#like did he dye it? did it lighten with age?

[biscoitocraft]

Otcho's lopsided little smirk never changing with age

[lautakwah]

list of men i have insane genvy for who bleached their hair: andy lau (1998/1999), zhu yilong (apparently???? jesus christ. not even for a film i think)

[mossdogs]

my takes on the clones (+ scudworth and mr b) in the future :)

yapping under the cut

joan works as a director on her experimental arthouse films, which she shows at festivals. even though they aren't very successful, they managed to attract a few niche audiences. when she isn't working on her movies, she makes ends meet at hot topic. in senior year of high school, she and confucius decided to try things again, and both got married a few decades later (oh and also, she got her psylly legs cured!)

abe got a degree in history and works as a high school history teacher. he tried to get into law school in an attempt to live up to his clonefather but dropped out as soon as he realized that it wasn't for him. he gained a lot more confidence that his teen self, and even fixed his posture (would you look at that!)

jfk was at his peak when he played college football, managing to get into a few amateur yet prestigious leagues. now he works as a coach to younger (and sometimes irritatingly inexperienced) teams. he moved with abe to big city usa after they got married.

cleo began working as a model taking advantage of the fact that she's a clone of queen cleopatra (although people don't think it's literal). she went through a few plastic surgeries because she couldn't bear the thought of aging, even if they aren't that noticeable (still). she goes as far as dyeing her hair at least twice a week (grey hairs are for ugly old people, which she isn't!) and follows the same skincare routine she did as a teen, hence why she looks like she hasn't aged that much.

gandhi got thawed out approximately 30 years after the others did when one of the janitors accidentally broke the thermostat of the meat locker. if adapting to the 2020's was hard for the clones then 2053 is no easy task either. what happens after he gets out? i have no idea

harriet was an actress in a few plays for a while and even got to stage twister: the game: the musical at a local theatre, which recieved mixed reviews but got people talking for a while nonetheless. she lost touch with pretty much everybody else except for joan and frida: the three still hang out whenever they can.

confucius pretty much had his whole life sorted out after graduation: he was going to enjoy his foster parents' fortune and not go to college. however, his plans quickly went south when jernice and archibald were tragically mauled by a bear while attempting to hunt it, leaving their inheritance to confucius' foster sister. he works as a computer technician and sometimes helps his wife with her films. he occasionally phones jfk to chat for a bit, since the two remained pretty close.

frida went to art school and works as a painter, doing commissions and selling her art. she had a band on her youth with her college friends, where she was the lead singer and guitarist. after she and cleo moved out from exclamation, they adopted two cats and a xoloitzcuintle dog named señor xólotl, who is like a child to them

topher and the bleacher creatures became incredibly popular after cloney island was destroyed, given that villain village was a success. they received offers to perform in movies, series and attend interviews: people were fascinated by them. their fame was quickly cut short when a brand new, much better texas themed park was build where cloney island once was a few years later, stealing all the attention from them. topher now works as a janitor in clone high. when he isn't removing gum from under tables or unclogging toilet pipes, he spends time on his computer accompanied by his four therapy possums. he still hangs out with the bleacher creatures and they all make the lives of the most insufferable students miserable, just to lighten up his work a bit. some students who were littering reported snakes coming out of their lockers and biting them, and they never knew why.

scudworth and mr b live in a retirement home. the only one who visits them is joan, who sometimes phones or visits them whenever she's in town. because of this, scudworth has developed some resignation towards the others, which he spills out to mr b on an almost daily basis. despite this, deep down he misses them a lot and wishes he could see them.

the first pic's quality is dogshit on mobile for some reason so here's some closeups:

[bucketspammer4life]

how i think the boxers were like in their teen years

was resting bc im sick but punchy men cant wait

Glass joe - was wayy more optimistic and cheery, knew how to cheer himself up, also dyed his hair blonde & lightened it pretty often so his hair was crusty and broke like glass (pun very intended )and hated his childhood photos, used to make fun of people who wear turtleneck sweaters but that didnt age well, looks back at his teen years with sadness

Von Kaiser - was very stern & cold, had a very shitty mustache and a bowl cut, wore actual boxing shorts before his overalls, had very oversized boots that he still wears today because he grew into them, shrieks in embarrasment anytime someone pulls up his teenage photos

Disco Kid - actually used to be a dancing coach and primarily did boxercise, once he started boxing he dropped boxercise and went all out on boxing, used to grow out his hair but cut if off since it distracted him, had his natural hair color, looks back at his teen years with nostalgia (and regret since he cant really cut back on the hair dye now, got into it because of joe)

King Hippo - was actually very tiny, Just shot up in height someday during his teen years, also had a light er voice and a crown that was wayy too big for him, it was passed down from his dad so he still has it & loves it with his entire heart, his boxing shorts still fell down a lot though, looks back at his teen years with joy since he thinks he used to look adorable

Piston Hondo - had longer hair and used to strut his shit, was more of a dickwad, had a belt and did less meditation, mellowed out pretty well since he used to go nuts in the ring flying from place to place, rolls his eyes anytime someone brings up his teen years

Bear Hugger - had a baby face and couldnt really grow a beard, so he had his cheeks pinched very often, used to be happy and still is happy, also met mrs bear's mom at this age during a foraging trip, looks back at his teen photos very happily, if he could go back in time he would pinch his teen-selves cheeks

Great Tiger - his magic sucked ass, his clones were distorted, kept flickering in & out of reality and couldnt stay more than a few seconds, didnt have his mustache & had a buzzcut so he looks back at his photos with anger because of his shitty hair when he didnt have his turban

Don Flamenco - wasnt balding & had longer hair that was wavy, used to be smaller so he was underestimated a lot, had just started bullfighting on the side, looks back at his teen years with sadness, mainly for his hair and lack of anger

Aran Ryan - OHOHHOHH this man wins the award for the worst teenage photos, he had a skaterboy era and the worst hair ever, had a very shitty beard that was growing only on one side, anytime someone pulls those pictures up he runs away

Soda Popinski - Literally unrecognizable, had light brown hair & a buzzcut, didnt drink much soda except for rough matches and was built like a twig, once he started upping the amp on the soda his hair fell out a bit and he got ripped, looks back at his teen photos and laughs at his buzzcut

Bald Bull - oh you think the current bull is scary? You should have seen him then!! He had curly hair and was small but a lot faster, he also headbutted people a lot more but stopped because of health issues, his hair fell out from anger & ripping them out from stress, looks back at his teen years with nostalgia because he missed having hair

Super Macho Man - Literally your average surfer dude, went for the dilfbaiting when he turned 29, dressed like a fratboy and had blonde hair + used spray tans, looks back at his photos and calls himself "gnarly"

Mr Sandman - was wayy tinier except for his arms and used to have glasses, he switched to contacts after having his 19th pair broken, likes making fun of his old photos, also had braces so he was the 🤓 emoji irl for a while

[wooahaes]

to dye for

pairing: non-idol!woozi x gn!reader

prompt: soulmate au series. 4/13

word count: 2.4k

warnings: small bit of angst over jihoon thinking he doesn’t have a soulmate. jihoon gets kinda yelled at for dyeing his hair. 

daisy’s notes: ok ignore the fact im posting this not even a full day later and also the fact the ending is bad!! a girl is trying rn.

summary: Jihoon doesn’t have a soulmate. He’s positive. He’s never shown the signs before. And yet one lost bet against Soonyoung results in dyed hair and a surprise the next morning…

For a really long time, Jihoon had been positive he didn’t have a soulmate. His parents had comforted him over it (which, at age ten, made him feel... weird. Lost. Like he was broken). It felt weirder when he grew up, listening to classmates talk about their signs. Weirder in college, where he watched people run into their soulmates or make an active effort in finding them. And maybe it started to stop feeling so bad when he met his current circle of friends, who, despite their initial efforts, began to let him cope with his feelings as he needed to: through his music.

They initially had tried to tell him that soulmates were overrated--Soonyoung later ended up confiding in him that he hadn’t shown any signs, and neither did Vernon or Seokmin--and that plenty of people didn’t have a soulmate and were fine on their own. Jihoon shouldn’t feel incomplete (which, actually, Jihoon never said?) or alone because he wasn’t: he had his friends, and he could always date later on if he chose to. Maybe the comfort was a little misguided and something he hadn’t asked for, but he could appreciate it. That conversation happened long before three members of their friend circle found their soulmates, the most recent having been two months ago. That led to questions, and listening to those questions led to other people (namely the ones without signs) to get a little too caught up in thoughts.

There was comfort in knowing they weren’t alone, though. Soonyoung had confessed to Jihoon that he was glad that, if he didn’t have a soulmate, that maybe the other people in the circle would help him feel more normal. It wasn’t as lonely an existence if you had other people with the same circumstance. It hurt, though: Jihoon could see how starry-eyed Soonyoung would get over the idea of a soulmate.

And, honestly, Jihoon couldn’t lie: he knew he spent too much time checking his skin for words, for a name, or pinching himself and hoping to feel someone else pinch back or to taste what they’re eating or to start missing colors. Maybe he was a late bloomer. He never voiced those things to anyone, and he never planned on it. If the others believed he didn’t care about having a soulmate, then it was fine. He could be fine like that. The idea of someone being built-in to love you was... hard to swallow, after all. Love took time. Despite the way that Seungkwan seemed to claim that he and his soulmate were getting along perfectly from day one (Vernon had given him a weird look that quickly disproved that statement), Jihoon knew that you had to fall in love with someone slowly, the way Wonwoo and his soulmate seemed to be moving. So he had focused his energy elsewhere in the meantime, working on his music throughout his entire life.

It gave him something to do. He never heard anyone sing back when he sang, though, so mark that one off the list. He sang often enough to himself that his soulmate should have sung something back so he knew they were alive. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Are you sure you want to do this?“ Joshua asked for the third time that night, mixing up developer with the lightener.

It wasn’t as if he could go back now, products already open and mixed, but Jihoon could appreciate the check-in.

“I can always just bleach someone else’s hair,” he said, pulling the gloves on. “I’m sure Mingyu would be okay with it. He’s been wanting to go blonde for a while--”

“It’s fine,” Jihoon said, looking at the box of bright pink dye in his hands. One lost bet against Soonyoung and of course it’d be the one that’d result in him dyeing his hair. He’d already donned one of Joshua’s old shirts just to keep from ruining his own clothes. “Just do it.”

Joshua nodded, and began to section out parts of his hair. “You really got unlucky with this one,” he hummed, already beginning to apply the bleach to the end of his hairs. “But you’re also really lucky that I’ve done this enough times for Jeonghan that I won’t fry your hair.”

He resisted the urge to nod, just humming in acknowledgement as Joshua continued to work carefully. Loser had to dye their hair the color of the winner’s choice, and Soonyoung had spent approximately half a second before grabbing cotton candy pink off the shelf when he saw it. The bet was stupid, but it was.. whatever at this point. No point in dwelling on it. All of their friends were sitting out in the living room, waiting as Soonyoung likely entertained the crowd while Jihoon sat through this bleaching process. Joshua sang softly under his breath the same lyrics that he had been working on with Jihoon for the past few weeks whenever Joshua wasn’t busy with work.

“You went too high,” Jihoon said offhandedly, trying to distract himself from the box dye in his hands. He left his phone out in the other room, and he already knew that Soonyoung was probably filling it with silly dumb selfies that Jihoon would delete half of before filing the rest away for blackmail (and maybe a little bit because that was his best friend, too--he’d made one dumb rap song with Soonyoung before just to tease Seungcheol, after all).

Joshua merely chuckled as he continued to work, finishing the application at his roots. “So... Do you wanna go back out while it’s setting--”

“No.”

Joshua laughed. “I’ll grab your phone so you can do something,” he said, setting aside everything. “Then we’ll go pink, alright?”

He just nodded, watching Joshua disappear from the bathroom before he let out a sigh. The bleach burned and smelled like shit, but there was no going back at this point. He could already see the way his hair was lightening. Soonyoung better watch his ass if the pink looked awful on him. Jihoon could hear someone laughing--Junhui’s laugh, Jihoon was positive that he knew it anywhere--in the other room. He could hear the muffled sound of Joshua calling out for someone to give him Jihoon’s phone, someone else laughing (Seungcheol, Jihoon thought, but he wasn’t positive because whoever it was was farther away from the bathroom than Jun and it was harder to hear). The door opened a moment later.

“He’s not coming out until it’s done,” Joshua called back over his shoulder, before stepping back in. He handed over Jihoon’s phone before sinking down to sit on the floor, pulling out his own. “Soonyoung had it,” he said. “Just so you know.”

Jihoon set his contact photo to the stupidest selfie that Soonyoung took. “You don’t have to stay in here.”

“It’s fine,” Joshua said. “I’ve gotta keep an eye on it anyway. For what it’s worth... I think it’ll look good,” he said. Jihoon glanced up to see Joshua already smiling at him, eyes lit up with that mischievous look he’d get whenever he was around Jeonghan. “Pink might be your color.”

The next half hour was spent in relative quiet, aside from the occasional talk of the song they were working on. Lyrical changes Jihoon wanted to make to make things flow smoother, the guiding track he was almost done working on. Joshua could come up any time and get in the booth and get his part of the work over with, and Jihoon was happy to work with him. It’d come soon enough. The bleach was washed out soon enough, Joshua humming to himself again.

Joshua knew this process well enough, apparently. Soon enough they’d dried his hair completely and Jihoon was watching him mix up the pink dye. His hair was covered in it again, and he stared at the pink stains along his skin as Joshua started to clean them up.

“It’ll look good,” he promised again.

Jihoon shut his eyes as Joshua helped wash out that second round of dye. He was never taking stupid bets again. Even if the sound of the group losing their shit at his new hair color, dried and styled with the help of Joshua, was amusing to hear. Even Seungcheol, who couldn’t see the exact color (and started shouting for people to take pictures because he wanted to see it, and he would), made Jihoon laugh.

Maybe he’d keep it until his roots started coming back in. He promised at least a full week with it. He’d have to steal Soonyoung’s color-safe shampoo, but it’d be fine. Soonyoung owed him that at least.

The two returned home after a night of drinks and games with their friends, and Jihoon took one last look at himself after running through his nightly routine before he started to fiddle with his hair. It looked good. He honestly kind of liked it, if he was being honest. He ruffled his hair a little more, and resolved to find away to make it look better in the morning.

And then he woke up to his hair dyed a completely different color--a more natural shade than the bright ass pink he’d had--and Jihoon suddenly realized that he had a soulmate. 

He grabbed Soonyoung and made an appointment at whatever place would take him that same day to dye his hair another color. Fuck waiting. It might be a dick move, especially if you went out and spend good money erasing the aftermath of a lost bet on his end, but you could be mad at him once you found each other. A place took the appointment, and soon enough he was sitting in a chair listening to Soonyoung joke that Jihoon should thank him with dinner that night since he wouldn’t have discovered his sign without him.

(He’d do that, in the end, because Soonyoung... did deserve something. Jihoon was fully ready to go his entire life with his natural color, and unless you decided to dye your hair, he’d never find out you were out there.)

He went bleach blonde again, and then bright red. He could stand out in crowds like that, if he was lucky enough that you were in the city. When it was dyed back days later, he went bright purple. Again, and he kept it bright yellow. Any loud and proud sign that he was right there and looking for you. Someone joked that all it took was one bet with Soonyoung for Jihoon to decide he liked dyeing his hair. They shut up immediately when he made it clear that his soulmate would have the same shade and to stop whoever they had to for him. Everyone promised to keep a look out, and he was more than thankful. Someone had thought they found you, but the shades of green were too far off: his was neon, the other person’s was a little too dark.

He did meet her, though, and wished her well. She told him to keep looking. They’d find their soulmates eventually. Jihoon let himself hold onto that hope for once.

Before his appointments, he started going to beauty stores in order to get ideas on what color to go next. It felt silly to repeat colors so soon, and he was torn between maybe bright orange to replace the pastel blue he’d settled on before. You hadn’t dyed your hair again, but Jihoon was waiting for it. He was thankful for soulmate discounts, the documented pictures of his hair being dyed back too quick while his hair stayed healthy enough to prove that this was a soulmate thing, otherwise his bank account would be hurting too hard for him to keep doing this.

He pulled up his phone, snapping a picture of the oranges he was debating between. He’d send it into the group chat to get a second opinion. He could hear the door to the store chime from where he stood, and he started typing out his message.

“YOU.”

Jihoon looked to see... you. You, standing there at the end of the aisle with the same bright blue hair, were fuming. He could see the cashier already nervous, leaning forward enough to see him as you made your approach.

“You absolute fucking dick. Do you know how mortifying it is to be in the middle of a meeting when your hair starts turning platinum blonde?! My coworkers wouldn’t stop laughing because I got stuck with the schmuck who has a weird thing for dyeing his hair! They keep looking at me weird because I tried to cover it up the first few times before my boss told me to stop killing my hair!” You balled your fists, and Jihoon could say nothing as you let out a groan. “It’s bullshit! I mean, okay, cool, we found each other because of this, but I can’t keep going to work like this!” You motioned toward your hair. “I need people to take me seriously!”

Jihoon gaped at you, unsure of what to say. “Sorry,” he settled on. “I just wanted to find you.”

“So did I, asshole,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “We’re getting that shit removed right now even if I have to pay for it.”

“I really think you should just dye your hair,” Jihoon said. “I don’t think mine can handle it.”

He watched the anger slowly drain from your face as it suddenly dawned on you that... you found him. Even if you’d been pissed before, his bright colors had led you to him in the end, just as they were supposed to. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You let out a sigh, “and that one of my friends was in the area. He tipped me off and swore the colors matched.” You looked at him and then smiled, introducing yourself. “Your soulmate, I guess.”

