#one sided angst

[bookiezzz]

515 words

It had been a few months since the Touden Party had rescued Falin out of the Red Dragon, from the Mad Mage, out of the dungeon—of course, they resumed their normal adventures, trying to regain their weaponry and money. Falin was different, but she was still Falin. She was still our friend, still our magic-user, still a part of our team. Everyone had truly realized how much she contributes to the team, and, to be frank, were very happy to have her back.

Marcille had always acknowledged how helpful Falin was. How much she really cared for the entire team, how intelligent she was, how skilled she was, how resourceful she was—pretty much everything about Falin had been observed by Marcille. Falin always had Marcille’s utmost attention. She was so fascinating, how could she not? Ever since the first day she encountered Falin, she had always been entranced by her.

Which brings us here, with the party, setting up camp in a secluded area. Chilchuck sitting in a corner, Senshi and Laois cooking, and Falin watching them, and Marcille watching her. Falin was talking about their adventures, Marcille nodding and adding input. “Marcille,” Falin says in a whisper, taking the elves’ hand in hers, “you have been so.. wonderful to me, ever since we met. No matter what I’ve done, what I’ve gotten myself into, no matter what, you have always been with me. You’ve always treated me so well; you’re the best friend I could ask for..” Falin finishes, staring at Marcille’s hands, covered by her own. Poor, poor Marcille, her heart is ready to burst. “Thank you..” Falin says, letting go of Marcille’s hands.

Her words conflicted Marcille. On one hand, she was happy. Overjoyed, in fact, that Falin was on her side, on her team, that Falin was probably one of her best friends, if not her best friend. She could’ve started tearing up, just thinking of how kind everyone has been to her. Marcille was truly so grateful.

Falin’s words also stung. The two had always been close, remarkably. Always by each others side. Very affectionate with one another. So many fond memories. Both cherished the other. Yet, Marcille sensed that maybe, maybe the way she felt was not reciprocated by Falin in the same sense that she felt. Falin mattered so much. Marcille wanted to be able to say everything on her mind freely to Falin. To tell her how wonderful, how skilled, how beautiful, how amazing she truly is.

But she won’t.

Because Falin doesn’t feel the same.

It’s unbearable, Falin doesn’t feel the same. To Marcille, she is everything. To Falin, Marcille is her best friend. To Falin, Marcille is… Marcille. And that’s all Marcille would ever be.

Marcille was the best friend, and Falin was the girl she always stared at from afar. The girl that always occupied Marcille’s thoughts, every second of every hour. The girl that Marcille had known she loved since the beginning, the girl that Marcille knew she would love until the end.

And the worst part:

Falin would never even know.

[acid-ixx]

〔00〕 — 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 : perfect perception

DIRECTORY: concept, chapter 00, chapter 01

it was always just you, and your family.

just you, your mother, twin brother, and grandfather. the puzzle is complete, there is no need for an extra couple of pieces to add on to your already satiated life. there is no need to work hard, or to endure painful endeavors to attain what you want; not when your family would complete it all for you.

it wasn't like you could, or should, complain, no? you have everything granted to you from when you were born. scarred hands, jagged figure, weary eyes; those aren't necessary for a person like you, who will always be sheltered, in both cozy blankets and loving arms. oblivious to the cruel world and pesting hands that claw on innocent beings like you.

a steady house life, a mother who shielded your innocence from all the bloodshed within the family's ordeals, who read to you fairytales, who had you sleep in her bed when you feared, when you foresaw what you thought were monsters under your bed. instead of inhibiting hatred for an heir who'd flinch at raising hands and the sound of clanging swords, she encouraged your meak demeanor and even spoiled tantrums. she runs her hands across your silky tresses, and kisses your forehead a thousand times if you'd even mention it in a passing moment. she dresses you in jewels, in velvety, silky clothes, and bathes you in toys and gifts you never seem to ask for. your little body sleeps on her chest, and listen the steady beat of her heart, calm and beating, all for you.

you teach her softness, and the joys of being a mother. a concept foreign in her eyes, raised opposite to you. she sees herself in you, and projects what should've been her childhood to her youngest twin child.

you have a twin brother, who, despite being born only a few minutes before you, was significantly older than you, both mentally and spiritually. from the moment he was taken into the world, his duty to take all your pain away and to become your very light was established. and like the warrior he is, he takes that daunting task and transforms it into motivation. he is your knight in shining armor, the prince who catches you when you fall, the one who braves your nightmares, the swordman to your royalty. he trains, all day and night, from such a young age to protect you from unnecessary dangers he understood even his mother fears you'd be subjected to. he does not complain, he does not find reasons to gripe; he takes the scars, the bruises, the punishments and missions all in stride. if it meant seeing you happy and unaware from all the cruelty of living; then so be it. as long as, by the end of the day, he comes back to your shared room to find your tiny form drawing a childish imagery of the little family you love and cherish.

you teach him compassion, vulnerability, and share with him the admiration for arts.

