#not really fic but writing so whatever

[nerosdayinanime]

thinking abt sabito lives design again & i started putting him in situations and reminded myself of my hc that he does origami in his off time

my original vampire!sab outfit idea, his white haori's sleeves seem kinda short on him as a 13 yo ghost so actually growing to 21 hed probably need to extend it, so why not recycle his funky pattern shirt for it? yellow-green geometric pattern along all the edges, and for a sabito lives in place of giyuu au why not attach his red haori on the inside

something something sanemi stopping by the water estate for whatever reason, sabito being a good host asks if he wants some tea and starts to leave to make some, "where are you going? thats tea there isnt it?"

"not the kind you'd want. its mushroom tea, the funky kind."

"the hell are you drinking that for!?"

"lets me see ghosts."

"...you're sick in the head."

"not wrong, but thats not even top five of reasons why."

them chilling drinking tea & talking abt nothing and after a bit sabito starts smiling at thin air, theyre still talking but he keeps glancing over at nothing and when theres a lull in their convo he turns to talk to said nothing "why are you being so quiet?" (i never see you talking with anyone....i dont want to interrupt) "but i like talking to you.." (you can keep talking with him, i'll still be here) a little huff before looking down at the drink in his hands

"who are you talking to?"

"my best friend."

-

sabito coming home from a nasty mission and doing his usual wash-up routine & finally sitting down in the main room. then The Horrors hit. (FuckingfailureWasntfastenough) eyes unfocused and unseeing, (BlueeyesLongblackhairSofuckingyoung) world closing in and feeling like its about to explode all the same, (ScreamofdeathSilenceNofuckinghead) thick tears pooling around his forehead pressed to the floor, (WEAKTOOSLOWFUCKINGIDIOTWRONGDECISIONBLOODONYOURHANDSBRAINATYOURFEETBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOOD)

"SABITO-SAN!?"

the lady housekeep he hired finding him unresponsive curled up on the floor face down hugging himself while shaking like a leaf, freaking the fuck out thinking hes dying of shock or something- pulls him to sit upright leaned against the wall, try and fail to see if hes hugging himself bc of a wound bc hes just. fucking holding onto himself so tightly. white knuckled muscles locked in place. sends a crow to the butterfly mansion for an emergency and sprints to get the nearest doctor, they arrive and hes not moved from where she propped him up, doctor checks his eyes and sees they respond to light theyre just not looking at anything, tries a few taps on the face and the housekeep worriedly calling out for him. nothing. doctor apologizes for what theyre about to do before slapping the Absolute shit out of him.

knocks him over and his hand suddenly snaps out to latch onto theirs to a painful degree, eyes focused and full of fury before it shorts out to confusion. he blearily lets go of the doctor and hisses at the stinging pain in his face, "the fuck hap-ppened?"

"you were hugging yourself on the floor- and you wouldnt respond- you were just shaking!"

"what do you remember?"

(BLOODBLOODBLOOD)

he recoils slightly and shakes his head, "g-give me a minute. fuck.."

"take as long as you need"

focusing his Breath as he haphazardly scrubs his eyes dry with the edges of his sleeves, leaning back against the wall. just breathing for a moment.

"I came home. took a quick bath to-" (wash off the blood) "wash. changed clothes. sat down to do- ..something.."

"do you not remember what you sat down to do?"

"not like that- whatever there is to do. Something. anything. i usually do origami.."

doctor talks yadda yadda makes sure he doesnt have immediate brain damage or actively bleeding wounds & leaves with their promise of another doctor on their way

"sabito-san..? what exactly happened..?" he softens a sad look at her

("my mother used to help keep this place up for the man before you." he smiled, "eh? your mother kept the place intact for my mentor. how nice that you're here to help me out now, ne?")

"bad mission, ("oh..") there was a young boy. i fucked up, the demon killed him." he inhaled through his teeth, "i had to tell his family while covered with his brains."

she recoiled, reached out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, "im so sorry..."

he let his head loll back against the wall, "its fine"

"its not..."

"its not. but it is what it is, and its over with."

"...kocho-sama should be on her way."

he quietly groaned, "thank you. ...was it that scary?"

"you usually hide it with some sort of smile. i cant imagine how you do that if its bad enough to make you look like youre dying when you cant stuff it away anymore.."

"heh, sorry to scare you like that..."

"dont be. talk to kocho-sama and see if she can help you. i just dont want you to be in so much pain.."

he smiled genuinely at that, "you really help. talking with you and helping with chores makes it easy to smile."

easy to forget that hes alone. easy to forget pretty piercing blue eyes, what they look like wide with fear and never what they look like in death. blood that tints his memories old and new. blood that he coats himself in, blood he refuses to wash away- blood thats all he has left of him.

-

sabito has a little stall at the end of the market in the nearby village, just big enough for himself and a few bundles of paper, out of the way of the busier sections. most people pass seeing how he only has a few paper figures and a bunch of colored paper to sell. a few stop by, intrigued by what he could possibly be doing here.

"whats your favorite animal?"

they answer, he picks out a piece of paper and starts folding, he gives them a little guy

"you never said how much??"

"i dont need money, i just do it 'cuz its fun. want another one?"

people bring their friends to get a little paper creature, talk and laugh, enjoy their new little guys. it makes him smile.

a lady walks up, cant name a creature so he suggests a surprise animal based on her, "sure." he starts folding, eventually she recognizes it "an elephant!?" "yeah," not really looking at her as hes finishing it, "theyre kind animals, 'gentle giants', but theyre still very powerful. predators have to pick off the sick or young because the healthy adults are too strong to be brought down. smart too. i also read that theyre matriarchs- the oldest wisest female usually leads the herd. she shows everyone how to be an elephant, where to find food, how to navigate their world, safest places to travel. she's their guide and teacher." he sets it down closer to her, "you make me think of an elephant."

"oh," she looks at him stunned, "thank you."

he smiles, "careful not to squish it, if you do though i can just make another one for you. have a nice rest of your shopping trip."

[flowercrowngods]

It's unreal. The light is streaming in through the windows, the curtains still drawn to block out the midday heat, tinging their living room in golden hues that match so well with the light grey fabric of their new sofa.

Eddie should probably snap out of it and head over to the windows, open the curtains and let the light in, and with it the warmth and fresh air of a surprisingly wonderful day.

It's March, he hears the echoes of Steve's giddy voice a week or two ago. Everything's better in March.

Eddie didn't agree then, and he's not sure he agrees now, but he must admit there is something magical about this moment.

Still he remains rooted to the spot, leather jacket heavy on his shoulders, his hands hidden in the sleeves of it, just in case this really is a dream. Just in case someone will come in and snap him out of it, take away their couch and leave an eviction notice.

It's dumb. But Eddie doesn't deal well with things that are unreal. Things that he knows aren't meant for him. Things that he knows he only gets in this one play-through of his life, while millions of other Eddie Munsons are out there in parallel universes who never get to even lay eyes upon a couch this nice. Let alone buy it. From their own real adult money.

It's a corner sofa, the fabric light grey, and he remembers it being harder than it looks. Solid. Just perfect for both their fucked up backs, scar tissue pulling if they sit wrong for too long, phantom pain and muscle aches coming in hot when all they want is to just relax and enjoy a lazy evening.

Eddie bites his lip, trailing his eyes along the pristine fabric, the pillows lining the back of it, the flawless stitches keeping everything in shape.

They have a couch now. A sofa.

It's so fucking unreal.

He drops to the floor right then and there, sitting with his back against the wall, and never once taking his eyes off their sofa. It feels important to look at it for a while. It feels important to wait for Steve. It feels... It feels like maybe he'll ruin everything if he goes and sits on it now.

And it feels really fucking big.

At some point he hears the front door opening, their lock going so smoothly now that Steve fixed it with some graphite, and the sound makes Eddie smile. That's another thing that's unreal. The key barely making any noise, the lock not rattling, the door not creaking and cracking. Eddie pulls a strand of hair between his lips, the smile feeling too silly for this room, for this home, for everything he gets to have now.

