#but because i felt like it's not something we should be privy of

[ishikawayukis]

peace and love but showcasing a whole ass 10 min conversation (that was probably longer) between hao and seungkwan on in the soop just felt very Off to me. let them have just the tiniest bit of privacy we don't need to witness every serious and emotional conversation they have

[fanaticsnail]

As far as I know, you're not a big Zoro girlie, but imagine, if you will:

Relaxing with Zoro in his hammock. You're both facing each other, legs tangled together as you're both occupied with your own little activities. It's quiet and peaceful;relaxing, even.

Breaking the silence and asking him a question, only to look up and see your favorite moss-head fast asleep. Allowing yourself to relax and drif off yourself, book still resting on your chest.

Not waking up until late in the evening, when Sanji's yell of "Dinner!" sends you both tumbling out of the hammock and into a heap on the floor.

-♡♡

Hey Anon. Your ask ran away with me and I had to see how some softness would play out. While Zoro is not one of my main blorbos, I do appreciate this marimo. Had to give him some appreciation with a drabble for you.

I Don't Sound Like That

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,400+

Synopsis: You and Zoro have grown closer over the past few weeks. Being invited to rest and study beside him in his hammock, you reflect on your journey travelling with your crew aboard the Going Merry.

Themes: Zoro x gn!reader, Fluff, teasing, tiredness, mention of injury (Zoro), kisses.

Notes: Had this request sitting in my asks for a day, and I needed this bad enough that it pushed my other thoughts aside.

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @indydonuts @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @i-am-vita

Lounging lazily within the hammock and entangled within a burly mess of limbs, your bodies rocked to the sway of the waves crashing against the hull of the Going Merry. The gentle rise and fall of the swell surrounding your vessel shepherding into your next adventure had you soothed from your restless day. Flipping through the pages in your book, you sigh softly and enjoy the warmth from Zoro’s encumbering embrace as he rested in his hammock beneath you. 

The reason you sought out the First-Mate to your Captain, Luffy, was not only because you felt protected under his care above Usopp, Nami, Luffy or Sanji, nor was it due to the fact that he wouldn’t likely tell you “no,” should you ask to enjoy an embrace with him. 

The reason you fell into his hammock and joined yourself in his resting space is because you had grown closer over these past few weeks. He was still healing from the large gash and soft stab in his chest from the legendary warlord, Dracule Mihawk. Fighting the Arlong-Pirates while in such a state did a number on his body, and he would constantly fall by your side and sleep within your shadow. 

He was comfortable with you enough to let you know how truly much he was struggling with his injuries. You were ships counselor, it was your job to be privy to the thoughts of your captain and crew - aiding them in their journey of reflective self-discovery. Luffy needed guidance as your captain, and as his counselor; you were ready and willing to provide that to him. 

While Zoro confided in you that his injuries truly ached, you offered to be by his side in his hammock to give him some pressure and warmth from your body to his. It was in the 'name of healing', you informed him, 'no funny business'.

As the ship waded through a particularly large swell, the hammock shook you from your thoughts and had you look up to notice Zoro had risen from his soft slumber. He was looking at your face through furrowed brows, attempting to get a read on your thoughts with an elevated brow. 

“Something on your mind, Counsellor?” he smirked, the corner of his lips ticking up as he looked down at you on your position on his chest. You anchor your chin over his heart, watching as he winces under your face. Noticing his soft wince, you mutter out a soft “sorry,” and readjust your position to not hit any of his injuries. 

Gazing up into his eyes, you look at him through narrowed eyelids and fluttering lashes. 

“Just thinking about how we all got here, is all, Swordsman,” you murmur in response. Zoro’s hazelnut eyes stare down at you, his expression softening as he witnesses your soft confession. He gently reaches his hand down and takes your cheek in the palm of his hand. Running his thumb over the apple of your cheek, his expression softens further. 

“Oh?” he murmured with a soft swell at the end of his question, “Regretting joining us already, hm?”

"Not at all," you laugh through your nose, rolling your eyes at his teasing tone. “You regret begging me to come with you at Syrup-Village?” He huffed a small shocked laugh at your tone, shaking his head slightly at your question.

“Begging?” he scoffed in return, drawing you closer to his face by your chin and jaw, “The way I remember it,” he moved his hand to the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair and smiling softly, “You were the one who said ‘Oh, big, burly swordsman. I need you so badly. Take me in your strong arms and usher me into a life of adventure at sea’.” You scoffed, hitting him on the chest playfully and earning a soft grunt in response to the small smack. 

“I don’t sound like that, and I never said those things,” you scrunch your nose up at him, “You were the one that said: ‘Luffy. You need guidance, and I’m not smart enough to give you the help you desperately need. We need someone way smarter than I could ever dream of being,” that comment had a small chuckle rise in his throat.

You continued to deepen your voice, openly mocking him with joy, “We need to get you a counsellor, and someone I can bare my soul to when I keep watch alone at night. The sea gets so lonely, and I need someone in my arms at all times. I am a sucker for comfort, and I need to cradle something into my stocky, broad chest after I get lost- mmfhph!” 

Zoro cut you off by joining his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and tasted of salt from the sea, and slightly sweet from the hard sake he drank earlier. Your eyes were wide and staring at his fluttering eyelashes. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration as he breathed in a sharp inhale through his nose, his lips parting to deepen the soft oscillation. He groaned at the feeling of you opening yourself up to him, enjoying the soft kiss he was pressing against you.

This was not something you had anticipated on receiving from the swordsman, particularly because you were yet to formally begin anything together. You shared embraces, sure. The odd sparring session, certainly. Using your body to sit on his back while he did pushups, or sit on his feet to hold them steady while he curled his stomach in a flurry of sit-ups, absolutely. But kisses? Not something you expected. 

After breaking the soft kiss, he cradled your chin in his hand and thumbed over your bottom lip affectionately, uttering a simple, “You talk too much,” before scolding you, touching his forehead to yours, “And I don’t sound like that.” 

You shook your head at him, placing your book face down and open on his chest beneath you, rubbing the tip of your nose against his affectionately. 

“That may be true,” you utter softly, “But you don’t deny you said half of those things I said.” He chuckled, removing his forehead from yours and giving it a soft shake. You laughed alongside him, scrunching your nose and looking at the mossy-haired swordsman cradling you in his arms with soft adoration. A flutter ignited in your chest as he pressed a soft kiss against your temple. 

“Get back to your reading, Counsellor,” he murmured, giving you a soft nudge and rolling you off his chest and onto your back beside him. He laced his arm over your side, handing you back your book that was once on his chest, nuzzling into your neck and pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder. “Let me know if you read something interesting enough to bother me with it.” 

Your mind was racing, knowing that he desired to leave the soft kiss at just that for now -  not desiring to dive into a flurry of: ‘what does that mean, what does that make us, how are we going to go about everything as if we didn’t just share a kiss’. You gulped back your racing thoughts and reopened your world discovery novel, choosing to ignore the tingle of his breath igniting your skin with gooseflesh. 

You do as you’re told, enjoying the warmth he was giving to you behind your body within the hammock. As you read further, you found something interesting regarding the metal and make of sword wielders in a distant land on the other side of the world. You turn in his arms, attempting to look at him over your shoulder as you ask him your question.

“Zoro?” you whisper softly, “Zoro, do you know anything about a country called ‘Wano’?” You turn to face him in his arms, noticing the heavy rise and fall of his broad chest before anything else. You gaze up into his face, his brow relaxed and his eyes clamped shut enough to indicate heavy sleep. 

Taking a moment to study his face, you allow yourself the luxury of giving in to the warmth in your face and simmered fluttering in your chest. These past few weeks of getting to know him further, and the soft kiss he placed against your lips and shoulder moments ago, had your mind running away with you. Taking a moment to appreciate his proximity, you realize there was truly nothing that could tear you away from this moment. 

Closing your book shut, you enjoy nuzzling into his chest and you press a soft kiss against the indent of Mihawk’s stab-wound over the swordsman’s heart. Eyes fluttering shut, you are ushered into a soft and blissful slumber within the cage of his body holding yours firmly against it. It does not take long until your breathing synchronizes, your dreams of what's to come on this next adventure a distant thought…

…Until the loud alert of your blonde chef wakes you from your slumber, his voice yelling a booming, “Dinner, moss-head! Get your idiot-ass down here and eat! Also, has anyone seen the Counsellor?” 

[mariasont]

maria omfg just read be so stupid and the part where u said about listen to spencers heartbeat and i am crazy for this type of intimacy 😫 can u make something with pre relationship spencer feeling his heartbeat i dont know their hearts syncing. really anything with that intimacy!!!! im in love with your writing keep posting cz im eating all up 💝💓💞🩷 kisses

Thump, Thump - S.R.

a/n: hi sug!!!!!!! love love love your beautiful mind!!! pre relationship where there is so much feelings and pining UGH! love! thank you sm for requesting <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: pre relationship cuties, pining, all the things!

wc: 1.1k

It was so quiet even the sound of a pin dropping might be deafening. In fact, it was so quiet that it felt as though Spencer could've read your mind if he tried hard enough. If he could read you mind, he would unfortunately be privy to your annoying inner monologue screaming:

"How could I be so stupid? I've managed to trap us in a tiny, cramped closet that's barely 9 square feet. How on earth did this even happen?"

Or something along those lines.

You had been investigating a crime scene, and somehow, you both ended up crammed into this confined space—so close that you could feel his surprisingly soft, springy hair, which had grown to shoulder length, brushing against your forehead. The closeness was almost suffocating, and you could hear his breathing, which only heightened your awareness of your predicament.

You find yourself in an incredibly awkward position, pressed against his chest, with your arms pinned at your sides as if you're afraid to make a move. Any lower and you risk an EEO report, but any higher and you'll be holding on to his chest, which somehow felt even more intimate.

"Do you think they're close?" you whispered, not knowing why you felt the need to lower your voice.

It almost seemed rude to speak at a normal volume, as if it would be too intrusive. After all, you'd practically be yelling right in his ear.

"Well, we called them 8 minutes ago," Spencer said, his voice vibrating from his chest to yours. "If they took the normal route, they should be here in approximately 3 minutes and 45 seconds.  The average response time for our team in this area is about 12 minutes, but given the urgency, they might be a bit slower."

His hand moved to rest on your hip, and your body immediately went rigid. A jolt of electricity shot from your toes to your spine.

He sensed the tenseness in you because, well, of course he did. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you breathed out, straining your eyes in the darkness to discern the details of his face. "Just a little claustrophobic."

That was only half true. It was more that you felt claustrophobic because you had no desire to be this close to the colleague you had been harboring an infatuation with for what felt like forever. He was intoxicating--everything about him. Especially now that you could feel his muscles flex beneath his shirt and breathe in the blend of old books and clean linen that seemed to define him.

Spencer nodded at your words, the movement of his head causing his entire body to shift. This brought him even closer, his arm instinctively wrapping around your back.

"Sorry, my arm was falling asleep," he justified, voice soft. You didn't argue, sparks detonating from the point of contact, your whole body aflame. "You know, sometimes applying gentle pressure can help reduce feelings of claustrophobia. It might seem counterintuitive, but it works."

"Well, I don't think we can get much closer than this," you chuckled nervously.

Spencer, without missing a beat, placed his hand gently around your neck and drew you into his chest. You didn't resist, didn't put up a fight. Your heart pounded, and with your ear now pressed against his body, you could heart his heart. The steady thumps were so clear, you could almost hear the blood coursing through its veins.

You softened into his touch, your hands moving slowly to wrap around his neck, unable to draw away from the continuous pulsing of his central organ. You were sick in the head, that was for sure, but the rest of your body didn't seem to care about your head's woes; it was all too keen to liquefy into his body.

You could likely die here—if the team never got here, and this is how you were to go—locked in a child's closet with the man of your dreams; you thought you might be okay with that.

But fate had different plans, which might have been a good thing; you might have been thinking a little rashly. You blamed it on the lack of oxygen flow. Spencer would tell you that the limited airflow in such small spaces means we're breathing in more carbon dioxide than usual, which can affect cognitive functions and make us feel dizzy and disoriented.

Dizzy and disoriented. Check and check. Now, whether that was due to the lack of airflow was a different story.

Without warning, Spencer's hand moved from your hip to your neck, settling between the nook where your jaw meets your throat. You froze in the spot, lips parted slightly as you watched his mouth move. Was he counting?

You realized he was when he let out a disappointed huff. His hand didn't move from your neck.

"Your heart rate is still pretty high," he observed. "Maybe we should try something else—"

"No, no, it's okay. I think it's working."

You didn't want to lose this closeness, and you weren't too eager for him to find out your heart rate was spiked by something other than the small space you were restricted to.

He hummed in response. You weren't sure if he believed you or not, but he dragged his hand back to your hip.

Thump, thump, thump.

You thought maybe you should tell him how you feel, that perhaps now was a better time than any—that the way your body froze around him was anything but friendly and that the feeling in your—

"Well, it looks like you two managed to stay calm."

Your head snapped up to see the team standing there, gaping at you like you were a couple of zoo animals. If they had given you 5 to 10 more minutes alone, you might have been.

You jumped away immediately, face burning as you raked a hand through your hair, glaring holes into Morgan's skull. On the other hand, Spencer looked slightly smug, a small smile tugging at his perfect lips.

"We were just... waiting," you protested, ignoring the look of disbelief from your unit chief.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, whatever you say, hot stuff."

As you stepped out of the closet, your eyes lingered back to Spencer, your heart still racing. Your eyes met, and the world seemed to freeze for a moment. Maybe you'd tell him how you felt the next time.

"So, pretty boy, you think you'd be that snug with me if we were the ones trapped in there?"

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @c-losur3 @theylovemelody @alahnizamolo

join my taglist here!

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Subtle-tea (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Summary/Prompt: “You’re only semi-lucid and are sort of reaching for my face, and for various reasons I shouldn’t kiss YOUR face but your hand is right here and I still need to convey affection.”  AKA. You and Benedict drink too much of Colin’s special tea and it spurs you to act upon previously hidden feelings. 

AN: Benedict is the bee’s knees, just a silly lil art guy. I got inspired and I’ve got two more Benedict fics coming out rip. But it’s just so difficult to write for Bridgerton cus you can’t write any gay stuff without it being tragic and/or a secret. Oh well, don’t expect me to write much more female reader content of my own volition/not inspired by my friends.

Content warnings: Reader uses she/her, use of Y/N and L/N, is referred to as “wife” 

Masterlist // AO3 

You had no idea what on Earth was in that tea. But you would have to ask later, because currently you felt as light as a feather and giddy as a giggle, laying on the sofa in the art studio as Benedict was launching himself between two walls, orating about his great desires to create. By far, you were experiencing the greatest emotions on the whim of your artistic associate.

