#this is an idealized AU btw

[sing-me-under]

Take the idea that “Bruce Wayne is friends with most of his Rogue Gallery”

and shift it into “Batman doesn’t kill because he believes in second chances”

and then you get something along the lines of “Even when everyone believes they are irredeemable, Bruce personally knows his Rogue Gallery and genuinely cares about them and their well-being, so he’s willing to give the benefit of the doubt and second chances to even the worst of the worst because he can’t be biased and believe the best only of the people he is friends with. Everyone has the potential to do better and do good and be kind even when it’s not obvious because Bruce personally knows the Rogues that have that potential.”

And also “Bruce’s goal later in his career isn’t to pursue revenge but to prevent crime and save as many people as possible, including his rogues. He can’t reverse the damage and the lives taken, but he can try to make things as livable as possible. Batman is a symbol of fear, a deterrent of crime, and a front-line first responder, but Bruce Wayne is the one actively helping Gotham.”

But I also raise you “Gotham is legitimately cursed” and “Joker is the only Rogue who Batman doesn’t know the real identity of. Batman is partly convinced that Joker isn’t even a real person but the physical manifestation of a curse that will forever plague Gotham”

[fluffyartbl0g]

ANONYMOUS SUBMITTED

I love, love, LOVE your speedrun comic, expecially the parts with Ace losing his mind and ASL reuniting. I am VERY curious as to how, exactly, this gremlin crew of half-feral children managed to negotiate an alliance with Whitebeard. My bet is Luffy just went “rearranges reality until it’s more to his liking and everybody is left wobbling dazedly”. Also, the Whitebeard Pirates thinking “this explains SO MUCH about Ace”.

—————

hahah you got the “everybody is left wobbling dazedly” part right XD. here’s my answer to ur curious musings!!!

An alliance implies equal footing, and to have equal footing with the greatest pirate alive is not something to scoff at. So good job Whitebeard for scoring an ETERNAL friendship with the pirate king 👍!!!!

Time travel/Speedrun AU masterlist

[raiiny-bay]

summer '93

[linkedin-offficial]

kitty colony au anybody?

[unfinishedslurs]

prank gone wrong (viral!) (steddie)

Eddie’s been someone’s dirty little secret before.

He’s got a type, okay? Unfortunately hot jocks are often the type of asshole to get sucked off behind the bleacher and then turn around and spit in his face about it. Going right back to their friends to talk shit about what a freak Eddie is, never mind the fact that his mouth still tastes like their nasty fucking jizz. He’s used to it by now. Used to people who pretend they barely know each other. He’s not asking they parade their relationship for the whole town to see, just someone who doesn’t pretend they’re strangers. Is that too much to ask? 

He’s so fucking stupid. He really thought this time would be different.

Steve Harrington barreled into his life like a goddamn train and Eddie’s been derailed ever since.

The first time he met Steve he was six. Eddie still lived with his mom, and she took him to the park, where he met a little boy who wrinkled his nose and told him he smelled bad. Steve does not remember this, and turned red with mortification the first time Eddie told him

After that incredible hit to baby Eddie’s self-esteem, they didn’t interact much, existing on the periphery of each others lives. He figured it didn’t matter. Harrington was a year under him, and a douche besides. Was ready to leave town from the moment he learned to walk. As soon as he graduated, he could finally get the hell out of this place and never think about the assholes he went to school with again.

His mom leaves. His dad gets arrested. He moves in with his Uncle Wayne, who only has one bedroom in his trailer and won’t take no for an answer when he gives it to Eddie. 

Eddie doesn’t graduate.

(Harrington comes back to school different after Byers beats him up. Eddie doesn’t notice. He’s got bigger things to worry about.)

They don’t talk in Eddie’s second run of senior year either. He hears the gossip, sees him come to school with stitches in his forehead and no girlfriend. Still, it’s none of his damn business. He rolls his eyes at the rumors and stays far away from Billy Hargrove.

Steve Harrington graduates. Eddie doesn’t.

And this is where his careful distance falls apart.

It’s the mall’s fault of course. What isn’t? Businesses closing down, rent going up, his resolve crumbling. All over some fucking ice cream. God, Eddie should have just turned around. Left the store and the mall and the entire damn town behind. 

He’s aware he’s being melodramatic, but in his defense he’s queer in Indiana. He has a right to be. 

Anyways, the point is that Eddie saw Harrington’s little blue shorts and red lips and cannot be held responsible for what happened after. 

(They fucked. That’s what happened. They fucked, and kept fucking, and then after the mall burned down Steve showed up on his doorstep with suspiciously placed bruises and his coworker and looked at Eddie with pleading eyes. He didn’t even bring Robin home to her parents like a sensible person, just insisted on having her there because they were a package deal now and couldn’t be separated. Like puppies, Robin said when he looked at her. Last he checked, she wanted to bite Steve’s head off, and now they were attached at the hip?

