#From a fic I never wrote

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny, working as a cashier: Can I help you?

Tim half-deranged: Please I just want a cup of coffee

Danny squinted, then pulled out a binder: I'm sorry, sir, but you are on the Don't Serve Coffee list. I can offer you some tea instead-

Tim: NO. THIS IS THE FIFTH PLACE. BRUCE CAN'T OWN YOU ALL!

Danny leaning in to whisper: Look, man, I can't give you coffee under the cameras. Meet me in the back alley in twenty minutes and I'll get you a coffee. Bring Cash.

Tim: how much? Five hundred, six hundred or hell even a thousand? I'll bring whatever you want.

Danny: Chill dude, it's a cup of coffee. Three dollars is fine.

Tim: It's not just any coffee! It's my favorite brand and Bruce bought them out just to make sure they wouldn't sell to me anymore!

Danny: okay okay, this coffee means a lot to you. I get it. Twenty minutes alright?

Jason three weeks later in Bat cave: Tim's on drugs! I've caught him trading cash for small containers in a shady alley six times. We need an intervention.

Dick: What?! I thought that was his boyfriend!

Bruce: I also thought that was Tim boyfriend but if it's a drug dealer we have to help him.

Tim hiding in the shadows: shit.

Tim texting Danny: If anyone asks your my secret boyfriend who been making me teas in allies

Danny: who the hell would believe that? But I've had a boring week, so yeah, I'm down to be a pretend boyfriend.

[pookiebearsnookumsalicent]

the monster's gone, he's on the run

and your daddy's here

(@lawolfe you've been waiting for this one girly😘)

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[the-kaedageist]

The inn is small and plain, the tables worn from years of patrons and the weight of beer steins. Essek touches his fingertips to the wood and thinks about how far his life has come. “Why are we here?” he asks after a long moment. Caleb looks up from where he had been spacing out, presumably lost in old memories as he glances around the room.

“Oh, ja,” he says, catching himself. “This is where we first met. The Mighty Nein, I mean.”

Essek’s eyes widen. The room takes on new hues, a history he hasn’t been able to read from the furniture and the beer spilt in the corner. He can see the ghosts of younger versions of his friends, set lightly upon this space like a memory - Jester laughing and carving a dick into one of the tables, Beau and Fjord drinking from steins and ribbing one another. Caleb sitting with Veth, who presumably would have been Nott then. Yasha by the bar, perhaps, with the infamous Mollymauk. They had started off with only seven, not having any idea that someday they would be the nine of their strange moniker.

“Ah,” says Essek, not sure how to put all of these impressions into words, especially not in Common. “An auspicious beginning, I see.”

Caleb shares a small grin with him. Essek knows that smile; it usually forecasts some statement that Caleb knows will horrify Essek’s delicate sensibilities, looking forward to how Essek will react.

“Yes, what is it, Caleb Widogast?” Essek asks, trying to keep the answering smile from his own lips and already planning to act as affronted as possible.

“I was covered in mud and shit, you know,” Caleb says conversationally, a gleam in his eye. “When we first met. You would not have come within five feet of me.”

Essek has heard tales of dirty Caleb, and privately been amused at the thought. “I would have Prestidigitated you clean long before you came close enough to be a problem,” he says confidently.

Caleb laughs openly; it’s good to see him comfortable and safe enough to do so. “Perhaps I should fall in the mud and see how cool you would act around me now,” he says with a straight face. His eyes gleam with mischief.

“We shall see then, who is faster on the draw,” says Essek smugly. “My Prestidigitation, or your determination to get dirt upon me first.”

Caleb laughs again and moves to the bar to order them trosts, while Essek sits at the table and waits for the others to arrive. It seems fitting, that Caleb chose this place for their first monthly reunion since Uk’otoa had been vanquished. A new beginning, in a place where a beginning had been forged once before.

Caleb returns, carrying two trosts and wearing a thoughtful smile. “Wishing you had been here to join us from the start?”

Essek is rarely surprised at how well Caleb knows him, these days. This comment still throws him, putting words to a yearning that Essek hadn’t even begun to understand himself. “Had I been here from the start,” Essek says, “the story would have turned out very different.”

Caleb hums and clinks their glasses together, sipping from his trost with a hum. “True,” he acknowledges. “And in the end, you found us assholes anyway.”

The door flies open. Beauregard and Yasha make their way inside, Fjord and Jester hot on their heels. “What did we miss?” Beau demands.

