#also this fic is kinda old

[ibahibut]

💀: Fewer wounds, more kisses from me.

🐦‍⬛: Contract's accepted, mi amor.

Music inspiration: A Little Death by The Neighbourhood

[starry-bi-sky]

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

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

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

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

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

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

....

The kid is a surprise though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[basil--and--sage]

Uncle Thorin headcanons nobody can dissuade me from, part 2: young uncle Thorin

(part 1), (Dwalin)

during Dís' pregnancies he acts like a rock for her and her nervous husband, while he is secretly terrified when she goes into labour

he weeps the first time he gets to hold his nephews (and the 10 times afterwards)

he handles Fíli like a bomb in the beginning, because he is scared of accidently dropping or hurting him

after Fíli is weaned and Kíli is born, Dís and her husband have a hard time, since Kíli is a very restless baby. To give them some more breathing room, little Fíli spends the next few years in a sling tied around Thorin's chest and accompanies him everywhere. Thorin is more than a little sad, when this time ends, but fortunately soon Kíli is weaned and then Thorin gets to carry him around everywhere

he gives them cute nicknames. Fíli is his jewel and Kíli his gem.

he goes into crisis mode whenever one of the lads coughs more than once (fortunately Óin is very patient)

when Fíli and Kíli are small, they often climb into his bed at night, for example when they are cold or scared. It usually ends with Thorin waking up with at least one of Kíli's feet in his face or an elbow in his gut

he cuddles the two all the time and after little Gimli is born, he gets the same treatment

whenever all of them get together, Thorin usually ends up with three Dwarflings on his lap. (he found a way to stack them. Dís doesn't know what to think about that)

the only reason Fíli and Kíli don't call him adad is the fact, that Thorin would never claim that title out of respect for his late brother-in-law

when they are all of a sudden grown-ups, he sorely misses the time when they were small enough to sit on his knee or come running for a hug

he has a box hidden under his bed with his nephews' old things. He gets a little misty-eyed whenever he looks at their tiny baby boots. (one time he shows them to Dwalin, which ends with both of them sobbing. They don't speak of this afternoon)

he is in general a lot more affectionate and caring with them than on the quest, which is one of the reasons Fíli and Kíli are disturbed by his behaviour starting in mirkwood

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I CAN'T CLOSE MY EYES ALONE ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; arguing with satoru is always exhausting. bitter and spiteful, you leave him in the bedroom and go find another place to sleep; your couch would be the obvious choice, but where’s the fun in that?

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, f!reader (he calls you ’stubborn girl’ n ’pretty girl’ but other than that it’s gn!!), toru and reader have a fight, reader sleeps in the bathtub (don’t ask it came to me in a vision), hurt/comfort, he's doing his best :<, fluff!!

a/n; smth abt …. arguing w satoru gojo ……. idk why the concept has possessed me in the way that it has i just think hurt/comfort w toru is <33

okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.

in your defense, you weren’t exactly thinking straight; fueled by spite, eager to get far away, and admittedly a little curious as to how it would feel, the decision was made almost purely on impulse. and stupidity, probably.

it’s not comfortable at all.

maybe it could be. maybe if you had just a couple more pillows, a fluffier blanket with a cozier texture. maybe if you had something soft to put beneath you, another blanket or a comforter or — whatever. maybe if you had a warm cup of tea to drink. maybe if you had something warm to hug to sleep. 

or someone.

(aw, what’s wrong? can’t sleep without me after all, huh?)

— nope. you are not going back there. 

just the thought of how smug he’d get makes you bite the inside of your cheek, increasing your already growing frustrations. in desperate search of a more comfortable position, you nuzzle further into the pillow, but nothing works.

your limbs feel stiff, and your bones can’t seem to relax, a discomforting numbness seeping into your spine. and it’s cold. the feeling of porcelain against your skin keeps you tossing and turning, akin to an icy winter breeze, caressing the apple of your cheek. 

still, there’s simply no other option. under absolutely no circumstances can you turn back now. not when you’ve come this far, when you can almost begin to sense an inkling of sleep’s familiar call, the drowsy flutter of your eyelashes.

it takes time, and perseverance — but eventually, the road to sleep does seem to brighten on the horizon. crawling closer and closer, lulling you into its embrace, while all you can do is lie there. completely at its mercy, exhaustion ghosting your subconscious, eyelids ripe with fatigue. 

slowly but surely, your consciousness begins to fade. tenderly, soothingly, like a curtain over your eyes being slowly unveiled. you can almost taste it, on the tip of your tongue; sleep is only a moment away.

soon, you’ll fall into that cozy abyss. and then you’ll open your eyes, and the morning sun will greet you. it’ll be a new day, a better day.

so you keep your eyes closed, and sink a little further into the plush of your pillow, and —

the light flickers on.

in the state you’re in, tiptoeing on the edge between dreams and reality, so tantalizingly close to falling asleep, the brightness is positively grating. even through your shut eyes, it invades your senses — a glow so irritating it’s startling. the bathroom lights mock you with their shine, illuminating your figure, curled up in the tiny bathtub. 

the whine you let out is involuntary, coaxed out from deep within your throat, as the uncomfortable sensation rouses you from your would-be slumber.

satoru raises an unimpressed eyebrow, where he stands by the door.

chest bare, wearing only a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts, he looks at you with tired eyes. exasperation painted onto his dishevelled features. then he clicks his tongue, voice raspy and rich with fatigue.