He got used to it quickly. He had to. She comes on half their dates. Steve’s lucky he’s so cute.)

Now, nearly five months after Steve served him ice cream for the first time, he feels his heart shatter in the Hawkins High parking lot. 

“Harrington,” Dustin shouts, and it carries across the empty lot. Steve’s head jerks up and he waves, Robin standing beside him. “Steve, c’mere!”

Steve tilts his head. “What?”

“Come. Here.” Dustin repeats, enunciating clearly. Mike and Lucas look at him like he’s insane. So do Gareth, Jeff, and Chuck. 

Steve, who is standing a mere 20 feet away, turns to Robin and says something that makes her snort. Eddie can practically hear his bitchy murmur. 

“Is that Harrington’s girlfriend?” He hears Gareth ask. He has to swallow his laughter. 

“Yes,” Dustin says.

“No,” Mike corrects. 

“He won’t admit anything, but he always has a bunch of hickies and stuff after hanging out with her,” Lucas clarifies, because half the time when Steve says he’s hanging out with Robin he's actually with Eddie. The fact that Robin is usually still there is irrelevant. Marking up his boyfriend is one of his favorite pastimes. He refuses to let his boyfriend’s “soulmate” get in the way just because she refuses to sleep in one of the Harrington’s fancy guest rooms like a normal person unless he kicks her out. The way they both pout at him for it is fucking ridiculous. He ends up giving in half the time, and then lies awake and cold on the very edge of the bed because Robin starfishes her way across the rest and Steve is a blanket hog. 

The first time he tried giving Steve a hickey as some kind of dominance move for privacy, Robin stared him dead in the eye and didn’t back down. 

“I can do that too,” she said, and promptly bit Steve on the shoulder. Steve, who was shirtless and already slightly dazed from Eddie’s ministrations, let out an honest to God squeak. Like a dog toy. Eddie and Robin both stared at him before breaking into loud cackles that had a blushing Steve yelling at them before finally burrowing under the covers and refusing to come out. Needless to say, Eddie didn’t get laid that night. 

“Harring-ton,” Dustin whines. 

“I’m literally right here. You come here.”

He did, if only to grab Steve by the wrist and drag him to where everyone else was standing. Steve squawks. “When we’re late for dinner with Ma, I’m telling her it was your fault—“

“I want you to meet everyone!”

“I went to school with them!”

“Yeah, but they think you’re still a dick,” he says, as if they’re not standing right there. Steve is similarly engrossed in their conversation, not even noticing that Dustin’s stopped walking. 

“They can think whatever—“ he walks right into Eddie and lets out a startled oof. Eddie, who let it happen, catches him as he flails. 

“Well hello to you too,” he says, not bothering to hide his amusement. 

Steve looks at him with wide eyes, gaze dropping down to his lips before whirling around and snapping, “Henderson!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lucas mimics under his breath, ducking behind Steve when Dustin turns around with the fury of a thousand suns in his eyes. 

He just stands there, hands on his hips as the kids bicker around him. 

“Oh, so now we can talk?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, brow furrowed like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about. 

Eddie can’t help but laugh, a sharp sound that makes Steve jump. “What do you think it means, Harrington? You never want to talk to me in front of the kids! Don’t want to dirty your hands with the Freak in public, I guess.”

“I…what are you talking about?”

[no talkie henderosn]

“What?” His eyes get wide, panicked, as he reaches for Eddie. “Eddie, that’s not—you have to know that’s not what I meant by that. I never meant it like that!”

“Then how did you mean it?”

Steve mumbles something he can’t make out. 

“Speak up, sweetheart.” It comes out mean, he knows it does, but he’s feeling a little mean right now. Lashing out like a wounded animal just because his boyfriend didn’t want to talk to him in public. 

Actually, when he puts it that way, he remembers he’s justified. 

Steve says something again, still incomprehensible. Eddie rolls his eyes. “If you can’t stop mumbling, I’ll just leave.”

That does the trick. “I thought we were playing a prank on Henderson together!” 

Eddie gapes at him. “What?”

“I thought,” he repeats, running an anxious hand through his hair, “we were pretending not to know each other to mess with the kid. Eddie, baby, you’ve gotta know I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known you were hurting. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t I…” This can’t be real. He’s been agonizing for months, and for what? A prank? Just some stupid, shitty prank Steve thought he was in on? He’s going to jump off the quarry. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have had so much fun with that!”

“I thought you knew!”

“How would I have known? I can’t read your mind!”

“You can sometimes,” he says, pouting. Eddie wishes they weren’t in the middle of an argument, he wants to kiss those lips so bad. 

He groans into his hands. “It’s significantly easier to tell when your boyfriend wants to fuck than it is to read ‘Hey, let’s play a prank on this twelve year old,’ on someone’s face, sweetheart.”

