#i will be punching that man in the throat

[bruciemilf]

Something something violence has always been the primary love language for Waynes, something something.

It breaks me that Bruce loves Jason so deeply, and Jason is so completely unaware of it. He comes to the conclusion that love is religion. You have to see to believe.

I’m just thinking about Jason watching evidence of how wrecked Bruce is after his death. He stalks Batman, always, tracks down every movement and breath. He waits for the perfect moment to shoot.

Your father only dies once, after all.

That moment, mysteriously, doesn’t come.

Jason’s never been scared of Bruce. Fear, to him, is darkness and cold and a bleach white face laughing at him. Fear of Bruce not being there at all. That’s fear.

I need a scene where Jason, — Red Hood, — watches Batman pin down a mugger.

He doesn’t know what that man says. Something about getting on him for not being there when Wayne’s boy got killed.

He’s never been scared of Bruce.

But when he punches that man, over and over and over, when his throat makes those horrible sounds of gasping effort, animal and feral, he’s afraid. Afraid Bruce won’t stop.

He’s about to jump in when another, smaller pair of feet runs up to the scene and Jesus Christ that’s a kid — A kid wearing Jason’s old uniform. Wrapping his arms around Batman’s and clinging.

The man on the ground is motionless. If he didn’t blink, Jason wouldn’t know there was a face anymore.

But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is Bruce crying. Gasping, punched out noises, his hands drenched with red, squeezing the kid so close to him.

“My baby. Oh my baby.”

[fandomfluffandfuck]

https://www.tumblr.com/fandomfluffandfuck/760023370649812992?source=share

PLEEEAASEE WRITE A FULL THING ABOUT THIS OMGGGG 🙏

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

related to this, that reads, "sorry i got a huge wet spot on my boxers and started whining and whimpering and rutting against you while we were play fighting. ignore it. uhhh yeah it will happen again. sorry"

HELL YEAH, I will write that and I will write the fuck out of it!!

Pre-war setting, getting together, grinding, almost underage vibes? like this is post-high-school, so they're of age, but there's also discussion about feeling young, y'know?

Time doesn't feel real for Steve or Bucky right now. It's purgatory in the sticky, hot, barely-breathable-heat-clinging-to-your-throat summer after miraculously lasting through all of high school. They're supposed to be real adults now--they graduated, they're done, move on and be a part of the real world, why don't'cha, boys? They're supposed to be adults with jobs, saving up for their brides and eventual babies as the breadwinners. Men of their houses. Respectively.

Bucky is... well... he has the job part, not so much the savings part (in this economy?) or the gal who he's supposed to be going steady with, dreaming about wedding then knocking her up with his babies, as many as they can have. He's got gals, that ain't the problem, the problem is that none of 'em that he brings around ever last that long to think about rings.

All that said, if Bucky is nearly there, then Steve certainly isn't there at all. He ain't an adult yet. Not really. He doesn't look like an adult, for one, he's still short and scrawny, far from the strapping family man he's supposed to grow up and be. But, also, he has no job, he has no savings, he has no gals mooning after him. All he has is this one last short season of responsibility-less summer before it all gets serious.

So, Steve plans to savor this one last summer as much as he can. Meaning, a'course, while his Ma is out for her evening shift at the hospital and before Bucky has to high tail it out of the matchbox-sized Rogers' apartment to make it to work bright and early in the morning, here they are. Alone. Just two pals, lounging around and melting into the sofa with the oppressive Brooklyn summer heat. Trying and failing to stay cool, even with sheets over the windows to keep the light out.

It's just the two of them and their sleeveless undershirts and boxers, sweating through the fabric. And, like always, when it's just the two of them, it's devolved into reckless stupidity--

Boys will be boys.

They start out with Bucky reading one of his sci-fi books and chuckling to himself, sprawled out to ward off excessive heat, while Steve sketches quietly next to him, more curled up since the warmth does him more good than bad. They're shoulder to shoulder. Nothing weird. They've always been close. They grew up in each other's pockets, spending as much time at the other's crowded home as their own. But. Then, they're closer than close as they're rolling off the bed and onto the floor with two matching "oof"s of air being punched from their chests.

Nearly immediately from the commotion of landing in a heap of sweaty boys in the floor, the scuffed, beat-up coffee table of Steve's Ma's--she got it for free from one of the other nurses at work--has gotten shoved out of the way. Also, the thin carpet underneath their writhing, squirming bodies gets thrown ascew, shoved over chaotically, rolling up under itself. Steve finds himself sweating even more, really coating every inch of his skin as he fights to have the upper hand in their play wrestling match.

Rolled over and rolled around, Steve is currently on top and winning because his bony fucking elbows and sharp knees are merciless weapons that give him the advantage every now and again (just when he can manage to hit Bucky in the right spots). Not unscathed, Bucky's shirt has rolled up, showing off the whole band of his underwear and a slice of his pale stomach. There's a light dusting of hair leading down towards his crotch that Steve's not seen before. That, and new muscle definition creeping in from a mix of his labor-heavy, adult job and how there's never enough food to go around these days. It's just more proof that Bucky is an adult these days. Damn.

Steve ignores those curious parts of his best pal, though, 'cause they're laughing and chuckling and upping the ante to make each other giggle, gasping for air, more until... slowly, slowly, slowly, the humor of it dies down, turning into grunts of effort and breathless shit-talk that's all bark and no bite.

Steve ends up pinned, wiggles out of it, Bucky gets pushed back onto his side, but not all the way over, then Steve's back on his back, ultimately, though--

Steve gets situated on both of Bucky's legs and victoriously grins down at him, his hair hanging over his forehead, blonde and damp. He's won. He's just waiting for Bucky to say it now.

C'mon. Say it! Say it! Steve chants in his own head, too out of breath to shit talk at this juncture.

