#i just wanted something soft for my boys

[drac0line1nn1t]

*Wade and Logan sitting on the sofa together, wade leaning on Logan's shoulder*

Wade: do you think we're together in every universe?

Logan: no, and we literally have proof we're not, but, that's what makes this one special.

[hinamie]

もう一回、もう一回

[somnimagus]

My page for @destinytriofanzine! I drew something about kids always dreaming of far off places

[id in alt!]

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Steve's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.

He's not.

They're just... he happened to notice them, once, when Eddie was listening to Dustin talk through how he might want to make his first DM campaign play out.

Steve wasn't even really paying attention at first, just reading some comic he'd found lying in Eddie's room. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen it. Movement.

Eddie and Dustin were sitting at the small kitchen table, Dustin talking about puzzles and traps and monsters and Eddie was smiling, nodding encouragingly, looking more and more exicted. But it wasn't the movement of his head that drew Steve's attention.

It was his hands.

They were resting on the sides of his legs, tapping.

Steve could only see one hand really, but he could see Eddie's other arm jumping the same way, his hands moving faster and faster the more excited he got, until they were just hovering near his legs, flapping in the air beside him as he smiled widely at Dustin. He suggested a few things, to Dustin, Steve's pretty sure that's what he was saying anyway, his ears weren't great anymore if he wasn't focused, and right now, all of his focus was on Eddie's hands.

Dustin slapped his hand on the table, pointed at Eddie and then started scribbling as Eddie laughed, Steve always managed to hear Eddie's laugh, his hands flapping harder, slapping at his thighs.

Steve vaguely hears his name, cocks his head to the side, but doesn't respond, his eyes still locked on Eddie's flapping hands, and then they stop moving. Both of them freezing, the one Steve can see clamps down on Eddie's thigh, fingers pressing into his jeans.

Steve blinks. Tears his eyes away. Looks at Eddie.

He's staring at Steve, his cheeks tinted pink. Steve swallows, gives him a little smile before Dustin has his attention, chatting at him about what he and Eddie had just come up with.

Steve hears about half of it. Nodding when he thinks he should, trying his best to sound interested. It's enough for Dustin. The barely there commitment. And usually Steve is better at engaging with him, even though he has no clue what he's talking about.

But he's distracted. His eyes keep wandering to Eddie's hands. But they don't move again the whole time he's there, Eddie's knuckles turn white as Steve's eyes linger on his hand. His fingers still pressing into his thigh, they drum a quick beat here and there, but his hands don't move.

Steve sighs, drags his eyes away, and tries to keep them off Eddie. Somehow feeling like Eddie is embarrassed, or upset, that Steve had seen... whatever it was he'd seen.

~°~

It keeps happening.

Eddie's flapping hands.

Steve's eyes on them.

But he's careful now. He doesn't stare. Just steals glances when the movements draw his eye. And Eddie always has his hands under tables, or tucked close to his sides, when it happens. Like he's trying to hide it.

Steve doesn't understand why. He likes it. Every time he sees Eddie's hands moving excitedly it makes his chest flutter. Like he's so happy that Eddie's happy it just fills him with warmth.

But it happens other times too.

Not only when he's happy.

It happens when he's nervous.

Happens when he's scared.

The movements are more erratic when he's nervous or scared. His hands flap, shake, clench, and unclench at his sides.

Every time, Steve wants to reach out and touch. To take his hands, hold them in his and tell him he's okay. That whatever it is. Steve will help.

But he hides it. Behind distracting smiles, and under tables, and behind his back, sometimes. But Steve sees him, watches him, and he wants.

Wants to ask. Wants to touch. Wants to be touched.

Wants to feel Eddie's shaking, flapping, hands against him. Wants to be the reason they flap happily at his sides sometimes. Wants to feel them flap happily against his sides. Wonders if Eddie would do that against his back if he kissed him.

Or if he'd do it lying underneath Steve, clutching at his shirt before his hands just taptaptaptapped against his back as Steve pressed him into his matress.

Or maybe he'd hold Eddie's hands, up above his head. Feel his fingers tapping against his hands as Steve kissed him, nice and slow. Eddie would just tap faster, if he was happy, if he wanted that, with Steve.

