#kind of unedited

[flamingpudding]

All right you got my creative juices running with part five of Klarion is Dan yes the first series I ever came to you with

To find him Klarion isn't the only one living in the DC dimension in like the word of protective mother Danny is he sent one of clarion's older siblings to go with him Larsal/Lassie

She was one of the clone children that was created long before Danny knew that was trying to clone him she was one of the first failures

She doesn't really have a physical form as much she is more of like a big pit of water that has like a spiritual like form like Dr Fate

She hates Vlad so much that the entire League of assassins who's also hit him even though they don't know who he is but know that Danny got from Clockwork was about her and visiting

Klarion knows about the quote as the same thing last knows about him being a villain they keep each other secrets cuz they know they make Mom disappointed

When they do have somewhat of a physical form it's a cowgirl with a horse made entirely of Lazarus Pits

Along with that Vlad making surprise visit after feeling someone's littering his name more than usual it's like a call about anytime he knows his children or Daniel is talking about him

Also Batman's freaking out after I think that one of Danny's kids is such a little hater that they made a cult just despite their father which makes the Justice League think Vlad really that bad

This is just the funny idea and I know it's not a good prompt I'm still trying to think of more sorry

Oh I love this! Thanks you!

This is going to be fun in a way I hope! Enjoy~

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Danny barely avoided getting questioned further about his relation to Vlad when he noticed the green post-it note and made a grab for it. "Oh would you look at that! Pop is sending us a message!"

Okay maybe he said that louder than necessary but he needed to change the topic. He didn't need more people on to torment the fruitloop. His own kids were already giving the man enough grief as it was. He didn't need distant cousins or an entire hero society of another dimension coming after the fruitloop too. Not that he would mind that much but some mercy towards the redeemed man would probably be appropriated.

Either way Danny focused his attention on the note only half heartedly listening as Klarion continued his family tree explanation to his little hero friends. He blinked at the note several times before laughing happily. "Would you look at that! Lassie is going to come by! Your Granpa Clock is giving us a heads up, so I can prepare a fresh batch of ectoplasm for her to stay healthy!"

Whatever Klarion was explaining right now was abandoned as he sat up straight. "Lassie is coming too?"

"Well of course she is." Danny hummed happily, thankful for the chance of seeing both his kids that liked to life in the same dimension.

"Lassie?" Red Robin piped up questioning. Oh looks like this is one of Klarions siblings they hadn't gotten to yet regarding explanations.

"Yes my fourth oldest but unofficial second oldest." Danny nodded with a proud mother smile on his face. "She lives in this dimension too to keep an eye on Klarion so he would stay safe and dosen't over do it."

Klarion on the other hand groaned. "I don't need Lassie to baby sit me!"

"Klarion, sweety you were new to the whole living alone in another dimension thing. You spent the longest in FarFrozen and the Ghost Zone with me because of your destabilisation." Danny reprimanded him softly and the teen heroes snickered behind Klarions back to which the witch boy turned to glare at them with a greenish blush across his cheeks.

"So what does that sister of yours look like?" Impulse asked to change the topic and because he took a bit of pity on Klarion for the way his Mom was apparently embarrassing the witch boy. His question resulted in Klarion flipping though the photo album before stopping at an image of Klarion next to a pit of green something. Impulse arched an eyebrow and was about to comment when he got pushed roughly to the side by Red Robin.

"THAT'S A LAZARUS PIT!"

The way Batman's chair clattered to the ground as the man stood up looked every bit like he was going to rush over to the teens spoke for the shock that Red Robin shout had caused. The Ghost King and Klarion on the other hand looked rather calm as they barely reacted to the shout and Danny even motioned to Batman to sit back down again, as the chair that fell rightened itself again.

"Calm down. Lassie is a good child. She wouldn't hurt a fly." Danny told them smiling, not realising that both Batman and Red Robin were giving him increadulous looks behind their mask.

"A.... good child?" Batman repeated his slowly his voice even more tinged with his usual gruff gravel in a way that both Superman and Wonder Woman side eyed him worried while Flash snacked on a pack of melon flavoured ships he snacked from a table.

"She doesn't have a physical body, that is why she is relying on the pits of natural ectoplasm your dimension has. There was a little problem with her physical form and we just couldn't restore it and she refuses to get a unoccupied clone body like Klarion has." Danny explained further not minding the stares he or Klarion were getting.

"Pits of natural ectoplasm?" Batman reiterated, his tone clearly questioning, to which Danny only blinked a couple of times surprised. "I thought your dimension knew what they were? Sure the way you guys use them is strange and Lassie did sound a bit concerned when she told me about it but I didn't think you guys weren't aware what they were."

"No that is not...." Red Robin started but then but himself of as he turned around hurriedly in a defensive position as he noticed someone coming in through the window. He wasn't the only one. All the heroes reacted as one at the new presence, however what they didn't expect was a member of the League of Assassins blinking up at them stunned after climbing in through the window lifting their hands palm up in a gesture of peace.

"Woah hey there calm down! Klarion what the fuck? Why are there so many heroes in your Apartment?" The LoA member spoke up and all eyes turned to Klarion who instead only deadpanned. "I told you Mom was visiting to meet my 'friends'"

"Lassie, what did I tell you about possessing bodies?" The Ghost King piped up in a disapproving tone and they heard the distinctive tone of someone knocking their head against the table, probably Constantine.

"Sorry Mom but there are not Pits of ectoplasm near baby brother I could use to form a body." The LoA member, apparently possessed by Klarion's elder sister replied sheepishly. To say Red Robin was weirded out was an understatement. Usually if he encountered LoA members they were aggressive and most likely there to take him or one of his siblings out.

"That's an League of Assasin member...." He muttered under his breath to which said member laughed. "This guy was the closest to me to use for the moment. Don't worry I will release him later and he won't even remember a thing. I got my little sheep's well trained."

"Little sheep's?" Wonder Girl repeated a hand on her hip as she stared sceptically, to which Klarion face palmed and muttered a low "Sis shut up...."

"No Lassie, don't shut up." Danny intone from the kitchen table he was still sitting at with the other adults, his head was now resting on his hand as he stared at his two kids who visibly flinched.

The LoA member, possessed by Klarions sister, scratched the back of is head nervously as they faced the Ghost King. "Ah Mom, uhm hehe you know funny story..."

The heroes were pretty sure that the room had gotten several degrees colder and they weren't sure if that was because of the mood of a parent about to interrogate their child or because of the Ghost Kings power. (At a later time Constantine swore it were the Ghost Kings powers.) There was a awkward moment of silence the heroes weren't sure if they should be present for that or not especially when Danny stood up and walked over to the teens.

On reflex Wonder Girl, Superboy, Impulse and Red Robin made room for Danny to walk past them as they watched on torn between curiosity and pity, because clearly Klarion and his sister Lassie must have done something they weren't supposed to do. And honestly they were more curious what they did, after all the Ghost King hadn't been that faced when it got revealed that Klarion was more of a Villain than a Hero to them.

"Lassie, what did you do?" The teen heroes couldn't see Danny's face but from the tone they had a feeling that Danny was arching an eyebrow at his children.

Lassie laughed awkwardly once more. "So... you know how grandma Pandora kind of thought us about how our own emotion can influence those around us exposed to our ectoplasm over a long period of time?"

"Lassie..."

"I might have raised something akin to a cult on accident and passed on my personal grudge and hate towards the fruitloop along to them and they might now have the subconscious drill of attack on sight if Vlad ever makes an appearance in this dimension...." The LoA member slowly spoke up which had several of the adult heroes blinking in disbelief.

Batman especially was in shock of hearing about this since had the most interaction with this 'cult' as apparently one of the Ghost Kings children liked to call the League of Assassins. The bat suit wearing hero was about to interject and ask more but stopped when the Ghost King let out a suffering sigh like the most tired parent in existence. "And you didn't think about telling me this sooner because?"

"We don't like to disappoint you Mom." The two children of the Ghost King replied simultaneously like one united front. Danny in response gave his kids a light chuckle. But before Danny could go on any further Red Robin decided it was probably a good time to interject and remind the Ghost King of their presence.

"I got a question if you don't mind..." He lifted his hand like he was in school as he pulled the attention towards him. His curiosity won over his caution of the situation. "Klarion if the Lazarus Pits are actually 'ectoplasm' as you mentioned before, and are largely influenced by your sisters emotion. What happens to guy that bath regularly in them or someone that got thrown in there and game back out rage filled?"

"Red Robin!" Batman call out reprimanding instantly knowing where Red Robins line of question was going.

