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#sometimes i just want fluff
qu0rky · 5 months
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shipping radiostatic feels so nice when you don’t have bitches in your ears saying shit like “radiosilence is better” “VoxVal is better” “and then Alastor left for 7 years” or turning fluffy radiostatic posts violent for no reason. You’re not funny, it’s annoying. Let people enjoy stuff that isn’t hurting anyone.
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lightbulb-warning · 2 months
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napscallions
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yayll · 1 month
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~ a little something about waking up next to Dazai, and he's unbearable as always ~
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"I might just eat you alive..." He mumbles to himself, barely audible. His eyes are half-lidded, and he's barely blinked.
He's been watching you sleep next to him curled up like a kitten for the past hour, way past the time you usually wake up. He's the oversleeper, not you, and it makes him hyper aware of your bodily functions and if they're okay. He hasn't eaten properly in days, but you don't need to know that. He's rabid, and he knows he's being a total freak right now, but who will worry for you if not for him? He must rise up to be the voice of reason, the watchful eye that keeps you on track even if he can barely keep himself alive! He wishes you'd stay forever, where he could avoid his problems and take care of your every single need. He should be everything you need... He hopes. Then you'd never leave, and he would make sure to eat more, just for you. How perfect... selfish.
God, he just wants to crawl inside of you and make you his home, it's almost pathetic. You'd find him vile for the things he would do for you and your happiness, despite you already being so accepting of his dark past... You're simply heaven sent. He takes a deep breath, and lightly runs his knuckles down your jawline, as if carving them out of the precious material that you're made of. You begin to stir, and his pupils dilate instantly as he pulls back with anticipation.
"Mmm... Osamu..."
You murmur sleepily as your chest rises up and down ever so slowly. He's freaking out. It's bad for his health to hear the way you say his name as if it were a healing oath, a spell that only works on him.
"Wakey wakey~"
Dazai's propping himself up on one elbow, a calculating smile plastered on his lips as if he were in on something you weren't. You pop open one eye, and groan softly.
"You're up... early"
"Yes!"
"Why..." You yawn like the silly little thing you are. He gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest.
"Can't a fortunate guy like ME just be happy that we both live to see another beautiful day?!"
He winks, and boops the tip of your nose, this gets a muffled snort out of you that causes you to bury your face into the pillow. He's addicted to the rush of causing any joy in your life, it's disgusting. When you don't lift your face back up, he scrunches up his face, and reaches out to stroke a strand of your silky hair, but his intrusive thoughts win and he tugs on it as payback for possibly falling asleep again. He needs your attention, and you're sleeping? Insanity. You swat at him, blindly smacking his arm away.
Oh, how he loves that you're the only person who truly sees him past his myriad of theatrics.
"Oh my... a slap from you feels wonderful!"
He rubs his arm, and grabs the hand that swatted him, bringing it up to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Feather like kisses, almost undetectable... until you lift your face up from the pillow, finally.
He gazes at you as he rubs his face onto your hand like a cat greeting its owner, purring as if he were starved for affection. For a moment, his gaze becomes more serious, detached, as if he were thrown back into a distant memory. He can't describe the feeling, but the way your hand feels against his cheek is a warmth he hasn't felt in ages. His eyes sting, and he blinks the wetness away before you can notice as he hears your angelic voice again. He's back to his usual self.
"Osamu... You're being annoying"
"You think I'm just annoying?~"
His voice comes out in a tender whisper, his mouth curled up into a mischievous grin. He's insufferable. He could be anything for you if you wanted it. Especially annoying! He almost drools when you roll your eyes affectionately at him, the coldness in his heart disappears as he leans in just a little, invading your personal space as always, eager to hear your reply.
"Amongst other things, yes..."
You flash him a sweet little smile, and it mends all that is wrong in the world. The pink in your cheeks is starting to turn red, and it sends him to the moon. He hums, slowly nuzzling himself into the crook of your neck, it's his turn to curl up. You run your fingers through his messy hair that tickles you, feeling the warmth of Dazai's breaths against the back of your ear.
"Hmm, do I look like a pillow to you?"
He can hear the smile in your murmur, and he pulls back from your neck briefly, peering at you through his messy bangs, those intense hazelnut eyes demanding your attention, and his voice drips with an aching devotion that oozes like honey. he moves his lips to your ear, and whispers.
".. You look like an angel to me."
He watches you self destruct at his painfully smooth delivery of a compliment, and secretly rewards himself for once again giving you another reason to never leave. He's got it all!
Romance, self deprecating humor, an inability to properly process his emotions and grief, but more importantly, an undying commitment to stay alive against all odds so that he may see another day of you in his arms... or you helping him change his bandages... or-
He's cut short by you grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him into the most sinfully delicious kiss known to man, and he could swear that despite all his efforts, this might be what ACTUALLY kills him.
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slavhew · 3 months
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i reread this scene and i could just. picture it. so vividly.
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bread-wizards · 1 month
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I actually think Dorian and Orym should fight more.
