#almost 2k words

[zoeythegoodgirl]

Guess Who

Your wife has invited a few friends over for a girl’s night, and you’re excited to hang out. It’s not a formal affair, so you put on a cute sundress and get some snacks prepared. When your friends arrive, all three at once, you set the snacks out, and feel their eyes staring at your ass when you’re bent over to place them on the table. You ask what the plan is for the night, only to be met with cheeky giggles and “fun games” in response. The night passes more quickly than you’d like, and just when you’re ready to see your friends off, your wife tells you to wait.

“We haven’t played the game I had planned, yet” she says. Before you can ask her what she means, she’s disappeared deeper into the house, though she returns quickly with a bolt of dark fabric. “Put this on,” she demands of you. You blush and ask her what it’s for, only to be met with a tutting in response. “You’ll see. Or maybe you won’t,” she says, with a flirty tone to her voice. You blush harder and ask for her help in tying the blindfold, and she obliges, putting a tight but gently knot that you can feel on the back of your head. You hear steps around you, and suddenly you realize you can’t tell where anyone is. You jump slightly when you feel a hand on the small of your back but are quickly soothed when you hear your wife’s voice in your ear.

“This one’s easy, so you get the idea of the game we’re going to be playing,” she says as the hand on your back presses you forward. “You just have to guess who. Now, tell me, whose hand is it guiding you right now?” You respond with your wife’s name and feel her kiss against your cheek. “Good girl,” she says before stopping you, “Now the game really starts.” You feel her hands leave your body but then another set of hands begins to pull off the straps of your dress. You feel goosebumps on your body, but your panties start tightening around your cock, which is getting hard in spite of your mental protests. “Guess,” your wife demands, “Who is it undressing you, sweetie?” Her voice sounds too far away, so you call out the name of one of your friends. “Lucky guess,” your friend giggles in your ear before kissing you where your jaw meets your skull. Your dress falls to the floor, exposing your undergarments and your shameful state for all to see.

Footsteps.

You feel hands pulling the clasp on your bra, exposing your breasts, small and perky. You feel fingers pinching your nipples, sensitive from your hormone treatment, and moan. You try to regain your composure, and you hear your friend’s voice from earlier ask, “Who’s pinching your nipples, sweet girl?” You call out a second friend’s name, but there’s no response except for the fingers to pull away.

More footsteps.

Suddenly you feel someone pressed against your back and are acutely aware of her breasts pressing into your skin. Her hands reach around and pinch your nipples, and you fail to hold back your moans again. “Guess, dear. Get it right this time,” you hear, and recognize the voice as your friend, whose name you unsuccessfully guessed before. You call out your first friend’s name again and feel her kiss your neck in response. She pulls away, but suddenly a hand is in your panties, fingers wrapped around your shaft. The hand begins to stroke, slow and soft, and your moans come even harder. From behind you, your friend demands you guess whose hand is on your cock. In between moans, you call out your third friend’s name, but are met with silence and the removal of the hand from your cock.

Footsteps again.

Another hand wraps itself around your cock, stroking you with a faster rhythm than before. Your wife’s voice calls, “Babe, how could you get that wrong? You really should have known that was me. Now, guess, before you cum on accident.” You meekly reply that you’re not there quite yet, but guess your third friend’s name again anyway, with a hint of desperation in your voice. “Ding ding ding,” she shouts excitedly before kissing the tip and pulling away. You hear them repositioning again, and then you feel two sets of hands on your hips and thighs. Two of them have decided to take your balls into their mouths. “Now we up the difficulty a little,” the third calls out, “or maybe we make it easier. We’ll have to see. Tell me, who’s sucking on your right nut.” You struggle against the haze enveloping your mind to call out your wife’s name in response.

“Good job,” she shouts from below. You feel her lips wrap around your balls again for a few seconds before pulling away. You hear the sound of footsteps and then feel a mouth on your shaft, sucking gently, and hands on your thighs for stability. Your wife calls out, “That was two in a row! Good job, babe! Let’s see if you can make it three. Now, tell me, whose mouth is making you feel good. Better guess quickly, dear, because I know how much you like this.” You whimper pathetically and feel your knees almost buckle, but you hold upright and call out the name of your second friend. You’re disappointed when you don’t hear anything in response except the movement of the other women.

Another set of lips is now wrapped around your shaft, and you hear the voice of your first friend disappointedly saying, “Babe, come on, you gotta do better than that! You should be able to tell who’s making you feel so, so good. Just tell us.” In between whines, you call out your wife’s name. You hear her giggle around your cock before pulling away. Suddenly you feel yourself being pulled down onto the bed, clumsily falling against one of your friends who had already gotten into it. Her arms wrap around you, holding you against her chest. Her hands each grab one of your breasts and squeeze, eliciting whimpers and whines from you.

You feel the bed shifting as another person climbs onto it, resting between your legs. You hear your wife from behind you, saying, “This should be easier, now. Instead of four choices, you’re down to three. Do you think you can handle it?” You relax deeper into her embrace, nodding your affirmation in response. You feel a pair of lips around your shaft again and moan out in response. This time, you make no effort to hold back, not that you would have been able to, anyway. “Tell me, sweetheart, who have I given you to this time,” your wife calls from behind you. The thought of being shared like a toy makes you even hazier, and you call out the name of your first friend.

The pressure between your legs doesn’t let up. “No, babe, that’s not her,” says your wife, “now guess again.” You call out the third name, and suddenly you feel her pulling away from your cock, wet and straining against the cool air. You shiver as chills race through your body.

The bed shifts again, and you feel a hand wrap around your shaft, guiding your length towards her entrance. You feel her bear down on you, forcing your full length inside. She grips you tightly, unused to how thick you are. You hear a weak “fuck” and recognize the voice as your second friend’s. You wife giggles and says to you, “Well, you know who it is. So, this time, I’ll ask a different question: Will I let you cum in her? Think carefully, my love.” Instinctively, you start to say no, but then you remember the earlier statement from your wife; that you’re being shared with her friends like a toy. You feel your friend grip onto your shoulders for support, bracing herself as her hips begin to rise and fall along your cock. A thick haze overcomes you, and you’re almost completely unable to think.

After only a few minutes, you feel your friend shake, and the rhythmic rolling of her hips becomes more staggered. She clenches down on you as she cums, tightening around you hard enough that it hurts a little. “You never answered my question, babe. But it would have been no, anyway,” your wife giggles before kissing you on the cheek, “You’re such a wonderful toy, how could I let you cum before all my friends here get to experience you?” You can only whine in response. In truth, you had barely kept your composure enough to not cum from this ride. How were you going to last to please all three of them?

Before the thought can finish, though, your second friend pulls herself off of you, and is quickly replaced by another. “I don’t know if I can take her,” says your third friend as she lines you up with her hole, “it almost looked like it hurt earlier.” Whatever you were going to say in response is lost, as your wife says, “It hurt the first time for me, too. She stretches you out, but it feels so wonderful. I wanted to share that splendor with you. Just relax, dear.” The praise makes you blush, and you feel your friend slide down, taking you as deeply into her as she can. Your wife removes the blindfold and sets it down on the nightstand. “The game is over, it seems. Next time, we’ll have to make sure y’all are ready for her.

Her hands also press into your shoulders, supporting her as she rides you. Her rips raise high enough that you’re barely inside her before slamming down onto you. The speed of her hips is more than you feel you can take, and you struggle to hold back your orgasm. You can even feel the warmth from her breasts, hanging so tantalizingly close, yet just out of reach of your mouth. You’re almost crying from need when suddenly the motion of her hips stops. Her body is shaking, and you feel her clench even harder than your other friend did around you, bringing you just to the precipice of orgasm. It takes everything you have not to spill inside her, but you haven’t been given permission yet.

She falls onto you, still gently clenching around your length. Her breathing is heavy, and her breasts are pressed against your chest. Almost by instinct, you give her a kiss on the top of her head. You want to come back from the edge of orgasm, but each clench around you draws you closer and closer to it. Eventually, the pulsating on your length stops, and you’re able to bring yourself back under control. Suddenly you hear a voice shouting, “Come on! It’s my turn! Get up and let me have her!” It's the voice of your first friend, begging for a chance to ride you like the rest of them. She helps your other friend down, and your cock, still coated in her cum, starts throbbing against the cooler air again.

With your other friends watching, the first one straddles your thighs and stares almost fearfully at your girth. “I don’t know...” she says, hesitating. “I’ve never taken anything like this before.” Your wife offers another assurance, which calms your friend enough that she lines her entrance up with your tip, slowly lowering herself down onto your length. She whimpers and whines as she takes you deeper and deeper into herself, but she manages to take you completely. She lowers her body onto yours and starts rolling her hips, fucking herself on you with abandon. Her moans fill your ear, and yours force themselves from your throat, mixing to make a carnal harmony.

After what could be seconds but also hours passes, your need overtakes you. In spite of your struggles, your body can’t hold back anymore, and you feel your orgasm force its way from your body, hard enough to make you cry and your ears ring. You spurt jet after jet of cum inside your friend, feeling it leak out and down onto your balls. She bites down into your shoulder, screaming into your skin as she clenches down around you. A warm liquid mixes with your cum, and you realize she’s squirted on you. You turn bright red and close your eyes tightly.

When your hearing comes back, you hear your wife admonishing you. “I didn’t say you could cum! Naughty girl, disobeying your Mommy like that!” You open your eyes, profusely apologizing for your bad behavior. She makes a motion with her hand, and your friend dismounts you. A big glob of cum falls out of her, and onto your thigh. Your other friends come in, holding your legs down to eagerly lap up what’s been left behind. You fall into a haze as their tongues lick along your length and balls. Eventually, you’re pushed up, and your wife pulls herself out of the bed. You come to and notice that your friends have gotten dressed again. It’s late, and they wish to go home. Your wife motions for you to get up, and you follow them out into the main room. You see your friends off, hoping for a soft punishment and a nice sleep. As they’re walking down the driveway, your wife calls out to them.

“That was fun. We should play again sometime!”

[rachelfoleyisntdead]

not me getting 6 pages into this fic and being like "welp. where do we go now"

nooooooooooo

[virescent-v]

Subconsciously Green-Eyed

Summary: Jealousy? Emily's never heard of it.

A/N: So...I tried to challenge myself to do a 500 word drabble. I didn't make it. LMAO. But lucky for ya'll you get two fics from me within 24 hours! There's no warnings to this one; there's no smut.

Word Count: 983

Emily cast her glance back and forth across the table. It wasn’t unlike her team to joke and lighten the mood during debriefs, but something about this instance was getting under her skin. 

She eyeballed the table, looking intently at each person present trying to figure out what was bothering her. It was the usual group of people; Tara, Penelope, JJ, Luke, and Dave. But there was also a new addition to the table. 

A young, attractive agent from New York. A bright mind in the Cyber Division office, if she were to go by what your section chief said. You were down in DC helping out on the case they were currently working on. Everyone on the team was besotted with you already after only having known you for two days. 

You were a bright light in the otherwise bleak office. You were average in height, but loud in personality. Your optimism rivaled that of Penelope, as did your technological savviness, and your humor meshed well with both Tara and Luke. You were confident and extroverted without being cocky and knowledgeable without being a know-it-all. 

Everyone was captivated by you, trying to work closely with you over the past couple of days. You had knowledge that seeped into various topics that made you an asset at the round table. More importantly, you were creative with directions to take the case that opened up a few different leads that impressed everyone, including Emily. 

As Emily continued surveying the table, you were in the middle of a funny story from your first New York case and everyone around it had their eyes on you. You were leaning lightly into Penelope’s personal space, your hand on her arm, sharing a quick giggle at something techy. You made sure to make eye contact with everyone around the table, keeping everyone’s attention on you. It felt natural, the way you worked the small crowd, and Emily could tell that each member was enamored with you. 

She noticed that Tara and Luke’s eyes were more heavily focused on you than the others, something dark and gleaming. Watching them watch you, their eyes trailing sneakily but lazily over your body, Emily could feel something swelling inside of her. Something unnamed, something she hadn’t felt before. 

As she was internally cataloging whatever feelings were swirling inside her, she didn’t notice the room clear out leaving only herself and you. 

You noticed Emily’s distraction during the past few minutes, especially as the team made their way out and she stayed behind. Her gaze was directed at the table top, but it looked befuddled, distant. 

“Agent Prentiss?” When you didn’t receive any response, you timidly walked around the table and gently put your hand on her arm. You spoke quietly, not wanting to scare her out of her reverie. “Emily?” 

Regardless of your trying to be soft spoken, Emily still startled, jumping a little. “Wha- oh. Sorry, I was in another world.” 

You laughed lightly, breaking the tension a bit. “I could tell. Is everything okay?” 

Emily cleared her throat, still unsure of how to name the emotions rippling inside her. “Oh, ye-yeah. It’s nothing. Just a lot on my mind.” She looked around, finally registering that the team had left. “Are you enjoying DC?” 

You tilted your head a little at her, your eyes softening. “I am. It’s a nice change of pace from New York,” you stepped a little closer to the section chief. “I really like the team. Everyone’s, uh, great.” 

Emily had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Go figure you enjoyed the attention of her agents. She figured you probably noticed the glances that some of them were throwing your way, your personality clinging to the admiration. “I can tell,” she said with just a hint of something venomous. 

