#but i'm stress writing

[necrotic-nephilim]

as much as I love the common "Tim worships/stalks Jason" trope in TimJay fanfiction because it's Good and making Tim a weird little freak is Fun, I think the underutilized dynamic is where Jason is the one weirdly obsessed with Tim and makes it Tim's problem.

Like, the moment Jason is confronted with the information that a third Robin exists, the first thing he does is cover his wall with pictures of Tim so he can just obsess and torture himself over it. That is the behavior of a man who is Unwell over Tim's existence and I love it.

red hood: lost days #4

And as much as a shitshow as The Titans Tower Incident™ is characterization-wise (though I think it has far more merit in depicting Jason's character than people give it credit for but I digress-) there's something very fun about the fact that even after kicking his ass, Jason respects Tim and is impressed by him.

teen titans (2003) #29

And on top of that, Jason can't seem to stop trying to ask Jason to Tim to work with him in some capacity.

robin (1993) #177

batman: battle for the cowl #2

While Battle for the Cowl is an exceptionally bad comic, especially for its characterization of Jason and the "be my Robin" bit is taken deeply out of context, I do think it's interesting how obsessed Jason is with believing that Tim is extremely competent, only held back by being "brainwashed by Bruce". (hence him leaving Tim for dead later on in the comic.) Jason seeing a darker side of Tim and wanting to bring that out of Tim, wanting to see what Tim could be if he let go of his loyalty to Bruce is so fun to me, tbh.

And in Robin #177, Jason seems genuinely upset Tim doesn't want to work with him. Jason sees such a raw potential in Tim and is obsessed with it, constantly wanting Tim to work for him and see Tim be the type of person Jason is. And despite Tim rejecting him, Jason doesn't shoot to kill Tim. I just cannot get over the fanfic potential of Jason obsessing over Tim, tracking him and seeing what he's capable of and what he could be capable of. Wanting to make Tim see things the way he does. To Tim it's corruption, to Jason it's freedom. Tim trying to 'save' Jason is fun and all, but Jason trying to corrupt Tim? That's even more fun to me. Watching that power struggle between them, Tim unable to get Jason off his heels as Jason gets more and more possessive and bold with each attempt.

And when Jason sees Tim successfully get Gotham back under control after a gang war, he's impressed. He praises Tim, even. And then Tim just. Breaks him out of prison.

robin (1993) #182

The way they're constantly trying to see something in the other that isn't there, hoping the other will come around? That is the most fucked up hate/love dynamic ever. Jason keeps coming back to Tim, keeps trying to find ways to get Tim onto his side. They're always chasing each other. And I think Jason would be the one to confess love first, the one to do anything to make Tim his. And when you consider after all of this, Tim has his Red Robin arc and is at his lowest, getting the closest he ever gets to considering murder? I think it'd be so fun to see Jason take advantage of that and worm his way back into Tim's life and finally push Tim over the edge.

[nooling]

Finding 3-4 year old art I forgot to upload here. Old zine work and stuff

[becca-e-barnes]

all i can think about is bucky literally BEGGING to eat your pussy. just on his knees, calling himself a needy slut, just looking up at you with puppy dog eyes while he just begs for your pussy on his mouth. ugh.

Men who are this into eating pussy have a special place reserved for them in Heaven. Hearing someone beg to go down on you is life changing when they know what they're doing 🙈

But you're so right, Bucky would be so willing to degrade himself like that just to be allowed to go down on you. He'd be on his knees, trying to ignore how full his balls feel, begging for you.

"P-please." His voice is so quiet you almost start to question if he said it intentionally. "I need to taste you. I can't think about anything else."

His cock twitches despite how heavy it looks, flushed and angry against the pale skin of his thighs.

"Really?" You tease, tilting his chin up with two fingers so he's looking at your face, rather than your body. "Tell me exactly what you're thinking. Describe it to me"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I'm thinking about how soft you are, how warm and silky your cunt feels under my tongue. I'm thinking about burying my tongue as deep inside you as I can reach and still wishing I could get deeper. I want to feel how wet you are but more than anything, I want to taste how wet you are. I want to dream about it for the rest of the week. Every time I stroke my cock I want to be able to remember how you taste."

Precum drips from his tip and you're not sure you can deny him much longer. Not when he's making it sound so appealing.

"Do you even hear yourself?" You do your very best to act like you don't love the sound of every word that has just come out of his mouth.

"I do. I sound like a shameless, filthy, desperate slut. The type of slut who wants to kiss and lick and worship your sweet pussy until you're so sensitive you have to force me to stop." His hand wanders between his own legs, tugging his stiff length to the mere thought.

He's not above begging and you know that. He'll draw this out as long as he needs to until he gets his way but there's very little sense in that when you want this just as much as he does.

"Lie on the bed." You give him time to make his way over before following, lining yourself up just above his face.

You take a second to smooth his hair, enjoying the feeling of his freshly shaved face against the sensitive insides of your thighs.

He's looking up at you, your eyes meeting his. "Thank you." The relief in his voice is clear right before he grasps your hips and pulls you down onto his mouth.

Fuck, he's incredible. This is the mouth you dream about when you're alone. His tongue massages your clit, stroking back and forth before dipping into your fluttering entrance. You swear he must feel what he's doing to you. You feel your cunt clenching and rippling, your muscles contracting in response to the pleasure and for a second you wonder if he can tell.

He's hungry for this; he has been for hours. He's moaning and slurping obscenely, his tongue buried in your cunt. You don't even need to look over your shoulder to know that he's alternating between fucking his own fist and gripping the base of his shaft tight enough to stop him from spilling his release all over himself too soon.

It's very hard to tell which of you enjoys this more.

[poetryvampire]

painfully needy Rolan going into rut

Had this on the brain lately. I don't think it would take much to make Rolan an absolute mess but imagine how worse it would be when he's going into rut. Boy would snap so fast

Rolan x afab non-tiefling reader

Have some 🔥spicy🔥 musings

*this went longer than I wanted lol. But if you like it tell me if you want more 🧡

● Rolan had been doing this dance with you for months now. Both working at Sorcerous Sundries you saw each other regularly, even tried to work together as much as possible (not that he'd ever admit that). The banter, the playful mockery leading to not so subtle flirtation was easy until now.

● The conversations didn't flow like before. A joke about becoming a doe eyed scarcely dressed maiden -like the ones on the covers of those novels you so enjoy- suddenly lead his mind to wander. Any wisecrack replaced with the image of you gazing at him so lustfully. An image that stays with him for the rest of the day (and night).

● Lia and Cal are very vocal about his uptick in irritability. He tries to ignore them but they're not wrong. Ever little thing sets him off. He's frustrated at himself. For letting the feelings get so far without truely noticing. For being too proud or too embarrassed to act on them.

●He often forgets his words as his eyes lingered on your lips, your neck, your figure. More than once you caught him staring and to his surprise no offense was taken. Just a quizzical look, perhaps a soft smile that flooded his face with warmth.

●Rolan would have almost preferred you'd have met him with anger. Now the hope of you ran rampant through him. That if he was ever to give in he may be met with the embrace he so longed for. The need for you was growing by the day. He even took care to not stand to closely to you now. He coursed himself for it. How had he become so starved for affection that even the scent of you sprung his body to life.

●The wizard had spent many nights forced to take action if he was to ever find sleep. He'd be tangled in his sheets, hair wild, trusting violently into his own fist. He tries to keep his fantasies to more abstract forms of pleasure but as hard as he tries the vague shapes melt into crystal clear images of you. It would always be you around him like a vice that would push him over the edge.

● There were times he'd lose himself so throughly he'd cry out your name as he came. Embarrassed by this lack of control, Rolan told himself it was better to happen here than in front of you.

● Going into work that morning something felt off. Rolan's whole body felt extra sensitive, aching. The horrible thought finally struck him at midday. Was he going into rut? Now!? With such little warning? He calms himself. He's not certain after all.

● Until he's been paired with you to clean out and old study turned storage room. He's hyper aware of your scent. Its filling his lungs,making his knees weak. The room isn't exactly small but it's stuffed with stacks of books making moving around a problem. You're constantly having to squeeze (delightfully, terrifyingly) close to each other.

● Luckily you're busying yourself with the task at hand. Rolan prays you won't notice how red (red-er) his face is or the sizable bulge he's currently cloaking with a stack of books. The straining against his pants is almost painful. He's eyeing the door, anything to escape the heat building in his blood.

●His eyes fall back to you and all notions of making a run for it leave his mind. Along with everything else that isn't right in front of him. You looked a vision, standing on and old box body spread across the book self as you attempt to reach something on the top shelf. Not only was it a perfect view of your form, it reminded him of a pose one might see in an old painting.