Remember when their slowly building tension over and entire episode (full of passive aggressive remarks and blame throwing) led to threats? And how after, Orym thanked Dorian for handing over the crown sadly because he knew Dorian would be mad at him? And Dorian couldn't even look at him because he was legitimately hurt, thinking Orym was disappointed in him for doing what he thought was right? That was peak.
The fact they went from that to their current closeness and trust is the best part of their entire dynamic. Their relationship was hard fought and still will be. They will fight for it because they respect and care for one another deeply, and their disagreements don't change that, only improve it.
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musubiki · 10 months
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hidden mochi snuggles because lime cant help himself
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fosermi · 1 month
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I've been in a mood recently :)
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last one was inspired by an idea that @chaospears and I have been throwing at each other all day, in which sonic takes arrow out to vandalize stuff :D
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mercisnm · 1 month
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Some spellwork has gone horribly wrong and turned Tissaia into her 5 years-old self (oh no!). Yennefer is experiencing mixed emotions about this, though mostly overly protectiveness over tiny—, well, even-tinier-than-usual Tissaia.
(Tiny Tissaia done after a Manet's print)
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keydekyie · 4 months
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Ruyak being a pest (again)
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palskippah · 25 days
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*Slaps some Los Angeles Azules on this married-divorced couple* WOOO
Hi!
I was listening to this song the other day and thought about making a stupid thing with Comic Ambrosius sitting in a plastic chair with a bottle (of alcohol) in hand with colorful lights like a party- but I drew this comic instead where nothing happens and it's just Ambrosius looking at Ballister jskdsj
I didn't give myself much time to draw it bc I got stuff to do (pipipi) but it's colorful and that's all that matters to me ajskd
Under the cut there's the first idea and other things too c:
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HC that Ambrosius listens to vieja culia's (HC 2 that he's a thirty-something vieja culia too) music and drinks Gato Negro wine and cries for Ballister while regretting his life choices from fifteen years ago
BTWW I wrote down this idea aksjdsaj I hope it makes sense, also I base every single thing I make for them on the few first chapters I read of the comic on internet, so- you know🧍 each number is supposed to be a panel wiii
It's based over that moment in the Good Place where Michael's like 'what am i supposed to say-?' and then says all he has done wrong, and Chidi's like, yeah, exactly that. And so, Michael apologies for real and he confesses he's scared and waa (I think, i haven't rewatched the show in a while pipipi)
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I swear that I had thought of something deeper but then I forgot to write it down at the moment and had to improvise now ajsdkadj Curse my terrible memory.
Anyways, maybe Ballister's getting the apology he wanted but he hates Ambrosius so much and has so much resentment that his apology just makes him angrier- in a Yeah, you should hate yourself, I'm glad you do way, but he still feels like weird bc the guy's apologizing, and he has fondness for Ambrosius despite everything, so he's like 🧍
(HC that he is very resentful and is very hurt/upset that it took Ambrosius so long to dignify himself to apologize?)
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I love them so much your honor
By the way, I didn't know Comic Ambrosius was a tad bit shorter and I love that fact 10/10
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friendly-alien-fucker · 9 months
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Cultural Differences
Warnings: non-sexual nudity, fluff
Pairing: yautja x gender neutral! reader
Summary: the beach episode, your yautja and you go for a swim and some shenanigans happen.
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For hunters who regularly, and quite literally, bathed in the blood of their enemies, yautia were surprisingly hygienic.
It was one of the first things you noticed when you agreed to explore the galaxy with your lover. They could be rolling around in mud, get beaten up and bruised with blood running down their mandibles, but they always returned home to you clean and smelling completely neutral.
It was pleasant, really. Seeing as you'd already made peace with saying goodbye to your sense of smell when you met them, having only known them as sludge-covered barbarians back then.
You smiled softly as you admired your body in the one-piece bathing suit and swimming trunks you'd picked for today. There were many things you didn't know about their species, in fact you still find yourself surprised by the gentler aspects of their society.
Mothers asking politely if their pups could touch your odd-looking dreads, elders stopping in their tracks to tell you you did a good job when they see the small rodent skulls you cleaned up and hung on your belt, or that group of overconfident youngbloods that promised to teach any yautja that decided your inferior strength was grounds to get touchy a lesson. 
Their species was full of unexpected kindness. And the reason you were getting ready for a swim today was proof of it.
Yautja Prime, their home planet, wasn't quite what humans would call idyllic. The atmosphere was dense and hard to breathe in, the ground rocky with little vegetation. You'd compare it with a desert, except unlike a desert, their planet had a vast amount of water, stored in vulcano-like craters.
Only problem is, the temperature there is just barely below the boiling point of water. Way too hot for any human.
So after complaining to your mate for the upteenth time, they decided to surprise you with a little trip to another, much cooler planet. Your concerns about deadly creatures lurking being quickly shut down when they told you it was a place often sought out by elders to relax after they were done hunting.
So now all you had to do was pack your few things and board the small freighter you and a few other Yautja would be flying to get there.