Your head tilted a little further as you scrutinized her. You were not as proficient in profiling, but you weren’t blind. You leaned back on the table and crossed your arms over your chest, regarding Emily with a hint of amusement. “Agent Prentiss, are you jealous of my newly budding relationships with your team?” 

“Jeal-? Jealous? No, no. Why, why would I be jealous?” 

Emily felt her face flush, confused by the emotions rushing through her. Was it jealousy? But why would she be jealous of her team showing you attention? 

“It doesn’t take a profiler to spot jealousy.” You walked closer to her, close enough that you could feel her body heat. “You’re stuttering over your words when you’re normally very well spoken. Your hands are clenched at your sides right now.” You trailed your hands over Emily’s hands, loosening them. You trailed your hands up her arms, keeping your eyes on Emily and her reactions. 

As your hands brushed her shoulders, Emily’s breath caught. “I can feel your muscles, you’re pretty tense right now.” Your hands continued north, brushing the underside of her jaw. “You’ve been clenching your teeth and frowning with narrowed eyes since you noticed Luke and Tara checking me out.” You trailed your thumb over her lower lip, which she had pulled between her teeth at your movements. “So, yeah, I’m not a profiler, Agent Prentiss, but all signs point to jealousy,” you said, arching your eyebrow. 

Emily slowly released a breath, gently closing her eyes in a way to relax herself. “Maybe I am jealous,” she whispered. 

You watched as Emily steeled herself, confidence lighting up her eyes. You grinned fondly as you gently shook your head, opening your body language as Emily prepared herself. 

“I think,” she started, her hands landing on your hips. “To avoid all further jealousy, I should beat Tara and Luke to the punch.” She took a deep breath. “Want to get dinner with me tonight?” 

You couldn’t suppress the teasing smile that broke out across your face. “Why, Agent Prentiss, I thought you’d never ask.” 

[justporo]

Hi sweetheart if your request is open I want to request a nsfw and or sfw alphabet for Astarion 🥰

Hello my sweet, Anon, and thank you! Oh exciting, I like these, so I'm happy someone asked me to do this. This will be SFW but maybe I'll do a NSFW version too - if people want it?

I used this wonderful template by @the-coldest-goodbye (thank you for making this!)

Also let's call this

Fluffy relationship headcanons about Astarion and Tav (in alphabetic order)

(Because I know the word headcanon is somewhat of a Pavlov'sch bell for some people here, hihi~)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Very much so. Once Astarion really grabs onto the concept of having someone he deeply and truly loves, he tells them every moment of every day. He compliments them, showers them in gifts, his flirtatious behaviour never stops. But oh yeah, they also bicker like an old married couple - it's their love language.

Also he’s very keen to keep his hands on you, PDA: oh hells yeah, showing the whole world you belong to him, also you’re just that yummy.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Pure chaotic goblin energy. If you’re best friends with Astarion you’re most likely enabling each other to commit arson on a daily basis – and you love it.

You most likely stumbled over each other, each thought “what a dickhead, looks so dumb…”, figured you were equally sassy and were inseparable from there on out. Because the best friendships start with thinking “ugh, this dumb idiot…”

Also being in a relationship with Astarion means also being his best friend and having chaotic gremlin moments – like for example grouping up on Gale to shittalk him.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddling is a kind of unusual concept for Astarion at first, like with any kind of non-sexual intimacy. But he very quickly figures out he loves cuddling. Just normal hugging, holding you standing behind you with his arms around your waist. But he also enjoys it so so much when he’s being held, just knowing your arms are his safe haven.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Honestly, after everything? Yes – at least for quite some time I guess Astarion wants to settle down, have some time to figure himself out but also enjoying some mundance peace and quiet with Tav – with the biggest worry being what he’ll wear this night.

He’s shit tho at all the domestic shit. He doesn’t know how to cook or anything else and frankly he has never needed to because even before being turned he lived the comfortable live of a noble. Tav’s going to have to teach him a thing or two on how not to be so messy…

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Despite that I am 1000% convinced that Tav and Astarion are endgame… Quickly, I believe, like ripping a bandaid off, but making sure to really get the point across on why.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

The idea of commitment might scare Astarion, the idea of having Tav forever does not. So I guess he would actually come around to the idea although you both assure each other it’s not to prove something. Also Astarion does joke about it – because he loves thinking about it, to have someone who’s loving him until the end of time.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

So gentle, almost chaste, especially at first. Yeah yeah, he knows every trick in the book when it comes to sex, but exploring what a committed relationship can feel like? Sharing small moments of intimacy, opening up his feelings that he never really allowed himself to have before.

That being said I believe the first time Tav and Astarion sleep with each other after he’s freed: it’s like it’s his first time, fully there, bravely letting himself fall into your open loving arms, experiencing for the first time what it means to be this kind of intimate with someone you love more than anything else in this world.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Something he also didn’t really quite get until he shared it with Tav – and then the other ones who became his friends. He relishes hugs as something that really make him feel at peace. And he does become a hugger, at least with Tav: small, quick hugs to full-blown embraces – although these are something he likes to enjoy only with you. Oh, and they’re wonderful hugs: not too strong, not too weak, although Astarion might be a bit of a clinger, especially in the beginning, when he can never get enough.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Tav says it first, but he’s pretty brave and pretty sure about his feelings (at least about how hard he’s fallen once he accepts the initial fact), so pretty quickly. And after that: AT. ANY. POSSIBLE. MOMENT.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Jealous, but reasonably so. Like he can obviously differentiate if you’re just friends with someone or if it might even just be flirty banter (because he’s also guilty as charges with that) but someone hits on you, you’re definitely not interested, the other person keeps pushing? He’ll be ready to rip their throat out. He gets protective. This being said, his jealousy is always focused on the other party pushing a toe out of line, not you.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Everything? Everywhere? All at once?

Of course his kisses are perfect, he likes to kiss every inch of your body and loves when you repay him for that in like. Although like with other intimate moments it’s still something new to him because there are a lot of feelings in it now.

Also Astarion and Tav love to annoy each other with giving each other big wet smooches when the other person is being annoying or just needs a lip-smacking reminder of affection.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

“You’re so gross, Astarion.”

“Why is cute, when Scratch does it, but not when I do it?”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT A DOG, ASTARION!”

“I mean I could bark if you wanted me to.”

Children can be annoying them because “ugh, why are they so loud and smelly… and sticky” but Astarion loves the chaotic energy kids have. And if the other companion’s would ever bring kids over he would absolutely incite them to cause chaos all around, teach them naughty words, give them candy so they get a sugar rush when they should actually go to bed.

And Astarion is good at telling kids captivating stories, so he becomes the resident storyteller when friends with kids come visit.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) (or in his case evenings, I figure)

Slow, full of cuddles and “five more minutes, my love, please” – basically he loves to just hang around with you in bed. He also takes his sweet time getting ready after waking up – A) because he can B) “when you look this good…”; once he figures out what Tav’s favourite hot beverage is in the morning, he’d learn how to brew it perfectly and bring it to them when he’s feeling generous.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) (and here days, accordingly)

Even more cuddles, talking before bed, talking after going to bed, probably having lots of wine while doing so – or just lounging around reading with his head in your lap while you detangle his soft curls.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Slowly at first but then more and more. But there’s just as much for him to unpack as there is for you to learn and take in. But Astarion learns quickly that you’re a good person to open up to: he feels safe and seen with you. And even if it doesn’t fix all his trauma right away – telling you, it really helps.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Astarion has more than a bit of temper. He can get very easily annoyed especially by little, seemingly unimportant things. He can snap at you but he tries to take a quick breather then and work through it and apologises – even though this too is something he learns slowly.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

I think he memorizes a lot about everyone anyway, because it’s a survival instinct to gather all possible information that might become helpful. But besides that: once Astarion is all aboard the relationship train, he will absolutely remember everything – probably even better than you. That’s also why he gets you the best gifts, because he listens, when you tell him something that you would like.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He holds the memory of this first special hug very close and dear in his heart. Because he remembers how incredibly frightened he was how scary that leap was. But there you were quite literally with open arms and an open heart.

But there’s lots more moments. When you bought the house in Baldur’s Gate and he could carry you inside the first time cheekily in bridal style? The first gift you ever gave him for your first anniversary? There’sso many and he collects them like precious little treasures.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Very, oh he’s so very protective. And he will cut someone if the need arises. He might actually even be a bit too eager about it. And he likes when you’re protective of him as well – and let’s be honest you’re just as eager to keep him safe.

Nobody touches you or him – or they get the sharp end of a knife.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Everyday stuff, oh eeeeh, it’s hard. Astarion is just so not used to it, but he tries. He really does. And gifts, dates and all? Firstly, he finds out that he’s very much a romantic. Secondly, this man does not do things like this lightly, because “if we were going to be basic about it, we don’t have to do it at all”.

And he regularly outdoes himself trying to spoil you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

As much as he tries to be open and learn. The habits of 200 years die hard. Sometimes when he feels backed into a corner he snaps and he can be very much hurtful. And as much as you want to pretend you rationally know it better, you do get angry sometimes, you do feel hurt. And you do have fights.

But at latest when tempers are cooled again, you always get back around to talking it through and learning something from it. The two of you never go to bed angry with each other – that’s an unspoken agreement.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Astarion deeply is a creature of vanity. He cares about his looks almost as much as he cares about Tav. And it can annoying, but then again: he deserves to treat himself and he deserves all the swooning and pining and compliment you can give him – and you happily supply.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Let me cite a fic of mine and although Tav says it, Astarion feels very much the same:

“I love you so much, I would give up everything for you, if only it meant I could still be with you. I would burn this whole world down if it meant, I could keep you safe. I would walk with you to the end of the universe if it was what you needed to be happy. And if I ever where to leave this earthly world behind, I believe my soul would find you again – and again and again – because I’m half and only ever whole with you.”

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

It’s hard to say that he has no regrets. And surely Astarion would never want to go through all his trauma again, but yet… in the end he met you, didn’t he?

In the end he found you and you became his light.

Sometimes he thinks about that as you lay beside him dreaming. He softly moves a strand of hair out of your closed eyes and thanks whatever God has sent you his way

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Plainly, if they saw him in a way like probably everyone did for the past two centuries and if he felt used by them. But you’re you and would never do that.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He doesn’t know it but he tends to be a clinger when he’s in his dreamful trance. And maybe this is only a thing he developed since the two of you have been together, but he sometimes wakes you because in his sleep he pulls you to him so you’re left with nothing but snuggling up to him – becoming his life size teddy bear.

You’d never have it any other way!

(Also sorry for swinging between Tav/you - I'm just so used to 2nd person perspective while writing, oops)

[themisimagines]

prompt generator: person a and person b sharing a bath content: smut under the cut! - self loving, bathtub shenanigans characters: artem, fem!reader

Thank god it's the weekend. You leave the office at 7, a feat given all that's gone on this week, and pop your head into Celestine's office to say goodbye, thinking you might swing by Artem's office to try and convince him to leave work with you. Unfortunately, he's in Celestine's office already when you look in, and they seem to be in deep conversation.

"Have a good weekend," Celestine chimes. Artem raises his hand in parting. You look wistfully at him, but decide to head home first.

Artem texts you on your way out.

<Wait for me to have dinner. Shouldn't be too much longer, I'll pick up ingredients on the way back.>

Your heart warms. He probably knew that you were looking forward to your first free weekend in weeks, having barely had the time to spend with each other beyond curling up together, exhausted, in bed each night, and blearily getting ready for work in the mornings.

Another text. <Don't eat too many snacks.> Ugh, this man knows you too well.

When you finally reach the home you share with Artem, you can almost literally feel the ache in your neck and shoulders from hunching over documents and screens, so you decide to run a hot bath. It's almost criminal that neither of you spend much time in this bath, with it's beautiful city views and skyline. But to be fair, you both only moved in together three months ago, and that was round about the time work started to pick up again. You even take out a precious bubble bath solution you've been saving for a special occasion, the scent of lavender and hibiscus foaming up underneath the running water.

As the bath runs, you pop in a record on the vintage player Artem picked up from his parents recently, and both of you have been enjoying going to markets searching for records, your recent favourites being jazz ballads, the crackle and pop of these old records invoking a different time entirely. The music drifts into the bathroom as you turn off the taps, stripping down and stepping gingerly into the bath, fragrant steam wafting into your face.

Oh, this is nice. You fiddle a bit with the water temperature before it's finally perfect, and then you sink in, closing your eyes blissfully.

<Tell me why we don't take baths on a daily basis again? Are you home soon, by the way?> You grab your phone and send to Artem, snapping a picture of your legs, just obscured by the bubbles.

The feel of the water caressing your body and against your tired muscles is soothingly erotic, and you feel a familiar jolt of arousal flowing down your body. Your hands run up and down your soft inner thighs, the arc of your collarbones, luxuriating in the sensation.

Ding! Artem has messaged you back. <Almost home.>

Then, a follow up: <It's not good for our water bill or the environment to take so many baths, but I agree with you that ours is underused.> You laugh. Ever the practical boyfriend.

Still, if he's still on the way, that leaves you free to take care of... some business. Your hands plunge back into the water, stroking your thighs, your breasts, slowly teasing at your nipples to send delicious shivers up your spine. All the while, the water swirls around you, making you even more excited. One hand drifts further downwards, settling onto your clit, and you draw slow, lazy circles around it, letting a slow pressure build up in your core.