The possessed LoA member on the other hand blinked at them before scratching their head sheepishly. "I think I know who your talking about. I am still sorry about that second guy. When he got dunked into my ectoplasm, I kinda just came back from a visit home and had a bad fight with Vlad and was especially rage filled towards him."

"So does that mean...?" Red Robin inquired further ignoring Batman's silent glare towards him for even bringing these questions up and just as Lassie was about to answer Danny interjected.

"Lassie, go fix your cult." Another green note at materialised out of nowhere and had fluttered in the air before him and caused the Ghost King to face palm the moment he read it's context.

"Mom?" Both Klarion and Lassie asked with a shared worried glance.

"Vlad has come into the dimension for some reasons and is currently getting chased down by your cult."

There was a stunned silence after which Klarion and Lassie, in the body of the LoA member, broke out laughing hysterically which only caused Danny to lightly glare at his children. Meanwhile the teen heroes weren't sure if they should feel sorry for the old man called Vlad but considering all the red flags they had picked up from what Klarion told them, they felt a little like the man deserved that.

The adults on the other hand felt slightly torn, well mostly Batman. It was clear that this Vlad was a bigger threat than both Klarion and the Ghost King were making him out to be, considering the entire existence of the Lazarus Pits hated that man. But on the other hand as heroes they probably should feel obligated to help the man especially if, according to the Ghost Kings words, he was currently gotten chased in their dimension by the League of Assassins.

Danny on the other hand never felt more like a tired mother than he did right now. Sure he knew about his unofficial second oldest hatred towards Vlad but this certainly was a new level of hate. Especially since she apparently 'accidentally' (he doesn't by that at all) raised an entire cult that subconsciously hated him too.

[justinegreenpie]

Move over Game of Thrones, we all know who's the real king of medieval fantasy!

[felucians]

un bisou

Fandom: Marvel X-men | Gambit/Remy LeBeau x Reader

Reader is gender neutral with no physical descriptions. Rated PG-13 because Gambit would be the type of guy to grab anyone's ass during a kiss, he would test the boundaries and we all know it. Reader is a mutant with celestial Sun powers - technically based on my OC's powers which manipulates the Sun, specifically it's fire.

Summary: Takes place during Days of Future Past in the original X-Men series, where Bishop accuses Gambit of an assassination that destroys the future, reader is the only one to believe him. Pre-established relationships between Rogue/Gambit, Reader/Gambit and Reader is a member of the X-men team. Title is French for "a kiss". Wordcount: around 800 words.

"Don't nobody trust Gambit, eh?"

Rogue can't meet his eyes, her gaze downcast and guilt etched onto her features.

Gambit won't look at you, at your eyes glazing over in tears as your shared family denies him, believes that he could be the assassin. He didn't hear your whisper of "I do" as he loudly announces to the room, "Then Gambit don't need nobody."

He stalks away, glowering as his trench coat flows behind like a cape, and then the room is silent as his footsteps fade.

The lights black out and you're finally unfrozen, "How dare you? All of you? Not trusting one of our own, our team. Who are we if we cannot trust each other? What kind of family is this?"

The Sun hesitantly flickers through the windows, as solar flares begin radiating from your arms, anger burning through your body.

Rogue is first to speak, "Calm down, Sugah—"

"Calm down? When you all just turned your backs on him?"

Jean fixes you with a soft, understanding gaze and whispers "Go" in your mind - your chair hits the wall, leaving a dent with flashes of celestial energy trailing behind.

You don't even realise your feet carrying you through the hallways, yelling his name throughout the mansion, praying to anyone listening that he's still here and you find him before he leaves here, before he leaves you.

He's standing, paused at the doorway to the X-jet, breathing heavily with angry mutters of Cajun creole - blurring English and French seamlessly. Gambit looks up at the sound of your footsteps, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes that left in a second, replaced by a harsh piercing glare, "Porquoi êtes-vous ici, Dulcinée?" (Why are you here, sweetheart?)

The nickname is spat out, venom seeping out from the endearment that would usually bring a soft flush of heat to your face. You try not to flinch. Emphasis on try, because you do, and his face somehow looks even more pained at that. Words evade you as your throat dries, refusing to respond, so you take a deep breath and a soft gulp before you respond, grateful that you could understand his mother tongue.

"I'm here because I trust you, Remy."

He falters, searching your eyes desperately to spot any falsehoods, any inkling that you were spying on him for Charles - he doesn't find any. He finds pure raw love, the kind you knew you felt but could never truly verbalise.

Everyone on the team could see your soft spot for Gambit, and he knew it too. Sure, he flirted with every woman he came into contact with and he couldn't stop thinking about Rogue - but there was something about you that left the Cajun torn, as if he also loved you but didn't dare bare his heart to anyone, as if his shield crumpled, then his world would collapse and destroy everyone he cared about with it.

But here, with only you left, dangerously close to him in the enclosed space of the doorframe's entrance, he couldn't remember why he kept those walls up. He allowed his eyes to flicker to your soft lips, watching intensely as you involuntarily catch the bottom one in between your teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest and before you can think to pull away, to move down the hallway or into the next room, his big hands are splayed on your soft hips, your spandex suit in bright terracotta separating your skin to skin contact.

He's surprisingly soft, as his lips meet yours and he tastes like spice and tobacco. It infiltrates your senses, enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and desire while you gasp, allowing him to deepen the kiss further, to let Remy explore your mouth, your taste, your emotions. His gloved hands grasp around your waist as the other dips down to your ass, giving it a small squeeze. His smirk brushes his stubble against your cheek at the soft breathy moan you let out from his actions - you would swear Jubilee was in here with the amount of fireworks lighting up your veins, the passion and love igniting your whole body in flames.

Gambit pulls away, and his face is almost unreadable and then it's sad. It's a goodbye kiss, you realise as he walks past you through the door to the X-jet - and you almost let him.

He's so lost on his own emotions and thoughts from the kiss that ghosts his lips that he doesn't notice you slipping into the darkened room after him, only to be blinded by the harsh lights as Bishop and Wolverine reveal themselves, entirely unaware of everything that just transpired between you both...

[sunshinechay]

So I finally caught up on My Stand In after being 3 episodes behind due to irl reasons.

The last three episodes have been a lot and while I’m sad to have missed the weekly discussions, I’m also kind of glad I watched all three at once because it gave me the opportunity to get to watch Ming’s progress rapidly rather than waiting (which my ADHD brain is very happy about) and the one thing really stuck with me through all three episodes.

Of the three who knows Joe is Joe, Ming is the only one to figure it out completely on his own. He doesn’t overhear anything, he isn’t told by anyone. Even the priest (is that what he is? Citation needed) won’t give Ming the straight answer he seeks. Joe is neither dead nor alive but a secret third thing, his soul has transmigrated to another body entirely.

Before, when he didn’t know, we got the small kernels of change. Ming is much more straight forward than he used to be. While he was never one to mince words, he is more truthful and up front, even with Joe 2.0. He is honest with him from the start about exactly what he wants. He doesn’t tell Joe the real reason why he wants it, but that’s understandable given that no one else is willing to believe Ming when he says Joe is still alive. So why tell this new stand in why you want him to be so.

Then he figures it out. He puts together the context clues and believes the impossible because he’s the only one who never gave up hope that Joe would come home, would come back to him. Joe does come back to him and Ming immediately sets out to ensure that Joe exactly where he stands in terms of how Ming feels about him. Ming needs Joe to understand exactly what he wants. Ming is probably always going to be the type of person who will use underhanded tactics in certain situations, but it’s completely understandable why he uses the contract to keep Joe with him.

Ming offers up explanations where Joe didn’t ask for them, because he knows that Joe deserves them, whether or not he asks for them. He wants Joe to understand that he regrets a lot of his past actions, including what he did for Tong at the end. Ming had all but admitted that if he could go back and change it, he would.

Ming is willing to confront so many issues head on. He is learning to deal with his emotions in a way that is more productive for them all. He has started to feel more of his emotions out loud in a way he didn’t before. He promised himself he would change if Joe ever came back and so far he has kept his promise. He will better himself and he will grow. He will no longer be stagnant.

He is even willing to tell his father that he is dating Joe. The mere mention of it clearly terrifies him more than he has the words to express, something that Joe picks up on right away and tries to protect both of them from. Preemptively breaking up with Ming to try and save them both a worst heartbreak than simply breaking up.

Tong had spent so much of the show attempting to prove again and again that Ming is under his thumb. He knew that Ming was in love with him in the past and still believes he is now, but he is wrong. Ming will no longer allow himself to be manipulated by Tong and by extension his mother. So he will shoot their ace out of the sky by doing the one thing that terrifies him the most. He will tell his father that he is gay. That he is gay and dating a man. A man named Joe.