“I guess,” Steve huffs. Then his face softens. Eddie lets himself be drawn in by the wrist, helpless in the face of his sweet smile. “We can stop,” he promises, swaying in close enough for his breath to ghost across Eddie’s lips. “We could walk into Hellfire tomorrow holding hands, if you wanted to. Anything you want, just say the word.”

“How would we walk into Hellfire? It’s at your house.”

Steve pinches him for that. 

[moodyseal]

*wakes up in a cold sweat* what if the Arrow of Dodona was just an hallucination and Apollo has been basically talking to his subconscious for the whole duration of TOA

[wisteriasymphony]

claudrien au where claudia died soon after meeting adrichat and it's that trite shit where adrien makes up an entire romance with this "cool" dead girl in his dead to cope with his own loneliness and. uh. gabriel/emilie parallels

[fauna-a]

VI The Lovers

¡Reincarnation AU! Who knows me knows I have a soft spot for these two.

Life has its own way to slam doors in your face. You lived for millennia and millennia, dodging death with virtuosity and grace; when your time came, you accepted the Dark Lady’s hand with the same grace, almost looking forward the upcoming rest.[1]

And instead, the universe had found a way to tell me one more time how incomparable and unique was my presence on Earth; and, if that wasn’t enough, had made me human.

Talk about good luck.

It was a very different Earth compared to the one I’d left: no magic, no spirits, no Other Place to my knowledge. In other ways, instead, it was sadly the same, see wars, violence, assorted spite.

In my other life, I had met humans who believed in reincarnation, but no one had ever applied the concept to spirits, maybe because no one thought we had a soul. And instead, look at this: until now, I had met only spirits transmuted (can’t find a better word) in humans.[2] Maybe things  were going like this: in the other world humans went on and beyond, while we had to do all the procedures. Bah.

The gust of wind preceding the metro coming distracted me; the train came, the doors opened, people came out… A girl bumped lightly into me with her shoulder; she had long dark hair gathered in cornrows whose tips were dyed green. That green made something spring in me, a recognition.

Without thinking twice, I turned around and followed her,[3] hoping to not receive some pepper spray (very much justified anyway).

«Excuse me!»

She turned around suddenly, and I recognised her without a doubt. Don’t ask me why or how, but I knew it was her.

«Queezle?»

«Bartimaeus!»

In my other life, I had never been used to hug people; it wasn’t something you did among spirits, that usually don’t have a body. And, well, it’s not I was going around hugging humans.[4]

But Queezle had always been particular, different; and I wasn’t surprised to find her in my arms. She was very thin: I could feel her shoulders’ bones under my hands.

«I was wondering when you’ll show up» she muttered; she had those stupid airpods on her ears, with a cascade of earrings. «You have to tell me everything».

«Nah» I shrugged. «Nothing much to say. Saved the world once or twice, dead, came here. Nothing more».

Her bony arms couldn’t let me go. «Idiot. I’ve missed you».

Hugs, huh. Maybe a thing that humans got right in all the world there was.

[1] Some humans believed there was a place after death, sort of reward (or punishment) because of your conduct during your life. I had never thought about it. But maybe it would be nice getting some rest in company of some old friends… Even if I doubted that spirits humans could end up in the same place, if it even existed.

[2] Yes, I had met Jabor. No, it hadn’t been pleasant. No, I won’t elaborate because we both were in a phase of a life when humans are barely sentient.

[3] I just had to go to work, after all. A human nonsense.

[4] Unless it was a way to stab them in the back.

[yuridovewing]

Keep thinking about the Darktail twist and man I still think that Onestar was such a random choice for “has an illegitimate kid”. when imo Blackstar makes wayyyyy more sense. Like, consider, Blackfoot has a fling with Smoke when he’s still in exile during TPB. Smoke is wayyy more dedicated to him than he is to her, he actually looks down on her for being a kittypet.

By the time she’s pregnant though, he’s rejoined ShadowClan under Tigerstar. And oh man. Xenophobia is rife and alive and outspoken. And when Smoke tells Blackfoot about their kits, there’s no room for weakness. He lashes out at Smoke, maybe even outright attacks her (remember this guy killed Stonefur) and threatens her, telling her to either get off of his land forever or he’ll take care of their kits himself.

She’s either pregnant at that point or she’s had Darkkit and was trying to introduce them. Maybe the latter cause Smoke would not be coming back to ask ShadowClan to take him. Plus it’d be a formative memory to Darkkit that sticks with him for the rest of his life. Instead, she runs back home, Darkkit in tow. Warning him as he grew up to never go into the forest, lest his father find him and get rid of him.

Smoke lives out the rest of her days paranoid and distressed, Blackfoot knows where she lives. It gets worse when she hears that he’s become leader and could potentially send cats after her. Darktail grows up, angry and bitter that his mother was traumatized so. And he vows revenge. He trains himself, learns from the remnants of BloodClan how the clan cats fight. When Smoke dies, he leaves their twolegs to follow the clans, long gone at that point.