“Hey Trostenwald,” Jester shouts. “We’re back!” She proceeds to cast Thaumaturgy and blow out all the windows in the inn. The innkeeper glares at her in a way that implies she’s not at all surprised by this occurrence.

As the room fills with the shouts and laughter of the Mighty Nein, Essek sits back with a smile.

Yes, indeed. In the end, Essek found them all anyway.

[stevethehairington]

He needs a break. A chance to breathe for a moment. This lifestyle sometimes feels like the corsets that Robin is always complaining about — too tight, too constricting, and superfluously unnecessary. Steve pities Robin, and the rest of the poor women, who have to deal with both. The circumstance and the corsets.

Steve knows better than to complain, though. He lives a lavish existence, one that many people would give anything to have. It isn’t fair of him to pity himself like this when there are so many people out there that are so much worse off than him. He should feel grateful. Lucky, even.

But it’s hard not to feel suffocated instead, sometimes.

The alcove is quiet, thank god, and void of any stray party guests. It’s hidden away, tucked between two rocks that overlook the seaside, and the crash of waves from down below has a mollifying effect on Steve’s agitated disposition.

He reaches for the cravat at his neck, loosening it with deft fingers. He’s in the act of tugging it away from his throat when the clear crunch of a footstep has him spinning around sharply.

And there, emerging from the shadows to block Steve’s only escape route, is a man.

The first thing Steve notices about the man is the curtain of dark curls that frame his face. They’re long enough to tumble freely over his shoulders, and they’re pulled back by a thick swath of fabric, deep red in color. The ends of his bangs peek out from beneath the bandana, as do a pair of thin braids, each tied off with two hollowed out pearls.

With his hair out of his face, Steve can see it all. Every single feature, open and on display — those soft cheekbones, that sloping nose, the gnarled scar that stretches across the left side of his jaw and pulls the corner of his mouth into a twisted, permanent smile.

Steve is sure that he’s never seen this man before, and yet there is something achingly familiar about him. A tugging within his gut; it feels like he should know him, but from what, he can’t quite place.

The man’s left ear is pierced through twice, two identical gold hoops looped through the skin. And just beneath his ear he has a small mark. A tattoo. Steve isn’t quite close enough to make out just what it’s of. He squints his eyes and nearly takes a step closer to take a proper look, but catches himself before he does.

It’s then that Steve realizes that he’s been staring, borderline ogling, for much longer than is appropriate, too. His cheeks warm as he averts his eyes to the ground. But rather than the cobblestone path below, his gaze falls to the man’s feet.

Flared brown boots cover those feet, rising up nearly to his knees. They’re old looking, worn and well-purposed, but still sturdy, even after countless strops though mud and water and sand and all sorts of other rough terrains. Beneath the boots, his stalwart calves and strong thighs are encased in rough-hewn black breeches, tight, yet functional.

Steve’s eyes stray further up, despite his best efforts. 

The man wears a thick brown leather belt, layered with a silken red cloth and an even thinner black belt, this one scaled like a dragon, with a shiny gold buckle. It sits around his waist, atop an open black vest that accentuates his slim figure. His blouse beneath is a deep wine red, made from a gauzy looking material that clings to his skin. Steve imagines that if it were to get wet it would be absolutely sinful. The neck of it is rather plunging, too, exposing the man’s collarbones, and the corner of another tattoo on his chest. 

And there, above his heart and to the right, in the very center, hangs a pendant — some sort of serpentine creature with wings, gaudy and golden and absolutely eye-catching.

Steve feels a little hot under the collar, taking it all in. He has to look away.

The man makes an amused humming sort of noise. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” He drawls, flicking both eyebrows up at once. A lazy grin unfurls across his full lips, and he practically drapes himself over the rock behind him.

The position puts his whole body even further on display, in an entirely new way this time, and looking away is futile now. Steve’s eyes are heedlessly drawn back to it, raking over every inch. It feels… dangerous, to be looking this much, this long, but he can’t help it.

The man lifts a hand to examine his black varnished nails, an air of boredom to the action. His fingers are adorned with chunky silver rings that glint in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Casually, he pulls a dagger from its hiding place amongst the belts and uses the sharp tip to pick at one of his nails.

Idly, he starts to whistle — a low, warbling tune that has an almost menacing edge to it.

It, too, strikes a chord of remembrance in Steve, and he wracks his brain trying to think of where he’s heard it. And then it hits him.