then there is your grandfather. a hardened leader, a monster to all those who serve, but an idol in the eyes of oblivious you. he justifies violence in the wake of achieving his goals, he doesn't tolerate mankind's treatment of nature and its animals, and takes the lives of those who dares oppose. but you are treated differently, like glass that shatters at the softest of hits. his words are sugarcoated and stripped down to the most infantine of comprehension, his eyes are soft every time he kneels to your level to gently request that you return to your room. ra's does not kneel, he does not plead, he does not stoop to those younger than him. but to you, naive and dewy-eyed, akin to a fawn hiding behind a mother's legs, he does. every week, he takes in various experts in the field of teaching to become your mentors in whatever passion you have. he is the foundation of your growth, and he prides himself in that regard.

from him, you learn your love of animals. from you, he learns of weakness, and defeat to such platonic desires.

with your little family, you are happy. you never have to find reasons to complain about food, clothes, or any luxuries their family, akin to royalty, could obtain. you have a family smothering you in affection, attention, to the point where all you have to do is smile at the slightest thing and notice how they melt to your whims.

you were never alone when you didn't want to, you were always guarded, safe, and constantly served.

as you should, as it always should be.

and it was a routine you were used to. you never complained, you never pondered beyond primitive knowledge, you had never desired for more, or wanted less. life was normal despite the strange arrangements with servants always being by your beck and call, or how your brother would always seem to come seeking you after another day of "hard work" your mother doesn't permit you to try, with gashes that litter his tan skin and usually sharp eyes, still fixed with a glare though softened once your arms come to coddle him as a reward.

he finds comfort in your hold. it never once registered within you his ever-growing strength and how his hold on you would always seem to to tighten whenever a potential friend would pass by.

yet you are loved either way, you are cared for. what more is there to ask when you have and always been the singular pearl dripping with grace, poise, and a softness beyond the brutish weapons swung within the training grounds your brother finds himself in.

you are loved by everybody: by your mother, by your brother, by your grandfather, and you're the necessary voice that calls out mercy for whenever a servant would be punished for maintaining a less than satisfactory performance when it comes to serving you. you're the light of reason beyond instictive swings of the sword and the impulsive raise of a voice demanding for battle to settle a deal; biting your lips in disappointment every time your mother attempts to punish a small mistake a servant would do right in front of you.

although certain voices in the hallways find your presence... unsavory, out of place, or they simply pity you; whispers filtering through the kind words everyone else never withdraws from you— nonetheless, they'd have no choice but to obey your childish whims, to smile at you, to be kind and diligent to your emotions.

everything is perfect.

yes, yes it is. an undeniable fact within the factions of your heart. you ignore the subtle strain within your chest, the way the emptiness becomes blatant, and the misunderstood desire for something else... something greater, far beyond the honor of your current family; and replace it with temporary joy.

a joy that softly smiles at the piling gifts, a joy that teaches itself to be good, to be grateful, and to dismiss the ever-changing spotlight you have for your family.

to ignore their hushed whispers whenever your small, eight-year old form with wide eyes, holding a toy between your chest, inquire about what they're discussing with that requires such... strained air and ridged poses.

to ignore their careful words, their gentle hands that pats your hair, that beckons you to come to a different room, and the irritation and bubbling tantrums paired with the heat that wraps your boiling thoughts and clenching hands.

you ignore, and try to neglect that growing ache that insurmountably never passes.

even if you lay in bed every night, unable to sleep, gaining consciousness slowly but surely after another day passes.

you ignore, and dismiss, and it all becomes a cycle that you ought to never break, to never rupture with childish curiosity and the thirst for wisdom.

... because everything is perfect.

everything is perfect. like the candlelight beams of the moon dancing through victorian styled windows, fluttering past the curtains to kiss your resting body every night you lay sleeping on a king-sized mattress, surrounded by soft, cotton plushies and silky, cool blankets as your brother coddles you; your head laying on his chest like routine.

it is perfect like the gardens of flowers all planted with your favorites, an array of colors harmoniously dancing to the sway of traversing winds and bumbling pollinators.

it is perfect like the daily hustle and bustle of your servants, buzzing through wide spans of hallways with their voices mingling through busy air and the wafting scent of a new delicacy your mother ornately chose for you to try.

everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

until the illusion of completeness, of unity and satisfaction were shattered like the bones of your brother's opponents, powderized to mere dust.

until you take notice of the hollow piece in your heart, until your servant mentions a father (a word so foreign, so similar to mother... but different all the same) in mere passing when you two had conversed whilst they were tying your shoes.

at first, you didn't pay a mind, proposing to yourself that you'd ask your mother instead after you've finished your daily assignments.

but then, unlike every other time where you dismissed, ignored and forgot— you began to ponder.

the word, the meaning, its possible etymology and every historical relationship it might've contained; a lesson your brilliant mentor taught you, one that served as a paveway for curious, little you, to investigate.

a trait you're sure nobody really tackled within your family.

if that is so, then where does your stubbornness, your drive to seek answers, come from?

you try to solve the puzzle pieces, ones you thought were never present in your life, your mind wracking through stored memories of a young, prying individual like you; until you came to a conclusion.

does it possibly come from a... father?

father...?

father?

father.