”you’re ridiculous.”

the judgemental tilt of his voice only makes the annoyance in your veins bubble up once more, just when it was finally about to dwindle. eyes squeezed shut to escape the burn of the artificial light, you let out a sharp wince, burrowing your face deeper into the pillow. 

”turn it off!”

ignoring your angry plea, satoru makes his way over to you. with long, slow strides, vaguely uncoordinated steps. just a little clumsy. he plops down on the edge of the bathtub, and gazes down at you.

you’re lying on your side, arms wrapped around a fluffy cushion, knees against your chest. under the illumination of the bathroom lights, he can see you clearly; messy hair that he yearns to ruffle, a crease between your brows that he yearns to smooth away.

you look awfully uncomfortable, to no one’s surprise. he isn’t sure what else you were expecting. 

despite the sting of the bright lights, you force your eyes open — only to give satoru a halfhearted glare, an attempt at appearing intimidating. though you somehow doubt it’ll work.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, satoru tilts his head. soft locks of white hair follow the movement, falling over his eyes, a little more tousled than usual. like he’s been tossing and turning, sprawled out on the bedroom mattress.

and, just like you suspected, the dirty look you send his way doesn’t seem to scare him off. not even in the slightest. if anything, you think you catch a flicker of lazy amusement dancing through his eyes. and it irks you, it does — an itch beneath your skin, a taste of irritation on your tongue.

because satoru is looking at you like you’re somehow in the wrong, here, like you’re the one acting out. as if he isn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

at this point, you barely even remember what the fight was about. too sleep-deprived to recall it properly, too stressed to make a genuine attempt. all you remember is getting ready for bed, and the familiar sensation of frustration prickling your skin. you remember his pretty little grin, his teasing remarks and refusal to take you seriously.

remember the way he laughed, when you told him what was bothering you; the crinkle of his eyes, the warmth of his hands reaching over to squish your cheeks. a little patronizing.

(there was no malicious intent behind it, that much you know. he probably just wanted to lighten the mood. but it irked you, all the same. hurt you, maybe. just a little bit.)

then you remember storming out. grabbing a blanket and pillow and telling him to sleep on his own, if that’s how he was going to be. the words felt cold as they left your mouth, little breathy icicles. and then you left.

which is why you’re here, right now. curled up in your goddamn bathtub, for some reason that still escapes you, trying desperately to get even a wink of sleep without your boyfriend there to help.

and that’s also why satoru is here, back a tad slouched as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, looking at you like you’re some misbehaving cat. blinking slowly, drowsily, dragged down by the fatigue clinging to his eyelashes. 

(he can’t sleep, either.)

”you’re really gonna sleep in there?” he sighs, after a moment’s pause. any honest concern in his voice is almost entirely overshadowed by the sense of admonition that follows it.

a scoff falls from your lips, sharp like a razorblade. ”yes,” you deadpan, shifting to lie on your stomach, hiding away from his insistent view. ”i was sleeping just fine before you barged in here.”

satoru shoots you a look, thoroughly unimpressed, entirely unconvinced of your blatant lie. ”you’re being dumb,” he huffs. ”at least sleep on the couch.”

”i don’t wanna hear that from you,” comes a hiss, low and disgruntled. a growing irritation. ”and i’m comfortable where i am.”

another dissatisfied huff. why are you being so irrational? he just doesn’t get it. scrambling for excuses, satoru tries his hand at another tactic. 

”you’ll hurt your back.”

another little scoff. oh, so now he suddenly cares? you can’t believe him. 

”so what?”

a moment passes. satoru bites his lip, teeth sinking softly into the flesh; a little pang of ache, but it’s nothing compared to the twist of discomfort in his chest. you’re making this more difficult than it has to be, he thinks. always so stubborn. 

what is he supposed to say? how is he supposed to convince you to come back to bed, when you’re already so set on denying him?

god, he’s tired. he just wants to sleep, close his jaded eyes. just wants to not have to think, for a couple hours, curled up with the only person who makes him feel safe. just wants to dream in soft shapes.

but if you aren’t there, then…

a deep sigh. weary, annoyed. ”c’mon,” he coaxes, blinking sluggishly. ”you know you won’t be able to fall asleep without me. can’t we just make up already?”

your nails dig into the fabric of your blanket. every word he says only seems to deepen the sense of irritation plaguing your sleep-deprived mind.

it makes you want to shut him out, bury your head in the soft sheets and forget about everything else. he keeps acting like you’re just overreacting, like you wanted to have an argument. like he wasn’t the one who made you upset and then laughed at you about it. 

”i don’t need you to fall asleep,” you grumble, muffled by the pillow in your grasp, arms tightening around it. nuzzling deeper into the soft velvet comfort.

satoru’s fingers twitch, as if urging him to pull you close. he almost glares at the cushion in your arms, that you’re hugging so fondly, putting all your body weight on — snuggling into it in search of comfort and warmth.

(that should be his chest.)

the gears in his head turn, slowly and mechanically, as he brings a hand up to card through his hair.

satoru hates seeing you so upset, so far away from him. having to watch you close yourself off, not allowing him to be near, soothe you and take care of you. kiss all your worries away. that’s all he wants to do, everything he needs to keep himself whole, to keep himself from being devoured by an exhaustion he’s lived with for as long as he can remember.

a strong frustration gnaws at his conscience. a certain desperation.

a big, heavy sigh leaves his lips. it bounces off the walls of the bathroom, the white tiles and shiny mirror, as he drags it out. almost childishly. then he’s angling his body to face you properly, big hands resting on his knees, a determined gaze set on your figure.

