#my writing isn't the best

[trashartgalleries]

A tiny section from a story I'm cookin' up

This is, like, the middle section of a chapter I just finished writing. I might post a chapter on here, but I won't be the one this section's from

The story's called "A Light in the Darkness" and it's inspired by mistanfishu's animation on TikTok (i saw it on YouTube)

-

         The inside of Theodor’s home looks as fancy on the inside as it did the outside; Benjamin was almost scared to touch anything or sit on one of the plush couches in the living room. There’s not a lot of decorations in the spacious room, other than a few house plants and the fireplace with a large (flat screen) television hanging on the wall above it. The hero manager could feel loneliness dancing in the lightly scented air around him; the vibe of the house doesn’t match Theodor’s personality, or the amount of his personality Benjamin’s seen thus far.

The two text each other any and every chance they get, even if it’s just to check on one another.

Ben accepts the glass of iced fruit juice Theo offers him before the taller sits down next to him.

“Like I said outside, before I help you look into the Mocker of Heroes… there’s something I need to tell you.”

The shorter nods his head, remaining silent while he waits for the taller to continue. Theo, “I’m not a hero. I’m a vigilante; that’s the reason you and I have never run into each other at the Grand Hall.”

Benjamin hums, “Then��� why were you there the other day?”

“I figured you’d be there,” Theodor teases kindly, “you’re always at your job, you workaholic.”

The smaller man pouts slightly with blush staining his cheeks, “I am not,” he huffs out, “technically speaking, being a hero is a twenty-four hour job!”

That flew right over Theo head while he laughs softly at Ben, “I didn’t mean for that to upset you, my dear; I was just trying to tell you what I’ve noticed about you. … I’ve noticed a lot of things actually.”

Benjamin tilts his head to show his curiosity. Theodor, “You work hard, and you seem to enjoy what you do to some extent. Otherwise, you’re just willing yourself to continue down your career path. You’ve probably held out a helping hand to the majority of the heroes’ managers when things got hectic for them.” He smiles softly, “You deserve every break you earn, and all the rest you can get.”

“Th-thank you,” the shorter mused softly, “I um… oh!” he lightly punches the taller’s firm arm, “We’re supposed to be talking about the Mocker of Heroes, not me! … but,” he averts his gaze while moving his hand back to his lap, closing his orbs while setting his drink on the coffee table in front of his shins.

“Since you told me what you actually are… I think it’s fair that I share with you what happened about five years ago; the reason why I’m so tired all the time. It relates to Doc, so I was going to bring it up anyway.”

This caught Theodor/Wraith’s full attention, his expression relaxing as he turns head and body a bit to sit facing Benjamin. Ben, “About five years ago, there was a villain with powers we’d never went up against before. Heroes and vigilantes teamed with the hopes of takin him down, but… nothing they did was enough. Our city would’ve been done for if Nightengalen hadn’t used his full power… Nightengalen: Overdrive.”

“Is that what he, himself, calls it?” the larger man asked with a curious eyebrow cocked. The smaller shakes his head, “Nah; he never came up with an official name for the form himself, and different people call it different things. Using his full power was more than enough to take that villain down, but… it came at a price.”

Theo, “Exhaution?”

“And limitation. The amount of energy he needs to replenish is… far beyond anything I could calculate off the top of my head. Being a hero who always needed gets in the way of that, and Sun Beam thinks we’ll need Doc’s full power soon.”

“Does she think that the False Hero’s going to make a move?”

“Yes… and if he knows about what happened to Doc then, that might confirm her suspicions.”

Theodor hums as he leans back into the cushion of his couch, “I think she’s worrying over the wrong villain.”

Benjamin tilts his head curiously, “What makes you say that?”

“I caught a glimpse of those notes before I left,” he stands up, “follow me.”

Ben stands up and then follows Theo out of the living room and down a long hallway, walking until they reach a specific door. The taller man opens it then allows the shorter to enter the room first before doing the same, closing the door behind him. Theodor approaches the table at the center of the room then taps something underneath the edge of it to turn it on, “Plug your phone into this please; there’s a cord that connected to the side you’re standing at.”

Benjamin pulls up the picture he took of Sun Beam’s corkboard before connecting his phone to the projector table, blinking twice when a holographic version of a picture appears before his eyes. Theodor moves to stand (close) behind Ben the lifts one of his hands to unstack the holographic sticky notes to make it look neater, fully aware of the blush that’s taking over the smaller male’s features. It’s starting to creep down Benjamin’s neck.