Revenge has consumed him, dedicating his life to unleashing his wrath onto Blackstar and his followers. He fantasized about how he would gut Blackstar and rip out each of his nine lives, dangle his dirty little secret over his clan and threatening their oh-so-fragile pride. He was going to make sure he would be considered Blackstar's worst mistake- that would be his end.

He sets up the Kin among some of the cats he trained with, some being former BloodClan cats. At first, it's formed in honor. He wanted to live with his friends was all, and this way they'd all be fed and healthy. But it slowly took a dark turn as Darktail still prioritized revenge above all else. He quickly grew manipulative, and while he still valued his cats, he began to view them more as pawns in a game of chess. A game he was always playing against Blackstar- even if Blackstar didn't know it. He took in vulnerable cats, promising them power and prestige, when he really was only concerned with how they could benefit his schemes. It takes him so long to get to a place where he can release an onslaught on his father’s clan.

… But when he arrives, Blackstar is dead. He drowned a year before Darktail arrived. He was buried, ShadowClan moved on, that was that. Darktail felt numb. It was all for nothing. Revenge on Blackstar, the thing that had driven him for so long, was gone. There was nothing left... except for the clan that Blackstar had built.

And it seemed plenty of the young, slighted, and immature apprentices were struggling at the change in power as well.

That was fine. He'd come this far. If he couldn't have Blackstar's skull, the rest of his clan would have to do. And as he witnessed the other clans' pride, he figured they could go as well. To hell with them all. He was gonna terrorize the clans just as they had terrorized his mother so, and he was going to relish every second.

So TLDR: Blackstar's crimes, and Brokenstar and Tigerstar's reign, still haunt ShadowClan to this day in the form of Darktail. Something about how when you die, some of your sins will be passed on to your loved ones who will be forced to deal with it in your stead. Darktail, try as he might, will never be satisfied with his revenge. He is now aimless, lashing out at everyone in sight because he missed his chance to kill the one he hated most.

[laseratingfist]

damn it i'm thinking about my au where luka is a cheerleader and sampo is a theater kid again. going on dates after school in his pickup truck.... corn maze, ferris wheel at the county fair, going to the nearest city for a concert, horror movie in sampo's basement, getting lunch on the weekends. seele would hate that sampo is luka's boyfriend and so would gepard, for similar reasons (freshman x senior, especially if the senior is sampo, c'mon luka don't be dumb he'll break your heart) they'd probably kiss in the hall between periods. sampo would try to keep luka away from his friendgroup, but mainly sparkle, on the off chance that she tries to fuck up their relationship

[quietwingsinthesky]

it’s lisa and ben 2.0 but with cas and jack instead and worse this time because sam isn’t even dead, sam’s alive but dean keeps cutting him out of the picture to make his life with cas work (remembering how quickly he left lisa to go back to sam, knowing that the only way he can make himself choose anyone else over his brother is to push sam as far away as possible and hope that sam picks someone else first.) (which doesn’t work because again. sam broke up with eileen months ago and isn’t looking for anyone else.)

[happi-tree]

midnight (close to you)

Taylor ❤️‍����                  just now u up

Lincoln grimaces at the 03:27 in bold numbers across the top of his screen before swiping on the message and unlocking his phone to type out a quick reply. 

Me                  Yeah. 

Lincoln is no stranger to seeing Taylor up at weird hours, but as he glances at past messages (filled on Taylor’s part with lots of exclamation points and cutesy little emotes), he suddenly feels a bit more awake. 

A chat bubble appears below, animated dots appearing and disappearing as he waits. 

Taylor ❤️‍🔥                   🕯️?

Me                  On it.

Or: Taylor has a bad night, and Lincoln tries his best to make it more bearable.

ao3

Swiftli time, lovebirds!!! Here’s my fic for day 5: demons/nightmares. Like days 1 and 3, this is part of the supernatural au @llumimoon, @kaseyskat, and I planned out together. Hope you enjoy!

(Title taken from "Sleep-walking" by Dreamcatcher).

Lincoln Li-Wilson is tossing and turning in a vain attempt at sleep when his phone buzzes.

Blearily, he wipes at his eyes as he focuses on the screen, wincing at the sudden brightness.

Taylor ❤️‍🔥                  just now

u up

Lincoln grimaces at the 03:27 in bold numbers across the top of his screen before swiping on the message and unlocking his phone to type out a quick reply. 

Me                 

Yeah. 

Lincoln is no stranger to seeing Taylor up at weird hours, but as he glances at past messages (filled on Taylor’s part with lots of exclamation points and cutesy little emotes), he suddenly feels a bit more awake. 

A chat bubble appears below, animated dots appearing and disappearing as he waits. 

Taylor ❤️‍🔥                  

🕯️?

Me                 

On it.

Lincoln pushes himself out of bed, making his way over to turn on his fairy lights (a joke gift from Normal, tiny pairs of butterfly wings casting the room in warm-tinted pinpricks of light) and opens one of his dresser drawers, pulling out the components he needs.

