#this fic has HANDS

[thebirdsandthebats]

TIMBER FICLET

Bernard washes Tim’s hair for him.

(A little angst/fluff and hurt/comfort, mostly just these two being in love and domestic)

—————————————————

“Ow.”

The complaint is quiet. There’s no real fire behind Tim’s voice, more a sound made for the sake of breaking the silence than anything else. He doesn’t even wince as gentle fingers poke at the cut on his temple. He’s sitting in a dining chair, moved in front of the kitchen sink so Bernard can stand in front of him and clean up his cuts. Out of the two of them, it’s Bernard who hisses at the touch, looking a little queasy.

He still has it in him to steel Tim with an unimpressed look. “That didn’t hurt, so don’t pretend it did.”

Tim huffs out a laugh as the hand tilting his chin up moves to squeeze his cheeks. “Why do you look like you’re gonna be sick, then?” He asks, words muffled by his squished lips, and Bernard shakes his head. He releases Tim’s face in favor of picking up the damp rag and dabbing again at the cut. It stings, but not bad. Bernard has already gotten all the grit out, and his dabbing seems to just be a distracted motion at this point.

He chews his bottom lip. “Because it looks worse than it is. I don’t like seeing you hurt at all, but I really don’t like knowing they got close enough to do this,” he sighs. Tim slumps in his seat. He reaches out and takes Bernard’s free hand in a silent apology. Their fingers fit together easily, a familiar comfort to both of them. Bernard drops the rag on the counter and pauses to look Tim over again. Distractedly, he reaches up to play with a strand of Tim’s bangs.

He smiles. “You keep your hair so neat now. I remember when there was a bottle of gel in it every day.” He fingers a strand of black hair, soft and freshly trimmed. Nothing like when they met. Tim cringes at the memory. Yeah, he’d had a big thing for spiking his hair back then. Nowadays he prefers to keep it short and out of the way, even if Stephanie had lamented the loss of the longer hair he’d settled into for a while.

Tim leans into the touch. “And yet I still get all kinds of gross stuff in it every patrol,” he teases. Bernard’s fingers still. His eyes light up the way they always do when he comes to a realization that he likes.

He leans forward, further into Tim’s space, and beams at him brighter than the sun. “Can I wash it for you?”

“I—” Tim leans back and blinks rapidly. His nose scrunches as the question processes. “You want to wash my hair?” He asks. It’s an odd request. Nobody has washed Tim’s hair for him since he was a very small child. Even through his worst injuries where he needed help getting to the shower, Tim has managed to avoid it because hair just wasn’t a priority. He reaches up to feel his own hair, fingers brushing Bernard’s as he rakes them through his bangs. Hm. Not so overwhelmingly gross that Bernard would make washing it a personal mission.

Tim’s head falls to the side in a bewildered tilt. “Why?”

Bernard shrugs. “I like taking care of you.” He speaks simply. “I think it would make both of us feel better.”

It’s not something Tim would have imagined allowing someone to do. But when Bernard asks, he can’t find any reason to say no.

Tim doesn’t even leave the kitchen. They’d never both fit in his tiny shower. Within a couple minutes of Bernard grabbing their supplies, Tim finds himself leaning his head backwards over the sink’s edge, the back of his neck cushioned by the towel draped around him. He hears the water running for a bit to heat up, and he watches Bernard’s face as the blonde tests the temperature.

He chews the inside of his cheek when he concentrates. Always has. Cute, Tim thinks.

The detachable sink head is pulled down. “Ready?” Bernard asks gently, and when Tim lifts his eyes to Bernard’s own, he’s struck dumb by the sheer amount of adoration softening his expression.

Bernard…really cares about him. Enough to dote on him, to cook for him, to wash his hair for him, and what has Tim done to deserve that? He’s so troubled by this thought that he doesn’t answer immediately. It takes Bernard tapping his forehead with a finger to chase those thoughts away.

His expression is…difficult to put a name to. “Still with me, love?” He whispers. Tim nods. He clears his throat.

“I’m here. Sorry.” He shakes his head a little. “Ready when you are.”

Bernard smiles. “I’d give anything to spend a day in your mind.”

Tim would never want him to experience that.

Warm water showers him as Bernard moves the stream to his head, and Tim sighs at the feeling. The water thoroughly soaks his hair within a few moments when Bernard pushes his bangs away from his face and into the spray. It’s the perfect temperature, and the sink head’s pressure feels nice from so close.

It isn’t long before the spray is moved, and Tim hears the pop of a shampoo bottle’s lid. He glances over, and Bernard is letting a decent amount of Tim’s expensive shampoo pool in his palm. He sets the bottle aside and moves back in, and Tim hums as he feels his boyfriend’s fingers start to work the shampoo into his hair. He works first to build a lather but Tim’s hair is shorter these days, so it only takes a moment before he’s running his fingers from root to ends, coating every strand in soap. He blinks down at Tim when he notices him watching his face.

“Baby, relax. You don’t have to keep your eyes open,” Bernard insists. Tim hadn’t realized how intense he probably looked while staring. He laughs a little, and though he doesn’t always like the vulnerability of closing his eyes when he relaxes, it’s Bernard. He trusts him. His eyes fall closed as short nails scratch at his scalp lightly. The scent of his shampoo floats in the air like steam from the water’s heat. It’s a scent that he loves. He’s used the same shampoo for most of his life. It was the same brand and scent his mother used. It smells like home, the same way that Alfred’s laundry detergent and Stephanie’s body wash and Bernard’s hoodies do.

Tim sighs again, but this time, the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. He smiles a little. The scratches against his scalp and the slight tug of his hair as it’s washed feels…really nice.

He isn’t sure how long Bernard shampoos his hair before he finally pulls the warm spray of water back overhead to rinse the suds away. It was definitely longer than his hair length warranted. There’s something so domestic about this moment, and when he drowsily blinks his eyes open to check in on his boyfriend, the blonde’s expression looks just as content as he feels.

