#almost like it’s a subconscious impulse for them to look better than they feel!

[guppybibi]

Late WIP Wednesday ..

(aaa km not sure if i should finish this, it started off strong but just fell off and now my brain isnt working)

Simon’s home & marriage was his refuge, until it wasn't. He knew something wasn't right when you were coincidentally prepared for his return, all dolled up when you greeted him with an “I miss you” kiss. No, he was sure it wasn't you when he saw that the dinner table was prepared with a generous spread of food on it.

There was no reason for you to come this prepared, everytime he comes home from deployment is a surprise. So..how exactly are you this ready? It didn't sit right with him, the whole thing felt like it came out of a painfully obvious scripted reality TV show.

But food was food and after countless weeks spent eating barely edible MRE’s, a home cooked meal was all he needed. Sluggishly, he sat down at his unsaid designated spot at the dinner table. He closely watched if you would sit down at your designated spot, if you didn't; that’d explained a lot. You do end up sitting at your spot, it wasn't all that hard to do though. Dinner with you was unsettling to say the least, all of the small talk you were making felt forced, it’s barely been an hour and he already feels like he's going crazy.

He knows more than to question you upfront though, having gone through enough interrogations to know that he should take his time and that you could get hostile if things don't go your way. You could be a threat for all he knew, and it's better to be safe than sorry. Unsure if it was the right decision, he starts out some sort of small talk himself, asking you some seemingly innocent questions.

“What were yer up to while I was gone, luv?” He asks mid chew. “Oh not much, I just picked up a new hobby actually. Clay sculpting! I've been watching online tutorials, I could say I’ve been getting the hang of it if I do say so myself.” Liar, was all he could think while he subconsciously nodded to your words. You hated clay, not fond of the texture it had and the way it’d get stuck under your nails. Perhaps it was another one of your impulsive decisions, jumping into conclusions should be the last thing he should be doing. It could cost him more harm than good, so he lets it slide. For now at least.

“Sculpting eh? That's new, have ye finished any?” He pauses, swallowing his food. “I’d love to see them.” A spark lights up in your eyes, but it didn't look right. There's a lit candle in there but it's far, far away. The lack of life in your eyes makes his stomach spin like there's a guinea pig rolling around in their wheel in there, it made him want to puke. He wasn't the biggest fan of prolonged eye contact anyway, so he’ll just avoid looking you in the eye to prevent making a mess. “Oh yeah I actually do! They're already displayed on top of our shelves, I’ll show them to you after.” You exclaim, if that was you anyway, which it wasn't.

Dinner passed at an uncomfortably slow pace, Simon swore he could hear each individual tick and tock of the clock, the scraping of utensils against the porcelain plates and each chew you took. He’s gone through debatably louder things than this, the booms of the explosions were unforgettable after all but this somehow takes the cake. Wanting to distract himself further, he helps with washing the dishes which you normally did but you specifically chose today to help do the other minor chores. Water, that was your weak point. He noticed it, you didn't drink water after dinner either. What kind of monster doesn't drink water to hydrate after eating roasted pork?

To test out this thought of his, he decided to ask another question. “I'm heading to the shower, luv. Care to join me?” Meekly, he suggests to you, deep brown eyes staring intently as he awaited the already expected answer. “Oh I..actually already showered earlier dear. Maybe next time.” A dishearteningly dismissive reply, just like he expected. “Alright, suit yourself luv. I'll be back.”

He thought about it, almost forgetting about the bubbly soap running down his body from how deep in thought he was. There was no doubt about it anymore, everything about you being you, pointed away. At this point, he didn't care what the fake you was anymore, rather where you actually were. You could've been dead for all he knew, replaced by the soulless woman that now roams around his home.

This was beyond cruel, beyond the pain physical torture could've caused. It was like the universe was a cat and he was a yarn ball, being played by it meticulously. The whole thing was definitely planned out by a certain someone he knew, the both of you are fairly private so it couldn't have been a random person. He couldn't handle this alone, as much as he’d hate to admit, the situation was way bigger than him to do alone. So, he decides to call a trusted someone.

“You tellin’ me ye think your wife got abducted or something..and a doppelgänger replaced her?” A gruff voice questions, lightly tapping his cigar against the side of the ashtray. Price, him and Kate are the only members of the Task Force so far that Simon allowed you to meet. Well, it unfortunately looks like the sergeants won't get to meet you under these circumstances just yet. Strangely enough, the clocks inside the pub weren't working. Must be a malfunction. The masked man nodded, sighing through his nose when he got a whiff of the alcohol-filled air in the bar.

“I feel so.” He grumbled. “Couldn't she be just having an off day? We all have those, Simon.” John opposes it, it was an unquestionable possibility they couldn't simply ignore. “No, I know my wife. In my years of being with her, she's never acted this way.” Ghost hissed back, a hint of crystal clear impatience seeping out from his words. The lack of respect in his tone wasn't intended, but what could he do when his wife is apparently kidnapped and replaced so seamlessly? “I guess you have a point, but you need to confirm it Simon. You shouldn't make any decision on impulse, if the woman in your home really isn't your wife then this is a bigger issue.”

Then the plan was set, still a little all over the place but there really wasn't any time to lose. Simon would further observe the woman who's allegedly ‘you’ to make sure he isn't making things up, then if he was incredibly sure it wasn't you, he’ll head to the police and file a report for a missing person. In all honesty, it wasn't hard to do, having gone through missions more intense than this. Yet the fact that you were involved made the bugs inside of him crawl, this was totally his fault.

He didn't hide you away from the world enough, he should've just kept you locked inside a cage like the little birdie you were to avoid any danger coming your way. Simon wasn't stupid though, that was inhumane, you were one of the only few people who has managed to make Simon feel less of a ghost and more of a human. So doing such a thing to you was unethical and out of the books, but how could you blame him for subconsciously letting his possessiveness and worry take over when you're literally so far from his grasp? Being so near before that he could easily grip at the back of your top, now so far that the trace of your scent is long gone.

It makes Simon feel sick, his core being left to rot. He comes from the pub to what felt like an empty house, not home because nothing would feel like home without you there. He’d rather be living in a pile of rocks and plywood with you than in a giant mansion without you, that would be the real hell. “Bloody hell..where are you?” He murmurs under his breath, stressedly rubbing his creased forehead. If he could, he’d pry at every surface that comes up within his sight just to find you.

“I’m back.” He whispers, unsure if the fake you was asleep or not. Anyone, human or not wouldn't be happy being woken up from their slumber. “Welcome home, hun. You alright?” Looking up from your cup of tea, you ask. “Yeah, just spoke with the Captain. That's all, no alcohol.” Simon was so used to you being a worrywart about his alcohol intake, telling you that he didn't have any alcohol is practically ingrained into the wrinkles of his brain. But the woman in front of him didn't seem to care less about his health, let alone him in general. The lack of nagging that usually filled his ears to the brim didn't feel right, he would've much rather gone through another one of your yap sessions about how constant alcohol intake affects him in the long run than..just silence.

He feels the desperation inching up on him, eating him whole. At this point, he's willing to admit he doesn't want you. He needs you. He needs to hear your fretful complaints about him getting deployed, knowing you’d shut up because you were used to it by now. He needs you to tell him to include more vegetables in his diet because he's not some kind of carnivore to be eating that much meat. God, he just needs you with him. Whatever bloody thing came with you he’d take like it was on a stupid Black Friday sale.

“Not yet..” He’d think every single night, eyes wide open as he prevents himself from making a rash decision. The woman sleeping soundly right next to him, if that was you..But it wasn't, even if he stared at the unfamiliar woman for ten hours straight, she wouldn't just magically turn into you. Well sure, she was a carbon copy of you from head to toe but she simply just didn't scream ‘you’. Whatever and whoever you were anyway.

“When all is said and done, I think it'll end well Simon. My gut feeling tells me so, it's rarely ever wrong so I’m pretty sure we should trust it.” You ramble on and on, the little amount of alcohol taking over your lightweight self. Simon was still courting you here, yet he remembers it like it's been replayed in his mind like a broken record. He trusted your gut, and he could consider that as one of the best choices he's ever made in life.

But..trusting you now? While you're probably out, all shivering & teeth clattering from the immense cold night? Impossible, he’s fully aware that you're a capable strong woman however..how far can his trust go? How far do you have to venture into someone’s soul to gain their fragile trust, something that can be easily broken with your own bare hands? Ghost doesn't trust you, but Simon does.

“You're a strong gal, you can hold on for much longer.” He supposes, deep in thought while he flipped around in bed. The fake you hasn't set off any red flags yet, acting normal. Too normal. He knew ‘you’ had a purpose for being here, one with malicious intent, though what exactly? One wouldn't simply come in here and replace his wife with a fake one just out of spite, unless they were a little cuckoo. Tossing aside to check the time, he presses the ‘on’ button on his phone. Weird, the time didn't show up. Maybe it's just a glitch in the system.

“Simon, Hey? Simon, wake up. Hurry, you need to get up.” A voice shakes, lightly nudging him in order to awake him. It's your voice, he can instantly sense its meekness. With one eye and another, they flutter open, still full of sleep in them. “Oh thank goodness, you're awake! But you seriously need to wake up, like right now.” You crooned, hoping he’d fully wake up to the sound of your voice. Groaning, Simon sat up, a few joints popping in the process. “What..? Yeah, I’m awake luv. Whad’ya need me for?” He questions groggily, eyes opening further once he gets a closer look at you. It's actually you, he can tell! The way your eyes meet his, connecting like a bee landing on a precious flower. The way your voice lilted to him like a mother bird nursing her hatchlings, it really was you.

“Wait–luv? You're here? Bloody hell, you actually are–Did you see the other gal who looked just like you? Tell me I’m not losing my shit please.” Then you shushed him, convinced he’ll continuously go on and on if you didn't. “Please listen to me closely, Simon.” You pause, noticing how his eyes bask in yours like it was long overdue. “You need to wake up, hurry.”

[a-libra-writes]

Rocky Rickaby x gn or fem reader who is really REALLY physically affectionate headcannons? Like i'm talking giving him a nice smooch on the lips from time to time for no reason, hugging and or cuddling Rocky when they or he wants sum and giving him small pecks and kisses on his forehead, cheek, sometimes nose and ALWAYS giving him compliments and words of reassurance when they see that Rocky's feeling a bit down in the dumps. While savagely telling or killing the person off.

I'm totally normal abt him bro dw

Okay so I got MANY requests for a Part 2 on the first Rocky HCs, so Im using this as a jumping off point! Lots of affectionate GN Reader in here, and i have. So many thoughts. So lets goooo

Obviously ... Rocky loves all this attention. When he initially started crushing on you, any attention was good and wanted, but especially the smiles and approving words. The best part in those early months was the fussing. Since he's always in some kind of state, you'd call Rocky over to smooth coat or tidy some leaves out of his hair.

He'd actually keep still, too excited and surprised to think of moving while your hands pawed over him - even if it just lasted a few seconds. At some point you'd clean dirt (or was that blood?) off his face with one of your hankerchiefs, and you better believe he always "forgot" to return it. Maybe if he knew you'd be at the cafe, he wouldn't fix himself up, hoping you might be inclined to do it instead. Maybe.

Anytime you initiated some closer form of contact - first the fussing, then maybe touching his face, then perhaps hugging - he always freezes for just a second, then immediately accepts and melts into it. And after that, he's more than happy to initiate the same kind of affection.

It's almost like Rocky needs to "wait" for permission, to have someone else cross that line first. Like he isn't allowed to, or rather - the wait is better than potential rejection. This is doubly so if you're more of a posh cat, or perhaps someone whose more closed off. Impulsive and adoring as he is, the thought of frightening you away or you being repulsed by him is too painful a thought. Once you make it clear that he can "cross" a new line in the relationship, he practically leaps over it. As time goes on he won't have these worries nearly as much. They're mostly subconscious, too - an anxiety he can't figure or name, and he'd rather not dwell on it.

Honestly, if you aren't a physically affectionate person, it'll be tough. Rocky really thrives off it and sees it as an affirmation of your feelings, though he soaks up the praise and loving words, being physically close, held and accepted just hits different. And ... combining both the physical and verbal affection? Yeah, he's just. Doe-eyed and lovestruck. It's both sweet and a little sad how desperately happy it makes him.

Your loving words don't even have to be anything effusive or overly romantic - simple appreciation for when he helps you out (or tries to), daily "I love you"s, complimenting something about him, expressing happiness at spending time with him, it all goes straight to his heart and his head. If he goes too long without it, Rocky will prompt you for praise and attention. Before you two were a couple, Ivy teased him about it - "You're always looking for them to pat you on the head!" Yes, and what of it? If you're someone whose older or at least seemed more mature and collected, your approval only matters all the more, as is his desire to impress you.

This also means if you're ever upset or cross with him, he takes it to heart as well. Icing him out, trying to do the silent treatment, etc seriously messes with him. Rocky will completely blame himself and spiral and it won't be pretty, so it's best to resolve the fights maturely and with a level head. Yes, he tries to act like he isn't hurt or terrified you'll leave. It's an act, and a poor one at that.

Since he's so noodly, it's easy to wrap your arms around Rocky's torso for a big hug! He loves it, of course, he'll return the favor and lift you right up (or ... try to, anyway). He'll even (try to) spin you around! If you let him, Rocky will just stay clinging and lean on you, inquiring about your day and what you're up to. He likes to rest his chin on your shoulder or your head, his tail happily whapping at your leg while he chatters.

He'd really love it if you just let him curl up in your arms on a couch or something - seriously, when's the last time he's had that? It's almost a novel experience, and even better if you're a bigger and floofier cat! He'll have moments of disbelief that this is real, that you're allowing it and you want the clingy sleepy snuggles. Sometimes he falls asleep because you're so comfy and warm. Again, when is the last time he's had a warm, safe and cozy place to sleep? When ??

(Semi-related note, he can fall asleep in the weirdest positions and places. Years of being homeless will do that.)

Oh! And the kisses. Kisses are good, they are great. Even the little ones on the cheek or his brow. He's not totally shameless so any lingering or deeper kisses in private (and ofc if you're masc, that's just safer). I mean he could just kiss and hug you forever, he just gets drunk on all the affection and love. Definiately the sort of person to just make out and be totally content; he'll get pretty cheeky and bitey, too. If you have a tickle spot, look out. It will be found. Also, if he's already in a manic-happy mood, expect random lines of poetry between the kisses.

(Zib always notices when there's lovebites or lipstick left on him and comments on it. Rocky almost never notices but !! It makes him oddly happy, even as he immediately covers/cleans up.)

Also if you go on bootlegging jobs with him, there's probably a "no PDA until certain danger has passed" rule because of uh, certain past incidents. If you two start getting touchy-feely then Freckle coughs VERY loudly and tries not to die of embarrassment.

Even when you two are in a situation where there can't be any PDA - maybe you're masc presenting, maybe you're in front of friends who don't approve or you're in a "business" meeting with some sketchy sorts - He still wants to stand very close, shoulder-to-shoulder. Rocky isn't aware how much he'll touch your shoulder, pat your head, pat your back, and so on.

Alas, he can't play his violin for you while smooching and hugging. He still likes to hum melodies to work on later. Looking at you just makes them pop into his head. That means cuddling isn't this serene quiet thing, you two are chattering or he's humming something against your skin. Oh, and he's great at remembering your favorite songs, whether they're folksy, jazz, classical - he has the range!

Since you're around him so often, you'll notice when Rocky's happy-go-lucky mask begins to slip. He'd try even harder to keep it up around you, not wanting to "scare" you off, but no one can keep that momentum up forever. You'll have to reassure him, many times, that he doesn't have to pretend around you. If he's troubled, he should tell you. It's going to take time (and probably a life threatening injury) before you get the full extent of his loneliness and fears. He's been burying it for years, after all. Slowly, he'll bring up bits of his past and his parents, but you won't get much unless he's under the influence or wounded.

It's been said before but, yes, it's obvious to anyone with a pulse how much he adores you. Some people he knows don't even know you're name because he always refers to you as his angel from on high, his auspicious muse, his grandest sweetheart, his Helen of Troy, so on and so forth. It's just. endless. If you're a more high-class sort of person, and/or someone whose very level-headed or serious, they don't hide their surprise to learn you two are together. There might be blunt questions, like what do you see in him. He won't admit it, but those inquiries do hurt Rocky's feelings, albeit he laughs it off. He's quite happy if you stick up for him and express that you're very happy with him, thank you very much.

So, yes. You have this particular bootlegging music-playing poetry-reciting man around your finger. Treat him well and don't let him go off and do stupid things for your sake. If you asked anything of Rocky, he'd do it in a heartbeat, but that sort of intense devotion isn't always in his interest. Maybe that devotion gets a little obsessive, especially on his insecure days. A more steady and mature partner would help pump the breaks on that, while someone more on his wavelength would uh .... Well, it'd be absolutely chaotic, but at least it'd be fun?

[billy-cockblock]

REV AU one shot: Chris finds out

Crawls out of my hole covered in blood and mold: I don't know why this was so hard to write, but the writer's block is hitting me hard. I could see several parts of this scene so clearly in my head, but my brain just really didn't want to put words to paper. Once my brain's better I'll probably come and edit this a bit, but I hope y'all enjoy it. It's definitely one or the favorite scenes I've come up with.

He quickly lifted heavy limbs, picking them up from the ground. Leon’s vision had gone dark, but his rapidly came into focus. 

He fumbled for the gun dropped when they went flying, foreign hands finding familiar purchase against the metal. Taking aim, he let off a volley of shots at the monsters encroaching on them. 

They were tougher than infected he’d faced before; the center body of the strange knife-whipping tentacles needing to be basically shredded before they died, and bullet holes slowly sealed over with black tendrils if it wasn’t killed completely. 

He felt like he was wasting ammo, but it just took so many bullets to drop the monsters. The larger one that’d flung them across the room and slammed Leon’s head into a desk was getting closer, lumbering steps slow. He tried to shoot its head like the rest of them, but the gun only clicked.

He swore under his breath and pulled Leon’s knife out; he hated close-quarters combat, but he didn’t have time to reload. Diving past flailing, dangerous limbs, he buried the knife in its main body. It grabbed and sliced at them, but he kept stabbing and cutting until it was too shredded to keep moving. He shoved it with more strength than he was used to, and it fell to the ground, dead.

Head still on a swivel, he made sure there were no more infected. The room looked clear, but there were a few desks and filing cabinets something could hide behind. 

While he checked the room over, Ethan took a breath. He felt bad for having to break his promise of not taking control, but Leon wasn’t waking up in time. He’d pull back once Leon woke up, but it felt like he’d gotten a concussion with how hard he’d gotten his head hit. He spread his mold, stitching closed the scratches and scrapes Leon’s body had accrued. Skin and muscle was easy to regenerate, then pull his network from, and it’d almost become second nature since he’d gotten permission from Leon. 