“You’re a pirate!” He gasps out. It sounds scandalized, when he says it, though, really, he isn’t scandalized at all. He doesn’t find himself very afraid, either, though he knows he should be. Instead, he’s just intrigued.

The man snickers. “Very good, sweetheart,” he commends, tucking the dagger away again. He brushes his knuckles against his shirt. “What gave it away?”

Steve frowns. “What are you doing here? Where’s your ship?”

“What am I doing here?” The man repeats. Laughs this breezy little thing. “I’m meant to be taking you prisoner, actually,” he tells Steve.

“Take me— prisoner?” Steve repeats, shock coloring his tone. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh, yes,” the man replies, pushing himself off of the rock. He starts to circle Steve. “I’m meant to be snatching you up— well, that’s the interpretation of it, anyways. All they said was that I needed to deal with you, and, really, that’s so vague.”

He starts to circle Steve, slinking around him slowly, purposefully. His voice carries as he does. “Pirates are supposed to be unscrupulous, though, aren’t they? What with all the threatening and the stealing and the killing and the like. I figured it only makes sense that I take you.”

Steve has a million questions — like who the hell is they? And what do they want with him? And why did they send a pirate to do their dirty work?

Instead, what comes out is, “I guess that would make sense.”

He folds his arms over his chest, just for something to do with them, and then a thought surfaces to the forefront of his brain.

A crease forms between his eyebrows, and his lower lip pushes out into a contemplative pout as he mulls it over. “But what if—” he starts. Pauses. Cuts himself off like he won’t dare finish the thought.

Only it’s too enticing, too tempting not to. 

“What if you didn’t take me?”

The man comes to a stop right in front of Steve. He’s close, much closer than anyone would normally be comfortable with, but Steve doesn’t care. If anything, he has to refrain from curling his fingers into that necklace and using it to leverage him even closer.

Steve looks into the man’s dark eyes. Big, endless, easy to lose himself to. But he doesn’t. He meets them head on, unwavering with his gaze, as if he’s challenging him.

“Sweetheart,” the man starts, dripping with condescension. He raises a hand and flattens it against the rock behind Steve, boxing him in. Another wry chuckle tumbles past his lips. “I don’t think you get it,” he says. “I have an order. I need to follow it.”

Steve just his chin up, defiant. “I don’t think you get it,” he returns, poking the man in the chest, much to his astonishment.

“What if you didn’t take me,” Steve repeats slowly, putting emphasis on his meaning. “But what if I… went with you anyways?”

It takes a moment for the words to properly sink in, but when they do, a slow spreading surprise settles over the man’s face. “Oh,” he says, sounding pleased. His lips curl back into a grin that bares his teeth. “How rebellious of you,” he tuts.

“You say rebellious, I say free-thinking,” Steve replies, brushing him off.

The man’s smirk grows, but he doesn’t accept the proposition. Not yet. Instead, he watches Steve carefully, like he expects his bravado to fall away any second now and for Steve to renege. 

But Steve holds his ground. He’s not taking it back. He’s not chickening out. In fact, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

He’s going to go with this man.

Finally, the man relents. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

“It is,” Steve replies, without hesitation.

The man gives a firm nod, and without another word, he turns on his heel and starts to briskly walk away.

Steve scrambles to follow him, out through the opening of the rocks and across the open courtyard that leads towards the port. He glances behind him every so often to make sure that he hasn’t been spotted or followed by any of the partygoers. By any of his family. 

But each time he looks, there’s no one.

He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or thrilled by that.

The further he gets from the party, though, the easier it gets to breathe. Like the noose around his neck loosens with each step. That almost makes him want to laugh, considering his choice here would earn him a real one, permanently.

Ships line the port, when they finally make it to the water’s edge. Great big ones, with hulking hulls and dozens of ballooning sails. There are at least four, anchored in the bay, but none of them stick out to Steve as a pirate ship. Not that Steve’s ever actually seen a pirate ship before. He’s only heard tales. Still, he expected that they’d be distinct.

The man approaches one of the ships, and he doesn’t hesitate before tromping up the shoddy wooden gangway and stepping foot onto the polished deck. His hands slide onto his hips and he casts a wide glance around. He takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, his whole body relaxing as he does. Like he’s finally home.

He turns then, back towards Steve and offers out his hand.

Steve looks down at it, then back up at the man.

“I’m Steve,” he says, taking it. The man’s palm is rough against Steve’s, but it’s warm too. It feels nice.

