#I need to lie down lol

[bill-ciphers-nightmare-blog]

If you get out of the Theraprism, will you let Calypso go?

SOUNDS LIKE AN OFFER

[baekslight]

BAEKHYUN - Hear Me Out Behind the Scenes

[lonelyisamyw-0love]

Holy...fuckin..i

I i have to revist this when I can coherent thoughts

Blorbo thought of the day #7

Call me: (feral!Steven Grant x fem!reader)

Summary: Steven needs you. What else is new?

Genre: pwp, established relationship

Author’s note: ya seemed to enjoy feral!Steven getting sucked off and so… I brought him back. So, here is Steven just being all out needy and desperate for you… at the most inconvenient of times. (Dashes of Marc.)

Warnings: masturbation (at work), phone sex, sorta dirty talk.

MINORS (and ageless/untitled blogs) interacting will be blocked. 18+ only

“I’ve got a bit of a problem,” Steven breathes through the phone, and you immediately note how his voice sounds alarmingly wobbly.

In response, you pace just as urgently to your office, seeking privacy, and keeping your voice hushed as you swerve through the corridors. “What is it? Is everything alright?”

“Mmhmph. I need you.” His voice is quivering now, and it only adds to your sudden, spiking concern. “So good to hear your voice, I…”

“Okay. Okay, Steven, I can be there,” you reassure without a second thought, clicking your office door closed behind you and scanning your desk for your car keys. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Oh. Oh, no. I’m fine, love,” Steven backtracks. “I don’t want to worry you. It’s just. It’s just that I… I need you.” His emphasis on the word need is a little bratty. Almost petulant. Stretched out, low and slow.

Oh. Oh it’s like that, is it?

You plonk yourself down into your office chair, with relief that he’s okay. And then, it doesn’t take long at all for you to reframe the conversation so far. To rethink the breathiness and tremor in his voice.

You recognise it.

That desperation.

That want; the pleas normally delivered into your skin, your throat, your arousal, spoken in between obedient swipes of his tongue.

“Oh, you do, baby? Well, I need you too, Steven,” you purr, voice hushed - as though someone else in the building could possibly hear you, even though you’re relatively sure that would be impossible. You slam the lid on your laptop shut all the same though, just in case you somehow initiate a video call against all conceivable odds. Then, licking your lips, you think up something tantalising to offer him, and it doesn’t take you long. “Just wait until later, baby. I’ll take all of you in my mouth until-“

“-No.”

“No?” But he usually likes that.

“No. I can’t wait,” he pleads, and the neediness in his hoarse, fractured voice has you pulsing with your own want. Squeezing your thighs unconsciously together. “You’ve got to help me. Please.”

“Fuck. Where are you?”

“I’m downstairs. In inventory.” You bite your lip. Steven hates that room. His need must really be a problem if he’s willingly taken himself down there. Out of sight. He must really be driven to distraction, and God, the thought of him working himself up behind that gift shop desk - with no possible hope of relieving himself - makes you feel some kind of way.

“Are you alone?”

“Of course I’m alone. I’ve had to lock the bloody door, haven’t I? I’ll get blimmin’ arrested if I walk around the museum with this in my trousers.” Your mind short-circuits a little at the thought of his bulging arousal. “I’m just so… uhhhhh. You have to help me, love. Can’t stop thinking about you and your beautiful body and I…” he huffs a punched breath into the receiver. “I need you.” The plea sends a warm honey melting through you core, and you can’t help but tease the pad of your finger along the centre seam of your trousers, enjoying the pressure against your now aching clit.

“Mmmm. Are you all hard for me, Steven?”

“Y-yes,” he flusters, and you can imagine his pretty eyelashes fanning against his cheek. Imagine the feel and girth of him, warm and heavy in his hand. “Aching. I thought hearing your voice would make it better but it’s… even harder to… concentrate on anythin’ else…”

Fuck.

The effect you have on him. How open he is with his want. Some men would be derogatory about how earnest Steven is, you’re sure. Personally, however, you find a man who knows what he wants and who isn’t afraid of it so endlessly hot. Especially, of course, when what he wants so badly is you.