“There’s just so many colours that we are privy to, and we take every single shade for granted!” He declared, his arms wide open to the heavens.

You pointed at him in an accusing manner, “Have you seen purple recently? It’s glorious! No wonder it was the colour of status in the Roman Empire, I too would want it all for myself and my friends.”

“How selfish you are, Miss L/N,” Benedict scolded, “Surely everyone should be given the chance to wear such a colour.”

His anger faded fast. As endearing as it was, it was nothing compared to that grin of his. So naturally you decided to make him smile even more with a ridiculous notion that just jumped into your woozy mind. 

“Do you know what would happen if my mother knew where I was?” You said in a loud whisper. 

Benedict pouted and nodded, riddled with pantomime guilt as he leant over, “You. Me. In a room. Alone.”

“Unchaperoned,” You said then gasped, your hands clapping against your cheeks in shock, “I would be ruined!”

Benedict mimicked your appal by dropping to his knees before you, “We would have to marry to save your reputation!”

“Imagine me, your wife!” You threw your head back as you flashed your bare left hand to him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, an inhibition screamed at you to stop lingering so openly on something your sober self was set on not happening

But your heart grew gleeful as Benedict grasped your hand gently. 

“I shall imagine it!” He declared and lowered his lips, and planted a loud kiss upon your knuckle - right where the engagement and wedding bands would sit. You lowered your chin just in time to see this with your own eyes before Benedict met your gaze again, still beaming with roguish delight, “Oh what a beautiful imagining it is.”

Your legs curled up beneath you on the couch, and you fell over in hysterical giggling. You clasped your hand to your chest and cradled it like a newborn. As you lay sprawled out, Benedict popped into your field of view with his hands either side of your head, tactfully avoiding your hair. 

“Your laugh is like music! As your husband, it would be my purpose to make you sing at least once a day.”

“Then kiss me again, you silly man!” You squealed, offering your hand once more. 

Balancing on one arm, and completely unaware that this compromising position was aiding in your dizzy frenzy, Benedict kissed the same spot then turned the palm against his cheek. He held it there as he said:

“Look, it’s like you were sculpted to hold me.”

Euphoria ran riot across your body, your heart beating so fast you thought you would die from delight. 

“And you were carved to be held by me.” From your vantage point, with newly founded confidence, you tried to pull his lips down to yours, but Benedict resisted. 

“We shall not kiss ‘til we are married.”

Eyes wide, you squeezed the back of his neck to keep him close, “Is this a proposal?”

“I do not think we are in the right state of mind to make rational decisions,” and Benedict bumped his nose to yours, causing a little laughter before continuing: “But marrying you is the sanest idea I’ve had all evening.”

[forever-rogue]

Heya so I’ve been watching the new Mandalorian and loving Din and such but I was gonna ask if I can make a request. What about Reader getting jealous of Din and Bo’s relationship growing as friends (because fyi I see Bo liking woman idk? My opinion hahahah) anyways and also how Bo is becoming like more motherly to Grogu and Reader feels like Din can replace her so she decides to just move out of the way and then maybe Din finds out why she is being like this and it ends with comforting loving and reassuring smut? Idk up to you. I love love love your stories. You are my favorite writer

AN | Ohh but no, this was a good one. Enjoy🥰

Warnings | None

Pairing | Din x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 3.1k

Masterlist | Din, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You tried to hide the scowl on your face as you looked over at the two Mandalorians speaking to each other, clearly in deep conversation. Apparently you weren’t doing a great job because you felt a gentle tugging on the bottom of your pants. You looked down to find Grogu  looking up at you with big eyes filled with concern and his ears downturned. He trilled softly and you let out a small sigh. 

You crouched down so you were closer to his level and lightly scratched the top of his head, “what’s wrong, my small love?”

He let out a small huff of frustration, letting you know that he knew you knew exactly what this was about. Your expression shifted to sheepishly as you shrugged lightly, “it’s nothing, I promise. I’m just being silly.”

Grogu reached out a small hand out and tried to touch your face as best as he could. He really was the sweetest thing being you had ever met and he definitely helped you to forget what you had been annoyed about in the first place. 

That was until several long shadows fell over you and you looked up to find Din and Bo-Katan standing over the two of you. You pulled back from Grogu and almost instantly jumped up, shrinking away from the imposing warriors. 

“Is everything alright?” Bo always managed to be so calm and calculating that it served to unnerve you. You were sure that it wasn’t anything intentional, just how she was, but it still sent a shiver down your spine. There was something incredibly intimidating about her. 

“Y-yes,” you nodded lightly, swallowing back all the reasons things were definitely not alright. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at Din; you could feel his gaze intently trained on you, “of course.”

“Are you s-”

“We should head into town,” Bo cut Din off, whether or not intentionally you weren’t sure, and jerked her head in the direction of the nearby city center, “and settle down for the night. We might be here for a few days. Come on, kid.”

Bo gently scooped Grogu into his arms, holding him in a gentle manner that allowed him to see everything that was going on. He seemed happy to be held and you couldn't help the fact that that made your heart ache slightly. 

He really loved her and she was clearly fond of him. You took your disappointment and compartmentalized it, shoving it to the very back of your mind. Everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about. Right? Right.

The fact that Din followed you closely and kept trying to say something to you wasn't lost on you. You did your best to try and ignore the feeling of nervous butterflies in your stomach. You knew he wouldn’t let things go that easily, so the best you could do was avoid him.

But Din Djarin had other ideas.

That night, once you were all settled into your rooms at the city center’s hotel, you heard a knock at your door. The three of you had all separate rooms, taking advantage of the opportunity to get some space. You closed your eyes for a moment before sighing softly and walking to the door; you opened it after a few beats of hesitation. 

You found Din on the other side, alone for once, and a definite air to him. You could practically feel the expression under the helmet; luckily for you, you’d been privy to getting a glimpse of his face so you could picture it accurately. 

“Din,” you said quietly, acknowledging his presence with a small nod, “what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” and oh. Did his voice have to drop that low and soft? It made you want to run and jump into his arms, “if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” you stepped to the side and let him, slowly closing the door behind you, leaning against it as you watched him go to the window and look out. It was silent between the two of you for a few moments, and you could feel the tension radiating off him, “what did you need?”

You heard him sigh, and the familiar sound tugged up the corner of your mouth into a small smile. He turned back to you, his hands settling on his hips; he was trying to search for the right words and felt like he was falling short, “you’re off…lately.”

“I’m off?” you echoed, “what do you mean? Wait - are you getting rid of me-”

“No,” a firm, resolute answer. He swallowed thickly, “you. You’ve been acting differently lately. Something is bothering you.”

Of course he was right on the money. But you didn’t want me to know that - at least not yet. You tried to plaster on the most natural smile you could, but you were sure it was more of a grimace than anything, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Din. Everything’s fine - we’ve just been busy and I-I’m just tired.”

“I know there’s more that you’re not telling me,” he didn’t say it accusingly - if anything his voice was soft. He was trying to coax you out of the shell you’ve been putting yourself in, “I…I want you to know that you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” and you did. Your heart constricted as he sat down next to you, his gloved hand brushing against yours, “and if there was anything to tell - I would tell you. Promise.”

Okay, so you were a liar. A dirty, kriffin’ liar.

“But you’re not right now,” again, it wasn’t even a question. It was a statement. You hesitated for a moment before shrugging lightly, “whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

“Din,” you angled your body ever so slightly so you were facing him, “if there was anything to tell, I would tell you. I swear it.”

He paused for a long moment and you were seriously wondering what he was about to say. It could have been anything; he was a hard read sometimes. But then he stood up and in front of you, putting his hand under your chin and turning your face up to his. The Mandalorian remained quiet and stoic before brushing his knuckles across your cheek. The tenderness of the action was enough to make your eyes burn before they fluttered closed. 

After a few moments he gave you a simple nod before heading out of your room and quietly closing the door behind him.

You felt a sense of conflicted emotion wash over you; from how gentle and tender he was, you’d almost think he had some sort of deep rooted feelings for you as well. Then your mind instantly went to Bo and Din, how the two of them were together, and how Grogu loved them both. It made sense, of course, that the Mandalorians would find comfort in each other and form a deep, close bond. It also made sense that it broke your lovesick little heart.

Your shoulders slumped as you stared out the window, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. You could have just told him then and there. It would have been so easy to do so…and then, if nothing else, everything would be out in the open. Instead you’d chosen the easy way out and lied to him.

At least things couldn’t get any worse, right?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wrong. 

By the time you were up and dressed the following morning, you found that Din and Bo-Katan were already out and about with Grogu in tow. You grew upset when you realized that they didn’t bother to check in with you before leaving the hotel. You watched across the square for a little bit, watching the three of them interacting happily. Your heart practically fell into your chest when you realized just how much of a little family they appeared to be. 

Along with the hurt came the jealousy and that was a feeling you absolutely hated. There was no reason for it - but your heart felt differently. A part of you, and you hated even admitting this to yourself, hated how well they got along. It would have been easier if they disliked each other or didn’t have just chemistry or…anything. 

But Din had never been yours and would never be yours; it was a fact that you were going to have to accept and live with. 

You turned on your heel and started to walk back, deciding to wait for them to come back and find you.Childish? Maybe. But right now you didn’t care. 

It was halfway back on your trek that you had a sudden realization.

You didn’t have to stay with Din. You weren’t under any sort of obligation to stay with him. In the beginning you’d just sort of fallen into work with him. And you hadn’t really ever hashed out any sort of deal. Which meant…you could just leave whenever. 

It was just an idea…but when you got back to your room, it became more and more tempting. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the end of the day, you’d made a plan. Perhaps more of a semblance of a plan but it was something. 

You found Din and Grogu walking through some of the market stalls, the small one’s eyes lighting up happily with each little thing that he saw. The idea of being away from both of them was heartbreaking; you loved them both terribly.

“Hey,” you caught up to Din and started walking next to him, happy that for once Bo-Katan seemed to be absent. You felt him looking down at you as Grogu chirped happily, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” you just knew that he was raising an eyebrow at you but then his voice dropped to something gentle, “tell me.”

“I’ve been thinking,” you were wringing your hands nervously, aware of every little tell that you had, “a-about everything. And I think I’ve decided that I, ugh, I umm…I’m going to stay here.”

“What?!” he stopped so suddenly that you almost tripped over him. You shrugged sheepishly before looking away, “what are you talking about?”

“Just what I said,” you played it off, “I’m going to stay here for a while.”

“But we’re leaving in a few days-”

“You. You are leaving in a few days,” you replied softly, “you, Grogu, and…Bo-Katan. I’ll be staying here.”

“I don’t know how long we’d even be gone before I can come back for-”

“You’re not coming back for me, Din,” you whispered, stealing a little glance at him, “I don’t think you’re understanding…I am staying behind and you are going on. W-without me.”

“What do you mean?” now he just sounded concerned and confused and that broke your heart a little bit, “why would you not come?”

"Because I'm not…" you choked back the emotion that was welling up in your throat, "I'm not going with anymore period. I think it's time that we go our separate ways."

"Separate ways," he echoed as you nodded lightly, "why? What happened? I thought that-"

"You don't need me," you stopped and turned around so you were fully facing him, "you don't need me for anything you have left to do. You and Bo will be just fine together. You're Mandalorians after all. I'm just…me."

"That's not true," he insisted meekly as you stared at your feet, "we do need you."

"For what?" you blinked back the tears as you caught the sad little look on Grogu's face, "you don't need my help with him anymore. I'm not…necessary."

"None of what you just said-"

"It's not, I'm not - this isn't something that is up for debate," and yeah, it crushed your heart go say that to him, "I've gotta go my own way now."

You didn't - and couldn't - let him get another word in or you knew you'd be right back to where you had been. You didn't want to leave them and Din could see that, he knew that and he didn't want you to go. That had to count for something, right?

Even the slight bit of hope his words gave your heart wasn't enough to get you to turn around. Your decision was made.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Din wasn't as convinced that you were set in your way. He wasn't going to just let you get away that easily. You should have realized that by now. 

As you were packing your stuff to leave and figure out a more permanent situation, Din knocked once before letting him. He didn't even give you the opportunity to welcome him in - there wasn't time.

"Don't go."

Your hands dropped the shirt you were holding as you looked at him in shock. Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to figure out where to begin to respond to that, "p-pardon?"

"Don't go," he repeated, taking a few steps closer to you, "stay. With me and Grogu."

"And Bo."

"No," he shook his head. He was a smart man after all and he'd managed to put the pieces together. And come to terms with his own feelings, "this isn't about her."

"Well it involves her," you sighed, scrubbing a hand over your tired face, "you and her and Grogu and your little save the Mandalorians and Mandalore mission. It doesn't have anything to do with me."

"Cyar'ika-"

"Besides," you turned your back to him and crossed your arms over your chest, "you seem to be doing just fine with her."

"She's a fellow Mandalorian," he came over to where you could almost feel him behind you, "we are stronger together. That is all. She is not…I do not have any feelings for her besides any that are extremely platonic."

"You might want to tell her that."

"She's well aware," he promised and you felt the tension in your shoulders lessen at the feeling of his hand on your shoulder, "it is not me she has an eye on. She knows that you are…mine."

"What?" You turned around and looked at him with wide eyes and a confused expression. He was watching you intently, "Din?"

"You are mine," he repeated as your expression shifted to one of wonder, "as I am yours."

"You…" you vaguely gestured between your bodies, mind reeling as you tried to process what he actually meant, "me?"

"Yes," there was a bit of amusement coloring his voice; he was calm while you were panicking, "I thought you knew."

"No," you managed to choke out, "I-I didn't. I just thought you…thought of me as a partner. Business partner."

"Not just that," he reached over and gently pushed your hair behind your ears, "far from that."

"What about Grogu? He clearly loves her-"

"You are jealous," your entire body burned at his accusation and you swallowed thickly. Why did he have to be so damn perceptive? You couldn't even find it within yourself to lie and deny it.

"Yes," you looked into the black T of his visor, meeting his eyes behind the helmet, "I am."

"There is no reason to be jealous," he promised, "there is only you for me. And for Grogu. Once our business is concluded, it will just be us."

"Promise?" That is everything you had been craving and wanting so desperately, "Din?"

"I promise," he answered softly and you could feel it in your bones that he wasn't lying, "it won't be much longer."

"Okay."

"You'll stay?" He pulled off his clothes and tossed them to the side before gently taking your face in his hands, brushing his thumb along your cheek. You couldn't help but preen into his touch.

"Yes," you whispered softly, "I'll stay."

