#Hope-Filled words

[luxaofhesperides]

Surprise husbands + "How are you real?" ; requested by @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff!

They may not have planned to get married, or even wanted it all too much at the beginning, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t going to treat each other right. It was rough going, with both of them coming out of relationships and having secret identities, but time had softened the hurt feelings and allowed them to actually get to know each other.

And Danny, Duke has discovered, is a really good husband. 

Neither of them ever saw themselves as married at 20, but sometimes life throws horrible curses at you and the embodiment of balance and life and death swoops in to save your life. Via marriage. 

His life is weird, okay? Duke has made his peace with it.

The thing is, if they had met naturally and started off as friends, Duke could see himself falling for Danny and asking him to marry him in a far off future. Instead, they’re doing everything backwards: married, then going on dates to know each other, and finally feeling close enough to be friends. 

It helps that Danny does his best to communicate and that helps Duke find the words he needs as well. 

He’s sweet, too, so kind and doting and affectionate. Like a really lovable cat, honestly. Duke’s never been cuddled so much in his life and he’s loving every minute of it. 

He… might be falling in love with his husband. What a revelation.

“Duke?” 

He blinks, looking up from his half-empty plate, pulled out of his thoughts suddenly. Tim and Dick stare at him, concerned, and he realizes he’s missed the entire conversation because he was so preoccupied thinking about Danny. In his defense, it was their one year anniversary the night before and Danny had kissed him for the first time after a date night spent playing video games and talking shit about their respective rogues. 

Tim snaps a finger in front of his face, and Duke startles. He got distracted by his Danny Thoughts again.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“You okay? You’ve been out of it all day,” Dick says, clearly concerned.

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s all good. Just… adjusting.”

“To what? Did something happen?”

Duke shrugs, scooping up another forkful of pasta to shove in his mouth. “Yeah, I… this is going to sound kind of stupid, but I think I’m in love with my husband.”

Tim, taking an ill-timed drink, chokes and spits out his Zesti. Dick springs back, trying to get out of the spray zone but doesn’t move far, shocked still by Duke’s words.

“Oh, yeah,” Duke realizes, “I didn’t tell you guys, did I?”

“You’re married?!” Tim shrieks as Dick clutches at his chest, eyes wide.

“You didn’t tell me?” Dick asks, offended.

“Seriously? That’s what you focus on?”

Duke smiles as they begin to bicker. They do it constantly, but this time it’s halfhearted, as if they’re just going through the motions of something familiar to distract themselves from the bomb he’s dropped on them.

In all fairness, Duke did forget that he didn’t tell them that he’s married to Danny. He’s also only mentioned Danny once or twice and heavily implied that Danny was just a classmate at GCU. And then forgot that he didn’t tell them, assuming that they’d figure it out eventually being Batman trained detectives, after all.

Well. 

Oops.

Clearly that is not the case. Duke hurries to finish his pasta before Tim and Dick finish their joint freak out and get their senses back together enough to interrogate him. He can’t escape it, but he refuses to have this discussion with an empty stomach. 

He just barely manages to scrape the last mouthful off the plate when his fork is being yanked out of his hands. Tim and Dick close in on him, standing to either side of him, trapping him in place, and look at him with knife-sharp smiles.

Here we go, Duke thinks tiredly, and resigns himself to clearing up this misunderstanding.

Somehow, he manages to explain the situation (I got cursed, he saved my life, we ended up married because magic is bullshit, he treats me so well) and Tim and Dick both agree to not hunt down Danny to show him the wrath of older brothers on one condition: Danny has to join them for a family dinner.

“Don’t worry, we’ll catch everyone up on your… situation,” Dick says, pulling on his jacket to head out. Tim is already on his phone, no doubt telling someone already. 

“Great,” Duke says, unenthused. “You’ll also be answering all the questions because I’m not in the mood. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to figure out a day that works for all of us, and then I’m going to kick my husband’s ass in Mario Cart.”

He walks out the door, grinning as he hears them scramble after him, then twists the ring on his finger (not a wedding ring, but a magic portal making gift) and steps into the portal. It closes quietly behind him, leaving him in Danny’s lair, a comfortable, spacious house with high ceilings and little bits of his personality scattered about. There are soft rugs with geometric patterns on them, star maps on the wall, stained glass windows that throw colors across the floor, and a giant couch and pillow pit in the living room.

Danny’s asleep in it, curled up and looking completely at peace. Duke toes off his shoes and carefully makes his way over, footsteps silent so he doesn’t wake him up, all plans of Mario Cart fading away instantly.