For all the tiny things that matter now. All the tiny things he gets to have, turning the key's smooth slide into an allegory of everything he ever wanted but never dared to hope for.

The slide of curtains, the click-click-click of the window handle being turned to let the air in. The breeze of fresh spring air dancing around his nose.

It's all a little much. It's so fucking addicting.

And then Steve. Socked feet coming to a stop beside him, a hand landing in his hair, a voice that's so endlessly warm and fond and maybe a little worried sounding from above him, "Hi, angel."

"Hi," Eddie says, tearing his eyes away from their couch to meet Steve's. The sunlight from the windows hugs him, making him glow. Eddie smiles. He smiles and smiles and never wants to stop.

Steve hums as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, and Eddie weaves his arm through Steve's legs, holding onto his knee.

Everything feels a little less silly now. Like every time Steve doesn't question his little moments of sitting on the floor and just staring at things.

"We have a couch now," Eddie says, because it feels important to point out. Because Steve isn't looking at it.

"We do," he hums. "I got the call earlier. Thanks for helping with that, baby."

Eddie nods again, leaning his cheek against Steve's knee and trailing the couch again with his eyes. It looks brighter now that the curtains don't turn the room into something out of a sepia-type movie anymore.

Steve's hands comb through his hair, massaging his scalp a little with his nails. It's nice. It's warm. It's pretty.

And it's so unreal.

"I'm twenty-four," Eddie says then, and some part of him wants to carve that into the fabric. He won't. But maybe he should carve it somewhere else. "And I own a couch. It's a little crazy."

Steve comes to sit down beside him, their shoulders pressed together and he links their hands, resting them in his lap after a brushes a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"Why's it crazy, angel?"

He shrugs, resting his head on Steve's shoulders and curling into his warmth some more.

"Most of my life I never thought either of those would happen, y'know."

Another hum, followed by another kiss to the crown of his head. Another smile.

"But you did it," Steve whispers. "You made it. And we've got a couch now."

"We've got a couch now."

Saying it out loud doesn't make it feel any realer. It only makes his heart race and his eyes prick.

"I love you," he says, finally looking away from pretty grey fabric to meet prettier hazel eyes. "I love you so much."

Steve leans in, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you. Thank you for buying a couch with me."

And it occurs to Eddie then that Steve understands him. Sitting there on the floor with him, hearing his words and listening to those unsaid, understanding Eddie on such a fundamental level that it should be scary. And it is, sometimes.

But he's not scared now. Because they have a couch. And they have pretty curtains that keep the light outside and still turn the room into something magical. And they have a lock that only needed a bit of graphite to let the keys glide smoothly.

And they have each other.

They stay on the floor until Steve's stomach growls, and they eat dinner with their backs against the couch and Eddie's feet in Steve's lap. They hold each other close after dinner, just breathing each other in as the breeze blows around them.

In the end, Eddie is the first to sit on the couch, with Steve standing between his legs and giving him a scalp massage in silence. In the end, Eddie buries his face in Steve's stomach to hide the tears, and Steve lets him.

Because this is real. And he gets to have this. They both do.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid@hotluncheddie @gutterflower77@auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important@stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic@bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

[earl-grey-teacake]

This might not make sense to anyone but this photo makes me want to write a Victorian AU. (Some people had a childhood obsessed with boats, trains, sea animals, the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire, etc. I had the Victorian era.)

Hear me out. This would make a fantastic romantic comedy.

Logan in frilly, lace Victorian era clothes with lace gloves and parasols. Suitors vying for his hand with letters and gifts. Alex is very much “I love Love” and George being “no one is good enough for Logan.”

Lewis is amused “he’s a spitting image of his grandfather (Nico) it’s no wonder he’s popular.” George screaming and throwing the request letters into the fireplace.

Alex is chaperoning Logan and Oscar on their first walk of their courtship. It should be a time for the young couple to get to know each other but it’s really a three-way conversation about why George is there as well.

Oscar: Uhm I might be new to this but I didn’t know both parents would act as chaperones.

Logan: Ignore him. He insisted on coming

Oscar: Does he not trust me? Have I offended him in any way?

Alex: He doesn’t trust any suitor. It’s a miracle we made it to the courting stage. They usually don’t make it past the request letter.

George: They are ill-mannered idiots who do not need to be given the time of day!

Alex: So Oscar, you mentioned horses? Logan loves animals.

I want to write this but I need to finish other stuff before I do.

Let me know what you think or add to it.

[mishy-mashy]

Bruce is actually really attractive, and I have enough reasoning to make a list

He's:

Tall (. Tall enough to hit his head on the vault doorframe)

Long-legged

Has a straight nose bridge

Has high cheekbones (more noticeable in 2nd pic below)

Has a strong jawline

Sharp eyes, but they aren't small (plus eyebags if you're into that)

Overall, he has strong, attractive facial features

Has broad, refined shoulders. You can tell he works out (or he did, when he was alive)

Even has a thick, muscly neck

He has MUSCLE. Is SCULPTED. NOICE. VERY NOICE. (nice arms. Nice shoulders. Nice neck. Nice legs. Nice butt-)

(There are actually panels where you can see some of his muscles. Other than those already shown here, he's got bricky thighs-

-and in the panels where we first get his name dropped, he's got those shoulder blades too-)

The one time we see him smile, and he actually has a scary one

Has small, kinda sharp pupils, and his eyes remind me of a cat. We only ever saw him tense or defensive, so his resting/listening face is really cute

Other than the physical appearance stuff, he also:

Takes shit without batting an eye (patience, knowing it's just how Kudo is, etc)

Kudo being all "Cut the crap Bruce and give it to me straight", after Bruce tests his blood and is rightfully Concerned because they just faced AFO

Put up with Kudo's experimenting and testing over Yoichi's transferable Factor

Did ya'll see the look on Kudo's face when he realized he had Yoichi's Factor/will? Kudo was going to start in nonsense and Bruce just dealt with that.

Also something I noticed when looking back at the images here; Bruce has bandages on his arms in the void. But not when he faced AFO in the sewers.

Were he and Kudo cutting their arms open in their experimenting over Yoichi's theory? Is this why Kudo has two gauntlets instead of his one? Why we never see his bare arms in the void? That he always keeps his arms down so there's no slip?

Is smart enough to run blood tests, plus has enough common sense to pick Shinomori as his successor

He picked a guy who avoids society, has an Ability to detect danger so he can always stay away from AFO, is also a coward so he's never going to go throw himself into danger, even without knowing instinctively he stands no chance, etc.

Meanwhile, Kudo chose Bruce, who he played Hot Potato Yoichi with; but he did also trust Bruce, and put the only pure combative Ability in OFA through Bruce.

These two made their choices based on what they valued and saw the Factor needed.

Is logical, analytical, and calm.

He tried advising Midoriya on their Abilities in One For All, especially his own.

Midoriya then tried ignoring him about using Fa Jin for the first time, but found he was right, thinking: "Dammit!! I had [Lady Nagant] right where I wanted her, but... ugh! The Third was right. My parallel Quirk processes are all screwed up!" (ch. 314).

Plus, when Midoriya fixed his processing mistakes, Bruce was analyzing the way he reached his new conclusion. Pure facts, no bias, very calm, just saying it as it was.

We never see him panic. When he's caught by surprise in the sewers by AFO, Kudo, and Yoichi's little bubble event, he immediately reacts. He doesn't falter, he just knows he has to do something right now.

Was more willing to listen than Kudo to Yoichi's beckon, and probably was just following Kudo's rejection of Midoriya

While we don't see Kudo's face, we see Bruce's eyes when Yoichi calls on his heroes. Bruce was more open and receptive, or at least more impacted.

Bruce was also the one to start talking, while Kudo just kept quiet.