“This note,” the larger says while enlarging it, “this note is the reason why I said what I did in the living room. The Mocker of Heroes likes to do as he pleases, and it looks like it mostly involves sparring against people who pique his interest.”

Ben shifts timidly, “Ni-Nightengalen has um… super strength and super speed, along with his powerful healing abilities, s-so I guess I have a better understanding of why he’s being targeted. I-if true.”

Theodor hums with his eyebrows raised in amusement, his gaze moving to the pen across the table. He doesn’t need it, but he could pretend that he could to make Benjamin bend over in front of him. With how close he is to the shorter, his crotch will be pressed firmly against Ben’s clothed ass.

“Excuse me,” the taller chimes before leaning forward to grab the pen with his other hand gently gripping the shorter’s waist to keep him in place. Blush takes over Benjamin’s entire body as his frame quivers underneath Theodor, his hand gripping the edge of the table for support.

“Fuck,” Theo/Wraith cursed mentally with his hungry gaze on the back of Ben’s neck. He the desire to leave a mark there is tempting, and the villain subconsciously sharpens his canine teeth into fangs the longer he stares. It didn’t help that the smaller’s plump rump rubbed against his rising erection with each little shift and tiny sway of the hips he does, sweat beginning to show on his reddened skin.

“Ah… are you going to um… grab it?”

“Hm?” Theo hummed as he snapped back to reality.

“The pen.” Benjamin timidly turns his head to look over his shoulder, “You could’ve let me move out of the way for you, or you could’ve just gone to the other side of the table to get it.”

“Ah… the pen….” Theodor moves off of the smaller with his hands raised and an innocent smile on his face, “I completely forgot what I needed it for!” his smile softens as his hands lower to the pockets of his sweatpants, “Why don’t we call it here for the day, and come back tomorrow to make a plan? The table’s already memorized the photo, so you don’t have to worry about reconnecting your phone.”

Ben shyly averts his gaze after turning to face Theo, “N-not tomorrow… the next time I’m free, I’ll let you know.”

The two blink twice when the shorter man’s phone began to ring, both knowing where the call’s coming from.

“Until next time then,” the taller sighs, “be sure to text me when you get home.”

[uraniumnm333]

and here it is !!! the polysho oneshot fic !!! i already have two chapters up, but i'm planning more soon !!!

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[theprissythumbelina]

I can't tell if my dragon worldbuilding has gone too far when I start reading scientific papers on bat wig morphology and comparing them to bird morphology.

[psychologicalwarclaire]

Wu trained Morro at the same time that Garmadon was training with Chen which MEANS that Misako was around to see what the pressure of wanting and training to be the Green Ninja could lead to.

So later when she had Lloyd and KNEW that he would be the legendary Green Ninja, do you think she thought of the child Wu had once trained? The kid who became so obsessed with proving himself that he put himself in danger time and time again? The little boy who ran off into the night and never came back?

After seeing that, is it any wonder why she didn't want to leave her son-- the actual Green Ninja-- to be trained by Wu at such a young age?

Maybe a boarding school for bad boys would never make him want to be a hero. Maybe it would keep him safe from the destructive power of destiny. Maybe Darkley's was the only way to save her beloved son, Lloyd Garmadon, from himself.

Maybe Misako remembered Morro. And maybe, just maybe, she knew it would be best if her son never turned into someone like that.

[naffeclipse]

What if Eclipse from AP was a naga? And this took place in the deep jungle of the amazon, where photographer y/n is trying to take pictures of the wildlife?

I'm vibrating at the speed of sound over this ask while also nudging my naga au

Naga Eclipse from AP would have the tail of a Green Anaconda, with an olive green scaly color dotted with black, framed by burning-like flares of orange along the length of his slithery body. He's also decorated with orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, slipper form. His upper half is scaley with a lithe deadliness to his musculature and decorated by frills surrounding his head with brighter orange-yellow colors, almost hypnotic in their gradient hues. One eye is deep emerald green, and one is midnight blue.

Lucky you—you're out on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition to explore a jungle closed off to the public, funded by Fazco, and occupied by two researchers who will be your bunkmates for the next few weeks. You're itching to take photos of the large river, including swamps, marshes and streams, and whatever wildlife is out there.

The few locals you did meet before you left to hike the rest of the way to what would be your new, isolated home warned you of a dangerous snake—a large, mythical beast. You take note of the local folklore. You understand the truth is hidden in there somewhere, and you are well aware of the dangers and diseases you could be met with in such a harsh environment, but you're determined.