The thought unnerved you a little, being so close to a bunch of strange Yautja, especially since your mate would be waiting on the planet already and therefore couldn't protect you if something happened. But even through your innate fear, you knew those thoughts were stupid.
These were trusted elders, not only were their hunting days over, but they would never bother trying to take down a lone, unarmed human. Especially since you were basically trapped, with nowhere to run or hide, and therefore way too easy prey, if they could call you prey at all.
So you grabbed your small bag full everything you'd need on your trip and made your way through the long halls until you reached a much smaller ship.
Standing a little further off, you watched as different Yautja conversed with each other and walked on board, feeling your dread rise regardless of wether it was logical or not.
You tried to make out what they were saying, but despite living amongst their people for a while now, their language still only sounded like random clicking to you. You sighed.
"Okay?" a deep voice interrupted your solitude.
You flinched as a big hand grasped at your shoulder, quickly disappearing at your reaction. "Sorry."
It was another Yautja, seemingly a little older than your mate, adorned with battle scars and markings and missing a tusk. Their voice sounded stiff and robotic, like they learned their English from computer recordings, which wasn't too odd. Many youngbloods had started to learn human languages to aid the relationship between your two species.
Which made you silently wonder why this elder was learning it. Regardless, you bowed your head respectfully, and used your basic knowledge in ASL to greet them. Hearing their rapid clicks, you couldn't help but crack a smile.
"Heeelo, hello." They huffed, placing their hand on your chin to make you look up at them. When you faced them again, their mandibles were spread widely - something you've come to understand as a smile of their own.
"Ooman. I know your language, speak with me." They growled, and you nodded sheepishly. Apparently learning the best through doing is a universal experience.
And like that, your little trip seemed just a little less terrifying.
Nin'tui, as you'd gotten to know them, had shared with you stories of their greatest hunts, occasionally switching to sign language when their English wasn't enough. And while, as expected, the other elders on the ship were less enthusiastic about your stay, they didn't bother to complain. There were even a few who'd join in to chat about their own battles and the planet you were about to visit.
All in all, the trip was less unnerving than you'd thought, and a lot shorter too. Your sense of time wasn't the best up in space, but you could swear it wasn't longer than two hours until the ship gradually slowed, before setting down onto rich brown earth.
Once you set your eyes on the surrounding scenery, you couldn't get out of the shuttle fast enough. If not for your traveling companion, you would've probably been scolded for the amount of Yautja you almost tripped by running outside as fast as you did. But there was no helping it- blue skies! Brown earth! And, most importantly, air that you could actually breathe in!
And when your feet finally hit the ground you couldn't help but let out a long and joyous laugh. "Aaaaaah, I can't believe we're actually here!"
"Believe it." a way too familiar voice called from behind you, making you spin around to throw yourself at them in excitement.
Without flinching, they simply caught you, holding you high in their arms as you all but assaulted their face with kisses and thank you's. Or at least that's what the other yautja must've thought, muttering amongst themselves as if they were viewing something scandalous, a few stepping closer to get a better view of the strange ritual.
But your mate simply purred, leaning into your affection as their voice rumbled against you "You should wait to express your gratitude until you've seen the waters!" they laughed, and you shook your head as you gave them a last kiss between the eyes.
"I'm just so happy to be here! Just look!" you jumped out of their arms, gesturing towards the fields of flowers "this planet is beautiful! Almost reminds me of some corners of earth..."
You smiled at the thought, and they chuckled as they put a large hand on your back. "We should walk with the others, the waters are not far."
And so the two of you walked slowly behind the larger group of yautja, them slowing their pace to match yours as you cheerfully took in your surroundings. Beautiful was truly the right word for it.
Tall grass with taller flowers that swayed gently in the wind, going on for kilometers until reaching a distant forest, that you imagined to be just as wonderful.
After about 30 minutes of walking, elongated by your habit of stopping to sniff every alien plant you could reach, you finally made it to the lake. About 500 meters of fresh water that seemed to almost glow in the sunlight.
Standing in awe, you barely registered your mate sliding your backpack down your shoulders and throwing it to the side. It was only when you felt a claw tug at your shirt that you snapped out of it, matching their equally confused expression.
"Don't you want to swim?" They asked, and you chuckled at the misunderstanding.
"Oh, yeah. These are my swimming clothes." you explained, yet their expression didn't seem to lighten.
"No, no. Swimming." they accentuated their words, pointing towards the water as if you simply didn't hear them the first time.
You nooded, dumbfounded, "Yes. Swimming." but as they continued to stare at you like an alien (heh), you shook your head "just- here, come on."
You took their hand, leading them towards the water and to your relief they followed without complaint. At the edge of the lake, you grinned up at them excitedly, before taking a leap, splashing them with the surprisingly mild-temperature water.
Though as you came to the surface and brushed your wet hair out of your face, you were not faced with the annoyed yet amused expression you'd expected on your mate, not that you were registering their expression at all since seeing them stand there in all their naked glory practically fried your brain within seconds.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" you yelled, making them jump slightly and their mandibles flare.
