#otherwise you wouldn't keep on jumping on him every now and then

[antenanotaic3]

At least make something out of that awkward pose

just because of this.

Why is bro staying like that

[johanna-swann]

I actually have sooo many issues with 911 lately that haven't even got much to do with any ships.

Like. They wrote out almost all of the side characters. Chris is gone, Linda and Sue are gone, Athena's kids are gone (even though Harry just moved in with her and Bobby again? Seriously, where is Harry?), Ravi is gone, Carla is gone. I know the GA maybe don't care that much, casual viewers might not even have noticed that this many characters have just vanished from the show, but in my opinion this is one of the things that give a show running as long as 911 life. Having a big cast is a good thing. Otherwise things are going to get very monotonous very soon.

Actually, that's my second point. They keep repeating storylines! Every season Hen and Karen have to fight a custody battle over one of their kids.

Every season Eddie ends up realising he has a lot of repressed trauma and issues which keep him from leading a healthy happy and free life.

Every season Bathena realise that they have communication issues and they fight about it, but then something traumatic happens and they forgive each other without ever really talking things out.

Every season we are reminded that Maddie's most prominent character trait is "traumatised", the writers just alternatingly bring up Doug again and sometimes the ppd arc.

Every season we see Buck being somewhat restless, looking and searching for something that will bring him true happiness and cycling through love interests that never stick around and each time when you think "oh, there it is, he's getting somewhere now" the writers go "BEEEP! WRONG!" and we start all over again. [This is not just about recent events aka Tommy, the break-up and Buck potentially going back to his 1.0 ways, this also happened in season 6 when he had his "it doesn't matter what other people see in me, I'm enough" revelation only to suddenly be like "omg, Natalia just sees me".]

And Chimney- he had his moment last season with the wedding episode, Kenneth Choi really ate that episode up, but his most prominent character trait is "Maddie's supportive husband". There's really not that much going on with him otherwise.

Another point I briefly touched upon above is consistency. Like Harry moving back in with Athena and Bobby and then just vanishing. Or Gerrard being more like a slightly unfriendly grandpa than an actual antagonist in season 8 when he was still spouting slurs in season 7.

And the timeline! We talked about this before ("last March", Mara's fostering to adoption timeline, Tommy tranferring to harbour "5 years ago"), but the newest "Tommy was actually Abby's Tommy" twist just adds to that. Tommy was with Abby for over 2 years. They were engaged. This was at a time when he was still at the 118. Tommy dated Abby presumably because he was in denial or maybe because he was hiding. In either case, wouldn't his team at least have heard about his fiancée, Abby the dispatcher? Wouldn't that have rung a bell when Buck eventually brought her around only a year or two later? Tommy did talk about his private life at least a little at work, even under Gerrard. It just doesn't make sense. (Not to mention this seems wildly out of character for Tommy who around the same time also said about himself "being single is easier".)

Then there's the pacing. This was a huge issue in season 7. They jumped from one personal soap opera drama to the next without taking any breathers, had almost no procedural in their drama the whole season, still somehow decided to spend one third of the entire season just on the opening disaster and also squeezed in a "Bobby begins for the third time now" episode. But okay, it was a shortened season, there were strikes, they switched networks, they were under a lot of pressure - I'll cut them some slack. At least they set up a bunch of interesting stuff for the following season.

But we're in season 8 now. The renewal was announced very early, they had a lot of time to plan this time. Also they have almost double the episodes they had last season, there's really no need to rush any of the major plots. I am done cutting them slack.

They wanna do a 3 part opening disaster again? Okay fine, you have the time now. I feel like they could've easily done it in 2 episodes (especially 8x02 felt a little "eh"), but okay. Better than the breakneck speed you were going at befo- Oh, what's that? 8x04 flying in with a steel chair. You resolved 70% percent of the plots you set up last season in one single episode with no build up, no emotional pay off and no lasting consequences? And you also squeezed in multiple unrelated calls at the same time? Damn, okay then. Good-bye potentially interesting storylines. Fuck me for being invested I guess. I thought there would at least maybe be some follow up in 8x05, but no.

Now that Halloween episode wasn't bad, it was actually the best episode of this season imo, but instead of following up on previously established conflicts and developments they just hit us with new Wilson family trauma and conflict that was also immediately fixed again. And now 8x06 has speedrun and dumped another storyline that had potential to go to deeper and interesting places. Not gonna talk too much about that though because this post is about the show as a whole, not ships.

And I am not yet convinced that there will be much more to come on the only thing that's left from last season: Eddie's deep dive into his trauma and repression. It's totally possible at this point that being told "you deserve nice things" by a random stranger actually solved all of his problems, it would be very in tone with 911's new style.

What are they even gonna do with the rest of this season? Revisiting the Hotshots set sounds fun, but ultimately inconsequential. You know what's great about a regular old procedural drama with ~20 episodes per season that comes on weekly? You have time. You can let the viewers sit with their emotions and thoughts for a week and keep them engaged by stretching things out a little.

But why should I bother getting emotionally invested in problems the characters are gonna solve within the same episode anyway? Or rather, even if I wanted to, how am I supposed to care if you don't give me the time to develop any feelings about anything that's happening? "Henren lost in court and are now completely forbidden from seeing Mara at all!" Damn, that must be so har- "JUST KIDDING! Ortiz is exposed and everything is perfect again now." Oh. Okay then, I guess.

Bottom line: The characters are all stuck in their own hamster wheels, they keep cutting side characters that could bring a breeze of fresh air (I'm honestly surprised they even kept Josh until now), they rush through all the storylines a such a ridiculous speed that I don't even have time to feel any sort of way about it, they don't even try to keep a consistency or sensible timeline going and they seem to strongly prioritise random funny bits that'll entertain the very casual viewers right now in this moment (tiger call, Billy Boils, Bee-nado, the 'Stache tm, "wait, it's the same Abby?", Gerrard being a fangirl at heart) instead of playing the long game and catering to people who actually pay a little attention to the show.

[On that last remark: I'm not talking about hardcore fans who analyse every single frame here, I mean casual fans who've watched the show on and off again for a while and who may not be involved in fandom but genuinely care about the show.]

I mean. What am I even still doing here? The show is treading water and I end up disappointed more often than not. I'm still holding out a little hope that they actually will do something interesting with Eddie and his sea-monkeys, but I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't.

[mariaace]

What's this? Affection...Do it again.

A/n: So like our precious bllk men. Talked with my bsf about these idiot and ugh got to writing.

Summery: how they react to affection. Do they return it?(gn!reader)

Pairings: Isagi, Rin, Reo, Bachira, Chigiri, Sae

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Isagi Yoichi

Isagi loves your affection. He adores it!! Would never stop you or push you away. He most likely like hugging you, because that's when you are the closest to him. His hand is usually around your shoulder or waist, especially if you are around his friends from blue lock. He loves running to you after a match, when you are in the front line of the audience, watching him. People around you are screaming. Like y'all are kissing in every photo of his matches. Forehead kisses are his to go for when you are in public. He loves when you run your hand through his hair whether that be in public or private. In general, he would return your affection right away, and he loves it.

Rin Itoshi

Rin likes your affection, but he doesn't show it. Okay, he may return it, but way more silently than you. He would brush his knee against yours when you are sitting, walk you from the paparazzi by putting his hand on your back, give you his water bottle to drink. He, most of the time, acts annoyed when you show too much affection, or when you ask to kiss him in public he'll say no, hoping you would ask again. In public tho, he would react a lot. Especially with the paparazzi around you. Overall, you are definitely the more affectionate one and he acts annoyed on it, but don't worry, he appreciates it a lot <33

Reo Mikage

Reo falls in love with you again everytime you show his affection to him in public. He is also most likely more affectionate than you, doesn't matter if in public or private. He'll jump on you the moment he sees you. He really loves your affection tho, especially if you aren't the one to show it a lot. Here, you'll have to be the one to return his. Nagi is telling you that you are gross, while you are wrapped around Reo. To the paparazzi? Oh ho. He's showing off, he is not hiding. Of course, if you feel uncomfortable with that, tell him. The last thing he wants is for you to be uncomfortable.

Bachira Meguru

Bachira... We'll he's Bachira. If he doesn't return your affection, there is not a person who would. Keeping that in mind, you two don't leave each others sides. Like two puppies in love (it kind of is). He will shower you with affection three times bigger than yours, but it was your fault for kissing him on the face. He isn't trying to purposely show you off in public, but he does in unintentionally! Or he is just all over you and people already know. If you don't return his affection, he will think you're mad at him :( please tell him that's not true

Chigiri Hyoma

Now this pretty princess, looooooves the attention you're giving him, like genuinely loves it. ESPECIALLY if you two are in public, because he can show how much his partner loves him!! Would he return the affection? Yes... eventually. Don't get me wrong okay? He will return it, but probably behind closet doors (yes i believe Chigiri can sometimes be not much of a PDA person) or he'll show it in his own way that is unfamiliar to others, but not to you, so only you could now. Still, he loves having you close all the time no matter what. In front of paparazzi? Quick! Pose! You gotta steal the light!

Sae Itoshi

Oh this bitch, where so i start with him. Does he like your affection? Hmmmm he tolerates it... I'm kidding, yes he likes it, he wouldn't be dating you otherwise. He just would never admit it even if it cost his life, but you know he does. But he isn't returning it in public at all. Like no freaking chance, especially if they are paparazzi. He gotta keep the reputation you know? In closed doors tho? If he's exhausted, clingy or you just ask him enough, yes he would. But you gotta be more pushy. (More passion, more energy)

© mariaace 2024 pls do not copy, translate, steal or claim any of my works!

@dazailoveschuuya

[lu-is-not-ok]

A Narcissistic reading of Hong Lu

Yup, I'm actually doing this.

To lay down some facts first: I have NPD, alongside a bunch of other things that coalesce into a nuclear concoction strong enough to kill every dark empath in a five mile radius. If I find you ableisting it up, I give myself the permission to smite you. This is a threat and a warning.

Now, let's talk about Hong Lu. Because as it turns out, he might just be the most difficult literacy check in Limbus Company according to what I've seen.

I could just say "I'm a narcissist and Hong Lu is just like me fr fr so he's a narcissist too" and end the post, but honestly, where's the fun in that? There are, legitimately, things I want to yap about, so I'm going to yap about them, and no chucklefucks can stop me.

So, to start this off, let's make one thing clear.

Hong Lu is not only a good actor, but also a skilled liar. The way he navigates conversations and the methods he uses are just as important to analyze as the actual words he says, if not more so. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that trying to understand him based Only on what he says and not how he uses the things he says would result in an understanding that's not only incomplete, but potentially outright wrong.

Now, this isn't really tied to why I think Hong Lu could be very reasonably read as having NPD, at least not directly. Narcissists aren't inherently evil liar manipulators, and if that's what you take away from this post, that's more of a you problem (and you can go ahead and block me considering I'm one of the evil liar manipulator narcissists according to you).

However, there is a reason why I have to bring it up. And it's because almost all of Hong Lu's narcissistic traits become a lot more obvious once you look at the exact ways he takes control of conversations.

With that out of the way, what exactly are we even looking for?

NPD, in my experience, primarily affects one's sense of self-worth and self-esteem. I personally found that the analogy of a pendulum makes the most sense to me - a narcissist's sense of self-worth can swing between massive highs and massive lows, almost never staying in a middle "balanced" position, with even the tiniest things being able to throw it to one side or another.

The ways this can present outwardly are. Quite frankly, way too fucking many to count. But there are some common threads we can keep in mind:

High sensitivity to criticism

Need for an external source of validation

Tendency to seek out ways to make oneself feel more special, important, or powerful

So, does Hong Lu fit those criteria?

Well. Yeah. This post wouldn't exist if he didn't.

Let's talk about the first point, high sensitivity to criticism. And, immediately, I would like everyone to remember Hell's Chicken, specifically the scene where Meursault begins to verbally roast his team's dish, and in the process laying down a verbal smackdown on everyone involved. That scene ended like this.

Curious, isn't it? The moment Meursault was about to start criticising Hong Lu, he just jumps in and distracts Meursault with a change of topic - something even Dante's narration points out.

Mind you, this isn't an isolated event. This is just the most obvious example of Hong Lu exhibiting this kind of behavior.

Don't believe me? Just look at these.

These are all examples of Hong Lu either backpedaling, changing the subject, or otherwise trying to avoid the acknowledgement of something that criticizes his status, thought process, or (in the last example) which would reveal an emotional vulnerability.

This is a fairly consistent pattern for him, and that's not even getting into the fact that the line he says when hovering over him before a skill check he has a Very Low chance at succeeding in has him suddenly try to excuse himself and leave.

Hong Lu is absolutely highly sensitive to criticism, it's just that his primary emotional reactions aren't ones we're privy to. Instead, what we get to see is how he acts to try and minimize the impact of those criticisms, if not outright find ways to never let them leave someone's mouth in the first place.

Next up - need for external validation.

This one doesn't have as many examples as the previous point, as Hong Lu is a generally closed off person who keeps a certain level of distance from most other Sinners. However, that doesn't mean I don't have any.

One such example comes from Canto 4, where soon after acting out his part in the play, Hong Lu seeks validation from Yi Sang.

Then there's this moment in Canto 6, where Hong Lu, once again, seeks validation for something he's done.

And then there's also these lines from Hong Lu's various Identities.

Aaaand then there's these base Identity voice lines, which, if you ask me, feel a bit like fishing for compliments.

This point is a lot harder to say is a definitive one, mainly due to Hong Lu's more closed off projected personality. That being said, the fact that one can find examples of it despite that is pretty notable.

And for the final one - trying to make oneself feel more special, important, or powerful.

This is one that's a bit harder to provide exact examples for, as again, Hong Lu isn't someone who talks about how he feels often, and when he does it's not always exactly trustworthy. He's not like Rodya, who while still putting on a facade, is pretty open and easy to read about how she actually feels.

But, there's still some non-mutually exclusive interpretations I want to posit here. Two, in fact.

One - I believe that for Hong Lu, the thing he sees as power is control.

See, avoiding criticism isn't the only time Hong Lu steers conversations. In fact, it's something he does All The Time. He's often the one asking questions to get the group moving, trying to gather information that might be relevant to him, and generally taking over the direction a conversation is going in. Chances are, if Hong Lu speaks up, it's likely to alter the conversation he joins in noticeable ways.

This, I think, is one of the ways Hong Lu makes himself feel more powerful. After all, it's not that hard to guess from what little bits of his background we have that Hong Lu lacked agency for most of his life. So, wouldn't it make sense for him that having that agency, that being able to be socially in control, would be the exact kind of thing that would boost his self-esteem?

In fact, the only times we see him rendered completely speechless, seemingly stripped of that confidence in conversations he usually exhibits, are in Canto 7 - specifically in scenes where he's Not In Control of what the others are talking about. Those scenes being when the other Sinners start shit-talking Xichun in front of him, and when Xichun actively tries to bother Hong Lu by alluding to the way he's been treated back at home.

Extremely confident until something external happens that utterly strips him of that confidence... sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Then, there's the second interpretation.

See, with NPD, there are two ways a narcissist can try to make themself feel more deserving of attention. One is the one most probably think of when they think about narcissists - setting out to fulfill extremely high goals to feel amazing when one reached them and then feeling utterly crushed in the case one doesn't. This would be someone like Rodya.

However, there is also another way, one which I personally have much more experience with - to undersell. To set extremely low expectations, so that it's as hard as possible to fail reaching them, and to feel way better upon surpassing them than one would with higher, more "regular" expectations.

This, to me, is exactly the kind of narcissist Hong Lu is. Think about it. He's constantly putting out this image of an extremely sheltered person that barely understands the outside world, with notable moments where it's made clear he's Just Making Shit Up at points. Wouldn't making one seem unable to do anything, only to then proceed to do things you've led people to not expect of you, make it feel like you're much more exceptional than you really are?