It doesn't take long for you to feel eyes watching you when you first venture out by yourself. You take beautiful pictures of freshwater fish, big and beautiful, unlike any you have ever seen. Of course, you have hundreds of snapshots of the local flora, the trees, the floating meadows, the thick vines that drape each branch and hang thickly about the ground. You almost forget that you eerily don't feel alone.

But you swear something moves in the water—the ripples stop as soon as you look. The stillness is suddenly stiff, lifeless. Even the birds have stopped chirping.

You lower your camera and carefully put it away. A trickle of fear slips into your heart. You turn away from the river's edge only to be met by a low hiss and a creature, unlike anything you witnessed in your travels, spooling itself neatly out of the water, blocking your path to the base. An incredible creature with long arms and a great, serpentine tail that seems to stretch for yards and yards. You can hardly breathe in his presence—he's otherworldly with his frills and scales and fangs.

His eyes contain a mesmerizing shine as if staring into a fire as it burns or watching the ocean as it laps up against the beach, drawing your attention, demanding you don't look away. You couldn't anyway. Half-frozen, you struggle to keep from collapsing. He beckons with a sharp talon. He hisses softly for you to come closer, mouse. He wants to see you. You try to beg no without revealing how terribly you tremble. He doesn't let you go. He insists. His eyes flash with an allure. You almost step close when he murmurs that you need to be good.

But then your sense of survival kicks adrenaline into your heart, and you turn to run—

He strikes faster than your eyes can follow. Two loops of his green and orange tail surrounded you in an instant. You're dragged to the ground, your arms pinned under his mass, and the back of your head cradled by his large palm as powerful muscles squeeze you in the slightest—a gentle rebuke for thinking you could get away. You're hyper-aware of the terrifying bulk of muscles as you lie trapped in his coils. One strong twist and your eyes could pop out of your skull, and every bone protecting your heart and lungs would crumble to shards. You gasp. An urge to kick your legs and struggle erupts in your panic; a sinking feeling tells you it would only make things worse.

He coos over you, hissing and humming in an ancient song of the jungle you have no name for. When you whimper, he shushes you and strokes your cheek. He tells you how lovely you'll be. When you talk back to him, somehow finding your tongue amid your horror, you find out his name. Eclipse. He moves you more upright, resting you on his tail so you're not petrified by how vulnerable you feel lying down, but he never loosens his scaly bindings. He hovers over you. You gaze into his stunning frills of yellow-orange and wonder how a being like him came to exist. He studies you as you study him. He grins at how you shiver when he traces your collarbone with a sharp fingertip.

You remind yourself that you can still breathe. He hasn't crushed you—yet—but you don't like how wide his smile is. Sometimes, his jaw stretches a little too long as if dislocating from his skull, ready to devour you. His eyes gleam with a ravenousness as scales twist around you, holding you close enough to smell the slick green water he had been in and deep musk.

He tells you that he'll see you again very soon—away from other humans, lest you bring him a fine gift for a meal. You can only flex your fingers, silently pleading in your heart that he won't unhook his jaw and eat you alive.

Then, he unravels himself from your limbs. But before he lets you go entirely, he leans in close, his serpentine tongue flickering close to your neck and by your hair, tasting the air around you as you muster all your strength to not scream. He inhales deeply, pleased, before he murmurs, "Sweet mouse. You are mine. Say it."

You don't understand, but you echo his command, and when he taps your chin once in what might have been a loving gesture, you force your jelly legs to solidify before you run and run, all the way back to base. You slam the door to your room behind you. You touch your ribs, your arms, still caught in the heavy sensation of his loops as if he were upon you right now.

The stories are true—there is a giant snake in this jungle, and he wants you. You're afraid to discover if Eclipse's intrigue with you is only an exotic way to satisfy his hunger.

[ilkkawhat]

[bixels]

if she’s a trans woman, why did you “get a go-ahead” from a transmasc person? feel like i’m not really following the logic here. not to rail on you but you’re the one looking for permission and accuracy. plenty of gnc transfems on tbis site would love to chat about their personal experiences…

They're one of my closest IRL friends and a queer artist who focuses on depictions of queer bodies. I didn't specifically reach out for permission, I brought it up during last year's Pride Month, we spoke about Noora, and they helped me design her jacket. This wasn't a formal thing, just a conversation with a genderqueer friend that helped me shape Noora's character.