The music swells, and you let yourself enjoy each and every sensation, a small moan escaping your mouth and echoing around the bathroom, your back arching slightly as you chase the peak of your pleasure. One of your fingers is just tracing your opening, ready to slip in, when a knock sounds on the bathroom door, and Artem peeks in.

Startled, you sit bolt upright, almost getting a mouthful full of suds.

"Sorry," Artem apologises for startling you. "Just wanted to let you know I'm home, and I'll be making dinner downstairs. Come down when you're ready.

From the crack through the door, you see that his tie has been loosened slightly, hair slightly rumpled from the day. Even though he's interrupted your moment, you can't help but appreciate how much of a goddamn gentleman he is, barely allowing himself a glimpse of you in the bath. Artem is about to close the door when you call for him to wait.

"Come and join me in the bath," you ask. "We did get one that was big enough for two, after all."

The door freezes, and even though you can't see Artem anymore, you can sense he is debating furiously with himself on the other side of the door.

"Please?" you wheedle. "The water is still nice and warm."

When the door next opens, it does so uncertainly, and Artem blushes upon seeing your clothes tossed haphazardly around the bathroom, the bubbles leaving very little to the imagination. It's hardly as if you both haven't seen each other naked before, but you always sense that Artem is holding himself back, too aware of trying to perform the part of gentleman for you, being overly considerate of your needs. Always too afraid to let his eyes linger for too long, or his hands to rest too inappropriately (except in the heat of the moment), afraid that you might think him crude or impolite.

You take charge of the situation. "Clothes off, Mr. Wing. Now."

His hands hesitate at his shirt-buttons, but then he steels his spine and strips off his clothing efficiently, letting you admire the hard planes and lines of his body, so often hidden away behind suits, which, while flatteringly cut, look much better off him. Belt and trousers join the pile on the floor, and you can sense that Artem is itching to refold his clothes nicely instead of leaving them there, so you launch a distraction tactic, rising in the bath so that the tops of your breasts are just visible, watching his eyes drawn to them as the blush in his cheekbones grows higher and higher.

"Should I just - get in?" He stutters. It's so cute to see him embarrassed. He clears his throat, and although he shifts from side to side, you can see his cock twitch slightly, already half-hardening before he's even in the bath. You slide your knees up to make space, and he climbs in, careful not to let the water splash out, although it's dangerously close to doing so, with an extra person in the tub.

It's almost comical to see him curl up so tightly into himself, trying to avoid touching you. Arms hugging his knees as he watches you intently. You stretch your legs out so they just barely graze the sides of your legs.

"Are you really comfortable like that?" You tease, leaning forward and putting your face closer to his. He continues to stare.

"Come on, stretch out." You try to get him to loosen up. "The point of a bath is to relax, after all. No point in getting even more tense, right?"

"You... hm." He conceeds, stretching his limbs out tentatively, but it's an awkward tangle of limbs with you both sitting opposite each other. Then, you have an idea.

"Artem, what if we sat facing the same direction? I could just nestle myself between your legs. That would solve our space issue, and we'd be more comfortable."

He thinks about it. "I don't dislike the idea."

You stand up to spin around, your body covered in suds, and Artem politely averts his eyes a little, face still red, although you're not sure if it's from the steam or embarrassment at this point. You settle down between his legs, gently pressing up against his chest, and give a sigh of contentment. Artem is the best pillow anyone could ask for. As you purr and squirm to find a comfortable position, you feel a distinct hardness growing against your back and stifle a laugh to yourself. Artem's hands settle awkwardly around the curve of your waist, as if he's holding himself back from letting them wander.

"Comfortable?" you tease.

"Hn." He agrees. His cock has grown to full length now, and you can't help but rub yourself against it, feeling him stiffen. You turn your face slightly behind to look at him, and he doesn't dare to meet your eyes.

"You have soap on your face." He says in a matter of fact tone, reaching a hand out to wipe off soap bubbles on your nose very seriously. You giggle in response, then close the gap to kiss him, gently at first, then deepening it, still rubbing yourself slowly against his cock. You slide one of his hands up your body, encouraging him to grab onto your breast, and faced with so much stimulation, Artem loses control and lets out a small moan into your mouth.

That tiny noise is a sudden breaking of the floodgates, and you can almost hear him think, fuck it, as his hands surge up to hold your body closer to his, hips thrusting upwards greedily between the curves of your ass. Panting, you both break apart the kiss, and Artem dives for your neck, licking and sucking the soft skin until you are sure he will leave a bruise. Rolling your nipples between his clever fingers until he draws out a desperate cry from you, the other hand teasing your clit, your entrance, just barely slipping a finger in. You are writhing and completely at his mercy, reaching behind you to stroke his cock.

"Bed?" Artem asks, voice rough with desire. But you can't be bothered with all that now - getting out of the bath, drying yourself, all that nonsense. You want him now.

"I have a better idea," you reply, then turn around so that you are facing him again, sitting on top of him, nestling his cock between your thighs. He makes an attempt to continue with the foreplay, but you stop him.

"I need you, now." you beg him, and like the gentleman he is, he lets you climb on top of him, lining his cock up with your entrance, sliding into your slick warmth. You both cry out at the sensation, taking a few moments to stretch out and get used to the feeling. Then you slide up and down his cock, panting and not caring that the bathwater is sloshing onto the tiles below, probably getting all your clothes wet.

Artem throws his head back, until you can see the line of his throat, his eyes closed in pleasure. His hands are unceasing, moving to play with your breasts, guiding your waist as you plunge again and again on his cock.

An angle hits particularly well for both of you, and Artem opens his eyes, a wild abandon in them. He seizes your hips and thrusts his hips upwards, creating great swells in the water, but hitting that spot again and again until you feel like you are about to explode, begging him not to stop.

"I'm going to cum –!" you cry. "Please don't stop, oh, don't stop Artem!"

His hips drive into you faster and faster until you hit your orgasm, clenching around him. The tightness drives him over the edge, and with a last few thrusts, he follows suit, cock pulsing inside you as he fills you with his cum.

You collapse against his chest, breathing heavily, both locked in an embrace. Artem doesn't let you rest for too long, as he taps your shoulder.

"We'd better get out, or you'll catch a cold."

"Can't you let a girl bask in post-orgasm glory for a few minutes at least?" You complain, although you know he's right - the bathwater has gone cold during the time that you both were otherwise engaged. You peer out at the floor, where half the water seems to have tipped out onto. Artem catches what you're looking at and grabs your shoulders.

"On second thought, wait. Let me grab some towels for the floor, I don't want you to slip." He steps out of the bath and you watch him leave, sighing happily at what a thoughtful boyfriend you have.

[aimbutmiss]

The day started like any other normal day. And it was, to Mihawk at least.

Yes, it was his birthday, but he never really cared for the occasion. Was he grateful for the life he was given? Of course he was. But he never saw the point in celebrating. He remembered the day when Shanks had showed up out of nowhere, ten years or so ago. He was overjoyed to see the man, hands itching to reach for Yoru, but the man stopped him with a whine.

"Nooooo, I come in peace! We can't fight, not today of all days!"

He held up the bottle in his hand with a bright smile. "We're gonna party until the sun goes down and comes back up!"

A frown pulled down on Mihawk's face, who was not quite understanding the situation. "What are you talking about?"

Shanks' smile quickly dropped too. "Don't tell me you forgot your own birthday."

Ah, right. So that's what this was about. The man had told him his date of birth some time ago, and in his surprise and perhaps slight tipsiness, he had admitted that they shared the same birthday. In hindsight, he should have known the red head would pull something like this. It was definitely in character. He sighed in frustration.

"I'm not quite the type to celebrate. You know I don't like to party like you folk."

"That's nonsense!" Shanks walked up to him and slapped a hand on his back, strong enough to send a normal man flying. But of course, Mihawk didn't move an inch. "Parties are like, the best part of being a pirate! And even if I respect your mysterious and lonely guy schtick, it's your damn birthday! You can make an exception for one day of the year."

He looked up, reminiscing about the past. "The captain was very firm about that. He would throw me and Buggy the most extravagant parties. He never once forgot; can you believe that?"

The captain he was talking about was indeed the King of the Pirates, Gold Roger. It had shocked Mihawk at first, learning about Shanks’ past. But the more he got to know the man, the more it made sense. A man of his caliber couldn’t have come from anything else. Shanks was a very talkative drunkard, so Mihawk was used to listening to stories about that time of his life. And frankly, he quite enjoyed it. These men in his stories and the stuff they went through were like straight out of legends... He gave a small smile to the excited man in front of him. "I guess I could indulge you just this once, but only because it's your birthday too."

He snapped out of the memories and slowly got out of bed, having had enough nostalgia to last him the day. But he was stopped by a floating hand pulling on his night gown.

"Stay."

Mihawk looked to the source of the muffled protest, which happened to be the blue mess in his bed. "Let go, Buggy."

"Nooooooo..."

He sighed as he sat back down on the bed, fingers immediately going for the soft blue locks. An approving hum came from the clown as he brushed through his hair with his long fingers.

This sleepy man, with whom he shared a bed, was one of those from Shanks’ stories. Except he was nothing like them. He wasn’t brave and fearless like in the stories, he was weak. But he knew exactly what he was and what he was capable of, and Mihawk loved him for that. He was charming beyond words, and a little stupid, but Mihawk was into that, as embarrassing as it was.

“Get back into bed and get your birthday cuddles.”

Mihawk chuckled at his partner. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

He got up to leave for the bathroom. “Do you know where Crocodile went?”

“Nope! How should I know?” Buggy answered way too quickly, which made the swordsman’s brows furrow.

“Hm. He’s probably in his office like usual.”

“Yes! That’s it.” Buggy exclaimed in triumph, for what he didn’t know. “He’s such a workaholic.”

“Indeed.” He replied nonchalantly as he reached for his razor.

“Wait!” Buggy ran out of bed to his side with a smile. “Let me do that for you.”

Mihawk stared at him with a raised brow. “You want to help me shave? For what reason exactly?”

“It’ll be relaxing! I’m good with my hands, you know.” Buggy wiggled his brows suggestively, which made his lips curve just the slightest bit. The clown could be funny sometimes, mostly when he wasn’t trying. Oh, how he loved this silly man.

“You literally have no reason to do this.”

Buggy sighed in frustration. “I’m just trying to pamper you, birthday boy. Take it or leave it.”

Mihawk thought about it for a second, and reluctantly gave the razor to the clown. “You better not mess this up. I have a very particular- “

“I’m aware, dear. Just trust me.”

He gently held his face and got to work, carving out the intricate design with capable movements. After he was done, he wiped his face with a fresh towel and gave him a kiss on the cheek to seal the deal.

“Was that a part of the service?” Mihawk jokingly asked.

“Only for you, handsome.”

Mihawk was never one for being coddled, always believing that being spoiled was being looked down upon. He didn’t need special attention and privilege to make it in life. But this, this he could get used to.

He pulled Buggy into a kiss that started innocent, but quickly grew more desperate. He was sneaking his hands under Buggy’s polka dot pyjama shirt when the man pushed him away.

“Nuh uh.”

“Nuh uh?” Mihawk stared at his boyfriend in bewilderment.

“Not now. I’ll give your birthday gift at night.”

Mihawk frowned. “It’s my birthday now too. What difference does it make?”

“God, you’re impatient. Night. No negotiating.”

Mihawk pursed his lips and didn’t protest. He was not happy, though.

Buggy stayed with him throughout the day, keeping him company and making sure he stayed away from the beach.

Yes, Mihawk could tell. But to be fair, Buggy wasn’t exactly being subtle. But he didn’t say a word, indulging in whatever the man was planning.

A surprise party, perhaps? God, he really hoped it wasn’t that. Crowds and being the center of attention didn’t agree with his constitution.

And where was his other partner (both in romantic and business contexts), Crocodile? He wasn’t in his office like he initially assumed. He was sure Buggy knew where the man was but refrained from asking questions. He was quite sure the two situations were somehow connected.

That in itself was quite ridiculous to think about. Crocodile didn’t seem like the type of man to care about birthdays either, like himself. Maybe Buggy had somehow convinced him? It all seemed very unnecessary. He knew the clown had good intentions, but he would have been fine if no one acknowledged his birthday at all. It wasn’t of importance to him, simple as that.

Then why was this bothering him so much? He tried to focus on Buggy’s rambling but that feeling did not leave.

Why did it feel so wrong to be celebrated just for existing? To be loved and cared for?

Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t unhappy with it. Quite the opposite actually. But it just felt so… foreign. He needed time to adjust, to make his peace with it.

He thought he had gotten over this particular problem after he formed a relationship with his two business partners. It had taken a lot out of him to simply let them in, to feel comfortable in their presence, to not fret from every touch… And even though he trusted them completely, here he was doubting his place.

It just didn’t make sense. They were wasting their time and effort for an inconsequential event that would pass by, leaving nothing changed. So, what if he got a year older? What did that change? Why did they care so much about something he himself didn’t care for? To show their love? But Mihawk already knew they loved him.

“Earth to Mihawk, hello?”

Mihawk snapped out of his thoughts, staring at Buggy’s concerned eyes. “Hm? Sorry, I got lost in thoughts. You were saying?”