Next to go is the area rug, rolled up and pushed to the side to uncover the large pentagram painted into the floor, encircled by runes Lincoln had checked and double-checked, written in Taylor’s steady hand. 

He places the red taper candles in the direction of each of the four winds, scatters coarse salt atop the inked circle (a formality at this point, but he can never be too careful). He fumbles with the lighter, trying a few times before remembering to shut off the ceiling fan. 

Lincoln makes sure to crack the door open (the increasingly invasive questions from both of his dads had been downright embarrassing the last time they did this and he is not in the mood for a repeat experience). They won’t mind, he knows.

Besides, there are many worse things a teenage boy like Lincoln could be doing than ritually summoning a demon. Half-demon. Whatever. 

At each point of the star, he places small offerings: an unopened box of strawberry crunch Pocky; a Garfield plush (which he deeply hopes Taylor will give back to him, since it’s one of his favorites); a room-temperature Ramune; a sparkly sticker; a homemade charm bracelet (no iron or silver, of course, warded for protection and serenity). 

In the very center of the pentagram, Lincoln carefully places the Hatsune Miku keychain Taylor had lent him for this exact purpose.

Lincoln pricks his finger and lets a drop of blood fall to the outer edge of the circle, lets the sizzle of it drown out the soft mutterings of the incantation.

Five pinpricks of flame flare higher, brighter, and brilliant ribbons of fire spread outward to conjoin in the center of the circle. Lincoln watches warily as the ball of flame grows and grows, expanding outward and beginning to color with the reddish-magenta hue of his friend’s aura, casting the room in stark maroon shadows.

Before his eyes, the blaze grows brighter, burns hotter, practically pushing at the bounds of its ink-carved confinement, and Lincoln feels the heat lick at his face, warm against his cheeks.

As suddenly as it began, the light is extinguished, revealing the hunched pajama-clad form of Taylor amidst the embers and smoke, the faint cerise glow around him fading until he’s backlit by Lincoln’s fairy lights.

It’s an enchanting sight, normally, one that Lincoln cherishes, but not when Taylor’s glancing down at the painted floorboards with glossed-over eyes, trembling slightly.

“Hey,” Lincoln says, breaking the line of salt with a nudge of his socked foot, crawling forward until their knees touch.

A single, long strand of Taylor’s fringe is still aflame, so Lincoln leans inward and pinches it gently between his thumb and forefinger and extinguishes it with a hiss.

“Taylor,” Lincoln calls, voice hushed in the night but hopefully loud enough to get through to him. He tucks the midnight-dark strand behind the delicate, reddened point of Taylor’s ear.

When he doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up, worry settles further in his stomach, a leaden weight.

His hand cups his best friend’s face, carefully guiding upward until Taylor meets his gaze.

Glazed-over and deeply tired, Taylor stares blinkingly at him for a moment, eyes welling with tears.

“Hey,” Lincoln tries again, “what’s going o-” The air is knocked out of him in a quiet oof as Taylor lunges forward into his chest. He’s uncomfortably warm to the touch in such a way that would burn most people but only leaves Lincoln with a tingling sensation, kind of like sitting by a fireplace for a bit too long. He can feel the fabric of his sleep shirt growing wet where Taylor’s buried his face into his shoulder, and his arms come around to encircle his friend instinctively. 

“You’re burning up,” Lincoln frets as he touches the back of his hand to Taylor’s forehead. It feels like stretching his hands out over a bonfire rather than a candle, like usual, and he frowns at the way the heat pushes angrily against his wardings, making his hand glow a barely-perceptible gold. He frowns even deeper when Taylor only wriggles further into his arms, making a sad, distressed sort of sound.

Lincoln notices the way Taylor presses his ear into the left side of his chest, pushing against him like he’s searching out his heartbeat, and something in him twists a little. 

This floor can’t be comfortable for him, especially not when he’s shaking and breathing unevenly. 

Lincoln looks behind him, opens more of the salt circle with his bare foot, knocks over a crimson candle in the process.

Whatever, he’ll clean it up in the morning. 

“Gonna pick you up now, okay?” Lincoln murmurs, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to speak too loud and making sure to keep his voice slow and steady and reassuring.

Taylor nods against him, and Lincoln allows himself a shadow of a smile. 

“Good,” he says, and adjusts his hold, sliding one arm under Taylor’s knees and another along his back (beneath his shoulder blades, just in case). Something thin and warm coils itself around his forearm and squeezes, and Lincoln doesn’t need to look to know that Taylor’s wrapped his tail around him for support as his clawed hands scramble for purchase on his upper back. The fabric of Lincoln’s shirt shreds a little, but as always, Taylor’s scratching doesn’t manage to break through the latent magic just atop his skin. 

“Up we go!” Lincoln says, and Taylor clings to him even tighter as he holds his smaller friend aloft, carrying them both to his twin XL bed and depositing Taylor as gracefully as he can.