”look, i’m sorry,” he starts, rigid and earnest. blinking once, twice, chasing away the drowsy weight of his eyelids. ”i shouldn’t have laughed.”

your ears perk up.

shifting to your side as if hoping to hear him better, you peek up at him through half-lidded eyes. almost in disbelief, a kind of hope sprouting in the corners of your dilated pupils.

is he genuinely going to apologize, you wonder? admit that he was in the wrong? does he actually feel bad?

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, until satoru’s voice spills into the air again.

”there. i apologized,” he exhales, a little gruff. annoyed. ”now will you please just come to bed?”

…

wow. 

okay, nevermind. you hope the ceiling fan falls on him.

beneath your skin, a mellow kind of anger bubbles up, blood slowly coming to a boiling point. he’s not sorry at all. of course he isn’t. you were stupid to think he’d actually give you a sincere apology, stupid to think he’d do the one thing that would actually make you want to fall back into his comforting embrace. stupid, stupid. 

clenching your teeth, nails digging into the velvet fabric of the pillow, your eyelids flutter shut once more. only this time, you don’t plan on opening them again — at least not until morning comes. not until you see the sunkissed tiles of the bathroom, until the ache inside your chest has passed.

”satoru,” you enunciate, frigid and final. ”just let me sleep. we can talk tomorrow.” a beat. the tiniest grumble resounds from your lips, tinged with exhaustion. ”i’m too tired for this.”

under his breath, satoru winces. that palpable fatigue in your words sends a tremor running through his chest, discomforting, a shiver of his heart. you won’t look at him anymore, and the hint of finality in your tone makes him feel slightly dejected.

god, he’s awful at this. sincerity has never been his strong suit. he’s gotten better, lately, but it’s still so very foreign.

he didn’t mean to make you angry, didn’t mean to upset you. didn’t mean for the lilt of his voice to make his apology sound insincere. but that’s still what happened.

and satoru isn’t quite sure what to do. 

he’s tired. eyes heavy with lost sleep, glimpses of would-be nightmares he knows he’d have were he to fall asleep right now. an anxious lump has long since formed in the back of his throat, and he misses you. misses your presence, your warmth. misses the feeling of having you close, the knowledge that you haven’t left yet.

(without you, he can’t —)

a sigh. soft, and resigned, flowing from his lips.

the inner turmoil in satoru’s mind begins to fade, slowly but surely, smoothed away by the sight of you. bundled up in a blanket too small to cover you properly, lying in that cold and cramped bathtub, discomfort evident in your features. sadness dripping from the bitter words you grace him with.

so out of reach, too far for him to follow, a boundary he wants to cross more than anything. but something about that meek expression makes him falter, makes his heart twist and turn inside his ribcage.

(he knows that you’re tired, too.)

so satoru swallows his pride.

the words are spoken in a whisper, hushed, through a voice so low you wouldn’t hear it if the silence of the bathroom wasn’t so suffocating. a soft lilt of his voice, bare and raw. meek, in a way that makes him want to crawl under a rock and die. but it’s there, and he lets you hear it; that soft little truth.

”… i can’t sleep without you.”

satoru doesn’t look at you. his confession rings in your ears, laced together with a softness you’ve come to associate with warm spring mornings and rooms so dark you can’t see his face. moments in which satoru feels safe. safe enough to be sincere.

— inevitably, your heart begins to soften.

(he’s trying. it’s difficult for him, but he’s really trying. sincerity and honesty are things that have been used against him all his life, so it’s no wonder he’d be scared.)

it’s very hard to stay mad at him, when he sounds like that. when his words come out sounding a little too much like a plea, a silent call for help. 

with hesitance, you allow your eyes to flutter open, shifting a little to get a better look at him. he’s there, staring into space — the man you’ve grown to love so dearly. his tousled white hair, those slightly forlorn eyes. the vague darkness beneath them, slightly puffy skin. that tired, tired expression. 

satoru taps the edge of the tub with the pads of his fingers, absentmindedly. index finger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over.

then, at last, he meets your gaze. and you think he swallows down a gulp, before smiling — it’s a pretty smile, somewhat tiny. a little sheepish, but awfully sincere. awfully satoru.

he tilts his head, gazing into your eyes with a tenderness that melts your heart to the marrow.

”… please?”

a second passes. then two. 

soft and melodic, your heartbeat resounds in your ears, akin to a lullaby. like the call of a siren, coaxing you into giving in. and you’re weak, you realize, so very weak. just a smile and a tilt of his head, and you’re rendered utterly helpless. 

(he’s just too pretty.)

without fully realizing it yourself, you’ve begun to move, dragging yourself up with sluggish motions. blanket still draped over your shoulders, and pillow snug against your chest, you blink. drowsily, slowly. a little meekly. 

and satoru brightens.

it’s visible, in the way he physically perks up, back straightening, smile finally reaching his aquamarine eyes. a blend between hope and affection sprouts in them, slathered over with something honeyed.

a soft grin blooms on his lips, and he opens his arms wide — silently beckoning you to fall into his embrace. a raspy coo tiptoes on his tongue. 