“Jihoon,” he said. “Do you wanna... talk more?”

You laughed softly. “Yeah,” you said, taking a step back. “I think that’d be good. Just... no more hair dye after this, yeah? I’m sure the pink looked way better on you than it did me.” You stared at him for a moment, noticing the way that color had begun flooding into his face. “It definitely does now, at least.”

This would be a fun story in the future, at least. He erased his text to his friends, deleting the picture off the message, and replaced it with a “I found them. I’ll update you guys later.” before Jihoon made a call to his usual stylist. He’d sit with you the entire time while you were getting your hair fixed, already deciding that he liked you. The hair dye he could promise to avoid, but the way you were already turning his face red? That one he couldn’t.

And honestly? He didn’t want to. You could turn his face red any day with your cute quips and quirks and Jihoon would be completely fine with it.

[watermelonlipstick]

Dean’s Jeans 2

What better day to post a sweet little family oneshot than Mother’s Day? This is the same setup as Dean’s Jeans, just a different late summer afternoon on your cul-de-sac with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and their cousin DJ. I already have bare-bones drafts of a few other installments for these cuties, especially considering this one got a little deeper than I had intended. Stay tuned!

Title: Dean’s Jeans 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5561

Summary: Spending the afternoon working on the driveway with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and nephew.

Warnings: fluff, some family angst, minor injury, little dollop of smut at the end

           It was a big day for driveways and garages.

           You had been sitting in the apron of Sam’s drawing loopy pastel paths with DJ and your eldest daughter for your youngest to roll her cousin’s old matchbox cars down, watching adoringly as everyone’s palms and knees got covered in chalk dust. When the concrete was relatively full and the older two started getting a little antsy, you decided to try to stave off any bored bickering ahead of time.

           “Babe, is our garage unlocked?” you called over to Dean where he was trying to snake an extension cord out of Sam’s front door and down the porch.

           “Should be. Why, what’s up?”

           “I thought maybe DJ could take Picasso here over to the park to break in her new bike.” You turned to your nephew, sitting with his arms resting on his knees. He was just barely starting to fill out around the delicate Winchester features that had made him such an angelic looking child, the angle of his jaw seeming to sharpen every day, growing rapidly though you might still be able to throw him over your shoulder in a pinch. Hopefully it was a sign that he wasn’t destined for the late puberty you knew had frustrated Sam so much when he was younger; at least he could have one gift from his other parent, lost otherwise to the wind without as much as a periodic birthday card. Not the time for that thought, you reminded yourself, refocusing on the child’s glossy hair, carbon copy of his father’s with sun-lightened tips this late into summer. Dean would’ve taken him to get a haircut about a month ago, but as you and Sam both reminded him: not his hair, not his kid. It made you smile and likely made Sam proud that at his age, where so many kids were rebelling against their parents, DJ didn’t mind looking exactly like his dad. Somehow you had a hard time believing Sam would want to rush that process of teenage rebellion along. “What do you think, Deej?”

           Your elder daughter squealed and threw her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him onto the driveway. “Please please? Maybe Sarah and Davey can come too.” Her inclusion of the Fiore siblings into the mix was smart. They lived between your cul de sac and the park and were pretty similar in age to DJ and your older daughter. You suspected she thought on some level that DJ was on the cusp of being too cool to hang out with his baby cousin, but hanging out with the Fiores as a group gave them a little more social grace. Hopefully she’d realize, as you had, that DJ absolutely adored her and would likely rather catch some flack from his peers than drift apart.

           “Yeah but I’m not carrying your bike up the hill if your legs get tired,” he grinned at his cousin, who immediately took off across the street to get her bike from the garage.

           Sam and Dean had to move their whole setup from in front of Sam’s garage door so DJ could get his own bike out, the step ladder, extension cord, and electric drill going into the lawn next to the rest of their project, the basketball hoop. He almost got to the end of the driveway, swinging his leg over the seat, before Sam stopped him. “Nice try. Helmet, please,” he called out after his son, who reluctantly dropped the mountain bike onto the pavement and trudged back into the garage to pull a sticker-covered helmet out of a box and throw it on his head. By the time he made it into the street his cousin had done the same, yelling out over her shoulder for you to Mommypleaseclosethegaragethankyou as she tried to pump petite legs to keep up.

           You were thankful that your youngest seemed to be fully engrossed in the chalk patterns on the driveway and hadn’t seemed to notice the other kids’ leaving, not interested in having an argument about whether she was too little or not to go with them alone. Trusting the older kids or not, she was small and curious in a way that led to her sometimes running off to explore, and you didn’t want to add that into the mix. After a while, she picked up the green again, moving up the driveway to draw a picture of a dragon and immediately swipe hair out of her face, covering it with fluorescent dust. She got to her feet, and the amount of colorful powder on her made you beyond thankful that it was Dean’s turn to give her a bath that night. Crossing the driveway in a few skittering steps, she wrapped herself around Dean’s legs, practically leaving a silhouette imprint of herself on his jeans as he ruffled her hair. The way they had worn out and lost much of their dye over the years highlighted the contrast.

           “Daddy, come look! It’s a dragon!”

           Dean and Sam exchanged a smirk and Dean winked at you. “A dragon? Sounds scary.”

           “No, he’s a nice dragon,” she insisted, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the driveway, leaving Sam to drill holes into the wood above his garage door.

           “A nice dragon, huh? What’s his name?” Dean asked, grinning as he let her lead him.

           “Maurice,” she said, so matter of fact it made you laugh out loud. Sam did too, pulling the drill out of the wall to keep from wiggling the holes. “Can you do the fire?”

           “’Course I can, princess. How big are we talking?” He eased down to sit cross-legged next to Maurice The Dragon, accepting when you offered him yellow and orange sticks of chalk. You leaned back in the afternoon sun with a lap full of matchbox cars listening to the radio Sam had brought out to the porch, the chalk scratching on the concrete, and the rhythmic drilling of holes into siding for a few minutes.

           “Dean?” Sam asked, backing down the step ladder.

           “Got it,” he answered, putting a little flair on a lick of fire that went around Maurice’s nose and handing your daughter the chalk. “I need to help Uncle Sammy for a minute but I can come right back, sound fair? Your mom is better at scales anyway.” The girl seemed to consider it for a second then pouted her lips out in agreement, tilting her head to the side just like her dad did all the time. Dean got up creakily and brushed off his hands on his back pockets, the orange joining the other stains like an abstract painting.

           “You guys need any help?” you called over to Sam, who was trying to stabilize the hoop with long arms and struggling a little bit to keep it balanced in the light wind, powerful muscles rippling in his forearms and impressing upon you how heavy it must truly be if even he was having trouble with it.

           “Actually, yeah, that would be great,” he chuckled, jerking his chin to Dean to suggest his brother help him hold it up. He did, grabbing one side and having to reach up to his tip toes to match Sam’s stretch.  They were both standing on a kind of bastardized stool Dean had thrown together for this purpose, a few planks of wood balanced on some huge cinderblocks that had been in the garden holding up one of Sam’s compost setups. “It’s just those 12 screws, holes should already be lined up.”

           You climbed up on the ladder with the drill, having to crane to reach over even with the added height. When the last was in, the Winchesters carefully removed their hands. Seeing that it didn’t immediately fall, Dean grabbed the bottom corner and tried his best to rattle it to no avail. “Good job, babe,” he said, lightly smacking your ass as you backed down the ladder.

           “Watch out,” Sam said over your shoulder, and you saw him walking backwards a handful of steps down the driveway, being cautious to avoid his niece and her drawings.

           “Dude, there’s no way you can—” Dean started, cut off by Sam taking a running jump and leaping into the air, catching the rim of the hoop like nothing and doing a baby pull-up on the metal.

           “Can what?” Sam cackled, punching Dean’s arm playfully as he dropped to the pavement. “Don’t be jealous, old man.”

           “Jealous of Sasquatch? You can practically reach it standing, Lurch.”

           “Yeah, okay. Let me know when you can get up there without a stool and a trampoline.”

           You were giggling as Sam and Dean started putting all their tools way when DJ’s bike came flying around the corner. Neither he nor his cousin were wearing helmets, and she was wrapped around his chest like a novelty monkey backpack, her legs circling his waist and her arms clinging to his neck. He had to arch around her to see, but you could tell from the half-block length away that he was saying something to her. By the time they got close enough to get reprimanded for the lack of helmets, or for one of their dads to ask where the other bike was, you could hear the crying.

           Sam crossed over to his son in long, purposeful strides, holding his handlebars so he could dismount without letting go of your daughter. “What happened?” he asked, taking the girl from DJ’s arms and smoothing her hair back with a soothing palm. As he turned, you could see the blood trickling down her raw knees and elbows.

           DJ was visibly rattled, trying hard to calm his breathing down and tensing his bottom lip when it began to quiver. “Davey and I went down that big hill and, she—she was going too fast, and, um, she fell—I, I told her we could practice later but these guys were saying only babies couldn’t do it, I swear I didn’t know she would—” and then his voice broke, fat tears finally breaking through and crashing down his face. Sam nodded to you and Dean, murmuring some comforting things to your eldest as he carried her up the porch steps into his house. At the exact same time as if practiced—that same rapid, implicit communication they’d had on hunts now used to coordinate hugging their children in tandem, you thought to yourself—Dean wrapped his nephew up in a big bear hug, cradling the boy’s head and sweeping his hand up and down his back.

           “Hey, come on, you’re okay. She’s okay, she’s just shaken up, kid. Shhh shhh shhh, hey, come on, deep breaths. You’re okay,” he hummed into DJ’s hair. He gave you a tight nod over the kid’s shoulder to keep drawing with your daughter. Only a few steps away, you could still hear him as he continued. “I’m so proud of you, Deej. Got her all the way home on your bike, that’s pretty badass.” He waited for a few moments of silence until his nephew caught his breath a little. “Probably scared you, right?” he asked, his voice low and calm as DJ nodded through tears into the growing wet spot on his uncle’s chest. “That’s okay, chief, I would’ve been freaked too.”

           You noticed he was rocking a little, almost like he did when he was trying to get the girls to sleep as babies, and it really emphasized the way that no matter how wise DJ seemed or whatever signs of puberty he might be showing, he was still a child, still the same baby you’d fallen in love with when Sam had gotten that call however many years ago. It took a few more minutes for the crying to subside to hiccupping breaths and seeming to sense that the moment had passed in some way, your baby girl grabbed your hand gently. “Mommy, is DJ okay?”

           “Yeah, sweetie. He was just scared for a minute.”

           “That’s why he needs a hug?”

           “Exactly. Everybody needs hugs sometimes.” Just as she had before when considering your ability to draw cartoon scales on a dragon named Maurice, she tilted her head and pouted in agreement. When you realized what she was about to do next you almost had to wipe a quick tear away yourself, watching her get up to hug DJ and sandwich him between herself and Dean.

           “It’s okay, DJ,” she whispered, the high tender pitch of her voice like one of those unsettlingly extreme medieval harmonies with her dad’s but so much sweeter, the bright welcome sting of lemon juice in a dense poundcake.

           A moment later, Sam came out onto the porch with his eldest niece. One of her knees was wrapped in gauze but the other and both elbows had what looked from the driveway like a collage of Spiderman band aids. Sam appeared to have a matching one on his forehead, and both of them were giggling, though her eyes still looked a little puffy and red.

           Dean looked up and turned DJ to see both of them, cradling the back of DJ’s head in one palm. “See? She’s okay, just needed a couple band aids.”

           Sam winked at his brother as he walked over and patted his son on the back, taking the band aid off his forehead as he went. “Buddy, we’re going to go grab the bike and your helmets. Is there anything else you think you left at the park?”

           His son shook his head up at his dad and leaned back from Dean’s embrace to rub his eyes. “Are you mad at me?” he croaked.

           “Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?” Sam asked, crouching down to a squat to look up at DJ. You had noticed he tended to do this in sensitive moments with all the children, trying his best to seem less looming. The first time you’d identified it, it made you a little sick to your stomach, realizing it likely wasn’t part of how inherently good he was with kids but because he knew what it was like to have an angry man towering over you. Thinking of it now had the same effect, especially compounded by the emphasis Dean had put on telling DJ he was proud of him even if his daughter had gotten hurt, that he too knew a protective kid was still just a kid.

           DJ sniffled hard once more, finally able to take a truly deep breath. “I didn’t wear my helmet home because I couldn’t see arou—”

           “Aw, DJ. No way am I mad at you.” Sam hugged his son and stood up, planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’m proud of you for getting both of you guys home safe. That was really smart, to get her on the bike with you like that.” You caught DJ’s tiny smile of pride at his father’s praise, watched it deepen a touch as Sam kissed his hair again. “So just the helmets and the bike?”

           He nodded and rubbed his eyes before peeking around Sam a little bit to see your daughter. “You’re really okay?” he asked, as though he didn’t trust the adults to be telling him the truth and would have to ascertain her safety for himself. You wondered if Sam and Dean would find that nice or insulting, that ultra-fierce, trust-but-verify loyalty.

           She nodded sort of sheepishly. “Sorry I didn’t listen about the hill, DJ.”

           “It’s okay.”

           The moment seemed a bit heavy for a half-second before Sam wrapped a big hand around your daughter’s shoulder with a reassuring smile. “Let’s go find that bike.”

           After helping Dean get his wheels back inside, DJ went up to his room. You had to resist the urge to follow him, cuddle up with him like you used to when he was small enough to tuck into your lap. If he wanted to be alone, he was old enough to decide that for himself. Dean put the rest of the tools and things from putting up the basketball hoop away and walked over to you where you were laying on the ground so your youngest daughter could trace your body with chalk.

           “I think we need a pick-me-up around here. How do you feel about i-c-e-c-r-e-a-m for dinner?”

           You smiled, knowing you only had a bit longer of these spelling secrets left as your baby got closer and closer to proficient reading age. “Works for me. I think we have 2 or 3 kinds in the garage freezer.”

           He smirked down at you. “Can you bring him over in about 15 minutes? They should be back by then.”

           You tossed him a thumbs up and watched him walk across the street, the way the denim draped around his bowed legs as he went.

           It was only five or six minutes later when Sam came up to the driveway, jogging alongside your daughter with DJ’s helmet in his hand. Of course Sam would know that she needed to get back on that bike right away, and of course he’d come up with something to make her laugh all the way home, even if that meant he had to run the entire distance on a late summer afternoon. He was slightly out of breath when he helped her dismount in the driveway.

           “My kid okay?” he asked, taking the other helmet so your daughter could go back to what was becoming a pretty spectacular chalk surrealist piece spanning the driveway.

           “He’s in his room, I think he will be. Your brother’s got a very Dean style plan for dinner in a few minutes if you’re hungry.”

           Sam looked down at his watch. “Yikes, I didn’t realize we were even close to dinnertime. Let me go wash my hands and grab DJ then we can go over together?”

           “Sounds perfect to me. And hey—Sam? Make sure he knows everyone thinks he did the right thing.”

           He nodded, and you watched his Adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallowed hard. Sam reached down and squeezed your hand, saying thank you without reopening the situation in front of the girls.

           They came out a few minutes later, Sam in a fresh t-shirt and DJ looking a little more cheerful coiled into his dad’s side. You bundled up the girls and walked over to your house, tipping your head in thanks as Sam opened the door. The girls were the first to see the spread and took off squealing into the kitchen, where Dean had effectively set up a tiny ice cream shop on your kitchen island. Sprinkles of all different kinds, those 3 tubs of ice cream you’d been right to remember were in the freezer, syrups and whipped cream and cherries and bananas and even chopped up peanut butter cups and Butterfinger bars from the stash Dean hid from the kids. He was already handing out bowls before you got into the kitchen.

           “Ah, ah! Hands need to be washed before anyone gets ice cream,” you insisted, shooting Dean a look of teasing reprimand.

           He rolled his eyes to your oldest daughter, sending her giggling conspiratorially to the kitchen sink. DJ, presumably having already washed his hands at his place, helped your youngest daughter reach by picking her up to the faucet when her sister was done. You crossed over to Dean, kissing him on the cheek and grabbing his hands for inspection. “Babe, you’re literally covered in chalk.”

           “You should be happy about me getting some extra calcium,” he winked, sticking out his tongue at you as you grabbed his ass on the way to the sink. “Mrs. Winchester!” he said in a faux-scandalized voice.

           As you washed your hands Sam manned the ice cream scoop, doling out much bigger bowls than he would normally, seeming to know as Dean did that a little levity might help the events of the day pass faster. After all the kids doctored up heaping mounds of ice cream and toppings to beat the band, you and the Winchester brothers stood around the island while they piled onto the couch to find a movie they could all agree on.

           “How’s our champ?” Dean asked, keeping his voice low.

           Sam shook up a can of whipped cream as he spoke. “He’s okay. Just feels guilty, I think. He says he should’ve stopped her from going down the hill.”

           “You think any kid of hers would’ve let someone tell her she couldn’t do anything?” Dean ribbed, accepting the gentle elbow you hit his side with.

           “I know that, but you know what it’s like. I think once he sees she’s really okay and no one blames him then he’ll be fine.”

           “Poor guy. Feels like that Winchester ‘weight of the world’ thing must be genetic.” You were partly joking but also partly not and they both knew it, looking pitiful and pitying for a beat before trying to cover with smiles. “He’s a great kid, Sam.”

           “Pretty much feels like you guys raised him as much as I did, I should be thanking you,” he murmured, drawing a lattice of butterscotch syrup over his whipped cream.

           You snaked an arm around his waist and gave him a sideways hug. “No, we’re lucky you let us know him.”

