#i had a vision and i had to write it

[hexellent]

The moon will sing a song for me-- "I loved you like the Sun!! Bore the shadows that you made with no light of my own! I shine only with the light you gave me..." "I shine only with the light you gave me."

They've only had one real fight.

That's not to say the brothers didn't argue, debate, disagree and banter. Of course they did, they're just like any other set of siblings, blood or not.

They trusted eachother, without question. Had the other's back through everything. Ever since Sonic took him in, they'd been inseperable.

Tails look up to Sonic, that much was obvious. The day he'd saved him, Tails promised himself that he'd be just like Sonic. And of course Sonic had always seen the potential in Tails, knowing he'd grow up to do amazing things, amazed by him since the begining.

Sonic did his absolute best to protect Tails, to raise him to use that brilliant mind of his, and to never let anyone make him feel less than for who he was. He tried to be the best rolemodel and big brother a boy could ever have. But, as much as Tails thought he was, Sonic wasn't perfect.

He was a child, raising another child.

And children are reckless. Sonic even more so.

Years go by, the usual fighting to save the world, near-death experiences with brief periods of peace to give them rest. But Sonic was getting more and more reckless with himself. And Tails' doubts were starting to surface.

It started with the events of Forces. As level headed as he tried to remain, Tails was a mess without Sonic. He wasn't sleeping, mind going a million miles a minute with every sort of awful scenario that Sonic must've been in. Nightmares when he did manage sleep, and resulting in a huge loss of appetite from exhaustion. At the time, it was Amy and Cream that kept him eating and somewhat sane, Knuckles joining in to guard him at night like he would the ME.

When they finally got Sonic back, he was horridly relieved. But things started to change.

With every new disaster, Tails started to see just how wild and reckless Sonic was. And every time it frustrated him more and more, on top of trying to keep himself and others alive against whatever threat was looming at the time.

It was around the age of 14-15 that Tails finally broke.

He had been quiet the whole way home, Sonic going on and on about the mission, how well everyone had done and how proud he was of Tails, trying to give him a pat on the head.

Tails had slapped his hand away then, unable to keep his emotions in check anymore and letting loose all the emotions he'd bottled up over the years. Screaming at Sonic about all his worries, about how he was a wreck without him, how stupid he was to keep running head first into danger like everything is fine. That if he kept going like this, one of these days, Sonic wasn't going to come back.

Sonic shoots back that it didn't matter, that everything was fine, and the danger was gone. He didn't need to worry so much.

This, of course, pissed the fox off even more. He took a swing at Sonic, calling him selfish. This seems to hit a nerve, because shockingly, Sonic shouts back, asking how risking his life to save the world was selfish.

By this point the've been trading swings back and forth, the house a mess with their scuffle. Neither of them dared to use their full strength on the other.

Heavy, exhausted heaves of breath make way for a sob from the fox, stopping Sonic in his tracks. Tails screams that its selfish because if he's gone, what about him? Without Sonic, Tails is no one. Even now, he's just Sonic's Little Brother Sidekick. If the hero is gone, he is nothing.

This is when Sonic realizes his mistakes. They both do. And there's a long silence, only broken by the younger's sobbing, all the fight gone from him. It makes Sonic think of when they first met, and it twists his chest.

He moves to bring Tails close, squeezing him tight. And for once, he lets tears fall in front of someone else. It causes Tails to freeze, almost holding his breath as Sonic tells him that isn't true. That it's the other way around, and he's nothing without his friends, his brother. The only reason he stays so positive is because of them, Tails especially.

The day he saved Tails was the day he found a purpose. To protect what matters.