"What?" they asked, way too calm for your taste.
"You're naked!" you whisper-yelled, and they simply nodded, before jumping into the water next to you.
"Yes. Swimming." They repeated your words back to you with a very deadpan expression.
"But- love, no!" you were furious as you tried to explain this to them "We're not alone out here there are oth-" but as you looked to gesture at the others around you, you were met with even more naked yautja, unashamedly bathing in the sun.
Blood rushing to your face, you try to cover it with your hands, glad to be able to stand at this point in the water. You felt a hand lay itself on your shoulder.
"I'm sorry. Are you okay?" your mate asked quietly, bending down to meet you eye-to-eye. "I didn't know you'd be bothered by this. You were fine with me disrobing, I thought..."
You simply shook your head at them, forcing yourself to be a grown up and pry your hands from your eyes. "No...no." you sighed "I'm fine."
"But a warning would've been nice, I uhm..." you couldn't help but grin at your own embarrassment "I-I guess I just didn't expect to ever see any nude yautja aside from you, you know?"
Thankfully they didn't seem to judge you for it though, as they simply looked at you with that ever present curiosity. "Humans arent nude around each other?"
"We are but....usually just around friends and family, you know." you bite your lip as you dare take another glance at your surroundings "and usually only around our own species."
You can see them nodding from the corner of your eye, "I understand." yet something still seems to bother them.
"You are free to do as you please, however... you always encourage me to partake in your culture. Perhaps you should try and see this as an opportunity to partake in mine."
Their words stung. They were said without pressure or malice, a simple suggestion- but it stung. They had always gone out of their way to make you the most comfortable, this trip was proof of it, and you liked to think you were doing the same for them.
But were you?
"But what if they'll look?" you asked, your face still a shade darker just at the thought. "Then let them look." they replied in earnest "You are very attractive. Let them see what they don't have."
And people did look.
Though, to your surprise, no more than they usually do. Seeing a human walk around and do human things could only get so exciting you guessed, and nudity truly was natural to them.
Over time and with a little coaxing you were even comfortable enough to briefly leave the water, if only to get your towel and wrap it around yourself.
Letting yourself relax in the sun that, even hours later, didn't appear to go any lower, you're interrupted by the low purring of your mate. Smiling, you turn to face them.
"Thank you for bringing me here," you begin, only for them to interrupt "Thank you for coming. And," they truly seem grateful as they incline their head "thank you for 'stepping out of your comfort zone.'"
You chuckle at the human idiom. "My comfort zone is wherever you are." you say earnestly, and they simply purr louder in response.
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whoopssteddiefeels · 1 year
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Penny in the Air
Robin is a lot of things: judgey, hyperactive, anxious, impulsive, talkative, loud- there’s a list okay, and she’s very familiar with it. High up the list is that she is very, very gay (if possible, she’s pretty sure she’s actually getting gayer. She blames Steve for this, as she’s pretty sure it has to do with being able to finally talk about her crushes to someone other than her reflection.)
The point is, she’s gay, so she’s not surprised that she notices first. The Steve-Eddie thing. Because it is, in fact, a thing at this point.
She knows Eddie is gay- knows it like the sky is blue and David Bowie rocks- because of, y’know, the way he is (if she had any doubt, the way he leaned in while calling Steve “big boy”, ew, killed it dead.) Her research suggests this is “gaydar,” but its very unfair, she thinks, that so far it has only detected exactly (2) gays, both men, making it pretty much useless. It has given her exactly 0 information on Vickie.
She empathizes with Eddie’s position. Feels it pang under her sternum when his eyes go soft watching Steve talk emphatically, hair flopping around in that ridiculous way it does. Knows how it must catch in his throat when his hand suddenly retracts halfway to Steve’s shoulder, going to his own hair to cover the aborted movement. Tries hard to not over-identify with the sharp tug he gives there, trying to snap himself out of it (fails because she did literally exactly that when Vickie was in the video store the previous day, almost as if he had seen and copied the mechanism).
The part of the puzzle she can’t figure out is Steve. She’s annoyingly aware that he likes (groan) boobies, thanks Fast Times, and he isn’t treating Eddie like a girl whose number he’s trying to score. That being said, whenever the older boy appears, Steve lights up like a damn Christmas tree. Affection doesn’t have to be romantic; she knows this- wants to hit several of the kiddos over the head with it whenever they allude to her dating Steve- but empathy for Eddie is tinting her judgement, and once you put on the gay rose-tinted glasses it’s hard to unsee the possibility. It certainly seems like flirting. Rearranging his hair every three seconds, drawing Eddie’s eyes to the mane that is his pride and joy. Getting what she can only describe as unnecessarily close when he squeezes by Eddie in the video store aisles or whoever’s living room they’re sprawled in, hands brushing a shoulder, back, or one time his hip under the pretense of maintaining balance. The soft blush whenever Eddie flirts hard in a way he knows can be passed off as a joke. The honest megawatt smile Steve gets whenever Eddie starts in on his usual antics is infinitely more endearing than the smolder he’s learned to use like a weapon.
