#but I hope you like the next fic

[noonaishere]

i just wanted to like tell you that your jaehyun smau was literally my fuel for a couple of days. i didn’t want to like every single chapter or comment a lot ‘cause i didn’t want to spam, so hopefully this makes up for it? shows my love? and how thankful i am?? like this made me happy, this gave me inspiration to get through my day JUST to read this, legitimately had “come on do this assignment THEN you can read” going through my head. it was just, really really nice to read, and i’m happy you posted it 💜 idk maybe this is making a mountain out of an ant hill in a good way, but it genuinely made me feel happier than i already am! i hope your pillow is always cold, you grades (if you’re in school) are always up, your food always the perfect temperature, your hands and feet never cold, your days always good, and the weather always nice, have an amazing day/night 💗

Hold on, hold on, hold on, lemme just 

Do people get mad when other people comment on every chapter of their fic? I have to say - in this instance at least - that I am not people.. uh... those people. (Wait, did I just out myself as not being human or something? What?) I could not imagine seeing multiple likes or comments on something I’ve written and getting mad, my attention-starved ass is like “Yes! Please tell me how much you love it! Shower me in compliments! Like everything! Reblog it so other people see it and do the same!” and then I bashfully teehee to myself like:

(Like when you’re little and your parents hang your art on the fridge or something and you’re all proud but also a little shy from the attention lol)

Honestly, I love when people leave comments as they’re reading, because seeing people react as the story unfolds is really funny. (Like when this was uploading and people were yelling because the slow burn was too slow... babies, I did not come here to fuck around. If I promise you a slow burn I will give you a slow burn lol.)

The only bad effect that results from any compliment at the moment is that I’m like, “Omg! I want to write more!” ...but I can’t until the semester ends 😭😭😭 So right now I’m like this:

So until I can finish my new fic, I’ll be in like... CRY-ostasis (like that? lol) in which I am frozen, but not in ice, in sadness because I can’t write.

But anyway, thank you for the compliments! I read it and was like “teeheehee” kicking my legs (in my mind) because of it lol. And like... you said it helped get you through the day, isn’t that what art is for? To make our lives better or at least more bearable? I’m glad you found so much solace in it. I started writing because I wanted to read stories that I couldn’t find (I know I made a post with my AO3 on here somewhere if you want to read my old fics. Be warned: there’s a lot of smut lol), and seeing people read them for the same reason I read things is cool. We’re all just people who want stories, you know? Anyway, I need to stop philosophizing, or we’ll be here all day. Here:

And here’s a meme I made just for you:

Thank you so much 😭😭😭🖤🖤🖤

[endlessartpumpkin]

"He hums, sleepily. His gaze is trained on the fireplace now, seemingly mesmerized by the flames dancing there. But when she drapes a blanket over him he drags his gaze up to meet hers."

A young Time and Malon from this beautiful fic by the amazingly talented and lovely @adrift-in-thyme! <3

[steddiehyperfixation]

accidental eavesdropping (steddie ficlet)

based on this post by @imjust-that-shy. i hope i did this vision justice <3

The doors to the bathroom burst open, and - on some pure, inexplicable instinct and with nearly inhuman speed - Eddie darts back into the stall he'd just been about to come out of and leaps to perch on top of the toilet seat, crouched there like some sort of creature. 

He hears the sound of retching and the stench of vomit fills the air. He holds his breath, wrinkling his nose and trying to imagine what possible context could be behind Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley bursting in here together to puke their guts out. Eddie knows the two of them work together, he’s seen them sharing shifts at Scoops Ahoy when he's walked by. (Not that he often intentionally passes by the ice cream parlor and slows down just to catch a glimpse of Steve or anything… Although who could really blame him if he did? Like, come on, Steve in that uniform? Hello, sailor.) His mind is busy spinning stories of possible explanations, ranging from spoiled ice cream to sneaking alcohol and getting too drunk during their break. 

Eddie's leaning towards the 'drinking on the job' explanation, especially when the retching finally ceases and Robin says something about the room no longer spinning. Those little rebels, Eddie thinks approvingly.

“When’s the last time you, uh…peed your pants,” Steve is asking Robin now, in response to her telling him in a Russian accent to interrogate her. 

Eddie curls over his knees, tilting his head to try to peer through the gap between the stalls and the floor to put an image to his eavesdropping. Might as well, he’s kind of stuck here and there’s really not much else he can do right now. He can see Steve’s legs, one bent and the other stretched out in front of him, and Robin in the stall past him laying on the floor with her legs up against the stall wall as she answers, “Today…” 

“What?” Steve questions.

“When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw!” Robin says. 

Okay…what? Russian doctors and bone saws? Eddie’s now thoroughly intrigued, if a little (okay, a lot) confused. Maybe they’re talking about a movie they watched or something.

Steve’s legs shake with his laughter. “Oh my god.” 

“It was just a little bit, though.” Robin pinches her fingers together as she twists her body in Steve’s direction while he laughs again and mutters that whatever it is they took is still in her system. She pushes her feet off the stall and slides to sit against the opposite wall. Eddie can only see her legs now. “Okay, my turn. Have you…ever been in love?” 

Steve answers that he has, with Nancy, and makes a sound mimicking an explosion. Eddie remembers that, remembers seeing Steve and Nancy being all touchy and cute in the hallways at school while he was trying his damndest to convince himself that he absolutely definitely did not wish he was in Nancy’s place. It didn’t work very well. And it’s not working very well now either as Steve starts to go on about some new girl he likes now instead - some girl who’s funny and smart and can crack secret Russian codes (okay, seriously, what is it with these two and Russians?) and oh shit, he’s talking about Robin. 

Eddie very suddenly feels like he should not be here listening to this, eavesdropping on Steve confessing his feelings for someone. Not only is that, like, a private and personal thing, but also what if Robin likes him back and they start kissing or something right here in this bathroom where Eddie has to sit here and listen to it and that would just be horrible for him for so many reasons and- Eddie’s getting ahead of himself. Robin hasn’t even said anything yet, and her knees are pulled up to her chest and her voice shakes when she confirms she’s still alive after Steve asks if she’s OD’d there in the silence and she uncurls with a deep sigh. All signs that she doesn’t actually like Steve back. 

Eddie watches as Steve shifts and slides under the stall into Robin’s, and catches sight of the nasty bruise marring nearly half of Steve’s otherwise beautiful face as he does so. Now concern has been added to the list of emotions this eavesdropping experience has rollercoastered him through so far. The bruise looks fairly fresh and Eddie can’t help but wonder what the hell gave Steve a black eye like that and if he’s okay. 

After a brief spiral of concern for Steve’s face, Eddie tunes back into reality to find himself staring at Steve’s ass as Steve now sits with his back against the stall wall opposite Robin. Eddie blinks, expands his tunnel vision to include Steve’s lower back and Robin’s legs which are also visible beneath the gap in the stalls. 

“It’s not because I had a crush on you,” Robin is saying. “It’s because…she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

“Mrs. Click?” Steve sounds confused.

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin clarifies. “I wanted her to look at me.”

Oh. Eddie should really not be listening to this. Robin is trying to come out to Steve, trying to share something deeply personal and vulnerable with him and only him, not knowing that she’s outing herself to an eavesdropping near-stranger as well. Eddie feels violating and intruding. He can’t imagine how he would feel if he found out someone he barely knew had been secretly listening in on him coming out - probably not great, probably terrified. This is something he shouldn’t know, not like this. 

“But Tammy Thompson’s a girl,” Steve says, his tone unreadable, and Eddie’s heart nearly stops, sure his own anticipatory anxiety is likely only just a fraction of what Robin must be feeling right now. 

“Steve…” 

“Yeah?” A pause. “Oh,” Steve’s voice goes soft. “Oh… Holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” Robin sighs. Eddie can see her hands nervously rubbing at her shins. “Holy shit.” 

Steve is silent for a few painfully long moments. Eddie’s hands curl nervously around his own shins. Is Steve going to be homophobic? Should Eddie be worried for Robin now? 

“Steve, did you OD over there?” Robin asks, trying to be light but Eddie can hear the anxiety in her voice. 

“No, I just, uh- just thinking,” Steve responds. 

“Okay…” Robin’s voice is barely audible. Eddie is holding his breath.

“I mean, yeah,” Steve says finally, “Tammy Thompson’s cute and all, but the only reason I never gave her the time of day was because I was too busy staring at Eddie Munson.” 

The aforementioned Eddie Munson releases the breath he’d been holding with an involuntary squeak and claps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, neither of them heard him over the sound of Robin shouting. “What?! Eddie Munson?! You liked Eddie Munson?” she squawks, voicing Eddie’s own stunned thoughts perfectly.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms casually, completely unaware that he's throwing an eavesdropping Eddie into an absolute crisis right now. There's a soft thudding sound like Steve's hitting the back of his head against the stall wall. His voice gets kind of wistful, almost dreamy, as he says, “His rings, man. Rings and tattoos…and that long hair and those chains he'd wear… Honestly just his whole punk aesthetic thing had me mesmerized.” 

“Pretty sure he's metal, not punk,” Robin corrects him. 

Thanks, Robin. Also, what the fuck is happening right now? 

“Whatever. Still hot as hell,” Steve says. 

Eddie squeaks again and practically shoves his whole fist in his mouth to keep himself from making any more noise, his teeth knocking against his rings. The rings Steve likes, apparently. He feels like he's going to pass out, his heart beating so erratically it's making him lightheaded. King Steve - the popular, preppy, stupid, gorgeous, dumb jock Eddie's been crushing on since forever - just called him hot????  

“Did you hear that?” Robin asks suddenly, voice low and cautious. 

Shit. 

“Is anyone else in here?” Steve calls out. 

Fuck. 

Eddie bites down hard on his knuckles and holds his breath, going impossibly still. If they get up and search the bathroom, then he’s about to be caught red handed, crouched on top of a toilet seat with his fist in his mouth and his face flushed scarlet, eavesdropping on their private conversation about secret Russians and gay crushes. Eddie contemplates falling into the toilet and attempting to flush himself down it. Every god imaginable is receiving a silent prayer from him right now as he watches apprehensively through the gaps in the stall. One of those gods must've heard and taken pity on this poor gay disaster of a man crouched like a goblin in a bathroom stall, because after a few horrible seconds of silence, all Steve does is lean down to peer beneath the stalls for a moment before sitting back up and saying, “Looks empty. I think the drugs are making us hear things.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Robin says. Then she giggles, knocking her leg against Steve’s. “I still can’t believe you were into Eddie.” 