The man laughs. “I know,” he says. “And I’m—”

It’s then that Steve notices it. It’s subtle, in the sense that it’s just the one detail. But that detail itself is anything but. Just past the man’s head, right in the center of the biggest sail, a red devil. Pointed horns protruding from its skull, wicked yellow eyes, razor sharp teeth. 

It is unmistakable.

“You’re Eddie Munson,” Steve says, recognition finally hitting. And, jesus christ, he feels so stupid for not realizing sooner. The most notorious pirate in all of the seven seas — how could he have forgotten?

“That I am,” Eddie muses. Then he uses his grip on Steve’s hand to pull him the rest of the way onboard.

It tightens, and he doesn’t let go right away, like maybe he thinks Steve will try and make a run for it now that he knows who he is. 

But Steve doesn’t. He stands his ground, holds Eddie’s gaze steady.

Something zings up Steve’s spine as Eddie’s big eyes bore back into his own, and he thinks briefly to himself that whatever he’s gotten himself into here, it’s going to be well worth it. He’s in for the adventure of a lifetime here.

Eddie drops his hand then, and a slow grin, just as devilish as his flag unfurls across his pretty lips. He flourishes one of his own hands out around him.

“Steve Harrington,” he practically purrs. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

[kauriart]

Where is all the horny Zaeed content? I cannot be the only person hot for that surly bastard.

[agentravensong]

thinking about lex foster.

she has the Gift. she can pull a gun from the void. as a child, she was friends with an eldritch entity. in one timeline, she defeats an avatar/incarnation of another eldritch entity to save her sister.

but, there, that's the thing: lex has a younger sister, who is even more gifted. that sister is the lynchpin of the multiverse. and lex is her protector.

that sister, hannah, is only alive because lex, as a 5 year old, used her Gift to save her from dying before she was born. she didn't even want a sister before that moment. she doesn't remember doing it.

lex wants to be a normal teen who can hang out with her boyfriend and do stupid teen stuff. compared to hannah, she's grounded, practical. she forgets her own power, her own potential, as she grows up and has to learn to fight and scavenge to survive. but at heart, she's still a dreamer. she doesn't want anyone's pity, but still believes (wants to believe) in angels. if she had the money, she'd take the three of them to california. she'd be an actress.

her sister sometimes makes her life hell. lex will still risk, give up, anything and everything for that sister. she's been the closest thing to a mother hannah has known. but she's far from perfect. in multiple timelines, she's the cause of hannah's hurt, the one who puts her in the path of danger, however unintentionally. there is a gap in understanding between her and hannah that they may never fully close — but she keeps reaching out, keeps trying to work around it.

when lex is about to die in black friday, she wonders if she, all along, needed her sister more than her sister needed her — or maybe that's just her trying to reassure herself in her final moments, hoping beyond hope that hannah will be okay without her.

lex has the Gift. but she's not webby's favorite. she's not the Hero. her little sister is.

was lex meant to be the hero, originally? did she somehow fail in webby or the greater universe's eyes to live up to that position, requiring that her sister take it up instead? dooming hannah, before she was even born, to bearing the burden of being the one targeted by the most sinister forces in the multiverse, again and again, and the responsibility of stopping it?

or was the purpose of lex's existence always for her to be her sister's caretaker? to ensure that hannah could fulfill her destiny? to be the one to save her, from others or herself? through taking action, realizing her potential as the second-strongest foster girl (yellow jacket) or less directly, through just being someone hannah knows, can count on and believe in (witch in the web)? to play the kind of supportive role women are often pigeonholed into?

was hannah always meant to be the special one, the star, with lex as her prologue (and occasional understudy)? or was lex the original choice for the role, only for her to turn out to be... not enough? leaving hannah with the job of weaving together the pieces of a shattered universe?

either way, lex foster's existence is defined by her sister. has been since before she can remember.

and yet, though she probably wouldn't be able to say why, i don't think lex would change that. not unless she truly believed it would be to hannah's benefit. (and we all know it wouldn't be.)

[laundrybiscuits]

Note: this is not a Stancy story.

“Say it,” he bites out. He’s pushing too hard, being too mean, and he doesn’t fucking care. “Say you love me.”

Nancy’s eyes slide off to the side and she—she laughs, like he’s making a joke, but he can see in the way she’s got her arms wrapped around herself that they both know it’s not a joke.

“Steve, come on,” she says.

There’s a hot, buzzing feeling in him like a hurricane.

The words peel out of him: “But…we’re soulmates.”

