#i keep forgetting to post more things o n here whoops

[xebenkeck]

a wonderful tiefling for a wonderful buddy @mouiinet

[where-poets-go-to-die]

Polyamorous BokuAkaa Headcanons bc this is self indulgent!! Mostly!!

CW: marriage & children (both hypotheticals and kids are only very briefly touched on)

Bokuto and Akaashi invited you into their relationship

First Bokuto off-handly told Akaashi that he thought you were cool and attractive

It took Akaashi about a month before he was like: "Okay. I agree. But why did you bring that up?"

"What if we tried a polyamorous relationship with them! :D"

"Well, we'd have to discuss it with them and ease them into it. And that's only if they want to do it."

So imagine your surprise when Bokuto loudly declares that he and Akaashi want to pursue a relationship with you

Like,, homie has no chill and sees no point in beating around the bush

Now let's get into romantical highschool hcs:

If you're a manager, please give them lil good luck hugs and/or kisses before practice matches or games if you aren't on the court

If you aren't, Bokuto is going to try to get you to come to any game they play and Akaashi, despite being a little stoic, will probably blush a lil bit and agree with Bokuto

Study!Dates!

Jus trying to help Bokuto with his calculus homework and anything else

Bokuto def gets really slouchy and whiney during really long study sessions so he's usually leaning on either you or Akaashi as he asks if you can take a break soon

Eventually you both cave and end up sitting on someone's bed, talking about upcoming events and watching videos

THEY ARE YOUR NUMBER ONE SUPPORTERS

You do theatre? They're always at opening night. Doesn't matter if you're acting, a stage hand, or a stage manager.

You do speech and debate? Akaashi will help you prep while Bokuto, despite being a tiny bit confused, will cheer you on.

You also play volleyball? Trust me, no matter your position, they're always constantly helping you improve and are at every game they can attend.

You do a different sport like softball, baseball, swimming, etc.? They're at any match they can go too. Literally Akaashi has to ask Bokuto to quiet down bc he's cheering really loud and getting stares from those passive aggressive family members.

Even if you don't do an extra curricular activity, but just have something you're really passionate about, they love to hear about you ramble on about it and love it when you show them what you've made.

Speaking of love... the first "I love you"

Surprise! Akaashi actually said it first

You were spending the night over at Bokuto's house and he was fast asleep, but you and Akaashi were quietly talking about whatever came to mind

Then he just takes your hand in his and says:

"You know, I'm really happy that you decided to be our partner. I love you, y/n."

You just smiled and said: "I'm glad I did too. And I also love you."

Then with Bokuto... it was a little different

You and him were having a one on one date, riding around on his bike through the park

He just smiled at you and shouted:

"I LOVE YOU A LOT!!"

So, to match his vibe, you yelled it right back to him

Despite being only meer centimeters apart

Post!Timeskip Time :)

Being sandwiched between them during the night is elite- top tier!

But you also switch it up

Sometimes Bokuto is in the middle and that usually happens when he comes home from away games

Sometimes Akaashi is in the middle and that usually happens when he had a stressful day at work

So,, the hypothetical marriage situation:

If you don't wanna get married, they're totally fine with it. Marriage is overrated anyhow 🤷🏻‍♀️

BUT

If you do wanna get married,, they're 100% for it!! Then it kinda falls under three hypothetical scenarios:

1: You just get your marriage license and have a small party. No ceremony. But just some nice extra time with your boys.

2: Small wedding. Just family and really close friends as you get married in your backyard.

3: A big ceremony! Yeah, we're talking about a big wedding. (It's three people getting married to each other,, it's gonna be a large turn out.)

Then the whole last name debacle. This goes on for a few days, let's be honest here.

If you wanna keep your last name, they're coming up with different ideas like: taking your last name, hyphenating it with either Bokuto or Akaashi, etc. etc.

If you don't want to keep your last name, then there's: taking either last name, hyphenating their's, etc.

There's also the discussion of everyone keeping their own last name,, can't forget that.

It's a confusing process.

Then there's also the talk of children

If you don't want kids, fine! Kids aren't a necessity to relationships ((deadass,, why do people think that everyone needs kids???))

And if you do, then whoop!! Kids

I don't wanna dive into kids,, but like you can imagine whatever y'all do

A n y h o w

I feel like Bokuto and Akaashi would adopt dogs and cats from shelters

Bokuto would definitely own a mug that says something about loving his pets

Two cats and a dog

That's your animal family

Im done with the animal thing, hang on

Cats wise: One is a grey and white tabby and maine coon mix, you and Akaashi like to call her Koutaro Jr. and the other is a Calico who Bokuto affectionately calls Baby

Dog wise: a pit bull who is nothing more than an oversized lap dog. His name? Spike.

One time, Bokuto invited over Atsumu, Hinata, and Sakusa over for a group dinner for fun, ya know?

They show up right? Y'all are chillin; Baby is perched behind Hinata and Koutaro Jr. is vibin' in Bokuto's lap (Atsumu is cackling at how you named her, and how "yes, Bo! She does look like a bit like you!")

Then in trots Spike

He trots over and nuzzles his way between Sakusa's legs and rests his head on his thigh

"This is Spike, right?" -Sakusa

"Mmhm.. are you-" -Akaashi

"Such a sweet little thing." -Sakusa

He *almost* doesn't mind the pet hair clinging to his pants

Anyway

It's a mostly happy and healthy relationship (bc lets be honest, fights can and have happened, but you got through it)

Tagging: @yamaguchi-stan

[magniloquent-raven]

for the I Love You prompts: harringrove, 20) “You can borrow mine.”

thank you so much for the prompt!!! hope u enjoy what i did with it lol

posted on ao3

--

It’s been two years since the Hargrove-Mayfield family moved to Hawkins, and Billy is still here. He never planned on staying this long—in fact, he started coming up with an escape route the second his boots hit the ground, and yet…

Well, plans change. He didn’t plan on getting stabbed through the chest by a thirty-foot-tall spider demon made of people sludge either, but shit happens. Life happens. Falling in love happens, apparently. Not that Billy thought it would ever happen to him.

But here he is. In Hawkins, Indiana, head-over-fucking-heels, hanging around like a pathetic stray hoping for table scraps of whatever Steve Harrington’s willing to give him. They’re friends now, and Billy’s savouring every moment he can, while it lasts.

Steve asked him, one afternoon, why he was still here. “Figured you’d take off after graduation is all. Hawkins doesn’t exactly have much worth hanging around for,” he’d laughed, a little self-deprecating. “Besides, uh, a lot of bad memories here. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave.”

And Billy hadn’t known what to say. Muttered something about sticking around for Max, which wasn’t exactly a lie, but wasn’t anywhere close to the whole truth.

He spends a whole lot of time in that grey area. Weaving just enough reality into his cover-stories to make them solid enough to hide behind. It’s fucking exhausting. And sometimes a dangerous line to walk.

Especially since Steve seems to buy into his bullshit less and less lately.

Maybe it’s the fact that dying and coming back changes your perspective a bit, or hanging around Steve so much is making him soft, or some combo of both, but he’s starting to wonder if maybe he could let go of it entirely, and just…live honestly.

Which isn’t an option, not really. But sometimes, in the small moments when Steve smiles at him and the weight on his shoulders doesn’t feel as heavy, he thinks maybe, maybe, it could be. And it scares him a little. How much he wants it to be an option.

It’s a cold evening in mid-November the first time he really slips.

They’re at Robin’s house, of all places. Despite Billy’s jealousy over the closeness of her and Steve’s friendship, he gets along with Robin. Almost too well, according to Steve.

So, it’s a thing. All three of them hanging out at her place.

Her dad makes awesome mac n’ cheese. Her mom is friendly, but not too friendly. And they let Robin hang out in her room with two boys without making a huge fuss about it.

It’s nice.

Billy almost makes it through the whole evening without doing something stupid, but then Steve (somehow) spills an entire can of Coke on his jacket, and Billy opens his big mouth without thinking.

“You can borrow mine.”

The thing is…Billy doesn’t really get cold anymore. He gets warm still. Way too easily. Sometimes he’ll bundle up just to remind himself he can get warm without it hurting. Without the thing inside him dying of it and destroying him in the process. So, he still wears jackets, sweaters, whatever-- probably more often than he used to, actually-- but he doesn’t need them.

Sometimes he wonders if one day he’ll freeze to death without noticing, or if frostbite isn’t a thing for him anymore. He hasn’t had the balls to test it.

Either way it’s like the world’s dumbest super power. Just another thing reminding him of shit he doesn’t want to remember.

Steve is staring at him. At the jacket in his hand. It’s his leather one. The one Max bought for him after he came back from the hospital. She’d wrapped it up all pretty with a bow and note that said “glad you didn’t die” in purple ink. Susan was mortified when she noticed it but Billy laughed so hard he nearly busted his stitches. 

He’s worn the jacket almost every day since. 

Robin is staring too, with a weird, calculating look in her eye, and he doesn’t like it.

“I…” Steve’s gaze wavers, flickering between Billy’s face and his hand again, “I can just—”

“Just take it, Harrington,” Billy interrupts, hoping the gruffness covers for how pink his cheeks are. He tosses the jacket, and Steve catches it reflexively, still looking at it like he’s not sure it’s real.

“Are you sure?”

Is he sure. That he wants to know what Steve looks like in his jacket? Yes. That he wants anyone else to know that? No.

Billy shrugs, aiming for non-committal. “Not like I need it,” he gestures vaguely towards himself, “Not entirely human anymore, remember?” Bitterness creeps into his tone without his permission.

“Hey,” Steve admonishes. Quietly, softly, but still a reprimand. His eyes are wide, concerned. Billy tries to wave him off, but Steve shakes his head and takes a step closer. “Don’t do that. You’re not a monster.”

“I—” he can’t hold eye contact anymore, not with Steve looking at him like that. He stares at the ugly yellow carpet beneath his feet instead. “Didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Steve responds immediately, tone firm and direct. Because he knows. Knows Billy better than anyone has in a long time. Which is saying something, because Billy is friends with a girl who’s literally been inside his head.

It makes Billy want to curl up in a hole somewhere and never speak again. Run as far as he can. Cry ‘til he can’t anymore. Break shit. Blow up his life and start over. Being known feels so foreign, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

But under that there’s something delicate, warm and fragile, tentative. He’s afraid to get near it. Like it’ll disappear if he looks too closely. Shatter into pieces if he tries to bring it out of hiding.

“Alright. Alright, fine,” Billy mutters weakly. “But just… wear the jacket, okay? Really. I don’t need it. Besides, it’d look good on you.”

Whoops.

Somewhere off to the side Robin makes a small, amused sound, and alarm bells go off in Billy’s head. But before he can completely panic, backpedal and pretend he was joking despite sounding entirely sincere, Steve grins.

They’ve been friends for over a year now and Billy’s world still stops for a moment when Steve smiles at him.

And then he puts the jacket on and…

Wow.

Okay.

Billy has always liked looking at Steve. He’s never really hidden that fact, just banked on nobody figuring out the why of it. He’s aware-- painfully aware-- that Steve is incredibly gorgeous. 

But this is...

This just isn’t fair.

Steve looks a little sheepish, and stuffs his hands in his pockets, hair falling in his eyes when he ducks his head. And he’s blushing. It’s faint, barely-there, just a light pink tinge to his cheeks that nobody would’ve noticed if they weren’t paying close attention, which. Well. Billy is. 

He wants to feel it under his palms, feel the warmth of it. Wants to know if he can make that blush spread, see how far it would go, chase that heat with his mouth, drop to his knees and watch Steve come undone. He wants--

So much.

He’s sure it’s written all over his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Well?” Steve raises his eyebrows, grin turning teasing as he spreads his arms, glancing down at himself pointedly. 

Billy clears his throat. Blinks. “Suits you,” he answers after a too-long pause. 

“Can we go now?” Robin interjects, rolling her eyes. Her tone is more fond than exasperated, but Billy still flinches a little.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, gaze flicking over to Steve for a second before he looks back at Robin. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He “forgets” to ask for his jacket back before he goes home that night. There’s no guarantee that Steve would wear it again, but Billy can hope. 

And for once in his life, he gets what he wants. Steve starts wearing it all the time. But Billy’s starting to see why people say “be careful what you wish for” because the whole situation is a very mixed blessing. 

He keeps catching Robin giving him weird looks, and, really, he can’t blame her because he’s been so unsubtle lately, it’s embarrassing. And terrifying. Because it’s going to get him noticed by the wrong person someday. 

But he can’t fucking help it, not when Steve’s walking around looking like that. 

Though, Steve’s been acting odd too. Staring at Billy when he thinks no one’s looking, face all pinched and thoughtful. It’s getting worrying. 

Then one afternoon Billy walks into Family Video and Steve pulls him into the back room. No hello or anything, just a hand around Billy’s wrist and a determined set to his jaw. 

He locks the door behind them.

“Steve?”

“I talked to Max this morning.” 

“O...kay?”

Steve sighs, runs a hand through his hair. His other hand is still wrapped around Billy’s wrist. “She said. Um. That jacket was a gift?”

Oh.

Shit.

“Yeah, so?” Billy flinches at his own tone but Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. His grip tightens, fingertips pressed to Billy’s skin hard enough to feel his pulse pounding. 

Steve takes a step forward. They’re close enough that Billy can see the purple shadows under Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t get enough sleep. Always asking Billy if he’s still having nightmares, never worrying about his own. Billy’s heart aches, and he hopes Robin will take care of Steve if this conversation ends his and Steve’s friendship. Someone needs to look after this boy if Billy isn’t there to do it. 

He hates that thought.

“So, I… Billy, why’d you give it to me?”

“Because…” Panic hits him hard, belatedly, as he tries to imagine actually answering that question. His stomach clenches, flips, and he curls in on himself. “Because you needed it,” he finishes lamely. 

But of course Steve sees through him, of course he does. “Really?” Steve sighs, rolling his eyes.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” Billy snaps, nervous energy making him jittery, he feels cornered, caught up in all the ways this could blow up in his face, trapped. He calms down a smidge when regret hits him, and he takes a breath, hates himself a little for snapping. 

“I want you to tell me it meant something, asshole.”

Billy freezes. 

He looks up at Steve, really looks at him, sees tension in his shoulders, the nervous twist of his mouth, uncertainty in his eyes. 

Oh.

“You...really?” Billy breathes, quietly, terrified of shattering the moment. “It does--it--it did, I--” Words have never failed him so completely. He used to be good at this. It would be utterly mortifying if not for the sweet smile spreading across Steve’s face. He’s strangely okay with making a fool of himself if it means Steve looking at him like that. “I wanted…” he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself, “I wanted to take care of you. I always...want that. You needed something and I--I’d give you anything--” 

Steve’s hands are warm. He cradles Billy’s face gently, so careful, and tilts his face upwards until Billy meets his eyes. 

“Anything?” 

Well. No turning back now. Might as well embrace this whole honesty thing. “Yeah, pretty boy. Anything. Besides, you look hot as fuck in leather.”

Steve grins at that, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he lets out a huff of a delighted laugh. “In that case, I’m gonna need you to kiss me--”

He barely has time to finish his sentence before Billy lunges forward, crashing their lips together. It’s messy at first, desperate, Billy’s fingers threaded through Steve’s hair, pulling him closer. A whine escapes him (that he would deny later) when Steve pulls back, but he’s only gone for a second. He presses forward again, but gentler this time, slow, one hand falling to Billy’s waist and the other sliding to the back of his neck. 

Billy could’ve stayed like this forever, but a loud, insistent knock at the door makes them both jump.