“I was saying I want to walk along the beach… You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry. I’m alright, just a bit sluggish today. And sure, we can go for a stroll.”

He walked hand in hand with Buggy, trying to ease his mind and keep small talk going. He wasn’t big on physical touch, but he really appreciated the warmth of Buggy’s hand then. The clown always had a way of comforting him without trying. Mihawk stopped walking when he saw the dinner table placed on the beach. That certainly wasn’t there before. It was adorned with red roses and lit candles, setting a romantic atmosphere. Crocodile was standing beside the table, looking at his pocket watch.

“You’re late.”

“I know! I got lost in my speaking, and hawk eyes didn’t try to stop me so I lost track of time…”

“You and your big mouth… I guess it’s alright, we didn’t miss the sunset.”

Crocodile walked up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and sharing a chaste kiss.

“Happy birthday, hawk eyes.”

“Thank you.” Mihawk broke the eye contact as he felt his cheeks get hotter.

Crocodile gave a sly smirk. “Someone’s being bashful.”

“Well, I didn’t expect… this. I was convinced you were throwing me a party.”

Buggy frowned at the thought. “Of course not! That would make you uncomfortable, wouldn’t it? That’s the last thing I would want on your birthday. A private dinner on the other hand…”

“Is much more your style, is it not?” Crocodile completed Buggy’s sentence.

Mihawk was the luckiest man alive. He gave his lovers a small smile. “Yes, indeed it is. You are too thoughtful.”

“It’s literally the bare minimum but okay.”

“I can’t believe this, but I agree with the clown. What kind of partners would we be if we didn’t know your preferences?”

Mihawk sat on the chair the taller man pulled out for him as Buggy poured him a glass of wine, one of his favorites that happened to be quite expensive.

“I just don’t quite get what’s so important about this day, or what you would go through all this trouble for.”

Crocodile and Buggy shared a glance and turned to him with sad eyes.

“Because it’s the day you came into this world, and therefore to our lives? Because we love you?”

“Indeed. I don’t see what’s so confusing about us wanting to cherish the man we love, to show him how much he means to us. Is that a problem?”

Mihawk stared at the two in astonishment and eventually, a big smile stretched across his lips. “No, not at all.”

The swordsman had a lot to learn about love, about being loved, but he had two perfect partners to help him through the steps. He could get used to celebrating his birthday if it meant he got to share it with the people he loved. Maybe that’s what he had been missing all these years to give this day a meaning. Company.

And after dinner, Buggy didn’t forget about his promise from the morning. Easy to say Mihawk went to sleep a very tired but satisfied man.

[polaroidcats]

Ugly crying & the marauders generation - a pseudo-scientific approach (my marauders crying PhD abstract)

Abstract

In recent days, there have been a variety of claims as to who the prettiest and ugliest crier in the marauders generation could be. This paper aims to address the recent surge in opinions on the matter, and categorize different approaches as well as add a new approach to the scientific examination of ugliness/prettiness when it comes to crying. I hope to provide readers with an overview of the current state of research and encourage all marauders scholars to add their own and I intend to make a contribution to the discourse by committing to the bit and writing a pseudo-academic paper about it instead of actually working on my thesis.

Introduction

In the following paper, the discourse about 5 marauders era characters will be examined in regards to their various levels of perceived ugliness whilst crying. Scholars who may ask why Peter [Pettigrew] is not included in this analysis are advised to refer to acclaimed marauders ugly crying scholar @lynxindisguise's (2023) original poll on the popular blogging website "tumblr.com" which did not include Peter, but rather two non-marauders characters named Lily and Regulus. This paper will follow that approach, since Peter is the nastiest skank bitch I have ever met, I do not trust him and he is a fugly slut. The characters included in this approach are as follows: James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Regulus Black.

Following the scientific criteria for ugly crying, as stated by lynxindisguise et. al (2023), the question of the ugliest crier can be answered by observing the crying person and assessing their ugly-levels on the following parameters: (1) unbecoming facial expressions, (2) facial swelling/blotching, (3) unsettling noises, (4) snot factor, (5) tear volume, (6) general loss of dignity, (7) glistening eyes/lashes, (8) Victorian heroine factor, (9) elegant tear-wiping, (10) post-cry glow (ibid).

Criteria (1)-(6) can be categorized as the ugly crying parameters whereas (7)-(10) are pretty crying parameters, creating a false binary between ugly and pretty crying, which may be problematised and addressed in another the paper. In contrast to lynxindisguise’s original 10 criteria to measure the aesthetics of crying, this paper proposes to add (11) explosiveness of cry as another ugly crying parameter, in order to get a more clear assessment of where on the ugly-pretty crying scale a character falls.

The ugly crying parameters

(1) Unbecoming facial expressions

James Potter is mentioned in this category by several marauders scholars: @jaylienpotter talks about his red face and ugly sobbing, @artbyace mentions his “scrunched up cry face” and @sectoren claimes “james (…) is that one handsome guy that when the waterworks get going becomes like. Cartoonishly ugly”, raising the question of upkeeping toxic masculinity in order to avoid having to witness more of James Potter’s crying “mug”.

Though James Potter features heavily in this category, another character who is also mentioned just as often is Remus Lupin: @kaaaaaaarf, @appreciatedmoron and @http-starboy all emphasise that Remus Lupin is the one with a red and blotchy face.

(2) facial swelling/blotching

While there is a definitive overlap between the categories of facial swelling/blotching, unbecoming facial expressions and snot factor, Sirius’ and Regulus’ victorian heroine complexions, which give them an advantage in the homonymous category, may be to their disadvantage in the “blotching” category. This will require further research by other scholars.

(3) unsettling noises

James Potter is mentioned in this category by Jaylienpotter (2023), claiming he not only hiccups when crying but also that “his cries are one of the most heartbreaking things you’ll ever hear” and similarly, artbyace states that “James loves and feels so loudly”, whereas “Sirius is silent”, both sentiments are reminiscent of znelda’s (2023) statements that James “was allowed to feel his emotions freely in a loving household” and “Sirius (…) [is] used to hide [his] feelings and [has] become stoic”.

With several other scholars, among them also @jamesunderwater (2023) raising the point that James may be the ugliest crier due to him being “the only one well adjusted enough to have access to his feelings” this raises the question of possibly introducing another category, maybe of emotional awareness/stability to be able to measure this parameter more efficiently, though emotional vulnerability may also just be a part of the unsettling noises parameter, suggesting that there is a correlation between noisiness and the existing environment being welcoming to and accepting of various expressions of emotions.

(4) snot factor

The most popular winner in the snot factor category seems to be Remus Lupin, with several scholars agreeing that his sobs are the dampest and snottiest out of all the candidates. kaaaaaaarf (2023) writes “he turnes all red and blochty and snot drips out of his nose (…) he cant (sic) not cry with his mouth open as well so there is a lot of spit”, and appreciatedmoron (2023) agrees with kaaaaaaarf on this.

It only seems right to me to include spit in the snot category as well, seeing as they’re both crying-related bodily fluids that add to the ugly-cry factor. http-starboy (2023) also mentions snot in regards to Remus Lupin, which compared to both their comments in (1) opens up the question of how unbecoming facial expressions, more particularly redness of the face and snot factor may be related, as several authors seem to write about both specifically in relation to each other. Whether this is just pure coincidence or not would need further research, for which we currently do not have enough funding. This is only one of the many research gaps in the relatively new field of marauder’s ugly crying studies, which cannot fully be addressed in this paper.

James Potter is also mentioned in the snot category, namely by the marauders scholar artbyace (2023).

(5) tear volume

Artbyace (2023) claims James Potter is “full on bawling” which can only be assumed to refer to tear volume, but the most convincing argument for tear volume comes from the acclaimed marauders scholar @fruityindividual (2023), stating that “tsunami warning tones go off in sirius’ brain anytime remus is close 2 (sic) tears” which already indicates high levels of tear volumes. The author then goes on to specify the volume by claiming that “indeed the ocean wishes rj lupin would jump in and help contribute 2 (sic) rising sea levels”, further emphasizing the volume of Remus's tears.

(6) general loss of dignity

@pastaplatypus (2023) writes about James Potter not being able to do a Melodramatic Bollywood Cry, which is perceived as inherently racist by the crier.

I would like to argue that Sirius Black also deserves to be mentioned in this category. While as of today, with less than 1 hour left to vote, 15.5% of voters agree that Sirius is the ugliest crier, the more outspoken voices all argue for different ugly criers. Due to their upbringing, I am tempted to name both Black brothers in the “loss of dignity” category and look forward to reading future contributions to this discussion.

The pretty crying parameters

(7) glistening eyes/lashes

Undoubtedly Sirius Black deserves to be mentioned in this category. I believe his dark lashes and glimmering eyes are part of what makes him the prettiest crier. Whereas Remus’s eyes also sometimes glisten or appear red, and it is usually attributed to be caused by drug consumption, which more often than not is a wrong assumption, but he happily goes along with the pretense of being a weed-smoking bad boy in order to hide his ugly crying damp tendencies.

(8) Victorian heroine factor

It almost seems superfluous to even mention Sirius (and, to a lesser degree, Regulus) Black in this category. This category was made for Sirius, as is apparent when reading lynxindisguises (2023) description of the victorian heroine factor, in response to a question by the scholar @plecotusauritus:

“the Victorian Heroine Factor is a deeply scientific assessment of the Vibes. Is this person giving tragically beautiful, windswept Victorian Heroine, sobbing gently into their hands while sprawled across a boulder or a well or a fountain of some sort? When they look up at you, do their tear-plumped lips part elegantly as a single tear slides down their cheek?”

(9) elegant tear-wiping

There hasn't been a lot of research in this area, but I would like to propose handkerchiefs with embroidered initials and family crests as another potential factor in favor of the Black brothers scoring high marks in this category as well as the Victorian heroine factor.

(10) post-cry glow

Artbyace (2023) claims “lily is always beautiful (…) even when crying”, which is echoed by znelda’s (2023) earlier claim that “Lily (…) [is] a woman and no woman is ugly when crying.”

Sirius is the other popular choice by marauders scholars for this category, with @in-flvx (2023) stating that he “handsomely handsomes while dying after 12 years of torture hell and another year in shackles”, which would mean that “a few tears would[n’t] stop him from being the hottest person in the room at all times” (ibid).

Additional parameters

I am suggesting to introduce an additional metric in order to further specify and better assess the ugly-crying levels:

(11) explosiveness of cry

@felixantares (2023) introduces the idea that Remus “is the type that very few people have been seen cry because he ignores every difficult emotion hes (sic) ever had (…) and it all explodes at once and its horrible to watch when he breaks down”, a sentiment shared by several of the other authors mentioned above in various other categories.

Further opinions & conclusions

The most popular consensus seems to be that Sirius cannot be the ugliest crier, sometimes also in direct comparison to his brother: @spindrifters (2023) answers the question of the ugliest crier with “obviously it’s regulus”, elaborating that “at least [it’s] definitely not sirius bc (sic) reg is canonically less handsome in all ways” which brings up the question if regular beauty plays into ugly crying. This is contrasted by lynxindisguises argument, that Sirius may be an ugly crier because he’s so gorgeous, and his ugly crying subverts the expectations of beauty:

“the most beautiful man alive looks hideous while crying, and his deeply awkward and perpetually damp bf (sic) is literally in his element while crying – dampness becomes him, you might say.”

This statement raises yet another question – does regular crying make the crier more or less ugly? Can an ugly crier become a pretty crier by practice or are we all born either ugly or pretty criers, condemned to this fate for life?

While this paper has given an overview of the current state of research to ugly crying/pretty crying, it has also raised many more questions. Other topics which may be addressed in future papers also include the philosophical question whether ugly crying is in the eye of the beholder and if it is possible to ugly cry without being perceived, and if it is possible to ugly cry if the person perceiving you doesn’t find it ugly. Since the research field of ugly crying is a relatively new one, we can only hope to read many more opinions on these and other topics in the future, and I look forward to reading different scholar’s approaches to these highly relevant topics.

[starryalpacasstuff]

Indian BL? FROM 2017????

There's an Indian BL from 2017 that I just watched. And I have incoherent thoughts

Before I continue, massive thanks to my bestie @anixknowsnothin for telling me about this show and proofreading the post for me. You don't even watch bl so I have no idea how you found this, but I'm incredibly grateful nonetheless

Here's the link to where I watched the show from, there's a glitch in the first episode subs where the subs seem to be from another show entirely, but it's only for the first ep and about 50% of the dialogue is in English anyways, so it shouldn't be hard to follow.(My ask box is also always open if there's a specific dialogue/scene in Hindi that you want the translation of)

Edit: The link seems to be region locked, so to watch it you can use a vpn and set your region to India, otherwise the episodes are available on youtube, albeit without subs

Note:- this post is going to have a few mild spoilers throughout, but I'll flag major spoilers in red

It's no secret that India is fairly behind when it comes to queer love shows if we compare it to other Asian countries. While it has a handful of great queer shows and movies, it's still quite a small quantity. Additionally, before this, I'd never watched an Indian show that felt like I was watching a bl (if you have recs, please send them my way!!). I'm not going to get into the technicalities of what feels like a bl and doesn't, because honestly, I'm not completely sure myself. For now, I'm just going based off of vibes and feelings, and this show felt like a bl through and through.