The underselling goes the other way too. When the other Sinners point out something odd about Hong Lu in a more positive way, he's often quick to point out how it's Nothing compared to what his Family expected of him. Wouldn't that make one feel exceptional, to make it seem like whatever effort you're putting in to do well is but a fraction of what else you can do? That you don't even have to try to be able to be special?

...So, there. That's all the analysis and interpretation I find important to do to get my point across.

Just to make it clear, I don't think that the only thing wrong with Hong Lu is the narcissism. There's definitely a lot more shit going on in that head of his. But, I'll be honest, the NPD reading felt so obvious to me that it genuinely took me by surprise that other people don't see it.

Though... maybe I shouldn't be shocked. Some fuckers out there still think Faust is a narcissist when she's literally just autistic.

[starry-bi-sky]

Childhood Friends Danny and Jason

(cw underage smoking / smoking as a form of bonding) (cw Jason thinking Danny killed himself but its only for a moment) (cw depictions of murderous intent? Danny wants to murder the Joker and he's a little descriptive about it)

Now on ao3 :) (and with a response and a third one)

AND ALSO A REMASTERED VERSION THAT YOU SHOULD TOTALLY GO CHECK OUT BECAUSE I WORKED VERY HARD ON IT.

This is… aha. Massive. Word count check: 9k+

this has probably been done before but hey, everyone loves a good trope and I wanted to share my take on this idea. 👏👏 So, Danny Fenton and Jason Todd being childhood friends. The Fentons lived in Crime Alley for a good long while during Danny's childhood. Nobody wanted to fund their research and Jack and Maddie struggled to keep any form of work for a multitude of reasons. Jack worked in construction due to his big build and Maddie had another job elsewhere.

Danny and Jason were friends during that time, really great friends. I'm not super solid on how they met yet but I do know it involves Danny committing petty crime and Jason deciding to jump in and help when he sees Danny struggling. Danny was distrustful (as all crime alley kids ought to be) but they eventually became thick as thieves, committing petty crime together.

While it's all too easy to make Danny the weaker one of the two with Jason protecting him, I actually really like the idea that they protected each other. Growing up (essentially) on the streets means Danny forcibly had to grow a backbone unless he wanted to get trampled all over. He is just as willing to scuffle with the bigger kids as Jason is, and he and Jason regularly fought each other whenever they needed to let off steam, or just because. They were a duo, having each other's backs in tough situations.

(Sometimes the pair of them would sneak out at night and try and get a glimpse of Batman and Robin while they soared through the air. It was like a game between the two of them to see who could spot the dynamic duo first. When they were a little older, Jason would steal his dad's cigarettes and share them with Danny while they searched for Batman and Robin)

So when Danny has to move away when they're eleven years old, it's pretty safe to say that Jason didn't speak to him for a week afterwards. Nothing Danny did could persuade him to otherwise, even when Danny insisted that it wasn't his fault and that he didn't want to move away either, but he didn't have a choice in the matter.

When the week was over, Jason climbed through Danny's window and sat in his room, dead silent and looking upset. he didn't speak until Danny fished out a stolen pack of cigarettes from his bed and handed one to Jason.

(It was a ritual they had where if one of them was upset about something but wasn't saying anything, the other one could then hand them a cigarette -- whether it be the one they were using or a new one -- and that would be an open invitation for the person to vent. The other one who handed him the cigarette wouldn't speak until the venter handed back the cigarette. Then back and forth it would go until the cigarette was gone.)

Jason ranted about how pissed he was about Danny moving, and they promised to try and stay in touch after he leaves. Neither of them had phones, but Danny was determined to send him a letters.

Danny moves to Amity Park and it's... an adjustment, that's for sure. He's angry, grumpy, upset, and every other negative feeling under the sun. He was going to a new middle school with new people he didn't know, away from all of the people he did know and away from his best friend.

(He does however keep his word about sending letters, and mails one out to Jason at the first opportunity.)

He refuses to get along with anyone, butts heads with the teachers, is combative, rude, and openly smokes in class -- which gets him plenty of detentions and a bad reputation. He speaks in a thick Gotham street accent and wears hand-me-down clothes that are too big and baggy on him. (His parents have yet to replace any of their wardrobes as they settle into their new life, and Danny is hesitant to spend the money to get new clothes.)

He only manages to befriend Sam and Tucker because one of the football kids was bullying Tucker and Danny stepped in. It was some blond jerk named Dash and when Dash threw the first punch, Danny broke his nose. Tucker found him later that day and reluctantly thanked him for his help.

Sam and Danny do not get along for the longest time. Sam questions Danny about his upbringing, his accent, his smoking. She judges him for talking back to the teachers despite doing it herself and for ruining his lungs with cigarettes. Danny tells her to fuck off, and when she tries to judge him and Tucker for not being vegetarian, he calls her a privileged brat.

Sam doesn't even look at him for two weeks after, and Danny refuses to apologize. Tucker is caught between a rock and a hard place as his old friend and new friend are feuding with each other.

They... sort it out eventually.

Danny and Jason send each other letters near religiously. Danny complains about Amity Park, and Jason complains about how Crime Alley isn't the same without him. Danny talks about the school and what he's learned, about Sam and Tucker, and how he's been getting into the astronomy books in the library. He steals Jason a book and sends it to him.

When Jason tells Danny that he was adopted by Bruce Wayne, Danny calls bullshit. There's no fucking way Bruce Wayne would even look at Crime Alley, regardless of his charity efforts towards it. But when he checks Gotham news later that week, he's hit in the face with every single news article announcing Bruce Wayne's newest ward; Jason Todd.

Cue freaking out. Jason talks all about living in Wayne Manor and what it's like there. He says that there's a monster library in a part of the house that Bruce says he has free reign over, and that Jason can have anything to eat as long as he asks Alfred to make it and it isn't a desert, and that he has his own monster-sized room that he got to pick out himself and decorate.

(When they both get phones, the first thing either of them do is add each other's numbers.)

When Sam complains about having to go to a Wayne Gala that her parents are dragging her to one weekend, the first thing Danny asks is if he can go with. It surprises Sam and Tucker; Danny was the last person they would have thought wanted to go with. HE hates the rich even more than Sam does. Danny stands firm in his decision, and refuses to elaborate.

"Besides." He says to Sam, with whom he's begun to get along with via 'the enemy of my enemy is a friend'. "Would you rather go alone or with someone you can tolerate?"

She brings him with and convinces her parents to allow Danny to come along, citing that she'll be on her best behavior if they do. They agree, and buy Danny a suit when he says that he doesn't have one of his own.

(He discovers that he hates wearing suit jackets and ties, but vests he doesn't mind. He doesn't like that he has to comb his hair back, but he does to make Sam's parents happy. They give him a crash course in etiquette that Danny's going to forget the next day, and soon enough off they go in a private jet to Gotham)

(he does not tell Jason he's coming.)

he feels mischievous and nervous as they touch down, his stomach swirling as Sam's parents usher them to a high-profile hotel that Danny's only ever dreamed about going into. He feels largely out of place as they walk through the lobby, and falls back on old habits: square shoulders, set jaw, make yourself look like the biggest person in the room.

They get ready in the hotel room, Sam's parents primp and preen for the night incoming, and Sam is dragged into it by her mother. Danny does only what's required of him, and fiddles with the sleeves of his fresh-ironed button-down that's been tailored to his body. He's itching for a cigarette, and didn't bring any with.

Sam's dad helps him with his tie, a bout of kindness that Danny doesn't think is one. Just obligation to prevent Danny from looking like a mess. Sam pesters him again about wanting to come, and his reasons for it, and Danny keeps mum.

He's stone-faced with anxiety as they get closer to the gala, and before they leave the limousine the Mansons rented Sam links arms with him. A form of solidarity that Danny needs as he squeezes their arms together and smiles weakly at her.

The paparazzi are loud, bright, and demanding, shouting questions over questions at them like overlapping tidal waves. Danny ignores them all and focuses on the front doors instead. Sam's parents whisper at the stairs that they are to greet the Waynes first, and Danny's heart leaps to his throat.

His heart is in his ears as they drift closer, Mister Wayne is preoccupied with another rich couple, smiling that charming billionaire smile that Danny saw on every billboard in Gotham, and then some in Amity Park. Getting so close to him feels unreal.

And there by his side is the one and only Jason Todd, who isn't even trying to hide the bored look on his face as he watches Bruce interact with the other adults. He's gotten taller in the year they've been away, and healthier. His hair looks like its been cut professionally and he doesn't look as street kid skinny.

Danny's arm, hooked with Sam's, tightens up, and he resists the urge to rush forward and hug Jason. He watches Jason's eyes sweep left, away from him, and then right, towards him. The air stills for a moment as their eyes lock.

Danny grins toothily at him, lopsided and playful in nature, and sees the moment Jason processes the sight before him. His arm starts slipping out of Sam's at the same time as an ecstatic smile stretches across Jason's face.

His lopsided grin fills out on the other end. "DANNY!" Jason yells, cutting off whatever Bruce Wayne and startling everyone within earshot. There's barely a moment for Bruce to look down when Jason shoves past him and runs at Danny.

Danny yanks his arm out of Sam's, "JASON!" He yells with just as much enthusiasm, and Jason nearly topples them right over when he collides with Danny. His arms wrap around Danny's shoulders, holding onto him tightly, and they're both laughing, spinning around like tops out of joy.

"You didn't tell me you were coming!" Jason cries, sounding accusing. Danny hugs him just as tightly, and laughs when Jason pulls away momentarily to punch his shoulder.

"I wanted it to be a surprise!" He defends, laughing between words as their spinning comes to a stop. They're both reluctant to pull apart, but they do and clutch the sleeves of their elbows tightly. "How could my best friend be adopted by the Bruce Wayne and have me not come confirm it with my own two eyes?"

"I sent you newspaper clippings!" Jason says, narrowing his eyes while his smile betrays his face. Danny quietly notices that his Gotham street accent is faded slightly.

"Oh that's what it was?" Danny's grin turns again, edging into a smirk. He feigns innocence, "I thought that was fire kindling." He has the newspaper clippings hung on the corkboard in his room, proud beyond words about his best friend.

Jason punches him in the shoulder again, hard enough to leave a bruise. "You jackass." He says, ignoring Danny's laughter even when he's holding back his own.

There's a soft, sharp clearing of someone's throat, breaking their attentions away from each other to the one that made the noise.

Bruce Wayne was a tall man, taller than Danny expected, and he looks exactly like his billboards. If less promiscuous than his perfume ads. Danny expects him to be upset with them both for disrupting his pretty rich gala, but instead he just looks gently amused, with an arched eyebrow. Overall though, he just looks fond.

Danny would be the first to admit that Bruce had taken in Jason as a charity case, something to fill the void after his other kid Dick Grayson finally moved out. But Danny’s a good judge of character — or he likes to assume he is — and those are not the eyes of a man who would take Jason in as a charity case. Those are the eyes of a man who actually, genuinely, cares about one Jason Todd.

The wriggly protective thing settles in his chest.

He doesn’t let go of Jason, but he does twist his smile into something a little more polite. Mister Wayne’s eyebrow arches higher, and he turns his blue-blue eyes onto Jason. “Who’s this, Jason?” He has that fancy Gotham Elite accent -- something that sounds like a mix between old transatlantic and faintly British -- that Danny's only heard in passing when he and Jason snuck up to the nicer parts of Gotham.

Jason stares at Mister Wayne, his grip on Danny tightens as his eyes flick to the other onlookers in the room. “This is Danny, B.” He says once his eyes turn back to Mister Wayne. “We grew up in Crime Alley together, he moved to Illinois last year."

Danny can see the uncomfortable expressions cross every rich person's face, murmurs sweeping across the room as soon their uncomfortable gazes turned judgmental and flinty. He's kept track of the tabloids after Jason's adoption, the ones calling him a charity case and looking down on him for being a street kid.

He inches a little closer to Jason, straightening up instinctively, as if they were back in Crime Alley and facing a pack of kids that didn't like them. He can see Sam's surprised expression from the corner of his eye -- he never told Tucker or Sam about where he grew up, although he's sure they had their suspicions.

He looks back to Mister Wayne and meets his blue-blue eyes, his smile has slowly begun to fade. Mister Wayne doesn't miss a beat however, and his smile stays plastered to his face. If anything, it gets a little softer, a little wider. "It's nice to meet you Danny -- Daniel? I'm so glad that Jason has a friend here." He holds out a hand.

Danny eyes him unsurely, and then takes his hand. "It's jus' Danny, Mister Wayne." He says, some of his old accent slipping through as he shook his hand firmly. He would have done it harder, but this was Jason's new guardian, and from Jason's letters he didn't sound too bad. "It's, uh, nice to meet you too. Jason's told me lots about you."

Mister Wayne's brows jump momentarily, he looks intrigued. He looks between Danny and Jason, and claps his hands together softly. "Well, Jay, how would you like to stay with Danny for a while, hm? I'm sure you too have a lot to catch up on."

Hope simmers in Danny's heart, and he glances to Jason to see that same hope on his face. "Really?" He asks, and Mister Wayne nods with a laugh.

"Of course! How could I keep two friends apart? Go on ahead, chum. I'll come get you when the gala ends."

And just like that, Bruce Wayne leaves Jason with Danny, diving back into a conversation with one of the rich gothamites and taking the attention with it as if he were the sun and everyone else a planet orbiting him.

Danny and Jason share grins, and throw their arms around each other with laughter. Danny is on cloud nine, pressing his nose into Jason's shoulder and breathing him in, fingers digging into the back of his suit hard enough to leave wrinkles in his jacket.

Sam demands answers when they finally, for real this time, pull apart. Why didn't he tell her that he was friends with Jason Todd!? Danny slings his arm around Jason's shoulders and keeps him close, and tells her that it was because he wanted it to be a surprise.

Sam's parents have unreadable expressions on their faces, part greed -- Danny is their in to the elusive Bruce Wayne -- and part disdain -- a Gotham street rat. Danny ignores them, they're unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

He introduces Sam to Jason, and Jason to Sam. And off they go to a corner of the room near the buffet table where they can eat and shit talk everyone else in the room in peace.

At some point in the night Sam is called back to her parents to meet some other fancy rich kids her parents want her to get along with, and Danny and Jason go off to the west end balcony to avoid anyone who may try and approach the new Gotham ward.

Danny hops up onto the balcony railing, kicking his feet as Jason pulls a cigarette pack out of his inner jacket pocket, and grins. "Don't tell Bruce," he says, handing the box to Danny first. "He's been trying to get me to quit."

"Hah!" Danny takes one just as Jason slips out a lighter. "That sounds like Jazz. She's been trying to get me to stop since we moved to Amity." Granted, she's been trying ever since she found out before they moved, but now she was even more insistent. "She hasn't found my stash yet."

At the end of the night when the Mansons are leaving and Danny has to leave with them, he walks back to Mister Wayne with Jason to tell him that he's leaving. Mister Wayne mourns his going, and tells him that he's always able to come visit.

"Any friend of Jason's is always welcome to the manor." He says with a blinding grin, pulling Jason close to his side and squeezing him tight. Jason's nose scrunches up, but he doesn't push away.

It becomes a new routine for them. The Mansons are all too happy to bring him with to the Wayne Galas (of which they start receiving more invites to due to their connection with Danny) and Danny is all too happy to spend the evening with Jason again. No matter what, they always end up on the balcony at some point in the night.

And, eventually, Danny is invited to stay at Wayne Manor either for a weekend or for a break. He jumps at the chance when winter break rolls around and his parents start their debate over Santa Claus again.

Danny and Jason stay up late into the night talking or playing video games during their sleepovers, and in the warmer nights they climb out and onto the roof to stargaze. Danny points out constellations - - things he can find in neither Gotham or Amity -- and rambles on and on about space.

There are plenty of times during the Wayne Galas that the event gets attacked by a rogue. More often than he'd like he loses Jason in the crowd, and has later stopped Robin or Batman in his panic to find him.

