you know what? fuck this. fuck you. transfems your pebbles

im trans and im fem. TJE GENDER SISTERS

Afraid // JJ Maybank

three - family heirloom

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem routledge! reader

Warnings: cursing and other sorts of bad language, mention of a dead body, underage drinking, idk if there’s something else besides some typos

Description: a fun trip to a thrashy motel leads to many discoveries for the pogues (buckle up buckaroos this one’s a bit long) (also I’m very sorry for not putting a read more thingy but I really don’t know how, sorry :(

Previously next

Afraid Masterlist

Song recommendation:

gif found on pinterest all credits to owner

When John B fell into the the water, the anchor held against his chest, y/n didn’t expect him to come back with anything valuable. Maybe something that would have revealed the identity of whoever owned this boat, but nothing really big. So she was very surprised when he came back with a motel key in his hand. It was not much, as expected but the pogues knew what to do.

The little group had tried to report their findings to the authorities, in hope of receiving some kind of reward. Unfortunately, the plan had failed. Because of the hurricane, the coasts guards were so busy they couldn’t even spare one minute for them.

Instead, they all agreed to go investigate the hotel room. Y/n had been reluctant at first, but her curiosity took the lead, so she agreed. How could she not?

“I thought the château looked bad.”

“This place is a shitshow.”

“Motel or meth lab?”

Y/n’s face scrunched up in a grossed out expression at the sight in front of her eyes, plugging her nose as she caught the horrible smell that went with it. The motel itself wasn’t that bad. Except maybe for the roof, and the window and probably also some kind of hygiene issue. The yard was the worst part. It was filled with debris brought by the storm and it was covered with a bunch of old mattresses. It was not a pretty sight to see.

“Y/n are you staying with me and Pope or..” kie wondered as they landed.

The Routledges exchanged a look. John B didn’t show it a lot, but he was very protective of his sister. He preferred to have her by his side at all times, where he could protect her and assure that she was always safe. It was his way of showing he cared.

“Nah,” she jumped off the boat, her feet joined together, “someone has to look after these two knuckleheads.”

JJ laughed at her words. “Knuckleheads, who even says that.” “Dude I was talking about you.”

“What.” She rolled her eyes.

“Hey,” Pope addressed the girl “don’t let him do anything stupid.” He pointed to JJ.

“Oh, we will.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

Kie handed the key to John B. “Be careful, okay. I mean it.” Y/n grinned at her friend’s words.

The trio then headed towards the direction of the room. Somehow y/n ended up taking the lead, with the two boys walking behind her. She felt a pair of eyes looking at her.

“JJ I know you’re looking at my ass, stop that right now,” she warned. “Dude!” John B slapped him on the chest.

“Um for your information I was looking at the bruise on your thigh.” “Yeah right.”

(He was actually really looking at the bruise. He hated to know she was hurt in any kind of way, it pained him)

“And even if I was, whatcha gonna do about it? Beat me up?” “Don’t underestimate me Maybank, I could easily take you down.” JJ scoffed. “Pfft as if.”

He left her side to go join John B, who had voluntarily distanced himself from their bickering. The blonde grasped his friend’s shoulder. “Just be so careful, John,” he said, imitating Kiara.

John B pushed him off. “God, you’re so weird.” “Dude, what the heck was that all about.” “I don’t know, I guess she wants us to be careful.”

Y/n now walked alone behind, kicking a small pebble whilst silently listening to the conversation.

“Since she heard you’re being threatened with exile, she’s just been like ‘oh! Be so careful John B’” “Get off” “just give me that John D already.”

“Like, when are you gonna swoop on that, man?”

y/n cringed at his words. “Ew, don’t sexualize her like that, it’s gross, j”

“Bro, you know the rule. No pogue on pogue macking.”

Stupid rule. It was the only reason why y/n had never admitted her feelings to JJ. That and her fear of being humiliated ( and the fact he would never feel the same way).

“Besides you’re the one always hitting on her.” Y/n scoffed.

“That doesn’t mean anything, JJ hits on every girl he ever sees.” JJ frowned at her words. “He would hit on a plant if it even slightly ressembled the body of a girl.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” he defended himself. “I don’t hit on you all the time.”

“Says the guys who was just looking at my ass five minutes ago.” “No, I wasn’t.” “You so were!”

“Hey guys, I hate to break up your little fight but uh,” he pointed the door in front of him “this is us. 29.”

JJ knocked on the door. “Housekeeping,” he said, his voice pitched way higher than normal, making both his friends laugh at his actions.

“Should we try it?” Questioned John B. “No power- no security camera. No one’s gonna know.”

The door opened with a small creaking noise. It was a small dark room with two beds. The trio looked around for clues. They still didn’t know who owned the boat nor what they were doing out in the middle of a hurricane. They were hoping for some answers.

“Check the bag, see if there’s a name on there.” “Gotta a jacket-“ “Denim slides-“ “No name on the jacket. It’s a nice jacket though.” “Definitely over 50 he’s got new balances.”

“Yo, dude come here.” JJ found some papers and books stacked on the night table between the two beds. He pointed to a map. “Maybe this is where they were fishing.” “ let me see.” “Right there.”

Y/n peeked over their shoulder, standing on the tip of her toes, to try to see what they were talking about. “Nah, that’s off the continental shelf. Big swell, no one fishes there.”

Abandoning her previous idea, she crouched down and flashed her light under the first bed. “Nothing over here.” She turned to the other bed. Her eyes caught a strange shape, on the opposite corner. “Wait.” She slipped underneath and crawled to the object. “Ah ha!”

“What? You found anything?”

Disappointment filled the girl’s mind as she noticed it was only a shirt, grey and smelly. “Uh, not really. I thought I did but it’s only a dirty shirt.”

“Ew there was a spider on it.” She brushed the bug away as she got up. She turned towards John B, noticing he had successfully opened the safe. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

The words left her mouth without her noticing. She was just too astonished. The safe was filled with multiple stacks of money and well, a gun. There was so much of it, it’s like she didn’t know where to look.

“Uh, JJ, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

JJ’s eyes doubled in size as he noticed the firearm in the safe. He immediately picked it up. “You grabbed the gun,” John B sighed.

“This is a SIG Sauer.” He was swinging it in the air, playing with it as though it was just a toy. “JJ put the fucking gun down, you’re gonna hurt someone,” y/n hissed at him.

“Put the gun back, JJ.” “This is a fucking spendy gatt, man, just.” He pretended to shoot someone in the distance. “Bam! Bam!”

“JJ, this is not a toy you can just play with, put it back!” Y/n’a voice was louder now, angrier and harsher too. “Just take a pic of me.”

“You want me to take a picture of you?” “Yeah dude, like-” JJ struck a pose, the gun in one hand, his flashlight in the other. “Make our own incriminating evidence is that what your talking about?”

Y/n’s attention drifted away as she heard the sound of something hitting the window. She spun around and drew the blinds open, only to find Kie and Pope jumping up down. “What?”

There were clearly trying to warn her about something but she couldn’t hear what they were saying through the thick glass that separated them. She lifted the window slightly. A single word left their mouth in a loud whisper. “Cops!”

“Fuck.”

“What is it?” Y/n turned her body to the two boys. She opened her mouth, about to reveal what danger would soon fall upon them when a knock came from the door.

“Kildare county, sheriff department,” a stern voice announced.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

The girl yanked the rest of the window open. By chance, there was a small step, a ledge, where they could stand and hide from the police officers.

Y/n’a hand flew to her neck, as she noticed the necklace she always wore wasn’t on her neck anymore. “Fuck!” It was very precious to her, leaving it there was not an option.

Her father had actually given it to her on her 14th birthday. It belonged to his mother and her mother before her. It was a family heirloom and the only thing she had left of her father. She always wore it, even to bed.

“Y/n, what the fuck are you doing?”

She scanned the room quickly, her stress level growing as she heard the door rattling. Her eyes finally landed on the shining necklace, tangled under the first bed.

“My necklace fell off!” she whispered-shout. “There’s no time!”

Luckily for her living on the cut had taught her to move quickly, without being seen. She swiftly slid under the bed, grabbed the golden chain and slipped out of the window, all before the door opened.

“That was close,” JJ whispered softly.

Y/n removed one of her hand from the wall to place her index finger against her lip motioning for JJ to stay silent. They both turned their attention back to the room, observing the cops as they entered.

There was two of them. Shoupe and a woman y/n didn’t know the name of. They were looking around for clues just as the three kids had done minutes earlier. Shoupe opened the door of the safe. Y/n’s eyes followed as he handed the other officer some evidences. He then handed her a stack of money, which she put in her pocket.

“The fuck?” the girl whispered, glancing at her brother on the other side. JB looked at her with wide eyes, he was just as shocked as she was.

She lost her balance for a quick second, her foot sliding down, making the loudest noise ever made. JJ’s hand caught her before she fell, bringing her body closer to his. She heard footsteps getting closer. She could feel and hear JJ’s breath getting heavier by the second, her heart pounding in her chest. She scooted even closer to him, her hand gripping at the back of his shirt so she wouldn’t fall once more.

“All right, let’s go. No one’s here.” Shoupe said from inside.

A heavy sigh left her lips as she heard the door close behind them. “That was so fucking close.”

“Jesus Christ, y/n what was that all about, you almost got us caught!” John B snapped.

“My necklace fell off, I couldn’t just leave it there. It’s the only thing I have left of dad! Plus they would’ve known I was there, it would’ve got us caught!”

John’s face fell slightly, she was right. Still he couldn’t help but worry at the thought of her getting caught. He was her brother, it was normal for him to want to protect her form getting hurt. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to yell at you, I was just, I was just worried okay? I don’t want to lose you too, y/n/n.”

“I’m not going anywhere, bird.”

>>

After the little trip to the motel, and almost getting caught by the cops, the group had decided to head back to the château. Y/n let out a sigh of exasperation. She was, once again, seated on the dirty sofa on the porch. This time her head was hanging upside down, her shoeless feet rested against the window. She was exhausted. This day had been filled with nothing but surprises, following one another without getting a chance to take a breath. And the day wasn’t over yet.

First there was their discovery of the boat in the marsh, then John risking his life for a motel key (okay maybe risking his life was a bit of a stretch but yeah, y/n still thought it was dangerous). And then they tried to report the boat but failed, so they went to the motel and we’re almost caught by Shoupe (and saw him stealing money) and stupid JJ who stole the goddamn gun.

And that wasn’t even the most shocking surprise of the day. The body of Scooter Grubbs was also found (and y/n really wish she could erase that image out of her memory) and shocker, he was the owner of the Grady-White. So the marsh was closed until the authorities would find the boat.

“Ugh,” y/n rubbed her tired eyes, feeling a headache coming as the blood rushed to her head.

“You’re gonna get brain damage if you stay like that for too long,” John B said motioning to his sister’s position. “Can’t be worse than it already is,” she shrugged, moving herself so her head now rested on Kiara’s lap.

Pope came rushing, the screen door slamming behind him. “So, um we didn’t see anything, we don’t know anything.” He was still slightly panting, and he seemed very stressed, anxious even. “We need to have complete and total amnesia.”

“Actually, Pope’s right. For once.” y/n scooted closer to Kie to make room for Pope to sit and turned her head back to JJ who was getting up from his seat. “See I agree with you sometimes,” he pointed his index finger on each of his friends. “Deny, deny, deny.”

“Guys we can’t keep that money.” “Not all of us have unlimited data plans, Kiara.”

Y/n frowned at JJ’s words. That was low of him. The Carreras might hav been a lot richer than the average pogue, but they weren’t kook rich either. Business was hard for everyone and The Wreck wasn’t spared of the occasional struggle that went with it.

“Well I hate to be a party pooper but she’s right. It’s not our money, it wouldn’t be right for us to keep it.” declared the Routledge girl. “Yup, we have to pass that money off to Lana Grubbs. Otherwise it’s bad karma.”

“It bad karma to be implicated in a felony too,” added Pope. “We gotta go dark.” “If that means we get to keep the money then I agree.”

John B gave a small pat on JJ’s shoulder. “I don’t agree.” “What, why?”

“Just think about it, this is Scooter Grubbs we’re talking about,” he started. “Same dude that’s buying individual cigarettes at the porthole. Shit, one time I saw him begging for change in the save-a-lot parking lot because he needed gas. We’re talking about a dirtbag marina rat who’s never had more than 40 bucks in his pockets and all of the sudden he’s got a Grady-White? Just saying..”

John B was right. It was indeed kind of shady. Square groupers? Smuggling? Contraband? Y/n had no idea what she was getting herself into. It was a strange situation and she had no idea what to do about it, so she followed her friends ideas. They all agreed to lay low and act normal, which could only mean one thing. There was going to be a kick ass kegger on the boneyard. And y/n couldn’t be more glad.

Taglist:

@drewswannabegirl @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @im-a-stranger-thing @lasnaro @poguestyle17 @thoughtsofthestars @briandaflores19 @lunaposey @allycat449-blog @ifliwtd @kitty084

this means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you :(

If you wanna be added or removed just tell me!!

Geteb (Troll) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Troll/Non-Binary Reader Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Troll, Non-Binary Reader, Reader Insert Content Warning: Speech Disorders, Dysarthria, Stuttering Words: 2741

A commission for @mxnsterbabe​​! After getting sick from drinking contaminated water, the reader comes home to find the plumber fixing the water problem. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Moving to Willowridge hadn’t been your first option, but it was the only one that made financial sense. You were going to school at E.U. for business management, but Coleville was just too expensive, even living in the dorms, so you transferred to the Willowridge campus. There was an apartment complex with plenty of studio apartments for the college kids, and you rented the only ground floor apartment they had left. There was a trade-off, of course. You didn’t have to climb up and down seven flights of stairs every day because the elevator was perpetually broken, but you did hear every argument, party, and session of loud sex your neighbors decided to have.

Well, college life was college life, regardless of where you lived.

The only real problem was that the water was an odd color and tasted funny, and before your first day in your new place was over, you were in the hospital for suspected salmonella poisoning. You were in the hospital for over two days, and when you were released, there was a large stranger in your apartment, looking under your kitchen sink.

“Excuse me,” You said in alarm.

The stranger jumped and hit his head on the cabinet, swearing and dropping a wrench. He stood up, and you could see he was wearing a workman’s jumpsuit. You were suddenly confronted with a solid wall of man, easily seven feet tall, with a broad… everything. He was a troll, you realized, and judging from the dusty, pebbly texture of his skin to the tusks jutting out from his lower jaw to the hair like green moss that curled around his ears, he was a field troll.

Trolls were distantly related to orcs, though they didn’t have the same warrior culture as orcs did, if you recalled correctly. They were typically creatures of nature, keeping to the forests and mountains, often seen as slow or stupid. You weren’t sure if those claims were true or not. You’d met a few before, and they seemed normal to you.

“Sorry,” He said very slowly, his voice deep. “Are you… the one… that… got sick?”

“Yes,” You replied, coming inside the apartment but leaving the door open. “And who are you?”

“Sorry,” He repeated. “I’m Geteb. I’m the… plumber… for the building. I came to… fix the pipes.”

“Oh,” You said. “What was wrong with them?”

“The pipe… that p--pulls water…. from the city… broke… and street water… got in it,” He replied in the same slow cadence. “That’s why you… got sick. Your apartment is… the first in the line. When you… got s--sick, we shut it… off. We only just now… turned it back on.”

“Well, I guess it’s good no one else got sick, then,” You said, trying not to come across as bitter.

“I’m sorry… you did,” He said solemnly, though it was an odd sound, like a puppy whimpering after being scolded. “I… b--brought you… clean water.” He pointed to several jugs of water that were stacked along the wall in the kitchen area.

You nodded numbly. “Oh.”

“Just in case. We’re flushing… the system… now. I was just… checking the water… in the tap… to make sure it’s clean.” He held up a cotton swab that was inside a tube. “It’s a test, see? If it’s blue… then it’s con…” He stopped and struggled with the word. “Co... conta…taminated. But it’s not, see!” He held out the test swab for you to inspect. “So it’s all safe. But you should… drink the jug water… just in case.”

“Okay,” You said tiredly. “Well, if you’re done, I’d like to lie down. I still don’t feel very well.”

“Oh, okay,” He said, picking up his tools. “I hope you… feel better… soon. Call the front office… if anything is wrong… and I’ll come back… and fix it… any time.”

“Sure,” You said, ushering him out of the door.

You spent the next couple of days in bed, unable to eat. You managed a few sips of tea, but there wasn’t much else that your stomach could tolerate. As suggested, you drank the water from the jugs that Geteb had brought, but mostly because you just didn’t trust the tap water anymore.

Three days afterward, when you were finally starting to feel better, there was a knock at the door. Geteb was standing there in his work clothes with three more jugs of water in each fist.

“I brought you… m--more water,” He said.

“Oh,” You said in surprise. “Okay. Uh, bring them in.”

You stepped aside and let Geteb in, who had to duck to clear the doorframe.

“I’m sorry if I was rude the other day,” You told him. “I didn’t even really thank you.”

“It’s okay! I understand!” He replied. “You felt bad. I’m cranky… when I feel bad… too.”

“I just hope I’m well enough to continue classes next week,” You said.

He chuckled. “School was fun. I remember college. Lots of parties.”

He seemed to be better at speaking short sentences. “You went to college?” You said in surprise.

“Yes,” He said reproachfully, looking hurt. “I know… I’m not that smart… but I’m s--smarter… than people think. Just because… I’m big… and I talk slow… and I have trouble… with big words… it doesn’t mean… I’m stupid.”

Horrified, you said, “Oh, no, I didn’t mean…” But then you stopped. That’s exactly what you meant, and you knew it. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, and I apologize.”

His frown melted, and he smiled. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“What did you get your degree in?”

“S--struc…tural engin…eering.”

“Oh, wow,” You said. “That’s really impressive.”

He chuckled again. “Lots of people… don’t believe me… when I tell them… I h--have a… Bachelor’s degree.”

“Well, they’re idiots,” You said. “Listen, can I buy you a drink? To thank you and make up for being a rude asshole.”

His face lit up. God, he reminded you of a puppy. “Okay! I’d like to. I should… change clothes, I’m really dirty.”

“Aren’t you still on the clock?” You asked.

He stopped and thought about it. “Oh. Yeah. Later then?”

It was your turn to chuckle. “Later then.”

He met you after work at a local college pub and you bought him a round. Well, a pitcher for him. He had big hands.

“So, I don’t want to offend you, and I’m trying hard not to be an asshole, but can I ask something?”

“You… want to know… why I… talk so slow?” He asked with a patient smile.

“Yeah,” You replied hesitantly. “I’ve seen other trolls and they don’t talk like you do.”

“I have… dysarthria,” He said. “I had a… really bad ear… infection… when I was… s--seven… and it turned into… men…ingitus… and caused… a stroke. I was… in… a coma for… a while after.”

“Oh, god,” You breathed. “I had no idea you could have a stroke from an ear infection.”

“It’s rare,” He said. “I’m special… like that, I guess.”

You smiled at him. “How long were you in school?”

“The standard… four years,” He replied. “And then another… four years… app…p--prentice for the… plumbing job. T--that’s a long time… for people… to still think… I’m stupid.” He didn’t seem angry about it, just resigned.

“You’re definitely not stupid, Geteb,” You told him.

“It’s not just… the talking,” He said, gesturing at his mouth. “People… look down on… labor jobs. Just because… we work with… our hands… and get d--dirty… doesn’t make it… less… of a skill.”

“You’re absolutely right,” You replied sadly. “And it’s a shame people are like that.”

“You’re not… like that, are you?” He asked you.

“No, Geteb, I’m not,” You told him. “My dad was a carpenter. I know all about how difficult working with your hands can be.”

“That’s good,” He said. “Because… I’d like to… take you out again. My treat… this time.”

Your smile widened. “I’d like that very much.”

You went on several dates with Geteb. Because he was such a big guy, a lot of them were outdoors or in places that were wide open, like museums or aquariums. He liked looking at things and letting you talk, shy about talking in public or around a group of strangers. He was already unusual, and his speech impairment made him stand out even more.

Despite dating for almost a month, he still hadn’t kissed you yet, and you wondered why. You knew he was shy, but you’d been more than affectionate with him, so he had to know you wanted him to. Maybe you’d just have to do it yourself.

At the end of the next date, you said, “Bend down.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s hard to kiss you when you’re way up there,” You said, laughing.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he sighed heavily.

“Do you not want to kiss me?” You asked him, teasing.

“It’s not that,” He replied seriously. “I do… v--very much… but if I… kiss you… that means… something to me…”

“It means something to me, too, silly,” You said. “It means I like you.”

“It means… more than that… to me.” He asked. “I’m… never going… to be normal… you know that… don’t you? I can’t… fix this.” He gestured at his mouth and head. “Kissing me… after so many dates… means… you’re commit…ting… to that… reality. Are you sure… you can… do that?”

“It’s not like kissing you means we’re getting married, Geteb,” You said, your brow furrowing. “It doesn’t bother me how you talk.”

“It doesn’t… right now,” He said. “But what… about in a… month? Or five? What about… when your friends… say something… or a stranger says something… that makes you… uncomfortable with… the idea… of being… with me. You may be… able… to tolerate it… now, but you… may not… be able to… forever.”

“Geteb, don’t be silly,” You said, frowning. “If someone has something to say about it, I’ll bite their ears off. And if my friends have something to say about it, I’ll get better friends. It’s that simple.”

“For you,” He said, looking away, and you took his face in your hands.

“Has something like that happened before?” You asked.

He frowned and looked at his feet. “I almost… g--got married once,” He told you. “I bought… the ring and… everything… but b--before… I could ask her… w--we got in a fight… she said… she always ha--hated… how I talked. After we… calmed down… s--she said… she didn’t m--mean it… but that’s all… I could think… about when I… t--talked to her… so I stopped… talking… and we b--broke up…” He sniffled a little. “I still… have the… ring. I couldn’t… bring myself… to return it. I didn’t want p--people… to be sad… for me. I was already… sad enough.”

“I’m so sorry, Geteb,” You said, stroking a thumb down his cheek. “Even if what she said was true, I’m not her. I love the way you talk. I can understand you perfectly fine. All it takes is listening, and I’m more than willing to do that.”

His expression looked so pained. “Are you… sure?”

Instead of answering, you turned the key in the lock of your front door, opened it, and pulled him inside.

“Let me show you,” You said. He gulped and allowed himself to be led.

Inside, you had him sit down on the pull-out couch-bed and sat in his lap. He carefully placed a hand on your lower back, as if testing the waters. You laughed softly and leaned against his body, laying your head on his chest.

“Isn’t this nice?” You asked him.

