#i don't know what to tag this yet

[avaetin]

(Untitled) AU of an AU

P.S. The thread was getting long, it was difficult to reblog on my phone, so here you go @haiseiscute333.

Also, this is 2k words, which I finished in one sitting, so apparently I'm not burnt out. Just idea and inspiration wise, in regards to my existing works OTL

-----

Break-ups sucked.

At twenty-four, Nico genuinely thought that he was past this stage and on the road of settling down with the love of his life. Well, that was the plan, but the universe obviously had something different in mind. Because after two blissful years of being in a relationship, he and Percy Jackson broke up.

For the record, it was him who broke up with America’s all-time male sweetheart, and not the other way around. Not that that information would ever become public. Just like our relationship, Nico thought bitterly as he stabbed his strawberry parfait with a metal spoon. It was one of the many reasons why they broke up in the first place - he became tired of being Percy’s “mystery partner”. Two years was ample time for Percy to come out to the public regarding his sexuality; Nico highly doubted that the public would persecute their sweetheart for coming out as bisexual. He’s not even coming out as gay, Nico scoffed, stabbing his parfait once more. But no, Percy insisted he needed more time.

To be fair, Nico was fine with that. He was willing to wait for Percy because he genuinely believed that he was the love of his life. They even shared - what Nico considered at the time - a most wonderful and magical summer together as children, for Pete’s sake! Kid Percy even knelt at his feet, professing his love for him, and claimed he would marry him in the future with one of those tacky candy ring pops. Nico wished he could shove it up his ass, along with his many broken promises in the span of two years. But, coming back to the original subject, even Nico had his limits. Percy forgetting his birthday again in their two years of relationship, and going to America’s sweetheart, Annabeth Chase’s, celebratory party was it.

In retrospect, Nico should have ditched his ass a year ago when Percy neither confirmed nor denied to the media of being in a relationship with Annabeth. Or maybe, when he forgot Nico’s birthday because he was busy shooting a film. Or maybe, when he forgot their anniversary because he was booked for photoshoots and interviews. But, for once, Nico had been stupid, just because this was his childhood sweetheart. He really should’ve known better.

Now, here he was, dressed in disguise in ‘Elysium’ - his (secretly) favorite hole-in-the-wall dessert bar - stabbing the poor strawberry parfait in his hand as he wallowed in self-pity. Did he cry over Percy? Of course, he did! But not for the reasons anyone might assume. That fucker made him waste two of his precious years on him, of course he would cry over the time he lost! This, stabbing a parfait, was just part of his self-healing. Tomorrow, he will be a better person. He’d be the industry’s charming darling, as he had been for years. But for now, he just wanted to be human without the paparazzi’s eyes on him.

“If you stab that any harder, the glass will break.” A soft voice interrupted his thoughts, making him pause mid-stab. Scoffing, and with a retort on the tip of his tongue, Nico raised his head to glare at whoever was addressing him, only for him to visibly pause, suddenly at a loss for words as he gazed directly into the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. And that was saying a lot, since there were a lot of genuinely good-looking guys surrounding Nico on a daily basis.

The man before him was either a businessman or a lawyer, or somewhere along those lines. He was dressed for the part, and he exuded an imposing amount of confidence to be the part. He possessed a lean physique, his body adorned by a pristine gray suit that surprisingly complimented his wavy yet artistically messy platinum white hair. But in Nico’s opinion, what was most striking about him was the color of his eyes - those gorgeous emerald green eyes that seemed to glisten under the dim lights, especially so when the man offered him the most pleasant smile he had ever seen on anyone.

There was, however, only one flaw: the man before him looked almost like the carbon copy of Percy Jackson.

“Do you mind if I join you?” The man politely asked, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite of Nico. “I won’t stay long.”

If Nico’s mind wasn’t malfunctioning, perhaps he would have questioned why this gorgeous man decided to sit with him when there were a lot of empty tables and chairs in the nearly empty establishment. But, at that moment, all he could do was nod his head robotically, his traitorous heart doing somersaults in his chest as the smile on the man’s lips widened and brightened in response. Almost immediately, as soon as the man sat down, a steaming cup of coffee and a glass of strawberry parfait was placed in front of him by one of the servers who, just as quickly, made themselves scarce.

“Here.” The man pushed the strawberry parfait towards Nico’s direction, much to the latter’s confusion. “That-” The man gestured with a tilt of his head towards the then unappetising-looking parfait in between them which Nico had been brutalizing seconds ago. “-can’t possibly be appetizing. Please, take a fresh one. My treat.”

