#and its rlly long

[abd-illustrates]

💖 Alchemy 💖

Finished art from this week’s video! Idek how long it’s been since I got the chance to sit down and do some fully rendered character art, but revisiting Alchemy for this one was SO refreshing! (Tho y’all’s kind comments on this vid have been even more so, tysm 💖)

[DO NOT EDIT OR REPOST TO OTHER SITES / ACCOUNTS] ♻️reblogs are lovely tho!♻️

[bananafire11]

PERCEPTION

[linkvcr]

ARE YOU STILL TAKING REQUESTS??

not to sound desperate or anything,, but could you perhaps maybe possibly doodle sksw link and zelda,, holding hands 👉👈

im do normal about your zelink bro dw

chatting and being smitten with each other

[beaulesbian]

more one piece (mostly zolu) + text posts [2/?]

[gldnstrngs]

whenever i see colin and bradley in behind the scenes or interviews im just like… 🤨 in the least weirdest way possible like they just have a Certain Energy to them

[stevebabey]

Steve hates to ask this of Eddie.

Really, it’s a last resort sort of thing. Robin’s gone for the week, some trip upstate with her family. And it’s fine, they’re close but Steve’s a big boy. He can handle a week without his best friend.

But, well, it’s just unfortunate for it to creep up on Steve when Robin’s gone. It being… shit, how did Robin explain it? She was so much better at keeping track of all those things than he was, all the terms filed away nicely in her head to be recalled as needed. Steve’s much messier— in his head, in his life.

Touch aversion, that’s what she called it. A by-product of the severe lack of touch in his childhood she had said; not enough hugs, hand holding, the works and now Steve’s grown to find it too strange. Something prickles under his skin, pulls in his gut all the wrong way, when someone’s too touchy-feely with him. Robin’s said it’s normal, and he believes her.

It just makes it harder when this comes by. That completely strange backward want that carves into his chest, creating a chasm that just aches. Suddenly, Steve wants to be touched, needs to be touched — like something behind his ribs is just begging for comfort in the form of touch, any way he can have it. Like some young part of him can still remember the hunger he had for it and it comes back in full force, a tender wound between his lungs.

It doesn’t happen that often — though, it’s more frequent than ever recently — but usually, Robin’s here. She can almost always tell before Steve works up the courage to ask. Twitchy fingers give him away. He hovers closer than normal, shoulders brushing more often.

She always gives him a smile, softer than her usual snark and says, “C’mere, dingus.” and stands on her tip-toes to envelope him in a hug. Steve can’t help but sink into it, gripping her close around the waist for as long as he needs until the hole in his chest feels a step closer to patching up.

Robin also tells him he can have as many hugs as he’d like but Steve is firm with himself; he only needs one, then he’ll be back to fine.

It what’s he needs now. One really fucking good hug. Still, he hates to ask, least of all from Eddie, because, well— okay, Steve has no reason to assume Eddie wouldn’t give him a hug.

He’s seen Eddie’s hugs before. Like everything he does, Eddie puts his everything into it- he hugs Robin til she wheezes, loves to lift Nancy off the ground, and the hug he gives Dustin is sweetest of all, a hand on the back of the littler’s head while he does some strange little sway. Dustin always laughs, playfully shoving him away by the end but Steve knows he loves them, that it helps in more than one way.

Steve is glad that Dustin has someone, besides his Mom of course, who can hug him, because Steve can’t give that to him. Maybe one day, but for now, hugs from Steve are a rarity — few and far in between. Maybe, he thinks, he doesn’t want to ask Eddie specifically because of that niggling feeling that comes up around Eddie, all gooey and soft. A feeling the swings too close to a crush that Steve has no fucking clue what to do about.

So, he hates to ask. Really. On the drive over to Eddie’s, a hangout organised before Steve started to feel the lack of touch creep in, he runs through any other options. Wait til Robin gets back? Steve’s not sure he’ll make it another 4 days. When left alone, it seems to consume him and make everything harder, everything heavier to deal with.

He’s still tossing it when he climbs the steps to Eddie’s trailer. Steve decides that he’ll see how it goes, see if there’s an opening to ask…semi-naturally or something. He’s not gonna spring it on the guy.

Eddie is wonderful company as always, devilish grins and god-awful comments about the film he picked. Steve feeds off it, drinking in the infectious energy. He tries to let it be enough; their shoulders pressed together, Eddie’s knee knocking his when he laughs, the way Eddie leans into his space to whisper even though it’s just them here tonight. Steve wants it to be enough. But even then, he can see the way his hands twitch in his lap, desperate for more.

Steve closes his eyes. Curls his hands up so tightly his nails bite into the skin. He tries to use it to wane off the feeling, the ache that sings out for Eddie beside him and it nearly works. Until—

“Steve? Y’okay?” Eddie’s voice pipes up, making Steve open his eyes in an instant.

“Hm?” Steve hums, hoping that his casualness will be enough for Eddie to skip over his peculiar behaviour. He blinks, tilting his head just a bit to show he was confused why Eddie was asking.

Eddie chuckles lightly, gesturing towards Steve’s lap, where his hands sit still clenched, white knuckled with his self-restraint. “You seem a bit stiff, that’s all.” Eddie rechecks. “You good?”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, forcing his hands to unclench in his lap. “I-“ he begins, then stops, unsure of what he was going to say. He did say he would look for an opening tonight. The way Eddie’s regarding him, open faced with his concern, is as good as he might get.

“This might sound a bit weird,” Steve starts, defensiveness already tingeing the words, his shoulders curling in just a bit. Eddie could say no. He’s allowed to say no. Steve really doesn’t want him to. “Like, if you think it’s weird, that’s totally fine and we can just, like, forget I said anything and—”

“Steve.” Eddie cuts him off, a linger of an amused smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything you say weird, sweetheart. Shoot. What’s on your mind? What troubles the great mind of Steve Harrington?”

