#Lil Lion Reblogs

[devilsrecreation]

2, 5, 10, 12, 15, 23, 25 for Bunga.

Sorry if that alot.

In the words of Bunga “ZUKA ZAMA!!!!”

Favorite thing about this character?

I love how accurate he is when it comes to his behavior. Honey Badgers really are brave and disrespectful to other animals in real life so as hated as he may seem to some fans, he’s actually really accurate! I also love how he’s just OOZING with confidence. Honey Badger don’t give a shit

What’s the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

I think I mentioned it before, but “Stayed Gone” gives off Bunga vs literally everyone who hates him hfhfhfh

Yk basically any song that has a character dissing another character is all of Bunga’s enemies at him cuz he’s so hated

Could I be best friends with this character?

I like to think we could. I love honey badgers :)

Hc I have for this character:

Off the top of my head, maybe he thought about Ushari at least once. Whether it was during his journey to the Tree of Life or he was recounting memories/telling stories, he found himself talking about Ushari and lowkey felt a bit guilty about killing him. But in typical Bunga fashion, he got over that in like 2 seconds lmao

“I wonder if he would respect the circle of life again…..NAH 😎”

Favorite ship I have:

Bunga x Binga is a really cute ship but I’m kinda digging Bunga x Ono x Beshte (I BLAME YOU @tired-lamb /silly/lh)

Favorite picture:

“What does challenge mean?”-he says after antagonizing a fucking grown ass crocodile

My first impression of this character:

Haha funny honey badger go brrrrrr (Ushari didn’t deserve his disrespect tho :( )

[shiny-jr]

I think Diasomnia MC got caught up with the wrong people in their original world, that's why they've become a criminal. Not like Heartsyabul MC who was probably framed or Ignihyde MC who was probably forced into their situation and was just too scared to do anything else, this MC doesn't seem that helpless, only a little airheaded.

Like that one hyena from lion king, Ed? He's a silly lil' guy but he does get the job done for the most part! Anyways, just some small rambles and theories about the MCs and how they got to where they are now > < )

Ayo? MC theories? This got me kinda excited, not gonna lie. I loved reading your thoughts on this? Especially since, you know, I try to carefully choose different traits and qualities for each MC to make them all different from one another. So hearing your thoughts on how or why an MC ended up where they are or acts the way they do, is very intriguing to me!

I'm interested on hearing anyone else's thoughts on this, or if they just have their own opinions on any of the MCs.

Like I said in a reblog, there's an MC for everyone.

King!MC

Chieftain!MC

Diviner!MC

Vassal!MC

Retainer!MC

IMP!MC

Courier!MC

[slowcatsisland]

Eustass ‘Captian’ Kidd; Physical Characteristics Headcanons

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This post is inspired by a fan art I just saw reblogged by Yourtamaki

AND HE HAS TWO LITTLE RAT TAILS THAT LOOKED LIKE LION TAILS OMG

My canon now

It was like two semi thick strand from his nape that were grown into little tuffs or puffs (kinda like how timeskip Bakugo from MHA has that but Kidd’s was less rigid yk)

Anyway

His hair has always been unruly and wild, he’s used a brush on it a total of 7 times throughout his lifetime

It’s such a stark red, especially compared to his pale skin it’s like a blood smear on white paper

His hair is really thin and really dead. It feels course if you were to run your hair through it because he doesn’t take care of it properly (it’s also how it’s able to stay up so easily)

His hair is probably terribly matted if we’re being honest but I can see him allowing one of his crew members to take care of it periodically (either one of the girls or killer no in between)

Heat once got him some gel to try and give him a wet-hair-slick-look but it did in fact not work out.

Kid’s jaw is so wide set that his head shape looks a lil weird without his voluminous hair

He has bald spots at the corners of his forehead but his goggle band always covers them up

Kid’s eyes are a haunting orange color that are closer to yellow than brown

He likes piercings but doesn’t want them on himself just because of his devil fruit (would def have a tongue piercing)

I can’t decide but he either has literally no eye brow hair or eyebrows that are such a light color that you can’t see them often.

His face turns pink when he feels intense emotion that isn’t bloodlust and it makes it even harder to see his eyebrows

He does in fact use eyeliner for his water line. For crew celebrations he’ll wear red instead of his usual black. He doesn’t really clean it he just reapplies

He’s thought about eyeshadow but the crew always says it looks like he got belted in the eye so

He gets red cheeks really easily so sometimes everywhere else will be pale as a ghost and then there’s two pinkish circles-one on each side of his face

He does wear lipstick yes he does. He doesn’t clean it per se but he likes to make sure his lips are lined correctly unless he’s entering/coming out a battle then he doesn’t care. But during downtime with his crew his lips look mwah perfect

His nose is such a focal part of his face. It’s pretty sharp looking if that makes sense, and his nose bridge constantly has marks from his goggles. His cheeks do to at times.

His nose bridge is kinda more like buldged out because of when it was broken during his time in the South Blue and it didn’t heal right (it cracks when he moves his nose with his hand or sneezes too hard)

It makes sense for him to tan but he is literally the whitest boy ever. Like his skin is so extremely pale that Killer has made fun of him for it. Especially because he never tans he only burns.

He stinks. I just know it. Prolly smells like oil, grease, sweat, metal, wood, and cologne mixed into one. Or just too much cologne so it drowns all the other scents out

His voice is really scratchy and hoarse. Think of how Jinx from Arcane has a scratchy and sore voice, it’s like that for him but more male if that makes sense. I feel like his English Dub VA is pretty accurate to how I feel like he (Justin Cook) sounds if he had more range of sound ykwim

I want him to be left handed

Especially bc he lost his left arm lol

Bro is really muscley and big but he’s really soft too. Like his chest would be quite comfortable to sleep on

He paints his nails but post timeskip he has his crew mates paint them for him

His skin is pretty dry especially around his scars, Wire always tells him to moisturize

He is a whole ahh Goliath. He’s just plus sized everywhere yk, he’s tall as hell, sturdy and bulky as hell, and egotistical and confident as hell

He stomps everywhere he walks hehe

Probably has a pretty limited range of motion and feels pain in his arm stub frequently

I feel like he would get nightmares and wake up angry then stomp to his workshop and tinker his feelings away

Probably tinkers a majority of his complicated feelings away imo

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Yeah, Kidd

Mwah 😽

[mumms-the-word]

A Gift of Snow

Pairing: Gale x Tav (Aislyn) Plot: Just a cute lil scene where Gale gifts his wife with a little snow cloud to cool off on a hot Waterdeep day 💜❄️🌨️ A/N: I wrote this as a gift for @charlee-monstah for her birthday after having a fun little chat about her polar bear druid Tav, Aislyn. Art is by @weaveandwood and if you want to reblog her art (and you SHOULD) the original link is here!!

It was days like this that Gale wished he were a better artist, one who could render a memory onto a canvas with perfect, minute detail, down to the tiniest freckle and glimmer of light. But the lion’s share of his wizardly talent was dedicated to illusion magic, not painting, and so, instead, he leaned against the doorframe of his home in Waterdeep, a smile on his lips, to watch his beloved enjoy an afternoon out on their balcony.

A charming little cloud, as lightly gray as a freshwater pearl and as fluffy as a puff of cotton, hovered a few feet above Aislyn’s head as she reclined on the balcony bench, her legs stretched out along the seat. The cloud was his little gift on this particularly hot day in Waterdeep, as it brought a bit of refreshing snow to try and bring down the temperature around their modest balcony. Aislyn was gazing out to the horizon, lost in thought, completely unfazed by the slow drift of snowflakes fluttering down around her. Gale was drawn in by the sight, enchanted by each tiny flake of white in her midnight-blue hair and the way the snow melted against her tanned skin the instant they made contact. He suspected her mind was already on their next adventure, the next place they could explore, the next little mishap they could tangle themselves up in, but his mind was on her. Always and always on her.

How could he focus on anything else? When something as simple as a flurry of snowflakes was enough to elevate her natural beauty beyond that of any other, god or mortal? He leaned his head against the doorframe, watching as she sat up and cupped her hands together, letting snow collect there. One long, elven ear flicked as a snowflake landed on the tip and he was struck all over again, for probably the hundredth time, just how cute and beautiful and mesmerizing she was all at once. It was hard to believe, even after all this time, that she was his wife.

His gaze drifted back up to her face, crossing the scar over her nose, seeking the mesmerizing blue of her beautiful eyes. She’d look up at him eventually, he knew, and when she did he would be ready with some charming compliment or other. Something about how he’d love to get lost creating constellations among her freckles, or how her raven-haired beauty was—

A puff of white powder exploded against his shoulder and he jolted, suddenly alert. Aislyn laughed, reclining back against the bench, another snowball ready in her hand.

“You were staring again,” she said, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Do you see something you like?”

He laughed, brushing the snow off his shoulder. “Oh, there is plenty here that I like, as I’m sure you well know. My charming, beautiful, talented wife foremost among them all.”

“Is that so,” she murmured, turning her eyes to the snowball in her hands. She pursed her lips slightly, as if considering his words, only to turn as quick as lightning and fling the second snowball at him. He blocked it with a quick shield spell and then, with a grin and a quick spellcasting gesture, expanded the cloud over their heads.

Snow came down in a thick curtain inside the balcony now, creating small drifts on the bench, the table, and the railings in mere seconds. Aislyn laughed, scooping up more snow to toss his way, but he ducked and dashed toward the little table, gathering up an armful of snow. He attempted to dump it clumsily on her, but she rolled away with ease, her reflexes sharp, and within seconds pelted him with yet another snowball.

“You know better than to get in a snowball fight with a polar bear,” she said, flashing him a grin. She opened her mouth to tease him further, only to yelp when a mage hand Gale had conjured behind her pulled back the fabric of her shirt and dumped snow down her back.

“Surely that wasn’t too cold for a polar bear,” he said, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“Oh I’ll show you too cold.”

She feinted to the right and he attempted to out-step her, moving toward the bench, but she was faster than him. She took a handful of snow and grabbed him by the shirt, stuffing the snow down his collar. He gasped at the sudden cold, but she gave him no room to shake out the snow beneath his shirt. She pressed into him, forcing him to retreat until the backs of his legs hit the bench and he sat down in the snow there with a soft oof.

She straddled him easily, looping her arms around his neck, and couldn’t resist a triumphant smirk of her own. “Cold, are you? Do you need me to maybe…warm things up for you?”

He breathed a laugh that clouded in the air between them. The cloud he had conjured snowed now in gentle, lazy flurries rather than heavy curtains of snow, and once more he was captivated by the way individual flakes stood out in her hair. Each perfect tiny ice crystal stark white and glimmering against strands of ink-blue, like a sky full of stars. He adored the way her blue eyes sparkled with victory and affection and, despite the time she’d spent relaxing beneath a snow cloud, she was still quite warm. The heat of her body against his was more than a little distracting.

He utterly forgot to be charming or witty or suave in response to her teasing. Instead he could only smile, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I love you,” he said, gazing warmly up at her.

She gave a quiet laugh, brushing her hand through his hair and dislodging a few snowflakes that drifted down between them. “Admitting defeat then?” she asked, but before he could respond, her smirk softened and she leaned in with a quiet, murmured, “Love you too,” just before she met his lips with hers.

Gale wrapped his arms tighter around her as she deepened the kiss, her tongue seeking his, and all concentration on keeping up the conjured snow melted away as he shifted them, turning to lay her back along the seat of the bench. Neither noticed the snow still left over around them as his cold hands slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt, seeking warmth. She shivered just slightly before pulling back to gaze at him, her eyebrows raised but a challenge in her eyes.

“You wanna do this out here?” she asked.

“My love, I would do ‘this’ with you anywhere,” was his sole reply.

He took her mouth again with his and soon trailed kisses down her jaw and throat, smiling against her skin as she melted beneath him like conjured snow.