Danny doesn’t get much sleep, with the stress of school and an internship and ghost fights to worry about. It’s why his lair is so quiet and comfortable; it’s what he needs, and he doesn’t let anyone else in without invitation, rare as it is.

Duke is allowed to waltz right in thanks to the ring Danny gave him. It never stops making him feel overwhelmed by how much trust Danny puts in him to allow him unlimited access to what is his only true sanctuary, letting his lair be a place of safety and respite for Duke as well. 

He crawls into the pillow pit, There’s no way to do this without waking Danny up since he can’t fly, so he isn’t surprised to see Danny blink his eyes open, still looking soft and content. He smiles when he sees Duke, reaching a hand out to him that Duke gladly takes, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss his palm.

Sitting up, Danny tilts his head up in a silent request. Duke happily obliges, still reeling over the fact that he’s allowed to do this! He can kiss his husband whenever he wants! 

Yeah, he’s going to be riding that high for a while.

“Hey,” Danny murmurs, sleepy and quietly pleased to see him.

“Hi honey,” Duke returns fondly, “Have a nice nap?”

Danny nods, leaning into Duke and closing his eyes again. “Mhm. How long are you staying? I wanna cuddle.”

“I got nothing going on today. I’m all yours, baby.”

“C’mon,” Danny tries to tug him down. Duke goes slowly, covering Danny’s body with his own, but holds himself with one hand before he blankets his husband completely.

“Wait. There’s something we need to talk about.”

Immediately, the sleepy haze is fading from Danny’s eyes, leaving him alert. “What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“Not really? You know how we agreed to keep our marriage a secret until we weren’t in danger anymore and all those cultists and sorcerers were taken care of?”

“...Yes?”

“Well.” Duke sucks in a breath and offers a bashful smile. “Guess who forgot to tell people we were married after that whole mess was dealt with?”

The nervousness clears from Danny’s gaze as he stares up at Duke with incredulous amusement. “No. No way.”

“Yeah. Kinda dropped a bomb on them and they started freaking out over me being married. Anyways, they want you to come to dinner?”

“When?”

Duke leans back, sitting on his heels. “Let me check.” He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to the group chat asking for a day they could have a family meal to meet his husband.

His phone is bombarded with texts and calls immediately until Barbara, bless her entire soul, forcibly mutes all of them and puts in a poll with a few dates, setting the poll to close in 24 hours.

“Okay, well, they’re deciding now, but probably soon.”

Danny nods. “Alright. I know these aren’t normal circumstances at all, but I’m so excited to meet the Bats.”

“You do not mean that after hearing all my stories about them.”

“No, I do!” Danny laughs, surging up to wrap his arms around Duke and pull him back down to lay among the giant pillows with him. “They sound nice!”

“The Bats sound nice?!” Duke repeats in horror. “Did you hit your head?”

“They do sound nice! You talk about them so fondly, and yeah they have problems and are dysfunctional, but they’re heroes. Of course they have problems. Even with all their baggage, they’re kind. And you clearly love them, so I do too.”

It’s hard to resist the urge to hug Danny tight enough to make him squeak while peppering his face with kisses, so Duke doesn’t. He just goes and does it, because he’s allowed to shower his husband (!) with affection (!!!) as much as he pleases.

“How are you real?” he says against the corner of Danny’s lips. “How are you so perfect! To me specifically! Honey, if we weren’t already married, I’d be going down on one knee right now.”

“I mean, you still can. We never got a proper wedding either. Think if we offer them a chance to help plan our wedding, they’ll forgive us for secretly being married for so long?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Duke says. He’s already giddy, just imagining what their wedding will look like, what song they’ll play for their first dance, where they’ll have the ceremony… He should create a Pinterest account to start putting ideas together. 

Later, though. He wants to woo Danny properly and take him on so many dates.

Dates which include dinner with the Waynes and Wayne-adjacents, apparently.

“You sure you’re okay with meeting them over dinner?” he asks, just to be sure. He knows how intense they can be, even when pretending to be normal civilians. It took him years to get used to them, himself, and he doesn’t want to push Danny into doing something he’s not ready to do.

Danny cups Duke’s face in his hands and gives him a quick, reassuring kiss. “I’m sure. If nothing else, it’ll be fun to see how long it takes for them to realize I’m not fully human.”

“I really am glad it’s you.”

“Yeah, me too. I’d choose you all over again if given the choice.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Duke laughs, wrapping an arm around Danny’s waist.

“Can we nap now? Now that you’re here and holding me, it’s taking everything I’ve got to stay awake.”