Thinking quickly, you unfurl your headphones from your pocket, plugging them into your phone and leaving it on the desk. If you’re going to make Steven come, you want it in surround sound. And, of course, you might just want your own hands entirely free, after all. “It’s okay, Steven,” you soothe, voice smooth as silk and dousing some of his urgency. You hear a relieved exhale sound into the shell of your ear. “I’m going to help you, baby boy. Don’t worry. I’m here.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Good, Steven. Now. Can you… can you take yourself out of your pants?” You fight now to keep your own voice level, your chest heaving slightly - getting worked up for him too.

“Wh-what? Here? You can’t be bloody serious. Donna would have a-“

“-Yes. Right there, Steven,” you say more firmly. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be good. Can you do that for me?”

You can tell that he doesn’t have the will to argue. That he wants this. “O-okay. One sec. I’m gonna-”

You vaguely hear the clink of a belt buckle being loosened. Imagine that you hear the crank of a zip. But you most definitely do hear Steven’s muffled groan into the receiver, which lets you know - with certainty- that he’s now gripping his aching shaft in his broad, warm hand.

Tension hangs taut on the line, and his voice comes back little more than a whisper, which somehow fills you head all the same. “What now?”

“Move your hand, Steven. Up and down that thick shaft of yours. Really slow. Don’t rush.” Steven is breathing so hard that the sound crackles through your headphones, like a rumble of thunder in your head. “Are you hard, baby boy? Tell me.”

“‘M so hard.”

“Feel tender?” Steven’s in the most sensitive cock you’ve had. You think of the way he jerks and bucks against every touch. The way the flushed head of him throbs. The gusts of breath which billow out as his hands twist in the sheets. As he tries to stave off his end and fails. As you make him come over and over, just the way he likes, until he’s made a mess of himself, load after load covering his toned stomach. Edging him and milking him until he can’t take it anymore - and still he begs you not to stop.

“Mmmmhmmm,” he hums affirmatively.

“Most sensitive cock I’ve had, aren’t you, my sweet thing?”

His breath and his voice are shaking now, fluttering against the receiver like fragile bird’s wings. “Y-yes. Only for you. Make me feel so g-good.”

“Mmm, Steven. Fuck. You’re making me all wet at my desk, do you know that? Keep touching yourself for me. Don’t you dare stop.”

“Won’t. Can’t stop. Anything you say.”

“That’s good, sweet boy.”

“W-will you… will you do it with me? Can you? Please.” The words are being squeezed out of him now, the way the circle of his fist must be squeezing down on his shaft. Gripping himself hard. Rolling his palm over the sensitive head of him, spreading that leaked bead of slick over his flushed, veined length. “Need to hear you, darling. B-been thinking about it all morning. The way you moaned into my ear last night when we made you cum. Like an angel, so beautiful. Keep thinking about you touching me. Making me give you everything, love.”

You can’t be blamed, can you, for popping the button on your trousers. For slipping them down around your ankles beneath the desk so you can part your legs just enough. For dragging your knickers aside just enough to skim a finger through your heat, finding it sensitive and slick. “I’m soaking, Steven. All wet for you. Do you want me to touch myself? Is that what you need?”

“Yes.” The man sounds broken. Levelled by want. You think back to how shy he was when you’d first gotten to know him. When he’d never had anyone touch him like that. About how quickly all of that unravelled as soon as you had gotten your hands - and mouth, and heat- on him.

“I’m going to put a finger inside of myself now, just for you.”

“No,” he counters.

“No?”

“Two. Spread yourself open.”

“Fuck. Okay.” You slip two fingers inside of yourself and you find that your cunt swallows them eagerly, so ready to be filled. “Still touching yourself for me too?”

“Yes. I wanna…”

“What do you want?”

“Wanna be good for you.”

Hnnng. From the bashfulness in his tone you can imagine the crimson flush creeping up his neck and reddening his cheeks all too well. You wonder if, with your words, you can make him blush more deeply again, even if you aren’t there to see it. “You are good for me,” you purr, and his breaths grow more ragged, the sounds coming hard and fast through the headphones. “You’re so good for me, Steven. So handsome. So beautiful. Touching yourself so well. Going to give me everything, aren’t you?”

“Mmmhhhmmm.”

“Use your words, baby boy. How does it feel? Tell me.”

“N-nothing like you,” he stutters. “But f-feels good. Feels n-nice.

You moan too, as you pulse your two fingers inside your heat, curling them and gathering up your dripping juices. Steven moans too as he hears your own sounds filter through the phone, and you can only imagine the glassy-eyed, pussy-drunk look washing over his face.