[welp-back-on-my-bs]

Some ikemen recromendations based on what I know of the charicters (incomplete)

Chevrolet: Fire Emblem: Three houses (specifically blue lions- because dark prince who will murder for you and is called a beast)

Clavis: Untitled Goose Game (you know why)

Gilbert: Fire Emblem: Three Houses (Edlegards route, spouze who wants war for noble reasons but goes about it a lil fucked up- edie also works for Chevie)

Nokoto: another fucking dateing sim- idk witch- pick one-

Rio: animal crossing

IkeSen

Mitsunari: danganronpa (smarts over physical fighting) or grid tactical games

Ikevamp

Theo: Stardew Valley

Vlad: Fire Emblem: Awakening

Ikevil(works to fuckin well lol)

Willam: Persona 5 (royal or og, dosent matter)

Harrison: Ultmate Detective Archives: Rain Code

Victor: Twisted Wonderland

I'll reblog with more when I think of some

[xto3conversionsfinds]

Hi! I've been scouring your tumblr for a lil bit- and I've been struggling to find a hairstyle that fits Clair Ursine. The short, messy hair and hat combo (or just a seperate hat, which i admit I wasn't looking for as hard.) I apologise for another really vauge Wcif but i really suck at finding premades hairstyles, I usually only get hairstyles I would wear

Again sorry for the vauge WCIF, and thank you :)))

Hey, sorry for the delayed reply..

And yeah, I used to play Claire Ursine so I looked for some screenshots of her with custom hairstyles. But I only found two so..

This was from an old save where I used the Ada Wong hair by Elexis. I couldn't find the original hair, so I'll link some retextures instead: [1] [2] [3] [4]

And this is Claire in my new Sunset Valley save (because my previous save kept on crashing). She is now wearing the 4to3 Moood Lion Cut hair by chazybazzy.

And about hats, I couldn't recommend a specific one since I haven't used anything for Claire in my game. But here's some pages where you can look for them here and here. Also if you wanted more short hairs I recommend checking here and here.

Happy hair and hat hunting!

**also a PSA: I'll put the queue on pause for a day so that this post would get visible in hopes that the asker would see it. But rest assured conversions will be continually reblogged after (there are still 80+ of them lol).

[solarpunkani]

So the frog con thing I reblogged earlier

Is that a common thing? Making lil online cons that donate all funds and proceeds to a specific cause? Cause I think it would be a fun thing to do more often

Like imagine bug con. Artists selling bug themed merch and prints. Panels about bug conservation, ways to help from home whether you have a big house with a yard or an apartment balcony, or just a bunch of fun facts, or safe and effective ways to keep bugs out of the house without using chemical pesticides. Livestream feeds of one of those butterfly garden exhibits, or of a bunch of larvae and cocoons to just Watch. People doing affiliated streams playing bug themed games or having bug chats.

And imagine how many other topics you could do too! Bears, mountain lions, fish, swamps, tundra biomes, there’s so many cool things you could do!

Hell if someone wanted to organize like an EarthCon or something where every year patrons/attendees could vote on what organization the proceeds get donated to at the end of the event!

[eggyboyoart]

Handsome 2.0

Just a young artist thirsting over people who don't exist lol.

A general warning, I do enjoy horror and 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 (suggestive/nsft) content - so all content like that will have the appropriate warnings.

Please do consider buying me a coffee on my Kofi if you’re feeling generous

Also here is the link to my carrd, please do check it out.

You can find me elsewhere on:

AO3: eggyboyo TIKTOK: eggyboyoart INSTAGRAM: eggyboyoart YOUTUBE: eggyboyoart X (Twitter): eggyboyoart

Masterlist below - Please be respectful :D

No Title - Izuku Midoriya x GN Reader (TW: angst with comfort, slightly yandere/worshipping vibes??, religious commentary - approx. 700 words)

Dabi brainrot - League meme post (TW: food - less than 100 words)

Domestic Bliss - Shoto Todoroki x GN Reader Crack Fic (TW: Shoto being bad at cooking, fluff/crack, mentions of vomit/throwing up/gagging, Shoto being hopelessly oblivious - approx. 1800 words)

Time Freezing Quirk Theory - what it would be like to be able to freeze time in the mha universe (TW: stealing (money/objects/classified information), murder (slitting throats), psychological confusion caused by quirk-usage, nose bleeding, ear bleeding, eye bleeding, passing out - approx. 500 words)

The Quest for the Furnace - ONLY ON AO3 - canon-divergent parody of JTTW with members of the brotherhood and you :D (TW: dadcaque, tags to be added)

LMK Six Eared Macaque - silly goofy guy headcanons :D (TW: top surgery scars (we luv) - approx. 500 words)

LMK Azure Lion - silly goofy lion headcanons :D (TW: Azure with lion traits supremacy lol - approx. 500 words)

LMK Red Son - silly bull prince headcanons :D (TW: Agender Red Son (WE LOVE HER) - approx. 500 words)

LMK Tang - silly little cicada headcanons :D (TW: Smoking herbs, hoarding - approx. 500 words)

LMK Peng - silly girlypop bird bitch :D (TW: punching children, discussion of insecurity - approx. 500 words)

Liar - You and Peng fight; its not pretty (TW: blood, sharp weapon (spear), physical violence, claws, reader is part dragon, peng and reader fight, reader gets a solid wallop on peng's face - approx. 1000 words)

LMK MK - silly GAY GAY GAY baby monkie man (TW: none - approx. 500 words)

LMK Sun Wukong - silly stinky monkey loser (TW: wukong not bathing lol - approx. 500 words)

NU: carnival harem and if they would/would not fuck their clone - teehee :3 (TW: NSFW +18, mentions of 'hate-sex' (the violent kind), spitroasting and general NSFW themes :D - approx. 1300 words)

Kuya Misc. Headcanon - Kuya and drinks (TW: kuya :D - less than 100 words)

Yakumo Misc. Headcanon - Yakumo and drinks (TW: cutest little snake man ever, and kuya ig (reblogged from kuya and drinks soo..) - less than 100 words)

NU: carnival Drink HCs - Aster, Edmond and Olivine and what drinks they like :) - (TW: drinking blood (Aster obvs), a raging sweet-tooth and 'making a mess' - approx. 300 words)

Yakumo dating HCs - I LOVE YAKUMO RAHH- - (TW: poly yakumo/eiden/you ig? (yakumo has two hands), cutie-patootie - approx. 500 words)

Kuya dating HCs - Kuya, my husband - (TW: typical kuya behaviour, uncharacteristically soft Kuya (that fox is a big baby, change my mind-) - approx. 600 words)

Capitano/Assistant brainrot - Capitano and Sassy Assistant GN Reader (TW: princess as a joking nickname (referring to self) - less than 100 words)

SAGAU Winged Creator - Fun lil’ Xiao and Winged Creator brainrot (TW: heights (flying with wings), massage, could be interpreted platonic or romantic, could also be interpreted as suggestive at the end - approx. 400 words)

Scara Drawing + Body hcs - Emo Scara and ‘doll’/body hcs (TW: broken porcelain, electricity/electro, electrocuting ppl, stabbing ppl, - approx. 200 words)

Modern College Scara - Scara being attracted to idiots/you (TW: Scara calling you dumb and stupid - less than 100 words)

SAGAU creator speaking to animals - crack, pure crack and meme shit abt the creator being able to talk to animals and turns out, animals are assholes :| (TW: swearing, animals beating ppl up - approx. 200 words)

‘Wolf Day’ - Shaw pack headcanons/brainrot (TW: wolves - approx. 150 words)

Mate Job headcanons - Shaw Pack’s Mate’s Jobs (TW: cooking food/hospitality industry - approx. 560 words)

D.A.M.N. headcanons - D.A.M.N. squad headcanons (TW: talk of weapons for decorative purposes, drunkingly making out?? - approx 280 words)

Darlin’ brainrot - Shifted Darlin’ brainrot (TW: wolf - less than 100 words)

Magical theory - Fun theories about the applications of magic (TW: brief mention of gold being imbedded into skin (no blood/gore) - approx. 200 words)

Darlin’ craft store - Darlin’ owning a craft store + chaotic vamp fam (TW: none - approx. 100 words)

Darlin’ and Bright Eyes brainrot - most badass duo stg (TW: none - less than 100 words)

Darlin’ and Bright Eyes headcanons - my two faves being friends :D (TW: talk of, and I quote, ‘fucking a bitch up’ - approx. 350 words)

Lasko headcanons - Lasko being a secret hoe (TW: spicy clothes, innuendos? implied sexy times with Gavin (as per usual) - less than 100 words)

Dom Lasko headcanon - small hc about Lasko as a dom :D (TW: lasko’s irresistable sex appeal - approx. 200 words)

D.A.M.N. boy + Imperium AU headcanons - drawings abt how I think the D.A.M.N. boys look/dress like + Imperium AU as well (TW: sexiness, scars from being attacked, failed assassination attempt - approx. 700 words)

Camelopardalis/Freelancer brainrot - Freelancer relentlessly flirting with Cam :D (TW: Cam being easily flustered, Freelancer loving every moment of it - approx. 100 words)

Asset brainrot - Asset being a curious nuisance :)) (TW: none - less than 100 words)

Freelancer Revenge - Freelancer revenge brainrot during the E&E games (TW: Kody, fantastic memes - less than 100 words)

Just Grell - I love Grell sm (TW: amazing, beautiful woman - less than 100 words)

Julian’s route brainrot - brainrotting about the Apprentice, Portia, Asra and Julian’s death (TW: SPOILERS FOR JULIAN’S ROUTE, angst, little to no comfort, death, plague/sickness, incurable disease, not eating/drinking/moving for days, emotionally/mentally breaking down, crying, Apprentice really goes through it - approx. 650 words)

Stanley Parable Theory - stanley parable x presentable liberty thepry (TW: deadly virus, dying to said deadly virus, ghosts, haunting - approx. 250 words)

No Title - Handplates mini fic (TW: forgetting, gaster spoliers ig?? - approx. 150 words)

Underclash - Undertale au idea (TW: gladiator fights, fighting/killing for fun, being forced to fight for your life - approx. 

Asbestos theory - Asbestos in the facility and Chell’s life expectancy (TW: Asbestos related disease/cancer/sickness, Portal 2 spoilers? - approx. 250 words)

Your Favourite Human Hosts(TM) - brainrot abt Solomon and MC having a podcast (TW: lucifer’s ass - less than 100 words)

Rich MC Obey me! AU - Obey Me! AU where MC is like RICH rich, featuring; Asmodeus, Mammon and Leviathan (TW: money, BIG money times - approx. 300 words)

Beach Funtimes - unhinged MC, Diavolo and Lucifer :) (TW: mention of Dia's impeccable tiddies, being generally annoying toward Lucifer :), poetic rizz - less than 100 words)

Your Favourite Human Hosts (TM) pt2 - more about MC and Solomon's Morning News Podcast (TW: licking door knobs and that making ppl sick, fist fighting - approx. 250 words)

Too Far From Home - original space alien horror story (TW:  space, sci fi? murderous alien/space monster, blood, guts, gore, head wound, stomach wound, excessive use of the word moist and wet and other variations, off screen murder, implied murder at the end, not reader insert - approx. 1600 words)

S.A.P. (Super Abilities Project) - old story idea (TW: being submerged underwater for a long period of time, stressful/life threatening situations, being ‘stretched’ in a experimental/torture scenario, being electrocuted, being experimented on/tortured - approx. 250 words)

Project Control - an old story idea from like, 2017-2018 (TW: science experiments, ‘monster’/not human test subjects, murder of a test subject - approx. 600 words)

Project Control 2 - Test Subject 1 and 3 (TW: wack ass drawings/old art style, ‘monsters/test subjects’ (no gore), disproportionate body parts, ‘inhuman’ appearance. humans being experimented on, a child being suicidal - approx. 250 words)

Project Control 3 - Test Subject 4 (TW: conjoined twins, old art style, ‘monster’/non-human test subject, disproportionate body parts, ‘inhuman’ appearance, humans being experimented on, two humans being ‘merged’ into one monster? - approx. 150 words)

[canezai]

Greetings~

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

This lil blog is purely a side blog for me to reblog all fanart with Dazai using mobility aids.

If you know of such fanart and it is not on this blog, feel free to make me aware of it. It will promptly be put on the blog.

♤♡◇♧

As a tentative cane user myself, it makes me happy to see fanart of Dazai using mobility aids. I also know that it brings joy to other fans who do as well.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

My main account is @noose-lion, come say hi if you want.

[lastofthirteen]

STARING. They can clean the Hall of Records in a moment-- they should at LEAST celebrate their reunion! And feel pretty while doing so!...