He made a small sound in the back of his throat before pulling back and walking towards the door. You were confused for a few moments until he switched the lights off, bathing the room in darkness except for the city lights that flowed in through the curtains.

"Do you trust me?" He was looking right at you and you were looking right back. But there was no hesitation in your response - you both already knew the answer.

"Yes," you promised, "I trust you."

He made a small sound before lifting his hands and slowly removing his helmet. Despite the fact that you had seen his face before, the gesture still spoke volumes. You watched as he rid himself of his gloves, followed by his armor and outer clothing. 

When he was done, he made his way back over to you, leaving just enough of a gap between your bodies. 

You couldn't see the details of his face but studied his handsome silhouette. After a moment he reached up and took your face in his hands. You turned your face and leaned into his touch, sighing wistfully.

"You mean more to me than I could ever put into words," he whispered so quietly that you almost didn't hear, "I'm sorry you ever had to doubt that."

"It's okay," you tried to ignore the feeling of butterflies exploding in your tummy as you looked at him with a small smile.

"Once this is all over…" he paused for a moment, as he trailed his fingers along your jaw, "I promise things will be different."

"And they don't have to be different," you insisted, "I just….I just want you."

"You have me," it was a firm, resolute statement, "all of me."

He leaned his face down towards yours, his nose gently nudging yours. You leaned up ever so slightly and met his lips, letting him gently kiss. Finally. After so much time, so much dreaming and wishing and wanting, you finally got to kiss Din Djarin. You’d always wondered what it would be like and now you knew - it was just like magic and tasted even sweeter.

His movements were tentative at first, gentle and testing the waters. When you responded so positively and eagerly to him, he relaxed and grew more confident. You rested your hands on his forearms before gently pulling back. A small, wistful sound escaped your lips as he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“You have me too, Din,” you promised in return and you could see his shoulders relax even in the darkness.

“You’ll stay?”

“Of course,” you stole a quick kiss from him, “I thought that would have been clear now.”

“It was,” he nodded, smiling against your lips, “but I just wanted to be positive.”

“Let me show you how positive I am,” you whispered, feeling bold and electric, “if you’d like me to.”

“Yes,” he agreed, both of you laughing softly, “yes.”

[saintsenara]

How do you think Sirius felt about Lupin not reaching out to Harry before POA? Would he be angry or would he understand that Lupin’s condition (plus extreme poverty) would have made that difficult (along with his guilt and self loathing ofc)?

controversially... i don't think he gave a shit.

before i have the timeline up in arms, let me say that i'm an enormous fan of harry and sirius' canon relationship. the muddy paw-print good luck card - and the fact that sirius is the only person harry ever seems even vaguely child-like with, and the fact that harry knows that sirius is dead because he'd never disappear from his sight otherwise - lives rent-free in my head, and i understand completely why so many fans hate seeing the depth of their relationship devalued in service of a characterisation of sirius which is stupid, prissy, flaky, and fickle. because i'm one of them.

however... i must also be frank that there are some things which have emerged in reaction to this fanon devaluation of sirius' commitment to harry which i think are a little overblown. [and which have moved beyond "good godfather sirius black" to "flawless godfather sirius black".]

the reaction sirius is often written as having - within the canon timeline [alternate universes are alternate universes] - to harry's pre-hogwarts experience is one of them.

sirius is often taken as someone who's ready to murder the dursleys and whisk harry away from them at the slightest provocation. within such a characterisation, lupin's failure to check in on harry during his childhood - and, therefore, his failure to do anything about the neglect and abuse harry was experiencing - could be presumed to have sirius ready to tear his old friend limb-from-limb.

in prisoner of azkaban, sirius invites harry to live with him - not because he wants to rescue him, but because he's harry's legal guardian according to james and lily's wishes, and he wants to fulfil those wishes - but by order of the phoenix he takes the same view of harry living with the dursleys as everyone else does: that it isn't nice by any means, but that it is necessary.

that is, once sirius knows about the blood protection - which we can presume happens fairly shortly after prisoner of azkaban, since we know he and dumbledore write to each other - he's completely on board with harry staying where he is.

and this connects to something else i think the fandom has a tendency to overstate: the extent to which sirius intervenes in harry's favour against the rest of the order.

because - yes - sirius is absolutely right to say - on harry's first night in grimmauld place - that he should be updated on what the order have been doing while he's been in little whinging.

this is correct from an operational standpoint - and the primary flaw in molly weasley's argument is, as lupin points out, that excluding the children in the house only stops them learning accurate information about the order's mission, rather than information full stop.

and it also shows sirius' understanding of and respect for who harry is as a person. he's the only adult character in the book who explicitly recognises that harry objects to being infantilised, is frustrated with the information blackout to which he's subjected, and feels that his own contribution and usefulness to the anti-voldemort cause is being overlooked for no good reason.

but... even as we acknowledge this, we also have to acknowledge that - while he recognises that harry's feelings are valid - sirius never suggests that the order's treatment of harry is inappropriate, unnecessary, or unreasonable.

throughout order of the phoenix sirius takes exactly the same view as everyone else:

that harry should be subjected to an information blackout that he should remain in little whinging until told otherwise that he shouldn't be told he's being surveilled that he shouldn't be told about the prophecy and its contents that he shouldn't be made privy to the detail of the order's plans that he shouldn't be informed that he might be possessed and - above all - that dumbledore's decisions when it comes to harry are the right ones and dumbledore's interpretation of events which involve harry is correct

clearly, there's some tension in sirius and dumbledore's relationship in order of the phoenix. but this relates to sirius' view of his own experience - in particular, his struggles with seeing any non-active contribution to the order as valuable. when it comes to harry, he defers - like all the other adults in the order - to dumbledore.

and this is obviously going to affect how sirius understands harry's experience while he was in azkaban.

dumbledore explains to harry - at the end of order of the phoenix - that he was placed with the dursleys for his own protection. not only does the blood protection keep him safe from voldemort - indeed, it is the only thing [as both dumbledore and voldemort acknowledge] that does - but his separation from the wizarding world keeps him safe from voldemort's supporters. and while - yes - dumbledore is withholding certain, horcrux-related bits of the truth from harry here, the broader truth remains... harry is placed with the dursleys because it's the only way to keep him alive, and - regardless of whether the reader thinks this justifies what happens to him - canon is clear that sirius, whose only motivation is to keep harry safe, would.

which means that lupin wouldn't need to offer any explanation for not attempting to seek harry out beyond "dumbledore said not to".

i also think, as a post-script, that the fact that harry doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by his distant relationship with lupin - while sirius is alive, that is - is another reason why sirius wouldn't care about it.

sirius' priority - which i say not as a wolfstar-versus-prongsfoot thing but as a "these are the group dynamics in the canon text" thing - is james. lupin and pettigrew are both clearly his secondary friends while james is alive.

and so, while i reject the idea that he sees harry as indistinguishable from james - this is nonsense the films invented - sirius does nonetheless see harry as someone who takes the same role in society as james did [notice, for example, that he always imagines harry as a leader and the other child characters as followers]. this is the thing he perceives as the same across his relationship with harry and his relationship with james: that he is the only person seen as a peer or co-leader, rather than a follower. he can't envision harry feeling let down by lupin, because in this context lupin would have to have had power over harry to let him down.

if harry was angry at lupin himself - especially if harry framed this as being betrayed or shown insufficient loyalty - i think there's grounds to claim that sirius would share this anger. but i don't think he'd ever be inclined to manufacture it for himself.

[ebongawk]

ok ok ok ok ok HOW ABOUT a drunken kiss with hellcheer 👀 and if u make it sad so help me god i WILL fly to u and beat ur ass

4. A Drunken Kiss

They were playing fucking spin the bottle.

What kind of full-fledged high school seniors played spin the bottle? Wasn't that reserved for, like, thirteen-year-olds? But Stacie Mancini had drunkenly shouted, "Oh, my God, we should play a game!" and someone had suggested this, so now a bunch of almost-twenty-somethings were gathered in a half-assed circle as an empty bottle of vodka spun around and around.

Stacie landed on Andy Fuckface, and she looked mildly disgusted, which. Good for her. She still sucked his face for a solid five seconds. Andy landed on Tracy Mathews, Tracy landed on Jason Carver. Jason didn't even look at his fucking girlfriend before he stuck his tongue down Tracy's throat.

Chrissy, for all intents and purposes, looked like she didn't even want to be there. She flinched when Jason leaned toward the center, but otherwise made no show of being an active participant in the game.

And Eddie, with his front row seat to the action from the dealer's perch in the corner, had to wonder why no one seemed to fucking notice how uncomfortable she was.

Staying sober for these gigs was a goddamn chore. While it used to be fun to watch the chaos and debauchery unfold, being privy to the disgusting nature of inebriated human teenagers got old.

Maybe he was a little cynical. Because this shit had stopped being fun around the exact same time he caught the aforementioned Ball-Fondling Carver sneaking upstairs at a different party with Theresa Peretti.

It was the first and only time he'd ever considered getting involved.

Like, okay, so maybe sometimes he felt a little bad when he caught people who had significant others mackin' on those who were not the aforementioned significant others. But fuck it. Not his circus, not his monkeys, right?

He'd ruined that little unspoken rule of his that Monday at school. Seeking Chrissy out, small and drawn and sad as she was, and had straight up told her what he saw. No beating around the bush, no bullshitting.

Whether or not that had anything to do with the fact that Chrissy treated him like an actual human being was meaningless.

She'd just blinked at him. Then, instead of the anger or upset he'd been expecting, she let out this vague little laugh.

"Oh. Um. Thanks, Eddie, but... Could you maybe keep this between us?"

"What? Did you hear me, Cunningham? That asshole--"

"No, I know. And, truly, I appreciate you telling me. Just... Just trust me, okay? I'll handle it."

He'd wanted to scream. To rip his own hair out and throw it at her like that would lift the starry-eyed curtain she was clearly hiding behind. But that was, like, two months ago, and he still saw her tucked under Carver's arm day in and day out, so Eddie had resigned himself to bearing witness to her silent suffering on the off chance he caught a glimpse of her in the hallway or any of their shared classes.

Why the fuck anyone would stay with a whole ass cheater made no sense, so Eddie stopped trying to understand the popularity masses.

"Oh, shit, that's pointing at the freak," someone whispered, drawing Eddie's attention out of his own head and back into Chance Kinicki's hazy basement. He blinked, meeting Chrissy's gaze from the other side of the room, and put the pieces together.

It had finally been her turn to spin the bottle, and it had landed between two of the nearer bodies and was trained on him.

Which. What the fuck.

"Nah, man, let her spin again," Carver slurred, waving a loose wrist in the air. "She's not gonna lock lips with trash. Right, babe?"

Oh, he was such an asshole. Eddie wanted to knock him down a peg or five. Preferably while sober, so he wouldn't have the excuse of his intoxication to blame getting his ass handed to him by quote-end-quote trash.

Chrissy said nothing. She just stared at him, wearing something in her expression that Eddie couldn't identify. After a few tense, quiet seconds, Chrissy stood, stumbling a little through her own drunkenness, and made her way across the room. Shaking off Jason's grabby hands as she stepped around people and bottles before coming to a swaying stop directly in front of Eddie.

"Hi," she muttered, looking down at him with ruddy cheeks and glassy eyes.

Shit. Shit. What the fuck was happening? Eddie's hands twitched where they were sitting on his thighs, staring up at her like she was an angel come to deliver some new commandment.

Thou Shalt Not Lust After Unattainable Girls Who Are a Little Too Intoxicated to Make a Rational Decision. Or something.

"Uh," he managed, the word strangled up from his throat like she'd wrapped her dainty little fists around it. Like all of his oxygen already belonged to her. Fuck, all the oxygen in the room belonged to her. "Hey, Cunningham."

"'M supposed to kiss you," she continued, tilting her head to one side as her eyes wandered along the grooves of his face. Settling on his lips once she'd taken her fill. "The game says so."

"I wasn't playing the game, princess," Eddie reminded her gently, glancing around her to see the audience watching them with rapt eyes.

Chrissy just shrugged. Like that was enough of an explanation.

"That's okay," she answered. "The bottle knew, Eddie. Right? It knew that I..."

Then, before he could react or breathe or fucking think, she was petting his hair back from his face, leaning down, and pressing a slow, soft kiss right to his lips. Like a fucking deer in the middle of the road, he froze, unable to parse together half a thought that wasn't whoa.

Fucking fireworks.

He finally got enough wits about himself to pull away, because she was drunk and he wasn't and none of this was right, which wasn't fair but that was neither here nor there.

"Oh," she breathed, blinking at him, some of the haze in her eyes clearing. Her cheeks had gone even pinker, lips still half-puckered like she wanted to lean back in and taste him all over again.

"Hey!" Jason barked, struggling to stand from the floor, blazing eyes staring daggers at Eddie. "Get off her, freak!"

Dude, he wasn't even touching her.

"Shove it, Jason," Chrissy responded before Eddie could ask him if he was serious. She leaned toward Eddie, half-shielding him with her body, and he really thought she was gonna fall into his lap, she was so goddamn unsteady. She managed to stay firmly planted, using a hand on his shoulder to keep herself straight, and actually stuck her tongue out at her boyfriend.

Eddie wanted to die, it was so fucking cute.

"Babe--"

"I'm dumping you."

The fucking gasps that erupted across the room were actually comical. Eddie couldn't have stopped himself from laughing if he'd tried. Which, he did not, because it was too goddamn funny. The cackle he let out drew the attention to him, but, Jesus, fucking worth it.

Before he realized what was even happening, Chrissy was taking his hand, pulling him along behind her as she escaped up the stairs. Her considerable strength barely gave him a moment to grab his box of tricks as she hauled him from his gig as the weekend fun-bringer.

Why he was part of her little storm-out, he couldn't explain. But he wasn't exactly unhappy about it, either. As it was, for effect, he raised a devil horn at Jason's flabbergasted glare on his way out.

"Wow," Chrissy said as they escaped into the chilly April night. "Wow! I just did that!"

"Yeah, uh––"

"Oh, shoot, we gotta get outta here," Chrissy stated, glancing back over her shoulder. Grimacing and rushing him toward his van just as the front door of Chance's house swung open, an absolutely irate Carver standing in the muted light.

They ran, Chrissy surprisingly steady on her feet, and laughed the whole way to his van. He unlocked the passenger seat, diving across the center console and yanking Chrissy in after him. Carver had slipped at one point, the alcohol probably rushing around painfully in his head, and was struggling back to his feet just as the rest of the laundry basket team finally came out. Chance and Patrick were both obviously trying to hold back their laughter, but Eddie didn't bother finding out what happened next.