“So beautiful,” he gushes. “Want to be inside you.”

“Steven.”

“Again. Please.”

“What, baby?”

“Touch yourself, and say my name again. Please. Not anyone else. Need you all for myself.”

“Who’s a greedy little thing today, hmm?”

“Yeah. I am. Don’t care. Want you to be all mine. Need you so badly. Please.”

His broken, cracked apart plea breaks you, and you relish the pressure and glide of the slick pads of your fingers as you circle them against your wanting clit. “Steven,” you suspire, and that’s a wrecked sound too. You realise then the state you’re in, his brazen want inching you towards your own precipice. Dragging you over that edge with him. “Fuck, Steven, you’re going to make me come at my desk.”

“Want you to. Need you to. Please.”

“Are you close?”

“I’m going to make a mess.”

“Mmmm. That sounds delicious.”

Steven submits some broken apart syllables to you then, unable to get his words out.

“What is it, baby boy?”

“What should I think about when I…?” He huffs out a taut, loaded breath, and you know it signals that he is close to his end.

You increase the pressure and ministrations of your own hand, thinking about him doing the same. Thinking about how, if he were here, he could so easily glide the swollen head of him inside you and pulse himself into the depths of you. “Think about opening me up on your cock, Steven. Think about-“

That’s enough.

That’s enough and Steven’s blissed-out noises fill your head. You slip your fingers back inside of yourself as you picture him spilling himself over his own knuckles, the slight look of awe and surprise that always settles over his pretty face when he comes undone for you. You thumb at your clit and it’s enough. More than enough as Steven’s breathy noises punctuate each relieving pulse of his cock.

“Yes, that’s it, Steven. I’m coming now too. Fuck, baby. So good for me.”

Shit. You’re coming hard. So hard that you buck yourself against your own hand. That you screw your eyes shut as his disbelieving moans fill your head, right in the shell of your ear as though he is next to you. The sensations explode out through your whole body and you shudder with aftershocks, nervy and shaking, and sitting in a pool of your own juices on the sticky, faux leather office chair.

You relish it. Stay silent for a moment as you listen to Steven squeeze out every last drop. Wring himself dry. You enjoy each little nuance and variation of his ragged breaths right in your ear. All his little noises as he comes down, increasingly slow instead of urgent. Calm and sated rather than distressed. “Mmmm,” he hums as you curl your fingers inside of you one more time, the sound drawing a final, blooming aftershock from you which seeps warmly through your core. “Thank you, love.”

“Better?” You smile softly, feeling sleepy and cosy, despite it being the middle of the day. Despite being in your goddamn office.

“Much, thank you. You’re a goddess, you know?”

“So I’ve been told,” you smile, thinking of the man who has met actual deities and still sees fit to address you as such. It makes you feel special. Continues the warm buzz emanating through your body.

“Are you all gooey now?”

“I’ve made quite the mess,” you giggle.

“Me too.”

“Can you clean up?”

“Think so. Mostly went on the wall, thankfully. Bugger - there’s so bloody much of it.”

“Just couldn’t wait for me, baby?”

“No, angel.” There is a beat, as Steven’s feral state recedes, and his unfortunate thud back to reality begins. “Oh god, you weren’t busy when I called, were you, love?”

“Nah. Was only in a meeting with Royce. The twatty foxhunter prick?” Steven hums to signal he remembers. “Trust me. This was much more fun.”

“I’m glad. I’m gonna have to go though, love, I’m so sorry to dash.” You glance at the clock. He doesn’t have long left of his lunch break. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Steven.”

“See you later tonight, yeah?”

“Bye, baby.”

You feel blissed out as you prepare to hang-up the call; however, something prevents you from doing so. Another, even more unexpected voice on the line.

“Wait. Don’t hang up.”

Marc.

Your stomach churns pleasantly, wondering if he’s been listening to you. Maybe even watching Steven. “I’m here. Been missing you.”

“Good. ‘Cause it’s my turn next. How’s that little clit feeling, princess? Can it take another thrashing?”

“Jesus, Marc.”

“What? Getting Steven all worked up like that… Think you don’t do the exact same thing to me?”

“Mmmmph.” Words fail you right now, honestly. Sometimes, you truly can’t believe how lucky you are. “Alright. Tell me then. How can I be of service to you, Marc?”

