#and this fanfic someone wrote!!!

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[selamat-linting]

tagging "nanami core" on a cena gif and accomplishing the achievement of mixing two in-jokes from separate group chats so well that none of the people from both server know what im talking about.

[thevoidstaredback]

Okay, so, crisis averted. Both of them, really. Red Robin had not asked or attempted to get any more of Danny's drink and the World Ending Crisis was less World Ending and more World Threatening. Either way, no one is hyped up in lethal amounts of caffeine and the world is in no more pieces than it had been before.

That brings attention to a new problem, though. It's uniquely Danny's problem and Constantine and Zatanna and Deadman won't stop laughing at him. He's also pretty sure that Raven is laughing at him in the privacy of her mind, so that's making him feel worse.

The problem is that every single hero that had been at the meeting a week ago that was not a part of the JLD has been overly concerned about him.

So what if he half died when he was fourteen and therefore will never look over either fourteen or eighteen? So what if he consumes enough caffeine to kill an elephant within a few minutes? What is he gonna do, die? That's not a real threat as long as he only fights as Phantom.

Ignoring the fact that he can, in fact, get hurt to the point of near death as Phantom. It's not like anyone knows that, though! Besides, ghosts run on god rules. They can't die, only fade when forgotten. People aren't likely to forget about most ghosts, though, even if they can't remember their names.

He's not gonna share that, though. Let Batman keep his contingency that won't work because the only contingency that will work for Phantom is the one he made himself. Tried and tested! He's marked it off of his Bingo Card.

Anyway. Heros and their kids/proteges have been trying to track him down for the entire week. He can't risk even leaving the House of Mysteries because the Supers are all probably listening out for him and they can't hear him through magic. It sucks. He just wants to go get a cup of coffee as Danny. The second he leaves, though, the Supers will be on him like bloodhounds. He'd leave as Danny, but the rest of the JLD don't know what he looks like as Danny and he'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much. Being stuck as Phantom was going to start causing issues to his human half if he doesn't get to leave soon.

Should he risk it? Is coffee that won't kill him really worth risking the Supers finding out his civilian identity? Sure, they wouldn't tell anyone, but he didn't like the idea of someone being able to pick him out of a crowd when all he wanted to do was blend in. It's why he avoided Gotham and Bludhaven, actually, but that's both self explanatory and another story for another time.

"You're still here?" Zatanna sat on the couch beside him. "You're normally gone by now. You can't not be tired of us yet."

He sighed and sunk down into the couch slightly. "Believe me, I'm tired of being stuck here, but I can't leave. I can't leave as a human because you guys don't know what I look like and, no offense, but I'd like to keep it that way. I can't leave as I am now because Superman will be on my ass quicker than I can blink!" He whined this time, "I just want a cup of coffee."

"What about your special brew?" Raven asked, coming into the room.

"I want to drink coffee as a human. That stuff will kill me if I drink it as a human."

"At least you know your limits."

"That sounded like a dig at someone, Z."

"It was."

"Why don't you just go out under a protection spell?" Raven offered, "We could cast one over you and you could leave. Superman can't hear through magic, so he won't be able to tell. Neither will Superboy."

Danny thought for a second. "You're a genius, Raven! Has anyone ever told you that?"

"A few times," she blushed.

"Well, it needs to be said more!"

Zatanna laughed. "Alright, kid, let's get you outside before you drive yourself crazy."

Practically vibrating in place, Danny waited for the protection spell to settle over him. The second it did, he was out the door and wandering the streets of whatever city the House of Mysteries decided to drop him as Danny instead of Phantom.

"Who are you," was not the question or voice he wanted to hear the second he stepped into the open as himself.

"Danny," he squeaked out through his absolute panic. He didn't dare turn around.

The sound of fabric moving minutely clues him in to the second person behind him. What the hell were these two doing out? It's the middle of the day and there's no attacks going on anywhere in Gotham!

"Where did you come from?" Robin asked.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! This was really bad! Why did the House drop him *here* of all places? Does it *want* him to die again? It was very painful the first time, thank you very much! "Illinois?"