The first time it happened, he was in tears with terror. He grabbed onto Batman's cape, stopping the man from going back in as he babbled that his Jason Todd was still inside, that he disappeared during the chaos and he couldn't find him. Batman took his hands and calmly told him that he'd find Jason for him, and that he was sure he was okay, but he needed to calm down.

He found Jason later once everything had calmed down, and he screamed at him for disappearing during a rogue attack, if he ever did it again he'll kill him. Then he cried.

The second time it happened, Danny didn't even realize that Jason was gone until everything was already over. They'd been separated before the attack happened. He stopped Robin and Batman before they could leave, trying to keep his breathing under control as he asked again, if they had seen Jason Todd.

"That- that asshole keeps fucking ditching me when these things happen." His voice has an embarrassing wobble in it. "Please-- please tell me you've seen him, that he's alright."

Robin this time steps up to reassure him, that Jason Todd was out of the building. He got him out. "He's probably looking for you too, uhhh..."

"Danny" Danny says, and eyes him up and down. "You're the new Robin right?"

Robin stilled up, and Danny could understand it a little. He'd seen the thoughts on the new Robin online. He wasn't very popular at first. Robin nods curtly, and Batman was shuffled a little closer to him, almost protectively.

Danny grins at him. "Cool." He says, "Me and Jay used to sneak out onto the rooftops sometimes to try and spot Batman and the first Robin, we made it a game." He holds out a fistbump, "Thanks for doing what you do, man. I might not live in Gotham anymore, but I mean it. You're a living legend."

Robin looks like there's something stuck in his throat, and after a beat he returns the fistbump tentatively. "Th- uh, thanks." He stumbles out awkwardly, and then turns away, "Me and B- uh, better go."

Before Danny could even respond, Robin already had his grapple in hand and was grappling away. "You too, Batman." Danny says before Batman can follow.

When Danny sees Jason after that, and weight lifts off his chest and he hits him in the arm again. And then complains that he should have gotten Batman and Robin's autograph, it would have been epic.

By the fifth time it happens, Danny is cussing up a storm when Robin saves him, cursing out Jason and claiming that he needs to put that boy on a fucking leash. "We're a duo!" He scowls when Robin gets him outside, "I got his back, he has mine! I can't have his back when he's got no back to fucking have."

The eighth time it happens, Danny gets held hostage by one of the henchmen. He's become a recognizable friend of the Waynes, and when the Waynes are nowhere to be found, then the next best thing was up to offer. Danny isn't even mad this time around -- just relieved that Jason was fucking off somewhere where he couldn't get hurt.

Robin, however, seemed furious when he arrived, and broke the hostager's jaw with a single flying kick to the face. Jason found him rapidly quick soon after the situation had settled, and apologized over and over again.

Danny slings an arm around his shoulder and laughs that it was fine, Robin saved the day! His legs were shaking with the worn off adrenaline, something he tried to hide from Jason. "I'm just glad it was me instead of you, Jay." He grins. Jason looks like he swallowed a toad.

Jason stops disappearing as often after that, sticking close to Danny's side until the attack was over.

When Danny is fourteen, Jason dies, and his world unravels.

He calls the manor on a late night in April after Jason had stopped responding to his texts. Danny knew that Jason was just recently in a fight with Bruce, but he knows that Bruce loves Jason. He would know where he is, right?

When he calls, Bruce answers with a hoarse "hello?" as if he'd been crying all day, and Danny's blood turns to ice. The anxiety he'd been feeling beforehand doubles in size, and he feels himself stammering.

"Mister- uh- Mister Wayne? Um, I'm calling because Jason--" he hears Bruce inhale sharply on the other line, and his anxiety skyrockets into fear. "--hasn't been answering any of my texts and- and I'm gettin' real worried."

There's silence on the other end, and Danny feels a rock forming in his throat, gross and heavy like he was on the verge of throwing up. "Mister- Bruce? Mister B?"

There's a shaky breath, and then Bruce's voice crackles through the phone. "Um-- Jason, he, he's--" there's a sound like rustling, "he's been killed."

Danny's vision whites out with skyrocketing terror, his mind skidding to a stop. His body rapidly grows hot, and then chills, like a blacksmith striking a heated weapon. "What?"

When the phone call ends, Danny screams himself hoarse. Jazz and his parents come running into his room, his parents equipped with ghost weapons. Instead, they find Danny curled up in his bed, sobbing hoarsely.

Danny almost -- almost -- refuses to attend the funeral, nearly paralyzed with grief. Jazz coaxes him to go, to find closure if anything else, and he drags himself out of bed to go.

He feels numb the entire time. It's closed casket, so he can't even see him for one last time before Jason is buried in the ground. He's silent, and if he think he looks bad, then Bruce looks even worse, like he hadn't slept since Jason died and worse.

Danny grabs his sleeve before he leaves, and when Bruce turns to him with a dull look in his once vibrant eyes, he clings to him tightly. And cries. Bruce clings back just as tight, Danny feels tears drip into his hair.

"Who did it." Danny whispers, voice too hurt to speak any louder, when he pulls back. His fingers curl around Bruce's jacket tightly, desperately. His eyes hurt with tears. "You said he was murdered, B. Please, who did it."

Bruce looks down at him, and for the first time it really does feel like he's looking down at him. His face is blank, and his eyes close in grief. There is no answer, a silent no.

Danny's face twists up all ugly like, and he shakes Bruce's jacket. "Bruce, please. Tell me who did it."

Bruce refuses, his face full of grief.

Danny never returns to Gotham.

Prior to Jason's death and post their reunion, Danny had slowly begun to improve in school. He started caring more, he was putting in more effort, he was doing his homework and was actually enjoying class. There was the bullying from Dash and the A-Listers, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, he was ignoring them for the most part.

Come Monday after the funeral, and Danny breaks Dash's nose when he starts up with his shit. He withdrew into himself, and it was like he was back to square one again, except this time it was much worse.

Everyone knew Danny was close friends with Jason Todd. So when news of his death finally reached the ears of Amity Park, the students of Casper High School kept their distance.

That following Friday, Danny dies in the portal and comes back. A month later he becomes Phantom, the ghost-fighting ghost. the ghost Phantom wears his hazmat suit partially undone, showing a tanktop he didn't wear in death under the initial suit while the sleeves are tied around his waist. Vicious, glowing lichtenburg scars travel up his arm and neck and torso, covering half of his face while a pair of scientist-like goggles covers his eyes. He's bitter and angry, showing off his death.

Look at me, Phantom's form says, I am a dead child. Look at me look at me look at me. Mourn me. I am a dead child. LOOK AT ME. MOURN ME.

A few weeks later he enters the ghost zone and realizes that he could find Jason. And he spends a weekend scouring the ghost zone for him. He finds Gotham in the zone, and rather than finding Jason, he finds Robin.

Danny didn't know he'd died. And he flies towards him, asks him if he's seen Jason, reveals that it's him, Danny Fenton. Robin stares at him, mouth agape, and peels off his mask to reveal Jason Todd.

They both cry, and when Danny tells him how he died, Jason looks pale in the face. "You didn't- you didn't kill yourself because of me, did you?"

Danny fervently denies it. No, no. He didn't, he didn't. It was an accident. Totally unrelated. But enough about that, what the hell happened? Bruce wouldn't tell him anything at the funeral.

Jason clams up, his ghostly face losing its color, and Danny curses himself. He tells Jason that he doesn't have to tell him, he doesn't have to say anything. They sit in silence.

"It was the Joker." Jason says.

That's all Danny needs to know. He nods quietly. 'I'll kill him.' He thinks to himself, a stubborn set in his jaw. "Okay."

It had always been a plan; a thought wriggling in the back of Danny's mind ever since Bruce told him that Jason had been killed.

Not died. Killed.

Danny wanted the fucker dead the moment he realized it. He just needed to know who did it. He thinks Bruce knew it too, could probably see it in his eyes the moment Danny asked him who did it. He isn't sure if he should hate Bruce more for keeping it from him now.

They spend hours together, just soaking in each other's presence. Danny tries to take him through the ghost portal, to bring him back to the land of the living. But much like Kitty, Jason's form is tied to the zone. Danny promises to visit every day.

And he does. Or he tries to. The grief doesn't go away, but with the comfort of knowing that Jason was on the other side, Danny feels a little better. He tells Jason about being Phantom, and Jason helps train him. It feels like they're kids again and are fighting just because they want to. Its a bout of familiarity in a place that feels unfamiliar. All they need are cigarettes.

And then six months later he loses him again. Danny scours the ghost zone for him for the second time, and this time he doesn't find him.

His haunt is still in the zone though. He didn't move on. He's still here, somewhere.

Danny is convinced that Jason was in the Elsewhereness, and looks for him in between ghost fights and his social life. He visits Jason's haunt every day, knowing that Jason should be able to feel when another ghost enters his home. He does not show up.

(He never thinks that Jason came back to life, and Jason doesn't remember his time in the ghost zone)

When Danny is nineteen, Vlad Masters blackmails him into going to another Wayne Gala. Begrudgingly, Danny goes. He's taller than he used to be, having inherited his dad's monstrous height and his mom's leanness. He has piercings, some of them he got after a lost bet from Sam and Tucker, and he's given himself an undercut.

He still prefers vests over suit jackets, and he still smokes. A little less than before, he sneaks a pack into his pocket before he leaves, along with a lighter. Vlad gives him a dirty look the whole time - he knows.

"Don't give me that look." "That stuff kills, you know" "I'm already dead."

It's like deja vu when he arrives; an awful bout of deja vu, that is. The paparazzi is still as bright and loud and annoying as it always was, and they don't recognize him at all. Something he thinks of as a soft mercy up until one of the reporters asks Vlad who he is.

Vlad smiles and tugs Danny into the camera frame, "Why, this is my godson!" He crows, and shoots Danny a look that is downright smug I'm sure many of you may know him as Daniel Fenton?"

If looks could kill, Vlad would be ash. Danny isn't quite sure why he still agreed to this -- blackmail or no. He felt itchy being in Gotham; jumpy. He's never forgotten his vow to kill the Joker, in fact it was something he still desperately wants.

But the threat of Rath, the name he chose for his evil future self, haunts him just as much as his murderous intent. If he kills the Joker, would he stop?

Danny's almost afraid of what he'll do if he ever lays eyes on the Joker in person. He doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself from wrapping his hands around that stupid clown's neck and watching the light leave his eyes.

He pushes the thoughts to the side, and smiles lopsidedly as cameras and microphones flood his face, reporters yelling over themselves as they clamor to get a shot of the old Wayne family friend.

Danny turns and walks inside without answering a single question, flexing his fingers in and out of fists. Vlad gracefully hurries after him, and Danny can hear his glare burning into his back.

"You told me to come," Danny hisses to him once he's beside him, meeting Vlad's gaze piercingly, "not that I should play nice."

"Don't embarrass me, Daniel." Vlad hisses back, trying to look the upmost calm as eyes turn onto them. "I'll make you regret it."

"You embarrass yourself, fruitloop." Danny shoots back, walking away before Vlad could get a retort in. He sees Bruce Wayne on the other side of the room.

His heart seizes with nostalgia. He hasn't seen Bruce since Jason's funeral, hasn't spoken to him either. He doesn't know how to feel about him, but he'd been keeping tabs on Bruce both as himself and as Batman.

Danny's feet carry him forwards before he can think about it, silently weaving between the throng of rich people vying for his attention. It's only when he gets closer does he see the little shadow clinging to his side: Damian Wayne.

The newest little bird, Danny realizes, and stifles a smile at the surly expression on Damian's face as two older women coo over him. He reminded him of Sam, who had long since stopped coming to these things the moment she was able to.

The feeling of eyes on him turns Danny's attention away from Damian, and instead finds them back on Bruce's, who stares at him with a little furrow between his brows. As if he recognized him, but he wasn't sure from there.

Danny grins crookedly the moment he's within earshot. "Mister B!" He exclaims, slipping into what remained of his Gotham street accent. Recognition flashed in Bruce's eyes, and the man smiled widely. "Long time no see, old man."

"Danny," Bruce says, his name breathing out like relief. He slips between the crowd surrounding him -- who are now watching Danny -- and pulls Danny into a close hug. "It's good to see you again."

Danny hesitates for a moment -- he wasn't expecting Bruce to hug him -- and returns the gesture. "It's good to see you too, Bruce." He admits. Bruce was still using the same cologne that he did when Danny was a kid. He blinks heavily.

He pulls away quickly, clapping Bruce lightly on the shoulder as Damian quickly latches onto his father's side again. Damian glares daggers at him, fingers digging into Bruce's pantlegs like a possessive little kid.

He made Danny's ghost sense tingle in the back of his throat, creeping up slowly like a spider before stopping suddenly before it reached his mouth. It hummed, and then disappeared.

Danny smothered a frown. Since when did Batman work with ectoplasm? “This must be Damian." He says to Bruce, and holds out a hand to Damian -- he doesn't crouch, he had a feeling that Damian would be less than appreciative if he did that. "You've really expanded the nest since the last time I saw you."

Damian's eyes narrow at him. Bruce laughs lightly, "Ah yes, Tim is around here somewhere. I'm sure you'll see him soon."

"Father," Damian says, his voice layered with an accent. He glares up at Danny with piercing green eyes. "How do you know this man?" He sounds distrustful, Danny respects that and drops his hand.

"This is Danny Fenton." Bruce says, and Danny lets him introduce him. "He was Jason's friend."

An expression similar to bewilderment flashes briefly over Damian's face, and he eyes Danny in disbelief. "Todd had friends?"

Oh. So that's how he wanted to be. Bruce had a little elitist on his hands. Danny's smile drops like a deadweight, and any lingering endearment he had hardens like ice in his chest, fury slowly taking its place like a flickering candlelight. "It's not polite to speak ill of the dead, Mister Wayne." He says coldly, his voice made of chips of ice.

Damian blinks, the disbelief disappearing from his face. The closest thing to a recoil Danny thinks he's going to get. He doesn't care. No one speaks about his best friend that way.

"I grew up with Jason, actually." He continues, breathing in slow and deep, trying to keep the ghostly possessive-protective-rage under control. "I was his best friend."

He turns, almost robotically, towards Bruce, and tries not to look so angry. "I'm going to go find Tim, Mister B." He says, and tries to offer up a weak smile for the man. It comes out as a grimace instead.

"And..." he pauses, flicks his eyes towards Damian, and then looks at Bruce. "I'll... try and keep in contact, B. Tell Dick I said hi, alright? I'll see you in a little bit."

Bruce nods, looking vaguely disappointed and sighing slow through his nose. Danny walks away as Bruce turns to address his youngest, and doesn't bother listening in on what he has to say.

He does, eventually, find Tim Drake. He spots him in a crowd instantly - it's hard not to, and he makes his way over to him. He's not sure Tim Drake would recognize him, Bruce didn't at first and Danny had been around him constantly.

Except Tim Drake does recognize him, much to Danny's surprise. They lock eyes and Tim immediately makes his way over to him. "Danny Fenton!" He says and stops in front of him, "What a surprise, we weren't expecting you tonight."

"Tim Drake," Danny replies, smiling a little as his earlier hurt begins to fade away. "I'm surprised you know me."

"There are pictures of you in the manor with Jason." Tim explains, stuffing his hands into his pockets with an easy-going smile. "It's hard not to know you."

"It’s hard not to know you too,” Danny retorts, a sly smile slowly spreading across his face. “Although you’re a lot taller than you used to be, when you were lurking around Bruce and Jason and I.”

Ohhh Danny recognizes him alright. One part due to all the news articles and tabloids on him after he was adopted by Bruce, and the other part because he remembers the little shadow lurking near plants pots and table legs that used to follow him and Jason around at galas just like these.

Knowing that Jason was Robin, he wonders if Jason knew he was there too.

The effect is immediate: Tim’s eyes grow comically large, and a red tint glows at the tip of his ears as he shrinks back like a turtle trying to hide into its shell. “You— you noticed that!?” He hisses.