“Conditioner next,” Bernard says quietly, like he’s hesitant to break the silence that had fallen over them. “Doing okay?”

Tim nods sleepily. “Mhm,” he confirms. It was probably for the better that he’d be finishing soon, because once Tim let himself melt into the feeling, he knew he could easily fall asleep under Bernard’s affectionate ministrations. The conditioner goes on with just as much care as the shampoo. Tim actually leans his head back into the feeling as one hand scratches at the nape of his neck, the other one running through his bangs almost leisurely. Caressing his hair, almost like he’s being pet. The mental comparison doesn’t make him bristle the way he usually might. Nothing about the gesture feels condescending or insincere.

Soft lips brush his forehead. Butterflies stir in Tim’s gut at the unexpected affection, and a smile tugs at his lips. “Love you,” he murmurs. Bernard’s hands still for just a moment. Then, the lips are back again, this time kissing his cheek. The tip of his nose. His chin, just below his lips. When he finally kisses Tim’s lips, they get lost in it for a moment as Tim stretches his neck upwards to meet him.

Tim’s gripping the sleeve of Bernard’s sweater by the time he pulls away. “I love you, too.” He says like he’s desperate for Tim to believe him.

Tim does.

They sink into comfortable quiet again as Bernard rinses his hair. He’s thorough, making sure all of the conditioner has been washed out before he finally turns off the tap. The room suddenly seems much quieter now that the constant shower of water has stopped. Bernard tugs the towel around Tim’s neck up to tousle his hair. He rubs firmly enough that it jostles his head around, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eye as he does it.

Tim sticks his tongue out, rising to the bait but not truly annoyed. In fact, he’s relieved to see Bernard teasing him again. The tense worry from earlier had faded into something far sweeter.

Bernard finishes with the towel and drops it unceremoniously on Tim’s head. “There. Do you feel any better?” He asks. The smile can be heard in his voice, even while Tim is busy tossing the towel aside.

“Yeah. I think I do feel a bit better.” It’s an understatement. Tim feels lighter than he has in ages. Bernard looks relieved to hear it.

“Me too,” he confesses. Tim stands and stretches, lifting his arms high until his back pops. What he really wants after all that is to crawl into bed, preferably with Bernard, and sleep until his body feels fully rested. It’s not a luxury he often gets.

Tonight he feels like indulging. “Thank you, Berns. Really.”

“Tim, it’s no problem. I wanted to—oh,” Bernard perks up as Tim starts towards his bedroom, rather than his laptop where he’d usually spend hours after patrol finishing reports. Tim’s heart stutters pleasantly when he hears the footsteps immediately begin following him. “You’re sleeping already? Did I break you?”

Tim shakes his head at the last question. “Big spoon or little spoon?” He glances backwards as he pulls back the comforter. Bernard looks thrilled.

“Big. I wanna hold you,” he says, painfully earnest. And Tim still isn’t great with earnest, but god, Bernard makes it look so easy. So he lets himself be held. He lets himself drift off, feeling secure with strong arms squeezing tightly around his middle. He lets himself sleep in far later than he usually does.

And every now and then, after a particularly close call on patrol, he lets Bernard wash his hair for him.

[hecketernal]

Sneak Peak of Chapter Two of The Mar's Tomb Investigation

((this chapter has hands and has been fighting me like a fromsoft boss so yall can get a small treat of this snippet until i manage to wrangle it))

Sig leaned against a wall in the Slum out of way of foot traffic. Not that it would have mattered. Crowds of Havenites tended to part around big wastelanders with an intimidating cybernetic eye and reputation of working with Krew. Still, his mama didn't raise a rude boy, and he wasn't risking his mission just to bother some skittish, city folk. What he was looking for was too important for that. Meaning, he stood outta the way and tried to not attract unnecessary attention from the KG patrols, whilst he watched both sides of the Slums from the conjoining sector.

If he was lucky, he would be able to meet up with the chili peppers here.

If he was unlucky, it would be the starting point to tracking their actual location down.

The way he saw it there were two ways Jak and Daxter would break Tess and whoever else got rounded up by those Krimson Goons out of the prison. Via seeing it firsthand and word of mouth, Sig knew Jak liked to run in hot. Option one was therefore a loud explosive escape paired with a fast getaway vehicle. Option 1 was a good option. It was the kind of plan Sig missed pulling off himself, and it would see Jak and Daxter coming straight to Sig in no time flat.  Option two: transportation rings. Sig did not want it to be option two.

The blue eco powered transporters made for an easy way in and out of locations, and they were damn near untraceable. Unless, someone knew to set up a tracer ahead of time, which was more effort and eco than basically anyone wanted to spend. The Underground was lucky the Baron simply couldn't afford to waste the eco with his little war against the metalheads still ongoing. It was more effective to just set up more soldiers and turrets with that eco and prevent any escape in the first place. Any proper tracer was a pain to set up anyways. They took no less then three proper receivers, and each piece of equipment had to be set in a seperate location to allow triangulation. If the drop-off location was within that net, the receivers would pinpoint the location easily. If it was outside of the net, the triangulation would only give you a rough estimate of the direction and distance. Increasing the size of the net to fix that limitation brought its own issues. Namely, it increased the eco output needed to run. Spargus had set up several nets that could be used, but Sig's own personal one would work fine enough here. He didn't need exact coordinates to a Underground Midpoint or safe house, when he didn't have any excuse to know where to be knocking. He'd still be having to frame it as bumping into the boys randomly. He was just lucky he already knew and was friendly with the duo.

Sig wanted to sigh. Triangulation. Eco Nets. Subterfuge. Bluffs.Who would have thought his life would come to this. He was just lucky his identity in Haven was the simple brute. He was capable of doing this. Damas wouldn't have sent him otherwise, but it was mentally exhausting. Each little lie could be one more complications. Something he had to remember and continue to fake; unless, they were immediately nipped or based off of some truth.