Nerves were a little harder. The mold naturally liked to cling to the nervous system, trying to take control and upload a person’s consciousness to the megamycete. It preferred to envelop or take over nerves, and that took more coaxing from Ethan to get it to untangle. 

That’s why he was hesitating trying to do something about the concussion. He’d done his best to take control of Leon’s motor functions without getting the mold too tangled with his brain, but he’d have to root even deeper if he wanted to heal it. He subconsciously felt along his connection from the megamycete to the brain-

He froze. Damaged cartilage, more mold present, fractured vertebrae, and frayed nerves. A lot of frayed nerves. 

He reached for the back of Leon’s neck, both with the body’s hand and his mold. The joints in the spine felt like they’d been misaligned before snapping back into place, nearly severing Leon’s entire spinal cord. His brain still sent and received continuous waves of signals to and from the body, impulses carried across the gap by Ethan’s mold network tangling with Leon’s nervous system. 

Ethan felt like he was going to be sick. Or, as sick as he could feel in the state he was in. He didn’t think Leon hit his head that badly, but he guessed his neck did snap in a weird angle when they hit that desk. 

After the horrific stories Leon had told him, a desk is what would have done him in?

He tried to pull the nerve fibers back together, but the mold that had taken their places was stubborn. It had locked itself firmly in place to keep the cord from coming detached and shutting down Leon’s body functions. He’s glad it obeyed when he tried to program it to protect Leon without his input, but he needed the mold to move if he wanted to heal it enough that he could remove it. He’d have to work to remove his network from his nerves anyway, so he might as well work on healing the concussion. He could practically hear the megamycete sing in joy as he spread to repair the battering Leon’s brain had taken-

“Close call, huh?” a familiar voice asked from behind them, making him tense up. 

“Y-yeah, no kidding,” he replied, trying his best to speak like Leon. He nearly enveloped the man’s brain to speed his healing; he needed Leon awake now. 

“I got worried when I saw one of them toss you, but I knew you’d have it handled,” Chris Redfield continued, none the wiser that he wasn’t talking to the real Leon. Ethan could hear him do that dumb slow pace he does while talking, where he wouldn’t look at him; dramatic asshole. Leon would’ve been dead if he didn’t have the mold. “You aren’t hurt too bad, though? Or infected?”

“No, I’ve had worse,” he replied, echoing what Leon said every time he’d close his wounds. He did his best to keep casual while hiding every inch of skin he could. His dark veins under Leon’s skin were visible even on his hands, and Ethan was sure his face was worse. 

“True, but this is my case,” Chris stopped his pacing and sighed. “This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t lost control of E-003.” A bolt of white-hot anger flared through Ethan’s entire network, and he felt a tingle from Leon’s brain. “Someone got to her, and-“

“What did you call Rose?” a voice, distinctly not Leon’s, left his mouth. Ethan whirled around without thinking, face pinched in anger, before freezing, rage forgotten. 

He met Chris’s eyes for the first time in sixteen years, and it was like the horror and dread never left them since that day in Europe. 

Without breaking eye contact, Chris pulled his pistol from its holster but kept it trained on the ground. With his other hand, he clicked the radio on his shoulder.

“Redfield reporting,” his gravelly voice didn’t give anything away, but Ethan couldn’t let him finish. “Kennedy’s been-”

A pillar of mold extending from Leon’s arm slammed him in the shoulder and enveloped the radio. He rolled with the force and raised his gun. The bullets aimed straight for Leon’s head harmlessly embedded themselves in a thick, carapace-like shield formed on his other arm.

Ethan had to get them out of there. The door was behind Chris, but the windows behind them were busted. They were on the second floor, so climbing to the roof would be better.

With half a plan, he tried to form tendrils to drag them back while he kept guarding their front. The mold twisted up in the space the megamycete laid in and instead formed four long, spider-like legs from Leon’s back. 

Whatever, I can work with it, he thought, sending a tendril off his arm to pull Chris’s feet out from under him. He lifted them off the ground, pulling them back to the window. He found it with the limbs and hooked them outside the frame. He grew claws over Leon’s hands to scramble up the side, earning him a bullet to leg once his guard was dropped. He ignored Chris’s shouts as he climbed over the edge of the roof and jumped for another.

He strengthened his legs and used the spidery limbs to get him as far from Chris as he could. He wouldn’t let Leon get found out, he wouldn’t let him get killed, and he’d only stay until he knew Rose was safe. Now he just had to find a place to settle down enough to finish Leon’s healing.

A sudden stab of pain to his consciousness nearly sent him careening off a roof. He thought it might’ve been something from the megamycete trying to fight its way out before he heard him.

What the hell was that?! Leon mentally shouted; he was wrestling for control back to his body, and was doing a damn good job of it. You promised! And why did you attack Chris?!

Ethan pulled any mold back back from his skin and shoved control back so fast, Leon fell to his knees.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… he said on repeat. He felt Leon’s shoulders loose a little tension as he shakily stood to find cover behind an air conditioner. Once he’d gotten settled down, he laid a hand on his chest over where the megamycete rested.

“Hey,” he said, tapping his chest to get Ethan’s attention. “I feel like I missed something while I was out. Mind filling me in?”

[runningfrom2am]

6. reader telling sejanus how they should trust each other but her being out to get coryo and coryo being out to get sejanus.

7. coryo thinking that reader staying in the capitol was better than her being in district 12 all the while he knew she would be dead or missing a tongue.

8. the slight implication of reader possibly looking older than her age.

9. the trauma and in the absence of the authority figure how it turns to rage.

10. coryo and reader having mirroring thoughts.

11. between freedom versus security, reader choosing the latter time and time again even though she wants to want freedom.

part two!!

same thing, tea and spoilers and thoughts and all of it below the cut:

6. no literally like she genuinely does not see a problem with it. i feel like in her head she’s like “we saved his life, why wouldn’t he trust us” and literally cannot look past that to see anything else she’s ever done wrong in her entire life. she’s new here, everything that happened in the capitol is “erased” (except for when it conveniences her. ie., having risked her life to save sejanus and coryo and/or using her anger against her father to justify hurting someone else (ash), she said she wanted to kill him, would she tho?)

7. his selfishness has almost no limits imo. he claims he cares about her, which i think is a scary shift for him considering at the beginning she perceived him as her best friend and he considered her someone he merely tolerated (even if that wasn’t fully true). so i think he’s subconsciously clinging onto the idea that he doesn’t need her, but that is slipping from him quickly and he doesn’t know what to do besides convince himself he’d rather she just be gone than see her with someone else.

8. okay, yes. she’s been forced to simultaneously grow up extremely quickly in the need of self-preservation, and i think that is evident in the way she carries herself, and at the SAME time i think her immaturity is what really draws her to a shorter dress. a child’s dress. she wants to go back to naivety in a way, a “fresh start” where she gets to reclaim the childhood she missed out on back home while the country was in a war and she spent her nights sleeping in a bunker instead of her bedroom littered with toys and typical objects found in a kids room. but ALSO she still does feel the need to be protected. at this point specifically, she’s thriving on the idea that coryo would hurt for her (he had seen him to just that at the hob bc she was only dancing with someone) and wants to weaponize that to her own benefit. idk i could go on ab this for hours.

9. i think i kinda covered this in 6. but yes. crazy how that happens 🤔

10. YESSS SO this concept of them having similar thought processes and impulses and actions is SO important to me, because i think that’s the only way things could ever work out for them. they have a lot in common and they always have- the only real difference being that coryo is practiced in subtlety and class, hiding his hunger and his struggles while she makes her problems everyone else’s too. other than that, they really aren’t much different. (almost like… they’re on a level playing field with different strengths and weaknesses that perfectly balance each other out)

11. YES okay so security (however painful it may have been) is 100% the only thing she’s used to in life (up until the mentorship and the games). so much so that coryo even says at the very beginning that the tantrum was so in character for her and arachne said she had to “be sedated again”, so obviously this childish act of defiance is an integral part of her character (as she is perceived by her classmates and authority figures), but only outside of her home. at school, she’s not afraid of any consequence because she has this blackmail and her fathers money as a constant security blanket making her essentially untouchable. this, quite literally, is all she has ever had outside of her implied friendship with coryo, who is the only one of her peers who can really stand her. so going into this completely different world, the change of pace provides a high, in a sense, but she chooses the only bit of security she has left, her best friend, over that unfamiliar freedom every time. i feel like she needs him to feel safe, no matter how “free” she allegedly is.

okay so i totally know that i’m just repeating your thoughts here a lot but ive been DYING to get this out of my system so thank you for granting me this outlet bestie <3.

[gccdstories]

@siderealxmelody /

Hypaxia lay in his arms watching the sunrise. The last week has felt like a dream, the greatest dream she'd ever had. Was it horrible of her to never want this war to end? To just be suspended in this moment forever? She exhaled pressing closer, inhaling him, feeling just the heat of him. "I wish I could just slip inside you. So then we'd have no barriers, not even skin." It was a morbid wish but one she wanted non the less. She let the sun come up, soaking the rays in. The negative thoughts had lessened but the new worries felt real. They felt like actual things that could happen. She glanced up at him from his chest. She didn't want to ruin the moment, she tried not to start with an apology. "You - you said once that if I told you to leave you would. What - what if I say it when I'm angry? What if I say I mean it when I don't? What if - what if I ruin this?" Because he wouldn't, he was loyal and good. He didn't lash out and say stupid things. He didn't let his worst impulses guide him. She reached for his hand, trying to force herself to calm down. But she needed to say this at least once. She would not be like them, like her aunt or Viren or even Rhysand. She - if he was going to stay, if they were going to walk down this path. She would not - she needed to know he could leave. That he would leave if she became the worst version of herself. How bad could she be later if she was a tyrant and a monster now? "What if I try to own you? What if - what if I try to make you a tool or order you around? What if I take you for granted like they do Azriel?! You deserve better than that! You deserve to be free and I -"

𝐀𝐙𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑, his fingers sliding over her arm, her back. Wherever he touched. He hummed as she commented that; in a way, Azriel wanted that, too. To be so close to her, so one with her, that nothing else in this world mattered.

He couldn't do that, of course, but it was a nice thought--

Until Hypaxia turned serious as she looked at him.

Listening to her, he took in every word, his fingers still sliding almost subconsciously over her body. He still wanted to touch her, to let her know that at this moment, he was there. Right there with her.

❝ I'd like to think that I would know it if you said it and meant it, or if it was said in anger, Hypaxia. I would like to think I'd know the difference--and listen to your wishes, even if you don't utter them aloud. ❞ His voice, soft and yet still a little rough, was every bit as serious as he needed it to be, wanted it to be.

❝ I do not want to fight with you, my love. ❞ He kissed her, but didn't make a comment besides that in regards to his friends, his family, taking him for granted. ❝ This isn't about them, and I know you. I know you so well... I'd like to think I know you as well as anyone can. And you wouldn't do that. The fact that you fear becoming like that-- It shows already that you will not. ❞

[mythvoiced]

@velvetineblue | continued~

It's easy to let things fall into the background when someone so much smaller than her somehow survived the same thing she did. Some sort of specialist would have something to say on the matter, how it's easy for a group of people like them to for once not look at their mangled selves solely because someone so much smaller than them (in every sense of the word) needs care and warmth, needs some sort of shield between her and the world none of them can save her from anymore.

María isn't that specialist.

María doesn't even spend time thinking about these things.

There's no analyzing the softening of her being in the face of Elise's games.

There is, though, albeit relatively subconscious, the analyzing of her peers.

Taiyang exists somewhere outside her peripheral, has so far at least. It'd been easy to gravitate towards Patrick and Deva, something about their connection to one another had slotted them into the empty spaces in María's perspective onto the world that she'd needed someone like them to slip into.

Assertive and trustworthy, reliable and soothing, shield and sword and pen and tongue, poet, soldier, and king/queen, two figures with hell to carry on their back - much like all of them - whom María looks to with the same grimaces and desperate attempts to make herself understood she might have reserved for...

Tai, on the other hand, he... He's not unreliable. He's not agitating in any way. María doesn't plop down next to him, body turning almost instantly with her legs spread away from her and her arms crossed protectively over her chest (habit, habit) with the idea she doesn't want to.

She hadn't been designated as a momentary keeper to Elise along with Taiyang and felt herself reluctant, walking into the other room begrudgingly.

But he doesn't occupy the same pedestal Deva and Patrick do - dangerous in their own way, a few steps too close to idolizing, a path she's only kept from because of her stubbornness to disagree with them.

If anything, he feels more like an older brother.

It's why she asks.

Because there's nothing wrong with him - besides what is wrong with all of them - there's nothing all too foreign about him either, same thousand yard stare she'd never admit to recognize in her own reflection when she startles him out of it, same background to have them both here in this room at this time, same desire to make a difference, but at the same time...

Not?

Because María is a selection of exposed wires Patrick might have found some way to defuse with his skills, popping and crackling and just waiting for the opportunity to set an entire house on fire with one well-placed, where Taiyang is so closed-off he might very well appear as the most 'well-adjusted' out of the bunch simply, perhaps, because he's better at keeping the haunted look off his face.

Or maybe she isn't looking hard enough.

That's why she asks. That's why she nudges his shoulder with her foot and tries to soften her frown to the point it only seems to amplify it, now with the added frustration of not appearing frustrated.

"No, we all share one goal," she's learning, picking it up from Patrick, most likely, the importance of speech, choosing the right words, calm over impulsive spitting, even if she's about as poor a learner in this context as they come.

"We don't all have the same deal," or she'd be much better at this, without the odd pause and the stern look, or the frustrated growl at the back of her throat when she folds herself to lean over, get enough into his space she might figure out how to actually read anything he portrays within it.

"And that's just a fact," she brushes a strand of hair out of her face, one gliding along her forehead she seems to harbour particular antipathy towards. Her hair is so... silky, has been, lately. So healthy. So preened. It's sickening to have as a reminder. She wonders how it'd felt like for him to grow into his persona and decides to ask... later.

"We'd all be a mess without each other, we need you as much as we need anyone here. But that's not what I'm talking about, I'm talking about your deal, your... uh... your thing," not the member of this family designed to hold 'the eloquent one' as title, that's for certain.

"Not your thing... that's- I'm not asking you to talk about anything... nothing that hurts, you know, obviously not, I-" her half-gesticulating hand falls onto the space separating them, narrowly avoiding slamming full-force into his thigh. "How... how can we help you? Or I, specifically, I bet Patrick and Deva already- they're already helpful to you."

[amidst-wonderland]

cissnei & reno / aerith & reno | random hangover thoughts

i’ve been writing a decent chunk of ‘sting’ and i just have a few wee loose observations about my favourite final fantasy ships

i feel like there’s always such underlying melancholic tragedy to shipping reno with someone outside of the central turks, particularly cissnei and aerith

with cissnei it’s very much, this is a car crash waiting to happen but we might as well enjoy the descent. they’re incredibly damaged people who seek some solidarity with each other both in regards to them as people and the work they carry out.

to me reno views ciss as almost this self-destructive manic pixie and he’s got this itching sense of guilt that he should step in as her friend and help her but not only would that feel hypocritical, as cissnei would point out, but selfishly he doesn’t want to lose the one person enabling his own behaviour.

with aerith, she at her core is a perpetually tragic character and the urge to step in that reno lacks with cissnei comes out, reno didn’t play a part in cissnei’s downfall, he never caused the hurt and pain she begs to forget but he’s complicit with aerith, i also think there’s the element of that reno wanting his hands on something so pure like the unattainable flower princess, and subconsciously the inner impulse to ruin

plus, he also appreciates aerith’s realism and not her having a “mightier than thou” attitude you’d think someone of her presence might have.

reno healthiest potential partners would probably be rude, easily because those same vices he abuses with ciss, rude would absolutely put his foot down if it got out of hand.

the reason rude isn’t stepping with ciss involved is due to the current dynamics. at the end of the day, reno despite being rude’s partner, is also technically his boss and rude strikes me as someone not looking to disrupt the status-quo in the field, they put their lives into the hands of each other and rude knows cissnei is already tense with him and isn’t looking for a vengeful teammate reno and cissnei are very territorial (for lack of a better word) with each other and rude knows cissnei considers him a threat.

don’t get me wrong, cissnei likes rude she’s just a bit testy when it comes to reno.

[cryptidsurveys]

Wednesday, October 30th, 2024.

Is there anyone at your work that you want to just deck in the face? No. I like pretty much everyone I work with at the moment. The animal shelter has employed an amazing group of people.

Last thing you drank? Water.

Last thing that pissed you off? Ooh, let's just say the last half of September was a doozy. I don't think I've been genuinely pissed off since then.

Last thing that made you feel better? Rationalizing my stupid social mishaps. No one cares as much about my awkwardness as I do.

Something you did differently today that wasn't so bad? I'm currently baking a pumpkin spice Oreo coffee cake to take to the shelter for Halloween. I don't normally bake, and I almost never share with anyone outside the home.

Last plans that were ruined because of things you can't control? My plans weren't "ruined," but they were somewhat altered due to how cold (and slightly snowy!) it was at the Mountain Park today. I was hoping to go on a hike, but a picnic was about all I could stand before I turned into a human popsicle.

How old are you? 35.

Someone's YouTube that annoys the crap out of you? I can't think of anyone specific. I don't watch people who annoy me, so I quickly forget about them/their channel names.

You are lucky because? I have a loving and supportive father, an amazing best friend, a volunteer job I'm passionate about, a safe place to live, enough money to live comfortably, three precious kitties, etc.

What kind of jeans are you favorite?

Mini skirts, slutty or stylish?

Do you like a partner who is clean cut or rugged? I tend to prefer a more rugged look, but appearance is only a small part of what makes someone attractive to me.

Pale or tan, which would you rather be? Pale.

What if you were drastically what you'd rather be overnight? Like I just woke up as the best version of myself? It will never be that drastic, but I do think I'll figuratively wake up one day and realize, "Holy shit, I'm finally living the life I once only dreamed of…"

What about kids on leashes? What do you think about that? I don't think it's as controversial as some people make it out to be. Kids can wander off in a flash and it's better to be safe than sorry.

What lip balm do you use to keep your lips moist? Lol I honestly don't know what brand it is. I've had the same tube forever and I just don't pay attention.

How many piercings have you had, BESIDES ears? Which are those? Eyebrow x2, bridge, and currently snakebites.

New tats in your near future? How about piercings or re-piercings? No.

Next new thing you are wanting to try? I want to do more baking. Last Friday, the animal shelter received a donation of HUNDREDS of cookbook magazines, and I snagged a few before they were shipped off to a thrift store (because really, what were we going to do with all of them?). Initially, it was more of a "hoarding impulse" than anything else because I didn't think I would actually make anything, but here I am…making cookbook collector granny proud. :')

Would you wear short shorts, long socks and converse? No.