[eikichi-supremacy]

If nothing else Koenma is a Kuwabara stan and I'm right there with him o7 (I need to write the kuwameshi fic that goes with this fr)

[necrotic-nephilim]

this is not a ship post, but something that frustrates me a lot in fanon concerning Jason Todd that attempts to soften Jason's return to Gotham for the sake of found family domesticity or easy hurt/comfort or just sliding him into the Batfam sooner, is they all seem to fundamentally misunderstand Jason.

because there seem to be a lot of fandom popular concepts of Jason coming home much sooner and just not having his whole Under The Red Hood arc. which in theory is fine and i can see the want to simplify canon to make room for your lighthearted more fluff-leaning concepts. but in everyone without fail, the way they address the clown-shaped elephant in the room is by having some throwaway line that "oh Jason quietly kills the Joker and moves on".

when the Joker being dead or alive is not the *point*. if by some chance accident, the Joker had died prior to Jason's return, whether by ridiculous freak accident, getting whacked by a fellow villain, hell even someone actually doing so to avenge Jason, it *would not* satiate Jason's anger. because Jason's end goal in UtRH is not to simply kill the Joker: it is to make *Bruce* kill the Joker. Jason's anger is directed to the idea that to Jason, if Bruce truly loved Jason, he would've killed the Joker. that is love, for Jason. compromising your personal values for love and not letting someone go unavenged. when Jason was Robin, almost every angry or misguided thing he did was born of love. he wanted to kill/hurt Two-Face because he believed Dent killed his father. he was so angry at Felipe because an innocent woman was dead due to that man's actions. he wanted to save his mother in a situation he knew he shouldn't be in because he loved her. his anger, his violence, it is driven by love and feelings of righting wrongs. that is how he thinks wrongs *should* be righted. that is how you avenge and *love* someone.

because so long as Jason's return to Gotham doesn't end in Bruce killing the Joker (which, it never will bc Bruce is Bruce), Jason will never forgive Bruce. you cannot wave away the layers of hurt and complicated trauma by killing Joker offscreen. because Jason will still be angry that Bruce didn't avenge him. in his eyes, that means Bruce did not love him enough. he was not truly loved by Bruce the way he loved Bruce. bc Bruce was Jason's whole *world*. prior to being taken in, Dick and Tim, they had support systems. they had loved ones. they knew what stability and healthy family love looked like. Jason *didn't*. and that's not to say that Catherine Todd did not love him with her whole heart and thus he loved her, but it certainly wasn't a stable and safe support system for Jason to grow up in. Bruce was Jason's first real sense of a stable, healthy life. and so of course Jason poured everything into Bruce and loved Bruce so devoutly. Bruce was his world. like he says, if it had been Bruce, Jason would've stopped at nothing.

so his betrayal is rooted in that he was not avenged, not that Joker is alive. so long as the Joker does not die by Bruce's hands, it will never be enough for Jason. (in this era, at least.) notably, this is also why i don't think it would change a thing if Jason knew the whole "oh Bruce wanted to kill the Joker but Superman stopped him" tidbit that fanon has really latched onto as a way to pacify Jason's anger toward Bruce. Jason knowing that wouldn't change a thing, in my opinion. because Jason knows Bruce. and a tenant of Bruce's character is that he grapples with murder *every day*. the whole point is how *easy* it would be for him. he is a human weapon, trained by killers, trained to be deadly. he is the greatest strategist to exist. he knows he could kill someone and get away with it. *no* trace, no proof, nothing. and he knows he *wants* to. wants to kill the Joker, Joe Chill, anyone who's hurt him that viscerally.

but he *doesn't*. that's the point. Bruce wakes up every day with that question on his mind, and every day the answer is the same. Bruce's morality is not a decision he made in an alleyway when his parents died, it's a decision he continues to make every day and he *must* continue to make in order to remain who he is. Jason is quite familiar with the fact that Bruce grapples with this daily. i do not think it surprised nor fazed Jason to know that Bruce did *consider* killing the Joker. that he wanted to. maybe even planned to. but a consideration, a want, a plan, is just a thought. it's nothing substantial, and substance is everything to Jason. at the end of the day, Bruce didn't. he was talked down by *Clark* of all people with an excuse of diplomatic immunity, as if Jason and Bruce don't both know that Bruce could've *easily* found a way to make it look like an accident or some other loophole. because he's Batman. there's always a loophole. he always finds a way when he actually intends to. but he never actually intended to kill the Joker. so he didn't. and Jason would know that there was never an intent. it's an interesting piece of fodder to add to the nuance of Jason and Bruce, but honestly, i think it'd make Jason angrier to have that excuse thrown in his face. as if Bruce hasn't beaten Clark half a dozen times by now. it's a flimsy nonsense excuse that Jason would rip to shreds.