[doeidawn]

18+ MDNI — soapgaz x f!reader

boyfriends soap and gaz who have a habit of sending each other videos of themselves having sex with you. not in a braggy, "haha she prefers my dick" type of way, but more like a "dude look how hard she came when i touched her like this, you gotta try it, man" way.

boyfriends soap and gaz who have a groupchat for you to send your nudes so they can jerk off together.

boyfriends soap and gaz who are supposed to be giving you attention but they can't stop kissing each other when they're between your legs.

boyfriends soap and gaz where one of them positions you perfectly—holding your legs apart, angling your hips just right, keeping your head steady, holding your tits in place, etc—just to watch the other man lose his mind over how good you feel.

boyfriends soap and gaz that turn any friendly competition into an excuse to fuck you first.

boyfriends soap and gaz where one of them always has a hand under your shirt while the other always has a hand in your pants.

boyfriends soap and gaz who rile each other up by talking about how tight and wet you are; sometimes they end up fucking each other to the thought of you.

boyfriends soap and gaz who always make special requests of the other man to fuck you when one of them is away. basically making specialized porn for them to watch when they miss you.

boyfriends soap and gaz <3

[corkinavoid]

I'm pretty sure this has been done before (and several times), but brain going brrr, so

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids

Bruce doesn't even get to say anything when the door to his study opens with a slam against the wall, and before he knows it, he gets an armful of kids. As in, a bouquet of them.

"I'm so done," John Constantine breathes out, raspy and exhausted, looking like a trainwreck incarnate. Granted, the man always looked like one, but right now, the effect has been greatly worsened. The dark circles under John's eyes are, in fact, black, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in at least a week.

Bruce looks down to the small gaggle of children in his lap that he caught in his hands by sheer reflex.

All three of them look up at him with identical, sky blue eyes. They could be twins if it was not for their obviously different ages - the girl looks no older than three, while the boys are probably around five and six.

The older boy scrunches his nose. The girl pouts, but it looks directed at Constantine rather than at him.

Bruce looks back to John, a silent question in his eyes.

"They are- Well, not mine, for starters," the man begins, placing his hands on the table right over the sheets and documents, and leans on it, hanging his head down. Then, he raises one hand up and waves it in the air, "Not yours either, thank the Gods for that." He takes a deep breath.

Bruce's eyebrows raise all the way up to his hairline. The girl starts trying to wiggle out of his hands, but the middle boy holds her back, keeping her in Bruce's lap. She pouts harder.

"And you've brought them here why?" Bruce breaks the stretched out silence, gently repositioning the kids into a more comfortable hold. John raises his head up at him, and the magician's eyes look straight up pleading.

"You're the only person I know of who is, one, a parent, two, acquainted with supernatural, three, a man of great patience, and four, owes me a favor." Constantine lists off reasons that don't really make sense all together, especially regarding kids. Then he thinks for a moment and adds, "Five, owes a shitton of liquor."

"John, what-"

"Listen, I've been dealing with them for a week, I'm at my limit," Constantine interrupts him, desperate and close to whining, "I haven't slept in more than three consecutive hours for days. I don't remember the last time I ate. Or took a shower."

Yes, Bruce can see that. Or, rather, smell it. But that answers none of his questions as to who, why, and how.

"I would kill for a bath," John admits, like it's some sort of a secret. The middle boy opens his mouth, but Constantine points an accusing finger at him, "No, the puddle of melted ghost ice does not count for a bath. And don't come at me with your death puns."

The child rolls his eyes but closes his mouth back and slumps. Bruce resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but only because he is holding three kids. His hands are full, quite literally.

"John, I need you to explain," he asks, somewhere between a demand and a careful inquiry. Because, really, the man looks on the brink of losing his sanity, that much is evident. Bruce might not like the man, but he can at least partially sympathize with dealing with kids.

His bare minimum of sympathy - and isn't it a bizarre thought, emotionally sympathizing with John Constantine of all people - does not ease his growing worry and irritation. The girl starts trying to get out of his hold again.

John takes a very deep breath, holds it, and then-

"I stole them," he says, looking Bruce dead in the eye, with a sense of resigned, if a bit unhinged, determination. And, before Bruce is able to ask literally anything else, he keeps going, "Their parents are shit, a branch of government is out for their guts - as in, literal guts - there was- there is a backdoor to the afterlife in their basement, and also they are dead and because of some Realms fuckery and their spiritual granddad being a huge pain in the ass, they are all wrong ages."

