#sorta yk

[humanteethmarksonhumanbone]

i swear if it wasn't for the fact that every single thing on this planet make me nauseous

[taruruchi]

Random heartshackle, adeuce and yuu, thingy I came up with over a week ago, here u go !!

Sorries if they don't type how they seem like they would, I'm so bad at coming up w stuff like that 😭

[beetlbi]

Little drawing for How to Cat Burlgar a family by DarkLordOfAwesomeness :) link will be in the rbs, go read it!! It’s so cute!! unshaded under the cut

[xx-female]

not a day goes by without me wishing i could save my mother. all the other women in my family, too, but especially my mother.

[scribbyizhere]

does anybody feel Zesty abt ldr Sun?? oh hey yeah not me pffft nah. spirals

love death and rollerskates by @spadillelicious

[your-unfriendlyghost]

No Class

 Aka making Stevepop fight

this fic comes from the h/c I have that Steve’s not really close to anyone at school except Soda and Evie, so when Soda drops out, Steve gets frustrated. I’ll cross post this to Ao3 later I think.

All the Stevepop here is platonic technically but they’ve definitely got…something goin on idk- any way you slice it they’re each other’s person ok? (This is also pre-meeting Evie, that’s why she’s not mentioned lol.)

(edit- wait no i did mention her apparently?? Idk I guess it isn’t pre-Evie??)

There’s also a little inspo here from this post by @dallasgallant - they posted it ages ago but yk I think abt it still lol. I dunno that I really did the concept justice here, as I don’t go….deep into it or anything, but it’s definitely present

-

“You can’t drop outta high school, man,” Steve says weakly. “You…you can’t.”

  Soda sighs, tilting his DX cap down over his face. “Stevie…” he murmurs, voice soft and pleading. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  Steve shakes his head. He can’t wrap his mind around this. Soda can’t- he can’t just leave!

  “God, I dunno, take some of my shifts? Or make Ponyboy get a job?!” Steve says, running a hand down his face. “He’s thirteen, don’t shelter him like that-”

  “Jesus,” Soda mutters, as if there’s something obviously wrong with that that Steve isn't getting.

  “What?!” Steve snaps.

  Soda gives him a dull-eyed stare. “C’mon, he ain’t sheltered.”

  Steve scoffs. “Yeah, right- I’ve seen him cryin’ like a girl, and y’all just let him be a wimp. He's sheltered as hell. But Soda that ain’t the point-”

  Soda’s jaw clenches. “Aw, watch it, man.”

  “No! No, you can’t just leave, I won’t- you can’t- Oh, c’mon, we just have a year left- I mean, believe it or not, Ponyboy can pick up some slack ‘round here too-”

  Now Soda’s eyes flash, and he audibly snorts. “Shut it, you ain’t really one to accuse anyone of bein’ sheltered, Randle.”

  Steve freezes. “The hell does that mean?!”

  Soda shakes his head. “Nup- I shouldn’ta said that. Never mind,” he sighs. 

  “No! No, you tell me what ya mean!” Steve says, painfully aware of how shrill he sounds.

  “Naw. I shouldn’ta opened my damn mouth’. Just…just forget it, Stevie,” Soda insists.

  “Tell me what you mean, man, you said it, you gotta explain it!” Steve argues.

  “No! I don’t wanna talk about this right now, man!”

  “Spell it out for me, why don��t ya?!” Steve says, getting up in Soda’s face now. “‘Cos as far as I know, gettin’ kicked outta my own house all the time sure ain’t sheltered!”

  Soda shoves him back a bit, gently. “Jesus, I never said you was sheltered, I just said that Pony ain’t!”

  “No, no, I heard ya, don’t you go lyin’ to me now, Curtis,” Steve hisses.

  “Fine, ya really wanna know?!” Soda growls. “All I’m sayin’ is that you’re the only grease I know who’s got a three-story house, whose papa still makes good money, and who always has a wallet fulla cash! Yeah your ol’ man ain’t so great, but ya always have new clothes an’ shit-”

  “AIN’T SO GREAT?!” Steve yells, voice booming. “I SLEEP AT YOU AND DAL’S PLACES HALF THE TIME!”

  Soda flinches. “I know! That’s why I took it back! All I’m sayin’ is that you got opportunities that me or Pony’d kill for, and I dunno if ya even know it- but I know you ain’t sheltered, shit, man, I know it, okay?”

  Steve can barely hear him over the angry hot buzzing in his head. Opportunities?! Yeah right, what opportunities?! And the third floor ain't even a third floor, it’s just a damn attic room that Steve moved into for space! Ponyboy’s never been struck by his papa- and sure, Steve hasn’t either, least not after the age of five, but he’s been shoved hard which ain’t so different! Mr. Curtis never looked at Pony with a look burning in his eyes like he hated him. Mr. Curtis never looked at Pony with horror, realizing he’d hurt his son- Mr. Curtis never said GET OUT, because he couldn’t resist hurting him and needed him gone- 

  “Soda-” Steve says, voice high and loud, louder than he means it to be, “fuck-” 

  Soda looks at him, eyes wide, and Steve realizes he’s grabbed the front of Soda’s shirt.