”c’mere.”

before you can make a move to do so, satoru leans over. scooping you up with ease, as if you weigh absolutely nothing, tucking you into his warm embrace. smothering you in his cushiony chest.

almost instinctively, your arms go to wrap around his neck, cheek smushed against the warm skin of his shoulder. if you strain your ears, you think you can hear the soft patter of his heartbeat. he smells of the tiramisu you ate before going to bed, and just a hint of expensive cologne. he smells of comfort.

satoru is soft, and warm, and everything you need right now. lulling you back into that cozy, sleepy state. your very own personal dose of melanin.

with a big palm on the small of your back, satoru keeps you pressed up against his chest, as if you could change your mind and try to escape at any moment. he stands up, still holding you, and hikes your legs around his waist. breathing out a satisfied hum, before turning on his heel.

satoru smiles, and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. ”let’s get you back to bed, baby.”

after turning the bathroom lights off, he begins to walk to your shared bedroom, still carrying you with one arm. always so strong and reliable. you know for a fact that he’s not going to drop you, so you opt to close your tired eyes; stretching out your limbs, lazily, releasing a quiet yawn that makes his lips curl up.

despite your lingering frustration, you find yourself nuzzling into the crook of his neck — and satoru coos, so painfully soft that you barely even hear it. the restlessness inside his own chest washed away, by the familairity of your body against his.

and before you know it, he’s dropped you down on the mattress. gently, but still enough to make you feel a little jostled, so close to falling asleep in his arms. he drags the blanket up to cover you, tucking you in; this one is bigger, with a fluffier texture, enough to cover you both with ease.

smiling softly at the sight of you all cozy, content in the knowledge that you’re finally comfortable, satoru crawls beneath the blanket and takes his rightful place beside you. eyes crinkled at the corners, rich with affection.

two strong arms reach around your waist, to pull you flush against him, until your head meets his chest and you can hear the soft thrumming of his heartstrings. then he sighs, in pure bliss, thoroughly content. melting into your embrace, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head, nuzzling into the warmth that seeps from your body to his.

he runs his big hands down your back, affectionately, rubbing circles into your skin. coaxing you into melting a little, too.

”see, isn’t this much better?” he smiles, a little cheeky. such a tease.

”… the bathtub was fine.”

a chuckle rumbles through his chest, rich with fondness. his hand goes to card through your hair, nimble fingers smoothing down your scalp and running through the soft strands. every touch gentle, full of care. every word soaked in a syrupy sweetness.

”stubborn girl.”

despite your best wishes, you’re too tired to bite back the blissful sigh that leaves your lips. a part of you still wants to protest, to push him away —

but then you start leaning into his touch. helpless to his warm hands, his soothing voice. satoru is just a little too good at making you melt. so good that you finally begin to let your guard down, nuzzling into his bare skin, sinking a little further into the mattress. 

and satoru stifles a coo. 

”honestly,” he sighs, equal parts exasperated and amused. ”sleeping in the bathtub… you’re so silly.”

before you have a chance to respond, he’s pulling back — ever so slightly, just to get a better look at your face. arms looped around his neck, you blink up at him with droopy eyes, and he can’t resist the dopey grin that sneaks its way onto his lips. doesn’t even begin to try, when you look so unbearably sweet.

unable to stop himself, he broaches the distance between you, leaning close to kiss the top of your nose. and you squeeze your eyes shut at the gesture, face scrunching up, but it only makes him chuckle. smiling, honey-sweet, he admires your sleepy pout. soaks up every soft little grumble that slips from your lips.

his hand comes to cradle your cheek, thumb smoothing down your cheekbone. just gazing at you, taking you in, every single contour of your face. there is only adoration in his eyes. something silently delighted, that seeps into his words, his raspy voice.

”my pretty, pretty girl.”

a heat rushes to your cheeks. looking up at him, into those lovesick eyes, you can’t help but grow flustered.

he looks so content.

all you manage is a weak furrow of your brows, pressing a palm against his bare skin. softly, as if pushing him away, forehead meeting his chest with a soft bonk. hiding away, so he won’t see how much his words affect you.

”lemme sleep, toru…” you mumble, stifling a yawn.

unfortunately, your boyfriend is not one to give in so easily. before long, his fingertips are trailing across the skin of your jaw, coaxing you into lifting your chin. and you’re too sleepy to resist — practically melting, as he begins to smear openmouthed kisses all over your face. all you can do is close your eyes, attempting to ignore the sound of his exaggerated mwahs, frowning in a silent disapproval that you know you don’t actually mean.

satoru notices it, though. he always does.

”you still mad at me, baby?” he asks, in a way that sounds a little like he’s cooing at you. there’s a teasing tilt to his voice, but it’s also a genuine question. your frown deepens.

averting your gaze with a soft huff, even as he cradles your jaw with his slender fingers, a pout plays at your lips. under his kind eyes, you feel just a bit meek — recalling your argument from before. absentmindedly, you fidget with the waistband of his shorts, hoping to ease your nerves.

despite your valiant efforts to direct your vocal cords in a different direction, the voice that spills from your lips comes out sounding just a tad hurt.

”… you never take me seriously.”

satoru’s eyes soften.

his smile falters, by a hair, a brief stilling of movement. subtle, but hard not to pick up on. there’s a certain sense of shame in his irises, a genuine guilt stirring his heartstrings; several discomforting sensations, gnawing at the bones of his ribcage.

(you look so small.)

two hands reach out to cup your cheeks, big and warm. swallowing up your whole face. and before you can react, satoru leans in to press a sweet, chaste kiss against your lips. he tastes like tiramisu. 

