#anyway this has been in my brain for ages

[bambisnc]

i guess the time has come [ft. p.hn]

-> recap : “hanniii,” iroha says, throwing an arm around your best friend’s shoulder, “i can’t believe you left your ~girlfriend~ moka here all alone… she’s been pining after you for ages now~” you quietly slip out before you can hear her response.

pairing : bsf!hanni x f!reader genre : angst uwu cw/tw : girl idk i tried to make it sad + uneditted <3 wc : 0.6k (chat did u notice how the number of words keeps decreasing ...)

it’s raining. 

it’s raining and you’re still in school long after the bell signaling the end of the day; embroiled in the committee plans for the upcoming school festival. 

it’s raining when you see hanni’s lone figure walking back through the school gates. she doesn’t see you though, her eyes too busy focusing on her phone screen. 

a minute later, you hear a familiar notification from your own phone.

● hanniiee 😏 guess who’s at school rn … 

● you well. me

● hanniiee WHAT WHERE WHY 

● you  dumbass look up

her head swoops up, and you swear you could almost count the stars upon stars in her eyes which look around in search of you.

you wave to catch her attention.

and when she waves back, for a second it’s just the two of you in the entire world.

hanni races over to meet you and you almost want to scold her because the ground is already wet – what if she slips or something? but somehow the sight of her eagerness is enough to quell all the other feelings bubbling inside you. 

“yn~? jesus did you zone out on me?” hanni teasingly asks. 

you shake your head, “i wouldn’t dare.” 

“mwah <3 that’s more like it. hey so why are you in school so late anyway?” 

before you reply, you take a moment to look at your best friend. hanni shakes the umbrella slightly to rid it of the water. 

when she looks up, she doesn’t meet your eyes. she’s looking at someone else. 

“ah-! moka, there you are! i can’t believe you’d make me come all the way here just to get you an umbrella.” 

you don’t turn around. 

“pft. why? am i not allowed to disturb the ever-too-busy-for-me pham hanni for a teeny-tiny little favor?~” 

hanni walks behind you, shoulder brushing yours ever so slightly. her clear laugh is what finally propels you to turn around and stop staring at the blank wall in front of you.

“well~ i might make an exception for you. just because you’re a cutie <3”

“my my, such an honor isn’t it? oh right! i wanted to ask your opinions on the dance my club members and i were preparing for the festival!!”

“oooh dance~? yeah you did mention that earlier … ”

?..

she and hanni go on talking about something; you’d be damned if anything actually registered in your brain. you can’t really bring yourself to interrupt them either.

but anymore of this,... you don’t think you’ll be able to handle.

“hi moka..! um also hanni my work’s already done so i’ll be leaving now-” it’s genuinely nothing less than a herculean task for you to be able to layer your words with a thick coating of nonchalance. 

it’s all you can do to act normal. at least for now. 

at least in front of her.

“already?” hanni whines, “aw can’t you stay longer? what’ll i do here without you :( ~” 

you’d do anything for her. 

“i really can’t,” you smile, “moka.. you’ll keep hanni company though, yeah?”

she looks shocked to hear you say her name. to be fair, you are too. 

“yeah i’ll- i’ll be here.”

hanni, bless her heart, immediately offers you her umbrella, “here-! take this, it’s still pouring out there.” the same umbrella which she had come all the way here to give to moka. 

“wouldn't you two need it though?” you ask.

“no.” her hand is looped through moka’s. you don’t remember since when they were standing like that. 

since when they even became a concept. 

(you know you’re overreacting but wasn’t it supposed to be the two of you against the world?)

“i think we’ll manage without, it’s fine really.” 

hanni’s smile bids you farewell.

you leave the umbrella right by the gate where hanni’s bag was kept. you couldn’t take it and leave the 2 of them umbrella-less in good conscience. 

you also can’t help thinking of another universe.. one in which she’d run after you, through the rain. like a scene from the one of those cheesy rom coms you used to binge all the time.

… looking up at the grey sky, you’re almost grateful for the rain and how it streams down your face.

notes : 🤷🤷 + [m.list] + YALL CLICK ON THE LINK PLEASE song rec : te quiero - kiof wbk

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[triangle-dog]

TW pet death

(Not one of mine, don't worry. You won't miss anything if you skip this post.)

I will always and forever be a collar and tags person (or, look, if you are really concerned about strangulation then a harness & tags person or a breakaway collar or whatever). Microchips are great, all my beasts are microchiped, but if one of them gets out I want to be able to find them and bring them home no matter what has happened to them.

Two years ago, almost exactly I think, friends and I were three miles into a beautiful autumn hike with the dogs. The leaves were turning, the wildlife was active, and there was a crisp breeze. We rounded a corner and immediately saw a body floating out on the lake, a dog, its long black fur drifting back and forth in the small waves. After some deliberation on what to do, and if it was safe, I waded out to the dog while the others in the party held our dogs way back from the lake in case the water was bad. He wasn't that far out really, but it felt like it took forever to get there because I was fervently hoping he'd have tags. I could actually feel the relief wash over me when I got there and saw patches of blue collar peeking out between the drifting fur.

I towed him into the shallows by the collar. I'm the most familiar with bodies, which is why I was the one who went out to him, and I know that they age differently in the water but by my judgment he'd died farily recently - less than a day ago. When he's in close enough to shore that I don't think he'll drift away any time soon, I unclip his collar and return to the group. We sit down and strategize for a few minutes. How do you make a call like that without raising their hopes? (Answer: you can't - just the phone ringing will be enough).