           Sam bent over and pressed his lips to your hair. “Seriously, thank you. I’m—I don’t know where we’d be if we didn’t, you know, I mean if we—”

           “Don’t strain yourself, Sammy,” Dean smiled affectionately, giving Sam a merciful out. “Tell you what, I sure wouldn’t have made it in damn Themyscira without you two around.”

           Sam chuckled down at the counter while you disentangled your arms. You took the chocolate sprinkles from in front of him and scattered a few in your bowl. “Themyscira? The hell is that?”

           Dean set down his ice cream exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes so hard he put a backwards bend in his spine, holding onto the island to keep his balance. “Babe. Themyscira. Home of the Amazons? Wonder Woman?”

           “Riiiight. I forgot I was married to such a dork.”

           “As long as you don’t forget how this ‘dork’ makes you screa—”

           “Dude, enough,” Sam groaned, exasperated. Dean waggled his eyebrows at you as his brother followed into the living room with the kids, taking the opportunity of temporary privacy to slip his tongue along your neck where it sloped into your shoulder.

           “Dean,” you hissed playfully, pushing his chest away from you. “They’re in the other room!”

           “You taste like chalk,” he smirked, before holding your gaze for a gooier beat than you would’ve expected. His eyes softened and he glanced down. “Thank you for letting me—letting us—take that, today. I know you’re better at the Mommy Dearest stuff or whatever, but it sometimes feels like, ah, getting a redo?” He cleared his throat where it had gotten a little thick. “You know, um, like proving that it doesn’t have to be the same?”

           It was a specific vulnerability he doesn’t often let you see, but you could tell by the softness both he and Sam had with all the kids, how they beat themselves up for days if they raised their voice for even a second, that they both thought about it all the time. In so many ways they were still those same little boys who wished they could’ve drawn on driveways with their parents, that their dad could’ve given them Spiderman band aids and told them everything was going to be okay.

           He didn’t have to explain further, and you gripped his hand to tell him so. “They needed you two, not me. For what it’s worth, I think you guys were a pretty great team today.”

           Dean smiled, and it was almost like the sleepy thankfulness he had on those nights when he got home and you’d charitably done a couple of his chores for him. He closed his eyes in invitation and you leaned forward, meeting his lips with the smell of ice cream in the air. “So come on, Super Dad. Let’s go watch a movie with these great kids everyone keeps talking about.”

           The ice cream had gotten put back in the freezer immediately to keep it frozen, but the toppings had all been left out during School of Rock. Sam and DJ had left a bit after the movie, playing a round of LIFE that had been pretty ambitiously started, considering the time, and ultimately abandoned when all the kids’ yawns started to sync up. You came downstairs after trading with Dean for bath/shower duty to get out of cleaning up all the sticky dishes, the girls falling asleep too quickly for a bedtime story after you’d made sure they were thoroughly scrubbed clean and any wet gauze was replaced.

           He was rinsing some bowls in the sink, the majority of the toppings slid to one side of the now wiped-down island. You sauntered up behind him, putting your chin on his shoulder. “Your jeans are still covered in chalk,” you sighed into his neck.

           “Your kid was practically using them as a napkin, so I’m not surprised.”

           “Like father, like daughter.”

           You felt the rumble of his laugh through your chest where you were pressed up against his back. “Can’t argue with that. They asleep?”

           “You’d think I drugged them.”

           He chuckled again, putting down the last bowl in the sink and shutting off the water before drying his hands on a dishtowel deliberately. When he turned around, his face was inches from yours. “Is that right?” he asked, and his voice was as smooth and silky as any caramel drizzle you could’ve eaten that night. You nodded into a smile as Dean slid a washing-warmed hand to the nape of your neck and wound into the hair there, pulling you into him where he leaned against the sink and slipped his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like maraschino cherry and chocolate and you pushed up into his kiss hard, jamming him into the counter in a way that made him groan into you, tug that hair tighter. “Careful, baby. Been thinking about scandalizing the mother of my children for hours,” he growled, smirking through a voice rough like the sandpaper calluses of his hands.

           You bit his bottom lip and dragged it back, leaning away from Dean just enough to reach over to the island behind you, finding the whipped cream and starting to shake it fast. “That’s funny, because I’ve just been thinking about sundaes,” you purred into his ear, nipping at his earlobe before tipping back. Dean’s eyes practically glittered as his pupils blew wide. His shirt was off so fast you almost didn’t see it, feeling like you blinked and opened your eyes to him already yanking his belt open to shuck off those chalk-covered torn jeans. Before he could, you turned over the whipped cream on top of his collarbone, dripping a stream of white foam down his chest and letting it drift for a second, melt down his skin then lapping it up with a tongue flattened wide.  You shook the can again, draping a strip onto Dean’s stomach that trailed to his belly button and laying a palm on his chest, leaning him back to the counter on his elbows to watch as you licked the whipped cream with lazy swirls until you were at the hem of his boxers, sinking to your knees and taking them down his legs along with his now-opened jeans. He was already hard as rock when you took him in your palm, laying one last spray of whipped cream along the length of him and humming in delight at the “holy shi—” that punched out of Dean and fizzled into the ether when you sucked it off.  

           It was only a few minutes before he couldn’t take it anymore, bending down to kiss you rough and dirty, tongue darting out to get the little dribbles of cream around the corners of your mouth and dragging you to your feet. With one hand Dean flicked open your jeans, using the freed slack to dive into your panties, middle finger dipping into you as he held your jaw with the other palm. He breathed hot and sticky along your jugular. “Not even close to how wet I want you.” The viscous pour of his words onto your neck sent goosebumps spreading over your skin in a delicate fan and you couldn’t help but smile as he scooped under your thighs and lifted you easily onto the island, slipping the denim off your legs as the same time he stepped out of his. You relaxed onto your elbows, watching those long eyelashes drift open and closed as his kissed a path down your abdomen, gripping handfuls of your t-shirt to get to skin. A lazy hand offered Dean the can of whipped cream.

           The smirk he gave you, bare shoulders between your thighs as he kneeled on the kitchen floor, might as well have been through a time machine for the way it made you see the cocky playboy you’d first met over a decade ago, before the faint wrinkles of years in sunny cars and staying up nights with colicky babies that accessorized his big doe eyes now. It had the same effect on you in a t-shirt that was older than DJ as it had when you were pounding through shots with eyeliner artfully smudged by the power of hangovers: pooling all the blood in your stomach and making you lightheaded. He slowly bit his bottom lip. “You taste way too good to be adding anything,” he rumbled, and when you threw your head back in a shaky laugh his tongue reminded you exactly why smudged-eyeliner girl was ready to drop her independence, jump in the Impala and follow that mouth to the end of the world.

           Dean built the earth up and cracked it into pieces beneath you twice perched on that kitchen island before grabbing the counter edge to haul himself up. “Were these tiles always so fucking hard? Feel like I just took a hammer to the kneecaps.” He shook out each of his bare legs, spring of his erect cock as he did looking silly and out of place with the glisten of his lips and chin, the sultry cast of his eyelashes on angled cheekbones. The juxtaposition made you laugh, breathy as it was with muscles that had been turned to jello, thrown in a blender, and scattered about the room by the deft movements of Dean’s tongue and fingers.

           “You’re thinking about your knees right now?”

           “That’s how hard these fucking tiles are,” Dean chuckled, deep and still sexy somehow, bending forward to catch your lips. When you reached down to stroke him, a hand wrapped around your wrist. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, I’m nowhere near done with you,” he murmured through kisses, a shade of playful challenge in his throat.

           You giggled, leaning back as he dragged a wet path of suction down your neck. “I don’t want to torture those legs, old man.” Running a hand through hair you’d sent spiking in all directions in your writhing, you dragged Dean’s head back on his neck, giving you a chance to meet his eyes, still the same dusted olive they’d been since that first wink. Long past the honeymoon stage when it was appropriate to do that kind of thing, you’d been content to spend hours searching them, cataloguing every spindly muscle of iris for posterity, trying to gather up every grain of him for when he inevitably was lost forever to a hunt or the solitude of the road.

           But here he was still.

           Here you were still. Living a life—living two selves—you never thought you’d get, lucky to have grown in and around each other like mangrove roots. Those eyes still every inch as beautiful, every spark of that electric heat still there now cloaked in layer after layer of what you’d built together: the complete trust and fanatical admiration he had of you flowing out like fountains of sunlight, strong enough they streamed through any raunchy waggle of his eyebrows.

           No time to think about it now with a hungry coil of desire tightening in your stomach. You traced the length of him with your fingertips, feather-light and teasing. “If you give me fifteen seconds to get my sea legs back I’ll show you who’s got tougher knees.”

           “All right, that’s it,” Dean said. He tipped his head forward and bit your bottom lip with that impossible pressure that made you whimper. “I’ll show you how old these knees are.”

           Before you could react, he’d put his shoulder below your sternum and thrown you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. When you squealed he smacked your ass. “You’re going to wake up the girls,” he buzzed, starting toward your bedroom without a stitch of clothing on, you draped over his back.

           “Dean, Jesus Christ,” you giggled. “Get the clothes at least!”

            “Don’t need any jeans for what I’ve got planned—quit—squirming—or I’ll give you something to squirm about,” he continued, lowering his voice to a lascivious whisper and giving one of your upper thighs an impish bite as he headed up the stairs.

-

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[dork-empress]

Singing In The Dead Of Night Ch 2

Harley and Barman set up a playdate for their wards.

forgive the long post, i'll edit and clean it up when im home. chapter can also be found on my ao3, url in the description.

Harley made it back home, which was actually the manor of some billionaire who only really used the house for tax purposes. Harley had taken it over when Lucy came to live with her, deciding she needed more room, and they quickly changed it to suit their needs.

“Luuuucyyyy, I’m hooooome,” Harley called out to the manor, heading through the living room/gymnasium.

Lucy was balancing on the beam by her hands. “Never heard that one before.” She went into the splits and stayed on one hand.

Harley looked over her form. “Point your toes more...there ya go.” Lucy did as recommended. “I got candy for dinner!” She dumped her stolen lollipops on the table.

“I already ate, Aunt Harley,” she said, “I made extra pasta if you want.” She pointed over to the kitchen, before switching hands and flipping herself over.

“Oh,” Harley said, going over to make a plate, but feeling like ants were crawling in her skin. “You know, you don’t have to call me your aunt when it’s just the two of us,” She said, swirling her fork through the noodles.

Lucy shrugged, “Force of habit. Plus it’s a good idea in general, ya know, in case someone’s secretly listening in or we mess up some other time.”

Harley shrugged her shoulders. “Makes sense,” and it did, but it still kind of hurt. “You can have the lollipops for dessert though. You like cherry?” She tossed her the red candy.

Lucy looked down at the wrapper a second. “Can’t, I’m allergic to the red dye.”

“Oh,” Harley said, silently cursing herself. That was something that mothers should know about their kids, allergies and crap. “Well. Lemon then?”

“Sure!” They traded the lollipops, and Harley sucked on hers between bites of the pasta. Sweet and savory combined, delicious.

Lucy swung her legs as she sat on the beam. “Does...my father have any allergies?”

Harley blinked at her. Did Joker have any allergies? It was hard to say. Even now, Harley didn’t know a lot about the Joker. That’s how he liked it. “Best not to talk about it,” she said instead, “In case of those listening things or whatever.”

Lucy hummed, but didn’t seem satisfied. “Hey,” Harley said, trying to distract her from the ‘dad’ talk, “You wanna go out with me tomorrow?”

Lucy brightened, jumping a bit, “Where are you gonna go?”

“I dunno,” she said, “Go lookin’ for trouble. Let the trouble find me. Punch out a couple people but only if they REALLY deserve it!” And maybe if they only kinda deserved it, Harley thought.

Lucy hummed again, thinking. “I dunno. I think violence often begets further violence, and while it is occasionally necessary, efforts should focus more on the community building and personal improvement area.”

Harley blinked at her. Right, she was a reader, Delia had mentioned that. Not unlike Harley at her age, really, although Harley had focused on psychoanalysis instead of philosophy. “Ah, of course,” she said, “Well, what do you wanna do?”

Lucy thought for a second. “Well, there was this girl I wanted to go inspire to fight her eating disorder.”

“Oh,” Harley said nodding. It was a noble cause, really, but...also seemed really, really boring. “I...sure!” she smiled.

The truth was, when Lucy came out to live with Harley full time, she had really thought they would be a lady dynamic duo, a proper partnership mother/daughter team. But Lucy wasn’t much like Harley. Or, she was but, she was different, a goody two-shoes. Or, a goody tutu. Ha.

More than that, she followed a strange sense of logic that was oddly reminiscent of...Harley didn’t even finish the thought.

“You don’t want to go, do you?” Lucy asked.

“Hmm? Of course I do!” Harley said, “I’d do anything with you sweetheart,” she gave Lucy a wink, then went to the kitchen to hide her facial expression.

She didn’t see that Lucy had followed her until she was directly behind her. “Oh, Jesus!” She said, clutching her heart, “Gotta look out there, sweetie. Almost brained ya!”

“Is Dad like me at all?” she asked, head tilted to the side.

Harley blinked at her. She felt like her bones were shaking inside her skin. “Why would you ask a thing like that?”

Lucy spun a little in place making her tutu swish. “I’ve been reading about him. People think he’s crazy. I mean, he says it. But that’s not what your records say.”

Harley frowned, backing away as though physical distance would get her out of the conversation. “What’re you goin through my records for? What, are you a snoop?”

“They got published after one of your arrests,” Lucy said, “Other people were more interested in the little notes you left in the margins, but--”

“Alright, stop.” Harley said, hand clutching her lollipop stick so tight it might break. “Look, Mr...your father is mean and cruel and manipulative, and nothing like you! He wants to drive other people crazy, and for some people, self included, he succeded. But I grew out of it as best I could and now...you don’t need to worry about him, ok? He ain’t ever gonna know about ya, and he ain’t ever gonna find ya. Got it?”

Lucy hesitated a second and there was something strange in her eyes. Something familiar. “Got it,” she finally said.

Harley lightened, smiling at her. “Why don’t we play a game or somethin? You like Monopoly? I make up my own rules!”

Lucy smiled, “That sounds nice,” she said, all bright again. As they set up the game, Lucy said, “You don’t have to come with me tomorrow, by the way. I can take care of myself.”

“You sure?” Harley asked. Lucy nodded. For the rest of the evening, Harley felt like something was…off.

She slipped the burner phone out of her pocket. She typed, ‘Wanna set up a playdate?’

“She called it a WHAT?!” Damian said, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Aww,” Tim said, over by the batcave computer, “Little Damian’s got a plaaayydaaate.”

“I will end you, Drake.” Damian snarled, fingers twitching for his sword.

“Enough,” Bruce interrupted the both of them. “Damian, if it helps you can think of it as a mission.”

“I thought I was forbidden from Robin duties for the next two months.” Damian said, arms crossed.

Bruce groaned. “Harley has taken in a ward, her niece Lucy. She has some petty crime charges, but from my recon, she’s not a villain. Harley wants her to spend time with someone her age, and I need someone who will watch over her.”

“Watch out for her, or watch out because of her?” Damian asked, scowling.

“Oooh, good question,” Tim said, still at the computer. “Hey, how come you didn’t set me up with vigilante kids?”

“Because you found them on your own,” Bruce shot back, “Look. Damian, you just have to spend the day with her. Follow her around, help her out as long as it’s not hurting anyone. Don’t let her get killed. Invite Jon if you want.”

“Uggh, Jon’s off world with his Dad,” Damian said.

“Oh right,” Bruce said, massaging his temple. “Why do interdimensional crises have to happen at the worst times?”

“Why is it we need a plural for interdimensional crisis?” Tim asked.

Bruce gave him a side glance to let him know he was coming up on the line that breached from ‘annoying’ to ‘problem Bruce will deal with.’ “Damian…”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he said, “But I won’t be her friend by you forcing us.”

“Fine.”

They met up with Harley at a neutral location downtown on top of a party goods store. “Hiya Batsy, Hey Bird Boy!”

Despite himself, Damian liked Harley. She was usually of a like mind about which villains did or didn’t deserve to live, but he didn’t tell Batman that. “Harley,” Batman said, “Where’s your niece?”

“Just doin some high-wire practice.” Harley said, “Lucy-goosey!”

From the side of the building, a girl faulted up from where she was hanging on the flagpole. A girl wearing a tutu and white paint. “Nice to meet you, Batman,” Lucy said, “Aunt Harley’s told me….a lot of mixed things.”

“YOU!” Damian said, before he could stop himself, and all three of the others turned to him.

Lucy trotted forward on her tiptoes. “Have we met?” She asked, tilting her head, and looking him up and down.

Damian swallowed. “Uhh….”

“Blackbird!” Lucy said, and swooped him up into a hug, “Oh, I knew you were a Robin, why’d you lie to me?”

“Blackbird, huh?” Batman said, and he couldn’t see, but he knew there was a very pointed eyebrow being raised at him.

Damian, still being swung like a ragdoll by Lucy, tried to gain his balance. “I didn’t...I mean I wasn’t…”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Batman said, “You kids go on, I have something to talk about with Harley.”

“Kids?!” Damian said, offended, especially that he was going to be left out of whatever this conversation was. But in doing so, he left himself vulnerable as Lucy pulled on his cowl to the edge of the building.

“Come on, birdy, whatever color you are. The city awaits!” And she jumped from the roof, grappling on outcroppings to reach the street safely. Damian grumbled, but eventually followed.

Harley looked to Batman, and her face fell. “He’s out there, isn’t he?”

Batman gave one slow nod.

Lucy skipped everywhere. It was very irritating, because it was faster than walking, but slower than running, so hard to keep pace. Also,it was just very perky, which made it hard to sulk.