”’m sorry. we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” he hums, and you can tell that he means it. ”i promise that i’ll take you seriously. for real, this time.”

as you look into those eyes of his, blue and soft around the edges, the last of your frustration is finally washed away. with a meek downward glance, and a faint nod, satoru relaxes — releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. relieved at your silent forgiveness.

tomorrow, he’ll definitely make it up to you. he’ll hear you out, without opening his big mouth, or trying to skirt around any emotions that make him feel even slightly uncomfortable. smoothing a big palm down your back, he hopes you feel it as a silent apology. 

for now, he’ll just hold you. he’ll hold you, and kiss all your worries away, and keep you comfy and warm. that’s his duty. the only one he’d willingly choose, the only weight on his shoulders that never feels even a little bit suffocating. the only one he wouldn’t cast away, if given the chance.

nuzzling back into the safety of his collarbone, your heartbeat settles into a drowsy rhythm, slow and serene. satoru squeezes you in a tight hug, reassuring. comforting.

he can be a handful, and a little insensitive, but you love him a lot. you can’t imagine not loving him. 

”… goodnight, toru,” you whisper. ready to give into sleep’s call, at last.

satoru smiles. you can hear it in his voice, sweet and silky, a soft curl of his lips. ”goodnight, honey,” he presses a kiss against your shoulder. warm, his breath on your skin. ”i love you.”

a yawn escapes your throat. ”love you too…” you mumble, sleepily. that one soft truth, before your consciousness fades.

and satoru’s smile only grows. hopelessly, inevitably, in the same way his hands can’t help but to bring you closer. until your heart is flush against his own, and he swears he can feel your heartbeats synchronize.

finally, with those three little words, satoru should be able to go to sleep. drifting off, he can only hope you’ll still be in his arms by the time he awakens.

(then again; you always are, aren’t you?)

[add1ctedt0you]

An interesting theme, imo, in mdzs is the sheer tiredness you must feel when dealing with someone who, having been dead for more than a decade, is still the same person as before, while you aren't anymore.

[spiderin-space]

Woomy…?

[lovesickeros]

☆ the dove

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings violence, blood {☆} word count 0.7k

Her hands are weapons, forged in a tragedy as much as a war of ash and blood that seeps into the earth and rots it from within. To them, however, she is salvation. Her hands are a kindness, not a threat. She sees it in their puffy, red eyes just brimming with tears, their fragile body so delicate and weak is still remains marred by wounds new and old – the gold still stains their skin, even long after it had been washed away.

She has seen it all – and she takes the injured dove beneath her wing with the sickly sweet promise that someday she shall mend its broken wings and teach it to fly again.

And in their stupor, they do not see her clip their wings.

It is for the best.

The wolves still salivate below the nest, waiting for her little dove to fall again – no, she shall not send her little bird to fly when it will just fall into their waiting maws once again.

This..this one is hers, she has decided.

Her little bird who dreams of the sky and the woman who clips their wings..what a tragic pair they must make, she thinks.

Not for her, of course. Yet not to them, either, unaware of the way she grounds them and keeps the key to their cage tightly in her fist.

"Tsaritsa?" The soft, meek lilt of the little bird draws her from her reverie, and she smiles – all teeth and little else, wolfish and predatory.

Yet the bird sees nothing but love in the sharp points of her canines.

As it was meant to be.

"Yes, little bird?"

She coos in honeyed tones, brushing her cold, cold hands against their skin, reveling in the way they shiver and shake beneath the ever present chill in her very bones. They do not fear the claws that ghost across their skin, and the smile they offer that illuminates their eyes like stars only proves her right – she wants to devour them whole. To see the stars in their eyes burn out beneath her teeth, their golden blood burn upon her tongue and down her throat.

"You promised to take me to the gardens today, remember?"

Her pearly, sharpened fangs peer out beneath her lips as she grins wider, unnerving to all but the little bird who sees not the wolf but the wool it wears, her hands finding their place upon their shoulders as she whispers into their ear.

She will guide her little bird where they cannot go, where their clipped wings cannot take them.

She will give them that bittersweet taste of freedom and then watch them try to catch the stars..

Just to drag them back down to earth where they belong.

"Of course, Creator – I am a woman of my word, am I not?"

Such sickly sweet lies come to her with ease – she lies and she lies and they do not see past the woolen cloak of the wolf until its jaw has snapped around its throat and its blood has painted the world a shimmering gold.

She will delight in that, too.

"If I may be so bold, Creator, you have been distant lately..have you grown tired of me already?"

Her words were as sharp as a blade, yet as dull as a rock, as sweet as they were dangerous. Like watching a mouse trap luring in its prey, she would snap it shut as soon as the little bird strayed too close.

"No! No, that's not..you've just been busy lately, I didn't want to intrude."

They remind her so much of a rabbit in those moments, and she so badly wants to know what would happen if she just took a small, insignificant bite..yet she restrains herself with a far too wide smile, her jaw clenched so hard she almost thinks they will hear it creak.

"Intrude? You could ever hardly intrude, Creator – what is mine is yours. Though, perhaps I shall have to lock you in my room to ensure you compensate me for depriving me of your presence."

In just a few short words, she snares the rabbit – her little bird, her Creator. They will see nothing but the sickly sweet lure of her smile, letting out a pretty laugh of their own as they press closer, like a bird wandering into the open maw of the beast lying in wait.

"As long as it has a nice view, I suppose I won't mind."

They jest, but she does not. And oh, how easy it is to ensnare an unsuspecting prey.

"Of course, Creator – just for you."

It won't be long until her little bird returns to its gilded cage, now. Permanently.

It is better that way.

[tyanis]

Been reminiscing about old RE fan fics that are likely lost to time again...