“Steve, I don’t care if you’re mid-BJ right now, it’s my break, and you locked yourself in there with my stuff!” Robin yells through the door. 

Steve rests his forehead against Billy’s shoulder and he muffles a laugh into his shirt. “Goddamnit, Robin,” he mutters, and lifts his head to glare at the door, “Alright!” he calls, then turns to Billy. “To be continued?” There’s a question in his eyes, more than what he’s saying out loud.

Billy brushes a lock of hair from his face, and grins, “Count on it.”

[blanc-et-n0ir]

How the Brothers Cope with MC gone

This isn't about MC leaving the Devildom, oh noo. I'm still not letting up on that beautiful, beautiful other timeline hahahahah.

Lucifer

He'll drive himself to work more, be more of a workaholic. He's already here passing out doing work, missing meals, not functioning properly. He'd also be more snappish, considering his tiring schedule and not needing to sleep. He would drown himself in caffeine and continue working on paperwork to forget about the pain it gave him.

His relationship with Diavolo and Barbatos will probably be tenser. He'd give short, snappish replies to Diavolo or Barbatos or outright ignore their texts or shenanigans.

With his brothers, it's a lot easier for him to snap or dish out punishments. His stress levels would go higher and he's more prone to getting annoyed over the littlest arguments the brothers have. Whenever the brothers would have an outburst, he'd scream at them and immediately punish them.

"WHO TOLD YOU YOU CAN DO THAT? THATS IT, STRING HIM UP-"

"Oh, I apologise, Lord Diavolo."

"I don't need to rest, I'll just finish all this work-"

Mammon

He'll gamble more, throwing himself out there. Making more debts, getting more reckless with spending. He'd also get drunk more often. As the closest one to MC, he'd be the most affected. His bills would get bigger and longer, Lucifer would punish him more but he wouldn't complain as much anymore. Not when he doesn't c a r e about anything now that MC is gone.

He would get angry at Diavolo, probably even try to fight him or Barbatos. Like I said, he'd get more reckless.

He'd be snappish to his brothers and get angry at their quips even more. This time, it's less complaining and more of real anger. He'd storm around the place, lock himself inside his room and block all their numbers.

"MC, would like this..."

"Who cares about debts, I don't!"

Leviathan

He'd be more of a shut in. MC was the only one who could get him outside, other than the knowledge of new merch or concerts. Now, he won't even go out to concerts or buy merch. He'd hole himself inside his room, watching his recorded animes- the ones that he and MC used to watch.

He'd be spiteful towards Diavolo, maybe even complain about it a lot in social media. He would bash around and call him names and post everything, not caring what that might do.

He won't talk to any of his brothers. He'd just be inside him room, wallowing in despair and hatred. He'd talk to himself from time to time, acting as if MC was still there with him.

"MC used to watch this with me..."

"Hey, MC what do you think about this scene, hahahahahha!"

"MC!MC!MC! Please accept my friend request in this new game!"

Satan

He'd go into a fiery rage at first. Challenging Diavolo and Barbatos, maybe even going as far as threatening to kill them. He'd destroy everything in his path to the point that his brothers would need to hold him back. Then, later he'd be burned out from all his anger and leave him as a husky of nothing. He'd stay in his room, staring blankly at the wall and trapping himself in his own mind. Whenever someone would walk in, he'd snap at them immediately not caring that he's angry for nothing.

At first, he'd be angry at Diavolo and Barbatos. Trying to kill them as his rage consumes him. Later, when he's burned out he would be too preoccupied with his own thoughts to even think about the two.

He'd once again be too preoccupied with his own thoughts to even care about anything around him. He'd stay in his room but at times he would go outside, but he's still staring around blankly. When he bumps into any of his brothers, he'd snap at them angrily and they would fall into an argument.

"What are you doing?"

"WHO TOLD Y O U THST YOU CAN ENTER MY ROOM? GET OUT!"

"I SAID GET OUT OF MY WAY, WHAT? CANT YOU WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING?"

Asmodeus

He would break down. At first, he would cry. He'd lock himself in his room, crying his eyes out. He missed MC. Then, he'd forget about it. He'd like to himself that he was fine and continue on like normal. No one would point out that he was going out to clubs a lot more often compared to before.

He'd be mad at Diavolo and Barbatos but overall won't do anything to them. He's mad, yes, they took away the one thing he was possessive over. But he can't do an y t h I N g to them. He knows that.

He would be on very tense terms with his brothers. Considering how he doesn't seem to care, he'd get into arguments with Mammon or sometimes even Satan when he does get out. It'll end explosively and Asmo would leave the house to go to a club.

"Oh look at all of you, maybe we should go to the spa sometime~"

"WHY DO YOU EVEN STILL CARE? HAHA, THEY'RE GONE, MAMMON OR YOU STILL AN IDIOT?"

"Who cares about some silly human, they all come and go anyways-"

Beelzebub

He'd be devastated. MC was such a great friend to him. He'd lose his appetite a lot and constantly stare at the large amounts of food. He'd easily get sick when he thinks about MC. He would try and get himself back together but his thoughts would always longer back on MC.

He is not happy with Diavolo. He didn't only take away his brother but he also took away a friend. A dear friend. It was obvious he would be mad. Extremely so.

Whenever he sees his brothers fight, he'd flinch and try to keep them calm. He'd try his best to bring them back together as a family, thinking this was exactly what MC would want. But slowly, deep inside he breaks. He just wants his brothers and MC back.

"I don't think I'm hungry anymore-"

"There's no need to fight-"

"Mc... They wouldn't want any of you to fight... Right?"

Belphegor

He'd be stuck in the prison. That's it. He doesn't even know that MC left. He'd just think his brothers abandoned him again. That the human was of no use as usual.

"As expected, they were human after all."

"They probably care more about that human than me, as usual-"

Whoops, this was sad. Hahahahah, but I got inspired by someone mentioning that Mammon would be an alcoholic and this happened. Wow, my first ever headcanon thing bahahah

[awfullyaster]

andrew and neil are switches, don’t you forget it

ok hi here for my (probably) daily aftg rant,,,,so i’m seeing that the majority of the fandom (as far as i’ve seen anyway)--or fics/fanart consisting of andreil doing the do--view neil as a power bottom ?

am i incorrect? are my resources false? idk bout u but so far i’ve only seen like one fic where neil is the top/penetrator (!mao is that even a real word idk but it sounds weird haha cute ok anyway)

and honestly, i have to disagree. i do. i’m not trying to push andrew’s boundaries by saying that neil could top, i’m just saying that y’all don’t give neil enough credit.

liek,,,,,bro,,,,,do you not see the amount of top energy neil mf josten radiates ???? like, yes, we know andrew takes the lead but it doesn’t necessarily mean he’d top forever ?????

( just a proposition, ofc but this is just my opinion based on observations--yet again ) 

( and tbh i had difficulty trying to figure who was the top and who was the bottom between them when i encountered the first hint of intimate growth in their relationship--to the point where i had to ask my best friend who hadn’t a clue what aftg was prior to (that’s when the aftg rants officially started/ignited) and it took some time/proper discussion/consideration but he first came up with the conclusion that andrew was a sub top and that neil was a power bottom )

as for yours truly, i came to the conclusion that they are both switches (some time after i finished reading).

i mean,,,,,,can you really just look at neil josten--wholly, like his entire personality, attitude (problem !), traits, &c and decide on the spot that he’s a bottom ??? how ??? how the hell do you come up with that ?????

and hear me out, i have evidence/reasons:

one) The Great Riko Roast™️. need i say more? 

(if elaboration is necessary:

keep in mind that neil (this literal fucking nobody) burned riko (supposedly the king of exy or whatever the fuck, who cares) to ground on the spot (no script, just his attitude problem (mwah i love him) and pure spite)

again, he burned him to the ground on live television, publicly humiliating riko with each and every word

idk bout u but i am so damn sure andrew found out right then n there that this bitch radiates top energy for fucking sure (or, in his words, isn’t spineless)

neil committing arson via verbal attacks is just---splendid. absolutely mesmerizing. flawless. truly inspiring. gamechanging. glorious. 

he’s so rude i love him

anyway )

two) neil can shut up andrew up without having to touch or kiss him. he can leave him speechless. with just his words. 

(yes, we know anybody & everybody knows better than to touch andrew but like i mean he wouldn’t have to fight him or whatever) (and he doesn’t have to kiss him to shut him up--though he definitely can--he doesn’t have to because that’s just how fucking powerful he is)

y’all,,,,,are you ready for one of the most amazing lines i believe we all know and love,,,,,

““You have a problem wherein you only invest your time and energy into worthless pursuits."

“This,” Neil flicked his finger to indicate the two of them, “isn’t worthless.”

“There is no ‘this’. This is nothing.”

“And I am nothing,” Neil prompted. When Andrew gestured confirmation, Neil said, “And as you’ve always said, you want nothing.”

Andrew stared stone-faced back at him.

[...andrew had his hand frozen mid-air...(i forgot the rest)]”

if this does not prove dominance to you, i don’t know what to tell you. (HE WAS MERELY SPEAKING AND ANDREW COULD NOT COME UP WITH ANYTHING-- A N Y T H I N G --TO SAY BACK BC IT’S A PERSONAL ATTACK AND HE DIDN’T SEE IT COMING AND THAT’S WHY HE SEES NEIL AS INTERESTING/WHY HE ‘HATES’ HIM SO MUCH BRO I)

hOweVeR

i know that dom bottoms exist (i think so, anyway) or bottoms that radiate top energy/the position (i.e. bottom,top) energy you radiate can be entirely different from what position you really are/are comfy with and that these are just words but that brings me to my following point,

three) (#1 insitgator, he, oh yes, neil josten, yes indeed) his unexpected (and to be frank, quite thrilling) acts of asserting dominance ?????? um ????

(when they were kith kithing next to the kitchen (next to kitchen) in neil’s dorm room) “[neil felt his phone buzz in his back pocket and against the wall it was obnoxiously loud. he already knew it was his daily countdown, but he already knew how much little time he had left. he didn’t need to reminded, especially now...andrew took it out of his back pocket and offered it to neil, pulling away from his mouth. neil took the phone from andrew’s hand and threw it across the living room, not taking his eyes off andrew. andrew watched as the phone bounced off the couch and onto the carpet. neil kissed his neck in attempt to distract him and was rewarded by a startled jolt which was enough reason to do it again. and even though andrew pushed his face away, they were close enough for neil to not miss how andrew shivered.]” 

b r o ,,,,,,,,,,,, bro,,,,,,it just--

(when they were alone in the bus otw to that one away game--belmonte, i think?) “[“i wonder when coach found out about this,” neil prompted. 

“there is no ‘this’.”

“i wonder when coach found out you only want to kill me ninety-three percent of the time.”

neil retraced his steps and had a moment of realization. before andrew left for easthaven, neil had told andrew to trust him and not ‘neil’. 

“it was before you left,” neil started... 

“coach doesn’t believe what other people want him to believe, he believes what he sees,” andrew replied...

“are you going to tell them?” neil was referring to the rest of the team, and this was up to him, whether they’ll be out or not. 

“i won’t have to. renee says the upperclassmen are betting on your sexuality.”

neil knew that matt mentioned that there were bets on about him, but he didn’t know it was about this.

“it’s a waste of time and money. they’ll all lose. i’ve said all year that i don’t swing and i meant it. kissing you doesn’t make me look any of them differently. the only one i’m interested in is you.”

“don’t say stupid things.���

“make me.” and with that, neil grabbed a fistful of andrew’s hair and pulled him in.]” 

dude,,,,,,,,,he can take control,,,,,he can,,,,he can lead, too, but he follows andrew’s because he’s a good boy and he knows how important it is. he improvises and uses what he has and takes control from there. dude. dude. 

three) honestly? i think andrew likes it. neil’s unexpected acts of confidence,,,kinda leaves him on the edge of his seat yk,, like doesn’t it increase his percentage? it does, right? cuz ik it did when andrew guided neil to touch his chest and neil emulated andrew’s words, “i won’t be like them. i won’t let you let me be.” (i love them bye) but liek,,,,yeah idk andrew liking neil’s neck kisses/fetish kinda tells me he likes it so maybe this isn’t concrete evidence particularly but i’m still including it because andrew’s a switch, idc what anyone says, 

four) i lost my train of thought but i ran out of reasons--on the spot, anyway--so i might come back to this if i do but just to make it clear:

andrew minyard is a switch. (it just takes time, like a lot, but it doesn’t mean it’s necessarily impossible/never gonna happen.)

neil josten is a switch. (he respects andrew’s boundaries and doesn’t push him, he’s fine being guided, but it doesn’t mean he can’t take the initiative himself (and i forgot to mention it but re: when he asked andrew if he doesn’t like to be touched in general or if it’s a trust thing + many more times, before & after their first kiss, i believe, my brain is just empty rn) and i just think that deserves more recognition)

so !! 

(this post is a mess, (i always am but today’s just worse) i know, and i’m sorry)

in conclusion,

let neil top andrew !! they deserve it !! 

(not that vice versa is bad, but this isn’t either, yk, just saying. also, i hope this isn’t too late to say in the post, but i do not, i repeat, i do not, intend to pressure any content creator--fic writers, fan artists, editors, &c--to create content this particular way only,,,,okay,,,gotta make that unequivocally clear. and i’m not saying andrew topping neil is bad or overrated, because i know that when it comes to them, sex in general would take some time, especially neil topping andrew, but i think they deserve that freedom, yk. again,,,,this is just my personal opinion. no insisting statements here, just wish for freedom to speak my mind, that is all. also feel free to interact if you agree/disagree or both !! i’m willing to hear anyone’s comments or thoughts or whatever !! i hope i’m talking to a brick wall here ahah) 

bro brain poop rn

anyway

tl/dr: bro let neil top (not necessarily on top, but that works, too--either/or--or both, if y’all dare ;DD (kill me) (but like srsly) (let neil top) (plz) :))

(also somewhat off topic but might anyone have access to some fics in which consist of neil first getting andrew off ??? i randomly remember it from ms. sakavic’s extra content page and i would like to see what the fandom offers, if y’all don’t mind)

im so mean and insistent on my aftg-related opinions now that i think about it

whoops

[blueluneacy]

I know you just made that Jotaro x Fem s/o with dirty talk but I did not realize just how much I needed more dirty talking Yan Joot in my life till now! Would you please do an nsfw continuation of it?

We all need a little more dirty talk in our lives, don’t we? I’m always here for it, anyway! This got SUPER long, whoops. Well, I hope you enjoy reading it even though I sat down and wrote all this at 3 am.

If you all want part one, it’s HERE! This is pretty much a direct continuation. I have no idea how much sense this is going to make without the first part.

Warnings are: dub con, yandere, possessive behaviors, not sfw, fingering, the whole works

You moaned at Jotaro’s words, his voice right by your ear, cooing out praises. God, he just the filthiest things, didn’t he? You squirmed under his grasp, feeling how he prodded inside of you and just whimpered, gasping for breath and Jotaro prepared you for him. 

“Look how needy you are for me. Could that other guy give you this?” Jotaro asked in a low growl, and you just squirmed, grabbing onto Jotaro and holding his arm tight. Jotaro just held onto you tighter, to the point of being painful.

“I asked you a question, (y/n). Tell me, tell me that I’m better than him.” Jotaro said in a way that was almost pleading with you, begging for a slot in your life. He wanted you to enjoy his touch, to forget all about whatever this other guy had to offer. He couldn’t lose you, not after everyone else. What he had to do was irrelevant. To have you here under him was enough. You just whimpered under the harsh touch, swallowing.

“You’re better than him Kujo, I promise. I… I…” You didn’t know what to say to Jotaro, only looking away. You felt his grasp on you soften slightly, but there was still a sigh in his voice as he shook his head. 

