#fully dye my hair black in that sink

[ryan-sometimes]

I walked into my dorm bathroom (shared) and started doing my skincare on one sink while my new roommate seemed to be doing her hair on the other sink. We started chatting about our university and so on. We were laughing loads and generally just vibing.

Later she thanked me for not being mad because apparently she was taking out her box braids in the bathroom and there was synthetic hair all over the place. She said generally her roommates tend to give her strange looks because of the mess and lack of familiarity with coily hairstyles.

Honest to god, I had no idea what she was doing over there because I wasn’t wearing my glasses and genuinely couldn’t see anything she was doing. All I saw was a human figure moving their arms over their head. Didn’t even know there were pieces of synthetic hair everywhere until like 3 days later when I stepped on a bunch of it and yelped thinking I’d stepped on some kind of animal

[writeonwhiskey]

the skz house: ch 17

a/n: thank you to @bahablastplz for editing. check out her writing if you haven't already! she's amazing.

Summary: Welcome to Sigma Kappa Zeta, the most popular fraternity on campus. When you, down on your luck and looking for a place to live, see their ad for ‘IN-HOUSE STAY’. You're one of the four girls chosen and find that your duties for the rest of the school year will be cooking, cleaning, and pleasing your assigned house members: Hyunjin & Chan.

[ read chapter sixteen here ]

Chapter Seventeen: Of Futures & Flights

Lee Know was right—your least favorite string of words in the English language. Hyunjin will be going to Korea for winter break and now your only option is to see what Chan has planned. You knock on the door to his room before entering. He’s sitting at his desk, laptop in front of him. He turns to face you as you enter. A hint of a smile tugs at his lips when he sees you and you immediately feel your face flush. 

“Hey,” you say meekly. 

Lately with just one look from him you’re overcome with flashbacks of being handcuffed to his bed. And he knows it. It hadn’t been awkward or uncomfortable in the days that followed, but he certainly was finding a lot of joy in catching your eye from across the room and winking or smirking. He always got a kick out of your reaction. 

“Hey,” he replies smoothly.

You walk over to your bed and sit on the edge, facing him.

“I wanted to ask about your plan for winter break,” you cut straight to the chase. “Are you going to visit your family?”

“Maybe. Why?” he asks, crossing his hands in front of his chest as he leans back in the chair. “Got a more tempting suggestion?”

Of course, he must already have some idea why you’re here. Lee Know or Hyunjin could have mentioned it. But he wants to hear you ask anyways.

“I want to use the trip I won around that time and Hyunjin is going home, so…”

“So…I’m your backup?”

“N-No,” you stutter. Though you can’t deny how it must come off from his point of view. 

“Hmmm,” he hums, not taking his eyes off you. “Where you planning to go?”

“I was thinking somewhere warm, like Miami. I’ve never been.”

“And you actually want me to go with you?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. “You could take one of the other members.” 

Is he suggesting that you should choose someone else? That he doesn’t want to go with you? He does so damn well at playing serious when he’s messing with you, you can never tell.

“I’d prefer to spend it with you…”

“Since Hyunjin isn’t available?”

“Chan.” you sigh. 

He chuckles at your exasperation and gives up. 

“I’ll go.”

You wish you had something nearby on the bed to hit him with. Internally you’re jumping for joy. 

The next day, you’re in the kitchen with plastic gloves on your hands. Hyunjin’s long body is laying on the marble countertop, feet hanging off the edge, head over the sink with a folded towel under his neck for support. He has hands clasped in the center of his chest. A bottle of black hair dye sits next to the faucet as you work your fingers through his newly darkened locs to rinse it out.

You keep turning your head to the side as you work, trying to fully picture him with dark hair as you’ve only ever seen him as a bleached blonde. The darker strands definitely look more natural on him and enhance his features.

It’s finals week and you’ve decided to take a break from reading to help Hyunjin out. The house has been relatively calm lately as everyone cracks down on studying. Some go at it alone, others pair up to quiz each other. 

“Would your parents really lose their shit if you came home with blonde hair?” you ask, turning the water off when the black dye has finally stopped dripping.

“Yeah ,” he replies. “And that’s an understatement. My dad would behead me, then drag my headless body around before letting me show up at company events like that. It’s ‘unprofessional’,” he says, using air quotes.

He jokes about it so casually, but it makes you wonder what their parents are like. It’s so different to the supportive upbringing you had. Well, it is supportive in a way—their parents are doing what they believe is best for their child’s future. It just seems like it doesn’t leave room for them to be themselves once they return home.

You know, from talking to Han, the general idea of what’s expected of them after graduation. You previously assumed, though, that just meant a continued sexual relationship was off the table. After what Lee Know said, you now understand that you are forbidden to have contact with them at all.

As you’ve grown more curious about it, Hyunjin has been rather receptive of your prying questions. When you asked why he was so open, he mentioned the NDA in that cursed contract you skim read through in desperation all those weeks ago.

“So do you immediately start working after you graduate?” you ask, taking off the plastic gloves and setting them aside.

“Not straight away. There will be a few months spent doing whatever I want…traveling, probably. Then I’ll work directly under my father. Essentially until he’s ready to retire or trusts that I won’t fuck up the family business.”

This feels like such a heavy topic, but Hyunjin grazes over it with ease. Like it’s not a big deal. From his perspective, maybe it isn’t. He’s known the path his life would take since he was very young. They all do. There isn’t much to guess or worry about like most of us. Hell, it doesn’t seem like they get to choose much of anything for themselves. Your thoughts drift to Chan for a second as you wring the water out from Hyunjin’s hair. 

You take the towel from under his head and guide him to sit up so you can dry it.

“And when it comes to love and marriage and children and all that…what sort of freedom do you have?”

Hyunjin makes a face like he’s going to throw up at your words. You roll your eyes and throw one end of the towel at him, so it covers his dramatic face.

“Come upstairs,” you say as you walk out of the kitchen.

When you’re both back in his room, after he stopped to grab his blow dryer, you have him sit in his desk chair. You stand behind him, combing your fingers through his hair.

“So…marriage, love? What’s that look like for you guys?” you ask again.

“At some point I’ll be encouraged to date, then marry. Exclusively from a list of women vetted by my parents,” he tells you.

You chew on your bottom lip; thankful he’s not looking directly at you. From your perspective, it all sounds concerning the more you learn, but you know it’s not your place to speak on it. What is there for you to even say? They’ve probably all already come to terms with it. Would your opinion even matter? In the grand scheme of things, you living with them this year is just a blip on their radar.

“Like an arranged marriage?”

“Kinda,” he says nonchalantly. “I will have some say in it, though.”

You turn on the blow dryer, using it as a distraction to sort through the thoughts arising from the information he provided.

Hyunjin previously mentioned the main function of the SKZ house was to provide them the ability to focus on their studies without allowing love and romance to distract them. Having a dedicated girl each year to meet their needs…to take care of them in more ways than one. It’s almost like this is a trial run for their futures. Though, from the sounds of it, the women vetted by their parents will probably also come from wealthy families and possess the feminine qualities they desire in a daughter-in-law. Certainly no one like you.

You grew up fairly well–your mom and dad played active roles in your upbringing. They were able to dote on you as an only child and you don’t recall ever wanting for much. You weren’t poor, but nowhere near the level of wealth their families have amassed. They supported you with all they had and there was never much fuss or drama. You’ve always been a good kid with your head on straight–focused on your own dreams and goals.

Having gotten to know Hyunjin the past couple of months, you know one day he will make an amazing husband. He’s gentle when needed, thoughtful, caring and extremely empathetic, while still maintaining his masculinity. Which makes him even more attractive. Chan, on the other hand…

You feel a sharp pain in your chest–maybe Chan is holding back with you because he’s saving himself or really only willing to open up to his future wife. That hurts to think about. 

You turn the blow dryer off and sit it on the desk. Hyunjin reaches out for your hand and pulls you around the front of the chair. You sit on his lap, straddling him and cupping his face with your hands.

You take in his new appearance. His blow-dried hair looks full and fluffy, and it’s grown a lot in length, reaching beneath his collar bones. The dark hair looks good on him—it gives meaning to the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ trope.

“What happens if you don’t like anyone on the list?”

“They’ll compile another one,” he shrugs.

“That seems unfair,” you reply. “What if you meet someone organically and fall in love?”

“I could date them,” he says, hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. “But nothing would come of it.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

He considers the question for a beat.

“Not in the way you might think,” he replies.

“Well, I think anyone would be right to be bothered at having so little say in the outcome of their life…”

“I don’t mind that aspect of it. Being on this path ensures I will live a good life,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“What’s your take on it, then?” you ask, making note that he said good life and not happy.

“I’ve never been fond of the ‘forever partner’ idea.”

You lean back a little, sliding your hands down to his shoulders. You’re a little surprised at his words. The kind, caring and doting Hyunjin? Does not believe in soulmates? 

“I have no problem being committed and dedicated to one woman at a time, but…forever?” he asks rhetorically. “I think we’re meant to connect on a deep level with a lot of people at different times in our lives. Do you know how many people there are on this planet? And I’m supposed to find a lifelong match from a list? To meet all my needs, even as they change over time?”

You can completely understand, and have experienced, his commitment and loyalty in the way he immediately opened up to you and was there for you. But maybe this experience has made him grow accustomed to having a new woman in his life every year. 

“New people make things exciting and fresh,” he continues as he slips his thumbs beneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing circles against your skin, “…how you meet, learning about them, being intimate with them.”

You had never taken him for the playboy type. Though the way he’s explaining it doesn’t sound like he will be running around trying to fuck anything that walks. Just that he’d prefer to entertain the idea of a woman without any real commitment for certain stretches of time, for the rest of his life. 

“So you worry you’ll become bored?” you ask. 

“Maybe,” he answers honestly, as always. “I don’t doubt my ability to remain faithful—to be a good dad and husband when the time comes. But I do want to take my time getting there. I’m in no rush. Maybe in 30 years or so.”

You roll your eyes at that.

“I cannot with you,” you say, reaching your hands up to run them through his newly darkened locs. You tug on the strands, and he tilts his head back, shutting his eyes. 

His hands fall from your hips to cup your ass. In one swift move he stands, holding you to him as he walks towards the bed. You rest your forehead against his, and nuzzle his nose.

“Well. I certainly can with you.” He gives your lips a peck with his before tossing you onto the bed. 

You squeal as you land, then start moving backwards on the bed. You can’t help but smile and giggle as he crawls towards you. His dark, fluffy hair falls in front of his eyes and he looks so fucking sexy as he looks down at you.

“Where you going, jagiya?” He asks, straightening his back but still on his knees. He reaches for your leg. “Two weeks without you? We have to make up for the time we’re losing.”

You let out another squeal as he grabs your leg and pulls you towards him. He places his arms on either side of you, caging you in, in the best way possible. You hook your arms around his neck and pull him down towards you. 