But Bucky just doesn't know when to give up (something they both have in common as cursed by one Sarah Rogers and another Winnie Barnes). So, the coffee table ends up shuddering from the impact of Bucky's hip when he tries to roll unsuccessfully and get Steve off of him. Steve snickers at him, knowing he's not hurt. Steve clings to Bucky's larger, more muscular, more adult-feeling (and looking) body to stay put. He isn't going down.

In retaliation, on his back, smiling like a goof, Bucky sticks his tongue out. Of course, Steve just does it back. But, not before internally debating if he has the breath or not to blow a raspberry on his exposed skin--it's what he deserves for being a squirmy little shit (nevermind that Steve uses the same tactic when he's the one who's pinned). He doesn't have the breath, though. So, he'll settle for sticking out his tongue.

Even as he teases his friend, this wistfullness overtakes Steve--it's been a good summer. The heat is good for Steve's body, not for his asthma, but his joints and bones like it well enough it doesn't matter. He hasn't had a cold in ages. And, obviously, it has to have been a good season for him to be so enthusiastically wrangling Bucky like he is. Playfighting like this is peaceful. Fun. Super fun. Steve doesn't ever want to grow up if he has to give this up.

Crawling all over Bucky, gathering his wrists in both hands but then finding he can't do much else without his hands free, Steve gives them up and shoves at his shoulders instead, tickles his grossly sweaty armpits, exposed thanks to his tank-top, jabs his bared stomach, and gets all of his (light) weight centered on his hips to keep the other man down. He's got this. He's gonna keep him right here. He's stuck. Sucks to suck.

It's so fucking fun to wrestle like they are, but Steve can't help his competitive nature rising up inside him. He can't take shit unseriously. It's in his blood. He knows Bucky isn't using all his strength against him, but he knows that he's using enough. It's taking effort for them both to play fight like they are. Bucky's using a hell of a lot more force against Steve's bird-boned body than anyone else would ever dare. And Steve is relishing in it. He's fired the fuck up. He's gonna win. He's on top. He's gonna pin Bucky so good and jab him with bony knees and tickle him until he cries uncle.

Then, with the victory under his belt, he'll have ammo to hurl at Bucky for the rest of the summer, lording it over his head until he's frustrated enough that he challenges him to a second round. It'll be exactly as fun to wrestle that second time, too. So. There's nothing to lose. It's a perfect plan.

Steve is so focused. He's moving over top of Bucky, crawling everywhere, pushing, shoving, thinking about what he's gonna do next and where Bucky's weak spots are, how to exploit them, and sythesizing all this playful strategy when any and all of Steve's focus is shot to shit as--

A fractured whimper fills the heavy, hanging air between their barely-clad bodies. Loud and unable to be ignored.

Instantly, Steve stops in his tracks. Wiggling to stock still. At first, he's pretty sure he's hurt Bucky with a noise like that and so he fucking freezes. He didn't mean to do any actual damage! He doesn't want to actually hurt him! They were just rough housing and he got carried away. An apology is already spinning in his mind. But.

Oh.

Steve has stopped moving, leaving him with his thigh pushed up tight between Bucky's legs and, oh, that's Bucky's dick. Steve can feel it. It's hard as... as fuck.

It's harder than anything Steve's felt. Ever.

Still not moving, rooted in his place precarously on top of his best friend, Steve realizes that it's hot, too.

Hot and hard.

His dick.

And a new, completely different kind of heat wave washes stickily over Steve from the cheeks down. Dumbly, his mouth hangs open, he should apologize and skitter away, but he can't move; he's stuck, feeling his blood push through his veins, hotter and hotter with every rickety pump.

Bucky feels it, too. The new, fresh heat wave. It's plain to fucking see that he feels it too--with his hard, hot body and dick underneath him, close enough they're touching everywhere--he's sucked his pink, pink bottom lip between his white teeth, his eyes are squeezed shut, and his blush is a million times worse now than it was when he was just reading his book on the couch and suffering through the heat that way. He's painted in color and gloss, sweating through his undershirt now. Its thin, white fabric clings wetly to his heaving chest. Steve's throat makes a funny sound as he realizes that his friend's his nipples are hard and obvious through the fabric. Targets that beg to be hit. Beneath him, Bucky's so hot that he's nothing more than a melted puddle.

However, Bucky's frozen in time, too. It's like he's so, uh, aroused that he hasn't realized Steve's not still squirming on top of him, not still fighting, not still incidentally rubbing his leg up against his dick, making him get hard and harder, harder, making him whimper, making his sweat, making him--

Steve's brain stutters to even more of a hault--no thoughts whatsoever--as he follows the line of Bucky's body down with hungry eyes, shifting his weight enough to see, oh, there's wetness on Bucky's underwear, too.

It's not sweat.

Playfighting with Steve on top of him like this makes him leak.

The frozen-overheated moment shatters in slow motion with Bucky cracking open one dazed eye, the horror dawning on his face, realizing what he's done--the sound he's just made and the line he's just crossed involuntarily with his best pal. His lips start to shape a mornful, mortified apology. But, fuck it.

Steve lets all of his repressed, denied, wished-away wanting pour forward, and he moves forward, too, surging up against Bucky to press their lips together hard. Almost as blindingly, desperately hard as Bucky is against his lean thigh.

It's hungry and urgent and hotter than the weather outside. It's everything Steve was aching for. Wanting.

Needing.

As it turns out, Bucky's whimpering tastes sweeter than it sounds. And whaddya know, his sweat and wetness feels better than it looks, too.

Fuck.

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Did they or didn't they?

Stephanie Brown: It's so annoying explaining this to everyone. Tim and I dated, yes. We broke up, yes. Then I got adopted by Bruce, it's not that complicated!

Barbara Gordon: It's confusing to say the least.

Stephanie: Oh yeah well, how do you explain to people your relationship with Dick?

Barbara: We're friends and I see him as my brother which ... Is leagues better than my actual brother.

Stephanie: Yeah, but like you guys hooked up in the past, right?