Lucy claimed she had deliveries to make around town. Something about girls who were bullies in high school and were treating others poorly, but it was only because of the societal pressures that were put on young girls of America and...and thats about where Damian lost interest.

She carried a cartfull of boxes like a damn girlscout, and left them on the girls doors. Damian could have followed in his sleep...except there was something about one of the boxes….

“What’s in that one?” Damian asked as she brought it to the next home.

“Huh?” Lucy said, “Same thing as in all of them, some cookies, a letter, balloons of course and--”

“It’s beeping,” Damian said.

“What?”

Damian didn’t wait any longer, he grabbed the box out of her arms and tossed it as high into the sky as he could, tackling her to the ground. The box then exploded.

Lucy gasped in excitement, clapping her hands together. “Birdy, look at it! It’s fireworks!”

Damian growled, jumping off of her and taking out his sword. “I knew it, I knew you were up to no good.”

Lucy tilted her head. “Whatcha talkin about, Birdy?”

“You--” He pointed to where the box was still smoldering. “You were going to put a BOMB on that girl’s doorstep!”

“I didn’t put that there,” Lucy said, getting up with no care of the sword pointed at her.

“You-” Damian stammered. “What?”

Lucy bent down and picked up a scrap of paper from the ruins. “Change of plans for the evening, Birdy!” Lucy said, “We’re going puzzling!”

She tossed the paper at him and he grabbed it quickly. It read ‘I’ve the tallest of trunks and thickest of stumps, a switch in the breeze, but I’m no tree. What am I?’”

They came quickly to the elephant pasture at the zoo. Damian couldn’t help it, he held out his hand for the elephant. She reached out her trunk and wrapped it around him. He couldn’t help but laugh.

Her baby came forward this time, trotting on new steps. He was already the size of a small horse, but he stole Damian’s heart all the same. He tried to bowl Damian over like a large puppy, and Damian couldn’t help but laugh. “Didn’t know you could laugh, Birdy,” Lucy said, kneeling over a shady patch in the enclosure.

Damian’s scowl returned. “Stop calling me ‘Birdy,’” he said, “You can just say ‘Robin,’ if you want.”

“But aren’t there other Robins?” Lucy said, fiddling with something, “I’d love to call you something unique to you.”

“There’s already a Blackbird, you know.” Damian said, continuing to pet the baby elephant.

“There is?” Lucy asked, “Picking a superhero name is HARD. I’m still trying to get Commedia to stick. You know, like, Commedia del arte? But I’ll end up getting called ‘Tutu girl’ or something if I don’t watch out.”

Damian gently pushed the elephant away, seeing what she was doing. She was hands deep in another box like the one they’d found in her cart. “Careful, it could be another bomb.”

“Fireworks,” Lucy corrected, “and I already diffused it.”

Damian leaned down, looking. She had indeed done so, quite efficiently. “How did you know to do that?”

Lucy smiled, “An uncle of mine taught me. You’ll meet him.” She dug further into the box. “I wouldn’t mind some more fireworks, but I don’t want to scare the elephants.” She pulled out another slip of paper.

“This has all the hallmarks of The Riddler,” Damian said, “We have to be careful. He might have bombs all over the city.”

“Fireworks!” Lucy corrected again, “And, probably. See, we already have the next clue!” She waved the paper and read out “Can you hear me make a sound, only when you are around.”

“Of course you can only hear things when you’re around.” Damian said, frowning.

“But only when someone’s around does it make a...Oh!” Lucy said, jumping to her feet, “An echo! We have to go somewhere there’s an echo!”

Damian sighed, “I have an idea.”

Technically they weren’t IN the Bat cave. They were at a far entrance to it, another end of the cave system. So he wasn’t breaking any rules. “Hey, is that Wayne Manor?” Lucy asked. “I tried to break in there once, but they have some crazy rich person security system.”

“Funny that.” Damian said, trying to seem completely ordinary.

Lucy stood at the edge of the cave and yelled into it. “ECHO!” listening for the echo in return. She skipped into the cave, humming all the way, the sound bouncing off as she went.

“Lucy?” Damian said, following her, “Don’t go too far, there’s all sorts of--” He heard a squeal and rushed forward.

He stopped short, his flashlight falling on Lucy. She waved at him to put it down, squinting. “Look here!” She brushed aside some dirt to find some rusted over metal. “Isn’t it fascinating! This cave system must go on for miles! Maybe people hid treasure there!”

“It’s just the old mining system,” Damian said, truthfully. “It’s all blocked off.”

“That can’t be hard to undo,” Lucy said, intrigued by whatever lay beyond.

Damian grabbed her hand before she could continue. “We have to catch the Riddler. There has to be another package here.”

Lucy sighed, but nodded. She took his arm with the flashlight and swung him around the cave. “Ah! There.”

She took the package and skipped out of the cave. “Careful!” Damian urged. “Come on, just diffuse it.”

“Nope, not these ones.” She tossed the package high in the sky, and Damian saw the fireworks light up.

He felt his phone buzzing, no doubt Tim could hear an explosion out here, not to mention Alfred. They’d come investigating fast enough. He leaped up, grabbing the fallen slip of paper, and grabbed Lucy again to pull her along. He read it quickly and passed it to her as he made his way away. “Even in the city scape, nature comes to take its place.” Lucy read. “It must be the park!”

l,

“No,” Damian said, still pulling her, “I mean, yes, that is the answer to the riddle, but that’s not where we’re going.” He texted the police to inform them of the location of the hidden package so they could diffuse it, and dragged Lucy away.

The original Gotham Ice Cream shop was one of the oldest remaining buildings in Gotham, although was clearly closed for the night.

Damian saw a flash of green from the kitchens and rushed inside, finding none other than the Riddler standing there. “Stand down, Riddler,” Damian said, holding out his sword, “We’ve got you now!”

Riddler snarled, backing into a defensive stance. “Robin! How did you possibly find me?”

Damian smirked, “The beginning of each clue was clearly spelling out your final location. I-C-E. I didn’t need to follow 5 more clues to figure that out.”

Riddler cursed. “Those clues weren’t for you! They were for--!”

Lucy came skipping up to join Damian. “Hi, Uncle Eddy!”

“Lucille!” Riddler said, immediately warming. “I had so many sights around Gotham for you to see, why’d you go skipping to the end?”

Lucy skipped up to him, and Damian was once again left dumbfounded. “My friend Birdy here isn’t much for riddles, I think,” she said, “Although he enjoyed the elephants! And he knew about the mining carts in the caves, I want to explore those later.”

‘Uncle Eddy’ hugged Lucy, and Damian came to his senses, “THIS is your uncle?!”

Lucy shrugged, “I mean, that’s what I call him. I met him when I was visiting Aunt Harley a few years ago.”

“I heard you had moved to Gotham full time,” Riddler said, “I wanted to be sure you saw the sights. But the bat-brats have to ruin everything I suppose.” Riddler glared at him, and he glared right back.

“I don’t-” Damian started, but cut himself off, “You can’t just be leaving BOMBS around the city!”

“Fireworks!” Lucy and Riddler both corrected.

“Whatever! They’re explosive and they’re dangerous!” Damian hated having to be the safety one. It felt wrong.

Riddler rolled his eyes. “He’s just as much a barrel of laughs as the big one.”

“Aw, he’s sweet, really,” Lucy said, coming over to Damian and linking their arms. “Aunt Harley and Batman set us up on our own little playdate.”

“It is NOT!” Damian said, squirming away from her, “It is NOT a playdate.”

“Uncle Eddy, can my friend Birdy have some Ice Cream too?” Lucy asked, ignoring him.

Riddler and Damian glared again. “Fine.” He pushed his own bowl of ice cream towards Damian and went to get his own. “It’s MYSTERY flavor!”

Damian looked at it hesitantly as Lucy sat down to enjoy. Riddler went back to the kitchen. “It’s coconut,” Lucy said, “But Uncle Eddy likes to think it’s a mystery, so I let him.”

Damian frowned at her. “You’re really weird.”

“Thank you!” Lucy said, patting the seat beside her. “Come on, even you had to admit you had fun today.”

Damian thought about the elephants, and skipping around with Lucy, and watching the fireworks at the mouth of the cave, and seeing her all excited about mining carts for some reason. “Fine,” he said, “But it’s NOT a playdate.”

“Alright, alright,” Lucy said, digging into her ice cream. “Just a regular date then.”

“I--” Damian started, his head exploding with so many protests that he ended up just short circuiting. Lucy continued chowing down on ice cream like she didn’t say anything of importance. So, Damian just sat beside her, and ate his own.

[pocketramblr]

how his hair do that, 5 options

the following is a crack fanfic in five parts, each section on the same premise but not same continuity. also, very spoilerish

bnha manga spoilers below! very recent leaks below! very spoilery!

Better than a charcoal milkshake v 1

--------

When the heroes first attacked, alarms blaring, compound up in chaos, Dabi snuck away. He let the others pour out of the doors and down the stairs, and crept backwards, turning and running once he was certain no one would notice him.

Not that it would matter much if he did, but why waste the energy on killing them too? He’d need all his firepower today.

Dabi tore through the halls to his room, making it there and slapping his card against the scanner. No time to lose, not when he knew he needed to take care of a few more things before locating where Endeavor was in this heroes’ mission.

He kicked open his bathroom door, hands occupied with carefully pulling the black wig off his head- snagging that on his staples was just the worst, and he couldn’t have blood messing this up today.

Not yet, at least.

Under the bathroom cabinet he grabbed the bag of powery charcoal. It was supposed to be used for some beauty purpose or another, something about enriching hair that didn’t even work- but it would work to darken his white locks.

He poured it on, barely bothering to lean over the sink and keep it from going everywhere. As a final test, he once more wet a bit of it, the color seeping from the hair as it dripped.

He already knew it would work, that’s why he had intercepted so much of it before the quirk cultists could offer it to Toga or Hawks or whoever, but his heart was racing with both nerves and pure excitement.

Finally. The day he’d burn it all down, and make them see why.

He left his door open as he ran back out into the hallway, making a beeline for where he left Hawks. First things first, take care of that, then find Endeavor.

--------

Better than a charcoal milkshake v 2

--------

“Hey, put me down by that camping supplies store. And Skeptic too.” Dabi ordered, surveying the carnage of Jakku and glancing over at the man hunched over his laptop.

Said man looped up sharply at that, frowning and spitting that he wasn’t going to do that or something.

Dabi didn’t really pay attention to that.

“Where?” Gigantomachia asked, still rumbling forward towards whatever he smelled. Two masters or something.

Compress cleared his throat and translated for the currently blinded giant. “It’s at 4:05 o’clock, I’d say thirty feet forward.” He then looked over at Dabi, mask as unsettling as any of them. “You’ll be carefull too, on your personal mission?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dabi waved him off, snagging Skeptic by the back of his shirt and tugging as Machia scooped them up and placed them on the pavement.

He ran inside the evacuated store, mercifully empty and not decayed, and started looking for the bags of charcoal.

When he found one, he tore it open. Charcoal fell to the floor, and he ground his boot down into it.

“What…” Skeptic seemed without words, for once. Good.

Dabi tore off his black wig, tossing it aside. He wouldn’t need it anymore.

“You wear a wig??”

“Yeah.” He started to scoop up handfuls of the charcoal, rubbing it into his hair. “Hey, go grab me some water, and then go set up the cameras. We got a show to put on.”

--------

Stinky dumpster boy

--------

“But my good name?” He sneered the word and all it implied in the world of false heroes, “is Todoroki Touya.”

With that, he dumped the water over his head, and it streamed down over his face, filthy.

The dirty water, practically mud, stung the places on his face where his skin was barely stapled together, and Dabi was reminded of why he didn’t bother with showers anymore- the pain.

But now his true colors- literally- were revealed and it was all worth it. All the truth was out, and the truth had always hurt him.

Shoto, who seemed to be trying to juggle first aid on like, five different people with two random heroes he didn’t know next to him, gaped.

“Come on, I know my face has changed, but my own family should still be able to recognize me, yeah? But you never did. You never did, Todoroki Shoto.”

Dabi suddenly found himself encased in ice.

Ah, this again.

“Yumi’s is colder.”

Shoto’s jaw dropped, then he glared. “Stand back.” He said as he stood up. “He just dunked water on his head, to cool him off I bet. If he is Touya, his body never could handle his own heat. If he’s not… those burns come from somewhere at least.”

Ok, now Dabi was offended.

“What do you mean, ‘if I’m not’?” he demanded. “I just revealed my white hair? I know that’s what the picture on my shrine looks like, you never even looked at that?”

“How do you even know what your shrine looks like?” Shoto sounded dangerously close to judgmental for a little brother who was probably as emo as Dabi had been at his age. “And wait, that cup of water was supposed to wash out your hair? What, do you never bathe or something?”

Ok, now Dabi was really offended.

“Of course I bathe! I just have to sponge bath, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed from having your own scars, but when they take up most of your body and are killing you they end up controlling a lot of your life!”

Ugh, asking him if he didn’t bathe. He’d understand that asked of Shigaraki, sure, but him? Shoto had gotten close enough to smell him, at least.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” the hero in blue, the one that was tending to Eraserhead, raised his hands. “But uh… do you want some help with that?”

“I’m fine, don’t want to cool him off too much so he can fight longer.” Shoto shook his head.

“I was talking to him.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

The hero waved his hand, bubble of water pulling up from the ground. Then he pointed to his own head. “I can take care of that? At the very least it’ll be cleaned out and um, whatever color it should be?”

Dabi stared at him. Shoto stared at him. The other hero in green stared at him, and the one who’d offered help started to sweat noticebly.

“Eh, sure, whatever.”

The hero nodded, and the bubble of water floated over to him, disappearing in his hair.

The bubble floated out a couple of time, murky brown and black with ash, dirt, oil, blood, anything else he’d never thought about too much. It would wring itself thin, much dropping, and return to cleaning.

Finally, his hair was mostly white and thoroughly soaked.

“Thanks.” He called over.

“Yeah.” The hero answered, still frantically trying to help Eraserhead with his free hand, which he’d gone back too as soon as he thought Dabi was distracted. Buying time.

The other hero was on his fourth facepalm.

Shoto just looked contemplative.

Endeavor, one of the ones receiving treatment, sat up but looked like he was going to pass out.

Well all right then. Time to really start- the hair snafu didn’t matter. They were all going to die that day anyway.

--------

Weirdest commercial I’ve ever been in.

--------

“We’ll be dancing in hell together, Todoroki Enji.” Dabi finished his speech with a sneer.

The watching heroes were all stunned silent, mouths open, eyes wide. The revelation must be sending them, like it would all who were watching Skeptic’s broadcast. This would burn it all down, perfect.

“I don’t understand…” Enji managed to say, spitting out a bit of blood.

“What, you don’t understand how I survived, or how I hate you so much I’d hurt innocent people over it? Because that second part is exactly what you did, take out all that self-loathing and insecurity, rage at your shortcomings and condemn children not born yet to them. Guess it’s a family trait.”

“No, not that,” He waved a hand. “I mean, I totally get how you’re a wreck, even if all of your other siblings managed to not become mass murders, I mean- I don’t understand, how did that pint of water wash out all of your hair dye? Aren’t you better funded after the Deika merger, can’t you afford proper hair coloring?”

“I was also wondering that.” Shoto admitted.

“Same.” The hero in blue nodded. The hero in green facepalmed.

“Water?” Dabi repeated, then looked at the can he’d tossed aside. “Oh, no. This isn’t water- it’s a momento of the only true hero.” He bent down, picking up the can and studying the image on it.

“Stain was right, you know.” He mused. “About hero society being rotten. So rotton, so full of fakes, that there was only one that deserved the title. He just got the wrong hero, guessing All Might.” Dabi snorted at the very idea. “No, the only real one, the pure one, the one that defines heroism, the only one with a kill count higher than me- for all the dear old man and his biggest fan Hawks tried, of course- is Wash.”

“… Wash?” Shoto cocked his head. “Wait, like, Wash, Wash?”

“The one and only. That’s how this Official Wash’s Hair Washing Serum, the only product that can wash out all dirt, dye, and any other kind of grime, in just one go.” He shook the can around so they could see. “What, you all thought I could just magically lighten my hair from black to white in the space of one fight?”

“No,” Shoto said, like a liar, and then he threw a glacier at Dabi, and the fight was on in earnest.

--------

Old news

--------

“And now you’ll see who I really am, who you’ve created.” Dabi poured the bleach over his head, giving it a moment to sink into the hair before he shook it out, grinning wide enough to tear his staples.

The heroes on the ground and the few tending to them stared in shock.

Then Shoto gasped.

“Hawks?”

“What? Where?” Dabi whirled around, looked up, because he was really sure he had managed to make sure that pest wouldn’t be flying or fighting again, but well… he’d thought that once before and been wrong then.

“No, you- you’re Hawks, you dye your hair black when its in Dabi mode, and its that beachy yellow blond in Hawks mode.” Shoto nodded to himself.

Blond? Dabi tugged at a lock of hair, and huh. It did seem more yellow than white.

“How could he be Hawks?” The hero in green demanded incredulously, before the hero in blue grabbed his arm and pulled it back to holding down Eraserhead for bandaging.

“The burns and staples are part of the disguise,” Shoto explained. “Fake, and misdirection. You were trained from young childhood to be a hero, sent to join AfO and the league as a spy, where you gained a fire quirk and decided to switch to the villains’ side because you hated the life you were forced into.”

Dabi stared at him.

Shoto stared back.

Enji stared at both of them.

“How are you so smart and so stupid at the same time?” Slipped from chapped, burnt lips.

Shoto looked offended at that.