"Was that a question or an answer?" Why is Red Robin here now?!

"An-an answer?"

"Ah, you guys are scaring the little guy!" That was Nightwing. They're surrounding him! Why is Nightwing here? This is Gotham, not Bludhaven. "Give him some room to breathe."

They did not, in fact, give him room to breathe. Maybe coming outside was a bad idea. If he gets out of this no more dead than he already was, he was going to move to the middle of nowhere and become a hermit. Smallville is a town in the middle of nowhere, right? He'll retire as Phantom and move to Smallville until the people get suspicious and burn him as a witch-!

Maybe moving to a big city would be a better idea. Or locking himself in the basement of the House of Mysteries. Yeah, yeah that's a good idea.

"-even listening?"

Oh shit. They were still talking to him! Now is not the time to panic! "Gottagobye!" And then he was running.

Good job not panicking, Danny.

Part 1 Part 3

[quesadilla-day]

big cat 🐈‍⬛

[starrystevie]

18+ | cw: public handjobs, coming in pants | crossposted on twitter

“are you okay?”

realistically, eddie knows the answer to steve’s question is no. he’s not okay. he’s sitting in a club booth hard as nails with a flush no doubt covering his whole body. he should say no, far from okay, but instead he says-

“yeah, of course im fine.”

steve brings the back of his hand to wipe at his brow, crinkling his eyebrows together in confusion as he flashes an all too well knowing smirk eddie’s way. 

“you sure?” he asks smartly, leaning over the table to grab his rum and coke. standing back up, he tilts his head. “you look a little… bothered.”

eddie narrows his eyes and looks back out to the dance floor to see the girl steve was just dancing with crossing her arms over her chest. she’s pretty, clearly thinking she was making headway with steve, probably making plans in her head about marriage and babies with freckled cheeks.

eddie sighs and slumps over the table, balances his head in his palm as he plants his elbow on the sticky table top. 

how is eddie supposed to tell him that no, he’s no where close to alright? his cock is leaking into his nice jeans and it’s all from the way steve looks as he grinds into a pretty girl. as he tilts his head back to let the neon lights bounce off his pretty sun kissed skin. as he threads a hand into his own sweaty hair to push it back off his forehead. as he threads a hand into her curly hair to keep her where he wants her. 

he has to stop thinking about it.

if he doesn’t, he’s going to cream his pants and that would make for an even worse evening. 

“im good, man. it’s just a little hot.”

steve nods absently as he sips at his drink, as he looks eddie dead in the eye. eddie sighs and steve smirks again. he’s well and truly fucked.

suddenly, steves sliding into the booth, arm coming up to rest behind eddie’s head. he sputters, floundering as steve gets closer, close enough that he can smell his sharp cologne mixed with sweat, a smell that drives him wild. 

“oh.” steve says simply.

eddie flicks his eyes up to meet steve’s to ask what he’s talking about only to find that he’s staring at his hard on. the humiliation that rushes through eddie must cloud his vision when he thinks he sees steve’s smirk get wider, all teeth like a wolf on the hunt.

“fuck.”

he’s been caught. eddie whispers the curse into the air of the crowded nightclub but steve still hears it. his fingers drop down to just barely graze eddie’s shoulder, causing him to shudder. 

steve huffs out a laugh. “looks like i was right, you are bothered.”

eddie groans and drops his head with his eyes closed. “yeah, yeah, laugh all you want.” if he was flushed earlier, it grows tenfold now. he can feel the heat emanating off of him, warm enough that he feels sick with it.

he wants a hole to open up and swallow him. he wants to run out the door and never look back, saying au revoir to the fairytale idea of ever being with steve. he wants to crawl into his bed and jerk himself off under his covers and think about how hot the humiliation is that runs through him when steve looks at him and-

“you want some help with that?”

eddie freezes. steve’s breath is hot against his ear as he leans down to yell over the music, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin, the fingers that were teasing along the very tip of eddie’s shoulder pressing more intently into him.