He actually communicates a lot

When Yoichi called them to support Midoriya, Bruce started talking to paint a picture of why they thought the way they did, so Yoichi understood where they were coming from.

(Though he seems to beat about the bush sometimes, since Kudo spoke up to be direct on how they couldn't just put their trust in some starry-eyed teenager. Plus, when Kudo tells him to just tell him what's wrong [double Factors])

When Midoriya first used Fa Jin against Nagant, Bruce came out just to tell him he knew what he was trying, but that Midoriya wasn't ready; and Midoriya found he was right. Midoriya just didn't want to listen to him then.

He asks Kudo for clarification after finding Kudo had two Factors in him after the sewer incident ("Just to be sure, All For One didn't touch you, right?") Kudo knew him well enough to go "stop beating around the bush and tell me", so Bruce was probably gonna start with questions, theories, and trying to understand everything in general, before saying "yeah you have two Factors. Don't know why".

Is strong-willed and loyal.

He followed Kudo, even to death, carrying on the cause he started until it ended with him.

Plus, when talking about how AFO needs a strong will to override OFA's own, we first see Bruce, Kudo, and Yoichi.

AFO couldn't steal OFA because the will was too strong for him, and that was back during Banjo's time. Since Shinomori never actually tried opposing AFO and just hid, we can assume the first Three (Yoichi, Kudo, Bruce) already had an accumulation of strong willpower that made OFA un-stealable. Those three are a strong enough foundation, and the main wills, that the other users just become bonuses.

Kudo, also saying that Midoriya needs allies with the same will and drive as him... hey Kudo, you're talking about yourself and your old allies, aren't you? That's why you look at Yoichi and Bruce when you say this.

Not only is Bruce attractive, but he's got good character. THE END.

[mstormcloud]

I think applying tropes commonly found in Sonadow fics to other sonic ships is very funny

Like today I saw the cute posts by Blu-ish about how hedgehogs circle and headbutt eachother when courting and how Sonic and Shadow would do that and I agree.

However I think the implication that mobian hedgehogs do this is HILARIOUS when applied to ships that only involve one hedgehog.

Like Silver starts circling around Espio one day and lightly shoving him with his hip or his shoulder and Espio is like: ???? What are you doing??

Or even Blazamy like- Amy keeps circling Blaze and the less Blaze reciprocates Amy does it more to try to get Blaze to react. Blaze eventually just tries to politely tell Amy to stop cause it’s hard to hold conversation while she’s moving all around.

But later Blaze talks to Silver and is like: “I have no idea what she is trying to do…perhaps she is finding a weakness in my stance? Should I fear her hunting me for sport???”

And Silver is like: uh. Well. I think she’s hitting on you? It’s a hedgehog thing.

And Blaze just freaks out because WHAT DO YOU MEAN AMY WAS FLIRTING WITH HER

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ive come to realise that i dont actually hate kubokai, i just hate the way people write them

[peachcitt]

from: thirteen by @anna-scribbles

art by me :)

start from the beginning // read the november chapter // read the most recent chapter (january)

hey listen. look me in my eyes. have you read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think if you want your life to be forever changed you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think if you are a person who is breathing and alive you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. thank you

[fag4dykestobin]

yesterday, i wrote a little snippet of a steve coming out scene that had been living in my head for a bit, and i thought that that was it. and then i kept writing little snippets until this was nearly 3k words long <3 so. enjoy!!

-

Steve looks up at the popcorn ceiling, heart beating, beating, beating, nearly out of… his… chest. Steve doesn’t look at Robin, but… he… knows that Robin is looking at… her?

“Feel like we should be in the bathroom for this,” Steve croaks. Robin huffs out a laugh.

“We can move in there, if you want. My parent’s probably won’t need to use it, they’re in bed already.”

Steve shakes… her…? his. His(/her?) head. “No. I feel better in here.”

“Okay.” And then it’s quiet, between them, and it’s up to Steve to fill that silence. Awesome. Steve can do that. Well, Steve could do that, usually, but unfortunately there is something in Steve’s throat that is blocking everything and anything from coming out of it. Maybe Robin will just let him(/her?) sit here in silence forever, until they both fall asleep, and then when they wake up in the morning they can go along with their lives like there’s nothing building up in Steve’s soul, clawing and raging and desperate to come out.

Robin shifts, so that their feet, propped on the wall in front of them, are touching. It’s enough to get Steve going.

“You know when we were in the Russian base, and you said the thing about your life being one big error?”

Robin made a noise of affirmation.

“Were you talking about, like, being gay?”

Robin sits with the question for a few moments. “... Mostly,” is the answer she decides to go with. Steve waits for her to elaborate.

“I guess it was like, well. Some of it had to do with how we ended up in the Russian base, right? It didn’t feel real. Or like it was supposed to happen. But it also felt like just one more thing in my life that went wrong, and I kinda connect all the bad things that happen to me with me being a lesbian.” There’s a beat of silence. “Which I know isn’t really good. But I’ve been doing it for a while, so it’s hard to stop.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel like that? About being, um, half-gay?” The term they’ve landed on for Steve’s sexuality is kind of ridiculous, but neither of them could think of anything better for it. And it’s not like they really refer to it by name outside of hushed and rare conversations like this one. 

“I guess?” Steve thinks on it a little. “Not really. Not like you, at least. It’s, like…” Steve lets himself(/herself?) brush against the problem in his(/her?) brain. Think about it for more than a fleeting moment.

Terror envelopes him(/her?)(cut that shit out pick one and stick to it). Steve tries to think through it, but it’s kind of hard to breathe.

“It’s more about, um. I don’t know. I… It feels stupid.” It feels wrong. It feels criminal.

“I won’t think you’re stupid,” Robin says, so earnestly, like she believes it. Oh, that’s horrible to think about her. Steve screws his eyes shut. Steve screws her eyes shut.

Pick one. (pick he.) And stick to it.

“Sometimes I… mmm. Sometimes I… Robin, if you—” Steve cuts himself off. This feels evil, what he’s about to say. Maybe more evil than what he is. “If I what?” Robin sounds concerned. Like, worried concerned. It makes Steve want to stop everything and wrap her up in a big hug and never talk about this again. Besides, what was Steve even going to say? Robin, if you hate me after this… what? What does he want her to do? Robin, if you hate me after what I say, please don’t.

If Robin hated Steve for this, he might just die.

“Steve? Are you okay?” Robin takes her legs down from the wall and sits up, leans over Steve, trying to get a good look at his face. Steve covers his eyes with his hands.

“I don’t know. I don’t— eugh.” Steve gulps in a big breath, “Robin, if you— hate me, um—”

“No! No no no no no! No! Steve, look at me! Right now!” Steve wants to, but that might make him actually cry. Steve digs her palms into her eyes. No. His palms, his eyes.

God.

“Steve, Evie, please. Please.” The nickname makes Steve’s eyes water. He swipes at them to make them go away, but they keep flowing. Okay, this is going a bit disastrously. The most important thing to do right now is keep his eyes closed and not look at Robin, or else he might shatter into a million little pieces.

“No, I— let me just— I don’t want you to—”

“I won’t hate you, ever. For anything. Are you okay?” Robin sounds miserably anxious. You can’t promise that, Steve wants to bite out. He swallows it. Steve has to trust Robin, because if she can’t, maybe she truly isn’t meant to be like this. Maybe Robin won’t hate him, maybe Robin will help him fix it.

“Sometimes I think about being a girl.”

The words sit heavy between them. Steve kind of wants to throw up about it.

“... Okay.” Robin says. She sounds a little breathless. Steve tries to imagine the look on her face, but can’t imagine it through the fuzz of terror. And like hell will he open his eyes.

“... Okay?” Steve croaks, after Robin fails to elaborate.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She still has that breathless note in her voice, but it’s more like an aftermath-of-anxiety breathlessness than still-actively-anxious breathlessness.

Steve worries that he’s(.../she’s?) downplayed the problem here. Steve swallows, mouth dry, throat dry.