“You’re scared of me.” He sighed, letting you go and brushing a piece of your hair to the side. You swallowing, looking up at Jotaro. He seemed to be so soft with you in a way that you knew well, knew other than his recent harshness. He smiled, watching as you relaxed, before putting another finger inside of you. You gasped, arching your back into the feeling. 

“I’ll just have to put you at ease then.” He told you, and you gasped and moaned at the feeling, squirming under Jotaro’s touch as he stretched you out, preparing you to take him, although you didn’t realize it at the time. You just moaned out, hearing the way your noises echoed throughout the empty room. God, if someone came in here and caught the two of you…

“K-Kujo, please! Please, it’s too much, please!” You cried out, feeling yourself start to come close to the edge, just Jotaro just smirked, grabbing your hip with his free hand to keep you from bucking up, slowing down his fingers.

“Too much? Well, then I can always stop.” He told you, and you gasped, squirming under him. He knew damn well that you didn’t want him to stop at this point in the game, but he wanted to embarrass you further by hearing you say it. No, that wasn’t quite it. He wanted to hear from you that you wanted him and only him, none of this nonsense about a date. You whimpered, looking up at Jotaro with the doe eyes, hoping for the best.

“W-Wait, don’t… Don’t stop, please.” You mumbled. Jotaro just smiled, leaning in close. You felt your body press against his and you shuddered. He was so warm, so easy to hold onto. Like a steady oak. Jotaro relished in what he considered an act of submission, just still, he wanted more. He pulled his fingers out from inside of you, leaving you to shudder and whine impatiently. You were about to complain when you hear the telltale click of a belt. You swallowed, looking up at Jotaro with bated breath as he pulled himself out, already lining up with your entrance.

“Tell me you want me. And say my name, my first name. Please.” You saw that begging look in Jotaro’s eyes, like he was begging you to choose him, or else he might fall apart in front of you. He had made you his everything, he couldn’t lose that. Not again. You looked at him with a deep breath, not really understanding the look in Jotaro’s eye, but knowing that you refusing him might lead to that scary look again, you obliged.

“Jotaro… I want you, please. Please, you made me so needy, Jotaro.” You told him. He gasped in what seemed to be joy, before starting to push in, slowly. You moaned out, your toes curling and you felt that stinging stretch. While Jotaro prepared you, there’s really no way to experience that size until you do. You heard a groan slip out of Jotaro’s mouth, and you felt a little proud, honestly. Who knew you could rile anyone up this much, let alone Jotaro. 

After a bit of sitting there, adjusting to Jotaro, you felt his hands grab onto your hips, his nails digging into you. You yelped, about to scold Jotaro to treating you so harshly, when you felt him pull out, then slam back into you, practically banging you into the wall. You moaned at the feeling, grabbing onto him tight for fear that you’d fall over with how intense this is. Jotaro was merciless in his pace, fucking you like it was his last moments on Earth. 

“Do you like that? Like when I fuck you like this?” He growled at you, leaving you to whine and nod, your eyes practically rolling back as Jotaro pulled you closer, leaning in to nip at your neck. He was trying to get every piece of you, maybe even mark you as a way to try and keep you linked to him. Your pleasure filled face was enough for him, really. The fact that he knew that he was the reason you were like this, your eyes rolling back and the noises from your mouth incoherent, was euphoric in its own right. 

“That’s right, you’re mine, all mine. No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good. No one but me!” Jotaro’s voice seemed to rise as he spoke, his confidence rising as he saw how needy you were for him, watching you moan and cling to him, the way you struggled to move your hips with him to try and get more. But no, he was going to hold you close, going to control what pleasure you felt and made sure it was only from him, just to keep you all that much closer. 

“J-Jotaro, so close, p-please~!” You babbled out, your body practically limp against the man. You had so easily become putty in Jotaro’s hands, succumbing to the pleasure that he was giving you. God, if this was Jotaro’s love, then you really might be able to live with it. And as you warned Jotaro of how you were coming to the edge, he only doubled his efforts, holding you so tight that you were certain you were going to have handprint bruises on your hips tomorrow. He just fucked you harder, if that were even possible, trying to push you to the edge.

“Do it, cum for me, just for me. Fuck, you feel so good, I’ll cum too. Together, god, together-” Jotaro told you, his voice getting cut off by his own groan as you squeezed down on him, finally reaching your release. You moaned as you reached your own orgasm, feeling waves of pleasure as Jotaro helped you ride it out. Jotaro thrust a few more times, starting to get a bit sloppy, before finally stilling his hips inside of you and finishing. You whined, fucked to the point of overstimulation, but Jotaro held himself inside of you for a good moment before pulling out, finally releasing your hips. Almost immediately, you slumped to the floor. In your post orgasmic haze, it seemed like a rather nice place to sleep, even if there may be questions tomorrow.

Jotaro looked over you, a smug smile on his face as he saw what he had done to you. He tucked himself away, moving to grab your coat, before… Reaching into the pocket, grabbing your phone and sending a text message. Well, that ought to do it, anyway. He looked over you again, bringing your jacket and helping you put it on. Of course, he would be walking you home, just in case this man tried to get close to you. Although, the text Jotaro sent should make quick work of anything like that.

But you weren’t thinking of all that at the moment. All you did was hold onto Jotaro tight, hoping to fight off the sleepiness through your system. You looked up to see the adoration in Jotaro’s eyes once again when he looked at you, and there was a small pang in your stomach. Though it was almost outweighed by a lot of the other things you were feeling right now, the thought that crossed your mind was undeniable, albeit tucked away while more important matters were dealt with.

Maybe that look of love was what you should’ve feared all along.

[thingr1]

(this is how you) bring me back to life

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Summary: Dick gets comforted by his siblings after a bad day.

Cross posted: FFN and AO3. (A/N found on both sites)

For: @alannaofroses for the prompt: Dick gets comforted after a bad day.

~o~

It was one of those days where nothing went wrong...but nothing really went right either.  One of those days where nothing terribly awful happened, but there were enough false alarms and close calls to keep him on his toes.   Until suddenly he couldn’t keep the pose anymore.

Looking back on it, Dick couldn’t quite determine what had brought him to this point.  Maybe it was the eight-year-old girl trapped under a beam while the house burned around her that he’d barely reached before everything collapsed at four in the morning.  Maybe it was the desperate bullet from a cornered bank robber that shot into his police vest mere centimeters from his exposed neck, leaving a painful, purpling bruise this afternoon.

Or maybe it was all the little things in between; the rush hour traffic when he couldn’t drag himself up early enough after crawling under the covers only an hour before, the empty fridge after work since he forgot to stop for groceries, his TV going up in smoke mid-cartoon.

Whatever it was, Dick was drained.  Past exhaustion, past coherent thought.

Of course, he’d realized this only after Alfred texted to remind him of family dinner at the Manor tonight.  Even Jason was supposed to be there, which was a blessing and a curse in itself.  When the invitation had come last week, there really hadn’t been a reason to say no.

So now here he was, squealing up Wayne Manor’s driveway with eyes half-lidded and pop music blaring in a vain attempt to keep himself from passing out from sheer “doneness with the world” mid-drive.

He ground the car into park, the engine giving a splutter of protest before going silent along with the heavily autotuned singer from the radio.

Dick sagged against the steering wheel, groaning into his frozen fingers.

He couldn’t do this.  He was too tired.  He couldn’t face his family right now, couldn’t handle the drama that was sure to drown him the second he walked through that ridiculously fancy door.

Dick loved his family.  He did.  He did.

But dealing with them on a good day was hard enough when all they did was make each other miserable.  With only Dick to act as mediator.  It was exhausting.  Dick hated picking sides, hated that it was necessary.  Hated that Bruce always mysteriously, conveniently disappeared before he could be dragged into the mess.  Finding middle ground took patience and energy Dick didn’t always have.  Now, would be a good example.

He loved his family.  But the thought of walking into a storm of petty arguments and insults made his stomach twist.

Dick sighed into his hands.  He couldn’t hide out here forever.  Alfred would come looking.  If anything, Dick could just…sleep.  Sink into his bed and not get up until his brain and body had reset into some semblance of functional humanity.  Retreat into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness until he was ready to take up the older brother mantle again and be the responsible adult for a spell.

Yeah.  Bed sounded good.


Now he just needed to get there.

“Okay, Dick,” he whispered.  “Baby steps.”

Step one: Take hands off wheel.

He pried his fingers up—one by one by one—until finally their death grip on the pleather ring was relinquished.

Two: Exit car.

He fumbled with the handle, tugging it so the door unlocked and cracked open.  He nudged it with his foot so it swung out all the way with a dull thud.  Cold, damp air flooded the interior, making Dick shiver.  He swung one leg out, then the other.  Stood up.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, made him stumble back against the car, head heavy and blood rushing loud and fast in his ears.  Whoops.  He remained still, blinking until the spots left his vision.  Okay?  Okay.

Three: Knock on front door.

Muscle memory had him shut the car door, press the lock button on the fob.  He must’ve spaced out for a sec, because the next moment he was up on the porch, hand wrapped around the knocker.  The brass handle barely touched the plating before the door swung inwards.

Dick blinked owlishly at the sudden empty space in front of his fist, at the butler standing just inside.

“Master Dick,” Alfred greeted.  “Do come inside.  The weather is dreadful.”

“Hey, Alf,” Dick mumbled, tongue strangely uncooperative as he shuffled into the front foyer.  “Made it.”

The butler’s eyebrows furrowed.  “Are you quite all right, Master Dick?” he asked, a touch of concern audible in his tone.  “You seem a bit out of sorts.”

Dick nodded numbly.  “M’good.  Promise.”

Alfred frowned deeper at that, wrinkled hands grasping Dick’s wrists to check his pulse.

Dick sagged against the door frame, allowing the butler to fret over him; brush his knuckles to his forehead, check the dilation of his pupils.

“Alf, I’m fine,” Dick croaked; tone dry and cracked even to himself.  “Just tired.”

Alfred pursed his lips.  “If you say so, Master Dick.  However, I must insist that you remedy this situation before attempting any of your extracurricular activities.  Dinner won’t be ready for another hour or so.  Go rest.”

Dick nodded; more of a droop as his head sagged to his chest and stayed there.  “‘Kay.”

Step…four.  Five?  Go to bed.

The walls spun lazy circles around him as he plodded down the hallway, every footstep dragging as if cement had been sealed into his feet.  At some point he stumbled through an open door as his hand (when’d he put it on the wall?) suddenly didn’t support him.

Blinking, he realized he’d wandered into the main living room.  Didn’t exactly process more than that, hazy vision zeroing in on the couch.  Shuffling across, Dick flopped bonelessly onto the beautiful beautiful silk, sagging into the cushions with a muffled groan.

Just five minutes.  Five minutes, and then he’d slip upstairs and hide in his room before any of his siblings caught him like this.

He was fine.  He just.

Needed…

Five.

…

Dick couldn’t call it sleep, exactly.  That is, he never lost consciousness and fell into the peaceful, black abyss of nothingness.  He just kind of…drifted.  Not fully aware of his surroundings.  But not completely oblivious to them either.

It was almost like he was…floating.

A distant part of his mind prompted a word for the sensation, but the far greater part was content with just…existing.  Not thinking.  Not processing anything.  Just drifting through a hazy gray fog.

Dick would rather just be asleep.  But it seemed his body wouldn’t let him.  So this would have to do.

As if through cotton, he thought he caught snatches of phrases, whispered words echoing around him.

“—when did he—?”

“How long—?”

“—moved at all—?”


“—imbeciles do to Grayson?”

The words became clearer, louder; persistent enough against his senses that Dick began to lose his grip on whatever gray area between sleep and awareness he’d found himself in.

“—you must have done something.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now, is it?  Newsflash, brat: This is the first time I saw him today!”

Nope.  No.  Dick didn’t want to hear it.  Wanted instead to sleep and float and forget for a minute how useless he was, how selfish he was to purposely ignore his siblings, how much he wished for a moment he didn’t have to exist until he was ready to face the world again.

He turned his nose into the fabric of the couch, squeezing his eyes so tight he saw stars, attempting to block out the invading sounds without actually moving his limbs to do so.

The whispers, which had been growing steadily louder, stopped.

Crap.  Had they noticed him move?  Please don’t drag him into whatever this was.  Not now.

Then, “Dick?”

Soft.  Concerned.

Dick almost (might have) whimpered.

There was a beat of silence.  Two.

“You good, Goldie?” Gruff.  Somehow gentle, in its own way.

Dick shook his head before he could think the gesture through, huddling deeper into the couch with a shiver.  He was okay.  He just needed to rest, to sleep, and he would be fine.  He…he needed…

He almost jumped at the feeling of small hands on his arm, of a leg looping over his waist.  A familiar small figure climbed over him, pushed at his torso and tugged at his limbs until suddenly someone was wedged in between the couch back and Dick’s chest, both arms wrapped around him in a hug.

Dick blinked down at the spiky black hair—the only part of the barely teen visible since his face was buried in Dick’s shirt.  Slowly, hesitantly, Dick’s arm squeezed back where it had been maneuvered around Damian’s waist.  He pressed his chin into the soft raven crown and closed his eyes.

Damian relaxed into the hold, pressing his nose under Dick’s collar bone.

This.  This was nice.

But before he could settle again, process the new sensation, revel in the warmth radiating from his littlest brother, another hand tapped his knee.

“Oi, Dickhead, move your feet,” Jason griped.

Confused, brain still not quite present, Dick shifted his feet back slightly.  Jason snorted.  And then hands wrapped around Dick’s ankles, hauling them into the air.  Dick felt the brush of a shoulder on the underside of his calf, heard a muffled grunt, felt a dip in the couch cushions.  And then his feet were rested on someone’s—Jason’s—lap.

Jason patted his leg a couple times before propping up his forearm on Dick’s calf.  Dick heard the familiar crackle of an old paperback being opened, the slide of a bookmark being removed from yellowed pages.

There was a rustle by his head, fabric on fabric as someone—Tim, it could only be Tim—sat down in the armchair by Dick’s head.

Thin fingers brushed against his scalp, began to card through his hair; gentle and unsure at first, gaining confidence as Dick instinctively angled into the touch.  It had been years since he’d been on the receiving end of this, of someone gently stroking his hair and massaging his scalp.

A memory, brief and hazy, of a larger hand mimicking the same path through his curls as Dick lay injured and feverish in his early Robin years came to him.  He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this till today.

How much he’d missed being held, being pressed into by people he loved on all sides, sharing a space too small to reasonably contain them all.  If there was one thing Dick missed the most from his circus days, it was the touching that came with shared love, affection, and not enough room to do anything but express it.

But that was the circus.  The Manor was different.  Larger, emptier, easier to escape in the aftermath of disagreements in.

Dick minutely braced himself for the words to start.  For the chatter that would inevitably escalate to something sharper, something louder, and ruin this moment.

But it was quiet.

Well…relatively.

Dick could hear(feel) Damian’s breath against his chest, each puff warm and slightly tickle-y.  Could hear the sshhhk as Jason turned a new page in his book, an occasional quiet whistle or snort through his teeth as he read.  And of course, Timmy clumsily typing with one hand at speeds that still defied all human logic, the other one still curling in Dick’s hair.

No one arguing.  No one speaking.  Just…being.

It was…peaceful.

Dick.  Dick could handle this.  This was good.  This was nice.

Slowly, surely, Dick relaxed.  Damian pressed tightly into his torso.  Jason’s legs bouncing up and down beneath his calves.  Tim’s hand scratching through his hair.