It would be worth it for a chance to see Mar again. It was worth it. He mentally pulled up his big boy pants, but he made a note to himself to blow some frustration on the gun range. It wasn't like him to be the down in the dunes downer.

He would find Mar. He had to. A siren went off in the distance. It was showtime.

[ghostbsuter]

Very much inspired by this !!

—

Phantasm crashed into the side of a building, the rest of his team- the TeenTitans- stayed back. They were otherwise occupied, with the rest of the H.I.V.E. five attacking them.

They'd gotten a new member, one with a similar, nearly identical power set of their own new member.

Phantom.

Phantasm and Phantom, two mirror look alikes, they went absolutely feral whenever one was in sight. It was driving Robin mad, Beast Boy had joked about cloning but after they started to actually consider that option.

"Well, well, well." Phantom mocks, glowing green to Phantasm's red.

"Shut. The fuck. Up." Phantasm charges again, throwing the other into windows with a growl.

They kept bickering, hitting and injuring each other, until—

"Stop being so annoying!" Phantasm shouts, baring his fangs. Phantom, in return, stuck his tongue out.

"You're just jealous I got the Villain role!!"

At this point, their respective teams had called a draw and watched them fighting.

"You're a lousy villain!"

"I'm having the time of my life beating the shit out of you actually."

"I'm calling jazz."

At that, Phantom starts glaring. "I thought we agreed on not bringing this up to our sister?"

[number1abbasupporter]

Sirius: i’m gay

James: that’s cool mate

James: everyone has gay thoughts though

Remus:

Peter:

Sirius:

Remus: boy do i have news for you

[stevebabey]

Steve hates to ask this of Eddie.

Really, it’s a last resort sort of thing. Robin’s gone for the week, some trip upstate with her family. And it’s fine, they’re close but Steve’s a big boy. He can handle a week without his best friend.

But, well, it’s just unfortunate for it to creep up on Steve when Robin’s gone. It being… shit, how did Robin explain it? She was so much better at keeping track of all those things than he was, all the terms filed away nicely in her head to be recalled as needed. Steve’s much messier— in his head, in his life.

Touch aversion, that’s what she called it. A by-product of the severe lack of touch in his childhood she had said; not enough hugs, hand holding, the works and now Steve’s grown to find it too strange. Something prickles under his skin, pulls in his gut all the wrong way, when someone’s too touchy-feely with him. Robin’s said it’s normal, and he believes her.

It just makes it harder when this comes by. That completely strange backward want that carves into his chest, creating a chasm that just aches. Suddenly, Steve wants to be touched, needs to be touched — like something behind his ribs is just begging for comfort in the form of touch, any way he can have it. Like some young part of him can still remember the hunger he had for it and it comes back in full force, a tender wound between his lungs.

It doesn’t happen that often — though, it’s more frequent than ever recently — but usually, Robin’s here. She can almost always tell before Steve works up the courage to ask. Twitchy fingers give him away. He hovers closer than normal, shoulders brushing more often.

She always gives him a smile, softer than her usual snark and says, “C’mere, dingus.” and stands on her tip-toes to envelope him in a hug. Steve can’t help but sink into it, gripping her close around the waist for as long as he needs until the hole in his chest feels a step closer to patching up.

Robin also tells him he can have as many hugs as he’d like but Steve is firm with himself; he only needs one, then he’ll be back to fine.

It what’s he needs now. One really fucking good hug. Still, he hates to ask, least of all from Eddie, because, well— okay, Steve has no reason to assume Eddie wouldn’t give him a hug.

He’s seen Eddie’s hugs before. Like everything he does, Eddie puts his everything into it- he hugs Robin til she wheezes, loves to lift Nancy off the ground, and the hug he gives Dustin is sweetest of all, a hand on the back of the littler’s head while he does some strange little sway. Dustin always laughs, playfully shoving him away by the end but Steve knows he loves them, that it helps in more than one way.

Steve is glad that Dustin has someone, besides his Mom of course, who can hug him, because Steve can’t give that to him. Maybe one day, but for now, hugs from Steve are a rarity — few and far in between. Maybe, he thinks, he doesn’t want to ask Eddie specifically because of that niggling feeling that comes up around Eddie, all gooey and soft. A feeling the swings too close to a crush that Steve has no fucking clue what to do about.

So, he hates to ask. Really. On the drive over to Eddie’s, a hangout organised before Steve started to feel the lack of touch creep in, he runs through any other options. Wait til Robin gets back? Steve’s not sure he’ll make it another 4 days. When left alone, it seems to consume him and make everything harder, everything heavier to deal with.

He’s still tossing it when he climbs the steps to Eddie’s trailer. Steve decides that he’ll see how it goes, see if there’s an opening to ask…semi-naturally or something. He’s not gonna spring it on the guy.

Eddie is wonderful company as always, devilish grins and god-awful comments about the film he picked. Steve feeds off it, drinking in the infectious energy. He tries to let it be enough; their shoulders pressed together, Eddie’s knee knocking his when he laughs, the way Eddie leans into his space to whisper even though it’s just them here tonight. Steve wants it to be enough. But even then, he can see the way his hands twitch in his lap, desperate for more.

Steve closes his eyes. Curls his hands up so tightly his nails bite into the skin. He tries to use it to wane off the feeling, the ache that sings out for Eddie beside him and it nearly works. Until—

“Steve? Y’okay?” Eddie’s voice pipes up, making Steve open his eyes in an instant.

“Hm?” Steve hums, hoping that his casualness will be enough for Eddie to skip over his peculiar behaviour. He blinks, tilting his head just a bit to show he was confused why Eddie was asking.

Eddie chuckles lightly, gesturing towards Steve’s lap, where his hands sit still clenched, white knuckled with his self-restraint. “You seem a bit stiff, that’s all.” Eddie rechecks. “You good?”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, forcing his hands to unclench in his lap. “I-“ he begins, then stops, unsure of what he was going to say. He did say he would look for an opening tonight. The way Eddie’s regarding him, open faced with his concern, is as good as he might get.

