#they're going to go batshit crazy

[party-lemon]

and don't quote me on this, but i think mcr will release new music between now and the start of this tour. because this is adding onto the concept of the black parade. this is a whole new world. there is "more to come." they just went on a tour where they played only their old music (foundations as an exception obviously). like...there's more. mychem doesn't believe in nostalgia bait unless there's some other shit going on.

[velarisdusk]

I Slept with Someone in Wings of Illyria

A Bat Boys Band AU

word count: 1.5k author's note: i have not been able to stop thinking about bass player az, nor have i been able to shut up about it (exhibits A, B, and C found here lol). i am so taken with bass player azriel that this was originally gonna be a one time thing to get the mf thoughts out of my head, but i may make this a collection of drabbles/one-shots/whatever the fuck. enjoy ! <3 ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The room is sweltering, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and wraps around your throat. Bodies pressed together, arms raised, the crowd surges with the beat, their cheers deafening as the final notes of the song fade out. 

Cassian tosses his drumsticks in the air, catching them with a grin as he leans back, his chest heaving from the sheer energy of his playing. His skin glistens under the stage lights, sweat dripping down the sharp cut of his jaw to his bare chest. Rhysand steps forward, guitar slung low on his hips, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the movement so casual it borders on taunting. 

The three of them are magnetic—untouchable—but your eyes are glued to Azriel. 

The bass still hangs low across his hips, his dark shirt clinging to his chest and arms, every inch of him shining with effort and heat. His hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, but he doesn’t seem to care. There’s a faint curve to his lips as he looks out at the crowd, their screams refusing to die down even as Rhys steps up to the mic.  It’s Wings of Illyria’s last song of the night, and the air is thick with anticipation.

“Alright, alright,” Rhys says, his voice rich and smooth, but it barely registers over the roar of the audience. He glances back at Az and Cass, shaking his head with a laugh, and you catch the way they all exchange a look—silent, knowing.

Cass twirls a drumstick between his fingers, grinning wide. Rhys throws a wink at the crowd, and Azriel… Azriel holds up a hand, palm out, a subtle watch this gesture that has your stomach flipping. 

And then he steps forward.

The moment his fingers graze the mic stand, the noise dips. He leans in, his lips brushing the mic, and inhales sharply. The sound carries through the speakers, intimate, like he’s right there beside you. The crowd freezes, the energy shifting into something electric, breathless. And then, he chuckles.

It’s low, almost a growl, and it sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, the room is still. And then, chaos. The screams erupt again, louder than before, like every single person in the crowd had been seized by something primal and uncontrollable.

Azriel laughs, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Rhys and Cass. They’re laughing too, Cassian smacking a hand against his drums while Rhys shakes his head, mouthing something you can’t make out. 

But then Az turns back to the mic. 

Your heart stops as he adjusts it slightly, his hand steady, his expression calm but sharp, focused. The moment stretches, and you swear he looks right at you before his lips part, and his voice spills into the venue. 

It’s not Rhys’s voice this time, not the smooth, cocky tone that usually owns the opening of this song. No—this is something darker, rougher, saturated with a raw kind of emotion that makes your knees go weak. You know this part by heart—hell, you’ve screamed it in your car more times than you can count—but hearing Azriel sing it? It’s like hearing it for the first time. 

He owns it, every word dripping with purpose, with heat. His voice snakes through the room, curling around you, pulling you under. The crowd is a blur, the sound of their cheers distant compared to the way your pulse pounds in your ears. 

And Azriel knows it. He’s fully in control, commanding every single person in the room with nothing but his voice and the intensity in his eyes. When he glances over at Rhys and Cass again, they’re grinning like they know exactly what he’s doing—and exactly what it’s doing to everyone in the room. 

You’re breathless by the time he finishes the verse, and when he pulls back from the mic with that faint, wicked smirk, the crowd surges again, screaming louder than ever. 

You scream too, the sound ripping out of you without restraint, caught up in the heat and the pounding bass still thrumming through the room. But then Azriel’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, scanning the sea of faces, and it lands on you. 

Your breath catches. 

It’s brief, a flicker of his hazel eyes locking onto yours, but it’s enough. Enough to leave you wondering if he’s seen you before—if he’s noticed you at every show you’ve managed to get into, always in your usual spot near the edge of the stage, close enough to feel the pulse of the speakers in your chest. 