After finals are done, it feels like there’s less tension in the house. Everyone’s interacting again versus being huddled up in a corner studying. The house steadily becomes empty as those who are going away for break take their leave. You drop Hyunjin at the airport and try not to think of what it will be like when you have to say goodbye to him for good.

Soon enough, it’s your turn to get dropped off at the airport. Jeongin and Charlotte wave goodbye to you and Chan. They’ll both have the house alone until Jeongin leaves for Korea and you can only imagine what they’ll get up to. You make a mental note to sanitize every communal surface when you get back. 

In the airport, you and Chan barely speak. He has his headphones on and keeps a blank expression plastered to his face. The last couple days his mood seemed to turn sour, and you have no idea what caused it. You have an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach–this is exactly how you did not want to spend the trip.

You busy yourself with checking the destination on your ticket multiple times. With Lee Know in charge of organizing this trip, you couldn’t be sure enough that he hadn’t booked you a flight to Miami, Oklahoma instead of Miami, Florida. 

A few hours later, you and Chan are settled into your business class seats. A few minutes after takeoff, you finally release his hand you’d been clutching for dear life. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, watching him stretch his fingers out. 

He reclines his seat a bit and shifts around to get comfortable. He leans back in the seat and closes his eyes. You lift the window shade and look out at the clouds as you fly through them, trying your best to tame your annoyance. 

You don’t know how long passes, but being an overthinker you’ve gone through several scenarios and outcomes about how this trip could crash and burn if you don’t say something now. You can’t just let his silence go unchecked. You refuse to spend your vacation, that he agreed to come on, this way. You reach over to move his headphones from his right ear. 

“Chan,” you begin, “I haven’t had a real vacation, alone and not with my parents, in almost two years so I’m really looking forward to this, but…”

He’s absentmindedly chewing on his bottom lip as he listens. 

“You’ve been in a shitty mood the last couple days. I want this to be a good trip, I want us to have fun…if you were planning to be miserable, you really didn’t have to come.”

“Planning to be miserable?” He repeats. 

“Your sudden change in attitude?” You shrug. “I would have rather rescheduled the trip, if you were going to be like this. And don’t say like what—you know how you’re treating me.” 

He becomes quiet at your words. You feel proud of yourself for getting them out. There’s no way he doesn’t realize when he’s shutting you out. You look away from him, seeing the stewardess start coming down the aisle with her cart. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I wanna take this trip with you, y/n, I just have a lot on my mind right now.”

“You always say that,” you shake your head. 

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true,” he replies. 

You let out a soft sigh. 

“Well, isn’t that what vacations are for?” you ask. “You can travel somewhere far away and leave all the bullshit behind. Forget about school…the future,” you look away from him at that, “you can be someone entirely different when you get to your destination. For a little while, anyway.”

He mulls your words over. 

“Is that what we’re doing?” He pulls his headphones down, so they hang around his neck. 

It certainly hadn’t been your intention, but you spot the sudden playful glint in his eyes and nod your head. You want to smack him. Or yourself. You cannot figure out if it’s him and his bad mood that causes the tension, or you allowing him to sulk in it instead of confronting him about it. 

“And who are we pretending to be?” 

You shrug, “Hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

The stewardess stops next to him with her cart, smiling as she opens the cabinet and produces two champagne flutes. She then fills them up with wine. She hasn’t even asked your drink choice, so you assume she’s preparing it for the pair across the aisle. When she politely reaches over Chan to pull out your tray and sits the drink down, you throw a confused look at him. 

Maybe it’s complimentary…but still, wouldn’t she ask if you wanted it?

“I’m sorry,” you finally speak up. “We didn’t ordered this…could I just get a Sprite?”

“Oh, of course, dear,” she says, but still proceeds to pull out Chan’s tray and sits a drink in front of him too. “These drinks are free to you, on behalf of the flight crew. Congratulations on your engagement–future Mr. and Mrs. Bang.”

You stare and blink, dumbfounded. 

Chan clicks his tongue and mutters something in Korean under his breath. 

“Thank you,” he says with a tight-lipped smile. 

“My pleasure,” she replies. “What else can I get you, sir?”

“Water, please,” he tells her. 

She provides you both a cup filled with ice, and your requested Sprite and water before turning to assist the pair on the other side of the aisle. 

“I’m gonna fucking strangle Lee Know,” you say through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, he’s the first call I’m making when we land,” he concurs. 

The man can’t even be trusted to book flight tickets without some kind of shenanigans attached to it. 

Chan picks up his wine glass and sighs, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. 

“I guess we have our roles,” he says, tilting the rim of his glass towards you. 

You grab your own, but don’t cheers his yet. 

“I don’t know…I was thinking more along the lines of coworkers on a business trip or annoying vloggers or something like that,” you tell him. 

“So you wanna call off the engagement already?” He asks, feigning a hurt look. 

It never ceases to baffle you–how quickly he can go from cold and distant to warm and teasing you. And vice versa. 

“You’re okay with pretending to be my fiancé?” 

He shrugs, “It could be fun. It’ll help take my mind off some things.”

“Really?”

“I’m a committed actor. Very convincing…don’t you remember?”

Of course you remember his stint as Professor Bang. You wouldn’t mind taking a class with him again. But this? Chan pretending to be your fiancé? After your talk with Hyunjin, you know you won’t ever know what it’s like to actually even date him. Let alone fathom marrying him. 

“Okay,” you reply, choosing to indulge. You tap your glass against his before taking a drink. 

You’re so happy that the dark cloud looming over him seems to have dissipated, that it doesn’t even cross your mind how much you might regret this later. Having a sample of this version of Chan? It’s like you’re setting yourself up to get hurt. But you’ll keep telling yourself you’re strong enough to remember it’s not real. That when the time comes to say goodbye to this man, you won’t think about these moments and what could have been. You’ll keep lying to yourself this entire trip.

[ read chapter 18 here ]

a/n: the chan we've been dying to experience is almost here. thank you all so much for your continued support. your feedback, comments, asks, reblogs, etc., ALL your interactions fill my heart with happiness. it encourages me to write more because i don't want to leave you all hanging for too long lol but seriously, tysm!

taglist: i have no idea why it's not letting me tag everyone. i know there's a limit of tags per post but even if i type less than the limit, it's not working :( tagging on hiatus til I can figure it out, i'm sorry.

[siriuslylantsov]

haircare routine

pairing: sirius black x fem!reader

description: in which sirius does your hair.

tags: fluff, they're best friends so platonic!!, sirius takes reader through his extensive routine that he undoubtedly has because he has amazing hair, reader is a bit lazy so im assuming she uses no products, reader wears a swimsuit but nothing is specified.

a/n: first sirius piece!! i love that guy. also, i'm being so unspecific about the bathroom arrangements, so think of it however you want. i didn't want to get too into the logistics. enjoy!

wc: 854

“ow! fuck, sirius,” you curse as he yanks your head with a brush. he continues to abuse that knot in your hair much to your dismay. 

“it's not my fault your hair is like this.”

“yeah, but- ah! i said i could do it myself.”

“when? you wouldve left it like this for a few more days and then been all pissy to me because you look like shit. i'm doing you a favour. stay still,” he says firmly.

you whine, “you could be less rough with it.”

“sorry,” he frowns sympathetically at you in the mirror, “just trying to detangle, ‘m almost done.”

his actions soften, smoothing a hand over your hair. he turns you around and nods his head toward the bathroom. “get in the tub, i'll be there in a second.”

james had dared you to jump in the lake and you, always up for a challenge, did it. when sirius found you, sopping strands and layered clothes, he coerced you into letting him wash your hair, yapping on about how your hair’s going to be matted if you don't shampoo it now–high maintenance prick.

you assess the temperature of the water, deeming it perfect, you take off the damp shirt you had on. climbing in carefully, you sink down till you're fully submerged, letting the warmth encompass you. you come back up for air after a few seconds, and sirius walks in with a stool. he sets it behind the clawfoot and looks at you.

“where'd you get that swimsuit from?”

“oh, got it from marlene, i ran into the changing room after her swim team practice.”

its explanation enough for him as he doesnt press further, far be it from him to question your antics. he pulls out a shampoo and conditioner–his ones, fancy looking bottles with labels written in cursive print, they exude expensive, nothing like the plastic bottles that sat in your shower caddy. 

he sits down and picks up a cup filled with water and tips it over your head, you don't mind that it drips down your face. he slowly scrubs the shampoo into your scalp, unintentionally massaging as he goes, you hum in approval and he chuckles. he does this twice, rinsing off the soapy suds before moving on to the conditioner, raking it through your ends. he combs through your hair before washing that off too. 

when he's done, he leaves you to clean the rest of your body. Its a clumsy ordeal taking off the swimsuit that clung to your skin, but you manage, leaving a few puddles in your wake. stepping out of the tub, you slip into a bathrobe, securing the tie at your waist. you walk out to find sirius waiting next to the vanity.

“what are you still doing here?”

“you’re getting the full treatment, sweetheart,” he urges you closer, “c’mon sit.”

you tentatively step forward and take a seat in front of the mirror, eyeing the box of vials–all glass but containing liquids of different colours and consistencies. you peer at him suspiciously through the mirror.

“you're not dyeing my hair green are you…?”

he flashes you a wicked smile that makes you nervous, “if i was, would i tell you?”

a small pout forms on your lips and he shifts to earnest, fingers gently raking through your hair, “i'm not,” he says firmly.

a hint of hesitancy remains but you nod nonetheless, allowing him to begin.

you watch as he pours product into his hand, and work it into the damp strands, making sure to evenly coat it. he crosses over to stand before you, a different substance in his palm, it looks like whipped cream and you arent sure how he managed to get it to foam up like that.

“bend your head please,” he guides your head down till your hair hangs over, he kneels down too. “your neck will hurt a bit because of the angle, but i’ll finish up quickly.”

he scrunches your hair up, careful not to accidently tug, causing drops of water to trickle down his arm. he continues doing this all over, all the way up into the roots. you notice how loose ringlets of curls form as he lets go.

when he finishes, he mutters a quick drying spell, one that when you use leaves your hair a frizzy mess but when he does, it looks fine. maybe those strange vials contributed to that. 

he stands and raises you up with him. he's still in front of you so it obstructs your view of the mirror. he sneaks his fingers in and shakes through your hair, to give it more volume, he confirms later. 

finally, stepping aside, you see yourself. he's stood beside you, with a somewhat smug look on his face, as you admire your hair. the waves are defined and remind you of your hair when you're at the beach, only healthier and more hydrated. 