Bruce blinks. Then blinks again. Processing that sentence turns out to be a lot harder than he estimated.

The oldest kid in his lap gives John a middle finger, nearly sneering. The girl starts snickering, somehow making it soundless.

"Oh, and they are under a silence charm because if I hear one more references to fucking Ghostbusters I will shoot myself," Constantine finishes matter-of-factly.

Distantly, Bruce wonders if John can make that spell into some sort of an amulet. God knows, Dick really needs one sometimes. Steph does, too. And Jason. Actually, all of them need one.

He looks over the kids again. They don't seem scared or unsettled, neither by the fact they are sitting in a lap of a stranger nor by Constantine's bullet point version of a summary to their lives. They mostly just look annoyed and grumpy, and a bit embarrassed in case of the middle boy.

Bruce sighs and decides to start somewhere.

"Do they have names?"

[part 2 ->]

[mangostarjam]

silent reading time — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x reader, use of foods as nicknames, childhood best friends dynamic, biting, 1.4k words

Hoshina Soshiro is staring at your thighs.

... you think.

It's hard to tell, since you aren't looking at him. Quick, fleeting glances out of the corner of your eye aren't enough to discern the true aim of his line of sight, but it really kinda looks like... he's looking at your thighs.

Why, though?

It's just a typical weekday night. You dropped by his room the way you have for the past twenty-odd years, holding a paperback book with a purple pen tucked behind your ear, ready to indulge in your favorite pastime of silent reading in your best friend's company. Soshiro has his own paperback in hand, green pen spinning around his fingers. The two of you jot little notes as you read, and once you finish you swap books. Later, you'll go to one of your favorite cafes together to talk about them. Soshiro's neat scrawl is as familiar to you as the back of your own hand.

For a brief moment you debate calling him out on his staring. But — nah, it's probably nothing. Maybe your pajama shorts are a little worn and he's just appalled you're wearing something so flimsy.

"What's up, beansprout?"

You glance up from the words you haven't been reading and meet your best friend's gaze. "Huh?"

Soshiro closes his book but keeps his finger tucked to hold his place. His green pen spins in a blur. "You've been starin' at that page for ages. You sleepy or somethin'?"

"Nooo..." you draw out the word as you think of something to say. "Just wondering if I should get new pajamas."

Well — you didn't call him a creep, but now he's blatantly staring at your thighs and maybe this is... worse? You can feel a flush rising up your body at his scrutiny.

"What's wrong with these?"

"... Nothing?"

Soshiro gives you a doubtful look and before you have a chance to retreat, he's caught you against the bed, pinning you down with his elbows on either side of your shoulders. Your books and pens go flying across the mattress, landing with a thunk and a clatter as the room settles back to stillness. The sudden proximity of him looming above you takes your breath away. You squirm a little at the abrupt weight. Soshiro chuckles, his breath warm by your ear as his legs press yours into the mattress.

"Tell me, egg tart."

He's close enough that the strands of his purple hair tickle your forehead. You know you have no chance of getting away from the Vice Captain of the Third Division in close quarters, but you wiggle half-heartedly anyway. "Get off of me, you big oaf!"

"Oh? That's not very nice," Soshiro's grin is playful. He eyes you for a second, and then he pouts. "I just wanna know what's runnin' through that pretty lil head."

Well that's just unfair. He knows you're weak to him when he makes that face. You scrunch your nose at him and giggle when he mimics you. He's steady, hovering above you, as if it's nothing for him to basically hold a modified plank pose on the soft surface of his mattress. Something about that makes you feel... a little warm.

But he's your best friend. You've known him since you were toddlers, training in swordsmanship together at the Hoshina estate, following him into the Defense Force until you hit a wall and pivoted to research instead — you know Hoshina Soshiro, and he does not make you feel warm like this.