Barbara's eyes widen in shock. Dick, sitting next to her, covers his mouth hiding his laughter, but can't control it and bursts into laughter.

Dick: I- I- They think I and you and- HAHAHAHAHA!

Dick falls to the ground laughing hysterically.

Stephanie: What? Have you not ever like dated or had a night where you guys were together and then things got heated and-

Barbara forces bile down her throat to not vomit.

Dick: People still believe that? Hahahahaha!

Barbara: No, no, no, no, no, a million of no's!

Dick, laughing: Agreed.

Barbara seethes.

Barbara: It's not funny!

Dick: I'm sorry, I'm sorry. They think we had sex, not again, not again!

Dick sits back in his chair.

Stephanie: You guys have only done it once.

Dick: Yeah, she doesn't like to talk about it.

Barbara smacks the man on the head as he continues chuckling.

Barbara: I had a crush on him when we first met, we went out on two dates, hated it. We never hooked up at the docks, on a mission, after stopping a heist or at a cold stone creamery!

Dick: That last one still confuses me.

Stephanie: Hold up, no way... Guys!

Barbara (looking at Dick): Don't you tell them about the beach.

Dick: I might.

Stephanie runs out the room and drags Tim into the study room. Jason enters next.

Stephanie: Tim, Jason did Barb and Dick ever get together?

Tim: Yeah... I think so.

Jason: I heard you guys got stuck in a shed and they found you guys asleep.

Dick bursts into laughter again and topples back to the ground.

Barbara sighs, rubbing her forehead.

Barbara: We were found that way because we were knocked out! Dick-head stop laughing!

Dick: This is just funny to me. I love that people think that, you're like my sister, annoying and stupid.

Barbara attempts to bite the man's hand as he pats her on the head.

Dick: Like a snapping turtle too.

Stephanie: You didn't date? Okay, but I heard- Just going to stand behind Tim for my protection from Barbara- You guys did it on the beach.

Barbara remains silent with a twitching eyebrow.

Dick laughs harder.

Dick: And that was the only time. It was her idea and we had to go to the hospital afterwards.

Barbara: This never leaves this kitchen.

Barbara rolls pass the group, punching Stephanie in the arm as she leaves.

[blueishspace]

Looped Sun 15

Loop #451

Mumbo wasn't sure about trying out Double Life, especially in a null loop like this one...but Grian had asked and he wasn't able to say no. So there he was, ready to see how this would go down.

TangoTek was blown up by a creeper.

Solidaritygaming died.

Mumbo didn't expect Tango to die the same way so he had to assume they were unawake this time around. It had been a while since they looped together now that he tought about it. Oh well.

Skizz: Hey man!

Mumbo: O-oh! You are here too?

Skizz: Sure thing!

Mumbo: O-oh...have you found your soulmate yet mate?

Skizz: No, have you?

Mumbo: ... Not really. Do you think...?

Skizz: No hurt in checking! Come on dude, punch me!

Mumbo: Oh pants! Uh... here you go?

Turns out they were soulmates, guess it made sense since the other pairs seemed to be the same.

Mumbo: I see skeletons!

Skizz: I'm on them!

Mumbo: Try not to die please?

Skizz: What's up!? What's up!?

Mumbo: O-oh I'll help!! Wait for me!

Well, they didn't win...not that he expected them to. It was lots of fun though.

Loop #453

Pearl had loved her first Avatar the last airbender loop, Katara had been a great teacher and she still used waterbending often... She didn't like this specific Avatar loop though, mostly because she was stuck as a fish.She got it of course, moon spirit, PearleascentMoon, sge wasn't stupid... but still being a fish in small small pond while swimming in literal circles is mind numbing.

Then of course came the general who tried to kill her, which was rude by the way, and she had to deal with him...fortunately chaos magic still worked as a fish.

Loop #457

Grian: And that's Uno.

Jimmy: No! No! You can't let him win.

Tango: I got nothing...

Mumbo: M-me neither. Scott?

Scott: ...Pearl? ... I'm sorry, +4.

Pearl: Don't worry mate, I got you. +4.

Grian: What!? Noo! Pearl why!?!

Jimmy: And It's my turn!

Grian: Ok, what if we traded?

Pearl: Go on.

Grian: I'll give you one of the red properties so you can get the monopoly if you give me that one.

Pearl: So you can get a monopoly too?

Grian: It's a win-win.

Pearl: ... Sure. Here you go.

Grian: I hate this. I hate life.

Mumbo: O-oh!

Scott: Look at the bright side.

Grian: What bright side?

Scott: Jimmy is sucking so bad.

Grian: You what, you are right. The game of life is my favorite now.

Jimmy: Wha- hey.

Tango: I mea ... He's not lyificating.

Jimmy: Rancher, you too? Betrayal!

Mumbo: Oh ...ok... Before blank all we had was blank.

Pearl: Ooh a double.

Scott: I have an idea but I also hate it.

Jimmy: I ...don't like this game...

Tango: Well, here goes nothing.

Mumbo: Ok let's see... Before s-sexy pillow fights all we had was gladiator fights? I don't get it...

Pearl: Yeah that was just boring.

Grian: Listen, I had 0. Absolutely 0 good cards.

Jimmy: I like this one a lot better.

Grian: Timmy ... Timmy this is not a game, It's Mumbo's tarot card.

Jimmy: I stand with what I said. So what did I get?

Mumbo: Oh! That's the... that's the fool.

Jimmy: Nice! ... What does it mean?

Mumbo: Youth... and luck...it depends.

Loop #459 (part 1)

Jimmy: Uh, were are we?

Tango: It looks like a dungeon entrance?

Jimmy: Well, I got that.

Scott: Oh fuck I know what loop this is. This is bad.

Tango: You do?

Scott: This is fear and hunger.

Jimmy: ... Oh...I heard about it. The very non pg one?

Tango: Are the two of you going to share.