●Suddenly the box wobbled threatening to send you falling backwards. Your scream was cut short as you felt Rolan catch you, arms wrap around your middle tightly pressing you to him. His face buried in your hair he couldn't help utter a deep groan. The wave of intoxicating aroma washing away his last bit of restraint.

●With ease he flips you around, pressing you into the shelf, a maon escaping your lips. Your hands came to his chest not to push him away but in a gentle caress.

●'Rolan? Please,' was hardly out on your mouth when they were swallowed by his lips. He kisses you like a drowning man breaking the water's surface. Madly, desperately as if any second you may be taken away for him. Hungrily he deepens the kiss and your lips part for him with ease, both of you relishing in the taste.

●It's only when you part for air he realizes he's been rocking his hips into you. An apology catches in his throat as you grind back against him. He's dizzy with lust, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

●His lips find your neck, kissing, sucking and biting. Trying his best not to break the skin. Your moans drive him on. His hands are frantic running all over you. Soon your hands lead his to the laces on your dress. He makes quick work of it.

●Rolan takes you in his arms again and lays you down on a near by table. A little too eager he tears your under things away completely. But to his awe you only laugh and spread yourself out for him to drink you in fully. You're a goddess in his eye and he intends to worship.

●Words spill senselessly from him as he lavishes you with his mouth. 'Fuck, Fuck! You're beautiful you're perfect. I need- God's, l need you I need you.' He hasn't the brain for elegance now. He's kissing you everywhere maoning words of love into your skin.

● As he makes it to your thighs he cannot help but bury is face between them. The sweet taste of your sex has him throbbing with out so much as a touch. He wants to make sure you're nice and ready for him. You're not a tiefling after all and he couldn't bare the thought of hurting you. It doesn't take long before you're dripping wet against his tongue as he slides wildly between attacking your entrance and your clit.

●You stifle a scream as an orgasm suddenly rips through you, your thighs shaking in his grasp. Youre still panting but you pull him away, drawing him closer to you. As you pull him into a soft kiss your hands unlace his pants (finally) freeing his erection. Though to hold him lightly his gasp is sharp. He's painfully hard; his head already glistening with precum.

●As he runs he length against your folds he tries to center himself. He doesn't want to be too rough or finish terribly fast. He wants to go slow but when he catches on your entrance he can't help but thrust into you, the relief of his agony so close. You tremble but encourage him on. His name quickly becoming a soft prayer on your lips.

●He's wrapped inside you now, almost all the way. The pleasure overwhelming him he opts for quicker shallow thrusts. He's taken aback by how vocal he is as more sweet lustful nothings spill from him. Rolan's control is fading fast. He's practically shaking, slamming himself into you losing whatever rhythm he had. The sight of your face contorting with pleasure is pushing him to his end. He can feel the hot pull in his gut. And suddenly something else as.

●A chill runs over him as he feels the swelling at the base of his cock. He grasps it and pulls out not wanting to subject you to something he didn't even take the time to explain. In part he's too late. He didn't fully knot but he still comes hard, spilling thick ropes all over your stomach and thighs. Fuck, you're beautiful like this.

● He blushes deeply and panics, apologizing over and over. He didn't want it to be like this. You run your fingers through his hair and kiss him gently. You don't know that much about teifling biology but Gods you wanted to learn. Rolan tries to believe you, that this wouldn't scare you off.

● He adjusted his pants, somehow still as uncomfortable as before. Perhaps it was the sight of you dressing. How you made no move to do away with his mess before you did. He could take you again easily. But not here.

● You convince him to claim illness and leave work early. To take time to rest. He agrees wanting to lock himself away from the world. And yet he also agrees to meet you that night. Then he'd have a more level head. A chance to explain himself and perhaps to hold you in his arms for longer.

Xoxo thanks for reading friends ❤️

[yeonjune]

Yeonjun about the strain he felt while preparing for his debut solo project ✙ "GGUM" MAKING FILM

[lynaferns]

I'm seeing a lot of people saying stuff like

"it makes me sad that he's mean :(" "I'm scared that my au is not accurate anymore" or "I got my interpretation of him wrong"

And I think you should put this new information about the DCA at a side for a moment, go talk to friends and info dump about your original AUs and ideas, brighten up a little bit that spark that makes you create your art and just have fun talking about it. Because the fact that he's sassy in one game doesn't mean that that's the only trait to his personality now.

He can be mean, he can be anxious, short tempered, good intended, caring, dramatic, a little bitch, a cinnamon roll... He can be all the things you can come up with, in this fandom he's always been all of the above and more in different ways, in different stories. And you can still write him the way you want, people can still interpret him the way they want, don't let canon or other people or your own thoughts stop you from creating your AUs.

Instead use it to get inspired, get new ideas and create new stories. They turned the tables, you can turn them back up. He can be mean because of the virus but get softer to you with time, you can make a story about self-confidence and worth, he can hate and love his job simultaneously for different reasons.

The AUs where he's soft and caring are still going to be there, the fics where he's good with kids and patient are still going to get written. Keep writing those fics, don't stop just because canon says otherwise. I stopped writing my steampunk AU when the mimic was revealed to be burntrap and not Afton because "it wasn't canon anymore so my AU is not accurate anymore" and I'm still with that thorn stuck in the back of my head for not continuing writing even if it wasn't canon accurate anymore. Because I actually got excited about writing that AU but for the way my brain see things "if it wasn't canon accurate it wasn't worth it" and let me tell you that's a shit of mentality.

So please

Please please please please

Don't give up on your stories and creativity like that.

The immense variety of characterizations and AUs is one of the pillars of this community and one of the coolest things. The fact that you can come up with any concept for these two dorks and make it an investing story and you have a whole catalog to choose from what you're going to see next. Don't let that stop.

I love this community even if I don't understand it sometimes and I barely interact, I love seeing people having fun making their AUs, going nuts making fanarts and gifting art to each other just because it makes them happy.

Don't let this limit you.

Now I don't care how you share this, if rebloging, or reposting it, or rewriting the whole thing but shorter in your own post but just share this feeling with the community. It would be so sad if all the things that makes this place special crumbled because people aren't confident anymore in how they write the DCA because of a game that came out yesterday.

[whumpster-dumpster]

So funny story, I had to hold my arms super tense for basically a whole day and let me tell you, the uncontrollable shakes I had when I finally loosened up. Like I could barely grip anything because everything was so spazzy. TLDR do that to your whumpees, have them hold a stress position that basically sets them on vibrate mode until the terrible soreness kicks in

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 31 / 31 * PEPSI FREE — ACROSS TIME 」

[fattributes]

It's really hard for me to ask this, but would anyone be able to help me financially get home from work and a doctor's appointment this week? I'm already taking the bus as often as I can, but there isn't one that runs by the time I get off work, and I won't be able to get home otherwise. My next paycheck is expected to drop on the 15th, and I currently only have $5.26 in my bank account. I would really, deeply appreciate any help I can get. Thank you.

cash app: $fattributes ko-fi: fattributes paypal: fattributes@gmail.com

[hello-from-nrc-infirmary]

Vern's Hometown: Centennial Celebration

Book 1: A Founding Fiasco

Chapter 1: A Tiny Dilemma

"Oh! And umm... anyone who needs their refill while I'm gone-"

"-has to present their student ID and we check the chart... We know! Just go," Pam snaps as they tap their roots on the desk.

Vern nods, more to himself than the plants, "o-okay.... umm... r-right. Okay. Call if you ummm... need anything!"

The crocuses start prodding him to move towards the door. All of them start talking slightly over each other, "don't worry! Bennet is coming in to help!!!!"

He hesitantly lets them push him out while trying to not step on any of their thin roots. Not even a moment after the little flowers shove him into the hall, the infirmary door slamming shut echoes off the stone walls. He blinks, adjusting his satchel before starting off towards the mirror hall. Each footstep disturbs the silence of the school.

It was too early to leave, and yet... his amber gaze drops to the basket in his grip. The lavender cloth covering it slightly rustles as he walks. He hadn't found someone to watch his bunnies. The centennial will keep him busy and his stomach twists at the thought of not having enough time for them. He considers asking one of Uncle's... no, they would also be busy.

As he arrives at the mirror chamber, Koa lifts his head from where he's laying. Vern let the elk out of the stables earlier. His familiar had sent him out of the room several times in the past few hours. The elk's ear twitches, watching Vern carefully as he stares at the mirrors.

"Patience... you-"

"-I know," he sighs, grip tightening as he turns to Koa, "I'm umm... my stomach is all um... knotted a-and ummm... my hands are umm... shaky, too..."

"That is your nerves and anxiety. He will-"

"-and if he doesn't? What if no one-"

"-Vern," Koa stands, taking a few strides towards him. The elk bends its head down to press against Vern's forehead, "everything will be alright."