" If you join, sibling, I will personally assist you in cleaning the Hall of Records and listen to whatever you believe should be the perfect placement for everything. Down to the most minute of details. "

Gives him the look right back. He is far too busy reorganizing the mess they left of the Hall of Records to indulge in flights of fancy.

[exielimon]

Ask Game: List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers :)

Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

1-cats

2-crispy snacks

3-rain

4-when my cats make something that shows they love me (I love them so fucking much)

5-when my friends give me lil shiny things

6 and bonus- bigger cats (like lions and tigers and panthers and those silly oversized cats)

[astrxlfinale]

Text < Caelus! > from Lil Gui

GONG XI FUCK CAI 😩❗️❗️ IT'S THE YEAR OF THE DRAGON 🐉🐉🐉💦💦💦💦. And 👉🏻you👉🏻 know what that means, you qipao SLUTS 👘👀 It's time to show AHGONG👲🏻👲🏻👴🏻👴🏻 and AHMA👵👵 your PHATTEST oranges 🍊🍊🍊😜😜😜 And get some THICCC HONGBAOS 🧧💰🈵‼ Get your love letters 💕💕 ready for some of your 大哥's BIG 肉干 🍖🥓🥓🍗🍗 and text your closest COCKcubines 📱📱💃💃 to come visit 🏡💦🏡💦🏡💦 Reblog to show this to your most SUPERSTITIOUS SLUTS 💰💰🙊🙊 and get a sexy LION DANCE 🐲🐲💃💃 this CNY‼‼‼ 🍑👏🏼🥴Hit 🍑👏🏼🥴that LIKE 👍🏼 and ur 年年有 👉👌🍆🍆💦😩💦😩 🇨🇳🥠⛩🏮🎊 👧🏻👩🏻🙋🏻‍♀️Let’s give the year of the RABBIT 🐰🐰🐰 a ✋🏻HAND✋🏻-felt 👋🏻goodbye 👋🏻🍆💦😏 and get our HANDS✋🏻👋🏻 on more 🐉 of that 🏯⛩dyNASTY 🎎 D 🍆🍌this 👉🏻 year‼️ 😫😘🍌💦 🇨🇳🥠⛩🏮🎊🇨🇳🥠⛩🏮🎊

Text < Caelus! > from Lil Gui

Happy Lunar New Year~ :P

Familiarized in this particular jingle would be that of a face he's always eager to see. Just as he got back onto the express from a Belobog excursion. His hair mildly dusted with snow and a slack jawed yawn escaping as he quickly perks himself back up. "N' just what the hell has she been up too? Lessee here."

After another roll of the shoulders, a swift hand would quickly pluck that indestructible cellular from his pocket. Curiosity burned bright within his mind as the familiar screen lit up before him, a few subtle shifts of the thumb immediately drawing up her text message, just in time as he stepped up into the kitchen for a snack.

...To think that snack would have many connotations in this particular moment.

QIPAO SLUTS.

..Why did his eyes draw to that first?

There's a pause as he abruptly coughed his shock out, physically, spiritually and metaphysically caught off guard as his eyes briefly bulge. Wait, no damn way, was he high? Did some of that snow dust have some sus things applied to it!? That gloved grip upon the phone tightened as reality gradually returns to him, doubly prompting Caelus to forward stare right at that screen with a new score of vigor.

' Reblog to show this to your most SUPERSTITIOUS SLUTS 💰💰🙊🙊 '

THIS. WAS. NOT. A. DREAM.

That once composed shock led to his mouth falling agape again during this raunchy rendition of the Luofu's new year wishes. This in turn was leading to a bigger question, as such brazen, distracting text would get anyone stunned!

Only to be hit with the ':P' face at the end of it all.

"......That Gui!" Teeth gritting, embarrassment fresh, that mind of his laser focused onto this moment. The questions spiraled within and the urge to just get to the bottom of this..!

..NOT THAT BOTTOM.

Certainly charged as a priority within his mind! Was this mere some chaotic text? A way to rile the mind for a hell of a good laugh? Unsurprising if it was honestly, but, but, on the off chance this was some coded means of flirtation on the other hand? ..Was it normal to count it as that? His face scrunches as a tint of crimson briefly overtakes his cheeks. By no damn means did she find herself partnered up with a quitter!

Text < Firecracker > from Caelus?

OH NO YOU DON'T. >:[

YOU THINK THAT FACE IS GETTING YOU OUT OF THAT ONE?

What kind of fireworks here was the.. plan exactly? I AM looking at this right??

RIGHT?

Also what do those specific characters mean there?

Better yet! Just cause we went on a ghost journey doesn't count for SUPERSTITIOUS SLUT status.. Does it?

...

👍🏼

@anrupanshi

[fledermaus-art]

@thepaststillhurts 

Figured I’d doodle a little and draw our muses together, because I love our thread!

Background from HERE !

[blacksmokehorizons]

Taken

Summary: It was just meant to be a quick trip into the waking world, just to locate a certain nightmare for your husband. But instead of going home when you found the nightmare, you were trapped in a mortals basement. - Dream x Reader

Warnings: Brief description of Jessamy dying, some swearing, and general sadness for the first lil chunk. I believe that’s it?? Don’t come at me for the lame title I’m bad at making those up I’ll get better I promise. Rip to the possible grammar and spacing errors I missed.

A/N: I’ve had this in my drafts for a hot minute, and i’ve re-read it so much it’s annoying. This was not meant to be over 2k but here we are. I really need to find cute little dividers to put in my fics lmao II Gif not mine credit to the creator - I do not consent to my work being reposted to other sites, I only post my writing here, but likes and reblogs are appreciated! 

~

“He is my creation, I insist-”

“You have better things to do than chase around a rogue nightmare my love.”

Morpheus sighed, you could see he was having an internal conflict. You knew the dangers of the waking world just as well as he did. But you liked to think you could handle said dangers without your husband lurking behind you. You climbed up the steps to his throne stopping just before you bumped into his knees.

“Let me go track Corinthian down, then I’ll pop back here and fill you in. Might even be able to sweet talk him into coming back, I’ve been told I have quite the charm.” ending your plea with a smile.

You could see the slight eye roll you were given, didn’t change the fact Morpheus smirked the tiniest bit. “Please don’t try to confront him, I like to keep him far from you.” he mumbled, standing up from his throne.

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Morpheus, he copied your actions immediately. Moving his head down to speak into your ear, “Promise me you’ll be safe my love.”

You leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, “I promise, if it makes you feel better send Jessamy to keep an eye on me.”

That was the last time you saw Morpheus, and that moment played over and over in your head.

~ ~ ~ ~

“So which one have I got then?”

“You my friend have the King of Dreams wife locked up in your basement”

“What will she get me?”

“Not much I’m afraid, but do yourself a favor and make sure the sigils on the floor keep her powerless. The last thing you want is for her to zap back home and send her husband rampaging into your home.” Corinthian stopped pacing the room. Adjusting his glasses before continuing, “Do yourself a favor and take that wedding ring of hers, that’s the closest you’ll get to any of Dreams power.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Soon your captor was stalking around you like a lion watching his prey. You felt sick, exposed, whatever other word fits that bill, you felt it. Listening to this man, who introduced himself as Roderick, rambles about how if you give him what he wants you can go free. Your eyes simply follow him around the room not saying a single word. As he left he thanked you for the gift, holding out your beloved wedding ring that now hung from a chain. 

And so the rather uncomfortable days went on, as you sat contorted into a position that protected a bit of your modesty, feeling the anguish settle in your chest. Only being able to imagine what Morpheus was feeling. You did find a bit of solace when you had the women guards watching you. Their eyes stayed on their books, and when they looked at you the looks were filled with confusion.. and occasionally sadness.

Roderick came back to visit you again, but this time he got a reaction from you. Not that it mattered much to him, he just wanted you to cooperate.

“All you have to do is summon your Morpheus-”

“Don’t you dare speak his name,” you snapped startling him. The first words you’d spoken to him dripped with venom.

Tears welled in your eyes at the thought of Morpheus. Eventually left alone again you let the tears flow, choking back sobs. You could have wept forever if you wanted, but you collected yourself and returned to the stoic state you had adopted since being captured.

~ ~ ~ ~ 

Hearing the flap of bird wings had your head snapping up towards the door, you watched Jessamy slip between the bars and flutter about your prison. You shifted to sit up more as she pecked at the glass, you smiled for the first time in years. Hope ignited in your chest, because if she sees you, Dream sees you. 

“Jessamy, oh sweet bird look at you.” your voice broke, from being overwhelmed and not being used for years. Her pecking became more frantic as your hand reached up to touch the glass.

Then a loud boom had you staring at blood, your eyes slowly moving down to the corpse of you and your husband's beloved raven. The anger in your eyes was enough to send a brief look of terror across Alex’s, while Roderick stood by the door with no reaction. As they left you be, you would have given anything to be able to grieve without people watching you. To scream, cry, wail, anything would have done. Instead you just wept silently, making yourself as small as you possibly could inside your cage.

~ ~ ~ ~ 

You had seen Roderick die, and his son grow old. Yet he still begged for what he had no business, trying to bargain with you. He sat in his wheelchair damning you to hell when you glared and uttered a soft, “I owe you nothing.”

Maybe you would decay here. Eventually turn to dust and be forgotten by time, any fate is better than sitting in silence for the rest of this universe's existence. Your eyes closed, even if you slept you never dreamed, thanks to whatever chalk markings kept you here and hidden from The Dreaming. You made peace with the silence long ago, it was more comforting than suffocating now.

Your ongoing silence was disrupted by someone approaching the basement, not having the energy to deal with another berating you kept your eyes closed. As you listened to the guards approach the door and utter sounds of confusion you were intrigued. Opening your eyes as you heard two loud thuds, and for a moment you didn't believe your eyes. Morpheus was standing right in front of you, looking down at the chalk markings before wiping them away with his foot. He stepped forward putting his hand on the glass separating you. The sob that slipped out sounded like it should’ve come from a wounded animal, not the queen of The Dreaming.

Soon the glass was shattered and you were collapsing into his arms, broken sobs leaving your lips as you clung to him. The first thing out of your mouth nearly broke Morpheus, “I-I’m so sorry oh I’m an idiot, it’s all my fault. They shot her right in front of me and I knew you were watching it too and- oh god-.”

He hugged you impossibly close, shushing you gently, “Let me take you home my love.”

Sand whipped around you and when you opened your eyes you were back in your shared bedroom. You were home. Silently thanking Morpheus for ensuring you were clothed when you both appeared. So many things you wanted to say but nothing but choked sobs were coming out of your mouth. But it seemed like Morpheus understood everything you were trying to say as he held onto you. 

Your sobs seemed never ending, their severity had gone down and now you just held onto Morpheus as if he himself would turn into sand and blow away. He made no effort to try and stop your tears, as he silently wept on his own. You pulled away gently, moving to cup his face in your hands, which he welcomed. Wiping his tears and taking a shaky breath, “I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

This time it was Morpheus’s turn to move his hands to your face, his face holding a look of disbelief. “You are apologizing for being taken against your will? When it is I who should be sorry, begging on my knees for your forgiveness.” You attempted to shake your head, but he continued before you could protest.

“I should have found you sooner, it never occurred to me that someone could steal you away from me. I will never let that happen again.”

You leaned forward into him, hiding your head in the crook of his neck. He held onto you in silence for as long as you wanted. Your tears had stopped and when you leaned back, just enough to look around your shared bedroom, head turning in all directions. Not a single thing had changed in over a century, it was just as the day you left it.

“I could not bear the thought of changing much throughout the palace,” Morpheus murmured as if he read your mind, “To change anything would have been erasing your presence here.. That and I knew you would scold me the day you came back had anything been changed without your consent.”  At that you let a soft laugh out accompanied by a smile. A smile Morpheus had missed so much, his fingers gently tilted your head towards him as he leaned towards you. Stopping only inches from your lips, giving you a moment to say no should you not want to go any further.

You closed the small gap connecting your lips to his, a pathetic whimper escaping into his mouth. Had you not been so enamored by feeling his lips for the first time in over a century, you’d have felt embarrassed by that sound. Even with all that time apart your bodies still knew each other just the same. Mouths moving slowly and gently against one another, as if one of you would shatter with too rough of movement. Your hands had made their way up the back of Morpheus’s neck, ever so gently winding your fingers through his hair. As gentle as that motion was, it was still enough to pull a soft moan from the back of his throat. The kiss became more intense, pulling yourself impossibly closer to your lover, as if trying to fuse your bodies together for the rest of eternity. 