Titled 'Romil and Jugal' after its main characters, the story is a modern, desi, bl remake of the classic story...

Romeo and Juliet

Well, Bad Buddy was the first Thai bl I ever watched, so Romil and Jugal being the first Indian BL I watched just feels right, no?

I didn't actually know that the story was based off of Romeo and Juliet till the second episode, because I didn't bother looking for a synopsis, and jumped right in. However, it's links to Romeo and Juliet quickly became apparent, around the same time I started to see similarities between this show and Bad Buddy. I also did not know that this show came out in 2017 before I googled it, having already watched the entire thing, which was a pretty huge shock, because this BL is progressive by 2024 India standards.

Alright, enough of my rambling. Here's a synopsis of the show in case you haven't heard of it. (I couldn't find an official one, so I did my best to write a spoiler free synopsis)

Ramya happens to start talking to a slightly older woman at an airport, who believes that there is no romance in the younger generation. To prove her wrong, Ramya decides to tell the older woman her brother's love story. The story from the past is shown to us as Ramya narrates it to the woman in the present. Jugal is a closeted 19-year-old who lives with his parents. One day, a family moves into the house next door, and Jugal immediately falls for the son, Romil. The two of them attend the same college, and eventually become friends. The two of them eventually get together, but have to face the challenges of a homophobic society and having parents that hate each other.

I was a little skeptical of the show going in, but the show surpassed all of my expectations in the best way possible. It's no masterpiece, and it has its flaws, but it was far better than what I expected. It had both comical elements and darker themes, and it did not shy away from exploring the darker themes at all. Oh, and it has a few musical numbers. What did you expect? This is India after all.

The show is 10 episodes long, with 20 minutes per episode, and so it does unfortunately fall into some of the pitfalls that shorter shows tend to fall into, namely underdeveloped relationships and rushed endings. I did end up feeling a little bit like it didn't make sense for the pair to sacrifice and suffer as much as they did because they hadn't known each other for very long, and I felt like they should have been given more time to fall in love with each other. But it also could be argued that the show stays true to the play, and Romil and Jugal are dumb teenagers who make mistakes and stick with each other through them. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it.

One thing that I loved the show for was that it showed us that the relationship is not all sunshine and rainbows. They argue, they break up, they get back together, and they do argue even after that. But every time, they eventually work through the issue and reconcile. The show even depicts Romil dealing with internalized homophobia and struggling to reconcile with the fact that he will never be who his family wants him to be. Although I do wish they'd have had more time to explore this, I'd say it was decently depicted and handled. The show really delves into how children are forced to uphold their family's wishes and are constantly put under pressure to make them proud. Although it clearly affects both of them, it's more obvious with Romil, who is expected by his family to date and marry the daughter of his father's boss, whom they think he is dating. There's a metaphor along this theme too, where Romil pretends to like the mango shake that his mom has been making for him since he was a kid, even though he hates it, and when he tries to tell her, he has to act like it was a joke to spare her feelings. The show also goes into the communal mindset of basing your actions off "what will people think?", and you can see how a lot of the characters' actions throughout the show are haunted by this question. Some of Romil and Jugal's earlier disagreements are due to this very mindset.

The show also very candidly depicts the extreme homophobia of society in India. Romil and Jugal had to constantly hide who they were, always having to keep up a mask and I felt that reach somewhere deep inside me. When the pair come out, the show really shows how ugly homophobia can be in India. Their parents immediately disown them. They're mocked in college and wrongfully suspended for a fight that was provoked by other students. Very, very few people stand with them, and the pair very quickly realize that now that they are out, they simply cannot live in the city anymore. So with the help of Jugal's best friend and her mother, they flee to Mumbai, where they get jobs and live as paying guests with a friend of the aforementioned mother. But, even in Mumbai, the masks stay up. They have to act like cousins, for fear of being persecuted. The series depicted the worst-case scenario that so many of us live in fear of, so watching it was something of a cathartic experience for me.

Another thing that the show did quite well is showing how different people and their mindsets can be. Jugal's best friend, Ahalya, and her mom are very supportive, and they help the pair out quite a bit. Ahalya's mother provided a safe house for the pair and helped them find a fresh start. Meanwhile, Romil and Jugal's parents are incredibly homophobic. There was a scene that really stuck with me, (mild spoiler ahead, skip to the last sentence of the paragraph) where Ahalya's mother came across Jugal's mother, who prided herself on being educated and well-read, searching up how to cure homosexuality. Ahalya's mother then tells her off for calling herself educated yet believing that homosexuality is an illness. It is so important to me that the show depicted both the violent homophobia that permeates Indian society and the surprising, warm acceptance that one can find.

One final thing that I loved about this show so, so much is just how authentically Indian it feels. Asian cultures share a lot in common, but they also have their differences, so seeing a show where I can imagine encountering the characters in real life is really amazing. Rather than something big, it was little things sprinkled throughout the story that warmed my heart. The story felt like something I could hear the local aunties gossiping about. The way it depicts queerness in India hits incredibly close to home.

One thing I've learned watching Asian bls is that the ending of a show can make it or break it, but with this one, I'm stuck. The best way I can describe the ending is absolutely insane and incredibly Bollywood.

I believe this show was supposed to get a second season because the last two minutes of the show leave us with a massive cliffhanger. Now, it's been 7 years, so a second season is unlikely, so I'm simply pretending that the last two minutes of the show never happened. But the ending has so much more to it than just this (Major spoilers for the ending up ahead. I mean it when I say major, this is like going into Bad Buddy knowing that they're going to trick their parents in the end).

About halfway through the show, I remembered what play it was based upon and realized that there was a very real possibility that Romil and Jugal would die. The first half of the last episode leads up to this, telling us that they died when reconciling after an argument in the middle of the road when they were hit by a truck. We get a super emotional scene (yes, I cried) where the two families somewhat reconcile in their grief as they go to the police station to identify the bodies. Except... they're not dead, which is revealed when Romil's father hugs Romil's (not) dead body. They reveal that they planned this to show their family that they still loved their sons. I did say it was like PatPran tricking their parents in the end, didn't I? So the families reunite, Romil and Jugal get jobs in New Zealand and get married, and return to India for a wedding celebration (yes, I cried. again). The ending does feel slightly rushed, but if I'm being honest, it wasn't as terrible as it could have been. Believing that your child is dead for a bit is a somewhat justifiable reason for a sudden change of heart. There's a part where Romil and Jugal tell their parents that if they choose acceptance, they can reconcile, but if they choose to remain prejudiced, Romil and Jugal can simply get back on the stretchers, because they'll be as good as dead to their families anyways and it is *chef's kiss*.

All in all, the show was surprisingly heartfelt and poignant. It had me laughing, kicking my feet and even crying. There's a lot more about this show that I could talk about, but I'm going to stop here for now, and I'll try to write more on it later. This show really does deserve more recognition than it has, and I'm almost mad at myself for not knowing about it before. Am I being really biased when talking about this show? Absolutely. But I do think that this show is a worthwhile watch, and I'd really like to see what other people on here think of the show, especially because I'm aware that I am biased towards this show.

I'm tagging a few people who I know might be interested/have some thoughts about the show because this is a show that I really want to hear other people's opinions on and have conversations about, so I hope you guys don't mind!

@waitmyturtles @lurkingshan @bengiyo @neuroticbookworm

[jgnico]

How do you feel about Gojo saying Sukuna was holding back and the people saying that this is out of character? Because to me it doesn’t seem out of character in the slightest considering how Sukuna didn’t actually go all out??? He didn’t use any of his techniques and relied on ten shadows. Which is great btw!! I think Sukuna using ten shadows is a nod to how ingenious Sukuna can get during battle and in general him solely relying on ten shadows doesn’t discredit him or anything it just shows that he is still got a lot up his arsenal. Also Gojo saying he put his whole soul and body into the fight is true he gave it his all and that’s all that matters idk why people are saying that the writing of this specific part is off because it was very clear that Sukuna was holding back on using his original form and techniques? I could be missing something idk

Short answer? I think it's silly. I've seen people call Gojo's scene in the airport outright character assassination and all that that tells me is that either a) they weren't following the fight very well or b) they don't give Gojo as a character the credit that his writing deserves.

As often as I rag on Gojo for fun, I do genuinely think that he's one of the best written characters in the manga, and his conversation with Geto, Nanami, and Haibara only adds to that. There's nothing wrong with Gojo acknowledging that Sukuna's strong, because he is. Likewise, it's not ridiculous for him to say that Sukuna didn't give the fight his all or that he might have lost even if Sukuna didn't have Ten Shadows. All of that is true and Gojo, out of anyone, would know that.

Long answer?

I think that a lot of the confusion over Gojo calling Sukuna strong comes from Gojo's confidence in the fight and people's own emotions toward Sukuna. We've all seen the fraud memes and Gojo did an expectational job showing his own fighting prowess during the second half of the fight, but a lot of people seem to be forgetting that Sukuna almost killed Gojo as soon as the fight started. Up until the fight flipped in Gojo's favor (after Sukuna was hit by Unlimited Void) Gojo was struggling. If Sukuna hadn't been holding back his other techniques to a) keep them a secret from spectators and b) ensure that Mahoraga adapted to Unlimited Void out of sight, it's very possible Gojo would have died after their first Domain Clash ended in Sukuna's favor.

Quick Explanation: In chapter 226, after Gojo's Domain breaks and he loses his technique for a time, but before he uses Simple Domain to save himself from Malevolent Shrine, Sukuna could have used his fire arrow in the same way he did against Mahoraga in Shibuya. With the amount of damage Gojo was taking at the time, we don't know if he would have been able to survive it, especially when all of his CE was being focused on healing the slashes Sukuna was dealing and likely couldn't have been spared to reinforce his body. (But once again, Sukuna was holding himself back, so neither us nor Gojo will ever know if he could have eneded their fight there.)

This is why I personally don't see anything wrong with Gojo being unsure if he could have beat Sukuna even without Ten Shadows.

But moving on to the less combat focused section of what I want to talk about. What was up with Gojo's confidence up until the literal end, only for him to doubt himself after the fact? I have two points for this one:

Gojo has to be strong for his students.

I touched on it in my response to one of your previous posts, (read: here) but I can't stress enough how Gojo's strength and, by extension, his confidence in his strength is for his students' sake. He teaches through his actions, but more importantly, he never shows them his own doubt.

The first time he fights Sukuna, he points out that Megumi is watching and, in his own words, "shows off."

Then, going into their actual fight in chapter 222, he looks serious in a way that we never really see from him. At least, up until the point where Yuuji reminds him that he and all his other students are there, that they're confident in him, and we see his entire demeanor going into the fight change. He's smiling; he's not worried in the least. He says, "Yeah, I got this," with a grin on his face, and that, more than it'll ever be for himself, was for his students.

There's another shift after the opening stage of their fight in chapter 224. What always stuck out to me from that chapter was Gojo noticing that their fight was being broadcasted. I won't go so far as to say he was less confident before that point or even that he wasn't trying as hard because that simply isn't true. But after he realizes that his students can see the fight as it's happening, Gojo's approach to fighting Sukuna changes almost entirely. Before, he was visibly having fun. Before, he was treating Sukuna as an equal to cut his teeth against. Was he getting on Sukuna's nerves intentionally, yes, but there was an aspect to it that felt more similar to how he spoke to Geto in their teenage years. Still antagonistic, that's just how his personality is, but not degrading in the way that he is later. (I'll expand on this thought in another post. For now, let's get back to my original point.)

After he spots Mei Mei's crows, Gojo never, not once, for the remainder of the fight expresses doubt in himself in any outward way.

We see frustration, we see anger, we see surprise, but never doubt. Never worry. And what does he say as soon as he get's the upper hand in the fight?

But why? Why is making sure that his students remain confident in him so important? Well, what's the answer to almost any question when it comes to Gojo's motivations?

Hidden Inventory and losing the person that mattered to him the most: Suguru Geto.

The same confidence that Gojo shows as an adult is what we see here, with one important distinction. He shares the place of being the strongest with Geto. "We're the strongest" isn't about them individually holding the title; it's about them together. They as a unit are the strongest. But here, Gojo tries to shoulder the burden of his fight against Toji alone while he sends Geto off with Riko and Kuroi. He seperates them and that duality of strength becomes weaker. Gojo loses, Riko dies, Geto loses, and they fail.

In the aftermath, Geto takes the guilt from that loss onto himself, and it only widens that separation into a chasm that Gojo is never able to cross. But we spend so much time talking about Geto's guilt over Hidden Inventory that I think we overlook Gojo's.

Even in a state where he'd feel nothing over killing a roomful of people, where he can't feel anger toward Toji over Riko, he feels like he messed up. He places blame on himself for their failure. Not just because he had lost but because Geto --someone that shared the position of being the Strongest with him-- expressed doubt in him shouldering so much of their mission at multiple points, only for Gojo to give him confidence in return and have that confidence ultimately be misplaced.

But isn't he making the same mistake with his students? Yes, and no.

Yes, in that he's giving them reassurance that is tragically (for lack of better word) misplaced, but no, in that they never expressed doubt in him. Not just because they aren't on his level when it comes to strength like Suguru was, but because he never gives them the chance to doubt him.