“Very,” He said, his lips in your hair. Not quite a kiss, was it was contact. “I have missed… holding someone… I have been… lonely… I guess…”

“I’m not surprised,” You said. “That’s kind of what happens when you try to keep people at an arm’s length.”

“I don’t mean to,” He said. “I just don’t… want people… to be hurt… because of me.”

“And you don’t want to get hurt, either,” You said, sitting up and looking at him. “I totally get that, Geteb. That’s a natural reaction when you’ve been hurt. I’ve been hurt too. You think my parents took it well when I told them I was non-binary? Or my boyfriend? Sorry, ex-boyfriend, because he can’t be with someone--excuse me, something--who isn’t a girl, which…” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I know it’s not the same as having a lifelong, debilitating condition that people don’t understand, I do get that. What I’m saying is that in some ways, I completely understand what you’re going through. And I want to go through it with you.”

“You’re sure?” He asked again.

“Yep,” You said. “You’re stuck with me, pal, like it or not.”

“I like it,” He said, smiling.

“Good,” You said, standing up so that you could be eye level and wrapping your arms around his neck. “I like it, too.” Then you kissed him. It was long and leisurely, not pressing him too hard if he didn’t want to go there yet.

Acceptance is a funny, powerful thing. It gives confidence to the meek, solace to the troubled, and in this instance, it made him very, very aroused. You could feel it the moment you climbed into his lap and straddled him. His hands gripped you more firmly and his kisses deepened. The tip of his large, broad tongue brushed across your lips, and you opened your mouth so that he could slip it inside, tangling with your own.

You kissed down his body, opening the button-up shirt and pulling it out of his pants. His jeans were tented, and you thought it might be painful, so you popped the button and unzipped the sipper, stroking him through his underwear, and he moaned.

“You don’t… have to…” He said between gasps.

“I want to,” You said, kneeling down. You opened the slit in his underwear and freed him, swirling your tongue around him. He grunted and his hips bucked upward involuntarily.

“It’s been… a long time…” He said. “I’m a… little… sensitive…”

“I’ll be gentle,” You said, and pulled him slowly into your mouth. A long groan of satisfaction issued from him, and you figured you were doing alright.

It didn’t take long before he was writhing under your touch, panting and gasping. He was throbbing inside your mouth, but before he came, he lay a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“Can you… get undressed… please? I want… to look at you,” He asked, heaving in deep breaths. You obliged, making a little bit of a show of it. He watched you hungrily, and when you were fully nude, he reached out for you. You climbed back into his lap, and he caressed your body, kissing your neck and shoulders. You rose up and positioned him at your entrance and slowly, carefully, slid down on him.

You kissed him deeply as he grasped your hips, bouncing you a little. You braced your hands on his chest and came down harder on him, making your bodies slap together. You threw your head back and he kissed your throat, his tusks poking into the skin, his hand in your hair.

“I’m… close…” He wheezed.

“Me too,” You whimpered, speeding up. You felt the rush of pleasure hit your body just as he abruptly pulled you up and came all over your thighs and his jeans.

“Sorry,” He said as you collapsed onto his chest.

“It’s okay,” You panted. He held you close until you got your breath back. “You can use my mini washing machine to clean your clothes. I don’t have a dryer, though, so you’ll have to stay until they dry. It could take a while.”

“I d--don’t mind,” He said. “I can sleep… on the floor… if that’s okay.”

“I’ll make us a nice pillow fort,” You said. “Good thing it’s the weekend. We can just stay in our fort and order out and be naked the whole time.”

“The best weekend… ever.”

“Yes, it does. And we can do it every weekend from now on. What do you think?”

“I think… that sounds like… heaven.”

You stood up and dragged him to his feet. “Shower first.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

Trauma - Father figure! Daryl x reader

//Drabble//

Warnings: talks and sign of passed abuse, no hate to Carol or Negan or Daryl they’re badass characters and I love them I just gotta have em bad, Daryl is a dickhead.

A/n: in this it’s a different ending? Rick doesnt ‘die’, they kill Negan and Carl doesn’t die, and that’s about it.

You and Daryl had always been close, very close if you asked Rick and he was grateful he found someone that you connected so well with to be your father. Only Rick knew about how your biological dad treated you especially whenever Negan took you and him to a bridge but it was only time before he told Daryl then Michonne. You understood what happened whenever you were younger and occasionally some days would be worse than others with it. You latched you Daryl because you remembered him from his time being a prisoner at the Sanctuary, everything was smooth until Daryl was interested in Carol and pushed you almost out of the picture, Rick always gave you the option to leave and go back to the remainder of the sanctuary that Dwight ran partnered with a few old Alexandrians but you never chose to because you hated remembering your dad, even dead he still haunted you.

You stumbled through the woods next to Daryl, you told everybody goodbye except for Daryl which was most definitely going to be the hardest part of leaving, he did raise you for almost ten years now leaving you at the ripe age of sixteen. “So...I’m leaving for the sanctuary with Michonne tonight..” you admitted not looking at Daryl as you continued to walk even after he stopped. “Hey! Stop!” He yelled looking at you, slowly turning around you looked at him and tried your best to stand your ground “why the hell are you going back!?” He yelled his temper slowly rising “d-Daryl..I’m not a kid anymore and I’m ready to fix what my dad did...and you need to move on with bigger things, like Carol” you smiled softly your voice cracking “no! You don’t get to just leave like that! No god Damnit you’re staying!” He screamed walking closer “we need this!” You yelled biting your lip feeling the first tear hit your cheek; you screamed and fell to the damp muddy ground holding your head as Daryl raised his hand out of anger, not realizing his mistake he growled “go then! Go! And never fucking come back! I-I don’t want to ever fucking see you!” Every chant leaving his lips felt like a stabbing pain in your chest “all you’re going to do is disappoint them all over again! You’re a kid!” He yelled, once he turned around and stormed off you left for your travel, so much for grabbing the rest of your things.

You wouldn’t get to the sanctuary for three more days, and whenever you’d get there you’d be sick, horribly sick, while you’re walk a blizzard had hit and almost killed you and every alive thing around you. Unknown to you a certain archer was panicking with stress searching every bit of the woods for you or worse..your corpse. Dwight slowly came into your room sitting on the bed next to you holding out a comic book “Michonne brought it over..said Carl wanted you to have it..” he whispered pushing the hair out of your face laying the book next to you. You were still weak and tired but the color had came back to your eyes letting you look a lot more alive and well, you also gained the weight you lost while trying to fight for your life against the cold weather. “She’s coming by today..gonna drop off some things..Daryl has been trying to force information out of us about where you are on the walkie-talkie..” he whispered “I don’t wanna talk to him...” you whispered turning away from both of them messing with your sleep pants.

You’d refuse to talk to Daryl for another two days, leaving the time you were gone to be about four almost five days, and whenever you finally did, you wished you would’ve just forgot about him, Rick’s words still repeated in your head “he left for New Mexico three days ago” you walked through Alexandria quietly hugging Carl and Judith whenever they walked up to check up on you “how are you..about your dad leaving you?..” Carl asked you as you both walked around the streets “I’m fine” you whispered shrugging “I told him it was best if..- we had a..- I don’t know what you’d call it..he was like my dad and I thought the best thing for me was to leave and fix my dad’s wrong doings...and he respected that and left..I just wish he would’ve stayed longer...” you whispered messing with you hands “I never got a chance to get better and talk to him..” you said kicking a small pebble with your foot “if he came back what would you do..?” He askee as you turned around the corner again “I dunno...I’m really not sure..” you mumbled nervously, outside was a decent day, the snow was almost melting and it smelt like fresh clean air, something you hadn’t smelt for awhile.

“So why don’t you like Carol?..” he asked shifting Judith from his left to right hip “I dunno...ever since I started staying with Daryl and he started to raise me I could never remember her actually talking or giving me any nice stares, just glares and grumbles. “So she’s...jealous?..” he asked tilting his head looking at you “thats the thing...whenever we fell into that cave because she ran off...she tried to blow it up while I was still inside...if Daryl would’ve chased after Carol instead of actually looking for me I probably would’ve became a walker snack” you giggled as you turned another corner freezing, the gate was closing and Daryl was standing there proudly with Carol, there was something different about this, as you got closer you saw it, a makeshift ring sitting on her finger and his arm sat around her waist, so while you were lost in a blizzard he was getting engaged.

Carl tried to stop you as you stormed up but there was no stopping the giant scene about to break out. “Y/n?” Daryl asked looking at you in shock “a year..you looked for Carol for a fucking year! You looked for Sophia for months!” You screamed your voice cracking as you punched Daryl’s jaw as hard as you could sending him falling to the ground. “You looked for my dad’s dead body so I would’nt see his corpse for three months...and you didn’t even look for me a week...what did I do wrong?...” you whispered ending your rant by Rick helping you up off of Daryl, allowing the man to get up and put a bandana on his now bloody nose. “Y/n..it’s not like that and you kn-“ you cut him off by glaring “end to top it off...whenever I thought you left to clear your mind like you did whenever merle died...or whenever Carol left you for the third time but turns out...you were getting hitched in New Mexico” you growled stepping closer “I’m hurt. And I’m gonna make sure you know it” you whispered turning around walking back to Dwight who was closing up a trade with Michonne.

You would return on your seventeenth birthday, you’d return to follow through with your promise, sadly you turned into exactly what Rick believed you wouldn’t, your father. You stared at the Alexandrans kneeling in front of you but you watched a certain man. “Y/n stop this. Right now. Stop acting like a god damn child!” Daryl yelled clearly thinking you could stop him while Rick cried loudly, Michonne next to him silently crying, both of them knowing one or more were going to die. Carl watched him the far right of the line up, Four year old Judith next to him kneeling whining about her knees. “Take them away. Put them in the truck..they don’t need to see this” you said to Dwight nodding towards Judith and Carl, taking a deep breath you looked at Daryl, your goal was to break him, not for leaving you or leaving with Carol of all people, but for blaming you for your dad’s actions your entire life, and for the first few years of your time with Daryl he made sure you knew how horrible your dad was. “You pissin your pants yet?” She smirked stepping back looking down the line looking at the people you grew up with. Michonne, Rick, Daryl, Carol, Eugene, Ezekiel, Jesus, Tara, and Aaron. “Go. Everybody but him go home...you don’t deserve this” you mumbled in defeat letting Lucille drop to the ground.

Watching as everybody rose to their feet and quickly ran towards Alexandria you rethought what you were doing, was this okay? Should you just back down? No. You needed to get your revenge for everything. “You...you made me feel hated...then loved then it’s like..you just got tired of raising me and quit..especially whenever Carol came along” you whispered glaring at him, as the time passed with you glaring at Daryl waiting for him to apologize more rage grew in the pit of your stomach. The apologize never came only words that encouraged your motives more “you’ve gone fucking crazy, kid.” Hed say to you before spitting his blood right next to your boot, you grabbed Lucille tighter before swinging the baseball bat watching as Daryl’s blood landed on the gravel, you repeatedly swung the bat until you fell to the ground sobbing

For the prompt post: 17 “do you think you can stand?” 18 “please let me carry you” 29 “I don’t... I don’t think I can” 30 “I’m not leaving you”

the lights go out and I can’t be saved 

Thank you @whumphoarder for beta reading!! ❤️

Link to read on Ao3

“Tony, watch out!” Steve yells over the coms just as Peter’s spider-sense erupts at the back of his head. He turns just in time to see one of the Hydra goons they’re fighting hurl a high-tech grenade at Tony.

Without thinking, Peter runs at Tony, counting the seconds in his head. He shoves the man away just in time before an explosion goes off. The force of it throws Peter backwards.

He blacks out before his body hits the ground.

...

The next thing he’s aware of is pain. Searing pain, shooting through his entire body as if he is being burned alive. His head is the worst—it feels like it’s going to burst. Peter struggles to open his impossibly heavy eyes, and when he finally manages it, he’s met with blurriness. He can feel someone grabbing him under the armpits and dragging him backwards across the ground.

“...stay with – you gotta – with me!” He can barely hear the voice above the shrill ringing in his ears.

When his eyes slip shut once again, he knows no more.

...

A voice finds its way through the darkness—the first thing Peter’s able to register before the pain comes back to him all at once. A weak groan slips past his lips.

“Pete? You with me, kid?”

Peter manages to open his eyes, blinking away the blurriness, only to be met with Tony looking down at him, out of his suit. It looks like they’re in a building, maybe a small bunker. “W-Wha’ happn’d?” He mumbles.

“You took a pretty bad hit, kiddo. How are you feeling?” Tony asks, brows pulled together in concern.

“C-Crappy,” Peter answers, squeezing his eyes shut tightly with a gasp when a wave of white hot agony washes over him. He can feel Tony’s hand on his shoulder but it’s not enough to reassure or distract him from the pain knifing through his skull. Peter’s never been in this much pain before in his entire life.

A loud explosion suddenly goes off close to them outside, causing Peter to startle. It jostles his wounds, sending waves of agony throughout his body. It sounds like it’s getting worse out there. This just might be a mission the Avengers lose.

A mission Peter might not return home from.

“Cap said Hydra started a countdown on that nuke they’ve been cooking up before the comms went down. We have to get out of here before this place blows to hell but without my suit, that’s gonna be a challenge,” Tony explains quickly. “Do you think you can stand?”

Everything hurts too much to breathe, and he doesn’t even want to think about getting up right now. “I don’t... I don’t think I can,” Peter admits, tears starting to pool in his eyes. There’s no use lying at this point. This is the end of the line for him.

“Oh, kiddo, it’s okay. We’re going to figure something out, alright?” Tony tells him, reaching down and gently wiping away a tear from Peter’s cheek with his thumb.

“T’ny... I...” Peter stops to cough, tasting something horribly gross and coppery in his mouth. Blood. Coughing up blood probably isn’t a good sign. He isn’t stupid—from the way his limbs are starting to feel oddly cold and numb...he doesn’t have long. “I-I’m not gonna make it,” he stammers. “Y-You n-need to... to g-go...”

Tony shakes his head. “Nope. Not an option, kiddo. We’re both getting out of here.” He runs a hand through Peter’s hair but his fingers freeze when he touches at the back of his head. Tony retracts his hand and his eyes widen when he sees that it’s covered in thick blood.

“Tony-”

“No. I’m gonna get you out of here, Pete. Please, just let me carry you.” Tony carefully starts to snake his arms underneath him, but it causes a jolt of searing pain to travel down Peter’s back and he cries out. “Okay, okay...” Immediately Tony lowers him back to the ground. His eyes frantically darting around them. “There has to be something I can put you on so I can carry you-”

Peter weakly lifts his arm and grabs the man’s hand. “Tony,” he croaks. His mentor looks down at him, tears in his eyes. Peter can feel his own tears sliding down his cheeks. “Y-You h-have to l-leave me. Th-There’s no time.”

This is it... this is goodbye. Peter isn’t going home. He’s never going to see May ever again, or his friends, or the team. Maybe when they meet again someday in heaven. But Peter doesn’t want to go yet. There’s so much he hasn’t done—so many things he wants to do and places to go. He never got the chance to get his driver’s license, build that tree house with Tony for Morgan, take MJ out on a proper date, get married, have kids... nothing. He’s not going to be able to do any of those things now. But that’s fine. Tony would be dead if it wasn’t for him pushing him out of the way. Morgan, Pepper, Happy, and the team needed him.

The world needs Tony Stark.

Tony’s face crumples as tears spill down his cheeks. “Peter, I’m... I’m not leaving you. I can’t. I can’t. I won’t do it.”

“T-Tony,” Peter wheezes, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. “Y-You have to. Th-They need you.”

“And I need you,” Tony admits, voice breaking at the end. “I had to live through five years without you a-and... I can’t do it again. I can’t. Please,” he barely manages to choke out through the tears.

Another round of explosions come from outside, much closer this time to the point Peter can feel the ground trembling underneath him as dust and pebbles shower down from the ceiling. Tony stretches over Peter, shielding him from the debris. It takes a few moments before it all stops, and Peter feels even weaker in that short span of time. Tony moves away and faces him again, his face falling when he looks down at him.

Peter distantly wonders if he looks worse than he feels right now.

Tony tightly closes his eyes as more tears fall down his cheeks. He sucks in a choked breath and shakes his head as he reaches a hand up to his ear, sniffing thickly. “D-Does anyone copy? We need help here.” He waits for a few seconds, receiving only static in return. “Does anyone copy?” He repeats, with more urgency, but is met with the same answer.

Peter tries to hold in the cough he feels coming on, but the urge is too strong. As he hacks and sputters, droplets of blood escape his mouth. He can feel it trickling down the side of his lips.

Tony’s eyes widen in horror at the sight. “I-It’s okay. J-Just try to breathe. You’re alright,” he says shakily, clearly trying to control his voice so it comes out more comforting than scared.

But Peter can’t breathe. He can feel the blood in his throat, blocking air from entering. “C’n’t,” he chokes out, panic flowing through him. So this is how he’s going to die—choking on his own blood.

It feels like forever before the coughing fit finally subsides, and it leaves Peter even weaker. He’s barely aware of Tony wiping his mouth, as well as the hand on the side of his face. Peter blinks sluggishly, finding that his eyes are getting pretty heavy, like they’re being weighed down by an invisible force. He looks up at Tony, finding him to be looking at him with a pained expression on his face, tears sliding down his cheeks.

He’s never really seen Tony cry before—well, except that one time they watched The Good Dinosaur with Morgan. It makes Peter feel guilty that he’s the cause of it this time.

“T’ny,” Peter slurs weakly. “M’ scared.”

Tony’s lower lip wobbles as he swallows, brushing back Peter’s curls from his forehead. “I know, it’s okay. You’re going to be alright, kiddo. I’m right here,” he says as he grabs a hold of Peter’s hand and gently squeezes. “I’m right here with you, Pete.”

Peter tries to lift his mouth into a reassuring smile, but he’s too weak even for that. He’s so tired. He’s never felt this tired before, not even all those sleepless nights when his insomnia was at its worst. Tony was always there for him during those particularly rough nights, and they would just end up watching TV together, eventually falling asleep on the couch, Peter snuggled up against him. Tony’s always been there for him, from the first time they met... to their final moments together.

“I love you, T’ny,” Peter tells him, trying to stop himself from slurring his words. “Tell... tell May... I love her. An’ Morgan, Pepper, H-Happy, N-Ned, an’ MJ.”

“I will,” Tony answers tearfully, gently squeezing his hand a little tighter.

Peter’s eyes are getting heavier by the second and he suddenly realizes that he doesn’t feel pain anymore. He doesn’t feel scared. He feels almost... at peace.

“I love you, Peter,” Tony tells him, barely feeling his mentor’s hand on his face. “You’re-You’re such an amazing, kind, sweet, brave kid. And... I’m so proud of you. I can speak for May too. We love you so much, Peter. So much.” He plants a kiss on Peter’s temple before he rests his own forehead against his. “I love you so much, Peter.”

“L’ve y-you...” Peter murmurs, feeling weird and floaty. Disconnected from himself.

He tries to stay awake. He tries to hang on a little longer. But he can’t.

The last thing he sees is Tony’s blurry face before his eyes close against his will.

And then... he knows no more.

Children Of Yesterday- Chapter 4

Standing in front of him, are two more children, only slightly older than the one he had found. The blonde child was freakishly skinny with dark bags under his eyes, and was standing with another black-haired slightly taller child who had a bony arm wrapped around him.

The blonde was wearing an over-sized Captain America costume that drowned him, and the other only wearing a leather jacket with sleeves that covered his hands and fell to his knees.

Tony almost chokes.

The blonde in the Captain America costume. The black-haired child standing over him. The scared, timid kid on his hip with glasses and bruises.

He knows who these kids are.

.

After an accident with Hydra and the time stone, Tony and Rhodey are left with six of their teammates turned into young children. Trying to keep the six young, traumatized and rambunctious children safe all while finding a cure and attempting to give them a taste of a real childhood might be their biggest mission yet.

Continue reading here under the read more, or click here to read on AO3!

“What the hell do you mean they escaped?” Tony asks, disbelief clear in his voice. “You’re telling me, a couple of children escaped from a government facility on their own?”

“No,” Fury corrected. “I’m telling you that a Red Room trained assassin who happens to currently be a child escaped and took the other five with her.”

There are still agents scrambling everywhere, but thankfully the alarm has finally been switched off. Fury pinches his nose between two fingers. “Romanoff managed to knock out one agent and shot two others who were trying to stop them all from leaving. Somehow, they managed to shut off all the power, including a majority of our locks and security cameras.”

“And then what? You just let them waltz on out?”

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Fury snaps. “Romanoff shot two of our agents. They had a mini standoff near the doors. She shot the agent who was trying to keep Rogers and Barnes from joining them, and then another who was trying to stop them all from leaving together. She fired other shots, but they missed.”

Somewhere in the building, two quick shots are weird. Fury grimaces. “Unfortunately, some of those locks they undid also included some cells we were holding suspects in.”

Tony can’t help but snicker at that, and Rhodey nudges him. “This is serious, Tony.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, but you can’t deny it’s at least a little bit funny.”

Rhodey stares at him for several seconds, before the corners of his mouth slightly quirk up as well.

...

“I’m hungry.” Sam whines as he kicks away a small pebble with the toe of his shoe. Natasha looks up from her spot on the ground, leaning against a brick wall.

“They gave us snacks on the plane.” She reminds him.

Clint frowns. “That was like, forever ago.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Get over it.”

“Actually, they’re right.” Bruce speaks up, voice soft. “I’m kinda hungry too.”

“There’s a bodega I saw right around the corner. They’d have food.” Sam points out.

“We don’t have any money, though…” Bruce mentions.

“We’ll just sneak it out.” Clint tells them, with a causal shrug of his shoulders.

Sam is appalled. “That’s stealing!”

“Do you want food or not?”

Sam doesn’t have a response for him, instead just crosses his arms and gives a small shrug of his own.

The group walks in through the automatic sliding doors, Bucky and Steve only barely hiding their surprise at them. They briskly walk through the store, heads held high as they pretend to have complete confidence in themselves. Sam leads them, having been chosen for having the most experience inside stores. He follows the small aisle signs to the food section, acting as if he had been inside this exact store many times before.

They all crowd into the aisle, away from the view of the balding man behind the cash register. Steve has a fist of Bucky’s shirt clutched in his hand as the two of them gape at the shelves.

“There’s so much…” Steve whispers in awe.

Sam sends them a weird look, but Bruce shakes his head at him. Sam then sends a questioning expression to Bruce, who only shrugs his shoulders in response.

“Okay, um…” Natasha frowns, looking at all the bulky food items that would be hard to conceal within their clothes. “Here.” She grabs a loaf of bread and untwists the tie. She reaches inside, grabs a handful of pieces and pulls them out, passing them out. “Put it in your clothes somewhere not obvious.”