He will accept what comes next because the only other options is to lose Joe and Ming absolutely will not do that for a second time. He is willing to lose everything, as long as it means he doesn’t lose Joe.

[necrotic-nephilim]

"Can you two manage not to tear each other apart while I'm gone?"

Bruce, Jason, and Tim (With JayTim or maybe even BruJayTim)

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

god, this one was so good. so, you get the catch-22 of this being a bit longer, 4.5k, but with the warning, i have not edited it so it might be a little rough. but the whole point of this is quick fun so! this is basically Tim and Jason trying to kill each other bc they're under the influence of a toxin. both have a relationship with Bruce and are mad about it. it does end in some short JayTim porn and an implied BruJayTim ending. you could argue dub-con, but it's mostly consensual. enjoy <3

Tim honestly would’ve preferred if it was fear toxin or Joker venom.

Those, he at least knew the tricks for dealing with. How to keep his heart rate down, how to focus and not give in to his body’s adrenaline response. And even if none of those failed, the worst of the fear toxin was just something Tim could wait out while playing distracting music.

This was different.

Anger was different.

“It looks like someone took Crane’s compound and modified it,” Bruce, the lucky bastard who had managed not to inhale the substance, was stood perfectly calm in front of the Batcomputer. “It’s difficult to tell though without a direct sample.”

“If you would just let me look at it maybe we could get somewhere,” Tim hissed through grit teeth, aiming a lethal scowl at Bruce. His nails were digging into his palm. He frowned and tried to take a break. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce looked over his shoulder at Tim with concern and pity. “Are you sure you don’t want to be tranquilized until I synthesize the cure?”

“Bruce, if you try to get close enough to tranq me, I’ll probably try to rip your larynx out with my teeth,” Tim said. The itch for violence sat right underneath his fingertips. He was desperate for it, already twitching at the thought.

Logic and reasoning were hard to hold onto. Every straight thought Tim had was immediately consumed by the fire of fury, burned into something unrecognizable.

Tim didn’t feel like himself when he was angry. That was the worst part. He never liked his anger before and now, it was the only part of him on display. An ugly and twisted thing.

“He could just shoot you with a tranq dart,” Jason said smoothly. “I’d pay to see it.”

Jason was also affected by the rage toxin, though compared to Tim, he looked barely bothered. His head was tilted back to rest against the back of his chair, eyes closed. Both hands were in his lap, fingers calmly laced. His hands were forced together by the same cuffs that Tim was also wearing. Tim had suggested the cuffs when he tried to claw out Bruce’s eyes because Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. Despite Jason’s lack of reaction, it was universally decided to also put Jason in the cuffs. The handcuffs were chained to the chairs Tim and Jason were sitting in, with at least six feet’s distance between them so they couldn’t try to grab each other.

Which Tim had done at least a half a dozen times by now.

“If you’re not going to have helpful input you can keep your goddamn mouth shut,” Tim snapped, holding himself still in the chair from trying to launch across the room again. His muscles were so tense from clenching them that he was starting to shake.

“Tim,” Bruce said softly, giving him a look. Bruce was perfectly fine if Tim snapped at him. But when Tim snapped at Jason, he got a stern reprimand.

Which only pissed Tim off more.

He didn’t understand how he was fine with Bruce sleeping with both of them now. The thought was ridiculously enraging, how he could allow Bruce to even be around Jason Todd. It usually didn’t bother Tim, and was one of the things Tim accepted about Bruce. The lack of monogamy.

But now? Staring at Jason’s smug face that Tim itched to break? It made Tim’s blood boil.

He was more important and useful to Bruce than Jason could ever be. And Tim didn’t have a pile of bodies on his ledger. He actually knew he to behave like a person and not a wild animal.

Ironic how they looked now, then.

Jason’s face split into a feral grin. He leaned forward. “Yeah, Tim,” his tone mocked the one Bruce used. “Let’s behave ourselves.”

Tim could see it in Jason’s eyes. How angry he was, how he was holding back everything that Tim couldn’t. His little show was a facade and Tim damn well knew it.

He wanted to rip Tim apart just as badly.

Now it was Jason who Bruce gave the look to. “This is easier for you to control than it is for him, Jason. Don’t try to provoke him.”

Tim hated how he was spoken about as if he wasn’t even there. Like he was some hapless child throwing a temper tantrum that Bruce was indulging, but sharing quiet whispers about with the real adults.

Like he thought Jason could control himself better than Tim just because Jason had experience with the Lazarus Pit, making him less susceptible to anger manipulation.

At least that was the working theory, currently. Jason’s working theory was simply that he was better than Tim. It was when he said that, that Tim suggested the handcuffs. He had enough of his wits left about him to know he’d sort of regret killing Jason Todd, no matter how badly he wanted to right now.

Jason just shrugged at Bruce’s words and relaxed back into his chair, crossing his legs. “He shouldn’t be so easily provokable then.”

“You know damn well-” Tim started.

“Timothy.” Bruce put a command in his voice that he rarely used with Tim. It made Tim straighten on instinct. The endless patience Bruce had was getting worn more and more thin with every jab and insult traded between Tim and Jason. He looked like he was at his wit’s end. “Don’t listen to him.”

A slow, deep breath did nothing to calm Tim’s nerves. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood and then resisted the urge to spit it at Bruce. “B, I love you, but you have no idea how hard this is. Especially around him of all people.”

The look that crossed Bruce’s face was pained. They always danced around the elephant in the room, that was Bruce accepting Jason back into the fold a little too quickly for everyone’s comfort. It was his soft spot showing. Even when Tim wasn’t under the influence of a drug he didn’t like it and had tried several times to warn Bruce that Jason was a lost cause.

It’d caused a lot of arguments on their best days. Weeks of not speaking to each other on their worst.

And because Tim was the dutiful partner, the loving Robin, he always gave in first. Bruce needed him. In some ways, romantically. But in most ways, Bruce just needed genuine companionship from someone who wasn’t batshit crazy and murdering drug lords like it was a sport. That was Tim’s job. A job he liked, even.

Not that he was too fond of it right now.

They both knew, deep down Bruce had desperate wants of Jason and Tim getting along. The soft comments Bruce made about how well Tim and Jason could work together in a hypothetical always held an unspoken meaning. It wasn’t actually about Tim working with Jason on the field. It was about the fantasy of them being in Bruce’s bed at the same time, loving each other the way they loved him.

That would happen over Tim’s cold, dead body.

“I know,” Bruce said quietly. He reached out for Tim, then seeing the look in Tim’s eye, seemed to think against it and pulled his hand back. It only made Tim angrier. Angry Bruce didn’t currently trust Tim to give him affection. Angry Bruce was right not to trust him. So goddamn angry that despite craving comfort, all Tim wanted to do was bite the hand that fed him. A frustrated growl came out of Tim’s throat and he kicked the ground.

“You know,” Jason drawled, studying Tim with his barely contained madness, “I’m glad for it, honestly. I was starting to think you didn’t have any bite in you at all, Drake. Least we all know what it takes for you to finally snap.”

Tim opened his mouth for a biting insult, but looked at Bruce. He took a deep breath. “I hope all this self-restraint you’re showing is a lesson you keep when all this is over. The last thing we need is for you to go on another murder rampage because someone hurt your feelings.”

Jason’s eyes flared. His hands curled into fists. “Oh, you have no idea the self-restraint I show. If you want to see on a real rampage I’ll fucking-”

“Enough!” Bruce slammed a hand on the console. He ran his hand over his face and sighed. “I have more files on fear toxin in my study I need to find.” Bruce looked between them, giving them both a hard stare. “Can you two manage not to tear each other apart while I’m gone?”

“Ask him,” Jason shrugged. He was trying to sound nonchalant again, but he spoke through grit teeth. “I’m just fine over here.”

Tim just held up his cuffed hands, showing where the chain ended, keeping him firmly connected to the steel chair. “I couldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted to.”

Bruce nodded. He passed one more look between the two of them. “I’ll be right back. We’ll figure this out, I promise.” Again, he looked like he wanted to reach out. To which of them, Tim wasn’t sure. probably both, which sent an involuntary wave of disgust through his body. If Bruce touched Jason in front of him, Tim was probably going to puke. Bruce turned on his heel and walked out of the cave. They both watched his figure slowly disappear from view.

Before Tim could even turn to Jason and say something, he was tackled to the ground by a blindingly fast and heavy human body.

