#it was a very angsty thought

[flwrkid14]

Eternal Bonds: Tim and Danny’s Infinite Realms Marriage

In the Infinite Realms, marriage is an unparalleled commitment. Unlike the mortal world, where love can be fleeting and easily undone, marriage in the Realms is something far more sacred. It’s not just about vows or ceremonies—it’s about merging souls, creating a bond that not even the vast stretches of time can sever. The very idea of marriage in the Realms is rare, almost mythical, because it requires two beings to love each other so profoundly that they’re willing to bind their very existence to one another.

For the ghosts and entities that reside in this realm, eternity isn’t just a poetic idea—it’s a reality. Time is meaningless when you’re no longer alive, when your very essence is bound to the afterlife. And because of this, relationships are viewed through a different lens. There’s no such thing as divorce, no “time apart.” Once a couple is bound, their souls are intertwined forever. To dedicate your entire being—past, present, and future—to another means accepting that their joys, sorrows, triumphs, and failures will be yours too. It’s a partnership where breaking the bond is simply impossible.

It’s why marriage is such a rare occurrence in the Realms. The ghosts, who have already lived one life and often seen the frailty of mortal promises, don’t enter into this kind of bond lightly. It’s only for the strongest of loves, for the most steadfast of commitments. Because once you marry in the Infinite Realms, that bond holds through eternity itself.

And yet, despite the gravity of it all, Tim and Danny find themselves willing to make that very commitment. Tim, a mortal tied to a world where things end, where nothing lasts forever, steps into the unknown. His love for Danny is so deep, so unshakable, that he agrees to a traditional Infinite Realms marriage. He knows full well the weight of it—he’s not just vowing to love Danny in this life, but in every life after. In swearing to this bond, Tim is offering his entire being to Danny, for now and all of eternity.

For Danny, this choice means even more. As a halfa, he exists between two worlds, knowing both the mortality of the living and the permanence of the ghostly afterlife. His love for Tim is powerful enough that he’s willing to make this eternal commitment, knowing that there’s no one else in any world—mortal, ghostly, or beyond—he would rather be tied to. For Danny, the bond is as natural as breathing. It’s a connection that deepens their relationship in a way that transcends the limitations of their two worlds.

Their marriage isn’t just a declaration of love—it’s a merging of souls, a binding that makes them two parts of the same whole. It overwhelms them with the sense of safety and belonging that they’ve both craved in their lives. In each other, they find the kind of love that doesn’t just endure life’s difficulties but thrives beyond them. Their bond ties them together forever in a way that no one else could understand, but to Tim and Danny, it’s everything.

They are each other’s home. And in the Infinite Realms, there is no greater honor, no stronger connection, than to be bound by love for all of eternity.

[acowardinmordor]

I only had Steve repeating his senior year because I wanted the kids to know Eddie already, but thinking about it? This messes Steve up so so much more. He obviously met Robin, who asked a few pointed questions that made him go oh. about his life and his identity.

He’s back for another year in high school because of post concussion symptoms. His parents are probably pissed. He’s trying to rebuild his own sense of self without defining it with popularity, but he’s stuck in the place where he was the most popular before. And is now one of those loser super seniors.

Enter Eddie, who had been on Steve’s radar as a vague awareness of maybe-attraction in previous years. And the guy is protecting his kids. Encouraging them. He’s also as close to Out as he can be in Hawkins. He knows who he is. He’s unapologetic and doesn’t let trends define him. He’s who he wants to be. Of course there’s hearteyes.

But Steve isn’t comfortable with himself enough to talk to him directly. Hence the letters.

And maybe at first he wasn’t even sure that Eddie liked getting them. Or was even reading them. Probably wrote about how he was anonymous because he didn’t think Eddie would actually like him if he knew. It’s been a theme from the start, and it was probably the first thing that Eddie talked about when he could finally write back.

Eddie totally said that anyone who wrote letters like that, who was that kind and clever and generous and funny, would always be someone Eddie liked. Loved. That it wouldn’t matter if X was ugly, that it wouldn’t even matter if X was a girl. That Eddie would still want to know them.

And that’s when you have those insults. When Steve was finally finally brave enough to be around Eddie. To come to Hellfire. Because Eddie had promised in the letters to teach X how to play, that he’d be so so patient because X told him that he probably wasn’t smart enough to play.

Eddie has to betray everything he’s said.

And it is specifically because Steve Harrington is anathema to Eddie.

