#can i call this a ficlet

[loucifersbitch]

When they finally make it to the bedroom, Buck shoves Tommy so that the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he falls back, bouncing a little as he lands. Tommy stares up at him, that smirk on his face, as Buck yanks his shirt over his head, discarding it carelessly to the side.

"See something you like?"

Tommy thinks for a moment, pulling Buck down to straddle his lap. "Hmm, no."

When Buck pulls back, confused, Tommy says, "I see something I love."

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[cod-dump]

Early into their relationship, Soap got to witness Ghost's temper go off from his corner. It was a rough day for him and he was pissed at everyone except for Soap. And Soap was determined to help his day get better.

"Anything I can do, babe?"

Ghost just grumbled while he typed aggressively. Soap actually felt bad for the keyboard with how hard Ghost was pressing the keys.

"Snacks."

"Snacks? On it!"

Soap left Ghost's office and headed to the kitchen, walking with purpose. But, halfway to the kitchen, a thought crossed his mind. What kind of snacks does Ghost even like? Soap can't recall ever seeing the man munch on anything between meals. Soap was already a third of the way to the kitchen and decided to not call Ghost to bother him with such a stupid question.

So, Soap decided to just grab anything and everything remotely 'snack-able'. Crisps, fruit, string cheese, a pack of crackers, some biscuits— Soap didn't realize how much he grabbed until he was heading back to Ghost's office, his haul in one arm and a freshly made mug of tea in the other. He got looks from soldiers as he passed them in the haul which he ignored. After struggling to open the door, Soap entered his boyfriend's office victorious.

He set everything down on the desk and only when Ghost's eyes widened at the sight of all that Soap grabbed did the Scotsman start to think he may have gotten carried away. Ghost stared at the pile of snacks before he looked up at Soap with a confused look in his eyes.

"Uh... What's this?"

Soap looked down at the food, "I might've of gotten carried away... I didn't know what you liked to snack on so I panicked and grabbed whatever I could."

Ghost stared and Soap starts to get nervous, thinking he might have offended Ghost by not knowing what he would like to eat. Then, Ghost chuckles, grabs a pack of crackers, and rips it open to eat.

"You're adorable."

Soap's heart swells before he takes his seat next to Ghost once more, leaning against the man as he quietly ate his snacks, appearing much happier now.

[justanotherjaydrawing]

I had the strangest dream, god it must have been years ago at this point. But it was a dream about Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. They were in some sort of ancient mythological setting, which is a strange place for my subconscious to have gone.

They were exploring some ruins (or a labyrinth maybe?) and when they finally found what they were looking for (riches? The exit? The creature?) there was a creature waiting for them. The creature (or was it a spirit? Perhaps it was a god?) stood between them and what they were after.

It made them a deal. They could have what they were after in exchange for a curse. For a set amount of time (was it a year? Was it longer?) one of them would be tied to the other, incapable of denying any of their orders.

Yamaguchi, while terrified of everything around him yet fearless about this, stood tall and declared that he would be the one who obeyed. The creature moved towards him, gazing intensely into his eyes, searching for any hint of a lie.

“You trust him with your life.” the creature said. A statement, not a question. Still, Yamaguchi nodded quickly, nervous of the creature but certain in his trust of his best friend (maybe lover?).

The creature then whipped around to Tsukishima.

“But does he trust you with his?” Still talking to Yamaguchi, the creature then cursed Tsukishima to follow Yamaguchi’s commands.

This lead to a series of trials for Yamaguchi, where people and circumstances weighed against him trying to make him ask Tsukishima to do increasingly ridiculous things. While Tsukishima could only watch and wait with no control.

The creature gave them two options (or I guess three if they were to somehow fail and die). Either they lived out that set amount of time with the curse and would then be rewarded with whatever it was that they were searching for. Or Tsukishima declared his lack of trust in Yamaguchi.

I don’t know how this ended, I don’t know what the trials were or what struggles they faced. All I know is that I had this dream years ago and have never managed to forget it. How strange the subconscious landscape can be.

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

8 [monty]

Monty is rescued by the Cat King after Esther is gone.

He’s probably a little bit lost about what to do at first, because he was her familiar. He’s all alone. His job as a witch’s helpful companion has been dissolved.