God, it’s like a whole bunch of words designed to set Steve’s head spinning. ‘The great mind of Steve Harrington’ makes him want to scoff. ‘Sweetheart’ makes him want to swoon. He can’t decide which one he wants to do more.

“Can I-” Steve stammers, the words halting automatically. It’s too much of a habit to swallow them down. Coercing them out takes more work. He stares up at the ceiling as he grits his teeth, releases a harsh sigh, pulling himself together. “Can I… have a hug?”

There a moment of silence and Steve holds his breath.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and Steve takes his eyes off the ceiling to see just what that Oh means. Eddie’s smiling, a soft one gracing his pretty mouth, and Steve thinks, maybe, one day he’ll have the courage to ask for a kiss as well. Relief moves sluggishly through his veins— Eddie’s smiling, this is good.

“Well, of course,” Eddie grins widely and opens his arms, inviting Steve in. Steve hesitates for only a moment before he leans in gratefully, his arms tucking around Eddie’s midriff tightly. Eddie’s arms curl around Steve’s neck, pulling him in close. It’s the easiest thing in the world, sinking into it, so much that Steve tries his best not to immediately slump against Eddie. It feels a bit too pathetic, so Steve reels himself in. He can’t make his arms relax, trying too hard to take only what he needs and not a moment more.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice teases beside his ear, his breath warm. “You call that a hug?”

He squeezes Steve a little tighter, pulling him even closer and Steve can’t help the way he melts into it— he slumps, leaning against Eddie properly and burying his quiet whine of relief into the juncture between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs comfortingly.

Eddie takes him wholly, gives a damn good Munson hug, all warmth and comfort. He smells like, well, Eddie — a lingering scent of weed, something musky, something Eddie. His arms around Steve’s neck shuffle and Steve worries he’s trying to pull away so soon, only for one of his hands to tangle in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He combs through, light fingernails scratching at Steve’s scalp and shit, Steve really can’t control the noise of contentment that slips out his throat.

“Can’t believe you got so worked up just to ask for a hug,” Eddie tsks, tone coloured in disbelief. Steve makes a noise of protest, trying for a moment to wind it all back in but, like Eddie can sense it, he’s squeezing him tighter again. He begins to rock them, a soft sway side to side that lets Steve lean on him even more. He hums a tune Steve doesn’t know, low and soft.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles in reply, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s apologising for. For having to ask, for taking so much, for enjoying Eddie’s arms around him just a little too much.

“What the fuck for?” Eddie laughs lightly, one of his hands beginning to drum against the divots of Steve’s spin. It feels like he’s tapping pure delirium with each fingertip, shivers that make Steve’s chest glow terribly warm. It feels good, so good to be held and honestly, Steve could stay here all night if Eddie let him. Knowing Eddie, he would, because he’s that fucking nice.

That knowledge alone forces Steve to sit himself up, extracting him limbs even though so much of him mourns the warmth, the touch, that goes with it. He wants the touch but he’s had enough. Some scorned part of him burns bitterly to think Eddie would give him more just to be nice. Steve doesn’t want that— Steve wants Eddie to touch him because he wants to.

“Sorry, man, I just, uh, get like that sometimes.” Steve feels the need to explain, bringing a hand up to rub at one of his eyes. He does it half so can hide his embarrassed expression from Eddie— who’s looking at him so gently and still so so close.

“Just, aha—“ Christ, it wasn’t this awkward telling Robin. Steve’s hand moves to rub the back of his neck. “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile since,” He gnaws on his bottom lip, something alike to humiliation curling in his gut. “Since I’ve had some touch. Usually, Robin’s around but y’know.”

He waves a hand, huffing another awkward laugh. Eddie hasn’t moved much, just listening intently, his brows ever so slightly inching closer together. He looks outright concerned at Steve’s next words.

“It’s okay, I’ve— I’ll be good now.” Steve nods along, like the motion will help him convince himself as well as Eddie. He’ll be okay now. Usually, one hug is all it takes. He ignores the surging tidal-wave want that is still going, still aching to be held by Eddie again. It would be selfish to ask for more. Eddie didn’t invite him around to hug— it’s weird, and Steve shouldn’t- can’t ask for more.

“Sooooo,” Eddie draws out the word, an impish smile beginning to play at the corners of his lips. He opens his arms wide again. “You don’t want another hug?”

In his lap, Steve’s fingers twitch. Eddie’s eyes dart to them for a second, before fixing back on Steve. He does, he really fucking does want another hug. He can’t. He’s had enough, really, it would greedy to have more.

Steve shakes his head, forces himself to huff another laugh that accidentally comes out as a strained sigh. He smiles weakly, “No, no, I’m good, dude. It’s… I’m okay, swear.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s convinced him. Eddie studies his face, his mischief slipping away as he deliberates Steve’s words. His eyes narrow, arms dropping just an inch before he smiles brightly and says, “Okay, can I have a hug then?”

Which, okay, right, Steve didn’t think of that. People don’t ask him for hugs. He blinks, a bit dumbly. Eddie is waiting, face eager and for a second there’s an expression of almost smugness on his face — like he’s about to get exactly what he wants. Because he knows Steve would never be rude and say no.

“I mean,” Steve breathes, voice a bit tighter than he’s expecting. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, you can have a hug.”

“Great!” Eddie replies and he wastes no time. He’s all up in Steve’s space, arms around Steve’s waist this time. The motion takes Steve by surprise, enough that because he’s not expecting it Eddie’s weight pushes him back so he’s lying on the couch.

If Eddie cares, he pays no mind, his head curling up into the crook of Steve’s neck as he hugs him closer. His hair gets in Steve’s mouth, making him splutter for a second, but Eddie just grins, wriggling closer until they’re pressed firmly against each other. Steve would go as far as to say this is closer to cuddling than a hug, with Eddie squishing him from above, his arms around Steve’s middle.