Tears rose unbidden to his eyes as a knot in his core he didn’t even know existed began to ease, warmth taking its place.

Overall, it had been a cruddy day.  But if this could be how it ended…surrounded by family, not bickering, just enjoying one another’s presence…maybe it wasn’t so terrible after all.

[twistedsinews]

F, I, L, M, S, and W! (I didn't mean to form a word there, but whoops)

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Oof.  I… have no idea.

My first instinctive answer was this, from Fuzz:

“What are you doing and why must you be doing it in front of a fucking camera.”

“You really want to nail this bitch?” Gat leaned in closer, and Faith turned her head towards his breath where it tickled her ear. “Think about it… nothing destroys a career faster than evidence of a turgid, illicit romance.”

“Torrid,” she corrected, on reflex, as she half-leaned, half-pushed him back to look up at him.

“Hm?”

“Torrid romance.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure I meant turgid.”

Faith blinked at him, then shook her head, weighed down by sheer incredulity.

“Right,” she said, meeting his expression with a tight, wry smile. “You’re a big boy; far be it from me to tell you whether you’re allowed to whip your dick around on primetime television.”

Mainly because it’s the type of wordplay I have a lot of fun with and am proud of when it works out.  Whether anyone else ever finds it funny is a question, but I get the impression at least some folks out there like my writing, so.

I’m also inanely proud of the fact I got the “You’re under arrest for everything,” thing into a fic here, and I don’t know if proud is the word but I have a lot of fun any time I get to write drunken shenanigans like here.

OH!

This:

He dropped the board flat on the floor, and the pointy thing on top of it.  It danced and spun back and forth.

“Yeah, yeah, can you get me in touch with the guy upstairs?”

W-R-O-N-G-N-U-M-B-E-R

“Fine, then can you ring big red for me?”

T-H-A-T-L-I-N-E-H-A-S-B-E-E-N-D-I-S-C-O-N-N-E-C-T-E-D

“So it’s just you and me?”

YES

“Got any good advice on how to deal with women?”

NO

“Figures.”

was a literal last minute addition under the Yuletide deadline that made me really happy that it popped into my head when it did, because the visual was picture perfect and made me laugh.  And considering the weight of the rest of the fic, it was a nice light little capstone to it, too.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

*snrk*

All of the tropes listed below?

Idk.

*think*

I guess maybe romance stuff.  I always felt really exposed as a kid liking romance stuff, so for a very long time I either suppressed it or pretended I didn’t, I guess.  I definitely read for the fluffy mushy feelings, but it’s still hard to admit that out loud.  (And then there’s the feeling that the specific type of romance stuff I like is somehow SAYING SOMETHING ABOUT ME AS A PERSON, which… nah.  But y'know.  There’s a reason I still can’t write teh lemons.)

Also, I mean, I’ve caught hell for writing fic instead of filing the serial numbers off and monetizing like a sane American should, so fic in general can be a pretty guilty pleasure thing even though it shouldn’t be.

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

… … …I’m one of those people who revises on the fly while writing.  :P

I have a difficult time reading my own writing, but it’s better than it used to be.  These days I can manage a spelling, homophones, and redundancy check after I finish.

Perfectionism is dumb.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

…I have a lot, and I’ve probably forgotten some.  

For SR, I have four prompts left from like five years ago, all of them for Halloween and I should probably get on them right fucking now so I don’t miss it again this year.

I have a bunch of pre-Boss Saints one-offs with Gat, Dex, Lin, and Aisha (and occasionally Julius and Troy.)

I have a few longer ideas that I keep putting off, because I suck at writing longform.  One involves Faith’s stint in prison between SR2 and SR3 that lands the Saints under Ultor’s corporate branding.  Another is the Faith backstory fic involving a murder cult trying to avert the end of the world.

More road trip fic in general, on that latter topic.

I have a ‘Saints go to Japan [for contrived probably Ultor reasons]’ idea mostly just get them squaring off with one of Shogo’s cousins.  I have something involving the Samedi and how utterly fucked up a person can get on Loa Dust… I had a Zinyak’s Red Door idea, I don’t know if I wrote down enough of it to remember where I was going with it…

I really want to write more Oleg sometime.

See also: Asha.

I want to write a SR movie script before the actual movie comes out, for the lulz.  I had the core idea a good few years back now, I just haven’t gotten to it.

…and, yeah.  My SR folder has like 3 times as many files as the rest of my fic folders combined, send help.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Us against the world.

Our heroes either failing or otherwise coming within an inch of completely losing everything up to and including their lives before pulling it together for one last push to make it through.

Hurt/comfort.

Presumed dead.

A wide variety of romance tropes, including but not limited to: battle couples, UST, bickering to hide feelings, light-hearted teasing, heavy emotional defenses that only fully come down in private, heart-eyes in general… etc, etc.

Characters being coerced by the enemy in some way, especially if they have to do things against their grain or fight their friends or something for highest angst value.  Good people from the bad guy’s side switching sides.

Huddling for warmth.

All of the love triangles resolving to OT3s.  All the OT3s in general, actually.

…I know I’m forgetting some, I like a lot of tropes.  XD

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?

I tend to like more general prompts, because the way ideas spark in my brain I don’t like to feel like someone really wants to see something specific ‘cause I’m just… gonna let 'em down somehow.

Even with general prompts, I sometimes get the feeling that I’m going off prompt, even though whenever I’m writing to a prompt is because the idea came from the prompt in the first place.

It’s my brain, I don’t know how it works.  XD

[danyka-fendyr]

Scar Tissue Chapter 2: Dynamic Du-OH- A Sudden Realization

A/N: I’m posting this without editing because I hate myself. I will eventually come back and fix my many sins. Tagging @writingtheworks the works again. Do I think that Bruce Wayne invites his butler to family dinners? Yes, yes I do, and Gotham’s snooty societal standards can’t stop me or him. Take that you elitists. Rorie was exhausted. You really couldn’t blame her. She’d been listening to Jason monologue Romeo and Juliet repeatedly for about an hour now. She loved her best friend, but she was ready to stab Shakespeare. She understood this was his masterpiece, but did he have to do this to her?

“Jay, I promise you, you will get the part. The first 5 times, heck, the first 10 times, this was the most beautiful performance I had ever seen in my life,” I told him.

Jason broke character, collapsing out of a dramatic pose, arm extended, head held up, looking to an imaginary balcony.

“You cried the first time,” he said, grinning.

Rorie had never seen someone so pleased over her tears. ...Well, okay, that wasn’t necessarily completely true, but she’d fought the Joker, alright? He was pretty sick, and not in the good way.

“Yes, because it was amazing. We’ve been over this. You are amazing,” she said.

Jason blushed under the praise, his neck, cheeks and ears tinting pink. When Jason blushed, he blushed with his whole head. It was sort of cute. Or at least, Rorie assumed it would be cute if you were like, into that kind of stuff. Rorie, of course, was not.

“Anyway, you should try to get some sleep. We have patrol tonight. Plus, you wouldn’t want to look burned out for your audition. It’s no good having a Romeo who looks sleep deprived,” Rorie tried to reason with him.

“What if he’s sleep deprived because he’s been up all night thinking about his Juliet, and how she refuses to audition, despite Alfred’s best efforts,” Jason teased.

“And you. Don’t forget you,” Rorie sighed. 

Alfred and Jason hadn’t gotten off her back about this since they first started holding auditions for Romeo and Juliet. Rorie refused on the principle that the characters made a long series of stupid decisions ending in a tragedy that could have been completely avoidable. Jason had countered with the fact that he had caught her reading it out loud, rather passionately, mind you, when they had been assigned the story for English class. It wasn’t Rorie’s fault that the story was still emotionally compelling, despite entirely lacking logic. Juliet admittedly had some pretty lines.

“This is too cliché. Why couldn’t the school play be something prettier, like Wuthering Heights?” Rorie objected.

“Your obsession with Wuthering Heights will never end, will it?” Jason asked.

“The writing is beautiful Jason!” Rorie cried, more passionate even then when she was playing the part of Juliet.

“Maybe if you get the lead role this year they’ll choose it next year. You could get friendly with the Mrs. Dowly, convince her it would be a good idea.” Jason carefully dangled the carrot in front of his prey’s face.

There was a pregnant pause while Rorie considered.

“You really think so?” she questioned, shooting him an uncertain, slightly untrusting look.

Jason nodded, his enthusiasm making the gesture comical so that he resembled a bobble-head. “Absolutely! Mrs. Dowly always considers how her leads feel.” 

Jason would know. He was the theater teacher’s pet, and had been the lead many, many times. All the other theater nerds were jealous of him, if they didn’t absolutely hero worship him (something Rorie found ironically humorous, considering their nightlife).

Rorie sighed, the sound deeply resigned. In contrast, Jason whooped.

“I will only be auditioning,” she warned him.

“Absolutely,” Jason said.

“You will in no way try to convince Mrs. Dowly to show me any kind of special favor.”

“Of course not.” More bobble-headedness, this time a vigorous shake, like he was a wet dog.

“If I do, by some miracle, get the part, you will not gloat, tell me you knew it, or anything of the sort.”

At this, Jason pouted. Rorie glared.

“Can’t I be proud?” He gave her the puppy dog eyes.

He gave her the puppy dog eyes. Jason knew she couldn’t resist the puppy dog eyes.

“Fine. A little pride. But none while we’re in school!” Rorie caved.

“Yay!” Jason chirped, wrapping his arms around her, trapping hers by her side.

Rorie pouted, and Jason celebrated. It was at this moment that Bruce walked in, Alfred following closely behind with a curious expression on his face.

“What’s going on here?” There was a tone of deep, rich amusement to Bruce’s voice, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in what was usually about as close as he came to a smile (unless he was playing the role of ‘Brucie Wayne’).

“Rorie’s going to audition for the school play!” Jason cheered.

“With conditions!” Rorie added, seeing the look of excited shock on Alfred’s face and the knowing approval on Bruce’s.

“Well, miss, I suppose we’ll have to get you in shape!” Alfred declared.

“Oh no.”

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Wonderful, miss! The way you sigh it out is beautiful. Very wistful. Now if you could just make it a little bit less breathy,” Alfred instructed.

Rorie puffed a sigh, and Jason tried not to laugh at her. She looked frustrated. Not as frustrated as she could be, since she wasn’t doing math, but her hair was messy and her posture slumped, face red from trying to hold back an oncoming temper tantrum. Alfred had this tendency to sometimes work out the details a little too much when it came to Shakespeare, or really any kind of play or production. He was a man of the theater indeed. 

Jason decided Rorie might need a rescue.

“Maybe I could work with her for a bit Alfred. You could take a break, maybe make some snacks?” he suggested, knowing Alfred would never leave drama without a specific task and purpose.

“Cookies?” Rorie asked, a forlorn hope swimming in her eyes.

“Ah! Of course! You lot do look as though you could use something to munch on. It will raise the spirits!” Alfred clapped his hands, looking as invigorated as he always did when he was allowed within range of fine art. “I’ll prepare some fruit, and perhaps some cookies if I feel it is warranted.”

By that Jason was pretty sure Alfred meant that Rorie ate too many cookies and that she was going to get cavities. He was trying to be nice right now though, since it was obvious that Rorie was seriously considering dropping out of the school play.When she got the part, the entire household had been elated. Well, Jason and Alfred had been elated, and Bruce had been smugly pleased. Emphasis on smug. That was his adopted daughter, after all.Jason was pretty sure that if ‘Brucie Wayne’ wasn’t supposed to be keeping up his eligible bachelor status, Bruce would have posted his pride all over ever social media platform he knew how to work. Jason’s phone pinged, and he checked his notifications.

Scratch that. Bruce wasn’t able to keep it in anymore now that he had not one, but two children in theater. He had just made the dorkiest post Jason had ever seen in his life on Twitter. 

“So proud of @jtodd and @roreo for scoring roles in the school play! I look forward to seeing them play Romeo and Juliet, respectively. If you have the time, come down to @gothamacademy and watch. #Illbesittingfrontrow”

Jason hoped none of the other kids at school saw that. Jason knew every one of the other kids at school had seen that, even the ones who weren’t theater geeks. Jason was pretty sure any kind of a reputation he had was gone now.

“Oh no,” Rorie groaned.

“Oh no what, Miss?” Alfred said, poking his head into the room at the first sound of oncoming disaster.

Rorie extended her phone to him, letting him see the tweet Jason himself had just been looking at.

“All the kids at school will see this, Alfred! We’re done for.” Rorie exchanged a look of horror with Jason.

Alfred looked thoughtful.“We shall see, miss.”

And see they did. 

Arriving at school the next day, Rorie did her utmost to go incognito. Sunglasses and a dark hoodie obscured her figure, and she kept her head bowed as she walked through the halls. Jason didn’t bother with this. His strategy was to not show any kind of weakness.

He strutted down the halls, trying to appear more confident than ever before, his hair slicked back with gel he had stolen from Bruce a while back and his favorite leather jacket on. He would have been wearing sunglasses, but Rorie stole his coolest pair.

As it turned out, Jason’s strategy worked better, unfortunately for Rorie. Some of the boys tried to pick on him, it was true, but he just ignored them. If you looked closely enough, you might be able to see that he was riled up, but only if you knew him well. He kept his anger close and in check. He could always exact revenge later if he still thought they were worth it.

Rorie was taunted mercilessly though, since she reacted a little volatiley to the whole thing. The second someone had insinuated that her rich daddy bought her spot, she was spitting words that were dangerously close to obscenities, a seething pot ready to boil over. Jason had swept in several times that day to save her when it looked like she might not be able to control herself. In thanks, she gave him his sunglasses back.

Now, Rorie was sitting in the library, the only place where people would leave her alone, it seemed. She was reading through Jane Eyre again, trying to distract herself from the snake’s nest of anxiety, self-doubt, and bitter, petty rage boiling in her head. It wasn’t working that well.

It worked less well when Amanda Bixby sat next to her. Rorie didn’t dislike Amanda particularly, but she also didn’t particularly like her. Amanda was...Well, Amanda was a bit of an airhead. She didn’t mean to be, but she just happened to be that one girl that never thought about anything but makeup and boys. There was nothing particularly wrong with this mindset, but it simply didn’t mesh with Rorie’s more practical attitude. 

“So, Jason’s like, your brother, right?” Amanda said, her tone friendly yet suspiciously slimy sounding to Rorie.

“Yeah, I guess. More of a best friend, really.” Rorie shrugged.

“But you’re super close, yeah?” Amanda confirmed.

“Well yeah. We live in the same house.” Rorie didn’t feel it necessary to mention that they had shared a bathroom until last year when she had demanded Bruce let her have her own. 

Rorie was prepared for a plethora of things. Amanda was into theater, so it was entirely possible that she was hoping Rorie would be able to share some of Jason’s acting secrets with her. Or, it could be that she needed help with her English homework, something Jason also excelled in. As it turned out, Rorie was woefully unprepared for what actually happened.

“So what kind of girl does he usually go for?” Amanda asked.

Rorie choked a little bit. “What?”

“Like, does he have a type?” She twirled a strand of long brown hair around her finger.

“Umm….I don’t really know. He doesn’t talk to me about girls,” Rorie said, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

“Yeah, but I mean, you’ve got to know something about his girlfriends. Are they tall? Short? Blondes, brunettes? C’mon, gimme something here,” Amanda said.

In truth, Rorie was unsure that Jason had ever even had a girlfriend. He was only 15 after all. 15 was a bit young for a girlfriend, wasn’t it? Rorie felt like 15 was young.

“Why do you ask? I mean, it’s not like Jason’s particularly attractive or anything.” Rorie laughed nervously.