Chapter 2: The Sleepiest Solution

“Hey~“

Vern jumps a little at the familiar voice. Smiling as he turns, he takes care to not jostle the basket of bunnies too much. His nerves are somewhat eased to see Steel finally join him. Part of him wanted to ask about the lack of any visible blot, but the memory of Pam’s scathing remarks tie his tongue.

“G-good morning, I’m umm… thank you, again for um…” he pauses, noticing Nightshade attempting to nose his way out of the basket. Vern frowns a little as he carefully tries to nudge the rabbit’s head back under the blanket.

“Eh, no problem..” he earns a shrug and a raised brow, “you brought the bunnies?”

Vern lifts the basket higher to let Steel pet Nightshade, “I umm… couldn’t find someone to um… watch them…”

“Hm...” a playful grin slowly crosses Steel’s features, “I know someone~”

He looks up at him, “r-really? Are you umm…. sure they won’t mind?”

“Sure...” Steel only winks “it’ll be fun~”

“O-okay…” Vern fidgets slightly, but quickly follows him. He’s hesitates before stepping through the Diasomnia mirror. The ever-looming storm causes his nerves to spike as lightning flashes. Walking faster, he does his best to stay close to Steel while his amber gaze continuously darts to the sky. His muscles lose some tension as they enter the dorm. Every window they pass, he unconsciously checks the sky. Vern briefly draws Steel’s attention as he accidentally bumps into his arm.

“… right. I can take them for you, if you want,” he offers, his voice a bit softer than normal.

Vern stiffens at a distant rumble of thunder, “I-I would umm… rather um… s-stay…”

“… alright..”

They eventually reach a familiar door, giving Vern pause as Steel steps into the dorm. Despite his initial hesitation, he follows and looks around. It’s probably a good thing that Silver has not woken up, or perhaps it’s the opposite?

“You can set them over there.”

Nodding, Vern places the basket in the corner. Smiling to himself, he whispers a small farewell as he casts for some vines to create a nice enclosure for them.

“A-and you’re umm… sure he won’t mind?”

Shrugging, Steel leads Vern back into the hall, “animals like him, no worries~”

Vern nods as they head back towards the mirror chamber. He barely notices Steel quickly sending a text and quietly hopes he tells Silver about the bunnies.

Chapter 3: A Land Called Paradise

Vern looks around as they return to the mirror chamber. Koa seems to have stretched his legs a bit while waiting. The elk's ear twitches as the pair returns, aware of more footsteps heading towards the chamber.

"You found a suitable place for the small ones?"

Vern glances at Steel, a bit of humor lighting his own eyes after a moment, "I ummm... think so, yeah..."

"Good," Koa nods, "it's almost time for the others to be arriving..."

Book 1: [1] [2] [3]

Book 2: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5A] [5B] [6] [7]

Book 3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

[lost-in-fandoms]

This is me, trying to preemptively soothe myself for whatever will be said about Daniel in this incoming race week. This got longer than I was expecting, it's about 3.5k, so it's on ao3 too if you prefer to read it there.

Daniel wakes up to the feeling of Max sliding in bed behind him. He smells like Daniel's body wash and his skin is still warm and damp when he tucks himself close against Daniel's back, knees slotting in behind his.

Still too asleep to find a way to work his voice for a proper hello, all Daniel manages is a sleepy sigh, but Max doesn't seem to want to break the silence either, squeezing the arm he sneaked around Daniel's waist in his own quiet greeting, smushing his face against the sweaty back of Daniel's neck.

The room is still fully dark, a combination of the blackout curtains and the fact that it's still not even dawn, so Daniel is happy to let the sound of Max's breathing pull him back under, until he realises two things.

First, Max is still curled up close behind him, sweat already condensing between them, not rolling away like he usually does, complaining about Daniel's mound of blankets, which piles up especially high when Max isn't there.

And second, Max is supposed to be in England.

Suddenly much more awake, he opens his eyes again, trying to make his sluggish limbs coordinate to allow him to turn around, but Max squeezes him harder, keeping him in place, shaking his head slightly, nose dragging against Daniel's skin.

"Hey," Daniel mumbles, raspy and heavy with sleepy. Max doesn't answer.

"Max," he tries again, feeling more and more awake, as confusion and worry start to mix in his stomach.

Max, stubborn in this like in everything else, doesn't budge. His steady breath is damp on Daniel's nape.

For a moment, Daniel considers the pros and cons of trying to have this conversation now, trying to turn around and make Max answer his questions, but finally he decides this can probably wait for the morning. If this isn't a dream, Max will probably still be there, and it will be easier to figure out what happened between this morning, when Max had facetimed him on his way to the factory, and now, Max tense and too warm in his bed.

So he lets it go, intertwining his fingers with Max's and sighing again, feeling Max's acknowledgment of his momentary retreat in the way his muscles finally uncoil, relaxing against him.

Silence falls again in the room, only broken up by the whirring of Daniel's white noise machine and the buzzing of far away traffic, LA's neverending lullaby, but neither of them falls asleep for a long time.

The next time Daniel wakes up the room is still dark, in that unique way it gets when it's light outside and his blackout curtains are doing their job, and his bed is empty. For a second he wonders if it had just been a dream, a weirdly realistic fantasy conjured from the aching spot in his heart that is missing Max all the time. But he can smell Max's scent on his skin, even hidden underneath his own body wash, and the sheets beside him are still just barely warm.

And when he reaches the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes and tugging on a hoodie he had picked up from the floor, Max is sitting on a stool, very much not a dream.

"Morning," Daniel greets him, trying to figure out if asking what are you doing here right away is going to get him an answer or an annoyed Max.

He doesn't get the chance to try though, because Max only smiles at him, bright even if pinched at the corners, before pointing at his phone and at the earbuds in his ears.

Almost done he mouths. He pulls a face, exaggerated and ridiculous, but so paper thin Daniel can still perfectly see the annoyance behind it.

Daniel nods, joining him at the counter, sitting on the stool next to him and smiling as Max scoots closer, intertwining their ankles.

He wishes he had grabbed his own phone from the nightstand to keep himself busy, or maybe to order food, since he's not sure on what's in the fridge, but he's feeling too lazy to get back up, so he resorts to laying his head down on the countertop and look up at Max's face.

His mouth is in a hard line as he nods along to whatever they're telling him, distractedly running a hand along his unshaven jaw. He looks tired, and annoyed, and beautiful, and Daniel missed him so much it feels like even sitting like this, close and touching, is not enough to soothe the gnawing pit in his chest.

Max rolls his eyes, then looks down at Daniel and smiles again, reaching over to brush a hand through his hair, the motion smooth and practiced, the same he uses when petting his cats. Daniel fights hard to not close his eyes.

"Yes, change my schedule, email it to me, whatever. I have to go."

Daniel frowns at the snappiness of Max's tone, watches as his expression grows even stormier at whatever he's been told. Something tells him Max was not exactly free to come here.

"Yes, fine. Bye."

If Max had a flip phone, Daniel is pretty sure he would have just snapped it closed. As it is though, he just swipes his finger on the screen and drops his earbuds on the counter, pressing his hands against his eyes with a sigh.

"I'm going to throw out a wild guess, and say you're not a happy bunny this morning," Daniel says, hoping to ease some of the tension from Max's shoulders.

He partially succeeds, as Max does drop his hands, rolling his eyes at him, before laying his head down on the counter too, so that they're staring at each other from the same point of view.

"I am happy to be here," Max says, slow and precise, the way he gets when he's trying to correctly convey his feelings, "but the team is not."

Daniel hums, bumping their knees together. He doesn't really care if the team is happy or not, but he knows being at the receiving end of a scolding like the one Max must have just gotten is not fun.

"They're not very happy with me lately," Max adds a bit ruefully, closing his eyes. His cheek is smushed against the marble, making the bags under his eye disappear a little, the other one much darker in comparison.

"Flew away from many sponsor events then?" Daniel asks, again trying make Max smile. This time it works only halfway, a corner of Max's mouth ticking up, the other kept in place by his cheek and the counter.

"Just a couple. They..." Max stops, a hand coming up to tug at his ear, fiddle with his hair. Daniel wants to grab his fingers, press his mouth against Max's forehead and learn each one of his thoughts like that.

Instead, he has to speak. Boring.

"Why are you here, Maxy?" he asks, because he can't not. He wonders if he should add that he is happy that Max is there, hopes that he doesn't have to, that Max would know anyway.

"I missed you."

Simple, easy, deadly.

Daniel feels his heart do a weird stuttering skip, lungs squeezing, trying to accommodate the surge of love suddenly flooding his chest.

"I missed you too," he chokes out, giving up on resisting the urge and leaning forward, bumping his nose against Max's, their knees knocking together, looking for a kiss.