You gather your wits about you slowly, like your braincells are moving through molasses. Soshiro seems content to hold his position, familiar grin still firmly in place. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the careful way he keeps from squishing you entirely, even though he's stopping you from running away from the question.

"It's really nothing, promise," you say, "I just thought maybe you kept looking at my pajamas because they're so old."

There's a moment of silence as Soshiro digests this. You listen to him breathing above you, the thick fabric of his sweats warm where his legs press into your bare skin, the overhead light haloing his purple strands and casting his carefully blank expression in a faint shadow.

"Dontcha think you're a lil too comfy 'round me?" His voice comes out low, almost missed beneath the sound of your rapidly accelerating heartbeat. "I'm a man, too, y'know."

You blink. Soshiro's now wearing the vaguely amused smile he always seems to have on when you're around, but there's something lingering along the edges that sends a shiver up your spine.

Forget molasses. Your brain shuts down entirely, bluescreening as you frantically try to reconcile his words and his meaning and why is he looking at you like that? Like he wants to — to eat you, to swallow you whole — and why does he keep glancing at your lips? Do you have something between your teeth?

But, no, wait — Soshiro is a man. You know this. You've known this for ages. It's impossible to train with the strongest close quarters combatant in the entire Defense Force and not realize this simple fact. You've seen Soshiro take down more miniature and mid-sized kaiju than you can count, and he's a brilliant leader of his platoon and division. Everyone respects him and works hard to live up to his expectations, though you know he works three times as hard in the shadows.

Your childhood friend is certainly not a child any longer. One glance at the densely packed muscle on Soshiro's body is enough proof of that. You peek at his biceps tensing as he shifts above you and gulp.

Yeah, he's definitely a man.

But what does that have to do with anything...?

"Of course I'm comfy with you, Soshiro-kun," you say. Why does your voice sound like that? All... breathy and soft? You clear your throat and try to inject some normalcy in your tone. "You're my best friend! You'd tell me if my pajamas are too worn out, right?"

Soshiro just looks at you blankly. This is where he's supposed to crack a joke, this is where he flicks your forehead and calls you 'sugarplum' and rolls off of you, this is not where he suddenly leans down close enough that you can feel his breaths puff against your ear before everything narrows down to the singular point on your neck where he bites you.

"S-Soshiro-kun, what the hell?!"

"What's wrong? We're best friends, ain't we?"

"Yeah, but why'd you bite me?"

Soshiro's laugh is pressed into your neck like honey dripping from the comb. He's not... He hasn't moved away. You haven't moved away.

You could. He's left you room to move.

But you don't.

It's warm. His legs are still pressing against yours. The faintly woodsy smell of him is all around you, seeping into your skin as you shift amidst his blankets. "No reason," he says airily, lips brushing your temple as he brings himself to hover above you again. "Just takin' advantage of my best friend privileges."

"By... biting me?"

"By showin' ya I'm comfy 'round you, too."

The tension pops. You can't help but laugh, something like relief and the bittersweet tinge of regret flushing through your bloodstream. "What are you, an animal? Who the heck bites people and calls it comfortable?"

"Are ya uncomfy?"

"Well, no, but—"

"I've always wanted to bite you," Soshiro says. You can read the truth in the curve of his smile as his purple strands waver above you. "Ya look like you'd taste good, chestnut."

"That's it," you wrinkle your nose at him. "You've gotta come up with other nicknames for me, or else you'll keep thinking of me as food!"

Soshiro hums in thought. You can feel the sting and the faint imprint of teeth along the sensitive skin of your neck. Something about it makes you feel fuzzy inside, like a tv antenna struggling to search for a signal. You shift anxiously as the silence stretches, yearning for something unknown.

"No can do," he says brightly. His red eyes gleam as he leans down again. "But we're comfy with each other, yeah? Want me to inspect these old pjs for ya?"