"I'm very sorry," I say, "but I found a dog in the lake and I thought you would want to know." She tells me she was half expecting a call like this, that the gate didn't latch correctly and both dogs got out but only one came home. She tells me that they were so worried he wouldn't be able to find his way home in the storm last night. She tells me he was very old, that his mind had been going for awhile now. She tells me that most of his life, until the last few years as his body became less able to manage the walk, they would come down to a beach near here and that he loved to swim. She tells me she hopes he at least got to relive those memories for a bit before he went.

I give her the coordinates, it's not too far from a road if you bushwhack - certainly less than the 3mi we did, and tell her we'll bring him to shore. I pick him up out of the shallows, he feels frail, yet he's so so heavy from the weight of the water in his fur. He's much smaller than Nova, yet lifting Nova has never felt like that. I lay him gently on the rocky beach in what I hope is a natural looking, less-traumatizing-to-the-kids position. I clip his collar back on, with the fur no longer drifting around in the water obscuring it, you can now see the little tag saying "Poochie" on the front. We head back the way we came. That was walk enough for all of us, it would feel wrong to seek a different ending, and it was an out and back trail anyway.

Ever since then, every dead cat or dog I see reminds me of those lakeside discussions. We are all overly dedicated animal people, we're fully aware of microchips and all of our own pets are microchiped, but carrying a waterlogged body 3mi to the car to drive it to the vet's office was just not feasible - I don't think it would occur to most people that that was even an option. Even if they did think of it, most people would be opposed to putting a dead animal in their vehicle. I'm just gonna make it easy on people and put my phone number on my animals.

(Sorry, that post was so much longer than it needed to be, but my brain must have recorded that experience in a different kind of memory than usual because it is so so clear and comes all as a set like that so that's what you got too)

TLDR: OP found a dead dog once and has big feelings about it. Put collars/etc. on your pets

[jezabelle9299]

Intimidating S.R x FEM! reader

Overture-While you're cataloging a new collection in the archives, a young Spencer Reid wanders down in search of an art print stored in a different archive.

Inspired by the opening of season 2 episode 14 'The Big Game', when Gideon visits the Smithsonian to look at Havell's Audubon paintings. (We're going to pretend this isn't the episode Reid gets kidnapped in) Later piece is inspired by any of the many times prostitutes flirt with Reid throughout the early seasons. I looked at a few maps and online catalogs of the museums current collections to kinda figure out how long it would take to walk there, and what pieces are stored where, but it might not be 100% accurate so don't hold me to it.

Cws- Brief mentions of robbery and prostitution (separate occasions)

A/N- This has been bouncing around my brain like a DVD menu screen, I'm so excited about it. I'm a museum studies major so I'm making this girl live all of my dreams.

Your favorite part of the job by far, was cataloging the new pieces. Whether they were from other museums or private collections, unpacking those boxes let you indulge in a bit of nosiness everytime. This particular collection was from a recently closed exhibit, so you were doing the overnight shift. No one else was in this part of the museum, and your boss was doing a showing of some prints to a collections enthusiast so you had the place to yourself. 

You threw on some headphones and got to work, once you finished this you could go home. You’d just cataloged and packed the first half of the pieces, but as you were about to start on the rest, you saw something move out of the corner of your eye. Archives were a slightly creepy place to be at night anyway, the shelves looming over you, and the underground structure providing little light outside of your small workspace, but that was definitely unusual. When you finally turned around, there was a full-on stranger walking towards you. He was about your age, but he definitely didn’t work here, you would’ve remembered 

“Jesus! Walk louder! I didn’t hear you come down here.” 

“I called out twice to try and see if there was anyone down here.”

“Point taken.” You shrugged it off, you’d never seen him before. He definitely didn’t work here, he was cute and about your age. You’d remember him. You both stood there just kind of looking at each other, not fully sure what would happen next.

“Are you going to like— rob me now? Or maybe introduce yourself?”

“Oh! Sorry, my name's Spencer Reid, I was here with a colleague. He was looking at some ornithology prints upstairs, and he told me to come down to find—well you I assume, and get the last print in the set, and ask for directions to the coffee machine?”

“Sure! Just come over here and I’ll look it up for you.” You set down your clipboard to head back to your little desk, the only one with the lamp still on. 

“So, what exactly are you looking for?”

“It’s a Robert Havell, Frigate Pelican.” You typed in the name into your system to make sure, but you knew now why your boss didn’t come to get it himself. It wasn’t in this museum, it was in the archive under the Renwick gallery, almost a mile away. 

“Alright, I can be back with it in like an hour, it’s at the gallery on 17th street. This was a split collection and it’s still in that archive. There’s a coffee machine down the hall on your left, and I can meet you back in my boss’s office.”

“An hour? Are you walking this late at night?” 

“Yep. But I’ll go as quickly as possible.”

“I can’t in good conscience let you walk that far by yourself this late at night, would it be alright if I came with you?” 

“Alright! Only if you want to though, I promise you don’t have to.”

“I want to, if that’s ok.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” You smiled at him, and while you were grabbing your keys and ID, he went from relieved you said it was ok, to completely red at the idea of being around you alone for the next hour. He was stuck in place as you passed him and got halfway down the hall, before he started running to catch up. 

“Where exactly are we going?”