It was Morpheus who pulled away first, a slight smile gracing his lips as you both caught your breath. “As much as I would love to spend the next several hours with you in this room, you have a realm that has missed you so.” Knowing he was right you copied his small smile planting a final soft kiss on his lips before asking, “Do I look presentable? Minus the dark circles around my eyes.”

To which he responded, “You look perfect my love.”

His hand slid down and laced his fingers with yours, “Before I forget,” he mumbled as something slipped onto your finger, “I believe this belongs to you, my queen.”

Looking down at your hand you saw your wedding ring back where it’s meant to be. A feeling of contentment washed over you being reunited with it.

~ ~ ~ ~ 

Morpheus held out his arm as you both descended down the stairs, you took it gladly needing all the support you could get. Turns out being sat in a glass prison for a century makes you feel like a baby deer in terms of walking. “Shall we stop by the library first?” he proposed, to which you agreed immediately. The thought of seeing Lucienne and Mervyn made your heart soar, which was clear in your footsteps as they sped up. Taking in the palace, still the exact same as Morpheus said, although it seemed a bit unwelcoming.

“I will be the first to admit,” your husband began hesitantly, “When it was evident you were missing… the palace grew colder. Which may have been the result of my demeanor.”

Your heart ached for him then, simply squeezing his arm as you rounded the corner and got into the library. As you both walked through some shelves you heard the loud booming of laughter, clearly from Mervyn. Finally making it into the main area, you saw the table he was sitting at, with a raven you’d never seen before.

“Perfect timing my lord, there’s a few books I’d-” Lucienne’s voice died in her throat as she emerged from a corner of the library. Dropping the book in her hand, speaking in a whisper, “My Lady?”

You nodded and darted towards her, yanking her into a hug, which she welcomed. Occupied by the reunion with her you missed Mervyn’s head snapping in your direction with a gasp. You separated and it was apparent you were both fighting back tears.

“I-It’s been-”

“Too long?”

“Too long indeed my lady, oh how we’ve missed you” sniffling as she spoke, you could feel the urge to ask questions radiate off her. But she knew you’d explain everything to her in time.

Soon you were being pulled into another hug by the beloved pumpkin head, to which you let out a giggle. “Good to have you back ma’am, I missed my gossip buddy.” This was the most you had smiled in a long time. “I’m sure we have a lot to catch up on.” “Boy do we! The minute you’re free I'll start the catch up!”

Finally your eyes landed on the raven who was awkwardly hopping from foot to foot on the table beside you. You bent down slightly, just enough to not absolutely tower over the poor bird. “And who is this little bird?” You queried softly, feeling the apprehension in the room. Morpheus didn’t intend for you to meet him right away. After what you witnessed with Jessamy, he was going to put this off for as long as possible.

The raven cleared his throat before speaking, “M-My name is um, Matthew, caw! It’s Matthew ma’am.” he avoided eye contact like it would anger you. Hearing Lucienne validate his existence for your husband's safety made you you smile, holding out your hand for Matthew. He hesitantly hopped into your palm as you stood up, gently running a finger over his head.

“Welcome to the family Matthew, I owe you a lot for keeping my husband in one piece for part of my absence,” your tone warm and soft, causing a visible relaxation in the raven and the room, “After all, I know how stubborn he can be.” Laughter echoed through the library as you finished that sentence. He dipped his head as you let him hop back onto the table, and soon you were on Morpheus’s arm again walking around the realm, feeling the joy slip back into every crevice in your presence.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

haven: fall [b.w.]

series masterlist | ko-fi

pairing: college!bruce wayne x OC

summary: on his final year at Yale, Bruce Wayne, aged 21, stumbled into a theater class and fell for the girl who played Hamlet. In his coming of age, Bruce is torn between his past and his present, and whichever path he chose would determine his future.

word count: 11.8k

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, language, smoking, more Hamlet references, angst in a play, mention of grief with Bruce’s parents, fluff, hurt/comfort, so much yearning ohmygod, smut [dry humping, fingering, handjob], bruce is an awkward lil bean <3

notes: reposted as a longer oneshot! big thanks to @awkward-darkness @shipping-not-sailing @skyebounded @inklore @tommysparker for making this all possible, and @blue-aconite @spnbarnes for saving this from getting shelved!! see you in the 'winter'! <3

*follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog and share if you liked it!*

PROLOGUE

Bruce Wayne was seven years old when he first stood on a stage.

He’s always liked The Lion King. He’d watched it countless times—so much so that the tape had stayed in the VHS player in the playroom for a whole year. The tie-in books were his favorites whenever his dad could read him before bedtime, right before he fell asleep snuggling his Simba stuffie. Some nights, he would dream of golden savannas and purple skies and red-billed hornbills flying overhead. His mother swore she found him humming what sounded like Hakuna Matata in his sleep once.

So when he saw it live for the first time—the first time he saw anything live—so early even in his childhood… It changed his life. Rafiki’s opening chant cut through the quiet theatre, and the choir sounded so grand, he felt it in his bones as he buzzed in his seat. The animals came out—elephant and rhino trodding down the aisle, passing right by him—so unlike the animated pictures he grew to love but so enchanting all the same. The golden savannas and rising sun and grassland creatures coming to life before him.

At the end of the show, someone made a speech and called his parents onto the stage. He didn’t understand much of it then—something about supporting arts and renaming the Minskoff Theater into Wayne Theater. Bruce didn’t pay it any mind; he was too busy marveling at the ‘animals’ next to him. Life-sized puppets attached to the actors, like an extension of their bodies. The man who played Simba caught him staring, and when he nodded, the lion’s head on top of his moved, too.

And as his mother and father shook hands with people after the curtains closed, Bruce was more interested in the chaos that ensued on the wings. People with headsets and clipboards milling around, little red and green lights blinking on panels, thick ropes that held the golden sun together… 

These were the things that brought his dreams to life.

***

Bruce Wayne was eight years old when he swore off the stage.

He’d just lost his parents—gone forever, just like that—and he had to stand by as the police commissioner made a speech. He didn’t really hear a word of it—just the shutters of cameras and blitzes of the flash. And the rare clear sky over Gotham that morning. The warmth doesn’t feel comforting.

And standing on a platform in front of Wayne Tower, with no wings or curtains framing the stage… It's a cruel awakening, knowing that nothing held this fragment of reality up. No suspension of disbelief, no strings or ropes holding this surreal scene together.

It’s a nightmare that stood on its own. And Bruce had nowhere to run.

He just squeezed Alfred’s hand tighter, wishing the curtains would close on him. Any minute now.

It never did.

***

ACT ONE

Bruce Wayne was twenty one years old when he found himself backstage at his university’s theater space.

It was his own stupid fault, really. He meant to sign up for Theater Studies as an elective, a critical textual analysis of classic and contemporary plays. But instead, he accidentally clicked on Theater Production, which was a practice-based class where they would collaborate with the Acting program. By the time he’d mustered the courage to switch classes, it was already time to choose which department to join for their final project, a full production of a classic or contemporary play. 

Hence Bruce, ever so quiet and invisible and withdrawn from classroom discussions, was mapping out a costume inventory list in a little corner in the wings.

It’s strange, a backstage area that’s not fully active. Just a few of his classmates in the art department and the stage management team. People coming and going for the auditions this late Sunday morning. Different interpretations of the same monologues performed in the background, on the stage. He didn’t mind it; at least the attention was not on him, this time.

He tidied up his notes and his copy of the design sketches, maybe he could get a cup of coffee while he worked—

“Fuck!” a girl crashed right into his shoulder, sending his notebook flying. She dove down and scrambled for the scattered pages before he could see her face. “Shit…”

And yet, the first thing that came out of Bruce’s mouth is, “Sorry.”

She looked up, meeting his evading eyes. “What? No, I’m sorry. It’s… the nerves.”

“Are you auditioning?”

She looked towards the stage, where a guy was performing his monologue, grand and dramatic and just a tad over-the-top, and then nodded at the boy in front of her—as if embarrassed, almost.

“Good luck.” Bruce managed a smile, although he was sure she knew it’s out of courtesy more than anything else.

But the smile she returned was genuine, almost amused, and he wondered if he said something wrong. Or maybe there’s something on his face?

“Isn’t it bad luck to say good luck in the theater?” She handed the stack of papers back to him.

Right, Bruce internally kicked himself. “Sorry. Break a leg…?”

She nodded as she got back up on her feet. “That’s more like it.”

“Thanks, you too.” Bruce walked away, mentally kicking himself once again for that nonsensical response. He skulked along the corner aisle, quietly making his way towards the exit. Only stopping when he heard a familiar voice introducing herself on the stage.

The girl who sent his work flying. 

“And who are you auditioning for today?” Marc, the director, asked.

“Hamlet.”

There’s a brief pause as he took a good look at her, for a moment thinking she’d misheard him. “Uh… yeah, what role?”

“Hamlet,” she confirmed without missing a beat, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

Another pause between Marc and Angela, the stage manager, exchanging subtle looks of surprise. They leaned into a hushed discussion—they weren’t expecting that. But now that the possibility was presented in front of them, safe to say they were… curious.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.” Marc ultimately decided.

The girl on the stage nodded gamely, taking a deep breath, and Bruce found himself intrigued too, leaning against the velvety walls of the auditorium. And then, simply, almost matter-of-factly, she spoke.

“To be or not to be,” she asked, to everyone and no one in particular. And upon the silence replying back to her, she hummed. “That is the question: whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to…” her mouth twisted in distaste, “...suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” she paused again, and just like that, her features softened, as if presenting a much preferred option, “or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing… end them?”

Bruce—along with everyone else in that room, he’s sure—didn’t know what to expect. The prospect of a female Hamlet was so far off of the production concept that the team had come up with; so teeming with rage and male bravado. But there she was. In a black dress, so calm, almost catatonic in her grief, so understated, so unlike what everyone imagined. And yet, so true to the text that it didn’t feel like Shakespeare anymore.

It was hers. Her own contemplation whether to live, or…

“To die.” she smiled ruefully. She looked out towards the audience and caught Bruce’s gaze, as if finding moral support, using the plainest of words in the lightest of manners. “To sleep, no more.”

Not that she needed to. He knew exactly what she meant. To cease life itself; the heartaches and the body aches that came with possessing this physical flesh. To rest, that's it. He wished for it everyday for the last thirteen years, and wondered if this part of the play was a cruel prophecy to his fate, written centuries ago.

“‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d,” she admitted. Her gaze broke away from him as she moved away from his side of the theater. “To die… to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream,” she mused, letting out a longing sigh. And then, it dawned on her. 

Here’s the catch: what happens after death?

It’s a question responsible for many of Bruce’s sleepless nights. What calamity awaits out there in death that we’d much rather put up with the humiliations of abuse and heartbreak and injustice and time instead? And to see the exasperation, the disdain as her pace and emotion picked up, so similar to his own… it almost felt like an out-of-body experience.

“Who would fardels bear? To grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death.” she stopped in her tracks, and the tears that welled up in her eyes glimmered under the spotlight. “The undiscovered country. From whose bourn no traveler returns—”

Her voice caught as the three words echoed in the room—in her mind. No traveler returns. Not Hamlet’s father.

Not Bruce’s. Nor his mother.

The facade cracked, just a little, and the question whether it’s worth it to bear the known ills in life than to face the uncertainty of death came out raw because what’s the fucking point. The tears escaped not out of sorrow anymore, Bruce suspected, but out of pure exhaustion.

But with a sharp inhale, she pulled herself together. Calm and composed. Prim and proper, as she patted the tears dry with her palm flat on her cheek. Fingertips gently pressing against her skin.

“Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all.” she walked back to her original spot with a wry nod, a ghost of herself now that she’d shown her cards, and Bruce’s heart stopped as she met his gaze again for a moment. 

And then, she addressed the audience (and herself) using more… diplomatic words, although she’s not fooling anyone. “The native hue of Resolution,” the straightforwardness of Death, “is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of Thought,” cockblocked by the slightest Reason. “And enterprises of great pitch and moment with this regard— their currents turn awry, and lose the name of–” she mused thoughtfully, as if shuffling through the head for the right word—the end of everything—only to come up with… 

“Action.”