  He huffs and lets go, stepping back and shoving his hands into his pockets.

  “I’m goin’ to Dally’s,” he grunts, slinging on his leather jacket. “Don’t wait up.”

  Soda, now tired again, says “Didn’t plan on it.”

  “...Good,” says Steve as he shoves the door open, because he can’t think of anything tougher to say. 

  “Steve?” Soda says, flatly.

  For a second, Steve thinks he’s gonna apologize, because Soda always caves first. He glances over his shoulder at him. “What?”

  “Don’t talk about my brother like that,” Soda says, voice low.

  “Yeah? Well maybe you shouldn’t be so sensitive,” Steve bites back. He slams the door.

  Boy, he wishes Soda had just apologized.

-

  On the drive to Dally’s, Steve feels sick. His stomach twists as he replays the conversation in his head.

  Who is he to call Soda sensitive? Steve’s as sensitive as they come. Well, not sensitive, he’s no Ponyboy. Reactive, maybe. 

  But then again- what was Soda on about?! Dropping outta school?! Just to coddle the damn kid?! Steve swallows feverishly at the thought of school without Soda. 

  What about him?! Doesn’t Soda care? It ain’t hard to work at thirteen, Steve started at sixteen but he knows plenty of guys who started younger- Why should Soda bear the burden of leaving school? Why does Ponyboy get to stay?! Sure he’s leavin’ junior high a year early, but he can do school and work at the same time, can’t he?!

  Why’s Soda always gotta sacrifice himself for a spoiled little kid?

  Steve turns a corner too fast and gets honked at. Dammit. He rolls his eyes.

  Doesn’t Soda care about the fact that Steve’s gotta stay in school, and he can’t do that without Soda?!

  And yeah, the Curtises are low on funds, and yeah, Steve isn’t, but he ain’t a Soc either! He doesn’t- he doesn’t buy new clothes all the time- well, sure he has three leather jackets, but he got those for cheap at the charity store! 

  Plus, it was with money I earned from sleepin’ in the lot- Pony’s never had to sleep in the lot, Steve thinks madly. Neither has Soda- he just don’t get it…

  Steve’s not even sure who he’s fixin to complain to about it now. After all, if Soda don’t get it, no one else will.

  But Dal works. Two-Bit too, probably.

-

  Sometimes at night Soda paces. Back and forth, back and forth, in awkward dizzying figure eights. He flicks on the stove and walks to the icebox, turns around and walks back to the threshold where the kitchen meets the living room, and walks to the icebox again. It’s been a day since his argument with Steve.

  Two-Bit’s watching some show on the TV, maybe the Twilight Zone, although Soda’s not rightly sure. Two glances at Soda’s pacing, but doesn’t question it- maybe he would have, normally, but he’s half asleep as is, and besides, he’s probably seen this display plenty before anyhow.

  “Did you just turn the stove in with nothing on it?” Two-Bit asks instead, blinking.

  “Huh? Oh,” Soda says. He puts the kettle on the fire. “Oops.”

  “You gon’ remember to turn it off, ya airhead?” Two-Bit grins.

  Soda grins back, a little sheepishly. If the comment had been from anyone else, it woulda stung. But Two-Bit gets it. He knows the score. After all, he’s a month away from eighteen, yet he’s in the same grade as Soda.

  “You gon’ remind me?” Soda replies, cocking his eyebrow.

  Two snorts. “Naw- leave that to me, an’ you’ll end up with your whole damn house burned down.”

  “Aw, well, that’s just as likely if it’s left to me- I mean, I’m the dumb one, ain’t I?” Soda laughs, but he must’ve done a pretty lousy job at hiding the hollowness in it, ‘cos Two-Bit’s eyes soften.

  “No you ain’t,” Two-Bit sighs, tilting his head back.

  “Sure I am,” Soda spits. “Y’know, sometimes I gotta ask Ponyboy for help on my goddamn homework- you know that, right?” he says, whirling around and walking back to the sink, and then the icebox.

  Two-Bit’s shoulders slump. “Stevie was sayin’ to me and Dally the other night that you was fixin’ to dropout.”

  Soda stiffens. “He did?!”

  “Sorta thought he was just bein’ dramatic at the time, you know how he is…but I reckon he wasn’t after all, huh?” Two says pointedly. Two knows he’s right- when it comes to real knowledge, Two-Bit’s only wrong when it’s funny. He just wants to hear Soda admit it.

  Soda clamps his jaw shut. “That ain’t fair. Ain’t none of his goddamn business. Ain’t yours, neither.”

  “Okay, sure, I reckon that’s a fair assessment,” Two-Bit says easily. “You ain’t gotta tell me nothin’. …You will though, won’tcha.” He says it like a statement, and cocks his eyebrow.

  Soda scowls and opens the cupboard, getting out a box of cereal. “I ain’t got nothin’ to say,” he says, shoving a handful of cocoa pebbles into his mouth to prove he really doesn’t.

  “Right, you don’t,” Two-Bit says sarcastically.

  “I just don’t get what Sth-teve is so hung up ‘bout!” Soda lisps through the mouthful of cereal.