“Yeah, we can nap now.” Duke settles into the pillows, Danny cradled in his arms and closes his eyes to bask in the quiet easiness of it all. 

He really couldn’t ask for a better husband, unexpected as he was. The others will see that too, once they meet him. It’s impossible to not love Danny once you meet him; Duke knows this all too well.

He loves his husband.

And his husband loves him back.

Duke is fully prepared to keep making that choice for the rest of his life.

[anachronistic-falsehood]

i just. love qpac and qcellbit and their weird complex relationships. like when I hear celltw i think of cannibalism and the prison and all the fucked up implications of just. everything that went on there. when i hear pacbit i think of cellbit telling pac e mike that he loves them and that he’s no longer cell and that that monster died, and cellbit telling pac after the happy pills arc that he’s not alone anymore and he’s a hero, and them raising a kid together and joking about their past. like. it’s insane that one character can change so fuckijg much that two different ship names can make me think of two completely different dynamics, even though cell and cellbit are the same exact character in different points in time and celltw and pacbit are essentially the same ship

LIKE cellbit has changed so much but pac has stayed more or less the same and i just wonder what the hell cellbit must look like from his eyes. yk. how one person can change so much that your entire relationship has flipped on its head and now you’re family but you still find yourself scared of who he used to be sometimes regardless of how he’s changed. the duality of these fucking guys. i’m going to eat the floorboards

[cordeliaeli]

I do hope you had the best Father's Day today, because you absolutely deserved it. Just got the kids down to bed, or well, Rosalyn is knocked out. Colton is fast away playing a new video game that I may or may not have bought him that'll keep him busy for hours until he falls asleep with the video game controller in hand. I'm leaving the cleaning till the morning. I was going to ask to escort me upstairs but I fear the poor adorable donkey we've rescued is feeling a bit homesick possibly, and hearing him cry crushes my heart so you might end up cuddling him tonight than me and my fancy lingerie. @cagenewman

[luthienne]

I wondered how often the future waits on the other side of the wall, knocking very quietly, too politely for us to hear, and I was filled with longing to reach back into my life and inform that unhappy girl: all around her was physical evidence proving her sorrows would end. I wanted to tell her that she would be saved, but not by an act of will: clever Gretel pretending she couldn't tell if the oven was hot and tricking the witch into showing her and shoving the witch in the oven. What would rescue her was time itself and, above all, its inexorability, the utter impossibility of anything ever staying the same.

Francine Prose, from Hansel and Gretel, as featured in My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me: Forty New Fairy Tales

[flowercrowngods]

for @evergreennwilloww, i’m sorry it kinda ate your ask but here’s your steddie first kiss prompt fill, hope this is fine 🌷🤍

There are many versions of Steve Harrington and Eddie is kind of obsessed with every one of them. But this one? Oh, this one might be his favourite.

Steve, comfortable in his bed, his eyes closed and small smile tugging at his lips, illuminated by the soft warm glow of the fairy lights they installed above the bed the other day.

Lying on his side, Eddie traces the play of light and shadows with his eyes, his hands itching and aching to follow, but he clenches them in the douvet so he won’t do anything stupid. Steve’s lashes are casting long shadows over his cheeks and Eddie wants to draw him. Again.

He sighs a little, sounding wistful even to his own eyes and he can feel his cheeks burning already, bracing for the worst. But Steve’s smile only widens, and even though his eyes are closed and he doesn’t move his head, Eddie feels like he’s been found out.

Steve’s hand is resting right beside his on the covers, and Eddie looks at it for a moment. They’re so close. They’re always so close lately, and Steve is always smiling, never moving away. Always staying, never leaving.

It drives Eddie insane. Takes his breath away, makes the world stop, leaves him aching and yearning and itching to reach out.

It would be so easy, too, to stretch out his fingers, move his hand just slightly until his pinky can wrap around Steve’s thumb. To play with his fingers, careful and gentle until his hand rests on top of Steve’s and their fingers can slot together like they were made to do.

So easy. And he can’t breathe, can’t hear anything above the sound of his own heartbeat when he moves, slowly, so achingly slowly.

And then Steve turns his hand. Palm up. Inviting. And Eddie’s breath hitches.

“If you’re uncomfortable,” he whispers, though he barely has a voice, “or think it’s too much… Just pull away.”

Steve doesn’t.

The first touch is light, tentative, and it tickles. Makes Eddie huff on a smile, giddy all of a sudden. Giddy and disoriented and so, so brave.

Steve hums with the second touch, Eddie’s finger slowly running along his middle finger, tingling and warm, all the way down palm to his pulse point. It makes Steve’s hand twitch, almost reflexively, and Eddie wants more of it.

