#ok so i went on for a bit

[tanoraqui]

Hello! If you are still babysitting the printer or in the mood to answer questions about your OCs, then would you please tell me more about coolest person ever Rawen? Uh, let me think of some questions, answer any of these or just if you have something else you want to share about her. . . Can she cook? Favorite color? Tell me about a time she saved Maedhros’ life? What does she think of Elrond when she meets him in Aman?

I am not, thank god. But I still love to talk.

I don't know if Rawen can cook... She likes to fish, and can do some simple but fantastic things with fresh-caught fish and a handful of herbs over a campfire.

Her favorite color is maroon. This is convenient in the Second and Third Age, post-re-embodiment, when she wants to wear just enough red to visually communicate "I'm not a Fëanorian(TM) anymore, but I'm not not either."

She was the one who finally pulled Maedhros back from the battlefield in Dagor Bragollach, when he'd been holding the gates all but single-handedly for seven days and seven nights, and when the Enemy fell back, stalking around looking for more. He wasn't badly wounded; she already was, in fact; she had to pick her way through corpses and cinders while limping on a cut hamstring and coughing from dragonsmoke. But nobody else quite dared confront their lord in those terrible weeks, however much they feared he would collapse from exhaustion and/or burn himself to ashes from the inside out like his father.

(She never fully healed from those wounds, perhaps because she didn't rest them. She died in the Nirnaeth 18 years later.)

I've mostly thought about Rawen after her re-embodiment, when she basically appoints herself whip of the regrowing Fëanorian faction (mostly re-embodied elves like her who aren't as single-minded about this as they used to be but this is still where some combination of loyalties and ideals lie, younger elves with a thirst for rebellion). Rawen ideally wants a Person to follow, but lacking a sufficient Person she'll take up a Cause; her Cause now is Peace and Cooperation in Tirion (and Everywhere Else if Possible). Arafinwë is good for this - it's his cause, too - so, while even after the War of Wrath he's kinda placid as a king for her taste, she's happy to work with him and nominally serve him.

4,500~ years later, Rawen is comfortably accustomed to being a key political player in her own right, rather than as Maedhros's right hand. She and Fingolfin both, separately, go out for drinks with Arafinwë periodically and complain about the other. (Arafinwë thinks this is funny, and regards it as one of his key kingship duties for maintaining peace and cooperation among the Noldor. He's right.) The Fëanorian faction, as they're still called, has grown and changed far beyond what it used to be, but at its heart are still an assortment of former kinslayers, most of whom served at Himring. 500 years of constant exposure to focussed white flame can make a permanent impression on a fëa.

Like many, in the late Third Age when it's commonly rumored in Aman that most people still likely to Sail will be doing so as soon as this last Sauron issue is wrapped up, Rawen's attitude toward Elrond is eager curiosity with a readied but pending-judgement communist!Bugs Bunny "our child/lord" meme. Imagine you wake up after 1500-odd years being dead and the handful of friends/former employees who survived everything, or at least survived longer than you are like, "Yeah, so, we did...kill people...a bunch more people...we helped adopt some kids, though! They turned out great!" And then everyone else who Sails or re-embodies for the next 4500-odd years confirms that. If Elrond lives up to his reputation, Rawen is totally ready to add him to her short list of people for whom she'd throw her/the Fëanorian faction's political weight behind should they ever ask, for the sake of what could have been if only they'd been Good at the same time they were Great.

(The short list is, in rough order: Nerdanel, Celebrimbor, Celechwes, Fingon.)

Then, just a few years before Sauron's fall, Findis makes her own famous Oath (CFtN Ch.15), holding her own fëa for ransom of the release of Fëanor and all his sons from Mandos; and Manwë declares that the Eldar will decide her and their fate the Eldar overall decide, yes, we'll let them come back; and then when Elrond arrives, he brings Maglor...

Rawen is dealing with political fallout, and trying to anticipate the next political fallout, and trying to arrange the circumstances of the next political fallout, and trying to figure out how she feels about this - how she should feel about this, how she does feel about this...

Righteous Disappointment, is what she more or less concludes that she feels. That she will feel, when she meets Maedhros again. How could he. How could he. She'd believed in him...

No, Righteous Disappointment is how she wishes she could feel, but she's too honest with herself - she probably would've counseled the attack on Doriath, as a best hope (the Enemy would've done it if they hadn't!). She doesn't think she would've counseled the attack on Sirion, but she's talked with people who were there, what those late days were like with darkness spreading and bitter, angry desperation in every breath of air and sip of water. She remembers much the same from the not-days after the Darkening. She knows she wouldn't have turned away at Sirion, much less turned her coat.