“Just so you know,” Eddie’s voice rumbles from where their chests are touching, his breath sweeping across Steve’s neck. Steve shivers without meaning to, feels Eddie’s responding grin even as he continues. “All hugs requested by me are automatically 10 minutes long. Hope you’re okay with that, sweetheart.”

Steve isn’t stupid — he knows Eddie is doing it for him, doing it because he could see right through Steve’s stupid facade, had peered his yawning hunger for touch right in the face and hadn’t blanched. Instead of feeling tricked or fooled, Steve just feels…warm. Comfortable. He works his arms around Eddie’s neck til their more comfortable and find the courage in him scrape his fingers through Eddie’s hair— like he had done to Steve. Eddie’s sighs sweetly and Steve thinks he could listen to that noise forever.

“I’m… I’m okay with that.” Steve murmurs lowly, yet he knows Eddie can hear him. Eddie noses closer, a borderline nuzzle against his neck, and further down, one his hands starts to stroke softly up and down Steve’s ribs.

Steve can’t help the way it makes him freeze, the breath in his lungs holding tight as he tries to relax, tries to ignore the prickly feeling under his skin. It’s a lot. A lot of touch that Steve just isn’t used to just yet, even if he desperately craves it.

“Relax,” Eddie whispers into his skin, a soft instruction paired with the motion, one soothing stroke up and down his ribs. Steve pushes the breath in his lungs out, forces the tension out of his body, trusts that Eddie wouldn’t be offering— wouldn’t tell him to relax if he wasn’t allowed to.

“That’s it.” Eddie praises, feeling the body beneath him settle and sink a little lower into the couch. “Now, watch the movie.” Eddie instructs, jutting at the still playing screen with his chin. Steve laughs a bit, but obeys, turning his head to see what part they’d gotten up to. They’d missed a big chunk in their hug. Steve nearly apologises for it, the words on the tip of his tongue, before he decides Eddie might smack him for it.

So, he doesn’t. He watches the film, let’s the gentle touch of Eddie on his skin relax him til sleepiness starts to fill each of his limbs, heavy like lead. Eddie’s hand stops moving eventually, when his breath gets heavier, lulled by Steve’s scratch in his hair. A snore starts up, loud and quite frankly, annoying, and yet, Steve finds that with Eddie’s arms around him, he has no trouble finding sleep.

It’s the first time in years Steve’s fallen asleep in someone else’s arms. And even if he doesn't know it yet, it’s certainly not the last.

now with a part two!

[xulips]

clearly, they have the same opinion on being "casual"

[starry-bi-sky]

i've mentioned in a few past posts about an au where Danny is a variant of Jason Todd. I haven't made a post about it yet because I need a good rhythm flowing however i've been listening to Gladiator by Jann and I have been having thoughts.

but first, let me set the au:

Danny Fenton is Jason Todd, or at least, a variant of him. A him from a universe separate to the major Batman timeline - but still Jason Todd, down to the structure of his face and his name itself. The only thing that changes, is who picks him up - and, that he follows old Batman canon, and was an orphan. Jason Todd steals the tires off the batmobile and wallops Batman with his tirejack, and then runs off. Shortly after, he gets picked up by the Fentons.

(Customary line break,,,, word count check: 5k)

And his name changes from Jason Todd to Danny Fenton. He doesn't care much for the new name change, it stems from his mute refusal to share his name to the people that picked him up; an attempt to make him untraceable should he get away from them, and to keep something of his to himself. So they name him something new. He grows to like it enough as he acclimates to his new family.

(He hangs onto the name Jason Todd like a secret - he may be 'Danny Fenton' now, but he'll never forget his time on Gotham's streets. He'll always be Jason Todd.)

(Jazz is the only one who he tells his name to in the family - she affectionately calls him Jay whenever she wants.)

He becomes friends with Sam and Tucker and deals with Dash and his bullying. And when Danny steps in during a fight between Dash and another student, Dash gives him a bleeding nose and mockingly says, "Do you think you're Robin just because you're from Gotham, Fenton?"

Jason looks him in the eyes and he bares his teeth, "Why not?" he asks, spitting blood, "being Robin gives me magic."

The nickname sticks. It's supposed to be an insult; Daniel Fenton is not Robin, he'll never be Robin. Not now, not in a million years. Jason Todd has always wanted to be Robin, so he takes the insult and wears it proudly. He buys a school varsity jacket and painstakingly undos the stitching of all the school's motif on it. On the breast of it, he embroiders in a black circle with the Boy Wonder "R" on it instead. It's not good stitching, but the next day Danny wears it down to breakfast and into school.

In normal au canon, Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton (its a mouthful, just call him Danny) only meets the Waynes after he becomes Phantom - an event that leans more towards Daniel Fenton's accident than Jason Todd's death, but traumatizes him all the same. (Is it too much to want to be mourned? His best friends like to deny that he died - and Danny - Jason? - wishes they wouldn't, even if he did come back.)

(The accident embitters him, even more when his parents don't seem to pick up on it. He stops calling himself Danny Fenton - he's always been Jason Todd. It shows itself in his ghostly form. He doesn't want to wear the thing he died in, not in something that belongs to the Fentons, and his suit reflects that.)

In this timeline, Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton, aged 13, meets Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne after a mishap with magic on the other end of the reality sends the three of them careening through time and space, and spat back out on the other end, in a world not their own. And together.

Danny is paired with a very confused Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson. Luckily, there's a few heroes there to help them. Danny can hardly comprehend the idea that he's in another universe - he doesn't know why Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne are seemingly handling it well.

On their way to a secondary base with the heroes, Danny turns to Bruce Wayne and asks, "So, is it part of rich-person training that you're just totally chill with being sent into another universe, or are you just weird?"

