#hold onto your pantsu

[silvernyxchariot]

My fellow DoflamingHoes. Come get your feed.

Hold onto your pantsu. October is his birth month, so I plan on making more Doffy art. ♡

Yes. That little bat is me.

[minerva-is-a-robot]

Blupjeans and 40?

(This accidentally ended up compliant with my fic Country! It’s not at all necessary to read that, too, but it’s actually, um, shorter than this turned out. Whoops! I might add it into that later, actually. As it is, bpd bluejeans ahead! Also i can’t put tags on asks on mobile, sorry!!!)

In the back of his mind, Barry was fully aware that this spin-pinch frantic buzz crackling through his conscious brain wasn’t a new sensation. In the rational section of his thoughts, cordoned off with soft ropes and no smoking signs, he knew that this was just… what anxiety was like. A leather-jacketed, black-jeans-wearing punk, leaning forward on a barrier pole, blowing thick uncertainty straight down the dividing line out of a lit cigarette until he couldn’t trust anything anyone said even though, realistically, he knew better and he knew it.

Still, after Legato, it had been so, so very easy to forget.

Easy enough to forget even before that, as every emotion he pulled in burned hot in him like he was swallowing coals but never growing thicker membranes, like he had never felt this way in his life and would never feel that strongly again, like he didn’t know that this was just how it was and how it would always be and what he deserved and that he was grateful, always grateful, better grateful than–

“Babe.”

The snap to attention is audible, a finger-click in his ears that clears away the dim and blur that had been creeping in on the edges of his vision - obscurity that he hadn’t even noticed.

“Babe,” comes to him, louder, clearer. “Material plane to Bluejeans, come in, we’ve got a smoochcraft headed your way requesting permission to dock.”

Ah. Fuck.

Barry blinks slowly, probably too slowly to actually be classified as a ‘blink’, instead landing squarely in just ‘closing his eyes’, but it allows him to actually focus on his unbelievably gorgeous girlfriend. She’s sitting on the edge of his bed, crosslegged and topless, leaning precariously forward towards where he is in his desk chair.

“Bras are for fuckin chumpos,” he hears, inaudibly this time, a slipshod memory of their third year, third plane on the Starblaster, “If my tits were decent before they got round then they’re fine now. Go ask my brother about your lingerie fetish.”

“L-Lup did you- did you snap at me?” Barry stammers out. He’s wringing his hands and he doesn’t know when he started.

“Of course not, babe. You’re my boyfriend, not my dog,” Lup says, staring blankly at him. She shifts forward even further and Barry jolts forward, suddenly, violently afraid that she’s going to fall. Instead, she unfolds from herself and folds back together onto him. Her hands curl into his neck and her forehead presses to his and it’s grounding in a way that he’s still not really used to. He’s sure Lup can hear the slow roll of his blood as it stops pumping as hard at her touch.

“How long was I out?” he asks, burying his nose in her neck. She smells like skin and the warm asphalt of her magic.

“How long was I trying to get to you?” she says in return. “Few seconds.” Her answer rumbles into his bones, vibrating against his skull where her lips are pressed.

Seconds. Seconds shouldn’t make him this exhausted, shouldn’t rip his energy from him like this and leave him nerve tense and exhausted, holding himself up with string and strain. And Lup – Barry shudders into her and her fingers dig into his spine. She starts to rub at the tension under his neck and it’s–

“When are you going to get sick of me,” he mutters, nearly inaudible to himself. Lup pulls him away from her neck anyway. Rats.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she says, soft even though her words are hard. He should have known better than to think her elf ears wouldn’t hear him. When he desperately tilts his head and dodges his eyes to avoid her gaze, she brings a hand to his chin and swoops into his view anyway. “Barry,” she breathes, dragging her other hand from his neck to scratch at his scalp, “if I was gonna get sick of you, it would’ve happened a long time ago.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, flushing hot. Lup’s moving hand is keeping the buzzing at bay but he can feel it creeping tendrils around his brain stem and setting roots.

“I don’t know what?” Lup says, harsher this time, but when Barry opens his mouth to continue she barrels over him. “That I love you?’

There it is. So easy for her to say, so hard for him to believe. Of course he loves her, but the other way around? This beautiful, powerful wizard, glorious even in her pajama shorts on his terrible, IPRE-standard cotton sheets and scratchy, satin-bordered extra blanket – how could she ever return that and love him. Barry J. Bluejeans, barely classed, owner of four pairs of the same jeans and fourteen of the same grey sweatshirt, as comfortable with a mace as a staff - which is to say, not very comfortable with either. Him, in his thick glasses with his too-large belly, curled in on himself in his desk chair while she slept and then while she stared at him as he got lost in his own brain and it dragged him under a furious current.

“Bearjeans. My Ursus Pantsus,” Lup says, lifting him again out of the undertow. Her hands drift up to his temples, palms cupping his ears, fingers brushing his temples, nails dragging along the scruff of his hairline. “I’ve never lied to you in my life.”

Accidentally, he snorts. Light enough that he almost can’t tell, Lup tenses against him, even as her hands continue to shift over his head.

“I mean it,” she growls, now, and he’s done it, she’s done, angry, he’s driven her away and he’s done it while she’s sitting on him so maybe she’ll just destroy him before she leaves and he doesn’t have to deal with the part where he did this to himself and he knows it, it’s his fault–

“Barry,” she snaps, and he snaps, looking into her eyes on purpose for the first time that morning. “I’ve lied to a lot of people in my life. I lied about my gender, and I lied about my professional experience, and I lied to Magnus the other day when I told him I’d never lost a game of hand and foot before.”

She’s so deadly serious, eyes burning into him, fingers twitching into his skin, that before he knows it he’s giggling, finally unlocking his hands so he can place them just above her hips and tug her forward into him so he never forgets the way she makes him feel steady, like beach sand and summer sun and endless home, bright and cheerful to his conforting grey skies and bracing early morning wind.

“I’m being serious, asshole!” she protests, but he snorts and she cracks, tugging her head down to her chest and rocking back and forth. Uncomfortably, against his will, he feels his laughter peel and chip away until he’s sobbing, so tired, exhausted, weeping into her breast, mortified for being such a child.

“Gansito,” she whispers into his hair, petting down his spine. “Get it out, babe, it���s okay.” Eventually, she pulls his tear-streaked face up to hers, and he notices that she hasn’t escaped the clutch of sadness, herself. Shaking, he leans into her and presses a kiss to a tear still trailing down her cheek.

“I lie a lot, Barry,” she says, snickers pressed into his head growing louder as he presses more kisses to her jaw. “So much, actually. But not to Taako, and not to you. I’ve never lied when I tell you I love you.”

The shudder that leaves him is bone deep.

“I believe you,” he murmurs into her shoulder, hugging her to him. He feels her kiss the top of his head. “Can we go back to bed?”

“Oh, back to bed, he says,” she drawls, pulling away and standing up, holding a hand out to him. “You didn’t sleep a wink last night, mentiroso. You’re still in your dinner hoodie.”

“It’s versatile,” Barry pouts, taking her hand and letting her pull him up and over to his bed anyway.

“This after I open up to you, Bluejeans? I’m hurt.” Lup is pouting too, stretched over his scratchy blanket, and he stretches out next to her, letting her curl into his side. Her ear flickers against his cheek and he can’t control his helpless grin.

Right. She loves him.