... your brother, too, said the same word.

when he was tired and beat from his training, when all he wanted was a singular hug, whose hands were stained with dripping ichor and knees bruised from hitting upon rocky ground. his emerald eyes were seeking your presence, and you find how his delirious state, itching for calm after another stormy trial of missions, was abnormal; unlike you who flinched at the dizzying scent of blood.

too mature, now you've noticed. a presence that exudes superiority, that takes the lives of those who rebel, that punishes anything less than perfect; that only softens, whose shoulders only sag when he takes in your presence within the same room as him— traits too foreign in the midst of a brother the same age as you.

so when you denied him of oasis, when your young brain was too scared, too worried and all the more wishing for answers on why he always comes back bleeding and injured, rejecting his offer for you to come closer— he all but seethes, and instead sighs; watching your quivering lips and the igniting fight in your eyes, a shaded mixture of your mother's and his.

"you're exactly like what mother told me. stubborn like our father when inconsolable... but i love you too much, akhi/akhti, to care for your lesser."

he muttered under his breath, emerald eyes gleaming under moonlit glow as he looks at you, emotions too miscellaneous beyond the swirling pools of green that always keeps a watch on you.

sometimes, he feels less like a brother and more of a knight. sometimes, you wish to rebel and instead dig deep into what's been happening to your brother these past few years, shaped by experience you never once caught yourself transpiring through. sometimes, you wish he doesn't treat you like a glass ornament.

sometimes, you wish you had a normal family.

as much as his words were sweet, as much as you would've felt warmth at the mere affection and exception he holds you in regard to his heart, even if he takes your body in his arms prior to your previous rejection, all but melting and rocking your body to sleep; a common method he utilizes to make you feel drowsy, and to eventually forget the blood on his sheathed sword and sinful hands once your eyes drift to a close—

you still reflect upon his words even if weeks had already passed by after that incident, even if he must've thought your somnolence was enough to dismiss whatever was the 'grammatical' mistake he'd mumbled that night was a product of fatigue after a long day of work.

... because despite being the perfect family, despite the love and care they foster within your heart; washing off the beating emptiness in your chest was harder than any injuries you've obtained after momentary clumsiness.

at least you knew when those scars were incurred, at least you had people to comfort you through the tears that escaped through your eyes.

but this immaterial emptiness has long since festered within the confines of your caged soul.

it beckons you to choose rebellion, it traps your thumping heart and tightens its hold on it, snaring it in a pit you couldn't crawl yourself out of.

desire drives you further away from delusion, from the foundations of weaved lies and rose-tinted picturesque perfection.

and you began to crave satiation to at least mend the missing puzzle piece in your heart; piece by piece, stitch by stitch.

who is your father? what is a father? why did dami told me i'm like... our father?

as you sit alone in your bed, toys long forgotten, alone with only the cool breeze fluttering by your window to accompany you. the questions begin to grate at your mind, yet all you do is bring your knees closer to your chest, lips dry at the forgone isolation you put yourself through after a cycle of endless thinking.

"momma will be here soon," you mutter to yourself. your voice, meek and highly pitched, young and cradling childish curiosity; it breaks at the seams when your fingers bring itself to touch and wipe away at wet cheeks and tender, aching eyes.

dami was right; you are stubborn like your father.

because even if they try all necessary means to shroud your life in seclusion from reality— you don't easily back out of a losing fight.

even if the tears you shed from the lack of progress were insurmountable, even if you knew you were at a physical disadvantage shall push come to shove where you'd have to fight your dearest brother, even if it means struggling against the invisible shackle your beloved family locked you in.

because your perfect perception of your fucked up family has long since dissipated from the moment your servant and your brother mentioned a foreign word.

a simple word, a small mistake, yet acting as a newer path of life that long since diverged from the only way you knew how to live.

and you still wish to solve the mystery of your forlorn emptiness.

will you give up just so easily? would the tears you shed all become mere depression?

no, not even as you sit in your too-huge bed, with no clue on where or how to start a hopeless journey; too young to plan, too little to fight, too tenderhearted in the views of your family.

even then, your red, rubbed raw eyes seek to look back on your first hint from within the room

a dictionary was sprawled across the opposite end of the bed, thrown haphazardly, opened to a certain page that highlights words closest to 'father'.

you crawl, with sore arms and wobbly legs, to retrieve the heavy, hard-bound and gold-encased dictionary, lounging on your bed with a damaged spine.

your fingers return to traverse multiple pages yet again—

stubborn, impatient and impulsive.

earlier, it came to you in the form of realization that the dictionary your mentor assigned you to read had a missing word cut precisely with a blade and replaced with an unintelligible one.

earlier, you realized just how much your perfect family was only perfect because they've hidden the truth from you.

earlier should've been years ago, earlier should've never been swept off the rug so easily. but what could an eight year old like you do? you've none of damian's talents to quickly learn, you're raised differently. it is only now you wish you weren't so gullible.

and as your fingers strum against pages, near to ripping out expensive paper, tears unceasing, lips bitten 'til bleeding— you learn, and you grow beyond simple comprehension.

motivation, and the drive to uncover all things unsaid, even if the end would result in something negative.