“Are you kidding me? He’s a total dreamboat. All the girls know it. Plus, have you ever seen his arms when he takes off that leather jacket?” Amanda bit her lip in a way that Rorie definitely did not like. “I bet he’s ripped. Not to mention that he’s tall. And he’s only going to get taller you know.”

Amanda was clearly not in the building anymore. Her eyes had glazed over dreamily, and Rorie took that as her cue to be anywhere but where she presently was. Sneakily, she made her escape, mumbling under her breath about some urgent play preparation she had to do.

Rorie raced out of the library so fast it was almost superhuman, forgetting to put her sunglasses back on as she went. They were perched on top of her head when she crashed into someone, causing them to clatter to the floor, and her to nearly follow. Fortunately for her, someone had good reflexes and caught her, a warm, firm hand holding her back and pressing her against a lean, muscular torso.

“I am so sorry, you have no idea how mortified I am, rea-” Rorie stopped short when she realized that the person who was holding her was rather familiar.

She pulled back, peering into their face to find none other than Jason Todd himself. Rorie wanted to say “speak of the devil,” but she was a bit distracted at the moment, because at it turned out, it would seem that Amanda Bixby was right. Jason Todd was a dreamboat.Rorie was unsure how she hadn’t noticed it before. It wasn’t like anything had significantly changed between now and an hour again, when Rorie had last seen Jason. However, now that it had been mentioned to her, he had very nice, well-defined cheekbones, a strong jaw, incredibly long black lashes, and the prettiest pair of blue eyes Rorie had ever seen in her life. She swallowed heavily as she realized that, prior to knowing who was holding her up, she had been appreciating their toned body structure as well.

“Careful there, Rorie. You’ll get hurt.” Jason smiled at her, revealing a blinding white set of perfectly straight teeth that seemed intent on sinking themselves into Rorie’s heart.

Oh no. Oh no.

Opening night had finally come, and Jason was bouncing around with excitement. He had no reason to worry. He had done this dozens of times before, and he had every confidence in his leading lady.

He was watching her right now, mumbling her lines under her breath and coughing as hairspray was applied rigorously to her carefully created Shakespearean hair. 

“Oh, Romeo, oh Romeo,” Rorie said, rocking back and forth slightly, to the deep consternation of the girl working on her hair.

“Actually,” Jason said, watching himself appear in the mirror behind her, already in full costume, hair done, “it’s ‘Oh Romeo, Romeo’.”

“I’m gonna fail. I’m gonna fail in front of everyone, and they’ll all laugh, and this will be the end of my acting career, and I’ll have to switch schools.” Her eyes, previously closed, snapped open. “I’ll have to switch schools Jason. I’ll have to go to a boarding school in Scandinavia where nobody knows my name.”

“You’ll be fine,” Jason reassured her, placing both his hands on her shoulders and shooing the irate amateur hairdresser off.

“But what if I’m not?” Rorie asked desperately.

“Then I’ll fail even more epically. I’ll say lines from Napoleon Dynamite instead, and then I’ll trip and fall on my face, and then I’ll roll over and start making snow angels, except there will be no snow, at which point I will have made my first mistake as it is obvious that one cannot make snow angels without no snow.”

“That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Rorie dead-panned.

“See! It works!” Jason grinned broadly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Rorie, on her part, tried to look slightly less miserable.

“You’re on in 5,” someone informed him as they passed by.

Rorie gave him an unsure look, seeking a few last moments of reassurance.

Jason walked around until he was facing her, crouching so he could look her right in the eye. “You’re gonna be great, don’t worry.”

He smoothed down a few stray pieces of her hair, giving her one last strong, certain smile before heading to the wings. It was showtime.

Acts 1-4 went flawlessly. Despite her nerves, Rorie was a natural on stage. She sounded like Shakespeare had written her himself, and Jason was matching her ever move. They were a perfect pair, naturally, and they had the kind of trust most lead actors could probably only wish for. This came as a package deal with the many shared near-death experiences.

It was Act 5 where things began to get sticky. Specifically, the death scene. Everything had been going fun. They had rehearsed this scene in bits and pieces plenty of times before, and everything was timed perfectly. The grief they portrayed was stunningly believable, the laboured breaths and the hasty tears working together to paint a picture of gut-wrenching agony. Jason had caught a glimpse of Dick crying in the audience.

Specifically, it was Act 5, scene 3, line 125 that was giving Jason a good deal of trouble. He had said all the lines leading up to it, and now he found himself agonizingly close to a “dead” Rorie with the task of kissing her.

He had known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he would have to kiss her for this performance. Maybe some tiny part of him had even looked forward to it, entirely without his knowledge or consent. They hadn’t practiced this particular scene, however, and Jason had conveniently forgotten about it until now. Or rather, he had been making a conscious effort not to think about it at all.

He hovered over her, his mouth inches away from hers. She was so warm underneath him, hair splayed out and hands neatly folded over her stomach, eyes lightly shut. Jason tried to steady his heart rate, failing miserably, and after running through a plethora of alternative scenarios in his mind, each more wild than the last, he determined that he would just have to do it. If she hated him afterwards, there was nothing he could do about it.

Gently, he connected their lips. It was like a revival. Her lips were soft and warm against his, and she tasted like oranges and cinnamon. Her body, almost unconsciously, craned into him, kissing back so softly and subtly that the audience couldn’t have noticed, but Jason most definitely did. Without thinking, one hand reached into her hair, cradling her head as he kissed her like Romeo would kiss Juliet, like a man would kiss his lover with his last dying breath, slightly clumsy, but intimate and gentle, with a fervor Mrs. Dowly had probably not foreseen.

He broke away, rushing through his poison scene and dying as quickly as possible. It felt fitting, since he was pretty sure he was already dead. Then, it was Rorie’s turn. What she did next was not entirely expected.

She worked her way through her lines with an untold urgency, weeping at the sight of her Romeo lying dead below her. Her performance was like nothing Gotham Academy had ever seen before, as emotionally charged as it was. And then, he broke from script. She kissed Jason.

It was similar to the first time, but less clumsy, and Jason nearly broke character out of sheer shock. He didn’t have the time though, with the brevity of the kiss. It was hard and fast, and then she stabbing herself with a fake knife as ripples of surprise waved through the audience.

The last few scenes were played out, and everyone took their final bows. Jason could see Dick sobbing at this point, overcome by emotion. Jason felt similarly overcome, unsure of what exactly had just happened. He rushed his way backstage, finding Rorie in the mess that was the closing of opening night. He grabbed her arm, whirling her around.

“Rorie,” he breathed out her name, still stunned even now.

She turned pink, staring at her feet as she answered. “Yes.”

“You kissed me,” he stated.

“You kissed me first.”

“On script,” he said.

“Are you mad?” Now she looked up at him, twinges of hurt flecking her eyes and accenting an ocean of bright green worry and fear.

“Am I mad? No, I’m definitely no mad.” Now, Jason grinned. He grinned like a fool. “Just wondering if you’ll do it again.”

Rorie smiled shyly, starting to look as giddy as Jason now felt.“At least buy me dinner first,” she said, mischief in her eyes and tugging at her mouth as she shrugged in feigned nonchalance.

“I’m pretty sure dinner is on Bruce tonight, but if you think I’m not going to buy you dinner at the next available opportunity then you are very, very wrong,” Jason said.

Rorie laughed, reaching up to hug him in his favorite way, the only way he ever wanted to be hugged by her ever again.

“Deal, boy wonder,” she whispered in his ear.

Dinner was awkward. Dinner way very, very awkward.

It wasn’t that Bruce disapproved, after the two stumbled through an explanation of their budding relationship. It wasn’t that Alfred disapproved, or Dick, even. No. Horrifyingly, they were all delighted.

“What do you mean you knew?” Jason and Rorie shrieked in unison.

Bruce tried to bring the table back to some form of decorum, since Dick’s exclamation of, “I knew it!” and small victory dance coupled with Rorie and Jason’s indignant screams was slightly out of place in one of Gotham’s nicest restaurants.

 “I mean, it was obvious. You two are always all blushy and cutesy around each other whenever I come over,” Dick explained, cutting into his steak.

“We are not!” Rorie protested, burying her face into her bouquet of brilliant red roses, of which it had turned the same hue.

Jason in turn felt like burying his face into the orchids he was currently holding for her, a gift from Dick. The roses were from Bruce, of course. Alfred had simply baked cookies back at home.

“I’m afraid you are, miss. It’s rather endearing, if it’s any comfort to you,” Alfred reassured.

“This is so embarrassing. You all knew?” Rorie said.

“And now the whole school knows, after that display.” Dick grinned. “You two got so lucky Mrs. Dowly didn’t tear you to pieces.”

As it happened, Mrs. Dowly had rather liked the show. She said that Rorie’s improv had been so impassioned Shakespeare should have written it into the original. Rorie had wilted into the very bottoms of her shoes, looking as though she were trying her best to melt into the floor.

A waiter came by to check on them as they were finishing up, Dick shoveling the last bites of his steak into his mouth. 

“Any dessert?” he asked politely, no doubt with good intentions.

“No!” Jason and Rorie shouted.

The last thing they wanted was more awkward dinner conversation.

“It would seem not,” Bruce said, smiling his, “people are watching,” smile. “We’ll just have the bill.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter ran off to retrieve the bill, leaving Jason and Rorie to suffer once more.

“So how long had you been thinking about that kiss scene, huh Jay?” Dick asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Jason groaned, his face turning red in that full-flush way that he had about him. Rorie, on the other hand, decided to change tactics. If you can’t beat’em, join’em.

“You know, it’s kind of cute when you do that,” she said.

“What?” Jason asked, confused and slightly alarmed.

“Blush. You do it with your whole head. Neck, face, ears. It’s cute.” Rorie shrugged, trying to hide her own blush.

“Ewww, this is officially too sweet for me now,” Dick said, feigning a gag.

“Please Dick, try to behave like an adult,” Bruce said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The waiter came by and Bruce quickly paid in cash, clearly having come prepared for an outing with his children. Rorie could only guess how enormous the tip was.

“Alfred?” Bruce said, raising his eyebrows as he looked at the man.

“I have already informed the valet that the car is to be brought around, sir,” Alfred said.

“Thank goodness, because I could use a good night’s sleep,” Bruce said.

Rorie and Jason grinned at each other. Bruce Wayne might get 8 hours, but his alter ego never did. It was time for the Bat to roam the streets of Gotham, Robin and Batgirl at his side. It was time to be a hero. 

[softkaimin]

Stranded (Part 3) - [Arthur]

part 1 ; part 2

“I cannot believe you made her sleep there,” Merlin hissed, holding two plates of food in his hands as he and Arthur stood by the table. They watched (Y/N) sleep for a few more seconds before Merlin turned to face Arthur, prepared to scold him. “Where are your manners, Sire?”

Arthur scoffed, uncrossing his arms petulantly, “I did not make her sleep there!” He shouted. Arthur motioned to the mattress that he’d brought in for (Y/N) last night, clearing his throat as if he deserved an apology.

Merlin shook his head, and set the plates down, standing over (Y/N) as he hesitantly reached for her shoulder to wake her. As soon as his fingertips grazed her shirt, he pulled his hand back. “No, I can’t wake her.” Merlin looked over at Arthur who was watching him closely, an annoyed look sprawled across his face. “She looks so peaceful!”

Arthur huffed. “Do I have to do everything myself?” He mocked, pretending like he wasn’t about to enjoy startling the sorceress awake. Arthur stood by Merlin, and began to shake (Y/N) gently, but when she didn’t budge, he slammed his hand on the table. “Up you get, sorceress! C’mon, the day waits for no one,” Arthur shouted in (Y/N)’s ear as he shook her roughly.

(Y/N) groaned, covering her ear as she pushed him away. “Aah-Stop!” She shouted back, her eyes still closed as she sat up straight in the chair. (Y/N) slowly pried her eyelids open, taking in the brightness of the room. “God… What do you want?” She asked harshly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Why didn’t you sleep on the mattress I brought you? You make me look like an ass,” Arthur questioned.

“You are.” She said groggily. (Y/N) rested her head into her hands, trying to fight the sleep that lingered across her heavy eyes; the ringing in her ears making it easy to drown out Arthur’s irksome whining.

As she was about to nod off, she noticed her bare legs, and remembered that she had no pants on. Her eyes flung open, and she sat straight up, fully awake. “Um…”

Merlin set the plates down on the table, pushing one in front of (Y/N). You didn’t eat all day, you must be starving.” The huge smile on Merlin’s face made her cheeks turn a bright crimson color as she tried to find a way to ask them to turn around.

“Now she’s eating my food too!” Arthur pointed out, annoyed.

“Right… Could you-” She started.

“Sire, there is no need to be rude, besides you need to lay off the sausages.”

“Merlin, could-” (Y/N) tried again.

“Are you calling me fat?”  

“No-“

“Hey!” (Y/N) finally shouted, grabbing the attention of Merlin and Arthur. Their eyes were wide, surprised by (Y/N)’s sudden outburst. She huffed, and continued. “Could you maybe… turn around for a few seconds, or is that too much to ask?”

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, confused by her strange request, but then it dawned on him.

“Why?” Merlin asked, but Arthur grabbed his shoulder and forcefully turned him away from (Y/N). They both stared at the door, while (Y/N) got up and quickly ran across the room.

“Are you o-” Merlin began to turn around, but Arthur stopped him.

“Just let her do what she has to do, Merlin.”

(Y/N) scurried into her jeans and slid her feet into her shoes, before making her way back to the table. “Thank you,” She said, sitting back down.

Arthur patted Merlin’s shoulder, allowing him to turn around now. He looked quite confused, but decided not to ask questions. Instead, he continued to urge (Y/N) to eat. “You should eat now.”

“I’m not very hungry, but thank you.” Though, in reality, she was. (Y/N) felt like a nuisance enough already, and she didn’t want Merlin to add her to his growing list of things he needed to take care of. Besides, she figured that she’ll be home soon, so food can wait. But Merlin was having none of it.

“I’ll eat it then,” Arthur chimed, reaching for her plate as he sat in the chair adjacent to (Y/N).

Merlin slapped his hand away, “Yours is over there.” He pointed to other plate, then brought his attention back to (Y/N). “Hungry or not, you are eating.” Merlin walked over to the cupboard, pulled out an extra fork and cup, and then handed them to her. She thanked him, and began filling her cup with water from the pitcher.

By the time she’d finally begun eating, Arthur was half-way done. She observed him for a moment, disturbed by the way he stuffed his mouth with food and took swigs of water, swallowing it in one giant gulp. (Y/N) scrunched her nose at the sight.

Arthur looked up, catching (Y/N)’s gaze as he was about to take another drink. “What?” He asked with a mouth full of food.

“How princely of you,” She joked.

Arthur rolled his eyes, and continued eating, (Y/N) doing the same.

After a few moments of silence, Arthur reached for the pitcher of water in the middle of the table to refill his cup, only to find it empty. “Merlin!” He shouted. “The pitcher is empty. How am I supposed to wash down my breakfast if I’ve got no water?”

“Maybe try drinking like you haven’t been dying of thirst for a year,” She suggested.

“Well I usually have plenty of water, but now I’ve got to share with you.”

(Y/N) pursed her lips, reaching for the pitcher from his hands, “Just give it.” She grabbed her wand from the box that sat at the foot of the table, placed the pitcher on top of the wooden surface, and pointed her wand at it.

“Aguamenti.” A small spout of water began to pour out of the tip of her wand, filling the pitcher quickly. Once it was to the brim, she pulled her wand back, stopping the water. “Is this enough for you, or is there a royal sized pitcher you’d like me to fill for you somewhere else?” She mocked, but Arthur could only stare.