Scott: This... We can do this, It's not a null loop or anything. It should be doable.

Scott: It's...really dark. Darker then the game.

Tango: I can have my flame hair on, it might help.

Jimmy: Or I could do the sun incantation? Make my hair glow.

Scott: No, no. You need to sing for it to work, we can't risk your throat getting tired too early on.

Jimmy: ...Alright.

Tango: Aren't you like a god of order Scott? Can't you do anything to help?

Scott: Not really, my divinity here is really diminished for some reason. Probably the influence of the old gods.

Jimmy: Wait I hear a voice!

Tango: Uh!? Where!?

Jimmy: It's...

Jimmy enveloped himself with a thin layer of Listener magic.

Jimmy: That way!

Tango: What-

Scott: Since when are you a Listener?

Jimmy: Pretty early on in my loops, it happens sometimes. Oh, I hear it again. It sounds young!

Tango: A door?

Jimmy: We obviously need to get to other side!

Scott: Let me try something.

And in a flash of blue Scott is gone... A few seconds later the door opens with Scott behind it.

Scott: The tesseract still works.

Jimmy: Is that a little girl?

Tango: Why is she in a cage? Scott?

Scott: ... It's complicated...just help me get her out.

Tango: The cage doesn't look too hard to breakificate. Just pull a bit and uh... It's harder then it looks. I'm going to melt it-

Scott: And risk molten metal getting on the girl?

Tango: Point... I'll just use an axe.

Jimmy: Hello there! Who are you?

Girl: ...

Jimmy: Right uh... I'll introduce myself first if you want.

Girl: ...

Jimmy: Right, I'm Jimmy, that's Tango and that is Scott.

Girl: ...

Prev Next First

[writeriguess]

part two to the kirishima fic abt pro code plsss 🙏🙏🙏 neeeeddd to see what happens next

Kirishima spent the rest of the workout trying to shake off the lingering heat from your touch, his mind torn between guilt and the undeniable attraction he felt. As Tetsutetsu rambled on about his next set, Kirishima nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts elsewhere.

What had he just done?

He caught sight of you on the other side of the gym, chatting with a few classmates. You seemed completely at ease, like nothing had happened. Meanwhile, Kirishima’s insides were in turmoil. He glanced at Tetsutetsu, who was still oblivious, and the guilt hit him again, like a punch to the gut.

After the workout, Kirishima grabbed his towel and slung it over his shoulder, forcing a grin as he turned to his friend. “Hey, Tetsutetsu, I’m gonna head out. Catch you later?”

“Yeah, sure thing, man!” Tetsutetsu waved, his usual cheerful self. “We’ll crush it again tomorrow, right?”

“Definitely,” Kirishima replied, his voice tight. He needed to clear his head, and fast.

As he made his way out of the gym, the cool air hit his face, offering little relief from the heat still burning under his skin. He headed toward the dorms, trying to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t just ignore what had happened — but he also couldn’t betray his friend.

Or… had he already?

Lost in thought, Kirishima almost didn’t notice when you appeared beside him. “Kiri,” you called out softly, and he stopped in his tracks, heart pounding once again.

You smiled, that same teasing look in your eyes, but this time, there was something softer about it. “You in a hurry?” you asked, your tone casual, but the tension between you was anything but.

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh, no, not really. Just… needed some air, I guess.”

You nodded, stepping closer. “Look, about earlier—”

He cut you off, unable to hold back the flood of guilt that had been building. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he blurted out. “I mean, Tetsutetsu… he likes you. And I can’t—” His voice faltered. “I can’t do that to him.”

You looked at him, your expression unreadable for a moment, before you let out a small sigh. “Kiri, you’re a good guy. I know Tetsutetsu likes me, but… I don’t feel that way about him.” You stepped closer, your gaze locking with his. “But you… I’ve been dropping hints for weeks, and I was starting to think you didn’t notice.”

Kirishima blinked, his heart racing. “You… what?”

You chuckled softly. “Kirishima, I like you.”

His breath caught in his throat. This was everything he’d wanted to hear, but it only made the guilt worse. “But Tetsutetsu—”

“Tetsutetsu’s a great guy, but I can’t force feelings that aren’t there,” you interrupted gently. “And I know you’re worried about hurting him, but don’t you think it’s better if he knows the truth? You’re not responsible for his feelings. He’ll understand.”

Kirishima swallowed hard, torn between what he wanted and what he knew was right. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But you’re only hurting yourself by holding back. And… maybe you’re hurting me, too.”

Those words hit Kirishima like a freight train. The idea that he could be hurting you, even unintentionally, made his chest tighten. He looked into your eyes, saw the sincerity there, and for a moment, the world around him seemed to slow down.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he murmured, his voice low. “But… I don’t know how to fix this.”

You smiled, taking his hand in yours. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

The warmth of your hand in his sent a shiver through him, and for the first time since this whole mess started, Kirishima felt a sense of calm. He didn’t have all the answers, and things were still complicated, but maybe — just maybe — it didn’t have to be as messy as he feared.

“I’ll talk to Tetsutetsu,” Kirishima said quietly, his resolve strengthening. “I’ll explain everything.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand gently. “That’s all you can do. Just be honest.”

Kirishima took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation, but also feeling lighter now that the truth was out in the open. He glanced down at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks. For, uh… being patient with me.”

You grinned, that playful spark returning to your eyes. “Anytime, Kiri. Just don’t keep me waiting too long, okay?”

He chuckled, the tension between you easing into something more comfortable, more natural. “I won’t.”

As you both walked back toward the dorms, Kirishima’s mind was clearer than it had been in days. He still had to face Tetsutetsu, and that wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time, he felt like he could do it.

Because now, he wasn’t just fighting his own feelings. He was fighting for something — someone — worth it.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.