There was this one that I read around... 2003? Something like that. It took place 2 years after Code Veronica and had Wesker going through with his threat to bring back an infected Steve. Except Steve wasn't the big hulking monster this time. He was more like how Alexia is typically depicted. Like, her first form or whatever. And he could speak and stuff but was all evil now.

He could also emit pheromones.

Sexy pheromones.

To use to trap his prey.

With horniness.

And not just general horniness.

Horniness towards HIM.

Now... this wasn't what you would call a smut fic. And it wasn't crack either.

It was over 30 chapters long, surprisingly mature, and had a shockingly tasteful sex scene with Leon and Claire about halfway through. They even practised safe sex. Which is kinda rare in fics NOW.

Anyway, near the end Steve walked into a room with some of our heroes in it and his horny fumes affected Rebecca, Claire... And Leon.

Long story short, Leon ended up losing an eye.

[youchangedmedestiel]

Chapter 1 and 2 are kinda written already. So as a little teasing, may I present you THE Cas and Dean involved in that Summer AU fic:

And here's a little snippet:

“Sam! Sammy!” He calls and then he reaches the side with the view on the beach. He spots Sam at the back of the open veranda, playing cards with Jo and Ash. “Sam, Jo, Ash! Let’s get ready to go to the beach.” Dean suggests as his eyes finally scan the room. There’s Chuck, Amara and Gabriel there, so Dean smiles at them. Then his eyes end on the other guy sitting with them. “Hi.” He greets quietly. He doesn’t even know if he heard him because he doesn’t answer, he just smiles back and Dean thinks he never saw something as beautiful as this.

“Dean? You comin’?” Sam calls out. His little brother walked past him and he didn't even realize it until now.

“Huh - yeah!” He says, turning away and following his little brother.  

[vv-ispy]

anyway my other venti's history shaping how he is headcanon is that as a wisp he was rarely taken seriously — people are kind to him and will put faith in him due to his being an elemental being, but between a little wind wisp vs a storm god, the wisp isn't doing much they're in the middle of the archon war, great strong gods are getting struck down all the time. (Even later as a god he's seen as the weakest god, possibly the god with the unlikiest of origins out of a group who were gods and powerful being before reaching archonhood)

But the bard treats him not as a contender, not as a god candidate, not even as their hope to take down Decarabian but as a friend.

So he doesn't take himself seriously either, he knows he has the power now yes but habits remain and he doesn't want to be a tyrannt, and in the end the most impactful relationship in his life will always be the bard who treated him not for his role or his potential but as a friend to love and cherish and understand

[thisshitisridiculous]

reading fics makes me really want a storyline about chris being old enough to stay home alone. i mean the boy is like 13 now, he's been on a date, had girlfriends (plural). i think i started going home from school and being home alone for a few hours in like 6th grade so when i was like 11. but i mean i didn't live in la. and also never overnight. but like in the show there's always some mention or scene about who's looking after chris when eddies at work or goes out. and that made sense when he was younger obviously but now im like ?? so is this kid just never by himself?? he's like a full teenager now (or cusping pre-teen idk) he's probably gonna start wanting alone time from the adults in his life soon. i mean especially if the show continues on after season 8 he's gonna be in high school !

[silly-flower419]

The xayden fic is way longer than I thought 😭 Still not finished but I already wrote so much???

[squipdop]

i cant believe scout is. the apparently GENUINELY good father of multiple children from MULTIPLE DIFFERENT EX WIVES? girl you are Truly. the GUY. of it all.

[multifunctionalnitroglycerin]

Leona and Diana Old Lore / New Lore. My take on it

Okay so, I am relatively new to the League community, with barely three years under my belt, but lore is one of the things that interest me the most about it. And well, the dynamic between Sun and Moon coded characters is one I never pass up in exploring. Leodia is arguably my favorite ship from League, but it's mostly the idea of it, with recent executions leaving me feel kinda... meh.

So apart from probably having read every single half decent fic under the Leona/Diana tag on Ao3, I have scourged the internet for their lore and have come across quite a few references of their old one. Never found the complete thing though. And possibly unpopular opinion, I like it better than their current one.

That is not to say that the old lore is any sort of masterpiece, and people could argue that it doesn't set them up to be lovers, but I think with a little bit of tweeking it can become really good. Many of my ideas are inspired from a fic I probably read like 2 years ago, also features an OC named Helena and has a side of Riven's inner struggle, Riven and Diana friendship and Rivelia. (I cannot for the life of me remember the name, I apologise)

My problem with the New Lore mostly, is that it's vanilla for a mountain of warriors and *cultists* it feels almost like High School AU but try to fit it into League, and yeah it's not it for me. Also the co-dependence of their ascension, and just Leona's whole thing kinda sucks. Like I can see how people might see it as romantic and poetic and whatever, that they ascended at the same time and Leona followed Diana up the mountain to keep her safe etc. etc. but that's kinda glossing over some issues especially with Leona's character.

Now the new take on Leona's character is really interesting, and a complete 180 from the old lore and actually the idea isn't so bad, if they ACTUALLY DID ANYTHING WITH IT. Now as a person that definitely doesn't overanalyze literature and fictional characters for fun, Leona's new lore is such an interesting take and could be taken many directions if someone chose to explore it and go a bit deeper that "genocidal close-minded bigot".

At first read Leona is really just that. She does what she is told no hesitation, no questions asked and turns on Diana also no questions asked. But let's take it a bit deeper shall we?