“…do i want some help with what?” he murmurs, sliding his eyes open to glance at steve as he pulls back.

there’s something electric that zings through him as their eyes meet. the lights flash and steve is covered in red, glinting off his teeth like he could go in for the kill.

eddie thinks, knows, that he’d let him if he really wanted to.

“your little problem. or well-” steve breaks off and makes a clear look down, trailing his eyes slowly over eddie before bringing them back up to eddie’s face. “maybe not so little, huh?”

eddie blanches, a whine escaping him without his permission, something high and thready from the back of his throat. it’s a miracle steve can even hear it, but he does, taking it as the ‘fuck yes’ answer that it’s meant to be and sliding his hand down to rest on eddie’s thigh.

steve’s fingers tighten around eddie’s leg as he nods, the pressure quick and intense and enough to have him whining once more, shoulder slumping forward. he’s going to black out, he just knows it. his head is getting all foggy in anticipation.

when he looks down and sees just how hard steve’s breathing too, his chest expanding in time with the increasing pressure of his fingers, it all clicks in eddie’s head. this isn’t just for him like he thought it was. this isn’t just helping with his maybe not so little problem.

this is for steve, too.

once he realizes it, he sees the same realization wash over steve and the floodgates open. there’s a hand cupping his cock over his jeans as steve pulls the table closer to cover what they’re doing. it’s so much so fast and eddie takes in a gasping breath.

steve’s scooting somehow even closer to eddie until they’re pressed together hip to hip, chest to chest, with lips hot against eddie’s ear once more. eddie briefly wonders what they must look like but it’s dark enough that people aren’t looking over. not really.

if they did look over, they’d see eddie with his mouth agape, shoulders and head hunched forward as his friend must be saying something over the music. they wouldn’t see a hand working deliciously over him. they wouldn’t see the tongue flitting out to play with his earrings. they wouldn’t hear the absolute filth that steve is whispering that brings eddie closer and closer to the brink.

“god, i can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” he says and eddie feels like he can’t breathe, his hips bucking forward to chase after an embarrassingly fast orgasm. “think if you come in your pants, you can get it up again when we leave? want you to fuck me into the mattress until i’m fucking crying, til i'm begging for it. think you can do that?”

it’s too much. eddie turns his head and looks at steve with his lip pulled between his teeth. “what about her?”

he doesn’t have to clarify, they both know who he’s talking about. steve grins again as he quickens his hand. watches as red lights and bliss pass over eddie’s face.

“just wanted to make you jealous,” he breathes out, “she has your hair, y’know? wanted to feel like it was you against me.”

steve’s hand grinds into him once more and then his fingers are finding their way around his length in the denim, stroking him quickly. it's a bit too dry and it kind of hurts but they both correctly guess that eddie loves it a bit too dry, a bit too painful.

eddie chokes, eyes squeezing together as he comes in his pants like a goddamn teenager.

“there you go,” steve murmurs pressing a featherlight hidden kiss to his temple.

eddie jolts his hips through the aftershocks, unable to hide the whimpers that escape him. he doesn’t care about it, can’t care about it, not when steve picks up one of eddie’s hands to place on his own hard cock. he can feel a damp spot under his palm, and when he looks up at steve's face, he looks about as wrecked as eddie feels.

the only thing he can possibly say to steve is easy. “take me home. now.”

[turnipoddity]

uhh anyway

[starmocha]

the day bleeds into nightfall Zayne/MC | 1242 words | AO3 She was coming home soon.

A/N: So, um, you know those text messages you get from the guys when you don’t sign in for 30 days or more? Yeah…this stemmed from that…oops.

She was coming home soon.

It had been over a month since she was assigned a mission in another town. Zayne always worried whenever she was taken far away from him, though he knew she was a strong, capable fighter able to hold her ground against any wanderers no matter how big or small.

He couldn't help it. It was in his nature to always worry about her, to fuss over her, nag her—love her.

To assuage his worries, he kept up the text message exchange, finding solace in sharing tidbits of his mundane life with her as he waited for her to return home.

She was coming home soon.

Zayne passed a poster, pausing to examine it before he snapped a photo on his phone.

He typed out a message:

They're holding a new Kitty Cards event next month. Didn't I promise you a rematch last time?