“No, I, I don’t just think about it, I like thinking about it. I like it when, um, the kids make fun of me by calling me, a, a mom, and I like when you or Max or El paints my nails, and I, I think about stealing your clothes sometimes and it makes me want to kill myself but I can’t, I can’t stop, I…” Steve is now hyperventilating. 

Robin tackles Steve, and Steve’s horrible, traitorous mind wonders if she’ll wrap her hands around his(/her?) throat and kill her(/him?) rather than let him(her?) leave this room.

Steve opens her(/his?) mouth to, who knows, tell her that it’s okay? That he(/she?) understands? That she(/he?) loves her? But nothing comes out, and after a second, Steve realizes that it’s a hug. Obviously. And then Steve starts sobbing.

It takes a few minutes for Steve to stop losing… his? her? God, the thought of either makes Steve want to puke. It takes a few minutes for Steve to stop losing Steve’s mind. And Robin strokes Steve’s hair the whole time, and holds Steve the whole time, and whispers that it’s okay and that she loves Steve, the whole time. It kind of prolongs the sobbing, in a way, because Steve just can’t believe it. But Steve does eventually calm down.

“Steve,” Robin whispers.

Steve sniffles and swallows thickly. “Yeah?”

“It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Well,” says Robin, and then she pauses, like she’s thinking. Steve lets her. There’s a headache brewing in Steve’s temple, and the silence is nice, in a way.

“Well,” Robin starts up again. “I don’t think you’re weird, or messed up, and I definitely don’t hate you. We’ve seen bad things and bad people. And you’re not bad.”

“Well, I… if I’m not bad, or weird, for this, I don’t know what I am.” Steve can hardly believe how well Robin is taking this. It really shouldn’t surprise Steve at all, because Robin is so, so good, but this is something that Steve hates, and they’re usually a united front on that, when it really matters.

So… maybe Robin is right.

Robin climbs off of Steve, lays down next to Steve again. But instead of propping her legs up on the wall, like Steve for some goddamn reason is still doing, she curls next to Steve, facing Steve. Looking at Steve. Still holding Steve’s hands.

“We’ll figure it out.” She squeezes. Steve squeezes right back, and keeps the grip tight.

“Okay.”

They sit in silence, and Steve just… breathes. Tries to will the headache away; not happening, ugh. Drops the legs from the wall. Steve plays with Robin’s fingers, not even trying to process what had happened yet. That can wait til later.

After a few minutes, Robin speaks up again. “Are you okay with questions? If not, that’s fine.” And Steve knows she means it. She will totally drop it for the night and let them settle down and watch a movie or three. But Steve doesn’t really want that right now. Steve wants to stay in this space where, at least for now, what Steve is feeling is fine, and alright. Steve’s never had that before, for this.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “They’re okay.” Maybe they can do the figuring out thing right now. Maybe all of Steve’s problems will be solved tonight. Wouldn’t that be a relief? Robin pulls her hands away, and Steve hears the rasping of her shirt material being rubbed together between her fingers.

“So… do you want to be a girl?” The question doesn’t sound harsh leaving Robin’s mouth, but the words are heavy. It makes alarm bells ring in Steve’s head, forbidden question! Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it! Years of routine repression make it hard for Steve to even consider the question, but Steve tries. Slowly and agonizingly, Steve thinks about it. It genuinely takes a few minutes, but Robin can clearly sense that Steve is thinking about it, so she doesn’t interrupt. Steve loves her so much.

“Kinda,” Steve whispers. “It’s… I don’t know. Really. It’s stupid.”

“Nuh-uh. No stupid stuff right now. Just say how you feel.”

“I kinda wanna be half-girl. Like how I’m half-gay.” It feels stupid. It feels evil. It feels way too indulgent. Even in a perfect world, it’s one or the other. Steve can’t, like, hog them both. They cancel each other out. Right?

“Uh-huh?” Robin is prompting Steve to go on. Oh God.

“Um. Like. I still… like the guy parts of me, you know? I still like being a guy.” That feels really important to emphasize. Steve feels kind of insane, talking like this, actually getting Steve’s thoughts out into the real world. But Robin is still listening, no judgment. It kind of makes Steve want to cry again, but that would make the headache worse so, no thanks. “But I… I like the girl parts, too. I like when you call me Evie, but I don’t want you to stop calling me Steve.”

Steve can feel Robin shift, like she’s nodding. “Okay,” she says again.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. You can… you can be a half-girl, half-guy.” And it sounds simple and a little obscene, when she says it. Maybe not obscene. Maybe more like tantalizing.

“I don’t know,” Steve whispers. “Is that, like… allowed?”

Steve finally turns to look at Robin. Her eyes are big and full of thought. It feels stupid, thinking like that, but there’s nothing else to describe it. Steve can see the thoughts dancing around in her pupils and irises and whatever else is in an eye. It’s so beautiful. Steve loves her so much.

“... I think that you can do whatever you want,” Robin whispers back. “And be whatever you want.”

Steve’s face crumples, just a little bit. Not enough that it means tears, but enough to bring the idea to mind. Steve pinches Steve’s nose. “It can’t be that simple, though.”

Robin tilts her head in a way that can only be described as birdlike. She hates when people compare her to birds, just because of her name, but it fits right now, in the secrecy of Steve’s brain. She looks serious and intent. “Why not?”

“Nobody has ever done this before. I think.”

“Nobody that we know of. We live in Hawkins, Steve, we know like, 500 people. There are probably people in New York, or Chicago, or whatever, that feel exactly like you.”

Steve can’t reconcile with that. It feels so lonely, being like this. It feels inherently lonely.

“And even if you are the only one in the world that feels like this… Well, that’s fine! You can be whoever you want! Especially around me.” Robin grabs Steve’s hands in her own. Her hands are always so cold. Steve loves to hold them and feel them warm up bit by bit. It’s grounding, especially right now.

“I don’t want you to hide yourself. Not from me. I hid for so long, around everyone else, and it was killing me.” Robin’s eyes bore into Steve’s. “And I didn’t know it was killing me, but looking back, it’s like, wow, I was going to die.” Her voice cracks, just a little bit, and Steve makes an involuntary noise. Holds her hands just a little tighter. The warmth is already equalizing between them. “And, I don’t know. I don’t want you to get there. Or, if… you’re there already, I don’t want you getting any further.”

Sometimes it astounds Steve, just how much Robin gets things. This isn’t one of those times, though. It feels deeply right, and deeply sad.

“Alright,” Steve says.

“You won’t hide this from me? After this?”

A shake of the head. “No.” And it sounds so easy, promising this. Maybe it can be easy. Steve hopes it will be easy.

“I love you,” Robin says, and she pulls Steve into a hug. Steve melts into it. Robin gives very bony and kinda twitchy hugs, minute movements every few seconds, and Steve loves them. Robin, a while ago, maybe a couple months after Starcourt, had expressed anxiety about her hugs being ‘godawful uncomfortable,’ her words, but Steve had denied that fiercely. Her hugs were God’s gift to mankind, and if everyone else hated it, fine. More for Steve.

“I love you too,” Steve says into her chest.

They lapse into silence again. Steve thinks about asking for some water, but that would mean one or both of them leaving this room, and all possible configurations seem worse than the lack of water, right now. Steve presses closer into Robin.

“Another question.”

“Yeah?”

“So, you like Steve and Evie, and you’re a girl and a guy. Do you like he and she?”

There’s the dreaded question. Steve can’t hold back a groan. “I don’t know,” Steve says into her chest. “I’ve kinda, thought about it a bit, but… both of them feel weird, by themselves. I guess I like both, but only when they’re next to each other. I can’t really decide on one.”

Robin hums in consideration. “I mean, we’re making all this up as we go. If they don’t feel right by themselves, then why do they have to be by themselves?”

Steve thinks about it. “It feels like they’re supposed to cancel each other out,” Steve says, voicing a thought from earlier.