She usually knows exactly what Steve is thinking or feeling before he does. They’ve got that whole platonic soul mate telepathy thing, and he’s easily the center of her social world. So, since she can’t tell what he’s thinking (other than the obvious but unhelpful “Eddie, yay!”), she’s 99.9% sure, from experience, ok, that it means he isn’t thinking. Like at all. So, what she’s witnessing is instinctive, his body just moving into Eddie’s space because it feels correct, and he hasn’t paused to think about it.
             He’s walking that line of comfortable and affectionate that is ambiguously intimate. Could be platonic, could be more. It would be frustrating for anyone with a crush, but she knows from bitter experience with straight-girl crushes that Eddie must be going insane. And yes, Robin and Eddie are friends, but not close enough for her to open a conversation with “So you’re obviously gay and into Steve, my best friend who I talk to every second of every day, and no he hasn’t mentioned it, and neither have I. What’s up with that?” Similarly, she can’t quite figure out how to bring it up to Steve without accidentally outing Eddie in the process.
That’s the main reason she’s keeping her mouth uncharacteristically shut on the subject. She is not, however, above the occasional raised eyebrow, ok, especially as Eddie’s flirting slowly becomes ridiculously obvious. The man is literally leaning on the counter, chin on his hand, mooning up at Steve through his eyelashes. Steve has his hip propped on the opposite side, leaning into the shared space. How are either of them this oblivious, seriously.
~*~
She’s there when the penny finally drops.
They’re not even watching a romantic movie, it’s fucking Life of Brian, all three of them calling out their favorite lines along with the actors, throwing things and generally goofing off. If she takes the armchair to force the boys together on the couch, she doesn’t think anyone can blame her. If she’s feeling a little smug that they both sit in the middle, right next to each other, instead of taking opposite ends, she keeps it to herself. She might not want to stick her foot right in the middle of that mess, but she’s not above setting booby traps.
Robin couldn’t tell you exactly when Steve’s arm went around Eddie’s shoulder; it was somewhere between Eddie practically climbing into Steve’s lap for a “Biggus Dickus” re-enactment, the closeness and flirting safely enveloped in humor, and Steve attempting to force Eddie to “haggle” for the bag of chips. When she glances over from the safety of her armchair, Steve’s arm is trapped behind Eddie’s head, draped over his shoulder on the opposite side. Eddie, usually a constant ball of fidgety motion, is frozen stiff like he’s trying not to scare off a nervous rabbit. Even in the blue light coming off the screen she can see the flush coloring his usually nocturnal-pale cheeks.
The thing is, Steve had just discussed this move with her. Told her to invite Vickie to movie night, recommended light, easily joked off roughhousing and settling an arm around her in a way specifically gaged to judge the reaction. Which means he knows. No way he hasn’t finally figured out what his lizard brain has clearly been screaming for months (seriously, she deserves a medal. Someone tell her future girlfriends about her stamina), not with the way he’s twirling a soft brown curl around and around his finger. He must know Eddie can feel that. And oh. Steve is not-so-subtly glancing to his right, trying to gage that reaction like they discussed, to see if this is ok.
Yup. Robin needs to be literally anywhere else. She tries to be subtle (insert laugh here), muttering “bathroom” and legging it out of the room, seeking the safety of the kitchen. She wasn’t worried though- odds are she could start playing trumpet and those two wouldn’t hear it past the tension of the moment.
 ~*~
In addition to gay, Robin is also easily bored. She hums along to “Always look on the bright side of life,” drifting in from the living room, crunching on some peppery crackers she found in a cabinet in a way that vaguely matches the song’s rhythm. She would just leave the boys to whatever they were going to do (yuck, don’t think about it), but unfortunately the two people most likely to give her a ride home were occupied (seriously, no thinking about it). She’d held out for as long as she could, really, but if the movie was ending, surely she had given them enough time?
Hoping she wasn’t going to regret it, she peaked out of the kitchen, and was relieved to see that 1) everyone still had clothes on and 2) Steve and Eddie were cuddling. Fucking finally.
“SO, BOYS,” she boomed (remember loud is on the list of things she is), trying not to enjoy the way two ridiculous heads of hair jumped and then shifted away from one another anxiously. “Who finally lost the longest game of gay chicken I’ve ever seen?”
Steve’s head makes an audible thump as it drops against the back of the couch, hands coming up to rub at his face as she rounds the furniture to face them, feeling deliciously smug. Eddie gave up any pretense and buried his face in Steve’s shoulder, sweater and hair completely hiding his face.
“Shut up Robin, go away,” Steve groans.
“Nope! This has been the slowest burn of all time, you guys were killing me. I have to balance it out by being just as insufferable.” she chirped, doing her best Steve impression, hands on her hips and eyebrow quirked.
