#Will likely not appear in the fic

[topazshadowwolf]

Manifesting Nightmare to get so many crayon drawings for his art collection in gooptales

... Excuse me as I go to the ER. dx: Heart exploded from cuteness overload.

Those drawings will be framed in time and added to his collection of artworks. And no, they do not come down, ever. Even when the boys are restored to their adult selves. Even when they are old. Those drawings are prized possessions to him.

And, more importantly, consider this canon to GoopTales.

[petrichal]

I see him sometimes.

same AU as this

[stars-obsession-pit]

Following an accident, Danny wakes up in Gotham City in a DC universe. Lacking any forms of ID or possessions beyond the clothes on his back, he’s forced to commit some crimes to survive. Minor crimes, but still.

And then he gets caught.

During the court proceedings, they come to the mistaken conclusion that he’s a Meta suffering from some psychiatric issues such as Cotard’s Syndrome (a real rare condition where a person holds the delusional belief that they’re dead/don’t exist/etc).

Thus, between his “need for mental treatment” and the concerns about housing someone with his unique physical traits, he is sentenced to spend time in Arkham Asylum. He’s under pretty low security aside from the anti-Meta stuff and has more freedoms than some other inmates, but it’s still not a great experience. Even at the best of times, Arkham is hardly a nice place.

Some of his fellow residents are decently chill all things considered, but lots very much aren’t.

[panevanbuckley]

soulmate au where your soulmate's thoughts appear on your skin except your soulmate has adhd and your body becomes a living canvas of nonsensical, never-ending, constantly entertaining trails of thought

[megamindsupremacy]

So like, y'all know that popular Star Wars fic trope of Time Traveling Obi-Wan Kenobi where he dies and then wakes up in his 11ish year old body back in the Jedi Temple? You know how usually he wakes up, has a few minutes/hours of confusion, and then goes about trying to act like he was at age 11 while slowly fixing everything wrong with the Jedi Order? Personally I think he would not do that.

I think that Ben "Lived As A Wizard Hermit For Two Decades On Tattooine, Left, And Then Died Immediately" Kenobi would wake up as an eleven-year-old, have a panic attack, attack the nearest adult Jedi while accusing them of Doing Weird Sith Shit To His Brain, fucking flee, only then realize he has time traveled, steal someone's ship, go flying out of the temple to god knows where, continue panicking, crash into a random moon while distracted, nearly die, build a survival camp out of his broken ass ship and eat whatever bugs he can find, get kidnapped by pirates, overthrow said pirates, steal their ship, and then very calmly return to the Jedi temple like nothing happened.

Then and only then do I think he would start trying to act like a normal human person (while also dodging questions such as "what the fuck was that" and "where were you" and "is that a pirate's ship?"), except he'd be bad at it due to having lived as an Insane Wizard Desert Hermit for the past twenty years who has experienced enough trauma and time that he doesn't super well remember the details of his childhood, what with all of the wars and death and wars and such.

His acting convinces nobody, but nobody is sure what exactly to do about All Of That so he's for the most part left alone (after very vehemently refusing sptherapy), all the way up until he catches a glimpse of palpatine out of the corner of his eye and then its On Sight

[demaparbat-hp]

The Crew is boisterous and loud, full of traitors, inside jokes, and secrets. The scum of the Fire Nation. The forgotten tiles on the Empire's Pai Sho board. The ones who change the game.

But most importantly—they're a family. And no matter how much they complain about their boss (teenage menace that he is), they'll do anything for their Prince.

Anything.

.

The Crew is the heart and soul of my fic For the Spirits. No one really knows just how important they will be to the story...how important they already are.

[be-xkyy]

Ok I can't stop thinking about a farmer x a city girl.

Tw: Yandere,smut, forced breeding.

She who is a city girl who studies in a good university, has a nice car, a nice house and a bright future.

She who goes to the countryside every year because her grandfather lives there and she takes advantage of her vacations to go see her favorite grandfather.

She who during one of those visits and when she is on the porch meets the sexy farmer who helps her grandfather with what he needs, she who stays looking at him longer than necessary, absorbing his firm figure and admiring his muscular forearms visible thanks to the rolled up sleeves of his blue shirt that accentuate his sun-tanned skin, his serious brown eyes with long eyelashes and his sexy jaw covered by a short beard...

She who wakes up from her daydream when he says in a thick and firm voice to get out of the way because she is blocking his way and only then she notices the shopping bags in his big hands so she moves awkwardly letting him enter the house.