through them, you'll soon learn of spite, of anguish, and bitter contempt.

but for now, you're merely left alone, with only a mantra of words all circling back to dami's words; so many questions left unanswered.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: honestly don't know half of what i wrote + i don't like this as much as i wanted it to come out. this went through multiple revisions with an added fact of me trying to discern why my writing style keeps fluctuating 😭 guys please comment about what you think of this. if this flops, i'm gonna quit writing LMAO. this is a bit more formal than my usual style (re: again & again) because i wanted to capture the regality of the al ghul's family partly told through the perspective of a child.

taglist: @th0rn118, @obsessedwithromance @rogueofbullshit @ch1cky-093, @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd, @confused-they @biiibs01, @ghostdoodlen, @earlqurl, @chericia, @herebyaccident0, @ilovemyhusbandnanami, @mintynilla, @lilyalone, @anonymousdisco, @plsfckmedxddy, @maria-figueiredo, @143637-hrrm, @neerathebrightstar, @jsprien213, @realifezompire, @sammytheotakunerd, @sh4rk-k1d, @confused-they, @peptox, @lillian-morningstar.

[cheralith]

reo doesn’t like the sound of his last name.

he’s much too used to other people calling him by his first name because he insists on it. when they do address him as “mikage”, it feels like people are addressing him as an actual person and not an extension of his father’s company, as their heir.

“good morning reo-kun!”

“see you tomorrow, reo!”

“reo, can you meet me after class please?”

it’s one of the first things that he breaks the ice with while meeting someone new—“oh you can just call me reo; no need for formalities.”

when nagi spots him glaring frustratingly at the back of a peculiar person’s head, he asks him what’s up.

reo doesn’t answer and shakes his head in dismissal, telling him he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. nagi blinks slowly and shrugs, returning to his neutral sleeping position as class dozes on. reo’s ears digest what the teacher is saying, but all he can fixate is the person one seat in front and to the right of him.

class wraps up eventually for lunch, and when reo rushes up to attempt to get whatever goods are prepared for today’s lunch, he accidentally bumps into a shoulder and a cluster of things fall from the person’s hands.

reo pauses briefly, the clutter of everything making a slight racket in the class. out of instinctual reaction, he opens his mouth to apologize…

“oh, gosh, i’m so sor—”

… until he closes it again tightly when he spots you in his field of vision.

his gaze hardens as you kneel down to pick your things up quietly. from the floor, you look up at him with a soft smile that doesn’t meet your eyes.

“no worries, mikage-san,” you say casually without a care in the world.

reo’s jaw grits at the sound of his last name falling from your lips. acidic, it gives a nasty tang on his tongue even though it was you that said it. he huffs lightly, stepping over you without a care and turning on his heel to leave the classroom, not caring about the whispers that run about behind him.

[hinamie]

congrats on your recovery n all yuuji but unfortunately for you I thought the scars were cool >:/

[nouverx]

Day 5 and Day 6 of Radiostatic Week

Free day (Picture) and one sided attraction. Seems like purple doesn't suit Alastor...

[ncalabby]

You think you won You think I'm done

You shot my brain But I don't feel the pain

You killed me in the gloom 'Cause I was holding the whispers

Of your woman that you shot down So she could never choose

[cicadaart]

Been drawing nonstop all week but I did it!!

[Edit: but wait, there’s more!]

Bonus without text:

[quixotical-lymbo]

Helloooo! I've never requested before... so this is my first time. (Is this how I request? I'm still clueless with Tumblr)

If you can! Could you do TFO Sentinel Prime x Advisor Cybertronian Reader? 😽

Pairing: Sentinel Prime x gn!advisor!Reader Rating: SFW-ish Summary: Working to keep the city of Iacon running as efficiently as possible proves to be difficult when the bot in charge has a tendency to throw a wrench in your plans. Warnings/Tags: cybertronian reader, implied toxic dynamics, brief mention of vomiting, one-sided attraction, or is it?, and corruption. Word Count: 1400+ words 

Digits danced along the bright screen detailing the reports of data collected from the guards overseeing the mines. Your optics brightened as you processed the numbers and spotted a few increases. 

Shifting your weight from pede to pede, your lower derma was bitten as you narrowed in on the section of the report where the increase was evident. 

This meant another promotion was on the horizon, perhaps you should schedule a meeting with-

The datapad in your servos disappeared and when you snapped your gaze to glare at the thief, the heat of your glare was extinguished into an optic ridge lifting as your helm craned to look up at the face of your superior who came into view. 

"___." Hearing your destination roll off his glossa felt like a group of scraplets biting at your circuits. Eating away at you until you're nothing left but an empty husk of everything wrong with you. 

"...Sentinel," You greeted with a nod. Your optics locked onto the datapad before switching between the device and his face. Your arm lifted briefly as your digits curled slightly toward the pad. "May I…?" 

"Oh…this thing?" Sentinel rose the datapad above his helm, knowing your stature couldn't reach such heights. "You want this…why?" 

"It is mine." 

"And?" 

"I need it, sir." 