Bruce Wayne huffs at him, rather than get offended, and he smiles that dumb lopsided billionaire smile that Danny's seen on every vogue magazine he's been in. "I'm not so worried with these skilled heroes here to help us get home."

Danny silently concludes that he's just weird. At least Dick Grayson is biting back a smile behind him. "Riiiight..." He says, dragging the vowel out dryly.

When they get to that secondary location -- a safehouse that one of the heroes had set up -- the three of them are sat in a living room-like room while one hero, Zatanna, goes and calls someone from the Justice League. The other two heroes stay with the three of them.

Within a few hours, Danny is face to face with Batman - someone who he hasn't seen since he whacked him in the stomach with a tire iron - and Nightwing. For a moment, Danny swears that the both of them look almost spooked by him.

Batman stares at him for a moment when he enters, and then he goes to speak with Bruce Wayne. Danny doesn't care enough to hear what they're talking about, he pulls out his phone as Nightwing goes to speak with Dick Grayson.

"Are you a fan of Robin, little man?" Someone says, and when Danny looks up he locks eyes with Dick Grayson -- who is leaning around Nightwing to talk to him, the both of them are smiling. And considering who Nightwing was, Danny finds himself turning pink to the ears.

But he will not hide his jacket. He forces a grin through his embarrassment, "Hell yeah, man, Robin's cool." He says, and pushes his arms down to pull out the hem of his letterman, showing off the emblem. "I made it m'self out of a school varsity after the A-Listers started callin' me Robin."

"A-Listers?"

"Popular kids," Danny corrects, loosing his hold on the hem and brushing invisible wrinkles out of the embroidery. "They didn't like that I kept stepping in when they were bullying. Dash asked me if i thought I was Robin because I was from Gotham."

Dick Grayson looks intrigued -- and concerned, and he leans forward onto his knees and raises an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

And Danny grins a shark-like thing, straightening back his shoulders with a burning sort of smug pride and all the sharpness of broken glass left in Crime Alley. "I told him being Robin gave me magic, and then I punched him."

Dick Grayson's smile widens, splitting into showing teeth as he leans back into his seat. Danny isn't sure why he's so delighted - but Nightwing looks incredibly amused, and he suddenly remembers that the Robin himself was there in front of him.

Danny's face burns anew and his arms fold themselves in front of him once again.

"I don't think I ever caught your name, Robin." Dick Grayson goes, his voice thick with laughter, and Nightwing steps off to the side as Batman and Bruce Wayne walk over to join them both. They're just close enough that Danny can see Bruce Wayne raise an eyebrow at them both.

"It's Jason." Danny says before he can think about it, and barely stops himself from frowning at himself for the slip. He amends himself, glancing over at Batman and Bruce as they get closer. "But everyone calls me Danny."

Dick Grayson's head recoils slightly, and he looks a little surprised. "Why Danny?" He asks.

"Why Dick?" He shoots back, and Bruce and Dick both smile at him, with Dick Grayson shrugging with an expression that looks like 'you've got a point.'

In the end, the three of them - yes, three - get sent to this world's Wayne Manor, and Danny is bewildered by that decision to include himself -- he's not a Wayne. Why not just send him to the Fentons?

Batman tells him that the Fentons don't exist in this world, and Danny falls silent. "Oh." He says quietly, a pit growing in his stomach with an ill-kind of dread. He can't keep Batman's gaze, looking away with unease.

No Fentons in this world. No Fentons. Where was he then, in the grand scheme of things? Where was he in this world? What happened to Jason Todd? Was he even alive? He can't keep the worry off his face, and he jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder. When he looks up, Dick Grayson squeezes him gently.

Dick Grayson is steadily beginning to remind him of his sister.

-

They end up driving back in the Batmobile. It's such a shock to Danny that he momentarily forgets the lack of Fentons. He makes a laugh sound, actually, and immediately he covers his hand with his mouth and stares at the car -- tank? with his teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"Jason?" Dick says, and hearing his name being spoken feels like someone touched him with a livewire. It's weird, it's foreign - he hates, in some way, that it's foreign - and it's so nice. Yes, that's me.

He drops his hand immediately. "Sorry." He says, realizing he'd stopped in his tracks, "I -uh, was just surprised."

"It's not every day someone sees the Batmobile." Dick agrees. Nightwing has his back to them but Danny swears he sees his shoulders shaking a little.

"Yeah," Danny nods slowly, dragging his eyes over the batmobile as Batman opens the driver's side and gets in. He thinks for a moment, of what he should say next - whether to admit that he's seen it before, or to pretend that he's seeing it for the first time. Snd as Nightwing opens the door for him, Bruce, and Dick, he chooses the funnier option; "The last time I saw it, I was stealing its tires."

To his surprise and unsurprise, Danny only gets two pairs of eyes on him. Nightwing gets into the passenger seat as both Bruce and Dick turn their gaze onto him; Dick's eyes big like they were going to bulge out of his head.

"You what!?"

So Danny tells an amazed Dick Grayson that he hit Batman with a tire iron after he stole his tires - something he is very proud about and also incredibly embarrassed about when he retells what happened in the backseat of the batmobile, with Batman and Nightwing listening in from the front seat.

(Bruce Wayne doesn't ever tell Dick shit, he's going to lord this over Bruce's head the moment they are alone.)

"Please tell me this didn't happen in this world." Danny groans behind his palms as he sinks into his seat. Dick Grayson is killing himself laughing on his left, and he saw Bruce Wayne stifling a smile before he obscured his vision with his hands.

Much to his luck, its Batman himself who speaks next, (Danny was being mostly rhetorical). "It did." He says, and his voice sounds like the rumble of the earth before a stampede. It will never not throw Danny off every time he hears it. "It takes quite a lot of spunk to steal the tires off the batmobile."