[basilone]

Can I request Benny x Darlene + ⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards, please? 💕

You most certainly can, thank you so much for sending this! 💙 Fair warning for this one, as it is one that packs a whole punch of feelings in it because it's a Benny/Darlene + post-stalag reunion... Also might give a tiny bit away about the state of another pairing in this particular narrative, but the main focus here very much is these two navigating Benny's homecoming.

Darlene shivers when the bedroom’s chill nips at her skin. It hadn’t been this cold when they’d first arrived – the same room they’d had last time when they were at the coast, the same comfortable bed that would get almost too warm in morning – but she supposes anything will feel colder than the steamed-up bathroom she’s just escaped from.

Escaped.

Her stomach twists at the notion. Feels like it’s sinking all the way down to her feet, plummeting abruptly toward the cold wooden floorboards without so much as a by-your-leave. Her hand shoots out before her next step becomes a stumble. She breathes, sharply, in through her nose and out through her mouth, when her fingers lock around the edge of the dresser beside the door.

Escaped is what the brass had said about Lot and Major Cleven, already back on base before all the rest of them had finally been brought home. Escaped, which Darlene supposes sounds like a prize you can win except for the part where she’s seen Lot’s hand shoot out simply to anchor Major Cleven’s trembling fist. Except for the part where they only sleep when lying together in the belly of their plane, but never in their separate bunks at night. She has seen Major Cleven’s body rest between Lot and everything else, as though their prison had created more shield than man out of him, and Lot’s eyes had followed Darlene’s every move through the plane with all the air of an animal that is not used to freedom.

She’s seen the same look in Ben’s eyes tonight.

Escaped wasn’t what they’d said about him. Liberated had been the term – the news, the joy, the pride – when they’d told her he was coming back to England.

Darlene scoffs to herself as she opens the dresser. She supposes it’s only apt to speak of liberation when you are sitting in some office back home, on some plush chair in the United States, ready to tell the people and the President that the boys are coming home. It’s a word to use in newspaper articles all right, becoming harder to stomach with every byline. Her own tummy roils at the thought of someone else telling her that Ben’s free. Liberated. She’s gonna damn well take a swing at the next fella proclaiming that sort of nonsense.

Her hands lock around the softest towel she can find. It’s softer than her hands, which are calloused and worn. Softer than the bedsheets, even, but Ben had met even those with a wonder he hadn’t…

Her fists tighten around the towel. Darlene swallows back the noise that threatens to claw out of her throat. Bites her tongue to stop it from rising again – halt that fucking wail, that horror of grief – and exhales past her teeth. Brings the towel up to her cheek to halt her lone tear in its tracks before it can multiply.

It’s not the place for tears. Not yet. She scrapes her throat. Blinks at herself in the mirror until her eyes stop blurring her freckles and the white lace of her top. Hold it the fuck together, Dar, she almost says out loud, except he’s in the warm bathroom next door and the walls here are too thin. She’s been telling herself she’ll cry later. Has been digging half-moon reminders of it into the palms of her hands since Lot’d come home and whispered a sorry into Darlene’s collar that had somehow managed to sound like an apology for all the goddamn hurt she’d caused. Has been biting it back since her arms had first locked around Benny – around what them damn Nazis had left of him, all bone and cold – and he’d been wet-cheeked enough for both of them already.

She exhales again. Clicks the dresser shut. Swings the door to the bathroom back open before the tears hit after all, welcoming its heat even though it’s gonna make her hair curl and frizz up to stay in it for long.

“Got ya a nice towel,” she announces needlessly, holding it aloft before dropping it onto the small stool beside the tub. “Knew I’d seen it somewhere in that damn dresser, hidin’ behind all them scratchier towels they want ya to use first.”

“You’re messing with their hotel business plan,” he replies, gaze gliding past the towel and straight back to her face. His mouth quirks a little, as if to signify how broadly he would’ve smiled about teasing her some months ago. “They’re going to make you pay extra for using that one.”

“I’d like to see ’em try,” snorts Darlene, vastly accustomed to all the ways in which people try and scam you out of having a good time. “Didn’t work last time we were here”– when they’d used towels like those for means other than a bath, which still brings color to her cheeks if she dwells on it too long –“and it sure as hell ain’t gon’ work on me now. They should be thankin’ us for comin’ back at all, given the damn sorry state of them pillows.”

Ben’s eyes are still soft when he looks at her. Impossibly soft, with some gentle twinkle of humor locked in them after all this time. He looks at her like he still recognizes her, from the top of her head where she’s piled most of her curls right down to her hands which are drawing small circles of comfort onto his skin. Like he still knows how to map every freckle on her skin – she’s seen his eyes follow familiar patterns, lips moving slightly as though the memory of kissing them is coming back to him the longer he looks at her – and like he remembers every detail of her eyes.

His hand is at her elbow, thumbing its crease. He doesn’t reply to her anymore, already drifting again amid the heat of the water and the touch of her fingertips. She scoots closer, as close as she can get without getting in the tub herself, and presses a close-mouthed kiss to the boniest part of his shoulder. Hears the soft rattle of his exhale. Hears the sniffle that follows it, with her lips still ghosting over his skin, with one of her stray curls tickling his collarbone, and silently blames the steam of the bathroom for misting over her own eyes.

“It’s all right,” she murmurs, summoning her last remaining vestiges what George had called bravery and what she’d dubbed foolishness. “Ben, it’s okay”– it’s not, it’s really not, but what the hell else is she gonna tell him? –“it’s all right, hey,” she hushes, leaning over to kiss the tear that’s slipping down his cheek away, “you’re here with me, all right? You’re home with me. We’re in that hotel ya dragged me to on our first weekend pass, that real long one ya’d wrangled without me even knowin’ it.” She smiles at the memory. Lets her smile rest against his cheek before kissing him again. “Thought it’d do us some good here. Ain’t nobody gon’ clock us getting into the same bed here. No write-ups happenin’. Just you an’ me.”

“Not…”

“Yeah?”