“They clearly don’t, at least in your case.” Robin presses her cheek to the top of Steve’s head, flattening the hair there. “Don’t think about how things should be. Think about what you want.”

What Steve wants. Okay.

He thinks about he. She thinks about she. And how, apart, they really only feel like half of himself, but together, they feel like they tell the whole story and show the whole picture.

Steve can’t help but think about those optical illusions Dustin had shown her a while back. The one with the two faces. If you concentrated, you see whichever one you wanted at will. And they seemed so opposed, yet so intertwined, and you couldn’t have one face without the other. Maybe he’s an optical illusion. It’s better than being evil.

“Okay. Yeah. Both are good.” Steve can feel Robin smile into her hair.

“Do you want me to use them both?”

Steve feels a flash of panic. “Um— augh. Not… not around other people, um, but—”

Robin squeezes him closer. “Oh, God, obviously!” she says, and Steve is so grateful that they’re on the same page, like, 90% of the time, and that this falls into that 90%. “I can sneak them into conversations between us. Pronouns don’t really pop up in conversations between two people, but maybe if we got a cat or a goldfish or a turtle I could talk to it about you in front of you. Or is that weird? Hm. It might be weird.”

Steve can’t help the smile dawning on her face. Maybe everything will be okay. “It’s kinda weird. But we should do it anyway.”

Robin laughs, and Steve still has his face buried in her chest, so he can feel it. “Yeah,” she says fondly. “I guess that hasn’t stopped us before.”

[kettlefire]

A Panic in Time (DP x DC)

This is all thanks to the awesome @tkiesai for basically being the foundation of this idea! This is probably going to be long, and probably won't delve that deep into my ideas about this idea. Largely so it's not insanely long. But here I go!

°•°•°•°

Bruce's head felt like it had been shoved through a straw and spit out on the other side. The throbbing was annoying, but it wasn't anything the man couldn't handle.

His mind was muddled, memories of what happened prior to him awaking was blurry and unsure. Bruce knew it wasn't something good.

He vaguely remembered a league meeting, a threat, something looming. It wasn't world ending, or at least that's what Bruce remembered. It should have been something they could handle.

But now, here was Bruce. Waking up in the grass of some random park. He was dressed in casual attire, something he'd wear in public as Bruce. Although last he remembered he was in the Batsuit.

The sun felt too bright in the sky. The sound of families filled the air and children's laughter. No one seemed to blink twice at Bruce as he pulled himself together.

It took a moment to steel himself, to gain composer again. It took a few sweet lines, and a charming smile for a nice mother to slide him a few painkillers. The lies rolling off his tongue like second nature.

To his luck there was a newspaper at the top of the trashcan. He was in some town called Amity Park, and the year... the year was the problem.

It was 1996. Whatever had happened had sent Bruce back in time. There was a few suspects Bruce can think were the cause of this. But something in his gut kept drawing his train of thought to the Flash.

It seemed like each time the League had any time related problems, Barry was in the center of it. Which also leaves Bruce with the question if he was the only one sent back in time.

God, he could only imagine the nightmare if the others were sent back in time. Yes, they can be professional. They understand the risk of changing things in the past.

But Bruce also understands that his team can be less than... intelligent at times.

Despite that, Bruce needed to find a way to get back to Gotham. He might not know for sure where everyone was right now, but he knew Alfred was the safest bet.

A plan laid out in Bruce's mind, a list of people he knew wouldn't be a risk to approach. He just needed to find a way to get to them. He had barely made it to the gates of the park before a shrill cry pierced the air.

There was just one loud outcry, before it quieted down. Bruce glance around the space, spotting a young boy curled on the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's chubby cheeks.

And no one even moved to the boy's aid. Not a single mother spared more than one glance in the kid's directions. No parents came rushing over to the boy's side.

Bruce almost walked away, he really did. This wasn't his time, anything he does can cause immense damage to the timeline. But when Bruce caught sight of blood bubbling from a scrape on the boy's knee, Bruce couldn't ignore him.

Maybe it's just the father in him, but Bruce barely even notices when he's crossing the small distance. His mind zeroing in on a hurt child that needed help. Kneeling before the small boy with a gentle smile, and pulling his handkerchief free from his pocket.

"You're alright there, buddy. It looks like you took a bit of a tumble there." Bruce slipped into the same tone he used to use when his kids were young. Gentle and understanding, as he pressed the handkerchief to the small scrape.

The boy sniffled, tears slipping from his eyes. Bruce was more focused on the way the kid was looking at him. Like he couldn't fathom someone coming to his aid.

That look had Bruce's heart breaking slightly. He's seen a similar look before. The few times he's come to the aid of a hurt child that wasn't used to getting help.

Something no child should ever feel or experience.

"Where's your parents, kiddo?" Bruce asked after a moment of silence from the boy. He had waited until the kid's breathing settled down when the boy's chest stopped pumping so quickly.

Except his question only seemed to bring a new wave of tears to the boy's eyes. The small child just seemed to curl into himself further, ducking his gaze away from Bruce.

And as much as Bruce didn't want it to be true, it was clear the kid didn't have the support he needed. It might not as be as far as some of Bruce's kids have had in the past.

But it was clearly not good.

"That's okay, it's alright. What's your name?" Bruce tried again. The boy's silence was leaving an uncomfortable pit in Bruce's stomach.

"D-Danny..." The boy spoke out his name between sniffles, and Bruce felt a wave of relief hearing the boy speak.

In hindsight, Bruce can see how strange the scene might look. A slightly disheveled man comforting a lone young boy in a park. It wasn't exactly perfect.

But with the lack of reactions from the parents around, Bruce had a feeling the town had an idea who this boy was. The whole situation just didn't feel that right for him.

It took a few more comments before Bruce managed to get the boy to crack a smile. A laugh had felt like breaking a massive wall.

Before long, Bruce had Danny actually like any other boy he's known. Carefree and happy, just like a child should be.

"You didn't tell me your name, mister." Danny had suddenly cut down the relaxed moment they were in. A pout laced the boy's lips as he looked up at Bruce, almost accusatory.

"I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne." Bruce responded without missing a beat. He knew this might cause problems in the future. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But when his gut is telling him something, he can't just ignore it. He checked his pockets, finding no business cards anywhere. So, Bruce fell back in plan B.

"No matter how long it's been from now, you can come to me for help. Just look for Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and when you find me... just say Fairbanks sent you."

Bruce wasn't sure if he'll ever see Danny again when he goes back to his own time. Wasn't even sure if this was the same universe as his own. But he couldn't walk away without at least offering the boy help in some way.

When Danny's eyes filled up with tears again, Bruce thought he said something wrong at first. That was until the boy was suddenly clinging to his shoulders in a tight embrace, muttering 'thank you' over and over again.

Bruce felt himself almost close to tears just from that alone. His heart was aching for the small boy. Even if Bruce couldn't help Danny anymore than this, he was hoping the boy would have a better life.

One where he wasn't clinging to a stranger for comfort that family should be providing him.

THWAMP

It didn't hurt, but it did cut their hug short as Bruce suddenly pulled away. Turning his head to see a young girl wielding a wiffle bat, and another young boy standing behind her.

Her purple eyes glared at Bruce like he had done the worst thing in the world. Her grip on the bat was threatening and ready to swing again. Her knuckles white from the tight grip alone.

Maybe leaving this time era might not be as easy as Bruce thought as the young girl probbed him with angry and scolding questions. Not that Bruce could blame her.

He just hoped this hiccup didn't get back to the league. They'd have a field day hearing about how Batman got scolded by a child with a wiffle bat.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Danny wasn't sure if this was the best idea. It's been years since he met Bruce Wayne. So many years. Danny had just been a kid, not even ten, when Bruce had introduced himself.

When he had an adult, actually check in on him. Yet, it was a memory Danny couldn't forget. Maybe it was just the kindness that Bruce radiated.

Or maybe it was when Sam came to his "rescue" near the end. Regardless, it was cemented in his mind. A core memory that Danny cared with him through the years.