The boys didn’t remember him to let him out of the house before they left. Luckily, cats know everything. And while Thomas may have foiled Monty’s plan to lead the boys into a trap, he certainly doesn’t hate Monty. He feels a little sorry for him, actually. What a waste of a perfectly pretty face, working for that old witch.

So he saunters on over and makes sure Monty makes it out of the house, but even then Monty isn’t entirely sure where to go.

The Cat King saved him, he reasoned. So he supposes he should follow him. He flies after him, stopping on light posts and signs whenever he does.

Thomas realizes he’s being followed pretty quickly. Then he realizes this is going to be a fucking disaster to lead a bird into a den of cats, so he holds out his arm, waits for the crow to land—

Then shifts him back into a human.

He didn’t expect Monty to look so disoriented, almost wounded about the whole thing. He realizes the problem when the raven haired boy almost falls onto him when he tries to take a step forward.

Ah. He hasn’t got his land legs back yet.

Monty asks him if he always shifts so quickly, if it always feels like… well, if it doesn’t feel like much of anything. The Cat King says maybe it comes with time. He wonders what Monty thinks it should feel like, but decides not to pry for now.

He asks if he’s comfortable— he could turn him back into a crow, only he can’t keep following him if he does. He’s about to go sit in a den of cats. But if he wants, he can come with him like this.

He thinks back to Edwin telling him he’s lonely, and he almost hopes the newly shifted crow will say yes to his offer to come with him. Such a pretty thing would be a nice distraction from the loneliness.

Who is he kidding, though? Thomas is only good at seducing and playing games with mortals. It would be foolish to think that this pretty thing would willingly come with him—

He’s startled when a wide grin crosses Monty’s face and he says yes— but he has missed the little cafe down the way. Could they please stop there? He’ll be quick. Also he’d like to pick up some stationary, and then he’s asking something about signs and charts—

Thomas sighs, but smiles. Well, perhaps this is the price you pay for companionship.

[sgt-tombstone]

43 definitely caught my eye.

(Don't mind gore, it can be fun. But. No dying ppl plz.)