“We need to go up the elevator, through the garden, and then it’s pretty much a straight shot down 15th and through Lafayette park.”

“I thought we could get through the archives?”

“We could, but it would take longer. I get distracted easily, and it’s a nice night out anyway.”

*****

About halfway through your walk, you’d already felt like you knew him. When you were passing through a particularly busy part of the street, someone called out to you. Well not you, they called out to Spencer. 

“Hey cutie, you’re back. I told you I’d remember you.” A woman in high heels, a fur coat, and shorts entirely too short for the chilly weather, called out for him. You didn’t place any judgment on her, but the look you gave Spencer. Shock, and trying your best to stifle laughter at his panic.

“Oh–um. Have a good night.” He rushed off, in his haste grabbing your elbow to pull you along with him. Once he’d gotten far enough away for his embarrassment to pare down, he let go of you, realizing with a whole new sense of self-consciousness that he touched you without even thinking about it. 

“That was not what it looked like. I swear– I was talking to her with my boss last week, we were doing interviews for a case; and she well– she called me cute, which is what that was about.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I would tend to agree with her anyway– you are pretty memorable.”

“I– thank you. You’re memorable too.”

You walked the rest of the way with Spencer almost trailing a half step behind you. You were so mesmerizing, he just couldn’t help it. 

By the time you finished the walk, arriving at the security booth to get back inside the archives, you already felt like you knew Spencer. 

“ID please.” The security guard spared a singular glance towards yours, and you realized you forgot to ask Spencer if he had his on him. 

“Oh I forgot they check IDs of any guests coming into the archives, you have your driver's license on you, right? Or any ID is probably fine. I didn’t even think about it.”

While you were rambling about it, Spencer pulled out his credentials, showed it to the guard as if it were nothing. Because he’s a federal agent -apparently- he didn’t need a visitor badge. 

“You’re in the FBI?”

“Yes?”

“How on Earth did that never come up on the twenty minute walk here.” You finally got moving again towards the art storage, now trailing alongside Spencer, more focused on him than looking where you were going. 

“It did.” 

“When?”

“Why did you think I was interviewing a prostitute?”

“I don’t know! I thought you were like– a lawyer or something. You’re so fancy! And nice! And you know– Young!” 

“I–you think I’m fancy?”

“You’re wearing a suit with a sweater vest at 9pm on a Saturday night.” 

“Fair enough. But no, I'm not a lawyer. I’m glad you think I’m nice though.” It was your turn for your face to heat, and for you to hide your head. 

“Of course I think you're nice.”

When you finally found what you were looking for, you started heading back. He told you about some of his interests, but mostly he wanted to know about you. All you wanted to hear about was him though, he was so interesting. 

“What do you do for the FBI?” 

“Behavioral Analysis”

“Oh my god. Oh if I’d known that I would’ve changed everything I’ve done so far. That’s– I mean that’s so intimidating” And now he was laughing at you. 

“I don’t think anyone has ever described me as intimidating. Off-putting and annoying sure, but intimidating is new.” 

“You’re very intimidating. I’ve never met a guy who knew that much about historical art without even being in the field before, and now I know you could read my behavior? I must’ve come off like a total idiot like–15 times by now.”

“I don’t think so, quite the opposite actually.”

“Well thank you, but I was making a conscious effort not to make it clear I have a huge crush on you, and then you tell me you could tell anyway?” 

“You have a crush on me?”

“Well–yeah. I thought you could tell.”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” It felt like an eternity before he responded.

“I have a crush on you too, for the record.” 

“Yeah?”

“Most definitely.”

An older man came out of the building before you could walk back in.

“Reid! Where’d you go? JJ called, we need to leave for the office.” 

“Oh–um, I’ll call you? What’s your number?” You checked your lanyard and your pockets as best as you could while holding the flat-packed print. 

“I don’t have a pen or anything on me.”

“You can just tell me, I’ll remember it.”  After you said your goodbyes he disappeared again, and you went to put away the rest of the collection. Spencer called you the next morning to set up your first date, and though he never stopped amazing you, you wouldn’t describe him as intimidating anymore.

[lucabyte]

Coming this November: Pokémon Pink Diamond™ and Pokémon Renegade Pearl™

[welcometogrouchland]

I've been binging Batman Beyond recently (Terry ily so much) and thought about how- bc of the JLU twist which I think isn't even canon to the comics BB verse but shhh bare with me- he'd technically be Damian's half brother??? Which is just so ridiculously soap opera to me. I need them to interact in a silly time travel adventure so bad you don't even understand (ID in alt)

[disappeareddraws]

(text post source)

just a regular convo on the battle subway

[camellia-thea]

okay. just rambling here, but, i think armand took more than just the end of the interview away from daniel.

we got that little moment about that night, saying 'you asked me to' to louis. 'you asked me to take this from you, you could not live with it,' leading into, 'i look after you when you cannot look after yourself, i make those choices for you.'

we know that during the chase and devil's minion era, daniel was an addict, who was, by his own admission, slowly killing himself. he was also addicted to blood.

it's really not too far to make the jump, if devil's minion occurred, that armand made the choice to step in, in his own mind, for daniel's best interests. i know this isn't a unique jump to make, but; again with armand's "i look after him when he cannot look after himself" continual reiteration, i think it's a fair assumption.