Steve flicks Robin’s knee. “I can’t believe you were into Tammy.”

“What’s wrong with Tammy?!” Robin protests.

“What’s wrong with Eddie?” Steve counters. “At least he’s actually got talent. Tammy’s a total dud - she wants to be a singer and shit but she can’t even hold a tune.” 

Eddie is going to die. He is actually going to die right here, right now, because Steve Harrington thinks he’s hot and talented. And then Steve starts mimicking Tammy, singing Total Eclipse of the Heart in a ridiculously goofy voice, and now Eddie is going to die because he finds that so stupidly endearing and adorable. Maybe he should just flush himself down the toilet, save himself from this hopelessly pathetic crush of his. Instead, he’s saved by the bathroom doors bursting open again and a new voice shouting at them, “Okay. What the hell?!” 

Steve and Robin collapse into a fit of giggles before being dragged to their feet by the newcomers and led out of the bathroom, leaving Eddie alone and reeling and struggling to process literally everything he’s just overheard. He finally hops down from his toilet perch and exits the stall like he’s in a daze. He’s not sure how long he had been camped out in there - probably only about ten minutes - but it felt like hours, so long that the world outside of that single bathroom stall almost feels foreign and unfamiliar now. 

Eddie grips the bathroom sink and stares at his flustered reflection in the mirror and whispers to himself, “What the actual fuck?” 

---

Later, years later, only after he and Steve are already dating, Eddie tells him all about this experience, and Steve laughs so hard he nearly cries.

[ahhrenata]

for @hamartia-grander ‘s fic Another Time 🧡

this scene in the epilogue got me 🙃 i love them.

[robiinurheart33]

CHAPTER 22 SPOILERS FOR THE NEON VOID‼️‼️

Haha wdym no I didn’t read the chapter almost one month after it came out wdym that’s crazy haha

ANYWAYS NEON VOID BRAINROT ANYONE?? As usual a magnificent read what can I say @sugarpasteltmnt is SO SO talented after I read this chapter I stared off into space for like a solid minute before laughing hysterically like Leo because MY GOD the adrenaline rush is so real. What compliment can I say that hasn’t been said about this fic. It gives me such goosebumps and the action sequences are just. Muah. Breathtaking. I cannot wait to read the next chapter and keep up the good work!! /lh /all pos

[stellamancer]

between the moon’s divide (satoru gojo x reader)

notes: uh. a week ago i thought to myself ‘oh i want to write a kiss scene’ thinking it would take me a day or two but no it took a week of me agonizing over... everything lmao.

contains: gender neutral reader, gojo is taller than the reader (as usual), some kind of tension, and finally kissing!!

wc: 2.1k

It’s sometime past midnight when you run across Satoru Gojo standing in the school’s courtyard. 

Unable to sleep, you’d taken to the halls. It’d become a habit by now, wandering the corridors like a restless ghost until sleep could evade you no longer. You’d actually been heading back to your room when you’d seen him, statuesque as he bathed in moonlight. You’d been vaguely aware that Gojo was not much of a sleeper, but you’d never run into him on one of your nighttime strolls. 

You come to a stop, observing Gojo as he stares up at the moon. It’s very odd for him; to be still, to be silent. 

Naturally, it doesn’t last for long.

“Finally here for our romantic moonlight rendezvous?” he asks, his tone playful, his gaze still fixed on the moon above. 

You can’t help but feel mildly annoyed that he’s noticed you at this distance. “As if. I was just wondering if maybe you were thinking about returning to your home planet.”

Gojo hums as you step out onto the courtyard, approaching him. "And leave you here? You'd be lonely without me.” 

You wait until you and Gojo are standing side by side to respond, not sparing him a glance as you retort, “Actually, I think you’d be the lonely one.”

At first, you don’t think much of the words that come out of your mouth. It’s habit to take anything Gojo throws at you and hurl it right back at him. The words play back in your mind as you tilt your head up to gaze up at the moon. It dominates the midnight sky, larger and brighter than anything else in the expanse above. Something about it reminds you of Gojo, strong, brilliant, and—

Lonely.

“You think?” he asks, sounding almost amused, as if you’d said something funny. 

“Probably?” you answer. "Though, I don't know, maybe your home planet is full of more Satoru Gojos and you would all be one happy collective, feeding into each other's egos and all that."

The thought of more than one Satoru Gojo, much less a whole planet full of them is enough to make your head throb with pain. The world has enough problems with one alone.

"...and what if there's no one else there?" 

You blink, and turn your head just slightly toward Gojo. He's still looking up at the moon, his expression almost melancholic. Something in your chest aches at the sight and you look back at the moon as if that will ease the pain.

It makes sense for him to think like that, to think his home planet would be deserted— all your lives you've been told how he's unique, how he's special, how he's the one and only Satoru Gojo. The thought, the notion that there could be another like him is near incomprehensible.

(There was one, someone, who came close and he—)

"Then don't go."

The words are barely audible, escaping your mouth like a whisper in the breeze. You're not even sure if you actually said them because under normal circumstances you'd keep such words to yourself, bury them deep inside your heart like a well-kept secret because in Satoru Gojo's hands those three words are little more than ammunition.  

And as much as you loathe the thought of giving him something else he can weaponize against you, you think he needs it right now. Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, his hands remain ever empty, ready and willing to take on more burden. If you're going to give him something to hold, it might as well be something he can find some measure of joy in. 

You expect Gojo to cut to the chase and start teasing you. Hesitation is a foreign concept to him, especially with the prospect of something new to play with, but he is uncharacteristically silent. Against your better judgment, you turn your head back toward him and find that he is no longer looking up at the moon.

He’s looking at you. 

Your breath stills in your chest. The bright gleam of Gojo’s eyes is a curse in of itself, rooting you to the core. You’ve never been good at dealing with Gojo like this. Stupid as that blindfold of his looks on him, it acts as a buffer, as a shield. You want to look away. You have to look away before the shocking hue of his gaze pulls you in, traps you, ensnares you with no hope of escape.

Gojo moves, shifting into a position that brings him down to your height, facing you fully as he unleashes the full power of his stupidly brilliant blue eyes on you. He leans just the slightest bit in your direction. Your heart rate climbs higher and higher as he inches closer. A voice in the back of your mind tries to remind you, to reassure you: this isn’t the first time that Satoru Gojo has pulled this kind of trick on you, and it won’t be the last. He’ll creep closer and closer toward you, taunting you, teasing you, but the space between you will forever remain infinite. 

But then he presses his forehead to yours and all bets are off. 

You need to get away from him. Now. You take a step back, to put some space in between you. It might be finite, but some space is better than none. But even though you’ve taken a step back you find that you are no further than Gojo than you were before, your foreheads still pressed together.

What in the world? You swear you took a step back.

Something in your peripheral shifts and your eyes flicker down for just a second, catching the corner of his mouth twitch. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Then it clicks. You’re so used to seeing him using his technique to push everything away, to make himself untouchable, that you often forget that it’s not the only thing he can do. HIs power doesn’t only repel.

It attracts too. 

Your heartbeat grows erratic at the realization that the once infinite space between you is now all but obsolete. Like this, you’re far too aware of him; aware of his hair, brushing softly against your face, aware of his breathing, echoing loud in your ears, aware of his lips—

“...what are you doing?” you finally manage to whisper after what feels like an eternity. 

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you nearly regret them. The question is begging for trouble, inviting it and the inevitable teasing from Gojo. But still you ask— you have to, you need to. It feels counterintuitive, but you need the distraction of his answer and the annoyance it’s sure to bring to cut through the thoughts, the feelings that are threatening to swallow you whole. 

You expect his response to come instantly like it always does, but… it doesn't. Something stutters in your chest at the change in routine. Is he being purposely silent? Or is he actually thinking about his words before they come out of his mouth for once? 

Finally, finally, he speaks, his voice low and teasing for sure, but there's something else there, diluting his tone, laced in his words. It's subtle, but whatever it is throws you completely off balance. "I thought you said 'don't go.'" 

Your mouth opens. You start to speak. But no words come out, instead they are lodged in your throat— honesty and reluctance mangled together in one huge lump. The thought occurs to you to just leave them there, unspoken. But, you wouldn't put it past Gojo to try and rip them free; with that in mind you pull at the words, unraveling them before releasing them into the night air. "…I did." 

It's official now: you've gone off script and you both know it. 

Gojo pulls back, just enough for you to see his face clearly. You think he's going to tease you for your admission, but instead, he studies you, his eyes probing, searching. You don’t know what for, but with no buffer, no infinity between you, it feels almost as if you are laid bare before the hypnotic glow of his eyes. 

Try as you might, you cannot even bring yourself to look away. You are charmed, captivated, enchanted by the spell of his eyes. Any hope for escape is gone and the only things that remain are you and the limitless blue.

Something shifts in Gojo’s expression and you wonder, distantly, if he’s found whatever it was he was looking for. 

He surges forward, pressing his forehead to yours once more, angling himself, positioning himself, and his mouth, his lips—

They’re barely there. Hovering as close as they possibly can without even touching. You can feel his breath, warm and intoxicating and it’s suddenly so hard to move, to think, to even breathe with the threat of Satoru Gojo imminent and about to swallow you whole.

He could, if he wanted and you both know it, and yet…

“Not even gonna try and deny it?” he asks, and you can practically feel his lips moving with each word he speaks. His tone is amused still, teasing still, but there's something more to it. It's like a secret, a plea even, interwoven into his words and actions, loud and unsubtle in a way that screams Satoru Gojo.

You don't know why he doesn't just say what he wants right now. Maybe he thinks it's more fun to try and be coy about it. Or maybe he thinks if he actually says it, you'll refuse like you always do, because you never think he really means it when he says it.

But right now, you think Gojo might.

You think he might really want to kiss you. 