“thanks,” you chirp, offering him a small appreciative smile.

he brushes it off with a wink, returning your smile, “you've got great hair, you should let me style it more often.”

m.list

[strawberryfairi]

Haruchiyo Sanzu | Date Night!🩷

Haru X Black Fem! Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️)

You had a special dinner date tonight with your boyfriend Haruchiyo, and you wanted a different look now that your french curl braids were taken out. Deciding for the quick and easy route, you get out one of your special occasion wigs, a deep midnight blue body wave wig with curtain bangs. You loved the way this hair framed your face, and the midnight blue was such a unique look as opposed to the standard 1B (black) color.

You're getting ready in the bathroom, all your wig products and makeup items splayed across the sink and even the closed toilet seat. Your date night playlist was blasting, an excited smile plastered across your lips as you prepare for a fun night.

Suddenly your phone rings...

Haru💖

Your smile widens as you reach for your phone, the music turning off as your phone was connected to your speaker.

"Hey baaabe! What's goin-

"What happened to your hair!?" He cuts you off, mouth hanging wide open as he gawks at you through the screen.

"What'chu mean? I'm doing it right now." You furrow your brows, trying not to laugh at the expression on his cute face.

"But...you had-..why'd you go and re-dye it? What happened to all your braids?!" He asks completely bewildered.

"Stop...." You deadpan, "Do not start again with this."

"I-..."

"Now Haru..." You warn, narrowing your eyes as you still try not to laugh.

"Babe, you know damn well this is a wig! I took my braids out-the fake hair-and put my hair up for this wig you see me with right now." You explain slowly, giggling a little as you watch the cogs turning in his head.

Somehow even after all this time together (a year and seven months), Haru still hasn't fully clicked into how versatile and changeable black hair really is. It throws him off when you go from faux locs to your natural afro, then suddenly bust out a wig like right now. He tries so hard to keep up too, it's so sweet.

You remember the days where you had to start with the absolute basics. The day you two met he'd spoken to you first, complimenting your hair and wondering how you got it to be so "fluffy". It was in it's natural state that day, a simple high puff ponytail with your edges laid. You tried so hard not to laugh at his awestruck expression when you explained it's naturally "fluffy". Then the rest was history...

"So...you didn't dye your hair?" He asks, raising a brow.

"No baby, none of this is mine. I haven't had my natural hair out since last month." You explain with a smile, setting the phone down on the sink to continue with your hair.

"Well shit, I like it! It frames your face well." He compliments with a proud smile.

"Thank you!" You grin, giving him cheesy air kisses.

"I'm gonna pick you up soon; be there around seven thirty."

"K!" You beam, heart fluttering in excitement.

"I love you baby! Oh, I'm takin' you somewhere new this time; you'll love it." He grins.

"Aaaaw ok! I love you too, Haru! See you soon."

[lebenspurpur]

A Vincent thought I just had. I wrote this on my phone so bear with me. (Very faintly spicy, but otherwise completely wholesome.)

Also: Vincent only wears a mask that covers half of his face in this.

You notice the faint brown strands peeking out on the top of his hand as he helps you with cooking.

He's chopping vegetables, skillfully as ever and you need to bite your cheek to look away from his hands. That's when you detect the faded dark brown at his hairline, peeking through the usually smooth raven hair.

A part of you amuses itself with the thought of Vincent dyeing his hair all alone, hands and neck stained black. The other half immediately sees your own hands in his hair, fingers smoothing out the ink black dye over his scalp. You gulp as you imagine his relaxed groans, his eyelids fluttering shut over dark eyes. Warmth pools in your belly.

A wave in front of your eyes brings you back to reality. Vincent gestures to the chopping board and you feel heat rising into your cheeks at the realization that you had been downright staring at him.

'You good?', he signs, eyebrow tilting up at your flustered expression.

"Want me to dye your hair?", you blurt out, immediately regretting your lack of self-discipline.

Your answer seems to surprise him and he halts.

"Sorry that was a little straightforward. I just-", you scratch your neck, painfully embarrassed, "I just noticed the black dye has washed out a little."

Vincent's eyes crinkle, your belly flutters at the sight of the corner of his mouth rising, and then he nods.

'I guess I have been delaying it for long enough. After dinner?', he signs.

You barely have time to nod before Bo barges into the kitchen and interrupts the two of you. The thought pushes itself at the back of your brain as you eat and clean up.

Only when Vincent appears in the kitchen, black stained towels and dye in his hands, you face your idea again.

"Maybe we should dye it here, it's probably easier to clean up. And we can still wash it out in the bathroom later."

Vincent just nods and puts the things on the counter, sinking on a chair after he's pulled it from the living room.

You're already in the process of mixing the dye when you realize he's only wearing a Tanktop, also stained in black liquid. You nearly drop the tube with dye as you watch his muscles move beneath the skin. Man, you're down bad.

The lack of gloves bothers you only a little as you approach the tall man, admiring the long strands of hair falling over his shoulders.

"Can you lean back a little?", you ask, painfully aware of the heat Vincent's emitting.

The artist's hand leans back and he closes his eyes, completely trusting you with the black strands.

His breath hitches as your fingers get in contact with his scalp, the dye cold and wet on his skin. You massage his hair throughoughly, making sure to get color on everything.

Vincent's brown hairline isn't all too long so it doesn't take long to cover it all, much to your disdain. Vincent seems to enjoy it too, head pushing into your fingers and towards the massage you're giving him.

You step around the chair after you finish, wanting to check for spots you missed from the other side. So, trying to ignore how close you are, you focus on his hair.

Vincent feels your hot breath on his forehead, your smell encasing him fully and he clenches his fists so he doesn't do anything stupid.

You can't help the small feeling of disappointment when you realize that you got all of his brown hair, and your task is finished. Not wanting to leave this close proximity all too soon, you let your eyes travel down to his face, or at least, the half of it which you can see.

Vincent's brows are slightly furrowed, his jaw a little tense and you wonder if he dislikes your presence. His eyes are still closed though, and his breathing is even, chest rising with every deep breath. Then you make an even more interesting discovery.

"You have freckles!", you exclaim, a grin stretching your lips.

Vincent's eyes open in surprise and he takes a deep breath at the proximity. Just a few more inches and his lips could be on yours, his hands on your hips.

"They're so faint but here,", you gesture to his nose and then to his forehead, "and here!".

It takes a second but soon you realize what you're doing and quickly lean back, clearing your throat.

"Sorry, I-", you busy yourself by getting rid of the dye you didn't use, "I don't know why I'm so distracted today. I'll get you some conditioner for when you're done with washing it out.".

And within a second you're out of the door, and around the corner. Vincent can't help the smile on his lips as he touches his nose. Freckles.

[awlimagines]

A Polaroid Pickup - Rock

You enjoyed the fresh air as a kid. Your father’s farm was full of it if you could look past the natural stench of livestock. Things you didn’t fully understand occurred when you were small, and your mom whisked you away to the city. Now, you were far more used to the harsh yells, massive crowds, and vendors trying to make a sale. You stifled a yawn as you passed your ID card over the sensor to allow you entry to the office building. 

It stretched into the sky, reaching for the heavens while swallowing hundreds in neat, bright offices. Those who sat at the top of their companies’ pyramids enjoyed sweeping city views and sunlight. The lowly peons like you got erected cubicles in the building’s belly. The company you worked for was nice enough to allow you to pin pictures into the fabric walls. You had only a few of your mother, an old pet, and an even older boyfriend. You needed to throw away that picture. You didn’t even know the boy pictured alongside you anymore. 

You throw your bag under your desk to sink into your seat and swivel to face a black screen and phone. That was when the deck of cards caught your eye. Those weren’t yours. As your manager swept past, you scrambled, sliding the cards haphazardly from your desk to hide them. This was your first job. You wouldn’t risk losing it or having a mark against you for some cards. The cards left all thoughts as the phone began to ring. 

It wasn’t until lunch that you remembered the cards. You reached into your bag to pay for the bland cafeteria lunch when your hand brushed the stiff cards instead. Fumbling past them for money, you juggled the tray to pay and hurried to a seat at the packed tables.  You squeezed into an empty chair and rapidly shoveled your food down. As people around you left, you pulled the cards from your bag. They looked pretty new. The bent corners were probably from being shoved out of sight rather than from any use. You flipped through the cards, enjoying the stylized kings and queens. 

A small Polaroid picture of you replaced the Queen of Hearts. Your blood ran cold at the sight. You were wearing the same clothes you had on now, and you sat in the same cafeteria. Bile rose in your throat as you fought back panic when a man slid into the seat across from you. His dark brown roots bled through his blonde. His blonde hair, tinged with orange, screamed the young man wasn’t experienced with dyes. 

“You're a queen. Let my face be your throne,” he remarked, winking a finger-gun at you. You held up the cards and picture, asking the young man if this was from him. He eagerly confirmed it was his idea and asked if you were impressed. You almost felt bad for how quickly the HR department removed him after you reported the harassment. The young man couldn’t have been over twenty and probably just made a horrible decision. 

Years later, the company suffered and downsized. You were cut from the job and traveled to Forget-Me-Not Valley. The farm was about all you had left, and you had to make it work. Takakura introduced you to the inn owners who had mentioned their son Rock when a clattering noise on the balcony above caught your attention. You glanced up in time to see the doors snapping shut. 

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple,” Rock smirked, shooting you a wink and finger gun as you gathered the fall apples. 

“Did you ever work in the city?” 

A look of horror swept across Rock’s face as he mumbled about how he didn’t think you had recognized him. Any hint of suave he had disappeared as Rock struggled to explain his past behavior. 

“I didn’t. Not until the terrible pick-up line,” you chuckled. “It’s water under the bridge, but I have to know. How did you get a picture of what I wore that day and in the cafeteria?” 

“Pfft, that’s easy. You wear the same clothes like clockwork even now,” Rock brushed off, gesturing to your clothes. The blonde ran from your farm laughing as you threw apples after him, your face red.

[atesaturno]

priscilla (2023)

🎞️ watched 17.01.24 🎞️ rating 4.5/5 ☆

🎞️ thoughts

finally got around to watching Priscilla. being a huge Coppola fan, this was one of my most anticipated features of last year, but i never got around to it because i was waiting to see it in cinemas - it still hasn't premiered in Portugal but i just couldn't wait any longer. after the Blonde fiasco, i was hesitant to dive into another famous woman biopic but since Priscilla herself was involved in production, i had high expectations - and GOD, were they met. this movie had a delicacy and a sensibility that showed immense respect to the source material.  there were so many breathtaking scenes, but i’m mainly in love with Cailee's performance. she became Priscilla in a way that i don't see many actors do with their characters - her look when Lisa-Marie ran into the nanny's arms left me ON THE FLOOR. Sofia also did an amazing job with directing. my favorite subtleties were the Channel 5 perfume parallel, Priscilla doing her makeup while in labor, and also she gradually stopping dyeing her hair black when Elvis started growing more and more distant. it’s astonishing how much she could tell us about the characters through the little things. it’s not yet a five-star for me, but i can see it becoming one after a rewatch. i think i was too mesmerized with everything to let it fully sink in. i felt myself trying to pay attention to every single detail, and that might have been detrimental to my overall enjoyment. can't wait to rewatch it in theaters so i can finally decide if this is a five-star. one of the things that left me on the edge between a 4.5 and a 5 was the ending. i think it told the story it had to tell, but the last 20 minutes felt rushed. maybe the real events were rushed but it translated as a pacing issue.