  Two-Bit smirks, like ah there it is.

  “Sthut up,” Soda groans.

  “Hey hey, my lips are locked, bub,” Two-Bit says innocently.

  “I mean Chrisht-” Soda pauses and swallows the last of the cereal- “he knows I ain't bright, what’s goin’ to school even doin’ for me?! It’s just a waste of time that I oughta spend makin’ money, makin’ myself useful! It ain’t like it’s some damn tragedy, I ain’t Darry!”

  “Hey, no one is,” Two-Bit says, patting Soda’s shoulder.

  “You know what I mean- I mean, I ain’t…I ain’t got no…what’s the word? For when ya could be somethin’...polenta?”

  “Potential, I reckon,” Two-Bit says. “I only know that ‘cause of how often Ma says I’m wastin’ it,” he adds hastily.

  “Yeah, well, I ain’t got none to waste,” Soda sighs. “I ain’t a sport, I ain’t a brain, and the only classes I’m passin’ are gym and shop. What the hell is the point? Steve oughta know that!”

  “Steve oughta know a lotta things he don’t know,” Two-Bit says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Y’know?”

  Soda blinks. “...Maybe I’m slow, but…ya lost me.”

  Two shrugs. “Well, Stevie-boy ain’t got the same problems as you and me, that’s all.”

  “Right, ‘cos he has more money.”

  “Well, kinda, but I mean he ain’t got no one he’s…lookin’ out for the way we do. He’s just got himself and his folks.”   “Just his dad, really. His mama ain’t been home from the hospital since we were like…fourteen,” Soda corrects on instinct.

  “See?”

  “So? He still can use his heart a bit, can’t he?” Soda protests. 

  “Sure. But when have we ever known him to?”

  Soda wants to protest, ‘cos that isn’t true, not exactly. When Mom and Dad died, it was Steve who held him, who didn’t need him to keep it together. It was Steve who signed up with him for double shifts on the weekends, because Soda needed the money but hated working alone. Steve watches out for Evie, too- when she needs a place to stay, to get away from her stepfather and her mom, she hides out at his place. 

  But Steve’s always disliked Ponyboy. Maybe Two’s right. Maybe Steve just can’t get it.

  But it isn’t like Steve hates the kid, either, right? He just cares more for Soda’s company than he cares about Pony’s grades.

  Soda chews his lip. It isn’t like he’s not sad to be missing out on time with Steve, either. Sitting in class, tossing notes at Steve, sneaking off campus with Steve, wrestling Steve in PE… They’re like the highlight of his school experience. 

  But he’s sixteen now. And unless he plans on getting back into riding rodeos any time soon, his future’s just gas stations, and maybe the army if he gets bored of gas stations. There’s just no point in putting it off if it’s coming either way.

  So yeah, he’ll miss Steve, but Steve’ll just have to deal…right?

  “He just keeps sayin’ it isn’t fair, ‘cos I reckon he’ll miss me,” Soda mutters.

  “Well it ain’t like you’re abandonin’ him,” Two-Bit shrugs. “He’s bein’ dramatic.”

  “He is dramatic,” Soda sighs. Steve’s always been dramatic. 

  But Soda…kinda gets it.

  Steve’s a pretty lonely guy. He’s got Soda, sometimes Two-Bit, sometimes Dally. And he’s got his old man, and his ma, but only when she’s conscious enough to talk.

  Soda puts the cereal box away. “Hey Two, tell Darry I’m at Steve’s place, yeah?”

  Two-Bit smiles faintly. “What’re ya gonna say?”

  “I’ll figure that out when I get there.”

-

  “Hey Steve, come on a walk with me?” Soda says. He’s breathless and red-faced, like he ran here, and is cupping his hands ‘round his mouth to yell up from the backyard.

  He’s gotta do that, ‘cos my room’s on the third floor, Steve notes miserably. He really is the only greaser he knows who lives in a house with three stories. 

  He wants to fly out the window and throw his arms around Soda. Sure, Soda’s wrong, but still…

  He resists that urge though, and instead, he leans out the window and says “I’ll meet ya downstairs.”

  “Tuff.”

  Outside, Soda gives him a little smile. “The uh…weather’s nice, huh?”

  “It’s May,” Steve says. He cringes. He didn’t mean to sound smart-mouthed.

  “Yeah,” Soda says, scrunching his nose. “I guess.”

  “I ain’t…I ain’t a Soc, Soda,” Steve mutters. Sure his old man has a good job and a college degree. They still live on the East Side. Steve’s still never gonna get outta Tulsa.

  Soda nods. “I know that, Stevie. I shouldn’t have said that to ya. I’m not sorry for it though.”

  Steve scowls. “Then what’re ya here for?”

  “To take a walk with my best buddy,” Soda answers, tossing an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “C’mon.”

  He leads them down the street, out towards the empty lot. 

  “I don’t like school, Steve,” Soda says, running his hand along a chain link fence. “You know that.”

  “No one does,” Steve mumbles. “That’s why they gotta force ya.”

  “Pony does,” Soda says, nudging Steve’s shoulder. “Pony digs school pretty okay.”