She adopts Elrond almost offhand. There's a lot going on. Maglor is...ill, basically, half-mad from isolation and guilt. He hadn't been her lord, but she'd respected him for the earnest effort he put into their cause, so even if she's not sure how much she wants to still be affiliated with the literal House of Fëanor, rather than a consciously idealized concept of the House of Fëanor, she's glad to see him and does what she can to help him heal. Mostly he seems to heal by hanging around Eärendil, seemingly without intent to claim the Silmaril, which is... (ignites a hope in Rawen's chest which she hadn't realized it hurt to be without).

Rawen is pretty confident that her conflicted feelings, plus the distance of time, shake out to sympathetic neutrality re: the literal House of Fëanor. Well, re: Maedhros, and about half the others. She's more Unimpressed with Fëanor himself, and Celegorm and Curufin she'd frankly throw off a cliff for their little spectacle at Nargothrond. If Nargothrond had joined the Union of Maedhros in force, if Doriath had joined the Union in force...

What actually happens, when she meets Maedhros again, is that she bursts into tears and apologizes for losing Himring, which he'd left in her charge when he rode to what became the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Funnily enough, this is roughly the same emotional sequence of events that happened in the various reunions of Fëanor's sons with their father.

After that initial burst of emotion, she does calm down, and... Okay, listen. She was going to rationally re-evaluate him. She does rationally re-evaluate him. She still mourns what the Noldor could've been when they were fierce and fire-led...but they are fierce and fire-led still, just tempered with long ages of peace rather than swift and savage intent. And Maedhros re-embodied is also tempered with long ages of peace and thought, the wisdom of utmost regret and slow, slow, still-incomplete self-forgiveness...

So, y'know, a few centuries later...when all the Oath-takers including Fëanor himself have returned and proven themselves capable of peacefully sharing a continent - and sometimes even family reunions! - with Gil-Estel...and nothing more dramatic has happened than the assembled line of Curufinwës blowing up the Alchemists' Quarter... Rawen teams up with Satarissë Finrodiel, Celechwes and Arafinwë himself to get Maedhros elected High King of the Noldor. The Fëanorians are back, baby!

(Maedhros was not consulted. To be fair, Arafinwë literally never is, either. For instance, his blissful vacation only lasts one term - but the point is made. Peace, cooperation and re-unification in Tirion, and maybe even everywhere else!)

[death-himself]

reminder to anyone using spotify that you can remove an artist’s songs from all of your playlists easily by going to the artist’s page and tapping “don’t play this artist”

i say this as someone who put lovejoy on like 20 different playlists who didn’t know that feature existed until now

[hinamie]

itfs scribble

[spicygambles]

EX-QUEEZE ME??? MISTER IMPULSESV???

edit: just in case this wasn't clear, I didn't edit this in any way. The pink filter? the music? was all Impulsesv himself.

[ghost-bxrd]

I’ve been getting really into magical stuff recently and also DC so I’m just gonna drop this here:

Fae Dick Grayson

F A E

okay so fae stories are special to me because I grew up on hearing pagan folklore and fairytales about fae and fae adjacent creatures as good night stories so hooo boy yes I adore that trope! (I mean, I made Dick a Banshee in my fic Shuck so… hehe)

Anyway, Fae Dick Grayson! There’s just so many things you can do with it ✨

Robin appears from one day to the next, following in Batman’s shadow like a mischievous sprite, so honestly rumors have been going wild about him since day one. Robin actually being something non-human doesn’t really come as a surprise!

The fae folk are known for being awfully good at blending in with regular humans when they put their mind to it, the only thing that puts them apart (in most stories) is their otherworldly beauty, and Dick Grayson? Well, he’s definitely got that in abundance.

Just sometimes, when the light reflects off a surface in just the right way, when someone pours a glass of water and you happen to look right through the spray, or when you think you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye and you spin around— but there’s only Dick Grayson, even if a second ago you could have sworn you saw eyes where there weren’t supposed to be any; colors that aren’t supposed to exist; feathers where only skin has any right to be.

And, gods, all the talking. Dick is terrifyingly good at talking to people without actually saying anything, to the point where you walk away from the conversation feeling utterly drained after spilling your entire life story but when you think back on it— you can’t remember him ever telling you anything about himself. You know there were the usual pleasantries of “hi” and “nice to meet you” and “how are you doing?” but anything beyond that just kinda… seemed to spill out of you? It’s very strange. It’s very unnerving. By the end of the evening you other convince yourself you’re overreacting or you simply push the incident out of your mind altogether.