He’s gripping his forearm, holding it out in front of him even though he’s wearing long sleeves. It doesn’t matter. They both know whose name is written there in careful, neat cursive, like a puzzle piece slotting next to the blockier name scrawled on Nancy’s wrist. 

Nancy reaches out to push his arm down and out of the way, out of her eyeline, but she laces her fingers with his like she’s trying to calm him down. Like an apology.

“Steve,” she says. “Let’s just—can we focus on the important stuff, here?”

This is important, why don’t you think that nothing could be more important than this. Steve doesn’t say it because he’s trying to be better. He can be better for her, for Nancy, his soulmate. So he swallows it down and nods, gripping her slender fingers tight in his. 

———

It takes him a while, but he figures it out. It’s fate. It’s gotta be. It’s all a big part of their story, the one they’re gonna tell at their wedding, about the time they broke up and made bad decisions and were really unhappy. When you find your soulmate early, sometimes you have some growing up to do, he’ll say. Or maybe Robin will say it. He can’t imagine a wedding where Robin’s not his best man. Best lady?

It’s so stupid, but there was a moment, back in ‘85, when he thought maybe Robin could be his true soulmate. Like maybe there was some giant cosmic error, and the smart, funny, beautiful girl he’d been overlooking all summer was really the one he was meant to end up with after all. 

When she tells him about Tammy Thompson, it’s almost a relief. The universe isn’t wrong after all. He actually feels really sorry for Robin, because without a name on her arm, how’s she supposed to know who to pick? And with the gay thing—it’s gotta be tough even just knowing who’s an option. He doesn’t think he could handle that kind of uncertainty. 

It’s a good thing he doesn’t have to. All he’s got to do is hang on until his story and Nancy’s story bend together again, and become their story. He thinks it’s kind of romantic, even: like he’s been given this time to learn to be a better boyfriend. 

So he’s in good spirits, especially when Eddie Munson gives him a heavy look that shoots through his veins like lightning and says as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen. If even Eddie can see it after spending about five minutes around them, probably not even knowing about the soulmate thing, it must be true. 

———

Afterwards, he finds himself unexpectedly alone with Nancy in the hospital, waiting their turn to see Max and Eddie. It’s not exactly the stuff of fairytales; even though they’ve had a chance to go home and shower and get some sleep, they both have Upside Down gunk caked into their fingernails and purpling shadows under their eyes. The fluorescent lights overhead are way too bright. The flimsy plastic chairs are digging uncomfortably into his thighs. 

But he’s not gonna get a better opening than this quiet moment, with Nancy slumped against his arm, tired and lovely.

“Hey, are you—” He clears his throat and tries again. “Hey, Nancy. Did you…think about, uh, what I said? About…you know. The future?”

She goes tense.

“Yes, Steve. I did.”

Maybe something in her tone should be warning him off, but he’s on this road now, careening down the fast lane with no exits in sight. 

“And? What did you think?”

Nancy takes a deep breath, then lets it out after a second in a heavy sigh. “Steve, I…I’m with Jonathan now. You know that.”

“Yeah, but that’s—I mean, you know it’s not the same.”

“No.” She slips a thumb under the cuff of her sweatshirt and rubs it over her wrist. It looks like something she doesn’t even know she’s doing. “It’s not the same, no. It’s…Steve, it’s better. This way is better.”

He ducks down, tries to meet her eye. “Nance, I know I was kind of a shitty boyfriend, but—things are different now, right?”

Finally, she turns to him. Her back straightens, shoulders square, like she’s bracing herself. 

“Yes, things are different,” she says slowly. She reaches out to take his hand in both of hers, soothing. “This hasn’t changed for me, though. It’s not about—I just can’t be with you, Steve. Not like that. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say but we’re soulmates again like a child, but it lives in his throat, in the thump of his heart. Maybe she just needs more time.

Maybe not, though.

(ETA: continuation here!)

[solradguy]

Dude I got mad on reddit under a thread where they were talking about why people don’t like Ky (the OP was asking to try and understand the memes). Everyone was trying to dunk on Ky, nobody was answering the question with anything but repeated memes. I got sidetracked talking about Dizzy and Ky memes…they’re deep characters I promise!! Aaaaaaaa!!!!!!!