“Technically, I would say we both won gay chicken since neither of us pulled back. No chickens here. Roosters only, in fact.” Eddie surfaces with a smug little smile, dimples on full display.
“Oh you’re definitely a cock Munson, I’ll give you that,”
“Don’t make me flip you the bird-”
“That’s a bit of ostritch-”
“Well toucan play at that game-”
“I’m so happy I like tits-“
“Why me?” Steve grumbled at the same time Eddie dropped his teasing tone to ask, “Wait what?”
“Me? Lesbian. You? Obviously gay. Steve has been flirting back at you for months you dingus.”
“I’ve been what?” Steve sits up straight, suddenly laser focused on Robin. “I have not. I only realized, like, a week ago-”
He was seriously going to be the death of her.
“Steve. Stephen. My guy. What would you say if I told you a girl had been giving me a hair show, the unnecessary squeeze-by, and big eyes? Consistently. For weeks.”
Eddie starts laughing. Then cackling. Steve went an even deeper shade of red, though she could tell this one was more indignant ruby than embarrassed scarlet.
“Thank you,” Eddie wheezed out, fighting down another fit, picking himself up from where he had slid down the couch. “Oh my god, thank you for fucking noticing that. He was wasn’t he? I thought it was just in my head, y’know, and Gareth always said I tend to imagine signs that aren’t there.”
“Oh I know, you think you have a hard time, girls are so physically affectionate platonically, it’s impossible to tell-”
“Ok. Done with this conversation!” Steve interrupted, standing up between the two of them, hands furiously combing through his hair.
Robin only grinned wider at Eddie. “So, Munson, care to give me a ride home?”
“You know, Buckley, I would be delighted.”
“Hey now-” Steve tried to interject as the two of them moved towards the door.
“Why thank you, kind sir.”
“Don’t mention it, fair lady. Your chariot awaits.”
“Wait, hang on, Eddie-” Steve’s tone shifted from confused to plaintive as she stepped out into the night. And she resolutely pretended to not hear Eddie’s reply before he closed the door behind them.
“Sit tight, big boy, I’ll be right back!”
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beanghostprincess · 9 months
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I think a very normal amount about Crocodile and Mihawk genuinely seeing Buggy's value. Genuinely appreciating his dream and his sense of adventure. Mihawk (bored-to-death swordsman who desperately needs something new) and Crocodile (the man who only cares about business because the last time he wanted something a kid with flip-flops sent him flying) seeing that the clown they're only using as bait and punching bag is actually the one with the biggest pirate heart. They realize he has charisma and followers for a reason and it's the fact that his "fake it til you make it" persona is actually built above his true dream. The words of fake confidence he speaks are actually words he genuinely wants to believe, but always fears will backfire because he doesn't have anything to rely on (unlike Shanks. Because even if Shanks doesn't need to rely on anything, he used to wear the trust and love of their captain in his head and everyone else supported him to be his legacy). So they end up seeing that they can do more with him. Together. Mihawk and Crocodile might have the money and the people but Buggy has the dream. They can go higher. They can be more than what they thought they were. Buggy shows them this side of himself between tears and sudden yelling and they have to admit that... They used to have dreams. Long forgotten ones. And okay, Buggy might not be the king of the pirates. They're so not saying that. But they can go higher.
They see this side of him and they never say it out loud (and even if they did, Buggy wouldn't even notice because he's busy begging them not to kill him. Which, y'know, fair) but something changes inside of them. Perhaps it's a faint, tiny sense of protectiveness. Maybe affection. Some type of appreciation they can't quite name because it would be too embarrassing for them to even say they care for this clown but- But it's there. Something.
So they keep Buggy around and he starts to feel less like a punching bag and more like somebody they care about. Kind of. And you know what? Maybe the damn clown can become the king of the pirates if he has already made the impossible happen once.
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nano30cm · 6 months
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ain't they cute?
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drarryruinedme7 · 2 years
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Harry looks sideways at Draco. They’re on their bed, ready to go to sleep.
Draco grabs his usual body cream from the nightstand, the coconut scented one. It’s the one with glitters in it.
You’re fifty, Draco.
So? Is there a law forbidding fifty year old people from using glittery body creams?
Harry would say that yes, there is, just to spite him, but not tonight.
Tonight, Harry shakes his head while he recalls every memory of their thirty years spent together. He smiles as he watches Draco spreading cream all over his legs, still so long, still so soft, still so hot.
“Thirty years,” Harry mutters.
Draco pauses for a second, legs glittering. “What?”
“I said —” Harry reaches out, traces an imaginary path down his husband’s shin. “I said — we’ve been together thirty years. That’s a long time.”
He knows he sounds sappy and he feels that too. His voice breaks and when a wicked smile appears on Draco’s face, Harry knows his mind is quickly filling with images from their shared years as well; of their fights, the first tentative and verymuchsecret dates, their first kiss, the many, many christmases, birthdays, lazy mornings spent in bed cuddling.