He attached the photo and hit sent. He took another glance at the poster, and resumed his walk home, already seeing her seething across from him when he would, without a doubt, win again.

She was coming home soon.

It seemed his schedule as of late had been packed with surgeries after surgeries. He hadn't been home much recently, choosing to sleep in his car or office for a little bit instead out of mere convenience. When he needed sustenance, the cafeteria food would suffice or he would stop by one of the eateries near the hospital. For some reason, lately he didn’t care too much for taste, finding no pleasure in the meals he ate. He simply needed food from a biological standpoint, desiring only the energy they would give him to carry on with his life.

Remember to eat and sleep on time, he sent the message at noon and then reclined the seat in his car for a few minutes of shut eyes before his next scheduled surgery.

She was coming home soon.

Zayne mindlessly scrolled through the suggestions of movies on the TV's streaming app, finding nothing particularly interesting. He passed the different movies displayed, not reading the titles or even registering the thumbnails, but eventually he finally settled on a random psychological thriller, though his attention continued to remain elsewhere.

As the opening credit started, Zayne looked down at his phone, already typing away a new message for her:

The movie you wanted to see should be released by the time you come home. I'll buy us tickets. Hurry back.

She was coming home soon.

It's going to rain next Thursday. Dress appropriately, and don't dilly-dally in wet clothes.

He stared at the sent message, and without thinking, sent another one as an afterthought:

I can't always stay by your side.

She was coming home soon.

One day, after a particularly long meeting with the hospital's esteemed medical staff, Zayne returned to his office and noticed the potted plant on his desk near the window.

He settled into his seat, grabbed his cup of water, and poured the remaining liquid into the pot. He looked at the growing plant fondly before snapping a single photo to attach to his message:

The daffodil we bought together is thriving. Hurry back so you don't miss its flower.

He leaned back in his chair, chuckling softly at the memory of her mistaking garlic bulbs for daffodils.

She was coming home soon.

He visited the bakery near the hospital, the very same one where they had run into one another during an afternoon rain shower.

As he stared at the assortments of delectable pastries in the glass display case, he found that they did not brighten his mood as usual. In the back of his mind, he could hear the different voices competing to be heard.

Zayne breathed in sharply, wanting the voices to be silenced, and ordered one mille-feuille, not noticing the workers' surprised expression, unused to seeing the sweet-toothed doctor order so little.

When he returned to his car, Zayne opened the cake box and scooped a single forkful into his mouth.

If I have something sweet, I'd be happy, even if it was a bad day.

He dropped the plastic fork and broke down in his car.

That evening, he sent her another text:

Have you eaten yet? There is a new hot pot restaurant that opened downtown. Hurry on back to me. I'll let you indulge to your heart's content.

She was coming home soon.

He heard the hushed whispers, caught the sympathetic glances from his peripheral vision.

Greyson told him it was okay if he needed to take time off. All of the doctors at the hospital were ready to cover all of his shifts for as long as he needed.

At first Zayne dismissed everyone, baffled by their unusual reactions. It was just another normal day. Patients were in and out of the hospital like clockwork. There was no time to waste with small talks like this.

It was just another normal day. Like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and the—

Zayne froze in the middle of the operation, his hands shaking as he heard the staff around him fall into a state of panic as the fifteen-year-old patient started experiencing Evol-related complications during the cardiac surgery. Normally level-headed, he found that he was unable to will his body and mind to act accordingly. He stood there, watching through blank eyes, this perfectly crafted world of his crumbling as the memories of the past three months stared him down in the surgery room in a cruel taunt.

She was coming home soon.

She was coming home soon.

She was coming home soon…

At first, he couldn't hear any of the yelling from the surgery staff. Everything and everyone sounded like they were underwater, just muffled voices competing to be heard. Even everyone's movements seemed sluggish, as if time had slowed down, prolonging this hellish moment.

When Greyson rushed in and yanked Zayne away from the surgery table, screaming in his face, he immediately snapped out of his daze, and moved quickly to stabilize the patient, barking out orders to the staff.