“I mean, you’re half right, yes that’s what up with Hawks, yes he was sent as a spy, but I knew and I killed him at the compound. And not, like, in a metaphorical way.” He added when he saw something spark in Shoto’s eyes. “Literally. I’m not him. He is completely separate person and body than me and I totally literally killed him.” Or like. Close enough. “And like, thirty other people who were completely innocent.”

Or close enough, he really didn’t bother to keep track, but thirty sounded like a big number. Especially of murders.

“So then who are you?” Shoto asked.

“What, you don’t recognize me, little brother?” He almost growled it, feeling very tired of this all of a sudden.

“Little brother?” Shoto repeated, eyes wide, then narrowing. “Wait, how…”

“Oh not again.” Enji muttered.

“Not again?” Dabi asked. “Wait, you actually managed to drive one of the others to this too? And cover it up? Man, Enji, you’re more rotten than even I knew then!”

“One of the others?” Shoto looked around wildly. “What are you talking about?”

“I was talking about how Shigaraki also randomly showed up and called a first year student “little brother”.” Enji looked back over at Dabi. “What were you talking about?”

“Shigaraki did what?” The pyro looked over his shoulder, finding the villain looking absolutely stoned on the ground, almost as vacant as some of the unconscious heroes, with a curly haired student laying bloodied nearby, staring up at him. “Wait, which student is his little brother?”

“Midoriya, apparently.” Shoto shrugged.

“Midoriya?” Dabi almost choked on the name. “As in, the green bone-breaking kid? Isn’t he like All Might’s lovechild or something?”

“That’s what I said too!”

“I mean, his hair was also lighter when he showed up today.” The hero in blue pointed out to his fellow in a voice that would have been too quiet for Dabi to hear had everyone else not gone silent as well.

“And bleach boy tried to do the same thing with the bleach, yeah. Here, I’ll tie this off, you go take care of Bakugo.”

“I’m Todoroki Touya!” Dabi snapped. “Or I used to be called by that name, anyway, before you nearly killed me, Enji. Let’s just- get back to fighting, yeah, I’m going to kill you.”

[englishstrawbie]

Free (1/1)

Fandom: Station 19, Grey’s Anatomy

Characters: Maya Bishop & Carina DeLuca

Summary: Maya's relationship with her hair is complicated following the incident with her father. Will she ever be able to move forwards and free herself from her past?

Warnings: triggers for implied/referenced abuse. 

Also @ AO3.

* * * * * 

A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life

- Coco Chanel

 Maya was born with a full head of hair, a caramel brown colour that earned her the nickname ‘hazelnut’ for the first year of her life. By the time she could walk, it had already started to lighten and by the time she went to pre-school it was dark blonde and kept getting lighter.

Her mom kept it short when she was younger, but as soon as Maya was old enough to have an opinion, she wanted it long. Maya loved her long hair as a little girl. It was thick and smooth, and everyone used to tell her what a pretty child she was with such beautiful hair. She would smile sweetly in return and lap up the attention, to the amusement of her parents. She would spend ages brushing it in the morning and before bed, believing the magazines that told her it would make her hair supple and shiny. She learned to style it, picking her favourite hairstyles by pop stars like Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera.

As Maya got older, she became more experimental. Her mother was horrified when she came running downstairs one day, the platinum blonde hair dye from the local drugstore having tinged her blonde hair green just hours before the sixth grade school dance. The next year, during her summer vacation, Maya had been distraught when the cheap flat irons she had bought with her allowance had caused chunks of her hair to burn and fall out.

Her father always insisted that she kept it in tight braids when she ran, another part of her life over which he dominated. Maya lost count of the number of hours her mom spent scraping her hair back from her face – a ritual before every race and track meet. The braids would pinch her skin and sometimes were so tight that they gave her a headache. Still, she would do what her father wanted, as she always did. She can still remember the relief she felt when she would take them out at the end of the day and let the curls hang loose over her shoulders.

When her running career was over and she decided to become a firefighter, she scoured the manuals for the Seattle Fire Department’s rules on how long her hair could be – determined to regain control over that part of her life again. It turned out they didn’t have any rules, as long she kept it neat and tidy and it would fit underneath her helmet. So she kept it long, to remind herself of the little girl who earned praise for her pretty thick locks, believing that it kept her feminine in an industry that was still considered to be a “man’s job” in the eyes of many.

* * * * *

Lane Bishop has the kind of voice that carries through the air, no matter how noisy it is. Maya’s ears are alert to his calls after years of listening to him train and goad her from the sidelines as she ran around the track. Although her life has moved on since then, the habit is still as present as ever and she hears him shout her name from the crowd as fire departments from across the city battle fires and explosions at Pac North Hospital.

Her team are inside and, as far as they know, are facing a potential bomb threat. She has no means of contacting them since they have turned their radios off. It is hailed a good move by the captain of the bomb squad, but it makes Maya feel out of control and that puts her on edge. The situation needs every ounce of her concentration, which keeps getting broken by the incessant cries of her father that catch everyone’s attention.

She feels her face flush in front of her colleagues and comrades, nervous about what he is doing there and scared of what he is going to do next. She has seen that look on his face before, when she was younger and he was in one of his moods that usually meant that she and the rest of her family would try to stay out of his way. She tries to placate him, tries to encourage him to wait for her back at the station, but he doesn’t listen, of course. No-one tells Lane Bishop what to do.

She did not expect it to turn physical. She did not expect his hands around her ponytail and a violent tug of her head as she tried to walk away. He had never done that before, not even on his darkest days. But it turns out that no-one walks away from Lane Bishop without consequences.

The team surrounds her immediately, restraining him and stopping him from coming back for more. All eyes are on the two of them – the firefighters, the bomb squad, the gathering crowd, even Dixon is watching from nearby. Yet, despite the audience, she lets go of all the anger and frustration that she has held back all these years and screams at him, throwing it in his face that she doesn’t need him any more. He looks surprised when she walks away from him and she finds that she does not care. She tucks her ponytail into the collar of her turnout coat and goes back to figuring out how the hell she is going to get her team out of the building.

* * * * *

Maya stares at her reflection in the mirror. Frown lines adorn her forehead, her mouth turns downwards and her shoulders sag. If she closes her eyes, she can still feel the force at which her head jerked backwards under the assault of her father’s hand and she blinks back the tears that threaten to fall. There have been too many tears spilled because of that man and she won’t let him dictate her life any more.

She silently berates herself for not seeing it until now and for refusing to listen – to her mom, to Mason, to her friends. Even Carina knew it.

Maya’s heart aches for the woman she hasn’t spoken to for almost two weeks, who ignores her calls and doesn’t reply to her messages. She misses Carina’s soft lips on her neck, her warm hands on her skin, and her body pressed against her. What is worse is that she has no idea how to fix the mistakes she has made.

Her eyes move from her hardened face to her hair, which is gently pulled back in a ponytail that hangs down her back to just below her bra strap. Maya used to love her long hair, but after today it is another thing that her father has tainted and she is determined to take back control once more.

She can hear the team making plans for more drinks on the other side of the bathroom door, but her focus is solely on her hair and the pair of scissors in her right hand. She wonders what they will think when she emerges from the bathroom. She knows they have heard about what happened with her father, that someone from Station 26 told them, although no-one has asked her about it yet. She knows they want to, she can see the concern in their eyes and hears the tentative way they talk to her, but she figures the expression on her face tells them that she is not ready.  

Maya takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, letting her heartbeat lower to a gentle pace before she lifts the scissors to the back of her head and loosens her ponytail. The scissors are sharp, but her hair is thick and it takes some effort to cut it off. The sound of the blades slicing through her hair is only drowned out by the pounding of her heart in her ears and she holds her breath until the last cut.

Her exhale is shaky as she takes in her new appearance. Her hair sits in an uneven bob at her chin and is shorter than she has ever seen it. She holds her ponytail in her hand, inches of hair that represents a past that she has tried so hard to repress and is now in the forefront of her mind.

Jack is there, telling her to go and apologise to Carina, to win back the love of her life, and Maya can’t believe that she has screwed up so badly. She knows she doesn’t deserve a second chance but she is going to ask for one anyway, because she isn’t going to let Carina be another thing she loses because of her father.

* * * * *

“I love you, Maya,” Carina says. “Come kiss me.”

Maya’s heart surges at the words as they spill out of Carina’s mouth, thanks to the encouragement of a stranger she later learns is Teddy Altman. She doesn’t need to be asked twice and dashes forwards into Carina’s arms, kissing her. God, she has missed these lips.

Carina’s hand is in her hair and despite the joy Maya feels at their reunion, there is an uneasiness in her stomach as she feels Carina’s fingers grasp at her short locks. The image of her father flashes across her mind, the anger she feels towards him bubbling to the surface again. She pushes it down, burying her feelings and losing herself in Carina’s kiss once more.

Teddy slips away and it is just the two of them and they are still wrapped up in each other’s arms, not a care in the world for the people around them. Carina looks at her curiously and runs her hands through Maya’s hair, curling it around her fingers.

“Maya, your hair…?” she questions.

Maya doesn’t know how to explain it or even where to start telling the story of her run-in with her dad, so she doesn’t. She knows she will have to talk about it eventually, but she isn’t ready, not yet.  

“Long story, I’ll tell you later,” she says, brushing off the question for now. “Just – just don’t stop kissing me.”

* * * * *

The story about her father comes tumbling out of her mouth later that night after an evening of fighting and recriminations, eventual forgiveness and more declarations of love. As they lie in bed wrapped up in each other’s arms, Carina’s fingers absentmindedly play with her hair, just like always, except this time Maya shifts her body, encouraging Carina’s hand to rest on her chest instead. Wrapping her hand around Carina’s to stop it from wandering back to her hair, Maya finally tells her everything.

She tells her about the gruelling training sessions and how her father would make her run until her feet were bleeding. She tells her about the punishments her father had dolled out when she hadn’t been good enough for him. She tells her about the silent treatment, the smashed dinner plates and broken vases. She tells her about the way they had all walked on eggshells around him, afraid to upset him.

Carina lets her speak, humming in acknowledgement sometimes but never interrupting, giving Maya the time and space she needs to open up.

When she gets to the part about the hospital and the assault on her ponytail, Maya feels Carina’s body turn rigid, hears a sharp intake of breath and can’t help but smile as Carina mumbles something in Italian that Maya is pretty sure is unflattering.

“Maya…”

“It’s okay,” Maya is quick to interject. “I mean, it’s not. But – I’m okay. I think there was a part of me that always knew that he’s not a good person, but…”

“But?”

Maya shrugs. “He’s my dad. He did so much for me that I didn’t want it to be true. So I pushed away everyone who tried to tell me the truth.” She sighs, her heart still heavy with guilt over what she had done. “I’m sorry.”

Carina lifts her hand to her mouth and kisses it tenderly. “I know.”

The next day, Carina insists on joining her at the salon and sits by her side as her hair is straightened into a short bob. The stylist is young, with perfectly winged eyeliner and purple streaks through her dark hair. If she is curious about why Maya’s hair has been cut so badly, she doesn’t ask and Maya is grateful for her disinterest.

Carina engages the young woman in conversation so that Maya doesn’t have to talk to her. Instead, Maya watches as she tidies up her hair. Her movements are purposeful, but gentle, and every now and again the back of her hand brushes against Maya’s neck and it is a weird feeling because her hair has cloaked that part of her body for so long.

As they walk down the street hand-in-hand afterwards, the small hairs on the back of Maya’s neck prick up at the cool breeze that she is not used to feeling and she realises that she is going to have to get used to these new sensations.

* * * * *

It is not Carina’s fault, she is too caught up in the moment to notice what she is doing. She is propped up on the kitchen counter, her legs wrapped around Maya’s waist and her shirt discarded somewhere between the front door and the sofa. As Maya’s lips make their way down her chest, Carina’s hands creep into Maya’s hair and she tugs it roughly, desperate to draw her in for another kiss, just like she has done so many times before.

Maya jumps back, her eyes wide with fright, and Carina kicks herself for being so stupid.

“Maya, I’m sorry.”

Maya’s eyes sting with tears that burn as they fall down her cheeks, her body shaking uncontrollably. She backs away as Carina jumps down from the counter and reaches out for her, shaking her head. She is right back to where she was last week, with her father’s raging eyes bearing down on her.

“Breathe, Maya, just breathe,” Carina tries to soothe her.

Maya closes her eyes and tries to focus on Carina’s voice, instead of the screams of her father that repeat in her head. She buries her face into her hands and lets out an anguished cry as everything she buried as a child threatens to spill out of her, and then Carina’s arms are around her, holding her tightly. Maya falls against her helplessly and wonders if she will ever be truly free of her past.

* * * * *

When the pandemic hits, they make the decision to isolate separately and gradually they fall into a routine of phone conversations and FaceTime calls, stealing moments together when they can. Maya misses Carina even more now than those couple of weeks when they had broken up, her bed cold without a second person occupying it and her arms empty without someone to hold. Maya worries about her too, knowing that every minute Carina spends at the hospital means another chance that she might catch the virus herself, despite all the precautions Maya knows they are taking.

Maya’s mom moves in with her sister and it brings Maya some comfort to know that she is not alone, like so many people are. She has no idea where Mason is, although she speaks to a few trusted friends within the P.D. and asks them to look out for him amongst the homeless camps scattered around the city.

She doesn’t reach out to her father. It has been a month since she last saw him and after a few aggravated voicemail messages that she has ignored, he has finally taken the hint and stopped calling. Knowing Lane, he probably thinks that the government is overreacting to the virus and the lockdown is just their way of curbing his freedom, and Maya doesn’t have time for that bullshit when she sees how badly people are suffering and hears Carina’s sobs down the phone after she loses another mom to this cruel disease.  

Carina moves in and it is domestic and wonderful, and okay Maya freaks out for a little bit as she gets used to Carina’s clothes hanging in her wardrobe and her photo frames filling her bookshelves and her artwork decorating her walls, but she loves it. She loves having Carina close, loves waking up with her body spooned behind her.

Maya’s hair is growing but it still sits above her shoulders, and when they curl up on the sofa to watch a movie together, she can feel Carina’s hot breath on her neck. The sensation becomes a comfort to her to know that Carina is there with her, her skin left exposed and cold when Carina gets up to grab more snacks or refill their empty wine glasses.

As her hair grows longer, she starts putting up in a ponytail at work, as she is required to do, and it is something else she has to get used to being different – a short, stubby ponytail instead of the long flowing one she used to have. It is becoming easier to accept these changes, or maybe the bustle of pandemic life distracts her from dwelling on her feelings for too long. She worries sometimes that she is merely burying her feelings again, and they will erupt at an unwelcome time in the future, but balancing work and home keeps her mind busy and she figures she will deal with the fallout when it happens.

And then Andrew dies and Maya doesn’t think about her hair any more, because Carina is broken and it takes everything in her to help her girlfriend survive the pain and grief that overwhelms her.

* * * * *

Maya is trying not to think about the fact that Carina will be leaving for Italy in a month’s time. Marsha is dying and she is the only family that Jack has, and even Carina sees how important it is for them to be there for him when the inevitable happens, so she pushes it out of her mind while they sit in the break room.

She perches on the floor beside Carina’s feet, her back leaning against Carina’s legs. Marcus lies asleep across the sofa, his head resting on a pillow on his mother’s lap, and Jack occupies another space on the floor, his eyes on the iPad in his hands. They sit in silence and Maya knows that, as present as she is, Carina’s mind is also on her family back home in Italy and the people she has lost without the chance to say goodbye.

Carina’s hands play with her little ponytail and Maya doesn’t mind, not like she used to. Carina’s fingers lightly graze her skin and it tickles. Maya no longer reacts to the touch, but instead she leans back into it, craving the tenderness. Jack is telling a story and they are all laughing, and it is a moment of lightness in this tragedy.

Except suddenly Marsha is awake and the inevitable didn’t happen, and Maya is telling Carina that she’ll go to Italy with her because not long ago she made a promise to make sure Carina knows just how much she loves her and Maya can’t stand the idea that they will be separated for what could be months. Carina is smiling and kissing her, and her hand rests at the base of her neck and Maya doesn’t want her to ever let go.

* * * * *

Of course Dixon decides to visit on the one day she is running late for work – and so are most of her team, it transpires. She spars with him, as she usually does, and he tells her to “put a muzzle on Miller” which makes her want to throw her morning smoothie at him, but she restrains herself because she doesn’t want him to see her riled up.

She all but rolls her eyes at him and he backs off, but not without a parting shot.

“I also came to say… nice haircut.”

He laughs and leaves her office, and she hears him teasing Sullivan outside in the hallway, but her mind is on his words and her hair and how he was there that day when her father attacked her. It sums him up, she thinks, how he can take what was so obviously a difficult experience and throw it in her face, and she is not surprised at his cruelty.

What does surprise is her own reaction – or lack of it. Her body shudders at the memory of that day, but it passes swiftly, the tightness across her chest disappearing as quickly as it appeared, and she doesn’t have to push her father from her mind because he isn’t there. It will always be a part of her, she knows that, but she also knows that it doesn’t have to dictate her life. She won’t let it. She is no longer haunted by her past, too caught up in her present to allow her father’s abuse to affect her life and her relationships like it has before.

Maya smiles to herself, knowing that she has let go of her father’s hold over her without even realising it, finally free from her past.

[starlocked01]

Dyeing to Meet You

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: When your eyes could be the color of any shade of hair dye, Roman is positively upset his soulmate won't change colors. Especially since his color of choice is black. Content Warning: brief mention of kidnapping

Day 27 Prinxiety, background Intrulogical- Your eye color matches the color of your soulmate's hair, even when they dye it.