I have no intention to make it as though Leona holds no blame for her actions or that she is a paragon of virtue, cause she is not. But if we dive in her story a bit more we could perhaps understand how she came to be what she is. Because under no circumstance do I think she is that daft. Especially if she was with Diana for years. Some of that curiosity must have rubbed off on her. Then again she could have just ignored everything Diana said about the Moon and her research. I guess we'll never know.

I do not intent to ramble about Leona in this post. But I'll give you some clues as to why her backstory and the whole Targonian premise is important. She is born practically into a cult, or well a religion with really strict and particular disciplines. So already an environment with very particular ideas and particular ways to enforce them. She is the daughter of two really strict and proud parents in said cult, who seem to care more abt her achievements and punishments than anything (Grade A parenting), - She doesn't even send them that letter in the end - and she is the golden child of the Solari. So what do we have in our hands? An affection starved perfectionist suffering from gifted child expectations. NOw take that and put it in the Solari premise of religious fanatism and voila!

(I will probably at some point make a separate post abt this, because I really took a deep dive in Leona's character when writing my Ruination fic - that I wont ever post anywhere probably - and I have a LOT to say)

So in the old Lore the Rakkori are the warriors and defenders of the mountain, a bit heavy on the bloodthirsty side though, hence the right of Kor. A coming of age ritual battle to the death. (What else could it be). Leona being the only one that refuses to kill her opponent and friend, is sentenced to be executed, but before the execution could be carried out, she is claimed by the Golden Sister as the Sun aspect with a beam of golden light.

I feel that Leona's ascension in particular is really important in the old Lore, because in such a warlike culture she was rewarded for showing mercy. She was chosen because she chose mercy over mindless slaughter. Something that could potentially be really important later on, in a mountain where half its indigenous people have slaughtered the other half??

Point 1 I like from the old lore: The Sun chose Leona because she was merciful. (Or had a semblance of a moral compass)

Moving forward the lines kinda blur for Diana, mostly cause I am not sure what I remember is actual lore and what is related to that magnificent fic.

Her curious truth-searching nature is ever present. She discovers hidden texts, burned pages and embarks on a journey of knowledge that leads her to climb the mountain. Only she is in the company of an elderly woman I think? Anyhow, she finds - is lead to - an alcove, an old temple and the relics of the Moon Aspect. Overjoyed at her findings she dons the armor takes it all down to the elders, they call her a heretic, brand her, and intent to kill her, when she begs the Moon for help and ascends. Either her or the moon blast kills every elder in the room she gets blamed either way, and the chase begins.

Diana is at her core an academic and a researcher, that researches. She has her Indiana Jones moment in the mountain and there is a process a ritual to it, instead of I just climbed up saw unimaginable terrors and now I am the aspect of the Moon (over-simplified I know. The climb judges worthiness). There is something about her checking old dusty books, and deciding to brave the climb looking for answers. About her choosing to be helpful -kinda as a mirror to Leona sparing her opponent, Diana, the one that keeps to herself - apart from when arguing abt academics and scriptures consciously engages with and helps a stranger, guiding them up the mountain and helping them along the way when the trip became too arduous.

Point 2 I like from the old lore: The ritual of the process in Diana's research and ascension and the mirroring with Leona, minor though it is, that they ascended - sooner or later - after an act of kindness that contradicted what would have been expected of them.

Point 3 I like from the old lore: The brand. Like it just adds another layer to Diana's character. And is a much better explanation for its presence than Moon magic. Also the amount of complications this act has, its just delicious. I mean THE DRAMA. and ofc THE TRAUMA. I don't think she'd go near a fire for months.

Point 3 I like from the old lore: The independence of the ascensions. It gives us the chance to see them grow and evolve as their own people before the thread of fate that binds them together appears. We get to see one without the other, and that would later make their dynamic more interesting.

But How are Leona and Diana connected?

In the old lore they aren't. I think. Leona is like a blood hound that needs to kill the heretic.

In the fic, Leona's dad was one of the guards in the room when Diana ascended and was killed, which in the context of the story adds a layer of betrayal between them, as up to that point they were lovers. And you know what, I really like that idea. And I was thinking that perhaps we could try to get the best of both worlds. Though it might be difficult to fully develop the idea.

Lore Idea:

So the Rakkor ans the Solari are different factions. Solari = priesthood, Rakkor = Warriors. Leona's family are Rakkori, and they are simple people, her father works as a guard for the Solari Temple, something that is considered a bit of an honor despite that fact that the factions don't rly see eye to eye about everything. Right of Kor happens when they are around 15 (Yes I want to traumatize a bunch of teenagers that train to fight, kill and defend since they could walk) and Leona's story proceeds as we know it. She then gets taken to the Solari temple to be educated in their way and train to become the figurehead of their faith. (Like that Leona has already had the chance to develop some critical thinking, and to experience sth different.)

She gets there and all the acolytes younger and older look at her starry eyed, because the elders told them so and because they see her like a bit of a Messiah. (Plus I doubt a bunch of scrawny academics and priests to be have seen anyone their age with that musculature). All of them apart from Diana, who as always isn't particularly impressed by the paragon in training of the Solari faith.

Leona is relieved to get some normal person treatment, even if it is from the broody girl with her nose in a book half the time, and like the cocky 15year old meathead she is, she wants to show off a bit and perhaps win her favor. Shenanigans ensue and Diana unlike the other people that desperately want to befriend Leona, is not impressed.