And there’s another thing about Dick. His name.

He only ever introduces himself as Dick Grayson/Robin. Never Richard. Never. Especially not Richard John. Names are sacred for the fae folk, names have power, so while Richard John Grayson may not be Dick’s true name, he treats it as such to honor his parents. None are allowed to use it. None except Bruce or Alfred on special occasion.

Of course, Dick’s “true” name isn’t exactly a secret so when someone does happen to use it… well, Dick may be… other… but he’s still intrinsically good in a way many of his kind don’t have the patience to be. Dick judges on a case by case basis, just like his parents and Bruce taught him. And usually people do not mean it maliciously when they use his name so he kindly corrects them and that’s that. But oh man, if they still insist on calling him “Richard”? Well..

“Oh no, it seems your credit card is being declined, sir!”

“Sheesh, you tripped over a root? In Gotham?!”

“What do you mean ten birds flew into your window last night? You live on floor level!”

“Dude I’m telling you that rash doesn’t look normal.”

“I… don’t think crows are supposed to follow you like that.”

It’s little things (most of the time, unless you really pissed Dick off) but they keep piling up, slowly driving you insane. You feel like you’re being watched, but it’s just a bird sitting on the window sill again. You feel like someone moved all your furniture just slightly to the right even tho you checked all the cameras.

The fae are kind, but they are also vindictive when crossed.

(Thanks to Bruce, however, I think Dick’s bouts of “vengeance” rarely go much farther than that though.)

Dang ok that ended up being an entire rant… wow. Anyway, yeah. Fae.

[aquacomet]

Art fight Attack on @thatmooncake!

Here's Moonshoe crab enjoying some carrots!

There's a video out there of a horseshoe crab enjoying some pieces of carrot so maybe Moonshoe might also enjoy them as a tasty snack?

[starrysharks]

a cat's hauntingly cute laugh rings out on this dark, candy-coated halloween night...!

[nounaarts]

//LMK S4 SPECIAL SPOILERS (Minor one??)

-

-

Wukong gave me vacay dad vibes that entire beach scene !!

[dizzybizz]

bs and bh colored headshots or smth idk i really liked how they turned out

[astrobei]

byler + 35 for touch prompt asks: kissing their bruises and scars  (+ some bonus injury tending!)

“I can’t believe you.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

Mike tries for a grin, a last-ditch attempt at lightening the mood, at playing it off cool, at proving that he’s not hurt half as bad as Will’s convinced himself he is. That backfires at once, though, as he winces involuntarily with his next step, and Will’s frown immediately deepens. 

“Mike,” Will chides, wholly unamused. He’s not smiling. Mike wants to tell him to lighten up, that it’s only a scratch, that it’s superficial and Mike’s faced worse after tripping and falling on the Hawkins Elementary playground. He doesn’t think it’ll matter, though, because Will is looking at him with equal parts concern and exasperation and the kind of irritatingly steadfast stubbornness that makes Mike want to grab him by the shoulders and shake. Hard. 

“It’s not that bad,” he repeats anyway, fighting back a second wince with everything he has as they clear the top few steps of the stairs. “Really.”

“Your leg,” Will points out, reaching a hand out as Mike lets out a slow exhale, “is bleeding. A lot.”

Mike takes his hand and lets himself be hauled up over the last stair. He glances down, sees the red seeping slowly through the rough denim of his jeans, cut open from his ankle up his shin and the back of his calf. “It’s not a lot,” he insists, because it’s really not. “It’s just a little scratch.”

Will stares at him, still holding loosely onto his hand. They’re standing in the upstairs hallway, and they’re tracking mud and dirt and, yes, okay, just a little bit of blood all over the carpet but honestly? Mike can’t find it in himself to care. “I can’t believe you,” Will says at last, but he looks like he’s trying his hardest not to smile. His eyes are giving it away, just like always– sparkling, going creased at the corners like they do whenever he thinks Mike is being funny but won’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. “You went and got yourself all cut up–”

“I got scraped by a vine,” Mike grunts, limping gently as Will hauls him into the bathroom. “That’s not cut up.”

“It is in my books,” Will says, and then Mike is lifting himself up into the counter by the sink and Will is digging through the drawers for a clean towel. “Because there’s you, and there’s a cut, and the rest is pretty self-explanatory.”

Mike watches him move, grabbing the soap from under the sink, brows furrowed and jaw set in quiet determination, the same way it is every time he’s upset. “You’re being dramatic,” he says quietly.

Will doesn’t look up. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Mike presses, as Will turns the faucet on. “Will–”

“I’m being perfectly reasonable,” Will says coolly, then sticks the towel underneath. “Go get yourself all cut up then. See if I care.”