he can also replace and blur memories, which makes the discussion of alice and paris -- why the dessert from that night? -- and how immediate and sincere his answer of "she wanted to say yes, but she didn't trust you. you hadn't given her a reason to." this could be the night he took them away, replaced himself with alice, planted something similar for her to start the relationship, then step back and watch it fall. and i think the thing that stands out there is just how tender he is while saying it. there's an undercurrent of something else entirely underneath, it isn't a dig at daniel in the moment, despite the pushing earlier in the scene.

and then in s1, when louis say to daniel, "i'd give it to you now." and the cut to armand, still in disguise, and his micro-expression of horror, the way he stiffens and looks away... and the little moment of what i read as conflict when daniel says no. his jump to "may i be excused?" i can't tell in the moment, if he's horrified about the offer itself, the fact that it is louis offering to turn daniel rather than himself, or the fact that daniel denies it. because i don't think armand could actually let daniel die if this was the case.

the disguise itself-- why pretend to be rashid? i think part of it is to try and hide behind a human persona to keep those memories at bay; especially given the little moments of flashback that got triggered by little mannerisms. i can't decide whether they're intentional pushes or not, whether armand wanted/wants daniel to remember on his own, or wants to keep it under wraps. i think, even if he believes he doesn't want it to come forward, he truly does deep down.

and once he's revealed himself as armand, the way he gazes at daniel, his beautiful boy. the continued "our boy", from both he and louis, the "he's still in there, somewhere..."

and i think "our boy" is also really interesting, because why would daniel be armand's boy, based solely on the moments that louis initially remembered? armand didn't really have any emotional connection to daniel that night, sure, he saved him, but that doesn't really mean anything; he saved daniel for louis, not for daniel's sake.

and, jumping back "our boy,[...] he's still in there somewhere"... there's implication that louis might know about it? again, i don't think this is related to the original interview, or at least, limited to it? i don't have anything concrete here, just vibes, but again, why is armand's boy still in there somewhere?

and sure, some of these are reaches and i don't think i'm necessarily right, but god it would be deliciously awful if i was.

[blujayonthewing]

pitched battle inside my brain between the part of me that's desperately shaking myself by the shoulders going "YOU HAVE GOT TO ACTUALLY LIVE THE KIND OF LIFE YOU IMAGINE INSTEAD OF JUST SITTING AROUND IMAGINING IT UNTIL YOU DIE!!" and the part of me that's clutching my face going "is this allowed? is this allowed?? is this allowed???"

[youssefguedira]

wrote this instead of doing any of my actual tasks <3 tw for brief mention of animal death (by hunting)

Yusuf has been dreading this since the moment they left for Akkala. He had made as many excuses as he could to stay in Goron City for as long as he could, but every one had run out in the end, and he could no longer put off the inevitable. 

The first time he had walked this road, his father had accompanied him with a platoon of guards, still cautious, still reeling from the attack that had taken Yusuf's mother. The second time there had been fewer, but still many. 

In the years after that, the number of people sent with him had decreased even further until it was only two or three guards, enough to keep him safe. His father stopped accompanying him on these journeys after he turned fourteen and there had been no sign of their worth. 

Now, only Nicolò. 

He follows, keeping a respectful distance away from Yusuf, but closer than he had walked before they had gone to meet Nile, to ask for her help. He doesn't ever ask to stop, or to slow down, letting Yusuf set the pace. He keeps a hand on the hilt of his sword and does not speak. 

What is there to be said? Nicolò knows what lies at the end of this road, even if he does not know what it will mean for Yusuf. 

Yusuf can feel Nicolò's eyes on his back. It is bad enough that the whole kingdom knows he is a failure: he does not need Nicolò to watch him fail and say nothing. 

The sun is low, casting the landscape in burnt orange. It would be beautiful were it not so horribly familiar. There is a cabin nearby, and not far from it, the Spring. They will stay in the cabin tonight; they will leave for the Spring in the morning and spend three days there, then return to Goron City and after that, the castle. 

Yusuf thinks about returning, about his father's inevitable disappointment, and feels sick. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolò says, sounding uncertain. He is not yet used to calling Yusuf by his name. “We are not far, yes?” 

Yusuf had forgotten that Nicolò does not know every cursed inch of this road the way Yusuf does. “No, not far. In a moment you'll see the cabin.” 

Nicolò says nothing. Yusuf glances back just long enough to meet his eyes before looking away. 

What is Nicolò thinking? Yusuf can never tell. 

Yusuf catches sight of the cabin a moment later. Dread sits like a stone in his stomach. 

When they get closer, Nicolò takes hold of his elbow, gentle. It startles Yusuf all the same - he hadn't realised Nicolò was that close to him. 

“Let me go first,” Nicolò says. “To check. But stay close.” 

Yusuf nods, and lingers barely a handspan from Nicolò's back while he surveys first the outside, then the inside, of the cabin. Once he's satisfied, he gestures for Yusuf to enter. 

“You should rest,” he says, and he is being so gentle with Yusuf it almost hurts. Perhaps Andromache has told him what this will mean for him: she has accompanied him before. 

Yusuf shakes his head, because sleep means dreams, and dreams will be worse. “What are you going to do?” 

“I am going to find something for dinner,” Nicolò says. 

“Let me come with you,” Yusuf says. Anything is better than sitting in this cabin alone with his thoughts.

Nicolò looks at him for a long moment. Perhaps he takes pity on Yusuf, or perhaps he thinks that it will be easier to keep Yusuf safe if he stays with Nicolò. Either way, he nods. “All right.”