so while yes, i understand the wish for easy lighthearted fanfic that doesn't have to deal with the nuances of canon, i think that Jason's character will always be so deeply robbed and altered if you try to fix his thirst for vengeance with an off-page killing of Joker at Jason's hands. it was never the point. the point was that -in his own eyes- he wasn't loved enough for Bruce to make an acception. he realized that not even his *death* would come before Bruce's Mission. Jason truly believed that Bruce loved him and held him as the most important thing in the world, and now he has proof that Bruce didn't. because the Mission mattered more.

i'm not saying i have a solution to this conundrum if you're attempting to solve it for fanfic/fanon, nor am i even saying it's a bad thing it exists. i just think it becoming overwhelmingly common has led to misunderstandings surrounding Jason's motivations and feelings about this arc and it's an unsatisfying solution that only seeks to pacify Jason's rage and his trauma responses for the sake of found family-ification.

[yandere-yearnings]

I feel very ashamed to ask this, but f*ck it I’m anonymous anyway and I need to know:

Would Dice take it like a good boy?

dice says fuck around and find out🫵 (also you've got nothing to be ashamed of here nonnie❗❗ it's a no judgment zone🥰)

slightly suggestive content under the cut!

It was always raining when you were with Dice, to the point where you could convince yourself the heavy clouds followed him. That his misty greys were just reflections of a suspended downpour sprawling out on the skyline in wait. You'd come to accept it as just another constant in your life. Learned to like it. One more thing to look forward to, one more thing to keep you grounded when you felt you were slipping away.

Oh, but it was cold.

One of the walls in the penthouse kitchen was entirely end-to-end glass. No draft came in, yet everything still felt too open. Goosebumps rose on your arms watching the droplets drum down rhythmically. Quickly before you, they became a screen of water that made the world outside seem like it was melting. Streaking green and terracotta from the potted plants on the terrace where the soil was surely being washed out, and the fairy lights you'd strung up once on a dreary morning haloing into sharp, blinding yellow. You felt a little numb the more you stared, so you turned to the room to bathe in more human attentions.

The sleeve of the hand wrapped around his decanter was the only one rolled up. You'd daresay Dice did it on purpose, because he knew well your eyes always lingered on every sliver of skin he showed you. Burnt umber into a marquise-cut glass, fire in refracted fragments, to his lips — and now you wanted nothing more than to take the warmth that they had surely gained.

"It's Scotch," he said when you walked over, when your hands found their place at his hips and you pressed his body right into the counter with yours, "want some?"

"I want you." Your breath came out heavy, forehead to the broad plane of his back. Heat from flesh you couldn't feel properly through chiffon barriers taunted you. A carrot hung for the starved animal that you were.

On this quiet night his laugh was velvet and red wine served chambré, something rich enough to send you into a haze — a fever — if you were to let it suffocate you as deliciously as the desire held its depth. Your fingers took his wrist like a lifeline, pressure realised enough to leave your thumbprint right there against his beauty marks; your mouth desperate on his neck.

"Then take me."

Dice made no move to stop you, not even when your nails lined crescents into him. You were burning out on everything he was, and he bore your ashes like they were what he was made for.

[icantdothistodaybruh]

oh, are you familiar with the BoM side story? where arthur dreams of different characters in different fairy tales? i’ve become so! obsessed! with the snow queen versions of sebaciel. ciels outfit is so pretty on him!! but i love a ciel that left everything behind to stay with sebastian.. and sebastian, he’s been so lonely for so long that when he gets a pretty boy he can’t let him go. when someone tries to save him they not only get a “no” but get forcefully snow-blasted right out the door. they understand each other because no one sees the beauty in desolation like they do… so of course they stay isolated in a castle together.

there’s the panel where sebastian’s wrapping his coat around ciels whole body… sebastian acting so smugly to ciels rescuers… the line where ciel says he belongs to the devil… i could live here forever… please consider this cold angle of sebaciel

I AM! AND IT'S ONE OF MY FAVE EXTRAS OUT THERE!!

The implication that the whole dream was of Sebastian's doing (which he is very capable of judging by GWA) brings out such an interesting twist to it - we can see a glimpse of Sebastian's actual opinion on other characters! But I'm of course going to talk a little about Ciel solely for today hehe

I might be wrong since I only have ru and eng translation at hand, but the way Ciel talks about his heart being frozen and eye belonging to the devil makes me think of these acts as essentially same thing, especially given that he "adapted beautifully to the world of Ice" by Sebastian's words. I mean that his heart being frozen doesn't equal to death or inability to feel, but rather just that, adaptation and belonging.