And then he turns back to the mic, and your chest tightens all over again. 

It’s the way Azriel shifts his stance—shoulders squared, leaning slightly into the mic as his fingers curl around the neck of his bass—that holds you captive. His voice joins Rhys’s in the next verse, a low harmony that wraps around the melody like smoke, rich and addictive. 

When the lyrics take a turn—something dark and suggestive, dripping with innuendo—you swear he looks at you again. His lips curl just so around the words, and the way his hand moves on the fretboard has your pulse racing. 

It’s stupid, you tell yourself. Ridiculous, really, to think that someone like him would single you out of a crowd like this. But as the song builds to its peak, the heat of his gaze feels too intentional to ignore. And then they hit the chorus, when Azriel takes over the melody for one shining moment, he sings a line that makes your cheeks burn, makes your hands curl into fists at your sides. It’s not subtle. It’s meant to be filthy, meant to tease and taunt, and he sings it like it’s directed straight at you. 

The crowd loses it. You barely hear the screams over the pounding of your heart.

He’s still looking at you when the song ends, sweat dripping from his temple as he lets the bass hang low against his hips, his breathing heavy. Cassian slams his drumsticks against the snare one last time, punctuating the end of the set, while Rhysand tosses his guitar pick into the crowd with a lazy smirk. 

Azriel doesn’t move for a moment. He stays there, on the edge of the stage, as if waiting for something. 

And then he winks. 

It’s quick—blink-and-you’ll-miss-it—but you see it. You feel it. 

Your knees go weak, your grip tightening on the barricade to keep yourself steady. By the time you process what just happened, he’s already turning away, laughing at something Cassian said as they disappear backstage. 

The crowd surges again, desperate for an encore, but all you can hear is the pounding of your pulse. 

Your knees are still trembling as the crowd surges around you, voices raised in chants for an encore. You try to breathe, to ground yourself, but the memory of Azriel’s smirk and the weight of his gaze keeps playing on a loop in your mind. 

And then, just as the noise reaches a fever pitch, you see him again. 

Azriel lingers near the side of the stage, his bass slung over his shoulder now, his hand reaching out to clasp the shoulder of a man in a black security shirt. You watch, heart pounding, as they exchange a few quick words, the guard leaning closer to hear him over the din. 

It’s casual—normal, probably—but then Azriel points.

Directly at you. 

You freeze. Your pulse spikes. There’s no way, you think. No way this is happening. 

But it is. His arm extends toward the crowd, his finger cutting through the haze of heat and lights to land right where you’re standing, gripping the barricade for dear life. The security guard nods, glancing in your direction as Azriel leans closer, lips moving again. 

He says two words, slow enough for you to catch even at this distance.

“Blue top.”

Your breath hitches, your gaze darting down to the shirt you’re wearing. Blue. Not just blue—bright blue, standing out against the darker tones of the crowd like a beacon. 

You look back up, your heart slamming in your chest as Azriel straightens, throwing one last glance your way before disappearing offstage. 

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen, every nerve in your body buzzing. Did that really just happen? Your mind races, replaying the movement of his hand, the way his lips had formed those words. Blue top. 

Your gaze darts around, scanning the crowd. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re losing your mind because surely he didn’t mean you. But your stomach flips again as you realize—no one else around you is wearing blue. Not a single person. 

It was you. 

Your fingers tighten on the barricade. He had pointed at you. You’re sure of it. And then you see him. 

The security guard is cutting through the clusters of venue workers. Your breath catches when his eyes land on you, sharp and direct. He doesn’t say a word, just jerks his chin toward the end of the barricade, a silent instruction. 

[jacentries]

Undying!Hannibal, going through life, hating being unable to die (either lowkey or highkey) until he meets:

✨Will Graham✨

who absolutely takes advantage of Hannibal's inability to remain dead by killing him whenever he's upset (he did not know Hannibal was undying the first time he killed him)

And Hannibal takes it like a champ. He's having constant religious experiences, sometimes he pisses off Will on purpose.