You're losing me to a life of my own. I have to go. If I stay, I'll never leave.

[wordslikesilver]

Promethea

It’s in my chest. It’s a bit distracting, sorry. It aches, a little.

The cottage in sleeping woods that waits for us. The one we dream of in tired innocence and wool-gathering. Seek me. Strain your ears and listen. The beating heart will guide. Come lie with me, cry with me, kiss me please for every bitter memory I can’t forget. I’ll kiss your tears and attend your weeping, the grief that rises from our soil. To face it together is sacred privilege. Confide and let poetry drape our shoulders like blankets in winter. It’s so warm here with you. Would you speak to me long into the night and tell me of all you love? Would you do it again so I can listen a little longer? Hold my hand. I hear you. I still want…

I’m sorry. It’s just so warm. It’s in my ribs again. Under my skin. It feels so bright and hallowed. I carry a holy thing. It will leave a mark upon me.

The apartment. The kitchen. The sink. We wash our hands together. The water runs over our hands holding hands, washing our palms in our other’s palms, we bathe together. Cleanse each other of our loneliness and the sick oil of absence. We walk to the kitchen as one, our clean hands a fetter. Folding love into the dough and seasonings, lathering soap slowly on dishes and skin. The heat from the shower is a comfort. The sweat washes slowly from us. I take a lungful of dim light and mist. You’re there in the steam I breathe. The tea I sip. The hands I wash. We feed each other bread and fruit. Stew and tofu. Blood and lipstick. I taste you. The taste is like…

It‘s so hard to focus like this, with all the smoke and sparks curling from my lips. My words are coming out less and less as breath and sound. They’re starting to taste like light and heat.

I am naked and fully clothed to you. You memorized my skin, my bones, my blood. We hold eyes in public and you’ve undressed me a thousand times. You kiss my lips and put me in a gown of armour, black leather plate, red wool of maiden’s hands ‘round my neck, my heart becomes a beating edge in your fingers. I am the stone and I am the sword. I am the lake that bears the blade of my beloved. A lake of tears and blood, of hands and hearts, you cradle my breath and kiss my ribs in your bedchamber. How many times will you watch the morning kiss me and wonder which was brighter? How many dusks may I gather from the garden and share like cool evening pomegranates, the stars like nothing more than seeds in our teeth? Are you finally close enough? Will you sleep soundly in my chest? I see you. I have always seen…

Call it out of me once again. Reach into my ribs with your tongue and pull it out with your teeth. I can’t touch it the way you do. Not with such tender lips and loving whisper. It runs deep in the blood. I offer you my neck for your gentle and ravenous way of want. Help me, please.

I touch my fingers to the painting. A sin in the eyes of my dear archivist. But I need the closeness. Across all the hours you spent, did you ever think about the love in each stroke as you did it? Were you too wrapped up in technique to see your heart pouring down the brush? You told me painting is your whole life. The way you said it to me, conviction so loud your heart was audible. I adored you and knew, knew that because this love of yours carries the cultivation of lifetimes, was touched by the grace of a thousand voices in hand-crushed dyes, your soul and your skill, she is one, her essence found in every aspect of the woman, the painting, the portrait maker. And so you painted my face. Your shaking breath touched this canvas. You brushed my skin and I, I was filled by you. I touch the painting and lean in close. The scent of creation on your neck. My hands will never forget your scent. I smell you. I smell the memories of…

It doesn’t burn so bad when you touch me. My ashes, they look clean when they’re on your hands. On your cheeks when you pull back to show me smiling eyes. In your hair, forty years from today, when we wake up together and they’re still falling like the snow. But it never hurts. Not with you. Not a gift like this.

I walked alone for so long. My bones began to black and my breath, exhaust. Flower after flower, fed by marching, crumbling grace. My grave that walked the gardens. My name is Promethea, dear beloved of Hestia, and I have always borne this flame. How did you so easily, again and again, reach down into my chest and call the sunrise from my core? Transposed my breath of fire, wove it into a voice of light that drips with sunset gold, your hands the needle, your love the thread. You made me the Sun and asked me to keep you warm. I still yearn to kiss you with lips of cloudless noon. I’ve told you there is a divine spark in every person. Mine feels as bright as wildfire with you. The wind whipping me up to a frenzy. If the wind blows hard enough, if the air of the woods is dry enough, could I finally reach high enough to touch yours? That soft glow that gently breaks the dawn. The light that fills the sky. I’d walk forever, to live a life in that light. For it to kiss my skin and walk alongside the source. I feel you. As deep as faith, I feel…

It has to be you. O Lady of Aspects, of Pigments, of Sweetest Fruits, it can only ever be you. Never will another live who did for me what you have done. The first second of eternity shall pass and the gold that mends my heart will still recall the smith. You shall know no equal in my eye. I carry a holy thing. A thing of fire, of blood, of breath. The blessing of life. This is my gift to you, freely given, without condition. To be used to build your home in the arches of my ribs, where lay the softness of my breast and the pulsing of my life-rhythm; I make this my oath. I am Promethea, dear beloved of you, O Hestia, and it is my vow to know you. For to be known is to truly be…

I love you, Hestia. I love you like the sun.

[fatalitylikeghosts]

Left Over

I still feel the burn of it, bile at the back of my throat, clawing its way through my insides, racking my body with tremors as I spill myself out onto the cracked alley floor. Bricks biting against my fingertips, holding on for dear life as the world spins out of focus and I am hurling through it with no anchor, no focal point. I don’t look too closely at what I’m hacking up. Its a mess of black and blood and everything I don’t want to see. Im pretty sure somethings moving in it. I felt it slither between my teeth, a parasite my bodys finally rejecting, even if it kills me. And for a moment I think it is. Killing me. The detox of a lifetime as I realize I’ve never been sober. All the pills and poison they’ve stuffed me with, day after day like cotton filling out a corpse. I’ve never been without it. My heads pounding but its never been this clear. And so I let it take me, I let my body purge itself while I hold on blindly and pray to whatever god is listening that I make it to the other side. The come downs a bitch.

But I do make it, one day at a time as I learn to walk on two legs 18 years too late. They’re shaking steps but they’re determined and I charge myself right in the direction of everything they’ve ever warned me against. Through the city streets, through the alleyways no one looks down, to the edges of what was supposed to be my home, my haven. Out into the big wide world, against the sun that burns and the desert thats only good for killing. Every signal in my head is flashing like floodlights, screaming to turn back, but I dont. I just keep walking, one step at a time.

It’s easy to pretend in the desert. Hair falls to the floor with a jagged sweep, box dye soaking into the roots, stitching together a version of myself that goes against everything they told me to be. “Fuck you” boots strapped on tight, safety pins through a leather jacket held together by “suck it” seams. I cant see them in the mirror when I’m looking through a mask. I can’t hear them while my gun is singing. Loud and Proud. I can almost convince myself that this is the way its always been.

The pills are gone from my system, a few years gone by now, and the city should be nothing more than a memory. It should be. There’s no explanation as to why I still feel it lurking in my veins, like the bloods still tainted. Like I’ll never be able to get clean. Like somehow I know it will never fully leave me. I can scratch my skin raw, I can choke on vomit trying to force it back out but there’s nothing left to spit up. All thats left are echoes, after images of a life branded to me at birth, like hot iron against supple skin. These are the ghosts they’ve left behind, occupying the shadowed corners of my mind. I can’t always hear them, but they’re always there, they’re always watching. I’ve worn anger until the thread runs thin and I’m tired of the way it fits. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be angry at. So instead, I ride the wave. I point and shoot. I rush forward like the deserts the only home I’ve ever known, ever will know, and if I try hard enough I can almost convince myself that every step doesn’t burn beneath my feet. But in the end I need the burn, the pain, the way it sinks in deep and taps into the vitals that remind me I’m still alive. And as long as I’m still alive, I keep running.

[ghstdoll]

salem always found dyeing hair to be a relaxing activity, semi-addictively dyeing her own black for years now despite it already being pretty dark. she's never really done anyone else's but she finds it kind of romantic that her own fiancé will be her first victim as he puts his soft curls in different clips around his head as she brushes through it and applies the dye to his hair.

the smell is strong and tense, filling the bathroom but salem doesn't really mind it. she actually really likes the way it smells if she were being completely honest as her blue eyes flicker at him through the bathroom mirror to see the slightest smile on his full lips. "I'm glad you think it's cute because it sounds almost obsessive the way I think about you, even in my dreams and without your ghost you're in my head..." she laughs softly, kind of amazed with herself that she was capable of feeling this intense feeling for another person. "like how I'm sure you've already seen all the pictures I've drawn of you..." she remembers all the nights she'd woken up after a dream of him needing to put pen to paper and draw the beautiful victorian prince from her dreams, it became a habit and one of her favorite pieces to draw even if they were of the same sweet face over and over again, until he apparently became real.

she coats his curls in the dye, brushing it all n and making sure she didn't miss anything, her blue eyes watching fondly as each curl changed into a new color, becoming redder as time passes to tell her that it was working only for him to look up at her with those sweet eyes of his, her cheeks turning pink as she smiles softly. "you look like a strawberry." she teases, watching him back fondly. it's kind of domestic, doing your fiancé's hair in your tiny little bathroom while the house this could really be their life one day, just the two of them in a world where nobody else exists.

salem sets a timer to let his hair sit for awhile so the color could fully develop and be as vibrant as his sweet eyes before she moves over to wrap her arms around his shoulders and sit in his lap, blue eyes falling toward part of the chain from he necklace he was wearing as she gently reaches over to pull it out from under the towel. "you know my mom sold everything of my aunt's after she died but this was the one thing I managed to hide from her, it was my aunts favorite and mine too....there was always something so comforting about it and maybe its because my favorite person in the world wore it." she sighs softly, looking at the red pendant with a sad smile. "and now my new favorite person is wearing it and it gives me a new sense of comfort again...but it's different this time because now I know that I'll always be safe with you." her light eyes flicker up to look at his, wrapping her arms around him again as she smiles warmly. "I can tell it makes you feel safe too, so it's yours now...plus you look kind of hot in it, like a gothic vampire prince or something." a soft chuckle falling from her lips as she leans in to kiss him deeply for a moment as a soft moan leaves her, finger tickling the back of his neck for a moment as she saviors the taste of him for what feels like forever until the timer is eventually going off, indicating it was time to wash this crap out.

she kisses him once more on the lips before standing to her feet. "hold your head over the sink." she tells him, helping gesture him over the opening as she turns the water on lukewarm and grabs the cup next to the sink so she can begin to rinse the extra color from his hair, fingers brushing through it as she washes it out, seeing the red staining her porcelain skin until it eventually stops and regulus is sitting up again so she can condition, dry and cut it to her liking till after its officially been two or so hours and theyre finally done a smile on her face to see the work she's accomplish as she turns his stool around slowly to look at himself and her finished product. "so? what do you think?" she smiles softly, coming to rest her chin against his shoulder as she looks at the pair of them in the mirror. "because I personally think we're the hottest couple in this stupid little town." she laughs, pulling back as she takes the towel from around him. "now all we need is to get you dressed and I think you're officially made over..." she laughs, pressing a kiss to his cheek but before they can spend long celebrating his new look there's a loud knock on the door.