“I did!” Danny grins, large and wide, stifling a laugh as the red tint spreads over Tim’s cheeks and nose. He looks mortified. Danny coos. “Aww, I thought it was adorable that Jason had a little shadow. I’m sure he would have loved you if you had just come over and said hi. He had a big soft spot for kids.”

Tim snorts and it— it almost sounds derisive? “Sure he would.” He looks sad, and the mirth in Danny’s chest shrivels up like a flower without light. The smile fades from his face, and all that’s left is a strange, staunch reminder that Danny and Bruce weren’t the only ones that probably mourned.

He touches Tim’s shoulder lightly, “Hey, I’m sorry.” He says, trying to look as apologetic as he feels. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m sorry, I miss him too.” Like a fucking limb he missed him.

There’s something that flickers in Tim’s eyes, passing through too fast for Danny to realize what it is. He assumes its gratefulness, because Tim relaxes a little and offers him a weak little smile. “I wish I had talked to him.”

Danny sees an out and takes it, he forces out a short laugh, grinning widely. “I can tell you all about him if you’d like,” he offers, “I told Mister B I’d keep in touch anyways. I’ve missed him and Alfred quite a lot in the last few years.”

“Not Dick?”

“That dipstick wasn’t around often enough for me to form any sort of emotional attachment to him.” Danny says in a half-complaining tone, placing his hands on his hips. “Although I did like his puns.”

Tim snickers, “I’ll tell him you said that then. Nobody likes his puns.”

“Go on ahead,” Danny grins, laughter swirling in his chest and making his core thrum with warmth. Damn, he’s missed this family. “I stand by my decision. Puns are funny.”

“Let’s get a photo then.” Tim says with a hand already fishing in his pocket for his phone. “He’ll be devastated to know that you were here and he didn’t get to see you.”

“Sure.” And Danny sidles on next to Tim, throwing an arm around his shoulders — and making a noise of surprise when his arm was able to fit comfortably — as if he was just resting it on a counter.

He totally forgot how tall he was compared to Tim. Forgot that he’d been looking down the entire time they’d been talking. “Why’d I get my dad’s height.” He complains, and bends his knees as Tim raises the phone with the front-facing camera on.

Tim snickers under his breath, and takes the picture while they’re both smiling wide. Danny immediately stands up, and peers over Tim’s shoulders to look at the picture.

It’s a good one, with the fringe of Danny’s curls falling slightly over his left eye and making the dimple on his right cheek more prominent. He could see the barely-there smattering of freckles he had across his nose, the ones that became more prominent when the sun was out. His smile was lopsided, Danny’s favorite kind of smile.

He whistles lowly, “That’s a good one,” he says aloud, and smiles impishly at Tim when he looks at him. “You should send that one, I look hot in it.”

Tim snorts, his ears reddening as he looks down at his phone. “Yeah sure, no problem.” He says quickly, and Danny looks away when he pulls up the messenger app. He’s never felt comfortable looking over people’s shoulders when they were on their phone.

“I’m gonna go take a smoke break.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and curls his fingers around the box and lighter inside. “I’ll—“

“Be on the west-end balcony.” Tim finishes, the red in his ears darkening as he glances up from his phone to smile embarrassedly. “I know.”

Danny snorts, “Okay.” His voice is thick with amusement. “Let me know how Dipstick reacts, alright?” He backs up slowly, awaiting Tim’s response. Tim merely waves a hand at him, a weak gesture of “yeah yeah” that makes Danny grin before he flips around and marches towards his favorite smoking balcony.

———————

(Tim pulls up the family group chat and loads the selfie into the text bar. His face feels warm with embarrassment even as his thumbs fly across the screen.

Tim: look who i found at the latest charity gala :) [image]

Hee awaits eagerly a response, and finds he doesn’t have to wait long. Dick’s thought bubble appears on screen, then Cass’s — of which it only exists for a moment before disappearing.

Dick: holy shit, is that who i think it is?

Tim responds quickly, and his message sends.

Tim: yep. He wanted me to tell you that he thinks your jokes are funny.

Dick: they are funny

Tim rolls his eyes and thinks for a moment, really thinks. He weighs his pros and cons. And then his fingers fly across the screen again.

Tim: hey Jason are you not gonna say anything?

There’s no response for all of thirty seconds — of which it stretches on to an uncomfortably long minute — and then Jason’s thought bubble appears.

Jason: what do i have to say to a bunch of idiots blowing up my phone in the middle of patrol?

Tim: harsh. do you recognize the guy in the photo?

Jason’s response is instant. Too fast for him to have actually looked at the photo itself. He’s just trying to spite Tim then. Tim doesn’t care, he has the upper hand here

Jason: no and I don’t care, i have patrol

Tim knows he didn’t look at the photo, and yet he can’t help stifle a shit-eating smile and feign innocence

Tim: really? You and Danny used to be so close, color me surprised

His teeth dig into his lower lip, he doesn’t need to in order to hide a smile. But it gives him something to do. Jason is worryingly silent for a long, long time, and Tim can almost imagine him staring long and hard at the selfie. Tim knows he will be later.

Finally, Jason’s text bubble shows up. It exists for a long time, before finally Tim’s phone buzzes with his message alert.

Jason: that’s danny?

Tim feels all too gleeful. Smugness swirling in his chest like kicked up sand as he types his response: yep! Apparently he showed up today, although I’m not sure with who since I don’t see Miss Manson around here.

Damian: Father says to get off your phone, Drake. We are at a Gala and your behavior is most unbecoming

Tim: can it demon spawn, I was just telling Jason that his friend Danny is here

Damian: He can’t be too important if he doesn’t even know Todd is alive

Tim: how would you know that?

Damian: When Father introduced him as Todd’s friend, I expressed my surprise that Todd even had friends, considering how unpleasant he can be. Fenton became quite cross with me after that and quickly excused himself thereafter

Dick: you said what!? Damian that’s not okay

Damian: Father made that quite clear after Fenton left in a huff. My mistake for thinking that Todd had told his ‘supposed best friend’ that he was alive.

Dick: he didn’t even tell us we were alive at first

Damian: He did eventually, didn’t he? Clearly Todd doesn’t seem to care too much about Fenton if he hasn’t even informed him of his being alive at this point.

Jason’s thought bubble quickly pops up, and then dissipates, then pops up again. Tim quickly pockets his phone before he can see Jason’s response. He doesn’t feel smug anymore, just uncomfortable.)

———————

Stepping out onto the west-end balcony feels like a blast from the past. A painful one at that. Danny’s fingers dig into his cigarette pack, and he pulls it out with a sense of bittersweet familiarity.

It feels like a lifetime ago that he once stood here with Jason. The package clunks dully as his fingers scrape against the side, and he fishes a cigarette out of the box before stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Quite the night isn’t it.” He says to nothing, to ghosts of the past, to himself. He turns and sits on the railing, sticking his legs out like a tripping hazard while Gotham’s hot city wind blows through the air.

He looks up and only sees the ugly pollution yellow sky looking down at him. It’s an unfamiliar feeling to him. He loves the stars and yet when faced with a smog that covers it, he feels more at home.

Danny’s fingers find the lighter, and with a few clicks a small open flame appears in existence. There’s a poem here, he can feel it. But he feels too tired to find it.

The cigarette lights, and the lighter dies in response. Returning back to his coffin-like pocket until he needs to use it again. He pulls a leg up, resting his chin on his knee with a heavy, tired sigh.

He soaks in the sounds around him. The ugly city warmth nips at his jaw. The music inside is muffled by the force of two glass doors and walls on all four sides, and Danny can hear late night traffic coming by on the road nearby. It’s a special kind of ambience you can only find on the west end balcony.

Half a decade ago, Danny had played a part with that ambience with Jason. Now it was just him, and Jason was nowhere to be found. It left a hopeless kind of feeling in his chest. An all-suffocating kind of fear that filled him head to toe with an intensity only ghosts could have.

His body winds up like a spring, and Danny holds his breath. When he exhales two minutes later, the spring stutters and jolts, and his body relaxes with a tremble.

He misses Jason. He misses Jason.

Ghosts are emotional creatures. They feel it from their crown to their soles. And emotional wounds never really heal. They scab over and fester, waiting to be picked at again and again so it can bleed as fresh as it did when it first opened.

Danny’s grief is never going to go away, he thinks. It’s clung to him like a parasite; shaped him and molded him. The wound was too close to him when he died, and now it will stay with him forever.

He opens his eyes when his ghost sense tingles, a heavy feeling in his throat that is neither nicotine nor grief. It’s just like Damian’s, but stronger. Potent. Older. It reaches the top of Danny’s throat and sits at the base of his tongue, like a hand about to suffocate him.

He looks up, cigarette hanging off his lips, and the Red Hood drops down beside him. He stands in the same spot Jason once did, and that alone makes the ghostly core in Danny seize possessively.

Don’t you dare stand where he stood, it hisses, coiling around his lungs like smog. Danny grits his teeth and feels his ghost sense evaporate. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, and nicotine smoke pours out like a cheap version of his ghost sense.

“Red Hood.” He says plainly, his free hand coiling and uncoiling like cat’s claws against the railing. “A surprise to see you here.”

Danny knows through process of elimination who most of the Gotham vigilantes are: Dick is Nightwing, Bruce is Batman, Tim is Red Robin, Damian is Robin, and Cass is Orphan. There are a few who he doesn’t know, however. Like Batgirl and Red Hood.

It’s fine, he doesn’t need to know. Danny of all people understands the importance of a secret identity.

Red Hood doesn’t say anything, just stares at him as if he’s a deer in headlights. His body all tensed up like he isn’t sure what to do now that he’s here in front of Danny. Like he wasn’t expecting Danny to be here at all.

Danny’s brows furrow. “Sorry, am I in your spot?” He asks, and begins to push off the railing. “I didn’t think vigilantes used the Wayne Hall west-end balcony, I can leave if you want.”

He’s already begun to move towards the door.

The Red Hood lurches in his spot, “No!” He yells, and Danny stops in place with raising eyebrows. Red Hood’s fingers cringe, and he straightens up.

He’s shorter than Danny, he notes. Which isn’t much of revelation. Everyone is shorter than Danny.

“No,” Red Hood repeats, sounding sturdier than before, “No. You’re fine. I’m just stopping here for a quick rest before resuming patrol.”

…Danny doesn’t question it. It’s none of his business about other vigilantes and their practices. He shrugs and breathes out more smoke, “Alright.” He says, and walks back over to the railing to sit on it. “I’m Danny, by the way.”

The Red Hood nods, and a silence falls over them. Danny doesn’t care enough to make it feel uncomfortable, but the Red Hood seems unsettled by something. Lost in thought. He leans his back against the railing similar to Danny, and then switches a few seconds later to a new pose.

He does it again, and again, and again. Until finally he flips over and leans his stomach against the railing, arms resting against it. It is starkly like what Jason used to do, and Danny stares at him long and hard.

He frowns. And says nothing.

When Danny’s cigarette is nothing more than a butt of nicotine, he crushes it in his hand and watches the ash flutter down to the ground. The heat stings his hand, but its nothing his ghostly healing can’t fix.

The Red Hood is already holding out another one when Danny’s hand drifts to his pocket for the box.

Danny stares at him, sudden wariness opening up like floodgates that sit at the bottom of his stomach.

His frown deepens, his eyes flicker up and down at Red Hood. His hands hover over his pocket. “I have my own.” He says, and watches subtly as the Red Hood hides a wilt. As if he’d been expecting Danny to take it.

“Alright.” The Red Hood says, trying to sound unbothered. He retracts the cigarette away from Danny, quiet all the way. He’s looking away.

Danny plucks the cigarette out of his hand, startling the Hood enough that Red snaps back to look at him. Danny yanks his lighter from his pocket. “I won’t say no to a free cigarette.” He says, slightly muffled with the stick between his teeth. It lights.

Silence falls over them again, and when one minute stretches into five, whatever hope that had been digging into the shoulders of Red Hood finally pulls away and leaves him slumping subtly.

‘A ciggie for your thoughts?’ Nine year old Jason Todd whispers one night with an impish grin, holding up a cigarette pinched between his two fingers. ‘I stole it from my old man. He won’t even notice its gone.’

Danny is halfway through it when he speaks. “The Joker killed my best friend.” He says, and watches from the corner of his eye as the Red Hood flinches. Is he startled by Danny speaking, or startled by the bluntness of him starting?

“He beat him to death.” Danny continues, staring stone-faced away from Red Hood. His grief claws up his lungs and burrows into his heart again. His fingers dig into the railing. “He beat my best friend to death.”

The Red Hood is silent, his body as still as the grave. Silence stretches out between them both, and like he’d been thinking, the Hood finally speaks: “How do you know?”

He’s not holding the cigarette, he broke his and Jason’s rule. Danny bounces the stick between his fingers. “His ghost told me.” He says, taking a trembling breath. “His ghost told me so, before he disappeared.”

The Red Hood says nothing, and Danny gathers his thoughts. The ones that had been buried deep next to his core, shoved down ever since Danny learned of Rath and a terrible future where a world is destroyed by one ghost’s hands.

Danny has never said it out loud before. His face scrunches up briefly, and then smooths out when his eyes squeeze shut. “I’m going to kill him, Red Hood.” He murmurs when he opens his eyes, turning his face toward the vigilante. The sound is sucked out of the air.

The Red Hood stares at him, but he doesn’t say a word. Danny pushes on, teeth grinding into teeth as he flips his silvery scarred hand back and forth. Palm up, palm down. “It’s why I haven’t been back to Gotham in a while.” He admits, voice still quiet. “If I see the Joker I will kill him, and I won’t feel bad for it.”

“Not today though,” he says, and closes his hand, “today I’m here on a favor to Vlad Masters. Then after this I’ll go visit my friend. I need to apologize for not seeing his grave in a while. I’ll have to stop by a florist to see if they have any zinnias. Jay likes those.”

He takes out the cigarette in his mouth and breathes out one last cloud of smoke. And then he crushes the cigarette stick under his foot and walks back inside.

[chubypotato]

When they kiss you

This one was a request by @Isimsiz

I'm so exited to have my first request please go on ! It actually motivate me a lot!

Including Umemiya, Sakura, Suo, Kiryu

Umemiya

I feel like Umemiya would be very affectionate.

Like he's not the type to be shy around people if he want to hug you he will no question.

One day you were on the roof with Umemiya you were on your phone while he was doing some garden.

When you saw a shadow on you, you lift your head just to see your boyfriend happily smiling at you showing you his new plants.

You smiled at him before you started to look at your phone again.

Umemiya took your phone away from you.

When you lift your head with an angry face you couldn't even say a word before you felt soft lips against yours.

"Do I have your attention now cutie ? "

No need to say that now you weren't on your phone anymore for the all afternoon.

Sakura

Oh that boy is so shy. Don't get him wrong he loves you more than anything. He's just shy.

Not being used to all this attention he doesn't know how to react. He would love more than anything to see you in his arm (wear one his white shirt and boy will malfunction)

Whenever you get close to him boy will blush so hard more than you think it would be possible.

No need to say he's not into PDA boy already got enough trouble to show you in private affection without being shy. In public can you imagine?

But he would never refuse any contact that you initiate even if you guys are outside.

You guys were outside with the gang just walking and spend time together. When you put your hand in Sakura's hand he didn't say anything just slightly blushed a bit.

You guys were starving so you went grab something to eat. When you guys were only the two of you (other went ordering) you looked at Sakura and be like I want a kiss.

He would like at you blushing like crazy and after a few second he would put a quick kiss on your lips.

Unfortunately for him the boys saw you and started to tease Sakura while he was blushing and trying to hit them. You otherwise you were very happy and smiley.

Suo

Suo wouldn't be the guy to be bothered by PDA I think he would be the type to hug every chance he gets. Walking in the room? Hug. Talking about something you like? Hug. He just love to be close to you.

I think he would be very careful to you if you don't like PDA he won't do it he just stick to what is the more comfortable for you.