“This might sound a bit weird,” Steve starts, defensiveness already tingeing the words, his shoulders curling in just a bit. Eddie could say no. He’s allowed to say no. Steve really doesn’t want him to. “Like, if you think it’s weird, that’s totally fine and we can just, like, forget I said anything and—”

“Steve.” Eddie cuts him off, a linger of an amused smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything you say weird, sweetheart. Shoot. What’s on your mind? What troubles the great mind of Steve Harrington?”

God, it’s like a whole bunch of words designed to set Steve’s head spinning. ‘The great mind of Steve Harrington’ makes him want to scoff. ‘Sweetheart’ makes him want to swoon. He can’t decide which one he wants to do more.

“Can I-” Steve stammers, the words halting automatically. It’s too much of a habit to swallow them down. Coercing them out takes more work. He stares up at the ceiling as he grits his teeth, releases a harsh sigh, pulling himself together. “Can I… have a hug?”

There a moment of silence and Steve holds his breath.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and Steve takes his eyes off the ceiling to see just what that Oh means. Eddie’s smiling, a soft one gracing his pretty mouth, and Steve thinks, maybe, one day he’ll have the courage to ask for a kiss as well. Relief moves sluggishly through his veins— Eddie’s smiling, this is good.

“Well, of course,” Eddie grins widely and opens his arms, inviting Steve in. Steve hesitates for only a moment before he leans in gratefully, his arms tucking around Eddie’s midriff tightly. Eddie’s arms curl around Steve’s neck, pulling him in close. It’s the easiest thing in the world, sinking into it, so much that Steve tries his best not to immediately slump against Eddie. It feels a bit too pathetic, so Steve reels himself in. He can’t make his arms relax, trying too hard to take only what he needs and not a moment more.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice teases beside his ear, his breath warm. “You call that a hug?”

He squeezes Steve a little tighter, pulling him even closer and Steve can’t help the way he melts into it— he slumps, leaning against Eddie properly and burying his quiet whine of relief into the juncture between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs comfortingly.

Eddie takes him wholly, gives a damn good Munson hug, all warmth and comfort. He smells like, well, Eddie — a lingering scent of weed, something musky, something Eddie. His arms around Steve’s neck shuffle and Steve worries he’s trying to pull away so soon, only for one of his hands to tangle in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He combs through, light fingernails scratching at Steve’s scalp and shit, Steve really can’t control the noise of contentment that slips out his throat.

“Can’t believe you got so worked up just to ask for a hug,” Eddie tsks, tone coloured in disbelief. Steve makes a noise of protest, trying for a moment to wind it all back in but, like Eddie can sense it, he’s squeezing him tighter again. He begins to rock them, a soft sway side to side that lets Steve lean on him even more. He hums a tune Steve doesn’t know, low and soft.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles in reply, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s apologising for. For having to ask, for taking so much, for enjoying Eddie’s arms around him just a little too much.

“What the fuck for?” Eddie laughs lightly, one of his hands beginning to drum against the divots of Steve’s spin. It feels like he’s tapping pure delirium with each fingertip, shivers that make Steve’s chest glow terribly warm. It feels good, so good to be held and honestly, Steve could stay here all night if Eddie let him. Knowing Eddie, he would, because he’s that fucking nice.

That knowledge alone forces Steve to sit himself up, extracting him limbs even though so much of him mourns the warmth, the touch, that goes with it. He wants the touch but he’s had enough. Some scorned part of him burns bitterly to think Eddie would give him more just to be nice. Steve doesn’t want that— Steve wants Eddie to touch him because he wants to.

“Sorry, man, I just, uh, get like that sometimes.” Steve feels the need to explain, bringing a hand up to rub at one of his eyes. He does it half so can hide his embarrassed expression from Eddie— who’s looking at him so gently and still so so close.

“Just, aha—“ Christ, it wasn’t this awkward telling Robin. Steve’s hand moves to rub the back of his neck. “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile since,” He gnaws on his bottom lip, something alike to humiliation curling in his gut. “Since I’ve had some touch. Usually, Robin’s around but y’know.”

He waves a hand, huffing another awkward laugh. Eddie hasn’t moved much, just listening intently, his brows ever so slightly inching closer together. He looks outright concerned at Steve’s next words.

“It’s okay, I’ve— I’ll be good now.” Steve nods along, like the motion will help him convince himself as well as Eddie. He’ll be okay now. Usually, one hug is all it takes. He ignores the surging tidal-wave want that is still going, still aching to be held by Eddie again. It would be selfish to ask for more. Eddie didn’t invite him around to hug— it’s weird, and Steve shouldn’t- can’t ask for more.

“Sooooo,” Eddie draws out the word, an impish smile beginning to play at the corners of his lips. He opens his arms wide again. “You don’t want another hug?”

In his lap, Steve’s fingers twitch. Eddie’s eyes dart to them for a second, before fixing back on Steve. He does, he really fucking does want another hug. He can’t. He’s had enough, really, it would greedy to have more.

Steve shakes his head, forces himself to huff another laugh that accidentally comes out as a strained sigh. He smiles weakly, “No, no, I’m good, dude. It’s… I’m okay, swear.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s convinced him. Eddie studies his face, his mischief slipping away as he deliberates Steve’s words. His eyes narrow, arms dropping just an inch before he smiles brightly and says, “Okay, can I have a hug then?”

Which, okay, right, Steve didn’t think of that. People don’t ask him for hugs. He blinks, a bit dumbly. Eddie is waiting, face eager and for a second there’s an expression of almost smugness on his face — like he’s about to get exactly what he wants. Because he knows Steve would never be rude and say no.

“I mean,” Steve breathes, voice a bit tighter than he’s expecting. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, you can have a hug.”

“Great!” Eddie replies and he wastes no time. He’s all up in Steve’s space, arms around Steve’s waist this time. The motion takes Steve by surprise, enough that because he’s not expecting it Eddie’s weight pushes him back so he’s lying on the couch.