This is your last chance, you think, your lips parting, your response heavy in your mouth. Whatever happens from here on out hinges entirely on what you say next. It’s not just about trying to deny what you said anymore; it's about denying whatever the hell is actually going on between you and Gojo. All this time, you've been turning a blind eye to things, adamant that there's nothing there— that Gojo is just a colleague and nothing more. And despite that, despite everything, he pushed and shoved his way into your heart like it's where he's belonged all along. Those three little words are undeniable proof that there's something between the two of you and it's awfully kind of him to let you try and deny it. 

But can you?

"...no." 

The realization settles in your chest, heavy yet liberating as you breathe the word into the air. You can’t— you won’t deny it, deny him.

Not any more.

Gojo’s entire body goes still, but then his hands are cupping your face, long fingers splayed across your cheeks. He’s holding you like a treasure, his touch reverent. Gojo presses his forehead to yours once more; his breath caresses you once more and you think that maybe, for the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo knows hesitation, feels it running through his veins as the space between your lips and his grows more and more infinitesimally small. 

You like to pretend that you'd never given much thought to how your first kiss with Gojo would go, but you never would have thought that it would be like this— gentle and sweet. But despite that, it feels almost like your chest is going to burst as he fills your lungs, your veins, your entire being.

For just a moment, you think he’s about to pull away, and your body reacts of its own accord, reaching out for him, keeping him close. It’s at this moment that the kiss shifts into something more hungry, more desperate. Gojo’s lips part, his tongue swiping against your lips, begging you to do the same. 

You do not deny him. 

Eventually, eventually you pull away, dazed and out of breath, but Gojo doesn’t let you go too far, his arms wrapping around you. A silence settles around the two of you as you stand there, bathing in moonlight. 

Of course, it doesn’t last for long. 

“You’re really down bad for me, huh,” Gojo remarks, his voice infuriatingly smug.

You rip yourself from his grasp... or, at least, you try to. What you manage to do is free yourself enough so that you can look at his face. Naturally he’s beaming, all too pleased by everything that’s going on, his eyes shining brighter than any star in the sky. 

The words you normally say, the words you usually say, try to force their way out of your mouth, but you catch them before they do. You’ve decided, you remind yourself, you won’t deny him any more. 

“...guess I am,” you answer, as casually as possible, then you add, as a cheeky afterthought, “And what about you?”

The grin on Gojo’s face widens as he leans in and that’s how your second kiss begins.

[osamusriceballs]

Kinktober Day 25 <3

Iwaizumi x striptease

Warnings: NSFW, fem reader

Words: ~ 1,4 k

Kinktober Masterlist II -> Next day

"You're so fucking hot."

A low groan escapes his lips as his hips arch into yours while you straddle his lap. You continue to kiss his neck, your hands gently resting on his shoulders to maintain your balance on his muscular thighs. Athletic trainer? You almost snort. He looks more like an athlete himself. Iwaizumi's hands are restless, alternating between gripping your hips to sensually thrust into you and exploring the curves and contours of your body.

"You too," you sheepishly look up and smile at him, your cheeks warming as you admire his attractive face up close. The intense eye contact continues for a few moments, with both of you remaining silent, only the sound of your soft breaths filling the room.

That is until you can't resist any longer and begin to squirm on his lap. "Come here." He tilts his head and easily connects his lips with yours, much to your relief. You feel yourself melting into the kiss, savoring the soft caress of his lips against yours and the gentle increase of pressure. You moan as his tongue grazes your lower lip, silently requesting more access, to which you eagerly oblige by parting your lips.

Your passionate make-out session is suddenly interrupted by the loud music coming from the closed front door, undoubtedly from the new neighbors next door. You pull back slightly at the noise, just enough to notice a slight frown on his face, and he sighs deeply while squeezing your hips. Since the new neighbors moved in next door, they've made a habit of playing loud music every Saturday night, making you feel like you're in a crowded club. Their music is usually energetic and intense, probably used for home workouts, but tonight's music is different. It's a slow, sensual melody that makes you want to sway your hips as you cling to Iwaizumi.

You both exchange glances while the music plays, and his initial frown quickly dissipates along with your disappointment of the music ruining your sweet moment. "Dance for me?" He suddenly breaks the silence with a gleam of excitement in his eyes, his happiness evident as he gazes expectantly at you. "Really?" you hesitantly ask, feeling somewhat perplexed by the unexpected request.

"Hmm. The music is perfect for this." He grins, his expression so tender and affectionate that you give him one last peck on the lips, pressing your lips against his long enough to elicit a groan from him before you finally get up.

Your movements are initially stiff as you're not quite sure how to proceed, but as you notice his leg bouncing in anticipation, you decide to go with the flow. You're convinced that you can't go wrong; Iwaizumi has adored, praised, and cherished your body so many times that you can't imagine him ever being disappointed in anything you do.

You slowly dance to the music, gently swaying your body while maintaining eye contact with him. You do a little twirl, just enough to let your skirt flutter a bit, earning an approving hum from him. "Always so fucking pretty for me," he runs his hands over his pants and takes a deep breath, his eyes tracking every movement of your body.

"What should I take off first, Hajime?" you ask, batting your eyelashes as seductively as possible. His leg stops bouncing at your question, and he quickly licks his lips before leaning forward ever so slightly. "You're letting me choose?" You feel a shiver run down your spine at his expectant gaze, your body growing warmer as you stand before him, swaying to the music.

"Your shirt. I think it would look better on the floor." He grins, watching as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, slowly reaching for the hem of your shirt. "You don't like it, then?" You ask with a teasing smile, and he immediately shakes his head. "No, I love it! It's my favorite color on you." You raise your eyebrows at his statement, mentally noting to wear this color more often.

"Oh? Should I keep it on, then?" You let your hands fall to your sides, ensuring that you continue to sway to the music and let your hands wander down your sides.

"Baby," he groans in frustration, his hands caressing the fabric of his pants once more, and you decide to give in. You bring your hands back to the hem of your shirt and slowly lift it. You expose inch by inch, his gaze fixed on the movement of your hands as it trails down your chest, leaving your upper body clad only in an almost see-through lacy bra. Once you've finally pulled the shirt over your head, you hear his breath hitch. You know how much he adores the bra and the matching panties, that's why you chose to wear them today to surprise him - the perfect choice as it seems.

"What next?" You ask, your voice slightly higher pitched than usual, conveying how hot and bothered he's making you feel with the way he watches you with his bright green eyes, much like a predator eyeing its prey, ready to devour. "The skirt." His response is so quick that you know he thought about it while you were undressing, but that was exactly the effect you aimed for: to stimulate his imagination and to make his mind go crazy. You sway your hips just a bit slower, maintaining eye contact to intensify the tension while you unzip your skirt from the side, making sure to caress all of your exposed skin. The fabric falls down to your feet as you pull it over your hips, leaving you in a matching set of lace, almost bare in front of him. You don't feel the cold at all, not when Iwaizumi's gaze is so fiery and intense. The bulge in his pants is clearly visible, and you're relieved that the dark material of your panties hides the damp spot, which is nearly invisible from the outside.

"The bra next?" you tilt your head while you speak, your fingers fumbling with the cups of your bra as you wait for his response.

"Not yet. I want to savor you a bit. Do a twirl for me, love." You hold your breath for a moment and quickly nod, presenting your body from various angles as he watches attentively, his cock almost throbbing at the sight of you dancing so seductively only for him. Only for his eyes.

You keep your eyes on him when you bring your hands the the clasp of your bra, and this time he does not interfere. You fumble just for a second with it before you manage to unhook it, your body shivering in excitement. You let the fabric run down your shoulders, the movement feeling like a caress, and you find yourself wishing that he would finally touch you. That he would run his hands down your shoulders and kiss you and show you how much he loves you.

The bra joins the other clothes on the ground, and you let your hands roam along your body, touching yourself softly while you dance to the music. "You can't even imagine how sexy you look right now, love. So fucking sexy." He runs his hand through his dark hair, swallowing hard and raking his gaze over your body. He sounds so turned on, lust evident on his face, the tension in the room almost unbearable at this point.

You bite your lip and bring your hands to the hem of your panties to finish the show, but Iwaizumi moves quickly and catches your wrists before you can pull them down. You stare at him surprised, your eyes widened while you wordlessly let him pull you towards the bed until your back meets the soft mattress and he hovers over you. His hands go to your ankles and spread your legs, your core throbbing at this action, aching to be touched when he makes you feel even more exposed in your current position. Your jaw drops when he leans down and presses a kiss on your stomach, his teeth grazing at the lace of your panties, and you squirm under him when his hot breath meets your skin. A grin adorns his lips when he pulls the material back, just enough until it loudly snaps against your body.

"Just lay back and let me do the rest, love. I'll take care of this myself."

[screwpinecaprice]

She's on a hospital bed, amnesiac after an accident and she's having a crush on this man who is apparently her husband.

@dragonuva's part on an art trade with them from last year! 🥰 It's based on the first chapter of Chiptune by Newlense.

Guys. This fanfic is my favorite FAVORITE connverse fic and I love it so much I don't care if the last update was in 2020 nor if it's never going to be continued. It's so tender and the angst whalloped my guts in the right places. 😭💕

[fairyrona]

a fanart to @cosmobrain00 's ''I know the end'' series because I can't !! stop ! thinking about it !!!!

[peachcitt]

merry christmas @burntwaffle12‼️‼️ this beast is just for you for the @mlsecretsanta gift exchange<3<3

you can read the first chapter of your gift here

happy holidays and i will be back so soon with more<3<3

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 20: Found family, Blanket

*shuffles feet*

...in my defense, I almost entirely finished this yesterday, I just wasn’t about to go trying to edit and post it at like 11:30 at night (though this note probably would have been a lot more interesting if I had lol).

Anyway. Continuation to day 17! I apologize for the delay and hope the wait was worth it 😓

Day 17

Read on ao3

Warnings: same as day 17, injuries, torture mentions, a short nightmare, just bad times for Twilight

————————————————————

Getting out was a blur.

Link forced himself to stay awake as the leader of the heroes (had he even said his name? ...If he had he couldn’t remember) carried him, but focusing on much of anything was difficult. The ever-present pain weighed him down like a heavy load, old scars and new injuries adding endless layers of suffering, and even just being carried in someone’s arms was agony.

There was the leftover burn from the magic too— though the chains that had secured him were gone, the manacles were still on his wrists and the collar was still around his neck, and they ached, his whole body still shaking from the ordeal of removing the chains.