It helps that most of their clothes are a slightly baggy on them- the medical wing did the best they could to fit them with what they had, but it still didn’t quite sit the best on them.

Clint shoves a piece flat up against his stomach. Sam folds a piece and sticks it up his long sleeve. Bruce pins a piece of bread to his hip using his waistband. Natasha watches them, and once satisfied, ties and places the bread loaf back onto the shelf.

“What else?” She asks them, also feeling slightly overwhelmed at all the options.

“These!” Bucky reaches up and pulls down a pack of beef jerky. He shows the group his find with a wide smile as he holds it out for approval. The others glance at it, and with a shrug each pull off bag of jerky of their own.

They each look each other over, checking one another to make sure any hiding spots aren’t too obvious. Steve doesn’t look thrilled about the stealing, but he doesn’t say anything, so they ignore him. Sam is slightly hesitating on walking them out, so Natasha brushes past him, taking the lead.

The cashier’s eyes linger on them for a second as they move out, but then return to the notepad on the counter. The children file out of the door. They’re careful not to rush to much while leaving, but once the doors close behind them, they break out into a sprint. They’re all smiling, laughing and yelling with adrenaline as their feet pound on the ground.

“That was awesome!” Clint exclaims as they turn the corner and back into their small hideaway alleyway.

“We’re like those cool movie villains!”  Sam agrees.

They’re all panting as they pull out their spoils, bread being disturbed between them. They attempt making jerky sandwiches, but quickly find out the jerky is too tough for that, so they eat their makeshift dinner one by one.

Bucky tears the last corner off his bread piece, and hands it over to Steve, who is sat slightly away from the group. Steve takes the offered piece but doesn’t put it in his mouth.

Bucky frowns. “Are you okay?” he asks as he sits down next to his best friend. Steve nods, but doesn’t answer. “Stevie.”

“I’m…fine.” Steve forces out, breathless. By now, it had been several minutes since they’d stopped running, and everyone else’s breathing has mostly evened out.

Bucky scoots forward, coming to sit in front of Steve. “In and out, Steve. You gotta keep trying to breathe. Ma said 4 seconds in and 4 seconds out, remember?”

Steve nods, concentrating on moving the air through his lungs instead of the burning in his chest. Bucky begins doing the breathing exercise with him, slightly to encourage him, but mostly to distract him as he does funny faces with each intake and exhale.

Bruce is watching the scene nearby, focused on the two boys. “He has asthma?”

Bucky nods without taking his eyes off Steve.  

“He needs an inhaler.” Bruce tells him.

Bucky sends him a look then, slightly exasperated. “If we had an inhaler, don’t you think we’d be using it right now?” Bucky turns back to Steve. “Besides, it’s fine. I’ve talked him through them a lot. I know what I’m doing.”

Natasha, Clint, and Sam are all watching now as well, standing back with curious eyes. “Is he going to be okay?” Clint asks.

“I’m fine.” Steve’s strained voice cuts in.

“It’d be best if we could get home soon though. We have an inhaler at home.”

“He’s right.” Natasha speaks up. “I need to get back too. Quickly. I don’t have time for this.”

“So… how do we all get back then? The only ones who lives in New York are them but we’re all far away.”

“We gotta get to an airport, I guess.”

...

“Boss, I have something.” Friday’s voice jerks Tony out of his trance, from where he is reviewing the security footage from the medical wing before the cameras had been cut off, hoping the kids may have revealed part of their plan while still there. “A group of six unaccompanied children matching their descriptions has been picked up on a security camera walking down 25th street. Would you like to view it?”

“No, it’s them.” He says, confident in Friday’s ability to recognize them and the group’s strange appearance. He wasn’t willing to waste anymore time- at this point, the kids had been gone for several hours, and the worry was becoming unbearable.  Even the safest parts of New York could be dangerous, especially for children who most likely had no idea where they were or how to navigate the modern-day city. “Friday, suit up.” He wanted to get to them as soon as possible. “Alert Fury and Rhodey as well.” He commanded as his suit began to encase him. “Tell Fury we need to clear the area of any civilians. I don’t want the kids making a scene and someone filming them.”

Friday agrees and Tony takes off in his suit, the location the group was last seen already entered in the GPS.

Once he lands, Tony leaves his suit behind, safely tucked behind into a corner. Rhodey argues with this, recalling the way Natasha had fired several kill shots at him at the first time they confronted them. But he suspected he would have more success with all the kids outside of the suit. He didn’t want them fearing him or thinking that they were in trouble.

He steps out into the open.

Clint spots him almost immediately, and wastes no time yelling out a shrill "run!" to the others. None of them even question it- they all take off running at his alert.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit." Tony cusses as he begins sprinting after his miniature teammates, chasing them around a block corner. "They've going down 27th!!" He yells into his earpiece, informing Fury and Rhodey of the new direction.

They don't make it far-a black SUV makes a sudden turn and bumps over the curb onto the sidewalk several feet in front of them, cutting off their path as agents unload from the vehicle.

Natasha spins around and has the stolen gun pointed at his head before he can even get a single word out. She shoulders her way in front of all the others, protecting them. Behind her, Steve starts into a renewed wheezing fit.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the group, but in the corners of his vision he can see the SHIELD agents gathering around, ensuring none of the kids could make a run for it or that any civilians could see what was happening. Keeping a close watch on Natasha, he can tell the appearance of agents and Fury beside him puts her more on edge. Her finger moves to rest on the trigger.

“Natalia.” He brings both hands up, showing he has no weapons or intentions to fight. “You know me, remember? I helped you.”

She blinks at him.

Tony sighs. “That’s going to work anymore. I know you can speak English now.”

“You left us with them.” She says, gesturing over at Fury and other agents with disdain.

Steve makes a strained noise as he tries and fails to suck in air. Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, whispers something to him.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I thought you all would be safest there.”

“We wanna go home!” Sam cuts in. They all nod in agreement.

“I know. We’re going to help you.” Technically, it wasn’t lying. It wasn’t like he said what or how they were planning help.

Steve buckles and his knees hit the ground. Bucky drops as well, having had a grasp on his friend’s elbow. His voice is more urgent now as he continues trying to talk Steve down. It’s not making a difference.

“Steve needs help, Natalia. We can help him if you let us.”

Natasha is gnawing on her lip, and she sends a worried glance over her shoulder at the two boys on the ground.

“His lips are turning blue,” Bucky tells her, his eyes wide.

Natasha looks back to Tony. “You’ll save him, yes? No tricks?” She asks.

“No tricks,” Tony promises.

Natasha takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for several seconds as she steels herself, and lowers the gun.

Rhodey rushes in, dropping to Steve's level and shoving an inhaler between his lips. he presses the top of the inhaler, once, twice, three times, ejecting the lifesaving medicine. Steve reaches out to grab at Rhodey, the scared young boy searching for comfort in his savior.

Natasha's gun clatters to the ground as she drops it, bringing her hands up to hide her face. The gun now safely out of her hands, other agents close in, wrapping the kids in blankets and handing them water bottles. Natasha, however, doesn’t let any of them near her.

She turns to Tony. "What are you going to do to us?"

"I-what?"

"Because we ran away. What is our punishment? I would prefer to know now." There's a very slight tremor in her voice she is trying hard to hide.

Tony’s joy at finding them all safe and unharmed sinks. She had given herself up thinking she would be punished all so that Steve could get his medicine. “Oh, god. No, Natalia. None of you are in trouble, okay? No one is mad. We're just happy you're all safe.”

Behind him, Fury snorts. “Speak for yourself. She shot several of my agents.”

“Not. Helping.” Tony hisses at him.

Fury is unbothered. “I’m just saying. When they come back they’re going to have to have extra security, maybe an agent just assigned to her to make sure this doesn’t happen ag- “

Tony cuts him off. “Come back?” He raises his eyebrows, now turning to face Fury directly, putting his body directly between him and Natasha. “What makes you think they’re going back to SHIELD?”

“What makes you think they aren’t?”

“They aren’t going back with you. Clearly, none of them felt safe there.”

“And where else are they going to go, Stark?”

“They’re staying with me.”

Fury laughs, but Tony doesn’t budge.

“Come on now, Stark. Let’s be reasonable here.” Fury says, taking a step closer.

Tony raises a hand, a gauntlet already forming on his hand and charging up, ready to shoot. “You’re not taking them. They’re coming back to the tower with me, where they’ll be safe and cared for. Kids don’t belong in a hospital, Fury.”

Fury shows his palms, a sign of surrender as he backs away again. “Fine, fine. Whatever you say. Have fun trying to manage all of them. We’ll get out of your hair then, since you so clearly don’t want us here.”

Tony doesn’t move from in front of the kids until all the agents are loaded back into their SUV’s and are out of sight. Only then does he lower his gauntlet and turn back to the children.

Steve is still on the ground, and holding the inhaler in his hand, but no longer seems to need it. Instead he is now sitting criss cross, focusing on taking deep breaths. Bucky is standing next to him, arguing with Sam about the logistics of Tony’s gauntlet, whether it was a gun or a bomb. Bruce is standing silently, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his eyes go back and forth between the two adults. Natasha is a few steps away, unhappy expression on her face as she ignores Clint, who is making a poor attempt at a joke to try and ease her.

“I’ve already called Pepper,” Rhodey tells him. “Told her we found them and to meet us here with a car.”

Tony thanks him, no idea what he would do without his best friend who was always thinking one step ahead. “Are you all okay? Does anyone need anything?” He asks to the gaggle of children.

They shake their heads wordlessly.

Expect Sam.

“We ate a snack already so don’t worry!” All the kid’s eyes snap to him, narrowed. Bucky reaches out and punches him in the arm.

“You aren’t supposed to tell them that!”

Sam is clearly offended at the accusation, mouth dropping open as he defends himself. “He asked! What’s wrong with telling him we ate?!”

“Because we stole the food, dipshit.”

“Hey, hey.” Tony steps in. “Don’t call him tha- wait, what? You guys stole food?”

“Nice going.” Bucky whispers at Sam as he crosses his arms.

“It was Clint’s idea!” Sam says, pointing over to Clint.

“Hey!” Clint exclaims, a betrayed look on his face.

“Jesus Christ.” Tony pinches the bridge of his noise, trying to rub away his building headache. “Where did you guys steal from?”

“That place over there,” Sam points down the street. “With the green sign.”

Tony follows his finger, and groans again when he sees the small mom and pop shop that Sam identified. “Okay. Everyone look at me.” He waits until all six tiny eyes are on him. “We don’t steal, alright? Stealing is bad.”

Tony pauses, frowning at himself for a second. “Or…We don’t steal from small shops, okay? Those people need the money. If you have too, go to somewhere like, Walmart or something. But that’s only if you absolutely have too. Got it?”

A large black car pulls up to the curb next to them. The front door opens, and Pepper steps out, eyes landing immediately on the avengers turned children.

“Oh, my god.” She breathes out, seeing them all for the first time in person since the time stone incident. “They’re so cute.”

HAN JIHAE, better know as JIHAN, is the MAKNAE, MAIN VOCAL, AND LEAD DANCER of ORIGIN under GOLD STAR MEDIA. He was born on OCTOBER 28, 1997. He looks a little like NA JAEMIN OF NCT.

CHARACTER INFORMATION

faceclaim: Na Jaemin, member of NCT

legal name: Han Jihae

stage name: Jihan

pronouns: he/they

birth date: October 28, 1997

hometown: Zurich, Switzerland

position: maknae, main vocal & lead dancer of Origin

claims: ACTING – Seok Hansung in Hwarang (2016-2017) – Hwang Woojoo in SKY Castle (2018-2019) – Jung Seyeon in True Beauty (2020-2021) OST – It’s Definitely You, Hwarang (2016-2017) – How Do You Do, True Beauty (2020-2021)

BIOGRAPHY

triggers: injury (i.) , bullying, eating disorder / bulimia (vi.)

i.

The story starts with scraped knees and a sprained ankle. Han Jihae is seven and this is the fifth time in the last five months their mother has to bring them to the doctor’s office.

An injury is a temporary thing. Their hunger for the world, however, is not and no amount of split lips and aching bones, no pattern of bruises is enough to signal them that it is time to stop. It’s not like they beg for trouble, trouble just happens to be the natural consequence of wandering off the beaten path in the woods, trouble comes when you poke the proverbial hornet’s nest to see what happens. Trouble finds you when you refuse to step back without an answer when the world tells you no.

Jiyong waits back home perched on the windowsill, swaddled in blankets—at six, they share the same face and the same voice and the same charming smile, even if Jiyong is weak and tired where Jihae isn’t.

“I’ll bring you the world,” Jihae vows and presses their newest finding, a smooth, speckled pebble into the palm of Jiyong’s hand. “Just you wait.”

ii.

There is only so much a worried parent can take, watching their offspring run from one pitfall into the next. “Too much energy and no direction,” that’s what their kindergarten teacher says. “He means well, he just doesn’t know how to go about things.” It’s a kind way to put the forceful ways they learn to stand up for others. The road to hell is paved by good intentions, after all.

“Maybe it’s time we find you two a hobby,” Mama suggests, her voice cheerily saccharine. “Maybe,” Jiyong amends. “Try me,” Jihae challenges.

They last six months, until a dance studio opens two streets away and all of the neighbourhood kids are starting classes. Jiyong can’t go, Jiyong is sick and shivering and sleeping his fever off on Papa’s lap.

“Go anyway, Jihae,” Mama tells them softly and pets their hair. “He’d be upset if you missed out on the fun.” “It’s not going to be fun,” they push back vehemently. “It’s never going to be real fun without Jiyong.”

They go. And they dance. And they fall in love.

iii.

Summers in Seoul have always been sweltering and humid, the air heavy and thick with smog. They’re worse in the shoddy dance studio where Jihae’s older cousin Sunhee practices with her dance crew, but right now it’s summer break they’re one member short and Jiyong’s gentle assurance that Jihae can dance, that they’re good still rings in their ears when they shuffle a little closer to the rest.

Jihae feels lonely in the room, a skinny child just shy of twelve standing between a pack of teens. It lasts until they start practice and things fall into place. No one at home ever listens to K-pop, Mama and Papa both grew up abroad themselves already and Swiss radio rarely ever plays anything without English lyrics.

The songs they dance to this afternoon are different, come with choreography and bright and flashy music videos and Jihae and Jiyong stay up late that night, Sunhee squished between them and going through her favourite songs.

“We’re not seriously busking,” Sunhee tells the man with the business card. “We’re just playing around.” Her body feels warm and firm when Jihae hides behind it. “That’s okay,” the man says and crouches down in an attempt to get a better look at them. “How old are you?” “He doesn’t speak Korean–” “Eleven.” Jihae doesn’t mean to disobey Sunhee. But they’ve been asked a question and it’d be rude not to answer, wouldn’t it? “Eleven is a good age,” the man says and hands them a card. “Have you ever wanted to be a star, kid?”

Even Mama knows who Bang Sunyoung is. Papa looks less impressed. “It’d be just to try it out!” Jihae repeats what the man in Hongdae told them. “You’re starting sixth grade back home in two weeks,” Papa points out. “Honey, I didn’t even know Bang Sunyoung has her own company–” “Can we do this later, dear?” “– Sorry.” Jihae frowns up at their father. “Sunhee says it’s because I did well,” they add. “I have no doubt you did. But it’s not this as easy as that, Jihae.”

They throw the business card in the bin that evening, frustrated and angry and humiliated. Come morning, they find it on their clothes from the day before, dog-eared and a little creased. “Try again,” Jiyong’s handwriting tells them.

iv.

It takes the better part of a semester and the promise to bring back top grades and not to fight their teachers for Jihae’s parents to start looking into Gold Star auditions and schools in Seoul. Sunhee’s mother, auntie Hyunjoo, offers them her guest bedroom for Jihae to stay in.

“And if things go bad you come back home right away, yes?” Mama tells them. Worry looks strange on her face. Jihae doesn’t like it.

“Yes, mama,” they tell her, watching the lines in her face fade hesitantly.

Things won’t go bad, they think to themselves, I won’t let them.

v.

Things first go really well and then they go really bad.

Han Jihae is thirteen when they start training under Gold Star Media, all knobby elbows and bruised legs, slowly starting to grow in what one day will be their adult body. Training is excruciating. The coaches don’t care about how much homework they have. Their Korean is more bare bones than they thought it would be. The dorms are cramped and true privacy is a rare luxury. They miss their parents, they miss Jiyong, they miss their youngest sibling, little Jiyeon who is still just six and might forget about them before they even get to debut.

They want to give up.

“But isn’t this what you worked so hard for?” Jiyong asks through the phone. Jihae can’t recall ever hearing their twin brother so heartbroken.

“Well, I want to give up,” they tell him with so much fake bravado, they almost buy it themselves. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

Singing, turns out, is nicer than dancing. Singing is something Jihae is naturally good at, something that is comfortable and fun. When dancing takes their breath it’s through singing that they learn to take it back.

Soon, more than a dancer, Han Jihae turns into a singer.

vi.

Being picked on is infuriating. Being picked on knowing that fighting back isn’t an option—not if they want to avoid future bullying scandals—is excruciating. Jihae is used to being othered but up to this point giving his bullies hell in return has always been a possibility.

Instead, they learn to redirect their anger. Eat your frustrations, purge in embarrassment. Brush their teeth lest they want to lose them, hide the traces lest they want to look like you’re asking for pity. Rinse, repeat. Toe the line of breaking, this is a punishment, this is a reminder that they’re still in control. Their justifications start blurring and contradicting themselves.

They pretend not to see, close their eyes and ignore how every time catharsis slips a little faster through the cracks in their armour, leaving them hungry and hollow and ashamed.

Unexpectedly, it’s the trainee selections for Who’s Next that break the cycle. Being on television is stressful in a way different from what they’re used to so far but the attention they receive reignites their excitement. Their former “coping methods” no longer work and put their voice at risk instead and so they’re left in front of a camera, hands wringing behind their back hoping no one can tell how scared they actually are.

And it pays off. Team A wins and Jihae establishes a base level of affection for being the darling youngest, mischievous and radiant. It’s an act, the person Jihae would like to be so desperately, but it’s okay. They can still grow into their wings as they go, right?

vii.

Turns out that it’s not quite that easy. Debuting is stressful and what follows is the weight of knowing that they’re currently underperforming, their concept just a smidge too niche to really catch on. The anger returns, flaring and all-consuming and this time there’s no more room to purge it so instead, they start bottling it up.

The person Jihae crafts into their public persona seems to become more distant with every comeback and they’re tired to the bone when Origin’s success finally finds them. All they can do is to let the wave sweep them along and gasp for half a breath before they throw themselves back into pretending.

Turns out that pretending for a living—actually so, past the faking of an idolsona—is actually a lot of fun. Their first acting gig they’re offered in late 2016, more a matter of making sure Origin remains fresh in everyone’s perception by shoving them down the public’s throat than anything else, really. Jihae is just around the right age for the role and that’s what everyone else assumes too, that Origin’s sudden spike in fame has made the members, specifically, cocky, that they have no place taking trained actors’ spaces, that they have no value to contribute to South Korea’s acting sphere. Hwarang doesn’t return the money it’s supposed to, either, but to Jihae it’s an opportunity to put on a wig and a fancy costume and pretend not to be themselves for a while and as long as the cameras are running the experience is liberating.

They don’t do as badly as expected and even after an underperforming acting debut they’re approached about an audition again later down the line. It’s while on set for SKY Castle that they realize that in their supporting roles, neither Hwarang nor this opportunity really rest much of their success on Jihae’s shoulders specifically. The responsibility they take on feels lighter when the pressure is split amongst a cast so much bigger than Origin and no amount of vile comments can take that budding sense of relief away from them.

When they’re first approached about their appearance in True Beauty they don’t anticipate for it to be their tipping point. It’s pride that ultimately makes them accept the role in spite of the reminders of what it entails and it’s pride that leaves them feeling horribly afterwards. Their performance seemingly hits the mark—Jihae wouldn’t know, they never end up watching the show air. But it becomes an unpleasant reminder that they’re not as well-equipped to cope as they like to pretend they are.

viii.

Han Jihae is twenty-three and the world is at their feet. Maybe not theirs specifically, but close enough. The beginning of the new decade marks a shift in pace, a gentle lean into something that feels a little more manageable at last. Maybe they’ve finally started to grow used to the life they wanted and weren’t prepared for, maybe it’s the beginning of the end because apparently if fame doesn’t breed misery it’s not truly fame—who knows.

Whatever it may be, for the first time in eleven years Jihae can finally turn around to look at the one thing they’ve neglected the most: themselves. They don’t quite know what to make of the jagged edges where things have broken and splintered or how to patch the holes they’ve burnt into themselves but for the first time in a long while they feel ready to learn how to heal.