The blush blooms beneath your skin with a force that startles you. "Uh, what—? No, Soshiro-kun, definitely not—"

He grins and it's bright, but a little strained. You reach up unthinkingly to cup his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs along his jawline and cheekbones and smiling when he leans into the touch. The knot in your chest loosens. The two of you bask in the comfort of each other for a moment.

"You should really tell me off," he breathes, tilting his head. "You should tell me ta quit messin' around."

"Are you messing around?" you ask.

Soshiro laughs, a quiet sound in the stillness of the room. "I'm never messin' around when it comes to you."

[chronalshifts]

i think a lot of people are calling viktor’s reaction to waking up changed and then almost immediately leaving for zaun unrealistic and like… yes it would be. for someone whose mind has not been affected by the hexcore. he speaks differently, he hears sky’s voice through its influence, he can no longer feel the cold, or the warmth of jayce’s hug. he walks away from jayce because he can no longer feel the affection that kept them together, and he sees no logical point in remaining when they have no common ground anymore. he might not be a machine externally, exactly, but his mind certainly isn’t human anymore.

[starry-bi-sky]

No.

No, no, no, no, NO!

He's shaking. His heart is burning in his chest, pounding like a jackhammer against his ribs, and there's a trembling, aching rage building beneath his tongue and pressing against his teeth.

In his hands, his fingers tense and wrists locked, the article reads in big, black font: JOKER LOCKED IN ARKHAM ASYLUM AGAIN!

Danny shouldn't feel so angry about this, this is a good thing. Gotham doesn't have to deal with him for another few months at the least. He should feel relieved, a little more at peace.

He is not.

He cannot swallow the fury thudding behind his eyes, the burning white heat searing a deeper hole in his chest. A searing green filling static in his ears in the way only the rage of the restless dead can have.

How is he going to kill him now?

Arkham may be the only asylum in America made entirely of tissue paper, but it's still an asylum. There are cameras, guards, other patients resting inside. Danny can think of a million different ways to sneak in and kill Joker, but someone will hear his screaming.

It'd have to be rushed.

He doesn't want it to be rushed.

It's a cruel thought. Cruel and cold and merciless, but Danny doesn't feel an ounce of shame, not an ounce of guilt, for it. He wants to be alone with the Joker when he kills him, that's all he wants. In Arkham, you are never alone.

He forces his anger to bubble back down into his chest, stuffing it between his heartstrings and his ribs like a blanket you're trying to bunch up into a corner. It sizzles and burbles. The static begins to fade out into a high-pitched ringing; it sounds like distant screaming.

Danny is still trembling, but he can think a little clearer now.

He can wait.

He can wait. He can wait. He can wait. He canwait. Hecanwait. Hecanwait.

He can wait.

He's waited five years for this. He can wait one more week. One more month. One more year. However long it takes for the Joker to break back out, Danny can wait.

And when the Joker does, inevitably, break out.

Danny uncrinkles his fingers around the edges of the newspaper, loosens his limbs just enough so he can pay for it.

He'll be waiting.

The dead, after all, have all the time in the world.

[strangersatellites]

i’m not the biggest fan of soulmark au’s but hear me out.

au where your soulmate’s signature shows up on your hip on your sixteenth birthday.

most people are able to either read theirs clearly, or decipher what it says and then set off on a search for their other half.

when steve turns sixteen he’s anxiously awaiting his own when he’s met with the sight of a bat on his hip.

he spends years looking for a connection, something that might give him a clue.

it’s not until several years later when he moves away from home that he sees the bat.

he sees it scrawled across the bottom of a beautiful mural in the city and realizes his soulmate is an artist.

and an anonymous one at that.

[re-colligere]

MADE WITH LOVE [AO3]

In which Disgust falls ill, Fear takes care of her, and Envy asks a lot of questions.