And then Steve’s eyes open and he turns to lie on his side, facing Eddie, never once moving his hand from where Eddie is playing with his fingers now, still so very tentative despite everything.

But Steve isn’t looking down at their hands like Eddie, and it makes him look up, meet his eyes. He’s never seen them so gentle, so bright in the soft light of the room, and it almost makes him look away again. But he doesn’t. Because he’s already being brave.

“Hi,” Steve says after a moment, finding the words he didn’t have all day. It fills Eddie with a different kind of warmth, knowing that Steve is being brave, too.

“Hi.” He rests their palm together now, his fingers moving in between Steve’s. But it’s Steve who really tangles their fingers, slowly, because Eddie can pull away anytime, too. He doesn’t.

And then Steve lays his other hand on Eddie’s shoulder, moving up, up, up, gently caressing the skin of his neck until it comes to rest on his cheek.

Eddie’s eyes flutter closed, and Steve whispers, “Pretty.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie opens his eyes again, because Steve needs to know. He needs Steve to know.

“Yeah.”

And then they’re both smiling, holding hands in the soft glow of this moment they made for themselves and each other. The world stopped and they improvised to make a better one. A gentler one.

Steve is the one to close his eyes first, breathing for a moment, before, “Eddie?”

“Hm?”

Steve’s thumb caresses the back of his hand, drawing patterns of gentle bravery that send goose bumps all over his body.

“Can I… Do… Permission to lean in?”

He wants to think it’s ridiculous, wants to huff and chuckle and find some witty way to retort. But not now; not with Steve, not when he’s been fighting to find words all day and finally, finally has them.

This perfect, perfect boy is asking to kiss him. Asking if it’s okay. And Eddie wants to write poetry about it, about permission sought and granted. Permission to give you my heart? Permission to stop the world with you and make a new one, just for now, just for us, just for this?

Permission, because Steve wouldn’t do anything to hurt Eddie or make him uncomfortable. Permission, because Eddie gets a choice in this.

“Permission granted,” he breathes, revelling in the smile he gets for it.

And then Steve is kissing him. Gently, sweetly; a chaste little thing, hand on his cheek, thumb stroking along the dimples of the smile he can’t contain.

When Steve pulls away, his eyes are still closed but his smile speaks for itself. Eddie’s hand comes up to comb through his hair; and Steve rests his forehead against Eddie’s, their hands still holding, their knees now touching.

Steve Harrington has many wonderful versions. But this one? Oh, yeah; this one is definitely Eddie’s favourite. He leans up to brush a kiss to Steve’s forehead, and another when he hums happily.

Yeah. Definitely his favourite.

[losersimonriley]

Sundowning 1st chappie will be up in a few hours

[good-beanswrites]

A little something featuring Fuuta and Es after talking about their criminal lack of interaction in fanworks with @waivyjellyfish ! You had such awesome ideas (a few of which I'm still bouncing around in my head to post at some point,) but this one ended up taking over my brain -- I hope you enjoy 😅 Attempting to answer the widely-debated question:

“Oi, why didn’t you hit me?”

Es looked up from their paperwork.

“Prisoner number three. Most people are glad when they’re not struck.”

“Well, I’m not.” 

Es usually left the door open at this hour, in case anyone had any last-minute complaints before curfew. No one usually took them up on the offer. They figured that if there was any prisoner they could count on to complain, it would be Fuuta marching through their door.

“You hit all the other guys. You even hit some of the girls that were giving you trouble. So what? You think I’m too weak? You think I can’t take it?” Fuuta spread his arms. “I can, so show me what you’ve got!”

Es sighed. They put down their pen. They folded their gloved hands together, resting their chin on top. “Fuuta, I’m not going to hit you.”

“Why not?”

“As of right now, I have no reason to. If you’re referring to the interrogations…”

They reflected on the first one they'd shared with him. To be fair, the thought had crossed their mind. It would have been satisfying to give this rowdy prisoner a taste of his own medicine – striking him after such a dramatic charge at them. But Es was always good at reading people. It didn’t take them long to understand Fuuta was the type to lash out first and ask questions later. In fact, that was likely what had landed him in Milgram in the first place. 

Although Es knew they weren’t here to do any reformation, they wanted to try to show these prisoners where they’d gone wrong. So, they resolved to act as the bigger person. They’d prove that senseless violence was just that. By keeping their composure, they’d show Fuuta just how childish he was being. 