Merlin, on the other hand, was beaming with astonishment. “How did you do that?” He wondered out loud.

“Magic,” (Y/N) smiled. As she was about to slip her wand back into the box, the prankster in her decided that something good could come out of this unfortunate situation after all: messing with Arthur. “Want to see something cooler?”

“No-” Arthur began, but before he could finish opposing, (Y/N) held her wand in the air.

“Orchideous!” She shouted, and a bunch of flowers erupted from the tip of her wand, landing all over Arthur. (Y/N) and Merlin laughed at the sight of Arthur showered in brightly colored roses, and he quickly shook them off.

A part of Arthur wanted to scold her for using magic so openly, but another part of him was curious. He knew she meant no harm. No evil sorceress would waste their time conjuring flowers or refilling pitchers of water or fixing broken tables. But what kind of prince would he be if he betrayed his father by trusting someone who practiced magic.

Arthur pulled his lips into a frown, “Stop. What if someone were to walk in and you’re… you’re…” Arthur motioned to the wand in (Y/N)’s hand, trying to imagine what other absurd thing she could make magically appear. “…I don’t know… making birds!”

“Birds?” Merlin questioned, highly doubtful that she could manage such a thing.

“…I can do that.” (Y/N) lifted her wand back into the air, and shouted, “Avis!” Birds began shooting out from the end of her wand, each bird producing a loud blast resembling a gun shot. Merlin and Arthur ducked down, holding their hands to their ears. (Y/N) quickly pulled her wand back, covering her mouth with her hands. “Whoops. Fred keeps telling me that spell is loud, and I keep forgetting,” She muttered to herself.

“Are you stupid?” Arthur asked through gritted teeth, glaring at her. He stood up, pulling her with him. “Stay here.” He nudged her gently behind the screen panel, and as he was about to let go of her arm, a group of guards stormed into the room. Arthur quickly stiffened, spinning on his heels to face the door.

“Prince Arthur!” One guard shouted, relieved to see his Prince was alive. The guard’s eyes darted around the room, “Is everything all right?”

“What were those horribly loud blasts?” Another guard asked from behind their shield.

(Y/N) gripped her wand tightly, hoping the guards didn’t discover her hiding spot. Thankfully Arthur wasn’t as dense as she thought he was.

“My clumsy, dim-witted servant knocked the cups off the table,” Arthur said, forcing a laugh as he wrapped his arm around Merlin’s neck, pulling him close as Arthur rubbed his knuckle against Merlin’s skull.

The guards glanced over at the dining table, noticing the flowers scattered across the ground. They looked at each other before looking back at Merlin and Arthur, hoping they wouldn’t have to ask about the mess.

“Oh… uh…” Arthur started, but no good excuse crossed his mind.

“Bee… There was a bee,” Merlin blurted, and Arthur sighed in relief, nodding.

“Right, bee.”

“And I killed it,” Merlin continued.

“Yes.” Arthur nodded.

“With a bouquet of flowers…”

“Mhmm.”

“… That was sent to Arthur…”

“Yes. Those were sent to me.”

“… By an anonymous lover!”

“Ye- What?!” Arthur whispered harshly, his face in shock. “Alright! Back to your post, as you can see I am fine.” Arthur dismissed the guards, and they walked out hesitantly, taking one more glance around the room for anything that looked out of order.

Once the door shut behind the last guard, Arthur turned around, scolding Merlin. “Anonymous lover?! You couldn’t come up with something better?”

Merlin fought a smile, “The time didn’t allow for a well thought out excuse, Sire.”

(Y/N) poked her head from behind the screen, a guilty smile plastered across her face. Arthur found her gaze, his arms crossed against his chest as he walked back to where she was.

“That was perhaps the most idiotic thing you could have done! You could have been caught,” Arthur fumed.

“I didn’t realize you cared so much,” (Y/N) giggled.

“I do not. I can’t get caught harboring a sorceress. It’s unbecoming of a Prince.”

“Wow, this close,” (Y/N) gestured with her fingers, “you were this close to not being the ass I thought you were.” (Y/N)’s lips slowly turned into a smile, and all the anger left as she remembered the looks on Merlin and Arthur’s faces. “But it was kinda cool, right?”

Arthur fought to keep himself from smiling because he couldn’t admit that it was actually kind of cool. His lip twitched, and he quickly averted his gaze. He grabbed his sword, and slid it into its sheath. “Let’s go, Merlin.”

“Where are you going?”

“To speak with my father. I’m sure the guards have already gone to give word to the king about what happened.”

“Oh, right.”

As he was about to leave, he looked at a now gloomy (Y/N). Arthur sighed, “Try not call any more attention to yourself. I can’t be here to help you out every time.”

She nodded, and with that they left the room, leaving (Y/N) by herself.

The fluttering of wings startled (Y/N) out her frazzled thoughts, and she remembered the birds she conjured up. “Thank god those guards didn’t notice you, huh?” She watched their small yellow bodies zooming around, and decided to leave them be.

(Y/N) rocked back and forth on her feet, wondering how she would kill time as she waited for them to get back.

She walked to the table, her feet crushing the flowers that surrounded the chair where Arthur was sitting. (Y/N) picked up her plate, and poked her finger into the cold food, losing all hope returning to her breakfast. She tossed the plate onto the table, the clattering sound of the fork bouncing off of the plate echoing throughout the room. She huffed, glancing around for something more interesting.

“Let’s see what kind of weapons the Prince of Camelot keeps in his chambers, shall we?” (Y/N) made her way to the small armory that Arthur kept in the corner of his room. She threw the cabinet doors open, catching sight of the chainmail first. She ran her fingers the cold metal until she felt something softer. Warmer. Scratchier than metal.

She grasped the item in her hand and pulled it out, revealing a red cape with a large golden dragon stitched into. “Fancy.” She considered trying it on, but just the thought of Arthur seeing her with it on and losing it made her tuck the cape back into the corner where she found it.

(Y/N) closed the armory and made her way over to Arthur’s desk, picking up the quill. As she was about to dip the quill into the inkwell, the gentle glow of her ring caught her attention. (Y/N) held her hand in front of her. “I haven’t forgotten about you yet,” She whispered, smiling gently.

~

 A few hours passed and Arthur had somehow managed to escape from another one of his father’s redundant speeches about the dangers of magic. He exhaled deeply as the knights shut the doors to the throne room, rubbing the nape his neck.

“Ah, Sire!”

Arthur turned around to see Merlin holding a shiny fabric in his hands. “Have you got what I asked for?” He asked.

“Yes. One brand new silk nightgown,” Merlin chirped, handing the nightgown over to Arthur.

“Silk?! I told you to get the cheapest one.”

“Oh, like money’s a problem for you, besides, she deserves at least something nice considering the way you treat her.” Merlin held Arthur’s coin bag in front of him, a smug smile on his face.

“After what she pulled earlier, I don’t think she deserves anything.” Arthur took the bag, refusing to even look at the nightgown.

Merlin smacked his lips, pressing the nightgown roughly against Arthur’s chest. “You woke her up like a complete maniac, and you constantly treat her like the enemy when she’s done no harm to us.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin, annoyed at how much sense Merlin was making. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, obviously. But she’s got no one and no way to get home, so I guess I’m on hers too,” Merlin defended, both of them now stood awkwardly in the middle of the hall. “…so… um… I’ve got to go run an errand for Gaius now. I won’t be long.” Merlin contemplated continuing adding to this sudden excuse, but he was afraid if he did Arthur would see past his lie. Merlin cleared his throat.

“What? You’re not going to leave me alone with her? What if you’re wrong and she kills me and flings my lifeless body into the sun with her magic stick…thingy!”

“That’s a bit much, Sire. If it makes you feel any better, I doubt she will, but if she does then I hope it’s quick and painless,” Merlin snorted, then turned around. “I’ll be back before dinner!” He shouted behind himself as she sped walked down the hall before Arthur could say anything else.

Arthur watched him walk away, burning holes in Merlin’s back as he disappeared past the corner. A part of Arthur was nervous to be left alone with (Y/N), and the other was disgusted with himself at how much she scared him. She was smaller than him for Christ’s sake! Arthur shook his head, and marched back to his room.

The cold breeze of the room sent shivers up Arthur’s spine as he entered. He noticed (Y/N) sitting at his desk, scratching away furiously at a piece of parchment. As he moved closer, he realized that she hadn’t noticed his entrance.

Arthur placed the nightgown on his bed, and stood in front of the desk. “What are you doing?” His voice boomed, startling (Y/N).

“Aah!” (Y/N) jumped in her seat, almost sending herself face first to the ground. She rolled her eyes at Arthur’s more than serious face as she clutched her chest. “You son of a- I’m going to die of a heart attack before I ever find a way home, I swear it.”

Arthur chuckled, then quickly went back to being serious. “Right. So, what is it you’re doing again?” Arthur leaned over the table, trying to get a better look at what (Y/N) had been writing. He tried to decipher the words, but they were a completely different language to him.

“Spells. I’m trying to find one that can send me home.” (Y/N) picked up the quill again and began scratching out spells that she knew wouldn’t work.

Arthur nodded, “And have you found one?”

(Y/N) shook her head, reading over the spells she had come up with while Arthur and Merlin were gone. “A few, but they’ll probably kill me before I could finish casting it, so… no.” She huffed, tossing the parchment aside, looking up at Arthur. There was a small twinge in the pit of her stomach as she met his eyes with hers, but she ignored it. “Did you get everything sorted with your father?”

Arthur nodded, not wanting to elaborate on his father’s choice of conversation today.

“That’s good,” She said as she stood up to move to the window. She observed the citizens of Camelot in silence for the next few minutes, and Arthur found himself somehow drawn to her. He stood next to her, watching her.

“Stop staring at me,” (Y/N) said, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m not… staring.”

(Y/N) smiled softly, and continued watching as the people walked in and out of the castle grounds, her smile fading with each person she noticed.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked, genuinely concerned for her. It bothered him that her mood had changed so drastically from being mildly cheerful in the morning to glum.

“What do you mean?” She replied without taking her eyes off the guard posted at the drawbridge.

“I mean you were happy earlier it was almost annoying, but now you look like you have your own personal rain cloud following you everywhere. You’re making me sad.”  

“If you think that’s what I look like happy, then you should see me when I’m actually happy, you’ll probably die of annoyance.”

Arthur smirked, “So what’s wrong?”

(Y/N) shook her head, hating herself for actually thinking about giving up. She wanted to tell him about what she thinking, but after everything he's said and done, why should he even care. She shrugged her shoulders, putting up her mental wall again. “Nothing, I've got to finish this stupid spell.” She spun on her heels, and as she was about go for the desk she noticed a shiny fabric on Arthur's bed. “What’s that?”

Arthur sighed and followed (Y/N)’s gaze to the nightgown. “Oh,” He walked over to get it, and handed it to (Y/N). “It’s for you. I bought it so you could stop walking around naked.”

“Oh, piss off.” She took the nightgown and held it up. She’d never had anything as nice as this before, and she kind of hated that it came from Arthur, but she thanked him anyway. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

(Y/N) folded the nightgown and placed it neatly on top of the mattress. She quickly leaned over the desk, grabbed the parchment that she’d been working on, and plopped herself on top of the mattress, leaving the desk for Arthur.

Arthur sat down, quill in hand as he began working on his tasks. Both of them were so lost in their work that the hours passed them by like seconds. It wasn’t until Merlin barged into the room short of breath like he’d been running for days that they realized what time it was.

(Y/N) and Arthur stood up, looked at each other, and then back at Merlin, waiting eagerly for what he had to say.

“What is it, Merlin?” Arthur asked.

“H-Hold on… just let me-let me have a heart attack real quick,” Merlin panted, trying to catch his breath. “I never… I never realized how far your chambers are from mine.”

(Y/N) stifled a laugh, “C’mon, spit it out!”

“Okay, okay… I think I may have found someone who can help you get home.” (Y/N)’s mouth fell open, her eyes brighter than Arthur or Merlin had ever seen.

[echobows]

Growth

A/N: This is my first Inuyasha fic! I’m posting it here because I’d like more people to read them; special thanks to @keichanz for encouragement and inspiration and just being an overall positive force (I LOVE YOU), and @mmhinman for some DROP DEAD GORGEOUS Inuyasha fanart. This is also available on FF.net!

Do I own Inuyasha? Nope. Would I like to? Yep.

It was a bright, beautiful spring afternoon when Kagome had asked her best friend and sister of her heart for something nobody expected. They were sitting inside Miroku and Sango’s hut for lunch, little Komori having eaten his fill from his mother’s bosom and was freshly burped and content in the slayer’s arms. Pausing in the middle of a bite of grilled fish, the young priestess had blurted,

 “Teach me how to fight?”

Sango’s eyes widened at that. “What do you mean, Kagome? You’re already an expert shot with the bow, and you’ve got an amazing reserve of spiritual power. What else could you need?”

 “That’s all well and good, but what about when I don’t have my bow or arrows? I’m pretty much defenseless without them. If I come across some hostile humans, I can’t just shoot them or purify them; they could just overpower me, and then it’d be over.” Setting her bowl and chopsticks down, her eyes lowered in shame. “That happened more than enough during the quest. I don’t want to worry anyone if I’m in a situation like that again.”

 “Ohhh,” the slayer breathed in realization. “You mean, you don’t want to worry Inuyasha if you’re in a situation like that.” It wasn’t stated like a question.

 “Well…yeah.” Kagome’s stormy eyes sparkled in admiration. “I just think it’d be a handy skill to have, being able to incapacitate enemies that I can’t purify, and…and… You just looked so cool when you fought, Sango!” She clasped the older woman’s free hand in her own, her most desperate puppy-dog eyes on full display. “You were so fast and strong and I wanna be able to do that! Please teach me!”

 The slayer had a thoughtful look on her face as she weighed the pros and cons. On the one hand, teaching Kagome how to defend herself hand-to-hand would definitely pay off in the long run, and it provided Sango herself some time to exercise and polish her own moves. It also gave her a chance to spend some time with the future-born girl, and some healthy time away from the kids. She’d have to ask Miroku to watch Komori, and Inuyasha and Shippo could play with Mizuki and Misaki. Those girls absolutely adored Inuyasha, for whatever reason, and it was for a good cause; he’d agree to it, even if he’d grumble about it. On the other hand, she would have to actually teach and test Kagome. That in and of itself wasn’t bad; it was just the fact that she’d have to physically scrap with her, as well as put her through lots of bruises and soreness to get her to where she needed to be.

 “It’s not gonna be easy,” Sango warned. “You won’t grow to be a master overnight. It’s going to take hard work, sweat, and more than a few bruises.”

 “I understand!” she replied, nodding with enthusiasm, her hands clenched into fists in an energetic display. Kagome regarded Sango with fire. “I know it’s gonna be tough, but that’s exactly why I have to do it!”

 Sango suppressed a giggle at her friend’s antics. Closing her eyes and sighing in playful exasperation, she replied, “Well, if you insist on requesting my tutelage, then I guess I’ve no choice but to take you under my wing as my beloved pupil.”

 Kagome whooped in delight, startling her nephew and upsetting him in the process. Covering her mouth in embarrassment as Sango cooed at him to stop his fussing, she asked quietly, “When can we start?”

 A few days later, after informing the men of the arrangement and leaving the children behind with them, both Kagome and Sango were standing in the middle of a small clearing close to Kaede’s village, the slayer in her usual battle suit and the priestess in a simple white kosode and trousers.

 With practiced professionalism, the older woman had engaged her friend in a series of warm-up stretches and breathing exercises. After what she deemed an appropriate time to start, Sango spoke first.