He can't believe it. Batman is making fun of him. Fucking, Batman.

He wants to die with embarrassment. He groans even louder as Dick Grayson's laughter crescendoes. Danny risks a peak through his fingers, he doesn't know whether to regret it or not because he can just barely see Batman smirk very faintly from his position in the middle.

(His world axis tilts five degree leftways seeing it; like someone dunked a bucket of ice water on him.)

"He ended up being adopted by the Bruce Wayne of this world."

Danny's hands drop with his jaw into his lap. Dick Grayson on his left chokes on his laughter and careens into a coughing fit. Bruce Wayne on his right chokes on air, and quickly recovers himself with a cough behind a closed fist.

"What?" Danny croaks.

-

Apparently, Bruce Wayne's family is much larger in this world than it is in his. Danny can barely wrap his head around the idea that he ends up adopted by the man, but now he has to learn that Wayne had several children in this world?

He's still not wrapped his head around it when the three of them wind up at Wayne Manor, finally, or even when he's standing in front of him himself. For his effort, Bruce Wayne does a good job at looking unruffled by it.

God, he's weird. Danny's starting to quite like it, actually. How human of him.

He still can't wrap his head around it when he meets the rest of Bruce Wayne's children, all of whom are already aware of the three of them. Danny thinks that someone from the Justice League might've alerted them before they got here.

It makes sense, he supposes.

It helps that they are just as weirded out as he is. A boy named Tim Drake sees him for the first time and blurts out; "Oh wow, you're tiny." In a tone like he's just seen a two-headed snake burst out of the ground.

Danny is still offended. He's still growing. It's not his fault he spent twelve years of his life malnourished. "I'm gonna be taller than you," he tells him seriously, "and when I do I'm gonna kick your ass."

Tim snorts at him.

The other Bruce Wayne -- Mr. Wayne's -- youngest looks at him up and down with a face of carefully controlled judgement. His name is Damian, he's Bruce Wayne's only biological son. Danny can't believe that there's only one.

If anything, Bruce Wayne himself looks surprised too.

"Todd, yes?" Damian says, his green eyes narrowed at him.

Danny feels like the specimen under his parents' microscope, he feels like he's standing on a platform that's being slowly spun by scientists. He looks over at Bruce Wayne in confusion, and then back at Damian. "I- yes?"

Damian Wayne nods, and then leaves.

Danny does not once see himself. That is unsettling in and of itself - surely Jason Todd would have been told about another version of himself in this world, wouldn't he? How old is he here? An adult, probably. Danny doesn't know if he wants to see him. What does he look like when he's grown up? He pulls his Robin jacket around him a little tighter, like a cocoon, like a shield.

"It's weird to hear them call me Jason Todd." He says aloud to himself, and it leaves a weight behind in his chest that shouldn't hurt the way it does. It shouldn't be weird to be called your name. It shouldn't cobweb up your throat to hear your name being said. It was his name. It was his.

-

Danny acclimates to the manor slowly. The house is big, massive. He's never been in a house so large before, he feels like a stray cat being taken in for the first time, again. He and Bruce and Dick Grayson are all given their own separate rooms - one of many inside this mansion - and the sheer size of his bedroom is bigger than his living room and kitchen combined.

it's daunting. Danny sits outside on the balcony and stares at the stars he can see - Wayne Manor is far enough away from Gotham that its light pollution doesn't obscure the sky here like it did in the heart of it.

Danny finds the constellations he can find and wishes he had his books with him. He finds the library the next day and buries himself in the back, curling up into a comfy armchair next and inhaling each book he can get his hands on.

Tim Drake wanders past him at some point, Danny would have missed him if it weren't for the fact that Drake stared at him strangely when he saw him. He walks away when he realizes Danny was staring back.

It's a rinse and repeat for the next few days. Danny doesn't go to meals, he sneaks food from the kitchen afterwards, and then buries himself in hundreds of books in the library.

Dick Grayson, the one from his world, goes and finds him three days later. Danny's eyes hurt with strain by then, but he is furiously halfway through a Jane Austen novel when Dick sits down across from him.

"Have you been here all day?" Dick asks, he drapes himself across the side of his chair, contorting himself into a position that Danny doesn't think is comfortable when he looks up at him.

Not that he looks up at him long - he hums absently and goes back to reading. Frowning when he realizes he lost his place on the page.

Dick Grayson raises an eyebrow, "Have you at least eaten anything?"

Danny hums. No, he hasn't, and he hadn't thought about eating all day. Until now that is, his frown ever deepening as his stomach pangs with a deep hunger.

"That's not healthy."

"Mhm."

"Are you going to eat something?"

"Mhhh."

And this gets Dick to frown. He straightens himself up, propping onto his elbows to stare at Danny. "Jason." He says strongly. And it's that that gets Danny to finally look up from his page, jumping like he'd again been poked with a live wire as he stares at Dick with wide eyes.

"Yes?"

"Put the book down." Dick orders, gesturing towards the side table next to Danny with a nod. "And come eat something." There's very little room for argument in his voice, he sounds like Jazz when she's trying to parent him, but instead he actually sounds authoritative. Not bossy.

Danny still frowns at him. "You're not the boss of me." He says, sinking back into his chair with a thumb bookmarking his page.

Dick gives him a look and makes a decisive noise, swaggling his head side to side while he does. "I'm pretty sure that for as long as we're here, me and B actually are the boss of you."

He's never really liked authority figures, not ones that tried to boss him around, that is. Danny doubles down, his lips curling into a shadow of a scowl. "Just because you're my brother in another world doesn't mean you can act like it."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"I don't want to go eat."

"It's not good for you to skip meals."

"Quit talking like Jazz."

"Danny."