Steve sighed, deeply, and glanced at Eddie's hands, his left one resting in his lap, thumb twisting at his ring. His right one, hanging down by his leg, shaking happily as he listened to Will and Dustin make plans for their new campaign, and wished he could reach out and touch him. Even just settle his hand against Eddie's, just to feel the joy shake out of his body.

~°~

The first time Steve reaches out and takes Eddie's shaking hand, is at the summer carnival.

It's hot. And crowded. And loud. And they're waiting in line for some ride the kids want to drag them on. People laughing and screaming and crowding around, jostling them and bumping their shoulders.

And Eddie had gone quiet about five minutes ago. Steve keeps glancing down, watching his hands. It takes three more minutes. But they start to shake, flapping at his sides before he grabs at his jeans, wipes his palms, lets them shake again.

Steve leans forward, tells Dustin they'll be over by the benches, and he grabs Eddie's hand, gently slides his hand into Eddie's. Eddie looks at him, blinking rapidly.

"You wanna come with me? Get outta here?" Steve asks, jerks his head to the side. Eddie nods immediately, his fingers clamping down on Steve's hand, hard. But Steve doesn't care, because Eddie's hand shakes, just once or twice, and then it stops. And his hand is warm, and strong, inside Steve's as he leads them to the benches and sits Eddie down.

He gives him a drink of his lemon shake up, snorts when Eddie makes a face at the sour taste, and then sits next to him.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths, his eyes closed. He takes his hand out of Steve's, leaving him aching for his touch. Steve just lets him go, rests his hand in his lap instead.

"Thanks." Eddie sighs, after a long moment, his eyes finally opening, they don't land on Steve. Stay locked on his lap.

"Anytime." He says, and he means it. Deep in his chest he means it, he'd do anything for Eddie. Always. Eddie smiles, finally looking at him.

"Can't believe you tried to kill me with that though." Eddie huffs, kicks Steve's shoe with his own and nods at the cup sitting between them.

Steve laughs, watches Eddie smile, his fingers twitching in his lap, his wrist twitches once, Steve's pretty sure it counts.

~°~

The second time he touches Eddie's hands, Eddie's just made them grilled cheese, his signature dish. And he's stitting in front of Steve, his chin resting in one hand, his other hand hidden under the table. He's watching as Steve chews his first bite.

"Weeeell?" He asks, impatient, as always. Steve makes a show of chewing slower, his eyes lifting to the ceiling as he hums, thinking. Eddie kicks at his shin under the table, his socked foot not hurting at all. Steve snorts, kicks back, and says,

"It's good. Really good. Best grilled cheese I ever had." He's serious, knows he sounds like he's teasing.

"Yeah? You like it? I didn't burn it? I mean I know you said you like them crispy but I thought maybe I got it too dark. Might have burnt it." Eddie rambles, and Steve just smiles, shakes his head.

"It's perfect, actually. You're a grilled cheese wizard. Or a... grilled cheese... bard. No I don't think that's a thing. Wizard applies more here, pretty sure." Steve says, waving off his own words like they're nonsense, looking toward the ceiling again to avoid Eddie's, no doubt, exasperated look.

But that's when he sees it.

His eyes are on their way to the ceiling when he sees Eddie's hand, flapping next to his thigh. Steve looks back to him, sees him beaming, and can't help himself when he reaches out and grabs Eddie's shaking hand.

But it's a mistake. He didn't know it would be. Didn't think. Had forgotten about that first day when Eddie had caught him staring and froze.

The smile drops off Eddie's face and he tugs his hand quickly away from Steve, hiding it in his lap, scooting back in his chair, away from Steve, his eyes on the table.

"Sorry. I can't- sorry." He stammers, shaking his head, his cheeks are red, his eyes darting around the table top as he curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his stomach protectively.

"What are you sorry for? You don't have to be sorry." Steve says, his voice soft, just a breath between them really. Eddie frowns, shakes his head again.

"No. It's annoying. I know it is. It just happens. I can't help it." Eddie's voice is firm, his words sound rehearsed, like he's said them a thousand times. It makes Steve's chest ache, with pain for Eddie, and with anger for whoever told him that any part of himself was annoying. Especially this part, a part of him that Steve is sure is pure joy, made visible, made tangible and expressive.

"It's not annoying." Steve says, and he sounds... mad? A little. But not at Eddie. Eddie's eyes snap up, lock on Steve's face, he doesn't blink.