It was a struggle not to just pass out.

But the part of him that still screamed not to trust stay on alert be prepared for him to come back was stronger. It had been honed from countless jarring awakenings, pain ripping him back from already restless sleeps, and so he stayed awake, no matter how badly he wanted to rest.

The man holding him shifted his grip as he went up some stairs, and Link felt his breath hitch as some of his injuries were nudged. The man whispered an apology, and gently squeezed one of the few spots of skin that didn’t have an open wound on it.

Link flinched anyway.

The touch immediately retreated, and Link was torn between being relieved and crying at the loss of it.

Part of him still expected them to suddenly turn on him, the kind touches becoming bruising ones, gentle hands turned to claws and knives. But... he also craved it. He desperately wanted somebody to pat him on the shoulder and hug him and run their hand through his hair, but any of the touch he’d received so far had been like torture.

He truly couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a touch that didn’t involve pain in some way. He could barely stomach it now, no matter how well-meaning, and he hated it.

Was there anything left the Shadow hadn’t taken from him?

Voices suddenly rang down the hall, and Link stiffened, straining his ears to try and figure out who— or what they were.

One of the other heroes who’d gotten him out (the one with the Master Sword, he thought. He really needed names) called out, and soon there were unfamiliar faces and words being exchanged and questions directed at him and all he could do was close his eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden amount of people surrounding him.

How many were there?

“... got Legend pretty bad, but we beat him off and he disappeared,” a polished voice spoke, and Link twitched an ear his direction. What was he talking about? A legend?

“I’m fine,” a sharper voice cut in, and Link thought it seemed younger then the other one. “You didn’t need to use that fairy, that was our last one!”

“Well what was I supposed to do?”

“Save it for the reason we came here in the first place! He’s way more injured than I was!”

“Legend,” a softer voice spoke up, sounding exasperated, “...you were pretty bad. And you know we don’t take chances with injuries caused by the Shadow.”

A sick feeling abruptly surged over Link at the name, along with an intense hatred and fear and horror and too many emotions for his mind to handle at the moment. Link’s breath stuttered against his will, and the man holding him frowned.

“You don’t think the Shadow is still here, do you?” The small hero with the colorful tunic asked, and the voices paused.

“Probably... not,” Link croaked, and they all looked at him.

He swallowed.

“Do you know where he is?” a man in a deep blue scarf asked, and Link exhaled, gathering his strength.

“No,” Link managed to get out, and the voices stayed quiet. “Probably not. But he usually... usually powered ‘self before... fights.”

“...powered himself?” a younger voice asked in an anxious tone, and Link closed his eyes again. Hadn’t they known? Or at least figured it out based on what they’d seen?

All he was was a battery.

“Thank you Link, I’m sorry we brought it up,” the leader apologized, and Link made a noncommittal noise. “We’re almost out, hold on.”

They began moving again, and Link caught several people looking at him, though most of them stopped when they realized he’d noticed. A teenager with a stripe of pink in his hair didn’t though, and Link found himself staring, curious about the look of him. He gave him an awkward little nod, and Link tried to return it, though he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

They were all so different, were these really heroes like him?

The Shadow had mentioned other heroes once or twice, but Link usually had no clue what he was talking about, or if he did, refused to say anything.

Besides, he was usually too busy screaming to listen anyhow.

Something bright shone out of the corner of his eye, and Link turned to look at it, his heart speeding up at the sight of a large entryway. The group hurriedly went through it, and Link was almost blinded from how bright it was after they walked through.

He blinked furiously, needing to see what was going on, and finally his eyes adjusted and he looked around in shock.

Sunlight.

Faint, barely-there, dim autumn sunlight that struggled to shine through the trees, but the sight of it nearly made Link sob.

He was outside.

He could see sunlight shining through yellow and orange leaves, eventually joined by the sound of birds and other creatures as they went along, air that wasn’t stale rushing past his face and making all his injuries hurt more but he didn’t care a bit.

He was out.

He was crying he realized, and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by it all.

It wasn’t a trick. He’d never gotten this far the few times he’d been brought out, they were really who they said they were, they must be, and they’d gotten him out of the darkness.

Someone might’ve said something to him, but the overwhelming sensation of being outside had finally pushed Link to his limit, and he gave up on his fight to stay awake.

Darkness swept him away, it’s touch more gentle then he’d felt in a long time.

(...)

The heroes didn’t stop traveling until they were plenty far away from the oppressive ruins where they’d found Link, the trip passing in almost complete silence.

Link had passed out in Time’s arms not long after they’d finally exited, tears on his face, and Time couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved.

Watching Link remain in an almost stubborn state of alertness, ears twitching towards any sound, flinching when Time adjusted him, had been agonizing to watch. His body desperately needed rest, but he’d been stubbornly refusing it until they were out.

He’s certainly one of us, no doubt about that, Time thought with a sigh.

Sky grabbed a bedroll the moment they found a safe place to stop, and Time carefully lowered Link onto it, trying to avoid any injuries. He had several on his back, but they set him down as softly as possible, and Link didn’t wake.

“That’s really him?” Wind asked in a small voice as Warriors moved over to carefully look over all of Link’s injuries, cursing under his breath more than once.

“This is him,” Time replied quietly, trying to clean some of the blood and dirt out of Link’s hair. Now that they were out of the ruins, it was even more obvious how badly Link was in need of being cleaned up and cared for, and Time focused on not being overwhelmed by the task.

What all did he go through in there?

“What happened to him?” Legend said in a voice full of quiet horror, and Wild harshly kicked a rock into a tree.

“What didn’t?” he bit out in a fragile voice, and Sky put a hand on his arm, saying something that Time didn’t catch.

Warriors accidentally brushed a hand against Link’s collarbone then, and his eyes shot open, nearly throwing himself backwards away from the touch.

“Get away!” he snarled, voice hoarse, and Warriors immediately backed up.

“Whoa, easy,” Warriors quickly reassured, putting his hands up. “I’m only checking which of your injuries need to be cleaned so we can give you a potion. We don’t want anything healing inside them.”

Link glared at him in suspicion, but when Time moved into his line of sight, he relaxed a little.

“He’s helping, Link, I promise,” he reassured, and Link slowly relaxed, though he remained awake. Time glanced around at the other heroes as Warriors finished his examination, and saw that most of them were either looking at Link, or pointedly not looking at him as they worked on setting up camp.

It seemed none of them were quite certain how to deal with seeing one of their own in such a state.

Wild came over when he noticed Time watching them all, and he looked at Link, uncertainty on his face.

“Can I help at all?” he asked, voice stronger then it had been, and Time looked over at Warriors.

“These all need to be cleaned, and it’s not going to be easy for him,” the captain reported quietly, looking over his chest. “The faster we can get it done the better.”

“Link, we need to clean you up before we can heal you,” Time said as he knelt at his side, and Link gave him a bleary look. “It won’t be pleasant, but it needs to be done.”

Link breathed out and nodded, looking up at Time with shadows under his eyes.

“Go ahead,” he whispered.

Time gave him a faint smile, and Wild knelt beside him as they got to work.

It took a long time scrubbing all of the dirt out and disinfecting the injuries Link was coated in. They focused on cleaning the actual wounds, but Time knew Link would need the rest of himself cleaned up at some point, dirt and blood and all sorts of grime coated on his skin.

But that can wait.

Link was stiff throughout the entire process, trembling when they got to certain injuries, and trying not to cry out when they used the alcohol Warriors had provided to disinfect. The worst part was his face, which Time carefully washed up, but Link was nearly in tears by the time he finished cleaning the slice that cut right through the dark lines on his forehead.

But they finally finished, and Link sagged, his breathing shaking. Hyrule came forward then, and offered to heal him, and Link gave him a curious look.

“It’s a healing spell, it’ll be more thorough than a potion,” he explained. He faintly lit up his hands to demonstration, but Link immediately recoiled from the light.

“No, no n-no magic!” Link breathed, a flicker of terror in his eyes.

Hyrule immediately backed off, and Link’s cheeks flushed as he calmed down.

“I... I’m sorry, I-I...”

“No, I understand, that’s okay,” Hyrule said kindly, and Link swallowed and looked away, cheeks still red.

“Potions will be enough,” Time said peaceably, and Hyrule took out a few, handing them to Time. Though a fairy or healing spell would be preferable. “Take it slow, Link.”

Sky helped him carefully sit Link up, and Time helped him drink the entire red potion, slowly so as not to overwhelm his stomach. He eagerly sipped at it, and the most intense of his injuries began to knit closed, angry lines and deep gouges, and places that must be barely healed-over stab wounds—

Time exhaled, and lowered Link back to the ground as he finished, anger stirring in his chest.

The Shadow will pay for this.

“Try and get some more rest, Link. You’re safe with us,” Time said gently as he set the bottle aside, and rested a careful hand on Link’s.

He flinched, but after a long moment, slowly gripped it back. His hand shook as Time brushed his thumb over the dirtied triangles on the back, but he didn’t let go, even though Time knew holding on was hard.

You’re safe.

(...)

The next few days trickled by slowly, Link struggling to adjust to life not imprisoned in a hole being used as some sort of dark power source.

His injuries were healing, albeit slowly due to the sheer amount of them, but he was struggling more with the other scars his imprisonment had left him. He still couldn’t handle much touch, or large amounts of food, and he’d rarely sleep for long periods of time, waking up sweating and shaking from memories he hadn’t told the rest of them about yet.

Four made it his personal mission to remove the collar and bands from around his neck and wrists, since all they did was serve as a reminder for all them of the torture he’d endured.

Link wanted them off more than anyone, and he patiently sat through all of Four’s attempts at removal. The smithy finally succeeded with the help of some of Legend’s items and tools, Link nearly crying with relief at them gone, but the pale scars underneath the metal were almost worse.

They couldn’t be removed.

Time tried his best to help Link adjust, but it was hard when he could only give them the bare minimum of what he’d endured, and stubbornly tried to insist he was fine and they didn’t need to fuss over him. Even after he’d wake up gasping from a nightmare, Link would try to muffle his cries in order not to wake anyone, and couldn’t stand even a grounding hand on his shoulder.