Do converse look/feel uncomfortable to you? I haven't worn Converse in ages, but they would probably be uncomfortable to me now. I spend a lot of time on my feet and need more support.

Thing that bothers you? Having too many things to do and not enough time in which to do them. Especially at the animal shelter, I hate feeling like I'm running behind schedule.

Do you believe that you can feel energy from others from their thoughts? To put this very unscientifically, I definitely think you can pick up on someone's vibes, even if only subconsciously. Body language, tone of voice, recognizing patterns of behavior, etc.

Would you ever visit a psychic medium? If you would, what would you wanna know? No. Says the person who regularly watches tarot videos. :')

Are some days a waste of makeup? I don't wear makeup.

Would you buy a Coach bag? No.

[astrowithkaro]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬

Here's a brief description of how people get addicted to you based on what house your Pluto is in and what type of individuals you attract! Lmk if it resonated! This post was inspired from @hillarysss's idea of her observations throughout Pluto!

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟭𝗛 *ೃ༄

No one knows how you deal with things, you approach life in silence, how you bounce back - it seems as if you have quiet power which is 100x as attractive as regular confidence. You make darkness and divine femininity a bit part of your identity. Therefore you tend to give off a very intense first impression which captures people's attention. There is a very witchy and occult look and aura to you. You might attract strong individuals who are confident or the exact opposite- diligent and shy.

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟮𝗛 *ೃ༄

You are secretive in your hobbies and ethic. You’re really good at discovering patterns in people’s behaviour. Anything that can be used against you, you are able to uncover and therefore you move in silence. Anything that people purposely try to do better than you, won't. What people don't know, they can't affect. You might be independent with building yourself up and have powerful instincts. You’re really secretive with your personal assets and people know you’re hiding something really good. You might attract people who are very greedy, manipulative or potentially someone who tries to build up power - “I’ll help you become more powerful”.

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟯𝗛 *ೃ༄

You can easily persuade anyone with your words, nonetheless if it’s with faux innocence or nasty insults. You know you can lie to somebody and they’ll do anything for you regardless, as well as being very secretive. You might also be really good at seeing through anyone's intentions and know exactly when someone's words are deceiving. You could easily offend a lot of individuals with your harsh words. You replace your old thinking patterns with new ones that really serve and support you and people see you as a very deep thinker. You might attract weak individuals who are easily manipulated and possibly look up at you.

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟰𝗛 *ೃ༄

They are obsessed with how you make them feel. You might also be seen as mysterious even after a marriage with your SO, they will always see you as an intriguing individual. People see how good you take care of yourself and embrace your inner power. People with mommy/daddy issues find you magnifying since you most likely had to raise yourself emotionally and they subconsciously seek your help because they see a parent figure in you.

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟱𝗛 *ೃ༄

You possess powerful creative impulses, and you can invest much energy and passion into the creative arts, romance, or child-rearing. You take great pride in and invest much of your ego into whatever it is you produce or create. You give off that “all or nothing” attitude in love which alt individuals find attractive. The way you love and care is so admirable, can you admire me more? People get addicted to wanting your validation.

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟲𝗛 *ೃ༄

The way you manage to have your shit together even through all that destruction you seemingly have to face, makes people wanna be a part of your every day. People get addicted to how you manage things so easily with grace and power. You are likely very interested in areas of health and self-improvement, as well as explorations of the mind-body connection which draws broken individuals in.

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟳𝗛 *ೃ༄

Excellent power to control and persuade anyone you'd like, as if they would suffocate without you. People who are intense, jealous, possessive, obsessive, or seem powerful tend to draw you in. The thing is that you could potentially also attract lots of weaker individuals who know they're not good enough and almost see you as their hero/goddess - "hopeless romantic and the cold hearted- dynamic".

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟴𝗛 *ೃ༄

(I know that the 8H is overly sexualized but as a Scorpio dominant I'm fine with that -sorry!) People can easily become dependent on you and want you to be in charge of their finances or emotional stability etc. Your hypnosis, healing therapies, occult sciences as well as great mysteries and the darker side of you can be really magnifying to other people. If you attract controlling people into your experience and are uncomfortable with it, strive to examine and understand your own deep-seated fears regarding power and sharing issues.

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟵𝗛 *ೃ༄

They might see you as someone well-traveled, wise and a good strategic or marketing duty. You're good at making people trust you easily because people would assume you’re wise. Others can consider you to be deep or profound, and you are likely to come up with some unusual and unique ideas that impress others. You might attract narcissists or perverts tho so be careful.

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟭𝟬𝗛 *ೃ༄

You intimidate people but they want more of you every time. You might have a lot of power in your workplace or work with powerful individuals that. You generally have a very dark reputation in your career. Your secretive nature that you let off makes people wanna dig into you. You tend to naturally take the lead which can attract people who are followers.

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟭𝟭𝗛 *ೃ༄

You may meet many of your power issues within the social sphere, particularly around special interest groups or when dealing with political processes, people are obsessed with your belief system. People want to be your friend because they're scared of not being close to your ways or even go against you because they know they wouldn't be able to overpower you - “stand by my side or get the fuck out of my way”. You might attract strong and high status individuals that eventually become your rivals, be careful!

𝗣𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗼 𝟭𝟮𝗛 *ೃ༄

It can be easy for you to become deeply involved when helping others, perhaps even at your own risk at times. You may, however, keep many things to yourself, which could eventually impact your health. Your depth can be seen as something that's very appealing. You might have to face deeply spiritual karmic relationships but people can see that you’ve been through a lot and are intimidated by your experiences. You might attract people who can see that hidden part of you and may be seeking a challenge or to push your boundaries.

Do not copy, plagiarize or reword my posts, thank you! Give full credits if reposted - Karolina

𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙'𝖘 𝖎𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊

[magicalmanhattanproject]

the way you worded talking about grian implied that he used to be doing something that was not feeding off people online. what was he doing before that? what changed? why doesn't he go out where people can see him? (and, if it isn't already answered by the first question, what's his first choice method?) i might be reading into things that aren't there, but I'm curious.

So. If you're gonna be the one manipulating people, it helps if they can't trace it back to you. You can have some personal flair of course, but you don't wanna look so incredibly obvious that your every single move is gonna be under constant scrutiny.

In Grian's defense, no one he asked gave him a straight answer. But like, he only asked other Web people and Web people are terrible at giving straight answers. Even before he went, he knew he was looking for an excuse to poke his head in where it didn't belong and cause trouble. A lot of his Web friends will roll their eyes at him and tell him he's more cut out for the Ceaseless Watcher but he'll just laugh at them and ask "When have I ever just watched?" They usually concede the point.

So yeah. He'd heard the warnings over and over again. Don't go near the Goatmother's Peak. Do not go near the Goatmother's Peak. Don't even think about the Goatmother's Peak if you know what's good for you. But no one ever bothered to tell him why.

Anyway, he chartered a private plane from Impulse to drop him in by glider. The fall took far longer than it should have, of course. Long enough that Grian wasn't sure he would ever land. Long enough for the open sky to become a terror. But the Goatmother's Peak rose up to meet him some three days later and the transparent glider rendered him almost invisible as he landed on top of the Peak. Maybe he should have come in from underneath, but the rumors said that the good Doctor hardly ever left his lab.

Since then, he's often wondered if it would have been better or worse if those rumors had been wrong. Given what Doc is capable of, it probably would have been objectively much worse. But there is something that Grian particularly loathes in the fact that he can’t be sure that Doc even has any idea this ever happened. He likes to be in control of what’s going on. 

He felt that sense of control slipping away when he realized that he didn’t exactly have an exit plan. It was hardly the first time he’d thrown himself into a dangerous situation with no plan beyond talking himself back out of it, but “hey come pick me up from the Goatmother’s Peak” is– He doesn’t have anyone he could pull that kind of favor from who could actually carry it out. A Web friend would have tried to convince him that this meant it was subconsciously a suicide mission, but honestly he just hadn’t been thinking much beyond his own curiosity. 

All he gets is more questions. The first of which is “Why does it hurt so much?”followed by “Was I screaming?” and “Did anyone hear me scream?” and “Is that my blood on the ground?” and quite a few more related questions all in very quick succession. Okay, he doesn’t get no answers. For example, yes, the blood pooling in the divot between the Goatmother’s horns where he’s been hiding is very much his own and it’s spilling from two massive lacerations on his back from which weird lumpy mounds of flesh are writhing and flailing and he slowly realizes that he can feel them writhe and flail and it hurts. 

He doesn’t bleed out. He’s not sure how. The blood is enough to stain his white sweater through completely. But by the end of it, he has two huge wings hanging limply between his shoulder blades. He tries to stumble to his feet, but the wings weigh him down and he slips in the blood. Bangs his knee hard against the stone. Bangs his head a second later. Passes out.

Wakes up in a hotel a few miles away with a pounding headache and, yes, still a pair of oversized wings that are barely supported by the muscles of his mid back that are absolutely not designed for it. There’s a note waiting for him on the bedside table.

“Don’t come back ^-^ -E”

He doesn’t. 

The wings do though, every time he tries to rip them off. He learns to live with them eventually, though never to fly. But he doesn’t really like the way people stare. He’s not quite as curious about Doc anymore either. If this is what happens when you just get close to him, what could he do on purpose?

[lefthandersruletheworld]

This isn’t Queer Dude! (Stonathan Fic)

Jonathan practically jumped out of his skin when Steve kicked open his bedroom door. The thin camera film fell out of his hands as he snapped his head over to the raging man. Steve slammed the door shut with his foot and turned to glare at the other boy. His face was contorted with anger, cheeks and ears flaming red. Before Jonathan could get a word in, Steve pounced on him like a panther, knocking him flat on his back with his legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Jonathan let out a surprised grunt as he was slammed onto the mattress. His eyes locked onto Steve’s face, scared that Steve might decide to break his nose. Steve is on him, fingers capturing the soft fabric of his cream colored sweater. He has the fabric balled tightly in his fists, with no intent of freeing Jonathan from his grasp. Both boys were just shy of panting like a dog on a hot summer’s day. Steve wanted to break Jonathan’s jaw for the shit he pulled with Nancy. He was so pissed at him, but as he glared into Jonathan’s deep puppy eyes, he found his rage slowly slipping away from him. The anger remained, but the rawness of it snuck off somewhere.

What replaced it was a confusing, warm feeling. Something tempting and a little concerning. He watched Jonathan pant from beneath him. The white of his top two front teeth barely visible past his parted cherry lips. They're probably so pink because he bites them so much, not that Steve noticed or anything. It looked like Jonathan wanted to say something, probably wanting to ask why the hell Steve just jumped on him, but he didn’t speak. Instead he remained silent. Steve figured he probably would’ve asked if he had the balls to. However, he was thankful he didn’t, because if he did, Steve wasn’t sure he’d be able to give him an answer. Why did he tackle him? Did he want to hit him? To beat him up or yell at him? The answer should’ve been easy, but it wasn’t. He was just so… so mad. Mad at everything. He was mad at his stupid parents for everything. Mad at them for yelling at him, for scolding him for that stupid party. Mad at himself about Nancy… and Barbra. He was mad at Jonathan for taking those pictures and stealing his girl and even more mad at Nancy for choosing him, but what pissed him off the most was himself. He was so damn angry at himself for being a jerk to Nancy, his parents, to his friends… to Jonathan. He thought picking a fight would make him feel better, but with Jonathan under him, his blood lust was gone. He didn’t want to be a jerk anymore. He was tired of being a bully.

Jonathan opened his mouth for a second before snapping it shut. Steve watched the way his red lips turned pale under their tight lipped pressure that Jonathan put them under. He didn’t fail to notice how the other boy's bottom lip caved in slightly, indicating that he was biting them from the inside. Steve hardly realized he was staring at Jonathan's mouth until he finally flicked his eyes up to meet with the Byers kids’ eyes. What he didn’t expect was Jonathan's eyes doing the same, flashing up from his own lips to lock with Steve’s. He nearly flinched when he realized Jonathan was looking at his own lips. It made him hyper aware of their presence. It left them feeling tingly and his stomach fluttery. He wondered what Jonathan saw when he looked at Steve’s lips.

Steve’s fists were still clamped tight around his sweater. He kept him pinned under him. Though if Jonathan really wanted to flee, he could’ve done it already. He hasn’t tried to squirm or push Steve off. In fact, he hasn’t really shown any indication of him wanting to run away from him. He hasn’t tried to resist him at all. The only resistance he showed was grabbing Steve’s jacket in an attempt to catch himself when Steve slammed him down. Other than that, he let Steve manhandle him. Something about that sent warmth down Steve’s spine. He lowered himself slightly, his leg sliding between Jonathan's. He nearly missed the way Jonathan parted his thighs, allowing Steve to situate between them. Their legs dangled off the side of the bed. It felt childish, but neither moved. Steve wanted to loosen his white knuckled death grip on Jonathan's sweater, but he was scared that if he loosened his grip, something may slip free from him. So, he kept his hands tight, restraining any weird impulses.

Jonathan finally let go of Steve’s coat. He let his hands fall onto the mattress like the rest of his body. They plopped down next to his head on either side, palms facing the ceiling. His chin was tipped up, eyes focused somewhere between Steve’s lips and eyes. God damn. Jonathan looked so… so nice like this. His messy hair was just as chaotic as normal, but rebellious strands rested softy on the blankets below. The hazy look in his eyes sent something hot into Steve. His dark eyes, parted lips, chin tilted up towards him and neck peeking out from his turtleneck sweater, all of it was sending mischievous signals to Steve’s brain. He couldn’t even remember why he was so angry. The signals he was getting were wrong. They were totally wrong, but he couldn’t resist as he subconsciously inched closer to the submissive boy. His nose brushed against the tip of Jonathan’s and the other boy sucked in a shaky breath like he was preparing himself. His hands turned, sweaty palms brushing against the soft blankets. His fingers hooked into the fabric and Steve could feel his heavy breaths against his knuckles.

At the moment, there was something about Jonathan that reminded Steve of his first time with Nancy. The first time they had sex. She was so nervous and vulnerable looking, but her eyes twinkled with excitement and desire. He remembered how her hands trembled along his back, not knowing exactly where to fall, but how her lips peppered his own in feverish kisses that only grew more warm with each passing breath. In this strangely tense moment, Jonathan looked like Nancy. Nervous, but anxiously awaiting. Wanting. Wanting Steve. He could see it in his eyes, the glazed over look. The need twisted into his eyebrows. He wanted Steve to do something. Jonathan would never admit it, but his face and racing heart says it all. He wants Steve. That realization repeated itself in Steve’s mind over and over; ’He wants me. He wants me.’

Steve’s heart stuttered when Jonathan's hand rose up. The action was slow and timid. He was acting as if Steve was a wild deer and that if he moved too fast, he’d scare him away. His fingertips brushed along the shoulder of his jacket. It was an aloof touch, barely felt through the fabric. Steve was almost out of breath. He wanted Jonathan to touch him harder, he wanted to feel his fingers against him. When they practically danced their way up to the collar of his shirt, Steve sucked in a breath. He felt Jonathan's fingernail scrape against his neck for a moment, before shying away and that action sent fire straight into his gut. Jonathan touched his neck with the pad of his thumb before moving back to the collar of his shirt. He thumbed over it and the sound was amplified in Steve’s ears. It was so quiet, but to Steve, it was the only thing he could hear other than his thundering heart. His neck broke out with goosebumps, neck hair standing like a cold breeze washed over it.

His fists finally loosened to a gentle grip. He thumbed over the soft sweater, mimicking Jonathan's motions. He could feel Jonathan’s body heat through his clothes. His chest was burning hot like a furnace. Steve watched Jonathan’s Adam’s apple bob. When his tongue darted out to wet his lips, it sent a craving into Steve’s deepest desires. Heat rushed down Steve’s spine like a glass of water was spilled down his back. Their noses were touching, brushing against each other. Their breathing had softened to the point they were just shy of holding their breath. Their lips were so close to making contact and Jonathan didn't move an inch. He was probably too nervous to even blink and honestly, Steve felt the same. His brain was full of want, he was intoxicated by it, but every male figure in his life was screaming at him in his head. For the first time in his life, he wanted to kiss a guy.

He tipped his head to the side and finally gave in. His lips brushed against Jonathan's and he practically melted. His grip tightened once again on Jonathan’s sweater, now more than ever. It was as if he subconsciously thought that if he let go, the kiss would end. So he held him tightly, even though the kiss was feather light it nearly tickled. Steve let his body rest against the other boys. He laid on him, chest to chest as their lips brushed. Their legs intertwined, Steve’s ankle locking with Jonathan’s. His body was tingling from his head to his toes, a sensation he wasn’t quite used to. Sure, he got all fluttery when he kissed Nancy, but it was never… never like this. Jonathan' let out the softest, most breathy sound and the effect it had on Steve was effective and immediate. He kissed him harder, their lips squishing together. He could feel Jonathan's racing heartbeat under his fists and shamefully, he matched the other boys. He liked this. He wanted this.

Jonathan’s hands awkwardly latched onto Steve’s jacket as their kiss deepened. He struggled to match Steve’s expertise, given his lack of experience. However, it wasn’t like either of them cared. In fact, it only seemed to add to the want they felt. One is an experienced play boy wannabe, the other a shy guy with little social experience. Their lips danced in a silent and breathy melody. It was hypnotic like a musical note. It had Jonathan curling his toes in his fluffy black socks. Their thighs grinded against one another softly, the action timid and noncommittal. Steve’s lips were so firm, but soft at the same time. They weren’t chapped at all, or swollen from biting. They were perfect and the taste they left had Jonathan’s head spinning. He wanted more. He forgot about everyone. He forgot about his mom and brother for a moment, he forgot about Nancy. The only thing that was on his mind was the same thing that was on his body; Steve.

When Jonathan's lips parted, Steve didn’t waste any time. His tongue slipped out from his own mouth and licked Jonathan's bottom lip. The response he got was a little gasp and a slight nod and Steve needed nothing more to know he was given permission. He slipped his tongue inside the other boy's mouth, gently grazing his teeth. When Jonathan’s tongue brushed against the other boy's, it sent fire through his veins. This couldn’t be real, Steve is a drug. He’s giving him an addiction he never knew he could have. Is this what so many of the singers in his favorite songs were talking about? A feeling so molten that it leaves lava in his core? A feeling he doubts he’d ever recover from? If that’s the case, he’ll listen to every note and melody in each and every song if it brings him more of these moments. His fingers interlaced together behind Steve’s neck. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling Steve closer.

“Jonathan?” A woman called from the front door. Both boys separated immediately. Steve practically flew off Byers and landed on his feet across the room. Jonathan stumbled up the bed, his eyes locked on the bedroom door. He shot a glare to Steve and motioned with his hand towards the closet. In silent panic, Steve understood and jumped inside with no hesitation. He ducked into the darkness, hiding behind layers of coats and old t-shirts.