Now I know it sounded far-fetched, but the reason It caught my attention in the first place was the mentioning of the heart at all. It's a dream made by Sebastian, the 'emotionless' and 'unfeeling' demon, with clear analogy to the contract built on power, revenge, and hunger for one's soul, or at least that is how it always was portrayed before. So why would his made up dream-Ciel suddenly bring a heart into equation?

You should've seen my face when I got to the chapter were Elizabeth escapes to rCiel. Call me delulu but it suddenly made so much sense when Sebastian started talking how "human hearts are mysterious, complex things" and "no matter if you are demon or god it is truly and utterly impossible to shackle another's heart." Before that I wouldn't even think he'd have any opinion on the matters of the heart, let alone it be a stated fact to him that he can't have it in a way he can own souls or bodies.

And so that man, in his made up dream, with a made up Ciel, made that Ciel say that not only his soul (eye) belongs to the devil, but heart too. Knowing for a fact it can't belong to him in reality. I'm speechless.

Also when I got your ask yesterday I thought I should make a fanart or a redraw of that scene, and once again, you should've seen my face when I found the page:

and if you don't know why I was so surprised I'll gladly explain with two more pics:

My head exploded.

Three pieces. Representing their change of masks and roles. Yet each is the same in it's core. And one of them is character's fantasy while other two his reality. I'm so done with this show.

...could it be that Arthur's dream made by Sebastian is yet another lie becoming truth?...

[going2hell4everythingbutbeingbi]

there's a very specific trope I love that's kind of the opposite of villian escalation that's like "well normally I would hate your guts and fight you on the spot, but I just had to spend a long time with someone who sucks way more, so you're actually pretty chill by comparison"

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

[carionto]

The duality of Man, or triality? quadrality?

Alien to Human about New Human: Correct me if I'm wrong, but they appear abnormally large for your species?

H: Yea, he's a biggun alright, even without the EV suit I'd say... 7'3'', 310 pounds, bet he power lifts.

A: Umm... not to be rude, but, uhh... he seems, well... how should I put this...

H: Intimidating? Terrifying? Evil? Yea, if this station didn't have high screening standards I'd be totally pissing myself if he started walking towards me. The mohawk and eye tat totally make me believe he could snap me in two with a single glare.

A: I feel ashamed that my instincts are telling me to flee. I wish nature were easier to change.

H (shouting at NH): Hey buddy! Could you come over here for a minute please? You look awesome by the way!

A (whispering nervously): what are you doing?!?

H: Gotta overcome those fears somehow, I believe the best way is a direct confrontation.

NH approaches, somewhat slowly, looking around at all the other aliens in the station that are chatting, waiting around, or doing some work. He finally approaches A and H, and in a very deep and husky voice says: Um, hi, hello. T-thanks for the compliment, I, uh, was a little worried I would stand out too much here.

H: Oh you totally do, my friend over here is practically about to pass out from how much like a gothic viking of death metal you look.

NH: Oh no, I'm so sorry, I-I just grew up in Sweden-Delta and both my parents were huge into classic local music, so I just, uh... it's complicated. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare anyone.

H: Hey, relax pal, we're all good people here. Anyway, what you here to do? I'm planning on starting a bakery, still testing out what kind of flour most species here can actually stomach. My friend here is on the team working on Moon theft preventative measures.

NH: Oh, that's cool. I'm here as an exchange student with the department of applied astrophysics. If all goes well, I can finish my Bachelors degree remotely and stay here as an intern with the head researcher.

H: Oooh, that's cool. (so cool yea that you're apparently half my age but oh well guess I'm a big fat time waster like my father before me and oh god change the subject before I get depressed in front of strangers) That's a real big bag you got there, carrying some super secret science things, eh?

NH: Oh, that... uhh... guess it can't hurt to tell, security vetted it already anyway.

NH proceeds to unzip the bag and hold up a large white piece of clothing with light blue rings and accents, alongside a strange white cap with what looked like small fins, and a curious little backpack.

NH: It's uhh... um... my... Ika... musume... cosplay.... (oh gods I can't believe I said it out loud again)

After a moment of awkward silence, NH slowly puts on the backpack and presses a button on it's strap, and suddenly numerous light blue colored tentacle-like appendages sprout out from the backpack and move in line with NH's movements.

NH: I, uh..., got my engineering friend to make them articulate and interface with my contacts. I can make them do all sorts of things, like make various shapes and animals with them, though works best as a shadow theater.

H:...

NH:...

A now frozen out of confusion than fear:...