They both get obsessed with this cycle and it's crazy and terrible but y'know, it works for them, so 🤷‍♀️

[beanghostprincess]

The very normal and straight reaction to seeing your friend fight

[anachronistic-falsehood]

team bolas' victim complex makes sooooo much sense from like a character standpoint and it drives me crazy. i don't think they ever left day one. i think in their heads, they're still burning themselves in that bonfire. half their players were inactive, they had a clear pvp disadvantage, and they kept getting killed by other teams. it was them against the world on day one. their only solace was each other when they felt helpless and they're carrying that with them to drive them forward. they still call themselves victims because if they win, then it's a pleasant surprise, and if they lose, that's just how it is with team bolas, right? it's better to have no hope at all in the first place than to feel the crushing weight of having your hopes dashed.

day one was hell. their friends killed them repeatedly without mercy, they had barely anything while other teams built their bases, and they were bottom of the leaderboard. they've come to expect tragedy, even after their multiple victories, after they've come to regard one another as family, after they've worked so, so hard to be one of the last teams standing and actually made it. they never left that bonfire.

[seyamu]

me, on the brink of falling asleep: someone should put jiang luo and chi you into an unlimited flow universe for enrichment

[tommyssupercoolblog]

To the commenter who told me, under my YouTube short animation about Shugo Chara being my first magical girl anime, that I'm a loser who needs to go outside and talk to real women-

I'm both gay and the most extroverted person I know.

Also, I deleted your comment. Thank you 💖🌈✨✨

[geddy-leesbian]

I hate that I can walk into a Half Price Books and look at the paranormal section and recognize 75% of the authors because I know them from Ancient Aliens

[artsolotl-hours]

I had. an Idea.

okay, concept. Bruce Wayne never becomes Batman. He goes to therapy as a child, and becomes a functioning member of society instead. However. He still adopts all of the Batfam, and they're all still batshit (heh) crazy, so, one day he'll wake up to Tim three inches from his face, clearly not having slept all night, and Tim'll just be like, "Stacy Brighton in embezzling funds." before dropping a huge-ass file on Bruce and walking away. And somwtimes he'll walk out of his room to see Dick hanging from the chandelier, about to a flip while the others are recording. Or he'll turn around and damn near have a heart attack when he sees Cass behind him. Or he'll find Jason in a random-ass warehouse beating the shit out of people and have to scold him.

But he's just a normal dude. Like, he still has trauma, obvs, but he's working past it and helping his community. When the kids come up w/ smth that's going on, he'll j get his lawyers on it nip it in the bud. And if he can't, then hell buy the company and get his lawyers on it

Idk, just an idea I had

[krems-chair]

I'm always interested in analyses that portray a romanced Solas as a predatory hee hee trickster god manipulating a young and impressionable Lavellan into falling for him and if that's your world state go ahead and live your truth b/c it's frankly none of my business, but I sincerely think there are those who forget that for a lot of people, a romanced Lavellan is (with all due respect to my own Solasmancing Inquisitor Rielle Lavelllan) batshit crazy. Having her boyfriend turn out to be a wolf god is honestly the least of her problems but oh boy is she unafraid to become one to fix this mess.

This is a woman who woke up in a dungeon with a glowing hand, figured out she could fix the world, and thought "fuck it, it's not like I'll have anything else better to do if Corypheus sticks around. Also. Everyone here kind of looks like they want to kill me, so maybe I'll stick with the protective powers that be for a minute." And then all of five seconds later she gets her hand snatched by a sketchy elven apostate who knows exactly what to do with her shiny new powers and cannot stop himself from having a Mr. Darcy level hand-flex after he lets it go (in my heart and soul this happens just out of the camera's gaze) and goes "hmm maybe there's something to be said for this world saving thing."

This is a woman who brought an entire fucking avalanche down on herself and three of her closest friends (and I do mean closest as in physical proximity, she doesn't know these people who are looking at her like she's Thedas' Next Top Idol) because even if it killed her it was the proper middle finger to send to the wannabe god bringing his army tap-dancing down the mountain pass towards her on the one night she had scheduled off to celebrate finally taking a W.