If Eddie cares, he pays no mind, his head curling up into the crook of Steve’s neck as he hugs him closer. His hair gets in Steve’s mouth, making him splutter for a second, but Eddie just grins, wriggling closer until they’re pressed firmly against each other. Steve would go as far as to say this is closer to cuddling than a hug, with Eddie squishing him from above, his arms around Steve’s middle.

“Just so you know,” Eddie’s voice rumbles from where their chests are touching, his breath sweeping across Steve’s neck. Steve shivers without meaning to, feels Eddie’s responding grin even as he continues. “All hugs requested by me are automatically 10 minutes long. Hope you’re okay with that, sweetheart.”

Steve isn’t stupid — he knows Eddie is doing it for him, doing it because he could see right through Steve’s stupid facade, had peered his yawning hunger for touch right in the face and hadn’t blanched. Instead of feeling tricked or fooled, Steve just feels…warm. Comfortable. He works his arms around Eddie’s neck til their more comfortable and find the courage in him scrape his fingers through Eddie’s hair— like he had done to Steve. Eddie’s sighs sweetly and Steve thinks he could listen to that noise forever.

“I’m… I’m okay with that.” Steve murmurs lowly, yet he knows Eddie can hear him. Eddie noses closer, a borderline nuzzle against his neck, and further down, one his hands starts to stroke softly up and down Steve’s ribs.

Steve can’t help the way it makes him freeze, the breath in his lungs holding tight as he tries to relax, tries to ignore the prickly feeling under his skin. It’s a lot. A lot of touch that Steve just isn’t used to just yet, even if he desperately craves it.

“Relax,” Eddie whispers into his skin, a soft instruction paired with the motion, one soothing stroke up and down his ribs. Steve pushes the breath in his lungs out, forces the tension out of his body, trusts that Eddie wouldn’t be offering— wouldn’t tell him to relax if he wasn’t allowed to.

“That’s it.” Eddie praises, feeling the body beneath him settle and sink a little lower into the couch. “Now, watch the movie.” Eddie instructs, jutting at the still playing screen with his chin. Steve laughs a bit, but obeys, turning his head to see what part they’d gotten up to. They’d missed a big chunk in their hug. Steve nearly apologises for it, the words on the tip of his tongue, before he decides Eddie might smack him for it.

So, he doesn’t. He watches the film, let’s the gentle touch of Eddie on his skin relax him til sleepiness starts to fill each of his limbs, heavy like lead. Eddie’s hand stops moving eventually, when his breath gets heavier, lulled by Steve’s scratch in his hair. A snore starts up, loud and quite frankly, annoying, and yet, Steve finds that with Eddie’s arms around him, he has no trouble finding sleep.

It’s the first time in years Steve’s fallen asleep in someone else’s arms. And even if he doesn't know it yet, it’s certainly not the last.

now with a part two!

[justaz]

a spell is cast on camelot that thins the veil enough for ghosts to appear. the catch? the ghosts that appear are spirits of people that were killed by the person they’re haunting. the knights have a good amount of bandits/raiders/whatever that they took down in battle, maybe a few shady knights have genuinely innocent people that they murdered and got away with. the executioner’s killings are transferred to the king since he was simply acting out the king’s commands. arthur has quite a few. uther has hundreds of sorcerers in various states of gore and horror. those who were hanged have perpetually bent necks, those who were beheaded have either no head or just a head floating a bit above their body, and those who were burnt are more charred remains (the most grisly of them all). merlin has more than anyone expected (which was zero) and all of them keep calling out for arthur/uther’s death and camelot’s downfall while also turning to merlin and calling him a traitor.

[starrystevie]

"what are you doing," eddie mumbles in confusion, hair fanned out on steve's pillow, the moonlight streaming in giving him a hazy halo.

there's a hand on the side of his face and it's cupping his cheek, thumb stroking over his skin. it's soft, so soft, too soft. another hand is trapping his against the mattress, fingers trailing over his forearm before tangling into his own and squeezing tight. it's gentle, so gentle, too gentle.

eddie isn't soft, eddie isn't gentle. eddie isn't making love in a full size bed with wallpaper that matches the drapes. he isn't fluttering kisses in time with fluttering heartbeats and the fluttering wings of butterflies trapped in his stomach like the most lovely cage.

eddie is fucking at 2am when there's enough intoxication to make him look like he's worth it. he's rough and wild, quick and easy. a means to a barely wanted end because he's there and willing and with long enough hair to let people imagine he's someone else.

he should be caged instead of the damn butterflies. he bares his teeth and thrashes his limbs just to fight and see what he can get away with. he laughs loud and brash in the face of sweetness just to see anger, just to see hurt.

he has half a mind to think he's a feral animal that's hardly been trained, performing in some fucked up circus that charges two bucks to see him snarl and hurl insults at anyone who passes by. he bites at the hands that try to touch, try to feed, proving to the onlookers that he's only worth the pocket change they pay to see him.

but steve. he's holding his face like he wants to, holding his hand like it's the most important thing in the world. he's pressing kisses along eddie's jaw without any hurry, without any rush, kissing just to kiss. feeling just to feel. he's like a ray of goddamn sunshine even in the darkness that midnight provides, warming eddie from the inside out.

eddie wants to run. he wants to scream. he wants to feel like he's allowed steve's soft and gentle but he's-

"is this not okay?" and now steve's looking at him with all of whatever he's trying to give him lacing into his face, his eyes and spit slick lips sparkling in the moonlight like a shiny new toy. "do you not like it?"

concern and care are different sides of the same steve shaped coin and if eddie looks hard enough, he can see them blurring together in his frustratingly beautiful sparkling eyes and those damn butterflies start to come back.

"no, it's-" he let's out a sigh, relaxing his tight muscles and sinking into the bed, sinking into whatever steve is willing to give him. "just different, is all. good different, i think."

steve smiles and eddie shakily mirrors it back, before he's ducking his head again and slotting their lips together, fingers still holding tight to eddie's, still cupping his face like it's something precious.

eddie's come to terms with the taste of the metal bars of his cage, teeth wearing down as he tries to bite his way to freedom. maybe this time he'll let himself get used to the taste of soft and gentle smiles if it means loving steve.