It was at times like these Time wished Malon were here. She would know exactly how to comfort the traumatized boy they’d all found themselves with, better than Time ever could.

How do we help him, Malon? he thought one night as he studied Link’s slumbering face. His scars were harder to see in the dark, but Time knew they were there, slashed across his forehead, his chest... and his heart.

How did you ever handle me?

Time didn’t find any one answer, but as time slowly went by, Link did open up, at least a little. As they all explained more about themselves, he was willing to do so a bit too, explaining some of his journey, and telling the dark marks on his forehead actually weren’t a result of his imprisonment, though not exactly explaining what they were from.

His favorite thing to talk about was his home village though, and the longing in his voice was impossible to miss.

Time would have carried him there himself if it had been at all possible, but they were a long ways away from Ordon, and Link could barely walk across the clearing they were camped in without needing a rest. Taking him home would have to wait, as much as Time disliked it.

But in the meantime, the other heroes did their best to help Link as well, Wild figuring out what was easiest for him to eat, Warriors and Hyrule dutifully checking up on his injuries. Wind liked to tell him stories whenever he was struggling not to dwell on memories, sometimes getting Four to tell a few, and Legend even laid out his weapons and offered to let Link borrow one, until they could get him a sword of his own.

Sky often just let him hold the Master Sword, Link’s hands clutching the hilt as he sat in silence.

It seemed to comfort him, often when the rest of them couldn’t, and while Time couldn’t relate, he was glad it helped.

Time could also tell it was killing Sky not to be able to comfort Link with touch, at all, but Link was still working up to anything more then his hand being held. He would just have to do it at his own pace, as hard as it was to watch him struggle.

And things didn’t change in that regard, until all of a sudden they did.

(...)

Link closed his eyes as the tip of a blade pressed against his chin. He wouldn’t panic. This happened almost every day, and he wouldn’t panic. He wouldn’t give the Shadow the satisfaction of it.

“You’re not going to beg today?” he asked almost curiously, and Link licked his lips, tasting blood. “I might even listen, you never know.”

“I’ve never begged,” he said in a cold voice.

He wouldn’t stoop to that level, he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t. It was one of the few ways he felt like he had a choice in the matter, and he knew it made the Shadow mad when when he remained silent.

He wouldn’t give his captor the satisfaction.

The Shadow leaned in so they were eye-to-eye, and Link stared at the crimson glow of his eyes, trying not to let his breath hitch.

“Well. Let’s see if we can change that, shall we?”

And then the blade flicked down, pain ripping across his chest. At at the same time the metal around his neck lit up like the lava on death mountain, burning into him, searing down the line where the sword had struck, and Link screamed as he felt magic bore into him and sap away every bit of his strength—

He woke up.

Link jerked upright, pain still blinding him, and he might’ve screamed but he wasn’t sure. Darkness was around him, lit only by the Shadow’s glowing eyes and he knew it had all been a dream, he hadn’t been rescued after all and he was never going to get out—

Link breathed heavily, clutching at his neck, certain he could still feel the collar, magic burning into him, feel his strength ripped away as injuries were torn into his chest—

“Link,” a soft voice said, and he heaved in another breath, hands still pressed to his neck. “Link, you’re out, you’re safe.”

He managed to raise his head, and saw Time kneeling carefully beside him, a hand outstretched in a calming gesture.

He swallowed, breathing in another shaky breath, and looked around, slowly recognizing the campsite they’d been at for the past several days. The light he’d seen was the campfire, not the Shadow’s eyes, and he felt relief start to soak through the terror.

He wasn’t there. He wasn’t back.

His breath hitched, and Time moved closer to him, offering him a hand to take if he wanted it.

Link stared at it, then began to shake, feeling suddenly overwhelmed at everything again.

He was out. He wasn’t a prisoner. He was out and safe and he’d been there for so long but he was out but he wasn’t home but he was home, brothers he never knew he had saving him and their kindness made his chest ache because he’d done nothing to deserve it and despite waking them up and slowing them down and pushing away their help they kept coming back and he’d done nothing—

A sob broke out of him as the sheer scale of everything suddenly crashed down onto him, and Time’s eye widened.

Then he leaned forward, and slowly, carefully, put an arm around him.

Link’s breath hitched with another sob, stiffening as the touch settled across his back, but as Time tried to move, he clutched at his arm, silently begging him not to let go. The touch was like fire on his back, but it soothed a part of him that he hadn’t even realized had been hurting so much.

Time hesitated as Link shuddered, then he lifted his other arm, pulling him into an actual hug, tight and warm.

That destroyed any composure Link had left, and he buried his face in Time’s shoulder, crying harder than he had in a long time. The touch all around him was awful and wonderful and agonizing and pure relief, and the sensation made him shake with how overwhelming it was.

“You’re okay,” Time whispered as Link fell to pieces in his arms. He ran a hand through his hair, and Link’s breath hitched on another sob. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, Link.”

Link had no clue as to the last time he’d received a hug, but this one, as messy and awful and painful as it was, was probably the best.

(...)

After that night, Link often found himself in a pile of heroes whenever he went to bed.

Wild would curl up at his side, Sky would end up with an arm flung out on top of him, Wind and Four by his head. Sometimes all of them would end up around him, and Link would nearly cry if he woke up and realized, falling back asleep more deeply then he had in months.

It was wonderful.

He was still struggling to get back on his own two feet, building his strength, still dealing with the fact that he’d always have the scars from his imprisonment, that he still sometimes woke up screaming in the middle of the night.

But he knew he’d have the others to support him, as hard as it was to let them. He still had moments where he’d push them away, when touch hurt instead of helped, when the thought of giving up crossed his mind, and didn’t seem like too bad of an option.

But he wouldn’t give up. Dark Link may have crushed him, but he wouldn’t be kept down, even though at times it seemed nearly impossible.

He would keep going.

And as Link leaned against Sky’s shoulder one night, Time’s arm over his shoulders, Wild and Four sitting leaned up against his feet while the others sat close by, it wasn’t nearly as hard to believe that he might be... okay.

Ordon would have to wait a bit longer, until he’d regained his strength, and could properly swing a sword, but until then...

A hand ran through his hair, and Link exhaled, the feeling of safety like a warm blanket around his shoulders.

...Link could wait.

[jack-kellys]

i found something in the woods somewhere, by @we-are-inevitable

hello everyone :)

this is my art for jac's bang fic! i'm going to release more throughout the weekend, since this au is chock full of eerie artistic imagery, be it the characters of davey and jack... or the character of the forest. she is dangerous, she is loving, and i think jac wrote her stunningly!

all my love & thanks for @newsiesminibang24 for hosting this event, it’s been so fun to be apart of!!

[brinnybee]

quick scribbles to try and learn some dear dear faces c':

[clowningaroundmars]

heeyyy yaaalllll

so i was thinking to myself, i love punkflower. i really do.

what if there was a hobie in miles' universe and he didnt have to do the whole long distance relationship across dimensions thing, though? just keep his lil secret crush on spiderpunk a secret and keep it pushing, only to literally bump into his own hobie brown in 1610 one day?

wouldnt that be cool, guys?

wouldnt it? :)

wouldnt :) it :) be :) so :) cool? :) and so cute too?

:)

Miles was late.

It was his first day back, the very beginning of his junior year at Visions Academy and he was late. God damn.

His parents were really gonna kill him this time, no doubt about it. There weren't even any good Spiderman excuses he could use to weasel his way out of getting into trouble this time! He'd just have to cross his fingers and pray that his chemistry teacher for this year wasn't a total hardass like last year's English teacher.

Maybe he could make up some dumb excuse this time, try to wriggle his way into the professor's good graces with some blatant lie. Anyways, whose dumb idea was it to put him in a class so damn far from the entrance doors so early in the mor--

BRRRRRRING!

Miles tore around a corner just as the final bell rang throughout the mostly-empty hallways, inciting panic in his chest and making him nearly launch himself down another hallway just to get to his class.

In his haste, he nearly knocked over a very tall and very... familiar looking person that happened to be in Miles' trajectory. Luckily, bodies didn't end up colliding but the shock of having a person fly so quickly into their line of sight shocked the both of them into skidding to a sudden stop.

The tall person ended up dropping a textbook and what seemed like an enormous packet of papers, because sheets scattered absolutely everywhere, almost like snow.

Ugh. Of course.

They both stared down at the mess in the middle of the hallway floor for a beat.

Then, Miles exhaled a laugh, shaking his head.

"Aw man, I-I'm sorry! I just uh... here, lemme just--"

They both bent down to quickly scoop up the papers as Miles stuttered and spoke a hundred miles a minute, trying to apologize for the heart-stopping scare he caused. Just as Miles shuffled the papers together in his hands, he finally looked up at the unlucky student he almost football-tackled first thing in the morning... and nearly dropped the papers onto the floor again.

Kneeled right in front of him with papers and a textbook tucked under a skinny arm, long fingers nervously plucking up what was left of the rest of the packet, was none other than... Hobie Brown.

Oh. God.

This Hobie didn't seem to be Miles' Hobie, though.

(Miles' temperature rose a bit as he quickly thought: wait, my Hobie? That's not right, either.)

Instead of large freeform locs that tapered off like wicks, he was sporting long uniform locs that were piled up high in a loose ponytail on his head, most likely due to the school policy that stated boys needed to have hair above the nape of their neck. Miles kinda wondered about that policy, if he ever decided to grow out his hair; would pulling his hair up be enough? Or would they police his hair length and force him to cut it all off?

Well, turns out the answer was literally right in front of him. Another shock to the system right after the first one.

That was Miles' excuse, really. It was just so dang early in the morning and he really really wasn't thinking when he opened his mouth and basically shouted "Hobie?!"

It honest to god sounded like it echoed in the hallway.

He slapped a hand over his mouth, immediately chastising himself for the stupid mistake he made, mentally kicking himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid!! He wasn't supposed to know this guy obviously, they hadn't even met in their dimension yet!

Hobie, for his part, didn't seem perturbed by this at all though. He took the papers from Miles' hands and straightened himself back up to his full height, offering a hand so that Miles could stand up too.

He shrugged shyly and hid behind a couple locs that happened to fall back into his face, holding the books and papers closer to his chest.

"Uhmmn yeah, sorry. I-I'm runnin' late to my first class so I can't really give any autographs right now. Maybe later... if we see each other, ok?"