43. A bloody kiss

So I’m somewhat shamefully plugging my MCD fic, Funeral Blues, because the idea that keeps swirling around in my head is an expansion of one of the flashbacks BUT I know you said no dying, so this snippet won’t have any MCD, I promise! It can be read as a complete stand-alone scene, separate from the rest of the fic entirely!

~~~~~~~~

The mission had gone to shit, because of course it had. That seemed to be the 141’s entire MO: make a plan, then have it thrown out the window hours or even minutes later, because the intel had been bad, or their targets had moved, or there were more defenses than expected. The consistency of it all would’ve made Ghost laugh if the result of this particular mission going to shit hadn’t been… this.

This, of course, being Johnny, laid out on his back in the middle of the helicopter, combat medics swarming like flies, prodding with various needles and tubes and instruments, all while trying not to slip on the copious amounts of blood seeping from… everywhere, honestly. Some of it was Ghost’s, undoubtedly, but the vast majority of the slick blood coating the metal floor was Soap’s, rapidly cooling in the chilled air.

His eyes were open, which was a good sign. He was still conscious, his heart rate not steady, but strong enough. He was breathing, and that’s what Ghost forced himself to focus on. Not the indentation of Johnny’s skin as the IV needle punctured, injecting unknown substances directly into his veins. Not the white dressing that instantly stained red where it was pressed against the gunshot wound in Johnny’s thigh. Not the blood running in rivulets across Johnny’s face from the gash to his temple, forcing him to squint one eye and lick his lips in a vain attempt to keep his own blood from dripping into his open, gasping mouth.

Ghost couldn’t look at any of it. The needle reminded him of Roba, of the drugs he’d been injected with against his will, despite knowing that these combat medics would rather die than lose a soldier; they didn’t know Soap, but that was the nature of their work. The blood-stained cloth reminded him of his family, laid out under the Christmas tree, thin sheet draped over their corpses, soaked in viscera and gore, red blooming like flowers where gravity pulled white to red. The rivulets of blood reminded him of Las Almas, of the gunshot wound that had nearly taken Johnny from him the first time, before he’d even known him; Ghost might’ve been able to handle it then, but it’d kill him now.

Instead, he focused on Johnny’s eyes. Bright blue, wide, alert, and trained directly on Ghost. They were upside down, because Johnny’s head was cradled in the divot of Ghost’s crossed legs, the sides of his face supported by Ghost’s gloved hands, his thumbs moving subconsciously in soothing arcs over Johnny’s cheeks, smearing the blood even further. It was everywhere, seeping from everywhere, staining both of them and everything around them gruesome, grim red, but Ghost only had eyes for the flash of blue in the midst of it all.

There was fear in those eyes. Anyone else would’ve missed it; Johnny was too well-trained to let his terror shine through, too eager to please to display anything that could disappoint a superior officer, too warm-hearted to project anything less than confident assuredness to the men around him. But Ghost wasn’t just anyone, and he didn’t miss it. He didn’t miss the way Johnny’s gaze clung to Ghost’s own like a lifeline, the way his breath hitched on every other inhale, the way his fingers twitched against the cold metal floor, like he was desperately stopping himself from touching something he shouldn’t.

Ghost’s mask was pulled up partially because in their rush to exfil, no one had given him a headset, so he’d had to rely on the medics’ ability to read his lips as his shouted report was drowned out by the helicopter rotors. Not that they’d really needed his help; it had been obvious what was wrong with Johnny. The two of them had limped their way towards the helicopter from the tree line, exposed on all sides and reliant on the air patrol to cover them as Ghost nearly carried Soap to the RV point. Blood had soaked the entire leg of his fatigues from the knee down, and his tac vest was coated in mud and blood too; Ghost’s arm around his torso had been the only thing keeping him upright by the time they made it to the safety of the medics’ waiting arms.

He wasn’t stable yet; the kind of blood loss that he’d suffered would need a transfusion or two eventually, but the medics weren’t looking so concerned anymore, and Ghost found it within himself to take a deep breath.

Johnny finally reached up, his arm moving slowly, lethargically, like every twitch of the muscles was a monumental effort, and Ghost watched as his fingertips brushed against his blood-stained forehead, probing at the scabbing gash. Normally, he’d slap the sergeant’s hand away, would growl at him to leave it well enough alone, because that’s how shit gets infected, but he also knew the deep-seated need to self-analyze. His eyes never left Johnny’s fingers as they shifted lower, following the blood trail to his own lips, meeting the tip of his tongue as it peeked out, tasting his own blood. His mouth moved, silent in the roaring air, but Ghost knew what Johnny’s lips looked like when they wrapped around his name, and he could hear it perfectly in his mind’s eye.