Russet-brown eyes narrowed in response, logic and reason slowly starting to return to Nico. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good with the one I ordered.”

For some reason, the man looked disappointed at his refusal but nodded in understanding. “I see. I won’t force you. But, rest assured, it had nothing in it.” As if to make a point, the man scooped a little bit of everything on his spoon, his eyes never leaving Nico’s as he slipped it into his mouth, his lips wrapping around the utensil.

This man should be illegal, was Nico’s questionable thought, as he watched the movement of the man’s throat, his own swallowing in tandem unbeknownst to him. Emerald green eyes sparked with amusement and delight at his response which Nico failed to notice in his moment of (apparent) weakness.

“So, what brings you to this hole-in-the-wall establishment?” The man casually inquired, pushing aside the dessert in favor of drinking his coffee. He carefully took a sip, his eyes slipping close for a brief moment as he savored its exquisite flavor.

“I could ask the same thing,” Nico countered, still cautious. “What’s a… businessman or a lawyer doing in a place like this?”

“Both, actually,” the man answered, lowering his cup. “To answer your question, I actually own this dessert bar. One of my many ventures.”

“A failed one?” Nico blurted out without thinking, slapping a hand over his mouth a second later due to his slip.

Surprisingly, the man laughed. “Is that what you believe? Success is… subjective. As long as the Nico di Angelo continues to patronize my humble establishment, I don’t see it as a failure.”

At the mention of his name, Nico stiffened in his seat, his eyes widening in alarm. The spoon slipped from his hand, landing on the table with a soft thump.

“What…? How did you…? How long…?” Nico couldn’t finish his statements. He should’ve bluffed, denied the man’s statement, something, but he was certain that it was futile to lie in front of his person. But how did this person figure out his identity? His disguise had always been impeccable. Even the paparazzi had yet to capture any images of him in disguise, only what Nico intended for them to gather.

“I’ve known since the moment you stepped inside all those years ago,” the man admitted, taking another slow sip from his cup. “But, as with any establishments that I own, it is my policy to give any of our patrons utmost privacy. As for how I know…”

Those gorgeous eyes stared intently at Nico once more, as if he was searching for something. It was only for a second, but Nico saw sadness in them when the man, presumably, didn’t find what he was looking for.

“I would recognize those beautiful brown eyes anywhere,” the man finished, his lips curling to a small smile while Nico’s cheeks reddened at the compliment. “You’re rather famous in this establishment, if you must know. But not for the reasons you’re thinking of. You’re… notorious for visiting whenever you’re in a horrible mood, taking out your anger on the food,” the man stated, gesturing towards Nico’s recent victim. “The staff actually sent me over, just to make sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself, in case you break the glass.”

“I-I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” Nico said, embarrassed. It won’t happen again, because he mentally decided to never come here again, for the sake of preserving his dignity, or whatever remains of it.

“It’s fine, Mr. di Angelo,” the man said in reassurance. “I’m glad that you can find comfort here. Besides, this place is still running despite being a ‘failed venture’ because of you. If you stopped visiting…”

The man trailed off, but Nico could connect the dots. Great. Suddenly, he had a bunch of stranger’s employment in his conscience.

“Since you know me, I think it’s fair that I should know you as well,” Nico said, picking up his spoon from the table. Since the dessert was mostly liquid at this point, he simply stirred the ingredients inside the glass, combining them together.

“You do. You should…” the man murmured absent-mindedly, but with the clanking of the spoon against the glass, it was lost on Nico. Fixing a smile on his face, the man introduced himself. “I’m Aeon Oceanus. Just Aeon is fine.”

“Oh,” Nico blinked. “Not… Not Jackson…?”

To Nico, it seemed that he had said the wrong thing as those gorgeous eyes suddenly hardened marginally, a slight coldness to them.

“You’re wondering if I’m related to Percy Jackson.” It was a statement, not a question. Guiltily, Nico lowered his eyes to the table as Aeon sighed softly. “It’s fine. I get that question a lot. Perseus, that brat, he’s my younger twin brother. He took our mother’s maiden name since he ‘doesn’t want the family name to buy his position in the industry’,” Aeon explained. “Forgive me but I don’t really like talking about that child. It’s not as if we’re on the best terms either.”