How do you think things would have changed if Five has come back even younger than in canon? Like if he came back as 7 or 8 or even younger? Also, I love your writing. You’re an amazing writer and I love reading your stuff.

first of all that would be hilarious because as much as media has tricked you into thinking older child actors (who are easier to work with) are younger (I mean case in point, Five is supposed to be thirteen but the actor is fifteen and those two years can make a big difference at that age) or animated movies can’t decide on a size for their character, but for real seven-year-olds in real life are BABIES

that’s like. the equivalent of a second grader?? I think i was about to go into year three living in the netherlands. I thought the year six kids were ancient. I didn’t care about bodily harm and would just hurl myself into cartwheels and handstands (nowadays not so much)

That was about the age I was losing teeth for the Very First Time and also the age I almost gave myself a concussion playing on the playground equipment (I blacked out and woke up in the nurses office lmao) and I thought the singing talents of Sandy from Hamtaro were the greatest in the world (the twirling ribbon song was formative for me)

seven was also the age for me that i realized that romance was The Worst because my best friend george decided that the pulling pigtails version of bugging me was a sure fire way to get my attention or something like that. but like,, george and me had chicken pox together. we pretended we were cheetahs in our treetop bunkbed nest together (we had a very loose grasp of the difference between cheetahs and jaguars and other big cats, admittedly). He was my best friend he didn’t need to pull my hair or anything rip

like can you even IMAGINE if five came back as a second grader?? yeah like maybe someone would serve thirteen-year-old Five black coffee but no one is going to just hand this baby child anything with caffeine are you kidding me

his feet wouldn’t even be able to reach the peDALS OF THE CAR

wow this would inconvenience him so much

i can’t even find a picture of my brother that young smh but here’s him and me when he was? probably about nine or ten and I was actually probably about six and smiling with a closed mouth to hide the fact that i was missing teeth or something smh

that is TWO WHOLE BABIES right there i’m just genuinely dying at the thought of Five popping out and he’s just. a gradeschooler. that suit would have been swimming on him and he’s got little chubby cheeks built to absorb shock and whatever atrocious child haircut he had at that age 

(i have posted before about my genuine shock that five was ten in the comics. ten!! that’s a whole baby! a child! W H A T)

but?? does he pop up from jumping through his portal and look in the mirror and find that he’s missing some teeth? Can he whistle air through the gaps? i’m just picturing seven-year-old five getting socked in the face and losing some teeth or something and diego is right there to patronizingly tell him that it’s okay they’re probably just baby teeth and five is about to punch diego’s teeth out in a second if he keeps that up by jove

imagine five jumping and standing on the counter and he still can’t reach the marshmallows because they’re on the top shelf of the cupboard do you know how angry that would make him?? he would have about 60% less time for his siblings bullshit than normal because his small stature can only hold so much emotion at any one time and he has decided to go with seething rage for the foreseeable future

can you imagine how difficult that would be for Allison though?? Five at thirteen was bad but Five-at-around-Claire’s-age??? a billion times worse and she’s probably going to either be super avoidant because it’s painful or full on protective mama bear

it would definitely change a lot of plot stuff because i mean. no one’s going to let this tiny child drive. he can’t reach the pedals, duh. however, he might persuade one of the siblings (diego and klaus, probably) to drive him to griddy’s instead? Because with the options being “so help me i will walk there myself. alone. at night. as a small and innocent looking child” and driving him and keeping him company i think the latter wins out

(i’d nix griddy’s altogether but i’m way too invested in hazel and agnes getting together tbh)

hey wait does being that young mean that five doesn’t have his umbrella tattoo?? huh. well regardless if diego and klaus accompany him then the plot point of agnes telling the assassin squad about the tattoo can still happen so i guess it’s a moot point

but honestly the drama of having this tiny child just. completely annihilate the hit squad is hilarious to me, and it would also hit home the fact that hey! five might be telling the truth about everything and isn’t messed up by time travel! i mean whomst the fuck else would walk into a room and zero in on the seven-year-old no one else knows exists or is assumed dead by literally the whole ass world (and even if they didn’t he’s supposed to be 29) and demand he come with them and shit like man

Klaus: hey five what do you have

Five, stabbing his own arm to take the tracking device out: a knife

Diego: NO

other fun points include: the siblings bodily picking five up and five behaving like a very aggressive small breed of dog while simultaneously being super touch-starved and secretly appreciating being carried but would never admit it (whilst sober that is)

either they kept the old uniforms and five wears that or they have to scrounge up whatever they can find which means that five is dressed in some of claire’s clothes allison found stuffed in the bottom of her suitcase until they can go shopping and i’m not sure which is better tbh

hazel and cha-cha assuming that five is actually either diego or klaus bc those were the two adults in the coffee shop with the umbrella tattoo and eventually being confronted with the fact that their legendary adversary is a gradeschooler

five just being. so tired. all the time. my bedtime at seven years old was probably like. 8:30PM. kids need a lot of sleep!! so just five trying to keep himself awake because he has important stuff to do!! but doing the nod and bob because he can’t keep his eyes open

the trying-to-be-helpful but mildly-condescending strangers who stop five or talk down to him increase by tenfold. Teenagers out an about on the street along? eh. a seven-year-old? five is going to get so many concerns “where are your parents, sweetheart?” that he IS going to snap and kill a well meaning middle aged woman in the middle of the street

in a similar note the number of people who assume that he is the child of whatever sibling he happens to be in proximity to also increases tenfold and five does Not Appreciate This (and neither do half the siblings tbh bc now they have to pretend that they are responsible for this tiny feral child)

“FUCK” five says, loudly, prompting gasps from the delicate natured passerbys. 

“you can’t fucking say that, dude, you’re like. a baby.” klaus says, equally loudly and making everyone in earshot 70% more scandalized

“I am not associated with them” diego informs the masses with an edge of desperation

luther is just. so massive next to this tiny version of five. he could hold him in like, one hand. and maybe luther at one point was really good with kids but with his new body he’s awkward and it’s very sad

no one bats an eye at child Five toting an Entire Half of a Mannequin that is probably as big as he is around. Billy’s kid is currently emotionally attached to a brick he found in the alley behind his school. Gertie’s granddaughter refuses to leave the house without an old sock filled with pebbles tucked under her arm. Gary’s stepkid found a piece of driftwood on the beach and now it’s in their bed every night. Kids are weird and at least Five’s has a face for him to talk to i guess??

instead of luther threatening dolores he just looks at five with this gun that is way too big for him to have a hold of really and just. reaches out and scoops five up under his armpits and he’s just furiously wiggling and growling and luther is like “nope not putting you down until we agree that murder is not a solution”

every interaction with the handler is probably about 112% more creepy honestly but also what about the job?? either five a) gets an appropriately child sized desk like the ones you find in an actual gradeschool or b) he gets some kind of boosterseat for his chair and just has to sit at this desk that is comically oversized for him

the squad go to a restaurant and the server brings over the menus and hands five a children’s menu. without a word klaus just plucks it from five’s hands and substitutes it for his own because they have been kicked out of six whole restaurants and he is willing to eat the children’s chicken nugget meal if he had to god damn it

the apocalypse doesn’t happen because vanya is literally incapable of hurting a grade schooler right in front of her regardless of how pissed off at her family in general she is. that is a whole child. vanya works with children for her job. she can’t hurt an entire child in front of her?? like she can destroy the world and all the abstract children but this one child right in front of her? who is also her long lost brother and former sole confidant as children who wasn’t there for any of the general bullshit she just went through?? not so much

but like. even after the stop the apocalypse there’s still the issue of what to do with this entire child. like at least as a teenager five would be able to be somewhat independent but seven-year-old five can’t reach the sink to wash his hands without a step stool 

just the squad coming together to look after five without quite letting five know that’s what they’re doing because they don’t want to wake up to a knife in their chest or anything smh

five and claire meet and become an unstoppable duo of terror. patrick is an actually competent parent who is so exhausted 24/7 from raising his daughter that he just accepts five immediately because?? his brother-in-law being a time travelling 58-year-old in the body of a grade schooler who is partially feral from over forty years alone and probably has untreated ptsd? okay might as well happen

patrick “i didn’t trust allison with a child and yet i still trust her way more than the rest of you so i’m going to schedule five a doctor’s appointment or something because god knows he’s probably not up to date on his vaccinations and he’s hanging around claire and i doubt any of y’all even thought about that” hargreeves

the hargreeves all go to an amusement park as a family bonding activity. the mistake becomes clear when it’s revealed that five is too short to go on half the rides. the resulting meltdown gets them all kicked out and Diego just has five tossed over his shoulder still hurling insults at the ride attendant as they hoof it out of there

the family has to figure out everywhere they can go within walking distance because there’s still a cold war going on between allison and five over whether he has to be in a booster seat for any car rides or not

it’s basically just shenanigans with the family and five trying to figure out how to coexist and compromise and also look after one another when it’s been every man for themself pretty much all their lives

Re-watching Lizzie Mcguire: Episode 1.12 (Between a Rock and a Bra Place)

The Fan Favorite Episode

- Lizzie and Miranda are lamenting about having to play dodgeball in PE class. They also express their concern about falling behind some of the other girls in their grade because they are now wearing bras unlike them.

- Because of girls like Kate Sanders, they think that wearing a bra will automatically make one popular and empowered in a way. So, they feel like it’s high time they should start shopping for bras.

- Miranda asks Lizzie if her mom, Jo could drive them and drop them off at the mall after school. However, Lizzie thinks that she will want to come along with them. Miranda suggests they should lie to her and tell her they want to shop for school supplies, which should be able to signal to Lizzie’s mom that they are going on a safe and innocent shopping excursion.

“I want a bra!”

They sure do look like they are up to something huh?

- Lizzie and Miranda arrive at Lizzie’s house after school and they prepare themselves to let Jo know that they want a ride to the mall to shop for school supplies. However, there are a couple of cracks in this seemingly full-proof plan; They are not specific enough in mentioning the type of school supplies they want and Jo even called Gordo to come over and join the girls.

- Obviously, Lizzie and Miranda are not keen for Gordo to come along because they are shopping for bras. They then express how Gordo doesn’t need to come along because he’s not in their class where they need those school supplies. But Gordo is in all their classes (except gym); So he doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Looks like they are dropping the ball on this one.

- Jo becomes highly suspicious towards all of this and she questions only Lizzie specifically on what she needs to buy at the mall and Lizzie starts to break down and well, we then get this iconic moment:

Lizzie really wants a bra y’all

- Jo is feeling extremely elated about this revelation from Lizzie and she is delighted to take both Lizzie and Miranda bra shopping. On the other hand, Gordo just feels weird about what just happened and he decided to dis-invite himself from this shopping trip.

Matt: The Martial Artist

My favorite episode of Matt to date

- Matt shows his dad, Sam a page of a magazine showing an advertisement for a ‘Jet Li Sweepstakes’ contest where one lucky person will get the opportunity to appear alongside the Chinese actor and martial artist in his new untitled movie as his new sidekick.

- Sam asks for his wife’s opinion about Matt applying for this contest and she isn’t down for it at first but after Sam tells her that Matt probably isn’t going to win and they will be seen as ‘cool parents’ after this, she then agrees to it.

- Sam wants Matt to go for the conservative essay writing option as their contest submission and as predicted, Matt isn’t too fond of writing one. But because Gordo has decided to stay back to help Matt and Sam with the contest by using his camera to film a short video submission for Matt, Sam has no other choice but to now go for the option of filming and submitting a video.

Lizzie and Miranda Are Grown Young Adults

Miranda is thinking to herself, “How did I get myself into this mess?”

- At the mall, Lizzie and Miranda feel very embarrassed about having Lizzie’s mom to help them shop for bras because Jo is a little too excited about it and teenagers are you know, embarrassed by their parents most of the time.

- They both try to ditch Jo by pretending to be lost but as soon as they scrammed, they bump into their English teacher, Mr. Coppersmith. Okay, who is he and why haven’t I seen or remembered him? I think he is a one-time, one-episode teacher?

- Jo spots them and their teacher and doesn’t seem to pick up on the awkwardness in the room and proceed to hand over a bunch of bras for them to try on, right in front of him.

- Next, we cut to Lizzie and Miranda at the changing room and they are discussing about really telling Jo that they want to shop alone. Jo interrupts their conversation and opens the curtains of the changing stall Lizzie is in. This clearly agitates Lizzie and she kinda snaps at her mom and tells her that they don’t need her help shopping and she needs to leave them alone.

That sudden change of expression done by Hallie was brilliant.

- I feel so bad for Jo; Teenagers can be so insensitive sometimes like me back when I was a teenager. Jo recognizes Lizzie’s frustration and decides to play it cool by not scolding Lizzie and even offers her $40 for them to shop for their bras while she waits for them at the food court.

- Honestly, this is some of the best acting in the show thus far by both Hallie and Hilary.

Gordo: The Director

I think Gordo is a really good male-figure for Matt to look up to, besides his dad.

- Gordo is using this opportunity to put his skills as a director and filmmaker to the test and already, he has planned out the kind of establishing shots he wants to take of Matt. Sam is quite unsure about all of this and he thinks that interviewing Matt and asking him generic questions is good enough for the submission.

- Gordo wants this movie to be big and is confident that this martial arts movie he is about to film is going to set Matt’s entry apart from the others.

One good thing I can say about this is nice try I guess?

- We watch some snippets of the film at first and it doesn’t look too good nor realistic. There was a weird voice-over work done by Gordo, which I guess is the style of dubbed Chinese martial arts films back then and the action scenes were terrible.

- We move over to the scene where Matt tries to take a pebble from his master’s (played by Sam) palm but the scene didn’t go as planned because Sam didn’t stick to the script. He feels that everything Gordo is doing so far is a rip-off of Kung Fu movies out there.

- He then pulls a Jo Mcguire and leaves the kids to do their own thing without him. But what they don’t know is that he has secretly called this guy named ‘David’ for some help. And we all know that this is the late great David Carradine (older brother of Robert Carradine who plays Sam), who starred as  Kwai Chang Caine in the 1970s series, Kung Fu and as Bill in the Kill Bill film franchise.

Kate and Claire Alert

- Lizzie and Miranda are not exactly sure on what they need to look out for when picking out a bra. The are just not familiar with bra sizes. To make matters worse, they bump into Kate Sanders and Claire Miller at the same store.

I think it’s cute that Kate is shopping with Claire and her mom

- We get some bickering at the beginning but things took a turn when they find out that Kate and Claire are both shopping with Claire’s mom. Lizzie and Miranda rub in their faces that they get to shop alone. I think shopping alone as a teen without your parents isn’t what I consider as ‘cool’.

- Anyways, this doesn’t stop Claire from giving them one her shady comebacks before they leave:

Their secret handshake is just a high five and a hair flip lol

Lizzie Needs Her Mom Back

- Lizzie and Miranda continue to be lost when it comes to bra shopping and Lizzie finally recognizes that she needs her mom now more than ever. They find Lizzie’s mom at the food court and try to apologize to her but Jo tells them that she can understand where they’re coming from and admits how embarrassing she can be.

- They admit that although they try to act like adults, they are far from being ready to handle all of this alone. Lizzie also apologizes to her mom for the rude behavior she displayed at the dressing room earlier. She realizes that the adult thing to do is to actually ask her mom for help instead of trying to figure out everything on their own. This is honestly a great lesson to teach to young girls and boys.

Here Comes David

I just get chills from this entrance. David had such amazing presence on screen.

- Matt and Gordo are struggling to film the ‘pebble taking’ scene without Sam and they decide to find him and plead for him to help them. The next thing they know, David pops into the backyard and greatness has basically arrived.

The Carradine Brothers

- Matt demonstrates some of his martial arts ‘skills’ to David and David tells him that he has a lot of work to do. That’s definitely a sure thing.

When the pupil becomes the masters

- We then get a cool montage of Matt’s Kung Fu training and fight scene with David to the legendary song ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ by Carl Douglas. Matt even nails the ‘pebble taking’ scene down. Afterwards, we get a chilling exit from David as he walks back into the house and disappears from a distance.

- Gordo then asks Sam who was that man who all of a sudden came and taught Matt Kung Fu and Sam responds to him and says he has “known him all of his life and is like a brother to him”. Well, that’s because he’s your real life brother lol.

Closing Off

- During Lizzie, Gordo and Miranda’s three way phone conversation, Lizzie remarks how she cannot believe Gordo spent an entire day with her dad and brother but considering the other alternative he had, he was happy with his decision. He just wants Lizzie and Miranda to give him the heads up next time when they shop for bras and other female-gender related items.

What a way to close an episode

- Sam pick up a phone call and on the other end of the line is the person calling from the Jet Li sidekick contest and to his shock and horror, Matt won the contest!

Overall Thoughts

- I can honestly say that this is one of the best episodes of the season so far. Lizzie and Miranda’s bra shopping story-line with Lizzie’s mom was hilarious and cringe-worthy to watch, but in a good way. I’m sure this scene had so many young girls who were able to relate to it.

- The lesson of recognizing and admitting you need help from your parents despite the flawed perception that adults always have to do things solo is very deep and it should be ingrained in every person’s mind.

- And finally, this is the first episode that I actually love Matt and Sam’s story-line. It was super entertaining to watch and although you can say it’s all action and comedy and there’s no lesson to take away from it, everything was executed perfectly. And I appreciate how they were able to get Robert’s brother David to appear in this episode since he was such a icon in the martial arts film and television genre.

☁️: 🌆 ♡ vmin

content warning!! contains references to eating disorders and associated descriptions of food.

It’s five in the evening.

The heat of the day lifts in waves and a man with a smile that’s all angles sits beside him. The bench creaks, its paint peeling, and the man throws birdseed for the pigeons to spear with their beaks. 

It’s nothing personal but the pigeons irritate Jimin while they eat without a care.

“Hey,” the man says. In Jimin’s peripheral, he looks like a painting with vibrantly thick, always-damp oil paint strokes highlighting smeared eyes that follow you wherever you go. “Waiting for someone?”

“Got no one to wait for.” Jimin glances at the man. His smile has fallen off his face, lips turned downward and skirting between frowning and impassivity. 

As blurry as his expression is, Jimin feels drawn in by a quiet, thoughtful kindness he’s not sure is really there. “What about you?”

The man hums, rolls it around in his mouth and releases it as, “Not anymore.” It sounds even sadder than just being alone.

Jimin doesn’t mind being alone, he can do whatever he wants whenever he wants and it doesn’t bother anyone who isn’t him. Having someone then losing them, Jimin imagines, must be much harder. 

The man’s lips attempt a smile but every twitch results in them pulling back to that downward curve. His effort is obvious and when he manages a smile it’s strained, barely reaches his eyes. “Coming here is a habit.”

Smiling in return is the least Jimin can do. It’s so easy for him that looking at this man stirs a small whirlpool of guilt in his chest. Jimin himself wouldn't mind a smile or two. 

So long as they weren't laughing behind his back. 

Jimin leans closer, “How long?”

“About…” the man tips his head up, looking like he’s mentally counting and gazing past all the birds and trees and horizons, “two years now.”

Grief. “That's a long time.”

“You think so?”

What should Jimin say to that?

Time, he supposes, is just one of those concepts that varies for everyone. Jimin’s bones feel too heavy for his skin, he doesn't care about time. 

The only relevance time has to him is his nearest deadline.

“Park Jimin.” Introducing himself is easier than trying to answer subjective questions. “I’m here every Friday around this time.”

The man stops throwing birdseed and tucks his chin into his chest just enough to watch Jimin from the corner of his eye. His gaze is sharp and a softer part of Jimin instinctively flinches. “You sure you should be telling a stranger that?”

It’s hard to swallow but when he manages his throat feels thick. “What’s your name, stranger?”

The man closes his fist around some of the dried seeds, gaze cutting past his shoulder and pinning Jimin to his spot. Jimin holds his breath as he holds his gaze. “Kim Taehyung.”

Jimin exhales when Taehyung looks away.

It’s quiet. 

Taehyung continues feeding the pigeons and Jimin keeps measuring his breathing. When Taehyung leans back, hand empty, Jimin’s phone beeps a reminder in his pocket and Jimin stands up, carefully sorting his words.

“I’ll see you around, Taehyung.”

Taehyung angles himself to look at Jimin properly. He looks deceptively friendly from this angle— or perhaps his gaze was deceptively sharp earlier. “Same time, same place?”

The business of promises hasn’t seen Jimin in years but he’s drawn to dabbling in it this evening. “Sure.”

Taehyung flashes another smile. It’s more like his first, disarming and free of foreboding tension. It’s easier to see the sorrow outlining it now that Jimin knows where to look.

With their goodbye, a street light flickers on.

🌦

It’s five again. While the sun considers setting Taehyung drops his weight onto the bench beside him. Jimin didn’t expect to see him again but he returns the smile Taehyung passes him like a little secret. 

Jimin tips his head in a gesture to Taehyung’s hands. “No seeds today?”

“Don’t have any,” Taehyung answers, rubbing his hands over his denim thighs until the material is smooth as plastic. “Had to skip lunch, couldn’t grab anything for me or them.”

“That's no good.” Hypocrite. The only time Jimin doesn’t skip lunch is the weekend. 

Not eating makes him sick but he might as well be miserable. The big city is unwelcoming, he must fit into its mould. Work hard, play smart, suffer. 

Two out of three isn’t bad, but it’s not where Jimin wants to be either. “If you don’t eat dinner soon you’ll feel sick.”

“Yes, mother,” Taehyung snorts, turned in Jimin’s yet stubbornly avoiding his gaze, “I’ll eat dinner.”

A laugh bubbles in Jimin’s throat and he wrinkles his nose at it. “You talk to your mother that way?”

“Never,” Taehyung’s voice falls flat, all humour drained of it and something in Jimin springs up in approval.

Jimin checks his phone. Six is far off and there is nothing that desperately needs tending to; he mutes the alarm and tucks his phone away.

“Why’d you skip lunch?”

“Had to work on a song.” Sounds nice. “I suck at it.” Maybe not so nice. “Why’d you skip lunch?”

Boy thinks he can outsmart Jimin with third-grade mind tricks? It would have worked—if they were chatting at five in the morning. “I never told you I skipped lunch.”

Taehyung leans in, tips his head slightly and whispers. “But did you?”

Jimin doesn’t have to answer honestly. Jimin doesn’t have to answer at all but it’s nice having someone to talk with. “Maybe.”

“That won’t do, Jimin. We’ve committed a grave sin.” Taehyung’s face pinches in distaste but it looks kind of funny the way something sweet looks when doused with pepper.

Jimin laughs to himself. “Looks like we have to get dinner soon.”

That’s what he would’ve done at six but he can stay here a while more. What should he get anyway? Nothing too heavy, else he’ll be sick all night. 

“Want to come with me?” Taehyung’s voice is like a pebble swan diving into water, specifically the splash: refreshing, cooling, a little grounding. 

It’s welcome in the fog of Jimin’s head. “Hm?”

“For dinner.” Taehyung smiles and Jimin considers it. It’s a win-win situation as far as he knows. “Unless you have other plans?”

“I don’t.” Jimin gets to his feet and runs through their options. “There’s a little place two blocks down,” Jimin wets his lips. They're so dry, he feels ten times more nervous for some reason. “It’s pretty good, lots of options.” 

He doesn’t mention that it’s the only place he eats at when he can afford it but he kind of hopes Taehyung likes it. 

“Sounds great.” Taehyung bounces onto his feet with a wide smile. The traces of sadness Jimin outlined last week are faded, ever so slightly. Is Taehyung hiding it or is he in a better mood today?

The walk is short and the space between them is comfortably quiet, unexpectedly so. The crowded streets relentlessly jostle them: they bump shoulders too often, apologise under their breaths, and it’s always okay.

Every time they glance at each other they smile, not politely, but Jimin’s not sure he would say earnestly, either. Maybe instinctively.

The restaurant is a quaintly neat little spot with tan tiles, tightly woven thatched half-walls and various potted plants that spring towards the large windows and little white lights dotting the ceiling.

By the time they’re seated Taehyung’s smile seems to glow through his skin and he orders before Jimin can ask what he thinks of the menu so Jimin asks about Taehyung’s song instead. Taehyung asks about what Jimin does in turn and they discover they’re both into performing arts.

Taehyung isn’t shy about eating and the only time he isn’t smiling during their meal is when he’s busy chewing his food. He sinks into the seat, limbs lax.

It might be safe to say Taehyung likes the restaurant.

“That was fun.” Taehyung’s tense in his shoulders but he smiles from ear to ear. It would be a crime if Jimin didn’t smile just as widely in return. “See you next week? I’ll treat you next time.”

“You’ll regret it,” Jimin quips. 

It’s meant to be a joke but Jimin already wants to take it back, he doesn’t want Taehyung to regret spending time with him. It’s been so long since he enjoyed time with someone else.