Soap’s arm was on the move again, stretching up, impossibly high, until the warmth of his palm met Ghost’s jaw, smearing red across his skin, hot like a brand, straight from the source, and Ghost’s breath caught in his chest. He saw Johnny’s eyes dilate, blue swallowed by black, fear overtaken by…

“I’ve got you, Johnny,” Ghost rumbled, knowing that the sound would be stolen but that Johnny would understand anyway. He always did, somehow.

A tear pooled on Johnny’s lash line before spilling over, racing down his temple, mixing with the blood smeared over Johnny’s skin before soaking into the cloth of Ghost’s glove, and he could almost convince himself that he could feel it against his skin, damp and warm and so full of life.

Johnny’s hand curled, cupping the back of Ghost’s neck, resisting the tug of gravity pulling his arm down like dead weight, except… No, Johnny was definitely the one pulling. Pulling Ghost down, closer, urging him to lean over him, to—

Their lips met, blood slick and offset, the upside down angle making any real kiss impossible, but it was enough. More than enough. Never enough. Ghost cradled Johnny impossibly closer, ignoring the medics’ warning sounds as he maneuvered Johnny’s body, but he’d never do anything to hurt him. Something this perfect couldn’t possibly hurt, not when he had Johnny’s lips on his, Johnny’s hands on him, Johnny’s love pouring into his mouth like too shelf bourbon, intoxicating and burning and addictive all at once.

They separated when they couldn’t breathe anymore, but neither of them went far. Ghost’s lungs were burning, his back already making its displeasure at the harsh angle known, his hips and knees aching at the stretch of folding himself damn near in half, but a direct order from Price himself couldn’t have urged him any further from Johnny, and Johnny evidently felt the same, his fingers tangling in the fabric at the back of Ghost’s neck.

“Ghost,” he said, breath brushing against Ghost’s blood-smeared lips, and Ghost brought one arm down to curl around Johnny’s torso, pulling him slightly upright and slotting their bodies together, back-to-chest.

“I’ve got you, Johnny,” he whispered into Soap’s ear, and he wasn’t sure who he was comforting. All he knew was that, when the helicopter touched down back at base, Johnny was still in his arms, still breathing, still holding on, and he thought that maybe, he could have this.

[thevioletcaptain]

I know the ask is about ships but could you make a non ship one with Dean and Carlos from the Winchesters? I can't think of an exact thing for Dean to say, but the first sentence can be what Dean would say for their first meeting. Thank you if you can (*^‿^*)

"I like your hair," Dean says, staring up from where he's clinging to the bottom of Mary's winter coat, and Carlos grins wide when he adds, with all the breathless gravity of a four year old eager to impress their opinions upon a new friend; "It's swooshy and it's pretty like Mommy's hair, and your-- your beads are pretty and shiny and shiny is my favorite color."

"Swooshy and pretty and shiny is exactly what I was going for, so thank you, little buddy."

Even with almost six years between now and the last time he'd seen Mary, Carlos is relieved to find that they still have a good sense of one-another -- can still communicate silently, swiftly, like they used to when it was life or death. He meets her eye, and her face softens, and understanding passes between them before he slides one of his lucky beaded bracelets -- the bloodstone one -- free.

Dean's eyes light up when he takes it.

When he smiles, he looks just like his mother.

[for this askbox game if anyone else wants to send me a prompt]

[sophistired18]

Kryk ficlet about something something january, insecurities, the Earth, and sisters. Pt. 2/3(?)

Snow is falling, you're floating, let me anchor you.

"Geez, you look more nervous than me." Yaku blurts, observing Kuroo silently run circles in his head.

They're walking around the corner, about to reach the restaurant that Kuroo agreed on with his sister. Kuroo promised Yaku he'd make this work out sometime soon, but he didn't expect it to be this soon. Honestly, he was surprised she even picked up at all. Then he tried setting up a date a month ahead, which she declined due to her 'very busy schedule'. Kuroo's certain she's definitely wanting to avoid this too. Although, what he didn't expect is for her to say that she was free two weeks from then. So that's why he and Yaku are walking in the snow to a small restaurant after a long train ride to Yokohama in the middle of January. And each step they take closer, the more Kuroo realizes how much he dreads this trip. Or dreads his family. Well, his sister mostly.

"I'm not nervous." Kuroo replies. "She irritates me. Not in the way you do, I love you, she's just always rubbed me off in the wrong way." Kuroo begrudges.

"More than Daishou?" Yaku questions, his voice airing in amusement.

"Yes. More than Daishou." Kuroo admits, scrunching his brow.