----------

Finding something for dinner means that Nicolò leads Yusuf a little way into the woods, far enough that the foliage and the dying sunlight makes it difficult to see, and bids him hide beneath a tree, in a space formed by the roots, while Nicolò crouches beside him with his bow, nocking an arrow in one smooth, seamless motion. From his vantage point, Yusuf can see a small clearing with a few fallen trees.

“Do not move,” Nicolò instructs him in a whisper, “and do not make a sound.”

Yusuf rests his head against the tree and watches the leaves move in the breeze. It is quiet enough that all he can hear is their rustling, the sounds of birds and animals calling to each other, the rushing of the stream nearby. After a moment, and with nothing else to watch, Yusuf begins to watch Nicolò. 

He has gone as still and as quiet as the trees around them, barely breathing, his shoulders rising and falling only slightly, like he has become a part of the forest. Faron Woods is much further south from here, but Yusuf supposes that this forest must be somewhat similar to where Nicolò grew up. He wonders who taught him to hunt; who taught him to be so comfortable in this place. Why he left it behind to travel to the castle and work for the king.

There are a lot of things Yusuf wonders about him. He cannot tell if Nicolò is aware of Yusuf’s watching; he must be. Still, Yusuf cannot help but watch.

It happens faster than Yusuf can track. Nicolò goes entirely still, and draws his bow swiftly, silently. Yusuf holds his breath and so does the forest.

Nicolò lets the arrow fly.

Yusuf doesn’t see whether it finds its mark, but Nicolò looks for a moment and then stands. “Wait here,” he says to Yusuf, and then heads for the clearing. When he returns he’s carrying something behind his back, the arrow in his other hand. Blood drips onto the grass. 

“You can wait inside while I prepare it, if you prefer,” Nicolò says haltingly. Yusuf shakes his head, and so he sits on a log outside while Nicolò skins the rabbit, arms wrapped around his knees and chin drawn up to his chest. Nicolò keeps his back to Yusuf, shielding most of it from view. 

Who taught him this? Yusuf wonders. It is a part of Nicolò he has never seen before.

When it is done, he takes it back inside to cook over the fire, and they eat it alongside the bread and cheese they brought from Goron City, across from each other at the cabin’s little table.

“When do you want to leave, tomorrow?” Nicolò asks softly. 

“I don’t,” Yusuf says before he can stop himself, and then adds, “I don’t know. Early, probably.” The thought bursts the little bubble he’s been in since they arrived. He doesn’t want to leave, could stay here for the three days they’ve been allocated and return to his father without even having tried and it would change nothing. 

“Just after sunrise, then,” Nicolò says. “It is not far, you said?”

Yusuf shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Not far.”

----------

The water is freezing.

It has always been freezing. But Yusuf knows well enough that if he stands in it for long enough, it will start to warm. It reaches to around halfway up his thigh; when he was younger, it felt deeper. 

The stone in front of him offers nothing. No sign, no indication that anything is listening to him except for the water and Nicolò, who has been standing at the gate of the Spring for however long he has been in here. Has he been listening? Has he heard Yusuf pleading for something, anything, dreading the moment he returns to the castle and his father looks down at his left hand and sees nothing there? 

What does Nicolò think of him now? If he did not see a failure before, does he see one now? 

His legs may be going numb. They tremble beneath him, struggling to hold his weight. How long has he been standing here? 

“Tell me what I am doing wrong,” he begs the stone. His voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else. “I know I am not the one you wanted, but I am trying. I am trying. I have given everything. I do not know how much more I have left.”

The stone says nothing.

Nicolò says, “Yusuf.”

Yusuf hears him without listening, falls to his knees in the water and does not even feel the chill. 

“Please,” he pleads. “I cannot return – I cannot give anymore.”

There is a splash behind him, and then there is Nicolò, pulling him to his feet, pulling him from the water. Yusuf tries to hold fast - he cannot leave now or it will have been three days in the Spring with nothing to show for it. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolò says again. His grip is gentle but unrelenting, and he is warm. Yusuf, shivering as he is, can’t help but lean into it. “You are exhausted. You are going to freeze. Come with me.”

“I can’t,” Yusuf says, even as he lets Nicolò take his weight, lets him guide Yusuf out of the Spring. “I can’t.”

There is a small paved area where their camp is set up. Nicolò has kept the fire going, or restarted it, while Yusuf was in there, and he half-carries Yusuf over to it now. Yusuf’s legs buckle under him the moment Nicolò lets him go, and he sinks onto something soft laid over the paving stones. He blinks, and there is a bowl in his hands, warming even if he does not really taste it. 

“It was never supposed to be me,” Yusuf says without really meaning to. 

From across the fire, Nicolò watches him.

“It was supposed to be my mother,” Yusuf whispers. The only sound between them is the crackling of the fire. Yusuf is so, so tired. He has never said this to anybody else, not even Andromache, but he cannot keep the words from rushing out of him now.

“It came to her when she was nineteen,” he says, “and that’s how they knew it would happen in her lifetime. So she trained, and she mastered it, and we were ready. And then she was killed, and because I was the oldest, it came to me.”

He does not like thinking about this. He has not thought about this in years. They do not speak of it anymore.

Nicolò is still watching him.