Nico could tell. He had never heard Percy talk about an older sibling, let alone a twin. Then again, they… never had a lot of opportunities to talk. They couldn’t meet too much since that would spark rumors of them dating, which as true as they were, Percy didn’t want to be involved in. And when they did meet, it was only because their work schedules coincide or they were working on the same project.

Was I even in a relationship? Nico wondered, downing half of the parfait-turned-smoothie in one go. Thinking about it, they were more committed to their relationship towards their work than each other. Perhaps, that was why Percy couldn’t come out, Nico had to consider. Perhaps, in Percy’s head, Nico wasn’t offering him enough support as a partner for him to feel safe to come out.

Aeon quietly observed the many emotions that flitted across the younger male’s expression. He might not be on good terms with Percy, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the… events in his brother’s life.

“I should get going,” Aeon announced all of a sudden, rising from his seat. He fixed a polite smile on his face as he turned to address the young celebrity, handing him his business card. “It was a pleasure to have your company, regardless of how brief it was. If you need anything, please feel free to contact me.”

“Legal reasons? Or business reasons?” Nico asked.

“Anything,” Aeon said. Nico wasn’t fully aware of the weight of his words, but he soon will. “I have matters I need to attend to, but please feel free to stay for as long as you like. It’s on the house.”

“It’s fine, no worries,” Nico refused immediately, shaking his head. “I can pay for myself.”

There was a playful twinkle of Aeon’s eyes as he leaned down, the suddenness of the gesture surprising Nico who could only stare at the older male in stunned silence as the gap between their faces gradually became less and less. Nico barely registered the man’s thumb brushing lightly against the edge of his lips as his sense of smell was suddenly assaulted by the man’s pleasant cologne.

“This is enough payment,” Aeon said, showing his thumb towards Nico, who took a few seconds to compose himself and process what was on the other’s thumb. Belated, he realized with embarrassment that it was a small amount of cream. Before Nico could offer a tissue or a towel to wipe it down, Aeon brought it close to his lips, a pink tongue swiping gently across the pad of his finger. His eyes never left the younger male all this time, his gaze burning… something… pleasant in Nico.

“I’ll see you soon, Mr. di Angelo,” Aeon said, his words sounding like a promise as he bid his goodbye, leaving the flustered celebrity behind, clutching tightly yet preciously onto the business card left in his hands.

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[lulendrea]

my enby headcanons

[egophiliac]

I saw comments that the new butler from Ridekamens look like Sebek

He...kinda does

I wasn't gonna say it, but. that was kind of my first thought when he was revealed. :') maybe this is what Sebek's older brother is doing these days? he ran off to buttle for secret agents at a superhero cafe? actually wait that would be rad as heck, I'll accept this headcanon

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

[dollya-robinprotector]

Dress me up, make it tight, I'm your dolly You're my doll, rock'n'roll, feel the glamour in pink Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky~

Inspired from This post of @just-dol-headshots and this ask from @hakusins. Don't worry I'm still aiming for your ass Haku-Dean :) References and something under the cut

We all have to agree Bully Robin should have some softer and caring sides. When there's only them two and no one else is around to judge, he can let loose and slip back into that kinda of "Original Robin" we know and I love. I mean, that's what JDOLH made that got me into these swap messes from the beginning jsjkhskjhd you knowww the HUG!!

Reference: Barbie Girl (Aqua) and this cute ecchi Clamp Chobit piece

All in all I'm a pink bietch and Dollya won't be losing her V-card anytime soon that I can promise so hang in there okay mr.Bully.

edit: OMG THIS IS MY 1000TH POST TTOTT)) JKSDJLASKJKDLA

SELF-INDULGENT HERE WE GO

[raiiny-bay]

summer '93

[buglaur]

fireworks show 🎆

material preview version is very cute also :)

i struggled with the lighting on this one so badly, but it turned out alright in the end.

i actually started it last year for new years 2023 but never got around to finishing it, hence no progress pictures this time sadly lol. i do have a very low-res, first draft, test gif though

stills 🥳

[tzarrz]

to all people who said PART 1 made them laugh - i lov u 💗 this is for u

[0046incognito]

grooviest face in outer space

[onnoffwrites]

After recent events, I ended up going back to the beginning to check things, because my first reaction will always be "wtf, this is shit, why would you do this" and my second reaction will always be "okay maybe that was a bit much, maybe he's not THAT bad, maybe has a good reason-

Okay.. that doesn't rly mean anything, maybe she's just worried kaito found something he shouldn't-

Okay.. okay this looks, well maybe he's just leaving some recordings in case kaito found something he shouldn't! It's not like they can hide it forever! The room is part of the house! Kaito lives in the house-

Excuse me... What did .. what did you say...? Wha

What do you mean "designed"?