"Wow. That's a new low." Yaku hums. "But, seriously, you said you didn't care what she thinks. I'm not going to get butthurt if she doesn't like me. I'm stuck with you whether she approves or not." Yaku says truthfully, nudging Kuroo in the shoulder with his fist.

"Yeah, because I don't care what she thinks." Kuroo emphasizes. "Don't give me that look. I mean it! I genuinely don't. I don't care what she thinks of me, per se.."

"So you're worried that she'll think badly of me?" Yaku asks with an air of curiosity, rather than suspicion.

"It's more like.. well, yes. Sort of. Yes. But just to be clear, it's not because I think you're a bad person that she will immediately disapprove of." Kuroo attempts to explain.

"Obviously." Yaku responds, sureness radiating off his voice. He looks up at Kuroo afterwards, insinuating for him to continue.

"What I'm trying to say is, you're an amazing person. Don't say anything, I'm not done yet." Kuroo stops Yaku before he can butt in. "And I love you so much. Which you'd think that these two things would matter as a deciding factor on whether or not my sister will react amicably... but I highly doubt any of it would even matter." Kuroo lets out.

Yaku inhales, places his hands together, before pointing both accusingly at Kuroo. "Tetsu, dear, please get to the fucking point."

"Mori, she's never ever cared about anything I do or like. Which wasn't of course, a big deal to me like ever. Except, until now. Because now, you mean so much more than anything I've ever liked."

"Except volleyball of course." Yaku remarks.

"Ehh more or less equal I'd say." Kuroo laughs.

"Okay sureee, but continue." Yaku rolls his eyes, knowing there's much more to his idiot boyfriend's internal family complex.

Kuroo sighs. "I never cared if she had nothing to do with my life. I mean, heck, she didn't say a single thing to me when our team went to nationals. My mom at least sent a text! And graduation! Both graduations! She didn't even show up. Only called to say congrats and then hung up." He says exasperatedly, leaving him to wonder why he's so out of breath after letting that out. "So yeah, she can do her own thing, it's whatever. But, there's one thing I will absolutely not stand for her to ignore or treat like it's not a big deal, and that's you. Because if she did, then I know it's simply based on her view of me. And I don't think I could ever let anyone treat you that way, especially if it's because of me. Because you are such a-"

"Tetsu. Hey, I get it." Yaku says gentle yet firm. He stands in front of him, physically stopping Kuroo in his tracks, before reaching to hold his shoulders in place. Then he continues, "But, I also completely disagree. You're forgetting the fact that you are also a fucking amazing person. So please for the love of god, please remember that. Because then, who cares what she thinks of you or me. I already know who I am, you do too. Don't let her get to your head before we've even seen her yet."

Kuroo looks into Yaku's eyes and feels vulnerable yet comforted all at once. He feels grounded. He closes his eyes, calming down his nerves that, he denied in having, and opens them to meet Yaku's eyes again. "Okay." He slowly nods.

"We don't need her blessing." Yaku reassures. "Besides, I already got your dad's and Kenma's, and those are the only ones that really matter anyways." Yaku smiles, which only brings Kuroo back down to Earth once more. Yaku does that. There's this security about him that Kuroo craves and adores, and also partially envies.

"Damn it." Kuroo curses. He lowers his neck so his forehead meets Yaku's. "I love you so much, you know that?" He takes a deep breath, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. "Thanks, I needed that."

Yaku chuckles, his warm breath visible in the cold. "You really overthink the easiest of things. I just need you here in the present, Okay? Otherwise those five braincells of yours are going to explode." Yaku laughs lightheartedly, which is adorable even if it was after he just insulted Kuroo basically three times in a row. Yet, every bit of it helped Kuroo ease up a bit, only confirming that he must be some sort of masochist.

Instead of delving into that thought, he decides to come back to Earth, where Yaku is waiting for him. Kuroo presses a light kiss atop of Yaku's head and leaves his lips there, breathing him in.

"You ready now?" Yaku asks, peering his head up.

Kuroo smiles. "Yeah, I'm ready."

[anticidic]

getting my butt handed to me out here guys

I'm not actually starting another au but it won't leave me alone as I'm writing other things that need my attention. It's a hamster running circles on a wheel in my brain

[st0p-sign]

tiny PSA for trolls fanfic writers who are making (or have made) the move from wattpad to AO3

referring to your fics as "books" is a dead giveaway that you came from wattpad

[frankenjoly]

"youre so, so, so pretty" + higusano

Come to think about it, it was funny, how not so long ago they were throwing defeated unconscious Black Lizard members through the office’s windows. And now, they had basically saved their direct superior’s ass, the same woman who had tried to trick them and then opened fire on Atsushi and the Tanizakis on the first actual meeting.