This is a woman going Take 2 Electric Boogaloo on waking up with no idea where she is and learning she was successful in spite-dragging herself up a different fucking mountain in a blizzard. Except now everyone is fighting wait nope now they're Kumbaya-ing a song Andraste's Herald should really probably be familiar with whoops, oh thank God, time for a side convo with the same apostate who's been trying to turn her entire life into a history class only for her to dive in headfirst (much to his initial abject horror) and get that good good discourse she needs since she can't go around arguing with everyone else like she wants to. "The orb is ours." You know what? Of course it is. But if they need the world saved from an elven oopsie, who better to right things than an elf? Fuck it, we ball.

This is a woman who misses being close to nature and goes positively feral at Skyhold, yeeting herself over balconies and banisters and turning the ancient fortress into her personal parkour playground because she's got energy to work off and shit to do, and if the path of least resistance to hunt down everyone she needs to talk to is coincidentally the same path that will absolutely wreck her knees by the time she's sixty, that's just how it has to be.

This is a woman who finds herself back at Haven with a man she's found it possible to be unfetteringly unabashedly herself with and thinks, "hey, maybe there could be more than the flirations we've exchanged over heated discussions and philosophical deep-dives, maybe I can have just one smooch as a treat." And when she feels her slowly unfurling passion reciprocated only to be shut down? She resolves herself to fight for this fledgling love and all the fade tongue that comes with it. This is a woman who gets the tiniest glimpse of what a retirement plan might look like after this whole saving the mortal world thing and buys all the way in.

This is a woman who has Grey Wardens to save from themselves, an empire trying to self-cannibalize, and still finds the time to go rescue a spirit because she, as a fellow comrade caught up in this mess, knows damn well that no innocent deserves to suffer if she can help it while she's got this insane amount of power she never asked for. And if that happens to lead to the man she feels safe enough to nap on the library couches with confessing at last the feelings she knows he's been smothering beneath his all-too-collected surface? Yeah, she'll take that W.

This is a woman who gets absolutely blasted head-over-ass into the fade and goes "honestly things were going a little TOO well." This is a woman who sneaks a peak at the closest fears of the companions she's come to know and love and goes "not on my fucking watch." This is a woman who sees that the man she forces herself to learn the old language for, her vhenan, fears being alone more than anything in the entire knowing world and resolves herself to ensuring it never comes to pass.

This is a woman who gets the opportunity to shape the government of a straight up country and runs around collecting wooden fucking halla in a palace full of elven servants with no time to dwell on that particularly cruel irony because out here it's scheme or be schemed. This a woman who collapses against a balcony railing after putting out some of the sickest literal and metaphorical dance moves The Game has ever seen, resigned to bear her ever-increasing burdens alone, only to find her heart and his horrible horrible hat extending a hand, promising her that if he is not alone, then neither is she.

Like, do you feel me here?

And then he dares to think something as sudden and damning as the truth is enough to keep her away? The queen of tough conversations and tougher choices? No, no, dear readers who have made it this far into my descent into madness.

Inquisitor Lavellan is a master-class in encouraging the odds against her to fuck around and find out. She is a rift-mending false-god-bashing politcally savvy terror upon all of Thedas. Solas (and all of the living breathing world) is lucky she took time out of her busy schedule to notice the way his smile softens when talking about spirits or appreciate the fluidity of his form when they're obliterating venatori out in the field. This man cradled her cheeks in his shaking hands, looked into weary and wide eyes and called her beautiful, and had the audacity to steal her heart before trying to peace out and take it with him.

If she's got to track down a real god this time and frog march him into the fade to reclaim both her heart and the future she fought for because all he wants to do is launch himself like a meteor towards achieving his greatest fear, if she has to spend hours lecturing him on the sheer audacity of his ass while spirits float by and realize they're grateful they never had the chance to take on a body and subject themselves to a verbal lashing this brutal, if she has to do cartwheels around him while dropping all sorts of sweet nothings in the language she is now quite proficient in until he gets it through his luminous gleaming skull that when she said "var lath vir suledin" my girl meant it? Then that's what she's going to do.

"I wish it could, vhenan."

Oh it's going to, buddy. Buckle up to get wrecked, to get absolutely loved and cherished you fool, because Inquisitor Lavellan is not the Dread Wolf's prey, she's his hunter.

[wizardnuke]

as someone who trains new hires at my place of work. that's not how u train or treat new people. god bless.

thrilling update to the quitting walmart/getting a new food service job. i had a four hour panic attack at the fucking sandwich assembly station, clocked out for my lunch, called my walmart manager, asked if i can cancel that whole two weeks/quitting thing, she said yes, and i am now overdue for going back to this other place and im simply not going in god bless.