Proof that who Steve wants to be, tries to be, is wanted, but who he is in real life, not on paper, isn’t good enough.

(Yes, Robin had to be hugged into submission to keep her from slashing Eddie’s tires)

But, tag writer whose user name I can’t recall, Steve didn’t write his last letter in the car. He dropped off the boys, went home, and wrote something longer at first. He tried to find a way to explain to Eddie that he’s trying. That he wants to be a better person who Eddie would be happy to discover is X. He writes it, and he doesn’t believe that it will ever happen. That he can ever be better.

Anyway, Steve totally gets Vecna’d in this AU, and Eddie is one of the focal points.

[skrrtscree]

the ghost of you 🤍🪻

[brownblob]

It's Only You

Sebek Zigvolt x GN!Reader

Synopsis: You'd never thought how difficult it could be to love someone without receiving affection back. The daunting realization of your unrequited love led you to leaving him. You never meant much anyways- you were always just there and he was sure you'd return. Time flew by as he waited for your return.

TW: Angst, mentions of death, depression, mentions of unhealthy relationships.

The pitter and patter of rain filled the silence enveloping the room. It was unusual for Sebek to be so silent for he was usually so boisterous, if not impulsive. Whether he was enraged, content, or glum, he was always loud- reckless. It was odd- this thick, suffocating silence that pierced through your skin. A shiver traveled down your spine, your lips forming a thin, straight line.

"Sebek, I said something."

You spoke up, as if offended by his lack of reaction. Never once was he so apathetic. You expected more, much more by an individual who was usually so reckless, so volatile. If not verbally than through expressions, you wanted a reaction- it was a given, you confusion, considering this side was something you'd never seen, no one had ever seen. Yet, there was no response merely a wide-eyed gaze he sent your way.

"If you won't respond then I guess the feeling's mutual."

You spoke up once more, irritation present in your words. A sigh left your lips, his olive gaze still fixed on you. It wasn't as if he didn't speak to spite you- no, it was quite the opposite. He was speechless. Everything was fine, nothing was out of place- both of you were alright, perfectly content together. Then why had you just said you wanted to end it? Was your relationship that meaningless? Did he mean nothing? Was your bond that fickle?

The rain continued to pour down as you packed, taking your things one by one. You presence vanished little by little leaving him alone- in solitude. He stood in the same spot as you removed yourself from his life- his home. His eyes were glassy, not that you noticed.

"Goodbye Sebek."

That was the last thing you said before leaving, suitcase in hand.

He came back to his senses, his voice returning to him as the door shut with a loud 'thud'. He called out your name several times, shouting at the top of his lungs. As if to mock him, the rain pattered against the windows even harder, silencing him. Without a thought he ran outside, his usually neat hair now wet and tousled. His eyes searched for you, his heart drumming inside his chest- his throat was raw from screaming, his vision blurry. His body was soaked, his tears camouflaging- becoming one with the drops of rain. His body shook, a shiver running down his back; it was now he realized that you had left. It wasn't a nightmare, nor a delusion, and it definitely wasn't a joke. This was reality.

Even if he found you, begged you to stay- your answer would remain the same. You were tired. You were sick of being a second option- no, a last resort. Someone or something always came before you. Whether it was his loyalty for Malleus or his affection for knighthood. You were never number one. Frankly, you had been alright with that, knowing your relationship with Sebek was fairly one-sided; you'd begged for his love, had you not? In his eyes you had. Not that he didn't care at all, but just not to the level you did. You were useful to him, always there when he needed you to be. Never once did you think of your own needs- neither did he. That was until you did. There was only so much you could ignore before you felt lonely- alone.

No matter how selfish it sounded, you wanted to bask in his affection. He was your spouse, wasn't he? He made vows to you, didn't he? He was your soulmate, was he not?

Then why were you ditched for his loyalty to Malleus? Then why had he made it clear that you could be replaced, Malleus couldn't? Then why were you never never first- not once?

Why didn't you mean anything to him, who meant everything to you?

Your love was unrequited, to an extent at least. You knew you had agreed to something of this sort upon falling for him- yet this daunting realization hurt more than you wanted it to. You wished for everything to go back to how it was- you wanted to be blind once more. You wanted to unsee this new vision, to go back to your old perception of reality.

You wanted to mend this broken relationship. As if you were a child who had just noticed that life was not, in fact, perfect you tried convincing yourself that it was. You were better off believing in the false perfection of the world- of your relationship. You didn't want to believe that he didn't care. You were not being neglected. You couldn't be.