Roman kinda really hated his soulmate. Most people had brown or yellow eyes. His grandmother had silvery eyes that sparkled in the light. Remus had been a bit surprised when his rosey auburn irises went bleach blond for 3 months and then disappeared completely for a week. It had been pretty good evidence his soulmate was on the swim team so he'd started flirting with all of them, looking for brown eyes with a silver streak.

For the past four years, Roman’s eyes had been jet black. They never lightened, never sparkled, and he was convinced they were costing him leading roles in the school productions.

Roman decided to get even with his soulmate.

First, he got his hair bleached. After two weeks of rehabilitation, he had his hair dyed a bright bloody looking red. ---- Virgil woke up and found that his eyes had changed from bleached to the coolest shade of red ever. It worked so perfectly with his favorite red and black eyeshadow designs. Anytime someone pissed him off, all he had to do was stare at them and they left him alone quickly.

His soulmate had the best taste in color. ---- After a month, Roman’s hair had faded mostly pink and his eyes were still demonic. Not even slightly less black. Perhaps red had been a bit too natural. Next, he bought a bottle of dye and went full purple. It was a terrible job but it had to get the message across. ---- Virgil loved his soulmate. The purple with streaks of pinkish-yellow was absolutely edgier than the red that had faded so quickly. He wondered why the colors were changing so rapidly after natural brown hair for so long but shrugged it off. Perhaps his soulmate was just exploring his own identity. ---- Remus had managed to find Logan once his hair started growing back in its natural color. He was probably more enthusiastic than Roman was about his soulmate. The jet black eyes were still bothering him. It was time to get drastic. ---- Virgil stared in the mirror. One eye was still purple but the other was green. A wide grin broke across his face and he hoped his soulmate kept this style for a while. It was a shame he hadn't found anyone with such wild hair colors yet. Patton was watching for him too but it wasn't easy to find a soulmate unless they did something crazy.

He really wanted to meet them though. ---- Roman was at his wits' end. Nothing got the message across. Nor could he find anyone with wildly colored eyes and jet black hair. He decided it was time for his most daring attempt yet.

He went and got his hair bleached again. After 2 months of getting it progressively lightened he finally had platinum blond hair and was ready for the ultimate revenge.

Full Rainbow.

Roman adored his new look, as gay as he could make his hair, and he laughed every time he thought of his soulmate with rainbow eyes he couldn't change. ---- Virgil had an aesthetic. His eyes were no longer playing by his rules and looked gay as fuck. He guessed his soulmate was a gay boy who was probably very very flamboyant. Well, he wasn't flamboyant but he could match the energy of his tie-dye rainbow eyes. He started wearing rainbow eyeshadow instead of black, citing his eyes as the reason why.

He smiled, knowing his soulmate couldn't get to him. He kept dying his hair black with bangs long enough to hide behind if he didn't want his splash of colors immediately seen. ---- Remus was amazed he'd managed to drag his no-nonsense boyfriend and utterly preppy brother to a music festival. Although he might have been the only one enjoying himself. Logan was standing stoically still as Remus tried to get him to dance along or mosh or anything.

Roman sipped on his drink and stared at the sea of dyed hair, frightened of what kind of person might be his soulmate when Logan pointed out someone and whispered to Remus. Remus dashed off into the crowd and came back dragging another boy about their age with jet black hair and long bangs, head tilted down, and a scowl on his face.

"Let me go! I don't know you and I will press charges!" the boy shouted as Remus brought him back.

"Oh hush up and let destiny work its magic," Remus scolded, shoving the boy towards Roman, "look Ro, he could be your soulmate."

"Remus, you should have talked with him first. That was kidnapping," Logan glared at Remus.

"Eh, what's a felony conviction when true love is on the line?"

"I don't believe in true love, can I go back to my friend now?" the boy stared down at the ground. Roman found him fascinating, everything about him was as black as his own eyes and his sour personality had Roman intrigued.

"What color are your eyes, stranger?" Roman tried to ask warmly. He could see the movement as the boy's eyes flicked to look at him through his bangs.

"Your head looks like a box of crayons, what are you even doing here?" the boy smirked.

"I'm here with my friends, Count Monochrome," Roman scoffed.

"I'm pretty sure you guaranteed I'm never monochromatic," Virgil looked up, tossing his bangs to the side, eyes and eyeshadow on display.

"Oh my…" Roman stared into dazzling rainbows that perfectly matched his hair. Logan elbowed Remus with a smirk.

Virgil laughed, "look, I really dig the purple, and the green, and the red, basically all of it. Please never go back to brown."

"Well, only if you change to something less terrifying!" Roman found his voice again and laughed at Virgil’s shocked expression.

"Wait, you don't like the black?" Virgil asked nervously fingering his hair.

"Look at my eyes and tell me you would," Roman scoffed.

Virgil stepped closer, staring into Roman’s eyes, "I love them. Your eyes look so cool and edgy and mesmerizing. Yeah of course I would like black eyes."

Roman stared back helplessly, breath caught in his throat because of Virgil’s colorful gaze.

"Oh just kiss already!" Remus interjected, snickering at the two.

"Pass," Virgil raised a hand and shot a look at Remus.

"Why not?" Roman asked quietly.

"Uh, we just met. I don't even know your name. And it's possible someone else out there has rainbow hair and black eyes so like, we can't know for sure, right? Not until one of us changes," Virgil took a step back, not liking that he had to explain his thought process.

"You're right, I'm sorry… would you be willing to test the theory with me?" Roman backed off. He liked this rainbow-eyed emo and couldn't put his finger on why, "I'm Roman, what's your name?" he offered a hand to shake.

Virgil ignored the offered hand, "Virgil, and sure. We can try. What did you have in mind, Roman?"

"Well, you dig the purple, right?" ---- Roman was much better at dyeing other people's hair than his own. Virgil let him bleach out a swath of black and color it with the purple Roman had leftover. They avoided each other’s eyes until the dye was set and Virgil had rinsed and washed it well. He came out of the shower with his black skinny jeans on and a towel wrapped around his shoulders, stained black and purple from years of use. Roman looked up and met his eyes.

Virgil gasped. Instead of pure jet black eyes, Roman now had purple irises rimmed in black, similar to his hair. And he thought they were just as stunning as before.

Roman quickly pulled out his phone to check and gasped as well.

"Sorry, if I had known you didn't like the black, I wouldn't have changed a thing," Virgil grinned as Roman stood and walked toward him.

"Thank you for trusting me, Virgil," Roman smiled and held out his arms for a hug.

"I'm just glad you were right," Virgil blushed but accepted the hug from his soulmate.

It was a lot more fun to decide colors together.

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

[spacestationdaedalus]

soft tma prompt #1 - “I never noticed your eyes were this [colour]”

I’ve decided to challenge myself by writing a tma oneshot for every prompt on the soft sentence starters prompt list, because most of them live rent free in my mind. I already filled one from an ask here! for convenience I’ll tag them with “soft tma prompts”

Prompt #1 - “I never noticed your eyes were this [colour].” Featuring Jonmartin in the safehouse because I’m predictable

...

Jon wakes early, seemingly of his own accord. Which is odd, considering the exhaustion that still aches behind his closed eyes. He’s warm and the fabric beneath him is soft and he’s definitely not in the Archives, and then awareness comes back to him with all the subtlety of a freight train.

  Lukas Martin Jonah Lonely Martin Scotland Martin-

  His eyes are met with a bedroom that is not his own - but he doesn’t have his own bedroom anymore, does he? - bathed in the hazy indigo of early morning. He’s in a bed. Not a very large bed, but still big enough for two people, because Martin is lying next to him-

  Ah.

  He’s asleep, based on his breathing - deep and rhythmic. Jon rolls onto his side, gently to not shift the mattress too suddenly. It’s not easy - the old springs creak underneath him with every move - but Martin doesn’t stir.

  Jon watches him, for a while. There are dark shadows under his eyes and lines that Jon doesn’t remember being there before. But his face is slack with the peace of deep sleep. His mouth is open ever so slightly. Jon hopes he isn’t dreaming.

  He expects to drift back to unawareness at some point. But every time his eyelids fall shut they open again, sight drawn to Martin’s face like a moth to a flame. The room gradually lightens from purple to blue to yellow, and when the sun hits Martin’s face through a crack in the blinds, he opens his eyes. Jon almost looks away. But he doesn't.

  Martin takes a moment to come to himself, his grey eyes-

  Wait.

  "Hi," Martin whispers, voice low and rough with sleep.

  Jon is quiet for just barely on the far side of too long, and Martin blinks a bit of the drowsiness away. "Is something wrong?" He murmurs, half into the pillow.

  Of course Jon had to go and worry him. And this early in the morning, no less.

  "No, no, sorry. I just-" Jon breathes a laugh into the space between them, closer now than it's ever been. "I always thought your eyes were blue."

  Martin furrows his brow. He looks a bit more awake, now. "What?"

  "Your-” Jon starts, suddenly nervous under Martin’s gaze. “Your eyes. I suppose they look blue from a distance, but I… I can’t believe I never noticed the actual color.”

  Martin searches his face. "What do you mean? They are blue, they always have been."

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  Jon stares. Opens his mouth, closes it again. He doesn't know what to say, which doesn't put Martin at ease in the slightest. His heart sinks as Martin rises, pushing the covers back as he stands.

  "Um-"

  Jon follows him to the bathroom. Martin stands in front of the sink, arms braced on either side. The mirror hangs crooked on the wall, dusty and warped slightly with age. He doesn't move. Neither does Jon.

  "Huh." Martin laughs after a long moment, dry and humorless and it almost certainly echoes a bit at the end. A fist squeezes around Jon's ribcage. He reaches a hand out because it feels like he should, but what is he going to do with it?

  "Martin-"

  "I guess my eyes were blue. Past… past tense." Martin brings a hand to his face as he speaks, studying his reflection like it's the first time he's seen it in months.

  A buzzing, whirring feedback rises in Jon's mind and suddenly he Knows it’s the first time Martin’s seen his reflection in that long. Bent over the sink in the hospital bathroom, completely and utterly alone, sobs echoing across the cold tile to fall on no one’s ears but his own- all you have to do is look in a mirror - you want to know what she sees when she looks at you?

  Nononononono-

  Jon forces the image down, down as far as he can, fighting the accidental Knowing back with everything he has. The force of it and his guilt leaves him nauseous, with an aching loneliness lingering like a sunspot in his vision and you have no right it’s your fault you did that to him-

  The Lonely’s really gotten to you, hasn’t it?

  "They're beautiful." Jon blurts out.

  Martin turns to him. A tired smile in nothing but shape pulls at his mouth. "Jon-"

  "I mean it.” He declares. “I-I mean, I'm not just saying that." Jon almost puts his hands on Martin's shoulders, but after a moment he brings them to his face, cheeks to palms, fingertips brushing his hairline. Just like he did in the Lonely. But this time Martin's face is warm with sleep instead of chilled with wind, and Jon hopes his hands aren't too cold in comparison.

  He wasn’t lying. They are beautiful. There's a circle of blue around the pupils - the familiar blue that comes unbidden to Jon's mind with warm tea and an equally warm smile. Slate grey creeps in from the edges, bleeding into the blue from the outside in, like tye-dye. The shifting gradient reminds Jon of a foggy sea, like the misting coast he spent wandering as a child in Bournemouth. Or a clear sky, streaked with clouds after a rainstorm. A winter morning, icy and clear and breathtaking in its fundamental beauty. And Jon tells him as such.

  Martin sighs, but he’s smiling, as fragile and uncertain as it is. “God, Jon, I thought I was supposed to be the poet.”

  “Oh, you are, don’t worry.” He thinks for a moment about dropping his hands, but brushes his thumbs across Martin’s cheeks instead. “Any poetry I write is purely accidental. I was going for objective truth, in this case.”

  Martin laughs, and it doesn’t echo quite as much around the edges like the last one, which eases some of the tension coiled in Jon’s chest.

  It’s early, still, and they have nowhere to be. So they go back to bed. It’s not the last time Jon catches Martin staring at his reflection, and it’s not the last time Jon tells him exactly what he sees when he looks at him.

[littlx-songbxrd]

so I just went on a really fascinating rabbit hole on historical hair dye-warning for some disgusting cosmetic methods (this is also way longer than I though it would be but I got very fascinated by the topic)

as for going blonde:

during the roman empire, prostitutes were actually required to have blonde hair and it is through analysis of this that we have most of the early information of hair coloring. wigs were used, which obviously doesn’t help answer our question, but there was also a method of burning certain plants and nuts and using the ashes to lighten hair colors.

now we get into gross stuff. in the modern day if you have dark hair that you are dyeing pretty much any color (aside from specific circumstances) you are absolutely 1000% going to need to bleach it. Great!! modern science has created safe synthetic bleach that is specifically for use in hair. however this was only created in the later twentieth century when hollywood popularized light colored hair.

prior to the invention of what we modern humans know as bleach, people still needed to bleach things (leather used a bleaching process, as did cloth/thread, and of course it was used in cosmetics) so, you might ask, what did people use as bleach?? the answer is urine (human or animal) as it contains natural ammonia in it, which is one of the primary ingredients in bleach. (one of the most disgusting methods I discovered was used was putting the ashes of the crushed up plants and nuts together with literal bird poop to create a paste and then peeing on it. I almost gave up here😭)

later in the elizabethan era in england blonde and red hair was popular. blonde was achieved by using cumin seeds, saffron, and oil and celandine. this method was wildly expensive though.

one doctor in the 1600s successfully used straight up acid to dye hair blonde but that was wildly unsafe so for a long time women just started wearing wigs.

it wasn’t until 1856 that hair coloring became popular again and it was due to the invention of the first synthetic dye, which was the purple shade called Mauvine

once again though, this does not help alastair as it is not until 1920 that true blonde hair was achieved with synthetic dyes, and even through the mid twentieth century it was sometimes an outright dangerous venture because of the unsafe nature of the chemicals.

as for going back to black:

originally, black was the most popular choice for dyeing hair, primarily to cover the signs of aging, as well as for women to distinguish themselves from prostitutes. ancient Egyptians actually used henna to cover gray hairs, and during the same time greeks and later romans used various plant extracts. these extracts were highly toxic though so one method also used was fermenting leeches (like the actual animal) in a lead container for several months. (ew) henna was probably the most popular during ancient times, but berries and crushed nutshells could also be used to darken hair tones

wikihow suggests using henna or indigo powder mixed with coffee ground to get a black color, but it also says that this wouldn’t get lighter colored (such as blonde) hair dark enough. henna is definitely the most historically accurate and it seems that the common consensus is that it was the most reliable method.

it is important, however to note a few things historically here.

1. aside from the ancient egyptians covering gray hairs, men rarely used unnatural hair color. in the western world men used powder and pomade (as well as wigs) to keep hair clean and presentable during the 17th and 18th centuries, which is the closest the modern world came to popular modifications for men’s hair.

2. since women were the primary targets of hair dye, it was generally incredibly ornamental and not very practical. there was a trend in the 18th century of pastel hairstyles, often using wigs, and for the past three centuries before alastair was dyeing his hair, styles achieved notoriety through shape as opposed to color.

3. by the time alastair was dyeing his hair, unnatural colors weren’t popular at all really. natural styles were coming back into popularity in all aspects of fashion, and since women were the only people who ever dyed their hair and the styles didn’t demand it at all it would have been incredibly hard to find access to any of it.

4. it is important to remember that alastair dyed his hair to appear more eurocentric like his father. with how racist and classist the western world was at this time there was absolutely no reason for white europeans, especially the english, to have the necessary products to appear more ideal accessible for those they didn’t want to benefit from the eurocentric society.

tldr: if alastair wanted to bleach his hair he would have had to do some pretty disgusting stuff to it (or I found another suggestion that said using something highly acidic like lemon or lime could work!! all hope may not be lost lol) and to dye it back to black his best bet was henna or a similar plant based stain!

I don’t know how clear this is since i’m on mobile but I hope you found this as fascinating as I did! I really like doing this stuff so if there’s anything else your curious about let me know!!

I absolutely found this incredibly fascinating! I am also on mobile now so I am sorry for my spelling mistakes already

Acid??? ACID????? OH GOD NO

So according to CC Alastair had

And I QUOTE FROM THE ANON WHO SENT ME HER ANSWER

✨magic dye✨ which she never elaborated on

So now I'm imagining if hed miss the vender (i hope there was a vender to this magic dye) to get to him, imagine him trying one of the methods you told here

God thatd be horrifying

Highly acidic lime works pls i cannot think acid-

Oh no now I wanna write an angty fict about thus anon what have you done

It is all very interesting thought! Didnt know they used to dye hair to distinguish from prostitutes!

Also now that I remember Cordelia DID use henna on her hair if I remember correctly, they probably DID have it in the house

So I'm sure it wouldnt have the immediate result it had on Alastair in canon

But we can always dream he used henna and CC just unrealistically described

Or what? Did he find MAGIC DYE in one night?

Anyways

I LOVE ALL THIS AND ITS SO FASCINATING

You are making my inner fasion nerd thrive truly

[niksixx]

New Generation: Meet the Kids

I know many of you have been waiting patiently for anything New Generation related, and I am happy to say I have finally completed a list of the NG kids! I hope you enjoy reading about my little characters, and I can’t wait to write a few little stories about them. 

A few shoutouts first. To all of you who have contributed to the characters’ personalities by sending in messages to my inbox, thank you. You have all made this series possible. I did my best to incorporate my own vision of the NG kids as well as your ideas to create something fun for us all. Second, a big shoutout to @pepeu-stuff for inspiring me. They have gone out of their way to draw a few characters (Farrah, Ezra, etc.) with their own interpretation and have inspired some of the traits for my characters. I truly cherish all of you, and I hope you enjoy the NG kids as much as I do.