“Yeah mom?!” Jonathan called back in a voice Steve’s never heard from him. It was more confident and loud than he’s ever considered possible from the other boy. The sound of hurried footsteps came down the hall and in a matter of seconds, Steve could hear Joyce opening the door. He sucked in a quiet breath, too scared to let out a single sound. His ears strained to listen.

“Jonathan,” she breathed. Her son sat awkwardly on the edge of his bed, lower back resting on the pillows. He looked at her with an anxious eye, but it wasn’t unusual.

“Yeah?”

“Hopper might have a lead,” she said, eyes glimmering with fragile hope. Jonathan’s heart stopped for a moment and he got off the bed. He approached her and gently placed his hands on either side of her arms.

“W-what did he say?”

“He didn’t tell me very much, but he said he may have a lead.”

“That’s great mom,” he smiled. There was a second of silence as Steve listened with his ear pressed against the door. Neither of them spoke and it left him on the edge of his seat. However, he felt a stab of sympathy go through him when he heard Joyce sniffle before letting out a whiny cry.

“Mom, mom it’s okay,” Jonathan whispered, pulling her into his arms. She instantly wrapped her arms around him. She sobbed into his sweater as he spoke. “He’s gonna find him.”

“I know I know… but I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s my baby. I just… I keep imagining him being cold and scared and-and I just can’t do it anymore.”

Steve felt a harsh wave of guilt was over him. To think he wanted to beat Jonathan up because he was mad at himself. ’Get over yourself Steve Harrington’.

“I know mom,” he could hear Jonathan croak. “Me too, but we have to be strong. We have to. For Will.”

Steve whipped his eyes as he tried to stay silent. He could hear Joyce sniffle a few times as she seemingly got herself together.

“You’re right… you’re right,” she breathed as she looked up at him. She placed a hand on Jonathan’s cheek. “God what would I do without you?”

“You’d manage,” he whispered, trying to offer her a sincere smile. She nodded before taking in a deep breath.

“Well… dinner stuff is on the table. I’m gonna go put up more flyers.”

“But you just got here.”

“I know, but I have to.”

“Okay… I love you mom.”

“I love you too,” she smiled. There was pain still clear in her voice, it was hard to miss, but soon she left the room. Only moments after the sound of keys jingling and the front door opening and closing could be heard. Steve gave it a few more seconds before he finally exited the closet. He stepped out from the small space and looked over to Jonathan. He was standing awkwardly, but his eyes were weak. He was in a vulnerable state and Steve would be lying if he said he knew how to help. Steve cleared his throat, getting the other boy's attention. Jonathan looked over at him, crossing his arms. His expression was tired and sad and it left Steve feeling mournful.

“M’sorry,” he looked at his shoes. “For everything.”

Jonathan didn’t reply verbally. He just nodded. Steve wasn’t satisfied though. He wanted to help, to be a better person, but he didn’t know how. He came here looking to start a fight with a guy who’s brother is probably dead. Then instead of fighting him, he made out with him. God, he was a piece of work. A hot mess. Although, he’s not even sure if he is good enough to be considered hot anymore. Now he’s just a mess.

“I really am sorry...” he looked at the floor. “Listen man… I know I’ve been a dickhead for like… ever… but if you ever need anyone to talk to… I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan dismissively muttered.

“I’m serious. Just… think about it.”

Jonathan nodded and remained silent. He sat down on the bed and sighed. Now it was Steve who was awkwardly standing around. He fiddled with a stray pencil on Jonathan's desk. He could feel himself being watched, but he paid it no mind. After a few seconds Jonathan cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Why’d you come here?”

“Hmm? Oh. Right,” Steve nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. He faced the other boy and was conflicted. Tell him the truth or lie? If he lied, what the hell will he tell him? “I… fuck. I was pissed off and I wanted to take it out on you.”

Jonathan waited a few seconds before responding. “Funny way of doing it.”

“Hey,” Steve glared. Heat rose up in his cheeks as he furrowed his brows. Like hell he was gonna get flustered by some loser. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“Then why?”

“I-,” Steve stumbled. “It wasn’t queer dude.”

“Kinda.”

“It wasn’t,” Steve barked, growing more irritated. He got red when he saw Jonathan smile weakly. Although he couldn’t deny the flutter his heart gave at the sight. Steve scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke. “It wasn’t queer. I just… nevermind.”

Both boys didn’t speak. There was tension in the room, though neither acknowledged it. Steve gestured to the door. “Think it’s safe to leave yet?”

Jonathan motioned to the window. “I think it would be better if you left through the window.”

“Stealthy, I can do that,” Steve sauntered over to the window. He cleared off some random junk in the windowsill before lifting the glass open. Once it was fully open, he straddled the frame, one leg out the window, dangling just above the grass. The other was still in Jonathan’s bedroom. He froze and looked at the other boy, who was now approaching him. He watched as Jonathan set the objects that Steve moved aside. Once they were where he wanted, he rested his hand on the window, looking down at Steve.

“Yeah?” Steve said, a little unsure of how to read this situation.

“Um… nothing.” Jonathan muttered, avoiding eye contact like the plague. Steve darted his eyes around, mulling things over in his head before shrugging. He threw his other leg outside the window and let himself drop to the grass below. He huffed, adjusting his clothes and fingers brushing his fluffed hair. He looked back up at Jonathan, who was staring down at him. Heat pooled inside Steve's gut when he recognized that wanting look in his eyes. They stared at each other briefly, before Jonathan lowered to his knees. He crossed his arms on the windowsill, letting his head rest on them. Steve’s heart thumped in his chest.

“Thank you,” Jonathan just about whispered.

“For what?”

“Getting my mind off… everything.”

“Yeah? Well… don’t mention it,” Steve tried to be aloof and cool. He found it hard to look at the calm expression Jonathan’s face carried. Jonathan looked so under control, while Steve was having trouble keeping his heart in his chest. He shook his head and started to walk away. As he strode through the grass, he could feel Jonathan's eyes lingering on him. He tried to ignore it, but it tickled down his spine. Eventually he stopped walking, fingertips trembling by his sides. His brain was screaming at him to ignore it, to fight it, but his desire was strong, too strong. He suddenly turned on his heel and paced back to Jonathan, still resting his head on the windowsill. When he saw Steve turn around, he jumped slightly, but didn’t flinch away from the window. Steve hustled to the edge of the house. His hand clamped onto the windows edge and he kicked himself up so he could give Jonathan a quick but hard kiss on the lips.

“See ya man,” Steve husked as he let himself fall back into the grass. He smiled at the way Jonathan's eyes lit up. He almost couldn’t hear Jonathan’s goodbye, but the little interaction had Steve sauntering away. Soon he was out of sight from the Byers house. His walk home was gonna be long and tiring, but it’s probably for the best. He couldn’t believe how this day turned out and he sure as hell has a lot of thinking to do. One thing was for sure though; Jonathan was on his mind for the rest of the day.

***

Authors Note: Hey everyone! This is a fic I posted on my AO3 a while back ago, but felt like sharing here too. If you liked it, let me know. I love feedback. I post more shitty fan fics on my AO3 if you’re interested. Here’s the link to this story; https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046068. Thanks for reading! 

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Quiet Room

- Chapter 6 - ao3 - (previous tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5)

The Lan sect’s rules said Learning comes first, and that was because learning was the root of all things.

Humans were changeable and ever-changing, molded by their heritage and their environment; it was through careful education that they learned to comprehend goodness – it was only through constant learning that they could keep themselves walking on the path of righteousness.

Learning from books, learning from others, learning from one’s own mistakes; it didn’t matter.

What was important was that you couldn’t stop learning.

You had to keep moving forward.

Lan Wangji had for some time entertained the thought that his life had stopped when Wei Wuxian’s had. It had felt as though it had: it felt as if his heart had been irrevocably shattered, like a priceless vase that had once contained all his tender feelings – all those feelings that, lacking their container, would now slip through his fingers forever, leaving him as empty as a soulless puppet. He’d thought he was doomed never to love again, never to learn again, all his mind consumed with nothing by memories.

He’d been wrong, of course.

Even with Wei Wuxian gone, he was still learning.

There were his recent meditations on the subject of silence and noise, for one.

There were his wards, for another.

Lan Sizhui was a polite and thoughtful child, inquisitive but a little shy and hesitant, a little fearful to assert himself – a little too quiet, in a way that Lan Wangji was starting to be able to recognize as being not good, a silence and reticence born of concern and anxiety rather than genuine introversion. Luckily, there was also Lan Jingyi, who was and had always been the liveliest and most spirited of children, and yet he, too, was just a little bit too loud in a way that reflected his own method of displaying anxiety, another startling realization that was brand new.

Lan Wangji had always associated quiet with reserve and self-control, noise with carelessness and recklessness, but being in the controlled chaos of Qinghe and really sincerely listening to it, accepting it, came with its own set of revelations. He found that there were people who were naturally loud and those that made themselves be loud, just as there were those who were quiet and those who were forced into quietude. Lan Jingyi worried just as much as the next person, but he displaced those feelings through distraction rather than through the force of his willpower, taking on the role of clown or hero as suited each moment, unafraid to cast himself in the role of aggressor if it would allow Lan Sizhui the chance to play the mediator. The subconscious division of roles allowed Lan Sizhui to feel useful and in control, reducing his anxiety, while Lan Jingyi got to feel taken care of, which reduced his own – it was good, in a way, but after some consideration Lan Wangji carefully took them both in hand and told them that they would need to be more thoughtful about it.

Lan Sizhui could not, should not, always have to be the peacemaker, always yielding and kind and gentle and quiet: he deserved to be loud, too. He deserved to be assertive, to be heard, to feel entitled to take up space regardless of his utility to those around him. He should never feel like he had to pay in service for the right to exist.

And by the same token, Lan Jingyi shouldn’t feel burdened to always have to be the one to take the first step, always acting as the driving force, the loud and opinionated one. He should have the opportunity, and the obligation, to think through what he was doing or saying, to be thoughtful and careful, to sometimes yield if he wished; he should be granted space of his own to make sure that his actions were what he wished them to be rather than some impulse.

Lan Wangji only wished he’d had the wisdom to tell Wei Wuxian the same thing while he’d been alive.

He’d been so short-sighted when he was younger, at first unable to recognize how he felt about the man and then unable to figure out how to speak with him – he’d been unable to break his own habitual silence, and equally unable to see the depths concealed in Wei Wuxian’s brash arrogance, especially towards the end. Like Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian’s reckless courage was genuine, especially in the happy days of their youth; like Lan Jingyi, when things got bad, Wei Wuxian had taken refuge in more of the same, building himself walls made of noise that were designed to keep everyone out.

Wei Wuxian might have been noisy and loud, right to the very end, but in his own way he’d been just as alone as Lan Wangji in his excess of quiet.  

The next generation, Lan Wangji thought fiercely, would do better.

He felt comforted by that thought.

The children were chewing over Lan Wangji’s words as they walked along the outmost ramparts of the Unclean Realm, already inured to the glittering barrier that hung in their sky, full of arrays and inscriptions – they were accompanying Lan Wangji on his daily walk.

The Nie sect’s doctors had a very different regimen for curing illnesses than the Lan sect’s, he’d found. Thirty-three strikes of the discipline whip: in both places he’d gotten stitched back up, but while the Lan sect doctors had allowed him to retreat into seclusion, prescribing medicine and rest and self-reflection, the Nie sect doctors insisted on coupling medicine and meditation with exercise. Intermittent and gradual exercise, meant to increase flexibility and reduce muscle atrophy – it wasn’t really that different from what Lan Wangji had been left to do on his own back at home, but he found that it was easier to struggle against his stubborn body when he had company to encourage him to take that extra step beyond his limits, their voices pushing him when his own willpower was insufficient. Even the silent presence of the two children, walking beside him, helped him find the reason to keep going.

Truly, there was much to consider on the subject of quiet and noise, of loud and soft, of loneliness and isolation and how no amount of either introversion nor extroversion could alone save you from them.

Lan Wangji was still thinking it over when he heard a new noise.

It was also an old noise, painfully familiar from all those days of war – before he even consciously identified what the sound was, his back had straightened, his legs sinking into a prepared pose, his mind already summoning his spiritual energy to the forefront in case he needed to defend himself.

Cultivators, flying on swords at speed.

Lan Wangji looked up and saw them: men and women both, a small group – a forward scouting troop, small enough to be subtle and sneak ahead to see what was happening but large enough to ensure someone would be able to return to the main force and warn them if they did find something.

They were dressed in the colors of Yunmeng Jiang, and it was Jiang Cheng leading them.

Lan Wangji’s back stiffened.

He had not seen Jiang Cheng since the massacre at the Nightless City, although he’d heard the stories of how he had turned against his own shixiong and led the greatest of the forces that besieged the Burial Mounds. He’d decided then that he’d never wanted to see Jiang Cheng ever again – he hadn’t been able to comprehend how Jiang Cheng could do a thing like that to Wei Wuxian, who he’d loved.

He still didn’t understand, but he thought, perhaps, that he ought to be a little less hasty in judging others by his own standards.

He’d done enough of that.

“Hanguang-jun!” Jiang Cheng called, seeing him, and pulled ahead of all the other Jiang sect cultivators, leaving them hanging back warily. Lan Wangji turned to face him, conscious of the two young children still clinging to his hands and now half-hiding behind his robes – conscious, too, of the shimmering but translucent barrier that divided them from Jiang Cheng, the barrier that had been raised to protect the Unclean Realm from Lan Wangji’s own brother and all the mistakes he had made, well-meaning as they were. “Hanguang-jun, good, you can tell me, what is the meaning of…”

Jiang Cheng trailed off, his eyes suddenly wide and almost bulging from the force of how hard he was staring at Lan Wangji.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji said politely in greeting – or, well, politely enough.

“Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng said in return, his voice sounding strangled. “What…happened?”

Far too much to explain, so Lan Wangji didn’t, just waited for Jiang Cheng to continue with a more specific question.

“I mean, uh. The beacon went off,” Jiang Cheng said. He was still gawking, looking as though he were about to fall off his sword any second. “The – you know the one, the one that shows when a sect’s barrier defenses have been activated. I thought...”

He’d assumed there was an invasion, Lan Wangji realized, and had rushed over at once to try to help forestall it. It was a reasonable assumption, and a noble response: having once lost everything without being able to rely on the help of others, Jiang Cheng now sought to be the help that he had not had.

It was the sort of thing a righteous person would do, and in line with what Lan Wangji thought he’d known of Jiang Cheng’s character.

And yet…Jiang Cheng had still turned his back on Wei Wuxian.

Time and time again, he’d turned away fro him.

“I came to find out what happened, why they put up the shield,” Jiang Cheng continued. “I brought people with me to help, though I left them back a ways so it wouldn’t be an insult. And now I’m here and – and you’re here – and you’re…just…it’s…Lan Wangji, what happened to your forehead ribbon?”

Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows. “Is that your primary concern?”

Jiang Cheng waved his hands around, almost flailing, and Lan Wangji couldn’t quite help but feel a sudden stab of amusement – and then of sorrow, because the flailing was almost painfully familiar. He had seen Wei Wuxian do much the same when he encountered something unexpected, whether some threat or some new maneuver by the Wen sect or, in one notable instance, the unanticipated appearance of a fish in a place where one would not normally expect fish to be.

“I have taken a leave of absence from the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji finally explained, deciding to be magnanimous and take pity on his former comrade in arms. “The Nie sect has permitted me to remain with them while I determine my next course of action. As for the shield, there is no imminent invasion. The situation is – complicated.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “You don’t say!”

Still, the explanation seemed to help steady him, somewhat, and Lan Wangji observed that Jiang Cheng did not look his best: tired, with circles under his eyes and an unhealthy skin tone. Too much work, too little rest, and probably nightmares…because of what had happened to Wei Wuxian, perhaps? But if so, why had he done it in the first place?

“I cannot let you in,” Lan Wangji added, even though technically he had one of the only remaining guest tokens that still functioned. Jiang Cheng nodded, seemingly having expected that. “I can escort you to the sect leader’s quarters to have your request for admission approved.”

That the person approving the request would probably be Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji did not say – not so much out of caution, which would probably be justified, but rather out of a completely inexplicable urge to see Jiang Cheng start flailing once again upon finding out.

Was this how Wei Wuxian felt all the time?

Interesting.

He began to walk again, the children at his sides slowly coming out, and Jiang Cheng did him the courtesy of not mentioning how slow and stiff he was, although Lan Wangji thought he remembered enough of Jiang Cheng’s mannerisms to interpret the twisted grimace on his face as he glanced over time and time again as a look of concern.

After a little while in which Lan Wangji walked and Jiang Cheng floated alongside him on his sword, the Jiang sect cultivators lagging behind by a respectable distance, the children getting over their fear to start looking around again, Jiang Cheng finally cleared his throat.

“There’s a medicinal blend of herbs that can counteract the anti-clotting effects of the discipline whip,” he said. Lan Wangji glanced at him: Jiang Cheng was staring forward, not looking at him at all any more. “It makes it heal faster. I can pass the prescription along to the Nie sect’s pharmacists, if you like.”

Jiang Cheng had also been struck by the discipline whip, Lan Wangji suddenly remembered. It had been a matter of deep embarrassment for him during the war, making him reluctant to remove clothing even when they were rancid with blood and poisonous fumes.

“Thank you,” he said, and for some reason the children took that as their cue that Jiang Cheng was actually all right and burst out in a flood of questions.

Lan Jingyi wanted to know how Jiang Cheng’s clothing had gotten to be such a vivid shade of purple, while Lan Sizhui was more curious about his sword and how shiny it was – the concerns of children, unburdened by the memories or concerns of adults. Their questions made Jiang Cheng smile, and Lan Wangji thought briefly of the orphaned Jin Ling, who had been temporarily given to Jiang Cheng’s custody to pick up some of the traditions of his maternal sect. A fancy way of saying that the Jin sect wanted him out of the way for a few years until he was worth teaching their own ways to, but Lan Wangji suspected Jiang Cheng would have taken any excuse at all to remain close to his kin.

“What, now children aren’t too noisy for you?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Wangji, and for the first time it occurred to Lan Wangji that the tossed out words, broken off and abrupt, might be meant as a friendly tease.

“I am reevaluating my relationship with silence,” he said, and Jiang Cheng smirked, amused.

“I bet you are,” he said. “Nie Huaisang alone would drive a man to distraction…”

Lan Jingyi laughed and clapped and that, and, inspired, Lan Sizhui followed suit.

And then, suddenly, Jiang Cheng frowned.

“A-Yuan,” he said, and Lan Wangji was suddenly cold from head to toe, the chattering of the children suddenly too loud in his ears: he had forgotten that Jiang Cheng had also visited the Burial Mounds. “That’s – that’s A-Yuan, isn’t it?”