Draco covers Harry’s hand with his own. God. Harry knows everything about that hand; the small blue mole on the pinkie, the wrinkles time drew on it, the always, always, always, perfect nails.
“Are you trying to tell me it’s too much?”
“I’m trying to tell you,” Harry says, all too happy he’s now 100% able to discern Draco’s use of sarcasm-cause-I’m-embarrassed, “I still love you. More and more. Everyday. I look at you with your body cream and I just— love you so fucking much.”
Draco blushes. How is it possible to love someone so deeply after all this time?
“So sappy.” He turns back to his nightly routine. Looks at Harry out of the corner of his eye. “I love you too,” he murmurs.
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invinciblerodent · 9 months
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Another case of the "I'm not done"-s seems to have possessed me, because the immortality and rebirth of elven souls and this fucking elf/vampire!elf romance I'm doing right now is kind of ruining me.
Because, well... look.
This shit is ripe for angst.
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For so long, there is no real reason to think much about the passage of time. Death, it's but an abstract far in the future- a bridge to be burned when they get to it. It's easy enough to practically forget that mortality is a thing to account for: with both the endless stretch of centuries they have and her body as unchanging as his, that thought can be kicked further down the road for what feels like it might even be an indefinite amount of time. Their lives just inch along, endlessly, and twine together like the roots of an ancient forest, building around- and with one another. Friends come and go, live and die, and yet, every moment, every day, is permeated by the other's presence: even in their "sleep", they're reliving shared memories (there is scarcely another kind, by now) while holding one another.
Talking about which of their adventures they chose to remember in Reverie is one of his favorite parts of the night.
Until one evening, as she opens her eyes to greet both him and the nightfall with a smile, he catches... just the faintest opaque, silvery glint in her pupils. It's barely a flash, gone in an instant, as if it was merely a trick of the light, but the thought, like a pesky insect, begins buzzing in his head. It will not let him rest.
With this new thought gnawing at him, he can't not see that there's almost a... strange distance, to her now. Even with this hazy half-awareness, it would have slipped his note if he hadn't come to know her quite so intimately over the past half millenium, if he hadn't memorized her cadence and heard her every loving thought as if it was his own. But he's attuned to her: even as her fingers glide through his hair, and her lips speak her words of love like they have so many times before, the same words, they... ring slightly hollow, robotic, automatic in their sweetness now, and once the dreaded Sun begins inching over the horizon and he's forced back into the shadows once more, her kiss goodbye lingers just one second longer, she holds him just a touch tighter before she'd be out the door.
All day, he circles the darkened room like a trapped animal, mind flush with thoughts of robotic words, silver glints, and a creeping dread. Surely, it cannot be what he thinks. It cannot. It wasn't a half-moon, it's not the Transendence, it was merely a... a reflection off something, moonlight bouncing off a silvered picture frame, or the twinkle of a magelight lighting the street glancing through an improperly closed curtain, a... a stomach bug that she's toughing out and is too stubborn to say anything about, something. It cannot be what he thinks, fears that it was.
The day drags on, the hour he'd expect her back comes and then passes, and when she returns, it is closer to sundown than it normally would be. Usually when she must leave for the day, she tries to time her return so that they can rest together, and then emerge from their chambers at the exact moment of nightfall to maximize the amount of time shared, the time he can walk free with her on his arm, but today, she returns with darkness on her heels, and bittersweet sorrow marring her face.
"Arael, we need to talk," she says, and the beloved endearment in their shared native tongue, 'heart' and 'hearth', 'center' and 'lover' in a single word, turns to acid in his ears. Instantly, he knows what she's going to say.
"How long have you known." It's not a question in tone, only phrasing- the hiss of his own voice feels alien in his throat. "When were you planning on telling me."
"It's been... a few days."
A few days. A few days, she's been...! He can't bring himself to think the word 'dying'. He can't. His knees give way under the weight of her words, and he crumples onto the nearest chair.
"You.... should have told me right away." He wants so dearly to be furious. His hands itch to rip, to tear, to destroy everything, his tongue aches to spit bile that'd make her feel exactly the pain he does in this moment... Gods, it was so easy to grow complacent and start believing in forever, to stop counting the hours, the days, the years, and still, it's her godsdamned near-forgotten mortality that's come knocking-- now, that his life is inexorably intertwined with hers, that she's been the other half of his soul for long enough to see the birth and death of friends and enemies, the rise and fall of monarchs, nations. And yet, her life's thread is soon to be clipped, while his must stretch on, infinite.
He buries his face in itching palms and swallows the bile to make room for the flood of grief. "I could have prevented this," he whispers now, "We could have had the chance, at forever... forever, if I could have turned you, if only I had-- if I--"
A soft hand on his shoulder stills him now. "Arael," she repeats, and traces a line to his chin, gently urging him to look at her. "I could not have dreamed of a more blissful, blessed life, than the one I shared with you. But--"
"Don't say it!" She winces as he snaps, and his hand is now grasping her wrist, insistent, hard enough to almost hurt, as he presses her palm against his cheek. "Don't, it's not over yet-- she may be calling, but you don't have to answer, you can stay--"
"I can't, my love."