By the end of the grueling, nerve-wracking hour, the young patient pulled through to everyone’s relief. Within twenty minutes, Zayne put in his request for an extended leave and offered his sincerest apology to the patient's family for his carelessness.

As he quietly left Akso Hospital, he heard the hushed whispers again, seeing the sympathetic glances from his peripheral vision.

He wished he was deaf and blind.

For the first half hour, he drove aimlessly through Linkon City before he found himself leaving behind the neon lights and heading to the cliffside on the outskirt of town overlooking the city. On the horizon, the colorful lights of the city competed for dominance with the bright stars in the night sky.

Zayne pulled out his phone, his fingers were already typing out a message for her, recalling his earlier incompetence. Halfway through the message, his eyes landed on the past conversations. He shakily scrolled up, reading the familiar one-sided conversation with an increasingly fast heartrate.

His breath hitched when he finally found one message from her, dated three months earlier:

Zayne, when I come home, let's make up for lost time! My treat!

He dropped his phone and screamed.

Three days later, he placed a small bouquet of jasmine for her.

“I miss—I love you…”

She was not coming home.

[reactionimagesdaily]

[gdn7-dollopole]

I must admit, one year in the BBC Merlin fandom, read an unimaginable amount of fanfictions, from the most known one to the least known one, all with different ratings, canon and modern, yet, I still haven’t read, not one single fanfiction, where the author really can catch and actually portrays Arthur’s reaction to magic and to Merlin having magic like it happened in the tv show.

Like, that’s what I was missing and I realised just now. I dislike canon fics with magic, because no one can make Arthur in character and portray him like in the show and write how genuinely Arthur would react to Merlin’s magic. Either they go all over and paint Arthur as this absurd king that tortures his friend of ten years to get information from him or something or they write Arthur like a) he always knew or b) now he knows but it’s not a bother.

I want the middle ground and I want it portrayed well, like in the show. I want more of scared Arthur, but confused Arthur. I want him in the same situation he was as he was dying but actually showing me what he wanted to do if he lived. I want Arthur come back fics with him going insane because he can’t understand if he can trust Merlin or not (yes. To me it’s realistic, because everyone has their own theory as to what Arthur knows or not, but it’s Merlin who waited centuries, not Arthur. For him, it all happened yesterday).

Give me that, please.

Also, I dislike when people say “it’s unrealistic for Arthur not to know” that’s the way the character has been written😭that’s what makes Arthur Arthur, the fact that is an intelligent idiot, but that he is scared of feelings and of going through with them and has this bunch of things and responsibilities in his hands and has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do with them, same with magic.

That’s what ‘in character’ means.

[lilacthebooklover]

Shadowvanilla with prompt 35

35. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

“You heard me!” Shadow Milk smiles sharply. His voice is playful as ever, but the glint in his eyes is deadly serious. Pure Vanilla listens closely as the mirth in his tone evaporates, that unearthly stare boring into him more intensely than ever before. “Take. It. Off.”

Subconsciously, the healer feels his hand drift towards his Soul Jam. It thrums with power beneath his fingers, simultaneous reassurance and warning pulsating through the azure jewel. It clings to his robes like it knows what will happen if it is removed, and Pure Vanilla finds himself shaking his head before he even realises what he’s doing.

“No,” he says, voice definite. Shadow Milk is capable of putting him through torture beyond comprehension, but Pure Vanilla will not falter. He can’t afford to, not when so much is at stake. He steels his gaze, tightens his grip, and offers a denial that can only be met with fury.

As expected, the world twists and warps around him, the warm, fuzzy edges of his dreamlike prison distorting into a tangle of blackened tendrils, creeping and twisting and grabbing. Pure Vanilla is safe when he’s awake. That doesn’t stop Shadow Milk from trying to convince him to surrender when unconscious. The Dark Side of the Moon is an otherworldly place; in a sense, Pure Vanilla wonders if he ever sleeps at all, anymore. He certainly doesn’t feel rested just then.