"wait here..." she says, keeping him in the bathroom and closing the door behind her as she goes to open the front door to her bedroom. blue eyes widening as a disgruntled carl stands at her door, clearly itching to start something as salem wonders what she possibly could've done this time to set him off. "aren't you supposed to be on your trip?" she asks curiously, knowing he was supposed to be attending some cop convention this weekend. carl ignores her, pushing himself inside her room as he walks around. "you know when I decide to date your mother I knew all about her past, how she was manipulated into falling for your father and having a child with him...such a sweet woman caught up in such a mess." he says, words making a new emotion wash over salem, anger in her chest as she looks up at the older man, she knew this wasn't true...her mother certainly wasn't sweet or manipulated, in fact she was only here because salem's real father didn't want her. "that's not..." she starts to say but the older male cuts her off. "but despite how much I loved your mom I knew you would be trouble, just like your father, always looking for attention...but I accepted you as my own for the sake of stacy just for you to come into my home and prove to be the ungrateful, attention hungry little bitch I knew you'd be. destroying my home, those so-called 'nightmares' that would make you wake the whole house up...and now here you are, standing before me dressed like a whore." he looks her up and down with disgusting and salem doesn't know what to say. "I never asked to be here anyway, I begged my mom to let me stay in woodsboro, I never wanted to be apart of this 'family' where I'm already as much as an outcast as I am at that stupid school." salem argues, nothing she ever did to carl or his family was intended to be malicious as the male claims, she tried to fit in and be good but there wasn't much she could do because he already made his mind up about her.

the older man's nostrils flare, not caring what she was actually saying and making his own version of events once again "there you go, fucking ungrateful. I pulled you and your mother from that shit hole and here you are whining and complaining." he steps closer to salem, towering over her. "maybe I should send you somewhere after all, a place that keeps psychotic little bitches like you from the streets." the words sting as the threat once again leaves his lips, her eyes welling up at the idea of being forced away. "I'm n-not going to that place...I'm not crazy." she says with a frown, choking on her own words but they only make matters worse because before she can get another word out a rush of heat slams against her cheek, making her head toss sideways as he slaps her harshly on the cheek. "don't you dare talk back to me unless you wanna end up like that aunt of yours." he shouts loud enough that the walls nearly shake, but salem is too stunned...it wasn't the first time she's been hit but usually it was by her mother, leaving bruises on her skin to prove it she never expected carl to threaten her though as her mouth falls open, holding her cheek as she freezes completely unsure what to do, fearing he has finally won...he would tell her mother she pushed him too far and salem would go away, leaving regulus behind in the process right when things were starting to feel right with the world.

the way her hands slide against his chest makes him shiver a little because it feels good, her soft skin gliding against his only turning him on. he loves the sweet sound of her giggle and the way she’s pleased he was able to sleep– it makes regulus feel better too, as if it truly is possible to become apart of her world now.

he clings to her even more tightly, nuzzling into her as if they could become one being. she melts into his touch, pliable, as if she wants the hug too. she even tells him she loves him, making his body warm from head to toe. he breathes in the sweet scent of her, cherishing it, nuzzled against her neck until she finally pulls away.

he sighs softly, maybe a bit dramatically, but she takes his face in her hands right away. she pecks his lips, making his eyes flutter again, continuously being teased with the soft taste of her lips.

she tells him what to do and he obeys, getting up as she takes his hand. following her into the bathroom, he obediently sits on the stool she pulls out. his eyes wander around her bathroom again, taking in all of the details; the items he’s never seen before, like a small handheld device that’s plugged in and has a vent on one end. there are so many bottles and containers, scattered across the counter.

she wraps a towel around him, opening the box of dye and starting to mix it into a bowl. he’s slightly amused and flattered by her words– she dreamed of him again, even without his ghost haunting her anymore? a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, allowing her to section his hair with clips before she starts to use a brush to apply the dye.

it feels cool on his scalp, surprising him, but he stays still because he trusts her. her possessiveness pleases him more than he’d like to admit, especially after spending all day wondering if she had any new pursuers because of her beautiful dress. he shakes his head in response, as if to tell her no girls would be looking at him (or at least, not for long if they did).

regulus gazes up at her with curious green eyes as she works, covering his hair with careful strokes. this is what peace is, to him; being soothed by her touch and listening to her gentle voice.

[euphorial-docx]

i have a confession to make (/lh). i've never read any of your fics and i fully followed you because i thought your banner with the autistic thing looked super cool, and then i stayed for the Vibes /pos, but now your idea for a bones & all jegulus AU has a grip on me and i'm absolutely SO excited about it (like, autistic joy and happy stimming level of excited). i can't wait to read it <333

let me just compliment myself to say that my banner is so cool. so swag.

i’m happy my Vibes have lead you to my b&a au! i’m so extremely excited about it too (happy stimming and all!)

here’s a snippet because flattery gets you everywhere :)

hey had to do this a few times before— change their appearances, make themselves harder to track. In between Seattle and Boise, Sirius bleached both of their hair. The bleach faded after they left Boise for Portland. After Portland, Regulus’s hair was green in Las Vegas. Vegas was a shitshow, so his hair went back to black for San Diego.

As his brother painted on the pink dye, the smell of chemicals filling the air, Regulus caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He saw hair covered in pink, saw the dark circles beneath his eyes, and he saw the scar on his neck— a long, silvery line. He could feel the scratches of Emma’s nails as she struggled and failed.

Regulus felt the tears prickling behind his eyes again. He tried to hold it in, choke the sadness until it went unconscious, but a weak sound escaped him despite his valiant effort.

The tears tracked down his cheeks, and he could taste the salt of them when they fell into his mouth. The salt of tears tasted of the salt of blood, and that cognizance only made him cry more violently.

When Sirius painted the last of the dye, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around his little brother’s shoulders. He held him as Regulus cried, as Regulus mourned, as Regulus wished that he was someone that could keep the people he wanted.

The tears eventually dried and left nothing but nothingness behind. He didn’t so much as blink as his brother tilted his head over the sink and rinsed the dye out. It mixed in the water and swirled down the drain. A sickening déjà vu washed over Regulus.

[mischiefandspirits]

Bernard Figures It Out

Was reading through all the comments on @frostbittenbucky's post and all I could think of was that it was Bernard talking to Tim. Then I got to thinking...

"I've connected the two dots."

"You didn't connect shit."

"I've connected them."

Bernard figures out Tim's a superhero... sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim fidgetted nervously as he waited on the front porch of his boyfriend’s house. Bernard had sounded so serious when he’d called during Tim’s lunch to ask him to come over after work so they could talk about something.

Which Tim had done, after spending an entire board meeting just going over the past week trying to figure out what he’d done.

The only thing he could think of was that he’d ducked out halfway through their lunch date on Wednesday to give Duke some backup, but Bernard had seemed understanding when Tim explained there was an emergency at GRC Labs. It couldn’t have been a tipping point, either, since Tim had managed to only flake on three other dates over the past few months they’d been dating. Kate had been happy to cover for him as often as she could “out of queer solidarity” when she found out Tim was dating a boy for the first time and Tim had managed to trick Bruce into covering a few actual Wayne Enterprises emergencies for him when they came up.

There had to be a reason Bernard was breaking up with him, though. Had he missed something? He definitely wasn’t forgetting an important day. He was good with days and Tam was even better, so she would have reminded him on the off chance that he had forgotten.

What was he missing?

Bernard was smiling when he opened the door, but there was a nervous energy to it that had Tim’s stomach sinking. “Hey, Tim.”

“Hey.” Tim gave his own nervous smile then slipped inside.

They went into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Tim frowned when Bernard grabbed a manila folder off the coffee table. Crud, had he screwed up enough that Bernard had had to make a list? He knew he was new to dating a guy, but he hadn’t thought he’d done that bad. He’d really been trying, especially with how his and Stephanie’s relationship had fallen apart at the end. “What -”

“Just let me speak, Tim,” Bernard said, waiting for Tim’s nod. “Okay, so you know Clark Kent, right?”

Tim blinked as Bernard opened the folder to show a picture of Clark. It looked like one of the employee pictures from the Planet’s website, with his dorky “I’m just a humble country boy” smile and the golden globe from their roof photoshopped in as the background. “Uh, yeah? I think so. He works for the Daily Planet, right? I think he’s worked at a few of Bruce’s events. Not a lot of outside reporters are willing to come to Gotham.”

“Exactly!” Bernard said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Tim.

“What?”

He pulled out the picture to show the next page was an article titled, “DAILY PLANET REPORTER… BATMAN!?”

A wave of relief washed over Tim and he placed his face in his hands. “Were you up all night on the hero conspiracy boards again?”

“No. I mean, I found this on a board and was up all night thinking about it, but I found it reasonably early.”

“One in the morning isn’t reasonable, Bernard.”

“Says the guy who’s always wide awake when I call to infodump.”

“Touché.” Tim leaned against Bernard and gave him a smile. “So tell me, why is some reporter from Metropolis from all places Batman.”

“First of all, living in Metropolis is the perfect cover. Everyone assumes Batman would live in Gotham, no one would consider he could be from anywhere else. Metropolis is outside the GMA, but close enough that the commute is still possible.”

“But it’s Metropolis.”

“And who would think Gotham’s Dark Knight lives in the sunshine capital? Plus, I hear he disappears a lot on the job. There’s gotta be a reason for it!”

Tim made a note to let Clark know he needs to cut back on the disappearing act some since people are catching on.

“And have you seen the guy? He is swol AF, babe.”

“Please don’t call me babe while you’re talking about how hot another guy is.” Especially Tim’s honorary uncle.

“You know I prefer twinks.”

“BERNARD!”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring Tim’s shout. “The guy is definitely hiding something! Besides, Kent is an investigative reporter. He’s gotta know a lot about cases and the underground and detective work.”

Not as much as he likes people to think, but more than he likes people to know Superman does, Tim mused. “But what about the other vigilantes?”