Funny indeed, how things could change.

“Wow.” Yosano heard from the bed she had placed Higuchi once done with healing her, announcing how she had awakened. It might still take her a bit to adjust and/or focus, though. “You’re so, so pretty.”

“Aw, thanks.” She answered, turning around on her seat to look at her. Holding a conversation would be easier like that, after all, and if nothing else she had to check on Higuchi’s status before officially allowing her to walk away from the infirmary.

“And I mean, absolutely goddamn beautiful. Like an ang–”

“No.” Yosano hadn’t meant to sound as cutthroat as she did, but had no regrets either. Besides, her demeanor changed completely when Higuchi’s expression darkened. “That’s so sweet, and I’m not mad. Just don’t call me an angel. Please.”

It was easy to see how metaphorical gears were turning inside Higuchi’s head after that last part, as she likely considered whether to ask something related or not.

“Alright.” She said instead, and the question she actually let out was completely different. “Can I say ‘princess’ or ‘fairy’ and so?”

(Also on ao3.)

[starry-bi-sky]

Love and hate can sometimes cross wires - DPXDC Ficlet

She props her up against the far wall, and kneels before her, fingers deceptively gentle against her cheek. Danyal is cold and trembling, her once bronze skin now dull. She meets her other half— self— sister— mother— predecessor’s eyes, and they are still wet. But now they are sharp, focused on Her face.

Danyal takes a shuddering breath, one that wracks itself down her spine. One that She can feel sinking into her — their? — shared soul. “You’re going to kill me.” She says, matter of fact, something like grief choking in her voice, making it shake.

She blinks at Her mother—sister—friend— predecessor, a feeling She knows is horror but thinks is hatred filling up Her lungs. Her cool palm trails kind down to her throat, Her talon fingers wrapping around the fragile skin. With very little effort, She could break her little neck. “Yes.” She murmurs, a sound only the two of them can hear. “I am.“

Her mother-sister-other half— predecessor shudders again, and yet makes no sound. Simply goes limp with acceptance in her arms. She doesn’t bother to even fight; she looks tired. Make it quick, it’s like she says.

I will. She promises, running the gentle padding of Her thumb along her jugular. It’s the only mercy She thinks She’ll ever give. But first…

“Give me a name?”

(Mother— sister— mine—) Danyal stares at Her, confusion parting her slowly paling lips. There’s silence between the two, thickening the air like the rise of an oncoming storm. Hurt and rage begins to toil beneath Her skin. Was the thought of naming Her so abhorrent, that she’d rather not say a thing at all? Her name is nothing?

Before She can take Her anger out, Danyal breathes in sharp. The sound is painful, jarring like jags of broken glass. She raises a hand, her palm — rough and calloused, proof of her fourteen years of life, of hardship — finds Her cheek too. It’s almost loving, the way Danyal swipes her thumb across Her skin, her clammy fingers tucking a strand of hair behind Her ear.

An emotion sweeps across her, boiling and toiling, burning hot and consuming her whole. Thick, bubbling in her throat, curling behind her teeth and under her tongue and tinging her peripherals with spots. An overwhelming emotion.

It must be hatred, she thinks. What other feeling can encompass one so much?

When Danyal breathes out, so with it comes a name; “Layal.”

Danyal always did love the nights.

(If you ask the Mother of Monsters why she killed Danyal al Ghul, she’ll tell you it was because she loved hated her.)

[everybodyshusband]

rivers post about phantom loving octopi got me thinking about regressed phantom and that octopus baby rattle that river had as the final picture

aah, thank you for your asks, anons !! i think this is the post by @ominousposting that you're referring to?

1.8k words of nonbinary rain/swiss/nonbinary, little new ghoul under the cut, or on ao3 :)

~

“Quinty?” Swiss hollers, pulling back the curtains of each of the bunks as he walks his way down the bus, heedless of the indignant groans he receives from his packmates. “Quinty, you in here?”

Quinty isn’t the real name of their newest quintessence ghoul, but when the poor thing had first been summoned, they’d had such trouble keeping up with everyone’s names that they’d instead called the pack by their elements. The rest of the pack had chosen to do the same thing to them in some kind of gentle mockery—all in good faith, of course—and even now the quintessence ghoul knows and uses all their names, their little nickname has stuck fast. Swiss can bet it won’t be long before the pack forgets their real name in favour of their given one.

There’s no response when Swiss calls out for them a third time, and the multi ghoul is beginning to get worried. It’s a rest day, so there’s no real need for Swiss to find them, but he finds himself growing fond of the new summon and their company, and things can get lonely on the road for Swiss, even constantly surrounded by his packmates as he is. Even on their darker days, Swiss cannot seem to stop himself from finding contentment in their company, and with every conversation they have, Swiss finds his affections for the younger ghoul growing tenfold.