That wasn’t my only reason. I guess that's true, my actions weren’t all purely righteous. I still spent the entire time looking for ways to make him squirm… But it wasn’t all cruelty. I really did want to understand. I wanted to help. That counts for something, right?

Es never struck the prisoners out of anger, or as a petty show of power. It was a way to force the prisoner to mind their ego. When they’d gotten a bit too full of themselves, a bit too comfortable with the awful deed they’d committed, Es’ blow encouraged them to feel a bit more humility and guilt. 

By the time the second trial arrived, Fuuta oozed guilt. 

The moment Es entered the interrogation room, it was clear that he needed no lesson in humility. He hugged his arms to his chest. His remaining eye darted around the room in thinly-veiled hysteria. His voice trembled when he spoke. It didn’t require any people-reading skills to hear the remorse that underlaid all of his accusations and threats.

Hitting the others felt like giving a dog a tap on the nose after breaking a rule. Meanwhile, Fuuta snapped and snarled like a stray who’d been kicked time and time again.

Of course, he could never know any of this. Any way Es phrased it, Fuuta would misunderstand it as pity.

Well, wasn’t it? I thought he looked like a kicked puppy – that sounds a lot like pity. No, it was out of respect. Does that mean I didn’t respect the prisoners I did hit? No. I respected them too. Then, what’s the difference?

Fuuta was still staring at them, asking the very same question. What’s the difference?

“Each of Milgram’s prisoners is unique.” 

They were met with an unimpressed glare.

Es chose their words carefully. “Each one responds best to a variety of treatments. Some need attention to be comfortable, while others need time. Some need validation in order to confess. Others, a bit of debate does the trick. Some need a show of force. You –” remind me too much of myself  “– require something else. I’ve learned to change my approach depending on the person I’m dealing with.”

Fuuta’s features flashed with confusion, then shame, then his usual mask of anger. “Tch. How pathetic.”

“Excuse me?”

“So you just change your personality when it’s convenient? You put up fake smiles and fake attitude? Have some balls and just be yourself.”

Es was caught by surprise. “... I am. Those are all pieces of myself. I choose to bring out different parts when it would be most helpful.” 

“Sounds manipulative as hell to me.” 

It makes sense he doesn’t understand. He’s a very clear-cut person, with every aspect of his personality lining up in a way that makes sense. I find that predictability fun. Or, is it something that I envy? Could it be both?

They had no time to dwell on it, as Fuuta was struck with an idea. “Though, if you can do it on command, why don’t you give me the ‘you’ that wants to hit someone?” 

He spread his arms once more, hands gesturing to his chest. Es pretended not to notice him wince. They remained in their seat. 

“What are you waiting for? Hit me!” 

“I will not.”

“You just said you can change your personality on a whim, so let’s see it!” 

“That is not what I said.”

His good eye began to look frenzied. He raised his voice. “You scared? The big bad warden of Milgram, nothing but a big coward!”

“Stop this. You’re acting childish.”

“No! You’re treating me childishly! Let me see the Es that kicked Shidou! The one that slapped Kazui! Treat me like you treated them!”

“I hit them because they said something stupid. They deserved it.”

“Are you fucking kidding? I deserve it too! I deserve it! Come on!”

At the last word, his voice broke. He stumbled to his knees. He let his head drop. He sucked in strained breath after strained breath. Shidou would surely give him a lecture about getting so worked up with his injuries. 

Es finally stood.

They made their way around the desk. They knelt on the floor in front of him. 

“Why?” he wheezed. “Tell me…”

“Fuuta.” 

Should I just go ahead and do it, just to make him happy? No, I want to talk it out. But what do even I say? I'll tell him that I care. I can’t. None of the prisoners understand that I care. Why? Why is it so hard for them to see? I’m trying my best, why can’t they see? 

Es extended their hand carefully. They didn’t know what they hoped to accomplish, but in that moment their thoughts were too loud and conflicting. They needed to do something.

Fuuta saw the gentle intention, and immediately raised his own hand to strike. It froze midair, though whether it was from Milgram’s restrictions or his own hesitation, Es would never know.

Neither of their gestures connected.

Footsteps. Then Yuno’s voice, hesitantly from the doorway. “We heard shouting, is everything alright in here?”

Es retracted their hand.  A beat. Fuuta dropped his, too. 

“Yuno. Yes, we’re fine. Fuuta was just heading to bed. I’m going to walk him to his cell.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I said, I’m going to walk him to his cell.” 

Es stood, nodding to Yuno. When she’d gone, they turned their attention back to the prisoner crumpled on the ground. They made an effort to quiet their ever-racing thoughts. 