“Well, Kent has a cousin…” Bernard flipped through a folder and pulled out a picture of Kara. It looked like a screenshot of her interviewing Lena for CatCo. “She’s obviously the latest Batgirl. Look at her hair. And the first Batgirl and the current Batwoman were obviously Lois Lane, the red hair is just a wig. Did you see how she kicked butt at that last event she went to? She’s not as subtle as Kent. That means their son is the latest Robin. He’s exactly the right size.”

Oh, Damian better not hear about this, Tim cackled internally. His youngest brother hated being reminded that Jon was the same height as him despite their two years age difference. Damian definitely took after Talia when it came to body type, no matter what he said.

“And Kent also has a brother.” This time he pulled out a picture of Kon. The clone must have been caught by a reporter out shopping with Ma since he was carrying some paper bags and glaring at whoever was behind the camera. “At least, he’s supposedly Kent’s brother, but he was a teenager when he first showed up with the Kents. A lot of people think he’s actually Kent’s son, that Kent got a girl pregnant when they were teenagers and something happened to the mom so Kent had to take him in. Now the Kents are trying to hide it by saying the two are brothers.”

That was… scarily accurate actually. Especially given Luthor and Clark were close friends at the time that Kon would have theoretically been born.

“And that beef would explain why the younger Kent brother went all crime lord on Gotham for a while before reconnecting with the family.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Kent Jr.’s got the perfect build for Red Hood.”

Tim bit back a comment on how Kon was shorter than Jason by a good foot. Timothy Drake-Wayne should not know that. Add Jason to the list of people who can’t hear this theory.

“And then there’s this girl,” Bernard picked up a picture of Lois, Jon, and Natasha Irons walking down the street together. “No one’s sure exactly who she is, but she’s been spotted with the Kents a few times. I think the cover story is that she’s Jon’s babysitter.”

“And the actual story?”

“She’s Black Bat, obviously. That’s why she wears a mask that fully covers her face. She doesn’t want to stand out as the only African American Bat.”

“Isn’t Signal also Black?”

“Yeah, but he works in the daytime so he’s already a standout.”

“And who is Signal in this? And what about Nightwing and Red Robin?”

“Well, Nightwing’s just a Blüd who came to Gotham. He doesn’t count.”

Ouch. Sorry, Dick.

“And Red Robin is obviously an older Robin, the one who was Robin when we were kids. Kent wanted to keep him on, and I don’t blame him. As for Signal, he’s got the same backstory as all the other Robins Kent picked up, he just went the Signal route because he didn’t fit the usual Robin mold.”

“Because the female Robin fit the mold,” Tim snorted. Robin Mold, as if he and his brothers were even the same ethnicity. Or even had the same hair color. Jason dyes his hair, Dick’s is brown-black, Tim’s is pure black, and Damian’s is more a dark brown and it’s only getting lighter as he gets older.

“She didn’t, that’s the point. Kent tried to give breaking the Robin mold a chance by letting his cousin have a go at it, but he realized it just didn’t work so she went back to being Spoiler and he got a new Robin.”

Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Right, and where does he get the usual Robins? Please tell me you’re not back on the secret government orphanages theory.”

“No, no, no. Kent travels sometimes for his job, right? And a lot of the time he’s going to places that have been hit by disasters or major crimes. So he’ll take in some of the displaced children to train as his robins.”

Tim pressed his face back into his hands.

“You see it, right?”

Honestly, Tim was just wondering how his boyfriend could be so close, and yet so far off. “How would Kent even afford taking care of a bunch of secret -- possibly illegally acquired -- children without anyone noticing?”

“Simple. Bruce Wayne is funding him.”

“Bernard, I love you, but what the heck?” Tim blushed and looked up as he realized what he’d said, but Bernard didn’t seem to notice as he steamrolled ahead.

“It’d also explain how he can afford all the gear and how he’d be able to travel to Gotham or anywhere else Batman goes without anyone noticing. He probably has a secret Batplane or something.”

“Why would Bruce do that?”

“Because Wayne cares about Gotham, everyone knows that, and this way he can make sure someone’s taking care of the city without anyone putting two and two together.”

“And two plus two is?”

Bernard gave him a hard look. “I’m not stupid, Tim. Bruce Wayne is obviously Superman. His face is right there.”

Oh, the others are going to love this! Too bad I can’t tell Damian or Jason. Jason especially would have loved this. “Right. Bruce is Superman.”

“He is. Superman is known for being nice and Bruce Wayne’s basically all that’s keeping the city running at this point. That’s nice as hell.”

Oh my god.

“And Wayne does charity for the victims of cataclysms, doesn't he? I bet he first saves people from them as Superman and then builds them new homes for free.”

Oh my god! Why am I not recording this!?

“And the Wayne’s were rich enough to hide the fact they adopted an alien baby.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to tell me this is why Bruce’s parents got killed, you might want to stop while you’re ahead.”

“It’d make sense. There’re all sorts of unanswered questions about their deaths,” Bernard muttered under his breath, flipping through the folder. He pulled out another picture of Kara. This time she was in full Supergirl attire with a bus held overhead. “So if Wayne is Superman, then that’d mean your ex-girlfriend could be Supergirl. They look a lot alike and it’d explain how she got involved with you all.”

“Bernard, she has a human dad. You know, Cluemaster. The supervillain.”

“Yeah, her dad. But we don’t know anything about her mom!”

“Let me guess…”

Bernard pulled out a picture of Karen. She and Helena were suited up and talking to a group of cops, two goons held over each of Karen’s shoulders. “Her mom could be Power Girl! Some makeup and a wig and she could look just like Crystal Brown! And Damian Wayne is obviously the new Superboy! That’s why his background is such a mystery, right? He had to stay a secret until he could control his alien superpowers. That’s why he’s always so mean. It’s a cover since everyone knows Superboy is super sweet!”

Sure, when he’s not helping Damian pull pranks or using his adorable powers to put the blame on Kon and I. “No, Bernard. Damian and Steph are just very human hellspawn. And Bruce and Crystal are human too. I can’t believe you called me over here just to tell me you think Superman is both Batman’s sugar daddy and my adoptive dad.”

“Well, that’s not exactly why I called you over,” Bernard admitted, the nervous energy coming back. He grabbed Tim’s hands. “Tim -”

Tim’s stomach sank. “You are breaking up with me!”

“What? No! I don’t want to break up!”

“Why are you acting all nervous and serious then!?” Tim asked, pulling his hands away to throw them up in the air.

Bernard shook the folder. “Because I’m trying to tell you I figured out you’re Superboy!”

Tim’s brain blue-screened and his hands slowly dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know you’re Superboy. The older one, obviously. By the way, you and Damian really need to figure out separate names.”

Forget Jason and Damian, Kon can never find out about this. He’d never let me live it down. “Bernard, you called me a twink five minutes ago. Su-” Shoot, I can not risk getting Kon’s attention! “The older one might not be as big as Superman, but he’s not a twink.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the shapeshifting at work.”

“The what?”

“Obviously you Kryptonians can shapeshift. Why else would you look so much like humans?”

… Why do Kryptonians look so much like humans? Was there some - Wait, no! Break into the Fortress of Solitude for research later! Reassure your boyfriend that you’re not an alien now! “Bernard -”

“And that explains why your step-mom was so hot.”

“Gross.”

“She and your dad were actors hired by Luthor so you could have a normal life! But now Bruce has custody so he adopted you.”

“No.”

“That’s why you and your dad were so weird with each other when I met him.”

“We were weird because he’d just gotten out of a coma not long before to find that his wife was dead so he decided to actually be a dad for once in his life, but overcompensated and became a helicopter parent to a kid who was mostly on his own for his entire life!” Tim blurted out. “I am not an alien, Bernard!”

“Well, not technically since you were cloned from Superman on Earth.”

“Oh my god! You were just talking about Steph being Supergirl! Why would I date my dad’s cousin?”

Bernard blinked. “Supergirl and Superman are cousins?”

Right, Timothy Drake-Wayne wasn’t supposed to know that. “I thought they’d said something like that before, yeah. Are people seriously saying I’m Superboy on the internet?”

“NO! No, I swear I would have led with that if I thought your identity was compromised. A few people have mentioned Wayne and Damian, but not you or Steph or Jason.”

“Wh-Jason!? You think Jason was an alien too!”

“No, not exactly, but a few times when I’ve visited I swear I’ve seen a guy in the manor who looks like Jason. It’s just been out of the corner of my eye and he’s gone whenever I look so I’ve always thought it was just Dick or Bruce or some picture of Jason that my mind was playing tricks with, but it makes sense now that I know Wayne is Superman. He must have been able to heal Jason with alien tech, but couldn’t say anything because that would give away that he’s Superman.”

Damn it Jason! And damn it Bernard! I’m dating the smartest moron in the world! “Bruce did not bring Jason back with alien technology and none of us are aliens!”

“It’s okay, Tim. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tim grabbed Bernard by the jacket and pulled him into a kiss. When he started to feel lightheaded, he pulled back, “Could someone whose skin is as solid as stone kiss like that?”

Bernard blinked dazedly at him for a moment. “How do you know what Superboy’s skin feels like?”

Tim screamed internally. “He’s saved me from a kidnapping before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can get you the police report if you want.”

“Huh… And the others?”

“Not Supers. I can stab Damian the next time we’re at the manor if that’ll prove none of us are aliens.” He’d rather stab Jason, but that would probably only confirm to Bernard that Bruce used alien technology to bring him back.

“You probably shouldn’t stab your brother if he isn’t an alien.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I won’t stab him anywhere deadly.”

“That’s not the point,” Bernard said slowly.

“He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“So do you believe I’m not an alien now?” Tim huffed, letting go of Bernard’s jacket.

The blond’s eyes dipped down to Tim’s lips. “If I say no, will you kiss me like that again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tim said, but he kissed him anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, but I still say Clark Kent is definitely Batman.”

“Sure, Bernard.”

[planetsano]

roots

synopsis: you help kirishima touch up those pesky roots of his and he gets the excellent idea of an undercut.

tag(s): bullet fic, hair dye, hair stylist!reader, established relationship, fluff, wap, undercut, long hair kiri, prohero au, aged up au, massive prohero!kirishima, domestic

pairing: eijirou kirishima x reader

a/n: inspired by these set of photos. { 1. 2. 3.}

“Baby? Can you do my hair, please?” Kirishima calls out. He leans over the bathroom sink counter and looks into the mirror intensely. His eyes specifically target the annoying black roots sprouting from his scalp about an inch or two in length.

You walk into the bathroom and see him looking frustrated in the mirror.

“See, baby? They're so annoying!” He quickly turns to you crouching over and bending his knees so he's level at your shorter height.

Over the years since graduating UA, he's added quite a few inches to his height standing currently at 6’5, he's packed on a lot more muscle too. You'd imagine it's slightly uncomfortable for this particularly large man to be crouching down to your smaller height like this.

Your fingers play through his hair taking note that it was in fact time for a touch up.