Action. A word that Bruce could never amount to, after hours of staring at the pills in the medicine cabinet or the knives in the chef’s kitchen of the Wayne Tower. Action, as he went through the motions just enough to not be carried away in the motions itself. Action, a funny word to represent the lack thereof.

Action. 

As her performance ended and his own began, as a functioning member of the production. And the society overall.

A round of applause erupted—as much as it could with seven people scattered in the 200-seater theater anyway— and Bruce followed along. Eyes still following into the girl onstage, bowing and relaxing into her own form as she disappeared into the wings, leaving Hamlet out on the stage.

***

ACT TWO

Bruce Wayne never cared for college social life.

He didn’t care for parties or casual hangs in the common room. But apparently, the pre-production party was an unofficially mandatory part of the class. As soon as the read-through concluded, the director ushered everyone to the edge of the forest, just around the block, for a ritual celebration of sorts, something about blessing a Shakespeare production. He wanted to bail, tried so hard to slip away from the crowd, but the theater kids were a superstitious bunch and he didn’t want to create any unnecessary rift with the people he had to work with.

So he stuck around, as the director made an opening remark by the open fire, marking the start of the production. Drank as they raised a toast “to the stage!”. Inching further and further to the back when somebody rolled out a speaker, and played some pop-y, campy tune he didn’t recognize. All he wanted was to go back to his room and read one of the five books he checked out from the library this week. It was lame and a little pretentious, admittedly, but it’s peaceful.

Predictable.

The girl clocking him and walking towards him from the crowd was anything but.

Hamlet, Princess of Denmark. So cold and deranged in the reading of the tragedy, yet so… warm in the chilly autumn air, huddled into her jacket. Greeting and weaving her way through classmates milling and hanging around like she’d known them forever, all the way to this new boy. Standing alone, sticking out like a sore thumb, all the while trying desperately to blend into the background.

But she spotted him, and he spotted her.

“Congratulations,” he greeted her briefly, and then cleared his throat as he heard his sentence hanging in mid-air, “on getting the lead, I mean.”

She beamed, either unaware or unfazed by his awkwardness, and mock-curtsied. “All thanks to you.”

“Do you say that to all the guys?”

“Only the sweet ones who wished me ‘break a leg’ and stood in the aisle in support.”

“Right…” he shifted on his heels. A smile threatened to break out of the corner of his lips and he had to remind himself: don’t get carried away. She was an actor, for fuck’s sake, she could play him like a flute. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

But before he took another step, her hand grasped his arm. Warmth emanating from her palm even through layers of wool and cotton of his coat and sweater. “Whoa, wait. You’re leaving already?”

Bruce shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, come on. Stay another ten minutes, at least,” she cajoled him, “If the party still sucks, I’ll walk you home myself.”

“Wow.” he looked away bashfully. “Chivalry’s dead, huh?”

“Fell on its sword, God rest its soul,” she chuckled, and he secretly loved the Hozier reference. Then, as if sensing his discomfort among the crowd, she motioned away from the crowd, “Come on, the view is better out here.”

Bruce felt more at ease when he could hear the leaves crunching under his shoes. The tree roots coiling and bulging on the ground like veins to the earth. She sat back against a red oak tree and scooted aside to make room for her new friend (acquaintance, more like). Chelsea boots crossed at the ankles, and olive green dress flaring over her knees. The singing became more of a distant humdrum, and the cheering and shrieking of people playing drinking/kissing games was easier to tune out. Although not enough to completely ignore.

“Never thought theater kids would be so… wild.”

“Oh, we’re the wildest of the bunch. All that angst and tension brought out on purpose… See those guys?” she gestured at Shannon and Gabbie from Set Design, making out by the bonfire. “Their story was far more dramatic than the show we were doing last year. And we were doing Passion.”

Bruce had no idea what the play was about, but he understood the sentiment and appreciated the irony.

“So what major are you? Can’t be theater, right? ‘Cause I’ve never seen you around before.” she swirled the drink in her hand.

He shook his head. “Criminal Justice, actually.”

“Christ, you’re a long way from home.” her eyebrows went up to her hairline at his answer.

“You?”

“Acting, final year.”

He pursed his lips and took a sip of his drink, unsure why he asked in the first place. Figures.

“So why’d you take this elective?” she caught herself, realizing how harsh it sounded. “Not in a weird gatekeeping way or anything. But it’s shit credit, too much workload... It’s basically unpaid labor, at this point.”

“I… didn’t. I signed up for the wrong class, and then I was too late to withdraw,” he admitted with a grimace.

She chuckled. “Oof. My condolences.”

Bruce tried his hardest not to stare. No matter how unsurprised he was by how comfortably she’s lounged on this uneven surface. Legs stretched out, arm resting on a small crook of the tree, sipping crappy wine out of a plastic cup. A complete opposite of his position, bent knees and elbows shirking in on himself. Somehow finding themselves in each other’s company at the edge of this party.

When he finally turned to look, it was because of the click-click-click of a lighter and a tiny spark of ember in his peripheral vision. Beside him, a blunt hung between her lips and one hand sheltered it from the wind.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Where are my manners.” she pinched it between her middle and forefinger, pulling it away from her mouth, and his eyes caught on the lipstick mark on the wrapping paper, rosy and glossy even in the dim lighting. “Want some?”

And just like that, he was brought to a frantic awakening as he stammered, “Oh, I– I don’t…”

“Don’t smoke or don’t know how to?”

A pause. He tried to muster an answer that sounded a bit more dignified, but maybe in his time of thinking, the pause all but indicated it was the latter. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of.” she waved him off. “To each their own. Do you mind if I…?”

“Please.”

He tried to keep cool, he really did, and for a moment, he thought the short, quick answers would save him. But she lit the joint, and in the brief second that the tiny flame illuminated her face, he could see her long lashes fanning against the freckled skin under her eyes as her lids dropped to a close. Her cheeks sank in, and the line of her cheekbone gave some edge to an otherwise soft face. And as the back of her head hit the tree trunk, smoke in her wake, he was utterly lost. Fuck, she’s hot.

“Can you shotgun me?”

Her eyes snapped open (and to be honest, he’s just as surprised as she was), although she tried not to move so suddenly, as if worried he might scatter away. “Seriously?”

“I mean…” he muttered lamely, “If you want.”

“I mean, sure…” she started, looking him straight in the eyes for good measure. “Are you sure about this?”

He shrugged.

“Huh.” she smiled to herself, unable to contain the surprise in her features as she straightened up into a more upright position.

Neither of them could ever anticipate the closeness of this encounter. Shoulder to shoulder, legs colliding and finding their way to coexist. Face inches away from each other. Her forefinger touching the underside of his chin, the rounded end of her nail gently scratching his five o’clock shadow. 

Bruce was starting to wonder if this was a bad idea. But then her voice pulled him out of his reverie, soft and low,

“Just breathe in. Hold. And breathe out, okay?”

He nodded exactly once. Afraid that if he’d done more than once, one of them would change their mind.

No.

Afraid she would, because in this moment, Bruce realized he wanted nothing else.

She inhaled deeply through her joint, and tilted him closer to her. He swore he could almost feel her lips as she blew into his slightly ajar mouth.

“Slowly… that’s it…” she watched him intently as he followed her voice. Proud as it didn’t catch in his throat, making him cough. She just studied the smoke coming out of his lips. “Look at that. You’re a natural.”

Bruce watched her smirk, watched how one corner of her mouth pulled, how the tip of her tongue darted out ever so slightly for a moment, wetting her lips. “All thanks to you,” his throat felt scratchy, but he managed a somewhat cheeky reply, recalling her own words earlier.

“Do you say that to all the girls?” her voice was honeyed with teasing.

And he wanted to come up with something smart and quippy, by God he did, but maybe his brain only limited him to one line per conversation and he’d used it up already. So he just admitted, quite pathetically in his opinion,

“No.”

There was a certain brand of thoughtfulness as she took another puff for herself. And then another. And then a look of question when she gazed up at him again, and he leaned in at her wordless offer.

This time, their lips did touch. And he thought he was imagining it.

Barely a graze. She might have even done it by accident. But even in doing so, it made him forget how to breathe. The smoke just hovered in his mouth cavity for a moment. It wasn’t until her nose grazed him that he came to and shallowly, involuntarily gasped.

There was just a haze between them.

And then there was none.

At the same time, there was so much more. So much that Bruce didn’t know which one to process first. The smell of leaves and fresh laundry and flowery shampoo. The sweet, tangy taste of wine on her tongue.

The warmth of her lips on her.

Soft. Gentle. She deepened the kiss tentatively, like she’s knocking on his door, asking to be let in. He was never a big believer in higher power, but as God as his witness, he would let her knock down his entire wall and make herself at home in a heartbeat.

No questions asked.

She, on the other hand, seemed to have one, judging from how she pulled away, brows furrowed in thought.

Oh, no. Back in the figurative mental safehouse you go.

“Fuck. Where are my manners? Uh…” she giggled, “I haven’t even got your name.”

He relaxed, releasing the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Bruce. And you are…?”

He felt stupid for asking her this. He really shouldn’t have to ask, she’s the lead for fuck’s sake, but he came in late from a class and missed the introductions. By the time he arrived, the read-through had already begun and they were already calling her by her character’s name.

But she didn’t seem to mind. She simply uttered, “Eden,” and kissed him stupid again.

It took him embarrassingly long to realize that she was saying her name instead of describing what this was.

His hand braving itself to settle on her soft cheek, warm and flushed from the alcohol and the influence of it all. Meanwhile, her touches were bold, pushing the dark strands off of his face and tangling her fingers through his hair. Lips joined together in a kiss, deeper and deeper as they went on.

Heaven.

Heaven was the hand that ventured along his jaw. Down his chest.

Trailing up his inner thigh.

Her knuckle grazed his crotch, and he wondered if these featherlight touches of hers were never coincidental after all. But there’s a more pressing issue at hand; that of… a growing ache between his legs, and she giggled. Lazy, breathless, and hazy.

Fuck. I’ve been made.

She caught his lower lip between her teeth, tugging it a little. Drawing it out. Weighing in her choices once again.

But then she broke the kiss completely, straddling his lap, and Bruce thought he was losing his mind.

It had to be the weed, right? Because kisses weren’t dizzying, and the way her dress hiked up her thigh shouldn’t make his palms vibrate with the need to touch her. And when her palm trailed down to where he needed her…

The party nearby just fell away. The music and celebration died out. Just the rustles of the trees. The shuffling of fabric rubbing against each other, from chests heaving up and down. From breath, stolen and taken away by each other. A little bubble that felt like no time and all of the time in the world had passed at once.

“…but the Act 1 finale to Sunday in the Park with George is un-fucking-paralleled, though!” a girl’s voice gushed in the distance, footsteps approaching closer to where Bruce and Eden were tangled together, and she all but jumped back to her original spot. Raking through her hair really quickly in a daze.

Bruce froze in his place, secretly hoping they would veer away from their path. Or not see them somehow. Or anything. But the voice grew closer and closer, and he could hear another set of footsteps with this one.

“Like when the real painting came down? Ugh, I nutted!” she groaned, barely acknowledging them. “Oh, hey guys.”

Eden nodded at the girl—Laura, head of the costume department—trying to play it off like nothing happened.

But, when Laura didn’t give a flying fuck, Angela—the stage manager—, did a double-take... First at Eden. Then at the joint between Eden’s fingers. “Damn, you corrupting the new kid already?” she turned to Bruce, “Careful there. This one’s a troublemaker.”

“Um. I was just leaving.” Bruce shot up to his feet, wrapping his coat around his body tightly and barely looking at her when he said, ”Bye, Eden,” rushing off as fast as he could.

And when the party was entirely out of reach, he realized just violently he tore himself away from her. The gloss of her lips still lingered. Her hand. Her scent. Her hand over his hard fucking cock. The way her name tastes when he said it the first time.

How much he’d taken for granted all of the above.

***

ACT THREE

Bruce didn’t see Eden for much of the week.