“What the-” Tim started, raising his hands to protect his face when a fist tried to come down on it. “How the fuck-”

Jason was wearing a grin that had gone completely mad, in every definition of the word. He had easily pinned Tim to the ground, a knee on Tim’s chest. Jason’s hands were still cuffed together but somehow, he’d undone the chain connecting him to his chair. Which boded particularly poorly for Tim, who was still chained to his chair, giving his arms a limited range of movement to defend himself.

Of course, Jason had picked the lock without either of them noticing.

“Thought you were the smart one, Drake,” Jason sneered. His hands were forced together, so when he reached for his waist with one hand they both had to move away from Tim’s face. “You really fucking thought I’d willingly hand over all my weapons to Bruce in a room with you?” He pulled a small, switchblade out from under his waistband and flipped it open. “I wouldn’t have even if I wasn’t drugged.”

“I knew you were acting, you fucking bastard,” Tim snarled. He didn’t have a weapon. It had been his suggestion to hand all of them over to Bruce because Tim was trying to be reasonable.

He should’ve fucking known better. There was never any reasoning with Jason.

Tim still had his bare hands. He launched them toward Jason’s throat. They managed to curl around flesh, nails just starting to dig in, when Jason stabbed Tim in the hand. Tim yelled, yanking his hand away and taking the other one with it.

That was the other shitty part of the anger. It made pain harder to ignore.

“Had to convince Bruce it was okay to leave you alone with me,” Jason said, shrugging slightly. “Figured I would only get one chance.” He raised the knife and tried to bring it down on Tim’s face. Tim managed to stop him, getting the knife tangled in the chains. “For fuck’s sake.” Jason shifted his weight. He pulled the knife free and brought up his over leg, using it to pin down the chain under his boot. Without any slack, Tim’s hands were forced against the ground, tugging uselessly.

“I will rip you apart with my teeth if I have to,” Tim growled, trying to snap at Jason’s face to prove his point.

Jason easily dodged and laughed. “I’d like to see you try. Maybe It’ll make you interesting, for once.” He brought the knife down and held it to Tim’s throat. “Grayson, I could’ve understood. He’s a pretty guy. Got a good sense of humor on him. Even Gordon. I don’t like her, but I could’ve respected it.” Jason’s face twisted into an ugly look, staring down at Tim with utter contempt. “But you? I have to share Bruce with you of all people? My goddamn replacement? That’s just fucking insulting.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten yourself killed then,” Tim shot back. “You were easy to replace.”

“Yeah, provoke the guy with a knife to your throat,” Jason pressed the blade against Tim’s skin until a drop of blood was sliding down his adam’s apple. “I’ll show you what a dead Robin looks like.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You really think Bruce will forgive you for killing me?” He tugged at the chain as hard as he could. It still wasn’t budging. “He’d tear you apart.”

“Yeah, I really do,” Jason mocked Tim. He leaned in close enough for Tim to smell mint on Jason’s breath. “He always does. He’ll just blame it on the toxin. We both know he always forgives me no matter what I do.” His grin was a ghastly thing. “Can you say the same, Drake?”

Tim just growled. He headbutted Jason, not caring about the knife. If he was going to die, he would at least leave his mark.

Jason jerked back, rubbing his nose. Tim had hopefully broken it. Blood was already starting to pour down Jason’s face. Jason had the audacity to laugh. “Cute.” He rubbed his nose for a moment, feeling the bone. “You know I’m not going to kill you, though. That would be way too nice.”

“Nice?” Tim scoffed. “Did you finally learn the meaning of mercy, or something?”

“For you? Never.” Jason brought the knife to Tim’s face. “I just want to make you wish you were dead.” he dug the blade into Tim’s temple and Tim yelled, feeling it cut through his skin all the way down to his jaw. “What part of you do I have to mutilate to make Bruce stop loving you?”

Tim didn’t say anything. He was too busy trying to blink through the pain of a shallow cut that should’ve felt like nothing. Instead, it felt like a hot iron had branded the entire left side of Tim’s face, melting most of his skin off.

“What’s so pretty it could make Bruce like someone as pathetic as you?” Jason pressed on. He put another cut across Tim’s face, slashing through his cheek. “You’ve got a nice face. Is that it?” He leaned back so he could rip Tim’s shirt apart, exposing Tim’s chest. “We both know Bruce is a physical guy. Maybe it’s something else.” The blade trailed across Tim’s chest, looking for the next place to cut.

Tim managed to get leverage against the concrete with his feet. He pushed himself up as hard and fast as he could, throwing Jason off of him. Before Jason had the chance to recover, Tim launched himself forward and wrapped the chain around Jason’s throat.

“Maybe his love for you is only skin deep,” Tim pulled the chain as tight as it could go, watching Jason’s face turn red without oxygen. The rational part of him knew he was taking too much pleasure in watching Jason struggle for air. The rest of him didn’t care. “But Bruce actually loves me.”

Jason snarled. “He’s loved me longer.”

He wildly stabbed at Tim until the knife sank into Tim’s forearm. Tim screamed and let go, giving Jason slack to breathe, getting a hand under the chain and yanking hard on it. Tim didn’t fall off of Jason but instead fell into him. Their bodies were pressed together, and Jason used it as an excuse to wrap the chain around Tim, forcing them against each other.

“Can’t get away from me now,” Jason whispered into Tim’s ear. He ripped his knife out of Tim’s arm.

“You really want to be this close to me?” Tim asked. He tried to headbutt Jason again but didn’t have enough damned room to move. “Your fucking funeral.”

“I’m the one with the knife,” Jason said in a sing-song voice. He wiggled his arms between them and brought the knife against Tim’s crotch. Tim had his pants as a layer of fabric protecting him, but he still went rigid. “Is it here? Is this what Bruce likes so much? Go on. Tell me how he likes to fuck you, Drake. Bet you’re real fucking vanilla about it and he has to be all nice to you.”

“You sound jealous,” Tim tried to bite Jason, who kept pulling his head away. “You’re the one who needs to hear him say he’s proud of you just to come. I’m not the one of us who cries during sex.”

“How the hell-” Jason’s whole body jerked in anger.

Tim knew his grin was feral. “Trust me, I know all the embarrassing details. Bruce talks about it all the time.” That wasn’t entirely true. Tim had just overheard it once when Bruce forgot to turn off his comms. But the lie was far more embarrassing for Jason.

“I could make you cry,” Jason sounded angrier than Tim had ever heard him, which was a hell of a feat. “He’s just not fucking you hard enough. Putting you in your goddamn place like you deserve.”

“You want to fuck me, now?” Tim taunted. “I thought you hated me.”

“Too vanilla to know what hatefucking is, Drake?” Jason shot back. He pressed the knife harder into Tim’s crotch. “I could make you fucking beg for it.”

“Like hell.”

“You wanna find out?” Jason asked.

Tim paused his struggles. He pulled back and gave Jason an incredulous look. “You’re not actually serious.”

“Either I kill you, torture you, or bitch you.” Jason shrugged. He dug the knife down enough to cut open Tim’s pants. The fabric tore loudly. “I’ll let you pick.”

“I’ll kill you first,” Tim shot back. He refused to take the offer seriously.

He didn’t know what his answer would be, if it was a serious offer, so it was better for Tim to not think about it entirely.

“Scared you’ll like it?” Jason was just mocking him now. “If I ruin you enough, you’ll come crawling back for me instead of Bruce. And besides,” Jason lowered his voice to a purr, “we both know he’d pay to watch. Bet he’d even help me hold you down.”

Against his will, Tim shuddered. His anger was clouding his judgment, making it hard to figure out what other emotions were there. Maybe there was arousal. Maybe it was fear.

Tim always had trouble telling the difference.

“Have you always wanted to fuck me?” Tim avoided everything Jason was saying. It made him too dizzy to think about.

Jason just gave him a shrug. “Can’t say I haven’t wondered what’s so special about fucking you that he keeps doing it. Is your ass really that good or something?”

Tim snorted. He had no idea Jason didn’t know. “He doesn’t fuck me in the ass.”

“What?” Jason’s brow furrowed.

“If I had a dick down there, you’d have cut it by now,” Tim pointed out, looking down at the knife.

Jason frowned. He dug the knife deeper, ripping open a bigger hole in the fabric of Tim’s pants until he could force his hand inside, thankfully the one that wasn’t holding the knife. Tim tried to kick, but he couldn’t stop Jason’s hand from groping until it found his cunt, pressing against Tim’s underwear.

“Son of a bitch,” Jason said. “Well, that makes you even easier to fuck. Now I don’t need prep.”