"It's not." Steve reaffirms, one shake of his head. He moves his hand, slides it across the table top slowly, towards Eddie, and then turns it, palm up, waiting.

Eddie's eyes twitch from his face to his hand and back again. Steve smiles, small, and wiggles his fingers, gives Eddie a nod.

"C'mon. It's okay." He nods his head again, eyes dropping to his hand and then back to Eddie's face. Eddie swallows, sits a little straighter, unwraps his arms from his stomach. Steve sees his arms flex, knows Eddie is squeezing his thigh under the table, nervous. But then he moves, slowly brings his hand up, and places it in Steve's.

He sighs, the contact he's been waiting for finally made, Eddie's breathing is shakey as he watches Steve curl his fingers around his hand, pull it closer across the table.

"It's not annoying Eddie it's-" Steve pauses. Eddie frowns, a grimace really.

"Hey. No. I mean it. I like it." Steve says, and Eddie looks at him, his eyes moving back to their tangled hands over and over.

"You do?" He asks, and he sounds so fucking small. So unsure. So Steve does the only thing he can think of, he stands, drags Eddie to his feet as well, and then presses a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"I do. I really do. That's why I was staring." Steve says, breathes it against Eddie's hand, smiles when Eddie's fingers twitch against him.

"I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable. But it wasn't because I was annoyed. I promise you that. You believe me?" Steve ducks his head a little, tries to get Eddie to look at him, he's got his free hand up by his mouth, his nail worrying between his teeth. And Steve has to smile, can see Eddie thinking, trying to make sure he does, believe Steve. One moment more and Eddie nods, presses his lips together, and looks at Steve.

"I believe you." He says, teeth worrying into his lip.

"Good. So you- I mean you don't have to hide it. Around me. If you don't want. Cuz I meant what I said. I like it. A lot." Steve feels heat rush into his cheeks and closes his eyes, breathes against Eddie's knuckles for a moment before he looks back up to see Eddie smiling at him. Looking a little in awe. A little breathless.

"You like it that much?" His nose scrunches and Steve just want to fucking kiss him. He nods instead.

"Yeah. I really do. It's like you've got... I don't know... happy little bat wings. Just flapping around you when you're having a good time. I love it. I love-" Steve stops, the words caught in his throat, because that's too much. Maybe. For right now. But he feels it. Has felt it for Eddie for awhile now, the warmth of it humming beneath his skin when Eddie's near him.

Eddie's beaming at him now, tears shining in his eyes, he hides behind his hair, for just a second, before he darts forward, presses his lips to Steve's, a quick press, and then he's gone again, and the space between them is small but still too much.

"Sorry. I've never done that before." Eddie breathes. Steve watches something that could be fear, or regret, pass over Eddie's features like a shadow, and refuses to let it stay there, not even a second longer.

He drops Eddie's hand and cradles Eddie's neck, draws him closer, til their sharing breath.

"Stop apologizing. I want this. You." Steve whispers, pressing his forehead to Eddie's.

"I want you t-"

And Steve kissing him. Slow. Sweet. His hands holding Eddie close. Steve moves his tongue along Eddie's bottom lip, smiles into Eddie's mouth when he gasps, and then deepens the kiss, just so, tilting Eddie's head a little for a better angle. Eddie moans into his mouth, his hands scrambling to grab at Steve's back, clenching in his shirt and unclenching as Steve tilts his world on it's axis.

And then Steve feels it, Eddie's hands, tapping against his back, like he'd thought about since that first day, like he'd dreamed about, on several occasions. Too many to count.

Steve hums into Eddie's mouth, smiles against his lips, their teeth clicking together as Eddie smiles too, laughs into Steve's mouth, his breath filling Steve's lungs as they cling to each other.

See, Steve's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.

He just knew they'd feel perfect tapping out happy rhythms against his skin.

And for once, in his traumatic, full of bullshit life, Steve was right.

He's not obsessed with Eddie's hands.

But he does love them.

The way they move, and shake, and show all of Eddie's joys, wild, and uncontrolled.