“First thing’s first. Send me a picture of the mess you made.”

A dark smirk blooms over your mouth. “I will if you will.”

There is a beat. You hang on his every word, until he responds to you. “Copy that. But you’ll have to get me to make one first.”

Well. You might be in the office, but today, you really love your job.

[qingxin-dream]

“welcome home, love. care to join us?” ❤️

[pharawee]

Big Thanakorn Kuljarassombat as KIN | KYU && Frank Thanatsaran Samthonglai as POOM | PURE —OMG! VAMPIRE THE SERIES · Episode 1

[achlysfx]

Solas' level of confidence whenever we see him walk slowly in DA:V is just so well animated, it bleeds power to me.

Wisdom has left the building & Pride is assuming his throne. It's as if he completely embodies the Fen'Harel side whenever he's not speaking with someone from the Inquisition.

[shima-draws]

Catch me being super emotional and sappy on this Monday morning. Anyway I'm so so so glad I got into One Piece, I don't regret it for a single second, I'm so mad that it took me this long to finally sit down and watch it bc now it's been what. 3 months? And I'm 400+ episodes in. I've never watched 400 episodes of anything before (except maybe Pokeani) and I thought it would feel like a chore but now I'm SO fucking addicted I can't get enough. The story is so good the pacing is so good the characters are SO good I can't help but get attached and scream and jump for joy and cry my heart out (and worry my roommates downstairs with all my yelling but. You know) because it's just EVERYTHING. The found family, the power one goofy kid has to topple kingdoms, to make friends with anyone and everyone he meets, to completely destroy anybody who hurts his nakama, to rid his crew of all their burdens and chains that bind them to their traumatic pasts. I'm going to fucking explode I love One Piece so much. And maybe I'm 20 years too late to the party but I'm here and this series has its claws in me so deep that I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. And there's people here who have been fans for years and years and YEARS at this point who are OP Veterans and you've all been so sweet and kind and nice and it makes me want to cry. GOD DAMMIT. Banging my head against the wall all these emotions ARE going to make me blow up. I love you Monkey D Luffy I love you One Piece

[seaquestions]

big dog little dog energy. uh anyway.

[id: two drawings of conor garland & nikita zadorov as furries (a russel terrier & a great dane) referencing the video of them shoving each other at practice. text reads "lil' push!" & "BIG SHOVE!" end id.]

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[jungkookverse]

JUNGKOOK @ Chinese music platform KUGOU MUSIC

[vaguely-concerned]

playing through where the dead must go with an ingellvar rook and......... oh. rook LOVES loves the grand necropolis actually huh. you can hear it in every line they say. I'm. so full of feelings I didn't expect this to hit so hard but between the voice lines, banger music and astounding visuals (TELL ME this game is ugly and that the visual style sucks while you meet me in these halls of grieving I fucking dare you) I feel second hand drenched with grief and melancholy on the inside what the fuck

(feat. lucanis coming along unwittingly meeting future in-laws and realizing that rook has been clenching their teeth with the effort of only seeming about 5% of the freak they actually are the entire time he's known them fhsadkjfsa. local man learns that the one thing future spouse is deadly fucking serious about is their role as a watcher. it's a little hot)

[gerryrigged]

dicktim - La Beau Au Bois Dormant

idea gripping my tired brain by the throat about Tim being struck by some kind of sleeping beauty poison or spell and falling comatose.

Except the solution is not True Love's Kiss but sending someone inside his soul to battle the dragon that will manifest from his inner demons to keep him imprisoned, forever.

The highest chance for success necessitates sending in the one person that the sleeper trusts most - often their love, hence the poison/spell's reputation, but not always.

And almost everyone immediately turns to Dick, like in you go, Nightwing, what are you waiting for.

Which Dick. Doesn't know how to react to, because. God he would give anything to be that person for Tim again. But he knows that he broke something between them when he stripped away Robin.

They've moved past it, they're...fine. But Dick knows. It's not the same. They aren't the same.

He can't help Tim with this. Tim probably wouldn't even want him to try. And that kills him, but he won't sabotage Tim's only shot to wake up because of his own desperate wish to still be the one Tim turns to first. His north star.

There's a ticking-clock time limit before Tim won't be able to wake up at all. They don't have any time to lose.

He looks away from everyone's expectant, demanding stares.

"Call Superboy," he says, voice scraped raw from his throat. "Or Kid Flash. They'll get here in time."