Danny sinks his teeth into his lip and scowls darkly at him, shrinking into the back of his armchair in hopes that it'll swallow him whole. The idea of going into that large fucking dining room fills him with a dread that makes him completely forget his appetite.

"Your fucking- dining room is- it's too big." He grits out, finally closing his book and hugging it tightly to his chest.

Dick blinks at him. "What?"

"You heard me! It's too big. This whole place is too big. It's- what do you even do with this much space? I don't know how this- other me ever lived here."

Dick Grayson surprises him, and his expression softens. "Oh," he says, "I get it."

"You do?" The tension bleeds slowly out of Danny's shoulders

"Yeah, I felt the same way when I first moved in with Bruce. I lived with the circus for most of my life, but I slept in a trailer." He says. And he talks more.

The end result of their conversation ends with Dick Grayson offering to let Danny sit across or next to him during mealtimes, and that he can talk to him if he starts getting uneasy. But he can't keep skipping meals - it was making them all worried.

Danny agrees, and Dick takes him down to the kitchens for food.

"They look at me weirdly too." He grumbles as they leave the library, Danny's book returned to the shelf where it belonged. When Dick looks at him curiously, he scrunches his nose up. "The - your other siblings. They look at me like I'm- I'm someone else. S'weird."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Dick asks, "You are someone else."

Dany shrugs, staring at the ground with a heavy frown. "I don't know."

-

Danny seeks out Dick more after that. And vice versa. Dick reminds Danny of Jazz, and he latches onto the familiarity like a leech. If Dick is bothered by it, he doesn't show it, whether he's talking to his other world's self, to the Bruce's, or to one of the other Wayne kids.

Damian Wayne seems particularly keen to seek him out, Danny finds. He thinks it means that they're close in this world, and that Damian wants to see more of what a young Dick is like. That's what he would do, at least.

He takes up on Dick's offer of seating near him during dinner, and finds an open spot across from him. Unless he has something to show him, then he sits next to him.

("You can call me Jason." He tells him one day when they're in the Wayne's massive, fuck-off gym and they're both climbing over the jungle gym. Dick's showing him how to be more flexible. It's the most Danny's worked out ever, he likes the burn it gives him.

Dick looks at him in surprise, "Really?" he's doing a handstand on the bars and Danny's more than a little jealous at his balance.

"Yeah, dipshit," he says, rolling his eyes, "I'll even let you call me Jay, it's my nickname."

Dick happily takes him up on that offer, and much to Danny's embarrassment, starts calling him Jaybird. All because of his stupid Robin jacket.)

Danny has yet to meet his other self still, it's scaring him a little. Where was he? And matter of fact, how long until he could go back to his home dimension? The three of them hadn't gotten any updates since they arrived.

Speaking of, he was starting to talk to Bruce more, it was just... strange. Even stranger than talking to Dick. Bruce Wayne in another life would have been his adoptive father, Danny can't wrap his head around it for the life of him.

Whatever did Bruce Wayne see in Jason Todd that made him worth adopting? He's too afraid of the answer to ask. They start talking more after they run into each other late at night. Danny had been hit with a bout of insomnia and was going to the library.

He ran into Bruce on the way. He was just.. staring, out the window, with a faraway look in his eye. He didn't even look startled to see Danny standing there.

Danny asks him if he wants to go to the library with him. It was out of panic. He isn't expecting Bruce Wayne to agree, and they walk there in suffocating silence. Danny keeps looking at him from the corner of his eye.

("You're staring?" Bruce doesn't sound upset, Danny jumps anyway.

"Yeah, sorry." his voice sounds stilted, "it's just..." his jaw wires itself shut for a spell, "...you looked like you were about to disappear."

"Ah.")

When they reach the library, Danny leads Bruce Wayne into the science section and takes out books upon books about stars. He leads him over to the armchair and fire and they both sit down on the ground.

"When I lived in Gotham I would stargaze." Danny says, it's the first thing he can think of. Bruce Wayne looks at him quizzically. "Well, I would try to. The sky's too polluted for that. Mostly I would just watch the skyline and try and spot Batman and Robin, was the same thing."

That cracks a smile out of Bruce. It's a small one, barely there. "I hardly think the two are comparable."

Danny is still serious. "Not to me."

He goes on, talking about how after he was adopted he got his hands on every star book he could find. He loves english and he loves to read, but something about the stars drew him in like a song. He rambles about every star fact he knows with Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne surprises him by telling him facts he didn't know. Danny soaks it up like a sponge, listening intently to him speak. And when they run out of star books to talk about, Danny tells Bruce that it was his turn to find something for them to talk about.

Bruce Wayne smiles again at him, a sly little thing like Danny's challenged him, and gets up. He comes back with a stack of film books, and they spend the next few hours going through them. Bruce Wayne rattles off every single movie fun fact he knows, and there is so much that he knows.

Danny is in awe, and moves to press against Bruce's side to see the stuff he points at in his books.

"You're smarter than people give you credit for." He says at some point, when his eyes hurt from being open for too long and his head leans against Bruce's arm for support. It follows with a jaw-cracking yawn that he tries and fails to stifle.

"Thank you, Danny." Bruce says, his voice soft and soothing and not helping with Danny's weighing exhaustion. His eyes drift, and then jerk open. "Do you want to go back to your room? You look tired, chum."

He bites back a smile at the nickname, and fails to keep it bitten. "No, no, I'm awake." He mumbles, shaking his head slowly. "I wanna hear-" he yawns again, "-hear you talking."

Danny swears he can hear the smile in Bruce's voice as he speaks; "Alright. Now, where was I?"

In the end, Danny falls asleep on the floor of the library next to Bruce Wayne. He doesn't even realize it until he wakes up the next morning. But it's not to worry, Bruce Wayne fell asleep too, an arm thrown around Danny protectively like he was his own kid.

This becomes a thing for them soon enough. When neither of them can sleep, they go to the library and talk and talk about whatever comes to mind.