Max tastes like orange juice, Daniel probably tastes like sleep, and it's awkward because of the uncomfortable position. It's the best thing Daniel has done this whole week.

"They briefed me," Max murmurs, lips still brushing together, sounding like it pains him to speak. A part of Daniel wants to go back to kissing, but he can feel they are now getting to the real reason why Max is there, and doesn't want to stop it.

Not that he doesn't believe Max missed him, Max never lies, never says something sweet if he doesn't mean it, but he knows there must be another reason why he looks like this, instead of just happy to be with Daniel. And even if some part of him knows this will probably not be an easy conversation, he also suspects it's one they need to have.

"On what to say about you."

Daniel jerks back a little before he can really think about it, the words stinging sharply.

He knows it makes sense. He knows he now basically is an ongoing PR disaster for the team, and a part of him enjoys it, but the reminder of it still hurts. And it hurts to think about Max, sitting somewhere across the world, getting told what to say when asked about him.

Max's eyes are open again now, but his expression is carefully blank, just studying whatever Daniel's face is doing, and Daniel suddenly hates it all, pain and rage swelling once again inside him.

He's been doing well, trying his best not to think about it. He's been keeping himself busy, keeping himself with people, refusing to let the feelings dwell and drag him under, but it's unavoidable with Max right there, talking about it.

And something must show on his face, because he sees something flicker under Max's blank expression, and then he's moving back too, out of the space where they were still sharing air, taking his head off the counter with a wince.

For a second, Daniel thinks about staying where he is, neck starting to twinge painfully, and letting Max say whatever he's going to say, probably some kind of apology, then an excuse, and then letting him leave. He thinks about letting Max think that for Daniel it is worse to have him here, painful reminder of everything he's not going to get anymore, than have him gone, aching pit of absence in his stomach. Thinks about where all of that would lead.

He straightens too.

His wince is probably identical to Max's, his neck aching and sore from the awkward position, and he knows that normally it would make Max smile, it would make them both crack a joke about it. But now Max is too busy trying to hide what he's feeling, wanting to calibrate it on whatever Daniel is feeling, to joke about old age or something, and Daniel hates it.

He grabs Max's arm, pretending he doesn't see Max's barely there flinch, pretending it doesn't send a new wave of hurt through him, and leads him out of the kitchen, to the couch. Max follows him quietly, trustingly, not even asking where they're going, what is happening. Daniel hates it.

He lays down on the couch, tugging Max on top of him. A part of him wishes they had done this last night, when they were close and aided by the dark, but he knows that, as much as he doesn't like it, this is probably better. He doesn't want to have this conversation more than once if possible, so it's better this way, something they'll both remember clearly.

Max is still tense on top of him, careful, but he relaxes a little as Daniel winds his arms around his waist, tugging him closer, the familiar weight of him on top of him comforting.

It's only when they're properly settled that he lets out a breath, and he forces himself to face this head on.

"What did they tell you to say?"

He's proud of how steady and neutral his voice sounds, the swirling mess of emotions inside him nowhere to be found.

For a long moment, Max doesn't answer. His hair is barely brushing against Daniel's chin, and he can feel where Max's chest is expanding as he breathes, pressing against him.

"I am not going to do it," Max finally says, voice quiet but sure. "I told them, I am not."

Daniel hums, not even tempted to doubt him.

"What did they say?" he asks again, wanting to know, wanting Max to tell him.

"That you knew." Ouch. "That you were not performing." Ouch. "That this was the best choice for the team, and I am excited to see what Liam can do." Ouch.

He's not surprised Max wouldn't say any of this, he's more surprised the PR team would even try to make him say this, but it still hurts to know that this is how they are going to spin the story.

"Excited, uh?" is all he manages to say, slightly choked.

Max pushes himself up on one elbow, struggling against Daniel's hold on his waist, to glare up at him, eyes steely and fierce and red rimmed.

"I am not going to do it," he repeats, forceful and sincere. "They are wrong and they are stupid, and I am not going to sit and lie and..."

He breaks off, pursing his lips and pressing them firmly together, eyes shiny. Daniel loves him so much it hurts.

"I know I can't tell the truth," Max says slowly with a grimace, voice breaking under all the feelings he's trying to keep at bay, "but I am not going to lie."

Daniel wants to kiss him again. He wants to tug him close and kiss him and get lost in each other and in love until everything outside the door doesn't matter anymore. He wants to push all this away until it isn't hurting either of them.

Instead, he gently pushes Max down on his chest again, one hand on his neck and one on the small of his back, and breathes.

"You told them that?" he asks.

Max's nod drags the fabric of his hoodie against his skin, bunching it up.

"I said, I will be polite and I will say nice things about Liam, and about Yuki and Checo, but I will not say that shit about you. I am not fixing this for them."

Daniel wonders what the Daniel of 10 years ago would have said, if he got told that in 10 years time Max would still be by his side, fiercely on his side.

"Thank you, Maxy," is all he can say, his feelings to messy and big to try and put them into words without spilling them all over the room, making clean up a bitch he doesn't want to deal with today.

Max nods again once, rough and too quick, dislodging the hand Daniel still has on his neck.

"They were not happy," he says, squirming a little until Daniel puts his hand back. "They told me there will be consequences," he snaps, slightly derisive, "so I told them I can do consequences too, and left."

Well, that explains the scolding.

"You left?" Daniel asks, not disbelieving, but still incredulous somehow.

"I didn't want to be there anymore," Max says, as if that explains it all. It probably does, for him.

For Daniel, it's yet another confirmation of which side Max is on. Not that he needed one more, but it's still nice to have. Nice to know that even in something like this, something this big and catastrophic, Max will choose him, over and over. The flood of love is back, and this time Daniel has to tip his head back and breathe, trying not to let it out through his eyes.

"How angry are they?" he asks, when he feels like his voice isn't tangled up in a knot in his throat anymore.

Max shrugs awkwardly, trapped between Daniel's body and Daniel's hands.

"Angry."

It makes Daniel snort despite himself, the sound slightly wet.

"Can't have everything their way, I guess."

He can imagine it, Max storming out of a meeting room, leaving behind a mix of perplexed and angry people, knowing they can't really punish him in any meaningful way that isn't making him do more sponsor events. It's a very satisfying thought.

And then Max takes a breath, pushes himself up on an elbow again, and decides to shift Daniel's world once again.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asks. Then, probably because he sees Daniel starting to frown, he adds "not here. The team."

It knocks the breath straight out of Daniel's lungs.

He blinks, unable to process what Max has just said.

"You...what?" he stutters, shifting back a little, trying to look at Max's face better without straining his neck.

He's almost expecting Max to laugh, to take it back, to crack a joke. But Max is deadly serious, the same unshakeable firmness Daniel knows from years of debriefs and arguments on his face.

"I want to win," Max says, not taking his eyes away from Daniel's. "I want to race, and I want to win, for a little while longer. But I don't like what they have been doing, what they did to you. I don't like what the team has become. I don't like what the sport is becoming. So if you want me to leave, if it would help that I leave too, I will leave at the end of the year."

Daniel can't breathe. There's loyalty, and there's Max being loyal, and then there's this. He doesn't know what to do with any of this.

"You can't...I can't ask you to leave." His voice sounds distant to his own ears, so overwhelmed it doesn't even feel his.

"If you want me to, if it would make you hurt knowing I am still racing with them, if it would make you angry, or hate me..."

"I am not going to hate you," Daniel interrupts. He doesn't know many things right know, but he knows that. He's suddenly torn between wanting to tug Max close again and wanting to keep looking at him while they talk about this, and settles on bringing his hand up to Max's cheek, relishing in the way he immediately leans into it.

"I don't want you to stop racing because of me," he says, another thing he's sure of.

"I would, if you asked," Max tells him, easy and steady, as if it's not monumental. Max Verstappen, willing to stop racing, for him.

"I won't."

Max nods, then breaks eye contact, suddenly looking shakier, unsure.

"You can't..." he takes a breath, bottom lip jutting out. Daniel's heart is beating too fast in his chest. "You can't hate me for it. I asked, and you said no, you can't hate me for it, now."

Daniel gives in, pressing Max to his chest again, bending his head to press his lips against his hair.

"I won't," he promises, voice swollen and heavy. "I won't hate you, Max. I won't even be angry at you, not for this. It was never on you."

Something that Daniel hadn't even noticed seems to uncoil between Max's shoulders and he slumps against Daniel's chest with a shuddering sigh, arms coming around Daniel's waist to hold him tighter.

Daniel wonders for how long Max had been carrying the weight of this misplaced guilt, of this fear. Wonders how he hadn't seen it before.

"If you want to leave for you," he carefully says, giving himself time to properly word what he wants to say, thinking about retirement jokes, and about much more serious retirement conversations, "you are free to leave. I will not be angry about that either."