“Not a whole lot of use you’re getting,” he murmurs. “Not with… With this. Me.”

Darlene leans back just so she can fix him with the most beady-eyed stare she can muster. “You’re here, ain’t ya,” she deadpans, not even bothering to make it sound like a question. “I’m gon’ be the judge of use, Ben, Jesus Christ. Bein’ here with ya? Having…” She swallows, blinking, and almost curses as she sees the drip-drop of her own tears in his bathwater. “Having you back? Alive? Bein’ able ta… Goddamn it,” she sniffles, rubbing at her cheeks with a trembling hand, “being able ta hold ya? To kiss your cheek, to breathe ya in, to wake up with your arm around my waist? I dreamed about that the whole damn fucking time you was gone, ya hear? The whole goddamn time them Nazi fucks had ya locked up in there, I was thinkin’ about today. About right now, havin’ ya with me.”

“Dar…”

“Don’t talk to me about use, Ben,” she snaps, furiously blinking to stop herself from blubbering about the whole thing. “I ain’t in this relationship with ya just because the sex blows my fuckin’ mind, all right?” She pokes at his chest, unable to bite back a slight grin now that she’s gone and confessed that, and shakes her head as her fingers meet scar tissue that wasn’t there before. “You’re a goddamn idiot, Bernard DeMarco”– she laments, fingertips slipping beneath the water just so she can memorize that new scar –“if ya haven’t realized by now that I fucking love ya, I’d go fight the whole damn world to get to keep ya,” she whispers, hearing him go quieter than ever, “and I’d say yes to marryin’ ya in a heartbeat.”

It takes less than a heartbeat for his lips to find hers in a kiss that makes everything else go silent.

“Darling,” he murmurs, after, voice almost catching on the ache that resides inside it. “Darlene”– he exhales, breath a mere flutter against her cheek –“darling Darlene.” Ben’s lips find that little freckle, high up on her cheekbone, that he’d once proudly proclaimed was his favorite. “I love you too.”

He makes it sound like freedom.

[ruinofchimera]

Hi, I really like your posts, just out of curiosity, what do you think about Sirius Black?

Your curiosity could very well unintentionally land me in a Flynn Rider situation—cornered with a dozen sharp knives pointed at my throat, and for that, I’m more than ready to kiss you on both cheeks, anon. My recklessness be damned; let’s unfold this matter.

Sirius is an entitled arse, no two ways about it. He’s got that privileged, arrogant swagger of someone who’s always had things handed to him, even if he spent half his life rejecting it. He’s all rough edges and volatile intensity, the kind of man who’s survived more by luck and sheer defiance than by any real plan or sense of caution. Characters like him, they’ve got a way of sinking their claws in me, whether I want to or not. Because here’s the thing: Sirius’s short appearances in the books pack more emotional depth than some characters got in entire arcs. In just a few scenes, I saw a man constantly wrestling with his own worst instincts, fiercely loyal but destructively so, and trapped in a past he cannot—will not—let go of.

But let’s get something clear from the outset: I refuse to acknowledge the fever dream version of Sirius that certain corners of the internet have conjured up. You know, the one where he’s some delicate, ethereal twink who twirls his hair and faints at the sight of Lupin. What even is that? That’s not Sirius Black—that’s like trying to shove a feral dog into a tea party dress. It’s laughable, but more than that, it’s a betrayal of who he really is.

His bite, his bike, his relentless defiance—it’s not a costume or an aesthetic; it’s who he is, deep down to his bones. That raw, untamed energy, that edge—it’s woven into the very marrow of his bones. The Sirius Black from the books exuded raw masculinity. He was all bruised knuckles and fiery glares, a man who looked like he could break you in half but might settle for a well-placed punch instead. Unpolished, angry, and unapologetic to his last breath. Stripping all that away to turn him into some hysterical femboy with fluttering lashes doesn’t just miss the point—it actively distorts the very essence of the character.

So, no, I won’t acknowledge this fanon revisionism—or more accurately, fanon distortion. That’s not Sirius Black. And with that out of the way, we can return to the real Sirius Black—the one built from book flesh and bones, the man we actually know.

What intrigues me about Sirius is that he’s constantly at war with himself. The guy stormed out of his aristocratic, silk-sheeted home and straight into the muck and grime of rebellion. And rebellion is a funny thing—it’s loud, it’s violent, but it’s not always about breaking free; sometimes it’s just a different way to cage yourself. He chose to reject his family’s ideals, but the methods, the temperament, the sheer ferocity—that stayed with him. In his desperate attempt to be their opposite, he becomes just as volatile, just as dangerous. He’s trying to kill the part of himself that was shaped by his family, and yet, you can see it, can’t you? That same cruel streak, the same hunger for superiority. Only now it’s turned against anyone who dares remind him of where he comes from. It’s a brutal thing to watch, someone trying so hard to break the chains, only to forge new ones from their own fury.

Then there’s Severus Snape. If there’s anyone who can drag Sirius’s demons out into the open and force them to dance, it’s him. Sirius looks at Snape and sees everything he despises, everything he’s spent his life trying to drown, smother, burn out—the shadows of his family’s poison. Snape is like a living relic of the Black family’s cursed bloodline, a walking monument to what Sirius could have been, should have been, if he’d just bent the knee and stayed in line like a good Black boy. There’s no escaping it. Snape is a mirror that shows Sirius all the worst parts of himself, twisted into something cold, bitter, and unrelenting.

And Severus? Every time Snape looks at Sirius, it’s like staring into a mirror reflecting everything he’s ever wanted but never had. There’s that deep, gnawing resentment—the kind that comes from watching someone like Sirius, a privileged boy born into power and status, toss it all aside like it meant nothing. Sirius had everything Severus spent his entire life yearning for: a sense of belonging, the kind of respect that comes with a name, the freedom to be reckless without consequence. To see someone carelessly discard what he, Severus, would have fought tooth and nail to possess—it’s like being taunted by the very life he’s always dreamed of, but could never reach. Every time their paths cross, it’s not just personal hatred fueling that rivalry—it’s the bitterness of watching someone waste a treasure Snape has been denied his whole life.