H: That's so

NH: (oh I know it's so lame, but I love that show)-

H: COOL! I don't know what a ika musume is, but those things look amazing. You said articulate? How precise can they be? I'd love to have something like that instead of my useless assistant. Poor lad can't make a piece of toast if his life depended on it...

NH: Y-you like it?

H: I LOVE those things. My daughter does cosplay too sometimes, but she makes her Dreadnought suits herself from scraps. One time the military came to our house and installed a limiter on the gauss cannon she found in a crash site, said it would otherwise start to generate small doses of radiation if used too frequently. But she replaced it with a handmade rail gun before the next convention. Do you go to those? Did you see a 7 meter tall hulking metal monstrosity with a bunch of candles all over? That was her.

NH: Oh, I think I've seen video of that, but no, not in person, I go to smaller events. I don't really like big crowds.

H: Oh yea, I get ya, you do seem a bit on the shy side now that we've been talking for a bit. Hey, no worries, like I said, we're all good people here.

NH: T-thanks, but I think I should be going now, the teacher is calling me over.

H: Oh yea, go ahead, didn't mean to take up so much of your time. Have a fun stay and I'm sure you'll ace that paper or theory? Or whatever astrophysicists do, you seem like a solid kid.

NH: Oh, uh, thanks. Good luck with your bakery. And you with stopping those weird people from stealing more moons. Bye.

H: Bye bye, come visit, don't be a stranger now, I'm set up just a short bit from the main lift on floor 14.

NH: R-right, I'll, uh, be sure to stop by soon.

A is finally able to process what they just heard and says: What was all that just now?

H: What? Just a friendly chat with what is apparently basically a kid. Man, this kid's got so much going on, while I'm almost 50 and I have an oven. Life, man, it can go in so many ways. Anyway, let's go grab a drink, I'm parched.

[astroselene]

no need for a hiding place

in which Sirius has to almost die before he realises he might deserve love, after all. pairing: sirius black x reader words: 1.5k tw: brief mention of blood, hospital setting a/n: because we all know sirius isn't really dead :)

-------------------------------------------------------- The hum from the machines attached to Sirius’s unconscious body was even as you dozed by his bed, your head propped on your arms. Between fits of restless sleep, you could hear nurses rushing down the corridors of St. Mungo’s and bits of conversation here and there outside Sirius’s room. It had been two days since you had faced the Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries, Sirius coming out barely alive and rushed straight to the hospital. You hadn’t left his side since.

You brain kept replaying the events from the scene of the intense battle, curses flying everywhere, sometimes not knowing whether you had hit a friend or foe. Then suddenly there’d been a rushing sound as a curse had flown past your ear, and you had watched with horror as it hit Sirius straight on his left side. It was like everything had happened in slow motion as he’d fallen to the ground. You were certain you had lost him as you fought your way to him, dread filling your heart as you took a look at him on the stone floor. There had been blood oozing out of a deep wound from his side and he was lying at an odd angle, looking like a rag doll.

All you’d been thinking when he fell to the ground in front of the veil that if he died now, you’d never forgive yourself for not telling him how you felt.

You squeezed his hand on the hospital bed, reminding yourself that he was fine and still here, as relief kept washing over you.

Joining the Order of the Phoenix a year ago, you of course knew who Sirius Black was. Like the rest of the wizarding world, you thought he had committed the murders he had been imprisoned for almost 15 years ago now. You had been recruited to the Order by an old school friend, burning at the chance to do your part to in the resistance against You Know Who. Thus, you were rolled into the ranks, first on the outskirts of the Order, moving towards the inner circles after proving your value for having a lot of useful connections in the muggle world. Your muggle job also made for a good cover for protecting yourself.

You had met Sirius Black at the headquarters, his childhood home, now knowing the truth about him. Against all your better judgement and the logic you prided yourself on, you had at some point come to the realisation that you’d fallen hopelessly in love with him. You had tried telling yourself he was not exactly the knight in shining armour of every girl’s dreams - he was practically prisoner in his old home, still a wanted criminal in the eyes of the law and most likely not in the mental headspace for any kind of romance.

Your heart didn’t seem to care about all of these logical trivialities though. Instead, you found yourself laughing at his witty remarks, looking for ways to get to know him better and spending increasingly more time at the headquarters. One day you noticed that between you two there had developed a feeling of mutual trust and respect, even admiration, at least on your part. Sirius confided in you about his hatred for having to stay in the house that represented everything he despised now. He told you funny tales from his school days, and talked with warmth about the Potters and his old friends, and with coldness about his family. He never talked about his days in Azkaban and you never asked. He seemed to respect the fact that you didn’t pressure him, and never judged him. You didn’t let your previous misconceptions about him get in the way of getting to know the real him – the brave, thoughtful and intelligent man you had fallen hard and fast for.