[anonymouscheeseball]

Headcanon that Edwin and Charles both visit the bastards who killed Charles (and the people who covered it up) over the years but neither knows about the other.

And when Edwin goes he's all subtle about his haunting, like he phones each of them every year on the anniversary of Charles's death and says nothing, he moves their stuff around just enough for them to know something's going on but not enough for them to talk about it and not sound batshit crazy, that kind of thing.

And then there's Charles who is the opposite of subtle, like making chairs quake levels of haunting, fracturing mirrors, making their food rot.

And they don't quite understand why those guys are always so terrified, because they don't know they're dishing out double the haunting, until one day one of the bullies starts whimpering "not the scissors again" while Charles is borrowing Edwin's signature move and he's like "uhh" because he's never done that before.

So he goes back to the office and he's like "have you ever visited one of the guys who killed me?" and Edwin just blinks at him like "why the sudden interest?" so Charles tells him and Edwin's like "I guess they must have had an interesting life."

And Charles is just so enchanted by vengeful bitch!Edwin Payne. Because nothing says eternal love quite like writing "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" on a murderer's mirror so they'll find the message when they get out of the shower.

Don't hurt Charles. Don't piss Edwin off. You'll regret it.

[rainbow-wolf120]

PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR TWISTED RND LORE PELAAASSPELLEALLEASPLEASEPELASE😭🙏

*rubs hands together* okay asker… if you insist 😈

Twisted RnD! Teased their relationship in my previous post and now I’m gonna go more into their relationship / dynamics!!

Kinda a yap fest under cut:

Going for the doodle above, Razzle is the one that takes control as a Twisted (the ribbon vines, etc), but that also takes up a bunch of energy on his end. So, he sleeps. A lot (He probably did as a Toon as well). He's asleep 95% of the time before being woken up.

This leads Dazzle to "keep watch." She's still conscious, unknowingly to Razzle, and tries her absolute best to keep her and Razzle in check. Asleep or awake.

She doesn't like guard duty, but what do you do? Say no to a clearly unstable individual who's apart of you?

Dazzle does take advantage of the situation. It gives her the ability to "warn" other Toon's about Razzle.

You see, Razzle is sensitive to vibrations in the circle while he's asleep. Even if Dazzle doesn't wake Razzle when a Toon walks in their area, he certainly can feel them if they run.

After a few casualties, Dazzle picks up on it and manages to communicate (somehow) this information to the Toons on the floor, so they don't die.

But it's not all gloom, self-isolation, and masking (hah).

Dazzle's mindset is the same as Glisten when it comes to consciousness, though on different levels.

Glisten yearns for company; Dazzle yearns for freedom.

Something they can both find in each other.

Glisten find company from finding someone to talk to. He's tried talking to the other Twisteds before, but it's nice to have someone who actively acknowledging that they're listening.

The two can't speak coherently of course, but Dazzle can nod, and that's all Glisten needs.

Dazzle's only sense of freedom is going against Razzle. It's found in both her warning Toons and talking with Glisten. Though it's more of the latter.

Why does she find talking with the mirror rebellion? Cause Razzle is hella overprotective.

It's not just their space, but her as well. Razzle thinks that he knows best for both him and Dazzle, which is why he shuts her down so often.

It's not out of malice, just an overamplified sibling bond. I think turning Twisted enhances and exaggerates a certain trait, and this one being Razzle's care for Dazzle. (Think of DDLC iykyk)

Dazzle clearly dislikes when Razzle brutally kills a Toon in front of her, but he doesn't listen. Dazzle's just scared and wasn't thinking straight. He's here for her. He's the only one that understands her.

Going back to the vine vibration murder aspect of Razzle, he's not doing this for himself, but for Dazzle (or so he claims).

He wants what's best for her and what makes her more comfortable. He wants her to be happy, and if that means killing anyone who disturbs their (his) sleep, then so be it.

Razzle is unaware that Dazzle is conscious, all he knows is that she's terrified, and will do anything to comfort her in their dark times.

He knows her better than she knows herself after all.