Honest to god the worst thing that can happen to a fandom is when the memes completely overwrite the canon lore/personality of a character. They don't even know that Sol was lowkey terrified of Ky during the Crusades because of how bloodthirsty for Gear blood Ky was before meeting Dizzy and realizing that he was killing intelligent beings. Or that Ky was willing to risk everything, seriously, to protect her. Why don't more people pick on him for his teacup collection the same way people constantly bring up Sol's Sheer Heart Attack record, also

[moonyswarmsweaters]

Marauders era characters as my self deprecating thoughts

cause I’m not doing well lol

James: Do people really like me ore do they just like the version of myself I decide to show them?

Sirius: If i will be dramatic enough when It’s not that bad people would normalize my real breakdowns

Remus: Keep a smile on, maybe this time “fake it till you make it “ will work. People don’t need to see when you struggle, it will make them sad and sorry for you

Peter: I don’t do enough for others, I’m not enough for others. Why can’t I be like the Others?

Mary : I worked SO hard not to be a people pleaser i think I became such a bitch people hate me

Regulus: God, I corrected them again I didn’t mean to be mean she is my friend she must hate me now, god that’s why nobody likes a know it all

Even: my friends told me they are a bit scared of me again, am I bad person for not completely hating it or am I just overprotective of myself after so long, I won’t hurt my friends, but maybe they wouldn’t hurt me again. I don’t want them to be scared of me, not really, I love them. How do I even have friends?

Barty: I got a good score on the test WHY DID I GET A GOOD SCORE ON THE TEST I didn’t study enough., it must be a mistake, just pure dumb luck I’m not smart enough everyone think i smart when i feel so fucking stupid

on a sirius note- if you need help, please get help. You matter and can rant to me any time 💕- edit written AFTER the breakdown lol

[dcxdpdabbles]

Jason is helping the weird kid in class search for something: What are we looking for exactly?

Danny, looking in a trash bin behind the shcool: My soul.

Jason: Alright edge-lord

Danny: No I'm serious. My soul got away from me. You've ever seen Peter Pan?

Jason: Yeah?

Danny: Just like Peter Pan's shadow got away my soul escaped- THERE IT IS!

Phantom flying overhead: SUPER DANNY AWAY!

Danny: come back here and merge with me!

Jason horrified that this wasn't a excuse to make out behind the school like he thought and is now chasing a actual soul around: Bruce is going to kill me.

Danny: Nah, he won't hurt Robin. He needs a side kick

Jason: You know I'm Robin!?

Danny: Why else would I have asked you to help????

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Wait where do you post your writing cause I wanna read it if that's ok

unless you like DC comics, specifically Batman / the batfam, i doubt you'll find anything of interest to read On My Ao3! i have posted 53 works over the past few years and they're all That

but then on this blog, my tag Snippets From The Bog has little unedited tidbits/scenes from my more recent wips and imaginings. currently all of it is some flavor of Welcome Home

[wonderinc-sonic]

Silver Lights

… somewhere you felt was you. Somewhere you fit into, could see yourself in the landscape and the landscape in yourself; it was the backdrop behind your eyes where life had played itself. Somewhere the air in your ears and nose just fit so perfectly you'd never notice the sound or the smell, like a hand you've held for so long you'd only feel it if it let go. Have you ever felt so completely that you belonged somewhere, that returning to it was hearing the sky sigh: 'There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere' Silver hadn't. But as the snow crunched beneath his feet, and more tufts of snowflakes stuck to the outer coat of his fur as the wind brushed it from the horizon, it painted him in the same brush as the trees. And he was warm, from the inside. A true child again - maybe for the first time, he collected snow with his mind and wrapped it with cyan sparkles. The sky flexed and arched excitedly, speaking the language of light with him.

Want a drawing from me? Donate to a Palestinian aid cause. No restrictions, no lower limit. Details 🇵🇸

EDIT - GANG I FREAKIN FORGOT TO FLIP HIS HAND BACK OVER pls reblog this version if you're going to, I am a fool.

[jout--jout]

every now and again i think of that ghost!laudna au where she haunts imogen’s home and interacts with her as if she were alive and waits for imogen to come home every day and then i cry a little

[jenna-louise-jamie]

thinking about yassen gregorovich instead of sleeping (because i love him) and how he is a catalyst. yassen stabbs ash -> ash kills john rider -> ian rider raises alex -> yassen kills ian rider -> mi6 blackmails alex into becoming a teenage spy.

i have so many thoughts that i can't properly articulate. obviously this is a simplified chain of events, but yassen and his choices set off a chain reaction of the world's most unfortunate dominos. especially when you read russian roulette. to be clear im not necessarily trying to blame him for everything because that feels very mean. he was also just a 14 year old kid when everything in his life went wrong, just like alex. only difference being yassen literally had no one.