“Jiang Wanyin…” Lan Wangji started, his voice sticking in his throat, then trailed off. He did not know what he could say that would work to convince Jiang Cheng that he was wrong when he was right, but neither could he admit to the truth. Even if Nie Mingjue had been kind enough to allow Lan Wangji to come to the Nie sect to stay, and to bring the two children with him, that had been under the premise that they were Lan sect children. If he ever found out that Lan Sizhui had been born surnamed Wen…

Nie Mingjue would not hurt a child, he was too righteous for that. But he might not be inclined to let that child grow up in his sect, either.

Jiang Cheng’s face was twisted in a strange sort of way, as if he couldn’t decide to be angry or relieved. “I thought he’d died,” he murmured, more to himself. “I thought…what is that?”

Lan Wangji was momentarily confused by the question, focused as he was by the terrifying implications of Jiang Cheng’s discovery, but then he saw that Jiang Cheng’s gaze went further into the distance.

He turned to look, then felt twist of unpleasantness deep in his belly: there was his brother in the sky, flying to the main gate on Shuoyue, and beside him was Jin Guangyao.

Why did you have to bring him? Lan Wangji thought, unhappy, but he already knew the answer to that. His brother trusted Jin Guangyao. Why wouldn’t he bring him?

If only he would trust the rest of them as much as he trusted that liar.

“We can discuss Lan Sizhui later,” Lan Wangji said, careful to emphasize both the surname and the courtesy name he’d given him – painfully obvious now that he thought about it, though at the time it had seemed only appropriate, the only name he could bestow that fit – and quickened his steps. “Now that my brother has arrived, things will become difficult.”

He wondered, a little bitterly, if his brother had even noticed that he was gone, or if he had been so thoroughly forgotten in his enforced ‘seclusion’ that it hadn’t even been thought of as a possibility.

“Lan Wangji!”

Lan Wangji came to a stop at Jiang Cheng’s shout. Suddenly full of anger, he turned his head back – surely Jiang Cheng didn’t hate Wei Wuxian so much that he wouldn’t let the matter of a small child go, even in the midst of a crisis?

Jiang Cheng was pointing into the distance. Strangely enough, it was not in the direction of the main gate, where Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were even now landing, but somewhere even further beyond.

“Do you see it?” Jiang Cheng demanded, and his eyes were suddenly wild, his breathing disordered; he seemed far more disturbed than he had when he’d recognized A-Yuan. “Lan Wangji, tell me that you see it!”

Utterly lost, Lan Wangji focused his gaze on the far horizon. It was the same scenery as he’d seen there the past few days, the interspersed richness of the low valleys that quickly arced up into the mountains that surrounded the Unclean Realm. There was nothing there that was unusual…

Lan Wangji spotted a very faint glimmer.

Sun, he thought, the reflection of sun – sun off steel.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t on the ramparts of the Unclean Realm but standing beside Jiang Cheng on a rough-hewn fortress barely worthy of the name, watching the horizon grimly as the damned Wen scout’s flare did its work and the amassed forces of Wen Chao’s troops began to move inexorably in their direction. They would come, he had known, and they would kill them all if they could; it would take everything they had to stop them, and to survive long enough just to retreat once again.

For some of them to survive.

“Invasion,” he heard someone say, their voice hoarse, and only a moment later realized it was himself who had spoken. “Invasion…it’s an army!”

“It’s the Jin sect,” Jiang Cheng said, staring blankly as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. For once, Lan Wangji understood him completely; he was similarly shocked. “They’re wearing gold, you can see it from here…the Jin sect has sent their armies here? How could they even think to dare? Chifeng-zun will annihilate them!”

Lan Wangji’s throat worked, and for a moment he felt drowned in the quiet once more, his voice not wanting to cooperate with him, his entire being willing or even wanting to return to the solace of seclusion if it would only mean that he wouldn’t have to hear the horrible din of war once more. But he was not a coward, and would do what he must – even speak of things that felt impossible to be spoken.

“That complicated situation I mentioned,” he said, and Jiang Cheng turned to look at him. “My brother has either conspired with or was duped into assisting Lianfang-zun in an attempt on Chifeng-zun’s life through destabilizing his qi and inducing a qi deviation.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw dropped. “They did what?!”

“Chifeng-zuns remains alive, but is confined to his bed,” Lan Wangji continued, ignoring the interjection. “Nie Huaisang was the one who ordered the shield raised, saying that there might be an attack – I thought he was overreacting, but apparently not.”

“If Jin Guangshan can take over the Unclean Realm while Nie Mingjue is incapacitated, he can say that the incapacitation is worse than it really is,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly getting it. Lan Wangji had forgotten how much he enjoyed working alongside those from Yunmeng Jiang, Wei Wuxian most of all but also in his absence Jiang Cheng, who was smart and did not require too many words to understand. “Everyone knows Nie Huaisang’s a good-for-nothing – it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for the Jin sect to claim that they came here at the invitation of the Nie sect to ‘rescue’ them, and remained in order to manage the sect on their behalf. Better that than have Chifeng-zun recover and come after you in vengeance!”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“But surely they didn’t think they’d be able to get away with it? Even if they could manage it for a while, as soon as the confusion cleared up, all the other sects would throw a fit…”

“Jin Ling,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng blanched, seeming to realize the problem at once. His beloved nephew legally belonged to the Jin sect; if he dared to protest their actions, wouldn’t they be sure to take him away? As for the Lan sect, Lan Xichen would have been implicated through his actions – they could hold his participation over his head, forcing him to pick between supporting them and losing face for the whole sect, which would in turn weaken it. And that was assuming that Jin Guangyao didn’t somehow manage to talk Lan Xichen into thinking it was all for the best regardless…

There were only four Great Sects left, now. If the Lan and Jiang did nothing, who would be left to stand up for the Nie?

“I have to get inside. Nie Huaisang will need my support,” Lan Wangji said, but instead looked down at the children beside him.

“Go,” Lan Sizhui said, releasing his hand and stepping back away from him. “I’ll take Jingyi and hide in the room we’re staying in. You won’t need to worry about us – go, do what you need to!”

Jiang Cheng flinched as if he’d been struck.

Lan Wangji glanced at him. “The Jin sect army,” he said. “However unlikely, there’s still a chance that we are misinterpreting their motives.”

“I’ll go find out what I can,” Jiang Cheng agreed at once. “How many there are, what can be done…I’ll find out and report back.”

Lan Wangji tossed him the guest token he’d been given. “Be cautious,” he said. He still hadn’t forgiven Jiang Cheng for what he’d done in the Burial Mounds, but he was willing to wait until a better time to talk it over with him – now was not the time to try to gain understanding.

Jiang Cheng nodded and left at once, and Lan Wangji saw the children off, then hurried to do the same.

By the time he made it to the main hall, his brother and Jin Guangyao were already there, and Nie Huaisang was confronting them with nothing more than a fan gripped in white-knuckled hands and a glare.

“– dare you talk as if he’s gone mad, as if he can’t be trusted?” Nie Huaisang was shouting. “You should know how seriously we take such words here!”

“It is because of that that we are worried,” Lan Xichen said, and now it was Lan Wangji’s turn to flinch. His brother’s voice sounded just the way it always did, comforting in its familiarity: he sounded calm and patient, thoughtful and wise, sure of himself. He sounded as if he knew better than anyone else what was right and what was wrong. “Huaisang, you don’t know how much your brother has been worried about suffering the way your father did. He knows that qi deviations can be subtle as well as harsh – he understands that his reason might be the first to go –”

“And so you took it upon yourself to decide that for him?” Nie Huaisang sneered. “You keep saying that he understands, that he would understand, all that. But that’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“Huaisang, please,” Jin Guangyao said, his voice just as gentle as always. “You know we only want what’s best for your brother.”

“Do you?” Nie Huaisang said, but he was still looking at Lan Xichen. “You knew he hated the quiet room, er-ge. You knew that he’d never wanted anything to do with it – it’s not like that was anything new! That was something he’d said repeatedly, year after year, month after month, for his entire life. You knew how he felt about it, and you decided to ignore what he wanted in favor of what you wanted. How is that wanting what’s best for him?”

“I was only concerned for his health,” Lan Xichen said, sounding injured by the accusation. “I had nothing but good intentions…”

“Your intentions are immaterial compared to your actions,” Lan Wangji said, and they turned to look at him, both of them surprised – maybe they really hadn’t noticed he’d left the Cloud Recesses.

Well, he thought bitterly: they’d notice now.

He took a step into the room, then another.

“Your actions are this,” he said, ignoring the way his brother stared at his forehead, unadorned by the ribbon that had been there ever since he’d been a small child, receiving it for the first time from his uncle as a precious gift. “You did not trust or respect your elder brother’s word. You disregarded his decision, treating him like a child who can’t be trusted to make up his own mind – you put your own desires ahead of his, and in doing so, betrayed him. Did you really think he’d thank you for it?”

Did you think I’d thank you one day for authorizing our sect’s attack on the Burial Mounds without ever having to explain yourself? Even our uncle respected me enough to tell me at once what he had done and let me decide how I felt about it, accepting the consequences of his actions!

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen murmured. “You’re still healing, you shouldn’t be wandering around…where is your self-restraint?”

Where is your forehead ribbon, he meant, and Lan Wangji shook his head.

“Wangji, you don’t understand,” Jin Guangyao said, and Lan Wangji stiffened at the unasked-for intimacy of the address. “Whatever da-ge said to you, whatever he did, you cannot allow others to guide you by filling your heart with incomplete echoes of what you have lost. You will never forgive yourself.”

Lan Wangji was so furious that he could not speak. Was Jin Guangyao implying that Nie Mingjue had, what, seduced him? That Lan Wangji held his love for Wei Wuxian so cheap that he would have his head turned by the first person willing to make up to him in such a fashion?

“I should hope you know my da-ge better than that, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said coldly, still speaking only to Lan Xichen. “Or is this something else where you will believe the words of that lying dog over everyone else and the evidence of your own reason to boot?”

“Huaisang, that is unwontedly cruel, and uncalled for,” Lan Xichen said, tearing his eyes away from Lan Wangji. “Whatever Wangji has decided, I do not blame Mingjue-xiong for it.”

Implying, Lan Wangji supposed, that it was Lan Wangji that was to blame for it.

“Put the blame where it belongs,” he said stiffly, staring at his brother as if looking at a stranger. “Was I to leave Chifeng-zun where I found him, half-dead and dying in our jingshi where you left him at Lianfang-zun’s incitement?”

“You think I don’t recognize that I’ve done wrong?” Lan Xichen demanded. “I will speak to Mingjue-xiong and apologize – I will explain my reasoning and let him decide how I can make it up to him. But please, there is no call for you to be cruel to A-Yao. Do not blame him for my mistakes.”

“What about for his lies?” Lan Wangji asked. He took a breath, sharp and unhappy, and suddenly it was desperately, urgently necessary to know the truth. “Brother, tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you weren’t in on it – that you didn’t try to kill Mingjue-xiong in order to cover up your affair.”

“What, kill, you think I would try to…Wangji! Affair?” Lan Xichen exclaimed, and he seemed genuinely shocked. “No, Wangji, you’ve misunderstood entirely! It’s not like that at all. Mingjue-xiong and A-Yao, they were once lovers –”

“No, we weren’t,” Nie Mingjue said.

They all turned at once. He was standing at the door, all but clinging to the doorframe to keep himself standing; he was swathed in bandages and still stuck with needles. None of them had heard him or seen him approach – he must have heard them shouting and dragged himself over.

He sounded tired. He sounded quiet.

He looked at Lan Xichen.

“I was never Meng Yao’s lover,” he said. “Not now, not before, not ever. And Xichen…you knew that, didn’t you?”

[hesitantmiranda]

allow me to talk about tommy and tubbos dsmp characters for a moment yeah ?? because i find it interesting how differently the trauma tubbo and tommy went through affected them and how it changed their behaviors and decision making.

tubbo went from a happy go lucky kid to a harden war soldier who doesn’t trust easily nor let his emotions control him. he used to be at tommys side at the drop of a pin and was dedicated to helping others while making himself happy. now he’s distanced. whether he’s distanced himself consciously or subconsciously i’m not quite sure but his primary response behaviors to the trauma he’s faced has been his need to start over, change everything, and become a hardened person who demands to be taken seriously.

tommy on the other hand... is quite the opposite. tommy was seen as this brash type of character who likes to cause mischief and although this behavior is still a part of him, it’s diminished quite a lot following his trauma. he used to be driven by passion and emotions, valuing sentiments and relationships above all else. but now he’s an empty shell of what he once was. hes driven by his desperate yearning to feel that happiness comfort and safety he once used to feel. he’s gone all the way to the point of him becoming like a child again. a panicked, on edge, traumatized child who can’t let go of the past and was on the cusp of growing up but never got the chance to. he desperately wants people in his life, yet fervently pushed them away. he now reacts on impulsive emotions rather than passionate emotions.

and THIS is what i find so interesting about their characters and their dynamic. they virtually switched places with each other but to a much more significant degree. aside from that though the thing i want to note is the one common consistency that ties both of their behaviors.

and that’s their responses to change.

tubbo has a strong desire, almost, if not actually, a strong NEED for change. tommy is overwhelmingly adverse to change and wants everything to go back to how it used to be. from an outside perspective and quick glance at them, this seems not the case but when their actions are actually looked at it proves quite true.

this is why tubbo moved to and made snowchester. this is why he married ranboo and had a kid all so quickly. this is why so much of his personality changed so quickly. this is why he was okay with not having tommy move into snowchester with him. tgis is why he was content never needing to visit dream in prison for ‘closure reasons’. he needs change. he needs to get away and leave his past to the past.

and on tommys end this is why hes jealous of ranboo being so close to tubbo. this is why he gets overwhelmed simply by just walking the prime path and seeing so many buildings he doesn’t recognize. this is why he wanted to stay in his old dirt house, even if it meant being alone. this is why he felt the need to visit dream multiple times in prison. he desperately clings onto the past in a futile attempt to regain what he once had and what he once felt. hell, in one of tommys streams ranboo straight up said to tommy, “so what i’m getting is you don’t really like it when things change?” to which tommy paused for a second then eventually replied, “... yeah, i guess i don’t.” this is the FIRST time we see him finally admitting that despite his actions showing us that for a very long time.

moving on to the most recent lore, where tommy and tubbo were both given the opportunity to side with wilbur and sell things out of a van once again like in the l’manberg days.

when given the opportunity to side with wilbur, tubbo chose to move on from his past and side with quackity. a new start. he even tells ranboo that part of his incentive was quackity promising him a better life then he’s ever had. promising him a new start and a new purpose that he could find through las nevadas.

tommy decided to stay with wilbur, clutching to the past, the good old lmanberg days, and desperately hoping that wilbur is the person he was before pogtopia. before he blew up the nation that they built together. before he ruined everything tommy ever loved and cared about. he even told quackity that he feels a moral and emotional responsibility and dependancey to stick by wilburs side due to the familial bond he thinks they share.

their behaviors are very consistent with their trauma responses as they always pick the thing that aligns with their trauma responses. for tubbo it’s moving on. just like he did with snowchester, with ranboo, leaving tommy’s side, and now with quackity and las nevadas. and for tommy it’s refusing change. just like with his house, with him disliking building he doesn’t recognize, having some form of contempt towards ranboo for “taking tubbo away from him”, and now with staying by wilburs side. they’re both very well written characters whom i admire greatly as someone who’s literally in a media making major, it’s quite the perfect tragic character dynamic.

i don’t know what the future holds for them but i’ve had the primary thesis of this analysis written out for about 4 months now and time and time again they keep proving me true as they continue to make decisions based on their subconscious behavioral responses to trauma.

[hongjoongslut]

Title: Mortal Chaos

after being banished from Mount Olympus, you are forced to wreak havoc on mortals. every man that has stepped into your life, they’ve fallen to your knees and did what you asked at will. no mortal man has ever given you trouble or attitude at your requests, except for one. Yoo Kihyun.

pairing: goddess!reader (Até, goddess of mischief, delusion, ruin, and blind folly, rash action and reckless impulse) x mortal!mafialeader!Kihyun

rating: 18+

Word Count: 2.4k

warnings: greekmythology!au, tatted!kihyun, nonidol!kihyun, reader is such a bitch but thats how she was made, mafia themes, sarcasm, so much sarcasm, mentions of readers and kihyun’s past victims, reader and kihyun have a physical fight but it doesn’t last long.

NSFW warnings: dom!kihyun, brat!reader, unprotected sex (this goddess has superpowers to not get pregnant lol, always wear protection), pull out method, oral (f receiving), kihyun is a cocky little shit in bed, slight degradation from both parties but no harsh names

BTW reader's thoughts are in italics :)

Enjoy!!

being a goddess should be beautiful, right? it’s not everything it sounds like. you just so happen to be one of the few goddesses that are feared instead of loved. you’ve made men do unspeakable things countless times, they just fall to your knees and bend at your will. for years you fooled gods until Zeus had enough of your antics. he banished you to Earth. now you’re stuck with pathetic mortals, but at least you can still wreak havoc here.

you can’t exactly be in your goddess form without notice, so you pretend to be some sort of rebel among the others. you’re going to your usual club where sorry, pathetic men roam freely, unknowingly that you’re about to ruin their lives. “these mortal songs aren’t too bad.” you thought to yourself, searching for your prey. you see a few men that are far from sober and you almost pity them, almost. no one has really sparked your interest, so you go on the dance floor. “might as well act as a mortal since i’m here.” your outfit is sure to spark men at a club, how could they not fall in love with fishnets hugging your thighs oh so deliciously.

so far you’ve been looking for random men to practice on, while you wait for your target to show up. Yoo Kihyun. you’ve been in this town for a while, and everybody you meet tells you to stay away from him and his gang, Monsta X. there’s wanted posters almost everywhere you go. you thought the members would be nice to mess with, but once you figured out who the leader was, your heart was set. he was definitely a handsome man, even a blind person could see so. his men are attractive as well, you’re sure so many women fall to their feet.

you’re dancing in a crowd of people who smell of sweat and alcohol. “almost smells like sex.” of course you’ve been bumped into, but someone is getting a little to close for your liking. you push it off until someone grabs your hips and tries to make you grind on them. you turn to find some wasted dude, smirking. “back the fuck off bitch, you don’t want to mess with me.” he laughs “i can’t resist you baby…” he slurs. you scoff, shoving him away. you turn to dance again but he grabs your wrist. “feisty, i love it sweetheart.” you’ve had it. you turn and sock him directly in the nose. “don’t fucking touch me. go to hell.” he stumbles, blood beginning to pour from his now crooked nose. “you bitch…i’m gonna kill you!” he tries to run to you, but he is stopped by a tatted arm. “get the fuck out of my club before i deal with you myself.” the man turns to face Yoo Kihyun, his eyes immediately widened. the drunk runs away from the situation, leaving you and Kihyun standing there.

