doting on him okay? Like i get it ive pushed a bit too hard before but like im trying ok???

V: k k I i hit the breaks a bit too soon this 1 time but it’s ducking thin ass ice and I’m not above sending y’all to an icy tomb if you get gross. Roman may be a bastard but he’s still baby

L:Translation: He understands your reasoning and agrees he overreacted, but this won’t stop him from questioning our intents and calling out certain actions. Roman may be okay with joking around with stuff like that and being the center of attenuation, but he’s still self conscious and sensitive.

V:why must you add feelings and adult reasoning to everything

L: How dare you accuse me of having feelings

R: XXXX.notalink/rated:m/unicornhornsanddragontails/3nskjJ03 R: XXXX.notalink/rated:m/specA-Z/54Kjjf9n R: XXXX.notalink/rated:m/asliceofme/fljkl29mfJ

R: XXXX.notalink/rated:m/laughsinspanish/5Kjd8

Rem:ye feelings are gross so moving on

Rem: anyway who the fuck is this

V: the bastard

R: you can call me duke [video of Roman, Virgil, and Remus as toddlers, Virgil playing with blocks and listening to some music while in the background Remus follows Roman around.mp3] [image of Roman, Virgil, and Remus currently. jpeg]

V: the bastards name is remus

R: THE. DUKE.

V: FUCK. YOU.

Rem: why the shits have i never met them and why the FUCK does he look more like roman then you do virgil

V: i think it's bc rem doesnt cover up his freckles

V: but yeah my mom and tia had a falling out

R: more like my dad was an asshole

Rem: oh shit same

R: shitty dad squad hmu ;)

Pat: oh hey!!! Me too!!!!

V: yeah it was Not Fun and mom and mama refused to let us go back until tia got a divorce

R: XXXX.notalink/rated:m/deodarant/298jksf

R:XXXX.notalink/rated:m/sPicydeodarant/23kjfJ

L: Are you done yet? They’re getting repetitive at this point.

---

Sun beating on his forehead, Dmitri’s chest was light and airy. His hair was tied up in a high ponytail as he worked on repotting some of his nursery plants. Usually, he’d be listening to music, but his aunt had left early that morning for some appointment so he relished the silence.

Brushing the dirt from his hands, he winced at the fresh cuts lining his knuckles.

“You’re still out here?”

Dmitri almost jumped at Dr. Montag’s voice, “Sorry for the mess” he said, gripping the nursery pot tighter, “I-I’ll clean it up right away…”

Dr. Montag crouched, waving him off, “There’s no need. I’m running a few errands for your aunt,” his hands barely brushing the leaves of one, “This is a Yucca right?”

“Uh,” Dmitri blinked, “Yeah it is,”

He laughed, “Don’t look so surprised-- I know things,” he stood back up, “Like how to use google. It’s rather impressive that y’all manage to keep up with so many of these.”

“Barely,” Dmitri relaxed, refocusing, “We used to have a lot more, but without my dad...it got overwhelming,” he shook his head, “It’s the only thing we really….It keeps us busy..”

“This is more than busy--you put a lot of work into these, anyone should be proud,” He murmured, studying Dmitri again, “I’ll be gone in a few, just need to grab her purse. You need anything from the store?”

“Uh...No,” Dmitri frowned, “I don’t.”

---

LilRed: COLLEGE BOARD CAN SUCK MY ASS LilRed: THIS BITCH GOT A FIVE

BlueRanger: Which class?

LilRed: APUSH

BlueRanger: Nice, good job

LilRed:

LilRed:

PurpleRain: L you fuckin broke him

PurpleRain:like I legit just heard a fuckin thud I think he fell

BlueRanger: I just told him good job?

LilRed: i die from validation i die w/o validation

BlueRanger: Please don’t die

PurpleRain: thats a lame ass way to die

LilRed: @purplebitch i feel so loved

PurpleRain: mama didnt raise us for us to die so b o r i n g l y

LilRed: SO HOW DO YOU SUGGEST I DIE

PurpleRain: idk im feelin,,,,rain,,,,,lots of it,,, maybe you’re watching the sea,,,,

PurpleRain: okay I got it

PurpleRain: you’re wearing a white sundress, the ends tattered but well loved. The coast empty with nly the lapping of waves your company. You’re thinking, a lot. Not of anything particular, but thinking nonetheless. The ocean always makes you think, always makes you remember--bringing about a bittersweet tinge of remorse to your heart, but no tears ever fall.

PurpleRain:You make it a habbit to watch the sunrise each day, relishing in the sobering feelings it invokes Maybe you're a masochist at heart

LilRed:maybe it’s maybelline

PurpleRain:I AM HAVING A MOMENT PRINCEY

PurpleRain: one day, you hear footsteps approach, and assume it's your lover returned from war. The news of it's end just coming days prior and making your ventures to the coast sparked with an unfamilar hopefulness.