“Doubt it.” Oh, thank God. Taehyung’s smile slants something endearing and he says, “Seeya next week.”

Jimin leaves with his head held high and a spring in his step.

There are odd scenes he never noticed—a bicycle propped on its back-wheel against a bus stop sign, a tiny flower bed in the middle of the walkway, letters irreverently stacked throughout the complex’s entryway, but it’s his fault for always staring at his feet on the way home.

He enjoys his new ease until he’s in his bathroom and he realises he took Taehyung out on what most people would call a ‘date’. 

☀

Five in the cool evening. The wind shoves at summer-dried leaves and Jimin is already on his feet when Taehyung comes up to him with his big smile.

Taehyung barely says ‘hi’ before Jimin asks, “Can I have your number?”

Taehyung’s smile drops into a surprised little shape.

Maybe asking for his number on the third meeting is too soon. It’s just, it’d be nice, uh, it would be great to send a goodnight text or something, but maybe that’s kind of dumb-

“Only if you give me yours, too,” Taehyung chimes, offering his phone. 

Never before has Jimin scrambled so desperately to fumble his phone out of his pocket to hand it over to another person.

If Taehyung’s laughing at him or laughing because that’s something he does, laugh for reasons unknown, Jimin doesn’t ask. He’s too busy trying not to mess up his own damn number. 

They're returning their phones when Jimin blurts, “Are you ready for our date?” Because his mouth has plans of its own and Taehyung nearly drops his phone. 

What’s with Jimin and saying things all of a sudden? He has to shut the-

“Thought I’d forget?” How does Taehyung do that? His grin says one thing but his voice wavers like another.

Jimin wants to say he didn’t mean anything but he doesn’t want to lie either. He does want it to be a date. “Well… ‘course not.”

“Good because I know just where we’re going.” Taehyung links his arm with Jimin’s, tilts his head and asks, “Is this okay?”

How exactly should Jimin say he might rocket into orbit with just how okay this is? It feels so good to be with someone, to smile, to not regret every word in the aftermath of it all. 

“It’s okay.” Jimin smiles so widely his cheeks hurt, his face wasn’t ready for it.

This time their walk isn’t quiet because they keep talking, scrambling for things to say and stammering over what they manage to get out. It’s painfully awkward and Jimin can't stop grinning for the life of him, embarrassed as all hell. 

“M’not sure what you’ll think of it, it’s not the prettiest...” Taehyung says tentatively, glancing to and from Jimin in a way that makes Jimin’s cheeks and chest warm fondly, “but I like it. Their burgers are kinda perfect.”

“It’ll be great.” Jimin soothes. “It’s got your approval and food, right?”

Taehyung laughs through his nodding, squeezing Jimin’s arm with his and Jimin wouldn’t mind if they ended up doubling back just to sit on the bench with peeling paint.

Turns out Taehyung’s ‘kinda perfect’ place is a fast food joint and Taehyung recommends the double burger as soon as they walk through the door. 

It’s just a little bigger than cramped with dull leathery couches and a jukebox tucked against a wall, yellow lights flickering just enough for Jimin to feel like he can see the grease in the air.

Fast food means oils, grease and calories calories caloriescaloriescalories but Jimin deserves a break every once in a while… right? Meeting social needs with some social eating and Taehyung chatters happily with the cashier, his warmth radiating through Jimin’s arm and pulling his thoughts from tightly wound concerns.

Just this once, right? Forget the mould; it’s not going away any time soon but what of this moment? What about Taehyung?

Taehyung’s humming, bobbing his head, inevitably catching Jimin’s attention and when he realises he has it his lips curve in this happily reserved way and Jimin’s stomach swoops for a whole other reason.

Jimin minds this development much less than he should.

Despite Taehyung’s prodding, Jimin gets a regular burger with a smear of guilt and eats half of it by the time Taehyung gets his double deluxe burger— “Double deluxe? That’s not really a thing, right?”

“Yet here it is, going into my mouth,” Taehyung punctuates his statement with a noisy chomp into his burger and Jimin almost chokes on his as a laugh forces itself out.

“Gross.”

“Says you,” Taehyung says around another mouthful, leaning over the table until Jimin pushes him back into his seat. People are giving them irritated looks. “The one laughing into his burger.”

Jimin snorts and jerks his shoulders in a playful lunge that Taehyung shimmies away from. “That’s your fault!”

“Whatever you say, Jiminnie.” Taehyung grins and Jimin lets the nickname slide in favour of laughing. 

“You’ve got a li’l something in your teeth.” Jimin makes sure his teeth are clean before grinning and running his tongue over his incisors. 

“You’re making fun of me even though I’m treating you? On a wonderful date?” Taehyung holds the burger over his mouth, eyeing Jimin through his lashes as he continues eating his burger. “Ungrateful.”

“Oh, please.” Wonderful doesn’t cut it. Jimin hasn’t had this much fun in… he can’t even remember. 

It’s been far too long. It’s hard to believe he barely knows Taehyung with how close he feels to him right now. 

Must be the smile. 

“You've got no clue how grateful I am.”

Taehyung smiles cheekily behind his burger and Jimin can only tell by the way his cheeks curve. “Naturally.”

Jimin finishes his burger to no one’s surprise but his own and Taehyung grins around a mouthful of cheese and beef as Jimin throws the wrap away.

He leans over the table with a too-wide grin and pokes at his teeth. “You’ve still got a little-”

Taehyung swats at the space between them, muffled laughter mixing with Jimin’s. “Let me enjoy my double deluxe in peace.”

Jimin snorts and slides into the seat beside Taehyung, leaning on his arm just enough to give him some grief through his enjoyment but not enough to push into his personal space more than when they linked arms earlier.

Beside Taehyung, mouth full of cheese and beef and protests against food-related coitus interruptus, Jimin forgets his stifling mould and slips into something more comfortable. If only for the moment.

Ibytm - T minus 56 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 2,835

It took Logan quite a while to figure out what, exactly, the contents of his fetch kid’s delight were. The shorthand for the order wasn’t written on the sleeve, nor was there a receipt in Cadmium’s hands upon delivery, so that meant either that Cadmium told the barista to make something up, or that it was such a simple order that the barista didn’t bother to write it down—or he just threw the receipt away. He passed the cup around the floor, but all anyone else could tell was that it had an excessive amount of whipped cream on top.

Although he had the foresight while making the app to include the option to find fetch kids based on previous satisfactory orders, as well as let fetch kids personalize their profile with their top drink choices for ordering a delight, it isn’t of much use to him now. Sure, he could dig through every single registered fetch kid to find Cadmium, but Logan does have some sense of personal boundaries. Exploiting his own app to track down a literal living human being falls more than a little outside of those boundaries.

There also exists the option to straight up ask Cadmium when they cross paths at the museum, but that’s just too easy. Logan likes a bit of a challenge. While he could just borrow Alex’s phone to see recent fetch quest transactions, he decides to instead to make it a little more exciting. What else could a paid NASA intern want to do with their time?

Logan pockets his phone, clicking the screen away from a pending receival of two fetched kid delights. All around him, kids too young to be in school barrel through the public park with their beleaguered parents in tow, like so many elderly cats being begrudgingly sicced on house mice. He dodges to the side as a set of triplets comes tumbling past the entrance, closely followed by a frantic-looking woman. She mumbles an apology to Logan, tightening her ponytail and moving faster. A little ways down the path is an ice cream stand, which pretty clearly seems to be the triplets’ destination. Logan checks his phone. Hardly twenty minutes have passed.

He thumbs over to the profile of the fetch kid that accepted his order request. So far, it’s the most promising one he’s seen, in that there’s next to no personal information, let alone a reference picture or name. At the very least, no confirmation of what was in Logan’s cup the other day. ‘If you see a guy trying to juggle all five of your drinks, it’s probably me.’ A bit vague, but certainly not inaccurate.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” a voice says from just outside the park gates. Logan glances over his shoulder to see Cadmium strolling up with two cups in his hands. Probably both fetch kid delights, if common sense has any input here. “Two times now that I’ve seen you outside the museum? You’re not even here with anyone, dude, why get two drinks?”

Logan accepts both cups, nudging Cadmium’s shoulder with the one in his left hand. “Walk with me?”

“What.” Cadmium stares blankly at the cup, his face expressionless as he presumably plays the question back in his head a couple more times. “What? No, no, I can’t, there’s probably way more fetch quests I can—”

“Please?” The emotions return to Cadmium’s face, all in a rush. Refusal. Annoyance. Reluctance, hesitation, acceptance, one right after another. Cadmium lets his head droop, revealing a gleaming pair of black and blue headphones looped around his neck. The sleek color scheme matches his deep purple cardigan.

“I guess so.” Cadmium reluctantly accepts the cup back from Logan, squinting at the sippy lid opening suspiciously as he follows Logan onto the winding cobblestone path.

“I promise I didn’t poison it in the ten seconds I was holding it in front of you,” Logan says. Just to prove as much, he takes a swig from his own cup, immediately recoiling as if the flavor had reached out and bit him back.

Cadmium does a quick exhale through his nose, not quite a laugh as he watches Logan’s face contort. “Bit of an acquired taste, I guess.”

“What is this stuff, anyway?”

“Black coffee with whipped cream and five shots of espresso.” Logan waits for Cadmium to elaborate, to offer an explanation for deciding a jacked coffee with whipped cream was something he needed in his life, but none is forthcoming. “I’m not kidding.”

“That’s what worries me.” Logan works his tongue against a piece of food he doesn’t remember getting stuck between his molars, hoping his cheek doesn’t puff out too strangely as he watches Cadmium take a heavy swig from his own cup. “How did you even realize that was a viable drink option, let alone a desirable one?”

“Great question. Alternative question, though. What’s your deal? Why do I keep seeing you everywhere?”

“In my defense, the first few museum tours and that time at my office were unintentional.”

“Okay, cool, and how about literally every single other instance where we’ve seen each other besides those?”

“Like now, you mean?”

“Yes. Like now, I mean.”

Logan hesitates, watching his shoes loosen the pebbles underfoot as he tries to figure out a way to phrase his answer without sounding like a total creep. Admittedly, he doesn’t really know if his gut answer would be accurate. “You seemed interesting at the museum, and I decided I wanted to talk to you outside of a tour. I don’t really know why that is, per se.” Brutal honesty for the win.

“I don’t even know your name, dude, you can’t tell me you aren’t picking up on how weird this looks from my perspective.” An odd expression crosses Cadmium’s face before he ducks his head down, his ears flushing a bright pink. “Of course, since you made the fetch quest app, I’m sure you know my name already.”

“I don’t, actually, but I’ll gladly keep referring to you in my head as ‘Cadmium,’ if that would make you happy. Mine’s Logan, by the way.”

“Okay, Logan, follow-up question.” Cadmium raises his head once more to focus on where they’re going, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a double seated stroller. The dad behind it wrenches the wheels out of the way with much more force than necessary, because obviously Cadmium should feel guilty for being in the way on the right—and correct—side of the path. “Where in the world did you get it in your head to call me Cadmium?”

“My first impression of you was pretty much entirely ‘now that’s a man who is certainly wearing a cardigan.’ So Cardigan Man, which is too many syllables to deal with, so I knocked out a few letters here, added some there, and boom. Cadmium.”

Cadmium nearly stops walking, and only just manages to get his feet solid under himself as he turns to stare at Logan. “Despite seeing you at the museum so often, I never really pegged you as being this big of a nerd. A hardcore geek, at most, but this is more than I could have possibly expected.”

“I mean, I am an intern at NASA,” Logan says. “So.”

“So,” Cadmium agrees. “Just to be clear, you don’t know my actual name? I don’t have to worry about being followed home and having my identity stolen yet?”

“Right. The extent of my knowledge regarding your personal life is that you can pull off a cardigan better than literally any other person I’ve ever seen before. Ever. Certainly better than I could possibly hope to.” Logan gestures to his own outfit, which is essentially what he wears to the office, just turned down about half a notch. “Neckties and polo shirts, all the way.”

Cadmium cocks his head to the side, rubbing at a spot along the slope of his neck as if the growing soreness were the only thing that dared hold his attention anymore. With no warning, he speeds up and leaves Logan in the dust, booking it for a minimalist garbage can. He tosses in his coffee cup—empty, apparently—and veers off the side of the path to lean against a lush oak tree. Logan nearly trips over his feet in a rush to catch up, rounding Cadmium’s side and craning his neck to see what he stopped for.

Cadmium peers into the surface of a pretty sizable pond, watching the ripples peter out from the dainty impacts of bugs skimming across the water. He stares at one bug in particular for a moment, then two, before nodding slowly and sighing. “Okay, don’t take this as weird as I know it’s gonna sound, but I’ll let you try on my cardigan. Just this once. Just so we can see where you’re going wrong. For the low low price of the rest of that coffee, which I can tell you don’t like, I’ll fix up your cardigan situation.”

“Fix my—?”

“You can’t pull off a cardigan, or so you claim, so let’s see some proof. Isn’t that what all you science dorks are about, experiments and evidence?” Cadmium shoots a glance up at the clouds, muttering to himself, “That’d be a really good name for an educational punk rock band.” Logan merely watches, dumbfounded, as Cadmium continues rambling to himself.

Finally content with whatever nonsense he’d whispered to the grass and to the sky, Cadmium turns and plants his hands on Logan’s shoulders, pressing him firmly into the ground. Logan had never realized just how much height Cadmium had over him. Cadmium fidgets with the minimal accessories Logan bothered to put on this morning, setting the necktie crooked, tossing it over one shoulder, over the other, back to normal, twisting his watch, and just generally messing up Logan’s whole ‘put together’ image.

“Might as well bite the bullet,” Cadmium says out of nowhere, sliding the cardigan off his shoulders and swatting Logan’s hands away as he moves to put it on. “I’ll tell you when I need cooperation. Just hold still for a second.” Cadmium’s hands look remarkably similar to pale little birds, fluttering this way and that as he drapes the cardigan over Logan’s shoulders, messes with the sleeves, adjusts and readjusts the hem. He takes a few steps back every so often, considering the look from a different angle and starting over from scratch. “Okay. I am going to put my very tenuous trust in you for a second here, and if you betray it, I will literally tear apart your entire existence so hard that your great-grandparents will forget you ever existed.” Logan does a mix of nodding and shaking his head, raising his hands to show no ill will. Cadmium quirks his mouth to the side and slips off his headphones, settling them along the back of Logan’s neck. The unexpected weight is oddly pleasant. “Lean against that tree there, and put the sole of your foot up against the trunk. Higher. No, too high, do it like you’re not trying.”

“But I am trying.”

“Well, stop acting like it. Foot lower. Cross your arms. Higher. Flex your muscles.”

“I don’t have muscles.”

“No excuses. Fake it ’til you make it. Flex the biceps you don’t have.” As he directs Logan, Cadmium produces his phone from his pocket and takes on the responsibility of an entire swarm of paparazzi, darting this way and that for different camera angles. “Look at the water. Chin up, you’re getting a weird shadow along your—okay, now you’re just looking at the sky. Up and over your shoulder—foot down! Push up the sleeves of the cardigan. No, that just looks too intentional. Do it like this.” Cadmium drops the camera for a second to fix the sleeves himself, bunching them up at the elbow just so. “Okay, now stand like a normal human and walk toward the pond. I said normal! Just like you’re your normal weird self, tagging along on one of my tours. Arms down, you aren’t a security guard.” Cadmium bites at his bottom lip, squinting at his phone. “Okay, c’mere. If these don’t convince you, you’re just allergic to having your picture taken.” To Logan’s undying relief, Cadmium lowers his camera.

“Now give me back my crap.” Cadmium shrugs the cardigan over his shoulders, looking infinitely more at home than Logan could’ve ever thought possible, waving off his attempts to hand back the headphones. “Keep ’em on for a minute, they look cool on you.” This may come as a surprise, so just brace yourself, but Logan has never been called ‘cool’ before. “See here, in the first picture? Science gungle bungle dictates that we have to have a control, which I’m designating as this picture. Your posture is really stiff, like you think the cardigan’s gonna bite you or something. In these later ones, especially over on these leg-up passe pictures—the ones where your foot isn’t too high, at least—it looks way more natural.”

Cadmium continues talking, getting more into the breakdown as he leans against the tree beside Logan, but Logan hardly hears a word of it. He’s much too distracted with how Cadmium’s shoulder is bumping against his own, how their elbows knock together every time Cadmium points out some obscure detail Logan never would’ve picked up on, how he is literally wearing Cadmium’s own personal headphones around his own personal neck right now.

“So, um, what was all this for?” Logan asks. He almost doesn’t want to voice his confusion, so content is he to keep living in this moment. ‘Almost’ being the operative word here. His curiosity is just too strong to cope.

Cadmium lowers his phone and stares at Logan, incredulous. “Duh, it was to prove you wrong. Obviously you look good in a cardigan, and obviously I’m an absolute master with a camera. Pass me your coffee, and our transaction can be complete.” After taking a long pull from the cup, Cadmium taps the bottom of it and knocks down the last few dregs. “This was fun, given that it was a weird impromptu park walk. See you at the museum, then?”

“Wait, um, can I, um,” Logan sputters, pleading with his brain not to do this. Apparently his brain does not care what he wants. “Could I maybe get your number?”

Cadmium cocks his head to the side, considering what Logan hopes and prays comes across as an earnest expression. “Oh, dearest Logan, just remember that you can find me wherever fancy coffees are sold. Well, delivered, I guess. Here, actually, let me just—” Cadmium messes with his phone again, shielding the screen from Logan. “Okay, aaand—there we go! That oughta do it, don’t you think?” He flips the phone around, showing off a slightly more detailed profile description on his fetch quest app. Well, seven letters more detailed.

“Cadmium is spelled ‘iu,’ not ‘eu,’” Logan says, holding down a laugh. Cadmium’s eyes go wide as saucers.

“Oh my—right, yep, okay, cool, smooth move there Virrr—Cadmium. Cadmium. Is what I was going to say. Was Cadmium.”

“Sounded kind of like you were gonna say Vir—”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t.” Cadmium shoves his phone back into his pocket with a huff, but his tone is light enough to make it clear he’s kidding. At least, Logan hopes he isn’t actually mad. “So. Until we next meet at the museum, then?”

“Unless I decide I want another fetch kid’s delight.”

“Oh, please, you hate my usual.”

“Lies and slander.” Sometimes Logan would lie awake at night, wondering whether his mouth would ever do something of its own volition, without letting the words actually run through his mind first. Unfortunately (or fortunately—Logan hasn’t decided yet), today seems to be that day. “And what’re the odds that my next fetch kid’s delight delivery will precede an available afternoon on behalf of the fetch kid?”

Cadmium tilts his head, and suddenly Logan understands the meaning of ‘blinking owlishly.’ “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? The life of a part time fetch kid can be a very busy existence.” With that, Cadmium presses his empty cup back into Logan’s hands and sets off for the gate where they began. Logan stares after him, still not totally clear on what just happened. His free hand flies to his neck, where Cadmium’s headphones are still resting, but the other is long out of hearing range before Logan thinks to call after him. He glances down at the cup, his eyes catching on a sharpie line peeking out from under his thumb. Definitely a capital V. Read it and find out Cadmium’s name? Don’t read it, thus preserving his privacy and trust (not to mention Logan’s great-grandpa’s memories of him)? Read, don’t, read, don’t, read—

Logan drops the cup in a garbage can and turns for the entrance without a second glance.

Yay 200!!! Though my first instinct was awww only 200 want to ALWAYS see what this amazing person has going on! I'm so glad to be one of them. How are even your small prompts so hot! I love your work! Can I get a possessive or jealous Bruce/Jason? Or possessive AND jealous? I love the idea that Bruce hates Jason being away for any period of time because he hates other people looking at him and can't imagine someone not wanting him.

You guys are so sweet!

I don’t know, maybe it has been slow going for the followers thing but it feels fast you know? Especially since no one I know personally is on tumblr and only like three people in my life even know that I do this.

Anywho, sorry this took so long. For like five days I’d sit with the file open and write a couple sentences and then lose focus and motivation.

But it’s the longest one yet so… yay?

200 Followers Celebratory Prompt-A-Thon

(Prompts are closed. Thank you to everyone sent one in! I’ll be filling them the rest of the week for however long it takes to write the last few! And a big thank you to everyone who follows me!)

Jason/Bruce 

Words: 2635

Rating: Explicit (sounding, electroplay[?], restraints, sensory deprivation)

Super long. Read on AO3 if you’d rather.

Mine

This is not really Jason’s scene. The loud throbbing musicthat plays the same basic beat the wholenight, the lights, the dancing, the overpriced drinks. Roy was excited whentheir target chose this place but Jason had tried to wiggle out of going insideat all.

Unfortunately, he’s more the guy’s type than Roy and a lothangs on sabotaging this weapons shipment. So, Jason’s sitting in a badly lit,semi-private corner, flirting (badly) with this piece of scum, pretending to beunbothered by the big, sweaty hand creeping higher up his thigh. He downs his sixth$20 drink, a little surprised the guy hasn’t tried to drug him yet, and wondersvaguely how far he’s going to have to go. They have what they need but Jasondoesn’t think the guy’s the type to take no for an answer when he obviouslythinks he has it in the bag. And he doesn’t think a rejection and a brawl willmake the guy likely to keep up his end on the business side of things.

He’s just considering slipping a sedative into the asshole’sdrink himself when the man’s words suddenly slur and his eyelids start to getheavy until he finally slumps over.

Jason blinks at him for moment, trying to get the blurrededges of his vision to sharpen up a bit. He’s pretty tipsy now…

…did he slip the sedative into the drink? He remembersthinking about it but not actually doing it…

Jason gives the guy a poke, just to make sure.

Out like a light.

Well, then.

Now that the rest of his evening is free, and now that thearms dealer isn’t pawing at him, he thinks it might be a good idea to go takeadvantage of these lowered inhibitions with someone he wants to be with.

He doesn’t notice the sleazewith the dark sunglasses and 70’s porn-stache, chewing on match, watching himclosely as he gracefully stumbles from the club and into a cab.

Jason jumps comically when Bruce flips the light on. Likehe’s a teenager trying to sneak back into the house without his parentsnoticing. Or rather a lover trying to sneak into bed when their partner isasleep.

It’s a little dramatic. But he’s not happy.

“You smell like a toilet,” he snaps.

“‘mkay, first of all,” Jason slurs, just a little, notenough to be concerning, “I smell like a club.”

His jacket slides off his shoulders and his t-shirt slipsover his head, tousling his hair, in a single smooth motion. For a split-secondBruce thinks he may be playing up how much alcohol he had. Then he tumbles overtrying to kick off his boots.