  “…I guess.”

  “And y’know, he’s pretty damn good at it, too. Gets all As n’ all.”

  “Except in math,” Steve corrects. Ponyboy definitely got a B- in math last semester.

  “Except in math,” Soda says, smiling. “But the point is, he’s got somethin’ special. He’s got a brain. And he’s gonna get outta this town someday.”

  “Yeah, he’s a real Einstein, huh,” Steve grunts, a stab of irritation in his gut. All hail Ponyboy, child genius, better than downtown hoods like Steve and Soda. “We get it.”

  “C’mon, I gotta be able to support that, y’know?” Soda says, ruffling Steve’s hair. 

  Steve swallows. Fine. Sure. He gets it. He does.

  “But that don’t mean I don’t wanna be ‘round you, you dig?” Soda says.

  Steve’s breath hitches. “Oh- Soda, ‘course I know that,” he says, although he’s not rightly sure he did a second ago.

  “Okay. Fine,” Soda says, amusedly. “But you get it, right? I mean, you’re the only thing I’m gonna miss about that damn school building, savvy?”

  Steve smiles. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Just ‘cos we ain’t gonna have class together don’t mean we’re gonna not…stick together, okay?”

  “It’ll be different,” Steve says, maybe just to be stubborn.

  “Yeah, but not really. You’ll have Two and Dal and Johnny.”

  “Not really. They got other buddies. And it ain’t the same.”

  “Of course it ain’t. Ain’t no one in the world who I like the way I like ya, Stevie. You’re special, and I reckon I’m special to you in the same way, huh?”

  Steve nods, looking at the cracks in the cement under his shoes. 

  “You’re my best friend, Sodapop,” he murmurs. He’s also Steve’s only real friend.

  “You remember how when Dal showed up, how you got all angry?” Soda says, squeezing Steve’s shoulder.

  Steve shrugs, even though he remembers it perfectly. 

  “Yeah, you acted like I was replacin’ ya or something,” Soda grins.

  “You both liked horses. I felt all left out and whatever. Sue me, I was eleven,” Steve says, flushing a bit. 

  “Well I stuck by ya anyhow, even though you’re scared of horses and we all know it.”

  “I’m cautious ‘round horses, not scared,” Steve protests, smiling a little.

  “Sure ya are,” Soda humors him. “The point I’m gettin’ at though is that it was different after Dal met us. Things were different. But I was still me, and you were still you, y’know?”

  Steve nods. “Yeah. I guess,” he says, leaning his head into Soda’s shoulder.

  “So you ain’t mad that I’m droppin’ out then, yeah?” Soda says softly.

  Steve sighs. He is. It’s illogical and unfair, but he’s a little mad still. He lets that throb and die though, in the back of his mind. 

  “I just…I’m gonna miss ya,” Steve says.

  “I’m gonna miss ya too. But we’ve always got work, and the weekends, and hell Stevie, it’s nearly summer, so you ain’t gonna have to worry ‘til September. And then after that, you’ll graduate and we can be free to hang whenever we want for the rest of time.”

  “I wanna hang with ya for the rest of time,” Steve says, so quietly he almost can’t hear himself.

  “Good,” Soda grins. “Me too.”

[kkolg]

you know while I love making nuzi art and don’t plan to stop

I get a little sad when a silly comic of them blows up while a fully rendered piece of an oc goes under the radar

I mean that’s kinda just how the internet works and I don’t hate it or anything

It’s just a little disappointing

[lynnlyrae]

I was talking about Arcane finale with a friend and joked that Isha didn’t die, but went to past because of hexcore magic, grew up, became friends with two guys who kinda reminded her of her previous adoptive family… in this new life she became known as… Felicia……

[random-twst-things]

Crowley: Perfect! Just the person I was looking for!

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: 😐

Crowley: I acquire some assistance for an accident made in-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Hey Grimm?

Grimm: What?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ya know what sounds really good to eat right now?

Grimm: Tuna?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: no, roasted crow

Crowley: ...

Grimm: Roasted crow? Where ya gonna get a crow from?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Oh, don't worry, I know where we can find one veeerrryyy near

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, turning to look at Crowley with a smile: Reeaaally close 😀

Crowley: OH! WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT! It would seem the accident was mysteriously cleaned! Isn't that great? I must leave now! BYEEEE!!

Crowley, running away:

[truefandemonium]

Welp I’m back and so is Bill

Please enjoy the drabble <3

a mind ensnared pt.2

a billstill ficlet

(inspired by the AU by @jellynut)

TW: self harm

…

It hurt like hell. And Stanley knew hell.

Hell was the lifetime he spent wishing he hadn’t hurt Ford. The lifetime he wasted running from the family he should have made amends with.

The lifetime he could no longer recall most of.

Ford was easing him back into reconnecting with his past— both of theirs. He shared stories they’d experienced as kids in Jersey… the good times they’d shared in high school… moments in between where they didn’t hate each other’s guts.

But it hurt.

Stan pressed his palms against his eyes with a low groan. “I’m sicka this.”

“Stanley, we can stop,” Ford said calmly. “This is for you, remember.”