“You’re not fucking me,” Tim snarled, trying to get away from Jason’s hand. his skin was too hot, to have Jason that close to his most sensitive areas. He didn’t want to know what his body would do if Jason got past the thin barrier of fabric between him and Tim’s skin.

“You haven’t actually told me no yet,” Jason pointed out. He managed to cut apart Tim’s underwear, a cold reminder of how close the knife was to his cunt. Thick fingers pressed against Tim’s hole until two managed to sink in. “You’re wet.”

“No, I’m not,” Tim gasped, even though he could feel it. The easy slide of Jason’s fingers inside of him, the way there was no resistance from his body. He still wasn’t ready to admit to himself that he wanted this. Not when he wanted Jason dead just as badly. Tim opened his mouth to say something more, but Jason brushed a thumb over his clit. “Oh god.”

“if I’m being honest with you,” Jason hummed, starting to move his fingers inside of Tim, “I think it’s a lot easier to be horny than angry right now. That’s the only damn feeling that works to fight this.”

He was right and Tim hated him for it. The anger thrumming under his skin pulled back, just slightly, to make room for arousal. It made Tim want to give in, just so he could have anything to latch onto besides cold, empty fury.

And Jason’s fingers felt good inside of him. They arched right up into Tim’s sweet spot, making him gasp and jerk.

“How quick do you think I can make you come?” Jason asked. He worked his fingers and thumb together, finding a good pace. Like he knew exactly how Tim liked it.

“Fuck you,” Tim groaned, throwing his head back.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Jason said.

They both knew he wouldn’t. Tim didn’t want Jason to stop. If Jason stopped, Tim would probably grab the knife and gut him.

“I hate you.” Tim’s hips were moving against his will. He was acutely aware the knife was still down there too, but he put a small amount of trust in Jason to not let it trust.

“It’s mutual,” Jason agreed. He shifted his hips until they were pressed against Tim’s thigh. He was hard. Tim could feel the outline of Jason’s cock as Jason started to rut, grinding against Tim for friction. A low moan came out of him, going straight to Tim’s core.

Jason was kind of handsome, at least. Especially with blood all over his face.

“Now are you gonna come for me or what?” Jason growled into Tim’s ear. “Show me exactly how much you hate me, Drake. I want to fucking feel it.”

“You’re a bastard who doesn’t deserve Bruce,” Tim whined as Jason’s fingers worked him. Rubbing his clit and thrusting into his sweet spot. It was a sweet, torturous distraction from his rage, but it still didn’t make the feeling quite go away.

“Agreed.” Jason shrugged, seeming unbothered by the statement. He groaned again, pressing his forehead against Tim’s. “I’m still better than you, though. You’re the little bitch who’s never going to forget what being fucked by me feels like. Maybe I’ll be nice enough that you’ll enjoy it and jerk off to it every time you’re wet.”

The thought of jerking off to Jason repulsed Tim. Yet it was the same thought that sent his orgasm through him, like a shock to his core. He yelled, so loud it echoed through the cave. His hole clenched around Jason’s fingers as his body worked through the spasms of pleasure.

For one glorious moment, Tim didn’t notice his anger. He just had the beautiful crescendo of pleasure crashing down on him, making his body sing.

“Isn’t that fucking adorable,” Jason gasped, grinding harder against Tim. You’re finally not annoying for once. No wonder Bruce fucks you. It’s the only way someone can enjoy being around you.”

The words were mean and Tim wanted to snap back, but he was boneless. Every insult from Jason was a new aftershock of pleasure down Tim’s spine.

Tim opened his mouth to find something to say, but he was cut off.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bruce stood at the mouth of the cave, staring at them with wide eyes. He looked just as angry as Tim felt, stalking over to where they were pinned and bloody on the floor. “Jason if you hurt him-”

“I’m fingering him, actually,” Jason corrected lazily, still grinding his hips.

Bruce stopped walking. “What?”

Jason thrust his fingers inside Tim to make his point, pulling a cry out of Tim. He was oversensitive from his orgasm and couldn’t get away from the pressure against his g-spot. “You should be proud of us. We’re getting along pretty well.”

Sure they were. Like Tim’s face wasn’t cut up and Jason’s nose wasn’t broken.

“You…” Bruce trailed off, breath caught in his throat. Tim watched his pupils dilate.

“He’s enjoying himself. Just came on my fingers,” Jason said. He pressed the knife against Tim’s thigh as a warning. “Right, Drake?”

Tim bit back a remark. He nodded.

“I promise to behave if you let me fuck him,” Jason looked up at Bruce. He was definitely lying. “We should both fuck him. See how much he can take. I’ll even keep the cuffs on just to be nice.”

Tim couldn’t stop the soft moan that came out of him at the thought.

Bruce looked between them. His eyes settled on Tim. “Are you-”

“Yes,” Tim said. “Please?”

As soon as Tim said the magic word, Bruce was by their side, taking his clothes off. Jason groaned in victory. He grinned against Tim’s cheek. “Now we can have some real fun.”

[starcatching]

siyeon doing sua's no dot challenge 💀 221120 warsaw fancam by me

[whitherwanderer]

Everything's so farrrrrr... 😩

[sweet-peachie]

Thinking about a yandere with a depressed darling.

A yandere who's patient with you no matter how bad it gets. On easier days, when it's just the lingering inexplicable sadness that has you staring off into space every now and then between conversations, he's quick to jump to another topic to distract your mind. When he sees your gaze lower and your brows pinch in thought, he makes your favorite meal under the guise of having been craving it himself. When you're both sitting on the couch and he sees your leg bounce, your fingers trembling against your thighs - he feigns tiredness and leans against you to 'absentmindedly' take your hand in his.

A yandere that on harder days, ones where you can't even muster up the energy to get up from your shared bed, stays there with you for hours on end. Arms wrapped around your waist and his face buried in your hair. If you're lying down, he'll let you rest against his chest and listen to the sound of his heartbeat - the soft sound lulling you into a state of calm. If you're sitting up, he'll keep his arms around you and gently rock the both of you back and forth, keeping his weight pressed against you to keep you grounded. You enjoy silence? No problem, he finds the quiet peaceful too. You need background noise to distract yourself from your thoughts? He's going on and on about anything and everything he can think of.

He tries his best to only leave your side for absolute necessities at the start of these periods. He knows that taking care of you when you're down makes you feel guilty, so he never makes it seem like he's only doing something just for you (even if he knows he is).

He's feeling pretty hungry. No worries though, he'll just go ahead and order some food from that restaurant you both (read: you) like. No, you don't have to get up from the bed to get it from the door, he needed to use the bathroom anyway so he'll just grab it on his way back!

(He was never really hungry. Hell, he could survive off of the smell of you alone if he could. But he'd be damned if you didn't get at least one full meal in today.)

A yandere that never judges you for your lack of motivation to take care of yourself sometimes. You don't feel like you can take a shower today? That's perfectly fine, a missed shower or two never hurt anyone! You felt too drained to brush your teeth before you went to sleep? That's alright, he's feeling pretty tired too so you're both in the same boat! Even if you're someone who prefers to eat in bed because you don't have the energy to eat at the dining table, he doesn't mind one bit. Crumbs aren't an issue for him, and having to wash the sheets is only a small sacrifice to make sure you're comfortable. Hell, if you didn't feel so iffy about it he'd even feed you if you asked.

A yandere that never in his wildest dreams would ever shame you for something you can't control. But, he does care about your health, of course, so he wouldn't allow you to skip too many days of hygiene without stepping in. One of his favorite things to do with you is shared self-care. If you don't take a shower that day, you can both just take one together the following day. He takes great care in washing you off, lathering your hair in your favorite scented shampoo and conditioner before turning around and letting you do the same to him. If you don't feel like brushing your teeth or washing your face that night, that's perfectly fine, he's already setting up a playlist for you two to dance to in front of the mirror when you both get it done tomorrow instead.

A yandere that, although he makes sure you're comfortable during your more difficult days, still wants to help you gradually recover. If your lack of motivation and tiredness spans over a few days or more, he'll slowly but surely coax you out of bed. First it starts out small, like using the restroom or grabbing something from the other side of the room. And then it moves on to leaving the room entirely, getting you to stay outside for longer and longer intervals until the emptiness is finally pushed to the back of your mind once again - dormant until the next time it rears its ugly head. But that's okay. Progress is slow, and it's far from perfect. And he'll tell you just how proud he is that you've taken a step further, no matter how small it may seem.

A yandere that doesn't consider you a burden for the way you feel. Who doesn't ask what caused your mood, even if the shift was sudden. Who doesn't judge you when you fall back into old habits (now, with larger intervals in between) - your hair getting tangled, your skin oily and your clothes stained. Because no matter what he'll be there with you every step of the way, and he'll happily help you up again and again.