“Second of all,” he continues a moment later, head poppingup over the foot of the bed, “’m too far away for you to smell me.”

Bruce scowls at him as he crawls up the bed, obviouslyhaving taken the opportunity to remove his slacks and briefs. It’s difficultnot to give in to those pouty lips and that lecherous smirk.

Soon, he tells himself, but on his terms.

Jason pulls the covers off of him with a grin and creeps uphis body, kissing his way up clothed thighs and naked chest, until he’snibbling at Bruce’s ear and sitting on his hips.

“And third, old man, you smell like a club too.”

He has Jason flipped onto his back, wrists caught in his unyieldinggrasp and pinned up by his ears, before the boy can even think about reacting.Bruce allows himself a small smile. Jason’s slower reflexes is going to be afun benefit.

“You let that filthy criminal put his hands all over you,”Bruce accuses with a dangerous edge.

Jason wriggles beneath him making what Bruce thinks is anhonest effort to get out of his grip. “’s the job, B. Don’ overrea—”

His glassy eyes narrow. “You drugged m’ contact?”

“You weren’t leaving yourself any options for an out thatdidn’t include a trashy sexual encounter in a grimy public bathroom,” hegrowls, pulling Jason’s arms up toward the cuffs, tucked carefully under thepillow.

“Would’ve been the alley,” Jason teases, smiling slyly,watching Bruce’s face as the he locks the younger man’s wrists in therestraints. Specially made at Jason’s request. The only thing that can openthem is Bruce’s fingerprint. No lock to pick. Too wide and too tailored to Jason’sexact measurements to be able to dislocate his thumb.

Bruce thumbs his nipple for the happy sigh that followsbefore pinching it between his fingers and twisting sharply.

“Ow—hey!”

“You know you’re mine,” Bruce hisses, “You know you’re notallowed to have anyone else, to let anyone else have you.”

He keeps torturing the one nipple, tugging and tweaking, buthe takes the other between his lips and sucks gently, flicking his tongue overthe already hardened bud, pulling back to blow cool air onto the spit-slickskin and watch it pebble, before returning.

Jason gasps and whines and bucks his hips up, searching forthe friction that Bruce denies him by pulling his lower body away.

“B, please—“ he breaths, already so needy, “Jus’ th’ job… you-youknow that…”

“And you know that doesn’t matter.”

Bruce had returned via batplane. He’d had plenty of time toprepare for Jason’s arrival before the cab had pulled into the drive.

He reaches under the pillow again and retrieves hispreviously selected tools, pausing on the way back to fix the sleep mask overJason’s eyes.

Jason whines again and thrashes around. “No games tonight, B,please? Jus’ wan’ you to fuck me,” he thrusts his hips again, lowers his voiceinto that husky, lustful baritone that Bruce has trouble resisting, “Hard.Rough… please.”

Bruce runs his thumb over the boy’s lip, slipping it justout of reach when Jason tries to take it into his mouth. Then leans forward andnibbles softly on his earlobe.

“So impatient,” Bruce mutters directly into Jason’s ear,letting his lips whisper across the shell and smiling when Jason shuddersbeneath him, “We’ll get there, don’t worry. I’m just going to take my time.”

“C’mon, Bruce, don’t—mmff!”

Jason’s lips look good stretched around the shiny metalring. Not as good as they do wrapped around Bruce’s cock but a close second. Hetaps a blunt nail on the helpless boy’s teeth, just for fun, then reaches backto his small pile.

“Now, if there’s something you honestly can’t handle, you’lltap your foot against me or knock the cuffs into the wall three times. Nod ifyou agree,” Bruce grins when Jason’s head bobs up and down emphatically. Heknows how much Jason loves these games, despite his prior objection.

“Tonight we’re doing something different. No pain, you handlepain so well you’ve turned it into an art,” Bruce rumbles low, nipping Jason’scollarbone lightly, “Tonight’s about pleasure. Your pleasure. As much as youcan take. And then more.”

He reaches up and fits the noise-cancelling headphones overJason’s ears, earning what he expects to be the first of many surprised littlegasps. Then he clips a nipple clamp to the one he’d been twisting, not tootight, just enough to pinch. That gets him a little moan.

Bruce softly traces the lines of Jason’s muscles, slowlytraveling down until he can ghost his fingers over Jason’s still mostly softbut quickly filling cock.

Lucky, Brucethinks, if he’d gotten too carried away he either wouldn’t be able to do thisnext part or he’d have to wait for Jason to calm down.

The longer he takes getting things together the harderJason’s body trembles at the lack of contact, in anticipation. His breath comesout faster, panting, often rounding out into full whimpers from the back of histhroat. Bruce watches him, captivated by the way the muscles move underbeautifully scarred skin, as he grasps the silicone handle firmly and slicksthe rod.

Jason inhales sharply and throws his head to the side whenBruce touches the bulbous end of the rose-bud sound to the slit at the head ofhis cock, but otherwise goes still so that he doesn’t get hurt.

Bruce slowly and deliberately pushes the little metal bulletinto him. He can’t tear his eyes away from the tiny muscle twitches as Jasontries to remain unmoving; as his control is tested the longer Bruce lingers.  It takes minutes for the rod to sink all theway to the hilt, Bruce purposefully holding it back, and even then, he’d havewaited longer. But Jason gets too hard too fast for Bruce to take the risk.

When the fat tip is nestled deep in Jason’s shaft, Brucesecures the attached glans ring just under the head. It’ll make the younger maneven more sensitive.

He smiles at the questioning noise Jason makes when hesticks a small adhesive pad to his perineum. Then, carefully so he doesn’t tipJason off, Bruce connects the wire coming out the pad to the slot at the end ofthe sound’s silicone handle.

Immediately Jason jolts and cries out in surprise andpleasure. With the power supply connected, the bulb deep inside Jason’s dick,as well as the area of sensitive skin beneath the pad, send out a strong electricalcurrant.

Bruce watches for several minutes as the pressure builds. Mesmerizedas the warm, throbbing, sensation tingles up Jason’s body which almostinstantly flushes vivid pink. He thrusts into the air, knees falling openwider, toes curling into the sheets, heels digging into the mattress, knucklesturning white from gripping the bar of the headboard his restraints are attachedto.

The noises coming out of his open, drooling, mouth aresinful and gorgeous and Bruce is positive that he could come just from watchingJason thrash, listening to him whimper and moan.

“Exquisite,” he praises, ghosting his fingertips over Jason’sflexing abdominal muscles, knowing he can’t hear him, “You don’t have any ideahow beautiful you are, do you?”

He lightly flicks the hot, red, head of Jason’s cock whichgets him a loud wanton groan and more needy presses of his hips.

Moving lower, Bruce finally slips two, still slick fingersinto Jason’s fluttering hole and immediately starts gently massage his prostate,rubbing soft little circles into the gland, stimulating it from the insidewhile the electricity coursing out from adhesive pad powering the sound stimulatesit from the outside.

There’s no uncertainty in Bruce’s mind that, if he couldhave come, Jason would have done so in moments. As it is, with his cock stuffedfull and pinched off he just wriggles with increasing desperation, moaning andgasping and sobbing so loud Bruce is positive Alfred and Damian will be able tohear him.

Bruce is content to watch. It’s not long before Jason isglistening with a sheen of sweat in the low lamplight, every muscle tensing andtwitching under beautiful scared skin, involuntary shudders wracking his bodyin inconsistent intervals.

Leaning forward, Bruce begins to press tender, suckingkisses to each of Jason’s scars, working his way up to the nipple clamp. Hedoesn’t let up, keeps the pace of his fingers buried in Jason’s tight, velvetpassage steady, the pressure firm but gentle, and adds a third digit.

As Jason inhales sharply and clenches down, Bruce bites downon the clamp and pulls it free from Jason’s chest, quickly returning to suck onthe angry nub. Then pulling back, he lets his breath chill the wet spot makingJason shiver and giving him goosebumps.

Then he moves up higher, starts kissing away the tearsstreaming down the younger man’s face at the onslaught of pleasure.

Jason leans into him, nuzzling his face then his hair whenBruce starts mouthing at his neck and shoulders, leaving behind little purpleblooms.

“-lease!” Jason pleadsas best he can without access to his lips.

He’s hysterical, sobbing and tossing his head side to side,grinding his hips into the bed only to move them up again, searching forfriction, saying the partial word over and over and over again.

Bruce just stares at him for a few more moments. This issuch a rare sight. His boy coming apart, a fully wrecked, debauched mess,overwhelmed with pleasure. Giving into something other than the pain. Losingcontrol to something better.

Finally, Bruce removes his fingers, is treated to a noisesomewhere between relief and regret, and touches the head of his own leakingerection to the eager hole. Then he reaches up and removes the noise cancelingheadphones with his free hand, followed by the sleep mask.

Jason’s lids are squeezed closed, thick lashes wet andclumped together. He doesn’t seem to notice the blinding fabric is gone untilBruce swipes his thumb over one of the lids.

They flutter open to reveal a clouded gaze over blazinggreen irises, only the barest hint of their original blue visible.

Jason’s expression clears a little as they lock eyes. Keepinghis clean hand cupped around the side of the boy’s face, Bruce slides into himwith a sigh and starts a lazy, deeppace.

Jason rolls his hips in time with Bruce’s unhurried thrusts.For once, he doesn’t doesn’t try to make Bruce go harder or faster or hold himdown, he just… he just takes.

It doesn’t take much time for Bruce to catch up. With hisdirty hand he slowly detaches the ring around Jason’s cock and pulls the soundout as his boy whimpers. With his other hand he unhooks the gag before pressinghis thumb to the fingerprint scanner and freeing Jason from the cuffs.

His boy is on him with all the speed you’d expect fromsomeone who spends his life dodging bullets. Jason’s big arms wrap aroundBruce’s shoulders, his ankles cross in the small of his back as Jason flingshimself up into Bruce’s space more fully.

“Bruce—“ hebreathes in prayer before their lips meet. The kiss is softer, deeper, thanBruce was expecting. It’s languid, full of adoration. Loving.

“My perfect boy,” Bruce rumbles, “Mine. No one else’s.”

“O-only yours,” Jason murmurs, barely able to form the words.

“Only mine,” Bruce hums, tightening his hold and punctuatingthe praise with a final thrust before emptying himself deep inside.

Jason follows right behind him, the feel of Bruce fillinghim up sending him over the edge. He comes hard.They both blink in tired surprise when warm, sticky liquid lands on Bruce’scheek.

Then Jason, still looking like a lust drunk dream, smiles,runs his fingers through Bruce’s hair, leans forward and licks his own come offBruce’s face.

Bruce watches him the whole way, enraptured. And beforeJason can swallow, Bruce captures his chin and brings their lips back together,sharing the taste.

Jason sags into him, boneless and exhausted. Bruce holds himfor a long while, petting his hair, rubbing at the knots in his back, hummingwords of admiration into his ear, until he falls asleep.

Bruce rests him back against the pillows, tucking him into thecovers, before making his way to the bathroom. He chugs a couple glasses ofwater and brings back another large glass for Jason in case he wakes up.

He crawls back into the bed, careful not to jostle themattress too much and turns off the light.

The moment he lies down Jason shifts closer, curling upagainst his side, head resting on Bruce’s arm, and sighing contentedly in hissleep.

Bruce plays with Jason’s hair as he tries to fall asleep,images of the younger man in the throws of ecstasy flashing behind his lids.

“All mine,” he says into the darkness, “Never giving youup.”

First Mission

Hello! I love your blog and I love my house (Ravenclaw). So, I would like to submit this one shot I did. Hope you like it!

Word Count: 2811

Author: notyourregularfangirl

Requested by: @fioretz

Rating: K

Summary: Spider-Man goes on his first mission with the Avengers, but not everything goes as planned, bringing out an unusual facet of Iron Man

Warnings: Angst

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the the Marvel characters or plot lines. Neither do I own David Bowie’s song.

Amy’s notes: I put in a ‘read more’ so that this doesn’t take up too much space on people’s dashes, but idk if it’ll work. Anyway, this is some good writing! I’ll give you 25 points for it, tying Ravenclaw with Hufflepuff for first with 272 points.

At first, they thought it had only been some remnant of the Chitauri technology that had been left behind after the battle, yielded unknowingly by some unaware citizen. The Avengers were wrong. However, only partly. It was the artifacts they had feared, but no any citizen had used it. It was one of Vulture’s followers that, apparently, possessed an enemy in one of the apartments of the building and wished revenge, so he attacked the poor man inside his home.

The job of the vindictive young man had only started a small amount of time before Vulture was captured, as so, his knowledge on said technology was limited and he didn’t only miss his target, but he also destabilized the whole apartment complex. After his attempted escape, the building started falling. The Avengers arrived, just in time to save most of the inhabitants before the building collapsed completely and to give Vision enough time to chase down and catch the perpetrator.

“The rubble is too unstable now, moving one piece might crash the people left inside, and the crevices are too small for any of us to fit in.” Iron Man announced, using the thermal camera in his suit to analyze the location of the trapped. Two people. One child.  

Scarlet Witch and Black Widow had been sent abroad for a special mission, obviously, leaving only the males of the Avengers group. Thor, Captain America, Hulk and Hawkeye looked around. Up above, in one of the neighboring constructions, something caught Cap’s eye.

He turned to Tony, “I think there is someone that will definitely fit.”

At first, Iron Man thought Steve was looking at the Hulk, and was about to go along in the joke when he noticed the red spot.

“No way, Cap.”

Thor was as confused as when they told him there was a thing other than magic that could make two people swap faces in a phone. Hulk was faster to catch on.

“Stupid Iron Head will let kid do the job.” The green humanoid ordered.

“Language.” Iron Man said out of reflex. With his head down, he contemplated his options.

One of the rocks slid and there was a loud rumble. “Hardly the time for that, Stark.” Hawkeye signaled.

The panic was evident in Captain America’s voice, “You know he’s ready and we have to be quick.”

Iron Man sighed and shook his head. Yes, he had been personally training the Queens’ teen for a while now; and yes, protecting the little people had made him humbler and even stronger than he had once been, but, he was still too young for these sort of missions, especially after the whole Vulture fiasco. He had faith in the kid, but he wouldn’t be able to have something happen to him. Nevertheless, there were civilians in danger and their main duty was with them. “Fine.” with a sigh, he called Peter’s suit. “Come on down, kid, quick.” There was a sound that resembled a squeal of unmasked joy and the red and blue clad teen was right next to him in a matter of seconds.

“Spider-Man reporting for service,” Iron Man rolled his eyes and explained the situation quickly to the boy. After a firm nod of the head Peter tentatively examined the hollow spaces and chose the most suitable one to go into. The space was very small and he wasn’t a very big fan of the complete darkness that engulfed him suddenly. So, he used his new suit’s advanced and enhanced features to make it less dark and localize the people. There was a young girl first, about six years old.

“Hello?” Peter called out. There were two answers. One was the sobs of the little girl that were interrupted with a hiccupped, weak ‘help me’. The other one was a man, somewhere from 10 to 15 feet away farther than the child:

“Please, get her out of here. Save her, just save her.” The man’s rough voice begged.

He must be his daughter, the hero thought to himself.

The girl’s crying got louder. “No, no! Save my daddy, too!” She cried and mumbled uncomprehendingly until she gasped for air and spoke in a tone barely above a whisper, “I need him.”

Peter Parker’s heart plummeted to his stomach. He knew the feeling of needing a parent, of being helpless, and worst of all: of losing a parent. He was not going to let that little girl go through what he experienced.

“Don’t worry,” He said as calmly as he could, “I am going to get both of you out of here.”

There was another crackling on the debris above him and a few pebbles and dust sprinkled down. The sound made the girl cry louder.

“We’re going to die! I don’t want to die!”

Peter analyzed his surroundings. Some rocks were so close to falling that the girl’s weeping could topple the whole thing over. “No, no. You’re going to be fine. I promise.” That didn’t calm her down. “However, if I want to save you, we need to be calm and not cry so we don’t make the rocks angry.”

At this point, the girl continued crying, but more softly and quietly and her dad decided to step in, “We wouldn’t want to make the rocks angry, now, would we, Bowie?”

She sniffed. “No.”

“You like rocks, Bowie?”

“A lot, I have a huge collection back at home.” As soon as the words left her mouth Spiderman flinched. “I had a huge collection.” And the bawling continued, only louder.  

Peter was in trouble. “Uh-uh-Your name’s Bowie. Like David Bowie?”

Bowie nodded and once she realized the man couldn’t possibly see her, she said yes.

“I love his songs.” Peter smiled because he was saying the truth, and he got some flashbacks to when he and Ned started humming Under Pressure right before a Physics’ final and the whole class joined in to the point where even the teacher crooned the tone herself, after administering everyone detention, of course. “How about we sing one now?”

The girl sniffed, “The Man Who Sold the World is my favorite.”

“Well, that is just perfect because that is also my favorite song of his.” Peter smiled despite himself. “How about we sing the song together and I promise you that by the time we finish the song you and your father will be out of here, together.”

“You pinky promise?”

Peter Parker felt unease: The structure was getting weaker by the second, there were more people to take into account, and the song was almost four minutes long. Peter Parker was scared.

Spider-man, on the other hand, was so confident. Probably a lot more than he should have been. He was going to jam to this song as he saved people, just like in the movies. He was going to save the two people that were trapped. He was not going to be scared as the darkness enveloped him and when there were sharp edges of objects sticking out at him from every direction, and when the lives of five people, total strangers, were literally hanging on his hands. Spider-man knew no fear because…simply because he was Spider-man.

He finally made it to the small hollow where the girl was perched hugging her legs and rocking herself in the tiny amount of space there was to spare.

He took her in his arms and, with the sincerely least scared face he could muster, he asked her to start singing the song.

Bowie sang shakily at first, evidence of her still not completely tearless state,

“We passed upon the stair  we spoke of was and when  Although I wasn’t there He said I was his friend”

The girl sang just like Peter imagined angels would. Contrary to her petite, babyish body, her voice was huge, soft and sweet, but demanding and resounding. Even if he was buried in yards of dirt, an ethereal feeling confined him, along with the renewed need to save that little person, because, holy crap, did the world need to listen to her voice.

“Which came as some surprise  I spoke into his eyes I thought you died alone a long long time ago”, Spider-man sang back, “The next part together.”

“Oh no, not me” Just another left turn and he would be back outside.   “I never lost control  you’re face to face With the man who sold the world”

Bowie finally stopped sniffing and lightly whimpering, changing her expression to a more tranquil one. With her eyes closed and even breathing, she relaxed into her savior’s chest and prayed and prayed that very soon her father would hold her like this, like he always did.

“I laughed and shook his hand  and made my way back home I searched for form and land for years and years I roamed” Finally, Spider-man laid Bowie onto Captain America’s arms.

               Spider-man booped her nose, “Keep on singing, kiddo. Your dad is next,” She scrunched her nose and nodded.

“I gazed a gazeless stare at all the millions here I must have died alone A long, long time ago”

               He advanced faster now because of having memorized the way already. As he got to Bowie’s dad, he heard her starting the second-to-last chorus.

               “Is Bowie okay?” The man asked as soon as Spider-man came into his field of view.

               “She is safe and sound outside with my colleagues, sir.”

               “Thank you, thank you so much.”

               “You are very welcome. Now, if you would kindly jump on my arms since I promised your daughter I would get you back safely before the song ended, and I am not about to break a promise to someone with such an amazing taste in music despite her young age.”

               The father did as told, although tentatively due to his insecurity about having the lanky hero carry his quite bigger, heavier frame through such a tight tunnel. His worries were put to bed as he laid on his arms, since the teenager was way sturdier than he seemed.

               It wasn’t as easy carrying a man that was probably twice his age as it was to carry someone that was ten years younger than him, but he prevailed and advanced at an even pace. Almost synchronized with the tune.

               “Who knows? Not me We never lost control”

               “She does, doesn’t she? She got that from her mother. As well as her voice.” He sighed, probably reminiscing about old times.

               “So her mother got out of the building before it fell?”

               The man looked down at his hands, “Yes, long before. She died three years ago.”

               “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

               “Don’t worry, kid. You couldn’t have known.”

               “Well, then, I believe you’ve done a great job raising Bowie. She seems like a very sweet child.”

               He smiled sweetly, “That she is. Sometimes I believe she can be too sweet for her own good,” He shook his head even though he smiled. “This is a cruel word, even more for the kind, innocent people. But God knows I love her more than all that there is in this world. And I have to protect her from all that.”

               Peter said nothing and showed no sign of answering.

               “I’m sorry, I’m venting. You must know what it’s like, loving someone, having children.”

               Peter laughed. “Oh no, I don’t have children. I’m barely 16, but I do know what it’s like to love someone,” He sighed and felt an awful knot lodging itself in his throat. “And I’m also familiar with loss.”

“You’re face to face With the man who sold the world”

               “May I ask why?”

               “My parents died when I was younger than Bowie even.”

               “I’m very sorry.” The light at the end of the tunnel was already visible and Bowie’s voice could be heard again.

                              “Who knows? Not me”

               “No need to. My aunt and uncle took me in and they love me very dearly.” Peter winced as he remembered he couldn’t say that truthfully anymore. He only had his aunt now.

                              “We never lost control”

               Above them, there was a falling pebble. Of course, they didn’t notice that.

                              “You’re face to face”

               “I’m glad you had that support.” He cleaned his nose of some dirt that had dusted down. “You know, we’ve been through all this and I don’t even know your name.”

               Peter smiled, “I’m Spider-man, sir.” He started walking with his back to the exit.

               “Thank you very much, Spider-man.” He patted the boy’s shoulder and Spider-man had few times felt as proud as he did in that moment.

               They both saw the huge grin on Bowie’s face as they almost stepped out of the crevice.

The child finished singing, “With the man who sold the world”

               And then the whole thing came down.

               It must have been days since he started crying. It sure felt like it, even if it had only been a few hours. His lungs felt as if they had been filled with rocks. Rocks the size of fists with jagged ends for fingers. Just like the ones that were left sticking out of the passage. That wretched passage. His fingers trembled, probably exhausted from all the wiping of his nose and tears.

               The images kept repeating themselves in his mind’s eye.

               He hated himself for it. He had been the one closer to the exit. He shouldn’t have been. He should have put the man down on the ground safely before himself. He should have reacted quicker. He shouldn’t have let him go, even if it was an involuntary reaction.

               He would never be able to forget Bowie’s screams. They would hunt him forever.

               “You promised, you liar! You said you’d save both of us!”

               She was right. He was liar, but above all, a murderer.

               There was someone at the door knocking, but he didn’t look up. The memories were so much louder than any knock would ever be. The guilt even more as it screamed inside every part of him in little Bowie’s voice.