[dilfmobius]

Kneel.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Bruce has a 'if you can't beat them, join them' mentality about the tabloids claiming he adopts too many kids- Developing foster homes that are paid for through the Wayne inheritance, personally vetted by the Bats, they're the leaders in the space for child health outcomes and family placement. Insert Danny.

---

Bruce has too much wealth, too many rumors and not enough reach into the abhorrent foster homes around Gotham to improve them. Tim ends up being the one to suggest it- He's the one who buys up their real estate for their safe houses after all- and Bruce is more than ready to pull the metaphorical trigger to get new clean welcoming spaces, Bat-background checked fosters and a new era of adoption in Gotham underway.

He's lobbied the state and the federal government for reforms of course, but this is a project he can micromanage. He spends time with every kid that comes through, talks with all the families that want to adopt and makes sure that these miniature homes are provided only the very best. Alfred personally hires all the staff, and with Barbara more than happy to help relocate the unhoused children she spots while they patrol, the project is a glowing success.

Occasionally, spots in their houses fill up, and those are the weeks were Cass takes on the Cowl of Batman- Bruce Wayne will personally invite a child in need to his home. He always has one of his kids present (they rotate on a pre-determined schedule) and he does his best to try and get them to understand that they deserve the world, have all the potential that anyone else has and can achieve a bright future. That he will personally aid them in their ambitions.

PR goes crazy for it of course, but Bruce and all of his children know its genuine. Almost too genuine, because a betting pool 'WILL THEY BE ADOPTED' regularly circulates between the siblings and the entire JL when someone spends time at the manor. And not just the black-haired, Blue-eyed kids get picked as favored outcomes- but obviously the running joke gets passed around.

It's a Thursday night when Bruce gets the call that the houses have once again filled up, and that there is a child in need of a home. The social worker (he knows her as Marsha and he has flowers planned to be sent on her birthday next week, like he does for all of his employees) (Say micromanaged one more time) explains that the kid is a bit cagey but has opened up with some humor. She explains that he has a few strange... mannerisms. She's not sure what to make of him, a non-gothamite for sure but something is, well, distinctly 'not from around here' about his energy.

Danny arrives at the house, meets Duke and Alfred, and by the time Bruce meets him at the dinner table it seems as though Marsha had it all wrong. This kid was laughing, he was teasing, he was totally playing along like he'd gone through nothing. Bruce is glad he's in high spirits but its just so... so different from all the other children he's taken in.

Bruce re-focuses on the conversation when Duke mentions something flashing, and its the first time that Danny goes quiet. Entirely still.

"...you noticed that?" Danny quietly asks, a bit of disbelief in his tone.

"You don't have a flashlight on or something do you? It was super bright whatever it is that you had in your hand a second ago?" Duke tries to sound chill but he's looking very much not chill. Bruce saw nothing, and that puts him further on edge.

"Look... I uh, I've been though... I've been through a lot lately. And the last lab I was in kind of, messed with me. I'm normally much better at dealing with it all, I promise." Danny sounds nervous, and the room seems to chill.

"Ah shoot, sorry." Danny notices something and frantically apologizes.

"Sorry for what Danny? You've done nothing wrong but I am worried about you- You said you were in a lab?" Bruce is desperately trying to calm him down while not slipping into Batman interrogation mode.

"Uh, yeah, like a lot of labs. It should get warmer in a second, its just cause I startled, I promise."

"You're a meta." Duke speaks softly and with hope in his voice- Danny is looking between them with wide eyes filled with fear.

"I mean I don't technically have the gene-"

"Danny, have you told any of your case workers where you were? Do any authorities know what you've been through?" Bruce needs to know, desperately, that who ever gave this young boy super powers is brought to justice. Danny goes quiet.

"I'm really sorry." He says softly, but he doesn't leave them.

Duke and Bruce try to ask a few more questions but the silence that meets them declares the conversation over, even with Duke admitting he himself is a meta. Danny didn't even look up from his plate. They watch a movie after dinner, and Danny seems to get back to the smile-y happy guy he had been before dinner.

Each of the bat-fam have their own interactions with Danny- And even if they're getting along amazingly, Danny won't open up. He doesn't open up to his provided therapist. Doesn't talk to Alfred. No one knows what's up.

So when Marsha calls Bruce back explaining they now have a spot for Danny and he can move out of the Manor... Bruce replies that he'd like to get started on Adoption paperwork, so long as Danny is fine with it.

---

Turns out, Danny is fine with it. he's both the newest Wayne and their newest case. (And godamnit, his new family is going to avenge him. If only he'd let them try.)

Danny figures out that Duke= Signal early on because of that dinner, and if he's going to keep his parents out of jail, he needs to be as close to the investigation as possible. He knows that he shouldn't protect the Fentons, but he feels the upset in his core at the thought of letting them befall any harm. He has to protect them. Has to protect Jazz and her hiding spot as a mole within their lab. Has to.

Even if it meant lying to his new family who loves him, and who he loves in equal return. Even if it means lying to The Bats.

---

Tabloids go crazy about the black-haired blue-eyed thing of course, but no poll was ever taken by the batfam or the JL who know the whole story.

[canisalbus]

hello! i've written a short little machete fic, and i wanted to share it with you as thanks for all the incredible art and generous question-answering you've been doing these last few months. i hope that if you give it a look, you enjoy it. <3 keep up all your amazing work! archiveofourown [.] org / works / 50945128

✦ A Voi ✦

[courfee]

“Regulus would be proud of us,” James whispered quietly to no one in particular, still gripping onto the painting like a life raft. 

— Tender Curiosities, Baby!  @otrtbs

[pettyprocrastination]

The Revenant Wife

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of grief and death. 