From the very beginning, when Yuuji first becomes his student, he makes sure that Yuuji doesn't have any doubt in him winning against Sukuna. And even when he's asked again at a time where none of his students are present, he thinks of this exchange with Yuuji. And his response to Kenjaku now was the same that it was to Yuuji.: "Nah, I'd win."

This isn't to say that Gojo didn't have faith in himself going into the fight or even through the majority of it. It would be at least disingenuous and at most outrageous for me to say that Gojo's confidence in himself was an act only for his students sake. What I'm saying with all of this is actually my second point in this post:

Gojo only expresses his true feelings to himself and....

I'm quickly running into the photo limit for this post so I'll be using quotes, but in chapter 233, we get, "Even though the opponent was the King of Curses, said to be the strongest in history, a thought nobody considered possible began to spread; Satoru Gojo could lose. Gojo himself was aware of that prospect. Yet, along with the signs of defeat came an undeniable feeling of satisfaction."

I've read through the entire fight multiple times now, and this is the only time that we see Gojo express doubt in himself. But instead of it feeling like a loss, as we'd expect, it's written as a positive. Gojo isn't upset at the idea that he might lose. He embraces it. As was stated both in chapter 233 and again in chapter 236, he's satisfied. Not just because he gave this fight everything that he had, but because him losing means that he'll return to the person that understood him --and the burden of being the strongest-- the best.

Much like Suguru couldn't smile from the bottom of his heart until his last moment with Gojo, Gojo couldn't be truly happy in a world where no one understood him. If Geto had been there with him, if Geto had been alive and by his side to share the burden and isolation of strength in the jujutsu world, he could have been truly happy with his life.

But that wasn't the reality that he lived in, nor was it something he could ever hope to accomplish.

Gojo's dream was to raise stronge allies, but that was never so that they could share the burden of strength with him. It was so that they could share it with each other. So that they never experienced the isolation of being strong alone the way that he did for the majority of his life. He wanted them to have their own Geto in each other.

It's not that he changed up his attitude regarding the fight and Sukuna after he died, but rather that his death brought him back to the person that he could finally (finally, after so long of being a pillar of strength rather than a person) express his true feelings to.

Or, to continue the quote from 233: "Being the strongest came with a sense of isolation. So the source of his present sense of fulfillment was..."

[sophiethewitch1]

(should probably read this first)

Death!Reader: I am infinite. I am eternal. I am as old as time itself. I care only for my dead, care only that they are protected and peaceful and happy and safe. That’s all that matters.

Jason Todd, who resurrects and spends the next half a decade wandering around like a lost puppy with no knowledge of why he’s so sad: :(

Death!Reader: Oh you motherfucker

[the-lonelybarricade]

What if I snuck some Azris crumbs into A Blaze in the Dark? As a treat? 👀👀

[yungchaeng]

maybe Shinunoga E-Wa by Fujii Kaze and like a Mina yandere type fic? (only if you're comfy with that ofc)

Love Me (Twice: Mina)

genre: angst - word count: 1800

content warning: yandere-themed, violence, kidnapping

The world stopped when you locked eyes for the first time. It was just for a split second, but that was more than enough to know for sure. You and Mina together. It was true love.

Mina was meant to be your one and only. She just had to make sure you understood that…no matter what it would take.

The young woman twirled her hair and would sheepishly giggle like some love-sick teenager when she thought of you. Your name next to hers looked prettier every time she wrote it in her notebook, and with every night you spent apart she grew more lonely. More desperate.

So every morning she made her bed, and made sure her room was tidy. Every single morning, she left the house with hope that today would be the day that you’d finally come around.

At 07:45 AM sharp Mina was seated already, patiently waiting for you to stumble in through the doors. You would always be in a rush, glancing at the professor with that apologetic look in your eyes. She’d do her best to hide her smile as she mouthed your words along with you. “Sorry sir, traffic.”

That pout on your lips was so adorable. One of the first things she noticed about you, actually.

That 8 AM class was the one time she counted herself lucky to be somewhat of a loner. After your eyes would search the room, they’d land on the seat next to her. The space was always empty, but she liked it that way. Mina didn’t need anyone. Every time you’d plop down next to her and your pretty lips curled into a smile as you said goodmorning, Mina knew she was complete.

Every day was the same, and maybe she could live that way forever: too shy to speak to you, but at least being able to bask in your scent every morning. It wasn’t perfect, but she was patient. Before long, you’d be together and she didn’t mind waiting…at first.

Mina loved you. She didn’t want it to go down the way it did, but you forced her hand. The moment that you walked through those doors and she wasn’t the first person you locked eyes with, it all changed.

She watched you with dark eyes as you passed your usual seat next to her and sat next to some other girl. You hugged her and smiled in a way Mina had never seen before. It made her blood boil.

In that moment, it felt like she was watching you slip through her fingers and she realised she never wanted to feel that way again. Mina had to make sure of it. 

As angry as Mina was, she couldn’t blame you. You simply lost your way, and it was her job to show you just how perfect you two were. You and Mina – no one else. That was how it was supposed to be. So that was how it was going to be.

It took her a lot of courage to talk to you for the first time, but you were nice. Just as she expected you to be. It was not hard for her façade to rope you in: Myoui Mina, the shy, soft spoken girl no one in class would give a second glance to. Who would ever think she would pose any kind of threat? People were so easy to fool – even you, her dearest one.

It started with her asking about school assignment she couldn’t care less about, and you were helpful. For the first time she got a taste of your undivided attention, and it felt better than she had imagined it to be. You and her…it felt so electric. There was no way you couldn’t feel it too, right?

As the conversations got more casual and you shared facts about yourself that she knew long beforehand, she’d take the time to admire you. The way you talked with your hands fascinated her. You always seemed so passionate. She could tell by watching you talk with your friends…but that couldn’t even compare to seeing you so up close. The sound of your voice comforted her. Hearing you speak to her directly brought her serenity, more than just hearing your voice in class or looping the videos on your social media could ever give her.

Everything felt so right, and with every time you softly chuckled Mina was more certain that she was doing the right thing. The two of you were meant to be, and if the rest of the world wouldn’t understand or respect that, she had no other choice than to keep you to herself.

People were usually creatures of habit, and luckily for Mina, you were the prime example of that. It was not hard for her to plan it all out. All she had to do was wait patiently till exam season came around and you’d spend your days and nights basically living in the library with your friends and with … that girl. Mina’s stomach churned whenever she’d watch you walk out of the building with your fingers intertwined with hers and it took everything in her not to make rash decisions.

No, if this was going to work it had to be planned. It had to be calculated.

She had to hold onto her last ounce of patience tightly, until the day eventually came. There was only one day that you’d usually go to the library by yourself and that morning Mina made her bed with a grin on her face, knowing that that was finally the day you’d lay in it.

Her eyes watched you like a hawk from behind your car as you left the building. Her breath picked up and she whispered words of encouragement to herself. The dimmed streetlights of the parking lot illuminated just enough for her to see you approach closer and closer and her hand tightened around the cold rock she held. 

She felt sick. The thought of hurting you, made her stomach ache. It killed her inside, but Mina knew this was the only way.

Just as you were about to open your car door, she emerged from the shadows. Your keys slipped from your fingers when she startled you, and without a second thought she kicked them under your car. Your hand held onto your chest, trying to somehow calm your racing heart.

“Oh, Mina?” Seeing her familiar face was supposed to put you at ease, but something about the look in her eye caused you even more discomfort. With a nervous chuckle you took two steps back. Mina took three forward. “…what are you doing here? I didn’t see you studying inside.”

Her lip twitched, and her grip tightened as she whispered. “I love you.”

“I…” It was then you saw the rock in her hand and her knuckles had gone pale from her harsh grasp. In hindsight, that was probably the moment that you knew how this would all end for you. “Mina, I’m flattered…but, uh, my girlfriend—”

“Girlfriend?” Mina repeated incredulously. The sharp tone in her voice was like none you had ever heard before – let alone from her. In fact, everything about her was suddenly so different. Her usual soft smile was gone, replaced by pursed lips, a dark gaze, and a clenched jaw. “Don’t be ridiculous. She can never know you like I do. She will never love you like I can!”

You took a sharp breath at her sudden change in demeanor, and she seemed to soften at that. Mina tried reaching for you with somewhat of an apologetic look, but you moved back.

“I’m sorry.” she returned back to a whisper, and as she stared at the ground her tight grip on the rock seemed to soften. All the while your mind was going in circles, trying to find any kind of way to escape the situation, but nothing came to mind. You blanked. You were helpless. “I’m so, so sorry for this.”

The last thing you remember before it all went dark was your measly attempt to scream for help as Mina swung, and then the impact. You didn’t even feel your body hit the ground.

When you woke, you were in her arms and tucked comfortably in bed. Mina held you as tight as she could, as tight as she’d always dreamed of doing – she needed you to know you were safe.

You groaned, and she chuckled softly. With a gentle stroke to the scar she left you, she shushed you. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for that. You’re all patched up now.”

“Mina…” your voice sounded more slurred than you expected it to be. Then you realised how drowsy you felt. “…wh- where—”

“Don’t worry.” The room was dark, but through your heavy eyelids you saw her smile. The smile that you knew all too well was back, soft, yet bright. Her hands caressed your hair, your cheeks, then she held your hand. “You’re safe now.”

“Home.” Your hoarse voice managed to croak out. “I need to go home.”

Mina’s eyebrows furrowed and her lip twitched slightly before it turned back into her signature smile. “You’re so silly. You are home.” The young woman traced figures on the back of your hand, and she sighed of relief. Having you so close was everything she had ever wished for and more.

It was just you and her now, and no one else mattered. Just like it was all meant to be.

The more you regained consciousness though, the more restless you became. It broke her heart, but she was prepared. “I hope you know I’m doing this for us.” she whispered before tightening the cuffs on your wrist. The hurt made you wince, and she gave you an apologetic look as she got out of bed. “I’ll let you rest.”

“Mina, please…” you tried. “Please!”

“I love you. You don’t have to say it back yet…but you’ll see.” She said, leaning in the door opening. You tried to follow her, but quickly realised the cuffs were tied to both your wrist and the bed frame to hold you back. There was no escaping, and that nightmare realisation seeped into your reality as you started to sob. “We’re right for each other, and I know you’ll love me too.”

And that was that. Mina left the room and locked it behind her, trapping you with a million questions about where it all went wrong, or whether you’d even make it out of this alive. You cried, begged, and pleaded, but your agony didn’t faze her. She slid down the door and held her ear against it with a smile on her face, feeling comforted by your mere presence.

Mina fell asleep to your voice that night.

[chaos-era]

canon is a scam, i do what i want

LISTEN. OK LISTEN. this game has murdered me. both of em. my gay ass cannot.

nothing bad ever happened. Solus? def MC/Deena's kid. How? fuck you that's how /j.

i simply want a world where Deena gets to be the MC from Nexomon 1 (who i've nicknamed Selena cause aha. Solus. Selana. Sun moon. aha. i'm So clever.) because i thought they were cute and also because the idea is Really funny.

so now solus gets a bunch of cool non-murderous aunts and uncles and two cool moms because i can :)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

heya, i have to wake up in three hours but! here's another lil human au snippet! ft. lightly implied Laughingstock! disclaimer i am so so tired so don't come at me for typos or strangely worded sentences or missing info <3

~

Before heading home, Eddie swings by a charming little store he’s been to once or twice before. He usually goes to the chain store by his house, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with the hustle and bustle and the endless aisles. This little store is quiet, nice, and strangely has everything anyone could need. 

The lot is mostly empty at this hour, so Eddie claims a spot right at the front. As with the other times, the windows are littered with displays and stickers - half off on this, sale on that. Eddie enters Howdy’s Place with the chime of the door’s shopkeeper’s bell. He’ll get what he needs and get out, quick and easy and peacefu-

Boisterous laughter slams into Eddie like a hammer, so sudden that he jumps in place. An employee stocking cans nearby glances weirdly at him. Eddie clears his throat and hurries into the nearest aisle as the laughter tapers off. The silence barely lasts a second before loud chatter starts up. It’s too fast and muffled for Eddie to understand, but he can pick out two distinct voices - one deep, one less so but still decidedly masculine. 

Eddie tries to tune it out as he gathers what he needs. Toothpaste, some paper towels, shampoo. For the hell of it, he nabs a box of classic bran muffins from the spacious food section. He lingers for a moment, enjoying how far-away the conversation seems at the other corner of the store. Unfortunately, theft is illegal, so Eddie is forced to move towards the noise.

A strange thing about the store - it’s a combination general store, antique shop, and diner, complete with a miniature gift shop separating the two. One long checkout counter stretches from the open store area, behind the gift shop, and into the diner, where the conversation is coming from. An interesting setup, but an understandable one. It allows anyone behind the counter to move fluidly between customers and sections.

As Eddie approaches, the conversation becomes slightly clearer. 

“-said, no wonder you didn’t get her number!” the deeper voice barks, and the two dissolve into that almost-too-loud laughter again. 

As it tapers off, the other voice says, “Sounds like a real charmer! But really, you oughta be careful, Barn. One of these days someone’s gonna throw a right hook at ya.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. A transatlantic accent? He hasn’t heard that anywhere outside of real old movies and a queen he once knew. It sounds natural too, like the man was born to sound like he belongs on a 1920s radio show. It nudges something in the back of Eddie’s mind. He’s started to get really sick of that nudge.