Now, here he was, roughly seven years later. Standing in front of a manor that put even Sam's place to shame.

It took a lot of courage for Danny to knock. Barely a second later, an old man answered the door, an accent Danny was certain Bruce hadn't had.

A stuttered explaination of being here to see Bruce Wayne, that the man knew him, barely left Danny's mouth before the old man ushered him inside.

The man, Alfred, told Danny to wait by the door before vanishing further into the manor. It took a lot for Danny to not just vanish.

Being half ghost nowadays had its quirks, Danny could just vanish, and no one but Alfred would know. But he couldn't.

It had taken a lot for Danny to make the journey to Gotham City. He hadn't even thought to look up a current picture of Bruce either. Which was probably a big mistake on his end.

Danny didn't even know if Bruce was offering this kind of help. But Danny didn't have many allies to turn to. He needed help.

Not just for himself but for his family. For Amity Park. He couldn't be afforded the ability to run away. Not now.

Danny felt all the air leave his lungs when Bruce entered the area. The man didn't look a day older than what Danny remembered. Bruce looked a bit more put together, not like he had just jumped out of a moving car, but it was Bruce.

"Uhm... I don't know if you remember me. But my name's Danny... we met when I was a kid." Danny started trying to explain himself before Bruce could speak. He recognized that confused look anywhere, and Danny didn't have the guts to go through with this if Bruce asked any questions.

"You told me if I ever needed help, to come find you. Bruce Wayne in Gotham City... you, uh, told me to tell you Fairbanks sent me?"

That came out more like a question than Danny would have liked. But it did ease his nerves a bit as he watched Bruce's slightly confused expression turn to alarm and surprise.

Danny wasn't sure what this would do. If Bruce could truly help him. But he was out of options. Just seeing Bruce recognize something he said was enough to calm the teen's anxiety slightly.

"I'm sorry, Danny... I don't remember you. But I believe you and I want to help you. Come inside, have a seat, and tell me what's going on."

That response was enough to have Danny's eyes fill with tears. His chest filling with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in weeks now.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

[lizardkingeliot]

i've barely written anything since sunday for obvious reasons but i'm reaching the point where i no longer feel like myself because i'm not writing and that's only making me feel *more* miserable than i already do so everyone keep your fingers crossed for me while i attempt to make some words happen lol

[auspicioustidings]

The Blood Druid

Blue Blood Part 3

Summary: Continuation of the Wild Prince/The War Duke. Your lack of knowledge about the birds and the bees finally gets revealed.

Words: 1.9k (look this was supposed to be longer but my keyboard keeps randomly double spacing so everything is taking way longer and typing is making me want to commit homicide so take this while I wait until I can get a new one)

CW: Very light smut

Price and Kyle had been ever so eager to continue and you had promptly shoved them out of your chambers. You were embarrassed and confused and you hated that your body kept so easily melting like that. What was happening to you? Had men always held such sway over a woman's body and you had never known before? It scared you that they could so easily make you feel like you had caught fire and you did not care to be saved. If it was so easy, why had nobody done it before?

You screamed into your pillow, just wanting to not be the only one not in on the joke. They had certainly seemed very pleased with themselves, seeming almost indulgent when they had left after you had somewhat angrily told them to. Like you were some misbehaving little pet that they found adorable. Like they hadn't just made you go boneless and dumb in front of a true Blood Druid. You had thought the moniker was just meant to scare, never in your wildest dreams did you think this Kingdom would be as reckless as to have one amongst them.

Ok, time to think. Time to stop being a child and figure out what was going on. You could do this, you were, are? You are a damn Duchess, you can read and write and for goodness sake you can think. 

You had been told that touching yourself between your legs was sinful, the Prince had been able to predict that from your reactions. So it had been apparent then that you had not done so? Did the feeling lessen then over time, allowing you to maintain some sort of wit about you if you were experienced enough? He had said, oh Gods, he had said something about a finger inside. You blushed crimson, feeling the pulse of that liquid heat again at the thought. Inside you. Like the Duke's tongue had been? Oh no, your body was already getting so worked up even remembering. 

You lay on the bed on your back, taking shuddering breaths and trying to find some sense of calm. Ok. All you needed do was practice. If you were more accustomed to the feeling, you would not be as taken off guard next time. You may not be able to emulate the feeling of a rough tongue against you, but you dipped your fingers down your body, slower and more tentative than they had been this morning. 

You were already so slick from what the Duke had done, closing your eyes and sighing when you felt your body begin to react again. You were languid now, viewing this as an exercise in patience the same way you did with learning Latin. That's what this was, learning. You would learn what this was.

Clit, he had called that little nub you rubbed over your clit. It was such a moody thing, so particular about how it liked to be teased. Not too hard, not too fast. But then as your blood started rushing it wanted more pressure and a faster pace. You found when you thought of the Prince kneeling by your bath or the Duke kneeling by the wall sparks fired inside you and your wetness grew. Your eyebrows furrowed as you took the pads of your fingers away from the sensitive bundle, feeling the loss instantly. You slid your fingers down to your entrance, rubbing and biting your lip as you felt the catch of your fingertips on the dripping hole. 

You only used your middle finger to press. The sponginess of your insides was a foreign texture and the feeling of being squeezed by the twitching walls made you withdraw. It frustrated you to tears, not understanding what you were doing. How did two strangers know your body so much better than you did? And why was there some suggestion that they needed to know it in order to ready you for your husband? The wave of feeling inadequate made all that delicious heat turn to ash in your mouth and you withdrew your hand, punching it down into the plush mattress beside you with a whine of frustration. 

There was a knock at the door which was novel in a way, nobody seemed to ever bother knocking. You fixed yourself, thinking that if it were the Prince or the Duke you'd want to just pull them in, have them touch you again in the way you wanted. It made you feel both hot and mortified at the same time. You should send them away, make it clear you were no little pet to be made to purr whenever they wanted. You'd not find out which you would have done.

"Hope ye'll naw mind if I don't call ye Duchess, nae such thing where I bide."

Gods he was such a compelling creature up close. The elaborate fabric wrapped around him was held in place by nothing but clever donning, his hair was shorn on the sides and his eyes were so... Saints help you they were so warm and kind on you. You were in equal parts intrigued and terrified of this man, caught frozen in your doorway.

"Looking a bit peely-wally there hen, why don't we get ye some water hm?"

You moved in a stiff shuffle as he herded you to sit on the edge of the bed and filled a glass from the pitcher, giving you little sips which you almost choked on with how close he was to you. Close enough to tear through your throat with his teeth you thought, close enough to drink your blood. He sighed with a little grin, making sure you got some water before putting down the glass and falling back gracelessly to sit cross legged on the floor by your feet, leaning back on his arms.

"Yer feart of me."

That pride that had been slowly waking up these past few days came alive.

"I am not 'feart' of you. You may have conquered a Kingdom, but I am not a King."

“Ye think I button up the back wee yin? Yer feart because I’m a blood druid and the West has always been feart of what they don’t understand. If naw for your betrothed everyone here would be the same.”

“Ghost. The Prince said his name was Ghost. And you are John MacTavish.”

You weren’t sure why you felt the need to say it, but somehow it seemed important to let this man know that you had some knowledge. Big scary Blood Druid sat on your floor looking up at you, relaxed as anything. He was the third man who had lowered himself to be beneath you and it made something fizz, some animal instinct purring at the small act of submission from men so dominant.

“Simon. His name is Simon Riley. And aye, my name is John MacTavish. Johnny is fine if it’s you.”

“Johnny”, you tried it out, wrapping your tongue around it. He seemed pleased and you could not stop the annoyance blossoming on your face at how easily you had moved from terrified to having a casual conversation. 

He laughed, leaning forward to put his hands on your thighs and lean his head on one like some affectionate puppy, big eyes seeming liquid gazing up at you with such fondness.