He finally locates the quintessence ghoul once he pulls back the curtain of the last bunk—his own—but the sight in front of his eyes is not what he’s expecting at all.

The quintessence ghoul stares up at Swiss with big, round eyes filled with adoration and something else that Swiss can’t quite place—fear, maybe, but that doesn’t seem right… the two of them are on good terms, he thought—as they suck their thumb with a mouth that looks too slack.

“Quinty? You– You okay, buddy?” Swiss tries to reach a hand out to touch them, but they let out a hurt whine and shrink away before his hand can even make it halfway towards them. “No touch? That’s fine…” Swiss trails off, not because he’s disappointed, but because he has no idea what to do. He’s never seen the quintessence ghoul act like this, and he feels way out of his depth in how to deal with it. He doesn’t even know what it is that’s causing them to act like this, if they’ve simply gone non-verbal and touch averse, too anxious to deal with touch, or something else entirely. All Swiss knows, really, is that he’s found himself with one very distressed ghoul on his hands, and he has no idea how he should go about comforting them. He’d have some idea of how to help them if they were able to communicate in any way—after all, the two of them have found themselves in similar situations to this before—but by the look of it, it would be impossible to garner so much of a whisper in Swiss’ mind from the ghoul in front of him, and so, the multi ghoul finds himself at a loss.

“I– I’ll be right back, Quinty, okay?” He stutters out, mind already racing as begins to think about which of their packmates the quintessence ghoul would be most comfortable with like this. “You just stay there, buddy. We’ll get you some help, yeah?”

They just stare up at him with their big, round eyes and nod their head mindlessly, which Swiss hopes is a yes, rather than some kind of subconscious action their body is imposing upon them.

Swiss closes the privacy curtain and turns on his heel, racing to the common area in search of Rain. They’ll know what to do, he’s sure of it.

They look up at him with a smile that quickly slides off their face as Swiss runs into the sitting area. “Swiss! I was wondering where you’d– Is everything– Is everything alright, my darling?”

“It’s– It’s Quinty.” Rain shuts their book and gives Swiss their full attention, waiting for him to continue. “Something– Something’s wrong, I think. Help?”

Rain jumps up and instructs Swiss to lead them to the quintessence ghoul. As he pulls back the curtain for them to see, the water ghoul does the last thing Swiss expects them to do; they coo.

“Awh, nothing’s wrong with them, Swiss,” they reassure him, crouching down to the quintessence ghoul’s level. “They’re just feeling a little, uh, little, is all.” They laugh at their own unintended wordplay.

Swiss blinks. “You mean… regression? Like you?”

Rain chuckles softly at a particularly curious blink that makes the little ghoul’s entire face scrunch up in earnest, reaching a finger out to bap at their nose before turning their attention back to Swiss. “Yeah. Except Quinty looks like they’re a lot smaller than I ever am.” They turn back to the ghoul in front of them, directing their words at them now, despite the fact they won’t be able to fully understand. “You’re teeny tiny, aren’t you, sweet thing?”

The little ghoul looks up at Rain and blinks slowly, their mouth going slack around their thumb as they take in the new scents surrounding them. They let out a noise; half squawk, half whine. Swiss finds it hard to decipher, and clearly, so does Rain. The water ghoul, however, takes it in their stride as always and doubles down on giving their attention and affection to the babbling ghoul; cooing at them and tapping their wandering hands and feet lightly with their fingers.

“Yes, you are, little one, you’re so small. Awh, look at you, my sweet darling…” Swiss watches on in awe as Rain continues talkings and manages to rid that strange look—Swiss is now sure it was some kind of worry or fear, as he’d first thought—from the quintessence ghoul’s eyes, having them giggling and curling in on themselves delightedly in barely any time at all. Soon, Rain is turning to him and speaking, and Swiss has to make a conscious effort to stop directing heart eyes at the two ghouls in front of him and tune back in to what Rain’s saying. “Would you mind waiting here with them while I fetch a few things from the commons? They’ll be fine on their own I just… We shouldn’t leave them alone like this.”

Before Swiss even registers their words, he finds himself nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘s fine, Rainy. I don’t mind.”

Rain stands and presses a chaste kiss to Swiss’ lips. “Thank you, darling. I’ll be right back.”