NEW FIC I'm not waiting for a day to post this I just want it out already

[umemiyan]

i’m thinking of a specific version of sugar baby/house husband satoru who’s the type to sit on a floatie in the pool and stroke his dick, not caring if the stuck-up neighbors hear him. he walks around in his boxers and slippers—maybe a flimsy button-up that’s not closed or covering anything at all. he goes out and checks the mail or walks the dog with a soda in his hand and waves at people with a weird smile on his face as if they don’t know what it sounds like when he gets himself off (or when he gets you off)

he flirts with meemaws at the grocery store at 10am (if he gets up that early) because they all think he’s big and strong and handsome when he gets heavy or high items down from the shelf for them. he sits in his underwear at the computer and plays video games with foreign teenagers online.

he goes out shopping and tries on like 80 different outfits (including strange hats/skirts/dresses/etc.) and takes a bajillion photos, some of which he sends to you. catfishes creepy guys online and argues with people on reddit for fun.

he decides to paint the mailbox weird colors or work on a scrapbook he plans to give you one day. doordashes ice cream and laundry detergent because he forgot to get some at the store (and he was craving sweets). he lets the neighbor girls play with his hair and put makeup on him before someone sees and says “don’t play with that man, he’s weird,” but he would never do anything to them. burns a batch of cookies because his foreign online gaming bff braxton from california said he needed him for a last-minute raid.

he puts on a random dress from the closet and dances weirdly around the house to loud music while he cleans up the mess he mostly made. stands in the middle of the living room and rubs one out to a photo of you because he just had the sudden urge (and now he has another mess to clean up). has to set a timer to make sure to start thawing the chicken early for dinner because he started a new drama show and keeps forgetting, and you’re starving when you come home.

does any of that on a given day but when you ask him what he does while you’re at work he just says:

[heres-someart]

I blacked out and redrew Hermitcraft text chat

The original text if you want it:

[zorosdimples]

inumaki toge x gn! reader minors do not interact—i will block you!

your thumb hovers over the “call” button.

you know it’s a horrible idea; your brain screams at you to put down your phone, to turn off your vibrator, and to accept another night of stunted bliss. but you need to orgasm so desperately that it hurts—physically and mentally. your head has a beat of its own, and if you don’t finish, you think you might explode.

besides—toge told you could call him if you ever needed help.

it’s embarrassing if you think about it for too long, how you ranted to him about every shitty sexual encounter you’ve had over the past few years, how you can only ever rely on yourself (though your meds are making that next-to-impossible, too). you nearly choked on your drink when he expressed that he could help if you ever desired his services; he even stuck out his tongue for emphasis.

chalking it up to desperation—not the way that your stomach somersaults when you think about your best friend’s tongue—you call him.

toge picks up after the first ring. “kelp,” he says his standard greeting, his mouth half full.

“i-inumaki.” you inhale a lungful of air, trying to shake off your nerves. “i need your…assistance.”

the vibrator in your hand is at its highest setting, no doubt rattling the speaker on his phone. you hope it’s plenty clear what you’re referencing; you might die if you have to go into further detail. while he doesn’t say anything for a few beats, you hear muffled noises on his line—like fabric being moved.

“mustard leaf.”

he’s asking for confirmation (are you sure you want to go through with this?)

under normal circumstances, you would be grateful for his courtesy, as he’s clearly concerned about getting your explicit consent. but right now you’re swimming in frustration; you feel like you’re going to drown in it. you bring your lips closer to the microphone. “i swear to fucking god,” you hiss, “if you don’t make me cum like you fucking promised, i’m going to find someone else wh—”

“cum.”

your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, vision going black, back arching off the bed with the intensity of your climax. something wet jets out of you—not that you can register anything other than the pleasure that licks through your body and hums in your veins. you’re practically incoherent, repeatedly babbling thank you, thank you, thank you to your friend.

on his end, toge is just happy that you can’t hear him feverishly pleasuring himself to your sounds of ecstasy.