She who walks into the house while she can't help but think he's a grumpy, rude jerk, she who walks into the kitchen and sees the man leaving the bags on the counter while he talks to his grandfather who smiles when he sees her and formally introduces them.

She who greets him with a sullen nod still offended by his previous attitude while he greets her back in kind while the grandfather rambles on about his favorite granddaughter and how you're so cute, smart and extraordinary... she who notices him silently scoffing at the words of his grandfather who says he'll happily go get the album with your photos from when you were a baby.

She who when they're alone asks him in an annoyed voice what's so funny only for him to reply in a mocking voice something like "I don't think it's very smart to come to the countryside in heels and those clothes... rather I think it's something extraordinarily stupid."

She who gets annoyed by his mocking tone and his sneering look at her shorts and tank top, and she tells him that this is a free country and he can wear whatever he wants and if he doesn't like it he can tear his eyes out.

She who gets even more annoyed when he laughs as he puts the last of his canned soup away in the cupboard, and puts the plastic bags away in a drawer, then approaches her and says in a mocking voice "Why tear my eyes out when I can do something much better... like tear your clothes off?"

She who doesn't know how she ended up pinned face down on the kitchen counter with her shorts and panties caught around her ankles as his fat cock abuses her wet, rubbery pussy, her walls sucking and sucking his cock as if they wanted to get him deeper while one of his calloused hands covers her mouth tightly preventing her moans from escaping.

She who rolls her eyes when he uses his free hand to tightly grab a handful of her hair tilting her head back and sending waves of pain and pleasure to her swollen pussy as he makes her teary eyes look into his dilated eyes.

She who whimpers sharply into his hand as he thrusts hard into her and gets close to her ear and says things like "Such a good girl, just one good fuck was all it took to get rid of your attitude huh?" or "Let daddy turn you into an honest girl, what are those slutty clothes you wear? No. There won't be any more of that for you."

She feels her body shake and her toes tense as his cock hits that spot inside her over and over again making her see stars and causing her orgasm to wash over her and her pussy to tighten around his cock and he growls at the delicious sensation moving his hips harder chasing her orgasm before giving a few more thrusts and staying still deep inside her flooding her insides with his warm semen while she stays limp on the cold counter so fucked that she can't think about anything not even the fact that she's not taking birth control.

The one who can't help but squeeze you with his weight, his chest on your back while his fingers move a strand of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead and whispers in your ear with a dark voice that shivers "You know it's time to settle down, I'm not getting any younger and I want to have at least 8 children, but don't worry honey we have plenty of time to do it... after all you're not going anywhere."

[collophora]

Do yourself a favor and go read the entire fanfic work of @fanfoolishness

(In order: Under sun and shade, Blind Side, and Breathless (patching up is one of my fav too, I just had no cool sketch idea for it)

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

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

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[fanfiction-obsession]

Carl is big on ao3. He has one fic and it’s a 125,542 word long novel that he updates weekly about his two gay ocs and their tumultuous enemies to lovers relationship.

It’s based entirely on Perry the Platypus’ relationship with Heinz Doofenshmirtz.

[ghostbsuter]

Danny got comfortable on the roof, leaning froward with anticipation.

A silent thump and a person slid next to him, Danny barely gave the red head a glance.

"Any reasons to be on the roof at night?"

He shushes the vigilante, eyes not leaving the spot. It has Roy crouching next to him, watching as well.

Out of nowhere, a vampire looking fella flew around wildly, not far behind a ginger woman on a hoverboard, flying after him.

The Lady is shooting lasers with deathly accuracy, the man (?) dodging barely. It had Arsenal hum at the show.

"That's my mom." Danny points at the lady. "The guy she's hunting keeps harassing me so she took matters into her own hands."

Cheshire Cat lands not far away from the two, head tilted with a silent question that had Roy nodding and she is leaping away to the next roof once more.

"Why not call the authorities?" He asks, appearing less tense and more friendly to the teen.

The kid whistles sharp with a grin before answering.

"Tried, unfortunately, he's super rich with influence and connection. So here we are." He shrugs.

While they watch the chaos a bit longer, Roy ignores the insisting buzzing from his comm, Cheshire Cat probably alarmed Oliver by now.

He looks up when Danny stands, stretching.

"What was your name again?" He quirks his brow with a smile.

"I don't remember telling you."

Roy rolls his eyes, joining the teen to his feet. "So?"

"Danny."

He steps off the roof before Roy can react, a shout building up, until he sees the kid sitting on the hoverboard of his mother, her hand ruffling his hair.