“Oh, this guy did.”

“No kidding? I don’t see a shiner.”

“Well, yeah. I went left.”

Both of them laugh again, and Eddie feels a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth. That wasn’t funny enough to garner an actual laugh in his opinion, but it wasn’t unfunny. 

Eddie steps up to the counter and quietly puts his acquired items on it, not wanting to interrupt. He chances a glance to the side - walking space in front of the counter’s length lets him see right down into the diner.

A large man with dyed-blue hair and an interesting fashion sense is at the bar, talking to an employee leaning against the other side. The employee doesn’t really catch Eddie’s gaze, but the other man… Eddie swears he’s seen him before. He studies him from the corner of his eye, not wanting to be rude but unable to mind his business. 

“Our bouncer didn’t even get a chance at the action - the idiot knocked himself out tryin’ a second swing!” The customer says. His deep voice, wavering with humor, only adds to the sense of familiarity. Metal glints in his right ear. Eddie knows this man from somewhere.

The employee shakes his head, tutting. His busy hands polish a vintage pitcher. “I swear, you get all the crazies.”

“Makes for a good story, though.” The customer takes a sip from his tall milkshake and scoffs. “Though if it wasn’t all well-ending, amusing bull, I doubt I’d be so tolerant.”

Minutes drag by as the two keep talking. Eddie goes from patiently waiting to awkwardly trying to get the employees attention. If only there was someone else behind the counter, but the only other staff member is elsewhere, likely still stocking shelves. 

The two men are too absorbed in their little world, even though both are facing Eddie’s way. The customer has both elbows on the counter, one of them bent to prop up his chin. The employee has his hip leaned against the edge as they chat. They’re obviously very familiar with each other, and clearly deeply enjoy each other's company. 

Still - and Eddie is sorry to say, but it’s bad customer service. He’s not in a rush, but he’d still like to be on his way home. He could be fishing out the complex keys right now. He checks his phone - he’s been here for nearly fifteen minutes. Picking out the items took less than five. 

Eddie sighs, staring at the various cigarette packs displayed behind the counter. He’s never seen the appeal in smoking, but as the laughter starts up again, he almost wishes he did. He’s going to treat himself to a very long shower once he gets home. 

The store’s other employee walks behind the counter, carrying a box. Eddie lights up. Finally - she pointedly clears her throat and heads into the back. 

The constant conversation stalls for the barest moment, and he looks over. The customer grins at him for a second - lord he’s handsome - before turning that grin towards his friend.

“You’re losin’ your touch, Howds,” he teases, bringing his shake straw to his lips.

“I resent that statement. You’re just distracting.”

“Lil’ me? Distracting? C’mon, you can just tell me I’m pretty to my face. I’ll take it like a champ, I swear!”

“Ha, good try.” The employee sets the pitcher down and starts to mosey in Eddie’s direction. “Your ego is big enough for the both of us as is. One more compliment and your head’ll pop like a balloon.”

“Well, given that most balloons don’t really pop, they just kinda deflate slowly-”

“Sorry for the wait!” the employee says loudly in a glaringly obvious customer service tone. He stops in front of Eddie with a cardboard smile. At the other end of the counter, the familiar man snickers and hides his grin behind his drink. “I trust you found everything you did - and didn’t! - need.”

Eddie just stares up at him for a moment. At six-one, Eddie hasn’t felt small in a very long time. He usually stands at least a full inch above other people. This employee - Howdy, his name tag states - has several more on him.

“Uh, y-yes, I uh, I did,” Eddie stammers, glancing at his items. 

“Wonderful! And again, my sincerest apologies for the delay. My friend makes a game out of keeping me from my job.” Howdy shoots his ‘friend’ a glare with enough heat in it to make an ice cube sweat. 

“No worries.”

Howdy scans the items at an almost frightening speed. Beep, into a paper bag. Beep, in. Beep, beep - “Oh, no.”

“What?” Eddie says, dread plucking at his ribs as Howdy holds the bran muffins and shakes his head. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”

“Indeed there is! You’re making a mistake with these. They’re absolutely horrible, I tell ya - and bad for you, too!” Howdy tuts and puts the box to the side. “No, no, you don’t want those.”

“I… don’t?”

“Not if you knew better! Lucky for you, I’m here to set you straight. What you need is-” he snaps his fingers, “Barnaby, be a pal and-”

“Already on it,” ‘Barnaby’ says, appearing next to Eddie.

If Eddie weren’t already paralyzed, he’d jump right out of his skin from how Barnaby towers over him. He has to be a scant inch or so shorter than Howdy, but he still makes Eddie feel tiny. Unfortunately, Barnaby is even more handsome up close. 

“Here ya go.” Barnaby hands a plastic container to Howdy and taps it, smiling lazily down at Eddie. “I’d take his advice on this one. Those bran-named muffins may sound fancy, but they’re pretty crumby! You want muffins of quality. Real breadwinners!

Eddie can’t help a soft laugh. “Breadwinners, heh, that’s a good one.”

“Are you selling these or am I?” Howdy says, raising a bushy eyebrow. 

“Hey, I’m just doin’ what you asked! I’m bein’ a pal.”

“And I - I’m sorry," Eddie interjects, "but you’re awfully familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Eh, I’ve been around, but uh… you ever been to [INSERT GAY BAR NAME HERE]?”

Howdy clears his throat. “I’m trying to make a sale here, Barn. You can flirt on your own dime when you’re not costing me mine.”

“Didja know your nose gets redder when you’re jealous?”

Howdy rolls his eyes and shoves Barnaby in the diner’s direction. Barnaby goes with a hearty snicker. Despite the joke, Eddie thinks it has some merit as Howdy scans the final item and rings him up, considerably frostier than before.

Belatedly, Eddie realizes that he didn’t actually agree to the different muffins. Too late now. “Say, what kind of muffins are those?”

“Poppyseed-lemon.”

Eddie relaxes - that is a lot better than boring bran. “Y’know, my mother loved poppyseed-lemon muffins.”

“Did she now,” Howdy drawls.

“Like you wouldn’t believe! If baking was so much as mentioned, she’d jump right on houndin’ us to whip some up for her, or send us to go buy some. We’d never even get a taste! They’d be gone the moment they hit the air, I tell ya.” Eddie chuckles. “Took me a while to understand what all the fuss is about, but man was she right. They are good!”

“Uh-huh. Well, we have a fresh batch delivered every morning. They’re not the same type every time, mind you, but I can promise that they’re all of the highest quality.”

“Breadwinners, right?” Eddie jokes. Howdy doesn’t blink, but Barnaby snorts. He’ll take it. “I might have to come by more often, if that’s the case! Thank you kindly, sir.”

“Mhm, have a good day.” Howdy hands him the bag and strides away without a glance. The dismissal is clear as day. “Say, Barn, did you hear about the racket one of those cult crackpots stirred up at our dear friend’s tearoom?”

Eddie doesn’t catch the tail-end of the sentence as he hurries away, but he frowns. Cult? What cult? There’s a cult? He certainly didn’t hear of one before moving here, and none of his background checks had turned up anything of the sort. He hopes it was just a figure of speech. 

The door chimes again as Eddie leaves. It isn’t until he’s in his car that the embarrassment of that whole exchange catches up with him. If he had a nickel for every time he’d made a fool of himself in front of a gorgeous, strangely familiar man, he’d have three nickels. At the rate he’s going, he’ll either be rich, or he’ll have to move. 

Eddie subtly tries to peek around the store’s window displays from the safety of his car. He catches a scant glimpse of blue hair - come to think of it, it’s a similar shade to Wally’s. But where Wally’s had, to Eddie’s memory, been uniformly dyed right down to his eyebrows, Barnaby’s rich brown roots were obvious. His beard and eyebrows weren’t dyed, either. 

As Eddie relaxes back into his seat, he re-reads at the store’s name. The color drains from his face and he barely restrains himself from slamming his forehead against the steering wheel.

Oh, of course. Of course he made a fool of himself in front of the owner. Eddie can never come back here again. And it was such a nice store…

[otrtbs]

hello trying smth. a bit. different under the cut?

Druella

Bellatrix is born on Halloween. On October 31st 1951, she becomes the eldest daughter of Druella and Cygnus Black, and she doesn’t cry. She just peers up at Druella with wide-round eyes and a calm, unaffected disposition. It’s eerie. It’s haunting. That’s something that always worried Druella– the Halloween birth, Bellatrix’s refusal to come into the world kicking and screaming and fighting for air like a normal child would. Druella worries that Bellatrix is cursed, born on the day of skeletons, death, evil spirits, and darkness. She tried to hold out a few more hours, she begged the mediwitches at St. Mungo’s to delay the birth somehow through grunts of pain and the sweat forming on her brow. She attempted to not push through her contractions, but it was pointless. 

“They say babies born on Halloween are immune to evil spirits,” the mediwitch whispers to Druella as Cygnus sleeps in a chair in the corner of the room, arms crossed and shoulders slumped. “The veil between the living and the dead is thinnest tonight. So she’ll probably have a strong connection with the spirit world. She might even be given the gift of second sight,” she adds sagely, attempting to calm Druella’s fears. “A blessing.”

Druella holds Bellatrix in her arms, she’s sleeping and swaddled in a soft blanket, a peaceful expression on her face, but Druella can’t escape the feeling of hesitant fear bubbling beneath the surface. A bomb waiting to explode. “She didn’t even cry,” she lets out an exhausted sigh. 

The mediwitch gives her a soft smile. “It happens. Her heart rate is stable and she is breathing normally. She’s perfectly healthy.” The witch finishes cleaning up a few things around the room and removes her gloves. “Be sure to let me know if you need anything. Someone will be here to check on you shortly.” As she turns to leave, she pauses for a moment with her hand on the handle, debating something. Then, with a quick look back and a sharp breath she says, “It’s going to be okay.” 

Druella wishes she could believe her. 

Bellatrix grows a little every day. She’s healthy, she never cries, her bones aren’t weak, her limbs aren’t mangled, her cheeks are pink and fat and not sallow. She looks nothing like a cursed child, acts nothing like a cursed child, except for the small birthmark just below her left cheek. A bad witch’s mark. 

Walburga and Orion come to the house to see the new baby. A cruel, satisfied smile overtakes Walburga’s features when she sees it’s a girl, confirming with her own eyes that the chance to have the next heir is still within her grasp, but Druella takes her own pleasure in Walburga’s still slender frame.

At least Bellatrix proves that Druella isn’t barren. She can have children, healthy children. She could provide an heir. It was only a matter of time. Walburga and Orion had been married nearly three years before Druella married Cygnus and yet their house remained empty. 

Walburga always hated Druella. Hated that Druella and Cygnus got to live in 12 Grimmauld Place with the family heirlooms the libraries, the portraits, and the tapestry detailing their lineage. She always believed it should belong to her and Orion. Druella was a Rosier by birth. It was only right that true Blacks lived in Grimmauld. She had married Orion earlier. It was only right that she reside there. The next heir to the Black family name got to reside in Grimmauld. So it wasn't just a race to bare a male child, but also a claim to the family residence.

Because Druella can't help herself, she takes Walburga to the drawing room with the tapestry for tea and revels in the looks Walburga casts at the family tree.

Druella was barely healed from her first pregnancy when Cygnus demands that they try again. One child was only enough if it was a boy. She counts the cracks in the ceiling and does her best not to shout in pain in those early days after Bellatrix’s birth. She washes too many bloody sheets before anyone else can see them. 

She tries to spend time in the nursery, but baby Bella, as the house elves had taken to calling her, hardly interests her. Cygnus never goes to the nursery to see Bellatrix, he couldn’t be bothered. Rather, he immerses himself in his work. Druella knows it is her job. It's her job to dress Bellatrix and feed her and bathe her and sing to her, but she leaves most of those tasks to the house elves. 

Bellatrix feels like a stranger in her home. A thing rather than a person. Something haunted and hard to bond with, even if she looks just like a normal child. However, there was still a sense of pride, even if Bellatrix wasn’t a boy. Druella had given birth to a child. She could be a mother. She could do what was expected of her. She just needed a boy.

More days pass. 

Druella busies herself with planning Christmas parties and elaborate dinners and pruning her winter garden of Christmas roses and Goose Grass. She attends charity meetings and plans galas for the Museum of Modernism and Moda. The mediwitches assure her that Bellatrix’s witch mark will fade as she grows older. 

Days turn into months, and just after Bellatrix is ten months old, Druella finds herself pregnant once more. Cygnus’ once stormy mood had shifted to one of gentle ease. He comes home earlier, he speaks softer, and he scowls less. All of the ladies drop by to place their hands on Druella’s growing stomach, to offer their well wishes, to bring gifts. 

This time, it was going to be a boy. Druella can feel it in her bones. All of the divination midwives say as much. She dreams about it. 

“Of course, we’ll name him Sirius. Something strong and commanding. The brightest star in our sky,” Druella was saying over tea as Walburga pursed her lips tightly. 

“I think that’s a wonderful choice,” Irma nods in approval. “Lots of Sirius’ in our family history. He’ll fit right in. Splendid.” 

Druella catches Walburga’s eye and grins wickedly. This house is hers, this life is hers, the family favour is hers. 