Summary: Ellie knows very little of Joel and even less of the wife he had before the outbreak. When she finally meets you, its just as much as shock to her as it is to your husband. 

Word count: 1.6k

Note: ficlet is based off of this previous post about Joel getting separated from his wife during the outbreak and assuming you died until you find one another years later. Reader is described to look like Sarah. Title came from the ever lovely @djarin-junk​ <3

Tagging those I think would enjoy: @pedrostories​ @thesadvampire​ @joel-mlller @softanon​ @max--phillips​ @captainsamwlsn​ @hooplahoopla​ @moondirti​ 

-------------------------------

Ellie didn’t know that Joel had a wife. 

Granted, she didn’t know much about his old life at all. 

She knew he built things. That he had a brother named Tommy and a daughter named Sarah, but didn’t like to talk about the latter that much. In one fleeting conversation, full of mumbles as her eyes began to close while they rested under the night sky she heard him mention you but was far too gone to truly hear what he said. Nothing more than the vague rumble of his voice saying “my wife” before her eyes opened once more. 

“You’re married?”

She asks with such incredulous shock it sounds more like “somebody married you?” but girls at her age hardly ever have filters. 

“I was.” 

There’s the same bristle in his throat and far off look in his eyes as when she first asked about his daughter. An open answer but one that carries enough unsaid to tell Ellie of your fate. To warn her that she should change the subject or simply shut her mouth and go to sleep before plucking his raw nerve one too many times until he snaps- 

“What was she like?” 

But Joel learned early on that Ellie wasn’t one to follow warnings. 

“Kind.” His breath stutters. “But not a pushover- she didn’t take shit from anybody.” He stares up at the sky, feeling his chest grow tight and fingers twitch by his side until there’s a rustling, the girl next to him rolling over to face him and he turns to find Ellie peeking out from her sleeping bag with a smile. 

Damn this girl. 

“Not even from you?” 

Joel scoffs. “Especially from me. The amount of times she gave me and Tommy and earful-” he shakes his head, Ellie watches a smile grow on his face in silence, as if worried she may frighten it away. 

“Did she cook?” 

Ellie thinks of the stories the older kids would tell her. The ones who remembered life before the Outbreak, who told her of freshly baked pies on weekend and fluffy pancakes in the morning. 

Joel remembers the first time you tried to bake him a cake for his birthday back when he was sixteen. How he opened the door to your forlorn face and a store bought sheet cake in your hands because as your mother told him over the phone, you damn near burned the whole house down trying to bake for him as a surprise. 

“From time to time.” 

There was only so much she could get out of him before his voice became clipped and eyes full of an emotion she didn’t quite know the name of that he told her to get some rest. Leaving her with nothing to do but to stare at the sky and wonder about these stories in the shape of a woman who unveiled a little bit more about the mysterious man she traveled with. 

Of all the silence and secrets that made up the man that protected her, she created stories to fill them. Stories of Joel Miller, husband, father, brother and badass contractor that everybody loved.   Of his soldier brother, of his wife and their smiling daughter between them both. 

In Ellie’s mind, you didn’t work. 

But not in a ditzy lame way like some boring housewife. But just because you didn’t have to. 

Joel said that everybody loved contractors so that means he probably got paid like, a ton of money to build stuff for people so you got to stay at home all day. Ellie imagined your house to be ginormous. Maybe Joel made it himself for you when you guys first got married. It was big enough that when Joel came home everyday he’d call out your name and it’d echo through  the hall as you called him into the kitchen, where your daughter sat reading as you set dinner on the table. Sometimes you’d get upset if he came home late but then he’d kiss your cheek and you would roll your eyes but smile before you all sat down and ate as a family. 

Ellie imagines Joel’s daughter, she wonders if Sarah looks more like her mother than her father. 

Ellie wonders as the sleep takes over her body, if they could have been friends. 

When it happens, months later after she’s come to think of Joel as something akin to family and he thinks of her as something he can’t say out loud just yet, she’s shocked. She’s face to face with a woman holding her at gunpoint that looks nothing like the smiling mother she dreamt of during cold nights. 

You don’t match the stories Ellie made up in your head.

You’re mean. 

No. Mean isn’t the right word. 

Cold. Yes. you're very cold. 

Ellie watches in shock as you ask where they're headed, gun focused on the center of her chest while the two boys at your side point their own at Joel, who has yet to speak. 

She waits for him to answer, but he just stares at you in awe. The same man she’s seen kill and threaten to keep her safe day in and day out is rendered speechless until all he can do is utter your name and she realizes that he knows you. More than that, judging by the way he surrenders his gun to you with no fight, something she had never seen him do. 

You lift your head to look at him, the brim of your hat raises just enough to clear the shadow cast over your face and Ellie can finally see your eyes and the snarl on your face. 

You’re also very pretty.

“I won’t ask again.” 

The two boys standing on either side of you have your eyes. Same color and intensity, narrowed into slits like guard dogs waiting for an order and Ellie sees the way Joel stares at them. 

She wonders if Sarah had brothers. 

“Out west.” He manages. “Takin’ her to her family.” 

Your eyes move to her and she holds her hands higher in the air. 

“That true?” “What?” 

“Is he telling the truth?” 

The taller one, Duke, she had heard you call him, had already ripped the bag from her back and emptied its contents onto the ground, she had nothing else to hide from you. 

But then she sees something in your eyes. A concern for her that she hadn’t seen since Tess or Marlene. 

And she understands. 

“He’s telling the truth.” Ellie forces out. 

You watch her for a moment and there’s a moment of panic where she thinks you can see right through her lie. 

But then you lower your gun and jerk your head over your shoulder. 

“C’mon.” is all you say before you begin to walk away. The boys gawk at you for a moment before you give them a look of warning and they follow in your step, occasionally casting glances behind them at Joel and Ellie who follow suit. 

She’s quick to grab onto the sleeve of Joel’s jacket and pull with a harsh whisper as the other’s march forward. 

“You know this psycho?” 