He started the van and peeled the fuck outta there.

Chrissy was still laughing, although it was much quieter now. No longer filling the night air with little tinkling notes of her joy, it was more like the soft music of wind chimes outside. Following them as they ate a few miles of concrete in the otherwise sleepy town.

"So, uh. You want me to take you home, or––?"

"No." He kinda expected her to be staring out the windshield or her window, but instead she was looking directly at him. Not offering him a modicum of relief from the weight of her gaze. "I do not want to go home like this, Eddie."

"Uh..."

"Can we, like, go to the lake or something? Please?"

Well, how the fuck was he supposed to say no to that?

The back of the van was stuffed full of blankets, pillows, a mattress from Gareth's younger brother's bunk bed and a few couch cushions off the spare couch on the porch, because he and the guys had gone down to Indianapolis to see Metallica during the week and had slept in the van instead of coughing up the dough for a motel room.

Chrissy made herself right at home, making the bed until it was nice and soft before throwing open the back doors of the van where he'd parked at Rick's house. Staring out over the lake as it twinkled with starlight. Like a bunch of white Christmas lights were hidden beneath the lapping waves.

He sat next to her, trying to breathe around the way she cuddled into him like she fit right in the circle of his arms. Which. Yeah. She did, but if he thought about it too much, he'd drive himself crazy, so.

They talked a little bit about how she'd just publicly dumped her boyfriend. About how relieved she was, now that the farce was finally over, because she'd been wanting to do that since way before he told her about the cheating. How happy she was to be there with him.

Which. He didn't know how to comprehend that, really. So he let it sit in the air, soft and gentle as the breeze that made music of the leaves outside, and breathed it in. Pulling it into his lungs like her little admission would coast through the oxygen in his blood and make itself part of his fucking DNA.

"Hey, Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you again?"

God, how was she so cute? The sleepy cadence of her tone, still slightly slurred with alcohol.

Shit. Denying her felt stupid as fuck.

"Ask me again when you're sober, yeah?" he said, desperately playing at lighthearted. "Might change your mind in daylight."

"Mmm," she hummed, her voice so fucking adorable. "Doubt it."

Hand to God, he hadn't fucking meant to fall asleep. He didn't know where Chrissy lived, exactly, but he figured he'd let her sleep off the drunk for a little bit before he roused her awake and got her address.

Yeah. Stupid move on his part, awakening when the sun hit his eyes first thing in the morning.

Because now he knew, intimately, the way Chrissy blinked back into consciousness in the morning light. The way the sun's rays, just barely peeking up over the wooded horizon, hit her hair and made it glow like fire. The way she sniffled, looking around in confusion before her eyes landed on him.

The way she smiled, bright enough that her eyes slipped closed and her nose scrunched up.

"Morning," she breathed, rolling over from where she'd been plastered to his side so she could stretch. Said so casually, like she wasn't ruining his entire fucking life just by existing.

"Uh," he started, his voice gravelly. Half-choked and terribly embarrassing. "Morning, Cunningham. Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Chrissy hummed, finished with her stretching. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she rolled right back into him. Tucking her face into his shoulder for effect.

Yeah. He was dead. He'd, at some point between school yesterday and Chance Kinicki's house, died, and now he was having those crazy imaginations where his unstated dreams were coming true.

"'S'okay," Chrissy mumbled into his chest. Prompting him to wrap his arms back around her. Because why the fuck not? "I, um. I definitely didn't mind."

Yeah. Heart attack. Stroke. Car accident. Something.

"Hey, Eddie?"

"Yep?" God, the way his voice broke, you'd think he was going through fucking puberty again.

"Can I kiss you again now?" A breath, like she heard the way his goddamn heart skipped a beat, before she added, "I promise I'm sober now."

Oh fuck him.

"You, uh––" He coughed, clearing his throat. "You actually want to?"

Shit, she giggled, and he fucking felt it against his ribs.

"Yeah," she said, easy as pie. Easy as Sunday morning. Easy as anything. "Yeah, I've, um. I've wanted to for, like, a while now."

He would've sworn he felt Cupid's arrow hit his blackened little heart.

"Chrissy, you can kiss me whenever you want," he croaked. "Like, uh. Now, later, tomorrow. Y'know. Open real estate here for you."

Christ, that giggle. He wanted to swallow her whole.

She tilted her chin back, that gorgeous grin lighting up his dingy van better than any spotlight ever could.

"That's good," she murmured, staring up at him. "'Cause I get the feeling I'll take you up on every offer."

Jesus Christ, he hoped so.

(And she did.)

kiss prompt!

(and a very happy birthday to @astorytotellyourfriends 😘🩷🖤)

[mrsnancywheeler]

More Finnick brainrot because that one line I wrote about how Finnick and his sweet girl would be wanted at the same time got me thinking.

Imagine Finnick who has to sit on some leather chair, watching as his sweet girl is taken by some capital man. He knew how rough the capital men were, he’s seen it, he’s experienced it, he’s felt the pain. And yet…seeing his sweet girl, the girl who should only ever be treated gently, be treated with such violence. A rock sat in his stomach as he was forced to watch the man defile her, pull her hair till it stung, slap her, choke her, laugh and moan as she cried.

And he couldn’t do anything. He failed her. He failed her again. He couldn’t stop this. He as forced to watch, if he looked away she’d be treated rougher, that’s what the client said.

He guessed it was some sort of sick pleasure the man took. Two victors at once. A way to prove his masculinity. He would be able to fuck the beautiful girl as her lover, the embodiment of masculine beauty was forced to watch.

Finnick never knew what he hated more, watching his sweet girl be taken in such a way or be forced to act that way to her as people lined up to watch…

heart breaking rn

triggers for nsfw talks, trafficking, violence

but like in chapter 6 of the lakes when there's that smut scene, finnick is literally always asking if she's okay, always making sure he's not crossing boundaries, always ready to stop at any point because she's his sweet girl, he only wants what you want

so to have to watch someone treat you like an object for abuse makes his soul wilt away. because he's so close and so helpless, when your cry, when your hurt, he can't do a thing until the client is gone. maybe that's the blessing, you're not stuck up here alone in the Capitol trying to deal with it yourself, when it's all over he can take care of you. but it's so hard to not look away, to have to watch his sweet girl like that.

and he blames himself because this is the sacrifice he made by getting you so many sponsors, they expected you both to pay them back for their 'generosity' in the arena. if he tried to do anything snow would probably make things worse somehow, so you'd both decide to take it without a complaint. when you were in the Capitol there was makeup artists so you could keep up appearances if there was something off, bruises, a split lip, a hickey, nobody but the elite and other victors had to privy to it.

maybe the worst nights were when he had to do what they did to you. how was he supposed to hurt his sweet girl? even if you said it was okay, that you didn't blame him, that you weren't upset, that it wasn't his fault it would weigh on him constantly. it's not like he dissociate either when they wanted him to spew the most hateful things to you. it was better if they wanted him to take you from behind, so he wouldn't have to look into your eyes, watch you wince, and cry, and dissociate when you could.

and he hated how he felt like you were being so strong about it, finnick ached to protect you, and you tried to hide the hurt most of the time. his sweet girl putting on such a brave face for him.

"you're gonna have to hit me harder this time, they weren't buying it last time." you were putting in more mascara, it was better if it ran down your face and people could see the evidence of tears.

"angel, I can't do that."

"finn, we don't have a choice." you'd cradle his face, so comforting when your fingertips played with his hair. "I'm not gonna be upset with you, promise. I'll be okay, I can handle it."

his sweet girl loved to try and act like she was okay so she could focus on him, but he needed her to know how much she was valued so much and couldn't. so when you flinched away from his touch after and apologized each time or didn't want to be touched at all for a few days he was drowned in guilt. you'd take care of him and try to close off, it broke him

[dangerousduckcloud]

take my hand, i'll fly you to the stars - a superbat oneshot

Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter, doesn't know that Bruce Wayne is Batman. Bruce Wayne, Gotham's billionaire, doesn't know that Clark Kent is Superman. So when Superman confesses he kissed Bruce Wayne in front of Batman one day, there's only one reason as to why he began acting weird with him. Batman's homophobic. or: two idiots in love that don't know how to communicate and instead make their own assumptions.

Read it also on AO3

I know I should be writing for 'Flowerbeds' but I got a bit of writer's block and I had this idea in my head for a while so I began writing a bit to get inspiration for the fic, but I got too much inspiration for this fic and so I wrote it all. Sorry.

English is not my first language.

Being a reporter comes with a lot of benefits; you are privy to information before anyone else. You uncover truths, bring down empires. You’re the voice of the people, helping to be heard those whose voice is underwater.

You fall in love.

Alright, well, maybe that last one is not exactly tied up with the job, but for Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter, it sure felt like it. Being born out in space and raised in a Kansas farm, the possibilities of being invited to a Wayne Charity Gala were none had it not been because of his profession, although ‘invited’ might be a bit of a stretch, more like Cat Grant had gotten sick and no one else wanted to come, not even Clark, at first.

Point is, he’s here now. His tall, broad figure easily ignore by the one percent who could perceive he didn’t belong; they could sense his suit was off the rack, his glasses from the dollar store, his watch older than most people here, a gift from his Pa when he turned eighteen, a Kent heirloom that’d been passed down every generation from father to son, something he’d probably do one day.

So no, he didn’t belong here. Nevertheless, that didn’t matter, he was here to do a job, and he hoped ‘Clark Kent, clumsy Daily Planet reporter’ would strike pity in the guests to grant him and interview.

“Mr. Paul!” Clark mumbled, his pen ‘accidentally’ falling from his hands and clattering to the polished marble floor, the stifled chuckles heard with clarity thanks to his super hearing. “Do you have anything to say about the recent allegations regarding your company’s involvement in money laundering?”

Clark was a good man, he cared about the safety of the lives of beings walking on earth, be it human or animal, but he still allowed himself from time to time to see pleasure on seeing how guilty people changed their faces when confronted about their criminal activities. The mighty, haughty smile on Mr. Paul’s face fell, a sour look replacing it.

“There’s not much I can say that hasn’t been reported on the news. We discovered the person behind it all and we have left the police to handle the matter.” Generic, memorized answer that Clark was sure his PR team had advised him to learn by rote. One explanation that in reality it meant ‘I was behind it all and I already paid the right people to not do anything about it.’

“And what about the rumors it was your people doing so to avoid bankruptcy?” Had he added more force, Mr. Paul’s wine glass flute would shatter.

“It’s just that, rumors.” Mr. Paul said acerbically. “Such a brilliant mind as yours should know better than to believe what the common mouth spews. A shame, Mr. Kent, that quite an outstanding reporter as yourself has been reduced to writing gossip columns.”

“Well, that’s why I’m coming to the source. To stop the gossips.” Clark had another question ready for the man when he conveniently received a call on his phone, raising a finger to stop his next words.

“One moment, please.”

Clark was no idiot and knew that meant ‘don’t bother me anymore’ while he saw the man walk away, his hearing revealing the man was, in fact, talking to no one.

It was fine, Clark had already learnt a thing or two more about him by other attendants with a loose tongue due to the alcohol making them more talkative than usual.

He checked his watch for the umpteenth time that night; he desperately wanted to leave, and it’d only been two hours since the gala started and the main person of the night had yet to make an appearance, the only reason he still couldn’t leave, as Perry had asked him to get at least one quote from him.

Bruce Wayne, the man every reporter just could not get a serious single answer out of him, unless you were asking about his children or ‘The Gray Ghost’.

Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, labeled as the hottest man in the world by several magazines for several years now.

Clark knew about Bruce. Everyone did. However, he hadn’t had the opportunity to meet the man, no actual reason to do so, but he’d done his research; orphaned at eight, ‘disappeared’ at sixteen, came back at twenty-three, more children than braincells, according to some people.

Single. Hot.

Yes, Clark had eyes, and he recognized the man was nice to see, staying up late at night re-watching all his interviews ever given despite not having something more to learn about his businesses or recent charities work.  

Unintentionally, he did discover something else.

Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne was a liar.

He wasn’t as stupid as he pretended to be. Every single word that left those plump, pinkishlips was idiotic on purpose, to keep up a façade of a bimbo idiot for some reason. Business advantage, maybe?

And no, it wasn’t his slight, minimum, non-existent ‘crush’ as Lois had worded it, nor ‘all the hits to his head Bruce had gotten in all his accidents leaving him dumber every time’ theory Jimmy had concluded. No, it wasn’t anything like that.

There was a clear difference between his first interviews, his more recent ones, and all the undercover videos people had uploaded of him on social media, where he showed quite a different personality when he was with his children.

He used to be shy, withdrawn, a lot of vague answers but on point. Now he always finds a way to get into the interviewer nerves, to be obnoxious. And with his kids? Totally different. Sweet, calm. There was a recent video of him discussing with Timothy Drake about if time travel was possible, all his answers those that belonged to a scientist.

Bruce Wayne, the man who had barely stepped one foot in the ballroom and was already swarmed by potential opportunists—err, shareholders, businessmen, reporters, gorgeous, single men and women and mothers with single children that would do anything to get their daughters married off to the richest man in Gotham and, in turn, become part of that position.

All lovely people, Clark was sure.

Brucie didn’t seem to mind, though. At least, not externally. While on the outside he was all smiles, handshakes, and flirtatious jokes, his heart, Clark could hear, was beating rapidly, the tiniest crease on his temple and the way his eyes were searching for a way out.

Another point to his theory.

Clark desperately wanted to go back to his hotel room, the only good thing about this whole event. (He could totally get back home in less than a minute, but he wasn’t going to pass up on the opportunity of being pampered) but in lieu of making a beeline to where Mr. Wayne was currently being held by the arm by a beautiful blonde woman attempting to seduce him, Clarke opted to take another walk around the perimeter of the gala, keeping himself out of view.

If he wanted to get a good interview, or at least a quote, with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, he needed to wait, not corner him like a wild animal.

Clark liked to wander and mostly hover around the food table in these kinds of events, making a bee line to the hors d'oeuvre, without fail trying to find the baked brie, glad that the staff had re-stocked them.

“I recommend the stuffed mushrooms, they’re my favourite.” Clark jumped a bit in his place, how had he managed to sneak up on him?

Clark had his breath taken away, the man was even more beautiful up close and in real life that all the pictures he’d seen of him.

“Mr. Wayne! It’s, uh—pleasure to meet you!”

“Bruce, please. Mr. Wayne was my father.”

“Bruce, then.” Clark smiled widely, enthusiastically shaking his hand until he heard a groan from the billionaire. “I—I’m so sorry, I—”

“Quite a strong hand for a reporter.”

“I… Exercise.”