Max shivers as he nods.

"I don't know if I want to," he mumbles, half lost in Daniel's hoodie. His hair is soft against Daniel's lips.

"You don't have to decide right now," Daniel tells him, suddenly and strongly grateful they're having this conversation like this, and not through a phone. Or worse, not having it at all. "I am not going to be your WAG, but I am not going to be angry either."

There's many things Daniel has to work through, to figure out. The past few weeks have been hard, some days spent in bed, too sad and angry and betrayed to feel like getting up, others spent doing things, feeling like all of this is just the start o something better. He is still confused, and a bit lost, but this he knows. Max he knows.

"I love you," he says, because it's the easiest way he has to promise forever without saying it, the word too big for a moment like this.

"I love you too," Max says, easy and unwavering, as if he wasn't shaking in Daniel's arms a few moments ago, as if the words are a steady enough pillar to sustain the weight of the crumbling word around them.

And maybe they are. Maybe they are.

The conversation isn't over, he knows it. What Max has said is too big to just let it go like this, especially if he really is considering retirement. And he wants to know when Max has to go back, what the team has told him, what his punishment for leaving like this will be. But for now, Daniel presses his lips again Max's hair again and breathes out, feeling like they have pushed past something, undone a particularly nasty knot.

And for everything else they have time.

[lilacs-stars]

wait okay I haven't seen anyone talk about this yet (and I'm really sorry if this has been brought up before, to my knowledge it hasn't, but obviously I haven't seen every single post ever), during "perfect revenge" when they first go into the dead fish layer thing whatever, and around the time where uliana says "find that perfect, perfect revenge"

HADES LITERALLY GRABS ONTO MORGIE'S SHOULDERS AND DOES A LIL JUMP?? AND HE'S SMILING AND HE SEEMS SO HAPPY HE JUST DOES A JUMP LIKE

it's soo cute 😭 honestly in my opinion it feels super out of character for him, idk why it was even included but like maybe it shows a part of hades that's super bubbly, which he tries to mask with his apathetic, uninterested demeanor?

but the way he jumped on morgie's shoulders in particular, makes me wonder more about their dynamic? like is it because morgie's so bubbly that hades is like that around him too? and the way that morgie was quick to agree to hades's "yeah let's burn her to a crisp" makes me wish we got to see more of them. like imagine hades always acting so tough and unconcerned around maleficent, but finally letting loose and being super excited and happy when he hangs out with morgie.

anyways just a thought, I figured it would be nice to point it out and see what you guys think about it. that's all for now! :))

(also now I can't get the idea out of my head where hades is being all chill to maleficent like "yo imma go hang out with morgie" and she's like "okay whatever" and then cut to hades hanging out with morgie where they're both squealing and jumping up and down like a pair of teenage girls while one of them spills the tea 😭 I'm sorry I can't this is too funny 💀 I actually need a fic about this like this is some top-notch villain behavior fr)

[yasmeensh]

My finished Bear piece! Acrylic gouache on canvas paper (9 x 12 inch). You might have seen some process pictures from a week or so ago on bluesky. I scanned it now.

Is the bear going to catch the salmon or not? We'll never know.

This was a lot of fun to paint. I'm excited to make more!

Process pictures under the cut:

Idea thumbnail in my sketchbook.

The sketching begins.

Painting now...

One more process image.

[after-witch]

The Touch of the Velvet Hand [Platonic Yandere L x Sibling Reader]

Title: The Touch of the Velvet Hand [Platonic Yandere L x Sibling Reader]

Synopsis: You sneak out at night with Matt. How long can that last, really?

Word count: 2700ish

notes: yandere, platonic yandere, abusive sibling dynamic, reader is L's younger adult sibling, brief tickling, captivity (reader can't leave Whammy's)

Happiness is a fragile thing. It can slip through your fingers if you aren’t careful. Or it can be wrenched away violently by someone else out of pettiness or jealousy or sheer resentment. Or it might just crumble on its own, incapable of bearing the load you put upon it. 

The point being--happiness just doesn’t last. 

You know this for a fact, and you’ve known it since you can remember. Since you and your brother L would spend nights in makeshift shelters, huddled together for warmth, sharing what scraps of food you were able to find.

Since you were whisked into the world of Whammy’s, where you’re still stuck, even as an adult, kept safe and very, very fucking bored behind its walls. 

So yes, happiness, fleeting thing, had to be carved out wherever you could get it. 

You’re not sure what will take away your current bout of happiness. You’re only sure that it’s temporary, which is why you’re indulging in it full-throttle, not holding back for a moment, because God only knows when you might feel like this again.

The first night that Matt showed up in your doorway, you eyed him warily. 

 It was not the first time that one of your brother’s would-be successors came knocking at your door. 

Although that was only a figure of speech, as it was more common to find them snooping or spying or for one of them to simply waltz into your bedroom like you weren’t your own person at all. That type of presumption was fine for your real brother, but for the rest? It made you curl up your lip and ignore them.

Matt is (maybe) different. Matt has never (that you’ve seen, at least) taken notes on you. He’s never leaned snarkily against your door frame and asked you questions punctuated by pops of bubblegum or left a doll that vaguely resembles you in your doorway as either a threat or an offering and you’re not sure which would be creepier.

And so, when he showed up in your doorway, you were wary, sure. But not ready to shut him out entirely. Unless he started prying into your life or revealed some sort of ulterior motive or asked you about (God forbid) your brother.

But all he did was gruffly say, “Heads up!” before tossing something at you. You caught it, barely, hands stinging from the slap of it. 

It was a helmet.

“Huh?” You had asked, immediately feeling stupid, not for the first time within the confines of Whammy’s.

Matt had just smiled and shrugged.

“Got a new ride.  You want to check it out with me?”

Maybe it was foolish to accept. Maybe he was trying to butter you up and find out some of L’s secrets. Maybe he was just bored and you were the perfect solution.

But you said yes, anyway, because you were absolutely bored and this was entirely new. You let him grab your wrist and pull you through the hallways, let him sneak you out--suppressing breathy giggles, your heart-rate raising--and onto the street where he guided you onto the back of his motorcycle and told you to hold on as tight as you could.

You’d never gone so fast in your life. You’d never smiled so much in your life, either.

Could anyone blame you for saying yes without question when he showed up soon after, too? For primping a little before he arrived, for wearing an outfit you thought might look cool? For feeling your heart flutter when he gave you a quick little wink and said you looked nice? 

No, they couldn’t. And if they did, well. Fuck them. They weren’t stuck at an orphanage for geniuses with an internationally renowned brother that was always busy, gone, or both. 

But most people couldn’t blame you, you were sure. Most people had common sense. 

They couldn’t blame you for the breathless way you fell against your bed when he returned you home each night, cheeks ruddy from the wind, grin plastered on your face, either. Or the way that you dreamt about the nights to come, wondering if rides in the darkness, blurry lights passing you by, might turn into something more. 

He’s taking you out tonight, too. He said so. 

And it’s going to be a turning point, you just know it. Last night, Matt mentioned something about a diner--imagine that, going into a diner--he liked, and would you like to try it? Maybe you tripped a little too quickly over your yes but that’s to be expected. You hardly talk to anyone but your brother and he’s barely around, so where does that leave poor little you and your social skills? 

It doesn’t matter, because your thoughts have turned to tonight and the diner. Will it be a greasy spoon, the kind you’ve seen in movies? Will the floor be checkered and will there be milkshakes and fries and burgers dripping ketchup? If there’s a jukebox, will Matt have coins to plunk inside? Will he let you pick the music? Will you dance? Will he press himself against you, this time chest to chest instead of your chest pressed against his back, and will you lean in and kiss you? Will he be warm, will you be warmer, will things go from there? 

There’s so much to consider, thoughts racing, mind connecting the potential pathways of tonight. 

You think about them all morning, all afternoon, and into the evening.  You think about them while you’re taking a shower, taking extra care to rub on a scented lotion that you’ve rarely used before. 

The thoughts race even as you’re flipping through your closet to find something that doesn’t look like a pair of comfortable pajamas. You settle for some tighter jeans and a close-cut gray sweater. The effect is cool, casual--interested but not desperate. Or so you hope. 

The sky gets dark and that’s when you force yourself into bed, grabbing a book that you open but don’t actually read. When Matt comes, you can set it down slowly; it’ll keep you from leaping out of bed as soon as he leans against your door frame. Your eyes dart back and forth on the page, not reading the words but letting them rush over your brain like a waterfall while you wait, and wait. 

And ah, there’s the sound of someone’s knuckles gently knocking and pushing open your door--you don’t even look up, you just set the book down sweetly as you please and stand, smoothing out a wrinkle in your sweater before you look up and…

It’s not Matt in the doorway at all.