Even though he likes to hug you and have your hand in his I feel like private touch like kisses would be more things to keep private.

Don't get me wrong he loves to kiss you he just think is better when you guys are alone.

You guys were together at your home doing your own stuff like reading or trying new tea.

When he gives you a cup of tea you thanked him before going back to your book. Suo would sit in front of you before starting to look at you with a soft smile on his face.

He couldn't help but thought you were cute. And cute thing of his are meant to be kiss.

That's why he pulled away your book before pressing his lips against yours.

Its naturally that's your hand found their way to his hair while his hand was on your face.

When he pulled away you just wanted him to stay close to you so you asked him to cuddle with you.

"If that's want you want princess"

You guys went on the couch you between his legs your back on his chest while his arm were around your waist and you started to read a book together before falling asleep.

Kiryu

Kiryu would be the type to also don't be bothered by PDA in fact he would love showing other he's yours and you're his.

Dude would love to hug you by behind while his chin is on your shoulder.

Also I think he would be the type to put his cardigan around you while he hugged you by behind. No thought it's just cute.

You were on Kiryu's bed while he was getting new controller cause the other died.

When he get back to his room he just put the controller away before jumping on you and start to kiss your fave everywhere while you was just laughing and trying to get him off.

You guys were just playing fighting together while the room was filled with your laugh. It was such a nice moment.

After a few minutes Kiryu make you fall before taking your wrist between his hand and start tickling you.

You were laughing begging him to stop when you felt his lips connected to yours.

It was a chaotic moment but finished by a soft kiss. After that you guys managed to cuddle your back on his chest playing and kiss from time to time.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・

My first request omg thanks a lot it means a lot to me!!

If you guys want me to do any scenario with any manga just tell me!

[merumis]

kuroo loves thunderstorms.

the first time he tells you this, he's standing just before the threshold of your balcony—the door cracked open but the screen still closed, feeling the wind curl its way around your building.

it's early november and he's wearing a sweater you gifted him last christmas. you bought it two sizes too big and he insisted on wearing it again the moment the weather started to get colder anyway. it's a rich blue and warm and soft enough that you constantly find yourself leaning into him—on the couch, in public, even before your balcony's screen door—sometimes you wonder if he wears it just for that.

between that and the way your cat swirls around his feet, his tail dragging along kuroo's calf, he seems to almost melt into your apartment. your first place post-grad, that weird mix of childhood, college, and new-adult decor muddling the whole of it: a couch that you got at a discount furniture store but fell in love with anyway; stuffed animals your friends send you every birthday; a childhood favorite of a book sitting on an old thrifted coffee table, a dark oak that you wouldn't be able to afford otherwise.

and kuroo. warm, thunderstorm-watching kuroo, whose mug of herbal tea has been long forgotten on one of your homemade coasters.

you're never quite sure what to call him. the man you sleep with some nights; the guy who will always match your halloween costume if you ask; your cat's favorite of your friends; the name your grandmother keeps asking you about every time you call. you know you told you him you loved him once—really loved him—in some drunken college stupor that feels more like watching a movie from across an open-concept's kitchen island than a memory now.

(that's a lie. you know every detail. the rum warm in your throat, being fresh off the high of his birthday. it was the first snow of the season but the rain the next day mingled with it and turned it to muck that ruined your favorite pair of boots. his breath was hot against your cheeks, the stoop of his apartment building a hollowly adored wind tunnel that decorated your instagram—stone chipped away at the corners, moss growing up the sides, a buzzer that only worked if you pressed the button three times. you kissed him like you always have and his nose was cold as it pressed into your cheek. you whispered it to him and he laughed. you didn't text him for three days.)

there's a familiar pull at your tongue now. a burst of lightning briefly illuminates your apartment and is then followed by the crack of thunder.

"you should probably close the door," you say—instead of i love you.

kuroo shrugs, turns back with a lazy smile on his face. "if you say so," he replies, like every word is a game that the two of you play. he swings the door closed and twists the lock shut. he moves in a way you want to describe as "moseying" tonight, like all of his limbs are relaxed four times more than they should be.

"you should stay here tonight," you tell him as he moves to your couch. your cat follows after him, pawing up his leg as he sits down. he jumps up and settles deep into his lap—there's a brief moment where you envy him. "rain and all."

"so you're telling me i brought my umbrella for nothing?" he teases.

you laugh. "you can use it on the balcony."

he has a pair of sweatpants in your top right drawer of your dresser. you reluctantly washed them last week after spilling apricot jam on the third wear. you never choose to dwell on how a pair of sweatpants gets left at your apartment—you can imagine what his answer would be.

kuroo hums, "it's almost like you want me here."

"i don't," you lie, "just figured my apartment had a better storm view with how much you've been lingering." his apartment is about four stories higher, a few blocks down—closer to his work. it has more windows, a larger living room, a leather couch that you can feel sticking to your bare back if you close your eyes.

it's the better view. it gets fog in the early mornings so you can only see the bounce of headlights from the street below. his bedsheets like to twist between your legs at night in a way that pulls them from the mattress, though—so you suppose you always win there.

"it's homey here," he replies, and you feel the smile tugging up at your lips, "smells like spruce." he eyes the candle he bought you on your kitchen counter, lit and melted to the edges. three wicks, because he knows it's your favorite.

the candle, your favorite expensive lamp your professor gifted you last summer, and the range hood are the only lights in your apartment at the moment. kuroo calls them homey, you call them headache-reducing.

he pulls a hand away from your cat to gesture towards you over the back of the couch now. a palm upwards towards the ceiling, fingers outstretched in a subtle beckoning of your own. your tongue curls with that sickly desire as you step towards him, slip your fingers into his as you round the couch, settling into the cushions as his arm slides across your shoulders.

you reach up to play with his fingers—absent-mindedly. you swore you would do better when you graduated, that maybe things would start to fall into place and, for once, you wouldn't find yourself chasing after a man you could have if you would just allow it to happen.

but you don't know how to say i love you on a thursday—because you swear friday will feel right. you don't say it friday because it's too young, a whole weekend ahead of you that you can't mess up. a movie on saturday, brunch on sunday. you don't say it sunday night because you won't see him until wednesday, but then you catch him for happy hour on tuesday. and you don't know how to to say it.

"you know my grandfather loved spruce," kuroo says, and you look over to catch his eye. he's staring out at your coffee table, looking at nothing in particular as he speaks. "he used to whittle—before arthritis and tremors and whatever—but his dad told him that spruce was the hardest to work with. something about how soft it is or the grain or whatever." he shifts with your cat, letting him crawl up his arm onto the back of the couch. his tail falls over kuroo's shoulder, and now you get the curl into him a little more.

he pulls you closer before you really get the chance to move.

"but he always loved spruce. the smell, the needles, the look, all of it, you know? it was just one of those things, so he learned to whittle with it.

"and when he met my grandmother, he started whittling her all these little things. a duck for their first date, a wooden box for her jewelry, eventually toy blocks, when she was pregnant with my dad." kuroo pauses, and for a while, you think you have something stuck in your chest. you thumb traces up his forefinger and he catches your hand, finally moving to look you in the eyes.

"it's nice to come here and remember him sometimes."

there's another burst of lightning and it crackles across the whole sky behind him, dodging in and out of buildings and making the texture of the clouds pop out against the whole open expanse of it all.

his breath is hot against your skin, his ears are tinged with a bit of red and for a moment you consider running to your thermostat to turn it down a few degrees, but then his lips find yours like they always do.

and in the muddle of lips, you don't even think before you whisper an i love you, murmured into his mouth as his nose traces frigid shapes against your own.

you don't have to listen to know he says it back—though you do, listening for the timbre of his voice and feeling the vibrato of it against your throat—but you can smell it, you can hear it, some days, you can taste it.

spruce-scented candles, thunderstorms that make the whole city colder, the burning of rum against the back of your throat.

you think you can feel it: leather that sticks to your skin, hands that only whittled while his grandfather was alive, but are calloused anyway, a sweater that you'd buy him in the right size if he asked.

you tell someone you love them without ever saying the words. you know he drinks three drinks at happy hour and you only have one—he insists on walking you home anyway and he always stays the night.

and you know he never brought an umbrella, that he works from home tomorrow and his laptop is sitting in his backpack next to your door.

you know that he's warm, that he's kissing you, and that he told you he loves you on the thursday evening as a thunderstorm turned into rain and fog.

[frankieburieshisdead]

ℬ𝓇𝓊𝒸ℯ 𝒲𝒶𝓎𝓃ℯ 𝓍 ℳ𝒶𝓁ℯ ℳℴ𝒹ℯ𝓁 ℛℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇

cw: NSFW

~ You liked modeling enough. It was exciting, and new, and you got to meet a bunch of people you otherwise wouldn't. For instance, if you could go back to the skinny, slightly effeminate brace face in rural Smallsville and tell him he would be hanging off the Bruce Wayne's arm at a promotional after party in Gotham he would laugh in your face. But here you were, and here he was, all 6ft (6'7? 6'8? God he was intimidating) wrapped around your shoulders, two of the girls from the shoot on his other side. You didn't know either of them very well, but they we're kind to you whenever you crossed paths, and it was always nice to see more black models in the industry.

~ So why did you feel so much vitriol towards them? This ugly feeling curling in your stomach every time Wayne leaned slightly towards them, slightly away from you. You chopped it up to star power, pure unadulterated charm that came with being one of the richest men in the Americas, but as long as it had been, you still remembered what it was like it have a crush.

~ It was hard to not have a crush on Bruce Wayne. He was confident, ridiculously so, but not the kind of confidence that made you feel small. When you arrived, he asked you "Do you like dark chocolate? I can't stand the stuff but for some reason people keep giving it to me." You could see he was lying, and that maybe he had just wanted to give you an expensive box of chocolate without making you feel like you owed him anything. It made you feel special.

~ It didn't take him long to invite the whole party back to his manor. His home was beautiful. Like a castle in one of the picture books your gran used to let you borrow from her job at the library. You told Bruce that, and he had smiled so genuinely you hadn't stopped blushing for the rest of the night.

~ You ended up asking yourself up to his bedroom. One of the bottle girls had popped the cork right over you, drenching your pants in sparkling cider. She had been so apologetic, and you hadn't wanted to make a scene, so you stumbled up the stairs in into the nearest unlocked door you could find. You closed the door behind you, stripping out of your soaked jeans to dab them clean in the joining bathroom.

~ "Not that I'm complaining, but I have to say it's not everyday I find pretty boys stripping out their clothes unprompted in my bedroom." You must have jumped about a foot in the air, hiding behind your thread bare trousers. "Oh god Mr. Wayne I'm so sorry, I just needed- there was this champagne girl- and well-"

"Relax, I'm just teasing." You looked at him properly now, his weary tone bleeding past your initial embarrassment. He was propped up against the bedpost, shirtless with one hand clamped firmly over his ribs. There was a mean purple blotch under his fingers, and his chest rose and fell in stutters. He was in pain.

"What happened?" You were across the room the next second, pants forgotten on the floor as you scooted next to him in your briefs. There was a slight blush across his chest and cheeks. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe you were.

"Got into... a brawl. Nothing serious don't worry." You got the feeling he liked that you were worried. You wondered how many people worried about Bruce Wayne. You had seen an older man in butler attire fussing over him when the party first got here. You hoped he was looked after.

"Well... I best get going." You were inches apart now, you could feel his harsh breath against your top lip.

"Best." He replied, curling his lip to mirror your Midwestern accent.

You fell into him first, crashing your lips against his as his arms came to grip your biceps. He lifted you with an insane show of strength, you squealed into his mouth, ending off in a giggle. He gave that genuine smile again.

~ You were straddling him now, grinding down on a ever hardening length. He gasped into your mouth, squeezing almost painfully as he pressed you firmer against him. He was massaging the v on your waist, teasing just above where you wanted him.

"Can I?"

You nodded manically against his shoulder, the both of you generating a frantic energy. He dipped down, palming you through your underwear.

"Protection?" You managed to pant out, remembering every talk your granny had drilled into you since you came out.

"Bedside drawer."

~ 3 hours. You kept going for 3 hours after that. He had taken you, knees pressed up against your shoulders, hitting all the right spots until you had come dry and untouched. He was still hard inside you, panting and you squeezed your way through your orgasm. He was kind, clearly straining to not thrust forward while you were so sensitive. You hooked your legs behind the dip in his waist and tugged him forward. A dare. The result of which had you on your hands and knees panting and keening after your third, fourth? climax. He was good afterwards as well. Sweet. He held your head up as he poured water from a sealed bottle down your throat, petting through your slim locs. You woke up tucked against his side, unsure if he had even slept a wink as he stared down at you. He had to go, but he had arranged one of the cars for you as soon as you wanted to leave. The butler, Alfred, had cleaned and dried your jeans while you were asleep, although Bruce had made it clear you were welcome to his extensive wardrobe. You giggled, imagining getting back to your apartment in a pair of 1000$ tracksuit pants with the ankles rolled up to your calves.

~ When you finally made it back to your apartment, you patted down your jeans, pleading to whoever was listening that you hadn't lost your keys in the chaos of the previous night. Instead, you pulled out a neatly folded parchment paper, thumbing it open to find barely legible handwriting reading:

555-0199

Call me if you liked the chocolate.

END

[supernatural-bias]

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥

↳ summary: everyone knew you loved your lazy sundays. but that didn't stop them from bothering you

↳ warnings: mentions of fights and ponyboy getting jumped. nothing serious

↳ notes: could be interpreted as platonic or romantic with whoever you like. just some silly times

↳ song: we're gonna move—elvis presley

masterlist | commissions | carrd

Sundays at the Curtis household were normally calm.

Maybe it was because that was the day before school would start up again for Ponyboy— it used to be that way for both him and Sodapop until his big brother dropped out —or maybe it was because that was the lords day; at least according to the bible. Whatever the case, you knew you could always rely on an unlocked door and comfy couch awaiting you each time you jumped the chain link fence in their front yard. Just as long as it was Sunday.

So, understandably, you were peeved when Steve Randal and Two-Bit had come bursting through the front door looking for a fight.

"Come on man!" Two-Bit, otherwise known as Keith Matthews by his mother and kid sister, but only by his mother and kid sister, was currently whining your name in a way that he would only do if he wanted something. "Those soc's deserve it for what they did to Pony yesterday!"

Warm sunlight from the clear afternoon day peaked through the window panes behind you, lighting up each and every crevice in the front room of the house. A great black and white picture show was running on the TV, the likes of which had captured your attention for most of the day as you lay on Darry Curtis' couch, only ever moving to help out with chores when asked by him or Soda.

You scowled from your spot on that same trashy floral couch as before, flipping Two-Bit off quick enough so that Darry didn't see you. Even though he was in the other room working on dishes with Soda, you knew he would be able to tell. He was magic in a way like that. Annoyingly magic.

"What's with the shake up?" Steve questioned through the cigarette in his mouth, looking down at you from his nose. "Just last week you were itching for a rumble, and now all you want to do is sit and watch TV like some bum?"

"Wrong. Now all I want to do is sit on the couch and watch cartoons like some bum." You corrected him with a bit of snark in your tone, knowing that he hated that sort of thing. You saw Two-Bit's lips quirk up in a smile from the corner of your eye, reminding you temporarily of the shared love of cartoons that the two of you held.

"It's Sunday." Soda strolled in from the other room with a damp rag in his hands, tossing it down on the couch cushions as he went to clap Steve on the back—the way he always did when he saw his best friend. "You know they like their Sundays, guys."

"Screw their Sundays." Steve scoffed without any real malice behind the action. "Dally's on his way over with Johnny right now to meet us before the fight. We just wanted to come and get you before they got here."

With a halfhearted groan you let your head hit the back of the couch. If Dallas was coming over, you knew that the gangs minds had already been made up. Dally could be awfully convincing when he wanted to get his way, and that was more often than not. Really there was no sense in arguing now, but sometimes you had less sense then you'd like to admit.