"Is that so?" Sentinel observed the way your dermas pursed and digits flexed stiffly. The mech felt a warm fuzzy feeling erupt in his chassis in seeing you squirm within his presence. The tip of his glossa swiped over his bottom derma, "Y'know, I've been meaning to ask you a few things and I think this is the perfect time to do so!" 

"But I-" 

"-what do you do in your spare time? Me, I like to…"

You squeezed your optics shut and blocked out the sound from your audials. Your fears grew as Sentinel turned on his heel and walked away with your datapad in servo. 

You really needed it back to be able to continue your work. Without the sensitive information on your personal datapad, you wouldn't be able to sit still for the rest of the chord unless you did something productive for the day.

"...___? You there?" 

You snapped out of your stupor and stared dumbly as Sentinel rose his own optic ridge. The corner of his intake curved upward as he shook the datapad in his servo, "Come on, I gotta show you something." 

Despite the alarm bells going off in your processor, you obeyed his silent order and followed him to his office. The large room made you visibly shrink into yourself as memories from long ago flashed in your helm.

This was the place that was a stark reminder of where you learned...that for the first time. 

 

"Where are we going, ma'am?" 

Airachnid didn't turn to look at you, not that she needed to, and simply said, "You'll see." 

You looked around the unfamiliar area. Weird, thin blade-like things sprouted from the ground and were abundant in the mountainous terrain the two of you were trekking on. 

You were halted by a servo placed in front of your chassis and when you glanced up to see Airachnid's digit pointing in a direction you followed it to see-

Your intake twisted in knots.

Sentinel, Quintessons, ships, so many ships. 

Your internal fans kicked in as your frame began heating up. You felt dizzy, nauseous even, and you somehow found the strength to lock your blurry optics to the larger femme.

The corners of her dermas stretched upward. 

You turned your helm and vomited. 

You flinched when a heavy servo landed on your shoulder pad.

"Ah!" You stumbled forward as Sentinel pushed you along toward the large windows overlooking the city. You stood straight when the servo on your shoulder lowered to the area just above your aft. 

A shudder dragged its cold digit up your back strut. The false Prime's laugh brought forth a second. 

"It's been sometime since you became my assistant, huh?" Sentinel began. "I remember the first time I met you! Heh, can't believe you couldn't look at me in the optic because of how nervous you were…but after you warmed up to me, you were quite the yapper." 

You acknowledged his words with a nod. The digits rubbing against your back paused as the expression on Sentinel's face plate darkened. 

"I missed that." 

You broke your neutral expression to look at him. 

"You, being chatty and all, now you're….boring," Sentinel patted your aft and snickered when you jumped. He turned away from you and walked over to his desk, plopping on the chair he threw the datapad on his desk and slightly shifted his legs to leave them comfortably spread. 

"What changed?" As if feigning ignorance, the mech had the nerve to appear sad. 

You stalled for a moment, optics shifting and digits digging into the palm of your servos, "I…um, got busy. It's no easy feat helping someone like you–"

Sentinel's optics narrowed and you quickly sputtered out, "-someone as famous, uh, fabulous, and..um…and well-loved run a city!" 

"Ok, ok, I get it, really." Sentinel Prime waved a servo. "You're…'busy.'" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Hm." Sentinel's optics racked over your frame. "You work a lot so you must be tired, c'mere and get off your pedes for a while." 

"Oh, I shouldn't." 

"I don't remember asking, ___." Sentinel moved one servo to rest on his lap. "Sit." 

You inched over to the desk and made your way around it, but your wrist was caught and before you knew it, you stumbled back and fell onto the mech's lap. You immediately moved to get off but an arm snaked around your midsection plating and caged you against a broad chassis. The heat radiating off of the mech behind you caused you to stiffen. 

"There you go, sweetspark." Sentinel cooed. "Let's continue where we left off, 'kay?"

"Now, what's so important it's managed to steal your attention away from me?" 

"...there's been an increase in miner productivity," You mumbled. 

"...that's what's got you in a tizzy?" Sentinel mulled over what you said before peeking over at the datapad disregarded at the corner of his desk. A noise left him as he nodded, "Oh, right…the method you mentioned in the last meeting we had…it worked?" 

"Yes," You slowly crept out of your shell. "Allowing the miners to work without tight restrictions, more breaks, and even adding more recreational areas for their enjoyment has yielded good results." 

You paused to check Sentinel's face plate. He was leaning back against the chair, the side of his helm resting against two digits as a soft smile etched onto his dermas. When you hesitated, Sentinel gestured for you to continue as his other servo rested on your hip. 

"...and I-" You continued after gaining the green-light and divulged into your plan. Sometimes, you would catch the blue and gold mech glancing between your animated servos and the lower half of your face plate. Despite this, you felt…safe. Safe enough to ramble on and on about your plans and future aspirations for the city. 

"...and I've been thinking, why not try to use some of my free time to look through our database to find information on where the matrix is-" 

The servo on your hip dug into your plating causing you to hiss. Sentinel heard and removed his servo from you, "Ah, sorry." 

He didn't sound like he meant it. 

"Matrix?" Sentinel inquired with a loop-sided grin. "You what to try and…find it?" 