It’s L. Standing there, arms folded, resting against the door frame like his sudden appearance didn’t make your stomach drop through the floor. 

“Oh.” The word forms slowly. It feels like there’s peanut butter in your mouth and the words don’t want to get out. “Um. Hey. Is… something wrong? I thought you were working on a case.”

L blinks. 

“I am.” He looks you up and down; or rather, he looks at your distinct lack of pajamas and your carefully styled appearance.  “Where were you going?”

You shift on your feet. The look that you were coolly proud of ten minutes ago suddenly feels like it’s a traitor.

“Just uh, you know. To bed.”

He smiles, and your nerves tingle. 

“In boots?” Your toes flex inside your brown boots, carefully chosen to go with your jeans. L shuts your bedroom door behind him. “Who took you out?”

Your stomach squirms and you press your lips together. The silence is heavy and droning.

“I can check the cameras,” he says easily, “but I’d rather you just tell me.” 

You’re a little kid again, caught stealing L’s notebooks and shoving them under your pillow so he had to pay attention to you. And even if he knew exactly where you stashed them, he’d rather make you tell him and admit your guilt than do it himself. 

“Matt,” you whisper. The heat in your cheeks builds. “It’s not a big deal. We were just riding around.” But it is a big deal, you think. And you wanted more from it.

L hums. “What a strange thing to do, since you’re not allowed to leave at night. Especially if I don’t know about it.”

A scoff forces its way through your throat. “I’m not allowed to leave during the day, either.” Your lips quirk. “I’m not a child. You can’t keep me in here all the time.”

Your brother only stares at you and he doesn’t even need to say “Yes, I can” because you know he’s thinking it. And you know it’s true, too. 

It’s not fair, the way he makes you feel like you’re having a tantrum when you’re simply asserting your right to some basic freedoms.

The injustice of it all slithers down your arms, building in your fists as you clench them tightly at your sides. “I’m sick of being here all the time. It’s like I’m in a fucking… ant farm! Or a doll house!” 

Without an invitation, L pulls out your desk chair and takes a seat. He leans forward and you find yourself standing up straighter, refusing the implicit invitation to get on his level. 

“So. What would you like to do?” He asks. The softness in his voice is a contrast against your own rising anger, the unbearable tightness of your throat.

“I don’t know,” you say, half-spitting. “Go outside.” Thoughts of a vague future rush through you like the wind past Matt’s motorcycle. “Get an apartment, live on my own.” 

L nods. “How would you pay your rent?”

Your lip quirks. “I’d get a job.”

He nods again, and his eyes half-close, like he’s genuinely thinking about your responses. 

“I see. What kind of job?”

You swallow, throat tight, and shift your legs. The boots aren’t terribly comfortable, are they? “I-I don’t know.” You cross your arms. “A waitress or something--something like that.”

L leans back and rests his elbow on your desk, watching you with his chin in his hand.

“You couldn’t afford rent on a waitress’s wages.” He glances down at your legs and feet, already tired from standing for a little while. “And you know that you can’t be on your feet all day.” Something in your chest stings and you back up, unwittingly resting your backside against the bed and sitting down.

“I’ll go to college and be something else, then,” you whisper. “I’ll get paid more money.”

L only looks at you and tilts his head a little. “You can get a college education here, if that’s what you want.” 

“No!” Your fists clench against your blanket. “It’s not the same. You know it’s not. I’d be able to make friends. And meet new people and do things and not be stuck in the same place every fucking day.”

You’ve never made concrete plans for such a future, but the vague notions of it, the idea of meeting people in a coffee shop and having inside jokes and making plans to get drinks after work, all picked up from movies and books, have stuck like taffy in your head.

L waits a few moments before he speaks up. It makes you hate how sensible he seems. “You’re kept in the same place because it’s safer. It’s my job to take care of you, isn’t it?”

That’s when your voice cracks, and when the tears finally threaten to make an appearance. “But you’re not the one taking care of me, are you? You’re barely here.” Hot tears prick at your eyes and fall too easily, and you hate them and hate yourself for being so pent-up, so emotional. So weak.

And just like that, the stand-off, pitiful as it was, is finished and L is up and over, sitting down on your bed and pulling you close to him. Familiar scent, familiar softness. Familiar hands. How many years has he held you like this? When you had nightmares. When you wanted mom and dad and they were dead. When you were scared of being at Whammy’s, scared of the people there, scared of the fact that you were only there because of who your brother was. And everyone knew it, too.

“I take care of you even when I’m not here,” he says softly.

You scoff, tears choking your throat. 

His grip on you tightens. 

“I mean it. I can’t protect you if there are too many unknown factors at play. Staying here is the best way to reduce them. I can’t be with you as often as you like, but that can’t be helped.” He relents enough for you to pull away, to show him the tears on your face, that he dutifully wipes with his knuckles, even as he adds a bit of mirth to his voice. “You were stuck with a genius brother, I’m afraid.” 

When your lips tremble, he sighs.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. And this is the safest option.”

It’s too hard to hate him and hate your life for too long. Resentment and bitterness aren’t fleeting, but they’re awful companions. 

You smile, just a little, through your sniffles. “Oh, like you haven’t hurt me before, L.”

He pulls one of his arms from around your back just so he can flick you on the forehead. “Beating you at wrestling is vastly different than putting your life at risk.” 

You wipe at your nose, brushing away a hint of snot and some of the heaviness in your chest. “You only beat me because I was little.” You sniff. “I could take you now.”

His eyebrows quirk up, and your chest flutters a little--this was a feeling you remembered from when you were younger, a feeling that became harder to come by as the years went on. Sibling silliness. Joking. Fun. “Could you?” He asks, tone rising in a way that eased the tightness in your throat.

You meet his raised eyebrows with a determined look. And there is that moment between you, a moment when you are anticipating each other’s moves. But before you can wrap your arms around his shoulder and attempt a tackle, he moves--much faster than most would give him credit for, given his general lackadaisical vibe--and there are two thumbs digging into your sides.

It’s a horribly ticklish sensation, just bordering on painful, as he digs his thumbs underneath your ribs. 

“You’re a fucking--cheater!” You manage between short laughs as he begins to twist his thumbs. Thankfully, your arms are free, and you grab one of your pillows and whack him in the head until he stops and gets off your bed.

You’re catching your breath as he kneels down. You don’t know what he’s doing at first until he’s got your leg in his grip, and begins to slide off your boots. You bite the inside of your cheek, but stay limp as he pulls them off, one at a time, and sets them on the side of the bed. 

You half-expect him to go into your dresser and pull out pajamas, but instead he eyes the pillow you set next to you and straightens up. 

“Give up on your pillow assault so soon?” He asks, a smile on his lips. He raises his hands and moves his fingers. “Or should I keep going?” 

You pout, and cling to one of your pillows. “Fine.” Your grip tightens and your feet feel lighter without your boots on. “I give up. Cheater.”

He snorts, and walks back to lean against the wall next to your door. There’s that heavy silence again, but now you know exactly how the rest of the night will go and it hurts more. 

“You’re not going out with Matt again.” It’s not a question. Not a bargain. Just a simple fact.

Your chest hurts and hugging the pillow doesn’t help, but you do it anyway. You should have known this was coming--happiness never stays, and all that. Nothing you said or did was going to change L’s mind on this or make your nights with Matt last longer than they did.

“Will you tell him?” You sound like a mouse. You feel like one, too, under your brother’s stare, on this bed, in this room, in this house. 

He smiles.

“Sure.”

It’s a small mercy. If L didn’t love you, you’re sure he wouldn’t give it. 

[thatonebirdwrites]

Kara and Heat

Follow-up to L-Corp, Chill, and Scotch (Lena's POV) and Catco and Family (Kara's POV)

Lena's smile didn't reach her eyes, and her heart murmur sounded more pronounced. Kara gave her a hopeful smile as she handed over Lena's favorite Irish scones.

"Piping hot and direct from Ireland," Kara said, cheerfully. She was still in her supersuit since she hadn't given herself time to change before she dropped by to hand it off.

"Thank you?" The way Lena spoke made it sound like a question. "Are you not concerned what others will think, Supergirl? You, giving me, gifts as if we are..." Her heartrate abruptly sky rocketed, and she looked away, her scent profile switching to a more acidic one. "... dating?"

Kara tilted her head. "Why would that bother me? I'd be honored."

Lena's breath hitched. "I -- I see." Footsteps signaled the approach of Sam, and the door to Lena's office opened. "Ah, Sam's here to review--"

"I -- I thought Sam was in Metropolis?" Kara looked past her toward the other woman, who walked up to Lena's desk and dumped her briefcase on it with a thump. Lena winced.

"She returned." Lena gestured vaguely with her free hand. "Surely you've read Andrea's exclusive? She's taking over as CEO. I will be a research consultant."

