#so i put them in a fic

[lushrue]

under the stars

got bit by the ghoap bug this evening, so have a teensy bit of johnny bringing simon home to scotland and thinking about his feelings

cw: angst, brief mentions of religion/homophobia, unresolved feelings

“stars sure are pretty tonight.”

johnny sat on the roof of his childhood home. distantly, he could hear the sounds of his mother cleaning up from dinner, dishes clattering together and sudsy water pooling in the sink. his nieces and nephews were playing in the backyard, some version of tag mixed with hide-and-seek mixed with cops and robbers. if he listened close enough, he could even hear the sounds of his siblings chatting on the porch. he knew he’d caused quite a stir when he told his ma he was bringing someone home with him on leave. it pulled the atmosphere more taut when he showed up with Simon at his side.

he wasn’t sure how Simon had managed to get up to the roof, how the shingles didn’t buckle under his weight. johnny had choked back a laugh when the giant brute of a man had to stoop to get through the front door. his ma practically needed a stepladder to give one of her famous welcome-to-my-home hugs that she afforded to every guest that crossed her threshold. it was something that had drawn Johnny to him initially: his size. he’d always had a thing for taller men. the thought made him chuckle a little, nearly choking on the smoke from his smoldering cigarette.

“don’t tell ma I’m up ‘ere,” Johnny quipped, his hands resting on his knees. “she’d throw a righ’ fit if she knew I was smokin’.” Simon gave a little half-smile, settling down onto the roof beside Johnny. he pulled his own pack of cigarettes out and lit one, sliding his fingers across his lips to symbolically seal them. Johnny half-smiled back, staring up at the twilight sky. it was dim, not quite dark. the sun hadn’t quite given up its hold on the day, but the moon was quickly winning the war. it was the kind of sky he looked up at when he was out on deployment, the kind that made him wonder what his family had for dinner that night and whether his ma was praying for his safety like she always did.

the wisps of smoke from their cigarettes danced together, spinning together gracefully as they swept up toward the night sky. Johnny watched, the sight setting his mind down the path he’d been trying to avoid since they’d arrived. the road less traveled, he thought idly. wasn’t there a poem about that? he wasn’t sure what the real reason was for asking Simon to come home with him when he’d made the initial request. he told himself that it was because he didn’t want to be alone with his family on leave, that having another military presence would buffer how unnatural it all felt. the dinners around a real table, the lazy mornings, the outings to the local shops simply because they felt like going. he’d been serving so long that it felt like a facsimile of real life, something you only saw in movies.

but the longer they were there, the more he started to realize that that wasn’t the real reason. seeing Simon interacting with his family, the town where he grew up, brought up images of something far more domestic that warmed his heart. images of retirement flashed in his mind, a little flat for the both of them where they could have the dinners around a table and mornings where they could stay tangled around each other in the sheets as long as they wanted. he hated how inevitable it all seemed, how stuck his mind was on this ideal. there was part of him that wasn’t sure it could even happen, not without sacrifice. his ma was a devout Catholic that would balk at the idea of two men living together, and his siblings would likely follow. was that image worth losing everything? he wasn’t sure yet.

Johnny took a long drag of his cigarette, his leg pressing against Simon’s as they sat there. he had to admit that the touches were intentional, attempts to gauge how willing Simon was to entertain affection from his sergeant. they were small, these gestures and seemingly accidental brushes of skin, but Simon never pulled away. not once had he ever pulled away. “i wish,” Simon said, unprompted. his voice stopped abruptly, as if there were words waiting to follow, but they never came. so many possibilities. i wish life could always be this slow, i wish i could tell you how i felt, i wish the world and all who inhabit it could disappear and just leave the two of us behind. Johnny sat silent for a moment, mulling those two words over in his head.

in truth, he wished too. he wished so many things. he wished he was less of a coward. he wished his family was just a slight bit different. he wished that whoever wrote the Bible had spared a thought for the two of them, sitting here under the stars, and put down the pen. Johnny turned his head toward Simon, taking in his features in the dim light. the shadows that cast over his face, still half-obscured by a black surgical mask (to make sure he didn’t spread foreign germs, Simon had explained to his family), made him truly look like a ghost. he swallowed, the ashes of his cigarette burning red against the teal of the sky. “i wish too,” he said simply.

in that moment, there was an understanding between them, something deeper than they’d ever shared. it was practically palpable, like a tangible thing connecting them. that common yearning, that need for something different than what they had. the dissatisfaction, the knots that tied up their stomachs everytime they thought about what could be. they shared a look, blue meeting brown like the ocean meeting the shore.

and then Johnny’s ma called them in for pie. and in they went, carrying this secret, shared thing with them.