Swiss watches them walk back down the bus towards the common area before turning his attention back to the little ghoul in his bunk. Their eyes are unfocussed and shine with tears as they stare after Rain. When the water ghoul disappears entirely, they begin to twist and flap their arms where they’re lying, letting out a series of hurt puppy noises that Swiss swears he can physically feel.

“Oh, no, bud, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he does his best to reassure. “Rainy will be back soon, okay?” He leans in close, twisting his grin into something softly conspiratorial. “Between you and me, little one, I think they’re gettin’ somethin’ for you.”

The quintessence ghoul stops their jolting and whining and looks up at Swiss slack-jawed. Swiss knows they’re not able to speak like this, but everything in their body language is screaming: “Really? Something for– For me?”

“Yeah, little one. Just for you. Somethin’ real special, too, I bet.” He tentatively reaches his hand out again, just as he had seen Rain do, and is overjoyed when the little ghoul doesn’t flinch away this time.

They grip onto two of his fingers, and Swiss has never been more thankful—for the sake of his packmate—that his glamour doesn’t fit quite right and makes his hands just that bit too large for the rest of his body, if only for the fact that the quintessence ghoul’s fingers just barely manage to overlap each other, and it’s clear that it’s helping them stay in their regressed headspace. Their grip is surprisingly strong, and Swiss catches himself hoping that Rain brings back something else for them to hold; it’s not as if Swiss doesn’t love the idea of curling up with the little ghoul and falling asleep side by side, but dammit, he has things to do today.

Thankfully, Rain returns soon enough cradling a few toys in their arms, the majority of which, Swiss is surprised to note, he doesn’t recognise. “These yours, Rainy? I haven’t seen ‘em before.” He yoinks an octopus plushie out of their arms, it’s squishy. “Awh, cute.”

The little ghoul must see the octopus, because they immediately let go of Swiss’ fingers and make their best attempt at grabby hands in the toy’s direction, whining softly. Rain takes the octopus back and deposits it into their arms, telling the little ghoul its name. They gasp out softly as they feel the softness of the toy for themselves and immediately hug it close to their chest. 

“Yeah, they’re mine.” Rain’s voice is hushed so as not to disturb the little ghoul from their excitement. “Mount got them for me a while ago but I never really reach for them when I’m small. Besides, this one’s been rambling on about octopi ever since they were summoned. It seems only right to let them have these.” The water ghoul shrugs and turns away to dig back through the pile of toys, but Swiss catches their arm before they can turn too far.

“You’re lovely,” he says, genuinely delighted in the soft blush that settles over their cheeks as his words sink in.

“...Thank you, Swiss.”

Their moment is interrupted by the quintessence ghoul doing their best to sit up and point at one of the toys still hidden in Rain’s arms, babbling incoherently in excitement. It’s a rattle shaped like an octopus. The head of the rattle is hidden inside the soft, plush head of the octopus, and its arms disguise the handle. Rain shakes the toy for them and the arms splay out, twisting in the air. The little ghoul seems to be entranced by the motion of it, and even more desperate to grab a hold of it for themselves. The water ghoul holds it out to them, both they and Swiss chuckling as their packmate does their best to get a strong enough grip on it. Eventually they manage it and swing the rattle around, giggling to themselves at the noises it makes with every movement.

Now that the little ghoul seems relatively content, Swiss and Rain are able to sit back and watch them play with the rattle, lost in their own thoughts. Swiss wraps an arm around Rain’s shoulder and lets the water ghoul lean into him. “Thank you for your help, Rainy,” he whispers softly, not wanting to disrupt the little ghoul’s playing. “Couldn’t have made ‘em happy without you.”

Rain just hums quietly and leans further into Swiss’ side, both of them content to watch their mate play with their toys until they grow too tired to sit upright.

[boogiewoogieweeb]

it's all fun and games typing up a silly, rickety little au idea in the tags of someone else's post and then suddenly you find yourself expanding on the world-building and plotting out interconnected stories for characters you swore would only make background appearances and your brain is On Fire with the need to write even when you know you can't commit to yet another doomed wip

[copper-skulls]

grillby dad momence

have I mentioned?? why fuku is green in this au?? well that's because Grillby found her shortly after she popped into existence and he had to pump her with green magic for several hours (with the help of Gaster giving him his reserves) so she wouldn't dissipate. congratz! you came into being and caused your future dad to be The Most Terrified Creature In The Underground for several hours

[typinggently]

I can’t lie, my head is spinning. Maybe I SHOULD put my ficlets and stuff on AO3 because frankly, there is some good stuff I should reread more often.