Miles blinked owlishly. Did he just say... autographs?

And wait a minute... was this Hobie... American?

Miles' poor little sleep-deprived mind was being blown again and again. He really didn't know if he was ever going to recover from this.

Hobie started to back up and walk away so Miles held his hands up to stop him. "Wait wait wait, autographs? I'm not uh-- sorry, this is weird," he laughed, rubbing his neck. "Nah, man. That's cool. I don't really want any autographs. Are you uh-- are you famous, actually?"

It was this Hobie's turn to blink owlishly now, hesitating a bit. A non-pierced eyebrow was raised as he said, "I... I kinda am...?"

He turned and pointed out the giant window of the hallway that they happened to be standing by, and Miles craned his neck to peer outside.

It smacked him right in the face once his eyes landed on it: a giant billboard fixed atop a neighboring building that depicted Hobie Brown in a luxurious-looking perfume ad. He sported the same locs as he did in real life, wearing shiny-looking makeup and giving the viewer the fiercest, smokiest look Miles has ever seen from a model in a hot minute. He was clutching deep purple satin, wrapped in it, basking in it. A single perfume bottle with a deep purple bow on the neck was photoshopped next to him, matching the overall vibe of the ad.

Miles was rooted to the spot, absolutely gobsmacked. How in the world did he miss that?!

Distantly, a small echo of a conversation he had in what seemed like a lifetime ago floated up from a memory. "I was briefly a runway model" pulsed in his neural pathways for a quick second.

Slowly, the gears started turning in his head. Slowly, he turned back to his dimension's Hobie Brown, who was giving him a strange sort of look.

Miles awkwardly tried to gather himself up, waving his hands around as he struggled for a non-weird explanation to his very weird behavior.

"I-I mean-- ahahaha! Yeah I mean, obviously you're famous! I was just y'know-- playin' with you. Pulling your leg and all that, I guess... heh."

The strange dubious look on Hobie's face didn't budge. "...Right."

Miles coughed conspicuously, trying to change the subject. "But uh yeah, haven't seen you around this school much then! Are you... you in a different grade than me or...?"

The corner of Hobie's mouth twitched suddenly, and for a split second Miles wondered if he said something wrong.

But then Hobie chuckled a bit. "No, I don't think so? This is my first day here. Like... ever. So I'm not really surprised you haven't seen me before. I just transferred over."

Miles practically sighed in relief and nodded, hands in his pockets. "Right! Right, very cool. Welcome to Visions then, I guess. Uh... I'm Miles! Miles Morales. Nice to meet ya!"

He goofily stuck a hand out, which Hobie actually accepted. They shook hands for a second, and then Miles was suddenly taken aback by how cold his hand was against his own skin. It was a definite contrast to the warm and lanky body he remembered practically draped across his own, back in Mumbattan.

He forced those particular memories away for now.

This Hobie was smiling down at him, sad eyes set inside a seemingly genuine expression of fondness. "Cool. I'm Hobie. But, uh, it seems like you already knew that, so."

"Aha, yeah yeah! It just-- honestly it's just the shock of, uh, running into a major celeb in the middle of my school that really got to me, I think. Sorry. I probably look like a total weirdo right now!"

Hobie shook his head, and Miles took the opportunity to really study this guy now that the shock was over and the vibe was more chill. This Hobie was just as long and lanky as the punk anarchist Miles was already well acquainted with, but he held himself completely differently. Where Spider-Hobie was all confident strut and careless swagger, this Hobie seemed to be all reserved grace and... sadness? He definitely reminded Miles of a willow tree drooping down into a lake, beautiful but tragic at the same time.

Okay Miles, get it together, he thought, stop thinking this guy is beautiful. I mean, he is beautiful yeah... but c'mon man, focus!

Hobie's non-pierced lips were moving now, finishing a sentence that Miles most definitely did not catch.

Then, Hobie looked at him expectantly.

Oh shit. He just asked a question didn't he? Fuck.

"Uh, sorry... one more time?" Miles grinned as wide as he could, apologetic. Nice going, Morales, the humorless voice in his head chimed in. Definitely not convincing this guy you're an alien from outer space or anything!

Hobie huffed a laugh and cleared his throat. "Sorry, my fault. Sometimes I mumble and... yeah. Mom says I need to work on that," he sighed, then continued, "I was just wondering if you knew where room 301 was?"

Miles nearly jumped with the force of the realization that just hit him.

"301? Mr. Moriarty's class?"

"Y-yeah, that's the one," Hobie smiled, twirling a loc on one finger and tugging it a bit. Then he tucked it back behind his ear. "I'm actually so lost it's not even funny, I'm godawful at directions and like, navigating. I've been looking for it for like 20 minutes now--"

"That's where my first class is too! AP chem!"

Hobie seemed to brighten up a bit at that, straightening his posture up from his own self-conscious hunch. "Oh cool! We should probably get going then, if we don't wanna be more late than we already are."

Without thinking, Miles places a hand on Hobie's shoulder and steers them both towards a classroom right at the end of the hallway they were in.

"Of course, right this way! Pretty lucky you ran into me, huh? I can help you find your other classes later on if you want, too."

For the first time since nearly crashing into him, Miles looked up at Hobie and saw genuine happiness in his eyes as they grinned at each other and walked down the hall together.

"...Yeah," Hobie said, nodding slowly. "Yeah that'd be pretty cool. Thanks!"

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Their chemistry teacher ended up not being a total hardass after all! Especially when Miles rolled up with none other than Famous Model Hobie in tow, immediately causing a ripple of whispers amongst the students sat at their desks.

Mr. Moriarty was a short and stumpy old man with a kind face and a severely receding hairline. He took one look at Hobie after squinting at his attendance sheet, accepted Miles' quick explanation that they were late because Hobie's minty fresh enrollment got him all lost in these maze-like hallways, and excused their tardiness with a wave of a hand.

"It's the first day and you were very kind to help a new student out, Mr. Morales. You're both excused for today, but try not to make a habit of it, alright?"

Miles bobbed his head as he picked his way past rows of desks. "Absolutely, sir. No problem at all. Thanks a bunch!"

Hobie stuck close to him, and smiled a bit as the only two desks left empty in the whole room happened to be right next to each other, right up in the back of the class. Nice.

They took their seats and exchanged a couple of glances as they pulled out their notebooks, barely listening to their professor's quick introduction and class syllabus. Well, Miles was barely listening, anyways. He was too caught up in the euphoria of running into a dimensional variant of one of his friends, in Visions Academy no less! His mind started to wander a bit. Did a 1610 Gwen exist too? a 1610 Pavitr? Were they also here at Visions? And what was with these random stares he and Hobie were getting from their fellow classmates right now?

Every now and then a student's head would swivel back to glance in their direction, awestruck looks evident on their faces.

How famous was Hobie anyway?

Of course, there was that giant billboard conveniently placed within view of the school's back hallways near a busy intersection, but Miles really started to think. He sneakily pulled out his phone and swiped down to the lowest brightness he could in case the classroom's fluorescent lighting wasn't enough to hide the phone screen's own light.

He kept his face straight forward, eyes flicking to and from his typing that he was trying to conceal behind the student sitting in front of him. He typed Hobie Brown model, Hobie Brown perfume ad, Hobie Brown supermodel, getting absolutely nothing every single time. Well, nothing that looked like the Hobie Brown sitting next to him, who happened to be dutifully scribbling down some notes in his notebook. Miles looked down at his own empty sheet of paper and quickly copied his new friend, whipping out a pencil and hurrying to catch up with the lecture on the whiteboard before the professor moved on.

Groan. What gives? Was Hobie this super accomplished, totally famous supermodel or not? Maybe he wasn't on social media, oddly enough. Maybe he just started an illustrious career and happened to be famous only in Brooklyn right now? No, that didn't make sense. If he was some small-time influencer or whatever, people would not be asking for autographs so often that Hobie would just automatically assume anyone who recognized him wanted one. And the looks on these other kids' faces convinced Miles that... maybe something was missing. Maybe he's just not searching up the right terms?

Agh, if only Spiderman business didn't keep him totally detached from reality sometimes. He really felt like he and the rest of the world were on totally different planets. If he had any friends besides Ganke, he probably would've heard about Hobie by now.

He bit his lip in concentration, trying to multitask between forming theories and keeping up with the lesson in the front of the classroom.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pair of eyes staring straight at him that didn't belong to the other classmates he barely even knew. He glanced over at Hobie, who quickly looked away.

Was that... an embarrassed look on his face just now? Miles scratched at his jaw a bit, more confused than before.

That was weird. Whatever. Anyways...

Before long, class was over and the bell rang. Miles and Hobie both meandered slowly up to the door and hung around the outside, leaning against the wall as they compared schedules before they had to make their way to their next class.

"Dang," Miles lamented, clutching his own schedule and moving to slot it into the cover of his binder. "Looks like we don't share any more classes besides 1st period..."

Hobie stopped his hand and squinted at the sheet again, glancing back at his own. "Uhmm... nah, actually. I think we might have 6th period together? Right after lunch."

"Do we share a lunch period too, actually?" Miles asked excitedly.

Hobie made a small noise of triumph, a smile playing over his lips. "Yeah! 1st, lunch and then 6th. Okay. Better than nothing, right?"

Miles chuckled, shoving his schedule into the plastic and tucking it under his arm. "Definitely. We can eat together at the cafeteria if you want! I'll walk you to your next class though, since it's basically right around the corner."

Hobie shrugged his own backpack back onto his shoulder and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. His eyes were cast downwards as he grinned at the floor and said, "yeah, if you don't mind... that'd be pretty cool."

This guy sure does like the word cool, Miles thought, and away to Hobie's next class they both went. They both ignored the various whispers and stares in their direction. Miles was already used to it by now.

They walked together amiably, in near lockstep for a little while before Hobie finally spoke up again.

"... So... if you don't mind me asking... why are you so nice to me if you didn't know I was famous, then?"

It was an innocent enough question, but it kinda caught Miles off guard nonetheless.

He laughed nervously. "Uhh ahaha, whaddya mean? I did know you were famous! I just... y'know my brain doesn't work the best real early in the morning. I'm, uh. Sometimes I can be pretty weird, if you haven't noticed by now."