[hyperfocusthusly]

Season 8, episode 1 cold open

- Buck is just done in the shower, drying off his hair, towel on, in a bathroom we don’t recognise

- he comes out of the bathroom and into a bedroom, simply laid out, wooden furniture, maybe some exposed brick

- Tommy is sat on the edge of the (double) bed, comfy clothes, he’s fiddling with something (maybe a little pebble Buck found the last time they went on a hike)

- Buck goes over, cutest little forehead kiss and then goes to get some clothes out his overnight bag on the floor

- Tommy is still fiddling and Buck picks up on it, asks him if everything is alright

- “yeah, I actually cleared out a couple of drawers for you.” He gestures to the chest of drawers at the side of the room. “You’re here a lot, which I love, and I thought you could just leave some stuff here and you wouldn’t have to live out of a bag forever.”

- Buck has the biggest wettest eyes you’ve ever seen

- He also pounces. Knocks Tommy flat back onto the bed for a big smooch

- Tommy brings his arms up around Buck’s back and holds them together as the camera pans out to the left, going out through the open balcony door and onto the city skyline as the opening credits start

[whumpitisthen]

Two whumpees who are scared of each other:

Neither of them want trouble

They are both so afraid of being near the other they avoid each other constantly

They flinch away at the slightest touch like one person and their mirror image

They are strangers, they do not trust each other, they have been burned too many times in the past and they will not be burned again

They stare at each other from a distance, not daring to actually interact

They want to avoid a fight so bad that they won't even say a word

Whumper loves seeing them together because it's amusing how similar they are

Their uneasiness around the other is promptly forgotten when Whumper arrives

Whumpee can't have friends; Whumper doesn't want them to, and we all know what happens when Whumper sees Whumpee doing something they don't like

If hungry enough, they can be bribed with food to spend time in the other's vicinity

Non-human whumpees?! Two puppy boys being very nervous with pulled back ears and big sad eyes hiding behind their owner's legs

One Whumpee lives here and in theory should be more confident than the other one, seeing as they aren't the one in a strange unknown place. That confidence flees as soon as the Other Whumpee takes even a single step in their direction. They do not want to fight, they just want to keep an eye on them at all times.

They flinch back and the other one flinches back too. They cannot stop doing this

Caretaker basically has to pretend with each of them that the other doesn't exist. If they mentioned that their counterpart is in the room right across from them, Whumpee would not be able to sleep.

They sleep as far away from each other as the room they are kept in allows, backs to the wall, staying awake until they can't anymore

I think Whumper should collar them and bind them together with a short length of chain. For enrichment purposes... For me

One of them starts to finally unwind and gently tries to connect with the other. The other does Not react well. They are both scared again

One Whumpee has a lot of scars — must be a fighter -> scary

The Other Whumpee has no scars — must be a Really Good fighter -> scary

Whumpee looks just like the Other — must be just as desperate and unpredictable/their whumper must be just as bad/they must be at a similar level of strength as them, no guarantee to win if fight breaks out -> scary

One whumpee is scared because they have been tortured into perpetual fearfulness — the other has never been tortured, but sees how bad Whumpee has it, and being the newest addition to Whumper's collection has them just as terrified

Whumper forces them to interact. The forceful, scary nature of their meetings sets back their otherwise slow natural warming up to each other by miles, having the worst kind of counter effect. Seeing the other reminds them of that time Whumper made them sit and hold hands for hours with the threat of punishment if they disobeyed

They both escape. They see each other across the street. They freeze and stare, thrust back in time, stuck in their old frightened and cautious headspace. Their caretakers are perplexed.

[flwrcyt]

in another life, nanami got the life he wanted. a quiet, peaceful life. living in a house beside the beach in kuantan, alone with his baby.

"papamin!!" yuji's voice echoed through his room as nanami entered. a soft smile graced his lips seeing baby yuji already awake in his crib. "good morning, yuji" he greeted softly as he picked up yuji, who immediately giggles and snuggles against his chest

[nonamenonamenon]

Across all three realms, Solomon is a sorcerer known to all as fearsome and powerful.

He has a notable amount of demons under pacts with him, and his magical prowess is nothing to laugh at, either.

Some even tell the tale of the sorcerer being able to wage war on the entirety of the Devildom, with only one man, himself, backing his corner.