“I noted.” Bruce’s gaze travelled over his body, and this time, Clark wasn’t pretending to be clumsy, he was flustered and anxious. “Now, usually I prefer to be left alone, but why is it that a Pulitzer winning journalist would prefer to hover over the food table rather than trying to interview me? Am I that uninteresting?”

“I was just�� you know about me?”

“Of course, I read all about your piece on ecological alternatives to reduce carbon emissions, been a fan ever since. In fact, I implemented quite a few of your ideas on my companies.”

That was written years ago. Had he been noticed by the Bruce Wayne for that long?

“Thank you, Mr—Bruce. It’s good to know someone like yourself cares about the environment. If you let me, do you have something else to comment on the topic?”

“Well, my parents always taught me to give back to the world that helped us be where we are now. Be it the people or mother nature, and without her, we’re nothing. So, I urge people, but most importantly my most fortunate peers, to research on how we can help heal our world.”

Nothing at all like the clueless man seen on TV.

“And the charity, it’s being held due to your youngest son, right?”

“Yes! Damian is such an animal lover. He brought to my attention that there are not a lot of animal sanctuaries in Gotham and those few don’t have the support they need. So, we’re raising money and awareness to help them rebuild their buildings, to give those precious dogs and cats a proper place to live while they’re waiting to be adopted. And as well, to encourage people to adopt and not to buy. He also volunteers every weekend in one of them. Of course, he couldn’t be here today, as it’s a school night.”

Bruce’s face changed completely when asked about Damian, his eyes shone with pure love and pride, a real smile on his lips, not the kind where it seemed as it physically pained him to smile when talking to others.  

“You never answered my question, though.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why didn’t you want to interview me?”

“Oh!” How could one man hold so much power? To look at him with those blueish-grey eyes and turn him into putty? “I didn’t—I mean, I wanted to wait for the right moment. With all those people…”

“Well…” Bruce got close to him, taking a hold of his red tie and pulling him closer. “You got it. Now, why don’t we go somewhere quiet and finish this interview?”

𓆩𓆪

Life had gone back to normalcy —or as normal as it could be for an alien on Earth. But at last, he’d gone back to Metropolis.

He’d all but fucked up his chance to sleep with the most handsome man, though.

They’d gone back to Clark’s hotel room, as it was just two blocks away from the building where the gala was held. He felt as giddy as a teenage boy getting his first kiss, hands sweating and looking into every reflection he could to check he was presentable.

Bruce didn’t wait a second until they closed the door to start kissing him, touching him everywhere. Clark had held his face between his hands, feeling the strong, but soft skin under his fingers, the small nips and cuts that littered his face.

It wasn’t until Bruce had unlatched his belt and had almost pulled Clark’s pants down that he asked him to stop, anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach and hands cold.

“Is everything alright?”

Clark nodded, looking everywhere but him. “Yeah, yes. I just… I don’t know how I’m feeling with being just a one-night stand.”

Bruce stood quiet, still halfway getting down on his knees and Clark’s zipper on his hands.

“I understand.” He stood up, looking up to meet Clark’s eyes, placing a quick, soft kiss on his lips. “Unfortunately, I can’t assure you this could become a regular thing. I’m sorry.” He fixed his opened shirt before leaving. “I’m… Well, if you ever need an interview, or help with anything, I won’t say no to you.”

And with that, he left.

And now Clark was chiding himself for letting him go.

Hero life had also taken an extremely rare break, with little to no serious attacks, only an attempted robbery here and there.

“In more recent news, Gotham’s billionaire, Bruce Wayne, was held for ransom two nights ago.” The T.V droned out, catching Clark’s attention from the game of Scrabble he was playing with Flash. Like all nights for the past weeks, the night watch at the Watchtower had been long and dull. Don’t get him wrong, he was glad there wasn’t truly a need for them, but they still had to stay the whole night just in case. “When questioned after his rescue, the man had this to say:”

“Oh, this was real? I really thought they were pretty bad strippers.” The image on screen showed a dirty, bloodied Bruce. A lip split open, with messy hair and shirt halfway unbuttoned, his tie loose. “So that’s why they taped me up after ten minutes. I guess it wasn’t a kink thing.” That explained the reddened area around his mouth.

A very tired and embarrassed man in a chauffeur outfit asked to have no more questions, helping Bruce get in the back of a limousine.

Was it simply a game for him to appear so dense in front of the cameras?

In front of him, Flash chuckled. “Can you believe someone like him owns half of a city?”

“He’s not that bad.” Clark said, arranging the letters on his tile rack to see if he could form a word with his remaining letters. “He’s a nice guy.”

A truly nice guy that didn’t pushed Clark when he told him he didn’t want to be used for pleasure.

On the computer behind him, the click-clack of the keyboard stopped momentarily. Taking advantage of the slow, calm nights, Batman had thought it best to update the Watchtower’s security system, bringing along with him Robin, the one you would rarely see without an energy drink. Apparently, the kid was a real prodigy with computers, maybe even more so than Batman.

“Wait, so you know him?” Flash asked, hand halfway through placing a tile on the board.

“I’ve… Met him. Once. He, uh…”

“Oh, Sups, there’s a child present!” Flash chuckled, looking at where Robin was sitting. “Our Sups has a crush! It’s his pretty face, isn’t it? Can’t be his brains.”

Next to the computer, Batman put down his coffee mug with more force than necessary, his super hearing catching on a low, muffled chuckle from Robin.

“I… No.” He sighed, placing I and R on the board to spell ‘Liar’. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Guy’s already being kidnapped every other day; he wouldn’t be able to leave his house for the rest of his life if somehow word spreads that he’s dating Superman.”

Flash nodded, playing the word ‘soul’. He was unusually quiet for the guy who always had something to say, especially if it came to the love lives of everyone in the League. “Cape life’s not easy, is it?”

His sombre demeanour made Clark feel he wasn’t talking specifically about his situation.

𓆩𓆪

Bruce knew, knew chaos was bubbling in his son’s mind, sure to ensure as soon as they got home. Tim had been suspiciously quiet all the way home from the zeta tube location to the Batcave, a leg going up and down repeatedly, and he knew it wasn’t from the energy drinks he so desperately wanted him to give up drinking.

“Don’t say anything.” He grumbled as they entered the cave, the dark tunnel giving way to the lights from the cave.

“Say what about what?” He turned to give him the bat-glare as Dick had once so eloquently named it, but his only response was a meek smile, hand reaching for the door’s handle, waiting for Bruce to unlock it.

He couldn’t really hold him here the rest of his life, could he?

With a sigh, he unlocked the door, and Tim hurried out of the car and up the stairs leading to the manor, not caring about Alfred’s ‘no capes inside the house’ rule. “DICK, YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS.” Was all he heard before the clock closed.

There goes Bruce’s peace.

Making use of the few remaining moments of tranquillity, he sat on the batcomputer, his cowl removed and hanging behind him.

So, Superman had interacted with him in his civilian identity. Both of them.

Problem is, when? How? Everyone had agreed that they would reveal their identities when they were ready, and Bruce had agreed not to investigate them, as they knew he so easily could. And he’d kept his promise.

Kind of.

He knew it would be a total break of their trust in him, but he also knew this kind of information could be necessary in the, hopefully not probable, case any of them ever went rogue.

Thus, he’d written a code, with Tim’s help, to analyse every bit of information online and compile possible candidates on who was who. Information heavily encrypted and hidden.

Surely this is something he’s allowed to do? It involves him, after all.

Opening the file for Superman, he scrolled past the names of people that were a likely fit for Superman’s physique and related events. There were quite a few, but the stats always showed a probability below sixty percent, besides, those were names he didn’t recognize ever talking to. All except one.

Clark Kent.

His file had a ninety-eight percentage of being Superman.

He was adopted by a couple in Smallville, Kansas, moving to Metropolis… Right around the time Superman was seen for the first time in the city, not to mention there had been strange sightings and unexplainable situations both in Smallville and around him in general before that.

When Bruce inspected more on his adoption, he was met with an unsuccessful result, as there hadn’t been any records of him before the Kents adopted him, as if he didn’t exist for the first few months of his live.

And the adoption agency had only handled one adoption before going ‘bankrupt’ just weeks after opening. His.

God.

He almost slept with Superman.

The man he has been dreaming with ever since he met him.

When the echoes of hurried steps reached his ears, he closed the file, heart beating frantically with this new information, yet he had a stoic face. His oldest son rushing to his side, with Tim behind him. “Superman what?”

“Irrelevant.” Bruce said as he stood up, taking off his gauntlets.

“B, you have to date him, can you imagine how cool it would be to have Superman as your dad?”

“What about Batman being yours?”

“No offense, B.” Tim’s voice reached his ears. “But you’re just a regular guy with enough money to buy this.” He gestured with his thumb to the screen behind him, leaning on the desk of the computer.

“Yeah! And Superman is Superman!”

“Hng.”

“Oh, you know we love you.” Dick said, hugging him and not letting him move, something that made his senses spike when he heard Tim on the computer. “But you’re our favourite after Superman.”

“And Wonder Woman.” Jason’s voice was rarely heard these days in the cave, surprising both Bruce and Dick.

“And Wonder Woman.” Dick nodded, his chin resting on Bruce’s shoulder.

“So why are we dissing Bruce?”

“Superman has a crush on Brucie.” Tim replied, fingers still pressing the keys on the keyboard, Jason’s laugh resonated through the whole cave, only once cutting when they heard a grasp from Tim. “The reporter?”

They all turned to see what he just discovered, Clark’s file on display for them, the picture of him with a cute smile taking a quarter of the screen, the blinking ‘98% MATCH’ going off and on.

Shit.

𓆩𓆪

“KENT!” Perry’s shout shook the building, and years of working for the man had taught him it was a terrible idea to have the man call out for you a second time, rushing to his office and closing the door behind him, standing in front of his desk. “Pack your bags, you’re going to Gotham, again.”

“What for? I can’t, Perry, I’m still working on my investigative piece—”

“You can do it later. You’re going to another Wayne Gala; the man loves to throw his goddamn parties…”

“And why can’t Cat do it?”

“Wayne asked specifically for you. And the man owns the newspaper, so we can’t exactly say no to him.”

He… Had? Had he been thinking of their past encounter? Why would he ask for him specifically?

No, maybe it was because Clark was focused on his job and wrote worth-reading  articles, as the official account of the Wayne family had shared his reportage of the past gala on their social media.

Surely, it was simply that.

He was once again waiting for the horde of guests to stop hogging Bruce’s attention before trying to interview him. He didn’t worry, he had promised he would give him an interview if he asked.

But the bewildered and flustered look Bruce gave him when he noticed him didn’t make him feel all that confident.

So today, he was eating a stuffed mushroom, savouring the melted cheese and toppings inside it while he waited.

It seemed this time, Bruce had opted for the company of two of his children, his oldest, Richard Grayson, and his third oldest, Tim Drake.

“You think we should?” Clark heard one of them say, he didn’t need to use his super hearing, as they’d also decided to favour the food over the people, and the kids weren’t talking particularly low.

“B’s getting lonely, and I can only handle so many ‘father-son’ days when Damian’s not around.” The youngest one groaned.

So, Bruce’s sons were playing matchmaker, that was genuinely nice and cute of them.

Except when he sensed them behind him. “Excuse me. Are you Clark Kent?” It was the youngest one who’d approached him, the poor kid had more bags under his eyes than a Christmas tree, his face looking a second away from falling asleep in the middle of the Gala. Just what could be so dire to keep a billionaire kid staying up all night?

It couldn’t be parties, Clark was sure. Unlike their parent, none of the Wayne kids had taken to be the life of parties —excluding, of course, Damian Wayne for the moment—, they rarely were seen in one if it wasn’t hosted by Bruce.

There actually wasn’t much about Timothy Drake online besides what he wanted there to be; son of the deceased Jack and Janet Drake, taken by Bruce, suspected to be Wayne Enterprises next CEO, despite barely being able to drive.

“That’s me, what can I do for you?”

“We want you to interview our dad.” Said Dick Grayson, —or ‘Gotham’s sweetheart’ as most gossip magazines liked to call him— standing behind Timothy. There were more things online about him than his younger brother. From his earlier research for the first gala; Richard Grayson was son of the world renown acrobats John and Mary Grayson, who had, sadly passed away in an ‘accident’ at the circus, taken shortly after by Bruce. The kid was a prodigy in gymnastics, always outshining everyone in every school competition he went to in his youth, although why he never made it a career out of it and go to the Olympics was a mystery to everyone. “You know, you’re the only honest reporter who won’t twist his words.”

The way they both smiled and shared a look was unsettling, the kids knew how to be creepy if they wanted to. There was something in the twinkle of their eyes that only spoke of mischief. Clark might not be a top-notch detective as Batman, but he still had learned to tell when people weren’t being sincere.

He wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, he was here to do that, after all, but he needed to know the reason as to why they were personally asking him to interview him. However, the sound of glass shattering and screams put him on alert. “Oh, great. Not another one.” Timothy mumbled. Were Gothamites plainly this desensitized about criminals taking in hostages?

He was looking for an exit to change into his suit when the cold end of a gun’s barrel was pressed to his back. “To the centre, now!” Clark complied, if only to not risk his identity or risk the chance of the man accidentally shooting one of the kids. Kids that were much calmer than they should be.

He’s never coming back to Gotham.

The trio moved to the centre of the ballroom, where every attendant was huddled in a circle. “Everything of value in the bag!” Another man shout, holding a dirty, ragged brown bag in a hand, and a semi-automatic gun in the other.

Clark tripped, or at least, he made it seem like that, to take the opportunity to slide behind all the hostages, for the outside eye, it seemed he did that to cover himself in case things went awry, but in truth, it was so he could make his disappearance easier and change from Clark Kent to Superman.

There were only four armed men inside, and another outside sitting in a car, the getaway, Clark assumed. He couldn’t see much else with his x-ray vision, just that the car had the trunk open, waiting to be filled with the spoils of the night.

Thing is, they weren’t taking that much stuff to require the extra space, so what could be the actual reason? Kidnapping, maybe?

But who?

“I love playing rough, don’t get me wrong.” Of course it had to be him. “But even I think this is a bit overkill.”

“Shut up.” The man holding Bruce by the scruff said, pushing him to the floor and letting the end of his gun crush his hand. Bruce’s howl of pain mingled with the cry of Timothy, ready to get up and run to help his father, only being stopped by Richard, who held him by his shoulders and sitting him down again, talking in hushed whispers. It was the only reaction the kid had shown so far tonight.