And you wondered whether he felt the same – sometimes you caught him looking at you when he thought you couldn’t see. At first, he’d been in a hurry to turn his eyes away when you caught him, but lately something had changed. He maintained eye contact, even sought your eyes out with his own when there was an inside joke to be shared in the middle of a general conversation, and you could’ve sworn you kept seeing a playful glint in his deep grey eyes, reserved just for you. But you always told yourself you were imagining things because of your own feelings and naïve wishes.

Your fitful sleep was interrupted by a brush of fingers on your cheek. You slowly opened your eyes to see Sirius watching you through half lidded eyes.

“Hey you,” Sirius said. His voice sounded a little croaky.

“Sirius!” you gasped, feeling a rush of blood to your head for sitting up so quickly.

“Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

You brushed Sirius’s hair away from his face. It had gotten longer again during his months at Grimmauld Place. He kept talking about cutting it but you loved how it framed his high cheekbones and the way he had to keep tucking it behind his ears.

“I’m alright,” Sirius said quietly. He frowned, “What happened? At the ministry, I was about to....“ he focused in the distance, trying to gather pieces of memories from his muddled brain.

“Everyone’s fine, Harry’s safe. The prophecy was destroyed,” you soothed him. “You got the worst of it. You’ve been out cold for two days.”

Sirus’s shoulders sagged with relief. He looked back up at you and you felt his fingers on your cheek again.

“What about you? Are you alright?” His voice was gentle.

“I’m okay. Now that you’re awake anyway,” you smiled at him.

Your fingers were still in his hair and you stopped breathing at the look on his face. He was so close, smiling a tired smile up at you.

“I should get the healer,” you said. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Sirius grabbed your arm, “have you been here the whole time?”

You felt heat rise on your cheeks. You weren’t actually sure he had wanted you there while he was unconscious, but you’d found you couldn’t leave his side either, not until you knew he was going to be okay. You were fidgeting with a loose piece of thread on Sirius’s bedsheet, your mind already going into overdrive, instinctually preparing for rejection.

“Well… yeah. I may have had to tell them I was your girlfriend, they wouldn’t have let me stay otherwise. ‘Family and close relations only’”, you huffed out an awkward laugh, “I’m sorry I said that, I shouldn’t have, I’m obviously not your girlfriend or anything, I just needed to…” you trailed off. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

You felt Sirius’s finger under your chin and he lifted your face to search your eyes with his.

“Would you like to be?” he asked quietly.

You blinked and thought your mouth must’ve been hanging open too, while you searched for your suddenly lost skill for speech.

“Would you like that?” you asked incredulously.

“Yes,” he said simply, like it was a no-brainer.

And it really wasn’t, not to him. He had known for a long time how he felt for you, but not fully admitting it to himself. His heart squeezed at the thought of you sitting by his bed for the past days, waiting for him to wake up, being always so sweet to him, so kind and caring. He knew what little he had to offer in his situation wasn’t what you deserved, but seeing your eyes light up at his answer, your beautiful smile breaking out, made him believe that maybe it was possible for him to have happiness after all.

You sat up closer to Sirius, taking his handsome face in your hands. You leaned in and touched his lips softly with your own, and at that moment you knew all the worry of the past few days and months had been worth it, all your previous heartbreaks and hurts were soothed out right in that moment. You knew Sirius was what you had been waiting for.

Sirius moved his hand at the back of your head and pulled your face against his more insistently. He kissed you with determination, like a man on a mission to show all of his buried feelings for you in that moment. His tongue brushed your lower lip and you gasped, opening your mouth to get more of his taste, more of his kisses, more of him.

Sirius leaned back but only far enough to press his forehead against yours.

“Blimey,” he barked out a laugh, “haven’t done that in ages.”

You laughed with him against his lips. “Gotta make up for lost time then,” you said.

He pecked your lips and hummed, but it turned into a small wince when he shifted on the bed.

“Hey, stay still, I’ll get the healer. I have to let them know you’re awake,” you said, worried now. You didn’t want him tearing up his stitches. The wound had been closed magically but it wouldn’t keep if he kept moving a lot.

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” Sirius winked at you.

You reluctantly moved away from him, but now you knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to spend the rest of his life showing you exactly how he felt, no longer needing to hide from anything or anyone.