He does care. The front isn’t even an attempt at authenticity, and Mike reaches out to still Will’s wrist as he turns off the water. “Will. Hey. Just– can you look at me?”

Will looks up. His eyes are a bit watery, and he blinks once, twice, glancing between Mike’s own eyes before looking away. “What?”

Mike immediately feels the sour rush of guilt wash over him, even in the warm lighting of the bathroom and the heady, steadying safety of Will standing in front of him, bracketed by his legs. “Hey,” he whispers, tugging him closer by the wrist. Will catches himself on the counter with the other hand, towel still clutched tightly, and looks back at him. “Are you okay?”

“Am I–” Will stares at him, blinking again. He shakes his head, laughing a little incredulously. “Yeah, I’m fine, Mike. You’re the one that’s hurt.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Mike says earnestly. “I swear, it came out of nowhere and I just didn’t react fast enough.”

Will’s hand comes to rest gently just above his knee. They’re face to face like this, the low counter making up for the few inches Mike still has on him. Up close, Mike can see the shadows his eyelashes are casting across his cheek, stark in the bright overhead light. He could count them all, if he wanted, and the sparse smattering of freckles across his nose. 

“I know,” Will sighs at last, those dark lashes fluttering closed. “I just–”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Mike reaches out, cups Will’s jaw with one hand. “Just– look at me, okay? I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. And you can patch me up and I’ll be good as new and also I’ll know to jump out of the way when the vines start moving next time.”

Will cracks a smile, and then huffs out a laugh, dropping his head to Mike’s shoulder. “You’re insane,” he says, a little muffled. “You’re the one that’s hurt, you shouldn’t be comforting me.”

“Did it work?”

“Maybe a little,” Will admits, pushing himself up and away, pressing a fleeting kiss to Mike’s cheek on his way to. The contact is light, brief, but Mike feels himself grow warm at the gesture anyway.

“And,” he gets out, trying his hardest to make sure his voice does not give out on him in the middle of a sentence. “You can kiss me all better afterwards.”

“I’m starting to think you did this on purpose,” Will murmurs, but he’s grinning now, so he can’t be all that mad. “We’ll see. Stick your leg out.”

Mike does. “Going to patch me up now?”

Will rolls the tattered remnants of denim out of the way. “I’ll try,” he says, studying the wound. “It doesn’t look deep, but– you know, what do I know?”

“Reassuring,” Mike mutters.

“It might scar,” Will warns him. “I feel like this kind of thing always scars. And, uh, this might sting,” he adds, holding up the towel.

“That’s cool. Scars are cool,” Mike says, “and I can deal if it– ow, holy shit!”

—

It does scar, obviously, because at some point along the way, the universe decided that Mike can’t have nice things. It’s cool, though. It’s pretty neat, and Will’s a good doctor, and it was shallow and blessedly not-infected and now he’s got a pretty gnarly pink line of a scar winding its way up the back of his calf. 

“Wow,” Will says simply, when Mike pulls the leg of his pants up to show him. “That’s cool.”

“It’s awesome,” Mike grins, then flops back down onto the bed. Will is still hovering over him, Mike’s leg propped up on his lap, the leg of his sweatpants rolled up to his knee. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s a scar,” Will laughs. “How cool can it be?”

“Very. If anyone asks, I got knifed.”

Will runs one hand down the side of Mike’s calf, palm flat to the skin and his expression contemplative. Soft. “In the leg?”

Mike shrugs. “It could happen!”

“Right,” Will laughs again. “Is that cooler than a supernatural interdimensional vine?”

“Getting knifed is a story I can tell to people who are not from Hawkins, Indiana,” Mike says matter-of-factly. He pushes himself up onto his elbows to see Will better– the sloping width of his shoulders in Mike’s borrowed tee, the way his hair is still a little wet around his neck from the shower. The easy, languid way he’s sitting, curled up on Mike’s bed with one hand splayed across Mike’s ankle. Appreciative. Absentminded, like these are all things he’s doing without really being aware of them.

Will hums softly, then trails a gentle finger up Mike’s ankle, around his shin, up his calf. He stops right below the back of his knee, right where the skin starts to get soft and ticklish. Mike jerks in a full-body twitch. “Will!”

“Sorry,” Will grins, not looking even a little bit sorry. “You’re right. It’s a cool scar.”

“Thank you,” Mike says, then pulls Will down onto him the rest of the way. Will lets out a small, startled little noise before catching himself, one hand on either side of Mike’s head.