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

That was my yap fest, so crazy sauce. I have normal thoughts about these two and am sick of people thinking Dazzle's the batshit insane one like come on guys

I finally finished this months old doodle page today. I apologize for the wait lmao.

I hope people eat this up as much as they did with Dazzle, but my long posts don't get that much attention </3

Thank you for the ask, and have an awesome sauce day !!

[chalametabingbong]

I'M BEGGING THE WRITERS HERE TO MAKE OG FIVE GROW OUT OF LOVE (coz you know the *barf* strawberry garden scene) FROM READER THEN THE ROOM FULL OF FIVES WILL GO;

"That's our cue! Dibs on Y/N!"

"Fuck you, Waiter Five! They're mine"

"Fuck you too, Brisket Five! I'm having them first!"

"Not if I got them first!" *Loose necktie Five blinks out*

"Oh no you don't!" *The rest of the Fives did the same*

Basically the whole room of Fives will go batshit crazy (paradox psychosis included) because they (unfortunately lost their own Y/N at some point) and was only waiting for the right moment to switch with og Five.

Then the rest of the family will be confused af like where all these Fives came from.

[cixteenyne]

#NEED THAT.

Your brother had originally planed a hang out with his friends in the living room, but- something came up and he had to bail. with them still in the house. Issue? They're hot.

RELATIONSHIP(S): Gojo x Reader, Suguru x Reader, Elements of Suguru x Satoru. They def be fuckin. Satosugu x reader, yeah.

CW: Suggestive, but NSFW cussing (duh), Big Brothers best friend(s) trope. no actual fucking happens... yet. Still NSFW

Yap: I channeled my own personality into this MY BADDD-

Damn….DAMN. you were going fucking insane in your room right now. Batshit.

Your dipshit brother brought his fine ass friends over and ain’t say SHIT.

Now you out here lookin’ crazy, shorts riding up, hair all types o’ fucked from that good ass nap you just took, and hungry as shit.

Problem. 

They’re in the living room, and you refuse to walk in that bitch until EVERYBODY is gone. Point blank period.

Second problem. Satoru and Suguru don’t plan on leaving, and Satoru knows you’re here. Shit.

Ugh, just look at the cocky motherfucker. Manspreading to the MAX on your new couch, the one you helped your godforsaken mother who stood there for hours deciding on what shade of the same damn color to buy- bless her heart. And he’s manspreading, dick to the world- on it.

And damn if he didn’t look so fine doin’ it. 

Oh, Satoru pisses you off BAD.

And god forbid somebody get you started on Suguru, fucking dick head. And he KNOW IT TOO.

Long ass leg kicked over the other, stupid head leaning on his hand. Elbow on that damn couch. 

He looked uncaring constantly to the things going on around him if it didn’t concern Satoru- but you knew. Oh, you knew just how much he ate up whenever Satoru managed to get under your skin- which was way too easy to do.

Asshole would just sit back and smile like you’re not about to put your whole foot up his bestfriends ass. Suguru didn’t need to say a damn thing to piss you off the way Satoru did, he just does!

So, both of them together? In your home? Brother done ran out for a quick minute, god knows how long a ‘minute’ is to him, fucker would disappear for 3 hours and say he was just 10 seconds.

Hell no.

But fuck, that post-nap hunger was hitting, and it was peeling away at your resolve. BUT! Your resolve is not stronger than your need to eat, so that’s tough.

Fuck your resolve, if a bitch is hungry, she will eat- so you took your happy ass to your kitchen. Or- you tried to.

Not even a step into the living room before those eerie ass blue eyes snapped into your direction and a stupid lazy grin made its way onto his stupid face. Fuck.

“Ohoho-! And look who decided to wake up- suguru, look. Told you she’d show..”

The fucker said it like he knew from the beginning that you’d crack and show your face. Damn it why is that definitely what he’s thinking.

Suguru looked up from his phone slowly, and as he laid his low eyes onto you his eyebrows raised in exaggerated shock. “And here I thought you’d finally snapped and started hallucinating, she’s really here.”

Though, his tone said that he’d also always known you were there, not only Satoru.

Fuck, they BOTH came here knowing you were home. That’s… genuinely so annoying of them.

“What, I can't live in my own house?”

Satoru seemed to think on your rhetorical question and he made a whole show of it.