“Listen. I know you can handle yourself. I’m not doing this because I think you’re weak. You’re strong. Don’t think for a moment that I don’t see that.”

They held out their arm to help him up. He didn’t move.

“Sometimes you are a bit too strong, if you ask me. I mean, picking fights with your prison warden, really?” They clicked their tongue. “You should be grateful for a superior that gives you second chances.”

At last, Fuuta  took their hand. He avoided meeting their eyes, but his voice had softened considerably from his rant. “The only thing you give me is a headache.”

Es offered a dry smile as they pulled him to his feet. “The feeling is mutual.”

[cuntmand]

this was kinda the worst episode out of the entire series tbh simply because of the pacing. i liked the episode, but it was all over the place. they tried to tie in all the lose ends in 50 minutes, and that just wasn’t possible. louis being imprisoned, then released, losing his mind, recovering, AND burning down the theater and killing santiago, all in the span of like 5 minutes, the whole louis/lestat/armand scene, daniel exposing armand, loumand divorcing (that was so underwhelming, esp after 2x05, like, i needed these bitches to have a proper verbal argument, i needed them to be AT EACH OTHER’S THROATS), armand turning daniel (offscreen, cause they didn’t have time to get into all that, cause like… no way it was that simple lol there were too many devil’s minion hints throughout both seasons), louis flying to nola, reuniting with lestat (they have far too long and complex a history for it to be resolved so quickly, it would’ve been far more meaningful had it been done right), daniel publishing his book (compiling, writing, editing, publishing it AND selling 4-5 million copies must have taken a lot of time, so time jump, i guess?)… just by typing this out, it’s too much, way too much to cover in a single episode. the hectic pace left me unsatisfied and it also left a lot of room for plot holes (no more unreliable narrators now, cause the interview is done). idk i think they really should’ve split this into two episodes, at least. one of the things that i really admired about this show was the pace. in season 1, they managed to cover 3 decades in the span of only 7 episodes, while simultaneously showing us what was happening in dubai in 2022, and it never felt rushed. season 2’s pacing was still amazing and satisfying, up until this episode. idk man… i hope this doesn’t happen again, cause it really left a bitter taste in my mouth, and it was the finale, so my expectations were high.

[reunitedinterlude]

completely genuine and earnest question - how do you remember / keep track of everything dnp have ever said or done in their videos??? your compilation gifsets astound me sometimes i'm ngl. it's very iconic of you!

- @fryday ✨️

hii !! this is so kind, thank you so much omggg 😭💙 like my memory alone is v questionable, so a lot of the time it’s down to something ringing a bell and me doing some searches on certain tumblr blogs or twitter or youtube transcripts to find the actual moment!! like sometimes i might remember the vid or a specific phrase/caption, which helps narrow things down :’)

[bumblingbabooshka]

Fake Voyager Episode: Tuvok gets kidnapped and forced to compete in an arena where telepaths fight one another to the death for a shot at fortune and prestige. He was initially kidnapped as 'fodder' - the aliens who run the arena will grab any telepathic alien they can find regardless of skill and they're essentially just there to be killed by flashier veterans of the bloodsport. The episode is mainly Tuvok showing off his tactical know-how and combat skills. We also get several flashbacks to him as a young man, learning how to fight both on Vulcan and in Starfleet. There's a concern that he will lose himself when forced into this seemingly endless battle, surrounded by violence, but in the end he prevails and manages to escape without killing a single person. He leaves the arena after giving a message of peace. Patreon | Ko-fi

Unnamed Goon: [Laughter] That puny 'Vuulcan' didn't land a single hit for all his bluster. Once I sealed his telepathic powers it was over! Huh huh huh… If I keep up this pace I should have him crushed beneath my fists in- What...? I can't move...? Tuvok: By now you have surely noticed it.

You are certainly a formidable opponent. Most would assume you to be a simple bruiser but that is not the case. You are a knowledgeable telepath - able to not only bolster your own physique but nullify the telepathic capabilities of your enemies.

However. You rely too much on one tactic and are too proud to allow yourself to look 'weak.' This was the ultimate cause of your ruination. While you gleefully battered my body about the field I was able to locate twenty two out of twenty four 'kobat sfek' on your body - points which will render you immobile for approximately…four minutes. More than enough time. It was a shrewd precaution to nullify my telepathic ability. However. I do not need them to best you in combat.

Even now, I am ten times stronger than you. Unnamed Goon: T-Ten...TEN TIMES!? [Imagining the sort of gruesome end that might await him, the unnamed Goon faints - leaving Tuvok the victor.]