He supposed it was better this way. There were quizzes and assignments to be done, and he spent most of his time at the library and his dorm. When he went to the Theater building, he stayed in the costume workshop. On different floors, on opposite wings. Copying designs, doing the math, preparing materials… he had a lot of learning to do, but he could do it fast.

It was definitely for the best. Anything to get his mind off of thinking which one is more stupid; making out with her or walking away from making out with her.

“Hey, Bruce?” Laura hollered, without looking up from her workstation. “Can you go upstairs and take Eden’s measurements? They’re rehearsing in the Woodard Studio.”

Fuck. He looked around the room, finding nobody else there. This was a nightmare coming to life, but damned if he was going to be spoiled brat Bruce Wayne in a setting where people finally let him be.

So even with his heart in his throat and his brain telling him to run the other way, he grabbed a pencil, a tape measure, and a blank new measurement sheet. “Okay, sure.”

The climb up to the top floor was entirely too short, that Bruce had half a mind to take another lap to the ground floor and back. But Lady Luck seemed to continuously be on his side, and Eden walked out of the studio just as he reached the top of the stairs. They locked eyes for a moment, like neither knew how to act, until she addressed him. Cool and nonchalant. “Hey.”

He braced himself, approaching her by the water fountain as she refilled her bottle. Trying not to even think about the yoga pants clinging to her thighs. The sports bra wrapped around her chest like a corset. Or armor? Because she looked like she could break someone in half in that.

Focus, Bruce.

“Got a minute?”

“‘Sup?”

He paused, caught off-guard with her short reply. But he powered through, lifting the piece of paper in his hand. “I, uh, need to take your measurements.”

She hummed dryly, “Right,” leading him into the rehearsal space.

Bruce should’ve been careful with what he wished for, for the walk to be longer, because the 15-foot distance from the door to the row of seats in one corner of the studio felt like miles as they walked in silence, careful not to disturb the rehearsal in the process.

And he never minded the silence, not once, but he minded hers. She was normally so talkative, so engaging, and these monosyllabic answers—the stare burning into his back as he unrolled his tape measure—was quite unnerving. He hated it.

“What.”

She shrugged noncommittally, looking out at the fight sequence being rehearsed. The thumps and squeaks of shoes on the floor felt deafening

He sighed, a quick glare before he began measuring the width of her shoulders. Her back. Her arms. Down her spine. Jotting down the numbers as he filled out the form. Trying not to go insane in the sheer intimacy of his fingers treading along her body, learning every inch in between the fabric of clothing and the skin it clung onto, and how he did it under such a cold, clinical circumstance.

An agonizing stretch of silence.

Her silence.

Especially knowing that she must’ve had something to say.

“So, let me get this straight.” she drew a sharp breath, and Bruce was kind of relieved to be on talking terms, at the very least. “First, you made out with me, and then you ditched me, and now you’ve pulled me into a corner to take my measurements? My, my. Talk about mixed signals.” Eden tilted her head to the side, sarcasm lacing her voice this time, and he knew he was in for it.

“This wasn’t up to me,” Bruce quietly, evenly replied, trying not to feel like a scolded schoolboy.

She turned around to meet his gaze, taking this as a personal challenge now. “Ah, but you’re a big boy, aren’t you?” she straightened up with a ghost of a smirk, as if squaring up to him, and it terrified and excited him at the same time. “Laura could’ve done it. I’m sure she’d much prefer to do this over carrying big logs of fabric into the workshop. So… what gives?”

A heavy pause hung over their heads. Even with her arms outspread, so open and vulnerable, she was still the one in control. Her head held high and eyes searching into his. It took Bruce everything to keep his fingers steady as they pinned the tape measure on her waist.

He wanted so desperately to have some semblance of upper hand in this game. He unpinned his fingertips from the tape and pulled it back. “You said shit credits, so… gotta make it worth it.”

Her eyes rolled in amusement, and Bruce thought he’d made a complete fool of himself. She definitely saw through his bullshit answer, she was kind enough to let it slide, if the little smile she was sporting was any indication. The air wasn’t as heavy anymore, and he was tempted to leave it be.

It wasn’t quite an upper hand, but it’s as good as it’s gonna get.

But the edge, the anticipation persisted (and no, it wasn’t because he’s measuring her underbust next), and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was his turn to speak. Her cold shoulder treatment was warranted, and she merely opened the door enough for him to prove he was worth her time. 

And he wanted to be worth her time… for reasons unbeknownst to even himself.

So he cleared his throat to make his case. “I also wanted to apologize for last weekend.”

“For what, making out with me or ditching me?” Her eyes flitted back to him.

His heart clenched, and he barely had the gall to look in her direction. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Jury’s still out,” she quipped, though there was no malice in her tone.

Bruce grimaced, but it’s all fair, he supposed. “It won’t happen again.”

“Hm.” she softened. Thoughtful, but said nothing else.

And as she let him work quietly, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made another mistake with that promise. Yes, he was wrong to just leave her there. But did he really want it to never happen again? To never experience her mouth that drove him crazy, be it in banter or kiss, ever again? To never study the curve of her hips beyond this flimsy string he held together around her? To feel her warm, intoxicating body on top of his—

“I don’t hold it against you, you know.”

He looked up at her in question. In surprise. Mildly in worry that she caught sense of the filthy things he was thinking about—for a second horrified that she could read his mind somehow. Especially with his thumb accidentally grazing along the side of her chest, pinching the tape right over the swell of her chest. He should’ve looked at the number quickly and then moved on.

But he couldn’t.

She stilled and he stilled with her, eyes still locked on each other, much too close for comfort. 

“We were both caught in the moment, under the influence. It happens. No hard feelings.” She paused, and then…. “Well. Maybe some hard feelings.”

His mind was running a mile a minute, and for a split second, he thought she genuinely bore some hard feelings—which was fair. But then a mischievous grin bloomed on her face, and he realized exactly what she was referring to.

A literal hard feeling. In his pants. Under her palm.

“Eden…” he shut his eyes in horror. This can’t be happening right now.

She laughed in the way that made his heart flutter, and he wondered if the endless teasing would be worth it. “I’m just saying…” her light chuckle dwindled into a bright glint in her dark eyes, and then earnestly, “We’re good, Bruce.”

It was strange to associate the sound of his name with a smile—not even a smile, a grin. The kind that made crinkles on the corner of her eyes. Where the light sheen of sweat made the apple of her cheeks glow as it pulled the corner of her mouth upwards.

Strange, but nice.

***

ACT FOUR

In the next few weeks, Bruce saw Eden sporadically. In passing. In between slaving away at the workshop; tracing, sewing, altering costumes, carefully following the instructions of his much more experienced peers—Laura seemed to appreciate his careful handiwork and keen eye for detail. She began sending him upstairs to sit in on the rehearsals, delivering updates to the director and observing the blockings, reporting back to his head of department.

And in between those moments, if he’s lucky, he would see her drop by the workshop, gabbing away with Laura. Trying out different period dresses, different shoes, the all-white fencing suit that one time. Or sometimes as her tragic hero character in rehearsal, a timeless Shakespearean force to be reckoned with in a baggy Yale sweatshirt.

They might not be friends per se, but they were on friendly terms, at the very least.

Which was probably why he didn’t immediately say hello when she strode out the back of the Drama Department building, where Bruce was reviewing his Criminal Homicide notes whilst getting some air (although to be fair, it was mostly the latter.) He heard the door open and shut, familiar lines murmured, as light footsteps paced back and forth on the platform. 

And there she was; like Juliet on the goddamn balcony.

Well.

If Juliet were a miserably jaded character on the brink of insanity instead of a wide-eyed girl in love.

“O vengeance!” she recited from memory, devoid of any emotion. “‘This is most brave—’ no, that’s not right. Did I skip a line?” she stopped abruptly, and then he heard a rustle of pages being flipped. “‘Why, what an ass am I.’ Ha. That’s… apropos.”

Bruce looked up, finding Eden holding her script close to her chest, looking out into the distance with a frown as she started over.

“‘This is most brave that I, daughter of a dear father murdered, prompted to my revenge by… heaven and hell, must—like a whore…’ Fuck!”

“Unpack my heart with words and fall a-cursing,” Bruce finished it just above a murmur, just for himself.

Eden’s head whipped towards his direction. “What?”

Caught eavesdropping, he immediately buried himself in his notebook again. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“No, no. What did you say?”

“Um. ‘Unpack my heart with words and fall a-cursing?’” It felt weird to say it now. To hear it in his own voice. “‘Like a very drab. A scullion’.”

A lull as she checked her script. And then, “Hold up a minute.” she leaned against the railing, chin propped up on her hand. “You know Hamlet, Bruce?”

He looked up at her, finding fascination and that ever-present witty glint in her gaze. “I’m surprised you didn’t know Hamlet, Hamlet.”

“Very funny.”

It was a little funny. He might’ve even smiled a bit.

She padded down the platform and round the stairs, joining Bruce sitting cross-legged on the ground, back against the wall. It never ceased to amaze him how she managed to make herself comfortable anywhere. “This whole Shakespeare thing is hard, you know.”

“Really? I never would’ve thought—” 

“It’s almost like a foreign language.”

“But you’ve always looked so… fluent.” he frowned at his own choice of word. Fluent was an understatement; the lines felt native to her tongue. “I guess I’ve always assumed it comes naturally to you.”

Eden chuckled ruefully. “Hell no. This is what generally happens, outside of rehearsals—just so I have some idea what’s going on in the scene.”

“Some idea, huh?” He didn't buy it at all. She had to work hard, of course, but he was dead sure that come rehearsal, she’d had her shit down on lock.

“You probably know more than I do.”

“Nah, I’m just… I’m familiar with it,” he played it off.

This time, she didn’t buy it. At all, if her lingering look was any indication. But she looked away like she knew more.

Well, as much as she could’ve known for a single look, anyway. It barely scratched the surface, but he didn’t have the heart to wipe that captivating smile off of her face.

Not with such misfortune behind the story.

He first read Hamlet when he was thirteen. In truth, it didn’t pique his interest until his English teacher offhandedly mentioned that the Lion King was based off of it. And at first, he read it just out of spite—just to see if it’s true. But the structure of words felt alien and there were words, references, scenes he didn’t understand, unlike that little movie he knew like the back of his hand.

But some parts, like this one, stuck and stayed with him since he first read it. What Hamlet lacked in the starry-eyed nostalgia that Lion King had, it made up in anguish. For the longest time, there were no words to describe what he was feeling. He never knew how to explain himself, how to explain why he didn’t want to. Until this line.

‘That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,

Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,

Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,

And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,

A scullion!’

Eden was struggling, albeit for an entirely different reason, but he understood. He probably wouldn’t even be able to say the whole sentence without razors slicing his throat from the inside.

“Hey, what are you doing right now?”

“Um, studying?” He mustered, caught off-guard by the knee lightly nudging his own. Maybe a little bit flustered. 

She glanced at his textbook, sparsely highlighted and full of legal terms she’d only heard in passing. “Right. I keep forgetting you were pre-law. You’ve been hanging around here most days.”

“This elective is a full-time job, basically.”

She smiled sympathetically. And then, “Would you help me run lines? You just— I don’t know, make sure I say the right words and… read out the odd lines if there’s any.”

“Sure,” he answered immediately. Not for any particular reason; he just happened to know the play very well, and he liked being useful, however menial the task.

Not because he finally had a valid reason to spend some time with Eden.

She handed him her script, highlighted in yellow, pink, and blue, and heavily annotated with her own handwriting. Some were so small and loopy, they were undecipherable. One line was noted in big capital letters, ‘FUCK THE FUCK OFF’. Bruce chuckled a little bit at that.

He fiddled with the edge of the page. “So... From the top?”

And that’s how it started. Running lines and hanging out. Sometimes she’d stop by the costume workshop and drape her arm over one of the mannequins, or perch atop one of the empty workstations, while Bruce worked on a costume—her costume. Or outside the rehearsal studio, while waiting for the dance club to finish their thing. Sometimes they’d do it over a meal, and he found himself frequenting the dining hall of her dorm at the Hopper College instead of his own—it was closer, but mostly, he liked the dark wood-paneled walls under the high columned arches, and how nicely everything was spaced out. And how completely at home she looked, leaning back in her seat. It made him at ease to see her at ease.

But most of the time, it was just this. Crouched behind the theater building, sitting side-by-side with a script and her pack of Lucky Strike between them.