They’d already taken Bruce outside, leaving only the guy who was still collecting money and jewellery, walking backwards towards the exit, gun pointed at the attendants. The split second he turned to leave was his mistake, colliding with a body as strong as steel. Clark had taken that millisecond to change into his suit and get behind the man, swiftly taking his gun and pulverizing it in his hand. “I don’t think you were invited to this party.”

Clark didn’t need to use much strength to knock out the assailant, a simple hit with his index finger was enough.

The rumble of an engine let Clark know the rest of them didn’t bother to wait for their partner, clearly already having secured what they wanted, and the things in the bag were just a bonus.

The getaway car, had, of course, not made it very far before Clark stood in front, crashing into him. The back going up in the air for a second before falling, and he rushed to hold it and gently drop it lest he hurts Bruce even more.

Clark made sure the delinquents were unconscious before opening the car’s trunk. “Are you alright, Mr. Wayne?”

Despite looking a bit green and having a broken finger, he didn’t seem to have any other serious injury… Not recent, at least. All his bones hand been broken in several places, several times, some not fully healed correctly. Just in what kind of situations was this man getting in?

He, in turn, was oblivious to the revelation he’d just had, awestruck, and eyes wide. Bruce accepted the hand Clark had lend him to get off the trunk, careful not to put too much pressure on his broken finger. “Superman.” He whispered. “I… I’m fine. Just a broken finger. I’ve had worse.”

“No doubt.” Clark mumbled. Wayne looked at him curiously, as he hadn’t heard him completely, but shook his head after a second, his dazzling smile back in place.

“How can I pay back the man who saved me?”

“It’s not necessary, Mr. Wayne. I’m glad to be of help. Please, let me take you to a hospital so that you can get treated.”

“No need, I’m sure the ambulance will be here soon.” And true, Clark could hear the siren a couple kilometres away getting closer to them. “Besides, my sons will worry if they don’t see me, but…” he placed is good hand on Clark’s shoulders, standing on his tiptoes to reach him and place a gently, warm kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, superman.”

𓆩𓆪

Batman hates him. There’s no other way to put it.

It’s not hard to make the man broody and angry, Clark thinks, he just never expected it would be because he’s disgusted by his choice in romantic partners.

He’s never said it outright, but he shows it in the way he’s began to distance himself from the man every time they are together in a mission or in a meeting debriefing. If his hands happen to slightly touch his or any other part of his suit, Batman pulls away as if he was burned.

And the man was always cold, talking only if needed, but Clark could see that he was getting even colder with him, his words clipped as if it offended him to talk to him.

He never thought Batman would be homophobic.

He was conflicted. He didn’t want to get into his companions’ personal matters and preferences, but this was something he couldn’t simply ignore, as it was something he considered was wrong of him.

But he also didn’t know how to approach him.

He was distressed. Even though they didn’t know each other names, he had still considered Batman a reliable ally —how ironic—, and to discover the man who claims to fight for justice and peace it’s in truth a hater with prejudices… Well, it was a lot to take in.

But now it made sense. He’d seen Batman work with the Red Hood a few times, and he knew he was a part of the ‘bat-family’ due to the red bat symbol embedded in his chest. He’d also seen how cold Batman was with him unlike the others, like Nightwing, or Robin, or Batgirl.

He also knew Red Hood was involved in some kind of a romantic mess with Arsenal, as Green Arrow once told him in passing.

“I’m surprised Batman hasn’t threatened you already.” Flash mentioned so casually as if he were talking about the weather. “Or has he?”

“What?” Clark turned to see him, his cape slightly billowing. “Why would he do that?”

“Because you slept with his boyfriend?”

Clark had to rewire his brain for a second. “What did you say?”

“Oh, come on!” Flash gestured with his hands, bits of granola flying around from the bar he was eating. “It’s common knowledge those two are dating, how do you think Spooky gets all his toys?”

It would explain why Batman has suddenly turned so hostile against him.

But it doesn’t explain why he’s also cold and hostile with the other guy who’s also dating a man. And he didn’t want to believe sweet Bruce would cheat like that. At least, he didn’t seem the type the other night.

But then why Bruce would still flirt so carelessly if he was dating him? Could it be to throw off all those rumours about them? Because it would explain why he’s getting kidnapped so frequently.

But even behind closed doors, he still wanted to sleep with him.

This is all a mess.

He’s a mess.

He should go to the one person that could have the answers.

Even though he’d decided to never come back to this city if he could help it, he still found himself taking a bus towards Gotham city. It would be way easier to get there flying than having to spend an hour and a half in an uncomfortable bus seat, but if he wanted to do this, he would need to be laying low as much as possible to avoid detection from the bat.

It didn’t take long to find the man he was looking for, he simply had to keep an open ear for any kind of gunshots he could hear, as he knew the vigilante wasn’t opposed to using guns. Clark was concerned about the number of gunshots he heard in one night in different parts of the city.

“Red Hood.” Clark said before the man could get on his bike and drive away.

“Boy scout.” The robotic voice from the helmet’s modulator reached him. He leaned on his bike, his arms crossed. “What brings the man of tomorrow to our lovely, green city?”

He ignored the sarcasm, walking closer to him. “We need to talk.”

“About…?”

“I know about you and Arsenal.”

It was hard to gauge a reaction out of him with the helmet on. The man kept quiet for several seconds.

“And that concerns you, because…?”

“I… First, I want to say that it’s alright. And if you ever feel that you’re not safe, you can always count on me if you need help.” Clark was able to hear the small ‘what the fuck’ coming out of the helmet. “I don’t know what the extent of your relationship with Batman is, if he’s your father or just a mentor, but whatever it is, you shouldn’t have to be shunned for being yourself.”

“Look, man, I appreciate the feelings and whatever. But I must know, what the fuck you’re talking ‘bout?”

“I… I thought Batman was mistreating you because you’re dating a man?”

“What?” The robotic voice was high pitched, a low chuckle coming out. “You think B’s homophobic?”

“He’s not?”

“Of course not. Hell, me dating Arsenal is probably the only thing he’s approved of me ever since I came back.”

Clark wasn’t sure what he meant for ‘came back’, but it wasn’t something of importance right now.

“But then… Oh, so the rumours are true?” He couldn’t help but feel even more disappointed, because that also meant that Bruce had tried to sleep with him even though he’s dating someone else, and he’s also gotten on the bad side of Batman. His voice had gotten small at the end, clearing his throat to hide that fact.

“What rumours?”

“Batman’s dating Bruce Wayne.”

This time, Hood’s boisterous laughter was heard through the whole alley, having to place his hands on his knees for support.

“You’re on your own, boy scout.”

𓆩𓆪

Several weeks had gone by since the gala fiasco, and Bruce had already been kidnapped twice, his lucky star —or as lucky as it could be—, had helped him leave unscathed just a couple hours later.

Of course, Clark would only find out about this when the news would report it in the evening news, as he hadn’t been in Gotham again since the night he met with Red Hood.

“Batman.” Clark greeted him when he saw the man walking into the Observation Deck. Tonight, they were both going to be alone for the night watch.

He hadn’t seen the vigilante in a while, as the man was ever busy with all the criminals running rampant in Gotham since they escaped the asylum a couple of weeks ago.  He and Wonder Woman had offered help, of course, but being the stubborn bat that he was, he never accepted, despising the presence of other supers in his city.

Which was the topic he wanted to talk about.

“Superman.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of me being in Gotham a month ago. I know you don’t like it when we step foot in your city, but I… I was visiting some friends, and happened to hear the screaming, I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. I hope you understand.”

The man had continued walking to the computer, ready for a night of sitting down in front of the screen until sunrise, waiting for an attack to happen, and not once acknowledged the kryptonian, besides the slight twitch on his fingers, not visible for the human sight, but enough for him.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

With a sigh, Clark sat on the air with his legs crossed, hovering a meter over the floor, looking at the Earth through the windows surrounding the deck.

An hour had turned into two, then into three, all spent in complete silence.

“I apologize for my comment the other day.” Clark settled on talking about the elephant in the room rather than continue like this. “I didn’t know you two were…”

“What are you talking about?”

He was going to make him say it, didn’t he?

“You, and Bruce. I didn’t know you two were a thing. And you don’t have to worry about me, I won’t get in the way of you two.”

“We’re not… You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Clark stood, walking towards the bat, his voice louder than it should. “Because then I don’t know why you’ve been acting so cold towards me, even more than usual. If you hate me because I kissed the man you’re dating or if you hate me because you’re a bigoted idiot, then please, let me know and stop with these childish attitudes.”

He waited one, two, three seconds and the man had barely even tried to face him, although he’d stopped tipping in the computer, but he didn’t say anything. “Figures.” Clark scoffed, turning around and ready to leave the deck to stay the night in any other part of the watchtower.

“Clark.” It wasn’t just that Batman talked that made him stop, but the fact that he used his civilian name.

And when he turned, he certainly wasn’t expecting to see the man without his cowl.

“Bruce?”

“I don’t hate you.” The man who spoke wasn’t Batman, nor it was Brucie. It was simply… Bruce, the real man that probably few people got to meet, probably just his family. “Quite the opposite.”

Taking long strides, Bat—Bruce walked until he was so close to him, they could almost melt into each other, placing his hands on his cheeks. He didn’t need to stand on his tiptoes this time, as the suit added him quite a few centimeters more. “Totally the opposite.”

And then, he kissed him.

[multi-level-shipper]

This shit was a fucking acid trip, like most of the game.

Anyway, something that poked my brain was the Infirmary. For all this game's insanity, there were actually some decent roots planted for worldbuilding/ character development.

It seems like the reason the cast ended up in Queen Bouncelia's domain is because they're treating the player as if they have 6 stars in GTA. Seline is no exception to this rule, and that seems to be her motivation for coming down to the lower floor, as she watched us leave in Chapter 3.

Toadster noted in his "Archives" that she was already hiding when brought in, and crying in her shell. She may have been antagonized by a bigger enemy- likely Kittysaurus or Tama/Chamataki (turtle chameleon thing), and she may have gone past the kingdom's walls for sanctuary. (That's just a loose theory, though.)

In any case, at some point she was frightened enough to shut down completely.

This could be some kind of anxiety attack, though there's no way to "diagnose" Seline at this point. Also interesting that Seline felt too afraid to even continue moving around on the lower floors. I think this is meant to speak to just how dangerous the lower floors are- if the giant ass snail is afraid, you should be, too.

Next, Jumbo Josh. Toadster categorizes him as a "Green Gorilla", which in hindsight, weirdly makes a lot of sense.

Firstly, an adult silverback gorilla can bench up to 4,000 lbs (or at least, that's what google told me.) Not that we needed an explanation of why he was able to throw Stinger Flynn, but I can only assume that if we adjusted that number for his size...it probably checks out.

Second, the fact that he walks like a chiropractor's worst nightmare. It took me a second, but I FINALLY realized that his posture is meant to IMITATE A GORILLA. Like, look at this:

DEFINITELY EXPLAINS WHY HE WALKS LIKE A HORSE IN GARRY'S MOD.

And thirdly, Josh's love for vegetables is also a gorilla trait. 85% of a gorilla's diet is leafy greens, with the remaining percentage basically amounting to termites and larvae.

Not too much to say about the Fucked Up Birds, but still! Nice to see them finally displaying a flamingo behavior (AKA their sleeping posture) because they seemed to lean more heavily on ostrich behaviors in previous chapters.

Toadster mentions in his archive for "The Teacher" that she keeps repeating the phrase "I can't be late" over and over to herself after being subdued.

He also notes that the bowling pins "calmed her down," which may not entirely be the case. In Chapter 3, in Banbaleena's "Classroom", each object had an assigned role like Cool Kid and Popular Kid. The bowling pins were meant to be the Bullies.

So Banbaleena is likely stuck in a prison of her own self-doubts right about now, which is doubly sad when considering her insistence in Chapter 3 that she was actually trying to be a good teacher. Either someone placed this idea in her head that she needs to strictly adhere to all these rules, or it's a stress she placed upon herself trying to fulfill her identity as a teacher.

Stinger Flynn gets better as the story progresses. He seems to have an ego to the point where he sees himself as a savior that can't see the faults in his own plans. His initial "safest procedures" plan seemed so obvious to him, but it seems as if he measures success by efficiency rather than the cost of human lives. While he's smart, he's not immune to being wrong, though he has yet to learn this.

He also seems to suffer from some form of depression, or at least intense sadness, and we see this as he talks to Banban in the latest hallucination sequence. Makes sense- his intelligence would make him much more privy to all the horrible things happening around him. It seems as if his high intelligence comes at a high price.

Last note- This might just be a case of recycling animations/rigs, but I think it's cute that Banban shares nearly the same emo pose as Banbaleena.

[mxtxfanatic]

Yi City Arc: Spooky Edition

Since I'm doing a spooky edition liveblog, that means y'all will be getting some spooky edition metas, and what better place to start than with everyone's favorite Yi City parallels! In this meta in particular, I want to discuss how mxtx weaponizes these parallels to temporarily trick readers into considering the wrong antagonist as the main villain.

I say it here that Jiang Cheng is introduced to us like a villain. In fact, up until this point in the novel, we don't have a villain. Every antagonistic character is dead, and Wei Wuxian has no fetters or obligations holding him back. But then Jiang Cheng enters the narrative, and unlike Lan Wangji's introduction, he is juxtaposed as cruel and bloodthirsty. In traditional English crime and mystery literature, Jiang Cheng would be Suspect #1. However, Suspect #1 in a mystery is almost always innocent of the main crime being investigated. Likewise—though I haven't read a lot of specifically mystery-genre cnovels—in cnovels with plots about protagonists uncovering the truth behind who schemed them into ruin, the first and most obvious antagonist thrown out is almost always just the cover for the true villain still lurking in the shadows. In mdzs, rather than using the characters' own deductions to mislead the audience—Wei Wuxian never suspects Jiang Cheng because none of their actions have ever been secret or hidden from the other—mxtx, instead, uses the Yi City arc.

How does this work?

Well, first she sets up heavy parallels between the major Yi City arc characters:

Wei Wuxian identifies heavily with Xiao Xingchen, particularly through his morality, dedication to justice, and his ending:

— To end up like that due to something that originally had nothing to do with him, that’s seriously...if Xiao Xingchen had been born a few years earlier, or if I had died a few years later, things wouldn’t have turned out like this. If I had been alive, something like this would never have been brushed aside. And I would definitely have become friends with a person of his character!

—Chapt. 30: Morning Dew III, fanyiyi

Inside the coffin home, Xue Yang paced as terrifying abuse flew from his mouth, full of both fury and rapture. “Saving the world! It’s so funny, I’m going to die of laughter. You can’t even save yourself!” Wei Wuxian felt several sharp pains stab at his brain. But this pain did not originate from Ah-qing’s soul. ... That very moment, as Wei Wuxian looked upon Xiao Xingchen’s body, he saw himself. A miserable failure, covered in blood, impotent, fingers pointed at him, furious denouncements shouted in his face. Powerless to reverse the motion of the sky. Powerless to do anything but weep.