And his to hold.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

so REVENGE, HUH? or justice, if that makes you feel better. it tastes the same when cooked just right. 'I REALLY WANTED A BROTHER.' such a shame to burn a bridge you so desperately wanted to keep, especially when it wasnt even you who started the fire. especially when you hope that not a single fragment of that bridge ever washes ashore.[MAY IT ROT FAR FROM MY SIGHTS] an unfortunate loss! atleast he has his friends.

[klayr-de-gall]

Loveisloveisloveis

🔥❄️

[sea-buns]

I understand not wanting your party members to walk into a lake and drown themselves but also Laudna has the fuckin WORST bedside manner lol. Yes, your much-needed long rest was just interrupted in a creepy abandoned town where you know weird charm-shit happened and the LAST thing you need right now is for anyone to lose focus. But also "Can you not wait? You can wait 5 minutes." talking to someone who has waited months and doesn't know if their loved one is even ALIVE and has confessed to you how much he misses them and how much it hurts and they could be outside breathing alive right now—

And on the surface, it looks like Chet is enabling a bad decision when he says "You probably heard Dorian. He's probably outside." and yeahh, okay, maybe he is a little bit. But right after that he's about to protest with something about Orym and it's like yeah. ORYM said he heard something. When has there been a time when ORYM heard something, and it wasn't real? How many times has Orym heard something and it's saved our asses? Before Chet is being hit with his own need to check out the lake, he's giving Orym the benefit of the doubt. And while he is an enabler by nature, he's keeping his voice soft rather than his usual, over-the-top "let's fuck around and find out" energy that he brings to dangerous situations like this.

You can't have everyone in the group treating a dilemma with the same amount of sympathy and care. What makes the BH so fascinating to watch is the variation in responses and different ways they interact with each other. You need a balance of someone who will take the cold, unyielding stance against something that is so obviously a trap, and someone that is aware of the risks but willing to speak up for that person and humor them when they're so clearly struggling.

I have a lot of feelings about Laudna and Chetney's instinctual responses and I think both stances are fascinating and they've both shattered my heart to pieces

[astranauticus]

Ad astra per aspera

[kashilascorner]

Oh ok. I get now why a lot of people didn't vibe with the ending.

All and all: excellent manga, overall very good final act, too rushed final 2-3 chapters but weak and honestly mediocre epilogue, which makes the high of the ending kind of leave a bitter taste. I think Noda had a good steed and suddenly he had to finish and had to rush all. So the ending in the sense of the final arc was good but the ending proper (final couple chapters) + epilogue......... Not so much

[cherry-treelane]

his hand on her arm/back is the cutest thing ever and yes i will be taking this two second interaction and obsessing over it

[l223m0nade]

Quiet Bucky Who Doesn’t Live With Steve bc he’s still a little feral and WS-y sickfic

Steve didn’t like bad guys messing with New Yorkers, but he did like being able to protect his city. And for the last few months, there had been another reason to enjoy hometown missions.

“Tell our mystery pal thanks for the assist,” Sam said dryly as he finished his sweep to confirm everything was contained, which it was, in part thanks to perfectly aimed shots winging the two jerks at separate control stations directing the big insectlike robots. Clint hadn’t been available for last-minute sniper support, but Steve had said “I might know someone,” and everyone had sort of nodded in vague acceptance and ignored his possibly over-eager tone. The Winter Soldier was still officially at large, whereabouts unknown. Unofficially the search had petered out.

“Thanks for the help,” he murmured into his earpiece— set to an encrypted channel. “Specially on short notice like this.”

After a short pause the reply came, soft, “…You had ‘em on the ropes.” Steve barked a surprised laugh, unable to stop himself from scanning nearby rooftops though he knew he’d see nothing. “Was in the neighborhood anyhow.”

“Feel like sticking around?” Steve tried for casual. “Got nothing going on after this myself. It’s soup weather.” It was freezing, and drizzling in a way that looked light from indoors but soaked you if you were out in it for more than a few minutes. He bit back the words where do you stay, is it warm and dry enough there, just come home with me, but he thought them loudly.

A longer pause this time, but then, “It is, huh. Yeah. Yeah, alright Rogers,” and Steve couldn’t help the grin stretching across his face. Wherever Bucky was hidden, he was clearly in his sights, because he heard a husky chuckle. “Sap,” came the parting shot. “See you there.”