Hobie nodded slowly, digesting this information for a bit. "Yeah, you did recognize me in the first place, I guess. It's just weird, you're like... the first person I met that doesn't look at me like I'm made out of solid gold, though. That's all..."

They exchanged glances again, and Miles' brain was working into overdrive, thinking of an appropriate response.

Before he could open his mouth, they finally reached their destination and Hobie bumped Miles' shoulder with his arm, smiling.

"So, thanks. For, uh... this. All this."

Miles raised a brow at him. "Oh yeah, this is nothing. I just walked you over to your next class, no biggie. My class is right over here anyways, so--"

Hobie laughed and shook his head, the expression lighting up his facial features unlike anything Miles has seen on that face yet.

"No, Miles. Not just this. I mean, like..." Hobie dipped his head, a bashful sort of move. "I mean, like, being nice to me. Like forreal. I really appreciate this."

They looked at each other for a moment, something real warm growing in Miles' chest all of a sudden, something... familiar.

He was just about to casually brush the gratitude off a second time with a dorky quip, before some girl's screechy voice interrupted their private little moment out of nowhere. It honestly startled them both, and the nice warm atmosphere dissipated immediately.

"Oh. My. GOD!! Is that Hobie Jones? Like actually?!"

She giggled and bounded up to them, blatantly ignoring Miles to insert herself between them and crowd into Hobie's space. She coquettishly asked for a selfie with him, promising to tag him on social media. The sudden commotion unfortunately attracted some other students who then took their cue to also bother Hobie for autographs, selfies, throwing compliments left and right.

Miles backed up out of the crowd, eyes still on Hobie as he watched the poor guy metaphorically slip on a mask, the very same that Miles saw when they first met not 2 hours ago. It was a sad, detached sort of look, and Hobie was forced to hunch in on himself to meet his fellow students' heights as they snapped selfie after selfie. His lips formed a smile all the while. His eyes did not.

A pang of sympathy hit Miles as he slowly turned away and made his way down to his own classroom without so much as a goodbye. He shrugged to himself, shaking his head. Yeah, he knew how that felt, just trying to mind your own business and live your life, do what you have to do-- and being stopped by nearly every living being within a 50 ft radius wanting their photo ops and their babies kissed.

Miles smiled to himself as he shouldered his way past other students and sauntered into his class, right on time. The bell rang as he reached his desk, and he pulled out another notebook out of his bag before the realization finally hit him with the force of a truck.

Wait... Hobie JONES?!

Miles quickly glanced around at his surroundings and mentally kicked himself yet again for choosing a seat so close to the teacher's desk, almost right up at the front. Damnit!

But the teacher wasn't in the classroom just yet, most likely making a quick run down to the printer down the hall to make copies of the class syllabus or something.

Okay, Morales. Gotta be quick.

He hastily pulled out his phone yet again, one eye on the door. He quickly typed in Hobie Jones model in his browser's search box, letting out a breath as search results loaded up and gave him exactly what he was looking for this entire time.

Bingo.

Hobie's face popped up in the image search previews, all sorts of cool and striking photoshoots lit up in all kinds of different ways. And the very first link at the top of the page? Hobie's own Flickstagram.

With a shaky hand, Miles tapped the link and impatiently waited for it to load, for his phone to get with the program and just open the damn app already. He kept glancing every so often at the door yet again, praying that the printer or copier-- or whatever-the-hell that was keeping the professor away from the class-- would keep them away for just a second longer.

He finally cast his gaze back down onto his own Flickstagram app and his heart nearly dropped out of his chest.

At the top, right next to Hobie's own smoldering profile picture was his username: hobiemjones

hobiemjones... hobie m jones. Hobie M. Jones.

M.J.

Miles exhaled again and tucked his phone away in shock just as the classroom door opened yet again and all the students quieted down. This class's teacher made their way over to their desk, piles of papers in hand. They started to pass them out to the students in the front row, introducing themself and then going over the usual attendance policies.

Miles accepted the syllabus sheets with trembling hands, turning to pass them over his shoulder once he got his own, his mind running a hundred miles a minute.

Peter talked nonstop about his wife, whenever he managed to stop talking about his baby, that is. It was always MJ this, MJ that. Flashes of a middle-aged man staring forlornly at a picture of his then-ex wife-- grieving the one who got away-- raced across his mind's eye. His universe's own MJ standing at a podium, strong but deeply hurt as she addressed all of Brooklyn after Spiderman's funeral.

"She wanted kids and I... just wasn't ready," echoed over and over in Miles' mind. Of course, they're together now. But the way Peter talked about his divorce... oh god.

Wait... was Miles ready for kids? Were he and Hobie going to have a messy on-and-off again relationship that ended up with them having to care for a spider-baby just like Mayday?! Maybe even multiple spider-babies?!?!?

Miles loosened his tie a bit, sweating profusely.

The fact that neither Hobie nor Miles were equipped with the parts to make a baby together flew right over his head. No... instead, his mind skipped straight to marriage, messy emotional fights and inevitable breakups. How was he gonna juggle school, work, Spiderman stuff and a relationship all at once?!

Without realizing, Miles started hyperventilating.

No no no no no, cool it Miles. COOL IT. Don't be weird. Miles mentally slapped himself and tried to even out his breathing as he leaned back in his seat and wiped some sweat off his brow.

He just proved to Miguel O' Hara and the entire multiverse this past spring that he can do his own thing, canon events be damned. Miles Morales was no victim to fate. Maybe all of the other spider-people had their own MJs. But maybe in this universe, MJ and Spiderman were... just friends. Good friends! ...Yeah, yeah, just friends...

The idea floated around in Miles' head throughout the entire rest of the class, but it didn't really make the tightness in his chest loosen up any at all.

Once the bell rang again and everyone started packing their things up, Miles dawdled a bit by the door, fumbling with his phone as his classmates filed out of the room. If he was late enough, maybe he'd completely miss Hobie in the hallways and not have to see him at all. Miles double-checked, triple-checked his schedule again and again, mapping out an eventual escape route through the halls in case Hobie's path did intercept Miles'.

God, Miles thought ruefully, checking the hour on his phone for the 15th time in a row and smiling awkwardly at his teacher's questioning glance. You're being so fucking weird about this right now!

The rational part of his brain kicked in and presented a quick slideshow of other calmer, more reasonable explanations as to why he really shouldn't be avoiding his new friend like the plague all of a sudden.

1. Hobie probably doesn't and won't like me, it stated. There is literally no proof that Hobie Jones is even into guys. Or me, Miles Morales.

2. Even if Hobie Jones is into guys-- or me, Miles Morales-- that does not mean the endgame is automatically marriage. No sir, no proof of that at all!

3. Canon events were officially disproven. Kinda. Mostly. Sort of?

C'mon, bro. Just man up and get out there. You're gonna be late for the next class soon anyways.

Right. He inhaled deeply and steeled himself.

"Okay well, uh. Have a nice day Mx. Gonzalez! See ya... tomorrow." Miles cringed inwardly at how lame that sounded, but his teacher didn't seem to notice as they bid him a nice day as well.

With his heart in his stomach, Miles slowly made his way into the hallway and started walking at a brisk pace, keeping his eyeline straight in front of him, trying to reach his next class on the floor below quickly but manageably. It was when he reached the stairs that his heart sank even lower.

Hobie was standing right next to the stairwell, glaring at the school map placed on the wall off to the left, fingertips on his chin as he mumbled to himself. He was glancing up and down between the map and his schedule in his hand, clearly befuddled.

Damn, he really is bad at navigating, Miles mused, once he recovered.

But as luck would have it, tragedy struck right then. Miles being pretty much the only other kid in the hallway attracted Hobie's attention, and even though Miles' feet kept him moving, he almost tripped on air once Hobie perked up upon seeing him.

"Miles!" Hobie grinned and waved him over, clearly happy to see him.

Oh noooo. Miles was not as happy to see him.

Without thinking, he launched himself down the flight of stairs, hopping over the railing and landing loudly on the 1st floor. Once steady, he basically sprinted over to his 3rd period class, completely missing the way Hobie's sunny grin slowly disappeared and his hand lowered back down to his side.

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Lunchtime came and went. Miles ate his packed lunch at his usual perch on top of the school building, where he always hid while trying to avoid the rest of the student body. He managed to pick a good spot away from prying eyes, and it never failed him.

Hobie ate alone, at a table tucked into the corner of the cafeteria despite being invited to several other tables. He sat and chewed sadly, locs back in front of his eyes, posture hunched over and defeated.

6th period came and went. Miles purposefully kept his gaze averted as Hobie walked in 5 minutes late. They sat at opposite ends of the room, never acknowledging each other's existence.

The school day ended and Miles made his way back to the dorms, sighing with relief once he glanced out the window and saw giant rainclouds rolling in over the horizon. Man, was he glad he got to bunk up on campus with his best friend! He greeted Ganke, kicked off his shoes and climbed up onto his bunkbed, laying back with a sigh. Maybe tomorrow he'd confront Hobie about his erratic behavior and apologize. Maybe.

But that was a problem for future Miles...

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Outside, the rain started falling fast and hard.

Outside, Hobie M. Jones waited miserably by the curb with an umbrella in hand, getting drenched by the water nonetheless. He checked his phone for the 15th time and sniffled angrily, pocketing it and gripping onto his umbrella handle.

Late. Again.

His mother was late to pick him up, as usual.

He swiped at a tear rolling down his cheek and finally loosened his ponytail, letting his locs fall all around his face.

Once she arrived, his mother was going to inevitably ask him how his day was, look only slightly concerned about his angry tears and ask if he made any new friends anyways, despite knowing the answer.

No, mom, Hobie would say as he kept his eyes glued to the car window.

No. I didn't make any friends.