“Your hair grows so fast, Kiri.” Also since UA, Kirishima’s hair has grown well past his shoulders. He has no intentions on cutting it as he's grown super attached to it, but there aren't any complaints from you.

“Can you help me out again? The last time I tried the whole bathroom was stained red.” He stands up fully looking down at you with a slight pout.

Poor baby. You were away for a couple days working a fashion show and not only was he missing you, but he was growing antsy about his roots. He figured he did it back in school so he could do it even “better” now that he was older and a prohero.

You can only imagine how awkwardly cute and pitiful he looked while trying to dye his hair without your help.

Just imagine a 6’5 built Kiri in the bathroom trying to apply hair dye to the back of his head only getting more and more frustrated because he can't see.

Kirishima met you one day and he went to a popular salon, seeking someone who could professionally take care of his hair after years of abuse.

It was cute. Imagine this big tall man coming into a hair salon all flustered and confused upon never stepping into such a space before. He doesn't know what to ask or how to ask but the receptionist was sweet and patient. She set an appointment up for him, you ended up being his stylist and he was smitten ever since.

“Let's get started then, baby.” You smiled up at him and stood on your tipping toes silently asking for a kiss. He gladly granted your request.

After getting all the necessary supplies set out and ready, you quickly got started. It was a simple procedure and caused no issues as you've done this countless times.

While you're waiting for his roots to process, Kirishima turns on the home stereo and connects his phone.

It was a routine thing really.

“There's some whores in this house, there's some whores in this house-”

Fragile masculinity in this household? Never heard of her! Kirishima will rap this song from start to finish emitting the bad bitch energy he's always had.

“Certificated freak! Seven days a week! Wet ass pussy, make that pull game weak! Ah 😝”

After the vibe session you washed and conditioned his hair thoroughly from the chemical and now it was time for the easiest and most satisfying part.

Red fire engine hair dye. After applying, washing and blow drying, you're happy with the result. He looks so handsome.

“All done, Eji!” You exclaim and peck his cheek with your lips.

You hand him your hand mirror and he looks excitedly at himself but as he continues to look, it seems like an idea pops in his head.

“Baby, can I try something different?” He's rummaging through your box of hair tools set on looking for something in particular.

“What are you loo-”

“These!” He pops up with clippers in hand with a wide smile spreading across his face showing his sharp edged teeth.

Your eyes widened as far as they could go.

“I'm not shaving your head Eijirou Kirishima!” You looked at him like he had just murdered 1,000 people.

“No! Just the back!”

“An undercut?”

“Yes! That!”

You got so giddy and excited to hear that he actually even suggested an undercut. You've had the idea for years but you knew he loved his hair and the thought of scissors even next to his head made him anxious.

“Are you sure, bub? I-” You looked at him unsure.

“I'm sure! I want to try something different! It'd be fun to have a new look!” He smiled brightly at you, again showing off his teeth. He was 100% confident in his decision.

Kirishima essentially let your creativity and expertise do it's own thing during the cut. He trusted you would make him look awesome like you always did.

And you fucking snapped. You really did.

He looked… amazing.

“Ready to see?” You smiled as you picked up your hand mirror again.

“Yeah, baby. The suspense is killing me here.” He chucked, fidgeting in his seat a little from his nerves.

You handed him the mirror and his eyes widened.

His hair was up and pulled back stylishly in a bun exposing the newly added undercut.

“Babe! I love it! And you!” He jumped up and pulled you in an engulfing hug.

“-’M gl-ad you like it, hun!” Your voice was muffled.

“Huh?” Kirishima pulled away slightly looking down at you like a confused puppy.

You giggled.

“I said I'm glad you like it.” You smiled and he leaned down to place his lips onto yours softly.

[ahappydnp]

This is random but when you were a kid / teen / pre realising you were gay did you ever have crushes on girls and fully not realise it was a crush you just thought you were jealous of how pretty and cool they were? Because I had a few (one in particular in highschool, I just thought I had a weird obsession with looking at her face but not knowing why ahskskjs)

And now that I’m old and fully aware of my queerness I’m just like !!!!! How???? How did you not realise liking to stare at pretty girls (in the least creepy way lol) and also finding yourself liking to look at boobies meant you were big GAY. I can’t

Oh absolutely adfsdfdsgsf there was one girl I hated, like properly hated, because she was hot? I was so convinced my boyfriend was going to cheat on me with her because like OBVIOUSLY who wouldn't?? Who wouldn't kiss her if given the chance?!?

And yeah lots of like...I will study you for no reason whatsoever. Lots of watching movies because of specific scenes and me thinking everyone did that. I once let the girl I had a crush on in high school try to dye my hair in the school sink with koolaid and I knew it wouldnt work because I had black hair and it was pink koolaid but also I would have done anything she asked because...friendship.

It's a queer right of passage <3

[tadpole-san]

in the aftermath ; dabi/t. todoroki   pairing: dabi x reader, touya todoroki x reader, established relationship  warning: spoilers for bnha chapter 301 (mild canon divergence from that one scene of dabi in chpt 301), inferences to an unhealthy relationship  a/n: horikoshi chose violence and heartbreak by releasing dabi’s backstory on valentine’s day weekend and i have a lot of feelings about it 

The couch is falling apart. 

It’s the first thing you notice when you finally step into the room, and then you take in the peeling wallpaper, almost rotting vanity, and finally, the man laid out on said couch. The fabric of it is peeling away in some places, revealing the plain white beneath - the sight of it makes you think of patches, and scars, and marred, magenta skin held together by madness and medical staples. Dabi’s eyes are closed, you realize, and you could almost fool yourself into believing that he’d finally decided to grant himself some peace, albeit in the form of a turbulent slumber. And then they slide open again, stark turquoise burning bright against the dullness of his stare. 

“Really roasted myself there.” His voice is hoarse, even jarring and harsh to your ears. There’s a crease between your brows as you take a few steps closer, reaching into your pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. Silently, you hold one out to Dabi. His gaze slides over it, and then over you. Somehow, it unsettles you - like somehow, he’s not registering that you’re there, or that he can even see you at all. 

You’re not sure which of those options terrifies you more. 

“Yeah,” you say, moving to pull it back. There’s a lighter, heavy in your other pocket, and if the absence of a blue flame at the end of your cigarette means that you won’t have to risk the experience of seeing the body and couch in front of you go up in a garden of blue flames, you’ll gladly use it. “You look like the fucking couch,” you add. There’s two ways his response to that could go; Dabi could find the humor in that and maybe laugh at your comment, or he could dismiss it (and maybe you) in a display towards not giving a shit about anything. Most days it’s like walking a tightrope between his mania and his complete and utter apathy. Most days it’s like choosing between two poisons, and you know you wouldn't be able to make a choice that doesn’t kill you. Because there isn’t one. 

This time, he doesn’t laugh. But a smile does tug at the corner of his lips - and god, it looks painful, because the miniscule action is enough for the staples to pull at his skin, nearly tearing into it even more as it flirts with the possibility of drawing blood. “C’mere,” he rasps, motioning to the stick in your hand. You pass it over. He takes it in his fingers, rolling it in between the digits. “Can’t feel anything.” 

“Does it hurt?” The question slips out, but you wouldn’t be able to hold it back anyways. Dabi hums, long and contemplative, and when he offers you the cigarette, the end of it is glowing a dull shade of blue. You accept it, and take in a long drag, tilting your head back to watch the smoke rise to the ceiling. 

You’d seen him smoke, a couple of times. Mostly on slow nights, when all the two of you would do was hide out in whatever shitty abandoned building served as camouflage from pro-heroes and cops. Or, later on, when he had joined up with the League and dragged you in with them, it would be nights where he could steal minutes to himself outside of the bar, and you’d pretend you didn’t notice because you were too busy nursing a drink at the bar. The part that always fascinated you the most would be when the smoke spilled out between the seams of his staples, and you could forget about the way his blood trickled out in the same way, and stained your hands when you had to help him force everything back into one piece. 

“That’s not what it fucking means to not feel anything,” he bites out, and you can see his jaw tense. So it’s a yes, and he won’t say it. “Don’t be stupid.” Your lips press in a thin line, and you sink to the floor next to the couch, leaning against its side to let your arm hang over your propped up knee. He’s not the only one to walk out, more than the worse for wear; you can’t move without a brief stab of white-hot pain, even if you know that it diminishes in comparison to the man still laying on the couch. It’s enough that you want to spare yourself the experience of biting back at him with equal venom. 

“And that doesn’t answer the question, either.” When he doesn’t say anything, again, you keep talking. “Those injuries.” Another exhale. “They could kill Endeavor.” A moment passes, and there’s a hand at your shoulder, squeezing it in a way that threatens to literally burn through your layers. 

“I wouldn’t allow it.” 

“I could’ve killed him.” There’s a calm behind your admission, the same calm of a deadly ocean masked by tranquility. Once - and sometimes, when you try, you can remember her - there was a version of yourself that wouldn’t have been able to say the words without falter, wouldn’t have been able to hold onto the idea of a murder quite like that. The grip on your shoulder goes slack. 

“I know,” Something in Dabi’s voice makes you tilt your head to look up at him, and you lock eyes with a man already staring at you. This close, you can make out the still-healing wounds on what remains of his unmarred skin, and there’s a patchiness to his hair where the black dye hadn’t fully washed off. Seeing it bothers you, just a bit, and you want to do something about it. 

“Get up.” The eyebrow he raises is equal parts disinterested and curious. Maybe even wary, but you’re not here to explore the nuances of what a single eyebrow can mean. 

“Doll, I can’t move.” 

“I’m being serious.” 

“So am I.” 

“Sometimes, I can’t really tell with you.” Half-lidded eyes open slightly as he comes close to grinning again, a thumb brushing over your cheek for the fraction of a second. It’s enough that you sigh, and you squash the cigarette against a white tile to extinguish it, leaving behind a spot of darkened ash. He watches you push yourself to your feet, offering a hand to him that’s pushed aside so that he can force his body to get up from the couch himself. The display is one that is already painful to an outsider - each movement is a Herculean effort, skin pulled taut and threatening to split open until he’s looming over you once more, overshadowing your presence in the room. 

Until wordlessly, you take an arm in yours and pull it over your shoulder.  His weight comes crashing into you like a wave, and if you weren’t so used to it - to needing to pull this body out of death - and if you were anyone lesser, you probably would’ve collapsed, too. 

For a second, you wish that you weren’t able to handle him like this. Because it would mean that you’d never been forced to carry him through moments like these. 

“Where you takin’ me, princess?” he drawls, the words sliding off his tongue as he sags against you. The light elbow to his ribs makes him tut in disapproval, but there aren’t any words said against the action. 

“Bathroom,” you mutter, because being used to him against you like this doesn’t make it any easier, and if you waste breath or lose focus, the both of you could end up on the floor together. And Dabi would really, truly reduce you to ash for the humiliation he’d suffer from it. 