“Roger that,” Steve said, mock-serious, and won the sound of another laugh starting before the commlink cut out. He was allowed to be a little happy, he thought as he hopped on his bike and headed to his Brooklyn apartment. He hadn’t seen Bucky in over two weeks. Trauma and justified paranoia and unfairly dubious legal status combined to mean that Bucky couldn’t yet handle anyone knowing where he slept. For a long time Steve’s only contact with him consisted of mysterious sniper shots obliterating enemies about to get the drop on Steve and Sam as they hunted Hydra remnants down, but over the summer by tacit agreement they had both settled —for a given value of the word— back in New York. And now they talked on the phone, and sometimes Bucky provided don’t-ask-don’t-tell overwatch on missions, and sometimes he came by Steve’s place for meals and company. Steve worried about him constantly, and missed his steady physical presence as he had since before the ice, but Bucky was getting by the best way he had, and he would respect that, no matter what.

If Bucky hadn’t picked up his call or agreed to come over he probably would have spent the night staring at the cold rain out the window, but that was nobody’s business but his own. He opened the door to his apartment, nudged the thermostat, and began pulling out the ingredients for simple chicken soup, feeling warm inside and out.

Before long there was a soft breath of chilly air, the sound of a window closing, and a quiet throat-clear. He turned and there Bucky was, in the corner of the living room, looking a little tense and sheepish as water dripped from his coat. The sight of him in his apartment gave Steve the immediate sense of all being right in his world. “Hey, pal.”

Bucky gave a small smile in reply. “Sorry, I—” he cleared his throat again, “drippin on your nice floor.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” said Steve, hearing his accent come out stronger as it always did around his oldest friend. “I got plenty of towels. I’ll get you some.”

He came back with and armload of fluffy towels as Bucky shrugged out of his coat. “Warm in here,” he murmured, with a little shiver as his body adjusted to the cozy temperature Steve had set.

“Sometimes I’m still surprised at how I can just make my place any temperature I want,” Steve chuckled, “I sure coulda used that back in the day.” Bucky just nodded, a hint of wonder in his face as he took the towel Steve offered. “I pulled some clothes out for you, you may as well let your things dry out while you’re here.” Wet clothes had been one of Bucky’s favorite fussing subjects back in the day, he couldn’t begrudge Steve this.

He did go to change after only a moment’s hesitation. Steve went back to the kitchen area but just hovered there. He wasn’t eavesdropping, he just had super hearing. There was another throat-clear, a sniff, and a husky cough as Bucky changed behind the closed door. He came out a moment later, rubbing his nose absently, wearing the crew neck sweater and thick soft black pants Steve had left out, and quirked an eyebrow. Steve blushed as he realized he’d been staring at the door waiting for it to open.

“I missed you, sue me,” he muttered as he moved toward him. He looked so soft, and still cold. Steve telegraphed before going in for a hug, but Bucky just moved into it with a little sigh, pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder and rubbing a little. He seemed tired. Steve wrapped his arms around him with his own sigh. He was so glad he was here.

Suddenly the shoulders he embraced tensed up with a quiet but sharp inhale, and before either of them could react, a silent “mmp!” of a stifled sneeze was pressed into Steve’s shoulder. Bucky pulled back but only had time to blink once in surprise before his nose visibly twitched. “Dish!” This sneeze, tiny and only a little less held-back, went more or less into Steve’s left pec.

They stared for a second, arms still loosely wrapped around each other. Bucky sniffled, rubbed his nose, muttering “Jesus, sorry” at the same time Steve said “bless you” with a little nonplussed smile. Steve’s cheeks felt warm and Bucky was blushing. His nose was also a faint pink, and he looked pale, with a particular tiredness around his eyes. Steve tucked his damp hair behind his ear to see more clearly, and Bucky shifted under his scrutiny, clearing his throat again with a rasp.

“You sound like— are you sick?”

Bucky started to roll his eyes at Steve, but he had to sniffle, and then his breath caught and his expression changed from exasperation to mild surprise as he stepped back and lifted his bent arm to muffle a soft strong sneeze. “EHh-tschuhh!”

“Aw, Buck,” Steve tutted, sounding like his mother.

“snfff, It’s nothing,” Bucky tried for a casual brush-off, but after a moment under what Sam called his Piercing Earnest Puppy-Dog Gaze he deflated, rubbing his nose on his wrist like it still tickled. “It’s been cold and wet for a week,” he groused in explanation, “sff, guess it got to me.”