“Ye look at me the way Simon does before he skelps me wee yin. Cannae give me that look if ye want me to behave all proper for ye,” he said, his hand on your free thigh squeezing. Gods, not again.

“Please…”

He perked up at the strained cry coming from you, head raising so he could look fully at you. Whatever he found in his appraisal seemed to change his mood, his eyes narrowing for a moment.

“Wit’s that worry for? Whit did Gaz say tae ye? I’m naw going tae take yer maidenhood, just going tae make you feel good. Get you ready.”

“I don’t understand what you mean!” you shouted at him, tears starting that you tried to hide behind your hands.

You felt so stupid. So small and weak and stupid. What did you need to get ready for? What did he mean by your maidenhood and why had he assumed you were worried he would take it rather than the truth that you were worried he would make you feel as his companions had and it would overwhelm you? Gone was that relaxed nature of his, instead he seemed tense. 

“Look at me” he said with such a steady command that you followed the instruction, dropping your hands. “Tell me whit ye ken about yer wedding night. Naw the one in this Kingdom, the one ye thought ye’d have in yours. The one yer ma would have told you about.”

“My mother died when I was born.”

“Who looked after ye then?”

“I- well there were servants that attended to me.”

“There must have been one that telt ye aboot yer womanhood aye? Taught ye about yer bleeding and whit it meant?”

“Of course” you huffed, “father was furious when I stained the sheets as a girl. They made sure to teach me how to hide it properly after that to not damage anything.”

The hand on your thigh tightened and then loosened rapidly a few times, but the man in front of you kept his expression neutral. 

“Yer wedding night, whit did they tell ye about it?”

“Well I… it happened very quickly. I wasn’t told anything before I was in the carriage and then I was alone for the journey.”

He blew out a breath, stood and bent to press lips to your forehead and then looked at you with such a ferocity in his eyes that you remembered every horror story about Blood Druids and thought them all surely true. 

“I’ll naw kill yer father without yer permission wee yin even though I should, fucking hackit wee shite that he is. Seems he left a good bit out of yer schooling.”

That horrible feeling of missing something came to a crescendo. This was confirmation enough that there were some important facts you were missing. Some knowledge held from you that meant you were defenceless against all these new sensations. And it was this monster who was the one to tell you. Although who was it that had always told you that men from the Northern Isles were monsters? His hand now against your face, rough thumb rubbing at your tears, did not feel like that of a monster.

“Gaz and Price I cannae guarantee will be able to stop themselves if they find oot that ye didnae even ken whit they were doing. Fuck hen, we’ve been mean tae ye haven’t we? Poor thing naw even knowing whit’s expected of ye from yer husband.”

“Don’t treat me like a child.”

“Aww dinnae get all bratty on me now jist cause yer mad ye dinnae ken anything,” he cooed, making you feel that way you had with Price, that pulsating anger.

“Well stop using it against me and teach me then!”

John MacTavish had never really pretended to be a good man. He was probably as close to a decent one as he reckoned a young lady could find, but certainly not good. If he were a good man he’d have left, found Kate and asked her to teach this little Duchess all about the romantic and erotic arts. But the temptation to lead you into a little snare wasn’t one he was inclined to ignore. Fuck you were so easily led, so predictably lashing out and giving him exactly what he wanted.

Oh he would be more than happy to teach you all about what you wanted to know, and he  was going to take his time doing it.

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

You wanna know something I headcanon about Dazai so aggressively that I have never seen anyone else talk about?

I bet you that he talks to himself. I bet you that spending most of his days in his teen years alone, socially and physically without anyone has probably affected him in some way. I bet that he’d spend all day in that shipping container and he’d talk to himself. He’d narrate what he’s doing, sing little songs, probably fuck up the lyrics or just trail off and come up with his own thing, he came ip with his double suicide song doing this.

I bet he still does this when he’s alone.

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

dead or alive? (sirius & regulus)

a/n: a little black brothers angst! still debating whether or not i like it, but sharing it anyways. heads up for reg not doing too hot.

‘Regulus?’

It is 04:00am and dark. Sirius is sat with his back against the bathroom door in his brother’s flat. His phone lies discarded on the floor, the bright screen of his messages with Barty acting as a torch in the early morning shadows.

‘Regulus?’ he repeats, voice quiet and thin. It sounds less like a name and more like a hope, feebler than he wants it to. He clears his throat abruptly and gives it another shot.

‘Listen,’ he says, attempting to bargain with the nothingness. ‘I’m not asking you to come out here and have a nice little chinwag about your feelings or any of that idiocy. I’m not a therapist, and I’m not going to force you to tell me about any of the shit you’re going through right now, promise. I just need to know that you’re okay.’ Sirius’ eyes flick down to the Whatsapp messages at his feet. He rubs his face roughly with his palm and gazes bitterly at the ceiling.

‘The things Barty’s been telling me are fucking scary, you know that? You’ve got to know that. Just knock or something. Come on.’ The clock down the hall cuts through the silence with a few jarringly loud ticks. It is 04:02am.

‘Fuck’s sake, Reg,’ he swears, exasperated. ‘Open the bloody door.’

‘You can’t hide in there forever. Aren’t you freezing? I’m freezing. Why don’t you ever put the heating on? I know you can afford it.’

‘I swear to God, this is getting ridiculous now. I know you’re there. I can see your damn shadow.’ Sirius’ long pale fingers tie themselves into knots over and over as he fidgets. More agonising silence.

‘Regulus.’ The door remains shut, and the shadow behind it remains unspeaking. It is 04:05am.

‘Should I get someone else here? Is it just me that you don’t want to talk to, is that it? If I got Evan or Remus or, shit, literally anyone else, would you speak to them?’ Desperation is beginning to crawl out of Sirius’ throat, mangling his words into raw, strained sounds that chase after each other quicker than they ought to.

‘Come on. You haven’t got vocal cords for nothing, you are aware of that right? Just say something. Just let me hear your voice, and then I’ll go away and never bother you again, yeah? Just let me know you’re alive. Please, Reg.’

‘You’re my little brother, you know. You’re still my little brother. I know you hate me, a-and I hated you too, for… longer than I should have, and growing up was pretty shite - I think we both understand that now. You know, I’ll always feel guilty for leaving you. I swear, there hasn’t been a single day where the guilt hasn’t eaten me alive, James could tell you. So you’ve every right to hate me. Really, you do. You could hate me for your whole entire life and I’d get it, seriously, I would get it! But you’re my little fucking brother, Reggie. C’mon. Just do this one thing for me, this time. I need to know my little brother’s okay. I need to know he’s here with me and not… not dead on the fucking floor. Give me that much.’

It is 04:12am when the handle turns. Sirius isn’t expecting it at all - he’s aching and exhausted and terrified and too used to silence. He jumps when he hears it, turns wide, shining eyes towards the sound with unsure anticipation. There’s a few moments of clumsy shuffling, and then the door is opening inwards onto a dull gloom that clings to the tiling and old-fashioned sink with unrelenting intensity. It is very quiet. For one terrible moment Sirius thinks, irrationally, that maybe Regulus isn’t there. That he’d been sitting in the hallway for the past twelve minutes begging thin air and the ghost of who used to breathe it. But then the shadows are shifting, taking on form and contour, becoming something more familiar. Regulus crawls out from behind the door with shaky breaths, and lets himself be lit by the phone on the floor in all his wretched vulnerability.

Sirius doesn’t move, at first. He just stares at his brother. Sees his grey eyes reflected back at him in a slightly younger yet equally pained mirror image. Sees those eyes flicker and move and relishes in the aliveness of them. Sees a not dead brother. Then it processes somehow, and he’s pulling that wonderful, infuriating, not dead brother hastily and instinctively towards him with both arms, and holding him, and crying without realising it. Regulus lets it happen. He collapses into the hug.