“One of these days, you’re going to kill me,” he grumbles, easing himself down onto his side next to Mike, who gravitates towards the alluring warmth of his body like it’s a magnetic thing.

“If I knife you, you can also have a cool scar,” Mike mumbles, tucking his face into the hollow of Will’s throat. “We can match.”

“Are you going to get me in the leg too?”

“Nah,” Mike whispers. “It’s a cool scar, but it’s ugly. I wouldn’t want that on you.”

“It’s not an ugly scar on you,” Will says immediately. The sound reverberates through Mike’s body from where his ear is pressed up against Will’s sternum. “You wear it well.”

“What, like an accessory?” Mike laughs, turning and pressing a light kiss below Will’s Adam’s apple. 

Will hums appreciatively. “Sure,” he laughs. “You could make it work.”

“Not all of them,” Mike says, too distracted by the all-encompassing warmth of Will’s body to really be paying too much attention to what he’s saying.

Will pauses. He cranes his neck so he can see Mike, and says, “What?”

“My scars, I mean,” Mike yawns. It’s not that late– barely eleven– but it’s been a long day. He’s had a warm shower. He’s lying in bed with a very warm, very comfortable, very pretty boy, and things are starting to go a little hazy around the edges. “They’re not all that nice looking.”

Will doesn’t say anything for a moment. Mike listens to the faint, rhythmic sound of his pulse, eyes almost fluttering closed, when–

“Show me,” Will says.

Mike’s eyes fly open again. He frowns. “What?”

Will’s arms tighten around Mike’s shoulders. “You should show me,” he repeats. “If you want. I’d– I want to see.”

Mike is confused, a little. “What?” he says again. “Why?”

Will looks thoroughly baffled by the question. “Because they’re you,” he says, like this is obvious. “I don’t think there’s any part of you that’s not all that nice-looking.”

If Mike were even ten percent more awake, he’d try to protest. As it is, it’s taking most of his brainpower to even understand what Will is saying, but his brain-to-muscle communication must be better than he thought, because he’s tilting his face up before he can even register the action.

“Here,” he says, tapping at his chin with one hand. “Troy pushed me over at school. I hit my chin on a rock.”

The mark is mostly faded now, he knows, but it’s there if you squint, if you lean in and look real close. Will’s eyes dart down, then he hooks a careful finger around Mike’s chin, tilting his face upwards before pressing a kiss there, to the underside of his jaw. It’s light. Gentle. It sends Mike’s heart soaring anyway.

“You’re a sap,” Mike says, trying and failing to hide the violent red that his face is probably turning. “What was that?”

“You asked me to kiss it better,” Will says. “There you go.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “You’re about four years too late, okay?”

Will ignores him. “I like that one,” he smiles. “It’s cute. I can’t imagine your face without it.”

“It’s–! Okay,” Mike splutters, and Will laughs quietly. “Moving on.”

“Next one,” Will coaxes, but Mike shakes his head.

“Your turn.”

“What?”

“I can’t be the only one embarrassed here,” Mike says. He taps a finger against Will’s cheek. “Go on. Tell me your secrets.”

“Mike,” Will tries, but Mike fixes him with his best patented Mike Wheeler Look, and Will gives in. “You’re impossible,” he groans. “Anyone ever told you that?”

“Yeah,” Mike laughs, “you. Now come on! Tell me things about you!”

Will huffs and says, “You know everything about me,” which maybe is a little true, but it doesn’t mean Mike doesn’t like finding out stuff about him anyway. “And, uh, here,” Will is saying, tapping above his left eyebrow. “I ran into the doorway when I was six. My mom lost her shit. It wasn’t a lot of blood but I was a small kid so it looked a lot worse than it was.”

Mike’s first instinct is to laugh, which he does. He’s surprised at how it comes out– sharp, delighted. Happy, because this is one thing he hadn’t known about Will before that he does now. He can see the scar; it’s small and it’s faint, especially now that Will’s lost any vestige of a summer tan he might have had, but it’s there.

“It’s cute!” Mike runs the pad of his thumb along it, palm pressed up against Will’s cheek, then leans in, brushing his lips over the warm skin there before pulling it away. “There you go.”

If nothing else, at least Will is also turning a very entertaining shade of pink. “Who’s the sap now?”

“It was your idea,” Mike shrugs happily. He kisses Will there again, just because he can, more firmly this time. A proper forehead kiss, stroking one thumb gently under Will’s eyes. “Ta-da.”

“Idiot,” Will whispers fondly, but he holds loosely onto Mike’s wrist anyway, his own thumb rubbing loose circles on Mike’s knuckles. “Okay. Now you.”