“Remember. Right,” Stan scoffed. His attitude had plummeted in the last half hour since his headache had grown from a dull ache to a sharp throbbing in his right temple.

Ford rolled his eyes, shutting the scrapbook and shoving it back into the small shelf inside the interior of the boat. The name of the author was scrawled in glitter gel pen on the inside: MABLE PINES. “We can revisit it later,” Ford said, keeping his tone level.

Stan hated him for always being reasonable and kind despite his own short temper. Who gave him the right to be so forgiving?

Sure as blue skies wasn’t me! If anything, I helped him find his fiery side— Ol’ Fordsy never would have hurt you before I came along…

Ford never hurt me. This was never his fault, no matter how much I want to believe it was. Stan shifted to look at his feet, hiding his gaze. He didn’t know if Ford could see it; the way his eyes changed when Bill spoke. Maybe no one could see it… but Stan felt it. It clawed at the back of his brain like long tendrils of flame, licking until they could reach the glassy surface of his eyes, where they’d stare out.

Oh really?

Stan could practically see that damned Triangle grinning now.

Remember this?

Fire. This time, not just behind his eyes. It ate away at the flesh of his back, just at his wing, where the deep burn scar remained. Lately, Stan would run his fingers over the grooves in his flesh, as if he could pry the memory out of his skin, desperate to recall the moment in which he gained the scar.

But now he didn’t need anything to evoke it. It all came back like a tidal wave, floodgates opened and ready to drown him in the deep waters of his own mind.

Stan pushed himself up from the table, his chair clattering to the floor behind him as he reeled. The pain made him dizzy, and Ford’s brow furrowed deep as he looked up at him in concern.

“Alright, Stanley?”

“Headache,” Stan barked.

So worried for you. How sweet. Brotherly love is such a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Why don’t you go ahead and ask Sixer about that scar, Mystery Man?

Flashes of memory threatened to knock Stan to the floor. The deep pain of the burn on his back. The cold of the earth as he fell to his side in agony. A distant cry of, “Stanley… I’m so sorry…”

But why? Why had Ford burned him? Why had they been fighting at all?

ASK HIM.

“Stanley, are you sure you’re alright?” Ford stood, his chair creaking as he pushed it back and stepped around the table toward his brother. “You look—”

“I’m fine!” Stan snapped, grabbing Ford’s collar and holding him at arm’s length to stop him from getting closer. Stan looked up and glared into the soft eyes staring back, his grip tightening.

You’ll never know if you don’t ASK.

“I don’t need to,” Stan whispered, the words falling from his lips against his will.

Ford’s eyes flashed fearfully. “What?”

Panic suddenly gripped Stanley— the man shoved his brother back and growled, “I said I don’t need you. This stupid memory thing isn’t helping me— and neither are you.”

“Stanley, you don’t need to—” Ford lifted his hand and Stan stepped back again.

“Just leave it alone! Leave me alone, and stop trying to help,” Stan ground out, clenching his fists at his sides and pivoting to leave the underbelly of the ship.

Ford yelled something else as Stan left, but he didn’t turn around. The screaming inside his head was too loud to think— to breathe.

On a fishing boat in the middle of the ocean, there weren't exactly many places to isolate oneself. Still, Stan managed to find solace in the crow’s nest. Cold wind buffeted his hair as he tried and failed to catch his breath, chest hammering as Bill raked at the inside of Stan’s skull.

YOU IDIOT

NOW YOU’LL NEVER KNOW WHY FORD GAVE YOU THAT SCAR— YOU’LL NEVER REMEMBER WHAT YOU SAID TO HIM TO MAKE HIM SNAP—

“Shut up, shut up,” Stan seethed, his hands coming up to frame his head, closing his eyes. “I don’t want to know, you stupid triangle. I don’t want to remember…” Stan shook his head, voice dissolving into a whimper. “I don’t want to remember him at all.”

It was the thing that was killing him; the memory of how he’d betrayed Ford at every turn, destroyed his chance at happiness. And Bill wouldn’t stop reminding him of all of it.

“I just wanna forget everything,” Stan hissed into the wind, the breeze taking his words and tossing them to the sea. “Just for a minute…”

For the first time in a long time, there was silence. And then,

I can make that happen.

All at once, Stan felt his body heat. Not the fiery pain of the past, but a gentle warmth like the rays of the sun beating down on him. He opened his eyes and inhaled a sharp, small gasp.

He was sitting in the crow’s nest of the original Stan ‘O’ War on Glass Shard Beach, the hot summer sun baking the wooden boat as it sat on the shore. Stan stood cautiously, raking his eyes over his surroundings.

He was looking for something. Some one. Yet he couldn’t manage to remember who. The memory felt blurry in his mind, like a permanent marker had been scrawled across the image— the thick, choking fumes of the ink making Stan’s vision cloudy and head swim.

And yet he welcomed it. The sensation of not remembering… it was as peaceful as it was oddly painful.

But something was tugging him— calling him. Stan pushed off from the wooden nest and crawled down the rickety wooden slats that served as steps to the main deck, then jumped down to reach the shore.