There comes the dreaded night after they've finished whatever book they were looking at when Bruce, the little shit, turns to Danny and goes; "You never mentioned what happened after you hit Batman with a tire iron."

Danny groans, big and dramatic, burying his head in his arms, and ignores the low chuckle. "I thought he was gonna chase me down for sure." He complains, his voice muffled by his arms.

"Why did you hit him with a tire iron?"

The look Bruce gets is one of pure disbelief. "If Mothman suddenly showed up behind you while you were taking the wheels off his ride, you'd hit him too!"

"Last time I checked, Mothman isn't real." Bruce told him amusedly, and Danny flops over onto his back to stare him down. His arms sprawl out like a starfish, intentionally hitting Bruce in the shoulder.

"You don't know that, Batman's a cryptid and he's real."

Bruce roars with laughter, and Danny preens like a bird.

That next morning when Bruce passes by him for breakfast, he reaches over and ruffles his hair. It's the same thing he does for Dick every morning. It's the first of many, and it gets many stares from the surrounding family.

Bruce has a newspaper tucked under his arm, and when he sits down Danny stands up and skedaddles over to him, leaning over the side of his chair to peer at the paper.

"Any cryptids spotted, Buzz?" He asks, getting a startled laugh out of Bruce, who looks up at him.

"Buzz?"

"Well, yeah," and Danny states it as matter-of-fact. He gestures his head at Dick Grayson. "Dick calls you 'B', and B is for bees, and I can't just call you Bees, that's dumb. So; Buzz."

He grins triumphantly when Bruce laughs quietly, his shoulders shaking imperceptibly. "I know," he tilts his head up proudly, "I'm a genius."

Now he's actually laughing, dropping his head into one of his hands and trying to quiet himself as much as possible. Danny is positively beaming, ignoring the stares of the other Waynes as he flounces back to his seat just as the other Mister Wayne enters the room.

-

When Jason Daniel Fenton Todd meets Jason Todd for the first time, they both just stare at each other.

Danny recognizes himself immediately in the library, and he freezes up. His tongue ties to the roof of his mouth, and he's unsure of what to say.

He doesn't need to say anything at all, because when Jason Todd looks up and they lock eyes, they both just stare. And stare. Jason Todd is a large, hulk of a man, built like a brick shithouse, with a tired, traumatized look in his eyes and a white streak in his black curls. The same black curls that Danny himself has.

He has no idea what to say. Or if he should turn back around and leave.

Jason Todd sighs at him, "I know they told me you and another world's Bruce and Dickie were here," he says, but it sounds like he's talking to himself. Even moreso when he mutters half-heartedly, "-but I was hoping I wouldn't run into you."

Danny feels small next to him. He doesn't know why. "Sorry." He says lamely, his one foot skips back, "I can leave if you want." It's unlike him to be meek, he thinks. Not after years of Gotham living and dealing with the likes of Dash and his Jerk Jocks.

But this also isn't the streets, and this isn't other kids being dicks. Jason Todd shakes his head, and gestures with one large arm for Danny to come over. "You don't need to do that, you were coming to read, right?"

He nods, and tentatively makes his way over. When Jason looks at him, he sees him cast his eyes over his Robin jacket - he wears it everyday. Danny sees him narrow his eyes, just slightly. But he says nothing.

It's... a strange conversation. Interaction. Jason Todd doesn't talk to him much, and if he does it's stilted and awkward, like he doesn't know how to treat him. Like he's holding him at arm's length.

Jason's getting tired of being treated like a ghost.

They talk about their books. They compare lives. Jason Todd was picked up a few days after he stole the wheels of the batmobile. He wasn't an orphan, he lived with his mom and his stepdad before he lived with Bruce. They both like to read, only Danny has an interest in the stars.

("What do your adoptive parents do?" Jason Todd asks him, one arm slung over the back of the armchair, he looks relaxed. He looks tense. Danny feels like he's back in Crime Alley again.

"They're 'ectologists'." He says, making air quotes over the word. He rolls his eyes, "Ghost hunters. They study the dead and all things afterlife."

Jason Todd makes a dry laugh huff, a sarcastic half-smile on his face. He doesn't explain why he does, Danny doesn't ask why. It doesn't seem like his business.)

Danny wants to ask him where he got that white streak in his hair. It doesn't feel right. It feels like his parents' lab, and that isn't right. Nothing ever feels like his parents' lab.

Jason Todd leaves first after giving him a few book recommendations. Danny isn't sure how to rate the experience. Being in Jason Todd's presence was like standing in a liminal space. An empty parking lot at night. When he leaves it feels like much the same thing.

He struggles to read his books afterwards, unable to shake the feeling of being haunted.

[juliet2citrus]

Which Lacey game was your fav?

[ohnomysoul]

I think we should have a conversation about how people tend to portray Hornet as having a hair-trigger temper/being always just angry and how that’s both a disservice to her character and really odd considering how much of a stoic she tends to be in game about her feelings. She’s blunt and sharp but not explosive and straight up abrasive. She has tact. Just like someone who’s both a spider and born into a royal family has to be to survive.

And along with that, as a Lesbian myself, the way people write her as being always angry and pissed off mixed with the other defining trait of being a lesbian or sapphic in some way also rubs me the wrong way.

Like… I hope people realize that they are making her into the “angry/bitchy lesbian trope” right??? And by making her like be especially rude towards the men (who are written to hit on her) also plays into that? I doubt it’s intentional but it’s still offensive.

(Clarification too just in case: I love when people headcanon Hornet as being a Lesbian for obvious reasons that are not limited to me simply loving her as a character, but I do beg people to think more about how making the self controlled guardian that Hornet is into a lesbophobic trope that isn’t even adhering to her canon character is disheartening.)