[morganbritton132]

17 year old, CEO Tim Drake canceling a press conference and then putting out a statement like, “Sorry for canceling last min, Alfred said that he was going to run my laptop through the dishwasher if I didn’t clean my room. I think he’d do it :/. Also, wasn’t really in the mood. Cya -Tim.”

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[lucabyte]

monologue

[paintedcrows]

Some Fords! (and Martin K Blackwood is also there)

[moonlunee]

shhh, he's having the most fatherly dreams

( I lost the original post where this is based on ㅜㅜ )

DO NOT tag this as a ship

[teaforthetilllerman]

[damian-lil-babybat]

'Dead Poets Society' gang

Headcanon that these four drop poetry and literature quotes on their conversations unprompted.

Jason 'English-major-I-only-visit-the-manor-for-the-library' Todd-Wayne

Damian 'I-master-liberal-arts-unlike-you-plebs-PHD-holder' al Ghul-Wayne

Cassandra 'I-learn-English-thru-Shakespeare-as-god-intended' Cain-Wayne

Duke 'only-title-holder-of-vigilante-poet-and-will-cuss-you-just-as-poetically' Thomas-(future) Wayne

[frostedpuffs]

does anyone else ever feel like they never Fit In fandom spaces like. sure i create stuff SOMETIMES but i feel like such an outsider in the fandom and idk why asdkfsakdf

[knight-of-aether]

"He sits there for another two hours, with Legend cradled tightly in his arms, the lantern glowing in his grasp, a small island of warmth and light in the cold darkness. With nothing but his memories, and the slow, quiet draw of Legend’s breath, to keep him company."

First time sharing my Linked Universe fanart here, after lurking in the fandom for years - I was emboldened to do so by @kikker-oma 's lovely Fan Joy July event. This illustration is for Clearing the Air, a story by Sinnatious which has embedded itself deep into my psyche and refuses to leave. It's genuinely great writing - go read it if you haven't and enjoy heavy angst, wilderness survival, and old men being absolutely, perfectly, 100% fine, thank you very much.

[phoenixcatch7]

Dp x dc twin au where Danny and Damian were in fact conjoined/siamese twins, but the most dangerous type - one head, two bodies.

Their early removal from talia being because their shape would not have allowed for natural birth, they were written off but talia begged for the chance to send them off in the lazarus pit.

By some bizarre miracle, before she turned to leave, two small bodies bobbed to the surface - identical in every way, except for the eyes. The previous blue eyes now split in two, one left, one right, and the new eyes, pit created, a bright green.

She took her child, her two children, and together, they survived.

Being removed prematurely, their early years were tough, but soon they blossomed into promising heirs for the league. In sync with every step, the closest of brothers, the league was certain the old fairy tale of twins being telepathic had been granted by the pit that separated them, the remnants of being born as one mind, one brain, one skull.

But then Danny had to flee, and leave his other half behind. Stretched by distance for the first time, the bond grew thin and stretched, and Damian grieved his brother as dead. When he started being sent on public missions, he hid his distinctive heterochromia, choosing the green in memory of the pit that had given him and his brother life.

Danny, hiding his pit aura in the ocean's worth that was Amity park, took to blue, the colour that he and Damian were born with.

Damian moves to Gotham, and continues to mourn his brother as dead, right until one day when he is twelve, when he learns what the death of your other half truly feels like.

-

Their reunion is a thing of family legend. Violence runs hot in both bloodlines, ghosts are highly emotional and prone to fighting a the drop of a hat for bonding, playing, testing, every reason under the green sun. Their training and play often consisted of friendly spars, competitive spars, furious spars, venting spars. Both have been exposed to unhealthy amounts of ecto since before their birth.

There is a long, long minute of staring, before they rip themselves away and lunge at each other like wolves.

The bat family are horrified by their brutally efficient youngest suddenly barreling towards a clone (?) and trying to claw his throat open with his bare hands while openly sobbing.

It ends with them wrapped around each other crying into the others shoulder as their minds finally meet again and relax from the painful stretch for the first time in years.

But nobody else has any idea what to do.

[suntails]

it was a nightmare

comm for my friend dove's fic!! u can find it here, DEF worth a read!!