You just had to communicate, that would fix everything.

You spoke up, he didn't listen. You spoke up once more, he had better things to do. You spoke up again and as expected, he couldn't care less.

It poured down as you spoke up for the last time, this time adding that you were simply leaving. His opinion didn't matter anymore- too many chances had been missed. You weren't a doormat, not any more.

You waited far too long for someone who wouldn't come around. That realization daunted upon him- he was guilty of a crime he wished he hadn't committed.

His body coiled up, quivering as his garments clung to his skin. He sat on the wet road, the sky darkening as the rain roared down. His eyes were fixed on the ground, shameless tears trickling down his face. If Malleus saw him like this- no, if anyone saw him in such a state, he wouldn't mind. He was confused to have such thoughts- he should mind, should he not? You were gone. It shouldn't affect him so much, not at all. What were you? A spouse, but only in name. Then why did his heart pang so loudly? Why was your sweet voice playing in his mind? Why was it now that he saw your pain? Why now, when it was far too late?

His life was different from there on. You had an affect on his life and took on such an important role, yet never realized - if you had, maybe you wouldn't have left. He wished both of you had remained blind, playing house forever- no matter how suffocating it got. Maybe then he wouldn't be so melancholic.

Days passed by.

His halls were empty, signifying his solitude. The little knick knacks you used to keep were gone, those stupid little hand-drawn doodles he used to find on random pieces of paper were all in the past. The times you cooked for him, no matter whether he he liked it or not- he missed it. The scent of your shampoo never lingered around the house anymore, neither did the sound of your sweet voice.

He would stand at the door everyday yet no one came to greet him once he returned home, neither did he have anyone to greet. No one played music that hurt his ears anymore- he never thought he'd miss that. He still made portions for two everyday, leave it on a plate only for the food to go stale. He still clung onto the last bit of hope that you would return- that he wouldn't have to be alone. Yet, everyday you proved him wrong.

Weeks passed by.

Was this how you felt? Was this how your heart ached? He wished he had listened to your rambles, that he'd paid attention to whatever stupid show you used to watch. Maybe if he had then he could watch those shows to remind himself of you- yet he didn't remember. He never thought he could cry so freely, never once had he been someone so sensitive. What else could he even do? There was no one to scold, to scorn at to scream at- he was rendered silent within these walls, isolation along with silence were his only resorts. He had lost his old self, grief took over his previously exuberant self. "He deserved it", he thought.

Your separation from him was his separation from himself. His memory of your was the only thing keeping him going. Every little thing you used to do reminding him of his mistakes, of what could have been. He'd underestimated your worth- he'd underestimated how irreplaceable you were.

Months passed by.

His previous priorities became second while you became number one. The only difference was that you weren't there to witness that. Wherever you were, away from him- you were happier. At least he hoped you were. His door was always open for you though, his heart too. Maybe if he'd cherished you, he wouldn't have lost you.

Despite all his lingering thoughts, he'd realized it was just "if's" now. There was no mending what he'd broken and there was no apologizing for what he did, not when you had clearly severed ties with him.

Was it illicit to hope you'd crawl back to him? That you'd beg him to take you back? It was wrong and he knew it but he couldn't help but delude in such thoughts despite knowing the only one who who'd beg for the other would be him, as of now. Though, he didn't mind begging if it meant you'd return. He knew he was being delusional- you'd never return. He knew that was the best for you, for if you did return- he wouldn't be able to let go no matter how difficult it got for you. He might've gone mad.

A decade passed by.

Years later he saw you, clinging onto another man as you pranced around at a store- one you used to speak of quite often as if urging him to take you. He never did.

As you and the unknown man walked inside the store he couldn't help but follow, silent as ever as he simply observed. He broke the moment he saw you picking a suit for the man beside you. You weren't his and maybe you never were.

He walked out of the store, his eyes stinging as he returned home. You weren't there waiting for him and no one ever would- he wouldn't replace you, not that he could. That would be another insult to your name.

He stood near the same window, on the exact spot where he watched you leave. Just like that day, it was pouring and the room was silent. He called out your name a few times, hoping you'd appear. Was he mad? Surely. Maybe he should drink again- doing so could help him hallucinate of you and if not, at least it would numb the pain.

He sighed as he sat down.

You were incomplete when with him while he was incomplete when without. You meant more than he had previously thought, so much so that it was only you he wanted to live for and with. If that was impossible, why live at all?