Normally a leap like that would knock him to his knees— and it almost did— but the pain in his joints seemed to have vanished. He felt like… like a kid again.

A sudden breath of excited air filled Stanley’s lungs as he straightened and examined the terrain. Sure enough, everything was as it was in his childhood. Every stone, every tree— every glass shard.

Except the presence of that unknown entity clawing at the inside of Stan’s mind.

As he wandered the beach, Stan’s anxiety grew, soon overwhelming the joy he’d felt at being back home. Until he saw it.

Saw him.

A faceless figure he knew so well. Part of him knew, anyway.

No name would lend itself to Stan as he raced forward, one hand extended into the air in greeting.

The faceless man sat placidly on a near broken down swing set, rocking forward and back in gentle motions.

Stan’s heart pounded as he got a good look at his face. Or rather, the emptiness that was there. His hands, too— his whole body seemed to flicker with obscuring yellow light. Light that shone so brightly Stan had to back up several steps.

But then it dimmed, and somehow, that was so much worse.

Before Stan stood a stranger. A stranger he’d grown up with, a stranger he loved. A stranger who had done so much for him and he did nothing in return.

“Hey, uh—” Stan started, his eyes trying to focus on the ever changing clawed out space that the man should reside in. “Who are you? This place is— this is Jersey, isn’t it?”

The stranger turned, his face a shroud of scribbled yellow that flickered with his movement.

Then, a sharp, loud, incessant static began to pour from him. No words, just agitated sounds in a garbled mess.

The sounds welled until Stan couldn’t take it anymore. He slammed his hands over his ears and cried, “I’m looking for—”

And then he stopped. Because… who was he looking for? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember.

You wanted to forget. A grinning, gleaming flash of yellow appeared beside Stan. The single eye of the floating angular shape glinted with malice. So now he’s gone. Enjoy the spotlight, Stanley.

No, no, no no no no. Who did he forget? Who had Bill taken from him? And just when he was starting to remember—

But remember what? Even now, the memories were starting to fade. The image of the beach around him started to feel fuzzy in Stan’s mind. Everything but the glimmering shards of sun soaked glass that protruded from every corner of the beach.

The pain in Stan’s head, too, was beginning to grow. The aching that came with trying to uncover lost memories, the splintering sensation as the static noise penetrated his skull.

The sadness he felt when he looked into the space of the stranger’s face where his eyes should be.

The sound of glass shattering seemed to break him. Scrambling through the warm sand below his feet, Stan searched until he frantically pulled a shard of sharpened glass from the dirt.

Without hesitation, he lunged for the stranger, pressing the glass hard against his obscured throat. Stan felt the soft, kind hands of this unseeable man land on his shoulders. Confused. Comforting.

“Who are you?” Stan wailed. “I’m looking for someone! I— I can’t do this without him…”

Heaving for air, breath coming in short bursts as his heart hammered in his chest, Stan bleakly lifted the glass to his face and peered at it, retreating from the stranger.

Back then, he had terrible eyesight. He just never told anyone. He didn’t get glasses until he was in his late thirties and even then he hardly wore them. He didn’t feel like he deserved them. But his— someone— had loaned their own to Stanley. As a child, he borrowed someone’s glasses. Someone he looked up to and treasured and—

Fuck, the pain of forgetting was too much. It was like fire burning down the carefully crafted buildings inside his head. And the smoke was filling up his skull.

Maybe he could relieve the pressure. Clear the smoke and put the fire out.

Remember.

Ever so carefully, Stan placed the point of the glass shard against his right temple, and pressed. The pain was nothing compared to the sounds of agony his own brain was creating in this moment. The glass pierced his skin, drawing dark blood as Stan dragged the edge from his temple toward his eye.

Maybe he’d see better with just one eye.

STANLEY.

A horrible sound rang out. A mix of Bill’s voice and… someone else. As the rest of Jersey fell away, only the figure of the stranger remained: grabbing Stan’s shoulders and shaking him hard.

All at once, Stan’s eyes flew open. He was huddled on the floor of the ship, down below, one eye filling rapidly with blood from the long slice along the side of his head. Hand planted on the ground before him as he gasped and dropped the glass from his other.

“Stanley!”

That voice. Stan spun his body, revelling in the feeling of a familiar six fingered grasp on his shoulders.

And his own face staring back at him. For the first time in a long time, Stanley couldn’t get the words out. Until finally, “Stanford.”

Ford grabbed his brother and yanked him into a tight hug, his breathing frantic and horrified. “Stanley— oh for God’s sake, Stanley— I thought you were— it was like he had— but your eyes— oh thank goodness—” Ford’s rambling soothed Stanley.

His brother. He’d been looking for his brother all this time. And Bill had taken him.

Stan pulled away from the hug and slammed his fists into his brother’s chest, startling him into a sharp gasp. “Stanley, what are you—” he started, wondering and fearful.

The memories came back, finally, finally. The fight. That terrible moment when everything changed.

“You left me behind, you jerk! It was supposed to be us forever.”

And then the ever present searing pain in the flesh of Stanley’s right shoulder. Ford didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean any of it.

But he’d left him. And now he was back.

Stan rasped out, “Don’t ever leave me.”