[bookshelf-in-progress]

June Writing Wishlist

Finish something for each of the unfinished Chesterton Challenge prompts (current plans are for two pieces of flash fiction, a bit of Arateph worldbuilding, and two scenes from Shadowstruck)

Write at least 10,000 words of a single project (or, possibly, divide it up between two shorter retellings)

[the-daiz]

Witness me whole | Speed-o’-sound Sonic

Genre; fluff

Pairing: Speed-o'-sound sonic x reader

Synopsis; Sonic letting his guard down around you.

Side note: I wrote some hcs abt sonic and one of them was that he gets sleepy or drowsy whenever he's around his partner, yeah this is kind of an expansion on that hc. Also fuck me I wasted a lot of time writing/thinking about this fic and didn't finish studying and now its 1 am

Alert. Speed-of-sound Sonic had always been alert. Nothing slid past his watchful gaze. He was raised to never let his guard down, or it would cost him greatly. His senses were always on high vigilance, it didn't matter where he was or what he was doing. Even in his slumber, his ears were always sharp, picking up on any slight shift or tatter. Like a camouflaged cat, his eyes would be blown wide even if a mere leaf swayed and fell beside him, jolting him awake.

Allowing himself to rest would be a mark of disgrace to his dignity. He was a ninja like no other, tiredness never even dared to gawn on him.

Yet as he stepped off the window frame, his feet making soundless contact with the cool floor, he was engrossed by a beguiling aroma, enveloping his lean frame with tender endearment. It tugged at his soul, ushering him, and all of him, into the warmth of the silent abode. Like a scheming siren, lulling its victim into its unrelenting fangs.

The atmosphere slipped into his muscles, incasing around them, causing his figure to promptly tense at the burdening constriction, however, as soon as he expelled a hurried breath through his lips, the sensation suffocating his being eased, and a newfound sense of soothing tranquility settled upon its departure. 

He could hear the soft hum of his inhales against the midnight silence. 

As he guided himself further into the apartment, already familiar with its parameters, the sounds of shuffling and clinking of trinkets escorted him in the direction of the bathroom. 

The door was open, light illuminating from the bathroom and into the dimly lit room. He stepped closer, his movement weary, slow, and deliberate, with the intention of not startling you.

"(Y/n)." He spoke, assiduously eyeing your back. You stood before the sink as you gazed at yourself through the mirror, lined with a thin layer of fog, whilst you patted your damp hair with a warm towel. Your skin was moist with the reminisce of your shower. Sonic's eyes scanned your outfit, a casual shirt paired with sweatpants. His gaze lingered as disappointment instilled in him. 

It would've been nicer if you were just in a towel...

An alert hum vibrated in your chest, your brows perking up as you blinked in the mirror, staring at the blurred reflection of your lover. For a few moments, you blinked at the unmoving, black blotch on your mirror, then your hand hauled up to wipe the mist off his reflection, your lips morphing into a grin as his form cleared.

"Breaking in, again?" Your smile turned smug as you glanced back at your reflection. 

Something akin to gravity pulled at him as your voice hung in the air, a heavy weight suddenly materializing in his core. His body moved to lean on the doorframe, using it as a means to support himself. He shrugged, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips "You should really lock those windows."

"I'd get an alarm system if I thought they'd actually keep you out." You tossed the towel into a wooden basket beside the counter as you turned to face him.

As soon as your gazes locked, Sonic's eyelids felt like they were being pulled at by an unrelenting force. He pushed himself off the frame, pushing his hands into his pockets as he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room briefly for no apparent reason

"You're quiet tonight," You stated with a raised eyebrow. He shrugged again, avoiding your gaze. You bit the inside of your cheek, inspecting his form curiously. You didn't push for answers and simply turned back to the mirror, combing your fingers through your now-dry hair. "What? You're not gonna say anything?" He rolled his eyes and gave a half-hearted scoff at the snarkiness in your tone. 

"Not much to say."

"That's new."

You observed him through the mirror, his heavy gaze fixated on your feet. His posture was laced with unfamiliar tension, but you knew better than to pry. Still, a small frown settled on your face. You didn't like knowing there might be something weighing on him whilst being unable to somehow lend him any sort of reassurance. You inhaled sharply and eased away the wrinkles on your face.

"Well, you could at least make yourself useful if you're not gonna entertain me." You grinned. then grabbed a strand of your hair. "grab me a comb or something, my hair's a mess..."

Sonic didn't respond to your quip, but instead stepped forward and closer to you, his limbs growing heavy. You caught the small action through the mirror. A faint frown crossed your features, but you continued to hold your smile.