“I was asleep when it happened,” Yusuf continues. “I dreamt it as it happened, but I didn’t know until later. The moment she died, I woke up screaming. They told me afterwards that I was– I was glowing, bright enough that nobody could look at me for long or get close enough to see what was happening to me. They just had to wait until I came out of it. It felt like I was burning.” If he closes his eyes, he is there again, twelve years old and terrified.

“That’s how we know it should be me,” he says after a moment. “Who can do it. Because I did, once, but never again, despite all of this.” He waves at the Spring, the water, the stone. 

Exhaustion tugs at him. His eyes will not stay open, but he cannot let himself fall asleep, not yet.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he tells Nicolò. “There’s still time.” It cannot be late yet; the sun has gone down, but it is not quite dark. “Don’t let me.”

“You have to rest,” Nicolò says. It is the first thing he has said to Yusuf since he pulled him from the Spring, and Yusuf cannot tell what he is thinking. 

“I can’t fall asleep,” Yusuf insists.

“At least let yourself warm up first,” Nicolò says. There is a pile of dry clothes in his hands - where did he get them?

Nicolò convinces him to change and to sit back down, to rest a little while longer. This time he  steers Yusuf to sit down on his bedroll instead, and Yusuf’s grip on his arm goes tight.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he says again. 

“You cannot go on like this,” Nicolò says. “Sleep, and I will wake you in a few hours’ time.”

Yes, a few hours. That, Yusuf can afford. “Promise me,” Yusuf says, but his eyes are already closing unbidden. 

Nicolò says nothing.

----------

When Yusuf wakes, it is still dark outside, and there is a cloak that is not his own draped over him. Nicolò is crouched over the fire only a short distance away. He catches Yusuf’s eye, but doesn’t say a word.

It all comes crashing back at once: the water, the stone, Nicolò. Yusuf sits up.

“You didn’t wake me,” he says.

Nicolò watches him for a long moment. “You needed the rest,” he says finally. 

Suddenly his consideration stings. “That wasn’t your decision to make. What time is it?”

Nicolò glances at the sky. “It will be sunrise soon.”

Yusuf’s heart sinks. Sunrise means return, means return to the castle and his father with nothing. He gets up, pushes Nicolò’s cloak aside. “You should have woken me.”

Unexpectedly, Nicolò pushes back. “You would have only made yourself ill. You were barely conscious. I would not have done it if–” “That was not your decision to make,” Yusuf snaps. “I am not a child, Nicolò. I am capable of handling myself. I have lost hours.”

Nicolò does not say anything. Yusuf almost wishes he would keep pushing, but he does not. He simply folds himself back into the same blank expression he always carries, and again, Yusuf cannot read him.

“If the sun will rise soon, there is not much use in staying here for much longer,” Nicolò says eventually, quiet. He doesn’t meet Yusuf’s eyes. Guilt twists his stomach. 

Did Nicolò know? Did Andromache warn him? Or was he just worried?

Yusuf nods. 

They pack up their camp in silence, side by side. By the time they set off on the road back towards Goron City, the sun has risen, and the early light turns the world around them to gold.

Yusuf walks, and Nicolò follows behind him, as always.

[skitskatdacat63]

I apologize for how incredibly specific and niche this is, but aahhhh whenever people call rbr Seb a "boy king", I can literally only think about this statuette:

1. Because I think it gives the same angelic but mischievous vibe as Seb

2. Because it is a statue of a literal boy king

3. The ringlets and big eyes.....

[lenreli]

Day 28 - Sex [AU]

[AO3] Finally! :D More werewolf Hob & fairy Dream!

-

Hob groans, body still aching a bit after nights of full-moon transformations, which has finally ended with the new moon appearing. Resting on the sofa, he frowns, and considers if Dream will appear at all, having gotten the other man’s number after their session, and, well― 

There’s a knock at the door, and Hob’s heart goes into his throat as he jumps up, quickly opening the door. “Hi,” he breathes, eyes widening as he sees Dream ― and his lack of wings, which, understandable, though the Dream’s black outfit is more surprising, considering the last time Dream was in only leather pants and harness. Also very chunky black boots, which he remembers taking off. Dream raises an eyebrow, and Hob’s face heats, “um. Come in,” he says, moving so Dream can step inside.

“How was your nights, if I may ask?” Dream asks, voice deep as Dream looks around his plain living room, mainly filled with knick-knacks and books, some essays he has to mark on the table. 

“Exhausting,” he says with a deep sigh, “and also very tense, so it’s good to unwind with,” he stops as Dream looks at him, an eyebrow raised and eventually nodding. “And you?” Hob would love for less awkwardness, but as sexually compatible they are, their conversations are a minefield of awkwardness and trying not to offend each other as they learn. “You can, uh,” he gestures uselessly. 

Dream tilts his head, lips pursing as Dream starts to unbutton his black dress shirt, revealing a simple black vest, “I had to refrain from cursing someone so their drinks always turn out to be unfulfilling,” Dream mutters and Hob laughs, “he was unbearable, but I figured he wasn’t worth the energy.” 

“Naturally,” he responds, distracted as the black vest comes off, and his breath stutters as he sees Dream’s wings. The wings have become a tattoo, filigree black lace a wonderful contrast to Dream’s pale skin as five pairs of wings are underneath Dream’s skin. The back muscles of Dream tense, and Hob realises he’s gravitated close to Dream’s back, watching as the wings move with Dream’s muscles. “Sorry,” he breathes, voice rough as a hand hovers close to the other’s back, “I.” 