i think i should write an essay about this because i haven't even gotten into my thoughts about what yassen and alex's dynamic would look like past eagle strike. i would imagine it'd be similar to ellie and joel from the last of us part 2.

where obviously yassen loves alex and alex on some level cares for yassen back but struggles to reconcile that with the fact that yassen is responsible for his uncle's death. a very unforgivable act. it would be so messy and complicated and angsty, because on one hand here is an adult who truly cares about him and has a connection with him through his father. yassen could tell alex about john, and trust that yassen truly wants whats best for him. but he killed ian, and he cannot take that back.

while alex reels from those feelings, yassen is also trying to reconcile his love of alex with the knowledge that he on some level is responsible for the suffering alex endured at the hands of mi6. and possibly even the fact that alex's godfather is the one who killed john and helen.

[comic-sans-chan]

Fic I'll never write where Julian has a latent one-way telepath gene activated by some sci-fi nonsense and can suddenly hear everyone's thoughts. And he's like, "Shit, I don't remember there ever being any betazoid blood in the family. This must be connected to my augmentations. No! I have to fix this James Bond style." So while he's doing that, life goes on and he has to keep a straight face against the cacophony of noise from all his friends and patients.

With his patients, the telepathy actually ends up being pretty useful. He can hear everything they're too embarrassed or proud to say, so examinations go much smoother. Though he really could do without all the sudden "mmm sexy doctor" thoughts interrupting his professionalism. Especially when they cause him to bash his head on his own equipment out of pure, scandalized shock. Twice. 

With friends, the challenge is mainly in not responding to their thoughts, because they’re always interesting. His friends are incredible people and he's bursting at the seams to talk to them about their interests, hobbies and concerns. Then, of course, there are the occasional "Julian is annoying" thoughts. He always knew they were there, but actually hearing them sucks. He takes heart in the equal amount of "Julian is a sweetheart" thoughts that pop up, often shortly after the annoyed ones.

Then there's Garak, who Julian avoided for as long as he could because he knows Garak wouldn't appreciate having his thoughts heard. He was literally a spy. Julian listening in on his thoughts would be tantamount to bugging his quarters or something. It's not fair to him. Julian and Garak might lie to each other all the time, but that doesn't mean there isn't a trust there, and Julian doesn't want to break that. Maybe in the beginning, but not all these years later. Not now that they're close.

But ultimately, it's just (hopefully) one lunch, and if he avoids Garak for too long, he's going to hurt his feelings and he can't do that, either. Garak only has so many friends. And anyway, what's the worst that could happen? Julian finds out what Garak really thinks of a book? Maybe Garak's soup is too hot, but he won't admit it? Maybe he'll mentally shit-talk a Bajoran, and that'll suck to know about him, but it won't be shocking. Hell, he’ll flatter himself, maybe Garak will have a lustful thought or two about him. That wouldn't be any great revelation. He knows Garak's attracted to him, and he's attracted back, but fucking an ex-intelligence agent isn't a good idea for someone with a secret as big as Julian's. So, he might have to rub one out after lunch. He can deal with that. No harm done. He comes to lunch.

And it's a spectacular mistake. He should have made another excuse, any excuse. He should have known better. He knows who and what Garak is. He knows he's traumatized and hypervigilant and a little bit of a maniac. Garak's even hinted at sentiment being a particular weakness of his before. He should have anticipated Garak filing away every little thing he hears and sees like his life depends on it. He should have anticipated the checked violent instincts and guilt and depression. He should have anticipated Garak wondering what secret Julian's keeping and coming startlingly close to certain truths. He especially should have accounted for the possibility that Garak is more than just attracted to him. He's deeply in love with him.

He leaves lunch shaken and sick to his stomach. So much of it is unsurprising. Garak's life has been terrible. Is terrible. Julian has known that much ever since meeting Tain. Since Garak spat that he hated it on Deep Space Nine and he hated Julian specifically for being something he doesn't hate. He doesn't hate him at all, apparently, but he does resent him. He feels ashamed for wanting an alien so much, for feeling such a strong connection to something outside of the State. Something that Tain would punish him for. He punishes himself in Tain's absence. It's horrible, the cruel things he thinks so calmly about himself, like it's natural. Obvious.