“No?” The jester echoes finally, head tilting eerily to the side. Pure Vanilla does his best not to shudder at the anger he feels emanating from Shadow Milk in waves. “Hmm. You know,” His voice dips into something between a purr and a growl, tracing his finger down Pure Vanilla’s jaw. The Beast is a master of deception, and Pure Vanilla knows as much. That doesn’t stop the urge he feels to lean into the first warm touch he’s felt in what feels like centuries. “This would be so much easier if you stopped resisting. So stubborn, Vanilly! I’d be impressed if it wasn’t so infuriating.” 

The grip on his jaw tightens, and Pure Vanilla desperately hopes that determination masks the fear in his eyes as they’re wrenched towards Shadow Milk’s own. He’s too close, Pure Vanilla thinks distantly, sickening anxiety slithering under his skin. The scorching, gentle touch he provides is something the healer both despises and craves, and he hates himself for the latter.

“No matter,” Shadow Milk softens again, stroking against Pure Vanilla’s cheek. He should fight back. He doesn’t. “You’ll come around eventually.” The steady tick of a clock begins to echo in Pure Vanilla’s ears, unnatural and loud and far too damning.

“It’s only a matter of time.”

[chocochococoffee]

svsss cumplane au where, in a world of hotties, qinghua is the only one that roughly looks like a "normal person". the system wasn't as nice to airplane as he had been to sy, giving him a fresh hot bod and all sorry sj ww and as he had been reborn in his own story his body had not changed much from his original one. body hair, a bit less stature, definitely more meat compared to the other clan members who could rival with a boyband

thing is, shen yuan, after seeing airplane bathing after the mushroom seeking event and rolling in moist dirt for hours, just... cant get enough of it. how you can even have leg hair, he asks airplane, to what he answers something among the lines of "shitty core didn't help and i stopped trying afterwards" and he would surely would have kept ranting until cucumber plans his enormous hands into his belly. they were warm against the cold of the water, and while shen yuans face was of blank interest while touching his soft skin and playing with his body hair, wandering upside, directly to his brown nipples, his eyes were on fire"ah", airplane thought, "i know where this is going". with a smirk, he sticked his hand directly into the others mans wet pants.

yeah gongyi xiao was around there and he had to hide telling himself he saw nothing

bringing this again because tumblr didnt like some tag. anyways i am hungry and i need more of this in svsss

[thatsrightice]

I need an AU where Iceman (cancer-free) is Maverick’s wingman for the mission. They don’t want to put their adopted kids’ lives at risk. They both get shot down and argue in the forest but don’t push each other over cause they might not be able to get back up, “you’re the commander of the pacific fleet, I was saving your life” and “I’m not abandoning my wingman, you want me to watch my husband get killed???” And then before they get in the F-14 they argue over who’s the better pilot because of course they would (Ice would pull rank) and Mav kinda had a full circle moment when he’s got to eject them. It doesn’t work though and Rooster (the spare dagger) saves them, putting aside the animosity he has with them pulling his papers.

[msshinylemon]

I found this in my drafts and I have no idea when I wrote it. I thought I might as well share it since I don't know if I'll actually post that fic.

(For a bit of context: Chuuya is visiting the ADA because of a job)

Chuuya followed his line of sight, noticing his confusion. “Dazai likes to bite,” he explained as if that was a completely normal and not at all weird thing to say. Or maybe dealing with Dazai made weird things seem normal. “I’m just glad he stopped trying to bite me instead.” Okay, Atsushi didn't want to know about that. He just nodded and hurried to typing on his computer. Chuuya snorted, amused. But apparently, the world hated Atsushi because Kenji, pure and innocent Kenji spoke up. “Dazai-san used to bite you, Mr. Fancy Hat?” Atsushi felt he was going to cry right then and there. His fear only spiked when Chuuya smirked, clearly as much a menace as Dazai, even if he was more subtle about it. No wonder everyone was so afraid of their partnership if this is what people had to deal with. How did the mafia even survive these two? “Yep, want a story?” Kenji smiled and nodded eagerly.

[anticmiscellaney]

I did a risograph print of this last spring and it came out pretty well. Four colours (blue, yellow, red, black) on 8.5x11 white cardstock.