“Not if I have anything to say about it, which I do.”

This idiot ALWAYS has something to say, always running his mouth- yap yap yap! Like a damn broken record. Fuck, why was he dressed like that?

“Unsurprising. Well- i was hungry, so.. I'm gonna go.”

You made a step towards the kitchen, so close in your grasp.. So fucking close. But Suguru had to remind you that he was here too. Damn it.

“I like your outfit. Just hopped outta bed?”

Said outfit being shorts that had your ass hanging out, a stupid band shirt with the collar cut off, and calf socks with Garfield plastered on them. Maybe he liked your socks. he better because the bitches were 15 dollars at Spencers.

But- you didn’t even get to answer before Thing 2 was talking.

“C’mon- sit down.. Right here. Said you’re hungry, yeah? We ordered out. Sit and have some.”

Pizza, 3 whole boxes of it- who the hell needed 3 whole boxes of pizza. One of each for Dumb, Dumber and dumbest? Speaking of Dumbest, your brother been out for MIGHTY long, the fucker probably got caught up in a party, and most likely won’t be back until 4AM when you’re woken up by shit hitting the ground because he cant walk straight.

“It’s just pizza, sweetness- s’not gonna bite you.”

Fuckin’ Satoru, ugh.

 “That’s not- bitc- ugh. Nevermind, move over.”

So, now you’re stuck in between both Satoru and Suguru on the Couch that in another timeline, is a different shade of the same damn color (You really need to get over that.), pizza box in your lap despite criticizing them for need a whole one, and you’re kind of not mad at this.. Shit.

You’ve already eaten 2 slices, and debating eating 2 more- hey, gotta keep the ass fat somehow.

But you decide against it for your poor stomach later, and put the box back on the table. As you lean forward to set the box down, Satoru finally speaks after about 12 minutes. (longest he’s ever gone, you bet.)

“Y’know you’re right suguru- really nice outfit. Like it.. It’s.. nice to look at.”

Suguru hummed in agreement to this, 

“Right? I told you- I have an eye for these things ‘Toru.” The smirk in his voice is unmistakable.

They were not talking about your ass as if you were not there. No way.

“An eye for sure, almost can’t look away, yeah?”

“Can’t, no.”

They so were. For fucks sake.

“Oh, you’re both ridiculous. Is my ass tonight's talking point? Really?”

Satoru held his hands in the air in mock self defense 

“You’re the one with your ass out in a room of two guys who aren’t blind.”

You huff out an exasperated breath at him and look to suguru for a bit of support, you don’t know why because he has a history of letting his little yapping dog do whatever the hell he wanted. All you receive from him is a shrug and words of agreement.

“He’s right, we have eyes, y’know.”

Ugh, he’s never any fucking help. And he loves it.

“Whatever. Not like you guys would do anything. More ass than you know what to do with.”

You mumbled it just to be messy, you didn't wanna outright call them virgins cause… c'mon. They fuck. HAVE to be.

The air in the room definitely changed after that slick comment.

Satoru went quiet and his eyes slid over to Suguru, a silent conversation. A verdict. They seemed to have both reached the same one, because Suguru shook his head with a laugh and leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah?”

You sat down cautiously, the energy was weird now, like an inside joke you weren’t privy to… hm.

“..yeah, why? I’m not gonna take it back, either.”

To them, that sounded like a ‘Make me take it back.��, and they took it as such with way too much glee.

“Hear that, Guru? Little thing thinks were baseless virgins who can’t handle a bit of ass, funny, hm?”

“Hilarious, say.. Toru- now that i think about it.. We just might be a bit out of practice.”

Suguru always knew how to get a party started. That’s what Satoru liked about him- among other things..

“Crazy- i was thinking the same thing..! Why not warm up?”

Ok. what the hell were they talking about, and why were they being slick about it. Lord, they pissed you off BAD.

“What.. the hell are you guys talking about?” Came your slightly nervous reply.

“Well would you look at that- a volunteer.”

Volun- who the hell- VOLUNTEER? 

Oh. OH. 

You may not make it out alive if this was what you fantasized about every night. Yeah0 the pissed you off constantly- but you weren’t blind. They were fine. Way too fucking pretty for their own good, and you got to be around them 24/7. Safe to say- they were a NEED, not a want.