[raikirikiri]

missing-nin kakashi who leaves the village on his own accord. he’s pushed to the edge, and despite all the anbu missions he’s taken to get himself killed, it just doesn’t work. so he leaves and becomes a mercenary and thinks he might have some luck dying that way. he thinks part of him is still loyal to konoha but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. plus the constant needling of his ex-classmates insisting their his friends when he knows he doesn’t deserve friends, he barely deserves comrades.

so he leaves. and he does the jobs he takes well and yes, he’s still hoping he dies but he’s too good at being a shinobi so he keeps living. no matter how accidental.

he has a good fortune by the start of canon time but id like to believe he lives in a cave with a ratty futon and a few shabby changes of clothes. he lives an extremely solitary life but he’s…healed. a little. he’s never forgiven himself, he probably never will, but he’s made some sort of peace with himself and his actions.

meanwhile. the akatsuki is forming. itachi, kisame, sasori, kakazu, pain, konan, zetsu, obito (still in the shadows). almost the whole crew is there, they just need to round out their numbers a little. and who better to approach than missing-nin copy ninja kakashi? pain brings it up first one rainy day in ame. obito, or madara, is meeting with pain, konan, and zetsu and pain brings up kakashi first.

obito chokes out a no, barely hanging onto his madara act. no, he denies vehemently. the mean thought enrages something in him and the thought of having to see kakashi’s beautiful ugly mug more than he already does (because yes, he may be a missing-nin but obito wouldn’t be a stalker if he couldn’t find his prey over and over again) is brain melting and heart stopping in a very very negative way.

of course pain has to ask why, madara has never had such a visceral reaction to suggestion for a recruit.

his pants around his ankles, obito has to scramble for an excuse and it’s a little more elegant than “he’s not evil enough”. obito shuts the conversation down then and there, deciding to come back to it at a later date when he can be prepared for his ex-teammate’s name to be brought up again.

for the next three years, any time they’re low on numbers, kakashi’s name comes up and obito always struggles to react normally and his answer is always some iteration of “he’s not evil enough”. so hidan comes up with the brilliant idea to force him to be evil, similar to how they forced deidara to join the akatsuki.

obito, failing to come up with counter arguments and running out of excuses, concedes. pain, during their monthly meetings where tobi is madara, is pleased. he suggests sending itachi to fetch him, since they were once anbu together and seeing a familiar face may help. obito vetoes this and decides he’ll go get kakashi himself. he’s, of course, seen how being away from the village has affected him. and while he’s entirely competent, he’s almost too competent. and doesn’t do well with surprises.

without further preamble, he kamuis into kakashi’s cave, startling him and causing him to spill his soup everywhere. now, kakashi is very much attack first, talk second at this point in his life. having been away from society for so long has allowed his hatake genes to really take over and he’s become much more uhhh instinct driven.

so once he gets over his initial shock and his initial reaction of ‘kill kill kill’, he freezes. he’s always had a sharp sense of smell but it’s on a different level now and there’s something familiar about this strange ghost man. for someone so ghoulish, he has a scent and it lights a lamp in kakashi’s subconscious.

‘i know you’ kakashi accuses, a snarl rising in his throat. this ghoul man is in his cave, his private space, he wants answers.

‘do you?’ a deep voice asks, sounding surprised and amused.

kakashi weighs his options of arguing with ghost guy or figuring out why the hell ghost guy just…appeared in his cave.

‘i’m here to take you to join the akatsuki’ ghoul man decides for him. kakashi grunts and picks up his overturn bowl.

‘no thanks’ he states, scooping some soup from the pot into his bowl.

‘it’s not an invitation’ the apparition snaps and kakashi pauses. he sniffs towards ghost guy again but he still can’t place the scent to the man.

‘can you please leave? i’m trying to eat my dinner and well…’ kakashi asks (but of course it’s more of demand), pointedly gesturing to his mask.

‘what? no. you’re coming with me,” obito growls, his eye twitching in irritation. after all these years, all his suffering, all he’s learned and how much he’s grown…bakakashi still gets under his fucking skin.

‘i don’t want to’ kakashi pouts, petulance and amusement in his tone.

‘you don’t get a choice’ obito hisses in madara’s voice. it sounds wrong and entirely too much like obito.

‘maa, what do i get out of it?’ hatake drawls, a glint in his eye that tells obito hes enjoying this far too much.

‘nothing. you get nothing except me letting you continue to live your sorry life’ obito snaps back, unable to stop the heat of annoyance racing up his spine.

‘how do you know my life is sorry?’ kakashi taunts loftily, crossing his arms and lifting his nose to the ceiling.

‘for the love of sage’ obito takes kakashi by the arm and warps them into kamui, uncaring if kakashi recognizes the jutsu or not. he just wants him to shut up. he should kill pain for making him do this. he would kill hidan but that fucker can’t fucking die.

‘hey i recognize that foot’ kakashi mutters to himself, eye squinted at the severed foot he warped into the dimension months ago. huh. that’s where the things he disappears go. interesting.

hey wait—

‘i know that look’ obito bites out, letting his facade drop. stupid fucking genius asshole.

kakashi gasps, eyes watering in disbelief. ‘don’t—don’t fucking do that. get it together already. you’re about to meet a bunch of fuckin’ s-ranked missing-nins, you can’t be crying’

obito’s voice is a little awkward this soft, but he’s sincere. he doesn’t know how or why he’s sincere, he hates kakashi. he thinks. he’s not too sure but he hasn’t been…soft…in years. but the sight of kakashi, broken and worn down, has something in him melting just a little.

‘you fucking dickhead’ kakashi croaks, shoving obito’s shoulder. ‘you fucking— fucking asshole! you were dead! you bastard, how could you not come back? how could you not tell me?’

kakashi’s voice is hard and cracking at the edges. it throws obito off entirely. his mouth opens and closes like a limp fish behind tobi’s mask, trying to find the words he should say.

after a few moments of kakashi’s hardened stare, obito finds himself feeling indignant. ‘i never thought you’d care’ he sneers. a lie.

‘you’re not that fucking good at lying still and i’m not dense. you’ve been stalking me. at least since i left the village’ kakashi accuses with a scoff.

‘i run a terrorist organization!’ obito shoots back hotly. ‘excuse me for thinking duty-driven kakashi wouldn’t take his dead sunshine-happy teammate becoming an s-rank criminal well!’ he seethes, finding he isn’t all that angry. this feels familiar.

‘oh please. i’d follow you till the end of the fucking earth’ kakashi spits before his eyes widen in shock, much like obito’s eye does. kakashi drops his full bowl of soup on the floor of kamui and covers his mouth with both hands.

obito makes a noise in the back of his throat, ‘don’t—‘ and then he’s ripping his mask off and pulling kakashi’s hands away from his face and tugging him close. lips to mask, he doesn’t care, he kisses kakashi fervently.

he tastes kakashi through the clothe of his mask, moaning at the way kakashi moans against him, the way kakashi’s fingers find themselves in obito’s hair. when they finally pull away, obito manages a please smile, cheeks bright red and pupil blown, ‘don’t follow me. walk with me.’

kakashi rolls his eyes and pulls him in for another kiss. ‘told you i knew you’ he whispers against obito’s lips, before nuzzling his face into obito’s neck, scenting him, marking him.

———

AHEM ANYWAY:

i think kakashi’s hair would be grown out, similar to how obito’s hair was during cave life with old ass madara. his already long canines would grow, and he’d be super in touch with nature. i think he’d be able to communicate with animals similar to how juugo is. basically, once away from the village and society, he becomes a lot more hatake-ish. just. kakashi growling and snarling snurfing at any akatsuki member that isn’t obito. or itachi. he’ll accept kisame eventually too, but that’s it. everyone else he does not talk to, only growls at.

[three-headed-monster]

we're already wet (and we're gonna go swimming)

Luke fucking hates My Tie.

or, a back-door luke hughes character study

[suusoh]

gonna b slightly honest here. but i've been losing my writing flow lately because of how terribly shy i've gotten..... which, is really ironic and no bueno for a blog that's built and thrived on being shameless at the start 💀