To his friends and acquaintances, he's an eccentric human with a love for cooking. His love for the act doesn’t mean he’s good at it, though.

Rather than fearing his skills and abilities when it comes to magic, his cooking is the most fearful thing about him.

He’ll serve you food that looks like it’s been made out of poison and objects entirely unfit for making dishes with a handsome, close-eyed smile.

He’s entirely oblivious to the deadly effects that his meals dish out to those who eat it, with his cooking being bad enough to make even the most fearful demons in the Devildom keel over and faint simply by having a taste.

However, known to you, and only you, is a softer side of Solomon not often seen by others. Among every human, demon, angel, reaper, and any other race in this world, you feel as though you’re blessed by the Celestial Realm itself to be the only person to see all of his sides so wholly and so intimately.

As his adorable apprentice (as the sorcerer often calls you,) you’re all too aware of his skill when it comes to magic. In your eyes, he’s stellar, and an amazing teacher. While being his pupil isn’t easy, he makes sure to know that you’re doing well through praise, offering a kiss for every spell you get right, and other rewards that… aren’t exactly age appropriate enough to mention.

Though, you think he enjoys these acts a lot more than you do.

When it comes to domestic things, Solomon is all too elated by the act of cooking for the one he holds most dear. He puts all of his heart and soul into the meals he creates for you, though that doesn’t mean they’re any better. Living with Solomon… is no easy task. Especially when it comes to eating his cooking.

Unfortunately for you, your love for Solomon and the guilt of having to stare at his sad face when you reject his meals overpower your distaste for his cooking, so you grin & bear it, even if you’ll end up with nasty side effects after.

The soft, quiet, and romantic moments with Solomon are what you treasure most.

The ones where you sit, studying together in a comfortable silence, where you simply exist in each other’s presence, feeling the other’s warmth.

The moments where you’re quietly observing his peaceful sleeping face, and the moments where he’s giving you much needed comfort and affection, consoling you without needing to say any words.

It’s heartwarming, and it makes your stomach churn & flutter in a good way.

He once told you that he never had anyone in his life that cared about him so deeply, or anyone to care for in the same way.

Throughout your entire relationship, and for your foreseeable future with him, you make sure to never let him feel that way ever again.

It’s a gross underestimate to say that you two only love each other.

What you have with Solomon goes deeper than words can describe, and what you two feel for each other is more than you can express.

It’s why the quiet moments with him are your most treasured.

In each comfortable silence that the two of you share together, no matter when it is or where you are, the both of you know well that there’s a million words (and more) of love and affection being said.

[inoreuct]

thinking about zosan where zoro still calls sanji cook, but it rankles him to no end because (no offence to cooks, now) he is a chef. he has sweat, bled and cried for the right to call himself that. he has the burns and the scars and the skills to prove it.

but eventually he gets used to it; after a while it wears like a well-used sweater. it’s just another annoying name in the arsenal zoro has for him.

and then. one day, after they’ve been sailing together for a while, they’re in the galley and sanji absentmindedly asks zoro to do something and he answers with a “yes, chef” and sanji freezes.

he straightens. turns around. stares at zoro until the swordsman feels it and looks back, and sanji blinks. “you called me chef.”

and zoro, the bastard, has the audacity to shrug like it’s no big deal. “you are a chef. what’s the problem?”

“there’s—” sanji pauses. takes a fortifying breath and tries to stomp down on the bloom of warmth beneath his sternum. “—no problem. there’s no problem. i want those onions in rings in two minutes.”

“yes, chef,” zoro repeats teasingly, flipping the knife in his hand and getting to work, and sanji stares into the pot he’s stirring on the stove for longer that he’d like to admit.

zoro’s so blasé about the whole thing, he wonders if he’s being fucked with— but the strangely affectionate hip check he gets says otherwise, as do the knuckles scrubbed into the top of his head as they finish up dinner.

from then on, he’s chef.

(but would sanji be insane if he said that he missed being called cook?)