Which isn’t very graceful at all, since Taylor refuses to let go of him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Lincoln soothes - or at least tries to. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I just need you to let me go, ‘kay?”

Taylor shakes his head, mumbling something almost inaudible into his chest.

“What was that?” he says, even though he knows he heard the muffled no, not again the first time.

“Can’t,” Taylor says instead, leaving Lincoln leaning awkwardly over the edge of the bed, feeling oddly cold despite the feverish boy in his arms. 

“Okay,” Lincoln mutters, shifting his hold a little (because while Taylor is relatively easy to pick up, soccer has, admittedly, not done much for his arm strength). “Can I move my hand so you can hold it, maybe? So I can be next to you?”

Taylor hums in the affirmative, so Lincoln slides a hand from beneath his friend’s back, and Taylor takes it the second it’s offered, clutching it with clawed fingers like a lifeline as Lincoln climbs into the narrow bed beside him.

That doesn’t last long, though, because Taylor is quick to throw an arm across Link’s shoulders and drape his leg across Lincoln’s own in a strange, full body half-hug. 

Lincoln hums a little in concern, worry pulling at his brow. Taylor really must not be feeling well with the way that every point of contact between them burns the tiniest bit, despite the layers and layers of enchantments and wards and immunities that have woven themselves into Lincoln’s cells.

Taylor’s head buries just below Link’s jaw, the way Normal tends to do when he’s feeling needy or sad and wants their pack’s scent around him. His horns, still growing by the day, clip against the side of Lincoln’s face harmlessly as he shuffles into him. 

Lincoln takes a minute to marvel at the close bond he has with his friends that defies human description. To go from having nobody his own age to talk to, much less be around, to having three people who care about him - despite rocky introductions - who love him enough to call him family, to be pack, to choose him, to come to him for comfort and camaraderie, to want him… it’s a lot.

 Sometimes, if Lincoln thinks about it too hard, the way his friends give him affection so freely - the way Normal nearly tackles him to the ground with the force of his hug and calls him by Name when the world gets to be too much, the way Scary leans into him without hesitation, the way Taylor curls into him now without reigning in his infernal traits - he could almost cry.

Taylor’s tail wraps around Lincoln’s waist, steadfast and needy, the spaded tip of it thumping irregularly against Lincoln’s side. 

They rest like that for several moments that seem simultaneously like an instant and like they stretch on into eternity, eons passing with each movement of Lincoln’s fingers through Taylor’s sleep-mussed hair.

Since Lincoln can’t really look at Taylor without craning his neck awkwardly, he chooses a spot on the ceiling to stare at, reveling in the feeling of Taylor cuddling up against him and taking obviously deep, slow breaths so that Taylor can match them. The heat at his side slowly abates from almost-singeing to a comforting warmth, and just as slowly, Taylor’s breath evens out from where it fans against his neck.

Lincoln lets the relative silence wash over him, waiting.

“Link?” Taylor asks, voice slightly muffled. 

(Taylor’s lips brush against the side of Lincoln’s throat in a way that makes his breath catch, sends his heart fluttering in his chest, but that’s not something he wants to think too hard about right now.)

“Yeah?” he responds quietly, and thankfully his voice doesn’t sound too strangled as he whispers.

“Thanks.” Taylor doesn’t look up, doesn’t let go, but he’s relaxed more fully into Lincoln’s side rather than grasping in a desperate panic. 

“Anytime, man.” It’s amazing, the way Taylor’s presence can warm him from the inside out without even trying, without even factoring in his demonic abilities.

Lincoln doesn’t press for answers. 

At this point, he doesn’t really need to. It’s become something of a routine for them over the past few months - whenever Taylor is left in an empty house and craves company, whenever Lincoln is feeling a little too cold, whenever sleep eludes them, the summoning circle is there, just to the side of Lincoln’s bed, and suddenly, things are a little less lonely.

Sometimes, Taylor wants to talk. Sometimes, he keeps to himself, and Lincoln tries not to let it worry him too much.

Anxiety meds are great for that, but the haunted look in his friends’ eyes is an unknown that Lincoln can’t protect them from, can only try his best to understand, fumbling and human as he is. 

“I, uh. Had a bad dream,” Taylor starts, tucking his head out of Lincoln’s neck to face him.

Ah. Tonight falls in the former category, then.

“Yeah?” Lincoln hears himself say, though he had figured as much.

“Yeah. Really, uh. Really bad.”

Taylor’s voice sounds so small in the mostly-dark quiet of the room. 

Lincoln squeezes their hands, still conjoined, a tiny, wordless reassurance.

“You’re safe now,” Lincoln tells him. “My dad’s warded this entire house like crazy.”

Taylor scoffs. “Yeah, like I could forget after the first time you snuck me in.”

“I thought we agreed we would never talk about that again,” Lincoln responds, mock-shuddering.

“You begged me not to bring it up, I promised nothing. Not the same thing.”