"I'll tell Darry ya'll are gonna start up a fight." You said in a last ditch effort to keep your lovely spot on the warm couch. You were just met with knowing smiles.

"Awh you know he'd let us go if we promised to not get anymore blood on his floor comin' home." Two-Bit's smile widened, and you knew that he could tell they'd worn you down. That's how it always went when they wanted to fight during an off day for you, and you should be more used to it by now.

With the beginnings of a slow chew on your bottom lip, you mulled it over. Despite what one could think about Darry, that he yelled at his brothers too much or was too hard on Pony, you knew he wouldn't hesitate to get into a fight of his own for one of his brothers, even if he had work the next day. And that was a stone cold fact.

The screen door to the Curtis home squeaked open for the second time in just a few minutes, the entrance giving way to two more figures in dark clothing and greased up hair. One was nursing a cigarette butt while the other swayed side to side in a nervous tick.

"Ready to split?" Dallas Winston let a puff of smoke escape his lips as he grinned, looking around at the small group that had gathered in the living room. Johnny Cade shuffled behind him, and despite the current situation, you made time to send a welcome wave in his direction. He nodded back with a light glint in his eyes.

"Most of us." Soda laughed at Dally's question, ratting you out with a single look in your direction.

"I swear to god man, we do this every time." Dally shook his head as if he'd been expecting this. He looked at you dead on, almost as if trying to pry an explanation out of you this time. You resisted the urge to scrunch your nose up as he did so.

"Don't worry Dal, we just got 'em on the fence." Two-Bit smiled, and you hated that he was right.

With a sigh, you dusted your lap off before getting up, ignoring the small cheer that came from Soda and Two-Bit as you did so. From behind them Johnny smiled that little smile of his.

Dally even let a small one of his own slip, and you cursed whoever decided to give him such long eyelashes. One wrong downward tilt of his head, and sometimes you felt like he could get you to do whatever he wanted if he just asked.

"I'm coming, but next Sunday if any of you so much as ask me into town, I'll start a fight of my own." You pursed your lips. Another cheer rose between the six of you, and somehow you just knew that next week the exact same thing would happen, just as it always did. Good thing it never really bothered you. Nothing these guys ever do would, even though you'd never admit it to them.

"And just to be clear I want you to know I'm only going because it was Pony that was jumped!" You raised your voice through the pre-celebration, trying to stop the smile breaking out across your face from growing any wider. "If it was any of you idiots, I'd go join the other side!"

Playful boo's broke out as Soda slung an arm around your shoulders. A hand was quick to fly up to your hair with an attempted noogie, but you shook your head wildly enough to hault it.

Leaving the security of the plush couch and the drone of the Curtis' TV, you found yourself walking down the street with Dally's cigarette between your lips, taking a puff of it before handing it back to him. As the white smoke drifted up into the blue sky above, you thought about the people around you, and smiled.

Now you just had to hope you wouldn't ruin yet another shirt with blood.

[wordsofwilderness]

A Happy Accident

To @veryinnovative, thank you for yapping with me about Alpha James had his need to just chomp down on Regulus!!

Day 10: Marking (bites) (featuring omegaverse) - Jegulus Kinktober - @jeguluskinktoberr - 868 words - EXPLICIT

Since the very first time James had been invited to Regulus’ heat, he’d been obsessed with sucking marks and leaving love bites along Regulus' neck and shoulders. Regulus was covered in them, wherever James could reach, except the scent gland that would bind Regulus to him. James wanted to take it slow, date before jumping to such a decision, a fact that Regulus had protested many times. But sticking to his decision meant relieving himself of his need to claim Regulus in other ways.

Regulus was sitting in James’ lap in the middle of his bed—knot deep inside him—the weight of him slumping up against James’ chest, exhausted and content. It was a rare moment of peace in Regulus’ otherwise frantic heat.

“Bite me again,” Regulus demanded, tugging on James’ neck. At least Regulus was just as obsessed about it all as he was.

Leaning down, James nipped at the skin along Regulus’ collarbone, tongue running over it afterwards.

“No, properly,” Regulus grumbled, his hand weaving into the hair at the nap of James’ neck, pulling on it.

James was dangerously close to Regulus’ scent gland, especially when they were both influenced by Regulus’ heat. But, oh, there was nothing he wouldn't do for him. So, he sank his teeth into Regulus’ shoulder, pulling a moan from Regulus. He seemed to come alive again with it, any hint of exhaustion gone in favour of moving his hips in small circles against James’ knot.

“You want to come again, love?” James murmured.

“Yeah, I need you,” Regulus whined, clinging to James.

Reaching down between them, James wrapped his hand around Regulus’ dick. His fingers gild up and down easily due to the mess of cum from Regulus’ previous orgasms that covered it. “Bite me again,” Regulus moaned, “I need more.”

And James did, right next to his last mark, grinning against the skin at how Regulus’ breath hitched.

“Need more,” Regulus repeated, his hand tightening in James’ hair.

James continued, moving inwards on Regulus’ shoulder as he stroked Regulus’ dick. Tensing up, Regulus’ hip moved franticly in search of friction. And just in time, because James had reached where Regulus’ shoulder met his throat. The one spot he couldn't bite into stared up at him, mocking him. So instead, he brushed his nose over it, inhaling the addictively sweet scent of Regulus. His hand tightened around Regulus’ dick, speeding up. Oh, he wanted him for himself—only his.

With a cry, Regulus came, clamping down on James’ knot. Where James had meant to angle himself and bite into Regulus’ shoulder again, Regulus yanked on his hair, sending him open-mouthed right back. He couldn't have stopped himself in time, even if he wanted to. Biting down on Regulus’ scent gland, instincts took over. His arms circled around Regulus, keeping him there. James’ teeth sank fully in, marking Regulus permanently, mating him.

Euphoric pleasure welled up inside him as the connection fell into place. Light-headed and blissed out, James withdrew. He marvelled down at the mark he’d left, a perfect match to his teeth, now forever embedded in Regulus’ skin.

Emotions flickered over Regulus’ face in rapid succession—satisfaction, realisation, joy, worry.

James brought a hand up, cupping Regulus’ cheek, his mind not quite comprehending what had just happened.

His now, in every sense of the word.

But…

“You didn't mean to do that, did you?” Regulus said, finally breaking the silence.

“No.”

Regulus glanced away. “Because you don't want me to as your mate,” he said, as if the statement was pure fact rather than the most absurd thing James had ever heard.

“What?” James exclaimed before more quietly saying, “Regulus, please look at me.”

Regulus only hid his face away further.

“I want you as my mate,” James tried to explain, “That's why I’m so obsessed with covering you with love bites, because it was the only way to hold myself back from mating you too soon.” Pressing a kiss to Regulus’ curls, he whispered, “I want you, love, in everything.”

Regulus finally looked up, guarded hope in his eyes. “But you always told me we should wait.”

“I could live with you walking away, but regretting me? I…” James trailed off with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry I made you doubt me.”

“So, you're okay with it?”

“Being mated?” James asked, “I’m a lot more than just okay with it.” With a grin he hoped was comforting, James said, “Though I wish it’d been a bit more planned, so I could’ve made it special.”

“It was special,” Regulus retorted, that beautiful smile of his gracing his face.

“You deserve a bed covered in rose petals, a celebration, the whole ordeal,” James countered as he laid them down on the bed again, Regulus beneath him.

“You just want an excuse to throw a party” Regulus frowned, narrowing his eyes at James.

“So, this is how we'll spend the first few moments of being mated?” James chuckled, his hand braced on either side of Regulus’ head, looking down at his new mate.

“Arguing and fucking?” Regulus supplied.

“Yeah, alright, that doesn't sound half-bad,” James hummed, closing the space between them to capture Regulus’ lips with his.

[mrsrookhunt]

The BSD men falling asleep on you

Nikolai, Mushitaro, Sigma, Lovecraft, Jouno & Ango

(Is this my unofficial announcement that I write for Ango now? Yes, yes it is.)

Nikolai Gogol

Nikolai had been running on pure coffee and imagination-fueled fumes all day long after a night of two hours of sleep the day before.

Finally, at 11 o' clock at night he seems to run out of jokes, nudging his head into your lap while you read a book he deemed 'stupid and emotional' earlier in the day before you caught him crying in the bathroom, on chapter 4, a few hours later.

He always had the energy of a pack of wild toddlers in their natural habitat, tired or not, so it startled you to find him snoring and already drooling on your lap in just a few minutes.

He had a firm grasp on your arm, snuggling it like a teddy bear, and was otherwise halfway draped across you, in a dead sleep you didn't want to wake him up from.

Instead, you stroked his hair and tried to make yourself comfortable on the couch, pausing the TV and listening to his snores, the quietest you'd ever heard a sound out of him.

It wouldn't be the best sleep either of you ever got, but it would suffice to recharge the both of you for another day.

Mushitaro Oguri

Your dear Mushi, tired? Outwardly? A miracle. When he curls up on top of you during a bubble bath that was supposed to be exclusively yours, excitement courses through you, giggling at this cat-like posture. You tease him for a moment, but when he meets your eyes, you see that he's struggling to keep them open.

His motives are clear; he's jumped in your hot warm bath just to fall asleep on you.

Normally, every night he likes to sleep with his head to your chest so he can hear your heartbeat, but tonight he's too exhausted to even wait until bedtime, which, to his credit, is still several hours away.

You let him rest, rubbing his shoulders and back while he slips into a gentle bathtime snooze.

Kissing his head a few times, you pour a bit of warm water over him and change your posture so that the water laps over his body.

He grumbles, but barely stirs.

"Shh, Mushi, go back to sleep."

He gladly obliges.

Sigma

Sigma is generally exhausted, that's nothing new for him, but today sleep is overtaking him faster than he can prepare for it.

It's not long before he's layed out across your lap while you sit in bed, scrolling through social media, splayed out like a starfish and looking for your attention.

For a moment, you think he wants to cuddle, but it's clear that it won't be a long cuddling session. He just wants you to cuddle up with him so he can sleep properly.

When you put down your phone, he's already reaching out for you, fingertips gracefully sliding down your face. He brings your face closer, guiding you downwards for a nuzzle. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into an embrace, breath slowing down.

His eyes are only lightly closed, but you know better than to disturb him. He's got so much going on; while you've never seen him nap, you want to encourage it. He needs rest and self-care, and those are things that he puts far, far down his list of priorities most nights.

You quickly reach to shut off the bedside lamp and snuggle him tighter, pulling the blankets over you two.

Extra sleep would be good for the both of you.

H.P. Lovecraft

He is the ultimate sleeper normally, and while it takes more than some poking and prodding to wake him up, you still hesitate to disturb him when he drops, already half-asleep as usual, into your lap as you clack at your desktop computer.

He can't possibly be comfortable, body on the floor, with his neck stretched to inhuman heights to reach your lap. You giggle under your breath; his bodily distortions are something you've come to be quite comfortable with, and with minimal effort, you slide a hand down his lengthened neck and tickle him at the base of his collarbone.

He opens his eyes with an unamused snap and a slight furrow at his brow, wondering what the issue is.

With a sigh, you remind him that you're working, and that if he wants to sleep on you, he'll have to wait for a few more minutes.

He groans, rustling to the bed five whole steps away with the apathy of a sloth, annoyed at your rejection.

As much as you like to have him in your lap, he does it so often that it has made you get behind in your tasks many times.

You sense a glare as you continue typing, a little slower in hopes of being quieter so that he could sleep, but it is clearly to no avail, as his gaze is burning searing holes in your head and he is very evidently not going to sleep without you tonight.

You shut down your computer and put on the same relaxing beach-side sounds you do every night to calm your favorite ocean man, and you sweep into the bed beside him, pulling his head into the crook of your neck. He's tall, too tall for the bed, but curled up in such a position that he feels smaller than you.

He lets out a soft, contented growl, happy with your affections, before dropping off into dreamland, expectantly waiting for you to follow.

Jouno Saigiku

He's definitely only doing this because you hinted that you liked it.

Prideful as always, he insists that he's just tired, but you know he just wants you to croon over his actions and give him your undivided attention.

He pretends to fall asleep faster than he actually does, "sleep"-biting your wrist, a little smirk present on his face when you groan.

Always the sadist.

You roll him off your lap playfully, careful to make sure he won't hit his head on the bed posts.

You try to drift off to sleep yourself, certain that he'll keep teasing if you don't.

You jolt as he pulls you by the ear, frowning.

Apparently, he's dead set; he wants to fall asleep on you tonight. In a flash, his much-larger frame is pressed on top of you, and he's got you in a tight, inescapable embrace.

He's asleep in a few moments, just as he said he would be, and while it wasn't the 'cute' moment you were looking for, the cuddles were satisfying.

Ango Sakaguchi

Ango straight up drops, basically already asleep, into your shared bed.

He reaches out vaguely at the surrounding area, looking for you, knowing you're buried under a mound of covers somewhere.

You grasp his hand and pull him into the barrier of warmth you'd created over the course of a few hours.

He mumbles and groans some incoherent words into your chest; sweet things, you're certain, and you'll pretend you know what he said tomorrow.

You rub the base of his head, which feels feverish, as it normally does, and work your fingers up into his scalp to massage that constant throbbing headache away.

He's beginning to snore, and as a last minute act, you ease his glasses off his face and set them aside for tomorrow.

You whisper sweet words into his ears for him to hold through tomorrow.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Hi hi!!! I just found your blog and I love how you wrote Astarion. I have a small request if you're still taking them!

Because of Halsin's one line about how his wildshape is hard to repress I have a headcanon that certain druidic animal forms get triggered by certain emotions. So what if a druid Tav was hurt or scared and got stuck in animal form, and Astarion had to calm them down long enough for them to shift back/get healed

Aww, I like this. But some TW: The reason for them being hurt/scared is fucked and involves dead children. I killed off some NPCs for this one (but they live in the real game I swear!) Also set in Act 2, after he confesses. Just so you know! Don't trigger yourself for this.

~

There was a reason that Astarion always tried to convince you to not leave him behind at camp. Mostly because it could be dreadfully boring, doing nothing but sitting there waiting for your return. But also because he didn't like being out of the loop. There had been many moments, too many, where he had been the sole reason you were still standing. Whether that be stabbing someone in the back who held a dagger to your throat or being the one to help you back on your feet from the brink of death, Astarion had gotten very good at keeping you alive.

He didn't trust anyone to watch out for you the way he could, a belief that was instantly strengthened when the group came back. With you nowhere to be seen. It was only Halsin and Shawdowheart, beaten and bloodied as they limped their way forward.

The sight of them had Astarion on his feet in an instant, an awful feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he waited for you to slink out of the tree line to join them. But nothing.

"Where are they?" Astarion asked, his voice loud and fraught enough to cut through the others questions on what happened, "Why isn't Tav with you?"

Neither of them answered, instead they swapped a knowing grimace. The silence was enough for Astarion's blood to go cold, the worst jumping to the forefront of his mind. B-But that couldn't be. The two in front of him wouldn't just leave her to die, would they? He would hope not, otherwise he'd be forced to bleed them both dry. Astarion was so lost in his thoughts he hadn't even realized how heavily he was breathing, how his hands were trembling at the very thought of your being gone. Your corpse just left behind for the wolves in the cursed Shadowlands.

"Astarion, breathe," Halsin said gently, the behemoth of a man suddenly standing in front of him, his hands gently resting on his shoulders, "I know where they are, they're okay. They just... aren't exactly themselves right now, or at least not the version you know."

"If they're okay then why in the hells aren't they here?" Astarion seethed back at him, swatting his touch away before steeping back, "You just left them out there? Alone?"

"It's not that simple," Halsin started, right as Shadowheart piped up, "Karlach is with her. We aren't that incompetent."

"Well considering that our leader is missing, I wouldn't exactly call you capable," Astarion barked back at her, already turning back towards Halsin, "Take me to them. Now."