Note: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Note 2: I hope Sebek wasn't too fanon/off, I just really wanted to explore a different side.

Note 3: Any unhealthy behavior depicted in this fic is not condoned nor encouraged by me. If you are facing any mental/physical abuse, please seek help immediately!

[whatmattersisyou]

Very random thought/headcanon about ghost fires burning the colour of what they're feeling, how they died, all the resentment they hold

Most of them are blueish/greenish/cyanish/cold colours at first cause they are very lost and misplaced and confused and don't know who they are or what to do

(ghost fire Qi Rong was green, envy?)

(ghost fire He Xuan was the deep blue he drowned in, the kind of blue that feels like a black hole, a depth with no end, a well dug so deep into the soil it unearths powers and creatures that should've been kept way underground)

Then there's smol ghost fire HC who is Not Lost who knows why he's there for, who he's there for, who burns crimson and yellow and orange cause those are the colours of a hearth fire and it reminds him of Xie Lian's robes when he caught him during the parade and Honger might have never had a warm home in his whole life, but he felt warm and safe in Xie Lian's arms and he wants to give some of that back to him even if as a smol useless cold ghost fire

[mxfrodo]

y'all for fucking real. don't fucking write slave fics or x reader fics of aventurine's slavery??? are you guys out of your goddamn minds???

[maskedchip]

hope they are slaying in these roleswap designs i drew for funsies

AND i compiled a bunch of roleswap au art/doodles from last year! not much thought was put into it, i just wanted to play dress up but i still think about it from time to time (doodles below!)

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I've seen the last '"g-d made you perfect" that I can handle, and it's led me to a realization about how I think of g-d.

I don't think we were made perfect. We were made human. And, if I'm honest, the only perfection in my mind is g-d, and that sense of perfection is what differentiates humans from g-d. If humans were as perfectly-made as g-d, I for one wouldn't see the point in following, believing, trusting, caring for, or loving g-d.

I guess for me, I see the ways in which humans alter the Way We Were Created that I really don't think it's right to speculate as to if there's a limit to altering our abilities or bodies. For instance, as a trans person, I've definitely been inundated with this idea that because g-d made my body "perfect" that I shouldn't alter it ever, but isn't that a dangerous precedent? Is it really so, that our bodies are magically made perfect, as g-d that to even tamper with the idea of change would be the same as cursing g-d? I really don't think that's compelling.

I love thinking about just how much g-d is placed into people, but I don't think it warrants restricting the ability to learn, create, grow, or change. Thank g-d that He created the ability to change!

[2hoothoots]

(photographer voice) "okay, now let's do one where canon events play out slightly differently and everyone ends up in a significantly worse place because of it"

here's an au of an au because i have issues watched the genghis khan music video one too many times. lore dump + crops/bonus art below

Due to an unfortunate combination of chance factors, Razputin Aquato arrives at Whispering Rock one day late.

He finds the camp a ghost town. The campers are stumbling around, brainless; the counsellors, nowhere to be found. Ford doesn’t know what to make of this kid showing up out of nowhere – but he’s got promise, and with Sasha and Milla out of action, he’s their best hope. He gives Raz a crash course in what he needs to know, and sends him out across the lake.

Raz pulls through, against all odds. But he never gets the starstruck meeting with his heroes Sasha and Milla that he’d been hoping for; never gets to bond with Lili, or any of the other campers. It’s a harrowing and lonely experience for him, but one that ties a burning knot of resolve in his chest. If he works hard, he can be a Psychonaut just like he dreamed. He can save people.

When the alert comes through from Headquarters that Grand Head Zanotto has been captured, Sasha and Milla scramble the jet with Lili on board. They don’t bring Raz along – Ford’s account of his accomplishments is impressive, but without seeing him in action themselves, neither agent is convinced to bring him along on the mission. Sasha invites him to next year’s session of the camp – after all, he clearly has promise, and the Psychonauts are always interested in nurturing young minds.

Raz returns to camp next year with something to prove. He throws himself into his studies with a single-minded dedication, sparing little time to interact with any of the other campers. This time, he’ll show them. He’ll show them all.

Sasha, Milla and Lili are unable to locate Truman in the Rhombus of Ruin. It ultimately takes a week to locate the Grand Head, following an anonymous tip-off (later found to have been planted by Nick). It takes six months for the ruse to be uncovered. Ultimately, Nick is unsuccessful in finding any clues to Maligula’s whereabouts. Lucrecia will pass a few years later, surrounded by a family that has no idea who she really is. Ford never remembers the truth, and when Razputin is fourteen, he takes the secret to his grave.