"Well, maybe, I don't know the logistics, but if I can find a lead maybe you won't have to continue the deal with-" 

"-shh, shh, shh," Sentinel cupped the side of your face and leaned down. The distance between you two caused your optics to grow in size, you don't even know if you're breathing anymore. 

"Let's talk about something other than work…hey, what kind of drink do you like? Wait, wait,  better yet, let me get us some. I'll buy the whole bar out." 

You couldn't find the words to deny his request and watched as Sentinel pressed a digit to the side of his helm to comm some bot to bark his request. 

 

…this'll be a long evening. 

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. banners by @kodaswrld !!

[slimeysodaa]

i realize, with no context, this probably doesn't read as bill cipher fanart but i promise it is

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Confessions

Steddie || ~2.3k words || rating: T || tags: post vecna, references to stancy, angst and fluff, robin buckley just being herself

~~~

Eddie and Robin were just finishing filling the snack bowls and mixing drinks when they heard a knock at the door. It’s a Friday night– and not what Eddie would consider a late hour–but they weren’t expecting anyone to join their weekly movie night at Steve’s. 

He glances at Robin who shrugs, shaking her head. As he rounds the kitchen counter towards the foyer, Steve’s voice carries down the hallway.

“Nance?” He sounds surprised too.

“Steve, I’m sorry I know it’s late, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you and I can’t wait anymore,” she says. Eddie can’t see her, but she sounds anxious. 

“This can’t be good,” Robin huffs. He agrees, if the sinking pit in his stomach is any indicator.

“Look, Nance, now’s not really–”

“Steve,” she barrels over him, sounding desperate. “I’ve been an idiot trying to convince myself that I haven’t missed you since we broke up– and before you say it, this isn’t because Jonathan left after we closed the last gate. When we were stuck there with Robin and Eddie, the way you looked at me was how I’ve always hoped someone would love me. You looked at me like I was everything to you, like you could look at me forever and never get tired of it. I feel wanted, and loved, and safe when I’m around you.” She takes a deep, steadying breath before pressing on.

“Last time, when we were together, I took all of my grief and anger out on you. I blamed you for  what happened to Barb because I couldn’t face it myself and I knew you loved me enough to hold the weight, and I resented you for it. You wouldn’t stand up to me, and I resented you because you loved me anyway.” Eddie can hear Nancy sniffling, small sobs carrying down the hallway. “You loved me at my worst, and you didn’t deserve that. You’re amazing, and strong, and kind and everything I could ever ask for.

“Steve, what you said in the Winnebago, I just, I can’t stop thinking about you. About us”

The silence that follows is stifling and Eddie feels bile climbing up his throat. Arms wrap around his shoulders as Robin tucks her head into his neck. Only a small comfort while months of gentle moments with Steve flash behind his eyes: soft hands brushing his curls, stolen glances, lingering touches, and warm smiles. Now Eddie’s forced to stand vigil as it’s all washed away by Nancy's whispered pleas.

“Nance, please–”

A spark of hope after a late night confession weeks ago– swiftly blown away.

“Steve Harrington, I lo–”

“Nancy,” Steve interrupts, his tone firm yet soft around the edges, “I’m in love with someone else.”

Robin gasps into his neck. Her arms around his shoulders squeeze tight, anchoring him to reality in the wake of Steve’s confession. His chest is so full he can’t breathe. 

“Oh,” Nancy whispers before another, deeper sob leaves her breathless. He never thought he’d hear Nancy Wheeler cry. Even though they’re apparently both in love with the same man, he’s grown close with her too and can’t help the urge to comfort her. Eddie’s grown to love everyone in his new found family. But Nancy is right. 

“Yeah Nance, I’m sorry. And they’re kind of here right now, so,” he says gently.

Steve Harrington is everything. 

And they’re kind of here right now…

Hope flames in his chest, blooming with warmth. Eddie doesn’t hear the conversation end over the buzzing in his own head and Robin’s frantic giggling until they hear the click of the front door and Steve’s footsteps coming towards them.

“Oh.”

Steve’s standing in front of them, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. Eddie’s realizing he and Robin maybe should’ve hid before Steve rounded the corner to find them eavesdropping. 

“So,” Steve stammers, a fierce rouge burning his ears, “how much of that did you hear, exactly?”

Robin quickly stands, clearing her throat before Eddie can think of an answer. “Is that the microwave? Did anyone else hear the microwave ding? I think the popcorn is done, so I can go check that right now. Yeah, right now. I’ll just, umm, be in the kitchen checking the popcorn. For the movie.”

She practically sprints down the hall, and although she wasn’t subtle, Eddie’s still thankful for the privacy. Steve’s shaking his head with a small smile on his face.

“Everything,” Eddie answers. “We heard everything.”

“Oh,” Steve says again. He sounds anxious and unsure, something Eddie’s compelled to fix, because all he wants in this world is for Steve Harrington to be happy.

“It’s ok.” He takes Steve’s hands in his own, tracing his thumb lightly over his knuckles. “We won’t say anything to her about it, and we won’t tell anyone what she said. Nancy’s in safe hands with us. Mum’s the word!” And as Eddie mimes zippering up his mouth, he hopes that Steve won’t take the easy way out. That he won’t use the life-raft Eddie’s just thrown in his direction to keep him from drowning. 