[smallblueandloud]

i keep feeling like. there's something parallel between rose and yaz's endings. maybe parallel isn't the right word -- but i keep wanting to draw comparisons, i think because they're two characters who really defined specific doctors and for whom it's basically confirmed the doctor returned their (romantic) feelings

(they're not the ONLY ones who fit this description, but i'm in no way qualified to talk about clara or even river, so bear with me)

it just feels. i don't know. rose never leaves on purpose. she is separated from the doctor, forcibly, every single time. the doctor sends her home, or she gets stuck in an alternate universe, or the doctor leaves her in the same alternate universe. every single time, she fights to get back to the doctor. the writers had to create a perfect happy ending for her (half-human version of her doctor who'll age along with her, in the alternate universe where her father is alive) because otherwise she wouldn't stop fighting to get back to the doctor, and the show can't have that. the show needs to move on. we need rose to fade into the past.

i haven't seen all of yaz's episodes, but her arc seems very similar from the limited amount i've seen. she keeps fighting to get back to the doctor. she's in love with the doctor, and the doctor basically confirms returning her feelings, albeit in a very stilted, hesitant, doctor-y way (compare "imagine that happening to someone you--" with "and if i was going to, believe me, it would be with you").

but when yasmin's doctor regenerates... yaz is just expected to. step away, go back to living her life, never see the doctor again. kinda like the abandonment that most companions have ever experienced -- getting dropped off once and then goodbye forever! -- except with more of the onus on her. the show has to move on from rose's era, so she gets dumped on a beach. the show has to move on from yasmin's era, so yaz has to accept that the doctor is going off to die alone. she has to make her peace with that information.

i don't know. i think yaz's ending is trying to go hand-in-hand with graham and ryan's purposeful exit -- it seems like the chibnall era tried really hard to have Not Terrible endings for companions. which is very admirable! but honestly? yasmin's ending feels crueler than most, including rose's. yaz was in love with the doctor. the doctor reciprocated those feelings. they should've gotten their equivalent of s2-era 10rose! she should've gotten a chance to stay with the doctor through their regeneration, the way other love interests have been able to (s/o to river and clara!).

i know this is because of the limitations of the show. bad ratings meant chibnall left after only one regeneration, and new incarnations of the show rarely bring in characters from other eras.

but i'm still very sad for yaz :( like yes, she wasn't just dumped on the curb without warning. but she was still expected to say goodbye to someone she loved, knowing that person was dying, and not say a word of protest. if the previous history of the show is any indication, she's never going to see the doctor again. she doesn't get a half-human version of the doctor to live out her days with, and she's not "allowed" to fight to get back to the doctor, either, due to the way the show's structured (but also the way the doctor talked about them saying goodbye). she has to live the rest of her life knowing that the doctor is out there, perfectly capable of visiting, and the only reason they won't visit is because yaz is from a specific time of their life that they've moved on from.

i know she has the companion support group. and i know she'll move on! she's yaz. she's strong and self-actualized. she'll be okay, eventually. but she has to be okay, you know? she has to learn to live without the doctor. rose never had to do that.

it just makes me sad :(

[crabsnpersimmons]

Tally

had this idea for a drabble to share a bit more on Moon’s upgrades in the hairdresser AU, since there was some interest about a certain detail mentioned in my previous post (that "last part")

Word Count: 1,567

Read time: ~8 min

some content warnings:

descriptions of body dysmorphia including descriptions of skin picking, which borderline self harm on a metal robot body—i took a lot of creative liberties to translate the signs and symptoms into a robot experience, so it isn’t meant to be the most realistic depiction of body dysmorphia disorder, but just a head's up just in case

descriptions of memories of past traumatic experiences

just angst overall

that’s all i can think of, but please let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to add!

“Home sweet home~!” Eclipse warbles once Moon opens the door to their small apartment. Without missing a beat, he bends down and slips through the door frame, with his precious cargo still on his back.

“Clip! Put me down first!” Sun cries from his position in their little piggyback. He scrunches himself closer to the taller bot’s back as they pass through the threshold, his sunken in rays only barely missing the top of the door frame.

Moon chuckles as Eclipse makes a bee-line for their box TV. It’s the same every day, but he never got tired of it. After closing up shop for the day, they returned home. Unfortunately Sun’s legacy code prevented him from moving about in the dark. That didn’t stop him from trying each night after closing—marching with his eyes glued to street lamps until he ran out of light. Then Eclipse would carry him the rest of the way to the bus stop, where he’d just stay until they got returned to their apartment. The lights of the hallways would stir Sun back awake, but Eclipse always insisted on carrying him the rest of the way to their door—just as he always had since their days in the daycare.

Different city, different space, different jobs—but Eclipse never seemed to change.

Still carrying Sun with one set of arms, he plops himself down in front of the TV and pulls out his game controller with other set. Once Sun extracts himself, his free hands immediately reach for the other controller.

As the old game system is booting up, Moon moves to make a quiet escape.

“Moon,” but Sun knew him too well. “Bedroom.”

There is a whir of fans before Moon responds, “Aye aye, captain.”

No sooner had Moon entered their bedroom that Sun had joined him. Their room was always small—they could only afford so much with their combined income—but it always felt smaller when the sunshine bot cornered him like this.

Silently, Moon turns around, not looking his counterpart in the eye. Instead, Sun extends his hand into his field of vision, waiting. This is not the first time, but it never gets easier for either of them. After a beat, Moon lifts his own bulky hand and places it in Sun’s slender palm. Sun gives him a gentle squeeze before rolling up his counterpart’s sleeve to reveal his blue arm, marked in fine silver trails.

There is a brief pause before Sun leads Moon to their ensuite bathroom and sits him down on the closed seat of the toilet. He looks away for a brief moment just to take out his amateur tools from the drawer. Just a collection of things he has scavenged for basic upkeep. Of course none of this was in his programming. But just as he resolutely marched under streetlamps, Sun pushed his code to its limits to keep them afloat. He sits down on a nearby stool and gets to work on Moon’s right arm where six thin trails shined against the royal blue.

He gets to work and there is silence between them. Before there used to be angry and desperate cries. When Sun discovered his first scar, he insisted he go to parts and services. But they both knew he wouldn’t go back there. Never.

So they had to improvise—and that is what they have always excelled at. Things got easier in that regard after the PizzaPlex had burned down. They could finally leave those walls, leave their troubled past, carve out lives for themselves, care for themselves. They lucked out finding the Boss when they did and now they can do honest work and get paid and live. Finally live.

But still their troubled past stains their new lives. The PizzaPlex may be a long forgotten memory, but they still bear scars and quirks that run deeper than chipped surface paint or legacy processes. Despite all these years in this body, Moon still bumps into things, miscalculating his size and reach. All it took was a bump against his utility cart this afternoon to make him acutely aware of the arm that is not his. The ball-joint neck that cannot move the way he wants it to. The clunky fingers and the foreign nails. They are not his. They are not his. And he is thrust back into the brightly light cylinder, waking up again to a body that isn't his. Waking up again to a role he never asked for. Waking up with piece of him missing. Wondering if the body he remembers is just a dream and he needed to learn to wake up, wake up, wake up--

“You’ve got to stop doing this.”

Sun’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts—and he knows this. Perhaps that’s why Sun is always nagging him. To fill his head with something useful again.

“Some of these scratches can’t be buffed out, and there’s only so much I can do,” Sun works on a light scratch on his left hand.

“And you won’t see a mechanic,” Sun tuts.

“No.”

“I know,” Sun sighs, letting go of the scratch. It’s barely visible now, the kind of imperfection you would have to know about and intentionally look for. The kind that Moon keeps a tally of. His body is covered with tally marks that only he can see.

“But either you stop or I will take you to the mechanic… or,” Sun’s hands drift down to Moon’s hand, holding his fingers gently. “…I disable your retractable claw function.”

“Ha,” the short laugh spills out of Moon before he can think to stop it. “Not when I’m the only one who can give proper hair washes.”

There is a slight pause before Sun pulls his hands away and lightly knocks Moon’s head. “Well, if your claws are sharp enough to carve metal, I don’t want them anywhere near our customer's heads. Besides, we have Sunshine who can help with that now.”

Moon hums uncommittedly, staring at Sun's handiwork at erasing his. Out of the corner of his eye he notices a sway in Sun’s steps as he puts away his tools. As much as Sun pushes his code to the limits and watches over him, Moon also watched out for him. They were, after all, once one. No one knows them better than they do.

Moon’s hand rises up Sun’s arm. “Bed time?”

“Yeah,” Sun says wearily. Even with the lights on, his battery was running low, after a full day of work, walking under street lamps, and fixing Moon's mistakes. The least Moon can do is play this role—a role he gladly performs.

Moon nods as he reaches out to steady Sun before connecting to their shared internal chat.

M: Clip. Sun and I are going to sleep.

E: K.

S: Don’t stay up too late. Make sure you charge up.

E: K.

With that, Moon helps Sun to their bed. They could only afford a one-bedroom apartment, and even then their landlord definitely wasn't too keen about renting to three large robots, and their lack of credit history. It was only thanks to a referral from Boss that they landed the place. But they couldn't complain. There are robots, the don't really need to sleep in bedrooms, but they had one so they might as well use it.

Moon assists Sun into bed before stepping back to get the lights. He watches as Sun plugs in his charging cable in before lying down on the pillows. His eyes never leave Sun’s as darkness falls on the room.

There is the familiar whirring sound of gears moving as rays retract and metal shifts colour. If Moon closes his eyes, he could almost feel those gears in himself. Grinding away. Putting Sun in his nap. And him waking from his own slumber. Him coming alive. Waking in his own body.

S: Moon.

There he goes, filling his head again. Even when powered down, Sun still watches over him. Moon hums in response and shuffles to the bed. His eyes never leave Sun as the bed dips from the added weight, as he slots himself up next to Sun. One arm slips under the gap between his neck and the bed. The other goes over, holding him in place. His legs find their place behind the bend of Sun’s.

His upper hand rubs circles on the familiar surface. Where these hands had left scratches on blue metal, they now caressed the smaller yellow surface.

Different city, different space, but at least he can still hold his body. Although it is not the same colour, it still feels like he remembers. The slenderness of the forearms. Every fine joint in the long fingers. He pulls Sun closer, if only to be closer, if only to be himself again.

But a hard pressure against his chest stops him every time.

Behind layers of clothes, the inflexible metal underneath always keeps them apart. Never flush together when they are in this position. It will always be there to jab into his chest every time he tries.

A reminder of how far he’s fallen.

thank you for reading!

want something to cheer you up? go and check out the meme art i shared yesterday! Moon is there to hug that sad away!

want more heartbreak? look verrrry closely at moon's arms in that meme art (or if it's hard to see the image description in the ALT mentions it)