Truman’s brain spends almost seven months in a box, under poor conditions with insufficient oxygen. When it’s finally returned to his body, he’s not the same man he used to be. He quietly steps down as Grand Head of the organisation, and spends years of his retirement in intensive therapy.

Lili is heartbroken. Her faith in the Psychonauts is shattered. She never returns to Whispering Rock again. Over the years, she becomes more and more withdrawn; isolated from her peers, estranged from her mother, and struggling with her relationship with a father who on bad days can’t even remember her name. The bitterness grows day by day, blooming within her chest.

She’s sixteen the first time she's forced to turn her powers against another person. Even in his current state, her father has enemies – old foes the Psychonauts can’t (or won’t) protect him from. There’s a raid on her house, late at night. It’s only by chance that she’s still awake. She breaks two of the assailants’ bodies, and when she twists her hand, the plants in her father's greenhouse writhe under her command and rip the third one to pieces. It’s the last time that house ever feels like a home to her. She cuts ties with the Psychonauts entirely, and never looks back; the next time they hear of her, it's under a completely different name.

Dogen Boole never returns to Whispering Rock either. He’s thoroughly traumatized by the events at camp, and his parents refuse to send him back the following year. With nobody to help him learn to control or harness his powers, his episodes steadily become worse as he gets older. Although reluctant, his family is eventually forced to reach out to the Psychonauts to help. Compton is still a nervous recluse, and nobody else in the organisation is quite sure how to handle Dogen’s powers. He spends his teenage years in and out of psychoisolation, and is subjected to more and more intense experimentation in the name of “treatment”. Nothing works. In the end, all he has to show for it are the scars.

His helmet is the only thing he can rely on to stop him mulching the cranium of anyone in a fifty-foot radius. There’s no place for him in “normal” society. Just like Lili, he’s driven to become a villain by a combination of circumstances, trauma, and a bitter feeling of hurt and betrayal towards the Psychonauts.

Raz enters the intern program at thirteen, and quickly graduates to the rank of Junior Agent. The Psychonauts he finds waiting for him is undergoing a marked transition from the organization it used to be. Upon Ford’s passing, the only member of the old guard still around is Otto. Hollis is a Grand Head forced to prioritize efficiency in order to keep the Psychonauts afloat after numerous losses and funding cuts.

Raz enters a passionate, determined boy, remarkably talented but who struggles to connect with his peers. When he gets his promotion at eighteen, he’s the most decorated junior agent the organization has ever seen. At twenty-six, he’s in the prime of his career, honed by years of training into an efficient, meticulous, ruthless Psychonaut.

He’s the perfect agent. As far as he’s concerned, that’s all he needs to be.

under-the-cut bonus, here's some tighter crops on the art, and also a couple extra bits and pieces:

dogen's helmet seals up like a pillbug most of the time, to stop his powers from leaking out when he gets stressed. i couldn't find a way to work it into the art while still making clear that Hey It's Ya Boy, but i think it's a neat visual. the extra pic of lili was gonna be a mugshot - at first i was planning to composit her art into, like, a dossier/file, but i couldn't make it work in the end

[skitskatdacat63]

"From triumph to failure is but one step."

+ the usual

I love when I can include paper sketches in the process gif. It's very satisfying to see it progress from a very vague imagining of what was in my head to the finished project.

+ version without text

My favorite sketch was definitely the one where I actually put in words what it's supposed to convey. I wouldn't usually write that down, cause it's all in my head, but it was useful to do so when sending it to other people. I'll go into it more but here it is just as a teaser:

Lmao first of all, I like how I was teasing "Spanish GP" art, but as per usual, it's just thinly veiled au art. IM SORRY, I'M NOT INTERESTED IN MAKING GENERAL POSTERS, THAT'S NO FUN! So instead you will get weirdly relevant matador au art. I like it a lot though, I was really shocked I was able to draw 3 different Fernandos, I mean even drawing one figure takes a lot out of me, but this was weirdly easy?? I think it's just the effect of not being burnt out anymore, and actually being able to draw with more ease makes me feel like a god.