“im so sorry about that ma’am. you did break his nose, i’m impressed. i’ve never seen a woman do that.” he scoffs, now facing you. “can i get you anything on the house for dealing with such an asshole?” you smile. “No thanks, but is there any first aid kit in here? My hand really hurts..” you rub your perfectly fine hand. “i’ve got you kihyun.” he nods. “follow me. don’t worry, we’ll get that hand looked at.” you walk behind him, studying his features. “he really is handsome. i’m gonna have so much fun with him.” he brings you to his office, guiding you to a chair. “i’m sure you may have just bruised or maybe even broke it. you socked the hell out of him.” he laughs again. “you’d be perfect for the mafia. i’m sure you’ve heard this town is filled with gangs left and right.” he turns to you and examines your hand. “wow, i don’t see any cuts or bruises. it doesn’t feel broken or anything, you’re a strong woman.” he looks at you smirking. “thank you, what’s your name?” he rolls his eyes, scoffing.

“have you not been in town for long? everybody here knows my name. I’m Yoo Kihyun, I run this club.” he offers his hand, you reach out to shake it. “ahh, well nice to meet you Kihyun, i’m y/n.” he smiles. “what a beautiful name, it suits such a badass woman like you.” you start to admire his office. “he has good taste in decor and aesthetic.” you walk around, analyzing his office. “this office is gorgeous, who are all these people?” you point to a picture of him and Monsta X. he walks to you, seeing what picture you’re pointing at. “ahh, those are my closest friends. they work for me here at this club.” you can feel the music blaring through the floor. “you know, i actually recognize these men. i think they’re in some sort of gang.. why would you be friends with such horrible people?” you start to back away, pretending to be scared.

“so you did know who i was all along. i’m not that dumb sweetheart.” he looks at you, then walks to his door and locks it. “so, who do you work for and why are you here? i suggest you tell me willingly or we’ll have to get it out another way.” you back away from him, your butt hitting his desk. “i-i don’t work for anyone! i just came here because my boyfriend just left me and my friends suggested i come here to forget about that asshole… please don’t hurt me!” you really should become an actor, he’s completely fooled. “i’m so sorry about that y/n.. i can make him disappear you know. just say the word and it will be like he never existed.” you smiled, looking down to his feet. his finger comes to your chin, lifting your face. “you’re really beautiful darling. he’s missing out on such a kickass woman. tell me, since you’ve definitely heard of my gang, what do you think of me?” you don’t know how he’s affecting you, this isn’t supposed to happen. wetness fills between your legs.

“i think you’re very attractive and maybe you need a woman by your side to help with this shitty town. i may look innocent, but i’ve done unspeakable things baby.” he smirks, eyeing your features. “you wouldn’t last five minutes in my gang babygirl. we’re feared internationally.” you hum, biting your lip. “i’ve terrorized gods and men alike. nothing scares me.” you reach to hold his cheek. “maybe it’s you that wouldn’t last five minutes with me.” you wink, caressing the apple of his cheeks. you feel his cheeks becoming warm. “why don’t we test that theory then darling. you sure you want me and you can handle me? i wouldn’t want to be the same person that asshole downstairs.” you shake your head. “you’re so much better than him. give me your worst-“ you lean into his ear “-daddy.”

he steps back, eying your figure. “you play a wonderful lie darling, but i’m not fooled. i suggest you tell me why you’re really here or im getting my friends up here. you do not want that sweetheart.” he pulls a knife from his pocket, holding it against your throat. you laugh. “oh kihyun, you really think this knife scares me? you’re all bark and no bite baby.” his pupils dilate, pushing the knife closer to your throat. “don’t fucking push me brat.” you stare at each other for a moment before you push him away. you punch his stomach, making him stumble back. “instead of using the cowards way out, show me how tough this mafia leader really is.” he scoffs. “im not hitting a lady. get out before i change my mind.” you walk towards him. “if you want me out so badly, why did you lock the door?” you push him to his knees and knee him in the jaw, making him lay flat on the floor. “i suggest you do as i say or you’ll be my next victim.” he sighs. he wraps his leg around yours, pulling you to the ground. he punches you hard in the gut, making you whine slightly. he pulls out a walkie talkie. “boys, get up here, now.” your eyes widen.

“they will be here soon unless you apologize darling, i suggest you do so.” you sigh, not wanting to ruin your plan, “i’m sorry kihyun...im just fighting because its all i know how to do. I’ll leave you alone.” he lets you up and calls his members. “nevermind that, boys. i’ve got it handled.” you let a small smile show to your face. you turn to leave his office when he stops you. “y/n, i never thought i’d beg to anyone but we definitely need you in our group. we may look handsome but its nothing to your beauty. not to mention, you can definitely fight and defend yourself. please darling, i’ll do anything.” you smile subconsciously. “oh how dumb can you really be?” you stare at him, watching him eye you up and down. “listen here. if i tell you my secret, i’d have to kill you, but just know that i can fight a lot better than what i did with you. i’ve never seen someone so handsome...it attracts me.” he smirks. “Well, what do i need to do so you’ll join Monsta X princess?” you stare at him for a moment before softly pecking his lips. “how about you show me how one of the most feared leaders is when he’s begging to cum?” something switched in his eyes, you could see it. “i definitely will, brat.”

he picks you up with ease and slams you on his desk. his lips are devouring yours and his tongue is exploring every part of your mouth. “how the hell is a mortal making me so aroused?” he leaves your lips to mark your neck. your body is getting antsy. “as much as i love this, just fuck me already kihyun...or is it that you’re too weak to please me?” he grabs your throat, closing his hands. The loss of air is so thrilling, you almost don’t want him to leave. “princess, that’s not the case at all. you better learn your place quickly or you’re not cumming at all tonight.” he rips off your shirt, taking a second to view you. “so beautiful darling...and all for me.” you smile at his words. he removes your pants, leaving you in just your lacey boyshorts. “i swear if he judges me for wearing boyshorts, i will actually kill him” he removes them, staring directly at your pussy. “so wet...yet you called me weak? how ironic.” he licks a stripe on you, your entire body losing itself. “sweet tasting, beautiful looking and is badass? you must be my dream.” he goes back to your pussy, eating you as if he has never tasted food before. moans leave your mouth, your mind can’t even process words. “kihyun...don’t fucking stop please...holy shit.” he doesn’t respond verbal;y, he responds with pushing his index finger into your soaking cunt. “god…. i cannot wait to feel these walls against my cock. so perfect princess.” a familiar feeling is bubbling inside you. “kihyun, im so close...please let me cum!” he looks up at you, smirking at your already fucked out state. “since you asked so nicely, cum all over my tongue darling.” he starts eating you out again, his tongue and fingers moving faster than the speed of light. you scream his name as you cum. he leans up, licking his lips. “the sweetest thing i’ve ever had baby. he removes his shirt, showing you his inked chest. “holy shit, how does he keep getting hotter?” he sees you looking at his chest. “you got a staring problem baby. i know, they make me so irresistible.” you roll your eyes. “come fuck me already or i will blue ball you in a split second.” his eyes widen. he takes his pants off, slipping his boxers off with them. “are you on birth control?” he softens a bit. “im not able to get pregnant, and i wont tell you why.” he laughs. “jeez, so hostile.” he slowly pushes in, watching your reaction. “holy shit kihyun…” he sighs. “so warm and wet...i am definitely not gonna last long.” he pushes further until he bottoms out. he watches how your body is reacting, making sure he isn’t actually hurting you. “please move kihyun. i can’t wait any longer.” he pulls out slowly only to go back in harder. he picks up his pace, moans bouncing off the walls. “shit...you’re so perfect y/n, i wish i could stay in this pussy all day.” you can’t pronounce anything but his names and very explicit words. you’re uncontrollably squeezing down on his cock, making him falter his pace. “you’re squeezing down on me….god im so close.” you can feel another orgasm bubbling inside you. “k-kihyun, please please please let me cum, wanna-wanna cum all over your cock.” his breathing and pace is becoming irregular. “yes... yes princess, cum all over my cock.” he rubs your clit, making you scream. your orgasm hits you hard, your body shaking uncontrollably. “princess…. holy shit!” he pulls out of you, shooting his cum all over your stomach. he sighs, still getting over his high. he grabs a tissue from his desk and wipes you clean. he helps you back into your clothes. he starts dressing himself, wearing a permanent smile. “so, is that what i needed to do for you to join my gang, princess?” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“you’re so arrogant kihyun, but hell yes.”

oh my goodness my baby is finally out!! it took a while for me to finish this but i absolutely love this

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 7/?: Catalysts

Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often, despite the frustrating paradox that is the male endocrine system’s apparent determination to make him do so. He finds it feels… empty, after. Like there’s supposed to be something more, but instead there’s just whatever is situated above his head to stare at while his breathing levels out, an interminable abyss of silence and stars, or tree foliage, or apartment ceiling. Impulses and feelings of a sexual nature are probably normal for anyone his age, but in the past, satiating desires like this has made him feel guilty, given the context.

When he's not plagued by nightmares rife with gore and blood and bodies, or the occasional aching memory, his subconscious takes the opportunity to bombard him with dreams of a suggestive nature, having deduced somehow that it’s the most effective method to get him to… tend to things.

This variety of dream customarily involves pale pink hair, multifaceted eyes, and soft fingertips, branded into the part of his brain that controls his most base instincts with a hot iron.

He notes begrudgingly as he gazes at plain plaster above him, brows furrowed, that ostensibly, it works well enough, if the intricate mess of thoughts and feelings in his head and on his abdomen are anything to go by.

Sasuke would never admit it to anyone, but Sakura has headlined exclusively in nearly every sexually-charged dream he's ever had, and resultingly the majority of his sentient thoughts while indulging outside of dreaming, too. When they were Genin, it was innocent enough; he had reasoned that, being the main girl his age he associated with, it made sense his inadvertent dreams, beyond the scope of his control, involved her. He'd shaken it off in those early days as the by-product of the developing hormonal cocktail that is the pubescent masculine mind, and ignored the part of himself that kind of had a crush on her even then. Or definitively more than a crush, after the Chunin Exams and the hospital and jealousy.

He had tried convincing himself of the same thing at fourteen, once he'd left the village and had attempted to sever all bonds. It didn’t work, though; by that point he knew better, knew what the feeling he was trying to squash actually was.

Which meant it didn’t work at fifteen, either.

Nor sixteen, and definitely not seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

All of that has been wholly indecent on its own in the past, causing him to feel shameful every time it happens, and even more ashamed if it’s a rare day where he’s weak enough to act on it, a day where he wakes up mere seconds from an edge rather than minutes.

But this morning, he woke up on the tail end of all of that with the addition of freckles , of all things to fixate on, and he just knows he's never going to forget about them now, that they’re branded into his grey matter in perpetuity. Freckles just above the interior of a shoulder, eight of them, a small scattering he had been pressing his lips to, listening to a softly whispered Sasuke-kun, reaching around her with his only arm, so he could make her say his name like that again.

It is far from the first time he’s touched himself to the thought of Sakura, but it is the first time he’s indulged since they’ve been… together.

Except this time felt… different.

Less like an unrealistic reverie he should try to abstain from and more like an eventuality. Less guilt, too, or rather, almost none, because he’s in a relationship with her now, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have feelings like this regarding her. Not that he is anywhere near ready to do anything about them, because he absolutely is not; he’s not certain he even comprehends that level of vulnerability, to touch another person and allow yourself to be touched by them, though he badly wants to, someday.

No, Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often… but he did this morning, when he woke up teetering just on the precipice, fantasizing about tiny tan flecks seen and unseen, and he’s trying to work through how he feels about it, this guilt surrounding the fact of not feeling guilty like he ordinarily does, as well as the lingering curiosity he’s struggling to force down regarding how many other freckles Sakura has.

Even moreso, he yearns for soft words that he has often thought may be sentimental to the point of being utterly quixotic. It's why he doesn’t typically submit to this kind of inclination in the first place; it’s meaningless on one’s own, he secretly thinks, though he has nothing to compare it to. No sense of connection or true lasting fulfillment like he imagines there must be, for people to talk about it the way they do; just pleasure that's there for a blinding scattered second and gone the next, with nothing tenderhearted or meaningful in the moments following as his vision refocuses and he picks up the pieces.

He stares at his ceiling, an aporia of longing and complicated compulsions ricocheting in the hallways of his head, or perhaps from his skull to the roof and back again, an absurd push and pull that leaves him with more questions than answers.

Has she ever thought about him the way he thinks about her?

What would it sound like, Sasuke-kun, when she’s like that?

Is it okay to feel like this, now? To think about her in this regard?

Sasuke is accustomed to not sleeping well - it comes with the territory of his lived experience, an unfortunate fact of life he’s somewhat learned to deal with - but during the mission to Sand, he'd slept fairly restfully, though in short increments of five or six hours. That's apparently the tipping point of how long he gets to go without being sojourned by some variety of vision in the night.

He eventually makes his way to the shower, using torrid water and soap to double cleanse what’s left of his mess. That's a big contributor to his consternation, too; it's so embarrassingly messy that it’s impossible to imagine ever doing anything like it with her . He flips the dial to cold after he’s bathed for the better portion of five minutes, because serpens caput is still burned into his retinas, and he’s hoping against hope to freeze it out of himself like he has tried to do with shame in the past.

It doesn’t work; it just induces shivering, algidity overwhelming the senses but doing nothing to distract the mind.

He shoves his face into his book after, desperate for the distraction a proverbial fiction featuring an old fisherman can provide and thinking once again that he needs to acquire a lamp. Anything to get the thought of pressing his lips to her freckles out of his head, because he’s pretty sure if he keeps thinking about it, he’ll have to take care of things for the second time today, and then he really won’t know how to feel.

So when a banging erupts on his apartment door shortly following eight, followed by a shout of, “TEME! I'm here, let’s go!”, all he can think is finally, because he knows it will at least get his mind off of this strange lack of guilt and a curiosity he’s not ready to unpack yet. The book helped, but he thinks he needs the challenge a fight against Naruto can provide to truly leave behind this level of prurience. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look her in the eye when they meet at three as they planned, otherwise.

Sasuke shoves on his sandals and grabs his chokuto before opening the door. “So you finally showed. Thought you'd sleep all morning.”

Naruto’s eyes narrow, indignant and already launching into a retort. Good. Maybe he’ll get some iota of order knocked back into him, enough to put compelling constellations away for the time being.

XXX

Sasuke feels monumentally better by noon. It’s another draw, an absolute whirlwind of swinging limbs that made it impossible to focus on anything else. He didn’t take joy in it necessarily, and he suspects Naruto bruised his ulna bone to the extent it almost cracked, but it helps, the diversion of pain; the tinge he feels when he moves it is a welcome hindrance. They’d stuck mainly to taijutsu and clashing weaponry, so physically, he’s pretty exhausted.

They’re resting in the dirt, making a valiant attempt at rehydrating. It’s moderately hot for this time of year, barely on the cusp of mid April, but it’s seeming like the Konoha heat will be returning with the same vengeance it always does. A small trickle of sweat sinks its way down his back.

Sasuke feels nearly normal again. Or normal to the extent he generally feels, anyways. He gets the urge to do something good - to tip the scale, so to speak.

"...The cutting board works. Thank you." It’s not what he’s most thankful for right now, but it’s a nice thing to say as substitution.

His friend grins at him. "Welcome! It was all me, by the way. Hinata-chan didn't even help me pick it out!" Naruto scratches his head, downing more water. He’s moving rather slowly, as if he is sore, too; Sasuke thinks perhaps he came close to beating him this round.

They stare upwards for a while, soaking in the sun as clouds roll lazily by. Birds fly overhead, finches and song sparrows twittering their selections, collecting materials to build more nests for this new season. It’s another effective distraction, one that fills him with a sense of nostalgia, replacing his earlier sense of compunction regarding the mystifying concept of physical love and the whims that accompany it.

Naruto speaks up after a bit. "Ne, teme, wanna go to the market with me? Hinata-chan asked me to get some groceries and some stuff for the backyard."

Sasuke glances at his teammate and contemplates. It can't hurt. He did want to pick up potatoes to make actual curry with, and he could get some other things, too. He'll still have time to shower before he meets Sakura at the hospital.

"...Sure."

Naruto takes longer to rise than he does, shuffling carefully as if he is in pain, but once he’s standing, he seems fine enough, stupid grin slapped on his face at Sasuke’s agreement to go with. They set off in the general direction of his building so he can drop off his weapon first. He gets dirty looks sometimes, walking around, though it’s not nearly as bad as when he first returned and it doesn’t bother him on the same level that it used to. When he’s with Naruto or Sakura, he gets less of them, but he can't imagine a sword strapped to his back in the market will do much to help his reputation.

Naruto doesn't allow the easy silence to last. "Y'know, teme, it's really good to have you back in the village. It feels like everything's finally coming together. We'll have to do some fun stuff this summer. And also in the fall!” Gears are turning behind cerulean eyes, and he adds, ”...Hmm, and the winter, too!"

"...Yeah." He stares at the mountain, thinking about what cherry blossom trees look like in summer and fall and winter. It will be nice to see the one across the street change colors throughout the seasons. Or the one on the hill, where they're going later today. He has seen their like numbering in the thousands, scattered everywhere on his journey - he’s highly cognizant of them, for obvious reasons - but he hasn’t been granted the privilege of watching the same one through the whole of a year’s growth cycle in a long time.

"Sakura-chan seems really cheery lately, too. Can't imagine why." The second sentence is said flippantly, without any real conviction, as if Naruto knows exactly why.

Sasuke glances at his teammate, neck warming and heart skipping a little at the mention of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that Sakura is happy from secondhand sources; it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once. Maybe not all his impulses are complicated in nature enough to require dissection, as he was accustomed to doing when he was away; spending time with her is one, and he's been indulging it often.

He briefly entertains the idea of outright telling Naruto that they're together, then, but the dobe is moving on before he comes up with the words. "Well, anyways. Wanna spar Monday morning, if neither of us get a mission by then?”

That’s… specific. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to him, after all; he’s sure it’s no coincidence that Naruto is asking about the exact time period Sakura is busy training with Ino, probably as aware of her schedule as Kakashi is. Their old sensei might have told him, he supposes, or maybe Sakura said something; Sasuke wonders when he last saw her.

“...Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

The response he gets is a slug on the left shoulder, but it’s not overly hard. Sasuke narrows his eyes in response more out of habit than any real malice. He sees as Naruto’s hand retreats and slips out of a fist that words are written on his palm. He didn’t notice it throughout the morning due to their hands constantly being locked around weapons or thrown in punches, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes; it's likely a grocery list.

Naruto leans against the brick downstairs while Sasuke drops off his sword, and then they head to the main market area as the dobe chatters. It’s fairly busy, it being a Saturday, but it’s not intolerably so; most people are busy eating around now.