 “Alright, now that we’ve finished warming up, are you ready to learn some basics?”

 “Heck yeah!” Kagome replied eagerly. “I am SO ready!”

 Smiling at her enthusiasm, Sango continued. “The first thing that any warrior has to keep in mind is that there can’t be any wasted movement. Always quick, always minimal, always precise.” Demonstrating, she slipped into her stance, and threw a quick punch. She repeated the action in slow motion, allowing Kagome to watch and understand her form as she explained, “Extend the arm without strain. Keep your arm straight, your fist firm, and your chin down, as your shoulder will automatically rise and shield your chin. Twisting your body is also important, as it helps with momentum.”

 Kagome’s eyes were sparkling with interest, following Sango’s actions in minute detail. The slayer then instructed her to try, slowly at first, so that she could help correct anything out of place. “Remember, chin down, and arm straight.”

 After watching her practice with the air for a good while and noticing her friend’s progress, Sango then commented, “Not bad, Kagome. You still have a ways to go, but it looks like you’re serious about this.”

 “Of course!” she said with a grunt, never stopping her movements.

 Impressed, she then instructed, “Now start aiming those punches at me.”

 Kagome looked at her in surprise. “Are you sure?”

 “Positive.”

 Taking her place in front of Sango, Kagome did as she was told, taking her form and throwing her best strike, not knowing what to expect.

 Stopping her friend’s punch upon her left palm, Sango commented leisurely, “Your form is good, but the punch is too slow and too soft.”

 “Dang.” Scratching her head, Kagome replied, “I thought I had it.”

 The slayer grinned. “Not even close.”

 “Ouch. No need to hold back, Sango.”

 “Try again.”

 They trained like that for quite a while, Kagome alternating between arms and, slowly but steadily, improving her punches against Sango’s palms. The priestess-in-training heard much of her friend’s advice over and over as she struck, and out of curiosity (and slight exasperation), she asked, “Can you show me how hard it’s supposed to be? I’m just not really getting it.”

 “Of course,” Sango agreed, readying her stance. “Hands up, just like how I caught your punches.”

 Obeying, Kagome readied herself for Sango’s strike. However, she didn’t quite anticipate when or how fast Sango’s arm would move, and felt a sharp pain in the center of her face and a ringing sound in her ears before landing squarely on her rump with a yelp.

 Nothing quite registered as the brown-haired woman lost sight of Kagome, her fist hanging in the air. Then it clicked as she looked down at her friend dazedly shaking her head free of disorientation.

 Sango gasped. She’d just punched Kagome in the face.

 “Oh my gods, Kagome! Are you okay!?” Covering her face in disbelief and fear, Sango rushed, “I am SO sorry! I wasn’t thinking, please forgive me!”

 “I-It’s alright,” the younger woman wheezed, staggering slightly to her feet. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

 Sango winced. “Are you sure? We can stop for the day, if you want—“

 “No way!” she exclaimed, a twinkle in her eye despite her throbbing nose. “Let’s keep going. Can’t progress without bruises, right?”

 “O-Okay…” The slayer could sense her determination and resolve. “Then let’s begin again.”

As the days turned to weeks for Kagome’s training, everyone could definitely see that she was making progress. Since the first day, Sango had been patiently teaching her different moves and maneuvers, including ducking, weaving, kicking, and blocking. Kagome often came home with aching muscles and more than a few bruises, and Inuyasha often asked her if it was really worth it.

 “Of course it’s worth it, Inuyasha,” Kagome murmured, snuggling further into him from their perch on the Goshinboku. “Why would I keep going if I didn’t think it was?”

 “I dunno,” he replied. “You’re always sore n’ shit. All this just in case you get jumped by some measly human guys, even though you know I wouldn’t let them get close enough to even think about laying a finger on you.”

 She smiled up at him. “And I appreciate that. But it’s more than just training for the worst case scenario. It’s like…” Pausing, Kagome chose her words very carefully. “It’s a rite of passage, in a way.”

 He cocked his head to the side, confused. “How’s that?”

 “Well, think about it this way. I was a normal girl during the shard hunt, right? No experience with much of anything in this time; I couldn’t fight with you and Miroku and Sango, and my marksmanship was sketchy, at best. I felt more like a hindrance than an asset, because I was someone who came from another world. I was an alien. But now, since I’m here to stay, my training with Sango is like a promise to so many people who trusted and believed in me. My family, Sango and Miroku, Shippo, Kaede, Kikyo… and especially to you.” Grabbing his hand, she traced patterns on his palm as she continued. “It’s a promise that I’ll only get stronger from here, to protect those I love. It’s a goodbye letter to my old life, as an ordinary girl.”

 Looking down at his mate, Inuyasha felt a barrage of different emotions. He was often accused of being simple, but he always noticed the little differences between the Kagome from before she started her training to the Kagome he currently had trapped in his embrace. He would never forget the first time he noticed the callouses on her normally soft and smooth palms, or the way she seemed to have lost the roundness in her face. Even now, he could feel the way her body had firmed up, her muscles becoming more prominent and defined. Some of the softness was still there, but it amazed him how dedicated she was to improve, just as how it made him proud to see her progress as well as know the reason behind her goal. True, there was the small fear in him that one day, she may become strong enough to the point where she may not need him to protect her, but he ignored it. He knew that she would never deny his company or protection, but the fact that she grew stronger in hopes of one day protecting him…

He was astounded. “Kagome…”

 “And plus, it’s kind of fun. Sure, the booboos aren’t so great, but I think it’s really neat seeing how a frail person like me can bulk up and get strong, too.” Smiling cattily, she kissed his nose before continuing, “And if it means having you snuggle me all better, then it’s definitely worth it.”

 Inuyasha had the good grace to blush. “F-feh! So that’s your real goal, is it?”

 Kagome laughed. “It’s clever, isn’t it?”

 “Keh.” Grinning, he squeezed her tighter before whispering, “All you had to do was ask.”

  Weeks later, Sango had joyously declared Kagome’s training to be a huge success. While she was still learning and polishing her technique, the slayer had no doubt never seen such progress in such a short amount of time, and thus declared a small celebration in her honor between the original Inu-gang, plus Rin and Kaede. Inuyasha had immediately declared that he’d catch whatever animal they wanted. Sango and Kaede had taken up the cooking, the older priestess more than happy to contribute to the festivities. Rin had also eagerly offered her assistance, wanting to take part in the fun. Miroku had recently ventured to the local market a few days prior, and suggested that he and Sango share some of the foreign spiced tea with their friends for the happy occasion. Even Shippo pitched in, happily chirping that he knew of the absolute perfect peach tree not too far from here, earning a pleased grin from everyone involved. Peaches were her favorite fruit.

 Of course, Kagome herself was none the wiser as to what was going on, having gone to study herbology with Jinenji for the morning. After Inuyasha had procured the wild boar for the meal and taken it to Kaede and Sango, he sauntered off to watch her, lounging in a nearby tree while Jinenji had quizzed her on the healing benefits of the herbs they’d picked. They would be finished soon enough, and he wanted to make sure she went straight back to the village without delay; the food would be finished upon her arrival, and he was sure she’d be hungry.

 The plan was to meet her when her lessons had concluded, and discreetly escort her back to Miroku and Sango’s and join up with the monk himself, where the three of them would walk to Kaede’s—and Kagome’s celebration.

 “Inuyasha!”

 Dropping down from his selected tree, Inuyasha met Kagome at the base. She looked quite pleased with herself; she must have done well with Jinenji’s tasks.

 “You ready to head back? The monk says he wanted to meet up at his place; I dunno what he wants, but he told me to make sure you came along.” Stuffing his arms into his sleeves, he figures that was a good enough excuse to lead them there. Kagome cocked her head to the side. “I wonder what it could be?”

 “Let’s go find out.”

 And so they went, Kagome happily recounting her morning to her husband as they made the trek to their friends’ home. Inuyasha praised her diligence, keeping up with her spiritual and healing studies as well as her lessons with Sango, and she beamed at him in response. She was working very hard to make sure she earned her keep, and to hear him tell her that she was doing well made her happier than he knew.

 After their journey back to the village, the pair had stopped outside of Miroku and Sango’s home, Inuyasha noting that he could smell Miroku from inside.

 “I seriously wonder what could be going on,” Kagome mused, her chin in her hand.

 Inuyasha gave a noncommittal grunt, opting to lazily watch the clouds as they waited for the monk.

 Miroku exited his home about ten minutes later, the tea in his possession. Kagome had her back to him, obviously thinking about something, while her husband and mate stood sideways next to her. Without thinking, he walked over to them and reached to gently touch Kagome’s shoulder.

 He expected for her to turn around in mild surprise, or maybe a little jump.

 He did not, however, expect to see the sky, or to feel the ground at his back.

 As she felt his hand on her shoulder, Kagome had immediately acted on auto-pilot—she grabbed his arm, pulled him forward and, using his weight against him, tossed the unsuspecting monk over her shoulder and slammed him onto the ground. The entire maneuver lasted about five seconds, but to him (and a certain red-clad bystander), it seemed like everything happened in slow motion.

 “Oh my god! Miroku, I’m so sorry!”

 Tuning back into the present, Miroku watched as Kagome knelt down at his side, her hands covering her mouth, while he heard some poorly suppressed snickering somewhere from his right. What the hell?

 “Um… What just happened?”

 “She handed you your ass, is what happened,” Inuyasha snorted in laughter.

 “Kagome?”

 “It was an accident!” she wailed. “I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

 In the recesses of his psyche, Miroku had noticed that this had happened before, in the distant past. What was it that happened? Oh, yes, right, he had tried to grope Sango’s rear end, and found himself hurled to his back instead. Which meant…

 “I can see that your training is going extremely well,” he teased, attempting to save face and nurse his wounded pride.

 Inuyasha was never going to let him live this down.

 And if the look on Kagome’s face was any indication, he wasn’t going to let her forget, either.

[ganseys-aquamarine-polo]

i know this is like highkey unlikely and probably punched through with plot holes but for an extra angsty twist on Gansey being described as made of his friend's memories and all that debatable j a z z, it's possible that with Cabeswater's contribution, he is made fully whole as he's assumed to be in the books. but given his Gansey upon Richard upon Dick upon Known masks, it's safe to assume that his friend's assumptions and opinions on him would be varied and Never Quite RightTM (p1) >.

So does Gansey now have different instincts and feelings at war with each other? Like, maybe even the simplest of things like responding one way to a joke when he means to respond another way, because he wasn’t paying attention and Ronan’s memories of him are at war with his own, and there’s two sentences locked and loaded in his mouth but only Ronan’s gets fired? Big things, too, like maybe he’s honestly ready to unload his emotions for once in his tiny, eventful life, and someone’s (p2) >.

assumption that he would keep everything bottled up, or that he’s stronger than the rest of them, any basic kind of thought or understanding they had about his mental fortitude, is tying is tongue in knots and he’s getting so frustrated on the couch with Henry because he actually w a n t s to share in secrets and work through things he feels are slowing him down, but not even Henry can truly k n o w him now because he’s n o t him anymore, him is just a part of many he’s and it’s mortifying (p3)

Maybe, he thinks it’s just a frazzling side effect of death at first, and the lives he’s lived and the uncertainty he feels now that he’s back for Good? This time? With who he’s going to become and what he will take from the friends he admires??? But full days after his death, he’s still tripping over himself in four, five different directions, and oh no, everything makes as much sense as this can make, tell me again how you brought me back) (p4) >.

But given time and concentration, the urges and contradictions quieten if he manages them, and it’s just like having multiplied voices of fight and flight, which he tries to liken to his experiences with anxiety. Ever the optimist, Gansey attempts to further understand his friends using their innermost views of him, and it’s not all terrible. Despite it feeling for the first forever long like a constant, skin-crawling invasion of privacy, it helps sometimes to look in the mirror and hear (p5)

Henry’s own voice tell him he looks distractingly like a dreamboat, and Blue’s aggravation at his beloved shoes. In some ways it makes him feel less intrinsically lonely, and some things they did get right about him. Blue always understood his emotions on the phone, and Ronan was the only one who had truly s e e n On Fire Gansey and felt that energy radiating off him, like there’s definitely things that he feels as Right in his heart and smile-cries his way through the night over (p6) >.

Though it’s hard, and he feels absurdly guilty because this isn’t just their voices in him, it’s him owning their voices and consent is a really tricky thing, though they all Literally Could Not Care Okay Gansey You’re Alive That’s All That Matters End Of Story, he tells them all about his difficulties as best he can describe it, and they know to back off and give him time if he stops suddenly, reflecting on his words or an action with that furrow between his eyebrows (p7) >.

What’s more is they know to distract other people from his sudden faux-pas! No one is used to Gansey’s humour he shares at midnight with Ronan being something that may just slip out in social situations before Richard Campbell Gansey III can step in, but they play it off like masters, and he’s so g r a t e f u l ok im really emotional right now (p8) >.

and the gist is that sometimes Gansey needs to be reminded of who he is truly, and who he can grow into but he has really good friends and he’s trying and i love him and i just needed some angst on this good night, thank you for being a beautiful blog on which i can unload the gratuitous gansey centric and njfknaskjfn i hope you’re having a lovely day! ~ It’s inappropriate due to context, but I swear my IRL nickname is Bee (p9/9) >.

Boi, you know Gansey-centric angst is my jam

There’s a LOT here, and there is so much potential for post-trk exploration whoo boy. B/C yes!! I feel that it is very unlikely that Gansey is “back to normal” after his second death and subsequent Cabeswater-related revival. Gansey has so many different masks, different faces and version of himself, that each of his friends most definitely do not have the same Mental Idea of him.

Like, just imagine Gansey sitting with everyone at Nino’s, packed tightly into their usual booth now that Henry has joined and Blue is on her work break. Gansey’s squished in the middle of Blue and Henry, facing Adam and Ronan and the multiple greasy pizzas laid out in front of them, and Adam makes an offhand comment about, idk, some Cabeswater-y theories, so Gansey goes to rub his thumb along his bottom lip in deep thought, as per usual. 

However, an inch from his lip his hand pauses, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. The talking dies down as the group eyes Gansey warily, although Gansey doesn’t react to their curious gazes just yet. He’s too busy deciding if he should retreat inwards to think and theorize or instead jump at the opportunity to talk with excitement, eyes wide and hands gesturing frantically about magic and ley lines. 

He knows he’s done both before; he knows those are both reasonable, Gansey-like reactions, but… he can’t pick. It’s like he’s lost the ability to react instinctively. Or, more likely, he’s lost the ability to act on instinct because there are three or four instinctual moves he feels obliged to follow. Outwardly, he ends up frozen with a dead gaze for a solid fifteen seconds, unmoving and eerily silent, and then as if rebooting, his gaze clears and he launches into a long-winded lecture on ley line fractures. Nobody brings up his little moment, but nobody forgets it either. 