“Right,” Steve says. He runs a hand through his hair, biting his lip as he gazes at the floor between them. The silence as Eddie waits for Steve’s next words grows long and tense. He can’t hear any movement in the kitchen, making him more anxious now that he knows Robin’s listening. Which, he’d be a hypocrite to be mad about.

Maybe he has this all wrong. Maybe Steve just needed a way to get her to leave, so he lied about having a date over. Maybe he didn’t know what to say, and just said the first thing to pop into his head. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with Eddie at all. 

Eddie realizes he’s still holding Steve’s hands, his grip tightening the longer he spirals. If it hurts, Steve hasn’t said anything. But when Eddie looks at his face, he seems dazed and lost in thought. As fast as if he’d been burned, Eddie drops Steve’s hands and takes a step backward.

“So,” Eddie stammers, voice shaking, “I’m going to go help Birdie with the popcorn. You want to get another movie started?”

Hands still frozen in the air, Steve finally lets his clenched fists fall to his sides. Eddie can see the whites of his knuckles. He hears Steve sigh, exhausted and frustrated, but Steve’s nodding with furrowed brows and taking a step backward towards the living room– away from Eddie. Too far to reach out to.

Turning away, Eddie’s in the middle of forming an escape attempt when he opens the kitchen door to immediately be swept up in Robin’s arms. Of course she’d been listening. He’s grateful for it, now that he doesn’t have to explain himself. As he buries his face into her neck, he finds a wet patch and wonders what kind of accident she got into while prepping snacks. It’s not until she starts gently shushing him that he realizes he’s crying, tears soaking into her shirt. 

“It’s gonna be ok, teddy bear,” she says, running her hand through his curls, “he’ll get there, I promise. He’s working on it, you know that.”

He nods. He does know that. Steve’s been out to Robin for a few months, but only to Eddie for a few weeks. He deserves the space to figure it out, and the grace of those around him to do so at his own pace. Still, Eddie can’t help his growing impatience alongside the increasing severity of his crush. At least Robin’s here to support the both of them.

The two of them finish gathering the snacks in silence. She was full of awkward jokes to try to lighten the mood, but when it was clear Eddie was stuck in his head, she’d stopped. He feels bad about it. He’ll make it up to her later, plus he knows she’s not upset with him. Eddie suspects they’ll be getting together sometime tomorrow to rehash everything that’s happened– after she’s finished consoling Steve, of course.

When they leave the kitchen, Eddie’s surprised to find Steve exactly where he’d left him. He’s standing frozen in the hallway, lip pulled between his teeth and hands still clenched. But when he lifts his gaze to meet Eddie’s, there’s resolve behind his eyes.

“Eddie,” Steve says, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Oh my god! Finally!”

Eddie jumps violently at Robin’s shouting, almost directly into his ear. She’s flushed red with embarrassment decorated with a manic grin so wide he wonders if it’ll just keep stretching like taffy. There’s popcorn poured out onto the floor from where she clearly threw her hands up in excited exasperation. He watches as her eyes grow wide, her smile morphing into shock, her lips forming a perfect ‘o’, as if to say ‘oh shit, I just interrupted the most important moment in my best friends’ lives because I’m so excited and impatient that these two dinguses finally figured their shit out’.

She kicks the scattered popcorn towards the wall, like that’ll somehow hide the mess, before awkwardly passing them both down the hall towards the living room.

Eddie loves her so much.

“Huh,” Eddie chuckles, “well that was–”

“I’ve known I’ve liked you since last summer when you let me help you into my pool onto Holly’s rubber duck floaty so you could finally go swimming after you finished physical therapy.” Steve sounds out of breath, words running into each other with misplaced breaths in between. Like if he stops, he knows he won’t start again. 

It’s the only time Eddie’s felt the urge to keep quiet– when he’s not fighting for his life.

“You were so nervous,” Steve plows on, “but you said you felt safe with me, that you wanted only me to be there. You said you trusted me to help without laughing or judging you. Fuck, Eddie, you were so goddamn cute once we got you settled in with a Coke with a crazy straw in it. We were listening to ABBA and you didn’t even complain and you were so sunburnt the next day. It was the happiest I’d ever seen you.”

The memory leaves Eddie shocked. He did trust Steve to help, didn’t even consider asking anyone else because Steve just felt like the most obvious answer. He’d been there through the worst of Eddie’s post-PT work to make sure he ‘kept form’ on his exercises. They’d lounged in the sun all day, and it was the first time Eddie watched Steve relax since his final Upside-Down battle. 

Eddie feels his lip quiver, eyes burning, knowing they’d felt the same that day. Judging by Steve’s watery eyes, he guesses they feel the same now, too. 

“But love,” Steve whispers. He swallows as he takes a step closer, reaching out to grasp his hands. “Eddie Munson, I knew I was in love with you yesterday.”