A/N: Also, this is just a fanfiction. I tried my best to incorporate Crüe’s and GNR’s personalities into their ‘children’ but we all know kids can 100% be completely different from their parents. 🤗

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meet the Sixx Kids

Nash Sixx 

Nash Sixx is the nineteen-year-old son of Nikki Sixx. He has dark hair and blue eyes with specks of green and a jawline most men would kill for. Like his father, he has an outgoing personality and a killer smirk that’s manipulated people into giving him what he wants more than once. He’s a college student that is studying music education, as he would like to be a music teacher. One of his best friends is Declan Rose, and he’s taught Declan a few tips and tricks when it comes to schmoozing the ladies. He’s also a big partier, and loves having his friends and cousins over to his college apartment. Nash’s favorite pastime though is sitting around the bonfire, glass of whiskey in his hand, while his father tells him stories of life on the road with Mötley Crüe.  

Harlow Sixx 

Harlow Sixx is the six-year-old daughter of Nikki Sixx. She has dark brown hair with clear blue eyes and free-spirited energy. Harlow and Penelope Lee are a package deal and will go nowhere without each other. She’s creative by nature, and sometimes will paint during rainy days. For a six year-old, Harlow is ridiculously intelligent. And just like her father, she has interests in photography and art.

Colby Sixx

Colby Sixx is the two-year-old son of Nikki Sixx. He has Nikki’s natural light brown hair and light blue-gray eyes. He loves finger painting with his sister, playing with toy cars, and putting together puzzles. 

Meet the Lee Kids 

Penelope ‘Penny’ Lee

Penelope ‘Penny’ Lee is the five-year-old daughter of Tommy Lee. She’s a little girl with wavy brown hair (usually in pigtails with little bows attached), big brown eyes, a love for bright pink tutus, and has a bubbly, outgoing personality. She’s the spitting image of her father, and she has him wrapped around her tiny little finger. Penny Lee enjoys her dolls, her teddy bears, and tea parties. She’s been raised to be an independent child and loves exploring nature and making pretty flower bouquets. Penelope can be friends with anyone, and at five-years-old, she’s already shutting down the bullies who make fun of the other kids at preschool.

Meet the Mars Kids

Dillion Mars 

Dillon Mars is the seventeen-year-old son of Mick Mars. He’s tall, lanky, with soft brown hair, blue eyes, and a sarcastic attitude. He’s not as quiet as his father, but he has his moments. Dillion tries not to take life too seriously, which is why he and Isaac Stradlin get along extremely well. Dillion has no interest in school, although he’s extremely smart in math and science. He’s president of his school’s mathletes club though he was pressured by his teachers and hates disappointing others. Most of his time is spent on the living room aimlessly playing his guitar,  Luckily, Dillon did not inherit his father’s bone disease, but he is a huge vodka drinker and occasionally will smoke cigarettes with the Stradlin twins and Ryan McKagan.

Meet the Neil Kids 

Katerina ‘Kat’ Neil 

Katerina ‘Kat’ Neil is the eighteen-year-old daughter of Vince Neil. Kat’s thin blonde hair is usually styled straight or into two space buns on the top of her head with a few pieces framing her face. Green eyes the color of emeralds, she’s the chick every girl wants to be, and the girl every guy wants to be with. Katerina is friendly to all, but she’ll never let anyone take advantage of her kindness. As a senior in high school, she takes pride in being the captain of the cheerleading team, a lead choreographer in the dance club, and the president of the drama club. While the most popular girl in high school could have any boy she wanted, there’s only one boy that Katerina has ever been interested in. Unfortunately, that boy is Declan Rose, the son of her father’s arch enemy, Axl Rose. 