What??? What do you MEAN "designed to open after 8 years"???

I have been angry since April 12th and I've reached a point where I don't even know what to feel anymore I don't even know what to tell y'all.

Like, wow, omg, movie reveals. Other than family relations, the other thing isn't exactly anything new. We've all read Midnight Crow. We saw Kaitou Corbaeu. We've been in denial until finally reaching acceptance. For me at least. And then we spend a few years bargaining, bc surely there's a good reason kaitos not in the know. That kaito has to be KID. Surely there's a reason? Right?

Right???

At this point we don't even truly know if Jii is in the know and was acting as planned out by the parents or not. Or if he's just like kaito. Tricked, lied to, played for fools. At the very least ginzo doesn't know, so there's that. Not sure how much that would help kaito when he inevitably finds out. Because he will. The fact remains that it's quite suspicious that Jii just so happen to choose to don the KID outfit and become KID to draw out toichis murderers exactly 8 years after toichis death. EXACTLY the same amount of time that was set for that trap door portrait to open to kaito.

There's a lot of implications to think about

[murderandcoffee]

I think that alice and gwen should make out sloppy style

[whitestnoise]

[cairafea]

i think the fast travel in this game is very cool 👍

[chiropteracupola]

granby + iskierka + keynes

[shih-coulda-had-it]

the AU where Prime Torino time-travels to the Advent of Quirks era (a time period he did not study for) and picks up two street babies after recognizing one as a miniature AfO

context: Sorahiko's been in the past for less than year. He's been preventing AfO from picking up new Quirks for maybe two weeks, and has dropped off food for the twins a couple of times.

wc: ~1.1k

//

The children stared at Sorahiko with wary eyes, eerily alike for all that they differed in stature and eye color. He didn’t let himself move, save for a tip of his head. The bigger child, the one Sorahiko thought was a young All for One, mimicked him; the smaller boy said in a faltering voice, “Who are you?”

“Call me Torino,” he said. “How about you?”

The smaller boy bit his lip and gave his brother a nervous side-eye. Chibi-AFO ignored him; he only had an unblinking stare for Sorahiko, and truth be told, it was getting irritating. Don’t raise your voice, he heard Shimura chide. 

He sighed, then changed tack. “Did you like the food?” At the clear brightening of the smaller boy’s expression, Sorahiko lifted the plastic bag. The boys were younger than Kotarou, but he had vague memories of Shimura feeding her son soft foods before he turned a year old. Surely steamed vegetables and (slightly) overcooked rice was fine.

Chibi-AFO lurched forward without a sound, one hand outstretched, the other still holding tight to his brother’s wrist.

A curse slipped through Sorahiko’s filter; he dropped the bag and Jetted himself backwards, out of reach but not out of sight. The last thing he wanted was to be chased blindly by some murderous toddler.

The showing of his Quirk, however, sparked something in Chibi-AFO’s eyes. A different kind of hunger--one that apparently required both hands now, as he unceremoniously dropped his brother and doubled down on trying to grab Sorahiko. The smaller boy yelped as spikes burst from Chibi-AFO’s skin, and then showed an incredible lack of self-preservation by trying to intervene.

“No!” he cried. “No, don’t! He’s nice!”

Sorahiko dodged another lunge for his neck. Can I hit him now? he begged the Shimura on his shoulder. I’m justified in knocking him out for his own good, right? That’s how this works?

You can’t hit a baby! Shimura scolded. He doesn’t know any better!

Chibi-AFO, as if to refute Shimura’s sympathies, finally opened his mouth to screech, “GIVE!” He kept springing for Sorahiko with his tiny palms thrust outwards; the spikes on his body rushed unerringly for Sorahiko’s limbs. “GIVE IT!”

“Stop it! Stop!”

How much stamina could a toddler have? More importantly, how long did Sorahiko have until the civilians he’d ushered off the street rang the local police station? Sorahiko, out of sheer curiosity, started leading Chibi-AFO in a circle. It felt criminally easy to maintain a generous distance between himself and the toddler, even as Chibi-AFO grew more desperate and enraged at not having easy prey.