               “I brought you some hot chocolate.” It was Mr. Stark, but Peter wasn’t in the mood to please anyone. He wasn’t in the mood for anything. “I know it’s the middle of summer, but Cap said it was a comforting beverage and he insisted so much I just did it to shut him up.”

               The teen did not respond.

               “Can I sit?” It was stupid of him to ask. They were in the Avengers’ headquarters, in a room they set aside for him whenever he went to train and it was too late for him to go back, so he practically and literally owned the place.

               Nothing.  So the millionaire sat.

               “It was a good mission.”

               “How can you say that?” Peter shrieked at him. “He died! A man died because of me. I killed him!”

               “You did not kill him,” Tony set the mug on the floor.

               “Of course I did. I let him go, I was about to go out first.”

               “With him on your arms.” Iron Man interrupted.

               “It would have been better if I hadn’t carried him at all.” Peter looked down at his lap again.

               “He could have been injured when the structure collapsed, you did what was right.”

               “If I had done what was right my suit wouldn’t be stained with an innocent man’s blood and that girl would not be an orphan.”

               Tony arranged himself so he could be looking directly at Peter. “Hey, look at me.” Peter raised his head slowly. “You did what you thought would solve the problem. You used logic and you calmed both of them. Yes, you were about to get him out, but sometimes that’s just how things work. There was a reason bigger than all of us for that man dying and you and the girl being the ones that survived. Maybe because you’re young with a life ahead. We will never know. But this was your first mission, Parker. You assessed the situation and saved a life today.”

               The Spider-Man in him made him stop crying so he could listen to his mentor. “I didn’t fulfill the mission.”

               “The way I see it, you did save both of them. You fulfilled the mission. It’s just God, or destiny or whatever you want to call it that got in the way of a happy ending. It happens to the best of us, believe me.” Tony’s face contorted to a pained expression during his last sentence.

               “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” He grabbed the mug from the floor. “But I would like to be alone for another moment.”

               “Sure thing, kid.” The older man made his way back to the door. Peter took a sip of the hot beverage, along with a few tears that ran down his cheeks. “And remember, I’m proud of you. If that means anything.”

               It meant a lot.

I'm having a "bad brain day" so I'm gonna binge watch some (presumably shitty) teenage tv, and you never know, I might enjoy it. So I'm seeing Free Rein on Netflix and I'm gonna give it a watch: here are my thoughts below the cut (it gets long, sorry). I should also note that I know next to nothing about horses or horse riding. Also there are probably spoilers ahead.

Ep1:

Nice scenery

She looks uncomfortable, like they've just put her on a horse and told her to smile

Why is Zoe Scottish

Wait nvm

Oh hey, Zoe's cute

The grandad is brilliant I already love him

Ah, no father. Same

Why is there just shit on the side of the road, there are no animals around and I doubt the horses would go to the side of the road to poo

Why does he still have kids drawings on his cupboards?

Digging the teapot

Ah, layered tops. Typical teenage fashion

"The light will come through again" needing that today

Haha "what's a wifi"

At least they represent Jetlag though

Ah yes, one daughter goes missing - send the other one out to look for her. What could possibly go wrong.

Ooh, that acting wasn't great. Though the blonde is actually quite a good actress

Ooh, Raven. Ooh, foreshadowing (I guess)

K but this isn't the type of thing Austen would write

Why is Marcus like 25, the others are like 12 what

He's not even that attractive? (Says the bisexual who is more into women rn)

Horsome - the new fetch

Ah yes, get off the bike, that makes sense

Oh look a wild horse, who'd've ever thought???

Oh wow! Wild horse who is only understood by outcast? This is groundbreaking!

(Jk I'm kinda into this ngl)

An actual Scottish person!

Who's the guy with the cheekbones and why is he so shifty

What happened to the bike?

Oh Derek is obviously in love with the main stable person

Ah yes, stop looking for your sister and go chat to a horse

Bitch number one has arrived

Of course she owns the horse. That makes sense

They've called him hot Marcus jesus what is this

Cheekbones is stealing. Stop being shifty.

Welp theres the first continuity error I've spotted

Cheekbones is stalking now, apparently

Cheekbones is about to be falling in love, I'm calling it

He's also like, twenty tho

Oh shit what why is she being stalked now??

Ep2:

This is clearly a dream though

Are jelly shoes back in fashion? Sweet

I refuse to believe she could hear him from that distance and a closed window

I predict a love triangle

I mean cheekbones has a point

That wasn't a long conversation, like, that woulda taken an hour for me how does the mother do that?

Ah, ye olde fart joke

Bitch number one pulling the "I have lots of money" card

So they're putting cheekbones and Zoe together. I mean I can live with that

Oh my god cheekbones don't be such an arse

You'd think the mother would have worried if her other daughter didn't turn up the the pier where they agreed to meet?

Let's read mum's old diary! That can never go wrong!

They're literally stalking hot Marcus? Thats a?? Wee bit weird???

They're actually letting Mia go on Raven? Wow

Bob is kinda cute actually

I mean... she kinda deserved to fall not gonna lie

Bet Zoe is gonna make the magazine cover. Would serve Mia right lmao

Ok that's kinda cute, cheekbones. At least we know you're human

Wait what? Is cheekbone's name Pin?

WHAT SORT OF A NAME IS PIN?!

And the mother doesn't want the daughter to be riding. That makes a lot of sense. Totally.

Did she even peel those carrots?

Why has no one noticed she's wearing someone else's hoodie?

THANK YOOOOU

Oh shit, cheekbones is stealing the sedatives. No one saw that coming

Ep3:

K but she didn't say you couldn't go to the stables?

Rosie is honestly brilliant

Grandpa and I are on the same wavelength

Pin cam - idk man surely you could just... talk to him?

How could Marcus tell it was too small?? He wasn't looking at her???

Oh my god. Tie up your hair

Of course she's a prodigy, why wouldn't she be

They actually have a secret hip hop dance routine?? I wanna see that not gonna lie

The pun and finger guns have me. This kid is my new favourite character

Rosie, much though I like you, that is a total breach of privacy

Told you Pin cam would backfire

Now Marcus is going to find out about her "recording him"

It's only £10? I wanna go to pony camp.

Bet cheekbones is gonna go into where she just went

Called it

There must be a more subtle way to break into the medicine cabinet than with a screwdriver?

He's obviously not a horse thief? Medicine thief sure, horse thief nah

And I suppose that's Raven telling her it wasn't him, because that makes perfect sense

Ugh Mia calm down

Tbh maybe the parents would be better off separated? But like idk

It's the police, for why

Of course it was firefly that got stolen. I kinda feel for Mia and her bad acting.

Ep4:

How come is Pin allowed to come back even though he was stealing sedatives? That's still kinda illegal?

You're not banned from the stables though, are you Zoe

Rosie you sarcastic legend

She has a point though, what if she breaks her leg

Why is everyone attracted to Marcus?

Puns

Oh look, it pin

.....why do I dress the same way as Pin?

Who in their right mind needs three horses?

Pin is ignoring her - quite right honestly

Ah yes, subtly eavesdropping

I bet Elliot isn't even E

Ben is great

Ben and Rosie are in love. I've decided.

If course Pin is leading the hack

Mr Cheekbones! That's totally who he is! I called it!

He clearly doesn't want to talk, like... maybe let Pin get over the whole getting arrested thing? Idk

Why Becky? I don't understand?

Ah yes, follow the broody horse guy who was stealing sedatives, that can't possibly go wrong and is obviously the best option

Wait so Zoe followed Pin to his house and is now demanding he tells her what he has in the weird crate thing? Wow

And it's a horse. Wow. It's not like this is a horse show or anything

Called it, not a horse thief

Pin’s actually kinda sweet

Wait

Am I attracted to Pin?

I think I'm attracted to Pin

Shit

Decent cinematography there though

Ghost pony is a brilliant story

Wow Mia is such a dick

Now, this can go one of two ways. And I confidently predict Mia is gonna tell Zoe's mum she's not allowed to ride

Called it

Ep5:

Well the riding crop thing Is obviously the mother's

Oh yeah, Marcus is a character

How did anyone actually get close enough to Raven to braid his tail?

Savaaaaaaage

Ugh "like electricity" ughhh

What happened to Rosie?

Grandpa is brilliant and I love him

Why would fixing a radio make it up to Pin? I don't understand?

Those leather trousers though....

They're actually kinda cute together.... what is this

I ship it?

I still find Pin vaguely attractive and idk why

Oh hey Marcus, you're here as Love Interest #2

Oh no, I feel a bit bad for Rosie, I hope she doesn't get bullied

I'm emotionally attached

What is this

Why am I hooked on this television programme

Why

She can't seriously be intending to stay the whole night in the hay? It gets cold at night how're they gonna survive?

Oh actually Rosie might do okay. Cool

Who is gonna clean up all those crisps though?

Ghost pony, again

Pebbles?! Brilliant

I love Becky.

This can not end well

Definition of me on social media

She has five horses? Who needs five horses??

It's gonna be Rosie and crew, not horse thieves

..., that was unexpected

I am also relieved to find out there is no ghost pony

Look at them, stealing the horse.

Or not

Ep6:

Oh yeah, time zones are a thing

Rosie is not a subtle eavesdropper

Ah, a horse show. Why didn't I expect that

£15,000. Enough to, say, help this stable that is running low on money which we have been repeatedly told from the first episode? Let me guess, another, rival stable always wins and there's no way they could never pull it off?

Holloway Riding School. Called it

Can Becky just give away food?

"Keeping you entertained is easy" is it though????

Mate listen to his teachings.

You need your foundations in place before you can get any good?

"Let me go over the jump" "no" *does it* "wow well done"

Ugh she's gonna ride raven

Bet it doesn't go well

That's very Rube Goldberg not gonna lie

One little ride around the paddock will hurt

There's a race? The quads are gonna win

Bob was not made for speed.

And there goes Raven

Because obviously.

Pin looks worried because he has a crush on Zoe. Obviously

And yet Marcus is gonna get all the glory

That cringey ADR

Marcus has a point though, the basics are important

We're unlocking Maggie's backstory

She can't still be upset about a horse that died over 15 years ago?

I ship Becky and Jade not gonna lie

Ugh team lists. I'm calling it Zoe will have made it on despite not even trying out

Yup.

Wait she's reserve on Raven? Why? That's not a good move?

Ep 7:

Mia is such a bitch

Ok Raven doesn't like water, and I confidently predict this is an important plot point

Ooooh Mia just got rejected

So now the Ghost Pony is Emerald

Zoe you are so naive Marcus is asking you to the dance

Becky I love you and the mystery tortilla

Mia hasn't made the cover, I can predict.

I do feel a bit bad for Mia with her not very good father who isn't really there for her

That colour of green is a really nice colour of green. It brings out Pin's eyes. Ew, stop, why am I like this

Pin stop

Is zoe about to be murdered?

I thought the ghost pony was called Pebbles?

Why has Ted suddenly warmed up to Zoe?

Unlocking Raven's backstory

Pins name is actually Peter. Huh

It's nice that the moor pony is getting better enough to eat an apple

She's not on the cover

Pin likes Zoe and I ship it

Tedward

She's on her way to Steel (lol) his heart

Perfect - let the horse who is scared of water jump the water jump what could go wrong. Throw in an inexperienced rider into the mix and it's a perfect combination.

Wait this is actually kinda sweet

A funeral for Emerald is lovely

But the name Edward begins with an E so maybe E wasn't just Emerald

You could fall. IN LOVE. WITH PIN. OH MY GOD PLS

Wait what

Why has the photographer never heard of brightfields

Mia is so stuck up but I quite like her

I definitely did not need to take a 20 minute break just trying to find out how old Freddy Carter was, jesus.

Throwing stones at the windows, teenage stereotypes

They're cute

Ah, he couldn't say Peter, hence the Pin

Oh my god heartbreaking

Now they're going to the dance. Nice one

Oh god is Mia gonna do something to sabotage Zoe and Pin?

Holy shit is Ghost Pony real?

Ep8:

I actually quite like that yellow dress, not gonna lie

I love Becky and so does Jade

It's totally a date don't lie to yourself Zoe

Mia can get tae

Pin don't listen to her

She wouldn't tell you if it wasn't true though would she, Pin you imbecile

Rosie stop sabotaging, your mother is allowed to have friends

Oh shit they were a couple

Wait

What if it turns out Pin and Zoe are siblings

Wait no I'm thinking too much into this

Pin calm it

Marcus be happy

Pin... just.........

bob wyd

They're married.

"I already did" I mean....,

How are they upset by that?

Literally just talk to each other? This would make everything so much easier?

And Raven is still scared of water. Don't blame him, honestly

Ben and Rosie are evil geniuses

Becky is adorable and thinks safety goggles would help prevent death

She also thinks carrots glow in the dark

Wait how does Maggie know about the whole boys thing

Offscreen I guess

I mean I wouldn't wear that dress, but I guess it's okay?

Rosie fixing lights is not going to end well

Yup.

Where did ted come from? How did he get there so fast?

I mean Zoe actually pulls off that dress

Has Becky been murdered?

Oh yeah, Becky has a blog

I don't necessarily understand how or why a ghost pony is scary

Oh wait it's a person

Is it the horse thieves

It is the horse thieves

Why did they wait until dark? That would have been a long time to wait to capture the horse thief

Derek is a brilliant character

Who is very obviously in love with Sam

That barn actually looks pretty good

Pin went with Mia? That's surprising

Ted and Maggie are cute

Ben and Rosie are also cute

Derek and Sam are also a little bit cute

Piiiin don't be a diiiick

Those shoes don't really go with that outfit tho...

Rosie is in the spotlight though and I'm sure she's loving it

Mia go and just stop

Ooh thunder

Marcus is following Zoe who is following Pin who is going home

Oh wait Pin and Zoe are arguing in the rain. I may not be familiar with tropes but I'm pretty sure that they're about to kiss

And they're cute and I ship them

Marcus is just casually watching around the corner. Like a stalker

Was not expecting that?

Of course this is when the horse thieves take Raven

Ok but shouting after him is hardly gonna do anything?

Ep9:

I mean... it wasn't even her horse

That's so Raven

Wait they have security camera surely the thief will be ca- oh there was a power cut

But there was a back up generator?

Wait but Zoe is supposed to ride on Raven in the show? Assuming she has to

Rosie is so extra

Oh my god just like... idk kiss

That highlight tho

"That's what I love about you" pin, do continue

Pin you genius

So now they're off to look for this horse

Why didn't they just have this chat at the stables before they left and saved time?

"If the storm comes in again turn back" so the storm is gonna come in again and one or more of them aren't gonna turn back. Ok

"I am scared of the tooth fairy! What does she need all those teeth for? What's her plan?" Same Becky

Ben and Rosie have a handshake, this is cute

What is her plan

Becky is me with every single person I have a crush on

This is a significant character development for Mia

Ok so the only group not turning back is mia, susie, and Zoe

This is not going to end well

Mia.... Zoe can't control the weather?

That recording is in no way convincing

Wait how big is this island???

Either Mia or Zoe is going to get hurt

Ghost pony?

I mean this is just a bad horror movie now

Oh shit, firefly?

And Mia got hurt. Okay.

Wait so if Mia's hurt, she can't do the show?

Wait so the dad just turned up?

I like that there has been a character development now we sorta understand Mia's actions

So Mia can't ride

Wait what

Who is this and why is she here

Why is that so ominous

Ep10:

Rosie is so done with England

Sam is being pretty chill

Oh never mind

Marcus also has a crush

Still a Pin supporter tho

Rosie is brilliant

I would wear every single outfit pin has worn this season, not gonna lie

Becky is not helpful

And a raven horseshoe? Really?

Wait... nah never mind

Wow the mystery lady from the jaguar was just suuuuper rude to pin

I'm with Ted - it's totally what he thinks

Oh shit wait is Sam a horse thief?

Oh she is! Okay

That was a twist

I did not see that one coming

Don't just ignore Pin?

So now she just tells her that Raven is still on the island? Okay

Yaaas Pin! Go with her!

What signal? You can't just say wait for my signal and then not say what the signal is?

Wait but Zoe is getting the stolen horse and can't ride

Wait pin what are you doing

Oh the horseshoe

Wait if Mia could have ridden anyway, why put Zoe on?

I get the whole sprained ankle thing but she's just doing it?

Oh look, clever parallels between Mia doing the show and Zoe escaping

But what happened to Pin

And Rosie, where is Rosie

Oh look, water

Any bets Raven overcomes his fear and makes it across

Well look at that!

Also there's pin, he looks so proud

Dereeeeeek how do you feel

Oh no, pin don't feel bad. It's only Marcus... well actually..

"Derek" "its officer wrigley" savaaaaage

Wait.... his last name is wrigley?!

Is this their secret hip hop routine?! Oh my god this is brilliant!

I'm calling it - they've won

Yeah

Everyone has just left Mia lmao

Pin didn't even ride why is he there?

SUSIE HAD A BOYFRIEND ALL ALONG

IM SHOOK

if there was a scout at the riding school, they wouldn't send a letter if they didn't let him in?

Of course he got in that just makes sense?

Why would they send him a letter telling him he didn't get in if he was scouted?? It makes no sense????

And they kissed. Wow. There was like, no build up for that, Zoe and Pin, however....

Wait so Zoe is still not interested?

And now she's going to Pin?

Throwback to the singing teapot

It Pin

Oh that was actually pretty funny? I guess? Nice one Pin

Wait what's happening

Haha Lavinia

Ah, back to old Raven/Midnight Blue i guess

What do you want her to do Pin, I don't???

Ok so this is not a satisfying ending

Pin... are you literally stealing a horse right now?

Okay this is a lovely scene and all but how realistic is this

"I won't let you" you can't stop her???

Wait what

Okay so she can stay in England or go to America

She's gonna stay

They'll get renewed for a season two and she'll stay

And fall in love with pin

Because reasons

Should I stay or should I go now

Of course Mia is gonna buy the stables.

To summarise: That wasn't as bad as I was expecting it to be - I actually quite enjoyed it.

STAND-UP BLAHBITY Notes on Getting into Open-Mike Stand-Up

*** I wrote this many years ago on a website that has been swallowed by time, a few people lately have asked me about getting into stand up so I’m re-posting. For some reason I used to spell it ‘open mike’ like it was short for Open Michael, I think I’m going to keep it that way**