The venom in his voice would have surprised Astarion himself if he was capable of thinking about anything but you dead in the middle of nowhere. He barely even had the patience for Halsin to get adequate healing, but it was better than having to wait for him to limp the entire way there. He felt antsy and off center for the entire journey, completely foreign emotions taking over him. He didn't care about people like this, for the precise reason that it led to these horrifying moments of uncertainty. He didn't know what he would do without you anymore. He didn't want to ever find out.

It figures that you would go and almost get yourself killed right after he admitted a portion of his feelings to you. And now everything he wished he'd said was invading his every thought.

"Oh come on now, don't make that face! You know me!"

The sound of Karlach's voice was enough to bring him out of his own head. She was up ahead, kneeling next to a small cave opening as she spoke, "For something so cute, you're being a bit of a pisser right now. Aren't you?"

Astarion didn't miss the bodies littering the way between where he stood and the cave, a mix of homely gnolls and dead tieflings, some that he unfortunately recognized from the grove. He didn't take the time to examine them closely, but... he was aware that many looked young. Much, much too young to have died here.

"There they are," Halsin sighed as Karlach cooed at the cave opening, "They've been in there since we stumbled upon all of... this."

"They've gotten less scratchy at the least," Karlach added, standing up with a stretch, her gaze pointedly avoiding the massacre in front of them, "But they won't stop hissing up a storm. I tried to pull them out by the scruff and almost lost a hand, so I'm thinking we may have to wait this one out."

Astarion ignored her as he got closer to the cave, his eyes widening at what he saw. It was you, or at least he was thought it was. He was well-aware of your druidic abilities and he had seen you polymorph into a ferocious beast many, many times. But never like this. No, you always had a human air about you when you shifted, the reality of your true shelf always shining through your eyes, never without perfect control.

But now, you were cowering in your panther form, your eyes daring back and forth, your coat so covered in blood that it nearly looked like you had been swimming in it. You even hissed at the sight of him of all people, your teeth bared as you backed farther against the cave wall, nothing but pure animal fear and rage behind your eyes.

"It can happen sometimes," Halsin explained with a frown, "Tav is very connected with this form, perhaps too connected. Enough so for it to take over when they're particularly distressed. It used to happen to me even, many, many moons ago. It can take hours to change back, maybe even days. And it can be very... difficult to remember your life outside of instincts."

Well wasn't that just fucking awful? Figures there had to be a drawback to such a powerful advantage. But he'd be damned if he'd leave you out here alone for days. And he doubted that the extra audience would help with anything.

"Leave us," Astarion ordered, his eyes still on you, "I'll find a way to bring them back to camp."

Halsin and Karlach exchanged a glance, obviously weary at the idea. Karlach cleared her throat, "Astarion, I know that the two of you are, um, close, but I don't think you can do anything-"

"Watch me," Astarion said, his words petulant even to his own ears. But he meant it. If anyone could help you through whatever this was, it was going to be him, "If I'm not back before the sun rises feel free to look for me. Now leave."

"But she could kill you on accident! And if my best friend had to wake up to that-" Karlach tried to argue, interrupted by Halsin putting a strong hand on her shoulder, "Just because part of them is lost doesn't mean all of them is. Astarion can handle himself."

Astarion was a bit surprised to receive the druid's support, but he wasn't about to argue over it. He nodded at them, "I'll be fine. Now go, I don't think the crowd is helping with their nerves."

Astarion watched them walk away, only relaxing when they were out of sight. It felt like he could finally breathe again. There you were, safe and sound if not a bit... changed. But he could work with that.

Astarion sat cross-legged to the side of the cave entrance, his voice soft but scolding as he spoke, "'I'll be safe Astarion, don't worry about me Astarion, you're such a little overthinker Astarion.' And now look at you, trapped in a cave with a cat's body. Darling, I think it's high time that you start listening to me."

Astarion hadn't been expecting an answer, but the pitiful little chirp you let out brought a smile to his face. He scooted a bit closer to the entrance, careful not to actually cross the threshold as he spoke, "I'm serious Tav, do you know how horrible it was to see them come back without you? I'd say a punishment would be in order, if you weren't too busy giving it to yourself that is."

Another small, dejected noise, but it sounded closer this time. Astarion glanced at the entrance, smiling when he saw you sitting there on all fours, your tail twitching as you peeked outside. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to do but Astarion slowly brought his hand up, hovering it right in your face while praying that you wouldn't take the chance to bite it off, "It seems like you haven't lost the faculty for understanding language yet. Lick my hand if I'm right."

You did, your large sandpaper tongue gliding over his palm before retreating. You looked... different than before. In a good way, but not a whole way.

"That's a good kitty," Astarion praised, laughing at the way the pet name made your brows scrunch up. Perhaps you weren't fully yourself, but enough of you was there for him to know you'd be getting him back for that little quip, "Oh don't look at me like that. You're the full-grown adult in the body of a glorified housecat."

The little growl you let out at that just made him laugh harder, "A very pretty housecat. Does that help my love?"

You didn't answer. Instead you turned with a huff and retreated back into the cave, your demeanor much more relaxed than before. Relaxed enough for Astarion to venture in there after you. It was a small space, just large enough for a panther to lay and a man to sit. You didn't hiss or growl as he settled in, just watched him with sharp eyes.

Astarion didn't like it. You were usually so tactile with him, always finding reasons for touch, even if they were simple. Standing shoulder to shoulder, intertwining your fingers together, hugs and kisses innocent enough to make Astarion melt. Even in your animal form, not touching you just felt... wrong.

But Astarion also wasn't trying to get mauled. He kept his hands to himself, his head cocked as he stared at you, "Are you honestly going to stay all the way over there? We might be here all night darling, you wouldn't want me to be cold would you?"

Perhaps that was manipulative phrasing, but at least it worked. You shuffled closer, resting your head in his lap while staring up at him with those big eyes.

"See?" Astarion cooed down at you, taking the chance to pet your head, "Isn't that better?"

You didn't answer, instead you closed your eyes, a light purr coursing through you. You really did make an adorable panther, even when your fur was crusted with blood and the tiniest bit of gore. Perhaps you didn't smell that best at the moment, but you sure were cute. You fell asleep there, right in his lap, your body finally fully relaxed.

This wasn't exactly how Astarion intended on spending his night, but there were plenty of worse things. Like having the bury the love of his life for example. Or watching a gnoll tear into their corpse. But luckily enough for him that didn't happen. No, he had you with him, safe and sound. Panther or not, he loved you, and one of these days he would get the courage to admit it out loud. Hopefully sooner than later, considering how easily you could be taken from him.

Astarion hadn't planned on falling asleep with you, but you were so warm, and the sound of your happy purring was nearly hypnotic. The next thing he knew he was out, awaking hours later to a dark cave and a different weight set in his lap. But not an unfamiliar one.

Astarion glanced down, breathing out a sigh of relief when it was you back to normal, seemingly shifting in the middle of the night. You were laying in what seemed to be an extremely uncomfortable position, your cute face smooshed against his leg as you slumbered.

"There you are," Astarion murmured, the quiet sound of his voice still enough to jolt you awake. You blinked your eyes open, sitting up with a start as you frantically looked around.

"Hey, hey, calm down. Everything's okay," Astarion said gently, tugging you back to him, "You just had a little... incident. That's all."

You nodded, the memories from the day seemingly hitting you all at once. He could see the tears start to well up in your eyes as you stared at the ground, "I... I remember the tieflings. We found them too late. And I saw one of those things gnawing on... on Silfy. And another on Mattis and I just... lost it."

Oh gods. Astarion didn't exactly have a soft spot for children, but the thought of seeing one of the ones you had saved, eaten alive was horrifying. Even against the things he had seen.

"Come here love," Astarion murmured, holding his arms out; his heart breaking at the look on your face.

You went to him, nearly collapsing in his arms as you cried into his shoulder, "I didn't save them. I- they were right there. And I didn't save them."

"You can't save everyone," Astarion said as he stroked your hair, "Not every life can be your responsibility. It just can't."

"Why not?" You sniffled, looking up at him with tired eyes, "Why does this have to keep happening? Why can't I do something about it?"

"Because the world wasn't made for people like you," Astarion said honestly, "It is cruel and horrific and it doesn't deserve you. But it needs you anyway. It needs someone who cares, despite everything that proves you shouldn't. And that's not fair, but it's true."

Part of him could scarcely believe such words were even his own, let alone that fact that he believed them. But he did. You couldn't save everyone, no. But that didn't stop the fact that those you could mattered. That your kindness and passion for good did mean something, it meant enough to help hundreds of people. And enough to change him. Astarion would never be the same after meeting you. He didn't want to be, but even if he did the change was irrevocable. Because that's just the effect you had on people. And he felt so damned lucky that he was one of them.

You nodded against him as you let all of your tears out, his words meaningful but not enough to stop the pain completely.

But that was okay. Astarion wasn't going anywhere.

[devnmon]

being gale dekarios' lover hcs

SFW/NSFW

I don't care if this is dramatic but Gale definitely is the love at first sight type of man. Not an insane amount of love, but enough from what he knows about you to admire you.

In the fact that he sees you as a strong, capable person who takes every hit on the chin and finds a way around things that seem difficult.

Realizes he likes you very early on after meeting and tries to combat how strongly he feels for you, because let's be honest... it's quite a lot for him to think about on an every day basis.

When he shows you a smidge of the weave at the tiefling party, he only does it to show you a glimpse into his love for magic, how it's everything to him. What he doesn't expect is you showing him a vision of you both kissing. He blushes but tries his best to hide it. Even the morning after, he will still try to push his feelings for you down, further than they were already attempting to be pushed.

He knows you had other propositions from the companions around camp and is baffled you chose him to spend a moment in the night with.

You could've easily chosen a night of pleasure from Astarion or Lae'zel, but no, you chose him. Him, even if he didn't give you the night of pleasure you might have been expecting. He wasn't the type to do anything of that sort, being tied to M*stra all those years he hasn't had the experience of his counterparts. Besides, if he were to do something like that with anyone, it would be after he's shown you all the ways he loves you. He's not the type to bed you and leave. And I admire that about him.

Gale was also too shied away because of the orb and wouldn't want to risk it going off before it was stabilized. He never even lets himself get too excited when thinking about you late at night, it's quite hard for him to sleep otherwise (no pun intended). He mostly casts sleep on himself to combat it while placing those thoughts in a part of his mind he never touches.

When you kiss him for the first time he's running every possible question through his head; why did you kiss him, did you think of him the same way he thought of you, were you kissing him to take him to bed, or was it because you felt the same?

His confession is quite on character for him; as in he begins with trying to keep it short and sweet but then he realizes. You don't deserve a short and sweet confession. You deserve to hear how much he adores and respects and has grown to love you in the time you've spent together. It's of course a ramble, but then that's what he's good at. detailing every way you've wrapped yourself around his mind and every time he's wanted to tell you.

After the orb is stabilized, you'd been together a while and practically wanted to jump his bones the night he confessed. Before, he couldn't risk ruining any attempt to take you to bed before he knew he wouldn't level a city. But now, you were practically buzzing with the thought of finally getting to do that with him.

He considers you his family after being there for him multiple times without fail. You rush to his side in battle and he to you when needed. He is truly one to check in if you need anything whenever he thinks of you, which is often.

Talks the others' ears off about you at every given moment when you're away or out on a run for supplies. "My partner this, my partner that…" There have been a few times he's been told to keep quiet by other camp members, as if that's even possible when you possess his mind so often.

Gale never misses an anniversary or birthday or special event. he is so amazed at anyone wanting to be with him after so long, that he makes it his life purpose to make sure you feel secure, safe, and loved by him no matter how many times he has to say it. He proudly would scream it from the rooftops if he could.

Gale makes sure to stock up on the right components for spells when you need the extra boost or when you're feeling terrible from your monthlies. Definitely makes you teas with components added for relief and extra strength during battle, because even without offering yourself to Astarion to feed, it doesn't help being bloodless in a fight.

You only find this out after gale takes you to his tower in Waterdeep but, he's a lover of music; composing, playing, listening, he admires it all. He almost admires it more than magic, but then again, magic is literally his whole life. After you two settle down, you can often catch him attempting to compose some notes that make him think of you. Gale is such a romantic, he would want to compose a whole song himself even without any real musical experience. He's taught himself how to play and somehow he ends up creating the most beautiful piece of music just to dedicate it to you.

NSFW

There's no reason for gale to be as beautiful as he is. It's no wonder he's also beautiful under his clothes. That hair covered chest, his waist that hugs his robes so well-- it's maddening.

Witnessing your orgasm (and being the cause of it) is like the entire world to him- he's in awe.

You spend a whole night just exploring each other's bodies, leaving soft kisses on the places you never could beforehand, watching his cheeks pink up in bashfulness. You two go from kissing to lying in between each other's legs before he finally enters you.

Gale has been starved of touch for gods knows how long… So when you get the chance to actually touch him in places you know will rile him up, he practically falls to his knees when he gets to feel your touches for the first time.

In turn every sound he lets out is because of you and he falls smitten even more if it's possible. Every breath, sigh of content or "by the gods…" followed with praises are because of you and he wouldn't trade it for the world.

You're surprised his body hair is so well kept because his tower is anything but. Even with the glorious brown locks that sit atop his head, he has a tendency to keep things neat and tidy on his chest and below, but don't get me wrong. You can't get enough of it all.

He practically sings for you when you run your hands down his chest, down his legs to where he wants you most. Always checks in on you when you're going down on him because god forbid it hurts or you can't take as much as you thought, he never wants you to feel uncomfortable. Especially during intimate moments such as that.

Gale is a thigh man… as much as he wants to use them for a pillow whenever he gets a rest, he also desires them squeezing around his head as much if not more. Suffocate him with your thighs please… he might even come from just that.

He learns to be a receiver of everything you want to give him; it takes him a few tries to get it right, but he learns to welcome your touches, especially if you don't want anything in return from him. He's taken aback by the idea that you can want to give him affection in this way while not wanting to receive.

He's locked on the movements of your hands before they even actually touch his cock, practically drooling at the idea of your touch. But his idea is nowhere near close to what you actually feel like, the warmth of your touch against him has his eyes rolling back into his head with how much he feels just from your simple movements.

He would be nervous about getting you pregnant that he goes out of his way to get an herbal tea to prevent any scares you might have while on your adventure. Because we all know Gale adores getting to fill you up while he's fucking you.

He's also not vulgar, he never has been. Praise after praise after praise will leave his mouth about how good you're making him feel and the way he wishes for you to feel as good as him.

Gale fucks you to a steady rhythm, not to slow or too fast, but in a way he knows will bring you to new heights every time. He relishes in every drag of his cock against your walls like it's the only thing he's ever known. His possession goes insane when he gets close, hips stuttering, higher pitch grunts and connecting his lips to yours are fair signs he's about to burst.

No matter the pace he goes, everything about it is intimate, sensual and passionate; he makes love to you every time.

Is a firm believer of you coming first before he slides himself inside. He would never want you to feel anything less than the level of pleasure he experiences when he's with you.

Gale is a softie when it comes to aftercare; he doesn't worry about himself because he's too focused on making sure you're okay. He lies next to you and cleans up whatever he can so you're comfortable. Even gets you water and a towel to clean off whatever mess was made, whether it was from you or him, and pulls you in close while praising you about how well you did and that he loves you. It's the last thing he wants you to hear before you fall asleep.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Perfect for Me, Baby

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader Drabble

Summary: you have a poor self-image moment and Jake is there for you.

Warnings: Self-judgement. Body image. Also, it's just a little fluff.

Notes: This was a request. Sorry it took me a week or so. A lot happened and I had to take a break for a second :)

Words: 1125

---

There are bumps on the outsides of your thighs. Ripples and dimples in the skin that mar any possibility of silky smoothness. Under the glow of your bedroom lamp, those minor details of your body are prominent enough to cast dark shadows of imperfection. 