PurpleRain: instead when you turn around, you do not feel your heart soar. Instead it sinks. An icy panic spreading through you, a curl of dread closing your throat, it's grip tight. You need to move; to get away from them. But you cant. You cant.

PurpleRain: one shot is all it took.

PurpleRain: one.

BlueRanger:....Concern.

PurpleRain: dnd just started again im prepping ok

LilRed:fuckin nerd

LilRed: huh…. i should get a sundress tho

PurpleRain: i have a few bookmarked ill show you later

BlueRanger: Is That Really What Y’all Are Taking Away From This

---

“And so the shop explodes-no not explodes it's in flames and they have the audacity--the au,” Roman coughs readjusting the webcam, “They have the audacity to play ‘Somebody to love’ as he’s fuckin mourning,” he gestured angrily, “Like Neil might as well come into my house and stomp on my heart.”

Dmitri nodded along, amused at the combination of camera lag and Roman’s erratic movements, “Before or after you watch the next episode?” he asked.

“It’s gonna have to be after cause I already finished the season. I never recovered from that scene though, ” Roman shrugged, tapping his jaw thoughtfully, “Probably should’ve started working on my commission sheet,”

“The same sheet you said you were going to start last month?”

“Yes the same one,” Roman blew out an exasperated huff, flopping into his hands, “I don’t know why it’s so hard --I feel scummy for pricing ‘too high’ and like shit for pricing ‘too lo--,” A notification rang, and he glanced over the screen, eyebrow raised, “Huh, Lo’s callin’ to video chat, you mind if I add’em?”

“Nah, go ahead,” Dmitri said, starting to fold the pile of towels.

“Alrighty,” He answered the call, “What’s up ner-” his face lit up, “Princess!”

Giggles erupted from the screen and Dmitri glanced up curious. On the screen instead of Logan was a small girl animatedly talking to Roman. She had two front teeth missing, glitter coloring her cheeks and rainbow beads rattling each time her braids moved.

“Woah, Woah-Woah,” Roman snorted, “Slow down hon, where’s your brother? Does he know you’re using his computer?”

“He’s in the shower,” she said, batting her eyes, “And know is a very strong word, but I can assure you he’s...aware?”

“Mmm, I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said, “So what’s the fairest of the land need?”

She beamed, “You at my birthday party.” she said, more of a command than anything.

Roman made of show of mulling it over, unable to keep a straight face, “I think I can make it.”

Her fist punched the air, “Ya--”

“Nieve,” Logan’s voice called out sternly.

Her eyes shot wide and she scrambled out of frame. Seconds later, Logan reappeared in the frame without his glasses, towel tucked to his chest. He didn’t look particularly mad.

He squinted blearily at the screen, “Roman? “ his gaze slid over, “Dmitri? Shit sorry did she bug you?”

“Not at all,” Roman reassured, “It’s been a while since I came over anyway,”

Logan grabbed their glasses, adjusting the frames, “Yeah...I guess it has...Since you’re here did you get that email from the school?”

“Yeah, it’s bullshit, “ Roman said, rolling his eyes, “If the state cared they would have found the funds somewhere else, it’s all shady as fuck. ”

Logan nodded, saying goodnight before disconnecting.

As soon as his icon disappeared, Roman said, “Huh, that...reminded me,”

Dmitri started on the next pile of laundry, “Of what?” he said, brow pinched, concerned.

“I’ dunno something Remy brought up…” Roman said, playing with his hands, “It’s stupid really but---”

He yelped falling to the floor, Remus victoriously sliding into the rolling chair. He spun wildly, the web camera a laggy blur, with only loud obnoxious kissing noises heard amongst the screaming.

Eventually, Remus slowed down, and it was jarring how much he and Roman looked alike. It was more unnerving seeing such a sleazy look with Roman’s face.

“Oh Dmitri,” Remus mocked, even adopting the heavy accent Roman usually placed on his name, “Embrace me with those big, long artist hands of yours, god I’m going to melt--"

“Shut up--shut up! You Rat-- give it back-give it back--” Roman whined, clambering over the chair, elbowing him, “Give it back, fuckin- MOM,” At one point Roman managed to wrestle the laptop from Remus, kicking him out of the chair and sending him off with a finger-- which Remus promptly returned.

Dmitri’s silently wheezed as Roman turned around visibly frazzled, “God I forgot what I was say-Are you laughing at me?” he said, “Stop it--stop laughing it’s not--”

“It-” Dmitri’s covered his mouth, shoulders shaking “It kinda is,” He said between snorts, only laughing harder at the offended noises Roman made.

As his snickers died down, Roman crossed his arms, “You done yet?” he sniffed.

“Yeah…” he gasped, “Yea...h... I am…” he blinked a bit, a slow smile spreading across his face, “So... what’s this about my hands?”

Roman’s eyes shot wide, incoherent babbling coming from his mouth as his ears turned a bright cherry. He slowly shrank out of frame to promptly die.

---

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