[rivangel]

//male!reader, praise, oral (m!receiving), canonverse, overstim

It’s too much energy to open your heavy, tired eyes when you speak. “You’re affectionate this morning.”

“Hm.” Levi clings a little tighter, if laying flat on top of you wasn’t enough. Instead of a rebuke, he buries his face in your neck.

He’s much smaller than you, and so his weight resting on top is comforting somehow. You slide your hand up his back and rub in slow circles. The warm, rippled sensation of his bare muscles are satisfying to the touch. Soothes your scuffs and scratches since you got back from an expedition the evening before. That would be why Levi is clingy, and why he didn’t act annoyed when you pointed it out.

Nothing necessarily happened—no close calls. But it was an expedition. A rough one, at that.

You kiss the top of his head, nosing his silky hair and the breezy scent of fresh soap. Something so familiar brings you home somehow, even though you’re safely behind the Walls again, and together in your bed.

He raises his head. There are tired wrinkles under his eyes, but there always are. He looks ethereal in the golden morning light. Although his hair is a bit of a wreck.

Smiling, you rake your fingers through the wild tufts.

His eyes flutter. With a fond sigh, he lays his soft lips on yours, gentle, but passionate.

There’s always a chance that when you all leave the Walls, you won’t come back. It’s a little easier for you to get used to, knowing what Levi’s capable of. He’s simply not like anyone else, but the same can’t be said about you. You think… despite the fact he trusts you, or, even if you were somehow at his level, he’s scared of losing you. He’s scared of losing.

You tilt your head, capturing his lips once more. A silent sigh washes over your face.

With a wet smack, he pulls away. “Your breath stinks.”

Then he kisses your chin, trailing deep, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“I wonder who kissed me first,” you muse, teasing. You woke up to him on you like this—Levi definitely didn’t sleep much. It’s hard to, after.

“Hm.” He nibbles at a spot just above your collarbone, and thumbs at your nipple, toying almost. “Must’ve been a ghost.”

Your breath hitches. “Must’ve been.”

You affectionately play with his hair and turn your head to make more room.

But he’s already on his way down. He kisses your left chest, right over your heart as his palms kneed, then press your soft pecs together. A hot ache stirs down below. You nibble your lip and squirm.

“Like playing with these. Easy to make you hard.” He watches your shifting expression through his lashes, demure, as his thumbs flick your nipples.

“Easy to make me beg, you mean,” you breathe, hard now. You’re confident he can feel it pinned against his navel.

“You should spread your legs.”

You obey, wiggling your briefs down while your at it, as his mouth gets busy kissing down and down. Your cock slaps your navel once freed, messy and leaking, you can feel.

Levi seems plenty satisfied to leave them at your thighs. His head disappears under the duvet, replaced by the feeling of his heavy tongue gliding up your cock.

“Oh,” is punched from your chest, further dissolving into a soft, satisfied moan as he buries it in his mouth, smoothly to the bottom, all at once. Lithe palms find your thighs, pinning them down and apart.

It’s almost like he’s doing it just because he wants your dick in his mouth. There’s no rush to his firm sucking, despite how quick he got to it.

Well, he can have you. You curl your toes and rub his shoulders as all that soft, tight heat sucks you in over and over again. Under the blankets, you can spot the slight shifts when he bobs his head. You want to see him.

He slides it down his throat again, swallowing as he squeezes your thigh, and his hand disappears. It reappears, squeezing and working your balls.

“Levi,” you gasp, squeezing his nape. You don’t want to gag him, but his mouth is too good.

He moans when you lay your hand on that spot, still swallowing, lazily now. The vibrations send delightful shivers up your spine. He squeezes your round balls.

“I wanna see you…” Your palm slides into his hair, tugging faintly.

He moans a disagreeing sound in answer, and sucks tighter as if to argue. You know he’s hollowing his cheeks, swallowing deep. It’s throbbing on his tongue, you can feel, pulling another rich noise from him.

There’s no way he can breathe down there, and he can’t see you, so why? Maybe he’s getting even more pleasure out of this than you. Giving you head—making you feel good, making you come—for his own comfort isn’t the first odd thing about Levi. It’s charming.

So you tilt your head back and simply enjoy it, letting loose all the sounds he’s stealing from your heaving chest, mindlessly stroking his hair.

“God, you feel so good… Keep going. Suck it just like that.”

By his needy increase in speed, you think he likes the praise just as much as sucking your cock in of itself. His relaxed pace never falters, but in his occasional whines and his tongue lapping into your slit like a thirsty kitten betrays how needy he is for you to come down his throat.

“Levi… Levi…” Your thighs tense.

Within moments of rapidly bobbing his head, when his sucking becomes greedy, a gasp steals the air from your lungs. “Baby, I’m gonna come—”

To none of your surprise, he sinks all the way down and swallows, ripping you over the edge. You hear yourself yelp his name and break out into uncontrollable shivers. Your throbbing cock twitches heavy buried in his mouth, tight and hot as you shoot your cum down his throat. He squeezes and tugs on your balls as if to milk every last drop out of you. Your whole face feels hot.

“P-Please please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for when you’re completely soft, and he hasn’t faltered at all. Tangled in your fingers, you pull his hair a little tighter than you meant, which just makes him louder.

A muffled whimper can be heard before you feel him drag your hand down, lacing your fingers on the sheets beside your hip, which squeeze. He wants to keep going. Thrills shoot through your belly.

“Hah…” You find yourself smiling. “You want more…? You can have more. Harder, baby.”

[t-u-i-t-c]

Bakuage Sentai BoonBoomger

The Rampage is Mine

[amphibianaday]

day 1317

drawn one frame at a time without looking at the previous frame. over a period of 72 days so i was more likely to forget

for this version i tweaked the positions to make a nicer more steady arc, and added a final frame to better blend between the first and last frame. and made it loop better!

[marcusagrippa]

you met him when you were ten, and some might say it was by chance but you know it was not. fortuna was his uncle’s mistress, after all, not his. there were scraped knees and bloody noses and a gravitational pull that scared you (something apollonian, maybe - a disc around the head that only you could see), young as you were, and you lost a tooth that day but gained a friend. he was almost a head shorter than you and half the size, and he wheezed when he talked and his bones were the wrong shape and you could fit your thumb and forefinger in a neat circle around his wrist with room to spare, but something old in you knew that the world would be brought to its knees by those grey eyes and slim hands. 

you ran away from the house where you saw your father’s skull crack open on the kitchen floor and he taught you greek on the temple steps below a red-faced god, and the first time it happened it was over aristophanes, of all things. you were twelve but looked older and he had a limp and his hair was too long and when you kissed him he didn’t stop you, he barely even blinked, he just smiled and went back to correcting your pronunciation after you pulled away. you’d wonder later whether you’d dreamed it but at night you knew that there would always be a part of you stuck in that moment - under jupiter’s gaze with a hand in his hair and greek on your lips. 

the first time you begged him you were sixteen and your brother was in libya. you didn’t think suicide was contagious, but it couldn’t hurt to make sure, so you asked him for mercy over dinner and he said he’d think about it, of course, you had to understand that his uncle was a very busy man with a lot to worry about, a lot on his plate, but he’d see what he could do. you both climbed the tower that evening, the one he nearly fell from as a child, and he watched the sun set over the city’s skyline but all you could watch was the way the shards of fading light touched his face. you’re still not sure if he knew just how deep you’d already managed to fall but it didn’t really matter when he met your lips with his own that night. the second time was better - longer - and he tasted like wine and honey, and it would not be the last.

you were seventeen and at sea and he looked like he was dying, all sunken cheeks and pale skin and sweat-soaked hair clinging damply to his forehead, and your shared quarters smelled like vomit for a week while the ship crossed to hispania. his voice was weak and that halo had dimmed and when you held him in your arms to try and quell his trembling he was lighter and frailer than a bird. you were scared. the strength was there, the strength was always there, but it was buried under feverish sweats and wracking coughs and hatchling bones that felt like to snap at the gentlest touch. you stayed - because you always stayed. you wiped his brow, held back his hair, soothed him and cared for him even in the height of his delirium. that voyage was when you found out about his nightmares; the ones that tore through him more savagely than the fever and left him sobbing and shaking like a child in your arms. they sent words spilling from his lips, words you can’t remember (don’t want to remember), frenzied and hoarse and almost incoherent. 

you wonder now if curses can flow backwards in time. you wonder now if he deserved it. 

the news came the week after the prophecy did. (the astrologer had kissed his feet - fallen to the floor and kissed his damned feet, and you had seen the strange distant look on his face as he was revered and worshipped, and that was the first time you remember that ice stab of fear piercing your chest as you watched him.) the letter fell from his hands like last summer’s dying leaves and he had stumbled, because who wouldn’t, really, in that situation, and when your hands hooked under his arms to keep him up you could feel the way he shook. that was that, then - the idyll was shattered. the future was set. alea iacta est. 

the lists went up a year later and you knew without words that your sword would be the one bloodied by the end. 

you were twenty-one years old and on your knees in front of him. his hand was in your hair and his eyes were dark and you swore you could feel the drained life still caked under your fingernails, and when he forced your head back to make you look up you couldn’t tear your eyes away - he would be a god, you knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt he would be a god. (if only you had known what kind.) a few soft words and a sharp tug and you found yourself pressed to him, mosaic tiles digging into your shins, neck aching as he held your gaze. a quiet question and a whispered reply - ‘yes, caesar,’ you said, but the words under the surface were all too clear. don’t think them, don’t speak them. the name was a promise, you thought, and the promise was not worth the struggle to take back. 

he took you in the temple against the column and for a little while, with your face pressed into the hollow of his neck and your fingers digging into his skin, you could imagine with the sun within you that nothing had changed at all. 