“You can touch,” Dream offers, a blue eye peeking at him, “as long as you get undressed too. This won’t be like last time,” Dream says, and Hob nods, taking off his clothes quickly as the fairy watches. Dream hums, eyes stuck on his chest ― and there’s a stutter, lashes fluttering as Hob touches the edge of a wing. 

There’s another stutter of breath as his finger goes down to the centre of the cluster of wings, at the middle of Dream’s back, and he’s amazed to see a flutter of wings, some of them coming out of Dream’s back, then melting back into pale skin. “Holy shit.” 

Dream lets out a sound, thin and high as his fingers press into the pale back, wings twitching out of skin and melting back in, and Hob tries to wrestle his other hand from not touching more of the wings, instead going to Dream’s pants, tugging him close as his hand goes around the front as Dream moans, cock hard and straining as he undoes them. “Is this going to be the scene we were planning?” Dream breathes, head resting against his shoulder. 

“Warm up,” he mutters roughly, pushing the other man down onto the sofa, and Dream hums, looking amused as and flushed as Hob presses him down. There’s a moan as Hob presses him down, feeling twitching wings against his chest, one of Dream’s hands clutching at his shoulder as Dream grinds up into his chest, the fluttering against his chest almost maddening as he tries to rein in his need to be down, nipping lightly close to a wing as Dream procures lube from ― somewhere, as well as a condom. 

Hob prepares Dream in a blur, eyes still focused on the fluttering wings he can still see as Dream whines and writhes, pressing against his chest and his other hand, stretching Dream’s entrance as carefully as he can, blood rushing at the feel of Dream’s wings against his chest, melting back into the pale skin, “are you going to go any quicker?” Dream asks breathlessly. 

Groaning, Hob bites down on Dream’s neck he takes his fingers out, shaking as he puts on the condom, and they moan as he enters Dream, pressing Dream down onto the sofa to stop the way that Dream wants to impale himself right away, which he remembers through a haze of heat and desire that Dream did that last time. 

“More,” Dream whines, a hand going into his hair to tug, and Hob lets out a whimper as he starts up a rough, stuttering rhythm, moans rising as their desire peaks and rushes, Hob coming before Dream as he watches and feels the flutter of wings against his chest. 

Brain scrambled, he lightly kisses the fluttering wings wrapped around Dream’s shoulder and arm as he comes down ― and groans as Dream moves out from under him, “where is your bedroom?” Groaning, he gestures in the general direction, heart skipping as he watches Dream’s naked body walk that way. “Don’t take too long,” Dream offers, giving him a smirk over his shoulder as he enters Hob’s room. 

Taking a deep breath, Hob scrubs his face as he gets up from the sofa, already feeling himself half in love with the fairy already as he ties up the condom and throws it in the bin, resting against the fridge as he takes another deep breath, mind stuttering over their texts for their scene. After such a scorching orgasm, it takes him a bit to get into the right headspace, but he does eventually as he makes his way to his room.

[thebirdandhersong]

the miserable angry person I become when I haven't eaten is, in a word, atrocious. it is 9pm I have not had my dinner murder is about to be on the menu if I don't fix this soon

[muselexum]

[friendlyneighbourhoodelf]

do you see my vision

[bambiraptorx]

sometimes i forget that being depressed isn't normal honestly

[welcometogrouchland]

May I ask about your Jason Todd idea? <3

Hm, okay so. How to lay this out sensitively since I know it might be a tad controversial...

Prefacing by saying I'm not an expert on the minutias of Jason characterization. I like him when he appears, I think the battle for the cowl/Morrison era and some parts of modern era for him are Weird and Bad, but I'm not Jason scholar (for that I'd say maybe check out @/tumblingxelian and their great video essays), I'm just trying to think of what might be an interesting step forward for him.

First, the canon facts

Jason got lobotomized and has panic disorder on steroids. By the end of Gotham War (specifically when Jason was. Flying the batplane into the asteroid. God I can't believe that's the plot) he was finding it in himself to power through said panics

In Joker: The Man Who Stopped Laughing #12, the joker gives Jason a "low dose" of joker venom, which has an ambiguous effect on Jason, allowing him to power through the fear (which joker explicitly states is still very much present, just not physically debilitating, like when Jason couldn't run over in either Catwoman #57 or #58, the one with the kid in the building) even though he'd been able to do that sans venom over in Gotham War, like I previously stated.

The effect of said joker venom seems to be lingering for now, minus the creepy grin side effect it gave Jason over in that man who stopped laughing issue, as seen in the latest batman issue (number is escaping me rn, #147??). He still has the stutter which is a shorthand for fear, he's drawn with fearful expressions by Jorge Jimenez, but he says that he's "working through it" thanks to the chemicals

This is both super interesting and kind of maddening as it doesn't completely remove the consequences of what happened in Gotham War, but is trying to sweep them under the rug and get back to business as usual. I, however, propose making said consequences front and center like a fashionable urn on a mantle piece:

Since it's never stated how exactly the joker venom works, and I think the current answer is "it works how the story needs it to" I've decided that because it's a low dose, it eventually wears off. And when it wears off, Jason's back to square one in terms of mental state. Ergo, if Jason doesn't want to live the rest of his life as quaking shivering husk of his former self...he's going to need more.

(read more for the meat of things)

So, Jason self medicates for a condition given to him by the father he has endlessly complicated feelings towards with a cure invented by a man who represents everything he hates in the world who once tried to take everything from him.