I have a slowly growing collection of this kind of stuff (plus some fan comics, plus adult work) under my table at cons for people of specific tastes. I want to do more fanart this year.

[toxintouch]

Love the thought of Mhin’s monster being terrifying; a true threat to your (the MC’s) safety, an insurmountable burden that has destroyed Mhin’s life and that’s why they are so desperate for a cure.

But also…

Thinking about Androcles removing the thorn from the lion’s paw…

The thought that maybe if the monster doesn’t successfully kill you the first time, it will recognize you the second.

That transformation looks like it hurts.  Before, after, during.

The idea that it will be a slow process, a dangerous one, but if you can survive, if you can calm it down–

Preening broken feathers.  A slow and methodical process, but your heart beats like you’re running for your life.  You keep retreating, feather by feather, because you’re not sure how stable this moment of calm is, how long you have before it will try to kill you again. 

You gain Mhin’s trust the same way.  Slow and methodical.  Showing your hands at all times.  No sudden movements.

Mhin knows you ran into their Monster–knows that you know.  They hate the thought of putting this much faith in another person but they hate the thought that the monster might get out and harm people even more.  You could be an ally in this too, they suppose…

They hand over a key to their safe house, show you how to use the security measures they have in place for when they transform.  They explain to you how to safely lock them inside–it can be done from either side effectively but Mhin never gives any thought to which side of the door you’d choose to be on…

You start asking Kuras for medical supplies, unable to give any information regarding why you need them.  You see someone selling hunting birds and carrier pigeons in the market so you ply them for information, paying them back by shelling out a ridiculous amount of money on whatever care products look like they might be moderately useful.

More preening broken feathers.  It seems to–they–seem to understand that you mean to help, now.  The process becomes easier.  You start carefully removing bits of broken glass you find embedded into them–you’re not sure how it got there, if the glass is something mystical or if they went on a little rampage before you were able to lead them into the safe house.  Maybe they’re just like a regular bird and they ran into something by accident.  Maybe it’s been there for years because no one’s been around (or able to) take it out.  

Does it hurt Mhin, too?

You’re even more determined with that thought, though you have to be so-very-careful because if you startle or hurt them, they become agitated.  You’re not sure if they would hurt you on purpose anymore, but they sure as hell could kill you by accident.

It burns your heart to leave some pieces in before Mhin changes back, but you know you have to.  You can’t help if you don’t stay safe. And Mhin always makes you promise to look after yourself when they can't.

Mhin transforms back and realizes that it didn’t take so much from them this time, that the usual pain is a little lesser, that they still ache but it isn’t debilitating.  They write it off at first but the thought sits at the back of their mind. Filling them with unrest. A thorn in their side that they cannot quite reach...

They go to their safe house to check how the locks are holding up and they notice some things.  A large basin for water. Your supplies.  A music box, of all things.

Needless to say, they’re horrified.  They demand to know what you’re doing.  Are you trying to get yourself killed?

“I knew you had no sense but–”

You assure them that you’re taking every precaution.

Besides, aren’t you doing the right thing?  It’s totally logical that they (–it , Mhin insists) can get thirsty, of course Mhin is feeling better when they aren’t being locked in an empty room deprived of water half the time.

The monster looks so sad, now that they aren’t trying to hurt you.  As they became more used to you, you began to see the parts where they and Mhin overlap.  Shared habits.  The way they settle down to sleep at night is the same…

Mhin hates the monster inside of them, but you don’t.

[whatev-i-guess]

Soap gets hurt dangerously during a mission and since Ghost is his Lieutenant and feels responsible for him he comes over every free minute to make sure that Soap is doing okay. That he wakes up and doesn't have to be alone. Tells him that everything will turn out fine, that he will fight everyone who says Soap can't go back to the military afterwards. Tells him everything that's going on within the Task Force so he doesn't have to miss out on it.

And over time they fall in love slowly but Ghost needs to leave for a mission. And Soap stays behind in the medical center, waits for him to come back, hopes, prays that he will come back.

Because they just figured out their feelings for each other — he can't die yet, right?

Simon needs to stay alive for Johnny.