Joel flinches at her voice as it pitches up. If any of you heard her, which he gathered you did because Ellie didn’t have an inside voice to save her fucking life, you didn’t care enough to react. 

Ellie whispers his name again. Insistent and angry for answers but he just keeps looking forward. He can’t take his eyes off of you or the boys ahead and it fills her with worry but she doesn’t know why. 

“She’s my wife.”

You lead them to a cottage. Its paint is chipping and the fence is reinforced with wiring around the perimeter but it looks like a home. She can vaguely hear the soft clucking of chickens nearby and there's a flash of fur behind the fence with a pair of pointed ears that duck away just as fast as she saw them. 

Ellie has seen the remnants of homes before the outbreak. The plates still stacked in the sink and the jacket still hung up on the hook. A story telling a family that once lived within its walls and is now nothing more than memories that ghosts along its foundation. 

But this one is real. It’s yours. 

 There is a rickety wooden table in the dining room. Each chair around it seems to have been brought from a different house and is varying shades of faded brown. You kick the leg of one and nod toward it.“Sit, both of you.”

Ellie looks to Joel before sitting. He follows suit, choosing the chair closest to her. 

“I’m gonna get some bandages for that leg-” 

Joel shifts forward. “I don’t need-” 

“I wasn’t fucking asking, Joel.” 

You’re not stronger than Joel, if she had to guess. You both look the same age, but she’s seen his strength, his violence, all done for her safety and knows if it came down to it, you might not win in a fight against him. 

But at your order, he sits back in his chair. 

You turn and set a shoulder on your son’s shoulder. 

At least. She thinks he’s your son. 

Softly spoken words are exchanged while the other keeps his eyes on Joel and his hand on his holster. The boy says something back in insistence, but you tilt your head and he nods. 

“If either of them try moving or taking anything.” You offer them one final look over your shoulder before slipping out of the room. “Shoot them.” 

They listen to your footsteps slowly retreat until there’s nothing but the subtle creak and groan of the wood floor beneath them. Ellie leans forward to look at Joel, setting her hands firmly on the dinner table in announcement. 

“Dude-” The young girl breathes out. “Your wife is a bitch.”

[freetobeafcknriot]

grace & baby ben ♡ ( ͒ ඉ .̫ ඉ ͒)

[xeemaee]

I love how every single labru thing I ever see is “omg the king and his advisor!” “The king and his advisor?” “The king and his advisor!”

And all the labru hate is “look at these weird shippers who haven’t read the manga! Uncultured!”

Like… I wouldn’t have these brain worms if I hadn’t read the manga

[grape-v1nes]

Regulus has like really horrible circulation which makes his hands constantly ice-cold and it startles James every time Regulus touches him

[girlsdads]

neurosurgery resident max the night before he’s scheduled to fly solo for the first time (he’s gonna be performing an awake craniotomy i decided), he can’t sleep bc he’s so anxious about doing everything right, normally he would jerk off to fall asleep but he’s like what if i accidentally jerk off too hard and my wrist is sore tomorrow and i fuck up someone’s actual brain

i lost the plot completely after this but lfg

he texts daniel who is also a surgical resident (he’s in trauma surgery so it’s still a precise field but more bloody and hectic and nobody he operates on is ever awake during it at least) and is like this sucks i need rest but i can’t sleep and i can’t jerk off bc i might sprain my wrist and then it will cramp tomorrow and i will stab my forceps into someone’s good brain tissue and daniel is like jeez max how hard do you jerk off lol. max is like *pouts, kicks his feet and pulls pillow over his face in frustration* dont make fun of me daniel this is very serious what do i do. daniel is like okay i’ll be there soon, be hard when i get there.

max is like what. but he’s honestly already at half mast from mentioning to daniel about jerking off and daniel is always taking care of him and max trusts him that he will actually help even if he has no idea what’s in store. there’s a little kernel of hope that maybe daniel means to get him off himself, but as max lays there hard and leaking as he waits for daniel to come over he tries not to get his hopes up even if what the fuck else would daniel say to be hard for.

daniel takes longer than expected to get to max’s apartment and by the time he finally arrives max is sweating and panting and about ready to tear his hair out if he doesn’t get to come or sleep or both. daniel approaches max’s bed (he has a key of course) and is stripping off his pants and underwear as he does (he keeps on his oversized hoodie from med school bc cozy), his cock is big and also getting hard and max hopes so much that daniel will wrap one of his lovely hands around max or maybe he will even grind his cock up against max’s and max can come that way.

max almost blacks out as daniel knee walks on the bed to straddle his hips and says softly tell me to stop if this isn’t ok, reaches back to spread himself open and lowers down to tease his hole over the soaked head of max’s cock. max is struck completely dumb as he feels daniel start to open around him, feels him already soft and wet and hot like he got himself ready beforehand because he was planning to do this for max.

daniel has barely sat all the way down on max’s dick before max can’t help but come right into daniel, bare and sloppy and perfect. when he’s done he makes grabby hands to daniel to get him to shimmy forward so he’s straddling max’s face, max is trying to hold his thighs and his hips and just grab him everywhere but daniel is like shhh baby you need these hands to be rested and gently holds max’s wrists and presses his hands down against the mattress by his sides, says be a good boy and keep them there for me, max nods because anything daniel, anything. daniel sits right down on max’s face and grinds on his tongue and his chin and his perfect nose until he comes all over max’s forehead and hair and a little on the pillows. daniel licks the come off max’s face then goes to the bathroom to clean himself out and comes back with a damp cloth to get the sticky remnants off max’s skin. daniel cuddles up to max after and max is asleep almost instantly, feeling safe and relaxed and happy.

the next day max nails his procedure, the patient does great and is recovering well in the PACU when his attending comes over and compliments the impeccable steadiness of his hands. max hopes the sickly fluorescent lighting overhead washes him out enough to hide his immediate flush.

max goes on to become one of the world’s leading neurosurgeons and daniel still sits on his cock whenever he can before max has a scheduled surgery the end.