“You ruined my life.”

Ford’s brows knitted over his eyes. “Stanley, you’re my brother,” he said gently. “We’re in this together.”

“You ruined your own life.”

“Forever,” Stan wheezed. Even through the dripping blood, and slowly darkening vision, Ford’s face was so clear now.

And Stan decided he would take the pain of remembering over the hell of forgetting. Always.

Forever.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Date Night Blues

—

Time written- 7:48 p.m.

Dick Grayson/fem!reader fluff

—

The sun slowly dies behind dreary, shadowy clouds before you pull your bedroom curtains closed, returning to your task at hand at folding your still warm laundry, munching on crunchy green grapes in between your work, mainly consisting of passive aggressively folding laundry.

To say you were mildly annoyed with a most gracious understatement.

Irritated. Aggravated. Distressed.

Fed up.

Majorly annoyed sounded much better than the very first option.

You would say you were mentally exhausted from the unfortunate routines of planning dates with vigilantes who always got called in at the worst moments. Talk about a crazy schedule.

Your days off remained rather dull without him, leaving you to do your daily chores or run errands on your own on some days. You thought vigilantes usually do their crime fighting at night. Sometimes, that just wasn’t the case in Blüdhaven.

Whilst debating on folding a particular shirt to slip into your drawer, or adjust on a hangar to put in your closet, you ponder over what was left for you to do for the rest of tonight.

Finish up my laundry, recheck my work schedule, make sure laptop’s charged, then debate on what to have for dinner.

Don’t have much, what should I order in then? Eh, don’t feel like going out tonight. It’s Sunday, maybe I’ll google to see if that one place on the corner is still open, see if they deliver—

“Boo."

You jump, turning around with a loud yelp. The culprit, while he wasn’t an intruding thief, smirked like a villain at your amusing outburst, your hand clutching onto that very shirt as if it would service to protect you.

“I- Dick! Oh my God, don’t do that!!”

The man chuckles, not caring if you meant to call him an insult or not, too amused to even care.

"Okay, that was the cutest sound ever." He points out as he steps closer, black gloved hands slowly settling along your shoulders.

He was still in uniform, off on a mission of sorts you cared little to bother about. The bitterness of his line of work came rushing back to you, making you scoff and toss the article of unfolded clothing onto your bed.

“How did you get in here?”

“Uh, the usual way?” Dick replies, the curtains billowing in the late evening breeze making an appearance behind his broad back. Of course he did.

“Jesus,” you mutter, glancing up at Dick in question.

“I literally could’ve strangled you with a pair of socks if I thought you were some thug breaking into my room. You’re aware of that, right?”

"But I wasn't a thug,” Dick smiles as he slightly leans down, his voice lowering the closer he approached your face. “So you don't get to strangle me tonight, babycake.”

He usually leers down closer to your level before giving you a kiss, which is what a part of you so desperately desired.

However, the more stubborn devil on your shoulder grimaced at his approach, controlling your thoughts to lean your head back just enough before his nose bumped against yours.

“Ah-ah. I didn’t hear you say sorry yet, Mister,” You tell the tall man, but you didn’t lean back from him any further than that.

He pouts with furrowed brows, face contorted in feigned shock and distress. He takes his chance to lean close one more, taking your chin with two gentle fingers.

“Sorry," he whispers before moving their faces close together. "Now can I kiss you?"

“Say it like you mean it,” Came his girl’s soft response. “And I just might let you.”

Dick looks at you for a moment as the gears quickly work inside his mind. Then, with a smirk, he answers.

"I apologize with my entire soul,” He begins, his hands working down to caress along your plush hips. “Please, my Goddess, forgive me for all of the mistakes I made by scaring you instead of kissing you the moment I broke into your room."

Nearly deadpanning by his choice of words, you scoff once more before snorting in full amusement, unsure whether to blush or cringe. You always blushed so damn easily with him anyway.

“Wow,” You couldn’t help but giggle. “Fiiine, I guess that deserves a kiss.”

Dick smiles widely, laughing a little at the success of his little trick.

Wasting no further time, his nose brushes against yours as he takes your lips, finally fulfilling the strong need he's had since the moment he left your apartment this morning after answering one of Batman’s calls.

“M’sorry, babycakes,” he mutters against your lips, nearly humming at the soft weight of your forearms resting up on his shoulders.

“I know you don’t— don’t like when I leave.” Talking full sentences in between a gentle, passionate make-out was a bit of a challenge. “Believe me, if I had it my way—“

“We would’ve finished what you started?”

Your interruption made a handsome smile stretch across his face, his head nodding. “We would’ve finish what I started. Exactly.”

What he had started bloomed from you waking up to him absentmindedly massaging your soft tits through your sleep shirt, an ‘absentminded’ habit he obtained over many nights of sleeping in your apartment.

Fortunately for you, you had stirred with a deep, hungry ache in your tummy, desperate for him in all ways he was more than willing to provide. He answered your silent pleas after reading your desires in your sleepy eyes, both hands working on simultaneously slipping under your shirt and underwear, lips trapped against one another in variously passionate, heavy kisses.