Carson Neil

Carson Neil is the fifteen-year-old son of Vince Neil. Carson’s shoulder length blonde hair resembles his father’s, and he was gifted with a singing voice that could cure the world’s problems. He’s mature for his age, which is why most of his friends are a few years older than him. Carson can be a bit stuck up though and a bit of a prima donna. When he’s not busy rehearsing lines for his school's theater productions, Carson is confined to his room blasting Aerosmith, Ozzy Osborne, and writing his own lyrics to songs he’ll never share. 

~~~

Meet the Rose Kids

Declan Rose 

Declan Rose is the eighteen-year-old son of Axl Rose. He’s the spitting image of his father, except with shorter ginger hair with longer pieces framing his freckled face. Declan is unique in the fact that he refuses to follow in his father’s footsteps. While he enjoys listening to rock and his father’s old vinyl collection, Declan prefers hip-hop and rap music, much to his father’s dismay. Like Axl, Declan is extremely intelligent, and would decide to major in philosophy or psychology in college. He also does have his father’s temper, and while sometimes his father was misunderstood, Declan is lucky to have Katerina Neil around. She calms him down and supports his true personality, even if they have to keep their relationship hidden from their parents. 

Easton Rose 

Easton Rose is the eight-year-old son of Axl Rose. Easton was lucky enough to inherit his father’s hair color, but instead of the long locks, Easton’s hair is shorter and usually styled with gel. The eight-year-old is as stubborn as they come with a hyper and fiery personality to match his hair. He’s an athletic young boy who is also extremely personable and will talk to anyone. He’s impatient, especially when he wants his older brother Declan to help him with homework or play baseball in the backyard with his best friends Logan Adler and Hunter McKagan. Easton is a little flirt and has no problem charming ladies of any age. Easton also has a big crush on his brother’s girlfriend, Kat. 

Calla Rose 

Calla Rose is the five-year-old daughter of Axl Rose, and she is the queen of the household. Calla is the only child with blonde hair, but every now and again Axl dyes pieces of her pink (with temporary spray on hair color of course) to match the large gemstone on the tiara she wears around the house. Calla Rose is quite shy around other people, and it takes her a good twenty minutes before she’s able to muster up the courage to play with other children in preschool. Axl Rose is fully wrapped around his daughter’s finger, and it’s not shocking to catch them in the midst of coloring, ballet dancing, or playing with dolls. 

Willa Rose 

Willa Rose is the four-month-old daughter of Axl Rose. She’s a chubby baby with ginger hair and big hazel eyes. She loves making faces at her big sister and listening to her daddy as he sings her to sleep at night. 

Meet the McKagan Kids 

Ryan McKagan 

Ryan McKagan is the sixteen-year-old son of Duff McKagan. If teenage girls could use one word to describe this boy, it’s this: heartthrob. He’s tall with wavy blonde hair and a welcoming smile, it’s no wonder the girls in high school drool over him. Ryan can be found exercising (as he’s a hockey player) or running around his neighborhood five days out of the week. Ryan does smoke cigarettes and drinks on occasion, much to his father’s disapproval. Ryan tries not to take life too seriously and would have definitely picked up on some of his dad’s lame jokes. Around his neck is the letter ‘F’ attached to a gold chain as it’s the first initial of his girlfriend’s name, Farrah. Even if they have a rough relationship (thanks to Ryan being a typical flirt around other girls) he’s confident Farrah is the girl for him, so he never takes the necklace off. While Ryan didn’t necessarily inherit many of his father’s traits, what he did receive is the ability to sing. His father has taught him how to play guitar, and they’ll sit on the porch outside in the fall, singing and strumming to Guns N’ Roses old songs.

Hunter McKagan

Hunter is the seven-year-old son of Duff McKagan. Hunter’s hair is darker than his older brother’s, but lightens up in the sun. The seven-year-old boy loves to swim and skateboard (lessons are provided for free by Dillon Mars, Issac Stradlin, and Ezra Hudson), and he’s an absolute terror when he chases his family around the house shooting Nerf gun darts at them. He’s also the reason Duff cannot find his cowboy hats, as Hunter will usually steal them and wear them throughout the day. 

Meet the Hudson Kids 

Ezra Hudson 

Ezra Hudson is the eighteen-year-old son of Saul ‘Slash’ Hudson. Ezra is a bit shorter than his father, and yet could be his brother. Ezra was blessed with the most beautiful curls, and unlike his father he usually keeps them out of his face with headbands or ponytails. Ezra doesn’t have just one style, either. Somedays, he’ll dress head to toe in leather. Other days he prefers flannels and jeans, or button ups and khakis. Ezra is definitely a gamer. He also enjoys hiking, fishing, and hunting. He’s also into music, but is still learning how to play acoustic guitar. College is not in the cards for Ezra, as his dream is to form his own band. As for Ezra’s love life, he’s a total chick magnet. Unfortunately, he’s invisible to the only girl he wants: Isabel Stradlin. 

Mali Hudson 

Mali is the six-year-old daughter of Saul ‘Slash’ Hudson. She and her sister Maya were also blessed with their father’s glorious curly hair, and they’re damn proud of it. Mali’s hair is only to her shoulders, which is how you can tell twin from twin. At just six-years-old, little Mali has a plethora of hobbies such as origami, bracelet making, and flower pressing. Many of her crafts are given to either her parents or Farrah Adler. 

Maya Hudson

Maya is the six-year-old daughter (also the oldest twin between herself and Mali) of Saul ‘Slash’ Hudson. Maya has no problem wearing identical outfits with her sister, but their personalities couldn’t be more opposite. Maya loves to wrestle with her older brother and cousins (especially Declan who refuses to wrestle back for fear of hurting her) as well as having interests in dinosaurs, rock climbing, karate, and reptiles (she convinced her family to adopt two snakes and a lizard). 

Meet the Stradlin Kids 

Isaac Stradlin 

Issac Stradlin is the seventeen-year-old son of Izzy Stradlin. With dark shaggy hair, bright eyes, sharp jaw and toned body, Isaac comes off as intimidating at first glance. He can be intense about the things he is passionate about (music, poetry, history) but more often than not Isaac is laidback and easygoing. Isaac’s musical knowledge comes from what his father has taught him through the years, and he’s incredibly talented when it comes to playing instruments such as guitar, drums, keyboard, flute, and trumpet. He doesn’t particularly enjoy his father’s dark and gloomy style of dress that includes black jeans, black button ups, and even black hats, as he feels more comfortable in sweatpants and tank tops. As Isaac is the only boy that doesn’t mind babysitting and playing with the little girls, he has accidentally found himself a fan club whose members consist of Penny Lee, Calla Rose, Harlow Sixx, and twins Mali and Maya Hudson. 

Isabel Stradlin 

Isabel Stradlin is the seventeen-year-old daughter of Izzy Stradlin and the younger of the two between her and her twin brother, Isaac. Isabel marches to the beat of her own drum and has what most would call a ‘bone to pick with the world’ attitude. Isabel has had many different styles, but her current wardrobe is grunge. Isabel considers herself a humanitarian, constantly joining in protests while simultaneously volunteering at homeless shelters and soup kitchens. Because of her compassionate heart, it’s no secret that she and Farrah Adler are inseparable. Isabel would inherit her father’s artistic ability, but her art would range from pottery to graffiti portraits. 

Meet the Adler Kids 

Farrah Adler 

Farrah Adler is the sixteen-year-old daughter of Steven Adler. Her blonde hair is mostly straight with a few layers here and there, and she has the same vibrant and playful eyes as her father. Farrah’s style is mostly hippie influenced (but on occasion she can rock a leather jacket and bandana), and she has more of a laid back personality, something she absolutely did NOT get from her dad. As someone who treasures the beauty of the Earth and its creatures, Farrah would join in rallies such as ‘save the sea turtles’ and volunteer at animal hospitals, where she discovered her calling as a veterinarian. Oh, and she’s 100% vegetarian. Farrah has a peaceful aura, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that she enjoys yoga, astrology, essential oils, journaling, and smoking weed. She also has an on-again-off-again relationship with Ryan McKagan, who she drags to many wildlife rallies.

Logan Adler 

Logan Adler is the nine-year-old son of Steven Adler. He has wavy blonde hair past his neck, playful gray eyes, and a love for drumming. Logan inherited his father’s happy-go-lucky spirit, and loves to meddle into his sister’s business when he’s not playing sports or building legos. He definitely is the class clown and loves being the center of attention, which usually results in him being sent to the principal’s office. He’s a jokester, a prankster, and loves getting into trouble.

[cupcakesnomnomnom123]

Durarara!! x The Outsider

Crossover

*note* AHHH this cross over is my new thing I swear lol. I don’t usually write fics because I can’t hold my attention down long enough to think about a whole story. I usually like to draw because I love it and it gets my ideas out quicker. But I can’t stop thinking about this scenario and the dialogues between the characters that I have to let it out! This is my first fanfic so please be gentle but still love some criticism to my writing. ☺️ also THANK YOU for the support for the other post. I’m glad y’all like it. Also! Not going to be too much Shizaya yet. I wanted to be more Tom and Shizuo friendship centric here.

<TW> mentions of murder, child rape, cannabilisim

(Scenario: News has spread all over Japan of a brutal sexual assault and murder case of 10 year old Misaki Suzuki in Ikebukoro. Details of the murder was leaked to the public early leading to Tom Tanaka arrest while the public and social media are pushing for his death sentence. Tom is waiting to be put on trial. Shizuo visits his accused friend in jail )

Seeing Tom after a week since the… incident.. it looked like Tom aged 10 years. Shizuo sits down and picks up the phone on the left side of the wall and sees Tom so the same. They wait till security leaves and they were alone.

“Hey Tom.. are you okay?…. Wait, shit uhh sorry…that’s a dumb ass question to ask. How are you holding up?”

“…Not very good honestly… who knew being hunged over, fired and being put to jail on the same day really wears a person out haha…”

Tom laughs to lighten the situation but Shizuo can tell it’s fake and self depreciating. Shizuo raises his right arm and tries to rub the exhaustion from his eyes. He looks earnestly at Tom.

“You didn’t do it.”

Tom drops the small smile he had and his eyes showed what he truly felt inside. Completely hopeless.

“Why do you think that? You even said you saw me. Everyone thinks I did it. Even my family. I know they do…my mother refuses to answer the phone. And she always answers the phone. Hell I’m even starting to believe it too. “

“No”, Shizuo says sternly,”it doesn’t add up. I told the police I was with you most of that night. All those fucked up things that happened to the kid. It doesn’t even make sense….you couldn’t of been the one to do it. I’m sure there were cameras at the bar we were at. You couldn’t be at two places at once Tom. That’s impossible”

“A lot of impossible things happen in this city Shizuo. I’m staring at a guy who can lift trucks with no problem”

“This isn’t the same thing.”

Shizuo hates that Tom is feeling this way. He’s upset and pissed at the whole situation. He was pissed the whole time the police was questioning him. He doesn’t have a problem with them per se, even with his bad history with them. It was the repetitive way they were asking the same.damn.questions. Over and over just said differently. It was to see if he would change his story and it was getting on his last nerves. They were betting on Shizuo to give up Tom because they got DNA evidence and even bite mark evidence. All matching down to the very last tooth. But he hold his ground and kept telling them the truth. The police were obviously getting annoyed but he didn’t give a damn. They were trying to get justice for Misaki. They wanted to blame the person all the signs who is pointed at. It made sense. He still would of beaten their asses. But would not helped his or Toms case at all.

He first thought was Izaya since he’s always the cause of all Shizuos problems. This time, it didn’t have izaya’s stink and it didn’t sit right with Shizuo. Izaya usually makes himself known that Shizuo is the bane of Izaya’s existence. The flea is a coward and ruin people’s lives, however…. this… even he thinks izaya doesn’t cross a certain line.

After dealing with the police for hours he went home but he couldn’t get much sleep. The image of Tom running away covered in Misaki’s blood burned in his mind. When he did sleep he wake up having nightmares of finding Misaki body in that dark alley over and over. At the time, he didn’t knew what he saw being he was buzzed from the night of drinking .He didn’t know it was the little girl till he saw the face. The body itself was almost unrecognizable. The body was mangled and ripped apart like a huge animal had gotten her. She was close to Akanes age and sometimes in his dreams both their faces will merge together staring at Shizuo with those same cold dead eyes. That wasn’t the worst part of his nightmares. The absolute worst part was imagination giving him vivid images what the Tom imposter did before Misaki’s murder. He wished he didn’t know..

“Didn’t you also hear from the police shizuo.?,” Tom avoids his eyes.”They also found my DNA all over the scene. They found dna in the building, the van, clothes, inside-

Toms stopped when his voiced hitched a little.

“…the cops showed me pictures…..They were trying to get me to confess but I really don’t remember after I was drinking. I shouldn’t kept drinking. You were right I should of stopped after drink three I should-“

“Hey”. Shizuo says in a harsher manner than he intended.

While Tom tries not to completely break down in front of Shizuo, Shizuo looks at the situation with pure anger and frustration. He can feel the familiar burning feeling simmering beneath his skin. He’s used of being feared like a inhuman beast he is. People feared, and held animosity towards Shizuo. He’s used to that. But Tom wasn’t. Tom literally has the whole world against him right now.

“You don’t deserve to be here..” he almost whispers in the receiver. “ you’re not the monster everyone says you are. I know this not because I was with you most of that night. I know you. We wouldn’t be friends if you pissed me off.”

Their was silence between them. The pause went on too long for Shizuos liking. Toms smile was tired, a little shaky when he sighed but grateful. It was a sigh of relief someone was there at their lowest.

“I think this is the first time you called me one. I was wondering if you ever referred me besides being your boss.” Tom closes his eyes while slightly leans back in his chair with his arms crossed and one side of his mouth perked up. “It feels weird getting the side of being pepped talked at but….” He looks at shizuo with thankful eyes

“Thanks…for getting angry that night. Well, for my behalf. Honestly, that’s the most nicest thing someone has done for me so far since I’ve been in this cage. I’m glad I still have you as a friend. Though I’m not your boss anymore.”

Shizuo doesn’t let too many people in his life in because of the fear of him accidentally hurting them. But this is Tom. Who was their for him at his lowest. He helped him to get most of the thugs off him during middle school. Gave him the suggestion to dye his hair blonde. Given him a job where everything else has failed. Even with izaya interfering with most of them, he knew his temper alone is the first cause of them. Tom helped him so much more than Shizuo deserved. Tom was the last person to be in this fucked up position. Even with the limited pool of relationships he has, he knew when a friend needed him. So he said what he knew he can do best.

“I’ll kill the asshole who put you in this mess. You didn’t kill the girl. I will prove your innocence one way or another. No matter what. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure where to start but I will find them.”

He can’t ask Tom to trust him. He’s afraid to ask. It would be too much faith to ask he had on him when he didn’t had that much faith in himself. Back of his mind, he’s afraid to fail. The voice nagging him, telling him he’s a fuck up. He’s nothing more than a beast destroying everything in his wake. But he’s gotta try. He’s too scared of the alternative option. Tom dying alone believing he’s not worth saving. So he squashes, pushes, kickes and punches that voice back as far it can go. Tom needed to see he’s trying. Tom just smiled at him.

“I trust you on that shizuo. I don’t usually go for violence but this is a special case. I wish I can be there to witness you do it. You still owe me a drink.”

“You still want to drink after this?” Shizuo jokes. Tom smiles a little wider and puts his left hand on his chin in contemplation.

“Hmmm You right. I’m done with drinking for a while. I’ll just settle with trying not to get killed in prison.”

*Aannnd that’s it! Im not sure how much I can do writing before I burn out but the dialogue is the fun part. Doing backgrounds will forever be a fun and the bane of my existence. I hope I stayed IC. I want to do a scenario where shizuo and izaya will work together but my brain will go straight to fluffy moments lol. *

[jeongyunhoed]

Past-Present-Future

What do you do

When everything you’ve done

Comes back to haunt you?

Group: ATEEZ

Superpowers AU!

Mutants, assassins, confronting the past! a little dive into the concept of  romantic soulmates! 

with OCs

Genres: Fantasy, Supernatural, Adventure, Angst, Implied smut, Fluff, Gen

Flashback-heavy

Featuring mentions of: Park Jihoon (solo), Chanyeol, Dean, Zelo

Warnings: Blood, gore, death, violence, character deaths

She has lived with guilt. Slowly remembering details of her checkered past when  interned at a sanitarium years ago. The sudden reemerging of a person she remembered dying and the resurgence of a powerful crime syndicate will have her trying to walk the line between the person she has become and the person she was once destined to be.

A/N: I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post this at all, but I guess it’s worth a try to increase my works on this platform again. The masterlist for this will be up shortly once I figure out/try and make a good graphic. Keyword: TRY (as I suck at photo editing)

Chapter 1. 

“As of today, the seven of you will become a unit, a covert unit. To put it simply, if I want someone killed, you will do it for me, if I want people killed, you will do it for me, if I want information, you will retrieve it for me, all in all, if I want something, you will get it for me, I am good they are bad,” A woman, whose face was obscured in the dark, told the seven people - six men and one woman, all of whom had vacant expressions and were staring into space. 

They were lined up in a padded room, a secret room in the sanitarium that doubled as a training room from the shelves upon shelves of sharp weapons on display at the very end of the room. She knew they could hear her, they just couldn’t speak. 

“Kim Hongjoong, Park Seonghwa, Jeong Yunho, Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho, and,” A man said this time, his face also obscured in the dark, reciting each of their names before rounding on the sole woman in the lineup of people wearing sanitarium uniforms. “Lee Mirae,” the man was smirking in the dark. “The future of our program, you will lead this unit, your progress from all the training these past few years has been exceptional, near-perfect, I would like to think.” 

Mirae said nothing. “Quite an impressive one you are, Lee Mirae,” The woman spoke again. “It’s almost as if you were born for this kind of job. Changseok, what do you think? She is the most successful one we’ve trained under the program, right?” 

“Quite right, honey. Lee Mirae, you are the most successful experiment in this program of ours. It’s not hard to see why, you were born with the mutant gene,” The man seemed to stare at her. “Your own parents didn’t realize your true potential when they interned you in here, but consider this as a way to lead you to what you are destined to be. The most-feared mercenary the world has ever known. The mere sight of you will bring even the most powerful people to their knees, begging you to spare their lives.” 

Mirae still said nothing. Like the others, she could hear them, she just couldn’t speak. “You will be pulled out whenever we have a mission for you. This will entail traveling to faraway parts of the world. While you’re all built to be killing machines, I don’t think any of you are invulnerable to harm. But don’t worry, after every mission, upon returning, you will all be subject to electroshock therapy. Just enough to make you forget what you’ve done, where you went, and whom you might have killed,” The woman spoke again. 

They could hear her. They just couldn’t speak. “You are all ready for your first mission. It’s in Busan. You will be briefed on the way. It’s time to open Pandora’s Box.” 

The seven of them twitched in their places. As the man known as Changseok began to repeat the last two words, the seven of them continued twitching, tilting their heads as if hearing something that hurt their ears. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard, forks scratching ceramic plates. When Changseok stopped, all of them stood still, a blank look in their eyes as if in a trance. “Remember, regardless of the weapon you pick, you are the true weapon.”

~ 

Seoul. 9:00 p.m. Present day.

Five years have passed since the Seoul attack that changed everything. Almost everyone that was part of trying to stop it was gone, either dead or missing. Lee Mirae stared at the rain tapping on the windows of her apartment. It was now four years since the Utopian cult, the encounter that gave her a rude awakening, the encounter that made everything seem like a lie, the encounter where she lost her adoptive brother Jihoon. There was a memorial in place for the lives lost during those times, placed on the site where the Center for Paranormal Research once stood. 

This was no longer the place she once knew. Even the brightest colors from the lights by the river seemed to have a grey, almost black tinge to it all. For some reason, the place she called home was no longer as bright as she knew it to be. It was a lot darker, and it wasn’t only because of the constant dark clouds hanging over the city, but it was also because the crime rate was still at its highest. Gangs were rampant all over. Law enforcement couldn’t be trusted. It wasn’t hard for Mirae to realize how much things weren’t so bright and cheerful since the Seoul attack. It was never bright and cheerful. She just wasn’t paying much attention. 

Mirae was a mutant, and had the ability to manipulate energy. She turned the smallest things into extremely explosive projectiles, and she often did it with a deck of cards. Being an omega-level mutant, the fullest extent of her powers allowed her to turn into an energy being, aside from a healing factor that made her almost immortal, and it also slowed down her aging process. She was a fighter, gifted with many forms of combat, and she was often told by her adoptive brother that no one could beat her in any way, but she knew that wasn’t true nor was it going to be true. She often used a steel bo staff made for her by Junhong, one of the surviving tech guys from the attack, who also took it upon himself to make changes to some of her things, including her car and the windows of both her apartment and the record store she owned and operated. 

Her powers didn’t stop there. From the two big events that shook the city came her ability to trap souls into objects, usually her cards. This also resulted in a white streak in her hair that she never bothered covering up, not even when she tried to dye her hair. 

She heard the door open and turned around. It was her half-brother, Choi San, coming back from getting take-out at the nearest restaurant. San was a mutant like her, and was also gifted with the ability to manipulate energy, only he channeled it through his harpoon. His healing abilities were just as strong as hers, granting him near-immortality. San was also skilled in combat, and when they reunited, he was working as a mercenary for hire. He still was one. Like her, he also had a streak in his hair, a purple one that seemed to cover up the white that formed upon using his powers to their fullest extent. 

Mercenary. The mere word made her shake her head. That wasn’t her. If it was, then it was the old her. She was no longer under the control of her Utopian cult. The trigger was gone, taken out of her head. She knew this well. She was the one who drove the sword into the leaders of that cult, her own adoptive parents. 

“I’ve come back bearing meat, I figured we could grill some over the stove for dinner tonight” He said, holding up a black plastic bag. San tilted his head. “You had another dream, didn’t you?” He figured. 

“Yeah,” Mirae let out an exasperated sigh. She had trouble sleeping, knowing that her dreams would present her flashes of memories from her time at the sanitarium. Only this time, the memories she would have would lead her to wake up in tears as those memories were of Jihoon. Jihoon, whom she promised to protect with her whole life when he got out, whom she practically raised, and whom she ultimately failed to save. 

“What was it this time?” San asked, already bringing out a griddle pan to pan-fry the meat instead. 

“The first mission I had, or at least that’s what it sounded like, the usual stuff,” She replied, setting the table while he cooked the meat. 

San’s expression turned into that of concern as he glanced at her. It made him wonder how he could somehow help her get out of this, out of her inability to sleep. “I could get you sleeping pills if you need it,” He said carefully. 

“Thanks, but no thanks. Whether or not I take them, I still have those dreams,” Mirae shook her head, helping him out with cooking this time. 

“Hasn’t Junhong… tried to come up with something to help you? What about your friends? Chanyeol? Hyuk? Have they thought of helping you?” San’s tone was becoming increasingly concerned. 

“How can they? Hyuk’s not that powerful a telepath, what can Chanyeol do, burn my head? Ino… well, he’s too caught up in trying to manage his own powers to even try and help out other people,” Mirae answered. “Even if they tried, when the trigger was taken out of me, the psychic block in my head grew stronger, they can’t read my mind even if I wanted them to.” 

San frowned. He hated that he couldn’t do anything to help her either. “I hear you crying in the middle of the night sometimes,” he said, partly wondering if it was the right time to point it out. “At first I thought you were crying because you missed Jihoon, but over time I realized it was something else,” He quickly turned the meat over in time before one side burned. 

“I will always miss him. But every time I go to sleep I’m always haunted by what happened to me before,” Mirae muttered. “I’ll be fine, San. Really, I’ll be fine, I can cope with it,” She assured him. “Maybe some sparring will help clear my head. Want to spar with me later?” 

“Will you let me win this time?” San teased, in an effort to lighten the mood. 

“I can’t promise you that,” Mirae teased back. 

~ 

“I thought you said you were training yourself?” Mirae asked later on in the training room down the hall from their apartment later that night. She managed to put San down on the mat in less than a minute during their first try. 

“I was!” San argued, sounding frustrated as he got back up on his feet. “You’re just that good!” He pointed out, charging towards his sister, who easily blocked every strike he made while he did the same yet with a few maneuvers later, he was back down on the mat. 

“That’s not true, you’re probably just not training enough,” Mirae pointed out, helping him back up. 

“Hey! I really was!” San got back up. “Maybe we should just go through the obstacle course kind of training instead,” He said. Although he was frustrated at how he never seemed to be able to one-up Mirae, he couldn’t stay frustrated for long. He wanted to help her clear her head and he was determined to make it happen, even if it was at his own expense.  

“Deal. I would never fight you anyway, unless you need to because I might be hypnotized or something,” She assured him, flipping one of the switches to start the courses in front of them. Several dummies were already positioned at the end along with spiked gauntlets that were rotating. 

When Mirae flung a few cards towards the dummies in front of her, it signaled San to attack as well, his harpoon gun piercing through the dummy head and as the arrow pulled back, the head was nearly ripped off. The two of them rolled over to either side of the room, picking up the nearest weapon they could get their hands on: Mirae, her staff and San with a pair of nunchaku. 

They attacked the spiked gauntlets at the same time with their weapons, kicks, and punches. Their attacks seemed incredibly effortless and precise. San smiled to himself at how they attacked at the same time, and he could tell Mirae was smiling as well, some blood staining the backs of their shoes from kicking a little too hard and breaking the spikes off. When they reached the end of the course, they looked at the nearly broken down obstacles, satisfied with what they did. Mirae handed him a pair of shurikens and the two of them kicked each one towards the dummies that fell out from the ceiling. While San’s hit the dummies on the legs, Mirae’s hit them squarely on the chest and on the head. 

They hit high fives. “Close enough, but we did great!” San enveloped her in a hug with one arm. “One day, I’ll hit those dummies just as good as you did” He said, eyeing the shurikens on the legs of the dummies hanging from the ceiling. “I’ve always wondered why you don’t have guns in here.” 

“These weapons existed long before there were guns,” Mirae pointed out, retracting her staff. “And they’re a lot cooler to use,” She winked, making San chuckle. 

“Okay then, let’s call it a night, I’ve got a game to play and we’ll clean all of this up tomorrow, don’t clean it up, let’s do it tomorrow” San pushed her towards the doors before she could object. 

Mirae allowed herself to be led, still feeling the rush from their training session. As she set foot outside the room and into the hallway, she froze as she saw a tall man dressed in black from head to toe, wearing a mask and a fedora. She could tell he was looking right at her before he fled. The way he was dressed seemed familiar to her yet she didn’t know how, it felt a little too familiar as if she wore something like that before. He himself also gave off that familiar feeling. 

The man fled before she tried to follow, but as Mirae ran and tried to catch up by the elevator, he was already gone. San caught up to her. “What is it?” He asked. 

She shook her head. “Nothing, a stray cat got up here” She muttered. “Let’s go back inside.” 

San frowned. “We could’ve taken that cat inside, gave it food, it was probably hungry” He said as they turned back to their apartment. “We could’ve even taken it in for good, like a pet” He eyed her. 

Mirae shook her head again as they entered their home, taking their stained shoes off, revealing the bloodied socks they were both now sporting. She was still thinking about the man in black. Why was he so familiar to her? “You can shower first, I’ll go in after you” She said, heading to her bedroom. 

“Really? Okay then, I’ll let you know when I’m done” San raised a brow, sensing that something was on her mind. Not wanting to ask further, he went straight to the bathroom. 

~ 

“Remember our promise, okay?” Yunho choked, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth as Mirae tried to hold him. They were in the middle of a desert-like place, somewhere far away. “Remember it-I’ll look for you-I’ll find my way to you when either of us get out, okay?” He sputtered, looking up at her, eyes becoming glazed over. 

The strong wind hit their faces but Mirae didn’t care. Hot tears were streaming down her eyes as she held him, trying her hardest to stop the bleeding coming from his side but failing. “Mirae! Get back here! Leave him!” Hongjoong was yelling as they were on their way back into the military plane, trying to get away from the larger group of what looked like soldiers that worked for their target. 

“He’s a lost cause, you can’t save him, Mirae,” Seonghwa tried to pull her up but Mirae refused to budge. “You’re our leader, we’re not leaving without you” He added. 

“Go with them-go with them” Yunho sputtered. “I love you, Lee Mirae. I love you. Remember that” and his eyes closed, his form collapsing under her. 

More tears fell down the sides of her face as she held his lifeless body close. The pain she felt was slowly being replaced with rage, and as she saw the oncoming soldiers running towards them, about to fire their weapons, her eyes glowed red making all of them combust, exploding in front of her including the weapons they were carrying. 

Seonghwa and the others stared at the scene in shock. Tears were still flowing down the sides of her face as the glow in her eyes faded. He was gone. Yunho was gone.

~ 

Mirae’s eyes shot open in the middle of the night and she sat up. An overwhelming sadness came over her and before she realized it, tears were already flowing down her face. Her hands were shaking as she sobbed into them, She had forgotten his name, but he must have been someone important to her. Whoever he was, his death felt like a heavy blow, like her heart was being broken over and over. 

She had been dreaming about him a lot more lately. Mirae got out of bed and stepped out of her room, sneaking past the sofa bed that San was sleeping on and going to the kitchen. She still felt that overwhelming sadness as she took a drink of water, trying to wipe her eyes from the tears that managed to escape even as she felt like she had already cried her eyes out for the past few minutes. 

The more she thought about it, the more she realized how her time at the sanitarium was more than just a blur, more than Jihoon, more than the electroshock therapy sessions she often had to go under. Mirae figured she fell in love while interned, with the guy she was dreaming about, the guy whose face she was being made to remember. 

“Mirae,” San was already sitting up, looking at her with one eye open. “Are you okay?” He asked. 

“Go back to sleep, I’m fine,” Mirae assured him quietly. 

“It’s getting harder for me to see you like this, I can’t just go back to sleep,” San got up and made his way towards his sister. “What was it this time?” 

Mirae didn’t know how she could tell him. “Someone who isn’t Jihoon, dying in front of me, I killed a lot of people in return. I can’t remember his name, but I’m remembering his face more and more.” 

“Must be important to you, whoever they are” San said. 

“He must be. Otherwise I wouldn’t have killed all of those people in front of us.” 

San rubbed her back and wrapped an arm around her. “Like what you told me, sis. You’ll be okay. This is what’s helping you heal.” 

“I hope so, San,” She looked up at him, feeling the overwhelming sadness and heartbreak again. “I hope so.” 

San stayed up with her to keep her company for a little while more until she urged him to go back to sleep. Neither of them were aware that the man, dressed in black from head to toe with a mask and a fedora hat, was looking up at them from outside the building. 

[between-the-alchemist-and-god]

Random personal headcanon: Victor is naturally blonde but started to dye his hair to be darker at a young age after Elizabeth (who's blonde) started living with them. Why? Idk to set himself apart from her or something. If we're going with the way I project my own problems onto him it would be gender reasons but that's a different story. Don't think too deeply about it.

But when he started working on the Creature he stopped caring about his hair and just stopped dyeing it after a while, so the roots showed his natural hair color. Because he wasn't seeing the sun as much his hair was darker in his apartment (I'm blonde and my hair only lightens if I get sun frequently otherwise it looks brown, so he'd probably be similar) but when he went home he started going outside more and it brightened, making blonde marks in his otherwise dark hair that look kinda like lightning streaks if you look close enough

Did they have easily accessible hair dyes in the 1700s? No, I googled it. But man made a human I think he can make some hair-dye for himself. You can't tear this idea from me that easily