[crazyexdirkfriend]

snippet from an unfinished multichapter by me, Tony ao3 user artreactor, from 2016

--------

If someone had told Jake English at the beginning that, aged twenty-two, he'd still be dating Dirk Strider, he would have completely believed them to be quite honest.

Of course, his reasons for being in a relationship with Dirk now are far different from what they were when he was fifteen. At that age, Jake honestly believed that entering a relationship with the other would be the commitment equivalent of tying an anchor to his leg and throwing himself into the Pacific Ocean. Dirk's despotic nature was inescapable, suffocating and he was always more likely to drown from it than from a silly anchor. Once he let Dirk kiss him (with blood in his mouth, under his tongue, prying it from cold, dead-) there was no way Dirk would ever let him go.

But Dirk letting him go is precisely the reason that he now has an iron clad grip on Jake's hair, plaiting it with the intensity he used to direct into aggressive courtship.

There's a certain safety in knowing that there is an entire universe, made with the aid of his own hands, sprawling outside their room. Any time he wants, Jake can simply run down the stairs of their communal living quarters and escape into seemingly endless vast fields and plains of green. Knowing that he's here because he wants to be and not out of some disheartening feeling of inevitability makes him far more comfortable with Dirk's presence and that's obviously one major step towards a healthy romantic relationship. Dirk would let him go if he wanted to and that's really all it takes to make him want to stay. Jake is not a fussy guy.

For example, Dirk is probably doing a terrible job of fixing his hair right now and Jake won't even bat an eyelid if he looks in the mirror and he's suddenly missing a few inches. He's been growing his hair since the game ended but of course it's never going to get to the length Jade's is, let alone how long his grandmother's was. Getting a comb through it most mornings is difficult enough and once it gets below his shoulders the knots simply have to be cut out. It's far too much hassle to maintain even if the idea of having floor length hair sort of gives him a fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

“Are you almost done?” he asks, impatient and he hears Dirk click his tongue behind him.

“Almost,” he replies and Jake feels him triple tie an elastic hair tie around the last of the plaits. Jade gave him a little over one hundred after becoming tired of watching him fail to remove hair from his plate during meal times but he's lost all but seven at this point.

When Dirk's hands leave his hair, Jake shakes his head, feeling the plaits thwack against his cheeks and neck. Dirk dutifully leans back to narrowly avoid a bobbon to the face. He grins, almost apologetic. “Thank you once again, bro,” he says, “Although I think you're starting to have a knack for this. Perhaps you missed your calling?”

“I've enough hair stress of my own,” comes the easy reply as Dirk lies back on the sofa, pushing his legs forward in a way that forces Jake to either stand up and move away or defiantly lie down on top of him. Jake chooses the latter.

“Of course you do. You've only what, eight more years of a not receding hairline to enjoy?” He earns a shove to the shoulder for that. It's an irrationally sore subject but all he can do is titter.

“I've always got hats, broski,” he says but there's a tilt of worry in his voice that makes Jake choke out another chortle.

He didn't ever expect to find continuous streams of bro puns charming or endearing let alone expect to pick them up himself. He always thought he'd be more of a romantic cliche nickname kind of guy. Darling, honey, sweetheart, love. But Dirk awkwardly stammered out a “babe” three years ago and hasn't tried since and Jake's surprisingly satisfied with that.

“But if you wear a hat, what are you going to do with your shirts?” he asks, pulling out the collar of Dirk's tank top before letting it fall back against his collarbone. “You can't possibly be thinking of changing your brand this late in the game, surely?”

“Don't sweat, I'm not delusional yet. Wearing a hat on my shirt is still the vastly superior thing.”

“Good. I was worried perhaps you were going both loony and bald.”

He shoves Jake off of him and he rolls on to the floor. It's completely worth it and Dirk's scowl is almost audible over the exaggerated laughter from the ground.

They stay like that for a few moments until Jake's tittering dies down and his chest stops heaving. Once that happens, Dirk casually rolls off the sofa, landing on top of the other with a soft thump. Jake's breath leaves him again, stifling whatever complaints were bubbling up in his mouth. Before he can catch his breath again, Dirk leans in, rubbing their noses together in that silly, endearing way he does to allow Jake time to move away if he wants to.

It's been six years, yes, but there are still times where Jake does not want to be close to anyone, let alone close enough to breathe in Dirk's second hand air. Those times come more often than he would especially like but they come with the battle scars. Jake supposes it's a testemant to their maturity that now he can vocalise when he needs space and Dirk will give it to him, no qualms.

But today is not a day Jake moves away. Instead, he tilts his head, moving in to press his lips chastely against Dirk's. They stay like that for a few moments, shallowly breathing through their noses, before he pulls away, grinning widely. It's a beat before Dirk's face splits to match.

The serenity lasts a further thirty seconds before Jake finds himself crushed under Dirk plus an added weight that could only be Roxy if her grin looming over Dirk's shoulder wasn't any indicator.

“I can't breathe,” Jake complains, wheezing. Dirk's elbow is stuck into his ribcage and his hip bone is poking his thigh.

“If you couldn't breathe, talking would also be an impossibility,” Rose says simply, upside down from Jake's view as she stands with the toes of her shoes pressed against his scalp.

“Yeah, besides, you weren't complainin' about breathing when your tongue was down DiStri's throat,” Roxy croons and Jake's ears go pinker than her lipstick.

“No offense, but I'd rather macking on my bro be the cause of my suffocation than being crushed under your weight, Lalonde,” Dirk says but she only laughs.

“Rose, get in on this!”

“I couldn't possibly have the deaths of two so young on my conscience.”

Roxy somehow convinces Calliope to join in when she walks through the room and it's only when they're distracted with things Jake feels like he should be averting his eyes for that Dirk manages to heave both of them off him in a swift roll. Rose gives Jake a hand up to the sounds of Roxy wrestling Dirk to the ground for accidentally rolling Calliope into the coffee table. Jane is shouted in less than two minutes later to survey the prisoner, caught between Roxy's knees as she sits firmly, and triumphantly, on his chest. The resident detective solemnly notes that the only punishment fit for the crime of accidentally tossing a cherub into a piece of furniture is twenty years hard time, which apparently means enduring ten minutes of furious tickling. Jake thinks it's all slightly ridiculous.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

[candywraptor]

blondes Ch. 10 WIP

That weird feeling twisted in his stomach, that odd melancholic pang and he realized with a flutter of alarm what it was. Loss.  Alastor had known grief in his life, the absence of something that was supposed to be there - the disappearance of the familiar and wanted. But he had never wanted for Lucifer Morningstar. The opposite - his desire was that he left the Radio Demon alone, served his purpose and got out of the way. So why did it matter if he was gone?  What an odd, stupid thing to feel.

Link to fic.

I'm gonna start posting WIPs every once in awhile - for everything not just blondes.

If you don't want them - or are worried about spoilers (there should never be any but for the very cautious) - you can block the tag "wip-ped cream"!

This is a huge chapter - it's going to end around or over 20k. Editing is going to kill me - but it's a fun chapter!

Well. "Fun" is an odd word but you'll see!