—Chapt. 41: Flora IX, fanyiyi

Jiang Cheng, on the flip side of things, shares the same moral and life philosophy as Xue Yang, the villain of the arc.

If you are paying attention and connecting dots, it is at this moment in the narrative where you should start questioning if Wei Wuxian is actually the bad guy (if you hadn’t been already)—especially given how we see Xiao Xingchen so easily scapegoated for Xue Yang’s crimes simply because nobody bothered to verify any of the rumors they heard. However, this is where the red herring comes in: while Wei Wuxian—like Xiao Xingchen—proves to have been victimized by the scheming of others, Jiang Cheng, unlike Xue Yang, is not the main schemer behind Wei Wuxian’s downfall but, rather, an easily manipulated pawn, the perfect archetype of Suspect #1.

Jiang Cheng may have gleefully participated in and benefited from Wei Wuxian’s downfall, and we are even made privy to a slew of motivations for why he would do so, but what he lacked in the end was drive, ability, and initiative, the things that separate Suspect #1 from the true villain while making suspects such good false leads. An obvious answer throwing itself in front of the audience to attract its gaze is the easiest way to distract from the real mastermind sitting off-stage pulling strings. And if you, the reader, get so overconfident in your deduction skills that you stop looking at evidence and start making guesstimations and assumptions, you’re more likely to overlook the curtain in the background with the suspiciously human-shaped shadow inside it. After all, isn’t how Xiao Xingchen was labeled a vengeful murderer by the cultivation world because his sword was used as the murder weapon by Xue Yang proof enough of this?

[marshmallowprotection]

Now I'm thinking this vampire reader thing should extend to other Saerans so....what about Unknown. Oops the assistant turned out to be a vampire what he gon do. And I wonder about GE as well.....................

GE Saeran's favorite time of day? When the night met the day, and the moon fell in love with the sun. There were only two times during the day when he could show you the sunshine and the hazy blue sky that shifted into oranges, pinks, blues, reds, and purples... that blue sky was his favorite but you weren't always privy to it. How could one vampire see the sky when it was meant to torture them?

The sun wasn't very good for you, it would burn you, and if you were forced to stand in it longer than a couple of minutes, you might just waste away.

It wasn't fair.

How long had it been since you had seen the blue sky? How long had you spent your eternity clamoring for a chance to know what it felt like to be warm again? You never told him how you became a vampire in the first place but from that dazed look in your eyes whenever it came up, he knew it wasn’t a good memory. He didn't expect you to tell him how it happened or how long you had been living this way, but he knew in his heart that no matter how you felt, you yearned for what you could no longer have. 

You yearned for the sky just as he had when he was a little boy.

He couldn't blame you for dreaming, but he was surprised you never once considered going outside during the morning or late evening on your own. If the sun wasn't high in the sky, it couldn't hurt, so why in the world did you avoid it until you met him? What if it had to do with the pain in your heart? What if someone tried to use the sun to hurt... to hurt you? What if the sunshine held pain for you when it used to... bring you joy?

The thought made his chest ache.

Yet, even if you were scared, you still agreed to sit on the front porch with him to watch the sunrise. You talked about how good it was for you to see the sunrise from afar inside the safety of a building, but it was different from seeing it on the outside. You weren't as safe when you were outside, but he promised to protect you and help you feel a little safer than you would feel otherwise.

You pressed your head against his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around your waist. He knew the tell-tale feeling of your tremble, that sincere response of fear that only he was privy to because you would not show weakness in front of anyone but Saeran. He wouldn't ask to see you suffer, never, nor would you do the same for him. But, if you were scared... he'd never ask you to stay with him. You were allowed to be afraid of something that hurt you, and he knew better than to belittle such a serious fear in your heart.

"Do you want to go inside?"

You buried your head against his left side. If you wanted to leave, you would leave. You weren't tied down to him. He knew he wouldn't say a single word if you had to sprint away.

Your voice trembled. "No."

"Are you sure, my love?"

"Yes."

"You're allowed to say no if you're uncomfortable. I only asked you to join me this morning because I've seen you frown during the day if I leave you to work on our garden... I know you want to join me, but it isn't safe for you to come outside, even with the appropriate clothes to protect you from sun damage. I thought... this would be a safe way to give you the sun again, my love. But, if you're afraid, we can go to bed and return to the safety of each other's arms," he murmured.

"I miss it."

"Mmm?"

"I miss the sunshine... more than anyone. It's what I've missed most all these years... but when I met you, Saeran... when I met you... it... it was almost as if I had found the sunlight again. Seeing you smile... it reminds me how good it felt to sunbathe when I was a little kid. If I'm only allowed to feel warm underneath the glow of sunlight, I do truly hope it's yours I find comfort in for the rest of my days. I've seen your eyes... I've seen the happiness you experience when you see the sky. I want to... I want to see it in your eyes in person... not behind a door."

He held you that might tighter, "Then, open your eyes, my dearest one. The sky is bathed in morning dew... and its gentle light is giving us its gentle caress."

"It's touching me...?"

"It is, and you're not burned," he promised.

Hearing his voice made you lift your head and stare into the horizon where the sunshine refused to hurt you, and instead, welcomed you back into its open arms with light. He couldn't give you back the life you lost, but he knew he could offer you the next best thing, a gentle reminder that you were allowed to love the sunrise and sunset, given it would never hurt you like those who changed you had done.

Unknown never expected to pick up an assistant, nor did he expect to find one who didn't need to consume any food to survive. But, in his haste to remove someone who had no idea how a cellphone even worked, he made the mistake of dragging his prey back to his office without realizing that the windowless room was the perfect place to become prey himself.

Your sharpened fangs and wild eyes were one of the reasons he was drawn to you, but he thought it was a fashion trend.

Never did he once believe that your fangs would be as real as he was. Your teeth were sharper than any knife, and in the light of his flashing monitors, you looked more like a monster than he ever did. He didn't know how to feel about it, but, he was caught like a cat who nabbed the canary, only to realize the bird was far larger than he was.

You were useful, though.

For whatever reason, he picked up a creature of the night who didn't want to hurt anybody. Even if somebody had it coming, you weren’t the type to make anybody pay for it. Leave it to him to find a pacifist vampire, he hissed under his breath when you made yourself known to him. You could be of use to me if you used your fangs and almost impossible strength to tear apart my enemies... or bring them to me in an instant.

You wouldn't do that.

So, he had to make better use of you. He made you his assistant because it was far easier to have someone who only needed blood to survive. It didn't cause any trouble with his work and meant he didn't have to waste his time leaving his office to care for a lowly assistant. He didn't even have to worry about taking care of you, you took care of yourself. At least, for the most part, he couldn't let you stray far... if you left Mint Eye, you would run away from him, after all.

Which was how you came to this conclusion in the first place. Your teeth buried in his neck for a meal while his fingers continued to tap and hammer away on his mission. Since he was sitting down, he did not have to stop what he was doing to deal with the loss of blood. By the time he stood up again, his body had already gotten used to the blood loss and he could move around without too much effort. That was a fair deal.

You were good at convincing people to leave him alone, you had organized all the files he'd managed to steal from the RFA, and you knew how to operate a camera system. All that in exchange for a few measly drops of blood? It wasn't that difficult to make that deal in the first place. It was easier to deal with your damned fangs than it was to go to the basement and have elixir poured down his throat.

If he had to pick between the two different types of pain, he'd pick your fangs every time.

His vision blurred as your tongue lapped up the blood that cascaded down his throat. "Sorry, boss," your quiet voice broke through the soft sound of his ears ringing. "You taste so sweet to me for some reason. I might have taken more than I was allowed. You're the only human I have ever met was willing to give me blood, after all. It's hard to tell what's too much sometimes."

"My blood is all you need," his haughty voice cut through the haze of delirium. "You should.... count yourself... lucky that I let you feed off... off of me... in... in the first... place..."

Your hand stroked the side of his head, pushing back the bangs from his face as his clammy skin revealed itself. "Rest, my sweet human... even though I made sure you ate before I did, I know that was a lot to lose all at once."

"I'm not w..."

"You're not weak in the slightest," you assured him. You lifted your head to reveal your bloodstained lips, covered with traces of the very source of his life. It made his heart quiver and his body heat up with desire he couldn't yet understand as you added to your words with a twisted grin, "You're just my favorite treat."

Why... does it feel so good... to be yours?

[nocasdatsgay]

From the Shadows, the Beast Will Rise CH. 6

Pairing: Azriel/Eris | Word Count: 2284 | Chapter Rating: T

Warnings: Discussion of what happened to Mor in Autumn

Previous Chapter | Masterpost | Read it Here on A03

Fic Summary: Months after that one encounter, Eris receives demand for a response to his summons to visit the Night Court. He ends up with a warning for the future and a certain shadow singer under his skin

Chapter Summary: Az tells Mor and Cassian. Eris gets his court in order

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. Also discussion of Mor is done from Az’s POV. Her trauma is her trauma and not being negated. If Italics are missing cause I am tired. Will add links in a min.

Gen Tag List: @hieragalbatorixdottir @mybestfriendmademe

Azriel waited a week to tell Cassian. Even then, it wasn’t because he wanted to. They were in the training ring when it happened. Cassian knew something was wrong and when Az wouldn’t speak, Cass would push until he did. Azriel was thrown onto his ass and Cassian leaning above him. 

“I’m not moving until you talk, brother,” Cassian grinned, forearm pressed on Azriel’s chest so he couldn’t move. 

Azriel didn’t say anything. He stared past Cassian and into the blue skies above. His shadows refused to come to his aid. At least they were alone- Nesta and the others had long left the training ring. Cassian frowned down at him when the silence lapsed between them.

“Az. You know you can talk to me.” Somehow that didn’t reassure him. 

“You’re going to be angry,” he whispered. He still wouldn’t look him in the eyes. 

At that, Cassian moved off of him. He got to his feet and held out his hand to help Azriel up. Shadows curled up the corners of his wings where they hid from the sun. Cassian crossed his arms against his chest and Az decided to get it over with. 

“Erisismymate.” The words came out in a jumble, slurred together from his fear of speaking them aloud. When Cassian just stared, obviously confused, he sighed. “I said Eris is my mate.”

Az could see him stiffen, his body tense. When he dared to look Cassian’s shock was evident. He opened his mouth and closed it once. 

Az brushed his hair back. “I-“ Az swallowed his words, unsure of what else to say. “It snapped when he became high lord.” 

Cassian’s wings twitched as he seemed to relax his body. “So uh, does he know?” 

“Yes.”

Cassian nodded. “Do, you- fuck does Rhys know?” 

Az nodded. “I told him when I came back. I didn’t know how to tell you. I still don’t know how to tell Mor.”

“Do you even want the bond?” 

Yes, his mind screamed immediately but he clenched his jaw tight. He took a deep breath, and looked over at Cassian again. 

“I think- I think we should get Nesta and then I’ll explain.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Telling Nesta was somehow harder than telling Cassian. She came up from the library in a hurry with worry. Az watched her sit with her spine stiff and straight like she used to as he relayed the info. He didn’t look her in the eyes when he specifically called Eris his mate.Them the three of them sat on the kitchen benches in silence. Nesta crossed her arms, then broke the tense silence. 

“Well Cassian and I both know what it’s like to be bonded to someone you might not want.”

“Hey,” Cassian glanced at his mate with a scowl. 

“We have worked through it,” she reached over and put her hand on his arm. “But you can’t deny Rhys and Mor specifically weren’t happy about it at first. And neither were you.” 

Cassian bristled but his wings slumped behind him, knowing it was true even if he didn’t like it. Az wasn’t privy to the whole situation, just that they had taken up sessions with a priestess in the library. Neutral talking ground, as Nesta explained once. 

They could say what they needed to say with an unbiased mediator, one who could even get them to understand how and why they felt that way. Az only knew about it because the first session, Cassian was so angry he was sent out of the library  until he could calm down. 

“How do you feel about it?” Nesta pulled him from his thoughts. “This came out of no where. I mean, you can’t even be in the same room together.”

“About that.” Az rubbed the back of his neck. His shadows lazily swirled around him as if to help him stay calm. 

He didn’t go into too much detail about the past year. He did let the shadow thing slip, laughing for the first time that day remembering how Rhys reacted. Cassian choked on air and Nesta was leaning onto her hand, elbow propped on the table, grinning at him. 

“This is better than a Sellyn Drake novel.”

“Nesta!” Cassian scowled at his mate. “This isn’t the time.”

She rolled her eyes and brushed him off. “Please, this is the perfect time. Five hundred years of being enemies, ended by a mating bond. That would make a great novel.” She smirked at Az, “so when are you going to see him again.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him since it snapped. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to tell you all and he said he didn’t need a mate anyways.” 

“Bullshit. Take me to Autumn, I will knock some sense into him.” 

“Nes, please.” Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Az couldn’t fight the smile forming. “I want to give him time. Transition of power is always messy.” 

“You’ll have to speak to him eventually.” Nesta’s gaze studied Azriel’s. “Do you have a plan for that?” 

Az shifted on the bench. “I need to tell Mor first.” He did not miss the way Nesta and Cassian glanced at each other. “She has to know. She deserves to know and hear it from me.” 

“Good luck with that,” Nesta muttered. 

He didn’t respond because he knew he was going to need it. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Getting Mor to meet with him was impossible. It took another week and he finally made Rhys call her in. Once she was in Rhys’s office at the River house, Rhys called for him mentally. As soon as he walked in the room, Mor went to get up and leave. 

“Mor, sit,” Rhys said pointedly. 

“What’s wrong?” She froze by the chair but didn’t sit just yet. “Did something happen?”

“I need to speak with you,” Azriel answered for Rhys. “I knew you’d run off so I had Rhys call you in.” 

Her red lined lips pouted and she glared at him. “I wouldn’t run off.” 

“You’re literally standing because you went to leave. Just sit down, I don’t have time for this.” Azriel let his temper show and he felt Rhys glare at him. “You’ve been running from me for five hundred years. I know what it looks like.” 

Her cheeks turned as red as her dress but she sat down in her chair. Rhys got up and excused himself, shooting Az a look to behave. It was only when the door shut that Az relaxed slightly. He took a seat in front of Mor and leaned onto his knees. 

“I’m going to tell you something and you might react poorly.”

“By the cauldron if you tell me you’re still in love with me-“ 

“I came to tell you the exact fucking opposite. Are you serious?” Az stopped and clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking on the right side. “I haven’t been in love with you for a long time.” 