Lincoln likes seeing Taylor’s smile again, even if it’s just the barest flash of fang glinting in the soft glow of his distant fairy lights. Even when it fades a few seconds later.

Taylor’s tail squeezes around Lincoln’s middle, and Lincoln brings a hand to rest on his shoulder.

“Hey,” He murmurs. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Taylor laughs again, but it’s a shaky, mirthless sound, this time.

“I know you wouldn’t,” He says quietly. Then, “You didn’t, in my dream. You, uh, died.”

“Oh,” Lincoln says.

“Didn’t wanna bother you with it, but you were awake, and it’s stupid, but…” Taylor’s voice trails off.

Lincoln exhales, holds his friend closer.

“I wouldn’t wanna lose you, either,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, just between his horns.

Taylor’s warmth flares in his hold, just a little bit, and the corners of Lincoln’s lips turn up a fraction. Even despite everything, his best friend is incredibly easy to fluster. 

“There were… hunters,” he mumbles, looking down at Lincoln’s orange-and-black striped comforter, grasping for his hands and fidgeting with their loosely-locked fingers to distract Lincoln (and maybe himself, too) from the way his shoulders still tremble. “They were coming for us - Norm, Scary, Hermie. Me.”

Something in Lincoln’s stomach feels like it just twisted, and pressure builds behind his eyes - half-exhaustion, half-sorrow.

“Taylor - hey, Tay, look at me, please?”

Lincoln sees the way that Taylor’s downturned, red-tinged mahogany eyes brim with tears, threatening to spill over onto his cheeks.

Lincoln gently extricates a hand from Taylor’s grasp, brings it to rest under his chin, tilting it upward until they are face to face again and he can peer into his eyes.

Taylor’s eyes have a fire lit behind them, one he’s always noticed in the back of his mind before either of them were aware of his demonic heritage. It’s captivating, the way that they catch in the light, spark to match the bright burn of Taylor’s convictions. Again and again, they’ve drawn Lincoln in like a moth to a flame, crimson-brown-black and enchanting in an entirely different way than anything of the fae.

Lincoln thinks he would jump into the fire and set himself ablaze if it meant that he would never have to see the light behind his eyes shrink to the pinpricks that he sees now.

Hot tears stream down Taylor’s cheeks, silent except for the small hiss the droplets make as they hit the fabric of Lincoln’s bedspread.

Lincoln thumbs the rest away as Taylor leans into the affection, catlike, and the thing in Lincoln’s stomach writhes again.

“Taylor,” he says again, “Look at me.”

Dark eyelashes flutter open, and Taylor looks so, so tired, so haunted.

(Lincoln’s seen that look before on the face of someone else he loves, and he’d give anything to never see it on either of them again.)

“I need you to listen to me.”

Lincoln has… a hard time making eye contact, sometimes, but this is important, so he stares into his friend’s eyes, doesn’t back off or let his gaze slide away. 

“You know my family wouldn’t let that happen. That - my dad - it’s his whole thing, you know?”

“Your dad wasn’t there,” Taylor says. “Just you.”

“Then I wouldn’t let that happen. You know I wouldn’t, if it came down to it.”

“I know,” Taylor replies, miserably. “That’s the problem.”

Oh.

“The jackass - in my dream, y’know - the guy that shot you, you know what he said? He said that it was a shame that he had to waste a silver bullet on a pesky human. That it was sad that we’d, like, magicked you into siding with us. Which was so fucked up and I - I couldn’t move, I was so angry. And scared, god, I was terrified, and Norm and Scary were, too, and then it all went black, and-”

“And you woke up?” Lincoln guessed.

“Yeah,” Taylor says. “Nearly melted my phone trying to text you.”

Lincoln frowns, scooches closer to him. Rests a hand on Taylor’s cheek, leans in to press their foreheads together.

Taylor’s horns poke uncomfortably against his skull, but Lincoln ignores it - besides, with all of the immunities he’s built up, the pain barely registers.

“I’m here,” Lincoln says.

“I know,” Taylor responds, and his voice is hoarse.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You - Link, you can’t just say that. I know you’ve got some weird, fucked-up magic shit protecting you, but you’re human, and I’m -”

“Half-human,” Lincoln reminds him, not unkindly. “You didn’t ask for this.”

“Well, you didn’t, either!”

“I know,” Lincoln responds. “We’re both new to this, and there’s horrible people out there that have it out for us, and we just gotta… live with that.”

“It’s not fair,” Taylor groans, resting his face in the crook of Lincoln’s neck again.

“It isn’t,” Lincoln agrees as he begins to card fingers through warm, dark hair. Taylor makes a soft, whispery sort of sound like the crackling of a campfire, resonating from his chest in the demonic equivalent of purring. 

“You’re right. I’m human, even if I’m harder to mess with than most,” Lincoln says. “But I chose this, at least a little bit. I chose you, all of you. And I’m not gonna back out. We’re in this together, dude. As long as you’ll have me?”