They decorate the nursery blue and paint constellations on the ceiling that glimmer in the dark. By the time April comes, Druella doesn’t even mind that it’s raining when she goes into labour. Torrential, thunderous skies and rolling black clouds. Another bad sign, but one she ignores happily.

Cygnus meets her at St. Mungos. He stands by her side and holds her clammy hand through the hours of painful birth. She hears the mediwitches buzz around her and whisper nervously as she screams in her potion-dulled pain. She worries about all the blood staining the sheets and feels her head heavy with Merlin knows what. 

She struggles to keep her eyes open as hospital staff swarm around her and wheel her to another room with bright, artificial lights. She tries to listen to what they’re telling her, but their voices sound gargled and warped like they’re talking underwater. It’s too hard to keep her eyes open anymore. She lets herself drift off and she dreams of her son. 

When she wakes, she’s in a new room. A quieter room. A mediwitch rushes in and places a swaddled baby in her arms. She talks in slow deliberate sentences. 

Druella barely hears her. 

Complications with the birth. Postpartum haemorrhage. Beautiful baby girl. So lucky. 

Through chapped lips and a dry throat, she asks to see her husband. 

The mediwitch informs her that he left shortly after the baby’s birth. She hands Druella some water. 

Alone in a private room at St. Mungos, she decides to name the baby Andromeda. She holds the small infant to her chest, only hours old, and she weeps. 

Cygnus barely looks at her. The days pass and Druella watches over the girls in the nursery and tiptoes around her husband as she tries to ignore the walls of the house closing in on her. She tells herself there is still time, though the doctors at St. Mungos disagree. They all tell her another pregnancy is risky. Fatal. Nearly impossibly in her state. 

Druella doesn’t breathe a word of this to Cygnus or to anyone else. She shuts herself up in Grimmauld Place and avoids everyone’s prying eyes, their disappointed looks, and Walburga’s triumphant sneers. 

As days turn into weeks that turn into months, Druella grows more and more desperate. She finds herself under the guise of heavy glamour charms, back in Knockturn Alley, begging the shopkeeper for more fertility potions. Pills that will ensure a male child. She swallows down glowing green vials of bitter liquid that smelled faintly of baby’s breath. She crushes up black beetle eyes and crunches into the red bulbs of Witch’s Ganglion with wild abandon on the smooth tiles of her bathroom floor, and she waits. 

She leaves the family Christmas dinner early as she feels the familiar trickle of warm blood run down her leg. She stays in bed for days at a time. She leaves her two daughters to the house elf. 

Her third pregnancy nearly kills her as all the doctors had promised. She tries to hide it from everyone as best as she can. Cygnus doesn’t bother showing up to the hospital with her. 

On a cold and bleak day in early January, Druella gives birth to her third daughter. The chill from outside worms its way around her heart and solidifies in a sickly, icy, frost. Narcissa takes what little Druella had left with her that day and keeps it for herself. 

Three daughters. Their little lives just beginning. Girls who will have hopes and dreams and ambitions. Druella feels all of hers dwindle as she hands her third child to the house elf once more. Their stories begin as hers ends. Druella thinks that it’s unfair, having girls. She married Cygnus to give him sons. Not to love him or to look after him in his old age. She was made to produce heirs. What use would she be to him now? 

He’ll want to keep trying, even if it kills her. Without a boy in the family, Druella was better off dead to him anyway. She was plagued by awful visions of her own mother, shut up in a room all alone after the death of her brother. Too old to produce any more male heirs, her father left her mother to claw at the walls and floorboards of her bedroom. Allowed her to be shut out and ignored by every family member who was once so warm towards her. He locked her away in a dark, stale room somewhere for failing him, and acted as if she never existed. 

She felt the frost seep in. Her daughters, her own children had damned her to the same fate. Even if they didn’t know it. How could she hold them and be happy? How could she wipe the tears from their face and act as if everything was fine? 

She’d like to swim in the ocean, or work at the ministry, or travel the world by herself. She’d like to go out at night and not worry about a home she’s obligated to come back to. She closes her eyes and lets herself dream these dreams for a while until Narcissa’s shrill cries wake her up and she feels her fate close in on her all at once.

[anawrites3]

I'm thinking about blind Dick today, about how he'd lost his sight during one of the missions and there was nothing anyone could do to help him. He was so mad about this at first, fucking furious. Not only he's not able to protect the city anymore, he needs help doing the most simple everyday things now.

Alfred helped him put his clothes on right; Tim helped him out with eating because he fucking needed help with that too; Jason read to him because listening to TV just made him want to throw the damn thing out of the window; Damian was a warm presence, always at his side that held his hand and lead him through the Manor so he won't walk into things, and Bruce... Bruce was there somewhere.

Dick was trained for it, he screamed to himself, to be able to fight without his senses but this... this was so much different. He couldn't listen for his opponent's breath, he couldn't focus on the sound of their steps - none of that was useful, he was still putting his shirts backwards, he was missing the food on his plate, he was fucking useless and no amount of Bruce's training from before could change that.

More than once, Dick's siblings had to endure his outbursts, his screaming, crying and throwing things. It was a hard time for all of them. Dick just felt so helpless all the time, useless and that made him furious. So many things he won't be able to do anymore, he won't perform on a trapeze ever again...

It took a few months, of living in the Manor with his family helping him every day, of having a new life without being Nightwing, when Dick just accepted his fate. Because, let's be honest, there was nothing he could do. Being angry and yelling wouldn't help any of them and only made things worse so he slowly started to accept the fact that he was blind now.

He learned to live without his eyes.

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

Slade opened the window and slipped inside the apartment without making a sound. The place changed a bit from the last time he was there but not enough to make it a problem for him, even with the bedroom enveloped entirely in darkness.

Dick was sitting on the couch in living room, in front of the turned off TV and didn't even look in Slade's direction when he walked past the door. He was looking down instead, at the knitting needles he was holding, his brow furrowed in concentration. It was kind of cute, honestly. Did Grayson hope to fight him with one of those things, in a way of greeting?

"Long time no see, little bird." Slade purred out, taking a few steps closer. "Did you miss me?"

Dick's head shot up abruptly, just like Slade knew he would, but instead of looking at him, those blue eyes just flicked in his general direction.

Slade frowned. It wasn't that dark in there.

"Slade... You're back." Dick breathed out. He wasn't as quite excited about it as Slade expected him to be.

"I am. Aren't you happy to see me, little bird?"

Something about his words made Dick's hands clench on the needles just slightly. Dick barely moved his hands but it was still enough for Slade to notice.

"Now is not a good time." Dick said instead of answering his question.

"Oh? We haven't seen each other for almost a year and that is how you greet me?" Slade shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "Where are your manners, boy?"

They weren't exactly dating but Slade expected Dick to be a little bit more optimistic about his return. They didn't put any label on what they were doing and Slade was comfortable with that - they simply fucked and annoyed each other on every possible occasion, with a lot of flirting and too-friendly touches that Dick loved to initiate. It was weird to see Dick just sit there instead of jumping him right there right now.

Slade knew that this contract would last a few months, knew that it could get even longer were there any complications - and he told Dick exactly so when he was leaving. "Good" he said then, straddling Slade's naked body with a grin, "we'll finally get some peace in the city". He didn't seem the slightest bit upset about it, maybe except the whining about the fact that he'll miss the sex.

Slade didn't usually take on contracts that long but it was well-paid and on the other side of the globe, and he almost considered it a vacation. They didn't contact each other during that time but it was hardly the first time something like that happened. It was the first time, however, when Dick wasn't happy to see him after he came back from the job.

"Maybe things changed during this year." Dick forced out and Slade's grin slipped completely off his lips.

"Yeah? And what changed exactly?"

"Maybe you're not welcome here anymore."

Slade barked a surprised laugh at that, "Kid, when was I ever welcome? Isn't that what made it so exciting, what made you run back to me again and again? You fucking a mercenary right under your daddy's nose?"

Dick swallowed with an effort and Slade focused on the way his Adam's apple bobbed.

"That's not it." Dick insisted. He looked almost desperate to convince Slade of that and Slade took a few steps closer to him, his boots soundless on the cheap floor.

"Then what is it, Dick?" he murmured softly. "Tell me. If you're worried about Bats being around, he's not, I checked."

"That's -" Dick started before shaking his head. "No. I don't care about Bruce. You should go."

"Maybe I should. But I don't think I will."

Dick still wasn't looking directly at him. In fact, now that Slade walked over to the couch, Dick's eyes were pointed more at his chest than at his face, as if he didn't even notice that Slade got closer.

"Something is wrong. Something happened when I was gone and you're trying to get rid of me instead of telling me what it was."

"Everything is- I mean, nothing is wrong." Dick stuttered, putting the half-made sweater away. "But it doesn't matter anyway. I want you out of my home, Slade."

Slade crossed the rest of the distance in two steps and reached out to gently cup Dick's cheek in his hand. But Dick didn't push his hand away or nuzzle the palm like he would usually do. No, Dick flinched violently, as if he didn't even see the touch coming.

"What the fuck is happening?" Slade growled. "Tell me, Grayson, before I get really mad."

"No. No, get out." Dick's voice trembled. "Get out, get out, get-"

Slade clenched his fingers on Dick's chin and forced his head higher. The kid was trying to fight him, digging his nails into Slade's wrist, kicking at him and doing his best to pull away but Slade was stronger and didn't let him move.

That's when Slade saw it. Saw the way Dick's eyes weren't focusing on anything in particular, the way their blue color was dull and empty.

"No... Dick-" he breathed out, feeling as if someone stole all the air from his lungs.

"Shut up!" Dick yelled and punched at Slade's chest. "Shut up, get out of here!"

"You're blind." Slade said, as if saying it outloud would make him understand it. As if that would make it easier to accept the truth, that Dick Grayson was blind now, that he got injured while Slade was away on a job. "You're-"

"I know that, you fucking son of a bitch!" Dick roared. "Believe me, you don't need to fucking tell me!"

"What happened?" Slade demanded but Dick just pushed at his chest again.

"I'm not telling you shit-!"

"You are fucking blind, Grayson, and you didn't even think about calling me!" He screamed. No, they weren't dating but they were close enough that it's the least Slade would expect from him in this kind of situation. He ignored the weird feeling inside his chest. "What, did you think I wouldn't ever find out?!"

Dick started to scream and curse in Romani and Slade let him, forcing himself to calm down a bit. There was no use in screaming - usually their argument would turn into a physical fight but Dick couldn't see. Slade couldn't even take him to the rooftop without the fear of Dick falling out of the edge during one of his flashy moves.

It took some time but finally Dick calmed down enough to stop yelling. His breath was fast and heavy, as if he ran for hours and at least he stopped trying to push Slade away. His arms fell down suddenly, as if all his strength abandoned him at once.

Slade waited a few more seconds before asking again, "What happened?"

"Doesn't matter." Dick spat out, shaking his head. "Nothing you can change now."

"Doesn't matter." Slade echoed. "Tell me. Tell me what happened, who did this to you. Who do I need to kill?"

Dick laughed but it turned into a sob pretty quickly. Slade wrapped his arms around Dick and pressed him close to his chest, just letting his little bird cry for a moment.

"Fuck you." He said at last, voice hoarse. "I was doing so well about it too."

"I'm sorry." Slade murmured. The words held a lot of weight and they let the silence envelop them for a few more minutes.

"I don't even know what are you doing here." Dick whispered. "I'm just another fuck for you, why do you care?"

"You're a lot more than just that. You're not stupid, little bird, I know you know that."

Slade wasn't able to count how many times they tried to kill each other. Dick had a bunch of scars created by Slade's blade, and if it weren't for his healing factor he would have a lot of marks left by Dick's weapons as well. If nothing else, that alone made their relationship so much deeper than just occasional fucking.

"Not a bird anymore." Dick curled his fingers into the material of Slade's shirt. "I can't fly now. Not with not being able to see."

"You're my little bird nonetheless." Slade argued, pressing a kiss to his temple. "It doesn't matter to me."

"Stupid..."

"Mm. Tell me."

"...I don't want to talk about it." Dick's confession was so quiet Slade barely heard it, even with his enhanced senses. "Not now at least. I- I don't -"

"It's alright." Slade murmured into his hair. "Alright, it's okay, I won't push. But I'll be here if you decide you want to tell me."

He had a lot of questions. What happened? Who dared to touch Dick? Where was Batman at the time and why the fuck did he let that happen? How long has it been since Dick lost his sight? And more, a whole lot more. But Slade was a patient man and he was going to wait as long as it took.

Slade still remembered what it felt like when Adeline shot out his eye - he didn't blame Dick in the slightest for reacting the way he did. Dick had to feel even worse than that, with not being able to see at all. But Slade was here now and he was going to help and make it better, however he can. Even if it'll be just a little bit, Slade wanted to be by Dick's side.

Maybe what they had was so much more than simply fucking and annoying each other on every possible occasion. Maybe they should talk about it soon. Maybe. But not now.

Right now, the most important thing was that-

"I'll be here, little bird." Slade whispered as Dick pressed his face against his neck. "I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

/ / / /

Wow that was something for sure! I apologize if the pacing is all over the place, I had a lot of thoughts for this one 🥰

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed please consider [buying me a coffee] 💕 It means a lot!!