No, Kara had no idea. "Oh. You didn't mentioned it. Andrea has me doing what cafe has the best scones at the moment."

Lena looked down at the box and fiddled with its lid. "I -- I can talk to her about that."

"No, don't bother. She'll just take it out on someone else." It'd been several weeks of Kara trying so hard to talk with Lena, to bring her breakfast and other gifts, and Lena still won't look her in the eye. Then came the complexity of Andrea as a boss. If Kara had to write another article about cafe scones, she might torch her new workstation.

"I see. How is that going?" Lena glanced back at Sam, that forced smile still on her face.

"Andrea took away my office." Kara slouched against the railing on Lena's balcony. "I know you set that up for me because of my hearing issues. Those walls were a blessing. I don't know what kind of glass you used, but it cut out half the sound of the city and I could focus. No one uses the office now."

"She-- she did?" Lena frowned. "Kara, how much does your hearing bother you? Since you can..." she waves her hand toward the city at large.

Kara hesitated. The urge to lie still pulsed, and she had to actively fight it. "The glasses I wear? They have lead in them, which dimmed my supersenses to some degree. I have gotten better at filtering out sounds, but..." She nibbled on her bottom lip. "Okay, picture yourself standing next to a gun, but you have no ear protection. Now amplify the gunshot sound by a hundred -- no a thousand."

"Jesus, Kara." Lena's eyes widened. "Is that how it is now?"

"Why do you think I like this balcony?" Kara patted the concrete railing. "I'm up high enough that the sound takes longer to move through the air to reach me. The longer time also pulls some of its energy out of the sound, thus it's quieter. I can still hear when bad things happen up here, but it's not like an explosion in my ear like it is when someone slams a door or a phone rings at full volume next to me."

"Ah." Lena tilted her head to study Kara for a long moment. Kara assumed her thoughts were still on the hearing issue, but her next words end up as whiplash for Kara. "Kara, why are you doing this?" She held up the scones.

Kara blinked. "Because you're Lena? And I wanted to do something special for you."

"Right..." Lena sighed. "Look, Sam is waiting, and I really must be going. I'll give Andrea a call and tell her to stop breaking ADA. We have on record your accommodation request, and she can't violate that for no good reason."

"Lena," Kara stared, unsure whether to be delighted or worried. The sudden topic change had her floundering. "You don't have to--"

"When I signed the sale, part of that was an addendum for her to follow the accommodation requests to the letter." Lena's voice turned frosty. "I do not like hearing she's violating it already." She pivoted and muttered under her breath, "typical of her."

Had Lena forgotten that Kara could still hear her? She watched Lena greet Sam and offer her a scone. Neither glanced at Kara, who stood on the balcony still.

She hadn't meant to listen in, but she couldn't stop herself.

"So, you really okay with Ruby and I staying with you? It might be a few weeks to sort out the housing situation," Sam asked right before she bit into the scone. "Holy shit, this is good."

"From Ireland directly. And yes, it's fine. You're family, Sam." Lena reached over to grasp her shoulder. "Stay as long as you need. And eat your fill." She pushed the box closer to Sam. "I'm not hungry."

"Lena, you're never hungry these days." Sam frowned. "Please eat one scone."

"What are you my dietician?" Lena snapped.

"Hun, that doesn't work on me. I'm a mother." Sam took out a scone, laid out a napkin, and placed it in front of Lena. "No starving yourself on my watch. Now let's talk contracts."

That was when Kara learned several important things:

Sam currently stayed at Lena's, and Lena invited her to stay as long as she liked.

Lena knew Andrea well enough to suspect she'd cause harm.

Lena wasn't eating, and it had Sam worried.

Kara had no idea what to do with this information, because the second one had to be wrong. Surely.

Lena would never choose to hurt Kara on purpose, right?

The thought disturbed her so much that she shot off the balcony fast enough to cause a wake strong enough to rattle Lena's windows.

***

Lena sat at her counter, her feet perched on a rung, as she tabbed through the coding program. Her original idea she had to shelve because Sam's insistence that it was mind-control made her feel far too much like Lex.

She didn't want to be like Lex. As much as it hurt that he died by her hand, she could not forget what he wrote in his journals about her. He wrote of her as if she was a chess piece, and it had felt so dehumanizing. It's why she'd been so determined to hunt him down. She needed to face him and find out why.

Facing him had brought her right into his hands. He knew she'd find him there, and had prepared for the reveal. With his typical theatrics, he'd unveiled the truth in a way to cause maximum harm. The glee on his face as he did it? The way he laughed at her pain? Like always, he found a way to tug the rug out of the things she cared about.

She loved him, yet she'd killed him. He had been surprised at first that she'd done it, but even that hadn't stopped his plan. He'd gone through it as he struggled to breathe. His last words mocked her, and he was right. She was a fool.

Anger seared through her. Was that all she was? A chess piece for her brother and the Kryptonians? She slammed her laptop shut and stalked to the alcohol cabinet.

Except it was empty. That's right. Sam hid the alcohol. Ruby had a tendency to search the cabinets for snacks, eating what had once been saved for Kara.

But Lena suspected she hid it to also avoid moments like this. Where the urge to drink herself into oblivion saturated every fiber in Lena's being.

Dammit, it was her alcohol. She could drown herself in it as much as she liked.

After twenty minutes, she found the alcohol in the bedroom she gave Sam. Tucked into the back of the closet. She nabbed a bottle of scotch and stormed outside to sit on her balcony. She didn't bother with a glass. Opened it and drank directly from the bottle.

The scotch's heat did little to drown the pain in her heart.

At least one thing hadn't played in Lex's favor. Sam Arias threw a wrench into whatever he had planned.

She glared at the sky, at the faint dots of stars washed out in the glow of the city. Light pollution that made the sky treacherous for nocturnal life, which she could fix.

Leaning over her balcony, she scanned the city streets as she took another drink. Easy fix. Replace the hoods of all street lights so the light pointed down. It'd be more efficient and less energy waste too.

What else could she fix? All those rooftops could either be solar panels or community gardens. Be all self-sufficient or something.

She took another chug of the bottle. Making a gun with her other hand, she pretended to shoot at nearby buildings.

All that glass and concrete. Ugly as hell. Thermal equilibrium on hot days won't work with this architecture, as it was made for height and aesthetics, not thermal equilibrium, so hot days meant higher bills for air conditioning.

But how to fix that? She took another long drink. In the distance she heard the sound of waves. "Algae," she said out loud and giggled. That wouldn't work but moss should. Grow moss up the concrete and steel. A green city that would improve the thermal equilibrium, and less power on air conditioning.

What else? Her thoughts grew more erratic, ideas that were semi-connected, danced from moss to architecture to more efficient solar panels.

Ideas her and Sam sort of covered, but those had been silly mostly. This could change things for the better.

"Fixing everything but my heart," she muttered. She peered into the bottle. She still had more left.

Even if she did all these projects and some of Sam's silly ones, would it make any difference? Would it heal the pain in her heart?

Maybe if she refused to rest. Dove into her work and not allowed her mind to rest like this. The pain became unbearable in evenings, and with the transition to Sam as CEO, it meant more time for Lena's projects, but she couldn't even make up her own damn mind.

She wanted to fix the world. To end suffering still, but she hated the thought of Ruby or Sam hurt by what Sam insisted was mind-control. She couldn't lose them.

They were all she had left.

She had almost finished the bottle when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her.

"Don't even, Sam," Lena growled, not bothering to turn around. "I'll drink as much as I like. So don't try me."

"Um, I'm not Sam."

She pivoted and almost lost her balance. Kara stood a few feet away in her supergirl outfit. She pointed the bottle at her. "You live in that now? Or is Kara Danvers no longer a thing? Since you know, you're trying being honest for once."

She recognized she was drunk, but at this point, she did not care.

"I was doing laps and heard your heartbeat spike," Kara admitted.

"Laps?" Lena frowned. "Like sky laps?" She wiggled her finger in the air in what she hoped was a a circle.

"Yeah. When I'm upset I..." Kara sighed. "Lena, you're not okay, are you? I -- I heard you weren't eating, and now you're... drunk." Kara's nose wrinkled.

"Oh? Can you smell it? Supersmell too?" Lena stepped closer and stabbed Kara's chest with her bottle. "What other secrets you keep from me?"

Kara's brow wrinkled. "You know them all now. I mean it. I promise to never lie again."

Lena laughed. "Oh, that's good. Real good. You almost had me there." She took another swig but nothing was left. Annoyed, she tossed the bottle at Kara's chest. It shattered and the glass fell to the ground between them.

"Lena..." Kara looked at the debris with a frown.

"You're impenetrable," Lena said with a flick of dismissal. "It can't hurt you and your perfect body."