Which, insert poetic cinema gif here, I'm quite proud of myself for that one.

Anyway, there's a lot of directions you could take this. Personally I think it'd be interesting to explore Jason trying to get back into the drug trade like he did in UTRH (FULL TRANSPARENCY I HAVEN'T READ THE FULL COMIC, I KNOW BROADSTROKES BUT IM NOT GONNA TRY AND MAKE PARALLELS) as he tries to use the resources (production plants and other drug runners who can hook him up with samples of joker toxin/similar stuff you can probably find around Gotham) to manufacture his own cure that means never having to go back to the joker again. Maybe he ambushes a joker toxin chemical production plant to get his own supply, and then Jason uses this as his foothold back into that world.

This isn't necessarily me saying we should regress Jason alll the way back to UTRH, that was before his anti-hero era and I'm not willing to fully shoot him back into the past. I just think that's not how you tell good stories in a medium like comics. But it'd inherently be a little different just bc he's doing it for different, slightly more self motivated (depending on your take on villain Jason) reasons and the people around him would have a different reaction to it.

Anyway, all sorts of problems can arise! Depending on how you wanna characterize Jason (wayward son who longs to be back in the fold or black sheep who doesn't play by daddy's rules, etc) he can either a) try and hide this criminal enterprise from his giant family full of nosy detectives (good idea there jay) OR do it out in the open, trying to justify himself but still putting himself on the opposite side of the family again (not the law bc that boy hasn't been on the 'right' side of it since he died)

There's also the fact that Jason now needs to take something 24/7 in order to live his life. He essentially can't be without it, he's dependent on it, in fact he'd get sick without it despite any adverse effects it may have on him (which are guaranteed, I mean. No clinical trials)

I imagine it'd be easy to become addicted to it in some way.

And uh. This is the part where it works slightly better as a fanfic pitch than an actual comic pitch. Because as much as I think it'd be such an interesting beat for Jason's character considering his fraught history with addiction and drugs (looks away from that one urban legends story where he suggests terrorising addicts to get to the suppliers and bruce lectures him. The easiest way to make Mr "we don't sell drugs to children" sympathetic and you beefed it)

I also fully recognise that this is a sensitive topic that DC doesn't have the best track record with (although addicts aren't a monolith and feel a number of ways about addictions portrayals in comics) and that there's probably some pitfalls inherent in the premise, namely bc of Jason's background as an impoverished kid and his grey morality, and how those play into stereotypes of addicts. Addiction is already such a misunderstood and stigmatized condition that I imagine playing with it with an antihero might be enough to turn some people off. Addiction is not a moral failing and I'd hate to write it as a moral failing of Jason akin to his willingness to kill, etc.

But with all that said, I think that stereotypes are primarily harmful because of their shallowness. They inhibit understanding of groups labeled "other" by presenting them in simplistic ways that don't portray richness or complexity. And I think a truly good red hood comic could give both sympathy and complexity to Jason, even as an addict. If anything, Jason is a popular character (mostly) and there could be something nice about seeing a main character go through what you're going through, gritty details and all. YMMV (can we bring that back btw?) and it depends on execution. There's a lot of ways it could go wrong, but seeing as it just lives as a hypothetical rn, I think there's also a lot of ways it could go. I mean, not right, it's a downer story beat for Jason but it's mostly meant to be interesting and a vehicle for more stories as Jason navigates it, ya know?

Anyway, I have a lot of spiels littered in my notes app and discord DMs that elaborate on all this (how this could work as act 1 in a broader Jason story where his little operation goes to shit and he has to hit the road (jack) and maybe do some character development for better or worse. I'm a sucker and wanna say better- not squeaky clean better but. Yknow, finding himself to an extent. I recognise I'm a sap and a fool tho. Or how a new outlaws team could factor into either of those eras (since I do like Jason with an outlaws team. It gives him an excuse to exercise his compelling relationships and dynamics with other characters without having to constantly tip-toe around the elephant in the room whenever he's with the batfamily all the time. He just needs a good lineup) but that's all for another time

... though without elaborating on the vision in my head it kind of just sounds like my pitch is "Jason gets addicted to his hyper-anxiety medication" BUT I SWEAR ITS MORE THAN THAT.

It's like. If Jason has struggled as a character (and this is very subjective on my part so feel free to disagree) because he has compelling relationships with all of the batfamily, but also has compelling grey morality that makes it hard to capitalize on those relationships, without the conflict always coming to "Jason stop killing!" "Nuh uh!" OR just being ignored, and the main way writers have addressed this is via reboots instead of arcs...

Then giving Jason and the bats:

real, legitimate and fresh reason for jay to be mad at Bruce (taking their relationship of love with very little understanding to it's most dramatic conclusion)

give the family a real reason to want to bring him back into the fold (feel bad about the lobotomy and it would be pretty immoral to let Jason waste away slowly and painfully because of something Bruce did)

capitalize on all the ways Jason is sympathetic (bc the addiction is a natural lead into his backstory, which is one of his most sympathetic elements)

And the ways in which he's very out of step with the bats post-resurrection (I'd be mad asf too if i came back to life just for my dad to a) not avenge me and b) LOBOTOMIZE ME meanwhile the cunt ass clown giving me my meds is just lurking out there).

Idk it's not a sophisticated pitch as of this moment but I think a real chef (writer) could cook something w/ this