“And you were out on that rooftop for hours,” Steve clucked, moving to the kitchen instead of wrapping Bucky up again and not letting go, “siddown. Lucky for you I was already making chicken soup.”

Bucky sat at the counter to watch Steve finish throwing ingredients into the pot. “Ooh, the one meal Steve Rogers can cook? Lucky me is right.”

“I can make breakfast!” Steve replied indignantly. Bucky scoffed, which turned into a little cough and sniffle. “Fine, well, I can make oatmeal. And meatloaf!” He said in triumph.

“Sez y-you...heh,” Steve glanced over to see him blinking up at the kitchen light and scrunching his nose ticklishly, but the sneeze abandoned him at the last minute and he buried his nose in his sleeve to rub itchily with a little growl. It was all fairly adorable.

They kept up the banter as Steve set everything simmering and cleaned up. Bucky kept having to sniffle and rub his nose, which was turning completely pink, and he had to pause with hitching breaths a few times. Steve remembered the war and all the years before— you could always tell when Bucky had a cold and not just a tickle in his nose because he’d spend the first few hours being mercilessly teased by sneezes that refused to manifest and left him blinking pinkly and sniffling like mad.

Eventually Steve took pity on him and rooted around a drawer until he found his small stash of clean folded handkerchiefs. Bucky glanced at what he was being offered with plaintive eyes, trying to get the sneeze to finally come, head tilted up and his metal hand pressing gently on the bridge of his poor nose, taking big, hitching inhales, building up torturously, “ehhHehh…hehhhh…hehh—HEH—…...HEHdjtcschOOoo!”

He’d been unable to focus on anything but the sneeze, so it just got aimed at his wrist and ended up sort of everywhere. He snatched the handkerchief in the second he had before another tickly spraying sneeze overcame him, and caught this one in the soft cloth. “HIHHDtsschuhh! Ohhh, mby god.” He groaned dramatically and blew his nose with relief. Once he’d gotten cleaned up he slumped down to the counter.

“Alright fidne, I’mb sick,” he sighed. Steve felt sorry for him, but he was caught up in warm nostalgia as well. Bucky never held out long with the tough-guy act before getting a bit pitiful. His mom and sisters had loved to fuss over him the rare times he was poorly, and after token resistance Bucky had lapped it up. When he and Steve lived together the dynamic was always Bucky mother-henning him, but Steve had reveled in the few times their roles had reversed. Bucky acting pitiful and Steve coddling him in his sharp bossy way had been one of the ways they flirted when neither really understood what they felt.

Bucky sniffled and Steve could hear the building congestion. He continued grumbling, “ya happy ndow?”

“Well, not that you got a cold, but yeah, Buck, I’m real happy you’re here. No point in a swanky heated apartment if I can’t put you up once in a while.”

“Hmmb.”

“Now cmon, blow your nose again and eat some soup. It’s not Ma’s but it’s as close as I can get it.”

Bucky picked up the crumpled hankie, grimaced, chuckled, then quietly gasped into a smaller sneeze, “hhh-hhh-hHMptshh, ugh, this ain’t gonna last much longer.” He blew his nose thoroughly and it left him alone while they ate their soup, side by side at the counter, elbows and knees nudging.

[murderboisblog]

Nooooo you're so right, I don't think he's quite managed to shed the devotion. It might not be loving devotion (unless it sort of is? It's complicated), but it's definitely there. He says he's realized Strade "didn't do much at all" to make him who he is in TPOF, but like. Babygirl you're a snuff streamer with a scary half-face mask. Please. I know that's the most obvious interpretation, but he's clearly built up a skill set over the years that's deeply ingrained into his identity. He says he does this "because he's really fucking good at it," and I believe him, but I don't think he would've felt the need to get really fucking good at it if not for Strade.

So in a way, because he loves what he does (and I do think he loves his job, genuinely, even if his relationship with his audience is kind of complex and strained at times), he does still love Strade. He's devoted to his audience, so he's still devoted to Strade, or to perfecting and maintaining the parts of himself that Strade created.