by Nick Vatterott Next to skipping penguins like pebbles across a pond, and shot-putting for strippers, stand-up comedy is about the most fun thing I can think of doing on any given night. In some ways stand-up comedy is my dream conversation. I get to do all the talking, nobody else gets to say anything, and I’m hilarious the whole time I’m talking. Or at least in my dreams I am. I love doing sketch and improv just as much, but the problem with those arts is that you have to organize a group, make sure everyone shows up, book a room, get a run, have rehearsals, and go through some sort of involved process for the opportunity to maybe do it once a week. The beauty of stand-up is that on any given night of the week, at 5 o’clock in the evening you can say, “I think I feel like doing stand-up tonight” and there’s generally at least one open mike in the city, where for 3 - 5 minutes you can get up on stage, and do whatever the fuck you want. You can perform any night of the week, sometimes multiple times in a night. If you get an idea for sketch, you may have to wait weeks to test out your bit. In standup, I can think of a joke and have an audience tell me it’s either gold or shit the same day. There are 6,893,499,394,927 types of people in this world. Three of those types are people who have no interest in doing stand-up, people who do stand-up, and then a third group whom this whole thing is written for. Those that have may have tried stand-up a couple times a long time ago and have been meaning to get back into it. Or for those have been meaning to try it, but just haven’t yet for whatever reason. I think about once a week someone who has been thinking about going solo in front of a mike says, ‘Hey Nick, I’d love to sit down with you and talk about stand-up sometime.” I love talking about stand-up. I love getting people to do stand-up. I think everyone should try it once. It’s scary and surreal, but the possible payoff can’t be beat. This piece is made up of conversations I’ve had with people about stand-up, plus things I wish I would have said. If you’re a stand-up veteran, I’m not sure I’m going to say anything you don’t already know. If you have no interest in doing stand-up, this thing will probably bore you to tears. But if you’re thinking about doing stand-up, hopefully there are some things you’ll find insightful, that took me hundreds of sets to figure out. More important than anything, fuck everything I say. These definitely aren’t the right and wrong ways to do stand-up. These are just thoughts and opinions I have, things that I think have helped me out. What I think is a lame way to approach stand-up, might totally work for someone else. I’m sure there’s stuff in here that a lot of people may disagree with. And those people might be right. This is just something to jump start a pursuit of stand-up, so that someday, you yourself can have thoughts and opinions about stand-up that are also completely wrong. Section 1: JUST FUCKING DO IT That might be the biggest obstacle keeping people from stand-up. Just fucking do it. I’ve talked to people who say, “Yeah, I think I’m just about ready to try stand-up, I’ve been practicing in my apartment for a couple months now, and I think I’m about ready.” That blows my mind. First of all just getting up in front of an audience and doing it for the first time will give 10 times the insight into the whole thing than anything I could write. Obviously what keeps people from signing up for that first open mike is the fear of failure. And I won’t sugar coat it, even as many sets as I’ve done, getting in front of an audience and eating shit fucking sucks. But its going to happen. You have to be fine with that. I don’t think it’s a terrible thing to ease into stand-up. Go to an open mike and watch one night. You’ll see people do well, and having fun up there, witch will motivate you even more to try it. But also, you’ll see some awful people up there as well. I went to watch an open mike once before I ever tried it, and some of the people there were so bad, it made the whole thing less intimidating. You get the thought, “Wow, I can’t be any worse than that guy.” You can practice your act in front of a mirror in you house for years, but you’re never going to get a sense of the material till it’s said on stage. In fact the more you practice it in your apartment, the more weight you’re putting on that first act to go well. When you start stand-up, you really can’t put too much weight on that first set to go well. Sure, that is the goal, and people have great fist sets all the time. But I think a more productive goal is to really give stand-up a shot. Plan on doing several sets, using each set as preparation for the next set, that will lead up to that hot shit set that we’re looking for. The biggest step is just getting that first set out of the way. You’ll have such a better sense of what to expect once that happens. You can go over how to swim in front of your mirror, all you want, but that will only help you so much, you have to get in the pool. (yes I passed on the ‘behind the wheel’ metaphor, and went the equally as tired ‘jump in the water’ metaphor) There’s an article on the wall at Zanie’s in Chicago about Brain Regan, about how in the beginning he used to sit at his desk and write these jokes that were very clever. Then he would get in front of an audience, and his joke were met with polite smiles from the audience, as if the audience was thinking, ‘yes, that was very clever.’ It wasn’t until he started taking his ideas and exploring them on stage that they finally started really hitting. Plus there is a level of being comfortable on stage that no bathroom mirror in the world can produce. The more sets you do, the more comfortable you are in the incredible awkward situation of being by yourself with a roomful of strangers staring at you expecting you to be funny. You have to let your want to do it, exceed the fear of failure. I know people who went up on stage with good material, but rocked back and forth the whole time, or kept fiddling with the mike stand. Their set doesn’t go well and they think it’s because of the material. Sometimes it’s the material. Sometimes its because you were wetting you pants the whole time you were up there. The audience sees when you wet yourself, or any other nervous tick you don’t realize your doing up there, and they aren’t so much as listening to the material, as they are watching the comic not be at ease. Section 2: WHERE DO I GET MATERIAL? Yeah, that’s pretty much the whole thing. I know some really funny people that say that want to do stand-up, but say that have a hard time coming up with jokes a stand-up would do. I think that’s the problem. You can’t write with any sort of notion of what a ‘stand-up’ type joke is, or a joke that a traditional thought of stand-up would do. I like to look at stand-up as your own one man show for five minutes. The beauty of stand-up open mikes is that you can go up, and pretty much do whatever you want. You can’t say, “What’s a stand-up type joke?” You have to say, what’s something that I would have a lot of fun doing on stage. What is it about you, that makes you think you should do stand-up? Is it you sitting in your living room cracking up your roommates while you bitch about some new horrible t.v. show, is it telling stories about your awkward boss at work, observations you have everyday riding the bus, doing really funny things at a keg party involving potatoes? Those are the things that make up our material. It’s not all one-liners, set up and punch line. Sure, some people are living sit-com characters, and have witty responses to things people say all day long. If that’s the case you should write everything you say all day long. By the way when you do get your stand-up notebook, don’t get some nice leather bound thick book, that you get because you feel the more money you spend on your notebook, the more seriously your going to take this thing. Get some cheap, piece of shit you can keep in your pocket all times. I don’t think you should analyze everything you say all week and think of everything as a possible stage bit, but its good to be aware of something that happens in your week that you laugh at that might be fun to explore on stage. Then when you prepare for your set you have a list of options in your notebook, instead of staring at a wall at a desk saying, “What’s something that’s funny?” Try as many different things on stage as possible. Maybe one night you tell your best story, the next night, do some characters, then maybe have a ‘rant’ night. Early on I did a ‘impression’ set. For days afterwards I was picking corn out of my mouth from all the shit I ate on stage that night.(Not necessary) But the good that came out of that night was that I tried it, and I knew that impressions weren’t my thing. The more things you try, the more you find what works the best, and these are the things that evolve into the ‘voice’ or ‘character’ we hear so much about. Section 3 THE SET LIST Once you get a couple pages and ideas in your notebook for doing stand-up, you now have to put your act together. I say do your strongest joke first. None of this, ‘save it for the end, hit a game winning home run’ bullshit. Again to reference Brian Regan, (this whole thing is leading up to an ad for Regan’s next album by the way) on his album he does his ‘You too’ joke up top. That’s no doubt his best joke on a very hilarious album (in stores now only $9.99) His last joke on the album is great, but it’s just as funny as everything else on the album. He starts out with his best joke, it destroys, and how he has the audience. The top of your set is the most important part of your set. The audience is forming an opinion of you the second they see you. To the point that if you trip on your way up, spill your drink, or even stumble over your words at first, they’re already losing faith in you. Your first joke sets up your whole set. Sure, your first joke could bomb and you could win the audience back. It’s just hard to “completely” lose an audience after your first joke does well, it’s also very hard to win them back if your first joke tanks. If your first joke does well, often they’ll listen to whatever you say for the next five minutes or at least let you get away with telling a few stinkers afterwards just cause you got them at the top. Why save your best joke for the end, when there’s a chance you’ve already lost them by then? Mick Napier talks about how in sketch comedy, each scene is affected by the residue of all sketches that have already happened leading up to that scene. The same is true in your stand-up set list. If you have a joke that’s maybe a little more, dark, blue, offensive, or weird, you might want to save that for the back end of your set. If your whole act, is weird or blue, then obviously this doesn’t really apply. But if most your act is jokes about food, and you got one about 9/11, you might not want to put 9/11 at the top. Win the audience over first, then sneak in the abortion joke, they’ll be a lot more open to it. Do a clean joke at the top to prove you don’t have to rely on poo jokes, then do that poo joke you rely on. The first sets you do will be the hardest sets you’ll ever do. You have no idea what bits are your ‘hot shit’ jokes. The first sets really are a series of throwing shit up and seeing what sticks. But after awhile you will have those ‘hot shit’ jokes. You will start to get a sense of what jokes would make good openers. Once you have ‘hot shits’, trying new stuff isn’t as daunting. You can start trying new bits and ‘protecting’ them with ones you know work. In your set list, do a strong joke, then plant a couple new ones in before once again hitting another tried and true. Have a ‘back pocket’ joke. A joke that you don’t plan to do in your set, but is on standby in case things get pretty hairy. I don’t think ‘back pocket’ jokes in an open-mike set are too important, or even that productive. But they’re good to be aware of in case you try a couple of new bits and they tank. Whip out the ‘back pocket’, get the audience back in it, to set yourself up to try a few more new ones. Possible open-mike set list: Milk (its a quick joke that’s been hitting pretty consistantly lately) pajamas (new joke) whiskey (new joke) Pirates (a joke I’ve done before but am trying to tighten) Aqua socks (joke that hit last time I told) spiders (new joke) Dollywood (new joke) AIDS (new joke, its about AIDS, keep it towards the end) Farting eyeballs (new joke, although pretty sure its been by someone before told before) back pocket: my observation on observational comedy Its a set list that leads the audience into your set, protects the new stuff, sets you up with doing more ‘racy’ (I hate word) stuff towards the end. Sometimes we write that new joke, that we are certain will kill, so we open with it. Go for it, I do it all the time. But I’ve also completely fucked my whole set because I opened with a new joke that I wrote earlier in the day that completely bombed because it consisted of nothing more than a ‘teletubbies’ reference, that was more dated than I realized. The closest thing to a rule in set lists, is just to do a solid joke up top, preferably a shorter than a longer one. After that everything is really up for debate. That’s why at every open mike there’s at least ten guys staring at five words on a piece of paper trying to figure out what order they go. Fuck with it, try different things. Open up with the AIDS joke once and see what happens. Just be aware of the idea that sometimes when a joke in your set doesn’t hit, its not so much that that joke is to blame, but the jokes that happened before it. Section 4 HOW TO LOOK LIKE YOU’VE NEVER DONE STAND-UP BEFORE You got your material, you put together your set list, now its time to get on stage and find out if your going to be famous or not. These next things are things that I’ve seen numerous times by first timers at open mikes. The lights on the stage are bright. Often times it’s the equivalent of three mack trucks hanging from the ceiling with their brights aimed directly in your eyes. Don’t comment on it. Everyone comments on it. The audience doesn’t care. It doesn’t seem bright to them. If one of the lights honk at you, you might not be at an open mike, you might be laying down on the highway. Quickly finish your act and roll to the shoulder of the road. Quit asking the audience how there doing. They’re doing fine. Sure, say hi, maybe ask how they’re doing once, but get to your act. You only have five minutes. Sometimes a comic will say, “How are you doing?” and is met with mediocre applause. The comic will try it again, “I SAID, HOW ARE YOU FEELING?” What the comic doesn’t realize is that combined with the emcee and the last six comics, chances are the audience has been asked how they are doing, to make some noise, and to give it up sixty times in the past twenty minutes. Do your material, and just like my new wife, they’ll give it up when their ready to give it up. (too soon?) Give your material half a chance. I say video tape yourself if you can. You do things on that stage that you have no idea that your doing. Some of that goes with the being comfortable on stage stuff mentioned earlier. Watch yourself and you may realized that you scratch your head constantly, or you say ‘umm’ an obnoxious amount of times. Stuff the audience sees and distracts them from your act. Plus many times video tape reveals that a joke didn’t work because of how you said it. You realize you were talking way too fast, or kind of mumbled a word that was pretty essential to the punch line. Know your act. Know your jokes. I once saw a guy say, “Every time I think of rush hour traffic, I always think, umm, I always think, um” and then he pulled out his joke notebook to find out what he thinks. Not as a joke, that would have been great. He just couldn’t remember his joke. You’ve lost me. I already don’t believe you, you obviously don’t think of whatever it is you think whenever you think of rush hour traffic, because right now you can’t think of it. A lot of people bring their set lists up on stage with them. I guess it works for some people and helps them. I just feel that stand-up, even open mikes, is still a performance. You are selling your jokes to the audience as well as selling yourself as a comic. Take the time to memorize your set list. Bringing a set list on stage never adds, and can only take away from your act. I’ve even seen people start looking at their set list before they’ve even finished the last joke. Really? You’re spend all that time setting it up, before apparently losing interest in your own punch line. Plus if you’re going to tell a joke, tell it. Don’t spend a minute setting up a joke before bailing on it halfway through because the audience isn’t reacting to the setup. Silence isn’t always bad. At a lot of these open-mikes, silence is better than half the room talking to each other. Sometimes silence means you have the audiences attention. They’re silent because they’re listening and waiting for the punch line or where the joke is going. Don’t trail off, or say the punch line in an apologetic way because you lost faith in your own joke halfway through. Sell the joke. If you sell the joke and the audience still doesn’t react, then you have permission to go home and hate yourself. If it’s going bad, don’t let the audience know. If a couple jokes in a row tank, or even one for that matter, its hard to not make a joke about it. But keep it on the minimal. Sometimes a comic will be doing ‘ok’, but then start making this big deal about how they’re eating shit up there. A lot of times the audience isn’t thinking that, but you are starting to plant an idea in their head. Open mikes can get pretty ugly, but making constant references to the ’train wreck’ does nothing for the audience. Often at shows that aren’t the best, the audience is still having a good time. If they weren’t, they would leave. Try to keep the fact that you or the show sucks, a secret from the audience for as long as possible. Sometimes they’ll never find out. Section 5 KNOW THE CONTEXT OF THE OPEN MIKE The tough thing about open mikes, is that all they truly prepare you for, is other open mikes. Open mikes are the best way to prepare for booked gigs or a club. However the audience you get in open mikes, is rarely similar to the ones in real shows. Its just a good thing to be aware of. Open mike audiences are made up largely of the other comics waiting to perform. In theory, what’s funny is funny. But the anti-comedy joke that kills the back of the room at an open mike, might not leave the suburb family at your club showcase in the same stitches. There’s a general Lenny Bruce mentality among comics that says, fuck everything, I’m going to do whatever I want, I’m never changing, adapting or compromising for no one. That’s fine, don’t compromise, but if there is a way to test your material out in front of as many different audiences as possible that’s for the best. Maybe hit different open mikes in different parts of town. Some open mikes are total comic rooms. Others might get more tourists, or college kids. The shit that kills the comics, generally lets you know what some of your funniest stuff is. But its also good to know what jokes of yours are the most universal. If you are hitting the same open mikes a lot, and there are generally the same audience members there every week, be aware of that. I see people  do a set at an open mike that kills. They then do the same act at the same open mike four weeks in a row. They can’t figure out why the joke isn’t hitting like it used to. It’s cause everyone there has heard that joke four times already. There is nothing wrong with doing a bit in front of an audience that has seen it before, that’s necessary for polishing. But work new stuff in. The whole point of open mikes is to help you work on your act. You got a joke that hits and doesn’t need any more work. Great. Keep if for your booked gigs and showcases. In the meantime, use the open mikes to find your next solid joke. Personally I feel the only reason you would ever do a joke you’ve done before at an open mike, is if your working on the bit; (rewriting, tightening, making even the most minute adjustment to it), trying a new running order in your set list or telling a joke you know works to set yourself up for new bits. If you’re spending your whole open-mike time telling jokes you know work, with no rewriting involved with them, how is that going to make you grow as a comic? What are you really accomplishing other than reliving past glories. Showcase and gigs are the times to do your greatest hits. Every open mike set should be used to ‘find out’ something about your set that night. Use open-mikes to tighten material, and to put up new material every week. Section 6 POLISHING What are the least amount of words that I can use to still tell same joke? That’s basically what you have to ask yourself when tightening a bit. How essential to the punch line are all the things mentioned in the setup? When I say, “A couple years ago, when I was in college, I had come into a little money at the time, so I decided to treat myself and go to I an acupuncturist, which is something that I’ve always wanted to do. that’s when this happened…” do I need all that for the setup? Or can I just say, “I went to an acupuncturist once, and this happened…” Its easy to get into the romance of telling a joke based in truth, with details that are important to us, but generally extraneous to what’s necessary. Tell your joke in as few words as possible, to give yourself room for more jokes in your set. Some people love the style of telling longer stand-ups, that’s more their voice. But ask yourself if you’re telling a longer joke because that’s your voice, or if the bit could benefit from being whittled down a little. Be ready to kill babies. Those jokes that we love, but never hit as hard as we wanted them to. Sometimes we got to just let them go. There are longer bits we do, that have several jokes in them. If it’s long, ask yourself what are the best parts of this bit? This bit on tollbooths is four minutes long. One minute is real hot, and the other three are good but not great. Be fine with cutting a four minute bit down to just that one hot minute. Not kidding, I once had a ten minute piece on jewelry that I turned into a one liner. It took me forever to give up all the other stuff, but eventually I said, “this line I say half way through the bit, is the funniest line of the whole piece, and I bet could set it up with only one sentence”. Sometimes we got that joke with that extra tag at the very end. The extra tag has gotten a good response a couple times, but most of the time it gets nothing. We keep it because the rest of the joke is great, and we just kind of got used to saying that last part. Give it up. Realize what parts of your jokes are essential, what parts hit hard, and what parts we say only out of habit of saying them. Section 7 WHERE DO I GO? That’s what the internet is for, pretty much every city in the country has some sort of stand up scene right now. Google your city and comedy open mics, go and talk to other comics about where other places to go up are. Section 8 WHAT DO I WEAR? Whatever Paula Poundstone would wear. Again, this whole thing is to aimed at helping people out who are thinking about doing stand-up. The biggest thing is just to get up and do it. It also helps to have sort of substance addiction and an underlying sadness you keep hidden from the world. The bad news is that while you can teach people to tell jokes, you can’t teach sadness. HAVE FUN!!

Short Story 2: Demons

"If he doesn't have to go back, then neither do I."

"Come on man! Let's go to the other movie!" I sighed. 'Let's not! I like this one." "But the other one has got hot guys and basketball games!" 'But this one has gun fights and adventure!' "Don't get too excited, it gets old after a while, I saw enough of that in Hell." Looks like I wasn't going to see the newest action movie, as I moved out  of the line to get tickets, against my own will of course. Some days were easier than others, with an entirely different entity  living inside of your head. Though, I couldn't really complain, he'd  saved me from many embarrassing situations. I say "He" but it doesn't  generally like to be tied down by a specific gender. Its name, the name  I'd given it, was Paul, like the alien in the movie. "You'll thank me for this later." 'You said that when we went to that hot wax and I hurt for hours after that." I didn't get a response.

After the movie, I was sat on my couch at home, sipping on a hot  chocolate, enjoying the little bit a quiet that filled my apartment. For  once. With my roommate always playing loud country music and Paul  always babbling in my head, there wasn't much quiet in my life. The television was on in front of me, playing a rerun of an old sit-com.  A kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off the screen. It was dark  outside, the soft sound of an owl hooting and crickets chirping. It was  on nights like this that I liked the go sit on the roof of my building  and admire the few stars that were visible. Due to the city lights, the  stars weren't very bright, and it was rare that the sky was clear to see  them in the first place. "Hey! Have you seen my glasses?" The sudden voice of my loud roommate  knocked me out of my thoughts and almost made me drop my mug. "Jeez!" I exclaimed "You scared me! Why do you need your sunglasses anyway? It's night time if you haven't noticed." He shrugged his shoulders "They're cool." I rolled my eyes. "On the counter." I heard footsteps and heard an "Ah ha!" when he found what he was looking for. "You going out?" He nodded "Meeting up with some friends, don't wait up." "I never do." He laughed and left out the door. "I don't like him." 'You don't like most people Paul." "Yeah, but that guy gives me a really bad feeling." I snorted. "Laugh it up, will ya." 'Sorry, I just find it funny that a demon is getting a "bad feeling" from a regular human.' "Whatever Lottie." Lottie. I guess that it would be polite of me to introduce myself to   you. Well, dear reader, my name is Charlotte Dans. A pretty boring name.  I'm known as Char, or Lottie to mostly everyone that knows me, which is  very few people because I don't really leave the apartment very much.  Though, you might do the same if you had a demon living inside your  head. Yeah, if you hadn't already picked up, Paul is a demon. He left Hell  years ago and bounced around from person to person for a while before  things got really bad for him. From what Paul has told me, when a demon leaves Hell, they must returned  by an allotted time, if they don't, they have other demons sent after  them to bring them back downstairs and they live the rest of their days  as crossroads demons, which –according to Paul- is the lowest job there  is in Hell. Paul had managed to escape the attempts of other demons to  bring him back to Hell.

Around five years ago, I was out walking with my family, on a pretty  normal day. We had just gotten ice cream and I had laughed at my  brother, whose face was covered in the icy treat. The next thing I  remember, was being on the ground, little pebbles stuck into my hands.  There was yelling, voices that I recognized, some that I didn't. I was  going to get up, when a man fell in front of me. He was older, older  than my dad at least. His hair was streaked with grey and his face was  dirty. It was a split second, but then all I saw was black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital room, my parents and brother around  me. I'd apparently been knocked over by some random guys on the street,  I'd hit my head hard a blacked out. I told that the men ran off, but I  remembered the man in front of me.

I found out from Paul that he had knocked me over. He'd been running  from some demons and didn't see me in front of him. He'd knocked me over  and then tripped over me. He said he had two options. One being that he  let the demons take him back to Hell, or he could possess me. Guess which he chose.

"-and not to mention that he blew up a potato in the microwave!" 'Excuse me, what?" Paul sighed "Have you even been listening to me?" 'You talk a lot Paul, I choose to ignore you have the time.'

"One of these days, you're going to need to remember something that I told you and you won't be able to, because you don't listen."* 'And on that day, I will let you say "I told you so", until then let's just not discuss it.' Paul sighed "Fine. What do you want to do now?" 'Dunno. I kind of want to sleep.' "Boring." 'And what do you suggest we do Paul, go to a church?' ". . . Sleeping sounds good."

BANG BUMP THUMP CRASH I turned over in my bed, used to the noise that often cropped up in the middle of the night. Ted, my roommate, was a messy eater and very fond of midnight snacks. SMACK CRASH BUMP What the hell was he doing? I uncovered my head, which I had placed under my pillow to block out noise, and listened for a few moments. SMACK THUMP BANG CRASH ......... Whimper? I sat up, blinking my eyes so that I could see better and I looked around my room. Two things jumped out at me first thing. One being that my window was   open –though I don't generally close it- and two being that my door, was  also open. I close my door every night and lock it before going to   sleep. Paranoia. Slipping my legs off my bed, I stood up, standing on my tip toes to be quieter. "What's going on?" 'I don't know. I think that Ted might be dying.' "Oh. Let him be then." 'No! What if he's hurt?' "Sounds like his problem." I rolled my eyes, wishing that there was a way I could reach inside my mind and slap the demon. But there wasn't. Not that I'd found anyway,   and trust me, I've tried. I walked across my bedroom to my open door, trying to make the least  amount of noise possible, which proved to be a task as my feet  continuously stepped on the squeaky floorboards. I knew that I should  have gotten them fixed. The hallway was dark. There was a light on at the end, where the entrance to the kitchen began. "What the hell are you doing? Have you not seen any horror movies?  This is exactly how it someone gets killed! Don't be the character in  the first five minutes of Supernatural." I scowled at nothing. "Call the police! Someone could be in your apartment." 'It's just Ted!" "I highly doubt its 'Just Ted.'" 'Well if you're so smart, then why don't you go check? Oh wait, you   can't. You rely solely on my body to get you around, so sit down and   shut up.' ". . . Rude." I shook my head, ignoring the quiet protests that Paul continued to give me. Oh, how I wished he had an off button. I crept up the hallway, looking around for something I could use as   weapon. On the way up, I reached into the supply cupboard and grabbed   out the broom, quickly untwisting the head from the handle. It would   have to do. I hold onto it tightly, feeling slightly silly. I knew that Paul was  right. I was the dumb character in a horror movie. What was I going to  do what I reached the kitchen? What if it wasn't Ted? What if it's an  actual invader? How is a broom handle going to help me? Either way, my feet carried me forwards and before I knew it, I was   standing just behind the kitchen door. The soft yellow light was   streaming through, the door itself was only open about a foot and a   half, but it was enough for me to poke my head in. I saw a back that was the first thing. A back attached to a head fully  of messy brown hair. I knew this to be Ted. Looking a little bit closer,  I turned my head a little bit to get a better angle. The second thing I saw, was that Ted had a man against the wall, a tight grip on the other man's throat. And the third thing I noticed, was that the man, wasn't a man. How could he had been, with pale green skin and black eyes? His skin was  covered in spikes, tiny ones and longer ones, some were grey while others were brown. "Demon." 'Demon? What do you mean demon? There's a demon in my apartment?' "Well, what else could it be? A gnome?" 'I don't really think that right now is the time for sarcasm.' "There is never not a time for sarcasm." "Please." The demon against the wall wheezed out. "I have just come to bring back the traitor." "Traitor? What's so wrong about wanting to stay out of hell?" "I don't care." Came Ted's reply. But it wasn't Ted. This voice was deeper, gravelly. "Holy crap." 'What?' "But My Lord-!" Ted slammed the demon against the wall again and I heard a sickening   crack. Then a loud wail filled the apartment. Black smoke vented out of the dead demons mouth, swirling around the room like a little tornado, before flying out the open window. Ted turned around. His skin was tinted grey, not sickly like, but an  actual grey, his eyes were white, the rings where his irises and pupils  should have bene remained, but there was no coloration. There seemed to  be a flutter when he moved, like the rustling of feathers. There was a  broken vase on the floor, shattered into pieces. Painting and framed  photographs were littered everywhere and the coffee table in the middle  of the living room that adorned the kitchen, was broken in half. Ted turned around further and faced me, his eyes wide as he saw me looking around at the damage. "I can fix it I swear" He said, his voice still different. "What, the hell." He flinched. "Well you see, that's what I'm trying to avoid." "Explanation. Now." "Well, you see. It's a bit more complicated than that. I –uh" "Are you a demon?" "No." "What are you?" Ted rubbed the back of his head. "SPIT IT OUT ALREADY" Ted's eyes went wide. I knew that he had heard Paul, as Paul had spoken  his words through my mouth. Another great thing. He doesn't do it often,  only when he's really angry.

"I'm the Devil."