His shoulders tighten as he recalls yesterday, surprised because they hadn’t seen each other at all, one of the rare days where their schedules didn’t line up. It was the first time in months they’d gone longer than thirty-six hours without seeing each other. Sure, they’d talked on the phone while Steve worked, but it’s not the same.

“I know,” Steve laughs, clocking Eddie’s confusion. “I thought about you all day. Couldn’t stop, no matter how hard I tried. Robin had to work with the customers because all I kept thinking about was tonight. If you’d get here before Robin, so we could sit out by the pool and smoke. Where we’d sit for the movie and if we’d get to share the popcorn bucket. If you’d pick a movie I hadn’t seen, so you’d lean in close and tell me a million random facts, even when you know I don’t really get it. But I just like when you’re close, next to me, and–” he hesitates– “I think that’s why you do it.”

Steve lifts their joined hands, wiping a tear from his eye using the back of Eddie’s knuckles. He returns the gesture, wiping what Eddie’s guessing is a mix of tears and snot off of his own face with Steve’s sleeve. 

“I think you lean in because you want to be close to me, too, and you don’t actually care about the movie either. Eddie, I think you ask for my help because you trust me in a way only Robin does. You give me cute nicknames like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘pretty boy’ because you’re teasing me, but I think it’s mostly because you really mean it.” Steve’s stepped closer now, and Eddie can feel the warmth of shared air between their gasping breaths. 

“I think you tease me and lean into me because you want my attention,” Steve whispers, brushing his nose alongside Eddie’s as their foreheads touch. “But Eddie, you’ve always had my attention.”

Eddie surges forward, capturing Steve’s tear-soaked lips between his own in what has to be the snotiest kiss either of them has ever had. But he doesn’t care. How could he? Eddie’s kissing the man he’s been in love with for almost eight months. 

Steve drops Eddie’s hands in favor of running one through his dark curls, while the other grips tightly at his waist. He can’t help but cup Steve’s cheeks, running a gentle thumb along his cheekbones. 

It’s soft and messy and everything he’s ever hoped for, because Steve Harrington is his everything, and he’ll do anything to keep him. Right now, he doesn’t have to worry about what they’ll tell their friends, or how they’ll explain this to Nancy, or even if Robin’s listening behind the door– he’s sure she is. No, right now, he lets himself bask in the glow of Steve’s love and soak in the comfort that Steve feels loved in return.

[bunsihunsi]

[op-dumpstertruck]

This is going to be an omegaverse zosan AU I had in my brain for years now, but since epic ended a few days ago and the soundtrack fits a. way too good and b. makes my brain go brrrrrrrr I decided to finally draw it! Buckle up lads, it's gonna be fine in the end, but I'm gonna crack Sanji like a glowstick first-

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “(un)requited love” prompts 

Requested by: @girlwonder-writes Request: “I would like 24 prompts about unrequited love please!” 

“You’re the best thing that will never happen to me.”

“I love you. I know it’s one-sided. And that’s okay. I just needed you to know.”

“I swore to everything I love that I would never catch feelings for someone like you, but here we are. And what’s worse is you don’t feel the same, and I’m the one who’s going to embarrass themselves when all is said and done.”

“I don’t ask for you to love me back. I only ask you to understand it will take time for me to stop feeling this way for you.” 

“I never asked to fall for someone whom I know doesn’t feel the same way.”

“There’s a twisted beauty in being in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same.” 

“What’s worse is, this is the first time I’ve genuinely felt this way about someone.”

“Do my feelings disgust you that much that you can’t even look me in the eyes now?” 

“I’ve always known that you don’t feel that way towards me. I just… Didn’t expect you to confirm it in a way that would both embarrass and hurt me.”

“Even love itself bested me.” 

“Your mind’s not occupied by anyone else, so why can’t you let it be occupied by me instead? Like you occupy mine.”

“I mean, it would be nice if I was given even one chance to prove myself to you.”

“I respect that you don’t like me back, so I hope you can at least respect my feelings for you.”

“Did you really just ask me if I know how it feels to not have someone love you back like that? Me, the biggest lovesick loser of them all?”

“I’m tired. I want to let go.” 

“I don’t want to feel like this way towards you anymore.”

“I’m not used to this lack of reciprocation.”

“Not to be a whiney bitch, but why can’t I be the one?” 

“I don’t mind loving them from afar if it means I get to keep them in my life.” 

“If I let go of you now… Then I’m letting go of you forever. And I don’t know… I don’t know if I can do that just yet.”

“We could be something more but there’s just one thing missing.” “Which is…?” “You also holding the same feelings for me, as I hold for you.” 

“I fell for you, fully knowing the risks… Yet I was still unprepared for the crash.” 

“This is why I never wanted to tell you how I felt! I knew it would ruin everything between us, and that’s exactly what’s happening right now.”

“You warned me not to fall for you. And it’s my fault I didn’t listen.”

Join my Discord server: Steaming Dumplings Nation

[birtuch]

This took 11 hours and 38 minutes altogether

Idea goes so hard that I had to learn a whole different way of creating lighting

[caprart1]

Don't you hate it when your artist doesn't want to draw your other eye so they smash your face

[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.