[onlyzhuyilong]

X

[myopicry]

Hi hi! It's ya girrrlll

So I read your rant (delightful BTW, I'm a nosey hater at heart lol) and am here to ramble too! :3

Firstly though, I'm really sorry for the situation you're in and hope it gets better. I'm lucky enough to have an accepting family (my parents and sister at the very least) and to have recently moved to western Europe where it's pretty progressive(?) in terms of lgbt stuff (ignore the fascists and right wingers behind me trying to access the governments), but I can imagine how isolating your experiences might feel. Hang in there, there are better things in store, I'm sure!

Now for the rest of your rant, I found that you've raised some interesting points, notably about how amabs can easily take on the lesbian label while some afabs have yet to claim it for themselves due to the homophobia they mightve endured and amabs probably haven't thus far (they probably dealt with transphobia as transfems, which I'm not gonna diminish no matter my views on transgenderism, but they probably haven't really dealt with lesbo/homophobia especially if they're pre-transition). Afterall, lesbian transfems were probably straight guys before, and their orientation is sure as hell not condemned by the wider society.

It kind of reminds me of this one lesbian transgirl ik who I met on a server on discord and formed a group of online friends there which included her. I knew her before she came out/identified as trans and I remember at that time she'd sometimes mention how she'd listen to lewd asmr of girls and such. She also talked about how she wished she was lesbian. So I, being the lesbian debator I am, basically said that that's not a great thing to say (I refrained from saying it sounds fetishy), but she replied with basically saying that I don't understand and that lesbian love or whatever is so "pure" unlike hetero love or something. So guess how I felt when she started identifying as a lesbian trans girl and later found out it's something observable in a portion of the online transbian community (not saying every transbian is like this, but still). (Oh yh she also (sort of?) cheated on her gf so there's that but I don't think it's related.)

I think I feel a similar sentiment as you in the sense that while I can sympathise with some of the struggles transfems may face, I find it irritating at times when people seem to go above and beyond to label/treat them as "the most sapphic and lesbian ever" as you put it, most of the time in an effort to validate their identity and place in the sapphic and wider lgbt community, when they probably never had to face the struggles afab sapphics were faced with since forever and more importantly some say some... Questionable things about their orientation and attraction to women. Not all obviously, but still. Am I making any sense lol?

I definetely don't think transbians have 0 place in the sapphic community, I think it's a complicated matter and there can be some gray areas (I also have grown increasingly distant from the (at least online) lgbt/lesbian community the past year so idrc about most discourse ig), but I kind of wish this was all treated more "normally" if that makes sense and that afab lesbians or sapphic could talk about certain things related to their orientation without constantly being scrutinised to make sure they're including trans folk in everything ever. I also kind of wish we could call out problematic behaviour in trans people without being called transphobic, but I think this applies to specific cases mostly.

Anyway I think I was mostly nonsensical here, apologies, but feel free to reply to whatever you managed to latch onto here lol.

Also, if you ever feel the need to vent and don't feel comfortable airing those issues on tumblr.com for whatever reason, my dms are always open, I check into this hellsite daily <3

~🪼

(wow retroactive preface I go on a long ass ramble about semantics in this I apologize in advance for how many times you might have to read the word "definition" lmao)

hey!! so happy to keep seeing you here around these parts (my inbox, that is) and I'm glad you especially do get some enjoyment out of my far less polished vent posts :p I always feel bad when I post something so singularly interesting to me and me alone because it is just a full on personal blog moment, but to be fair to myself this entire blog is an exercise in actually voicing my own opinions and feelings for the sake of learning to express myself better, and it is nice to know even in the least poignant or least thought out posts, it isn't just fully self-beneficial lmao

I also (of course, as always) appreciated your response! honestly, I admire how level-headed and nuanced you can be with these topics, I myself often feel like I swing wildly from being harsher with my words and trying desperately to be as passive as possible to appease everyone, and I do have to say it is an ongoing challenge for me sometimes to strike that perfect balance between understanding but still standing by my convictions and not solely focused on people pleasing. it's a bit of a weird life, in my private time I do feel like I tend to be highly cynical and sort of an asshole lolol, especially towards other people, but in public I would never dare say any of the things I think because at the end of the day, I do still feel as if preserving friendly atmospheres among peers is paramount to being a productive part of a society. I'm like the opposite of the asshole with a heart of gold trope, in a way. gold with the heart of an asshole lmao

all that to say, I think you make some really astute observations that are still compassionate to trans women who identify as lesbian, while still pointing out the objective faults of their common language and behavior! I really think this (like so many issues whose current is pushed most strongly by the english speaking west) is a matter of semantics for the most part. labels, communities based on labels, and their inherent flaws I guess. because I really have no problem with someone identifying as a trans woman and also having a sexuality surrounding liking women, or if they want to talk about it or even if they want to define it separately than heterosexual attraction. it's their attraction, and I'm not the ceo of how people choose to define their own sexuality (and I wouldn't want to be, that sounds like a headache job lmao). for me, I think the issue really comes with when personal definitions of sexuality are enforced upon others, and when suddenly, highly personal definitions become community-defining ones. the term "sapphic" is such a great example of this weird treatment of labels and their definitions. the term "sapphic" can mean a lot of different things to different people, despite the fact that it is, at its core, a term held together by a single definition. in our society people will ideologically define every single word in a definition differently (ex. what does love mean? what does a woman mean (lol)?) and so even a fairly universal term can be personal based on one's own framework of thinking. BUT the thing is, a lot of transbians/people who identify as queer/tra positive/whatever you want to call the current hegemonic popular opinions of the lgbtq+ have taken to a personal definition of words like lesbian and sapphic, and have decided to supplant the originally fairly universal term and replace it with something that does kind of inadvertently alienate a lot of people who identify with the most "neutral" and non-ideological version of the definition (women who love/are attracted to women). instead, the basic definition has essentially shifted in its meta, though the words stay the same, the meaning is pushed to imply these terms can be understood as "someone who identifies as a woman who loves/are attracted to people who they identify as women" and that's just both too broad and too specific at the same time, excluding those who don't agree with the notion of identifying into what was previously understood as a sex class, and including people who wouldn't have even met the original definitional criteria to begin with. this, in turn, creates a vacuum in meaning, allowing for "aesthetic" to take over as the primary meaning of the term. I think that's where that "weirdness" comes in.

it's hard to find community with people who are coming at the definition of what the community is built on from a completely different direction. when I think of being "sapphic" (other than the brainrotting pop culture/online/algorithmically driven stereotypes) I simply think of being attracted to my same sex, that being female, and that being women. but, I would assume for transfems, they obviously don't have the simple way of just relying on same sex attraction as a definition, because they don't see the world in that way definitionally, and must apply more effort to justify why their attraction to women deserves to distinctively be defined from regular opposite sex attraction. that's where we get the strange insistence on sapphic love being more "pure" or making their entire personality curated towards "sapphic culture". in a way, though on the surface I am still pretty jealous that they get the privilege to express these thoughts and be backed up so strongly by people I know who would care less about me, I do feel bad that they must subconsciously feel the need to "prove" they meet the criteria for these labels because for them, there is no easy, biologically material fitting of the definition. I personally will have never have to care that much about fitting lesbian stereotypes or involving my life in sapphic culture. in fact, I basically can't not be sapphic. it's just the only way my future looks. it's the only way my attraction manifests. people will see me as a lesbian (well, that or a nerdy disheveled teenage boy at first glance lmao) just based on how I don't present in a way that centers men. it's the only way I fall in love.

and yeah, it really would be nice if there was space for a community where we could discuss that reality, openly, in mainstream progressive spaces! but for reasons that would be pretty bleak if we unraveled them, people would much rather play these games of labels and proving your place in them than creating avenues for people to congregate in spaces that actually bring them community and cater to their needs.

as always after these really really tangled word threads I slowly begin to run out of steam so I'll just wrap this up and say you made excellent points dear anon! maybe one day we can all just accept that sometimes definitions should be exclusive in that they exclude people who don't fit them, and not exclusive in the way that they exclude people who do fit them, and that afab women, and especially afab sapphics, deserve the right to preserve spaces for themselves without having to worry about appeasing men or anyone they don't want to!

and wow holy shit this is a whole lot of words trying to pick apart the way words can mean other words sometimes I would not blame anyone if they skim most of it lmao.

tl;dr the meta of labels and their definitions are kinda dumb and I'm maybe more dumb for spending so much time thinking about them

and lastly, thank you for the kind offer of your dm space as an area for venting! perhaps...I will take you up on that offer...it is inevitable I will be struck by another petty urge to vent about people in my life because I continue to work with people who are essentially the most fascinating but headache inducing parts of tumblr and twitter personified and I do still primarily have very "gendery" friends irl! we'll see if I end up having anything interesting to say about it though first, or if I can bear to actually talk to someone online once instead of passively yelling into the digital void!