[lerrryyyyy]

『 @tododekuweek 2024 Prompt 1: Hybrid AU 』

Cuddly 🐰🐱 tododeku for the soul

°°°

Do not edit or repost my art.

[cryiling]

thinking about that bkdk edating in middle school trope, except they're amino boyfriends 💀

they meet on an all might amino community. katsuki is one of the community mods, and izuku is the leader of an analysis club on there. izuku's posts were often featured and very popular in the community (he was def a microcelebrity), and katsuki always gave him a ton of amino coins on his posts.

for a challenge he's hosting for his club, izuku makes a huge deep-dive post analyzing all might's rise to fame in his bronze age. this post gets close to 10k likes, and katsuki gifts him 5k amino coins on the post. when izuku sees that number, he freaks out and assumes it must be a mistake since that's a huge number, who in their right mind would give him that much money??

he messages katsuki (who's username is 𝓓𝔂𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 ⛓️💥) (LMAOOOOO) and asks if the amount of coins was a mistake + offers to give them back. katsuki tells him that there was no mistake, and that he just really liked izuku's post. izuku is really flattered that this guy liked his analysis so much, and they continue texting back and forth for a while.

they follow each other and put each other in their bios under "bffs," and a month or two after that, they officially become boyfriends. izuku buys amino+ using all the coins katsuki had given him (katsuki keeps spending his allowance to buy more amino coins so he's super rich). they start matching profile themes after that, switching to a new theme every month. they have matching profile frames and chat bubbles and everything, and izuku makes a sticker pack of all might faces to use when texting katsuki (sometimes katsuki uses the stickers too, but only when texting izuku)

everyone on all might amino knows they're dating, since they're both such high-profile people in the community. they become the community's it-couple, and people love commenting on their walls how cute their matching profiles are. katsuki comments under all of izuku's posts praising his analysis, and izuku always replies with a string of all might heart-eye stickers.

6 months into their relationship, izuku tells katsuki he can call him by his real name. up until now, izuku had gone by the nickname "golden" in honor of all might's golden age. when izuku tells katsuki his name, though, he doesn't get a response. the next day, izuku wakes up to find that katsuki's profile has been deleted entirely.

izuku feels like throwing up. he doesn't know what happened to dynamight, if he caused this, what could have caused this. he debates deleting his account too, ashamed and confused and hurt, but ultimately decides against it. he changes his profile theme back to an aesthetic picture set of all might in his iconic golden age pose, and continues posting on all might amino as if nothing happened. he doesn't reach out to new people on amino again.

when izuku gets into ua and his workload drastically increases, he stops finding time to post on amino, eventually deleting the app entirely (his profile stays up, though).

in second year, izuku is sitting in the common room with his friends, somehow having been roped into a conversation about dating. "you've never been in a relationship before, have you, deku-kun?" uraraka asks him.

his friends' eyes all focus on him, and he blushes. "well, i had an online boyfriend in middle school, but i'm not sure if that counts." his friends gape at him, clearly surprised. some other people lingering about in the common area also tune into the conversation. katsuki is one of them.

"really, midoriya-kun?" iida says, doing his best to hide his blatant shock. "i must say, that sounds rather out of character for you!"

"did you guys break up or something?" todoroki asks.

izuku grimaces, remembering what happened. "i told him my real name, and then he deleted his account. i think it was because of my name, but I guess i don't know for sure."

uraraka frowns. "that sucks! he didn't deserve you anyway. what an asshole move." the rest of izuku's friends nod in agreement at that. out of the corner of his eye, izuku sees katsuki get up from his armchair and storm out of the room.

months later, izuku and katsuki finally start dating for real. izuku is so overwhelmed with happiness, and katsuki's eyes light up every time he sees izuku. one night, though, katsuki pulls him aside. "there's something i need to tell you."

izuku frowns in confusion. "what's up?"

katsuki takes a deep breath. "...i'm dynamight."

this does not clear izuku's confusion. "um... yeah, i know what your hero name is."

"no, it's-" katsuki cuts himself off, then starts again. "i was dynamight on amino, too."

izuku feels his heart drop. he's not sure what katsuki is saying, why he's bringing it up. "you... we were... you mean we dated back in middle school?"

katsuki nods, eyes on the floor. he doesn't say anything else.

"why did you..." izuku licks his lips in apprehension. "why did you delete your account?"

katsuki is silent for a moment. "i freaked out when i found out who you were," he finally says. "i mean, you know how i was treating you in real life back then. and we had been texting all that time, and i had been comforting you from the bullying you were going through, only to realize it was me who was- i didn't... i didn't know what to say. and obviously i was really immature at the time and wasn't ready to process my feelings yet. but that whole thing helped me realize my feelings for you, even though i didn't want to accept that at the time.

"but," katsuki continues, clearly on a roll now, "that still doesn't excuse what i did. it was a shitty move. and i know i've apologized for how i bullied you before, but i'm sorry for this, too, izuku. i know i hurt your feelings. i swear i'll be a better boyfriend this time, i promise. uh- only if... if you still want to be together."

izuku can't even think of what to say for a moment, still silently reeling at katsuki's confession. eventually he says, "no, i- i get it. we were both pretty immature at the time, and to be honest i kind of got over it a while ago. but," he smiles, "that apology really means a lot to me. and of course i still want to be with you."

he leans in to kiss katsuki briefly. izuku doesn't think he'll ever get used to that.

katsuki rests his forehead against izuku's, eyes taking in izuku's face. "i swear i'll be an even better boyfriend than dynamight was, golden."

and then they lived happily ever after :>

[firelise]

YakDee + The Origins of the Moaning Kink -> Are you okay? Your face is red... WANDEE GOODDAY (2024)

[riaki]

thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze. 

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[beaulesbian]

the puss in boots movie rlly does have everything, including this type of villain

[ghoulysaphomet]

Math