“This feels like show and tell,” Mike says. “Like when we were in elementary school.”

“Sure,” Will giggles. “Okay. What did you bring to class today?”

Mike grins. “Um. Here.” He rolls up the sleeve of his t-shirt, points to a spot halfway between his shoulder and elbow. “From the mall. There was broken glass everywhere, so I’m honestly surprised this was it.”

Will is silent for a moment. He brings his hand up to Mike’s arm, runs his thumb back and forth over the small white line there. It’s not big, and Mike hadn’t even noticed it until his parents arrived, too hopped up on adrenaline to feel it. His mom had seen the blood and promptly freaked out. Privately, Mike had thought about Billy Hargrove and figured he should count his blessings.

“I wish you hadn’t gotten anything,” Will says. It’s quiet. Sad.

”Just cuts and scrapes,” Mike says, watching Will watch him. They’ve been through some shit. Cute and scrapes are unavoidable.

“It doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Will sniffs, leaning forward to press a kiss there too. His lips are warm against the cool skin of Mike’s arm, and he lingers for a moment, his hair brushing against Mike’s chin. He kisses him again, quick. “There.”

Mike wants to say something– anything– but he can’t be sure that whatever comes out of his mouth right now won’t be the most embarrassing thing he’s ever said out loud. Will has plenty of ammunition on him already, and Mike’s voice cracking in the middle of a sentence after Will kissed him– and not even on the mouth!– does not need to be added to the list. “Hey,” he whispers instead, and Will looks up. “It’s barely a scratch.”

Will rests his forehead against Mike’s. “Shut up,” he says, but there’s no bite to it. “I’ll worry if I want to worry.”

“It was years ago,” Mike protests. “It basically healed by the time we got home.”

“Don’t care.”

Mike sighs. He’s stubborn, but his boyfriend is almost more so, and one thing he knows now that he didn’t before is to cut his losses while he can. “Your turn,” he says instead, dropping a placating kiss on Will’s cheek.

Will makes a small, happy noise. “Um. I don’t know. I have this one here,” he points to the back of his hand, “from when Jonathan and I built Castle Byers. One of the branches was really sharp and– well, you know. It’s not even big. I don’t know why it left a scar.”

The funny thing is that Mike has seen these before, but it’s not really something he notices. Little marks, littered over Will’s body– maybe it’s a testament to how long Mike spends just looking at him, but in his head, these are all just Will. He’s so used to them that it rarely occurs to ask where they’d come from. They’re just Will.

“I think it’s charming,” Mike decides, and Will lets out a small snort of laughter. 

“Charming? Really?”

“Yes,” Mike says, “because then I can do this.” He brings Will’s hand up to his face, brushes his lips across the back of his knuckles, and bites back a laugh at the way Will immediately turns extremely pink.

“You are so, so ridiculous,” Will gets out. “Charming? Seriously?”

“Yes,” Mike says again. “You heard me.”

He’s still holding Will’s hand, and he’s not very inclined to let go, so he slots their fingers together and squeezes, once.

“Ridiculous,” Will repeats, but it’s weaker this time. “Now you.”

“Um,” Mike balks. Any semblance of brainpower he gathered up for their conversation so far is rapidly being washed away, every second he spends with Will pressed up against him like this rendering him even more incoherent. He fights back a yawn, and is mostly successful when he says, “I can’t remember.”

“You can’t– okay,” Will laughs. He kisses Mike on top of his head. “Go to sleep, then.”

Mike shakes his head. “Go again. I want to hear.”

“You just want to kiss me,” Will mutters. “You have an agenda.”

Mike grins shamelessly, despite himself. “Maybe.”

“I don’t know,” Will admits. He runs a hand down Mike’s back and then pulls him in until their bodies are flush. “I don’t know what else there is.”

Mike yawns again. “I do,” he whispers, then taps a cautious hand against Will’s side, right against his ribs. “Here.”

Will stops. Takes in a soft, sharp breath. “Right.”

“Sorry,” Mike backtracks immediately, pulling his hand away. “You don’t have to talk about that one, I was just–”

But Will just shakes his head. “No, it’s okay,” he says, lips moving gently over the top of Mike’s hair as he talks. “I just– you already know about that one. And I thought we were talking about the cute little scars, you know. Like, the silly ones.”

“I’m glad my chin got all banged up just for you to think it’s cute and silly,” Mike huffs. And then, “Seriously. You don’t have to.”