He can't stand the disappointment on Bruce's face. It makes helpless anger boil hot and toxic in his belly. Bruce wasn't here for everything that happened. He doesn't know.

(Dick's never told him. How badly he fucked up.)

"Wait, not his boyfriend?'" Steph says, raised eyebrows and gesticulating at nowhere in particular and Dick's churning thoughts sputter and die into frozen blankness. Boyfriend?

Babs shakes her head on the Batcomputer's view screen.

"They're not at that level of trust yet. They haven't even been dating that long, Tim definitely hasn't told him about - " she twirls a finger, indicating all of them. Red Robin on the medical bed, cowl pushed down and cape pooled around him. The Cave, vaulting overhead. " - all of this. And he won't thank us for doing it for him."

Tim...has a boyfriend?

Wow. His little brother used to always want his advice on love. Life. Everything. If he doesn't trust Dick enough anymore to tell him even that much... Well. It just proves definitively that Dick isn't the right person for this job.

(It hurts like Dick's vital organs are being crushed in a massive fist.)

"Time is ticking," Jason Blood says quietly, looking down at the open face of his pocket watch. At his feet, a circle of lit candles awaits someone to sit down inside and sink into an enchanted meditation.

"Father, clearly it should be you," Damian says, tapping his foot rapidly. His arms are crossed tightly under his cape in a way that he probably means to come across as scornful, rather than apprehensive. "Or Pennyworth, even."

Bruce shakes his head, troubled. "No. I don't think so. Cassie...?"

"No," Cass responds calmly. "Not me." She seems untroubled by her own denial, even though she and Tim have been thick as thieves ever since she returned to Gotham.

She's looking at Dick. She hasn't looked away from Dick this whole time, or let go of Tim's hand, folded in hers protectively, over his heart.

"It's still you, big brother," she says. Gentle and direct and devastating. "Go. Bring him back."

Not so long ago, Tim trusted Dick to catch him when he fell.

Or, he was depressed and passively suicidal and telling Dick what he wanted to hear. Maybe he even believed it, after the fact.

In the end, it doesn't matter. He's Dick's brother. Dick will always, always be there to catch him, whether Tim trusts him to or not.

Dick goes.

He faces Tim, sinks into lotus inside the ring of flickering little flames, and closes his eyes, heart in his throat.

He opens his eyes. A vast, jagged bramble forest looms dark above him. Far in the distance, he can just make out a spindly tower piercing the sky, a flickering little light shining at the top.

He hacks his way through the biting brambles of Tim's resentments, leaving blood and sorrows dripping from the thorns in his wake.

He fights the sly, sinuous dragon of Tim's despair, singing with every breath that he can spare, so that Tim might hear him and know he's not alone.

He wishes he could remember happy songs, bright and lively songs - wishes he could be the light in the darkness that Tim deserves, that he looked up to and chased after and for some reason tried to model himself upon, even when he was already so very bright himself.

But any song is better than none to pierce the lonely vault of silence, so he sings of pain, of loss, of faith and faithlessness. Of holding on past the point of breaking. He sings of two hands open and outstretched, waiting to be clasped and held.

When his voice falters, when adamant scales break his sword and claws shatter his shield, he throws himself at the winged serpent, letting it coil about him and grappling it in turn. Fangs strike at him again and again, piercing flesh and armor both, before he winds his arms around its jaws and holds them shut.

It hisses through clenched teeth about failures, his and Tim's both. He holds its jaws shut, and sings of two ships tossed in a maelstrom, anchored to each other, weathering the storm.

It hisses, venom dripping from its furious curled lips, about abandonment and betrayal. He holds its jaws shut, and sings about two robins, flying with an olive branch held aloft between them.

It hisses to him of ice unending, frozen hearts, shattered trust. He holds its jaws shut, and sings about the steady radiating warmth of a hearth, of a hug, of a new dawn. Of new beginnings.

He rests his forehead on the dragon's growling snout, and sings, "Come home with me. Come home to me. Tim, I love you. Tim, Tim, Tim."

The beast shudders and shivers. And starts to break apart.

The crumbling wings buffet and beat at Dick even as they begin to crack and collapse. Dick lowers his head and holds on tighter.

The massive coiled tail squeezes around Dick convulsively, thrashing and withering. Dick's ribs crack, but he holds on tighter.