Ever so unfortunately, his phone begins to vibrate on the nightstand.

You both learn that not even scam callers were annoying enough to call so early in the morning, unless they were that desperate to steal your credit card info or identity.

You insisted within heavy gasps to not answer it, your fingers firmly grazing along the waistband of his sweats to convince him. His raspy groan echoing against the crook of your neck signified his inner turmoil between wanting to make you scream, and screaming at the person responsible displayed on the Caller ID.

Dick couldn’t scream at Bruce, but he did have an attitude after getting blue balled by the Dark Knight.

Even worse, it was nearly a common occurrence.

“You sound like you read Pride and Prejudice, by the way.” You snicker as you gently peel of his domino mask, peering into his pretty eyes free of their sheer, milky covering.

“Or watched Phantom of the Opera. Have you seen that movie?” You question after setting his mask alongside your folded clothes, especially curious since you may have it available on your current streaming service.

Dick gives a weak shrug and responds with a semi-truth. "No, I haven't. Always heard it's pretty good though."

What he meant by that was Jason invited him to watch it before, but what he could nearly recall was falling asleep after the opening credits. Jason “teased” him about it for weeks after, but he was sort of glad you hadn’t brought it up. Maybe you weren’t even aware of it, thankfully.

What could you say, really? You were dying for a movie night for the past week, pleading to whichever God that listened that Dick had the time to stay a while, without interruptions. Only, you weren’t sure if Dick merely broke into your apartment to stop by for a short spell.

“Maybe, you’d want to watch it with me?" You began to question with hints of hesitation. “Unless Mr. Nightwing has any secret crime fighting missions he’s not telling me about.”

“I mean..” Dick laughs at that, shaking his head a bit.

“What?” Your heart was nearly moments away from dropping into your stomach.

He pulls you closer to himself, warm material smooth against your cotton clothes, peering down at you with pretty eyes and a small, innocent smile.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can last without kissing you again." Dick leans towards your lips, smiling. “I’d much rather be doing this than any secret crime fighting—“

“You can kiss me all you want in a bit,” You insist, keeping your palms braced along his chest for fair measure, dying for your question to be answered.

“You wanna stay? Yes, or no? I want a full movie night this time, Dick. The kind where one of us falls asleep on top of the other, and it becomes an inconvenience.”

Dick, completely enamored by your sweet voice asking such an even sweeter request, nods his head twice without little time to ponder over it all.

Dick wants exactly what you desire, a deal that can be easily struck; to make tonight like every Hollywood romance movie. It deserves to be that special, you deserve to have that memory become born.

“Yeah, I can do that."

“Great,” your lips broaden into a smile, one he wanted to see plastered onto your face nearly every minute of the day.

“You hungry?” You suddenly question. “I need your help deciding what we should order out. Oh, and I’m thinking of making that chocolate, rainbow sprinkle popcorn for the movie.”

There you go again, getting your hopes up in planning ahead for a potentially successful date night. Dick could only stare at you with a content gaze, amused by the giddiness in your eyes, the glimmer brighter than any star.

You dropped your chores to spend time with him, he’s convinced you to skip a day or two of work to remain in bed with him for a few extra hours. It was unfair for him to always leave, putting the wrong person on the top of his priority list, when you should’ve remained the first.

He knew you were annoyed with him and Batman all day, he wasn’t an idiot on that account. Now?

All you wanted was for you both to hold one another underneath a fuzzy blanket, cuddling one another like two multicolored cats napping under the sun, tails and limbs intertwined.

His own tired smile revealed he wanted the very same thing. You were his girl, his babycakes, his short stack with a cute pout and firecracker temper.

Their was a firm chance he would fall asleep after the opening scene like before, but at least it would be in the warm safety of your arms and a large, cream knit blanket.

He’d do anything to keep that smile on your face just a while longer, even ignoring the subtle vibrating of his phone on his person. No doubt another ‘un-likely scammer.’

“Which one will it be, Richy?” You question which of the two movies you listed for him to choose, leading him by the hand down the short hallway towards your cozy living room.

Maybe if neither of you fell asleep, he’d lead you both to make use of your futon. To finish what he started.

“What was the name of the masquerade musical again?”

[doctor-vertigo]

TELL ME IS IT JUST A DREAM???

Yeah I like this song a lot, I was listening to it and I was like omg this is so Bive actually I think she would like it. It’s been a hot minute since I made a piece that’s more like. Cinematic ig. About time fr. Composition is a bit messy, I did a lotta this on the fly without much planning ahead of time, a lotta “OMG WAIT this would look super cool actually” ykwim, but overall I think I’m quite happy with how it turned out.

[sylvieserene]

Robin and Starfire in a nutshell:

[lemonyplain]

Remake of my tommy wallpaper s

[hanakou-often]

Established Hanakou headcanon where Hanako's pet names for Kou (on the few occasions he uses them) are super cheesy like sweetheart, honey bear, handsome, etc meanwhile the only pet names Kou ever uses for Hanako is freak, bastard and dumbass

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

here's some benreys for y'all!!! it's meal time little ones!!!! nobody starves today. i provide

also random gordo he's here too i guess-