"See ya, Arsenal."

They're long gone when Arsenal huffs, laughing.

"Until next time, Danny."

[fireheartpages]

other plans | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader chapter one. series masterlist summary: everyone has their demons, you just chose to run from yours. straight to basgiath war college. and definitely not towards the grinning tall, dark, and handsome marked rider that seemed too kind to be in a hardened place like the rider's quadrant. word count: 2.1k ish notes: second person pov but i give the reader a nickname (that i stole from dirty dancing) and a last name bc i'm not using y/n and i want this to be readable. she/her pronouns used for reader. this has been stuck in my head and i thought i was gonna combust if i didn't get it on page. and it's all together hovering somewhere around 7k words so im gonna split it up and post it all within the next few days and then have the whole thing available on ao3! i haven't written fanfiction in at least a good six months, and i've never written for fourth wing, so bare with me a little--i tried my best. i have a chronic attachment to side characters with little to no page time. half of this was written while wine tipsy and all of it was proofread while wine drunk, so we die like men

Bodhi has never seen someone walk across the parapet so easily.

He's never seen someone make a dance out of it. As if it were a show, a production. Your feet are so confident, so sure with every step, every placement that you would make it to the next. It's pouring rain and windy as all hell, and yet you make the parapet look like a children's balance beam.

You land right in front of him, and by the time your eyes meet his, he's already decided that he needs to know everything he possibly can about you. The instant your focus lands on him, he's obsessed.

Garrick has other plans.

"Name?"

"Baby," you say, and Bodhi blinks. "Marho."

Garrick is downright gawking at you. "Baby?"

Something that sounds much more like a name and not what an infant is called slips out on a laugh, and Bodhi can't help but trace the lean lines of your neck. Holy shit. If he thought you were pretty before, it was dwarfed to the sound of your laugh. The sun had to fight for space when you smiled.

"Sorry. Childhood nickname, I forget I have another one sometimes."

"Did your parents nickname you after a hooker?" Garrick asks, jotting your name--the true one--on the roll.

"Did yours raise you to be a dick?" you ask, not missing a beat, and the boy's gaze snaps up to you. If Bodhi had been looking anywhere else, his would have too, but he hadn't taken his eyes off of you since the moment you stepped foot onto the parapet. He felt his brow shoot up, lips parting on a huff.

He bursts out laughing.

You don't move. Don't take your eyes from Garrick, from staring him down, until he tips his head in inclination and gives something that sounds like an apology. It's Bodhi's turn to be the subject of your scrutiny now, and as your eyes trace his shape, shifting with the weight of your gaze and his laugh, he senses more than sees the moment you note his rebellion relic. Your face doesn't shift, but it's as if a proverbial file is created and tucked away into the archive of your mind.

You didn't say anything else as you walk away from the two boys, but Bodhi tracks you as you go. Tracks your movements, as you weave through the crowd with a practiced grace, how your hair moves as you take the stairs down and out of his sight.

He's almost sorry to see you go. But he's determined to see you again.

Bodhi snatches the roll sheet from Garrick as parapet comes to an end, scanning to make sure he has the name correct. He marches up to Xaden, and only pausing for a moment to consider how stupid this is--he literally doesn't know a single thing about you--before throwing your name into the space between them.

"I want her in my section."

"Don't you have better things to do than flirt with children?" Xaden asks impassively.

"She's not a literal baby."

"I'm aware of that," he responds, sounding exasperated. "You're an Executive Officer, Bodhi. Do what you want."

Except Dain Aetos has other plans.

You made friends. You stand with the Sorrengail girl and another he didn't recognize, tucking loose strands of hair back into her coronet braid. What type of person fixed the hair of someone they'd just met? You, apparently.

You're in Second Wing. With Aetos and Sorrengial and the other girl. This is fine. Something about you didn't scream "secret rebel" the way wanted it too.

And then Xaden transfers your squad to Fourth Wing. He had sent Bodhi a glance as he put the squad in Flame section--not Tail--and Bodhi could see there was some sort of ulterior motive behind the decision. It did also mean you weren't under his direct chain of command. He couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing

Fraternization is frowned upon, not forbidden, after all.

Not that you would be fraternizing. After all.

But, challenging you would be a terrible idea. Terribly adverse, fatally cataclysmic, and ill-fated.

And all of those words mean the same thing.

He would stay clear, watch you from afar, and maybe, maybe work up the courage to talk to you outside of parapet. Possibly.