Why did she have to look so damn hot in that suit? The skirt had been bad enough for Lena's libido, but these pants? The one's she'd designed and gave to Brainy to finish? All those interwoven layers, some anti-kryptonite fibers she'd devised with Brainy's assistance, hugged Kara's impressive guns and rock-solid abs.

Fuck.

She was too drunk for these thoughts.

"How about you go inside and drink some water?"

Lena laughed. "You, the liar, cares about me? That's rich."

"You're drunk and standing very close to a railing on a very tall building!" Kara gently pushed her away from the edge. "And yes I care! I've always cared. Honest."

She wanted to yell at Kara. To beat her fists against Kara's perfect chest. Instead, she grabbed the front of Kara's suit and pulled her close. Far too close, her breath hot against Lena's own, and that nearly unraveled her willpower.

God, why did she have to look so damn hot all the time? The heat of Kara's gaze only worsened Lena's struggle.

Fuck.

It'd be so easy to just kiss her. To shove her against the building and give in to her raging libido. Her lips hovered closer to Kara's. Heat radiated from Kara's body, scorching her, and Lena desperately wanted Kara to take her right there.

Her stomach had other ideas, however. Nausea clawed its way up from her stomach, her only food that entire day what Sam had insisted she eat -- a scone and half a salad.

She closed her eyes.

No use, her stomach rebelled, and she puked over Kara's irritatingly perfect boots.

"Well, that's one way to deal with alcohol poisoning," Kara said.

Lena didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Warm arms scooped her up and cradled her against Kara's chest. "Let's get you inside." With far more tenderness than she deserved, Kara laid her on the sofa and tucked a blanket around her.

Lena briefly closed her eyes, the glare of the lights too bright. She peaked when footsteps sounded next to her. Kara had placed on the coffee table a glass of water, pain and nausea meds, and a large bowl. Kara stood next to the sofa, but instead of the suit, she wore sweatpants and a hoodie.

"Where's the suit?" God, she had a headache already.

"Nanotech." Kara touched her glasses. "When I put these back on, it retreats. He said you helped design it."

"Yeah, yeah." Lena waved her hand at Kara. "Supergirl's an ass, but I don't want her dead."

"Oh. Thank you."

She took a pain med and drank some water, but that unsettled her stomach, so she laid down and covered her eyes. "What're you doing here anyway?"

"Your heartbeat." Kara sounded timid, scared almost. "I -- I listen to it to make sure you're okay. Since, you know, the universe keeps trying to hurt you. And, well, you have a murmur. It's gotten worse."

Lena blinked at Kara, confused.

She had a what?

"Your heart. I -- I can hear it, and you have a murmur." Kara sounded embarrassed almost. "But you're drunk, so I'll wait until your sober."

Lena couldn't think of a response, so she closed her eyes and ignored Kara instead.

***

Kara hadn't lied to Lena. The heart murmur had been part of what she hoped to talk about, but she'd also wanted to ask her about whether she was failing to eat again. She didn't want Lena to get anemia again, that had worsened the heart murmur, and she still felt guilt over whether bringing that up might have saved Lena a few trips to the emergency room, during her first year in National City.

One of the many reasons Kara decided to just eat lunch with Lena as much as possible.

Bu that hadn't been her only reason either.

She wanted to ask if her and Sam were just friends or something more.

And yet, maybe she'd gotten her answer to that one. Lena had almost kissed her.

Was that just the alcohol? Or had Lena always wanted to kiss her?

To have Lena lean that close? Kara felt like she'd gone up in flames, and the urge to kiss Lena had hit her so hard that she'd been breathless.

Sure, the thought had hit her randomly during their long friendship, but it had been a random, idle thought she dismissed easily.

Now she found she couldn't. Lena's breath had been hot against her lips, and they tingled still as if they had kissed.

Kara landed on the fire escape stairs at her apartment and glanced toward downtown, a mile away. Leaving Lena hadn't been what she wanted, but she'd heard Sam and Ruby in the hallway, and it hadn't seemed a good idea to face Sam.

She'd been too rattled by the almost kiss.

She opened her window and slid through, deactivating her suit as she did so.

Instead, Lena had been drunk, antagonistic, and confusing.

Hadn't she said at the Pulitzer's that she would always be Kara's friend? Her hot and cold nature confused.

Something else was wrong.

Did Lena blame her for Lex's death?

Oh Rao.

Kara dropped face first onto her sofa. Why hadn't she thought of that sooner?

She knew Supergirl failed to save her brother. Knew Lex was dead. She still loved her brother, despite how mean he was to her.

Kara groaned. If Lena blamed her, then how could she fix that?

Apologize. Would that be enough?

Would anything ever be enough to make up for the fact Kara's at fault for her brother's death?

When Kara chose to become Supergirl, she had promised herself that she would not kill her enemies. No matter how easy it might seem, because she would not be like her mother.

She'd been angry still at being sent away, but when she learned the truth, she'd been angry at the legacy of her family and how that followed her to earth. Threatened life here, all because her mother and those like her had tossed people in the phantom zone instead of dealing with them in a more humane way.

She didn't want to be judge, jury, and executioner -- as Alex put it. She was here to help. Not be a god.

Except, she'd acted like one, hadn't she? Thinking she new what was best, trying to do it all herself, trying to control all the details. She’d controlled her and Lena’s relationship, held all the cards, all the information, and that hadn’t been fair, had it?

The worldkillers and Lex had taught her that she couldn't do it all herself. She needed a team to support her. Letting them help had been so hard, but hadn't that been a lesson Lena herself tried to teach her?

Lena had tried so hard to reach out to Kara after Mon-el's loss, and Kara had spurned her at first. Yet Lena persisted, and it had given Kara hope. Even if Kara kept fucking things up with Lena, she hadn't turned her back on Kara Danvers nor Supergirl, even if the trust had been fractured.

Had she lost Lena? Was she holding onto nothing but the ashes of a shattered friendship?

No, she couldn't believe that. There had to still be hope.

She couldn't stop herself. Her ears seemed perpetually tuned to Lena's heartbeat these days, and that awful murmur had gotten worse. It was louder and more frequent, and she didn't know enough human biology to assess what that meant.

Yet she listened to the heart murmur, to the slower heartrate of someone likely falling asleep.

When had Lena become the center of her life? It had crept up on her, and yet, that gift of her presence had been squandered by Kara herself. She'd been unable to fully let go of control, out of that wild fear of loss.

If she lost Lena because of Lex's death, what would she do? How could she move on?

No, no, she couldn't lose Lena, and yet, wasn't this entire situation her fault? She'd kept Lena in the dark. Messed up as Supergirl and hurt her. And now Lex was dead because of her.

How could Lena ever forgive her?

Tears stung her eyes. She hated herself. Hated how she couldn't do anything to fix this. Everything she tried seemed to increase the distance between her and Lena, and it hurt so much.

[halfagone]

The Power of DPxDC

There has been a lot of anti-DPxDC sentiment going around lately; if you haven't heard about it, then don't worry about it. This isn't a post about the negativity, this is a post celebrating how much we've done as a crossover fandom!

Just as a bit of perspective, I've been reading fics from DPxDC since 2020. Now that might not seem like a long time ago, but back then we didn't even have 100 fics for the crossover as a whole, and look at us now! This is a screenshot from Ao3 just today:

Incredible, isn't it? Look how much we've grown and contributed and shared! And that's not even mentioning all the wonderful Tumblr prompts and posts and incredible fanart. DPxDC has us in a chokehold and it isn't about to let go any time soon.

I know it can be a little disheartening to see all the people trying to drag us down. I know I've been left disappointed in some cases, but I also know that my love for the crossover hasn't abated at all, and I hope it stays that way with you all too!

There is so much engagement in this crossover, I cannot tell you enough how much you all have spoiled me with comments and kudos and fanart. A lot of my fandom friends like to tease me for writing so much, but I don't think I could have written half of those fics had it not been for people like you loving them as much as you do.

Passion is the lifeblood of this fandom, of every fandom! And I don't see that going away any time soon for DPxDC.

I know I want to comment and kudos more. I read a lot of fics, but I don't sign in often so that you can see me leaving that kudos, and it's been more and more apparent to me how many people don't realize how much I adore their writing. I'm hoping to fix that!

Some might say that we don't tag our work appropriately, and while that might be true in some cases, I cannot stress enough just how good of a job we're doing. @tourettesdog made a wonderful post not too long ago about tagging, and we do clean work! Not even a full 3% of all the tags they'd seen included a "main" tag, which has been the frustration for most. 3%? That's incredible!

You all deserve some appreciation for the hard work y'all do, and this is it! I hope you all know how well you've fed creators, readers, and fans like me! Don't let up, because we do amazing work. And that deserves to be celebrated.