“You say that like it’s a question. I’ll always want you. I’m a selfish bitch like that.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my best friend like that,” Lincoln teases, and presses another kiss to the top of Taylor’s head for emphasis.

He chuckles. “You keep that up, and people are gonna think we’re more than best friends.”

“Pretty allonormative of you, Taylor,” Lincoln snipes. “Plus, I don’t see anyone else here…”

“Well, then, I guess I can retaliate without an audience,” Taylor responds, and Lincoln can hear the familiar mischief in his voice.

“Retal- ah,” the air leaves Lincoln’s lungs as Taylor presses his lips against the side of his neck, purposefully lets a fang graze against the delicate skin there.

“Mm,” Taylor hums. Lincoln can feel the vibration of it against his throat, and the sound goes straight to his head, warm and sleep-fuzzed and more than a little deliriously dizzy.

“Sorry,” Taylor says, not sounding the least bit apologetic as he pulls away after a moment with a soft popping sound. “You were saying?”

Taylor’s tail sways back and forth behind him, giving him the appearance of a predator ready to pounce.

“Guh,” Lincoln responds intelligibly, trying to get his brain back online. “You’re the worst, sometimes, you know that? Like, I was going somewhere with that, and then - you -”

“I am pretty insufferable, huh,” Taylor says with a close-lipped grin, sounding far too self-satisfied.

“Guess I’ll just have to suffer you, then,” Lincoln replies with a small grin of his own, dragging Taylor down into his arms.

Taylor gives in easily, tail brushing against the side of Lincoln’s leg affectionately.

“Taking one for the team,” Lincoln says. “I’m pretty good at that.”

“Too good,” Taylor says, looking up at him from the circle of his arms. “I don’t need you throwing yourself into the, like, line of fire for me when I’m immune, yeah?”

“The dream wasn’t real, you know.”

“Could be, someday,” Taylor muses, and though the tear tracks have evaporated from his face, there’s still a twist of uncharacteristic melancholy in his expression. 

Lincoln hums. “Well, in the meantime, maybe we can protect each other? And the others. That sound okay?” he asks. “Because I’m not gonna stop having your back anytime soon.”

“Same here,” Taylor says. “You’re ours, and anyone who comes at us can take you away over my dead body.”

“Possessive,” Link notes, pointedly ignoring the way his heart jolts. “And kinda morbid.” “Eh, it’s a demon thing, I think,” Taylor shrugs. 

“Dork.”

“I dunno, I think it’s kinda hot.” 

“Taylor, you’re part demon. Being hot is your thing.”

“Oh, so I’m attractive to you, huh? What are you gonna do, kiss me about it?” There’s a single fang poking out of Taylor’s smile, and Lincoln fails not to think about the way it felt brushing over his pulse.

“Maybe. If we both go to sleep after this.”

Taylor blinks lazily at him. “Sleep sounds nice,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Think you could keep the nightmares away?” His eyes, as tired as they are, are so deep and dark and beautiful.

“I’ve got a few charms for that,” Lincoln answers, pointing around the room at bundles of herbs and twine and rune-inscribed parchment that Marco had strung up along corners of the ceiling.

“Link, I was trying to be flirty.”

“Oh,” Lincoln says. Then, “So if I kiss you, you’ll go to sleep?”

“Mm, that can be arranged,” Taylor agrees, his tail snaking around to tap against Lincoln’s nose affectionately before wrapping around his waist.

“Good,” Lincoln breathes, and he leans in to meet Taylor halfway. 

In the end, Lincoln loses count of how many lazy kisses they exchange in the faint glow of the fairy lights before they succumb to slumber, but when he wakes, Taylor is still in his arms, a faint smile on his face in his sleep.

Lincoln can feel his face mirror the expression as he wipes a bit of Taylor’s drool away with the back of his hand. He leans down and ghosts his lips over Taylor’s temple, tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, filled with an uncomfortable-yet-comforting warmth wherever their bodies overlap.

Lincoln basks in it as he closes his eyes again, resting against the pillows, and knows that whatever dangers lurk ahead, they’ll face them together. 

[ralseinumberonebiggestsupporter]

the hero trio's ideal bodies (au explaination here)

[fettery-fetterie]

I'm just kinda thinking over what could it been had things gone just. Just every so slightly better

Had some fundamentals been challenged further

Had the right words be spoken

Had they didn't go all in

It's just so sad, because I ultimately do see them working on the right scenarios, but they're all just...fantasy, a fleeting dream, the unreachable

Oughhhh I love them so much. They're so doomed

[mishkakagehishka]

I think Mika at one point says he has to become more muscly (??) too if you set him as an instructor which is hilarious to me. I see Mika as an unhealthily skinny lil fella and the idea of him being buff makes me worry

[starheirxero]

it's very very early in the morning and i wanna post about robots bit i dunno what so imagine i said something very smart ans clever here