[fiendishartist2]

guy who doesnt dance x guy who will drag you onto the dance floor

[theminecraftbee]

you know the excellent quadruple life fan comic has me thinking about double life again. and MAN. thinking about the soul bonds mechanically. like, before I get into my meta-analysis it’s worth noting that non-diagetically the soulbond mechanic being based on how many hearts someone has is basically the only way I can think to do it in minecraft that’s sensible, but diagetically…

so do you ever think about how the marker of what made people soulmates in double life was pain?

like, soulmates share injuries/pain! that’s the whole premise! like, to the point that day one people were making up elaborate ways to hurt themselves so they could test for their soulmates! you met your (very romantic-coded) partner and confirmed they were the person you were looking for by hitting each other, generally!

being a soulmate in the double life universe isn’t about being compatible, it’s about literally sharing pain, and it’s just… I think about how for some pairs, they share the burden between each other, and it brings them closer. for some pairs, though, the only way they know how to communicate is by hurting one another. and the thing is, this isn’t just a literal thing. like, mechanically, the thing soulmates do is share pain and communicate with pain, but metaphorically, can you say desert duo doesn’t have trouble communicating because half of how they know how to exist is either sharing in pain or causing it for each other? can you say that ranchers’ strength wasn’t a pair of people who understood each other’s pain and desperation to be better than they’ve been before? can you say that divorce quartet isn’t, well—

so pearl wins after scott hurts them one last time don’t you ever think about that,

[thefreakandthehair]

you could be bad, but I wanna find out.

written for @steddiemicrofic ‘guard’ | wc: 532 | rated: mature | tags: goalie!Steve Harrington, fan!Eddie Munson, alternate universe- no upside down, different first meeting, meet ugly (but it's still cute), bars, alcohol mention, description of sexual activity, humor, big mouth!Eddie Munson, long-suffering besties Gareth and Jeff

The bar is buzzing with excited fans, humming with an energy that makes Eddie feel looser and lighter than the Budweiser ever could. Surrounded by a sea of black and red jerseys that line the long, narrow bar, Jeff and Gareth laugh and shake their heads. 

Eddie hasn’t stopped rambling since the Blackhawks won, and he has no intentions of stopping anytime soon. 

Not after a win like that— a shutout win that tore the roof off of United Center. 

And certainly not after the Blackhawks goalie guarded the net like it was his treasure and he, its dragon. 

Sure, it helps that Steve Harrington is definitely the most beautiful man to ever grace an ice rink, but it’s the competence that gets him. Watching Harrington bend and stretch his limbs into pretzel-like shapes, coming up with the puck and an unhinged grin, really gets his motor running.

“I mean, did you see him?” Eddie asks for maybe the tenth time since sitting at the shiny, shellacked bar. “Jeff, you get it, right? You see what I’m seeing, right?” 

“I see a guy who’s really great at his job, and I see another guy who sounds insane. Guess which one you are?” Jeff snorts into his beer and takes a sip. 

“Gareth, buddy, surely you can understand where I’m coming from. Remember the first time you saw Lars Ulrich?” Eddie turns, knocking his shoulder against Gareth’s. 

“Duh, dude,” Gareth leans forward and yells in response, the bar erupting into cheers and more drunken celebrations. “The difference is that I wanted to be Lars Ulrich. You want to fuck Steve Harrington.” 

Eddie clutches his chest in feigned offense and feels himself being pushed against the bar as the building fills up with what must be the final wave of fans leaving the stadium. The bartender nods behind him with a knowing smile and passes a draft beer over Eddie’s shoulder into a large, veiny hand. 

“Okay, fine,” Eddie concedes, resting his own drink on the bar. “You’re right. The way I would fuck Steve Harrington is obscene. I’d let him violate whatever obscure, unknown Bible Belt laws he wanted. He's a ride I wouldn't survive. The wheels would come right off.”

“Uh, Eddie?” Jeff tries to interrupt but Eddie’s having none of it. 

“Nope, I’m not done. That split save? The way he guarded his crease? And for a fucking 36-save shutout? Holy shit.”

“Ed—” Gareth tries but Eddie steamrolls him, too. 

“What is it you call it, Gare? A competency kink? Well, sure. Fine. Call it what you want, but he’s so good at what he does. I need him in a way that would disappoint my grandmother, and not just because she was homophobic."

A hand— the same hand that had reached over him to grab the glass just a few minutes ago— pats him on the shoulder and when Eddie turns around to see who the fuck is touching him, he nearly falls off of the wobbly stool.

Steve Harrington grins, a drink in one hand and the other still resting on Eddie’s frozen frame. 

“I think your grandmother would’ve liked me,” he shrugs. “I have a way with families.” 

[non-un-topo]

To the next adventure...

Image description and details under cut

I.D.

[A drawing of Nicky, Joe, Quynh, and Andy from The Old Guard. They are all in profile, walking in a straight line facing the sun. They are dressed in medieval clothing and armour, and each carry their own weapons and bags. Nicky has his sword, a crossbow, a quiver of bolts, a dagger at his belt and another strapped to his ankle. Joe is holding his sword, a bag, and a coin purse. Quynh's bow is over her back, and her quiver is at her hip. Two daggers are strapped to her belt, one of them matching Nicky's. Andy is holding her axe, two bags, and a dagger. They each have serene expressions and closed eyes, as if they're not in a hurry. In the background, the seasons change from winter to spring, summer, fall. There is an old tree behind them, and its branches change with the seasons.]