"But--!"
"Arvandor is calling my soul, Astarion. The Gate is open. Sehanine has shown me; I must answer."
"But not yet, there's still time, you--!"
Her thumb gliding feather-light over his lips cuts off his desperate shout. "I have time enough to get my affairs in order," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I can delay it no longer than maybe another tenday. For now, please... simply be with me."
~
That night, they make love. Tender, aching love that leaves them both tearful in one another's arms- his whole body shakes, racked with heavy sobs as he buries his face in her chest, as if that way he could melt into her, to keep her here, keep her safe, keep her for himself, or... or follow her, anchor his soul to hers, stow away and smuggle himself into the afterlife that rejected him, so they can be reborn together, find one another again, have another six hundred years, and another, and another...
Hopeless. A fool's desperation, no more. There's no tricking the Seldarine: he had rejected rebirth in favor of this wretched, eternal half-life the moment Cazador's fangs sunk into his flesh so long ago now, and his soul was rent from Arvandor. There's no changing that now, no fighting it, and no putting it off longer either. So he kisses her through the sobs once more, makes love to her once more, and drinks deep from her once more, willing his tongue to carve this memory of her taste, her essence, her love as deep into his mind as it may.
She takes the promised tenday to get her affairs in order, and to set up all that may only be done during sunlit hours: she organizes herself a nighttime funeral, arranges for her assets to be dealt with as she may, and makes sure to hold him tight, to mourn with him as if she herself wasn't the one dying. And each night, she speaks sweet, reassuring nonsense of the permanence of memory, of rebirth, and the aching, heartrending beauty of gentle endings.
And once no more minutiae is left to handle, there is no more delaying the inevitable.
She is laid to rest in a modest ceremony, in a small circle of trusted friends, under the light of a waning moon.
~
He mourns, bitter and alone, for years- barely leaving his chambers out of necessity, flitting through the nights as a ghost not entirely unlike the one he was so long ago, until one evening he wakes to find the pain... bearable. There will quite possibly never not be a wound on his soul now, but even the deepest wounds, they scar over: there's new, tender flesh, pink and gnarled, stretching over the void of her absence now. And life, it continues as it does, relentless.
Decades pass. The new flesh, it toughens, thickens, until it can scarcely be seen, unless you know where to look for it: the loss now lives only in the absent-minded seeking of her warmth in his cold slumber, in the automatic gesture of taking two wine glasses from the cabinet only to set one back down; it lives behind the locked door of her untouched workshop and in the slip of parchment left between the yellowed pages of the book she had never finished reading.
Until one evening, shortly after nightfall, there is a knock, hard and insistent, on the door.
His body redies itself for a fight, as if a hunter might be so bold as to announce their arrival- but curiosity, it's too hard to resist, and he scarcely makes an effort.
It's... an elf. But not any elf- a woman, younger, taller, and fuller in figure than she was, and her hair, it's a tightly curled warm chestnut rather than her blood-red waves, but it's unmistakable: her features, they are exactly the same. The same fire amber eyes, the same freckles dotting her cheekbones, even the same raised mark at the edge of her jaw that sits there like an insect had folded its wings and chosen to make its home on her skin. And the stranger speaks, with her voice, before he could find his own.
"So you do live!" she says, equal parts disbelieving and relieved, "Or, well, something like that. I could tell that you were a vampire, from the-" she gestures vaguely to his face, "-fangs and all, but I still wasn't sure I'd ever actually find you."
There's... a prickle of understanding. It's her, but... not quite. Her soul. Her, but born anew. And she returned in a way, to reminisce, to meet him once more- and his mouth opens, but the words, wary and elated and tender at the same time, get lost on their way to his lips.
It's an imperfect replica of her laugh that leaves the woman's mouth. "Gods, don't gape at me like a beached carp like that! I've been seeing nothing but your damn face in my trance for decades now; I was looking for you, hoping you could answer some questions I have." The familiar stranger flashes her mischievous smile. "Can I come in? I feel we have a lot to talk about."
~
There is no love in this. But, there's nevertheless something... bolstering, in the unique opportunity he can present to the new owner of her soul: the opportunity to get to know, truly know, who she once was. Halting and strange as it may be, they do talk quite a long time, and when she leaves, it's with gratitude, and a short, awkward, one-armed hug that she bids her farewell.
And time stretches, infinite yet again.
As long as he may live, her soul, it continues seeking his across however many lifetimes, until one day, the strange elf finds the door in their hazy memories hanging off its hinges, and the home, collapsed and empty, maybe for decades now.
Occasionally, it is still said that in each generation, there may very well be an elf born whose soul feels an irresistible need to make a curious, solitary pilgrimage to the ruins of a city once known as Baldur's Gate, and hope against hope to find a pale man with red eyes wandering the empty streets.
And maybe, a woman who had once lived there so many centuries ago was right: there's an aching, heartrending kind of beauty in that.
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