They despise each other because, at their core, they’re fighting the same battle. They both want to escape their pasts, their pain, but they’re both trapped by it. Observing their dynamic is like watching two men rage against the same storm from opposite directions, and both of them lose in the end.

For all of Sirius’s darkness, there’s one light that never flickers: his absolute, unwavering loyalty to James Potter. James wasn’t just a friend—he was the family Sirius chose for himself, the anchor Sirius wrapped his entire identity around. Black would’ve followed James into the jaws of hell without a second thought, no questions asked, no hesitation. Sirius’s rebellion wasn’t just against his family’s twisted values; it was a revolt in the name of the bond he shared with James, a bond stronger than blood.

So when he finally clawed his way out of Azkaban, broken and ragged, it wasn’t just freedom he sought—it was the ghost of the only person he’d ever truly cared about. James was dead, but in Sirius’s mind, that bond was still alive, and he clung to it like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. But the world had moved on, and Sirius—stubborn, proud Sirius—hadn’t. He was trapped in the past, unable to let go of the life he had lost. He smothered Harry with his expectations and projected James’s image onto him. In Sirius’s eyes, he wasn’t just mourning James—he was still trying to save him. Still trying to fight a battle that had ended long ago. Shackled to a memory, a ghost, Sirius was living on borrowed time. His desperate need to relive those days with James blinded him to the truth—that Harry wasn’t James, and the past couldn’t be resurrected. And in the end, Sirius’s death wasn’t a tragic loss; it was inevitable. A man like him, still fighting ghosts, still raging against a world that had moved on without him, was always destined to fall. His death wasn’t the end of a life—it was the final note in a song that had been playing since the day he lost James Potter.

As I said, Sirius Black’s depth far exceeds the number of pages he’s given. He’s the kind of character who burns bright and brief, leaving just enough of a mark to haunt you long after he’s gone. His short appearances were cut off far too soon, but twisted enough to make me take notice. And I’m nothing if not an admirer of the twisted. He’s the kind of man who’s always teetering on the edge of something dangerous, dragging his demons behind him like shadows that never quite leave his side. For all his flaws—his recklessness, his impulsiveness, his Peter Pan syndrome—he makes me feel something—whether it’s anger, sympathy, or that strange, grudging admiration you have for someone who keeps charging headlong into the storm, even when it’s bound to destroy him. The kind of character that makes me want to punch him square in the face and then buy him a drink right after. That’s a rare kind of magic, if you ask me.

[majimasleftasscheek]

Hi majimasleftasscheek, I just wanted to say I love your art and how nice it all is. Seeing everyone just talking and being all wierd is a highlight of my day. Got into yakuza this year and 90+ hours in both kiwmai and 0 later and I'm an addict. So what im saying is thank you for fueling both I and everyone else's addiction :))

Also majima am I right, God DAMN-

fueling the brain rot is the validation I strive for as a lil weirdo 😊 kdflsjklds

and thank you for enjoying my stuff!! being unwell about this series is part of my daily routine so having more of us join hands to be freaks around the campfire is the vibe 👌

blorbies...

[dreadfuldevotee]

I need Daniel to be the only one totally not impressed by Lestat in season 3. for my own sanity. cause I just do not find him attractive or very pretty (personal tastes) and without that Lestat de Lioncourt becomes just so.. he's like a buzzing mosquito. I mean kudos to the writing and the acting, but christ I cannot stand him :'D

Lmaoooo i am shaking your hand so hard rn, I feel the exact same way. As much as I love mess and, trust I am excited for whatever they give us, I need a solid season of Daniel tearing into Lestat and rolling his eyes so hard. Rolin im slipping you a crisp 20 to make a Sweet Home Alabama joke pleaaase

[absentlyabbie]

man i remember when my time at sandrock was still in development and there was some dev update introducing the town doctor character, fang, with his pretty delicate facial features and long shampoo-commercial hair, looking like every cliche of a "cold, reserved anime pretty boy" distilled

and then the update where they said they would make him romanceable/expand his backstory due to popular demand, and i rolled my eyes in utter disinterest at what looked like the same cardboard cutout love interest we've all seen a million times, cuz that is just not my bag, personally

and then i played the game and well fuck, so he's actually disabled due to deep childhood trauma, and you help him through his struggles to a place where it's less debilitating, learn he's extremely, passionately motivated to help others not suffer the way he did, and is in fact kind and awkward and a little bit of a dork

and oh no, whoops, i've tripped and fallen and married him

[arttrampbelle]

Shang tsung x reader hcs

Reader is gn

*note: this isn't mk12 shang. Never will be. So.....sorry bout your poor taste in shang tsung iterations. Imagine any other version of shang. Thank you.*

Cw:mentions of nsfw(nothing heavy),fluff,mentions of a s/o who self harms and has mental illness/depression.

🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍

Shang Tsung with a s/o that is.....

Shang tsung with a kind,sweet,gentle s/o. One that is shy,maybe a bit more of the demure side. Or even just a person who isn't an assertive type. Either way a s/o that is more softer and sweeter. A sweet gentle soul. Shang tsung would absolutely love you. It's a breath of fresh air to him. To come home to a gentle energy. Someone he can look to and see innocence in this cold and unforgiving world that is MORTAL KOMBAT. to him,you are his sanctuary. To him you are the closest to heaven he will ever get. And he is so so grateful for that.