His confidence needed some serious shaping. Since when was he afraid to talk to someone? A pretty someone, to say the least. He was a gods damned dragon rider. He wasn't afraid to talk to you. He was just... hesitant.

Yeah. That. And he did not need a challenge to break the ice.

Emetterio has other ideas.

He calls your name, then Bodhi's, and Bodhi is pretty sure his heart stops in his chest.

You don't look frazzled or scared, just curious as you study him from head to toe. He guards himself as if you were an intruder in his mind, an Inntinnsic slipping in to spill all his secrets. Except you're an unbounded first year that hasn't even developed a signet, and instead that's just you. He's building up walls just to look at you. You and those bright, keen eyes.

Emetterio calls it, and you're off. Except neither of you move. You pace around, and it's a stand off. You cock your head, and Bodhi tries every trick in the book: the fakes out, glances quickly off to the side, purposefully stumbles--and you're unfazed. Completely and utterly unfazed.

He can't make the first move. He can't hit you--

Suddenly, his feet are out from under him, and he's staring at the ceiling, and you lunge, reaching to pin him to the floor. He reaches out and catches the elbow you throw, but before he can even make contact, you twist, sliding underneath him, and suddenly you're behind him.

You're fast. Really fucking fast. And suddenly, Bodhi has his work cut out for him.

You kick out again, going to the back of his knees, and he recognizes the move, thrusting his body forward to keep control and twisting before he lands, kipping up so you're eye-level again.

Your first catches his nose, and blood goes flying. He makes the mistake of bringing his hands up to cup his nose and it leaves his core exposed. You take the opportunity to land a knee in his gut, probably bruising a few ribs in there, and he doubles over, the wind having been knocked from him. Holy shit, he needs to get at least one hit in. This was getting embarrassing.

He swings blindly, and you dodge--but you don't grab his fist. And you had the perfect opportunity to. You were fast, and your reflexes were quick, but you didn't know how to end this. The realization crashes into him as you swing again. A lot of force, but no follow-though, giving him the perfect opportunity to deflect, pushing your fist and forcing the follow-through until you were swinging behind him with his hand around your wrist and then he was bringing you to him, one of his arms gripping one of yours across your neck, and the other twisting your other behind your back. Like this, your body was flush against his.

You struggle, kicking out, but it was all too easy for him to get your feet out from under you. You weren't small by any means, but Bodhi was bigger, and had a year of training over you. Your feet kicked out, and all he had to do was lean back to incapacitate you. You gave a frustrated grunt that so heavily affected him that he almost dropped you to make sure you were okay before he realized where he was and what he was doing.

"Finish her without making a fool of yourself, please," Cuir chimes in, probably sensing his hesitation and near-miss, and Bodhi sends an eye roll he hopes he can feel, since he doesn't have the brain space to say anything back, with your body pressed against his and the current task at hand.

He twists and take you both to the ground, pinning both your hands above your head, and taking a leg beneath his foot, balancing on a knee. You let out a sharp huff, and he's mesmerized by the way your nose scrunches up in determination. Your free leg goes to knee him, and he takes the hit, leaning into it before transferring your hands so they're both pinned between one of his, sliding one hand down your hip and to your thigh, holding it to the gourd before you can knee him again. He has a free knee to hold him up, but not without giving leverage to one of your legs. So he's pressed against you, hip to hip, face to face.

"Yield," he says, begs, because he can't hold this for long, and because if you figure out just how much you affect him, you'd win this thing in a matter of heartbeats.

"No," you grind out, thrashing. He's spread thin: his wingspan practically encompassing your body, giving you leverage to wear against him. He worries for a moment, a flash of the bruise he could leave on your thigh going through his mind, and two thoughts overtake him at once.

One, that he doesn't want to hurt you. And that while it may be inevitable with where you two stood, he wanted to try and eliminate the possibility as best he could.

Two, that he would leave bruises all up and down your thighs if he ever got the chance to get between them.

And the combination of the two of those thoughts loosened his grip on you, giving you the opportunity to roll away.

"I did not choose someone this negligent," Cuir snaps, and Bodhi panicks, and now you're pinned underneath him again, his front pressed to your backside, and it's a true plea when he breathes, "Yield."

"No!" You squirm, and fuck stop doing that--

"Get yourself together!" Cuir snaps, and Bodhi sucks in a sharp breath.

"That's enough," Emetterio says, pinning you with a look Bodhi would pick dragon fire over. "Know when to quit, Cadet Marho."

"No!" you yelp. "If this were a real fight, no one is calling the shots--"

"If this was a real fight, you'd be dead. I called it. Get off the mat," Emetterio snaps, and Bodhi scrambles off of you.