Sasuke is completely unsurprised when Naruto beelines straight for the noodles; naturally he would be out of them. He takes the opportunity to procure a blend of wild rice. Thus far he only has white and brown in his own pantry, and he’s been trying to eat it often. He's always liked rice, but it’s high in calories, too, an easy way to try putting on weight. Another variety to choose from would be beneficial.

He trails after his friend to the baking supplies next, where Naruto examines containers of flour and sugar. Sasuke concludes Hinata must bake, because he’s confident any cookie prepared by the dobe could not possibly be edible. While his teammate is occupied, Sasuke turns the corner and procures a half dozen eggs, a large bag of potatoes, and two different varieties of tomatoes. The extra five pounds of weight held in the crook of his arm doesn’t do wonders for his bruised bone situation, but it’s not wholly unbearable; he’s fairly used to dealing with pain.

“Hinata-chan said to go to the gardening stall on the north end,” Naruto says once they’ve paid and exited the building, so they begin a course in that general direction. “She said they have the best perennial bulbs; that means they come back every year!”

Sasuke twitches, surprised he can even pronounce the word perennial if he’s lived this long without knowing what one is.

“Anyways, she wants to plant some, uh…” His voice trails off, and he peeks at his hand, where Sasuke now sees the names of flowers written in feminine writing that has to be Hinata’s.

Of course. Like he could spell the words, let alone read his own sloppy handwriting.

“Iris, phlox, and uh… echo-na-na-chee-ah.”

“Echinachea,” Sasuke corrects dully, giving him a withering look.

“Sure! That! She wants to plant those in the backyard, kind of line the house with them, since the front is looking pretty nice now. She said to get bulbs; they root better. They might bloom this year, but if not, they’ll for sure come in next year!”

“...And she entrusted you with this?” Sasuke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Naruto just laughs, utterly unphased. “Duh, that’s what the list is for, teme. Hinata-chan is super smart like that. Putting it on my hand makes sure I don’t lose it!”

They meander to the northern edge of the market, past the congregation of other stalls selling seeds and garden starters. It's getting towards the end of planting season for Fire Country, but there is still plenty to choose from here, allegorical gates of green swinging open in salutation. They pass some tomato plant starters, already starting to climb their cages, but Sasuke decides against it; his hand is full presently, and the bone still kind of hurts, and none of them are red heirloom tomatoes anyways, being smaller variations like plum or cherry or grape. He likes all tomatoes, honestly, but if he was going to grow one, he’d just want the one of a favorite to worry about. Repotting a starter would also require a planter, which he doesn’t have; another thing to carry.

The stall Naruto leads them to is probably the nicest one there, judiciously laid out and everything labeled neatly with precise calligraphy. The few tables the vendor has are overflowing with perennial starters, but Naruto goes to the three vertical displays of seeds and bulbs, so tall they are at eye level with both of them. They’re filled to the brim with diminutive packages, printed with large pictures of the flowers they contain the beginnings of, along with genus names and common names in smaller text. The blond examines them, surveying his hand, then the display, then back to his hand again in scrutiny.

Sasuke watches, resisting the urge to sigh and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hmm… I guess this would be a lot easier if I knew what any of these looked like. Gonna have to read them all.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and steps forward to point to the section of iris bulbs to start with. He gives him a minute to work out which colors to pick, observing the throng of people entering and exiting around them, young and old and in-between.

Phlox are next; he directs his teammate to the appropriate section, where there are quite a few options of hues. Naruto examines them as if he is making a grand decision transformative in nature, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm… She likes blue and purple. Maybe I should…”

His own gaze wanders as he tunes Naruto out, taking in pictures of begonias and caladium on plastic shiny in the sunlight, before his vision locks on the far display.

He wanders over to it as if his body is moving of its own accord.

There are several varieties of lilies, he learns as he scans the packaging, oriental, trumpet, and what is apparently called nerine. White nerine lilies had been the variety his mother grew, lining their yard with curved porcelain petals, clusters emanating from many single stems.

He sets his groceries at his feet to free up his hand, picking up one of the packages to read the instructions on the back. His arm aches as he does so, but he couldn’t care less.

Nerine lily bulbs require good drainage. If there are still puddles in the prospective planting area 5-6 hours after rain, locate another site, or amend the soil with organic material to raise levels 2-3 inches. Nerine lilies also require soil that is somewhat gritty, though it also must be organically rich. Adding compost may increase nutrient content.

In spring, choose a location in full sun. If you are in a hotter region, site them where they will receive morning sun and afternoon shade, and plant the bulbs with an inch of the slender top above the soil surface. The top of the bulb is the area that looks like the stem of an onion. Install bulbs 8 to 11 inches apart for a massed look.

Nerine bulbs develop foliage that gather sun rays and strengthen the plants during the spring and summer months. Flower stalks develop in the fall. Provide water when the plants are actively growing, and very little when they are dormant.

You may cut the final flower stems to display decoratively. This will not hurt the plants and the cuts last long periods of time indoors. After they finish blooming for the year, cut off any remaining flower stalks. Your plants will rest for the winter months before sending up new growth in the springtime. Over time, nerine lilies will form clumps. They like to be crowded, so don’t feel pressed to divide them unless flower production begins to decrease. Clumps can then be dug, split apart, and moved to other parts of the garden, or shared with friends.

When Sasuke looks up, deep in thought, he notices Naruto searching for what he assumes is echinacea, flitting stiffly at random between the first two displays and scratching his head. Wordlessly with the package of lily bulbs still in hand, Sasuke points to the bottom right corner of the first, where several color selections are.

“Thanks, teme!” Naruto plows back to the specified stand and stoops down comically slowly, though Sasuke barely sees, gaze drawn pensively back to the packet he was examining.

The memorial stone has decent drainage, aside from the occasional hard rain like last weekend; that will become less common as the weather warms, and one or two monsoons a summer never drowned his mother’s lilies. Shade in the afternoon could be an issue, though. There’s a large oak tree on the west side that might cast some protection over it, but he only ever visits under the cover of night, so he’s unsure. He would have to examine the trajectory in person to gauge.

He considers the market bag the groceries were handed to him in earlier, studying it closely.

Carefully, he puts the package back where he found it, though his eyes linger on it. He’s no gardener, not like Sakura is, and besides, his arm hurts.

XXX

He’s leaning up against one of the blue columns outside of the hospital when Sakura emerges at three, sprightly as ever. She’s holding the two journals and the medical text from their first trip to the library; she said yesterday that she needed to return them, but there shouldn’t be any new ones she needs to check out just yet. He hadn’t stayed terribly long after they’d finished the tenmusu because he needed to shower and write his mission report, but they’d made plans to swing by the library and journey back up the hillside to read together again. There was also mention of possibly picking up food afterwards, to take to her place. Hazel Wood must be in her tote, hooked around her shoulder.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets cheerfully. “Whew. It’s getting warm out already.”

“...It is,” Sasuke comments before he extends his hand for her texts, his own already held there, a silent offer to carry them for her.

She blushes as she passes them to him, sliding them into his hand. His eyes drift to the freckle on her cheek, and he wipes his mind blank by sheer willpower alone as they head east. The books aren’t as heavy as the groceries had been earlier, so it doesn’t hurt as much, but he's wondering at this point if the bone might actually have a small crack. He thinks he should ask her to look at it; maybe later, at her apartment.

“My balcony days may be numbered by now, at least until the fall comes,” Sakura observes as they meander.

He contemplates. “...Do you sit out there often?” It is so utterly befitting of her that he thinks he can picture it, her reading out there, surrounded by plants. He wonders if she ever admires the night sky. Their team had stargazed sometimes, on missions that first year as Genin.

Green eyes settle on him from his right. “I like to, when it’s nice out. A lot of times in the summer it gets too hot, though there is an occasional night when it’s cool enough. Fall is really the best for it. You can see the changing leaves from above. Even if it's a chillier day, it’s pleasant with some tea and a blanket in the evening."

He debates for a long moment, but decides against bringing up stout squirrels or chestnut-flavored everything or Naruto slipping on a leaf.

“...It sounds nice,” he comments simply instead, wondering if he’ll be invited to sit with her on her balcony, once fall arrives. They would have to sit kind of close; the space doesn’t seem very big from below, and it's cluttered with greenery.

Sakura smiles up at him, a look that says she agrees with his assessment.

Then, she offers softly, "You can sit out there sometime with me, if you'd like."

His neck warms; all he can do is nod and avert his gaze elsewhere, an abundance of something tender and sweet flaring to life in his belly.

Returning the books barely takes two minutes; they’re wandering towards the outskirts of the mountain in short order. Sakura sprawls in the same spot she did last time, so he takes up the same position, too, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, stable and strong.

And then his eyes catch on another freckle she has, this one near her elbow, and all he can think about is the slightly textured consistency of his ceiling, and whether the impulse to press his lips to her skin without guilt was an okay thing to feel.

She reads and he more contemplates than reads for about an hour, sprawled beneath the scant amount of shade provided by this tree that has lost its petals, trading them in for florets of a greener variety. It’s pleasant, once he can drown his inner disarray of thoughts. He eventually gets through a sliver of his book, though turning the pages is a little cumbersome, tinged lightly with pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait until later to ask her to examine his arm.

Sakura finishes her own book, though she keeps the pressed petal between its pages; she must have gotten through more of it while he was on the way to and from Suna. She just reclines there, after, looking up at the sky with her arms at her sides, near exactly the relaxed pose she used to lie in when they were younger.

Sasuke finishes the passage he’s on, and marks his place with the petal she’d plucked from his hair last week, before pointedly setting the text aside and following her eyes to the azure. Fluffy clouds are floating by as the sun inches closer to the west horizon, pushed steadily by the breeze.

“How is Ichika’s recommendation?” She questions.

“...Interesting.” He genuinely is enjoying reading it, despite his aberration.

Her head angles towards him, lying against a gnarled root at a slightly different angle. Her expression is curious, like she’s encouraging him to elaborate.

“Simple, but heavy with metaphors.” He considers for a second, then adds, “You might like it. Poetic.”

Full lips twist upwards. “Maybe I’ll read it next. Her recommendations are usually pretty apt; she gets a good read on people.”

“...How was yours?”

“Hmm.” She pauses, as if thinking it over. “A girl and her mother who get caught up in some bad luck. They inherit an estate - that’s where the title comes from - and supernatural things start happening. It’s kind of a story within a story situation; the grandmother they inherited the house from was an author, so they start going back and reading her writing for clues.”

“...A mystery.” It seems like she’ll read any genre. Mysteries would probably entertain her; she’s always liked to solve things.

She laughs, music to his ears. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It was pretty good. Well written; better than the last one.”

There is a pause.

“...Maybe I’ll read it next,” he echoes, her same words from earlier.

Green sparkles at him, amused before she shifts back towards the firmament.

“...Sounds like a book club.”

It is the most Sakura joke. He huffs a ghost of a laugh as more gauzy clouds drift idly by. It is peaceful, sitting here underneath the same sky as her, observing in easy silence through branches with fresh emerald buds.

And then Sasuke flexes his forearm, shifting slightly, and it still hurts. He considers; she probably won’t mind.

"...I think Naruto cracked my arm bone," he finally confides.

She turns to him, expression fluctuating immediately into one of disquiet, pink brows knotting closer in concern. He blinks and she's standing already, walking over and sitting cross-legged in the nearest open space, an indent in gnarled roots that she navigated through and found a place in as if it were nothing.

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds it out for her to inspect once she’s seated, and she gently rests her fingertips on his forearm.

"It’s from this morning?” Sakura asks, looking concerned in a way that makes his heart thump a little. Or maybe it’s from her hands encircling his skin.

He nods; she must have deduced that they trained earlier. She prods gently before threading green chakra beneath his skin towards the bone, probing for a break.

She frowns. "Oblique fracture in the ulna, though it's very slight and non-displaced.” Her gaze flicks up to him, and all at once, it’s the exam room again, him hyper aware of how close she is to him even though this is clinician Sakura. “I’ll fix it; you really shouldn't have been carrying anything on it."

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to him carrying her books earlier, because he’s thinking about the groceries from the market, which were definitively heavier. Her proximity and the aroma of tart berry and the freckle on her cheekbone are all incredibly distracting. Especially the freckle. He peers at her fingers, glowing verdant, and notices one on the inner portion of her right wrist, too.

"...Sorry." He says finally, flicking his eyes back up to her nervously after a long minute is spent mending marrow back together. She inclines her head back down to his arm, apparently accepting his apology for not mentioning it sooner. It's an odd sensation; he can feel the crack fusing from the inside out, ataractic chakra seeping into the diaphysis to fortify.

He feels like he should clarify, so he adds as she works, eyes fixed on her face which has settled in concentration, “I thought it was just bruised at first.” She nods as if that makes sense, working on it for another minute or so without glancing up.

He hopes she's not mad at him. Sasuke shifts his gaze downwards, something in him sinking.

“Flex it, then bend, please,” she requests, not moving her digits; she must need to feel the arm move to determine if it’s healed. He does as she asks and it’s notedly improved, no lingering pain.

“It’s better. Thank you.” He looks upwards just as she does, hoping the jade will still be soft on charcoal.

It is, startlingly so, and she’s flushing all of a sudden, dropping her hands from his arm and rising to her feet a step away, as if she, too, just realized how close they were. It's different here, daylight and not part of their routine like her entryway is becoming.

“You’re welcome,” she says somewhat hastily, complexion darkening. He’s not sure he’s much better; his neck is warm, and he remembers very specifically where each of her fingers had just been on his skin, like the ten points of contact are singed into his epidermis, and likely his grey matter, too.

As he tries to force his pulse to even out, Sakura adds, softly, “You could have just come in with him.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “...What?”

Sakura blinks, countenance appearing as if she is sorting through a problem in her head. Pink dissolves back to her normal coloring.

“Naruto came in with a slipped back rib, earlier today. I assumed it was from sparring with you.” She rolls her eyes, then. “He went and got groceries before coming in; he had them with him. Luckily nothing chilled; he had to wait for a bit.”

"...He didn't say anything about his rib." Now the slow rising and crouching is making more sense.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a second as if something has become clear, but she only replies, "Ah. Of course."

"...Wouldn’t shut up?"

"...Yeah." She turns away slightly, cheeks stained anew for some reason; it makes him curious what their third teammate babbled to her about. "He said as I was kicking him out that he was going to plant flower bulbs with Hinata this afternoon. He showed me the ones he picked. It’s good timing; the perfect time of year to plant some. Pretty soon it'll be too warm."

He lets those words drizzle slowly into his being, a little gentler than a summer monsoon.

"...Our next Hokage can't pronounce echinacea," he eventually tells her.

She chuckles with mirth, a sweet sound he finds relieving; she must have gathered he was present for that endeavor, now, and she can't be too mad at him if he can still make her laugh. Sasuke inwardly hopes she doesn’t gather that he also got groceries; he doesn’t think she’d be very impressed. It was kind of stupid to do that with a questionable arm, in retrospect.

"No," Sakura acknowledges finally, appearing highly entertained. "And he didn’t know what a perennial was until this morning, yet he’s planting an army of them. Probably without reading the directions."

They look over the village together for a lengthy moment in which he considers text printed on the back of a white package.

Then she says his name, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. "Sasuke-kun.”

He angles to her, and sweet jade is on him again, ebbing seafoam cresting as the late afternoon sunlight hits her.

"Thank you for telling me about your arm. In the future, please come to the hospital, if I'm working. You can wait in my office, if you’d prefer. I don't mind; use the window.” Her expression changes to troubled, and suddenly she is no longer the clinician version of Sakura; everything is tinged with something more, something that burns him in its intensity. “You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts. Even if you think it’s nothing. Please tell me."

Oh. She’s not mad, just worried. Heat grazes his ears, and he swallows, staring down at his forearm.

He wants to be close to her. He really does.

"Okay,” he agrees, and means it, carefully meeting green.

They head down the hill together to seek dinner before the rush hits, deciding to go to the yakitori stand she mentioned when he first returned. She chatters about how Naruto wants to have a bonfire in his backyard, once summer’s here and everything is planted.

“...He’s excited about his yard,” Sasuke comments after they’ve ordered, leaning against the wall of the exterior waiting for their takeout. He requested his without the sauce, since Sakura said it’s on the sweeter side for yakitori.

Sakura grins, and she’s really pretty, shadows of a nearby tree dappling her skin, cheeks still red because he paid. It’s only fair; she’s been feeding him. “Yeah, he is. I’d like to see their flowers and garden in the back, eventually. I’m sure once they’ve got it how they want it, they’ll have all kinds of get-togethers back there. Last year we carved pumpkins at their place, instead of at Ino’s and Sai’s; there’s less mess to clean up if it’s outside. He said today that you should come this year.”

“...What?”

She blinks as if remembering something, then smiles sheepishly. “So I never mentioned this, because it happened after I…” She flushes, and she looks away for a second. “...After I sent a letter for the month already, but Sai learned about this artistic thing they do in the Land of Woods, a couple years ago.” Her gaze shifts back to his. “They hollow out pumpkins and carve designs into them, in late October. Warding off evil spirits as they go into the cooler season or something; they put them on their doorsteps with candles in them so the carvings light up the night. It’s odd, but I think it’s become a tradition now. It’s fun, once you get the hang of it. We roast the seeds with salt and Hinata bakes pumpkin bread.”

That sounds entirely odd and completely characteristic of Sai; he supposes there is the artistic angle to consider. Sasuke passed through the Land of Woods three separate times, but never in the fall. “What kind of designs?”

She smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh; his expression must be that of one who is exceedingly perplexed. He supposes it’s not an expression he wears often. “Well, they’re supposed to be scary, I think, but we don’t really do well at making them that way. They’re more funny or decorative. Sai makes pretty good ones, I guess, mean faces with sharp teeth.”

“...What do you carve?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I tried a leaf, the first year, and a crescent moon the second. Sai and I teamed up to carve one for Kakashi-sensei, too, last year; a scarecrow with a cat.”

A crescent moon is not at all what he would have guessed she’d gravitate towards; he thinks immediately of the Six Paths Yin Seal that once adorned a hand he no longer has. Then he comprehends the final part of that sentence.

“...A cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, he got a cat.”

“...His summons are dogs.”

She giggles. “Yeah, Naruto and I thought it was weird at first, too, but he does kind of seem like he’d be more of a cat person overall, the more we thought about it.” Sakura shrugs. “He’s in the village most of the time now, being Hokage, so I guess he thought he could be around enough to take care of one? They’re more low-maintenance than a dog would be. I usually get tasked with feeding it and changing its litter, when he travels to watch the Chunin and Jonin Exams.”

Momentarily, he wonders if Sakura knows what’s under Kakashi’s mask; their old sensei allowing her into his space in his absence may have given her opportunities for some form of low-key reconnaissance on the matter.