Satoru looked down at you and dropped his little act, moving impossible closer to you, his chest to your side as you sat on the couch. He got low and into your ear whispering so close you could confuse it for a voice inside your head.

“Or can she not handle it..?”

Oh. You need that.

[alchemistc]

Technically a continuation of the make them communicate series I keep getting more inspo for.

two-way contract

"I need some advice," he says, the moment they're settled, and Tommy stares forlornly at the slab of salmon that is definitely not going to be the right temperature in however many minutes. It takes him a moment to register what he's being asked, and it takes a concerted effort to keep his cool once he draws a conclusion.

Evan has a roster, Tommy knows. A specific set of people he reaches out to for specific areas of expertise, and Tommy, for all that they've been working on things, has never been a part of that.

He thinks of hearing that Evan admired him, once upon a time, and wonders if the Tommy hearing that had ever considered he might one day shift into the roster. It's not a promotion he's entirely prepared for. He hasn't trained for this.

"Okay," Tommy says.

"So there's... this guy," Evan says, and the irritation hits Tommy's spine before he can stop it. Not a call-up, after all.

He's trying to work through this stupid urge to be Everything All The Time for Evan, but it's work. It's still work.

"Is this guy ...handsome?" Strike two for the both of them. Straight to the flirt. Or, if Evan's feeling snippy, a direct line to the jealousy and accusations.

Evans brow furrows in confusion. "Tommy, what does his attractiveness have to do with -?" He veers. "I have to start again or I'm gonna lose my train of thought."

Strike three before Tommy's even learned This Guys name.

"There's a guy, from 137," Evan starts again. "You can eat, this is gonna take a minute."

Christ, add a 3-6-4 double-play by the opposition to the list.

The warmth hits his spine as Evan lays out the absolute stupidest turf war known to man, and the fellow firefighter who keeps flirting with him at scenes they both show up at.

"Like I'm free game, Tommy. Like every civil servant in the city isn't well aware I'm dating that crazy pilot from 217?"

"That's what they call me now?"

"So not the point, Tommy."

Evan drops Tommy's name like an endearment, like a sacrament, like an expletive. Tommy's never appreciated his name before he heard Evan Buckley use it like a prayer.

Crazy Pilot isn't the worst thing he's ever been called. He doesn't see anyone else out here attempting to get closer to Those Batshit Freaks At The 118. They might have a point.

"What... do you need my advice for?"

Evan rolls his eyes. "Tommy." A plea, this time. "I don't know how to let a dude down gently. Not on purpose, anyway."

("Oh, TK thought I was asking him out," on a random Tuesday morning while Tommy was doing his best work right around Evan's belly button.

"Can you please stop bringing up all the men you didn't know you wanted to fuck while there's a perfectly serviceable one right here?"

"You're more than serviceable, Tommy.")

He's been trying to stop seeing everything as a test, too, and that little nugget is rearing it's ugly head at the moment.

It takes him a long moment to realize Evan's framed this whole thing in a way that blazed right fucking past Tommy's jealousy issues.

"What did Maddie say?"

Evan's brow creases. "I haven't talked to her about it."

Oh.

Fuck.

He's gotta get past the giddy feeling bubbling up before he blows this. They can talk about that later.

"Is gentle the right move, here?" Evan blinks. "If you're sure he knows about me, maybe tossing the code of conduct with a highlighted sexual harassment section through his window one night is a better move."

"I know you're being facetious but the only reason I'm not doing that is because he'd find something flattering about me knowing where he lives."

The surge of protectiveness isn't new, but it feels like a new branch has grown off that tree. Not the point. Not the issue. But it's there all the same. "So he's been aggressive about it."

"He sent me flowers at work."

Better than home.

"C shift thought they were from you until I threw them in the trash."

Worse than home, actually.

Tommy doesn't have a solution. Tommy has the reminder of a man who'd clocked him in his late twenties before he'd figured himself out and scared Tommy into dating women for half a decade.

"I don't know if gentle is the right move," Evan says, and Tommy knows they aren't getting to dinner for a while. "I just know if the rumor mill gets hold of this they're gonna start calling you Crazy Cuck instead and then I'm gonna break my hand on their face."

Tommy snorts a sip of wine through his nose when he fails to hold back a laugh