"You wouldn't mind brushing my hair like last time, no? I'm kinda tired from..." The tilt in your lips slowly wilted as you continued to peer over at Sonic, watching him step even closer. His dull, downcast eyes indicate that your words went unheard, you could hardly make out his grey hues through his bangs. 

His presence was unmistakable as he stood tall behind you, your posture straightening slightly in response. The hair on your nape pricked up as you felt a chill of tension course through you. Your brows furrowed further the longer your eyes lingered on him.

"Hey,-" Your sentence was cut short when his arms slowly enclosed around your waist, his chest leaning into your back. You slightly tensed and pressed your lips to form a thin line.

His head fell against your shoulder. You could feel his hot breath scatter on your bare skin, causing a slight shiver to run down your spine. You glanced to the side to stare at his head, your expression softening as he shifted and nuzzled his nose further into the crook of your neck.

The silence was peaceful around you, allowing you to savor this ephemeral moment. The air was embued with an undeniable sense of tenderness as you carefully listened to Sonic's soft, yet deep breaths. You noticed how his inhales grew slower. Steadier.

His arms loosened and then wrapped tighter around you, his body leaning further into your radiant warmth. You felt a smile stretch across your face, hands lightly resting on his arms.

"Now this is new." You teased with a cheeky grin. Sonic let out a soft groan.

"Just shut up..." His voice was low as he spoke, as if he had no energy left in him to bite back like he usually did. You let out a soft exhale through your nose and eased into his embrace.

He could feel the tides of drowsiness wash over him as he held you, his limbs growing more leaden with every passing second. The feeling wasn't completely new to him. Whenever he was in your presence, tiredness always found a way to creep into his consciousness, something he thought he was utterly immune to. He would fight the feeling every time, refusing to go completely vulnerable, even if you were the only one who would witness it. 

For whatever odd reason, however, he had no desire to battle the bothersome sensation this fateful night, letting it consume him. His guard down, and his eyes weighed down by the adoration you encased to him. And only him.

You held onto the sink and readjusted your stance when Sonic's weight abruptly slumped onto you. You blinked. You still felt his arms slightly grasp you.

Your hand trailed up to gently caress his silky locks. At the contact, his head jerked slightly as his eyes fluttered open, pulling him out of his momentary stupor before his mind dove into a deep sleep.

"Come on," You murmured, gently tugging his arms to unwrap from around you. "Let's go to bed."

[billybabyy]

✎ share three WIPs you're working on ✨

Thank you for the tag @buckysgrace! I’ve never been tagged in something like this so this is so cool!

also everything is still mostly a concept because of who I am as a person 😅 I’m so good at coming up with ideas and titles of stories but not so good at actually writing them so here is the three main concepts floating around in my brain right now!

American Teenager - Steve Harrington x Wheeler!OC (will span all seasons, the idea is that Nancy and OC are twins and OC falls for Steve while he’s dating Nancy and then the Upside Down happens and shit gets complicated) I will eventually give her a bio here.

Madmax - Takes place in the space between Seasons 3 and 4, After Starcourt Max starts experiencing nightmares and headaches, she starts hanging out with the drug dealer that lives across the street after she moves to the trailer park to cope.

Too Sweet - Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC (the idea for this one is still kind of floaty but; no upside down au, OC moves to California from Hawkins into the same building as Billy who is raising his kid step-sister because their parents died. He runs a surf shop and she works in a bakery/cafe) read what little I have of her bio here.

No pressure tags! : @destroya2005 @nameless-ken

[xannerz]

i’ll be completely honest i’ve seen how some people receive gift art (whether as a surprise or thru a community event), and the clipped “aw cute, thanks!”-tier responses are always a little jarring to me lmao. maybe at least compliment something you like about it. i am aware that there are at least some people out there who will try to ingratiate others with gift art, and it’s pretty off-putting/obvious, but not always. Give some grace/show appreciation when you can, it goes a long way.

[lotrmusical]

My high school did a yearly poetry recitation contest (Poetry Out Loud), so Oh Boy do I know some poems. My favorites are Ozymandias and "the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love," by Kara Jackson. Also in 8th grade we had a Poe unit and had a class contest to make the best music video of the Raven, so I still know a good chunk of that.

i hadn't heard of the kara jackson one! just read through it and enjoyed it, particularly these lines > 'grandma returns to her love like a hymn, marks it with a color. // when the world ends will it suck the earth of all its love? /will i go taking somebody’s hand, / my skin becoming their skin?'

[jay-will-dictate]

I've got an appointment with a psychiatrist in a moment, I feel so sickkkk