Okay, so the text: "Fight or Flight?" I'll be honest, I don't even remember why I chose it, literally came to me in a vision 😭 But I think it's fitting with the narrative of this piece. Is it better to keep going on, keep fighting, or better to finally give up, and flee? Not that I even remotely think he should give up, but I feel like sometimes I can sense him pondering this very question. That was the big fear before he announced that he re-signed. Keep fighting and maybe, just maybe, you'll get the chance to finally go up against the bull again. Or accept it's an uphill battle and the fighting is going to keep getting more and more strenous, and maybe it's time to put down the sword. SORRY THIS IS SO ANGSTY FOR WHAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE "yayyyy home race!!!" Please forgive me <3

I. Renault

At some point, someone pointed out to me that I had drawn all other iterations of matador Fernando with a sword, except for Renault Fernando, and that ended up feeling very poignant to me. In a bull fighting match, they really only pull out the sword at the last minute to deliver the killing blow. So I think it's important to never draw this Fernando with a sword, because it shows the unfailing confidence and stability he has at that point. He only needs to pull out the sword at the end, as a formality almost, there's no reason for him to keep his guard up at all times.

II. Ferrari

Meanwhile this Fernando, he's considering his sword like he hasn't had to in the past. He's checking the sharpness, making sure in advance he can do what needs to be done. He's on guard, he feels like he needs to keep up his defenses at all times because he doesn't have that same amount of trust and stability anymore. He knows though he will be up against the (red) bull, at least that's never in question. At least there's the assurance he'll get the chance to fight.

III. Aston

Oh, Aston Fernando....He doesn't know whether to take up his sword or finally put it down for the last time. While at least Ferrari Fernando knows he's on constant guard against the bull, this Fernando doesn't even have that assurance anymore. He feels like he can never put down the sword, just in case he gets the chance to strike the killing blow on the bull, which feels like it's growing more and more unlikely.

Spanish flag: ? Lmao this was meant to be something to celebrate Fernando's home race and it turned very introspective whoops. Also got the Napoleon quote in there hahaha, can't escape it!! Shame though there is no French gp anymore, if so I'd probably draw an unhinged thing for it :,(

[flwrkid14]

Buried Beneath The Laughter They Ignored

Tim is totally fine. Ridiculously fine, actually.

It didn’t matter that he woke up feeling this bubbling, manic laughter in his chest, like everything was suddenly so fucking funny. It didn’t matter that he’d woken up from another nightmare last night, crying, calling for his mama—not the mother he lost, but the mother he gained, Harley Quinn. And it didn’t matter that most days, he felt more like Joker Junior than he did Tim Drake.

It didn’t matter that no one else seemed to fucking care.

He shoved down every bit of laughter clawing up his throat, because he knew if he let even one chuckle slip, they’d all give him that look. The one they always did. Disapproval masked as concern. They didn’t like Junior. They didn’t want to believe Junior was still in there, clawing his way up every time Tim breathed.

It didn’t matter that no one ever asked him how he was doing. They didn’t want to talk about it. Because talking about it would make it real, and they preferred pretending it wasn’t. They expected him to be fine, to push it down, to carry on like nothing happened. If he tried to bring it up, they’d say he was being insensitive—insensitive to Jason's trauma. What fucking irony, he thought bitterly. As if it wasn’t insensitive to be stepping all over his by not letting him speak.

It didn’t matter that he caught them glancing at him sometimes, like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to snap, waiting for Junior to come out again. But they never asked. No one asked what was going on in his head. No one fucking asked.

It didn’t matter that when he finally snapped, when he finally screamed at them, sick and tired of pretending, they had the nerve to act clueless. As if they didn’t know.

It didn’t matter that Dick, of all people, screamed back. Yelling like he was being unreasonable. Like he was the problem. He screamed at Tim, demanding answers, to ask what the hell he meant by Joker Junior, as if—

As if they didn’t know.

They didn’t fucking know.

This whole time, they hadn’t known.

They didn’t know Tim had been taken. They didn’t know Tim had been missing. They didn’t know Tim had been held prisoner at the hand of the Joker for months, tearing him apart, piece by piece, until Junior was the only thing left of him. They didn’t know he had screamed for them, begged for someone to find him, but no one ever did.

They didn’t know how much he had suffered. Alone. They didn’t know how much he had changed. They didn’t know that every time he woke up now, it felt like he was still Joker Junior, just wearing Tim’s skin.

And they didn’t know how much it hurt—how much it broke him—to realize that they had never known.

Tim wasn’t fucking okay. And it mattered—oh, it mattered—that they didn’t fucking know.