Scales etched with Tim's regrets flake off and fall away, like a tree shedding razor edged leaves in autumn. Dick closes his eyes as they kiss and cut his already tattered skin, but just holds on tighter.

Eventually, the violent disintegration comes to an end, and all goes still and quiet.

Save for a familiar shape shaking and weeping in Dick's arms.

Dick opens his eyes, blinking away sweat and blood just to be sure. But yes. It's him. Blue eyes reddened with tears, staring in horror at the ragged torn-up mess of his older brother, come to rescue him.

"Tim," Dick sighs, bones papier-mâché from relief. And exhaustion. "Timmy. Thank god."

"Dick," Tim cries out, gripping him tightly in distress. He lets go immediately at Dick's wince, and tries to pull away. "I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I'm - your wounds, we have to - "

Dick doesn't let him move an inch. "Shhhhhh," he breathes. "It's a dream, don't worry about it." Tim wriggles in protest at first, determinedly attempting to staunch some of the heavier bleeding, but Dick just holds him tighter. "Please, Timmy," he begs. "Please. Just let me."

Tim's breath hitches, then he wraps his arms around Dick just as hard as Dick is squeezing him, strong and anchoring. Dick's own breath shudders on the edge of a whine, and he buries his nose in Tim's hair.

-----

"Missed you," he whispers hoarsely, several minutes later.

Tim lifts his face from where he's been leaking a silent wet spot into Dick's collarbone.

"Missed you, too," he whispers back, as if they're sharing secrets and might be overheard.

Then Tim hesitates, before setting his mouth firmly. He meets Dick's gaze, and there's a fierce light in his still reddened eyes that transfixes Dick. He almost lost this. He almost lost Tim - so many times, more than he probably even knows about. He never wants to look away.

"And I love you, too, you know. That's never changed. It never will change." His brow is furrowed intently, gaze searching Dick's, like he can find and burn away any hint of doubt or disbelief.

"I know," Dick murmurs, warm down to his battered toes. Tim's alive. Tim's going to wake up, and keep living. Tim loves him, and forgives him, and still trusts him more than anyone else. "I do know. I - "

He releases one arm from its death grip, because he can no longer resist the urge to cup Tim's face, stroke a thumb across his cheek. Tim closes his eyes briefly as he covers Dick's hand with his, leaning into it, brows still drawn together. Like he's in pain, even though all the dings and scratches are on Dick, not him.

Dick's heart seizes.

He dips down, to the impossibly inviting bow of Tim's mouth, and kisses him. At Tim's small, quiet gasp, he gentles further, catching Tim's lips, pulling the full lower curve between his own in a soft tug. To his delight, Tim follows him, chasing his mouth, and they share the sweet cling and press, back and forth.

-----

Dick's wounds are somehow all still present upon waking. Magic, ugh, such a pain. The resulting frenzy of medical attention and getting bundled into another bed - too far away from Tim - like he's one foot through death's door isn't exactly fun, either.

(But still. Well worth it, for that first moment Tim's eyes flutter open and hazily lock on his. The world can keep spinning, now that Dick knows Tim is safe.)

As it turns out, Tim's recollection of what happened inside his own soul is equally hazy.

He remembers enough to melt bonelessly into Dick's chest when Dick sneaks over to share his bed, which dissolves the hard knot of worried tension in Dick's chest that he wouldn't remember anything, that he'd be back to subtle distance and awkward texts and not even feeling comfortable enough to share that he likes men, and Dick. Isn't sure he could have handled that.

So he ignores his aching ribs and multiple lacerations and puncture wounds and curls around Tim with his whole body, warmth and gratitude suffusing every aching muscle.

Tim...doesn't seem to remember the kiss. Which. Is a shame.

But Dick remembers it. Every moment is burned into him like the most intimate pyrography. That will have to be enough, until he can make it happen again.

(Tim's boyfriend doesn't stand a chance.)

[curioscurio]

Reading some more books about autism ! I don't quite know if I'm on the spectrum (a lot of tests seem to lean towards yes) but still! A lot of them make the very lonely person inside me feel seen and understood a little more than before :]

[harmonytheme]

if u want to laugh/cry about something today here is a snippet i just found in the middle of an unpublished fic i was working on in JUNE

[foreverxdaydreaming]

x

[littencloud9]

i love u nekoma & karasuno i love you SO MUCH