“Bathroom,” he repeats, and you can hear the suggestion in the smirk he’s likely to be wearing proudly. So you choose not to humor him with an answer towards or against the insinuation behind his intonation. 

Using a foot to nudge at the bathroom door is - fortunately - enough to prompt it to swing open, and you maneuver him into the too-small space. Dabi hisses as you end up jostling him against the counter, and a few more muted swears escape his clenched teeth before you’re able to get him to sit against the tub. 

“Fucking shit.” You step into the tub as he lets the words out, kneeling in it and reaching for the shower head. 

“It’s your hair,” And as you explain, you take the risk of having him tilt his head back slightly. “You - I don’t know what shit you used to get most of the dye out in five seconds-” and that was really one of the only parts of his plans that you didn’t understand, but it was a detail small enough that you wouldn’t push. 

“Somethin’ wrong with my hair or some shit?” The tone’s abrasive, but he’s still sitting still, and he doesn’t move to lash out in a way that’ll end the conversation in its entirety. Tonight is - despite everything - shaping out to be a calm one for him, a rare in-between of the polarity and calm he lives his life with. Or maybe it’s because of everything that happened, because his scheming and plans that once felt like little more than paper towers finally burned to cripple the Japan’s now-former Number One. 

Dabi isn’t smiling. Instead, he allows his head to be further tilted back as he stares up at the ceiling, a pensive expression making it feel as though the body you’re sitting with isn’t really here with you at all. And it shouldn’t reassure you, but it does. 

Because that smile - that effortless, unfazed, half-thought out gesture on him - is synonymous to his lies. 

You still haven’t answered his question. You reach out, like someone blinded, to card your fingers through the mostly snowy white locks. You let yourself imagine that he leans into the touch because the gesture is a sweet one. If you were to pull yourself back to your reality, you knew it would be likely that he simply lay there and let you do as you wish. 

You turn the shower on, and lukewarm water replaces your fingers in his hair. His lips move and he murmurs something you can’t quite grasp, but it’s gone before you can think to ask. The moment suddenly feels just as fragile, as though a misspoken word, one wrong move, or anything that could be regarded as a mistake coming from you could shatter it. 

The tips of your fingers are becoming laden with black as the remains of dye works itself out from his hair, and its stark contrast against the porcelain of the tub makes the white look ghastly. It’s as you begin to press your thumb to the darkness to try and swipe it off that Dabi speaks again, and if your head weren’t angled down towards him, you wouldn’t have heard it. 

“This is what being evil is.” 

It should’ve been simple enough to take a hold of the meaning behind his words, and pull them in to understand it. But your movements falter, causing your already damp jeans to receive a wayward spray of water. 

This could be lying here, with him, carrying out mortal attempts to wash away traces of atrocities committed. 

This could mean living with the badge of honor labelling this society’s villains. You wonder if there would ever be a world where he didn’t wear it so proudly, flaunt it in the faces of any and all who cross paths with him. 

“I don’t think we’re evil,” is what you settle on finally saying, shutting the water off and placing the shower head back in its slot. You end up resting your head in your arms, turned to him as you balance precariously on the edge of the tub. When you close your eyes, you can see him at the forefront of your mind - spinning, deranged, falling into hell in a tango of death. 

“Yeah?” His breath ghosts the shell of your ear in the single syllable, and you realize he shifted closer under the blanket cover of your shut eyes. “Then what the hell are we?” His forehead presses against yours, skin and piercings ice cold. As if it was the touch of death. 

“I think,” you start, letting out a breath before you open your eyes again, “I think we’re just people.” Sitting like this, with him, is an intimacy rarely granted. This close, and you can make out water dripping from strands of white hair, white lashes, the bridge of his nose. It’s all drowning in a sea of turquoise. He hums, and a hand presses against the back of your neck, keeping a grip there. Blunt nails dig into your skin, and they probably leave crescent indents. “Heroes are the ones like gods, and we’re just the ones trying to challenge them.” 

Dabi stares at you. You feel it under your skin, like fire ants biting at you and injecting enough poison to kill you. 

And then he laughs. The laughter belongs to a maniac, to someone so deranged there might not be a way of going back, and it grates on the years you’ve spent with him. With his madness. A madness that could be infectious, but you’re too afraid to peel back the layers of yourself to see if the infection has found roots in you. The sound of his laughter suffocates the pocket of space you occupy together, and you’re no longer lost in a sea of blue fire, but you think that maybe you’re drowning in something worse. 

Eventually, he stops. There’s an ache in your neck by then, but you still can’t move it. Dabi has to take a few more rasping breaths before he can think to speak again, and there’s rivulets of thick blood running down his face from his eyes and mouth. 

He cries tears of blood. 

You hate the sight of blood. 

“Heroes are gods,” he repeats, the traces of a chuckle leaving his lips. “You really fucking got me whit that shit, you know that?” An incredulous wheeze escapes his throats. “So then this is blasphemy? So then we’re sinners? Sounds pretty evil to me.”

“Only if sinning is evil.” His lips turn in a sneer, and you’re released. It’s like a breath of fresh air from the smoke and fire clogging your lungs, so you move to stand back up. “But sinning is just doing the things gods don’t like, isn’t it?” 

You smile, then, and you step back onto tile. Your hands go to your pockets, and fingers find the now-damp cigarette pack. 

“Hold it.” A lazy finger beckons towards you. It might be all he can do at the moment. You shouldn’t. 

You crouch down next to him anyways. 

When Dabi finally kisses you, it’s hard, and painful, teeth clashing and more blood drawn. You pull back with a line of it running down your mouth, and he brusquely wipes it away with his thumb. 

This will be the closest you come to a thank you from him. Somehow, you know that the day he finally says the sentiment to you out loud, it would very well be the last time he says anything to you at all. 

The final day feels as though it’s come too close to you. 

[cococookiedraws]

A Second Chance: Part 2 - A MLB Fic

I wonder if you guys were either waiting for this part or just forgot about it lol

[Part 1] [Part 2: Here] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

_______________________________________________________

Adrien was devastated. Marinette kept a comforting hand on his shoulder, lacking the words to help him with what he was going through. She wondered where Mayura, now Sialga, went.

Sialga was at the other side of the portal she created. She was in a pink-tinted room, the chair, carpet, walls─almost everything was in a different shade of pink. Porcelain coloured stairs led up to a bed. Above that was a space which led to the rooftop. She was glad the akuma worked, taking her to where she wanted to go even though she never went inside before. This was Ladybug, the guardian’s room.

Walking up to a sink, she opened its drawers to check inside. Where is it? It would have to have a large enough space holding it, unless Ladybug compacted it.

Sialga checked everywhere she could. Under the bed, in the large chest, there weren’t many places for it to hide here. She noticed a box sitting on the table, with embroidery of a large “M” on the front. She opened it, revealing...rolls of sewing string. It didn’t appear to be much other than a fancy sewing kit, but it seemed to be a good size to hold the Miracle Box.

She used the sharper part of her cane to slice up the box in a few quick slashes. The exterior was destroyed, revealing the Miracle Box inside.

Perfect.

The kwamis of the box flew out, excited to see their guardian, but they didn’t expect someone else. They surrounded Sialga and began to protest against her. She didn’t notice a thing. The only thing she could hear was her own thoughts, focused on her plan.

Removing the bunny and snake miraculous from the box, she destransformed herself from her current miraculous. Nooroo and Duusu flew out of her brooches, who flew to the other kwamis for a short-lived reunion.

“Sass, Fluff, unify.” Sialga combined the dangerous powers of time and second chance. It was the only way her plan could succeed. Her outfit now consisted of turquoise, black, and white. A lyre hung on her back, leaving her free to hold her umbrella. The red dye in her hair changed to an indigo tint. A small mask went over her eyes, but didn’t fully cover her face.

I hope this works, she thought as she used her umbrella to open the time burrow. As she was inside, she moved the head of the snake miraculous and activated second chance. She felt her heart hammering inside her chest and she bit her lip. There were so many ways to stop his death, but not every option would actually prevent it. On the other hand, stopping this event could lead to some other negative event to happen. The most logical option was to go back in time by a little bit.

“I could try to block Adrien from jumping into Gabriel while he makes the wish. Then the explosion won’t be triggered.”

She jumped through time, to the exact moment before Adrien began to run. Blocking Adrien who stumbled back in surprise, she sighed with relief. “Adrien, don’t jump into him─”  she said as a blur of motion went by. It was Marinette, Ladybug, speeding towards Hawk Moth as he combined the miraculous. “Wait, NO!” Sialga cried out as the explosion happened all over again.

“Second chance!”

Sialga was back in the burrow. She pushed down her despair, but it was only replaced with a feeling of fatigue. “What else, what else?” She paced back and forth, looking back and forth at different instances in time. “Maybe further back in time.”

Gabriel Agreste was in his atelier, finalizing the plans to get Ladybug and Cat Noir’s miraculous as Nathalie went to refill her coffee.

Sialga popped out of a burrow hole. “Gabriel, throw out the plan right now.”

“WHAT─” Gabriel screamed in surprise at the woman who had just barged into his room. She seemed to be a superhero sent by Ladybug.

“Who are you?” he said as he stared at the miraculous she wore, noticing two very recognizable pieces of jewelry on her chest. “How do you have the peacock and butterfly?” he reached for his tie to check if he still wore his miraculous. He did, and he even felt this woman’s emotions, which were oddly familiar, yet not familiar at the same time. He sensed her fear, desperation, anger, and joy. It was odd to see so many feelings in one person.

“I’m Nathalie, from the future, precisely one day from now.” Sialga said. She couldn’t explain it, but seeing him alive again filled her heart with a sense of elation and happiness. “Listen, don’t go through with the plan. Terrible things happen when you acquire Ladybug and Cat Noir’s miraculous.”

Gabriel was stunned. “Our plan worked? I get their miraculous? I bring─” he felt a sense of hope, “Emilie back? Wait, what terrible things?”

“You─” she paused, steeling herself to say the words. It was much harder than before to stop herself from tears forming in her eyes again. “You die.”

Gabriel’s eyes and mouth widened. “Do I at least bring Emilie back?” he said desperately. Sialga shaked her head. “Thank you for telling me, I won’t go through with the plan,” he put his hands on her shoulders.

Sialga gave him a warm smile, and hopped back into the burrow.

“Now that everything will go back to normal, I can head back to my time─” a sharp pain in her head interrupted her, and she winced. She swiveled around to check what was wrong, and saw a devastating sight.

“This is a month from now,” she said with a faint whisper. A burrow hole showed not only Gabriel dead, but Adrien too.

“But─but I prevented the plan” stuttering, she turned away from the image.

“Why does it still happen in the future?”

Notes: She only needed the akuma to go to Marinette’s room. She deactivated it once she de-transformed from the peacock and butterfly.