“Well, there’s nothing I can say that you don’t know,” Will says, twitching slightly as Mike’s fingers dip under the hem of his borrowed t-shirt. The scar there isn’t big at all, but Mike can feel where the skin goes smooth under his fingertips. He’s seen it– he wasn’t there when it happened but he knows what it looks like. Will hadn’t said anything until they’d gone swimming at the lake that summer– tugging his shirt off and not giving it a second thought until Mike’s eyes had nearly popped right out of his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, instead of bringing up any of that. “That it happened to you.”

“Don’t be,” Will says immediately. Mike tucks his face further into the curve of Will’s neck. “I’m glad she got it out.”

Mike hums in unsatisfied relent. “Still. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Will whispers. “Thank you.”

“I’d kiss it better but that requires a lot of moving,” Mike says, punctuating his point with yet another yawn. Will makes a quiet noise of amusement above him. “But it’s cool. I can be flexible.”

“What are you–” Will starts, before Mike cuts him off, leaning up and off the pillow to catch his lips in a kiss.

“See,” Mike whispers, smiling. “I can make do.”

“With every passing second, I become more convinced that this was a scheme,” Will sighs.

“So no kiss?”

“I didn’t say that,” Will says, then leans back in, tilting Mike’s head back until he’s lying against the pillow again, hand still splayed across his lower back. It’s warm, and it’s soft, and it’s–

“Wow,” Will says. “I’m sorry, Mike, am I boring you?”

“No,” Mike says, around yet another yawn. “I’m not even–”

“You are so even,” Will laughs, then pulls away. “Sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Mike hums, then kisses Will again. Just for the hell of it. “I know you’re not.”

[takitori67]

In spite of everything,

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

I've been seeing this reels or tiktok videos about people who are so disarming face-wise or vibe-wise which causes random strangers to tell them all their secrets or trauma dump to them, so imagine a reader like that who's an executive of one of the toxic gangs in Tokrev like Kanto Manji/Tenjiku/Bonten. You're so disarming that your allies or even enemies end up telling you about your recent breakup or trauma when you didn't even do anything. You're just there like: 😀😀😀???

However, I can see your fellow executives encouraging it because of the useful information. Koko likes the idea of spending less money on informants, the Haitanis love the tea, and if you're in a gang with more ambitious people like Izana and Kisaki they'll weaponize you 💀.

Lmao oh the poor reader who ends up in that situation. They just want to hang out and have a good time but instead they keep learning everyone's darkest secrets...

The first time you meet Izana is in the orphanage, he's new but is immediately drawn to you. You feel safe to him, different then how the others feel so of course he declares you as his servant right away. You felt a bit offended by that at first but went along with him anyway.

During the day time when the other kids are around, he's strong, a king. But when it's just the two of you he tells you everything. How alone he is, how much he misses his mum and Emma, how scared he is here. You just listen and hug him through it all, telling him it'll be ok.

He introduces Kakucho to you when he arrives, Kakucho who's just been told to forget his parents. That night, after Izana falls asleep, Kakucho breaks his word to Izana. Telling you all about his parents and what happened, about how he agreed to be Izanas servant too and about how he doesn't know what to do anymore. You soothe his fears and tell him that you'll be here for him too, the three of you together.

Over the next few years the three of you grow up together, following Izana. He founds the 8th gen black dragons but keeps the two of you away from it.

You're there for him when he finds out the truth about Shinichiro, you watch as he throws things around, smashing them and yells. Watch as he runs out of energy and ends up crying into your lap and chest. You're not entirely sure what to say in this situation but comfort him the best you can. He ends up falling asleep on you and you sit there, wondering what will happen next.

He threatens you when he wakes up, he does it often. He'll let you see his emotions then threaten you to never tell anyone about it. Though you both know he's bluffing, he couldn't hurt you.

Shinichiro dies and that terrifies you because Izana shuts down. It's the first time he won't talk or let his feelings out. You and Kakucho do your best to care for him but you can see it's not helping, nothing is changing, not until he arrives...

Kisaki is a strange boy. One minute he looks at you with warmth, like you remind him of someone or something else then the next he's glaring at you like he hates you. He refuses to be left alone with you, it's almost like he's afraid of something.

Izana invites you to join tenjiku, he wants you there and says you can be very helpful for him. Of course yoy say yes, you're just happy to see him like his old self again. But...things are different this time. He's back to opening up to you, emotions spilling out before he can stop them but you can tell he's holding something back.

You get to finally meet the others, the S62 members you've heard so much about. Shion immediately takes a shine to you, introducing himself and bragging about his past achievements, asking you if you want to see him fight. Mochi soon shoves him out of the way to introduce himself, he shakes your hand and says he looks forward to working with you. He seems so genuine in his words that you can't help but smile back. The Haitani brother's approach you from either side, slinging their arms around you and "welcoming you".