Another point of similarity is that Leona - that has ascended already mind you - would have a few questions and oppositions to all that mumbo jumbo the Solari say about the Sun and the Moon. So after she flops exceptionally in one oration or sth class, with saying something positive about the Moon that has the students look at her with horror, and the priest fuming and screaming punishments - light ones, because the Sun chose that clueless miscreant, and he doesn't want to fall out of her favor - Leona manages unknowingly to win inquisitive Diana's intrigue - and favor, (but don't tell anyone about the last part).

A tentative bond forms. It gets solidified when Leona stops a few bullies from beating Diana to a pulp, and the dark haired girl in return helps her pass a class she was having an exceptionally hard time with. Diana - who in my head is a year younger - does eventually get charmed by the surprisingly goofy and sunny disposition of the Sun Aspect in training. (Don't get this wrong Leona will still act like a 15 yo that has had to train and fight every day of her life) Diana asks her countless questions about life outside the temple and they discuss theology together, either trying to help Leona understand, or trying to make sense of Diana's findings. (The Rakkori in my head are far more neutral abt Sun and Moon, more like if there is light and I can see I am happy, whether its the Sun or the Moon. "There was even that one traveler from some big city, Pilt - something was it, that even said that the Sun and Moon are like orbs in the night sky, one is a star rly close to us and the other is like a smaller planet or something, can you imagine?")

The become friends, the Nightless Eve happens, and then they become lovers. Leona starts suffering from all those expectations and the charade she needs to put up, she has more hours with classes and training she gets tutored by the priests, punished more severely when se speaks out of line or says something borderline heretical, yada yada. More people like her and she likes the attention. She doesn't abandon Diana though, and she always defends her. Things get difficult as the years go by but still they persist. (We could include some homophobic sentiment in the Solari, or even sth downright misogynistic, which would add complications with Leona's state as the Radiant Dawn, and the wlw relationships as they would not be seen as real substantial relationships - add asshole trying to flirt with Leona bc her relationship with Diana isn't real cause they are both women- DRAMA)

Leona is 18 passes her final exams, and Diana is 17 when Diana's arc happens. They have a huge fight about faith and contradicting it and if it is worth it. (No one wants to bandage their lover's whipped back that is practically a mosaic of scars at this point, or nurse them to health after sever dehydration - cause yes apparently standing naked in the sun for three days can do that). Diana storms off angrily. Finds an elderly woman in the base of the mountain that needs help going up (Silver sister in disguise). She helps her up, and when they are like 3/4 up and rest cause Diana's everything hurts the woman disappears. She looks around, finds the temple, sees carved proof that the Solari and Lunari co-existed gets the relics and climbs back down excited to show everyone her findings.

Meanwhile Leona has left for an emergency Solari mission or sth, and hasn't told Diana. Diana goes to the priests, they don't believe her, she invokes her right to be judged by the Aspect or sth, the priests pretend that Leona is still around and doesn't want to see or help Diana (Strike 1 of betrayal). Diana feels betrayed and hurt and fears for her life. The priests give the order for her to be branded and executed on the spot. Leona's dad who had been in the room and had met Diana, tries to plead her case from an outsider's perspective. One of the elders reprimands him and threatens him with death.

They brand Diana with the moon Symbol on the forehead, and are about to place her face down in the flames and / or slit her throat, and Iasur can't have her dying thinking that Leona betrayed her (A bit of family honor and afterlife beliefs - honor is a huge deal-, and a bit of a soft spot for his daughter's closest companion). He tries to fight his way to her, and gets killed in the process. Diana witnessing Iasur's murder prays to the moon for help, and seconds before breathing her last breath, she ascends. Pillar of Moonlight and heavenly fire burns everything to a crisp, and Diana remains alone in the middle of the room, barely breathing and clad in the garb of he Moon aspect. She takes one look around her and speeds away from the temple.

Leona returns three days after to find the council and her father dead, the council room in ruins and apparently Diana to blame. On top of that Diana is missing. Leona is presented with the case and believes Diana to be her father's killer. She vows to avenge him and kill the Scorn of the Moon, because her Diana wouldn't do that. It must be the moon spirit. and yes apparently Moon is bad because dad and Diana are gone bc of it. Leona is determined to save her lover from the Moon's clutches and set her free the only way she knows how, with killing her.

And thus their journey begins. Leona becomes more and more of a puppet from here and on driven by anger and betrayal and Diana feels abandoned and betrayed, with nothing left in the world but the glow of the branding mark on her forehead and the knowledge that her lover wanted her dead.

And as for their path to reunite again and achieve peace? Well Leona needs to be merciful, and Diana needs to guide and support someone through the right path.

Thanks for reading this huge ass post. Again MANY credits to that amazing writer on Ao3, if I find that fic I'll put a link here, cause its phenomenal.

Take care and see ya next time!

[deiaiko]

He recalled how Baam had carefully pried Khun’s fingers off his wrist to hold his hand instead. It had felt like time stood still as calluses rubbed against his nimble fingers in a soothing way he’d never experienced before and somehow Khun had felt safe. Baam had always somehow managed to make him feel safe.

In that moment, Khun had felt like the entire world had fallen away and that the only thing that had remained were the two of them. He remembered how the quiet hallway had helped his nerves begin to settle, but that he still couldn’t look at Baam. He didn’t entirely remember how he had mustered the courage to finally admit it, but he could never forget saying, “I love you,” barely above a whisper. He distinctly can still recall how those words had tasted on his lips for the first time and how he had tasted Baam’s shortly after.

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