“Oh, I’ve fully corrupted you now,” she lamented, watching him light a cigarette between his lips. He even did it with one hand this time.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he huffed, exhaling out a berry-minty smoke (he only ever bummed her cigarettes when she had the flavored ones—he would never admit that he hated the normal ones). “What’s for today?”

She shuffled into her bag, reaching for her script. “The breakup scene with Ophelia.”

“Mm. That should be easy.” 

She looked at him incredulously. “Easy for you to say!”

“Easy for you to do. Come on.” he snatched the script out of her hand, flipping through the pages until he found the one. And then he waited. Pointedly. “Any day now.”

With a dirty glare, Eden took a deep breath and uttered, loudly but without any passion whatsoever, “The fair Ophelia! Nymph.” she elbowed him on his side.

He liked that they’re comfortable enough to do this. It was the first time Hamlet made him laugh—and not in a wry, self-loathing way. There was always something new this girl found—a cheeky pun, an off-handed comment. Lines he’d always imagined having a certain context, only to be interpreted completely differently.

Like this one.

“I did love you…” she trailed off thoughtfully, “...once.”

His eyebrows perked up, interest piqued as he never read the line broken in two parts like this, although his tone stayed flat as always. “Indeed, m’lady, you made me believe so.”

“You should not have believed me,” she responded, surprisingly just as sapless. “I loved you not.”

“I was the more deceived.”

The air between them was changing. Each line was filled with more heavy pauses—but not the kind she would make when she was trying to remember what she was supposed to say. No, this was something else. She sounded like she was… thinking. Composing her breakup speech as she sat next to her dear love. Pondering whether she should be cruel or kind.

“Get thee… to a nunnery.” The words started out cautionary, but her tone was vicious, and everything else became a cruel charge from then on. “Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners, huh?” she didn’t raise her voice, but it made her all the more terrifying. “Perhaps it were better… my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious…”

Bruce’s brain registered that she was talking about herself. As Hamlet. A performance, no more. And yet, he’d never heard it performed like this; so stripped down, so much like the voice in his head his entire adolescence—the constant questioning of how things would’ve been if he’d never been born—, that he felt like it was aimed towards him.

“We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us.” Maybe it was a little bit about him too, he thought as she spat, “Where’s your father?”

The question felt like a punch in the gut. He knew that was her next line—he’d read it a million times, but he’d never had anyone ask him that. Not in that order. Not with such bitter taste in their mouth.

He tried to compose himself, but his voice sounded feeble as he answered her, “At home, my lady.”

“Well.” she looked down, picking her nails absent-mindedly. “Let the doors be shut upon him… that he may play the fool no where but in his own house.” It was cold, heartless the way she made up her mind without so much as a glance his way, and it reminded him of how the doors of Gotham shut upon his own father, and he was left for dead like a fool in a city that he built.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, he didn’t realize when he stopped looking at the page and when he started looking at her. Jaw stiffened, trying her damnedest to contain the slight tremble on her lips. Eyes stubborn as they tried to keep the tears from falling. Hands fisting the hems of her own jacket. And as she nodded, she accidentally (or on purpose, he wouldn’t know) blinked a stray tear away,

“Farewell.”

They sat there for a long while. In a daze. Watching the lights twinkled in the dusk; white and yellow against purple and pink. The Halloween decorations were put up, over the windows and doors, jack o’lanterns on the side of the pavements and skeletons propped upright in the lawns. He wasn’t even thinking about the play anymore—he couldn’t if he wanted to—, his insides were all amok.

Bruce heard a click of her lighter, a flash of orange from the corner of his eye—first a flame, then a flaring ember—and with an exhale, she slumped back against the wall…

And leaned her head on his shoulder.

He carefully tapped his cigarette and put it out. It was burnt to ash and he barely had a couple of puffs—he was too occupied, too vexed with her. More stoic than him as she continued to look ahead. It’s disconcerting.

“Are you okay?” He simply asked, though with a sliver of worry there.

“Yeah.” he couldn’t quite explain it, but Eden sounded like herself again even with a single word. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

It was an automatic response at this point, but whether it was honest… was an entirely different matter. And she seemed to notice that.

“I heard it in your voice,” she said quietly, carefully. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just… checking in.”

A pause. He didn’t answer right away; he didn’t know how to.

“It’s just… my parents, is all.”

“Right.”

One word said so much. One word, and she understood.

One word, and he knew.

He was no longer some new guy in the production; she knew him and his name and his burden of a legacy. A trauma. The very thing he was running away from. The little bubble around them had burst, and although he knew it was inevitable, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his gut.

But she placed a hand on top of hers, filling the spaces between his fingers. Not quite. Just… ever so tentatively. “I’m sorry.”

And for the first time in years, he allowed it. He allowed her to invade his space, if ‘invade’ was even the right word. She eased in like something familiar, like she’d always been there, and it made it all the more easier to let her in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered.

“I mean… there’s nothing to talk about.” he sighed heavily, immediately set off by the all-too-familiar feeling of prodding questions. “I know as much as everyone else.”

“That’s not what I—” she noticed the sharp edge in his voice, and she was quick to rebuff him. But then she realized the edge in her tone, and she softened up again immediately. “Bruce. All I’m saying is, if you ever want to… I don’t know. Either way, I’m here. Okay?”

Oh. He didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to. Or he could, if he was ever so inclined.

Either way she’s here.

His other hand landed on top of hers, patting it limply but entirely too heavy to pull away. “It’s fine. You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t. I want to.” her fingers tangled themselves in his. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Friends. The word hung heavy above them, as he turned her hand over. Palm facing upwards, he studied every line that twisted and branched on her skin, tracing it with the pad of his thumb. Feeling the indents, soft against his calluses. Trying to comprehend how this person eased—maybe invaded was right, after all—into his life, inching closer to his most vulnerable parts…

And that it was okay.

Because in entering his space, she also let him into hers. Palm facing upwards, her thumb caresses the side of his forefinger that rested atop hers. Not squeezing. Not even grasping. Just running up and down, from knuckle to knuckle. As if saying, come in.

I won’t hurt you.

He took the chance and held her hand for a moment. It wasn’t quite a response to her invitation, but at the same time it was. And that’s all they needed.

That’s all he could take for now.

Bruce took a breath, trying to find a fresh subject to get out of this one, and the first thing that he blurted out was, “Grilled cheese?”

She lifted her head and turned her whole body towards him. “Huh?”

If those two words out of his mouth weren’t enough to sober him up, the blatant disconnect between them sure did the trick. They were spouting Shakespeare just moments ago, but now that he’s panicking and in desperate need of an out, he turned into a goddamn monkey and it puzzled the fuck of her.

“Grilled cheese,” he repeated. Why did he do it again?! He slung his backpack and got up to his feet; if he’s already standing, it would be easier to make an escape. But maybe he should give it one last shot? “You know… at the Beanjamin.”

“Oh.” she blinked at him dumbly, whether at his stilted but persistent topic change or the mention of the punny cafe two blocks away. But much to his surprise, she shrugged and gathered her stuff. “Alright. Let’s get some grilled cheese.”

“Wait, really?”

“You’re buying.” she absently said as she patted the dirt off of her pants.

He sighed in relief, although he tried to play it off as a huff. “Fine. But you get the ciggies.”

“Ciggies?” she balked. “Wow, my influence on you knows no bounds.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s just shorthand.”

“Sure thing, Brucie.”

“That’s not a shorthand. That’s an extra syllable.” He scowled, but she slapped his back lightly, linking her arm with his as they walked on crunchy reddened leaves in the fall. Each biting back a smile as the heaviness of their conversation didn’t tarnish this easy banter they had.

They were friends, after all.

***

ACT FIVE

Bruce was late. Very late. His Restorative Justice final presentations ran long and he wanted to punch every one of his obnoxious kiss-ass classmates in the teeth for drawing it out, asking questions for the sake of loopholes and extra points. Sending him on a wild sprint to the University Theater.

In the rain.

And as if that weren’t enough, he was greeted by Laura, practically steaming out of her ears, pulling him aside and telling him off.

“We’re entering tech week, man! We got plenty of people to dress. I can’t have you disappearing in the worst of times like this.”

She was right on all three accounts. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sticking my neck out here for you!” Laura huffed. “Look, if anything happens, you need to let us know. Call, text, anything. God, I sound like a clingy girlfriend here—”

She was cut off with a dragging, dramatic creak of a door opening. They both turned around to find Eden there, her head popping out of a dressing room, grimacing. “Hi. I’m so sorry to bother you, but— I need a hand…”

Laura softened up, slightly caught off-guard in the middle of her tangent. “One sec.” Then she turned back to Bruce, a little calmer now. “You go, I’ll handle the ensemble.”

He nodded, still apologetic as he made his way to their leading lady’s dressing room, catching her sly grin as she made way for him.

“You picked the wrong day to slack off, Brucie,” she lightly murmured as she threw him a towel to dry off.

All she got in response was a grunt.

A grunt and nothing else.

Because all the frustration, the ennui, the fucking cold from getting drenched in a 44-degree weather… all went when he finally caught sight of her.

Clad in silk—her gloves ivory, her dress black. Draped down her body all the way to the ankle—seemingly resting on her curves and wanting to glide off of her skin at the same time, held together by a thin strap on each of her bare shoulders, ruffled point d’esprit tumbled down her arms.

“I know. It’s different from the usual sweatshirt and joggers…” she droned on, barely glancing at him as she shifted in her dress. “Shit, I should’ve worn these things more in rehearsal. This feels too new. I haven’t even put on the corset—do you mind?”

“Y-yeah. Sure.”

He knew exactly how to do her corset—they discussed it exhaustively in the workshops, deliberating which one was the most secure and efficient—and yet he still found himself fumbling at the laces the first time. Then again, maybe lacing up a mannequin would never compare to a living, breathing being.

Especially one like her.

It’s awfully intimate; he vaguely remembered seeing his parents getting ready for a night out like this. Eden putting on her earrings—a beautiful silvery thing with a dot of blue as its main stone—while he laced her up. Grazing her back with featherlight touches, but not really. Barely missing each other’s gaze through the mirror. So close, and at the same time, having absolutely no chance to get closer.

“You got me worried for a bit there.”

“I know. I’ve got—”

“Finals, I know. But this counts as finals too, you know. Like, come on, man, this is important.”

“It’s an elective.”

He felt her tense up—felt the slight expanse of her ribs as she drew a sharp breath. “It’s not just an elective for some of us, Bruce.”

“Come on, Eden. I’ve been over this. I don’t need this from you, too.”

She scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“What else do you want me to do? I was held up, I came here as fast as I could, I told Laura I was sorry. Now you’re gonna give me shit while I do my job, too? Give me a fucking break.” 

He never minded the silence, but this one was deafening. Eden was understandably stunned to see him snap. He had never shown anything beyond mild—whether it’s amusement or discontent. But it was nowhere near the end of his day, and he was tired. And it disappointed him more than anything that she was not on his side on the one moment he needed her to.

But he’d shown just enough to get his point across, and now it’s time to just bite his tongue.

“Do you know why we worked so hard for this show?” Her tone was still terse. Clipped. But it wasn’t accusatory—not anymore.

He said nothing. Didn’t even look up. He just continued pulling at the loose crossing laces, tightening them right on the dip of her spine.

“We don’t know who’ll be in the audience. Directors, agents, producers or their fucking daughters for all we know—people who might hire us. Maybe for a gig over the holiday— maybe something more. If we’re lucky. Most of us won’t be, you know. Most of us are just gonna be stuck in this rat race until we’re burnt out, or dead, or dead from getting burnt the fuck out, so to call it ‘just an elective’ is a gross understatement which—“ she gasped as he pulled the strings just so that her back straightened up and she nearly stumbled into his chest.

“You okay?” his eyes flickered towards the mirror, studying her face. Realizing that there might be something more than giving him shit for committing the cardinal sin of tardiness. Something having nothing to do with him.

“Yeah. It’s just…. Nerves.” she breathed out, and he had to look again and make sure she wasn’t suffocating.

Suffocating, she was not. But agitated, definitely. The corset made the rise and fall of her chest more prominent with every breath, and he willed himself not to stare.

“It’s alright. You got this.” he managed a reassuring nod, surprising himself that despite what happened, he was still on her side.