In my head, he decided before the third stream that he'd keep us. But he's so used to saying "your wish is my command" and pleasing his audience; it's so ingrained and instinctive and like an extra limb. He found himself doing it anyway, and he had to forcibly interrupt himself when he realized he'd fallen right back into his old patterns, just like how trying to find a "special friend" after Strade's death was falling back into an old pattern.

I don't think he's unaware of the remnants of Strade in his behavior and life, I think he just locks them away on purpose because that's such a vulnerable area for him. Weirdly enough... given how he responds in TPOF, I don't think he's the "snap and punish you for bringing up Strade" type, because that would also make him feel too vulnerable and exposed. If he did snap, he'd be subdued and gentle and extra composed the next day and refuse to bring it up at all. You wouldn't get a heartfelt apology, but you would get extra attention and leniency and care. Then it'd be back to business as usual.

I think he's doing some extreme mental gymnastics on the order of "Yes, technically I am doing what Strade did, I'm not stupid. I know that. But I know I'm not doing it for the same reason he did it. I'm doing it because I'm an artist and an entertainer, not for these weird ideological reasons ("the only way you can truly get to know someone is by hurting them.") He resents how his younger self viewed Strade as an enlightened figure of sorts, and he sees that whole line of thought as childish now. But it's still there, somewhere deep in his brain, and he just masks it with showmanship and artistic flair whenever he feels it during a stream.

RIGHT BACK ATCHA WITH THE STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS LMAO get infodumped at >:3c

I absolutely agree, Fox ENJOYS being Fox, he loves his job and he loves his audience, but just because you love something doesn’t mean you have to like every aspect of it. Same with his feelings towards Strade I think.

In the tpof Fox kinda brings up Strade himself, not by name but ya know. I think that it’s probably not too much of a sore spot for him anymore but it’s still tender…

As for snapping I actually don’t see that happening at all, mind you this is based entirely on btd 2 and he’s absolutely done some growing since then so I could be way off. But after the scene with Law in btd 2 there’s the chance that he comes out wearing his old tank top and shorts that he wore when he lived with Strade and since we know (like you just said) he has a tendency to fall into old habits I think Fox thinking about or doing any sort of self reflecting about how Strade affected him would get a similar reaction to that. Fox obviously is a big scary murder man but I think that Strade or the memory of Strade would bring out poor scared lil fox boy again. Ren Hana, not Fox ya know?

I can see a pet being very confused about Big Scary Captor suddenly becoming a meek, terrified, vulnerable lil kit at times but Fox despite what he might say is still very much Ren and the things Ren went through are not the kinda thing you can just bury away forever. Maybe emulating someone he viewed as a mentor of sorts is his way of dealing with it but that’s not always sustainable. Maybe a pet smiles the same way Strade did or moves their hand in a similar motion or is just a little bit TOO aggressive one day and for a split second he’s back to being Ren.

[itspileofgoodthings]

Will a man ever love and appreciate me as much as the women in my life do? Things I ponder.

[laesas]

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

🥰

More fucked up sad boy Kim! Kim is kissing his brothers bodyguard and thinking about his guitar tutee a completely normal amount.

This next kiss is hungry, a clash of lips and teeth that Big, for his part, doesn’t try to soften.  Good. Kim doesn’t want soft. Chay might let WIK kiss him, but would he let Kim kiss him like this? Would he let Kim pin him to the corridor walls, press their bodies flush, lick whisky into his mouth? Would he arch under the press of Kim's hips? Would it matter that it was Kim, not WIK, that needed holding tighter than this? Would Chay hold him anyway despite it? When Porchay said he liked all sides of him, did he know what he was saying? What he was offering? What he was asking for? He barely knew Kim’s first name.  Would Porchay let him use him like this? Could he drive Kim to distraction? Would he let Kim kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until the adrenaline in Kim's veins felt like golden, heady desire, not distress seeping out of the desperate empty chasm of his chest? Would Chay let Kim corrupt him? Could Kim sit back and watch it happen? There's a small solace in the way that the hands settled softly at his waist have calluses on the trigger finger already. In the way that they were never his hands to corrupt.

[nnato]

had no damn idea I’d love you this much

Norman/Arthur x soft morning in bed

[ur-local-kiwi]

thinking of "rewriting" / making my own headcanon versions of the main knk boys bc trying to write anything for them as-is is torture,,, eve. pookie. ily but u r giving me so little to work with here TTOTT