Then his brain seizes on another notion, one that’s far more amusing, because she said she teamed up with Sai, and that can only mean one thing.

“...What does Naruto carve?”

Sakura’s grin widens as if she perceives exactly what thought he’s just had. She probably does; she knows him well. “He’s terrible at it. His never look like anything; just orange mush. He loves it, though, and Hinata puts it on their front step anyway.”

He snorts. Figures.

A bell dings, so they peer back in, and sure enough, their food is ready. Sakura steps forward to collect it, thanking the worker, but as she turns, she pauses.

Sasuke follows her gaze, and sees none other than their third teammate in the street, walking their direction and waving emphatically. He’s wearing a different pair of pants, knees absolutely covered in dirt and grass stains.

“Oi, teme! Sakura-chan!”

Sakura glances up to him before swiveling towards the road, their food in hand; Sasuke trails close behind, pushing apart the hanging banners of the stand as he steps beyond the threshold of the restaurant.

“Naruto,” Sakura greets when they’re out in the open.

“...Dobe.”

“Looks like you’ve planted everything,” Sakura says more than asks, gesturing to his pants as evidence.

“Hehe, yep, all of ‘em! It was work, but it will be worth it, later in the year.” Naruto scratches his head, grinning. Sasuke lets those words sink in, too, drenching dead roots.

“And now you’re getting Hinata yakitori as a treat?” Sakura pushes, seeming incredibly amused.

“Well…” Naruto looks away bashfully, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah. Gotta repay her somehow. She has good ideas. I just follow her lead.” He looks back to them, then. “Did you tell teme about all our awesome plans?”

Sasuke’s focus falls to Sakura, who is flushed, biting her lip in a smile.

“I may have started to.”

“Well, good, because our yard is going to be totally the best, and if he thinks he’s getting out of it...” the dobe points at him accusingly, “Then I’ll kick his ass!”

Sasuke scoffs. “As if you could.”

Sakura shakes her head, pink locks fluttering with the motion. “Always with the physicalities... Anyways, I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.”

An uncommonly stretched pause passes where blue eyes zero in on the food container Sakura is holding, before they travel up to the two of them.

The grin shifts to something remarkably tender.

“...Yeah. I’m sure it will be.” He says it with the utmost confidence, like he is as certain about it as he is about the sun rising tomorrow, and Sasuke gets the sense that he is no longer referring to gardening.

The moment passes, and then Naruto is punching them each on the shoulder respectively and sidestepping away towards the yakitori stand. “Anyways, gotta go, so I’ll catch ya later! I’m guessing you have plans of your own.”

Sasuke blinks as their teammate disappears into the restaurant, ears burning a little. When his vision travels down to his right, Sakura is blushing a dark red. She meets his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

They turn to go to her building. The entire way there, Sasuke considers everything in the beginnings of a green that seems endless, nurtured by people from all walks of life. He has been noticing it this whole time, since his return, but now he's thinking about how dull it would be without it, whether it’s dirt roads or lifeless grey granite. This is not the wilds, where seeds sprout unabated. Here, one must put in the work to grow things, find suitable locations and till the soil.

When they reach Sakura’s apartment, his eye lingers on her plants as he follows her inside. She sets the takeout on the table by her window. A shadow of a leaf from the jasmine above them is cast hazily out of focus on her left cheek.

“Would you like any sauce with yours? I could make some teriyaki sauce quick, or I have lemons I’ll be cutting up anyway for mine.”

“...Lemon?” Citrus complements chicken, he knows, but he understands that to mean she’s planning on putting it on hers, over top of the yakitori sauce.

Her lips curve upwards. “I like it on other things, too. It’s good on yakitori.”

So Sakura slices a lemon and it sits on the center of the table between them as they eat. She drizzles her yakitori with three of them, and he takes the other three. The chicken is pretty good, tart with the citrus and seared alongside green onions. It’s still warm, as it wasn’t a long walk to her place at all, a convenient sort of sustenance.

“...What else do you like lemon on?”

She chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “Hmm, a lot of things. Fish, even ones that are usually served with lime. Pork. I like it on vegetables, too. Salads, pasta, rice. Most desserts that include lemon I like, as well.” She pauses again, and adds, “Lemonade, if it’s homemade.”

No wonder they’re always in her fridge. “...And tea.”

His heart flips at the way she smiles at him.

“...And tea,” she agrees.

They watch the streets fill and empty from her window, finishing the meal in a companionable reticence, smelling faintly of citrus rind and shadowed by greenery from above.

He helps her prepare decaffeinated sencha after, trying not to stare at the freckle on her cheek. He’s pondering this morning further, the notions of impetus and yearning, and also the way she says his name, but this time uttered softly under a cherry blossom tree with an invitation into her office, if something hurts.

Sakura cares about him. A lot. Sasuke knows this, has known for years, but it’s the actions of her affection, the way she expresses it purely and simply as if it’s a true north cascading through her veins, that has inched its way into his bone marrow, engraved on the latibule he carved inwardly to avoid dry swallowing life’s more bitter medicines.

As she stirs sugar and honey into her own cup, she asks, “Care for a chess rematch?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he nods his assent. It’s time to test something.

They arrange the board together at her table. The first round, Sasuke cautiously plans every move, surveying alternating squares and attempting to predict what strategy Sakura will employ. In some instances, he mirrors her, moving a rook a turn after she does, shifting a pawn out of imminent danger, and so on. It’s a very involved way to play, requiring attentive calculation of each move.

It’s a prolonged match that he eventually loses with a final sweeping motion of her remaining bishop, but it’s fairly close.

“...Again?”

She grins and wordlessly starts setting up the pieces she has captured, so he begins to set up hers. It’s an interesting task, a message of opposites, her setting up his dark figures and him setting up her light ones.

The second round, he simply follows his instincts, negating planning ahead farther than a couple of turns. If he gets an impulse to shift a pawn one way, he does. If his gut tells him to move the knight into her territory or to retreat a rook, he goes with it.

It drags on for the better part of an hour, and ends in a stalemate.

The smile she gives him is breathtaking, a broad and warmhearted validation.

“You’re good,” she comments, jade eyes dancing with joy. He gets the impression that it is not often she gets forced into a draw. He wonders who else she plays with. It can't be Naruto, but maybe Sai or Ino also play.

“...So are you.” He is somewhat reassured now. His impulses used to be ruinous, stemming from anger and anxiety and loss, but perhaps his journey helped in that regard. He just needs to make sure they're rooted in the right things, whether it be logic or affection, and then the major task becomes to feel rather than to overthink.

When he kisses her good night in her entryway, another movie watched and plans for tomorrow later, he doesn’t reach for the freckle the first time, though his hand twitches with the longing to. It’s treasured, this tender pressing of lips that feels like dipping a toe into still water. It is imbued with both of her hands resting on his shoulders again, ten fingertips that have him in her grip more than she could possibly fathom.

He studies her eyes when he pulls away, staring down into soft depths of viridescence. He will drown in them someday, he thinks, slowly but surely working up the courage to wade into the deep end.

The second time he kisses her, he lets himself graze her cheek to truly appreciate the difference, allowing acknowledgment of the impulse, compelled forward rather than backward as if bound by some metaphorical form of northern star situated on the rise of her cheekbone.

Sakura leans into his touch once more as she did yesterday, but this time, she brings up her own hand and delicately lets her fingertips rest atop the outside of his, as if she encourages the caress, thumb brushing against his knuckle as his lips gently brush hers. Her other hand stays resting on his clavicle, a tender embrace, osculant in a way he has hoped for countless times, inclusive of this morning.

It is exactly what he needed, a catalyst of encouragement comprised of a heat that is gentle, coaxing, but still brands him all the same.

Maybe it's okay to want to skim her freckles and more, to allow the affinities he has to breathe. They’re together now; it stands to reason they'll one day venture into territory more uncharted, if he can concede to that kind of vulnerability. Not that he’s anywhere near ready for that - he’s not - but his instincts don’t appear to be all disastrously calamitous. Touching her cheek is something she clearly welcomes.

Sasuke gave in to darker tendencies once. Perhaps it's okay to give in to lighter ones; nothing grows in the absence of light, after all. He brushes a thumb across the high point of her cheekbone once more with her hand encompassing his before they part, embracing a new habit prior to whispering good night.

The way she smiles up at him, skin aflush and glimmering eyes, is everything.

XXX

He inspects the stone and the soil surrounding it for a long while, heavy-heartedly trying to ignore the encyclopedia of names in favor of envisioning what it would look like with lilies surrounding it. Less lugubrious, probably. The trajectory of the tree’s shadow would touch the stone in the evening, he sees, now that he’s here in person. He only ever haunts this place after nightfall when there's less chance of someone happening upon him. He wishes it was more secluded for that reason; maybe healing happens in the sunshine, and that’s why he still struggles with coming here after so many years, creature of the night that he is.

Evenings with Sakura feel like healing, though, and they linger after hours consistently. Maybe next time he’ll visit his dead kin at twilight, a brittle sort of compromise.

He'll see if the impulse still grips him tomorrow, and then decide. He knows his mother would like them. Itachi would, too, although it never feels like he's here, not the same way that it feels like the rest of them are, the air weighted with an accursed brand of perfume pouring outward in all directions.

White lilies may be able to touch the light in his stead for the time being. Even if they don’t grow, he at least will know he tried, and there is always next year. By then, he may have the capability of asking Sakura if she would help him; she’s clearly a capable gardener, and there should be less sediment, if he puts in the work.

By the time he leaves for his apartment, a thin layer has loosened.

[outoftheframework]

characterization cheat sheet: the batfamily boys

Hey everyone! I had the idea to compile a comprehensive list of different traits and attributes for each member of the batfamily based off of both canon and fanon interpretations. I think this could be useful for new members to the fandom, or those looking to write and/or draw for these characters. Remember that these will have a slight bias considering I, a fanon creator, am creating the lists. But I’ll try to make them as accurate as possible.

Appearances vary from artist to artist, so I’ll try to stray away from general details and add more little things you can consider in your art.

Bruce Wayne:

Age: 35-45

Appearance: Extremely physically fit, but signs of aging and prolonged exertion can slip through. Has a collection of scattered scars varying from fresh to fully healed. Strong, dark features. Conventionally attractive, but can easily switch to be foreboding/intimidating. Well kept in public appearances, but can look like death incarnate when in private.

Personality: Dual personas: “Bruce” (at home, but not as batman) and “Brucie” (public appearances like galas, news interviews). Bruce is stoic, well-read and educated, well-mannered, and occasionally can be witty and laid-back. Smirks rather than smiles. Brucie is loud, spontaneous, charming, and sometimes oblivious. He is the womanizer and scandal-maker. Often the actions of Brucie are motivated by Batman’s interests.

Speech: Bruce was mainly raised by as English butler, so his speech patterns are proper and smooth. Rarely uses speech fillers such as “uh” and “um,” except when interrupted while concentrating. Despite living in Gotham his entire life, he has not picked up the accent. His voice is newscaster American, almost impossible to pinpoint to a certain region. His speech as Brucie changes to relate more to the audience he is addressing. Speeches to Gotham high society will sound different than those aimed to the general public.

Additional Attributes: Bruce Wayne in all of his personalities is fiercely protective, and can easily slip into a deeper voice to intimidate. Bruce can be extremely empathetic and slightly impulsive when it comes to children who have lost their parents. As learned through his training to become Batman, Bruce is disciplined and can work for hours straight.

Dick Grayson:

Age: 23-29

Appearance: Dick Grayson mirrors a young Bruce Wayne despite their not being blood related. This could be a subconscious action by Dick to absorb traits of his father figure. His lean acrobatic body starts to set him apart from Bruce’s image. Dick manages to be well-built but still limber and flexible. His feet and hands are rough and calloused. His hair can get long but usually stays at a length in between Bruce’s and Tim’s. His eyes are bright blue without even a hint of green or brown. 

Personality: In one comic I believe it was Superman who said that Dick Grayson is a universal constant, meaning that on every alternate earth or timeline, you can always rely on him to be good and pure. I think this really sums up who Dick should be. He is kind to a fault, and can sometimes be naive and not think things through. He loves to love, be that in his family, in his romantic relationships, in his friendships, and even in strangers. He is a chronic hero who only wants to see the world as a better place. But it’s important to note that Dick can get angry when pushed, and holds grudges.

Speech: Dick is an extremely interesting study in speech patterns. As a child he traveled with the circus, until he lived with clear-spoken Bruce Wayne and a proper English butler. So influences to his speech and accent come both internationally and locally to Gotham and Bludhaven. As a child living at Wayne Manor, Dick picks up a slight Gotham tinge to his accent with some British flourish in his vowel sounds. He regularly speaks in slang. As Nightwing he is able to suppress his unique speech to sound more evenly American.

Additional Attributes: Dick acts differently around each of his family members as to be what they need in a big brother. For example, he is more fatherly to Damian while to Tim he is more an equal. Dick can fidget and has less of an attention span than Bruce. He can use jokes as a coping mechanism.

Jason Todd: 

Age: 22-26

Appearance: Hair is often long on top and shorter on the sides, sometimes with a white streak as a side effect from the Lazarus Pit. Tallest and heaviest of all the kids, very physically intimidating. Has a lot of scars and burns, and in some fan works he has a “Y” shaped scar the length of his chest from his autopsy. Never skips leg day. Green/blue eyes.

Personality: Jason goes through a lot of character development, but for this list I’m going off a timeline of post-Under the Red Hood, where Jason is on okay, yet still a little shaky, terms with the rest of the family. Jason has a hard time separating vigilante life and civilian life; his death as Robin ended his life as Jason Todd, blurring the lines between the two. Jason is legally dead, so he is basically building an identity back up. He holds some attributes from childhood: brave, impulsive, loud-mouthed, and street-smart. But his experiences post-Robin have made him a hardened loner. He lives modestly and with some semblance of order. He’s hard to foster a relationship with, but can be a passionate friend/family member when he opens up.

Speech: Jason probably has the least influence from Bruce and Alfred’s speech patterns, seeing as though he spent a lot more time with his biological family/on the streets than he did as a preteen in the manor. He is the definition of Gotham vernacular, with a rough edge. So much so that as a child, the high society gala attenders sometimes had a hard time understanding him. Often talks in curt, short sentences.

Additional Attributes: He has trouble expressing his emotions, more specifically anger and/or grief. Can both love or hate furiously. Inherently good, but sometimes does “bad” things. Protective over children, especially those living on the street. Very much a believer in “the ends justify the means.”

Tim Drake:

Age: 17-20

Appearance: Pale skin, dark hair. Sharp cheek bones and jawline, mostly from how skinny he is. His body isn’t technically “built” to be extremely athletic, but he’s forced a nice lean build from stringently working out. Easily loses and gains weight as a direct result of his work, causing fluctuations in his build. Five foot something, will eventually be out-grown by Damian. Long hair that can still be styled to look professional.

Personality: Tim Drake is very passionate in pretty much everything he sets his mind to. He feels as though he imposed himself onto Batman to become Robin, so he works twice as hard to prove his worth. He can be self conscious and deprecating. Tim as Robin or Red Robin is very different than civilian Tim; his hero personas can be bolder and more confident. Despite dropping out of high school, he values education.

Speech: Tim grew up rich, and his speech reflects an intelligence gained from private tutors. Despite this, he knows how to interact with those his age in using less formal language and slang. Often quotes books and movies. Can be awkward and stumble over his words when teased by his friends/family. He can manipulate people easily in business settings by talking fast and confidently while explaining complex topics.

Additional Attributes: Tim’s demeanor is directly tied to his varying levels of confidence and anxiety. Tim is has above-average intelligence and is diligent in detective work, but can still act like a teenager. He can be stubborn to extremes and will patiently play the long con. He does not cope well with loss.

Duke Thomas:

Age: 17-19

Appearance: Short dark hair, shaved on the sides and/or the back. Often wears the colors yellow and black. Around the same height as Tim, but a little taller. Stronger and heavier build more alike to Jason than Dick, but he’s still light on his feet. Expressive face that can give away his feelings easily. Still a bit of a baby face, but he’s still well-proportioned and conventionally handsome.

Personality: In my works, I’ve often described Duke as having a “sun-shiny” personality. He is one to not even think twice about putting others before himself. Duke uses his own personal experiences to guide him as a hero rather than suppress his emotions. Duke went from being an only child to having a large family, so he can sometimes feel overwhelmed. He is on friendly terms with every member of the batfamily, as well as many other heroes. Duke is self-sacrificial and is still learning how to effectively work as a detective.

Speech: Duke grew up in a middle class Gotham family, so his speech is influenced by his parents as well as his city environment. Duke has a mild Gotham accent and speaks a lot in modern slang. He hasn’t had much influence from Bruce and Alfred, considering he hasn’t lived with them for long. It’s possible that as he grows he will pick up some influences from Bruce and Tim’s way of speaking, but will most likely hold onto the accent of his childhood.

Additional Attributes: Duke is a metahuman vigilante in a city where Batman typically bans them, which causes a bit of an insecurity and a perfectionist drive. These are exasperated by the long line of history preceding him, as well as the fact that he involved himself in the Robin movement rather than being handpicked by Batman. He and Tim can relate in that way. Duke is an ardent student of Batman and is dedicated to the cause.

Damian Wayne:

Age: 10-14

Appearance: Looks similar to Bruce when he was the same age, yet stronger and with tanner skin. His hair is expertly cut and styled, but still age-appropriate. He is the shortest of the batkids, but still has a lot of time and potential to grow. He pretty much won the genetics lottery with Bruce and Talia as his biological parents, and is made for athletics. He has some scars that stand out with their pale coloring against his tan skin. 

Personality: Damian is slowly becoming less of a brat, to put it bluntly. He admires his family and tries to mimic them, but will never confess it. Damian is quick to judge and will voice his opinion no matter how scathing it may be, both as civilian and hero. Damian is slowly realizing he may not want the Batman mantle as quickly as he planned. Jon is a perfect foil to Damian, and often makes him a better person when they’re together. 

Speech: His speech is proper and formal. Prefers formal titles: ex. “father” over “dad” and last names over first. Damian is at least bilingual (Arabic and English), and can switch between languages easily. Most of his speech patterns developed from his tutors in the League, and more recently, Alfred. Influences like Jon and Dick have introduced him to a more modern, laid-back way of speaking, which he sometimes utilizes when relaxed.

Additional Attributes: Damian has problems with authority, especially those that he doesn’t respect like his teachers at school. He can be arrogant and childish ever though he often acts like he knows everything. Damian is still a child and has much to learn from batman and family as well as unlearn from his time at the League. Dami was forged to be a ruthless warrior, but now has to find a balance between the hero Robin and the child Damian Wayne.

Hope this helps someone! Feel free to add on if you think I missed anything. Just please remember to be civil and respect different interpretations of these characters. Let me know if you want another one of these posts outlining the girls or other characters.