Eden softened at that, as if warming up to him again. “So, yeah. This is why it’s important to us.” she spoke, quiet and resolute. “I hope you understand that.”

“I do,” he answered evenly. “And I hope you understand that I’m doing my best.”

“Fair enough.”

The air swelled between them. Stifling as the aggression dissipated. The lightbulbs framing the mirror did so much to expose every microexpression. The tight crease between her eyebrows, the clenched jaw as she struggled with her necklace. Blindly trying to clasp it together on the back of her neck, underneath her long dark waves.

“Let me.” He gently brushed her hair aside, seeing the hook and clasp colliding, but never really linking together.

It was entirely too easy. Bruce almost hoped it would be trickier, and he would need more time here. Nearly pressed against her. So close. The temptation was too much. Even after he let go of her necklace, he couldn’t resist smoothing his hand down her dress. Adjusting the cinch under her bust. Making sure it didn’t bunch.

Their eyes met through the reflection, and he lost all words. And no, not because of the glimmery strings and stones adorning her neck, the lavalier falling like water drops on her chest—silver and white against her bronze skin. Not entirely.

But the way her brown eyes, ever so mischievous and mysterious, looked so… naked in this light.

He had never been able to read her—there’s always this hidden card on her sleeve, even beneath her ‘open book’ way of carrying herself. But this time, he could see her waiting.

Wanting.

“Well?” Her voice was soft against the silence.

“You look…” he trailed off. 

Maybe it was simply the tension in the air. Maybe it was pure awe. Maybe it was the unshakeable possessive pride in the fact that he’d had a hand in creating this look, knowing how she would turn out in it.

No word would ever amount to this—to her—and he would be foolish to even try. So he just shook his head, returning his attention to her corset. Making sure nothing bent or bunch in a way it wasn’t supposed to.

“This not too tight?”

She shook her head, and he swore she looked demure, for the first time ever.

“Turn around, let me see.”

He grabbed her waist with both hands, studying the brocade details of the corset. How it’s an even darker shade of black than the dress, but shinier, like swirling scars—the pain, the anger, the fury, wrapped around her waist.

Oh, the divine curve of her waist.

Eden’s gloved hand dropped to his wrist, and he froze. He wondered if this was a sign to let go, but at the same time… he couldn’t. Not when her thumb is mirroring the very pattern he was drawing on her waist. Not when she trailed up his arm, along his shoulder, so warm and gentle that it made his breath hitch in his throat.

She brushed back a dark strand that fell in front of his face, searching his eyes. “Is that the only place you’ll touch me?”

And there it was again. The waiting. The wanting. He’d never dared to dream it, because he knew—like he knew now—that it’d be all he wanted from then on.

To give in. Melt into her touch. Get lost in her gaze.

“Where else do you want me to touch you?” he rasped.

Heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he’s not sure whether it’s hers or his own. It took him everything to tune it out, just so he could hear her respond,

“Everywhere?”

He expected it to come with a smirk, a teasing twinkle in her eyes; it didn’t. It sounded like a question, and she looked every bit as vulnerable as he felt asking it, and it was all too easy for him to answer.

“Please.”

Because what other answer was there? Everywhere was more than he’d ever hoped for and he couldn’t even think where to begin. His first instinct was her waist—the divine curves of her waist— as his hands were already there. But the necklace was calling out to him with every rise and fall of Eden’s breath. Beckoning him to trace the spaces between the hanging stones, the gentle slope of the neckline, leaving shivers in his wake.

So much, and at the same time, not nearly enough.

She pulled him in closer—the crook of her nose on the crook of his neck. Nuzzling. Resting. Claiming him with kiss after kiss on his skin, and it made him weak. Pliant as she sat herself on the dressing table, hiking up her skirt and allowing him to be lodged between her open legs. Guiding his hand towards the swell of her breast, squeezing his hand, right here. He thumbed her nipples through her dress, marveling at how it hardened under his touch, while her hand roamed his chest, sneaking under his shirt, feeling his lean stomach—his bulging crotch through her silk.

“Your gloves, don’t ruin your gloves…” Bruce miraculously mustered, even as his palms slid down to her hips, squeezing her ass as she left a dizzying hickey on his neck.

Eden clicked her tongue, tearing herself off him with a glare, though it didn’t deter him—then again, maybe it wasn’t supposed to. She bit the tip of her glove at her middle finger, and the fabric slid off, one hand after the other, and she had no right to be so alluring. Running her hand through his rain-drizzled hair. Stroking his prominent jawline. Drawing patterns on his wrist with her bare hands.

Guiding him once again; this time, up her inner thigh. Following the warmth of her body underneath the cool cloth.

All the way up until he reaches something damp.

She gasped.

“Here?”

“Mm-hm.”

He swallowed, yanking her panties aside to find her nether lips, all slippery on his fingertips. His fingers drew up her gushing cleft, and when he touched the swollen little nub, her eyes fluttered ever so slightly, and he could come right then and there if he weren’t so taken by her, mellowing in pleasure.

He rubbed her tentatively, gauging the smallest reactions as a sign. He’d only ever seen it in porn, and it went quite differently in real life. There was no guarantee of a happy ending—not even a guarantee of doing things right. And everything was quieter, subtler with her.

Prettier.

She followed the trail of hair down his navel, absently palming his cock over his jeans—firmer, surer than the last time—and his mind went blank.

“Fuck, Eden…” he sighed, forehead falling against hers. “I’ve never— I don’t— Tell me…” he bit the inside of his cheek, hoping she would get the hint.

She nudged his nose with hers. “Your fingers, Bruce.”

He slowed down his circling motion, trying to figure out whether her squirming meant less or more.

But she chuckled, lazily kissing along his jaw. And then, nipping at his earlobe, she whispered, “I need them inside me.”

Jesus Christ.

His hand traveled down from her clit, and he nearly moaned at how gushing wet she was. All of this just for him? His middle and forefinger slid right in, as if she’d swallowed them whole, and she let out a strained whimper.

Bruce stilled inside her, not wanting to cause any pain by moving in or drawing out. Instead, he just waited. Slowly pulling away to study her face, waiting for her command. God, he’d follow her anywhere.

“You okay?”

Her head fell back against the mirror as she caught her breath. “‘m good. So good,” she sighed, stroking his back as if he was the one who needed soothing. “Keep going.”

He’d always been captivated by her. Her grit, her humor, her warmth that seeped into his cold dead soul. But in the three months he’d known her, he’d never seen her so… tame. Her guard down, all soft and needy under his touch, as he started pumping his digits in and out of her experimentally. Reveling in how she coated his fingers in her arousal, gripping him around her silky walls. How she mewled when he crooked his fingers just right.

He liked that she let him see this side of her.

And as he picked up the pace, her hands grew frenzied on his belt buckle. Frantic as she unfastened it and pushed it down just enough—boxers and all—to take his cock out. And when he thought being freed from the painful restraint of his pants was blissful enough…

She closed her fist around him. 

“Fuck…” a pathetic whine threatened to rip out of his throat, so he busied his mouth on the open stretch of her neck. Dousing himself in the taste of her skin. The smell of her hair. The clench of her cunt.

The grip on his cock.

Thumb rubbing on the tip—smearing precum along his length as she stroked up and down, up and down…

“Bruce...” God, he loved her saying his name like this. “Bruce, I’m close.”

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, and with that, he pulled away. Her eyelids fluttered heavily, but she kept her eyes locked on his. Self-bitten lips parted as she told him, “Don’t stop. Touch my clit.”

It’s messy and clumsy, the way the heel of his hand pressed down on her sensitive nub with every thrust, and he couldn’t maintain the pace to save his life. But she’s practically riding his hand, canting her hips forward, her own hand faltering from his length. And he needed a release oh so bad, but he was much too enraptured in watching her come. Her hips stuttered with every touch, and her lips pouted as she murmured yes, yes, yes until it fell open with a trembling sigh.

He wanted it seared onto his memory forever.

She hovered in like she was going in for a kiss, but Bruce turned a little bit, planting his lips on her jaw instead. Soft pecks towards her thrumming pulse point. It was nice, but aggravating all the same.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” She found his cock again, stroking him nice and slow. 

“I promised you it won’t happen again.”

He could see how hazy her mind was as she tried to rake around when he’d said that. After the party in the woods. Confusion turned to realization turned to amusement. “I think we’re way past that.”

And he knew that. She came on his hand, goddammit, and he was well on his way to do the same on hers. But somehow, he couldn’t seem to move past that—and he didn’t know why.

But her grip tightened just a little bit, and he was so close. “Besides… is that really what you want?”

He shook his head.

“Good.” she wrapped her legs around his hips, stroking him from tip to base. “I never wanted that, either.”

And just like that, he gravitated towards her lips until they collided. This is what he needed.

Cursed be his brain, because his memory could never recall her kiss being so… good. It was so much like the last time, and yet nothing like it? Her lips were soft, he remembered that, but the way she kissed him was different. Dirtier. Like she wanted to consume him, and God, he was ready to give her all that. Anything at all, he swore, fuck, Eden, so close—

“Come for me, Bruce,” she murmured into his mouth, tugging his lower lip between her teeth.

He had no chance against her.

“Fuck,” as he lurched into her hand, spilling out his pent-up release for her. “Fuck…” he panted out, catching his breath, basking in the pleasure of giving everything for her. For Eden. Eden, in all her glory of kiss-worn lips and heaving chest and— 

“Fuck!”

Little drops of white on her black corset.

“Bruce.”

“No, no, no, no…” all sobered up, Bruce immediately tried to wipe it off. It went, but not without a faint stain on the fabric. He’s in a lot of trouble.

“Bruce, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not. Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, like a whirlwind as he pulled his pants back up, scrambling for tissues, returning to the dress—barely registering that Eden stayed unmoved in her place.

Perched on top of the dressing table. Watching him fuss.

Dazed and docile.

“Eden, we can’t do this. We can’t—” he was so weak for her. She smoothed out his stubbornly sticking-out hair so tenderly, and he nearly lost his train of thought. “We gotta keep our shit together for this. You said so yourself, right?”

Her face dropped just a little bit, but she nodded anyway. “Right.”

He tried to move on. The stain was going bit by bit, and his head cleared enough to remember grabbing a Tide pen later on. But he couldn’t shake off the subtle switch in her expression. That hint of… disappointment when he told her no.

Because neither of them wanted to stop.

“Closing night,” Bruce decided.

“What?”

“We’ll pick this up after closing night. Okay?”

She blinked at him in surprise. In question. In curiosity.

“You need to focus, and I need to do my job,” he reminded her, unable to fight back the amused smile that came with her uncharacteristic lack of witty remark. It’s kind of… cute.

“Okay, deal.” Eden offered her hand. “Closing night.”

He stared at her hand for a moment—the hand that was just on his dick, for fuck’s sake—before gingerly accepting the handshake. With the hand she came all over.

The irony didn’t seem to be lost on them as they started giggling. An honest-to-God, straight-from-the-core giggling that led him to lean in, kissing her one last time. Sure and easy as day, relishing the warmth of her lips as the two of them made the most of it.

Until closing night.

[garmmy]

Which Digimon partners for Genealogy of the Holy War casts would be?

oh! tbh i don't have a very solid idea of partners i want for them (my hcs keep changing anyway), but i actually had a couple of olddd doodles i think i posted on twt but forgot to post the draft here:

i personally see ares with liamon...idk, i feel like liamon has kind of that prideful, fierce young lion vibe that ares has?

actually i’m not sure which lion digimon i’d give eldigan?? i was deliberating between leomon x, bancholeomon, or even saberleomon lol.

and a lil doodle of sigurd with dukemon, because of how dukemon is based on sigurd/siegfried.

i feel like i did draw a picture of seliph with spadamon before, but idk where it went!

and i think i drew leif with leafmon once as a cute joke, but the idea of wommon>stingmon kinda like leif’s promotion from prince>master knight actually feels kinda good (i was thinking about leif with patamon too because idk, i thought a light-affiliated digimon would fit him).

other than that i haven’t really thought too much on fe4 chars’ digimon partners (or i have thought, but didn’t really decide on any partner pairings i felt like..’fit’)?

but that’s my thoughts so far! if anyone has digimon partners ideas for fe4 chars feel free to reply or reblog w tags, i’d love to hear :>