Because if they didn’t know, it meant no one ever bothered to look. It meant no one ever cared enough to notice.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

the previous prompt has me kicking my feet

Caretaker keeps whumpee on their lap, wrapped in a jacket, held oh so tightly against their chest. The normally touch repulsed whumpee is keening under any skin to skin contact, as their nerves are fried with sensation. Mumbling something incoherent about something or other into caretakers shoulder.

caretaker is treating them for wounds/exposure/overall drugging, but it’s like trying to pull teeth. Whumpee is now at the point in their high that they’re figuring out ‘oh hey, I have a body’ and is wriggling.

(the post in question is HERE)

I hope you know, honest to god I screamed reading this. A good scream, a ‘oh i love what I just read’ scream. The idea of Caretaker just trying to wrangle Whumpee in their lap is killing me.

I feel like the situation would tow a very fine line between kinda hilarious and deeply unsettling. Because yes, having your typically reserved, serious Whumpee wriggling in your arms like a pouty child is a little funny. But also, seeing Whumpee act so deeply unlike themselves, so totally unable to control themselves, is undeniably unsettling.

It’s such a strange situation. It’s frustrating and terrifying, and it makes Caretaker feel deeply, deeply alone. Because even with them physically in their lap, Whumpee is still miles away.

I just imagine Whumpee clinging to Caretaker like a koala, legs wrapped around their torso and arms over their shoulders, head tucked into their neck. Despite how close they are, Caretaker can’t make out a single word they say.

Maybe Caretaker tries to crack a joke, tries to focus on the humor in the situation instead of the anxious protectiveness they feel at Whumpee’s current state. But when Whumpee looks up at them, eyes foggy with barely a hint of awareness, Caretaker’s forced, weak little smile crumbles.

Caretaker decides that tending to their injuries can wait. None of them seem life threatening, and it’s likely Whumpee isn’t even aware of them. Instead they sit there, rubbing comforting circles in one of the few unblemished parts on their back, and hope Whumpee returns to them sooner than later.

[kiisuuumii]

@kiisuuumii (sacrifice)

[1singulargrape]

yuuji cannot use a chair to save his life

Sukuna was sitting on the floor, his upper arms resting on the couch behind him. His head was tilted to the side as it rested on his fist, and he lazily looked at the screen in front of him.

Yuuji was playing a video game, a "shooter game" with many colors and sounds that looked more like the mess the brat watched on his phone rather than anything coherent. Trying to follow along made Sukuna's head spin but there were a few things that were easy to catch on.

Yuuji's character exploded into a colored puddle, and without missing a beat Sukuna laughed at him. "You suck at this," he added.

Yuuji turned to glare at him, straining his neck while doing so, "I haven't played in months and the other team has a sniper, so if I don't try to move up we're never getting back mid."

He turned back at the sound of his character respawning, "And my team only has short to mid-range weapons so we're at a disadvantage here."

Sukuna couldn't be bothered to understand what any of that meant. "I'm only hearing excuses. If you were actually good at this game of yours you wouldn't need teammates to win."

"It's a multiplier game, having teammates is the whole POINT!" He screamed the last word as he narrowly evaded an attack that would have surely got him killed again, exploding his opponent in the process. His momentary glee was quickly crushed as his character also exploded for seemingly no reason.

Sukuna didn't try to hide his chuckles while the young man anxiously looked at the map while respawning. The match ended before he could get onto the field again.

Despite the general chaos of the game Sukuna only needed one look to know the results. He smiled with all his teeth, poking at Yuuji's temple with his free hand, "Maybe you should give up for now. What is it? The fifth loss in a row?"

"Oh, shut up," he fell back, landing on Sukuna's chest, "I just need to shake the rust off," he closed his eyes for a moment, knowing how to queue for another match without looking.

Sukuna huffed fondly, "You've been saying that for the past 30 minutes, brat."

Yuuji didn't add anything, only pouting a little. He made his character jump up and down with the hand he still had on the controller. Sukuna tightened the arms he had warped around Yuuji's waist, filling the gap until the younger man sat back up for the next match.

.

.

Yuuji was on his phone, checking over his social medias, laughing at memes and catching up with the tea of strangers online while sending out anything interesting to his friends

What had started out as him sitting beside Sukuna was now him halfway over the other man's laps, his upper back and neck held on a massive arm and hand.