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Az shrugged, his expression cold as he felt about the situation. He wanted to rage at her. All these centuries of this little avoidance game she would play weighed heavy on him- had for years. And the secret she kept from all of them. The one  his shadows whispered to him centuries ago. He scoffed. 

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She scoffed. “Excuse me? I literally hooked up with males to show you I didn’t like you like that.”

“That’s not using your words, Mor.” She looked even more offended. He ran a hand through his hair. “That isn’t why I want to talk to you.” 

“Then why the fuck do you want to talk to me?”

“Eris is my mate.” 

Silence. Mor looked like she stopped breathing, her shoulders slumping as she stared at him. She paled and looked down at the floor. He knew this would happen. 

Az whispered again. “He’s my mate, Mor.”  

Mor stood, heels clicking on the floor as she grabbed a small trash bin and proceeded to vomit into it. Az winced at the sound but didn’t get up, uncertain if going to her would help. The door opened and Rhys rushed in. 

“I’m fine,” she coughed and spit into the bin. She shooed Rhys away. “I’m fine.”

“You threw up in my trash, that’s not fine.” Rhys grumbled, magicking away the mess. 

Mor pushed past Rhys and stopped short of Az. He stood and waited for her response. 

“Will you reject it?” Mor asked and searched his gaze. “You’ll reject it. Right?” 

Az frowned. “You want me to reject my mate?”

“You know what he did to me.” Tears filled her eyes. 

“He knew I was coming, Mor. He knew we would find you. He told me so himself.”

Mor shook her head. “He’s the reason I was there in the first place!” She screamed, more tears falling. “He’s a monster!” 

“Keir was the reason you were in that woods and you fucking know it!” Az glared daggers at her. “You blame Eris because he was an easy target. Your parents you have to see, but Eris is in a whole other court so it’s just easier. And we let you. We let you put the full blame on Eris.” 

“How can you say that to me?” She hissed. 

“Because it’s the truth and you don’t want to face it! What happened to you was horrific, but it’s not Eris’ fault!” 

“So you’ll just forgive him?” Mor threw her hands up. “That easy? After everything he’s done to me? To us? Because he’s your fucking mate?”

He looked her right in the eyes and replied. “Yes.” 

“Don’t ever speak to me again,” Mor clenched her fists by her side and looked at Rhys. “I’m leaving. Don’t invite me over if he’s here.” 

Rhys just stared dumbfounded as she stomped out the room. Az fell back into the chair and put his face in his hands. He knew it was going to be bad with Mor. He didn’t expect it to be like this. 

“Just give her time,” Rhys whispered. 

Something told Azriel no amount of time would fix this. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It took Eris several days to get the court in order. He promised his mother he would not kill his brothers, so he imprisoned them first. 

“It’s nothing personal,” He told them. The three of them glared at him, kneeling and bound in fire cuffs. “You’ll stay in your quarters until I feel I can trust you. Since the three of you decided to be cowards.”

He mended the wards of each of their rooms so they couldn’t leave and only a few could enter. Only Asher wasn’t angry with him; his imprisonment was more for the theatrics. The other two couldn’t know he and Eris made a deal almost a century ago. Their mother wasn’t happy with the arrangements either but she held her tongue. At least to Eris, she did. 

All his hard work over the centuries payed off. Most of the court fell in line with the power change. Only two families loyal to Beron fled. He sent formal notices that they could only return if they pledged their loyalty. Eris knew they thought he’d murder them- that was their problem, not his. 

He sent notice to Lucien. Eris knew his brother may not return right away or ever. But the ability to enter without needing an emissary title was the important part. Particularly for their mother. The relief on her face when he told her about it was worth it. 

Before he knew it, another week passed. He obtained his allegiances of his brothers, buried his bastard of a father, and was formally crowned High Lord of the Autumn Court. His days were busy with drafting new trade agreements and reforming the previous laws. So busy, his mother didn’t ask- she told him to meet her for tea. No sooner had the cups been poured, did the question he’d been avoiding come up. 

“Have you spoken to your mate?” His mother gave him a pointed look, sipping her tea. 

“Have you spoken to yours?” Eris retorted. 

His mother sighed heavily, lowering the cup to the saucer in her lap. It was rude of Eris- he knew that. He didn’t know exactly how they ended things, but he could only assume she didn’t reject the bond. Not with Helion alive and well all these centuries later. 

“I sent him a letter, that night. He sent one back a day ago. I have yet to summon the courage to open it.” 

He nodded. He understood. He didn’t have the courage to acknowledge the rogue shadow following him around since that night. He could only assume the shadow was sent by Azriel to keep an eye on him. However, after learning they have a mind of their own, he wondered if that was true or if it stayed on its own. 

“If you read your letter from Helion, I will write one to Azriel.” He glanced up to see a small smile on his mother’s face. 

“I will agree to those terms.” 

“Good.” Eris took a sip of his own tea. 

A small part of him felt guilty later that night as he penned the letter. He promised he would write it. He had no intentions of sending it. He poured his heart into that paper with ink, things he’d bottled up even before the bond snapped. Then he sealed it and left it on this desk in his chambers. It was a shame he didn’t vocalize his plan. Maybe the rogue shadow would have left it where it lay instead of delivering it directly to Azriel when he shut the door. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

may i req sleepover fluff or early morning cuddles with billy batson? i just think your writing is really neat 🫶🫶

I’m glad you enjoy my writing! I hope you like this also because once again it’s a long one. 🦦

It was Darla’s idea that they should have a sleepover. Billy, however, felt indifferent towards the whole thing;

‘We all live under the same roof, how’s a sleepover going to make it any different?’ He said but if he knew Darla, he knew that she was more then adamant in making the sleepover happen. ‘Yeah but you can always invite y/n to join.’ She countered, smiling at how her brother visibly perked up at your name; unfortunately Darla wasn’t the only one to witness this.

‘I’m sure Billy will do just that as soon as we leave the room, just you wait.’ Freddy snickered as Billy nudged him harshly in the arm, hissing at him to ‘shut up’ whilst trying to conceal his embarrassment before being greeted by an expecting Darla. ‘Fine.’ He sighed, his hand going fishing in his Jean pocket for his phone for your contact as he caught Darla and Freddy giving each other a high five from the corner of his eye.

A smile gracing his lips at his siblings excitement, not wanting to admit to the sensation he felt that only grew at the aspect of you spending the night; a feeling that only grew tenfold when you agreed to the invite.

Not even halfway through the second movie, Darla had fallen asleep against your side, Whilst Freddy, Mary, Pedro and Eugene left for bed, leaving only you and Billy being the only participants of the supposed sleepover, to which Billy felt like it was a set up of sorts that he wasn’t privy to, especially with the cheeky look Freddy tossed him before he had left for their room. He didn’t exactly approve his family prying into his nonexistent love life but that didn’t mean the intentions behind it wasn’t warming to him.

Not when he knew how much of a supporter Darla was of you and him being together, so much so that she often tried in becoming a matchmaker for you both whenever you came over, but her plans always seemed to end in busts that were in no particular fault of her own; Billy just so happened to have a tendency of self sabotaging things for himself. Especially good things.

‘Should we take her to bed?’ You asked quietly, trying your hardest not to speak above a certain volume nor jostle as much in fear of waking the girl practically clinging to your side like a koala. Billy chuckled at the predicament you were in and made himself more comfortable on the couch, the movie -with fifteen minutes left of runtime- continued to play before an audience of none, seeing as how your attentions were more focused on the other then whether was being presented on screen. ‘Nah, I’d say she’s more then comfortable where she is.’ He responded, smirking at your deadpan expression.

‘Oh ha ha, you must believe yourself a comedian.’ You retorted, stilling all movement when you felt Darla shift in her sleep, it wasn’t until she nuzzled back into your side again where you let yourself heave a sigh of relief, which didn’t fail in making Billy chuckle. ‘Oh shut it you, chuckle fuck.’ You hissed, lightly snacking his knee that was pressed against your own. Something you hadn’t taken notice of until now…

We’re your knees always that close? If not then when?

‘Don’t let Darla hear you using that language y/n. You’ll become a bad influence.’ Billy teased, finding amusement in your frustration as you rather aggressively flipped him off in response. ‘I was being serious though, shouldn’t we get Darla to bed, I don’t want her to wake with a bad neck.’ You told him, looking over at the sleeping girl who was -at this point- too far into her slumber to be easily awoken by a sudden shift in movement. Billy looked passed you and at his sister, watching fondly as her hands were clutching to your shirt tightly as though you were her beloved plushie, before looking back to you as you looked down at Darla fondly; making sure the blanket you slipped over her form doesn’t falter and expose her to the chilly air of the room despite aching for sleep yourself. Feeling particularly nice tonight, Billy decided to cut you so lack and lend a hand.

‘Alright, I concede, let’s get this one to bed then shall we.’ He said as he hauled himself from the sofa, moving over to Darla’s side and began to gently pry her hands from your shirt, allowing them to cling to his shirt instead as he brought his arms underneath her legs and behind her back, before mentally counting down from three as he stood back to full height. Making his way towards the staircase Billy gave you one request before heading up. ‘Keep my seat warm for me will you.’

‘it’s the least I can do for my valiant hero.’ You sarcastically retorted.

By the time Billy returned from tucking Darla into bed, you were stretched out across the sofa, fast asleep and with the blanket covering the bottom half of your form. ‘I give you one task and you go ahead and fall asleep,’ he says to himself in faux annoyance, hands on his hips as he stood by the sofa, ‘typical.’ He softly tutted but instead of going to bed himself, Billy decided to join you on the sofa, fatigue quickly catching up to him as he laid his head on the armrest as sleep soon encapsulated him.

The next morning, Freddy and Darla found you and Billy snuggled up on the sofa. They proceeded to share another high five.

[daceydeath]

Coffee & Cookies

Pairing: Felix x M reader Word Count: 678 Genre: Angst (slight), Fluff Warnings: None Reqested by @oliveroliveoil (I hope you like it)

The café was almost empty as you waited for Felix to turn up, it was a strange feeling not being sure if you were about to be stood up or not. Yes Felix was incredibly sweet and kind but he could also be rather shy and you had a sneaking suspicion that his members didn't totally approve of the whole idea, although you weren't sure if it was the whole situation of you being a guy or that they were just trying to protect Felix as best they could.

Minutes were ticking by and Felix was now officially 15 minutes late, you sat playing with your phone trying not to make eye contact with the girl behind the counter who was beginning to look at you sympathetically as though she knew something you were not yet privy to. Until the bell chimed above the door and a small herd of college looking students descended upon the counter to order and you were able to avoid her pitying eyes. You hadn't noticed that at the end of the line of the rowdy students was Felix his eyes darting around to see if you were still there before breaking into a relieved grin.

"I am so sorry I'm late" Felix whispered softly to make sure you were the only one who heard "The shoot went on longer than I thought it would and I shouldn't make excuses I should just say I'm sorry again".

"It's alright Lix" you smiled your eyes crinkling at the beautiful boy in front of you "I just was starting to think I had the times wrong".

"No, this is my fault!" his deep voice affirmed before looking back towards the counter and the collection of people now making the café noisier than he would have liked "Should we order and go? We can head to the park?"

"Yeah, I'd like that" you smiled standing up and following Felix to the counter pulling out your wallet to pay for your own order.

"Can we get two iced Americano's to go and four of the cookies please" Felix smiled angelically charming the girl who just smiled and nodded at him ringing it all up for him and starting on his order immediately.

"Did you just?" you trailed off as Felix smirked at you tucking the bag of cookies he had been handed into his bag.

"Yes it's my apology" he continued thanking the girl for the drinks before leading you towards the door. You walked in a comfortable silence sipping your drinks until you reached the park where Felix felt a little more comfortable and started to walk a little closer to you.

"To be honest Lix, I thought you might not show up today. The others didn't seem so thrilled about us spending time together" you sighed, turning to look at him slightly as you walked down one of the paths towards a set of large shady trees.

"I know they were a bit tense about it" Felix pouted slightly his perfect bottom lip poking out just enough to make him look adorable, not sad "but it wasn't because it's you, it's because they worry about me".

"That this will end up badly if people find out?" you nodded knowing that this was all very much meant to look like two friends hanging out not a date or anything even vaguely more intimate.

"Not really, more like I might get hurt or that you might get hurt. People are not often kind when you do what I do" he mumbled purposely moving his hand so it brushed yours, sending goosebumps up your arm. You remained silent as you collectively wandered towards a park bench that was a little more secluded from the main park.

"I'm glad you came though" you smiled sitting beside Felix on the bench as he pulled the cookies from his bag "I really wanted to spend time with you".

"Me too" Felix grinned his eyes crinkling into pretty little moons before a comfortable silence fell over the pain of you.

Fin

A/N: Thank you for reading, this was my first attempt at same sex fluff and I hope I did it justice. If you have any suggestions for me please let me know it helps my writing getting constructive criticism.

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz, @armystay89, @damnyouficc, @roamingpolar, @tara-skyhold, @bakedlilgoonie, @krishastumblernow, @mrsseals16, @fawnpeaks, @leeknowinggg, @uno7, @tanzen-ist-gold, @junebug032

[witchhazelevesque]

Sad People Dancing Chapter 8

Preview under the cut

Jason stops him by saying, “I’m worried about something.”

And of course Leo will listen.

”Look, I don’t have a good way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. I’m worried about- how attached you’re getting to Calypso.

Leo… has no thoughts in his mind for maybe the fifth time in his life.

”It’s just, immortals never stay with their mortal companions, and then they leave and sometimes the person can’t cope with it and I just don’t want to see that happen to you,” Jason goes on.

Leo- feels a strange calm layer over the overwhelming urge to groan into his hands.

”Okay, let me assuage those worries,” Leo says, “Because that is not going to be an issue-“

Jason swoops in to say, “I know that it feels that way right now because you care about her and you trust her and it’s all great but-“

“As I was saying,” Leo says enunciating very carefully. “That is not going to be an issue because she and I have discussed it already.”

“You have?” Jason asks, looking surprised.

“We have,” Leo says, “You remember those two weeks I was gone, I’m not sure if they were significant enough to take note of, but in a magical bubble with a fucked up time stream, it felt like months and months and the only thing there was for us to do was to talk to each other, so we covered a fair bit of ground.”

He takes a deep breath, and acknowledges that Jason is coming from a good place with this, even if he’s doing it poorly. Beryl Grace, Leo remembers, and it’s like a tether back to himself, something heavy and tragic and unmovable. Jason made him privy to that, Jason asked him to be privy to that.  Leo probably should have seen this coming.