Shang tsung with a more spunky,energetic and lively s/o. One who is active and maybe bounce off the walls goofy. Just a jovial little imp you are! One who shitposts memes at 3am and major crackhead energy. (I love you people fr) you are an absolute delight. You Make him laugh till his sides hurt. He's never felt like this in decades,centuries even. Never have you made him feel so alive,so youthful,and full of surprises. He loves your energy. He feels while your behavior can be annoying af at times. He appreciates your sincerity and despite the darkness around you you still find humor and life in everything. He has major respect for that. (You n johnny cage maaaaay get along. But hey i hc shang's cool with johnny,but like a silly puppy and moody dad kinda friendship. They could kill each other but they'd rather talk about kung fu cinema) you are absolutely precious to him.

Shang with a more aggressive,assertive,and angy(?) S/o. Maybe someone prone to easily be angered. Or even someone willing to throw hands and give out a can of whoop ass. Oh thank the elder gods he doesn't have to defend you! Not that he minds,he does love the praise he gets for that. But he feels relieved that you can handle yourself. Not to mention,its kinda hot to him when you get angry. Not at him of course....then again....the thought has crossed his mind....anyways. shang tsung loooooves sparring with you! Unf it's his bread n butter. He feels so alive with every kick and punch you throw. He always is sad when you are done tho. He always craves more. But both of you im sure are busy. But he loves you just the same.

Shang tsung with a s/o that is moody,sad,battles with depression,maybe self harm? He would be extra careful with his beloved. He would check in on you regularly. Pay extra special attention to your needs and make sure you take any medication you need to take. He would teach you techniques to help ease your inner demons. As he understands that struggle. He absolutely knows what to say,what to do,and how to help you. And if he can't help you. He will find someone who can. He will always be there to comfort you and give you advice when you need him to. He may be a dark sorcerer,but he is ruthless. NEVER HEARTLESS. especially with you. He loves you. And doesn't want to lose you. He cherishes you so so much. So whatever battles you face. He will be at your side,to crush any foe or neurosis that stand in your way to glory!

Shang tsung with a s/o that loves to cook. Omfg have his hand in marriage already! You make such amazing foods. Even if its simple. Even if it's just the most basic ass shit. The love you put into it. The fact that you even bothered to give him foods he loves! Unf. This man is over the moon! He absolutely loves you cooking for him. Better if its homemade,and a personal recipe. He absolutely loves you. He may even help you cook. Bonding time.

Shang tsung with a s/o who is chubby,thicc,and got some rolls on them.(this is gn but this is especially for fem persenting peeps. I see you. I got you!) Oh my god he would adore you. He loves your voluptuous curves. He loves how you always seem to look so flawless in everything. And even if you dont feel that way. He still loves you. Because he fell for your soul....not your body honey. Tho...he'd be foolish not to admit. He loves hanging onto every inch of you. Dragging his claws from his gauntlets across your skin. And the loveable little squees you make in response. Hee hee. What can i say my mans a glutton for a teasing. >:3c. But shang would absolutely adore you. Softness and sweetness. Perfect.

Shang tsung with a s/o that kinda is awkward with themselves. Not hating themselves,just awkward. He would totally gas you up! Especially if you get flustered and blush. Fave pastime is making you blush.

Shang tsung doesn't care about where you come from. Ethnicity,nationality,realm. He loves it all. He doesn't care. The man is 500yrs old. Do you think he gives a rat's ass?! Hell no. He would absolutely love to learn about you. He loves to learn. Knowledge is power. And what better way than to gain it by your side. He's stubborn but not to the point of reluctance to learn fron others. Sometimes he knows but not the extent. Sometimes he'll be surprised. Either way. He loves you. (Idgaf why would shang care about your ethnicity? Like there's so many different people in mk rosters anyways. So any x readers from any character that had this was dumb to me,and childish. Black,white,asian,American,European,lizard,shokan,dragon,rabbit person,mortal,immortal,doesn't fucking matter. If shang tsung likes you and wants to peruse you. He fucking will. And nothing will stop him if he genuinely loves you,unless you give him a reason not to. Which you wont. Also if shang genuinely loves you he will show it differently than if he's trying to gain something from you and get you riled up or if its not genuine. Biiiig difference but that's for another post)

Shang would love you in your best and worst of times. During the lows and the highs. He's in it for the long haul. He doesn't play when it comes to the matters of the heart. He's all in or nothing. He wouldn't bother perusing you if he didn't think you two would be in a long established relationship. Marriage or not. He is loyal to his beloved. Only to his beloved. He's a snek to others. Not to you. He'd burn all the realms to see you safe and happy and loved. He'll die for you,he'd kill for you. Either way what bliss? He's absolutely over the moon for you.

Shang tsung is basically a martial arts master asian gomez in love. Whatever and however you are. He will absolutely love you. Cherish you. Treasure you. Every moment. Period. I don't make the rules. He loves you sorry. And you are his,heart AND soul. uwu.

Hope y'all appreciate this. I wanted to make this to say basically tldr. Shang tsung loves you no matter what. And idc what people say.

💖💅🏻💋🔥🐍🐉🏝

[meatmel]

unrelated to last post, ive been drawing a bit latley, but i dont have much since the doodles since i do those on vc skflsgjl

in the first image is my fursona, melbunny, just incase anyone was curious:) bald bull is one of my favorites from punch out right now, so im holding him up!

[simmyfrobby]

not a poem today but here read Fall Out Boy Forever by Hanif Abdurraqib if you want to feel something

(cw: suicide, drug use)

[dollypopup]

Tired: Colin teaches Penelope how to fuck Wired: Colin teaches Penelope how to flirt Inspired: Colin teaches Penelope how to fIGHT

[morporkian-cryptid]

Listening to The Mountain Goats (again) and it's got me thinking (again) that I want to spread the music I love, and express why I love it so much, and the best way for me to do that is through art; but how can I possibly express in a drawing the feeling of getting hit in the heart all the way to tears by a line like

"I don't know if that's true but I've been told, it's real sweet to grow old".

Like. There's no way to put that feeling into art better than the song itself did. And I don't even know who the fuck Chavo Guerrero is-

[nocentis]

x