Julian's always known Garak was miserable and he's done what he can to help him, but he admits there's been a part of him that thought being away from Cardassia and the Order was good for him. That the station hurt him so much because it was a remedy, and sometimes remedies feel like poison at first when you're so used to sickness. But of course it's more complicated than that, of course it runs deeper, and Julian should have done more. Should have invited him out. Should have dragged him into some tennis matches. Should have double-checked that his damn medication was still working after the number that implant did on his brain chemistry.

Shouldn't have gone to lunch, because now he knows Garak fantasizes about taking him back to Cardassia and enjoining with him and fucking him in fields of flowers and... adopting bloody war orphans together. That is not the sort of thing Julian should know without Garak's consent.

Even worse, now Garak is suspicious, and he pops into the infirmary the next day to "check on him after his hasty departure the other day." It's not even subtle. They both know Julian's hiding something, but Julian can't have this conversation without having about ten others that he has no idea how to have yet. And Garak won't stop thinking about running a soothing hand through his weird human hair and over his fucked up human eyebrows and - once when he makes the mistake of turning around - grabbing his ass. He doesn't even have an ass, but apparently that doesn't stop Garak. Bastard! Julian snaps that he's fine and rushes him out because he has work to do, thank you, my dear tailor. Garak jokes that this is the first time he's ever been forced out of the infirmary before, but he's thinking about hacking Julian's computer while he does it, so Julian growls at him and storms off to upgrade his security system. Again.

Time passes and Julian's losing his mind trying to solve this mind-reading problem and figure out what to do about Garak. Because of course he has feelings for the man, but he's avoided thinking too hard about that because Garak's never been a romantic option. Now he knows there's a very real possibility that Garak can be trusted, just like he’s always hoped. That Garak loves him to a degree that challenges his loyalties, and if Garak is loyal to Julian, then Julian doesn't have to worry about him using his augmentations against him. He could finally have a partner he doesn’t have to lie to, who might even understand and accept him. But the fact remains that Garak didn't want him to know that, and Julian feels guilty. And conflicted. And horny, because Garak's been spying on him in the promenade without knowing Julian can literally sense his stupid ass and every third lizard-brained thought is about how much he wants to lick him. There's a part of Julian that wants to just yank him into a changing room and hope that the healing power of sex will just solve everything.

Unfortunately, he knows there's no way out of Garak freaking out about Julian having heard his every crazy, paranoid and lovelorn thought. And Julian's savior-complex is going haywire. How do you comfort a man who won't allow himself to be comforted? How do you return a love someone hates themselves for feeling? Julian updates his medication, but there's only so much medication can do. Garak needs more than just Julian to kiss him. He needs things Julian doesn't know how to give.

In the end, Julian is able to deactivate the gene responsible for the telepathy, and things go back to normal. He has lunch with Garak, who is notably pouty, but Julian can only guess at the reason (probably because he couldn't hack into Julian's computer--ha), and it's a relief. They're back on even footing, Garak is an enigma once more, and all is right with the universe.

Except that everything has changed.

Julian can't tell him he could read his mind without concocting a lie about why he could suddenly read minds in the first place, because he can't tell him about Adigeon Prime. In the end, it's less about whether Garak can be trusted, and more about Julian's issues. It's selfish, but Julian's never told anyone before and he's not ready to now. It's too big. Too much. He couldn't stand it if Garak looked at him differently after. But to lie about it now, so baldly, after the profound vulnerabilities Garak's expressed without having any idea he's expressed them, feels wrong, too. 

So, Julian doesn't tell him a lie or the truth or anything at all. He doesn't tell him until they're in a prison camp, until Garak's told him Tain is his father, until the possibility of Garak being ordered to betray Julian is dead and they might die soon after and Julian needs Garak to know he was loved by someone. He needs Garak to know who Julian Bashir really was. A liar. An imposter. A coward. Someone who only ever wanted to heal, who didn’t ask to be a monster. And Garak will forgive him.

But for now, Julian is all those things, so instead of confessing his sins, he brushes his hand against Garak's. He squeezes his shoulder on his way to get a refill. He brings back a dessert for them to share. He argues and recommends terrible books and invites him out to shows and drags him to tennis matches. He encourages his friendship with Odo and Keiko and later Ziyal. He asks him to teach him Cardassian. He brings him fresh Red Leaf tea. He starts keeping a heated blanket in his quarters. When Garak falls asleep for seventeen minutes and fifty-two seconds while they're watching a holofilm, Julian pretends not to notice. Inwardly, he cheers.

In the absence of one type of honesty, another takes its place.