“IT’S MINE!” the toddler snarled, out of breath. “MINE! MINE!” 

Because Sorahiko wasn’t above taunting a baby, he upped the speed on his Jet. Chibi-AFO’s reliance on his spikes to propel him was the toddler’s downfall; as the chase continued, the production output and quality of the spikes diminished, until it was pure spite that powered Chibi-AFO’s bare feet.

The smaller boy had collapsed long ago by the food, gasping, but he seemed like he registered that Sorahiko wasn’t about to die, because he was now spectating with awe-struck eyes.

“Are you done?” said Sorahiko mildly, continuing to deny the toddler any hope of closing the gap. The boy’s face was getting redder, and scrunched-up, and then the funniest thing happened: Chibi-AFO tripped on his makeshift robe, face-planting into the asphalt.

Don’t laugh, Shimura said, in a long ago memory about Kotarou colliding into a glass door.

Chibi-AFO was trembling, every limb shaking. The smaller boy had shot up, renewed concern pushing him to his brother’s side and babbling something unintelligible. Sorahiko stifled the bark of laughter as Chibi-AFO gingerly lifted his head and goggled at the ground, like he couldn’t believe he’d fallen.

“Be nice,” the smaller boy pleaded, frantically patting Chibi-AFO’s shoulders. “Don’t, don’t, be nice.”

A tiny, minuscule drop of pity collected at the pit of his stomach. Sorahiko made the executive decision to sacrifice his cape, unpinning it from his suit and dropping the heavy fabric onto the boys before going to fetch the food. They startled at the sudden weight, but the smaller boy could only squeak and Chibi-AFO, thoroughly exhausted, could only twitch.

“Let’s try this again,” said Sorahiko dryly. He popped the plastic lids of the styrofoam containers and stuck spoons into two of them, situated both in front of the children, and took his own seat a full meter away. “I’m Torino. How’s the food?”

Huddled under his cape, the smaller boy looked bewilderedly from him to the food, and back again. “Um…!”

“Not hungry,” said Chibi-AFO.

“... Alright. You two have names?”

“No,” said Chibi-AFO, sullen. “Go ‘way.”

As tempting as it was, Sorahiko took a measured breath and let out a controlled exhale. “No. You’re hurting people being out here, and I can help you. Food, and a place to sleep. Do you understand me?”

The smaller boy fiddled with a handful of Sorahiko’s cape. Tentatively, he asked, “Safe?”

Chibi-AFO repeated, in the same tone as before, “No.”

At some point, Sorahiko thought, you really couldn’t justify letting a toddler steer the conversation. He considered his options, and responded to the smaller boy first. “Yes, it’s safe. I won’t hurt you, or him. I just can’t let him hurt anyone else.”

A small hum, and then: “Okay. We go.”

“No!” Chibi-AFO protested, and finally pushed himself up, wincing. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, but Sorahiko would place a bet that they were purely reflexive. “No, I’m safe! He’s bad! He hurt me!”

“You hurt you,” the smaller boy sniffed.

The murderous intent flashed on Chibi-AFO’s face again, and Sorahiko hastily stepped in before more blood was shed. He snapped his fingers in front of the toddler. A malformed spike, sloppy in execution and sluggish in timing, tried to pierce Sorahiko’s hand and dissipated before he could even recoil. Exhaustion! Finally! 

“Go ‘way,” the toddler demanded.

Sorahiko simply leaned his cheek against his fist, propping his elbow on his knee. Either Chibi-AFO would recover and try for a second time to steal Jet, or he would pass out. There wasn’t any point trying to reason with the brat.

The smaller boy patted Chibi-AFO’s shoulders, but he too went quiet. Eventually, Chibi-AFO slumped flat to the ground again, and his slurred orders dwindled to a faint burbling snore. That was Sorahiko’s cue to creak upright, crouch down, and ask the smaller boy in a serious tone, “Can I pick you up?”

The kid looked at the food.

“I have more at home.”

“... Okay,” he said softly, and in swift order, Sorahiko resituated his cape so it swaddled Chibi-AFO, took him up on one arm, and hoisted the smaller boy in his other arm. There was that squeak again, and a nervous clutching at his flight suit, but Sorahiko’s attention was on thinking about the route back to his apartment.

It would be easier on the kid’s nerves if he walked, but the Meta X gangs were too troublesome to bother with tonight.

“Hold tight,” Sorahiko muttered, and Jetted for the rooftops.