You’re surprised you care. Months ago, before him, you wouldn’t have. You wouldn’t have even noticed. You wouldn’t have paused in the shower as your soapy fingers ran over lumpy flesh when you massaged your legs. You wouldn’t have developed the nagging itch to question what other areas of your body aren’t perfect. And you definitely wouldn’t be standing in front of your full-length mirror with your dress hiked up to your waist so you could hunt for additional flaws. 

You feel ridiculous, looking like a little girl who doesn’t understand how to keep her skirt down when running on the playground at school. But you lack their attitude, their care-free quality, and suddenly a twinge of jealousy blooms. You wish you could be like them…those little girls who don’t give a shit. 

Just a week ago you were different. You walked naked through your apartment; you ate breakfast cereal in your underwear as you watched the morning news; you jumped your boyfriend the second he walked through the front door at the end of the day and didn’t let him out of your arms until you were both worn and satisfied. But now, for the first time since Jake Seresin convinced you to be his, you are hiding yourself.

You know he noticed it first when you crawled into bed that night, clad in the pajama set his grandmother had gifted you for Christmas. It covers you fully from neck to ankle. The old woman has no illusions that you sleep in the same bed as her grandson, but that you have a tendency to be very active when in that bed goes completely over her head, thankfully. 

Once spotting the set, Jake's eyebrows rose, silently asking the question of why you wouldn't be sleeping skin-to-skin as usual. You offered him a shy smile and flipped over to nestle into the curve of his body. He said nothing, only draping his arm over your waist to pull your uncommonly clothed back to his bare chest. 

That is something you love about him, though. It isn’t his first instinct to pressure you to tell him every little thought running through your head. He doesn’t demand answers as to your behavior. But unless otherwise requested, there’s a time limit on his silence. Eventually, if you do not open up to him, he will come to you to figure out what you need. And it doesn’t escape you that you are just about out of time. 

“What are you doing?”

You gasp then blush as your eyes meet his in the mirror. Your hand instantly drops the flowered fabric bunched between your fingers, and Jake watches as the light blue material flutters back down around your knees. 

His brows pinch, his eyes running up and down the length of your body. “Are you ok?”

A harsh swallow struggles its way down your throat. As he shuts your bedroom door, you turn to him, fiddling with your fingers and drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Baby?” he asks, a twinge of suspicion in his tone. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

Jake’s arms cross over his broad chest. “The way you were looking at yourself just then."

You glance back at the mirror and let out an “Oh!” as if just noticing its existence in the room. “That wasn’t anything.”

With a sigh, he shakes his head. A beat passes. Your teeth pull at the thin skin of your lip. “Baby, you’re beautiful,” he finally says, looking up to meet your gaze again. “I don’t know if something happened, if I said something, did something…but you’re perfect.”

The pain in his eyes is exactly what you’ve been afraid of for days. You never wanted him thinking any of it was his fault; that he’s failed you as a boyfriend and lover. But he’s no fool. And neither are you. You recognized the possibility of him placing the weight of your attitude change on his shoulders, and now it seems he has.

“How did you know?”

“You haven’t let me touch you in a week, you’re covered up more often than not, and now I find you looking at yourself with disappointment on your face.” He takes steps closer. “So,” he says, narrowing the space between you, “what did I do?”

“Nothing.”

“No?”

There’s less than a foot separating your body from his and the heat of his skin from the summer sun radiates off of him to warm you. He was outside, you remember. There are beads of sweat soaking through his black t-shirt. Dried trails of the salty liquid forge lines in the dirty coating of his skin—soil from the backyard garden you’d promised to fix up today. You were meant to change out of your dress to join him, until you got distracted. You had no idea how much time had passed. 

“The garden,” you whisper. 

“Hardly matters now.”

“You’re sweaty.”

He smirks. "You like me sweaty.”

“I know, but—”

“Tell me,” comes out softly through his parted lips, “what’s wrong.”

You know better than to attempt to deter him. Your man on a mission is a man who often achieves what he wants. If history dictates anything, nothing distracts him, especially from you. 

“I just,” you pause and he hums, “I noticed some flaws, and for some reason, I feel…gross.”

“Gross?” he snaps, almost offended. 

His eyes flick back and forth between your own, searching for something. A joke, maybe? Then he shakes his head again and slowly lowers to his knees. When his fingers slide under the hem of your dress, moving up your legs, caressing your thighs, it shocks you that you don’t wish to step out of his hold, away from his touch. 

“I don’t know,” he says with a click of his tongue. “You feel damn good to me, baby.” Fingers press into the flesh of your ass cheeks and squeeze. With your squeak of surprise, his eyes meet yours. “Soft, and warm, and grabbable as always.”

Your lips tick upwards and his spread wide, displaying every pearly white tooth in the grin that won you over all those months ago. 

“I’m not going to push you,” he continues,” but when you’re ready, I’m going to prove to you just how perfect you are.” Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to one of the red flowers printed on the fabric that covers your lower stomach. “And when I’m done, you’ll never question it again.”

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @cinderellasmissingshoe @leila22rogers

[cursedzucchini]

Sandwiches taste better be without ketamine — part 1

Y'know all those Danny is in wayne mansion and Alfred drugs him (bc they're sus of this dude, Bruce wants to interrogate him whatever).

Well i had a thought and i think i wanna write it haha

Tw: drugging, disasosiaction (from first pov), overall Danny is not in a good mental space

--------

It was evening.

Danny wasn't sure where exactly he was, nor even what year it was. The mansion he broke in was huge and fancy, all the gothic aesthetic this city seemed to be almost worshipping and the slimy smell of money, included.

At first he hoped no one will notice him, as foolish as it was with his luck. He wasn't all that suprised when an elderly man in black suit tapped his shoulder and asked if he would want a 'brunch'. If Danny didn't have ghost sense, he'd suspect he was the ghost of a butler or something, but no. The man was very much alive, if not a little liminal. But at this point who wasn't.

:read more:

And yes, Danny can admit it was stupid not to ran the moment he noticed the man, but... was it so wrong to hoped maybe for once he met nice people who wouldn't try and vivisect him?

Feeling the familiar artificial feeling of fatigue, yes, yes it was.

In the private of his mind, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. The man seemed nice, but more importantly his food was divine. God, if his existence wasn't banned by the government, he might've even take the drugging for the food.

Yes, he might be disasosiacting. Not like he has any other choice, if he doesn't want to destroy this place.

“Is something wrong sir?” the elder (he introduced himself, but Danny figured trying to drug someone made him loose name privileges) asked, a great imitation of genuine worry lacing his voice. The boy had to give it to him, he was an excellent actor (who tried to drug him. Put something in his food and he didn't notice. Wanted to do who knows what with.him. druGgeD hIM lIKe tHE gIv dIiiiIIiIi—)

Danny blinked. It was getting harder to keep his eyes open. He opened his mouth to speak, but the ever boiling anger was now even stronger than normally. He wanted to scream and punch the man. He wanted to take the tasty guacamole toast and throw it so hard it cracks the wall. He wanted to destroy and wail and-

Instead he continued staring at the man, no emotions visible on his face. Danny didn't want to say anything, or even move, because what if that was the catalyser for him to break and just... do something he might regret later. But the longer was sitting on the stool, the stupid toast in front him, the man's eyebrows scrunching in fake worry—

"If there is anything I can—"

"is it normal for you to drug every guy who visits, or am I just that special?" he could hear himself say. Or well, Danny knew he was saying this, but it was as if it was beyond his control. Like he was just a onlooker in his own life.

The butler blinked, but other than that no surprise showed on his face. So it wasn't a mistake, Danny noted, ignoring the rising tension in his body. Some part of him sighed, already preparing to fight the grandpa before him.

"it appears there was some sort of—" the boy jumps over the island, zeroing onto the older man's hand. He wrenched the stun gun out of his grasp, not afraid to bite or scratch, all the while dodging a kick to his side. The other man had suprisingly strong grip, but it was nothing in face of Danny's rising suspicions and surprise attack.

The boy swiftly got as far away as he could, dismantling the weapon without taking his gaze away from the butler. The man was watching his action, apparently already gotten over Danny's surprise attack. A shame, he hoped he'd be able to overshadow the elder when he was in shock. He wasn't otherwise suprised, when he brushed his mind before, he could feel his mind was strong.

The familiar haze of pills was starting to take over Danny's body. He had to leave quickly. He couldn't leave without injuring the older man. If he didn't do something right now, he will fall unconscious.

Snarky quips it was than "If you wanted to get rid of me, you could've just called the police like a normal person y'know" the words came out more bitter than he wanted, but even that didn't shake the man before him. The butler was still watching him, positioned in something Danny vaguely recognized as fighting stance, face impassionate. That fact alone made him add "Or just... Tell me to leave. Literally anything but putting anesthetics in a perfectly good sandwich" only to see him squirm. The way he was so unbothered... Well it made Danny uncomfortable. (No one who drugged a kid, even if they had white hair and glowed, without showing an ounce of remorse was not a good person)

His eyes were closing, and he could feel his grip slipping on his power. What was the old man thinking?? The average human would probably be dead if they ate this much ketamine... This was getting more and more dangerous by the second, he had to... He had to... He...

"I apologize for all of this, but anyone able to enter this mansion unnoticed, cannot simply leave before some... Conversation happen" and didn't that sound ominous as hell. His vision was swaying, and he couldn't stay on his feet anymore. The panic was the only thing keeping him conscious. The moment he fell asleep, he wouldn't be able to keep his ecto signature in check, meaning They would immidietly know where he is. He would no longer be putting only himself in danger, but also the old man (as much as he deserved it for drugging him).

And he didn't know how his powers worked after everything. He could easily destroy this whole mansion, just by unravelling his true appearance.

"No... I- I have to... I..." his core was screaming. the similarity of this situation was a reminder of how he changed and what he used to be. He try to move towards where he thought could be the outer wall, but his limbs were so heavy. The boy didn't even bother to look at the old man anymore, just trying to get out of here. He turned on his stomach, crawling away from the man, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. They stung in anger and hopelessness that once again filled him.

"It will not take long, you have nothing to worry about child" if he was little bit more aware, he might catch the pity in his voice, but he wasn't. All he could hear were threats and scorn. A noise, that wasn't entirely human, build up at the back of his throat. He couldn't stop the pathetic high pitched whines that escaped his mouth, even as his eyes were closed and body no longer moving.

And exactly in that moment the door to the kitchen smashed open, a burning core answering his own "What the fuck is going on here?!"

---

Yeah idk this was just something on my mind, idk how this would even continue lol

Uh some more stuff i thought of for this

Danny wouldn't have a good relationship w Alfred at first. Like dude wouldn't trust him at all, not his food anything he says, and all. Idk the batfam could feel guilty, or it'd just be a cool new experience it doesn't matter

On that note, their relationship would probably get better, but i just wanted to acknowledge that someone drugging u is super traumatizing even if they do it w good intentions

Danny got kidnapped/sold to giv it doesn't really matter, but what is important is that he's full ghost. Why? Idk i just think it'd be so terrible for giv to see this Schrodinger's boy and went "yo what if we made him full ghost" and them succeeding. Like first of all that shit would destroy Danny and also it'd be such a terrible situation. Also batmans reaction to Danny dying, surviving (kinda) and than dying again would be so interesting

Also the person to come in is obviously Jason. He heard a kid screaming and felt it, and the pits went "baby >:((("

No idea what happens after, but at some point he stays at the manor and stuff happens. Idk what yet but it could be anyying

Where's batfamily? In batcave probably idk

I'm so tired i just finished writing this an holy wow kill.me. it's been a rough week haha. Hope u liked this i might continue this but probably not

[skunkox-fics]

Until He Gets Tired Of Me Part 1

Edited version of this fic

“Until he gets tired of me.”

That was Darlin's answer anytime someone questioned their relationship with Sam. A piercing but deep pain would shoot through their chest every time they said it. But it was always said in a joking tone and a movement to distract the other person from their face. No one needed to see how that thought may have hurt them. They knew what they were getting into from the jump. 

Vampires don’t age. They don’t make a habit of keeping long connections with humans if any at all. Despite knowing this, Darlin' felt safe. Safer than they had felt in a long time. They found that safety in Sam and were grateful for it. Nothing is ever truly guaranteed, and to have had Sam in their life at all was a blessing and a mercy. He made a promise to stay by their side.The man was no liar and they loved him for that. Him staying was all they could ever hope for.

As much as they hated the thought of Sam ever leaving them, Darlin' could never blame him. They'd fucked up so many times in their life. People’s well being were tested and some had gotten hurt. His Progeny, their friend, and the countless others Quinn had gotten ahold of before his capturing by the Department. They were reckless. In being so, caused Sam to strain himself to care and worry for them.

There were day they wished Sam would just pack up and go. To rid himself of the headache being their presence. But whenever they woke, he was always right there, holding them close and tightly.

He'd never do that, though. It was obvious to anyone who actually bothered to see them together. The tenderness in his eyes. The gentleness of his touch. The vampire was beyond sprung for the wolf. He was happy. Like he was finally healing. Sam wouldn't be going anywhere. Sam learned that about himself very quickly after the first couple of meetings. 

Darlin' knew as well. A part of their brain screamed to believe otherwise. They hadn't done anything to deserve his grace. His patience. His love. Love that was promised to them until the end of their time.

"Do you think Count Yee-Haw will stay?"

The question had been asked once again. This time, by a young boy named Carlos. He had gotten attached to Darlin' as a toddler and was one of the few pack members that was genuinely happy to see them back.

Count Yee-Haw was the nickname the pack kids had given Sam. Only they could call him that, though. It was a name bestowed upon him after the collective decided to put his vamp strength to the test. The poor man was literally dog piled and left to hold and stumble around with a minimum of 8 kids hanging off his frame like ornaments. It was a title he was growing fond of.

"Probably. At least until he gets tired of me." Darlin gave the boy a half-hearted smile and pulled the hood of his jacket over his face. He didn’t need the soured expression on their face. 

Carlos struggled against Darlin’s had that was still on top of his head and growled playfully. Truth was, he knew Darlin’ better than he let on. He had picked up on their scent on the edge of wooded areas before David knew of their return to town. He would always be loyal to the pack, but if Darlin didn’t want to be seen, he wouldn’t rat them out. Not before they were ready.

"I heard some of the adults talking. They said that he wouldn't stay when you get older."  Carlos admitted, irritation all too clear on his voice. "It's stupid. He obviously loves you. And you're happy now. Isn't that enough?" His voice was just above a whisper

The words spoken came from a place of care. Carlos had missed his favorite rebel and defender of Asher's antics. Truth be told, he was worried Darlin' would become uneasy around the pack and got MIA again. They were more stable with the southern vamp at their side.

Darlin' was about ready to hug the kid in an attempt to soothe his nerves. He typically didn’t get openly upset. But a single thought ran through their head. Carlos was a sweet kid, but what he said was just nice? Too nice to come from a tween.

"Besides. I don't think you'll ever stop being weird. And he already talks like an old ma-." Darlin' cut him short with a smack to the back of his head.There it was. Darlin’ couldn't help but smile to themselves. It's not like he was lying. 

"If you think that, why even ask?" They pulled the hood from over his head and he turned to face them.

"Because I know you hear them too. And I don't want you guys to go anywhere."

-----------------------------------------------------

Sam and Milo were coming back to the main hall. The casual conversation came to a halt when he heard his nickname. The following sentence fell from lips he was all too familiar with. Every vocal cue and tone. And today, it tugged heavy at his heart.

“Sam. Hey, you feelin’ alright? I didn’t think Vamps got sick, but uh…. You’re not lookin’ too hot.” Milo had caught the hurt across Sam’s face before he had the chance to sort himself. 

The vampire was brought back and forced himself to focus on the shifter next to him. He would have to talk with his Mate after they had gotten home. Sam forced a small smile and waved off Milo’s concern. Milo knew not to push too hard with Sam. He was recluse by nature and finally coming out of his shell to the pack. Pushing Sam could very well mean him closing up again. Not to mention that if he did, there was no reason to believe Darlin’ wouldn't either.