Sukuna was reading old history books, saying he wanted to "catch up" to what happened while he was sealed. One time he mentioned to Yuuji how lacking historical records felt compared to the reality of life during his time, but that didn't stop him from reading them; in fact having a basis to compare how things were when he was still alive compared to what was recorded granted him a far better understanding of other recordings, according to him.

Yuuji didn't really get why he'd spend so much time reading from the source when there were so many videos online detailing their country's history. He had provided Sukuna with a phone for that reason but he only used it for 2 weeks before permanently retiring it to a drawer saying that "it was no wonder the brat was so stupid with the amount of trash accessible through that thing”.

Not what Yuuji had expected when Sukuna had spent those 2 weeks with an average of 12 hours of daily screentime, but hey.

While he was scrolling, Yuuji came across something that made him grin. "Hey, old man!"

Sukuna turned one eye to look at him which was enough acknowledgement for Yuuji, "Look at this," he turned his phone to him.

A picture of an adult tiger lying on its side with a cub pawing at its face was shoved into Sukuna's vision. "It's us."

Yuuji was grinning from ear to ear, giggling to himself. He took back his phone after receiving a hum of acknowledgement and they both resumed their respective activity.

Once Yuuji was fully focused on his screen again, Sukuna allowed himself to smile.

.

.

"Are you done showing off?" Yuuji asked annoyed. As his answer, Sukuna pushed back, going from doing push-ups on one hand to one finger and it only pissed off Yuuji even more.

Originally Yuuji was simply working out a little and was joined by Sukuna who not only matched Yuuji's moves but also made a point of one-upping him at every turn.

Yuuji watched from the side as Sukuna finished his set of 1 finger push-ups, wholly unimpressed as he was pretty sure he could do the same.

He simply knew that Sukuna would one-up him again somehow and he didn't want his light work-out session to turn into their usual competitions.

"Is that all you got brat?" Sukuna was smiling with all his teeth, still holding a perfect plank position, "Was such a simple move enough to scar you into surrendering?"

Well, Yuuji couldn't let that slide. "I just think that this was way too easy for you."

Yuuji walked closer and got on Sukuna's back, sitting in the middle of it. He knew that a man who could carry entire buildings wouldn't be bothered by his weight, but he was still annoyed by the fact that the other did not budge. Not even breaking a sweat.

"Is that it?" Sukuna changed the arm holding him and started another set. "This is still a lightwork brat. Unless you also want me to sit on your back as well to see if you can match the strength of a single one of my arms?"

"I can carry you pretty easily you know that?" Yuuji added with a frown.

"I'd love to see this," he added mockingly which only made Yuuji angrier.

The older man finished his set. A bit passed and he eventually laid down on floor, Yuuji still on his back.

"Hey what are you doing now?"

"Given how comfortable you seem up there I have decided to claim victory this time and let you enjoy yourself. How benevolent of me, I know."

Determined not to leave this as a loss, Yuuji got up and immediately deadlifted Sukuna off the ground.

.

.

Most beds weren't comfortable to Sukuna, made in sizes too small for his bulk and extra limbs, yet sometimes he'd ditch the massive one in his room to sleep in Yuuji's.

And what could Yuuji do if he was tired as well? With Sukuna lying on his back, arms splayed open and legs dangling off the edge, there wasn't that much place left for him to sleep on.

Yuuji crawled up the bed and laid directly on Sukuna's chest, hair tickling the bigger man's chin. He wrapped his arms around the other's neck while 2 hands placed themselves on the small of his back. 'For stability' they both thought.

Like this they both drifted to sleep, hearts close to one another and beating in sync to a slow and steady rhythm.

.

.

.

.

On some day they'll go picnicking together, as if they weren't spending enough time with one another.

They ate, they talked, then they both fell silent, a comfortable sensation covering them both as they simply enjoyed each other's presence as well as the nature around them.

Sukuna's head was laid on Yuuji's laps. Gentle fingers ran through his hair and massaged his scalp; the sun kept them warm and a soft breeze rustled the leaves of the trees around them.

Yuuji had already zoned out, moving his hands automatically in a way that felt right to him, whereas Sukuna had started to drift off to sleep.

Small moments of peace they wish could last forever

[steelthroat]

Looking for idw soundop stuff on ao3 is tough because most of it is dark/violent and I mean... it makes sense but...

But I was looking for something else...

[darth-kote]

A fic where Obi's starting to heal on Tatooine after the fall of the Order. Then, one day, not only does he believe he sees his old commander coming toward him, but- is that Maul alongside him?