He offered you a hand that you send a pointed look at, and he can tell you're considering telling him where to shove it, but you take it anyway, and he walks you off the mat with a hand on your shoulder.

"Good match," Bodhi says, genuinely trying.

You open your mouth to respond, looking like you yourself could spit fire for a second, and Bodhi pities the dragon you end up bonded to for a moment.

"You're fast," he continues, before you can. "Quick reflexes, and you're strong."

"I had you," you throw at him, fiery and determined, and your gaze slips to his rebellion relic.

Oh. So, that's what this is about.

Bodhi shakes his head, and the grin that had been blooming falters. "I can help," he says. "If you're struggling with sparring, I can help."

You suck in a breath.

"Or Imogen. Or Xaden. Or--" he stops, because, fuck, obviously you don't want to be near Marked ones--

"Thank you," you say, and the ghost of the smile he saw after the parapet makes a reappearance. "Thank you."

And with that, you turn and leave, heading back to your squad. Rhiannon is shaking her head at you, and Violet mumbles something that makes you laugh. Bodhi would bottle that sound if he could. What the hell was a countering signet for? His signet should be used for bottling the sound of your laugh--

"Do not finish that thought," Cuir chides. "Get a grip."

Bodhi grins, his hair falling over his temple as Garrick comes up and slaps him on the back, congratulations on a challenge well fought. He watches you take a swig from the water canteen, traces the lines of your jaw down to your shoulder until you hand it back, then traces the length of your wrist as you hand it--

"Pathetic." Cuir. "You haven't spoken."

"We kind of did," Bodhi says mentally. "I offered. I... tried."

"If you like her, try harder," he chides, and Bodhi sighs.

He doesn't like you, he barely knows you.

"Sure."

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Mrs. C watching Dallas wrestle Pony to the ground, grab Darry by the hair, pin Steve to the wall, n sweep Two-Bit's legs out from under him bc they weren't listening to her

shout out to @thedeitywhoplayedwithbricks for never being wrong ever😭

[stars-obsession-pit]

Tim has found his soulmate (not a soulmate AU, just in the like “i think we’re totally meant to be together” way). Well, okay, it’s entirely one-sided so far, but he’s sure SpecterNova will reciprocate once they’re in proper contact.

He’s already found everything he publicly can on the youtuber, but he’s still digging deeper. It’s weirdly difficult—his love must like his privacy!—but he’s making headway.

On the other end, Danny is getting nervous about the dedication of his new internet stalker. Even with Tucker’s help in setting up his online security and the scrambling effects of ectoplasm, they can tell that the person is still making progress. They don’t seem like they’re a part of the GIW, but that doesn’t mean their search can’t harm him in some other way.

He really hopes he doesn’t have to change identities again. Having to do it the first time to flee the GIW was bad enough, and he’s been liking his current life.

[missconchshell]

do y'all ever end up entering a fandom entirely through fanfic osmosis? like, you stumble across a fic in a new fandom, say, "ooh, this sounds neat," and then three days later you are knee-deep in the trenches with thirty different ao3 tabs open at once? and end up finding yourself being like, "that's so out of character! X wouldn't do that!" despite never having actually seen the original material?

[azurem]

He looks at Ink. They've been in the room for an hour or so, not even talking. It's cozy and warm, but Nightmare can't help but think this instance could work as... a place to deepen their relationship. Bonds growing closer and all that, he supposes. Sounds nice in retrospect.

He squints his eye. Ink isn't even looking at him. So of course, any interaction-start would fall to him. A new situation, but nothing world ending. No, he's been reading about this kind of thing for years, decades even. He knows what to do. Theoretically.

They're already in a relationship, so he could be more daring. It's expected of him. Ink stopped reacting particularly flustered to any subtle flirting a long time ago, so it's not weird for him to try and... Raise the level, per say. Of course. He needs a more direct phrase with romantic implications. Short and easy.

Ink seems to sense his long minute stare, so they look at him. They still don't talk, simply looking at him with those eyes that could very well pierce him.

This is his moment. This is. A moment. A moment. (His moment?)

They look to the side before looking back at him, smiling. "...Do I have something—"

"I bet any children we'd have would well survive into adulthood."

They look at each other. It's kind of painful up until Ink snorts, looking away as they press a hand to their mouth, a hint of paint trailing down their chin.

...Hm. Mission fulfilled, he presumes.

(As Ink starts wheezing, he starts somewhat doubting that claim)