You think you've got them all figured out until that night and the next day. All four of them end up seeking you out alone and spending some quiet time with you. Telling out their insecurities and ambitions, letting you see more of them. All of them laugh it off after, saying they were just kidding around but you could tell they meant it.

After that you all fall into a comfortable routine of preparing to attack toman. The Haitani brother's want to know the latest gossip, Kakucho tells you about his worries for Izana, Mochi and Shion work with you, helping you get to people who's secrets tenjiku wants and Izana still confides you but without giving you details.

The day you attack toman, you're paired up with Shion. You have a good and bad cop kinda routine, where Shion beats them then you kindly help them back up and take care of their wounds. They spill all kinds of secrets to you while you help them. Everything from the structure of toman, to it's meeting spot, to it's members.

You meet Mucho and Sanzu later, the meeting itself is very formal but once again they seek you out later. Mucho get's onto the subject of Mikey and let's it slip about his guilt of choosing Izana. You're about to try comforting him when he realises what he just says and quickly leaves. Leaving you alone with Sanzu...

"What are you?" You flinch slightly when he speaks, forgetting he was even there. He tilts his head at you, curious as to why Mucho just told you that, why he let his guard down around you. More importantly he wonders if you could be helpful for other people, a way of being able to read what Mikey's thinking and what he wants. He walks away without another word, instead planning.

You meet Koko the next day, he's still hurt from Mucho and no ones even offered him any first aid. You sigh and fix him up yourself, he watches you intensely the whole time before muttering that someone called Inupi normally does this for him. He practically gives you his life story after you ask who that is, even Akane's name slipping out. You're both horrified after, Koko realising what he just said and you after hearing such a sad story. You're not sure what to say next so you tell him about your own childhood. The two of you end up as friends by the end of the day.

You're in your room one day when Kakucho suddenly barges in, frantically talking about a murder and how sorry he is for not telling you sooner. Your blood runs cold as you ask him to explain. "Kisaki and Izana planned what????"

You run to Izana after that, need to talk him, need him to explain. He must be so lost after that so he needs someone to talk to right?

Someone grabs you before you can climb up the stairs to him. Hanma. He has you by the waist, stopping you from interrupting Kisaki and Izana's conversation. Refusing to let you stop Izana from falling further into darkness and ruining Kisaki's plans.

You next see Izana at the docks, getting ready for the fight. He refuses to even look at you, too focused on the fight and Mikey then his own emotions. Instead you stand next to Kakucho, waiting for all this to be over so you can be alone with Izana.

Kakucho tells you to stay on the shipping containers while the fight goes on, you promise to stay and not move.

You nearly break your promise a few times, when you see each of the S62 fall or when Koko starts getting upset but you listen to Kakucho.

It's not until Izana starts losing it and arguing with Kakucho that you hastily climb down, running to him. But you never reach him.

Instead you see Kakucho get shot, you try to run to him, to get in front of him but someone catches your arm. Turning around, you see Sanzu stopping you from getting closer. Time slows down after that, Izana gets shot, the gun falls to the floor, Sanzu let's you go and you fall to your knees beside Izana and Kakucho.

You frantically try to stop the bleeding but Izana grabs your hands instead, holding them. Telling you his emotions for the last time and letting the rest of his secrets slip out. Kakucho reaching out to do the same.

You're not sure how long you kneel there, they both stopped talking already and you know they're both gone, telling yourself that you're imagining the warmth in Kakucho's fingers.

The Haitani brother's help you up but they don't keep you with them, instead guiding you over to Koko and telling the two of you to run.

The next day you wake up at Koko's apartment, where you hear the news. Running to the hospital you practically launch yourself into Kakucho's arms. This time you both tell your secrets, helping each other to cope with the loss of Izana and talking through it together.

When he's released from the hospital, you go to meet him so you can both pay your last respects to Izana. Then you both head to your apartment, looking after each other....at least until a tall man arrives months later looking for both of you.

[mjtheartist04]

Choso sketch✨

[allamericanb-tch]

HELP ok do i text him or not

[ruvviks]

"The outer reaches of space remain unexplored by humankind to this day, but its greed is relentless. We grasp and yearn and hunger for knowledge— answers to questions we cry out into the endless void expecting to understand, expecting the stars to respond. The stars will not, but one day something else will— and we will not like what it has to say." — Rome Solomon, Beyond the Exosphere (1965)

taglist (opt in/out): @shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart, @vvanessaives, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman, @celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister, @killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree

[cathalbravecog]

first thing i drew on my new tablet to test it out is the tv beast themselves