(whoop, there’s a quick lil snippet/ficlet? idk it’s short. BUT!! Feel free to send me HCs about this cause it is INTERESTING!!! I want to explore it further!! Also here’s big hug; I’m glad you enjoy my angsty, Gansey-obsessed blog :’D )

[uniformbravo]

ok here are my ososan mario kart headcanons, based on this post (read that one first)

osomatsu “never stops complaining” matsuno

acts like everything that goes wrong for him is a personal attack launched by one or possibly multiple brothers (& half the time it is)

literally nothing is his fault according to him; if he drives off the edge someone pushed him, even if he’s way in the back miles away from everyone else, etc.

favorite phrase to yell is “THIS IS MUTINY” and other betrayal-related accusations

the one time karamatsu is actually gonna win for real he fucks it up by psyching himself out waiting for the blue shell that never comes, he just fucking careens off the edge screaming

his favorite character is either rosalina or funky kong (in the later games at least) but he always has to fight choro for rosalina

whenever he’s playing rosalina & something goes wrong he dramatically screams her name like she betrayed him

i feel like totty as peach is Good but also the baby characters?? like baby peach in the later games is his #1 pick (also toadette maybe?? she’s cute & pink idk)

ichi is shy guy i can feel it in my bones (either that or bowser but im rly feelin shy guy; maybe he’s bowser in the games w/o shy guy)

oso is.... the kind of piece of shit who chooses female characters to stare at them (they all are tbh) but choro & kara never let him have rosalina

every time they hit the character selection screen it’s a 3-way mad dash for rosalina and theres always a lot of yelling involved

(oso Never gets her which has escalated to attempted controller theft in the past)

his second choice is peach and depending on the game (like if totty’s being baby peach) he’ll go with her but if not then he picks the red koopa bc he doesn’t like daisy rip

when choro doesn’t get rosalina his second pick is either toadette or yoshi

with all the rosalina confusion ichi will sometimes accidentally decimate choro thinking it was kara

(kara prays for these times when he’s doing well)

none of them ever pick waluigi bc they’re convinced he’s cursed (Bad things happen whenever someone plays waluigi)

jyushi doesn’t even mess anyone up on purpose he’s just an unstoppable force of pure chaos and anyone getting fucked over by him or something he’s done is just collateral damage (tho he somehow manages to avoid ichi most of the time and in return ichi only very occasionally antagonizes jyushi)

however when the two of them do get into it with each other they both get so focused on taking each other out that they forget the rest of the game entirely in favor of destroying each other

(kara also prays for these times bc ichi & jyushi are the two main forces that fuck him over on the reg and if they can keep each other occupied then maybe he finally has a chance to win)

and like when ichi & jyushi get into it it’s rarely over legitimate anger or malice theyre just genuinely having fun together

it turns into an all-out war though and by a certain point the game for everyone else turns into not only a race against each other but a race against time because the ichi vs jyushi war always inevitably breaks the game so the rest of them are desperately trying to finish the race & come out on top before that happens

tragically this is yet another item on the long list of circumstances that have snatched victory from kara’s fingers right as he was on the brink of winning (game freezing / blacking out right before he crosses the finish line, being the only one to be inexplicably glitched back halfway across the course, etc.)

sometimes ichi n jyushi work together to fuck over other people and these are the times kara prays for his life

when they can get ahead of the shit show that is the rest of their brothers, kara and totty have a fierce and intense rivalry with each other as the two best players in the game

this usually involves a side game of psychological warfare in which kara is doing his best to avoid totty bc he never knows what to expect from him & it makes him nervous tbh

and totty takes advantage of this in a long game play which involves placing bananas & fake item boxes on less-frequented areas of the track and then using kara’s wariness of him to steer him into them on the next lap

it gets kara every time

oso would try to bother everyone equally but since he’s so bad at the game the only person he can really catch up to is choro

he’s not even good at messing w/ him bc half the time he just drives himself into the obstacles he was trying to push choro into, but it gets choro riled up all the same

oso really only resorts to this when hes doing so badly that the race is unsalvageable and he needs to find some other way to make it enjoyable again

(the other option is to throw a tantrum & shut the game off entirely, which, depending on the circumstances of the race in question, may or may not get him actually eviscerated irl)

oso & choro are generally team “in the back of the race” but not in dead last because that place usually goes to ichi, who is sitting hidden somewhere on the track waiting to ambush kara

they once did a race where they all picked different colored yoshis, and then another where they picked each other’s colors instead of their own 

that race was chaos

it led to the unofficial banning of ever picking yoshi again, much to choro’s indignation

since it’s an unofficial ban there’s nothing stopping choro from picking yoshi anyway, but whenever he does everyone else has this unspoken agreement to ruthlessly target him in the races until he’s forced to change character

this has led to even more desperation on his part for the rosalina dash

he’s memorized where each player’s selection tool starts out on the character selection screen so he can plan the best route to rosalina based on where he, kara, and oso are going to be starting on the screen

this works about 45% of the time bc his brothers are unpredictable idiots and never go in the direction he planned

one of the tracks is now entirely unplayable bc it got broken forever as a result of one of ichi & jyushi’s wars that got even more out of control than usual

no one was actually paying attention to what they were doing before it happened and whenever anyone asks they avoid the question (ichi kind of smirks and doesn’t answer & jyushi just laughs like “haha whoops sorry about that!!” without going into any detail)

it infuriates choro

picking baby park in double dash or mk8 is basically a declaration of war it’s like the equivalent of final destination in smash bros nothing is off-limits & everything is chaos, they only pick that one when shit is real & they truly need to annihilate someone

the battle stages work for this too but nothing is quite as viscerally evocative of the panic and disorder that is baby park

ok FUCK i need to stop this here i got way too carried away w/ this kgjdgksdg but yeah uh in conclusion matsu mario kart is madness & they would all die for real probably, the end

[maxbronte]

▤[grey]

SEND ONE FOR MY MUSE’S REACTION // STILL ACCEPTING.prompt.  ▤  :   f a l l i n g   a s l e e p   o n   t h e m .set. one week after Ruby gave him his iPhone, one week before the Gaslit Reunion & Winter Formal, one morning before Max’s google search of Grey’s story.disclaimer. permission HAS been granted from Blythe for the godmodding in this post.

                                                       -☸-

    The smell of carnations starts to remind her of the smell of her old corsage, which reminds her of the smell of sweat and adrenaline, which reminds her of the smell of a lover’s dead body, just settling into rigor mortis. And they’re everywhere. Everywhere she goes, she finds them– they find her; they’re on all edges of campus like cold steel prison bars caging her into a traumatic cycle and she just wants out already. 

     Solution: maybe tell the police or someone about this situation. No, no, that won’t do. That would require formally accepting reality. Solution: go to sleep and ignore it. Tried it. She can’t sleep knowing that some kooky prankster keeps finding a way into her room at night. Solution: Leave campus. This is not a permanent fix. She can’t leave forever. But temporary escapism gives her an immediate comfort and she’s too miserable right now to care about what it means for the longrun.

     Besides, she already knows a foolproof place to go to clear her head. Max has been trying to take a trip to the nearest pier since her parents first confirmed her authorization to drive off campus. But Sid won’t come, too sour to indulge her, tells her to “get out of here with that white girl shit.” And she wouldn’t invite Ruby– Max is too embarrassed to ask her, needs to keep up her non-sentimental partygirl cool. And she doesn’t want to invite Mitch– docks are too special for her to share with him. And maybe she’d call Cypress if she didn’t recently come to the realization that Cypress totally sucks.

     She’s still determined to go despite lack of a date, but survival instinct says she needs to take someone to talk to so she won’t fall asleep at the wheel– because, as disappointing as her life’s production may be, she refuses to willingly walk out of the theater before the final scene. Lucky for Max, she may not have to call curtains on this trip just yet. She has one fail-safe dark horse in her contacts list.

    Gʀᴇʏ ᴄᴀᴠᴇʀʟy is the one masochist out there with that perfectly specific blend of boredom and free time necessary to humor her company every so often. He has the offbeat sense of “adventure” to entertain a high-maintenance space-case’s antics, but enough common sense not to get emotionally invested. And hassling him to go on a road trip at this hour may very well be the third strike he needs to stop talking to her entirely, but she’s willing to take the chance– best to lose him sooner rather than later, for her as someone with much less of the common sense needed not stunt emotional investment.

                                                       -☸-

[one-missed-call-two-missed-calls-three-missed-calls from Miss Maxine at 5:09am.]

Miss Maxine [5:11am]: 📣📣 𝙬𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙪𝙥, 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙠𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙙Miss Maxine [5:11am]:𝙬𝙚’𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡Miss Maxine [5:12am]: 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙡𝙮 🌅 

[seen by 👽Scary Pixie Dream Boy 🌚 at 5:20am.]

                                                       -☸-

    Max heads out early early to load the car up with blankets & trail mix & two thermoses of her favorite peppermint espresso, but the  f a k e  c h e e r  she worked so hard to muster completely DROPS when she finds putrid red carnations in her glove compartment and littering the gas pedal floor. She picks out every stray petal one by one, stomps them into the parking lot asphalt, opens a new pine air freshener to drown the faint and maddening smell out of her car before he meets her there at the negotiated time of 6 am.

     She regains her cool as Grey meets her Jetta for the first time, and then Max explains that when she said ‘raise hell,’ she meant that they were going to watch a terrific ball of flaming hell rip the night sky open and rise to the top-center of the earth, and she hoped he would be too tired to realize that this was her way of trying to make ‘watching the sunrise’ sound hardcore. As her luck would have it, Grey’s just as sharp-witted and wise-assed in the early morning– calls her right out on her underwhelming plan of action. But that sure doesn’t stop him from hopping in shotgun.

     ( Suddenly she’s not faking the cheer anymore. )

     They tell the guard in the parking lot security booth they’re going out for coffee and bagels before classes start. Handheld GPSes are tossed to the backseat. Max says they’re navigating this trip the old fashion way, says it’s become tradition since their first meeting that they don’t keep their phones on hand when they’re together. She’s really saying this because she’s desperate to get off the grid and escape reality with him, but she makes it sound like this is a playful boho thing when she insists he keep his phone off and read the map to her.

     Eugene’s about an hour away from the Pacific. With the combined sense of direction of a serial wanderer and a Sagittarius, it takes about an hour-forty-five to get to the nearest pier. In sleepy delirium Max cruises right through every other stop sign, and Grey waits every time to see how long it takes her to realize she did it and break into a fit of whoops-a-daisy giggles. He has to make his usual crack about her fatality rate, of course, and say that at least there’s nobody else stupid enough to be on the road at this hour.

     Between her wrong turns and his insistence that they take a detour down every cool-looking road in Oregon, there’s a high chance they won’t make it down the docks by sunrise, and there’s definitely no way they’re going to make it back to campus in time for first period. The former potential valedictorian in her is screaming, but Max can’t hear her over the sound of the terrible Dad pop-rock blasting through the stereo. She’s sure Grey will be DEVASTATED about missing french class with his very favorite teacher, but she swears that the euphoria of his first time watching the sunrise on a port is going to make up for it.

     They miraculously make it to the beach when their antsy sun is just peeping and they make a mad dash to get to the coveted VIP seats before they miss any more crucial sunrise action. Grey’s legs are longer, and it’s hard for her to run while wrapped up in blankets to protect her from the cold, but when that salty sea smell splashes against her face she forgets what carnations even smell like, and suddenly she has the burst of energy she needs to outrun him and lead the way to the very end of the dock.

     They station themselves hurriedly but efficiently, with two blankets each, feet kicking off the edge, sat just close enough to share platonic body heat only, bag o’ trail mix locked into position in the space between their thighs, faces huddled over their espressos with way too much cream and not nearly enough of the caffeine required for this adventure, but every factor of this situation combined makes Max feel alive for the first time since she died. There’s nothing on this pier but them and the view, and in a way that only seems to happen in Grey’s presence, time stands still, and all day-to-day weights and permanent baggage feel suspended. She’s free– and happy. Too happy to remember that they’re both exhausted in every physical and spiritual sense of the word.

     In bliss, she gets to talking about how long it’s been since she’s done this, and then she starts yapping about anything else that comes to mind here. She reminisces about the days when her life was low-tide tranquil, tells him childhood stories no one in the world could possibly care about– about how she used to go fishing with her dad every Saturday morning, except then they had to stop when she became a vegetarian in the sixth grade and felt too bad for the fish, so then they would go for strolls along the shore and pick up sea glass, and sometimes she would take her cat for walks on the docks at sunset, and everyone thought it was so silly, because you don’t walk a cat, but Max’s cat is so special and didn’t even need a leash, and Max thought she was so special when she would sneak out at night to have bonfires in the dirt clearing of the woods by the port, and one night they took her friend’s dad’s boat out, and that’s when she decided she wants to get a compass tattoo right here on her hip so you can see it when she’s wearing a bikini… and this goes on and on, and Grey– ever the trooper– does an incredible job acting like he doesn’t want to push her into the icy water to make her top.

     Eventually she quiets down on her own and lets him take in the real ambiance they came here for: tranquilizing water and fiery pastel glows creeping across the sky. …All in all, it’s probably not that fantastic to a guy like Grey; it’s nothing the world hasn’t seen on every preset computer desktop wallpaper or in the uninspired paintings cluttering every rich white aunt’s walls. It’s just a sunrise. It happens everyday. The mysticism is in the eye of the beholder, and maybe Max’s eyes only finds it fascinating because her life has always been so equally uninteresting.

     But the boy next to her– he seems too rock and roll for this. He’s the boy who raises his own hell as opposed to watching it. He’s the world wonder that’s waking up in wild places and droppin water balloons off of the school roof. He’s his own sunset. And when he can’t stifle his yawns anymore, Max wonders if the whole trip she spent hyping the Great Pacific Northwest Aurora may have doomed him for disappointment. Her eyes sink low in shame, but light right back up when she catches glimpse of a JELLYFISH close to the surface of the water on her side of the dock, and she grabs his arm with a gasp.

                                                        “ Look at this cute jelly !! ”

     Max doesn’t turn to face him, because her eyes are fixated on this stupid sea-bag like it’s the most incredible thing she’s ever seen and the very spectacle of it is going to make the last agonizing three hours he’s spent with her all worthwhile. Grey leans into her to get a closer look without having to move– rests his chin on her shoulder. She starts listing off jellyfish trivia to keep him interested, and then she explains that she knows this stuff because she did a research paper on jellyfish once, but she doesn’t know why she picked jellyfish because her favorite animals are seahorses… And then she stops herself before she rambles again; she takes a pause and gives him the opening for a sly dig at her motor mouth or jelly-themed quip. She listens for it, but all she hears is a light nasally hum.

     The  boy  is  s n o o z i n g .

     …Well, maybe he’s earned it, after suffering her all morning. And they’re already showing up late to class– they may as well hang out here until they’re sure the same security guard won’t be at the post to ask what took them so long. So she turns her body forward and makes sure his head tilts out to face the water straight in front of them, slooowly readjusts the blankets until they’re tucked in as one unified burrito with windchill protection on all sides, and she even lets Sleeping Beauty continue using her shoulder as a pillow, on the condition that she can lean her own head on his in return.

     She soaks in this position for a while, listening to his little hum harmonize with the rustle of tiny waves as high tide comes in, and it’s so peaceful, it’s so peaceful, she’s not thinking about stalkers or death here. She’s not thinking about anything but the way the movement their breathing chests are so in sync with the still water’s gentle sway, and how their bodies fit together so organically even when they just fell into each other so thoughtlessly.

     And then she thinks: this is how lovebirds cuddle. 

     Not Valentine’s Day lovebirds, but literal, winged lovebirds. Like the pair in Hitchcock’s The Birds. –-Intrusive thoughts like this one, comparing her life to horror flicks, are always daunting her peace of mind, but she’s okay with this one. In the movie, the two lovebirds are the only living creatures that inexplicably manage to stay sane while the whole world around them, human and avian, goes berserk.

     ( Maybe because they had each other to weather the entropy together. )

     When the sunlight comes in full, Max can see her breath dancing with Grey’s in the icy December air, but she feels snug and toasty. It’s like in this place all their own, they are without bother, discomfort, inhibition. No creeps or killers or pasts or futures can come hurt them in this haven. And now she finally falls asleep, with cheek nestled into a pillow of fluffy hair.

     They’re safe here.